Marigold

A phenomenal affair that devotes unusual care to keep the process of the century and the media circus in a social context, all whilst portraying Simpson from several different angles. As a result, the Juice phenomenon is clearly unmasked as a mixture of the American dream, racial tension, hobbies in masterful self-presentation, and other ingredients that have led to surprising social reactions in the contemporary context. Edelman's documentary thus functions as a character study, a judicial and social chronicle, which naturally raises disturbing questions about the abuse of race and justice in dealing with animosities much deeper than one unexplained double murder. Captivating.

Four stars out of love for Caesar and out of respect for Matt Reeves' courage to make a film that is largely based on silence, gestures and slowness. Unfortunately, the attempt not to rush the culmination of the trilogy leads to the film completely sleeping through it. A strong opponent such as Koby is missing (and therefore the film must also evoke him at certain points, at least as a phantasm), and Woody Harrelson is very doll-like. It’s a bit of an easy template, a light version of Colonel Kurtz deprived of real demons. The introductory part is also captivating thanks to the inventive minimalism of Michael Giacchino and Seresin's detailed camera with variable depth of field. Unfortunately, the prison break in the second half drags on - it lacks energy and the supporting dilemma. The unraveling itself is imaginative and in the key of the entire trilogy, but the promised ape-apocalypse is not nearly as fatal and overwhelming as the trilogy imaginatively transmitting humanity to the monkeys deserves. The triumph is the incredibly detailed and precise animation and the acting of everyone involved. A slight disappointment. [70%]

As a director, Taylor Sheridan is looking to find his own style and optimal storytelling rhythm, but as a screenwriter he excels once more. As in Sicario and Hell or High Water, he creates another rough space that seems to exist outside of our reality. And just like in Sicario, he brings a somewhat naive woman into it who needs a guide and initiators to survive here. This means that an orthodox supporter of feminism will not find what they are looking for in Wind River. Wyoming in this film is above all a place for mourning, despair and vanishing traditions, a snow canvas of misery and surrender, a land of hunters and trackers, in which women disappear without a trace. Sheridan incorporates a personal story of reconciliation into the detective-thriller, about the acceptance of a world in which "happiness lives in cities" and people outside of them have at most enough time to mourn and fall into despair. Jeremy Renner is admirable, economical as a hunting beast, and vulnerable when he loses the scent. This is the best performance of his career, I have no doubt about that. Sheridan is slowly preparing the background for the last act, which does not culminate in a shootout or harsh retrospective, but a final dialogue in which everything essential is hidden. It’s about people who live on the land that has been stolen from them losing their bond with their ancestors. They have no vision of a better future, only the sorrow that needs to be accepted. Wind River is a melancholic film-portrait of a place, a more action-based genre version of Manchester by the Sea. Sheridan writes words, landscapes and characters that touch me deeply. It’s an eternal pity that the Czech viewer will not get to see Wind River in the distribution...

Ben Young has to formally simulate the intensity of the experience rather than actually achieve it. The potentially harrowing drama turns into a rather empty and apathetic shape in his hands, from which stand out mainly the acting and loud sound design. But after Snowtown, which is a class better, I wouldn't turn this murderous ballad into a big event.

Television level, but thematically very relevant - Silhol is unlucky in that Stephane Brizé dealt with a similar topic much better in The Measure of a Man, and of course Dardenni surpasses him by several levels with Two Days, One Night. Especially at the end, his film is more reminiscent of conscientious research of a subject with an instructive moral climax. But the performance of Céline Sallette and Lambert Wilson gives it the energy it needs.

Subtle, relatively elegantly built, convincing acting. A film that works with the thesis that a shared emotional attachment to a missing third party can sometimes be stronger than sexual orientation. I appreciate the way Graizer avoids the pitfalls of melodramatic clichés and pathos, leaving some essential areas open (a wonderful episode with a mother). Above all, Tim Kalkhof carries the film with his robust figure, but also with his extremely subtle and modest acting. Bittersweet piano etudes - it's a genre and I respect the genre. In this form for sure. Kosher approved.

If you have beat, you don't yet have a film. It can be a thrilling ride at full throttle, but it also puts the engine in neutral toward the end. The problem with the lack of story and dull characters eventually drives it off the road.

Vít Klusák made his method something I would call a "lazy and cowardly docu-arrangement". Choose an antisocial whose manifestations are on the verge of mild mental retardation, let him replay (I can't shake the impression that Daliborek is playing himself poorly) episodes that feel like Extreme Family type exploitations (but without admitted ridicule through voice over), create a panopticon saying nothing, etc. I just don't think it's anything bold, revealing and provocative. As a result, The White World According to Daliborek reveals nothing but an annoying exhibition of a bald mama's boy. I would probably forget about it. I've wasted my time with worse bullshit. But the arranged Auschwitz ZOO with the director's moral stepping out in front of the camera... that’s an insurmountable mistake to me. Klusák directs the weak-hearted idiot for an hour and a half, so that in the end he can give him a moral slap and thus cancel the last hint that this documentary has some concept and observational value. It doesn't. It is a weak conglomeration of meaningless nonsense and excesses that does not function either as a character study or as a documentary about the radical thinking of ordinary people. That the audience laughs amusedly and arrogantly speaks much more about the level of society-wide debate than about the qualities of the documentary. For the first time ever, I am reporting Klusák's fail. And it really is colossal.

Michael Bay has finally eradicated even the last remnants of his greatest enemy: logic. He serves us a divine 151 minutes of eclectic spewing of unspoken / discontinuous motifs. This is finally an abstraction that was only in its infancy in the previous half-timing hypnagogic installation. A spectacular ADHD attack that begins at the end and then progresses to an admitted self-parody. At the same time, it contains the mutated bacteria of several films, which the director's feverishly working mind will never allow to overcome the embryonic stage and moves on. Bay's ability to move in the narrative chaos and find a robotic order in it is liberating to surreal. Finally! The first film that gives the impression that it was created by a combination of a random generator of trending motifs and a wonderfully ill human mind. It may seem like a recession on my part, but I mean it. Compared to Transformers 5, other blockbusters feel like a careful game of certainty. I couldn't tear myself away from this eruption of confusing, yet strictly arranged shapes; I wasn't bored for even a second. The best, most detached and strangest Bay film. I urge anyone who gives it five stars to call me on the secret line. I will pass them on silently to Witwicky. They are the people of the future. Or the people of a world that will never happen. Robots write human history and chat with John Turturro on Cuban beaches. All the power to imagination and Optimus!

A tragic mess. A film that catches a thousand flying shrapnel with a leaky net. Not a character study, not a chilling drama, not a scathing satire, a little crazy comedy, a little politics of war, a little bit of seriousness, a little good acting and a lot of unease, awkwardness and unglued statements that contradict each other. Paradoxically, it constantly arouses curiosity by constantly changing moods, positions and tones, but the unraveling frustrates in the wrong way. Michôd tries to capture the emptiness of the war machinery, but his film is as off as the big-mouthed general in question.