Isherwood

A purely gentlemanly distinguished treatment of a classic substance propelled forward without unnecessary delays in the form of any formal excesses by Fisher's briskly elegant direction. The director's hesitation regarding the main point is somewhat unfortunate, i.e., the character of the undead count. Christopher Lee has absolutely no charisma in his role, which is perhaps due to the limited length of his overall presence in the film. In contrast, much is saved by the bombastic Peter Cushing as Van Helsing, whose charisma, insights, and overall delivery leave his fellow actors in other versions of the material far behind. This is a film that is definitely worth watching not only for the famous final scene.

A high-budget A-budget affair, which abounds with excellent sets, and impressive tricks by the magician Harryhausen, but also an inexcusably depressing story, coaxed from the director's chair by a chronic erotomaniac with a tendency toward fascism. The proportions of the silicone-sculpted beauty Raquel Welch are immediately striking, but much more attractive to the viewer (in terms of overall entertainment) is probably the perfect Aryan prehistoric society cultivating flower beds and flaunting a perfect look that even contemporary fashion magazines would not be ashamed of. All the effort is almost a waste for such an unambitious substance; otherwise, it would have been great.

A film of two contradictions. On the one hand, it features Al Gore as a skillful and witty speaker, who sprinkles onto the viewer one fact after another, the veracity of which even a layman cannot doubt (graphs, comparative photographs). On the other hand, Al Gore is a politician building a fertile ground for his next political career (the Oscar only helps). Still, it has to be admitted that his swimming against the current has something to it and he could change a lot if holding high political office. However, that depends on the voters on the other side of the Atlantic.

Kachyňa's formal austerity (changing only two locations, Illík's static camera) is a glove thrown down to the central acting tandem, who lifted it more than worthily. You don’t see this sort of riveting acting concert, based on Jan Procházka's brilliantly written book, very often. The paranoia of the times, the fickleness of the political parties of the communist regime, and last but not least the cracks of a ten-year marriage served up in one endless night. Thirty years ago, the film was an unsavory reflection of the times for the comrades, today it is an index finger raised in warning that deserves more than just a screening in club cinemas!

A simple romantic story about the search for a girl randomly seen on the subway, wrapped in visual anarchy made by Tony Scott. It’s a visual treat for connoisseurs, proving that in his old age, the director is doing more than is expected. Bravo!

Here, the current trends of an indictment of crooked deals with ostentatious goals, preferably set in Africa's own blood-plagued landscape, is blended into a reasonably intelligent spectacle that doesn't have the heavy-handedness of Hotel Rwanda, nor is it as uncompromising as The Constant Gardener. Nonetheless, it is fantastically shot (the run through the streets, or the final purge, are among the action highlights of the year) and still sensitive to the subject matter despite its more mainstream conception, and the acting is also very vital. This relates to more than DiCaprio, from whom it's kind of expected, but from the phenomenal Djimon Hounsou, with whom the viewer shares a plethora of emotions ranging from sadness to laughter to fierce anger. It is he who carries the film and without him, this perfectly polished piece of work would be only half as good.

The film is great as a small psychological depiction of the relationship between a son and a despotic father, and especially in the acting parts, it is an absolutely brilliant clash of acting personalities of their generations. Unfortunately, it occasionally stumbles into trifles such as a more stylish portrayal of its time (it’s too artificial at times) and somewhat neglected supporting characters, yet who often strongly influence the protagonists, so they should have had more screen time. Caton-Jones is a solid craftsman who can make an impactful scene (the final fight), but the whole, including the idea of the film, escapes through his fingers. If it wasn’t for that, it would have been perfect.

A monstrous screenwriting construct that brings nothing new and unnecessarily (!) dissects the previous two films. The plot, if there is such a thing here, is uncontrollable chaos, culminating in dull direction that gives us one amazing trap design after another. The result is self-serving crap, which doesn't excite (most of the tasks in the first film) or disgust you with its cruelty (the syringes in the second film) and is thus very boring or annoying, e.g., the absolutely demented behavior of most of the characters. They need to come up with an original idea or the series may soon be cut short - although, I had this feeling at the end of the second film.

Against the backdrop of the shadowy side of modern Spanish history, Forman once again delivers his spectacular play. It is stunning with its sets, costumes, and, last but not least, an amazing atmosphere that breathes life into Goya's cruelly pessimistic paintings, worth experiencing for 120 minutes. The acting trio works perfectly with the director in their brilliantly acted parts. Stellan Skarsgård IS a Goya, Natalie is great like never before (and it's not just about getting naked here, as subliminal marketing everywhere proclaims), and Javier Bardem's mesmerizing demon literally destroys the screen with his performance. Forman is back in full force after seven years, once again mixing his genres properly, resulting in a stylish spectacle that may not grab you immediately, but resonates all the more when the credits roll.

De Palma (cinematically) rapes Hitchcock to the last drop - the hero's obsession with his beloved wife, the mysterious femme fatale, the shape-shifting - and wonderfully builds a paranoid atmosphere, which he concludes with a successful point (although you can smell the aftertaste of the copying quite clearly). Even though none of his later trademarks (the steady-cam, split-screen, and similar directorial tricks) appear here, his narrative is still catchy, even with its ordinary procedures. It’s unfortunate about the unnecessary lameness in the dialogues, which take up most of the film. Yet the fault lies more with Schrader's (surprising) screenwriting desperation, which, as a whole, doesn't resolve anything, and De Palma has never been one for romance (especially the serious-minded kind). The feel of the film is still compact though, as the lean epilogue and fine ending glue this otherwise rather disparate whole into a good watch.