POMO

Michael Mann’s realistic and damn serious form again works great and one scene (unfortunately not the final one) is also stunning in its impact on the development of the story. Hemsworth’s uncompromising character of a hacker convict gives the film some balls and serves as a good driving force. The problem, however, lies in the script, which is simply not clever and sufficiently thought through to match Mann’s unique form (and it would be more fitting for a film with Wesley Snipes from a second-tier director). Mann’s films don't need a complicated plot. They are strong in the psychological portrayal of the main characters and fatally entangling them in banal but brutal crime plots. Blackhat works with a non-banal crime plot in an unfortunately oversimplified way, and the same goes for the psychological depiction of the characters.

Intended for Czech viewers of toilet-humor comedies like Kameňák, Photographer depicts the life of a world-class Czech photographer portrayed by an almost world-class Czech actor. It is cheap trash with a terrifyingly long runtime. What I don’t get is that Jan Saudek doesn’t mind that this thing will be watched by his admirers around the world, from Argentina to Australia. One star for Karel Roden, who is obviously enjoying himself.

For coffee-shop intellectuals whose vampire-themed experience begins with Murnau and ends with Jarmusch, this will be a relaxing and refreshing look at Iranian cinema. Everyone else will tear their hair out from boredom. The film is about as vibrant and generally beneficial as a hypothetical version of Kiarostami’s Taste of Cherry made by Robert Rodriguez.

A Biblical epic about Moses, in which there is no need to analyze the characters and their relationships, because we all know them well. We should be satisfied with the beautiful epic concept with breathtaking exteriors and nice costumes, and the spectacular depiction of legendary disasters and crossing the ocean should be enough to turn the film into a blockbuster hit. Except that we’re not satisfied and it’s not enough. I am an atheist and biblical events alone are not enough for me. These were supposed to work as the bases for a thorough depiction of the motivation of the characters and the difficulties of the fundamental historical stage of humanity and its political and ethnic problems. Exodus either lacks all of that or gets it over with as quickly as possible. It is a super serious work that is less entertaining than the silly Dracula Untold.

Excellent minimalist work with suspense, which is conveyed at a crawling pace and in reasonable doses. Believable characters played in a relatable way, no overly pretty TV faces. Without illogical or unlikely moments.

Horrible Bosses 2 has a great cast (including the supporting roles), is less predictable than you’d expect and surprisingly vulgar. A non-stop joyride that doesn’t give you any breaks to catch your breath.

Conscience and love entrapped by insurance corruption extending to the highest government bodies. Argentina is wild. Carancho is engaging due to its shocking topic rather than to the filmmaking aspect, which is mundane and unremarkable. It is not until the final scene that the emotions escalate enough to really get to the audience. The chemistry between the central duo, which is an important pillar of the film, works well.

Fury is an action-packed blockbuster about an American tank crew slaying SS men in Germany in the Second World War. Brad Pitt is the only one of the crew who washes himself in a private moment, shows off the muscles acquired at LA Fitness and, even after a year of masturbating in an iron cockpit, does not f*ck the German girl (who wouldn’t be against it) because that would be unethical. The point of the film: Not all SS men were bad. The third Expendables should have taken place here, with a less straight face.

The secret of Nolan’s success lies in his ability to disguise his inability to maintain the logical and emotional continuity of the narrative in parallel storylines in a disarming and, at the same time, overly dramatic manner. This weakness drags down the entire second half of Interstellar, which will drill such a hole in your head that you are forced to switch to the passive mode of “a great blockbuster experience” – without being bothered by the fact that the editor doesn't know what he’s doing. The movie is full of self-serving dramatic scenes that are of little relevance to the story as a whole, by which I mean the epic docking with the damaged rotating station and the burning cornfield with an angry Casey Affleck (WTF?) on the opposite side of the galaxy. And by dysfunctional logical and emotional continuity, I mean cutting from space to Earth (where we don’t know what’s going on and to which everyone is running), which unnecessarily draws attention away from the key twists of the cosmic plot. It looks so terribly EPIC and uses such magnificent music that Nolan surely knows what he’s doing here...right? No, in my opinion, he does not. ___ But let’s talk about the first half of Interstellar, which seems to be a different film entirely – it is smooth, deliberate and sensitively edited, outlining beautiful thoughts about TIME (which, along with health, is the most valuable thing we have). Because of that, this half of the film is the most elaborate and magical sci-fi revelation in many years. I fell in love with Interstellar in the scene involving greetings after returning from the watery planet, which is something I don’t think I have ever written about any film before. And there it should have ended, and Nolan and his people should have made a completely rewritten sequel a decade later, after they’ve grown up and learned to perceive things in context, together with proper editing. Then, ideally by dividing it into two sensitively linked films, one of which would take place in space and the other on Earth, they could have made Interstellar into a milestone in the history of the science fiction genre, a dignified successor to Kubrick.

An incomprehensible abomination, the theme of which could have turned out to be more than intriguing in the hands of other filmmakers (Sam Mendes, David O. Russell). I used to have Cronenberg in my top ten directors and I still love most of his work (including films with mixed reviews like Crash). He’s unique in how comprehensibly and acceptably he manages to portray pathological deviations from “normal” and make them part of a riveting story. With Maps to the Stars, however, he falters, as the film is an indigestible dead weight, a show of characters allegorically so far removed from reality that their definition and the escalation of their interactions dissolve into nothing. I’m giving one star for Julianne Moore, who’d excel even in the role of a cucumber.