NinadeL

Asylum pushes the boundaries so far that it's no longer bearable (or fun). But making it into an Iron Sky sequel? That would be a pipe dream. From the second episode with Anne Frank onwards, it went completely downhill, so the only positive things left were the small acting performances.

AHS in an art deco hotel? I am in. Hotel is such a relaxing series - old friends have new cool fetishes and strangely enough, even Gaga is alright. So it's going to be an overall enjoyable season. Love, blood, plenty of joy... There’s also the tender connection to Murder House and Coven. And the plot with Rambo and Valentino is completely satisfying. It didn't kill the whole, but it was an interesting excursion into the world of unfulfilled happiness.

If you liked the film, you may enjoy the series adaptation. Cold days in Minnesota have their charms. But each season so far seems to be solitary and each story has its pluses and minuses. Absolutely great is Season 2 with Kirsten Dunst and Jesse Plemons. The first and third are worth your time, it's just with the fourth that I'm hesitant to even make it to the end.

Jules Verne's "Michael Strogoff: The Courier of the Czar" (1876) is one of his most popular novels and was an absolutely crucial subject for Tourjansky and Jürgens. Tourjansky first filmed it in 1926 with Mozzhukhin in the lead role and Jürgens first played Strogoff in 1956. Now the two have reunited over the subject, and the result of their meeting is a very natural adventure novel for the widescreen color screen (which even a passing starlet like Capucine couldn't spoil).

I still remember the campaign that Fargo had as a TV premiere on HBO, but I never saw it. There was really no reason not to watch it. The cast is likable, and the subject matter is one that captures the attention, but until there was a series on the horizon, there was no need to rush into it. I am now very excited for Season 2 with Kirsten Dunst and I enjoyed the original film very much. It's matured just enough because now I know who Frances and Steve are.

Háša and Neruda is probably the most classic combination that has come together on this subject in the Czech Republic. The cycle of six short stories of half an hour each is just enough to keep one from fainting from the problems of the people from the Prague suburb. The leitmotif is the childhood of Jan Neruda, which he spent in his father's shop. Given the strength of the normative television production of the 1980s, this series is particularly strong in its cast, the interesting dramaturgy of Marie Poledňáková, and the individual scripts. This is also one of the better roles of Květa Fialová.

It doesn't make sense to say that Fatty wasn't up to it. Personally, I like him even more than Frigo, but first and foremost The Butcher Boy is just great. It's got that classic Fatty romance, Fatty the genius solitaire butcher, then that great molasses scene and, of course, the battle throughout the shop. If you can still laugh and your diaphragm doesn't ache, you will spend the whole second half in a boarding house for troubled girls and Fatty with a bow in his hair and on his dress. That's all I need to be happy.

This was a total blast, my favorite combination of Fatty, Mabel, and fun at an Expo. A trip back to 1915 with all the attractions, be it wicker cars on the promenade, or hula dancers.

A Week in the Quiet House is a completely and utterly evil film from Krejčík. That's all the negation one needs. Even the positive motives sound kind of bleak. And many of the episodes give me chills. The whole story around Svozilová and Waleská is more futile than any other, the bland Höger really doesn't save the whole thing, and the Kurandová figures were overexposed at all times. I really don't seek out any reruns of it. But when I realize that this was Krejčík’s debut, his courage is appreciated.

The contemporary trend of transposing adaptations of popular novels into the present had its pitfalls. Its better and worse moments. For example, I never fully accepted Ignát Herrmann in modern settings, but the theme of Tales of the Lesser Quarter by Jan Neruda is right on the edge of the First Republic timelessness, in which it was still quite common to be a student in the flat of a pretty landlady. True, Neruda culminates things in a duel, which would have been somewhat out of the question in 1938, but the chatter and some of the sentiment or young love are still the same and will be the same tomorrow.