Matty

At this point, Bond would just like to be James (double-o seven can no longer be James due to a reason that will cause the eyes of half of FilmBooster users to start twitching). But in order for anyone to see him that way, he will have to give up his Hemingway-esque fishing in the Caribbean and return to the job that has cost him everyone he loved in the past. No Time to Die is most satisfying as a drama about a man making up for lost years and seeking mutuality. Bond tries out new roles, which gives Craig the opportunity to deliver a more nuanced acting performance. For the intensity of the emotions that he manages to arouse on a few occasion, it wouldn’t even matter that, due to its inclination toward melodrama, the film comes across as rather sedate in comparison to the excellent and unpredictable Spectre. Except, at the same time, the filmmakers responded to the dismantling of the Bond universe in the previous instalment by trying to put Bond back together again – offering everything anyone has ever loved about the character and the franchise – which in many respects goes against the effort to create an entirely intimate and moving portrait of a tormented hero. In order for us to find out how Bond resolves his dilemma, we have to endure yet more references to the events and locations of old Bond films, embarrassing characterisations, cheesy one-liners following the elimination of bad guys, and lengthy and unimaginative action scenes, which are at times reminiscent of The Fast and the Furious in their bombast, and a bland villain whose blather about his parents is only slightly more tolerable than his blather about the plants that he grew in his garden. In the end, the thing most torn here is not Bond, but the film itself, as it simultaneously runs in two different directions. Of all the Bond films starring Daniel Craig, I am least inclined to watch this embarrassing mishmash a second time.

This review is licensed to SPOIL. “Were you expecting an exploding pen?” Whereas Bond learned to use his memory in Quantum of Solace, now he uses his memories to delve much deeper into his own inner self (which the filmmakers subsequently use to delve deeper into MI6). His journey back to himself typically begins with a descent into the depths (the title sequence from the great beyond) and the subsequent retreat into the darkness (the action scenes contain frequently suspicious falling). Most of the film takes place underground and/or at night, like in one of the good old noir flicks that Mendes quotes from a few times (The Lady from Shanghai, The Third Man). The whole opening action sequence recalls earlier times, serving together with the following minutes as a final farewell to the straightforwardly action-oriented approach that was a guarantee of guilty-pleasure entertainment. That is surely no coincidence, because thanks to its atypical length, excellent gradation and the number of vehicle replacements, the prologue could easily serve as the film’s final attraction. The circular dramaturgy, with the beginning functioning as the end and the end functioning as the beginning, comes to fruition in the final act, which is surprising due to its static nature compared to the extremely dynamic start. ___ The defensive character of the final action sequence has its justification in the next task that Bond is confronted with – he must literally defend his old-fashioned methods against geeks, bureaucrats and the white-haired devil, who wickedly attacks one of the guarantees of the agent’s immortality, namely his manhood, which is thematised throughout the film. The astonishingly subversive (to the heterosexual majority) torture scene lasts an unusually long time compared to previous such scenes, and the homosexual innuendos in it are delivered comprehensibly enough to elicit defensive laughter from cinema-goers. As is customary for ambitious blockbusters, Silva has questionable motivations and it is very difficult to capture the evil of his jellyfish-like character (jellyfish-like shapes can be seen not only in the title sequence, but also during the shadow-play action set in Shanghai) and, at the same time, he is a complete antithesis to the positive protagonist (though he dresses in white, while Bond wears a black suit). He shares a notional mother with the orphaned Bond, and whereas Silva is in the role of the rejected son, James is the prodigal son. Though the name (M) remains the same, the mother is replaced by the father, from whom the fatherland is derived, which explains the greater emphasis on the “Englishness” of the film (the row of coffins draped with British flags, Turner’s painting, the Tennyson quote, the proud shots of London) and in which Bond finds the meaning of his other activities – in service to his country. The archetypal conflict between Cain and Abel is thus added to the motif of the Odyssean journey. The more daring among us could interpret the film as a family melodrama – it is probably the first Bond movie in which we see 007 not only with a bottle of beer, but also with a tear in his eye. As in the previous films, the women are melodramatically presented as victims, though they are no longer entirely passive. ___ Skyfall is rich in meaning not only in psychoanalytical terms (MI6 as the superego, Silva as the dark subconscious and Bond serving as the ego between them), as specialists in cultural studies can surely also find something for themselves in it (this time, the exotic landscapes are replaced by a symbol of modern China and the former colony). Mainly, however, Skyfall is an intelligent psychological-spy thriller. With captivating establishing shots to set the mood, clearly executed action scenes (a pleasant change after Marc Forster’s orgies of editing), non-black-and-white characters and a powerful soundtrack (though it’s a shame about the uneconomical use of John Barry’s musical motif), delightfully unobtrusive allusions to previous Bond films and some other celebrated works of cinema (Bond’s arrival in futuristic Hong Kong is reminiscent of the long car ride in Tarkovsky’s Solaris; the drive to Skyfall is filmed like the prologue to The Shining). The shots between action and reaction, when Bond is only just discovering new locations, best represent the filmmakers’ attempt to bring the agent closer to the real world. The opening shot is repeated multiple times; when we enter uncharted territory with Bond with the camera behind his back, a new world literally opens up before us (and Bond). It can be assumed that 007 will even more openly address the problems of today’s world in subsequent films, after he has dealt with his own private traumas. 90%

This self-laudatory story of the rise and fall of the PolyGram film studio is based on a book by the former head of the company, Michael Kuhn. It is thus no wonder that right from the start we hear from all sides how creative the atmosphere was in the company and how nice it was to collaborate with PolyGram’s management. The testimonies of talking heads, including producers and Jodie Foster (who sued PolyGram for breach of contract in 1996, which is unsurprisingly not mentioned in the film), are interspersed with clips from films such as Wild at Heart, Fargo and Trainspotting, whose creation is supposed to serve as proof of the courage to support unusual projects. The measure of success, however, is revenues, the number of Oscars won and screenings at Cannes (preferably during the opening of the festival). Dozens of other titles that would not fit the image of PolyGram as a progressive company (such as Barb Wire, Kazaam and Spice World) were thus preferably omitted. The story of PolyGram indisputably contains a number of interesting sub-themes (the age-old endeavour of European film producers to compete with Hollywood, the concept of “Cool Britannia”, the importance of film production for large media conglomerates), but these are lost in the repetitive enumeration of successes, motivated particularly by the attempt to convince us that the company’s downfall was an enormous loss for the European film industry and bold independent filmmakers. Formalistic embellishments in the form of animated backgrounds and playful transitions between settings don’t help much. Stories like the one about the necessity of coming up with a different title for the German release of a Michael Winterbottom film so that posters with the word “Jude” on them wouldn’t be plastered up everywhere (again) do actually help, but not many of them are told here, unfortunately.

It would certainly be stimulating to discuss the (viral) marketing of 10 Cloverfield Lane, the 1980s pop-culture references and design (John Hughes), Michelle’s position among other self-sufficient female characters of recent times, the reflection on society’s rising demand for an authoritative leader, or the subversion of the star system by casting John Goodman in a slightly different “dad” role, but for me, this is primarily a textbook thriller that makes maximum use of the information provided within its confined world. Practically every element to which our attention is directed by a longer, close-up or point-of-view shot can be described as compositionally motivated, even though it may at first seem that its purpose is only to amuse us (the infantile shower curtain with a duck motif). Furthermore, in the case of objects that return to the action at greater temporal distance, we are first verbally notified before their involvement in the plot that they have not been forgotten, so that their subsequent use does not feel like a deus ex machina (the bottle of alcohol that Michelle takes from the table when leaving the apartment at the beginning, later mentioned by Howard, and whose star moment comes just before the end). At the same time, the significance of the props is not constant and, for example, the girls’ magazines first notify us that Howard has apparently lost his daughter and are later transformed into part of a staged performance (to reinforce the illusion that Michelle is like Howard’s daughter) and finally into a source of important information that is needed for survival. Every piece of the puzzle is justified sooner or later and it is thus appropriate that even putting the puzzle together turns from being a pastime for the characters into a disturbing clue for the viewer when Emmett ambiguously points out that a few pieces are still missing. And indeed – at the given moment we don’t yet know the whole truth, as will soon become apparent, which makes for a brief, undramatic interlude during which the source of the threat is seemingly lurking just outside. The word-guessing game has a similarly unsettling subtext, using the limiting of the narrative point of view to Michelle – we thus do not know what Howard really knows and, like his two “adopted offspring”, we can’t determine if he’s still playing or maliciously telling them the truth. The seemingly time-killing scene in which Emmett and Michelle talk about their missed chances in life is then absolutely crucial to the film’s meaning, and 10 Cloverfield Lane owes it a lot for the emotionally very powerful and yet – like the whole concept on which the plot is based (three people in a bunker, at least one of whom has a dark secret) – refreshingly simple ending that makes one quickly forget about the unnecessarily spectacular (and, given the tidy confinement of the world in which we had previously found ourselves, disturbing) climax. 85%

A drama with two storylines, an omniscient narrator and clearly defined objective and solidly cohesive dramaturgy? Dialogue handled predominantly with the shot/countershot technique? Softening of violent moments though precise editing? Not this time. Though 12 Years a Slave has been reproached for its conservative classicism, what McQueen adopts from the classic Hollywood style is especially an interest in the human body, which could also be described as an expression of his creative signature. Faithfulness to the original book even at the cost of breaking up the narrative into a number of episodes that are not firmly interconnected, and when one isn’t conditioned by another, was one of the many wise filmmaking choices that resulted in a lacerating cinematic account of the atrocities that whites perpetrated against a race that they considered to be inferior. McQueen’s mastery consists in the way he manages to avoid twisting historical facts in order for them to fit into the bigger story (like Spielberg in Amistad and Lincoln), while providing an extremely intense viewing experience. Thanks to the suppression of dramatic tension and the numerous static shots, the film seems like a series of consecutively arranged images that slowly burrow into the viewer’s memory thanks to the spiral repetition of certain situations and shot compositions. True to his background as a video artist, McQueen does not recount history or turn it into a drama, but instead lets it come alive as if it were happening right now. The protagonist’s hardships are therefore not viewed from the outside. We experience them together with Solomon, through his body, eyes and ears. Throughout the film, we know just as little as he does (for example, we never see the whole ship by which he is transported to New Orleans) and, despite the telling title of the film, we have just as few reasons to believe that he can emerge victorious from the uneven struggle for his own identity. The reduction of life to mere survival and the transformation of a person into an animal (or rather property) are highlighted by the loss of consciousness of spatial and temporal contexts, as we are not informed about the time and place of the events, with the exception of the introduction. In combination with the complete lack of moments providing relief, the abundance of unpleasant shots and images, from which the camera never turns away (the unpleasant shots are also the longest) makes 12 Years a Slave one of the most audacious films of last year. 90%

Try to imagine Beverly Hills 90210 as flawlessly cast and brilliantly paced film noir. 13 Reasons Why has the most in common with the work of Gregg Araki (not only because of the excellent soundtrack that provides commentary on what the protagonists are experiencing), who directed two episodes. The characters include most of the types known from high-school movies since at least Grease (which Tony seems to have come straight out of with his hairstyle and outfit), but the series portrays them with unusual sincerity and perceptiveness, handling them in a rather unpredictable way and viewing their decisions in broader contexts (social and economic), so that in the case of most of them, we better understand why they behave the way they do. ___ The gradual untangling of the tightly woven web of social ties runs in parallel with the revealing of who all contributed to Hannah's suicide, thus bringing about the revelation that no one (including the outsider protagonist or the adults) was actually completely blameless, even though the wrongdoing consisted only in a lack of empathy. The decision to build the whodunit narrative on a melodramatic, slightly emo foundation works also thanks to the fact that Clay gets caught up in the narrative and, during the “investigation”, experiences something similar to what Hannah endured. He essentially becomes her avatar, who does what she can no longer do. On the stylistic level, the interconnectedness of the past and present is reflected in the seamless transitions between “then” and “now” – for example, merely by changing the colour tone (cool colours for the present, warm for the past) – and the graphic continuity of two adjacent shots that are actually separated by several weeks/months (the presence/absence of the scar on Clay’s forehead serves well for orientation in the timeline). The suspenseful nature of the narrative is also aided by the varying degrees of the individual character’s awareness – whereas others have already played all of the tapes and sometimes refer to something that will be explained only several episodes later, Clay remains in the dark (and we along with him). ___ To some viewers, the series, which focuses primarily on themes such as rape, sexism, depression, alcoholism and bullying, may seem exceedingly dark, if not exploitative, but in light of the fact that its creators strive for realism mainly in the development of characters rather than in depicting a fictional world (which is deliberately somewhat of a model) and the story is for the most part told and its direction determined by the main victim of most of the physical and psychological abuse, who finds herself pushed beyond the limits of her possibilities, the chosen tone and naturalism in the depiction of said abuse makes sense (regardless of whether we consider Hannah, in the words of one of the characters, to be a “drama queen”). ___ One more introductory episode in which we would have seen Hannah through the eyes of her classmates would have been appreciated, as it would have later been more apparent that their distorted view of her was due to their ignorance of her circumstances. The suggestions that Hannah was an unreliable narrator and her version of the stories was actually only “one side of the tape” could also have been elaborated upon. Of course, there would have been more to it (the occasionally somewhat cheesy dialogue, Hannah as the embodiment of boys’ fantasies of an unusual, sarcastic and sexy girl), but it is still a stylistically mature, narratively remarkable and, in its comprehension of the issue of teen angst, adult series, and it will take me a while to recover from its devastating finale (by which I don't mean the last few minutes, but the final three episodes).

Spielberg’s boorish variation on Dr. Strangelove (to which Slim Pickens’s character makes a direct reference) is similarly over-the-top as some of the overly ambitious ensemble war movies of the 1960s and ’70s (A Bridge Too Far, Tora! Tora! Tora!, The Longest Day). Compared to those, however, 1941 is well aware of its bombast and, starting with the opening scene in which it parodies Jaws from only four years previous, it makes it clear that the screenwriters and the director adhered to the motto “anything goes”. If “immoderation” remains the keyword throughout the film, it’s in an attempt to revive the anarchic legacy of slapstick and, at the same time, to present a hyperbolised version of what Hollywood usually does with historical facts (in line with the film’s self-deprecating humour, Hollywood is the main target of the Japanese submarine). 1941 is an assuredly false reconstruction of events that occurred (or didn’t occur) in L.A. in February 1942. While the general is watching Dumbo at the cinema, the soldiers are chasing girls and punching each other in the mouth instead of going after the enemy. As evidenced by contemporary reviews, American society was not prepared for this disparaging – “Italian”, if you like – depiction of war. However, disrespect for historical facts is not the film’s main problem (on the contrary, I was pleasantly surprised that Spielberg used American patriotism as a basis for pure farce). What’s more bothersome is the madcap chaining together of variously destructive misunderstandings, which gets old rather quickly due to its monotony, despite the skilful directing, decent tricks and outstanding music (which both ridicules and pays tribute to the soundtracks of serious war movies). There are no characters, let alone a plot line, that would unify the narrative, many of the sketches are drawn out and gratuitous, and overall the film is far less funny than it should/could be on paper. Despite that, it is a remarkable experience to watch 1941 as, for example, an imperfect prototype of current blockbusters, which also pile one attraction on top of another. Spielberg was (unsurprisingly) able to bring the poetics of animated slapstick (and many video games today) into a feature film more successfully only in the animated Tintin, in which the continuous action chaos seems much more organised. 60%

I am reluctant to use the word “complex”, which for me means a film that offers numerous opposing perspectives and ambivalent impressions, which is not the case in Greengrass’s factually concise docudramatic reconstruction, in which he constructs two relatively unambiguous ideological positions (similar to Bloody Sunday), which he pits against each other so that he can offer the intended political statement in the end (threats against Lippestad only bring shades of grey into the narrative, but they are not laid out in greater detail and can also be seen as a means of supporting the argument for the power of democracy, which, regardless of the possible risks, cannot serve only those who deserve it, but everyone). ___ Good versus evil, love versus hate, a deranged individual versus a community which, thanks to mutual support and cooperation following the trauma, can get back on its feet and face evil. With his movements, cold-blooded thinking and belief in his own infallibility, Breivik is reminiscent of a machine. If we learn anything about his motives, it is from his mother’s statement, which the attorney needs because of the trial, or thanks to the fact that he has become a research subject for psychologists. In the scenes from the prison with a predominance of cold colours, he is aggressively set apart from his surroundings by his red shirt. Conversely, through flashbacks and subjective sounds, we “see into the mind” of the traumatised, insecure and vulnerable Viljar and get to know him in a number of situations with his supportive loved ones in which he gives expression to his emotions. We not only observe him, but we experience who he is. Instead of a “traitor”, a “Marxist” or a “member of the elite”, as Breivik blanketly labels his victims, we get to know an actual person and his story. As we are shown through numerous parallels in the way the two figures are depicted, Viljar is not from a certain moment most at risk from the wounds that he suffered, but rather from the possibility that he, like Breivik, is starting to become isolated from others and will stop seeing himself as a member of the broader community.___ The rhythm of the smoothly flowing narrative is masterfully set by the large number of viewpoints between which Greengrass cuts. After the dynamic beginning, which offers a broad variety of rapidly alternating viewpoints, a calming occurs and we watch only Breivik and Viljar for a moment. If the narrative jumps to another character, thanks to the prologue we are already familiar with them and we know what role they play in the web of relationships and what element of Norwegian society they represent. After this slowing down and narrowing of focus, the film also transitions from individual actions, recorded step by step almost in real time, to their more general sociological and political implications. Of course, they still serve mainly to support the arguments employed in the final trial. The whole film is a textbook example of how to apply dialectical logic in practice. It does not try to depict the reality of polarised Europe in all its complexity, but rather as a clash of two principles, which it succeeds in doing in a very factual and extremely suggestive manner. 85%

The naturalness of Linklater’s (or even Rohmer’s?) chatty, strictly rational films has been sidelined in favour of introspection so thorough that it defies rational comprehension, thus making the film more like some of Allen’s excursions into the world of fantasy. In a roundabout way, Delpy brings a Faustian motif into the plot with a sold soul and Vincent Gallo remained himself this time (which doesn’t mean that he was less weird than usual). I see the contradictory conclusion as a logical shift in the protagonist’s development. Furthermore, it is a shift that takes into account the society-wide atmosphere of uncertainty. Marion no longer relies on support from the outside world (i.e. from her partner). She has come to understand that she has to discover redemption within herself. The film’s spiritual level is not prevalent, as it merely extends the story beyond the scope of an independent conversational comedy in an interesting, albeit not entirely elegant way. As in the earlier 2 Days in Paris, the driving force of this sequel is still the aggressive exchanges of dialogue enriched with an element of miscomprehension based on differences in language. The hyperbolised impertinence of the French visitors brings the humour to the edge of tastelessness. They have no inhibitions and remain themselves, which makes them likeable and unbearable at the same time. The same could be said of the film as such, but not of Chris Rock, who surprisingly doesn’t go overboard and whose character turns out to be the most sensible of the whole cast of weirdos. Even when he’s having an impassioned conversation with a cardboard Obama. 75%

Bonus points for trying not to show Africa as a land where undernourished children living in slums wait for Angelina Jolie or Bono to fly in to take photos with them. However, this poetic tribute to the dark continent by a colleague and friend of Roland Emmerich has other flaws. In the manner of Emmerich’s (and Bay's) spectacles, it revels in grand details, repetition of the same shots, slow motion and rapid cuts. It is accompanied by slightly ominous, important-sounding music like that heard in a Hollywood epic. We see only Africans during their tribal rituals. The English translation of the natives’ utterances is inscribed directly into the picture, whereby it becomes an inseparable part of the picture and gains the status of great wisdom that must be written down. The second segment, a portrait of an individual set in Brazzaville, is also made up of shot compositions that mainly sound and look good, regardless of how unnatural their half-art film, half-Hollywood (but hardly African) stylisation seems in the given context. The visually no less aggressive final chapter about wrestlers again works with faded colours and fetishising shots of muscular bodies, and the music is somewhat more belligerent. The informational value is minimal, but the visceral experience may be powerful enough for some to forgive the film for forgetting that it is supposed to be “about something”. The platitudinous statements of the people interviewed do not have much narrative value, nor do they add much to the observational shots with respect to the stylisation, which does not fit very well with what we see and thus does not highlight certain topics (the meaning of the rituals performed, the specific features of African wrestling). On the contrary, it draws attention away from them. 50%