Isherwood

A brilliant thriller with the protagonist’s wonderfully elaborated paranoia, the logic of a conspiracy thriller worked out to the last detail, and last but not least, a nice dose of black-humored trivialization, through which Hitchcock ironically winks at the viewer every now and then. It’s formally impeccable (the cinematography belongs in textbooks!), the acting is spot on (Cary Grant delivering cool lines with icy calm and Eva Marie Saint as the femme fatale is absolutely amazing), and on top of that, the tension builds up to the fabulous ending on Mount Rushmore. A flawless film that reflects the image of one thing only - pure genius!

This sweetly naive anti-agitprop of the American nuclear program desperately lacks a sharper push in the main aspect, the overgrown ants, of which there are woefully few for an average runtime, although the artwork is impressive even decades later. The ants’ their squealing doesn’t stop the audience's hearts like it did in 1954, but the interplay of machine guns, flamethrowers, and grenades is much more so dead weight in the form of tired dialogue and technical lectures on the subject of "ants." For once, the fear of crowd panic, the distraction of intrusive journalists, or some sort of development of the relationship between the racy biologist and the shrewd fed does not come to fruition. Without a dose of these (for the genre) necessary clichés, the film was not destined to be more than an average monster movie that is neither thrilling nor entertaining. This A-grade production (technically, the film is one of the highlights of the era) should have been directed by someone more sophisticated, thus making it a cult "guilty pleasure" hit! Unfortunate.

Annaud's vision of prehistory is what it most likely was - harsh, unkempt, uncompromising, and cruel. His precise direction, together with the work of the utmost concentrated actors, who had to make do with basic sound and expression instead of words, create an absolutely unique and unrepeatable atmosphere. In it, in addition to the simple plot, there is also room for a few lighter moments, through a few poetically-tuned sequences to absolutely fascinating experiences, among which I must definitely count the encounter with a herd of mammoths. An unusual but all the more impressive viewing experience!

A well-written (especially the dialogues about crime and its consequences), clearly and imaginatively directed (the voyeuristic camera, the oppressive atmosphere of a "survival thriller"), and well-acted adventure for men. It lacks a faster pace in spots but overall is a strongly impressive affair, in which the absence of music (except for the guitar-banjo part) and one unbelievable rape are also noteworthy. An excellent film, after which a trip to the forest will never be the same again.

The bizarreness of Cronenberg's world in full effect. The intertwining of time planes, the predilection for death and autopsies, and the insatiable inevitability of mutual sexual attraction. Unfortunately, it all comes to naught thanks to the jovially- contrived screenplay which, with its final point, does not outsmart the viewer, but rather itself, by arriving a day late and a buck short, when the viewer was already expecting the same outcome for the umpteenth time. Although tangible, the author's idea to show the world his attitude toward computer games is nevertheless reprehensibly underdeveloped.

Bad Boys meets Collateral in Mann's most personal audiovisual fetish of his career to date. The film pumps atmosphere out of overshot testosterone (the perfectly flashy "look," the tough talk), only to then laboriously wring it out in adrenaline-fueled action that, while desperately scarce, is among the most thrilling Mann has made so far. The experiments with the digital medium are still questionable but he should be commended for his courage to use them in a purely mainstream matter for a general audience. Farrell and Foxx are a textbook example of a male friendship, but in terms of the personal lives of their great loves, the director could have put some more intimate words in their mouths, which are more important in such a moment than a formal debate in the form of amorous glances and sexual lust. Even so, it is a delicate spectacle, with a crime plot sufficient for an episode of a series presented in the form of the fluffiest cotton candy, which you quickly eat and only then realize that it was actually amounted to nothing.

A scripturally-neutered remake that completely disrespects the basic premise of the original film and bases the entire plot on a cheap crime-thriller that is sorely lacking in the mysterious atmosphere created by strange folk-song interludes and witty dialogue full of the conflicting mindsets of a forged Christian and a pagan community. Cage's cop Edward Malus is just a dry psychological sketch of all the menial clichés (the trauma of being on duty, the constantly recurring flashbacks), and at no point does the director dare to deviate from this template. Out of respect (in this case, however, it is a proper mockery) for the original, it sticks to the original outcome, but the final explanation is (like most of the "thematic" dialogues) just a bunch of pseudo-philosophical bullshit about harmony with nature. Unfortunately (not only because of the overacting actors but also because of the overall stupidity of the performance), it makes your ears bleed with every second word. Cage must have raked in most of the $40 million budget for his role because the poetically picturesque cinematography comes across as very cheap kitsch and overall it's a lame piece of trash that makes most people avoid the original rather than be impressed by it.

The initial above-average horror atmosphere is unfortunately diluted towards the end by incredibly stupid screenwriting shenanigans that try to retroactively explain everything that has already been said or the viewer could have guessed. Moreover, at certain points, some of the questions could have remained unanswered. Director McKee is clearly not a progressive experimenter, given that his formal methods are time-tested but surprisingly functional here without finding unnecessary inspiration (except for Raimi's Evil Dead, but that's brilliantly exaggerated in a scene where Bruce Campbell searches a shed for a tool to destroy animated trees). The set design in the style of a more expensive TV movie is up to snuff this time, and the grateful setting of the girls' school also bears fruit. The casting committee had a really lucky hand, and the chorus of old virgin teachers in particular is absolutely spot on. I'm going to give it a little extra.

Uncompromisingly unrelenting from the first seconds, larger-than-life in the action moments with thrilling special effects, and always eases up at the right moment. This is a thriller that is unparalleled in the spy subgenre in recent years (except for the Bourne films, which are in a completely different league). Abrams's direction is like a Swiss watch. It doesn't get stuck even in the more intimate scenes of the engaged secret agent (the return home after a failed operation is one of the most moving parts of the film) and thanks to the brilliant casting, it doesn't slip into theatricality even at its weakest moments. Oscar-winner Phillip Seymour Hoffman is a cold-blooded asshole like no other, Ving Rhames sprinkles dry catchphrases, Michelle Monaghan plays more than just a "damsel in distress," and even Tom Cruise is watchable, though he strikes his usual pose here as well. Even so, Mission: Impossible III is the best possible film for a single watch that can see the light of day from the waters of the standard Hollywood mainstream.

The basic "Punch the Roman Legion in the face!" premise of the Asterix and Obelix series is gone, and with it, the magic of its predecessors (I'll tactfully omit the live-action version). The whole scheme of the story has been whittled down to the combat training of the chief's metrosexual nephew and a bunch of Vikings standing on the opposite side wanting to learn fear. However, the plot as a whole lacks the more vigorous spark that would really bring it to the top of the Mount Olympus of entertainment. The layering of gags represents the most uncontrolled dose of un-inventive despair that can possibly be produced. Everyone knows that Obelix likes wild boars and that the magic potion also works wonders on old men, so why do the creators bother with it? In essence, the fact is that these are the only "jokes" we get to see. The rest is the desperate filler that can be seen in every other cartoon these days. The attempt at modernization (the trance party and the song interludes are annoying) has exactly the opposite effect and pushes the film beyond the point of awkwardness, from which it cannot recover. The legend may have been buried years ago with the live-action version, but the cartoonists are doing their best to kill it even more...