Isherwood

The only sensible move, to say goodbye to the previous installments and build on the ending of the second film, turned out to be quite an intelligent deliverance from the screenwriting retardation of its predecessors. The psychological dissection of Laurie’s character is quite interesting, but not revelatory, although the return of J.L. Curtis to the scene is another bull’s eye. Unfortunately, the director messed it up in the end. Atmospherically, the murders are very charming, a pleasant sense of déjà vu á la Carpenter caresses the viewer's libido, and the scene when Laurie picks up the axe and goes to meet Michael is phenomenal. But who did they put in overalls and a white mask? Michael was, is, and always will be perceived as robust and not as a bore whose creatine-fueled biceps have dissapeared six months after leaving the gym. However, the absolute "WTF?!" moment comes (sorry, spoiler!) when the director makes one camera detail at Michael’s eyes. Those two empty holes, hiding absolute evil, have taken shape and form, and Michael has thus definitively relegated himself to the position of a killer without secrets, who is then impossible to root for. There were some ideas here, and effort, but the result is a contradictory notch in the Halloween series.

When I cried out for any kind of innovation after the fifth installment, I had no idea what a director's innovative approach could do to this film. Joe Chapelle definitely hasn't studied the history of slasher films because Michael mows people down like any other below-average redneck from routine teen murder movies, i.e., unimaginatively. Instead of darkness, epileptic editing flashes at us from everywhere, supported by industrial music with movement insertions in the form of human screams or moans. You could understand this in the mid-nineties (the times are moving forward), but in terms of infantilism, the script once again trumps the previous film. And if we prefer not to look for logic, at least the filmmakers could have chosen some point of contact and brought this theme to some kind of resolution. Unfortunately, we don’t get even that. This film hit rock bottom because, after this, the next two films (so far) can’t get any worse. Donald Pleasence’s bitter farewell. Amen.

It's not complete garbage yet (even taking into account the fact that this is the fifth installment), but the downward trend is quite abysmal. The slasher scenes are quite good, but the chillingly dark tingle on the viewer's nerves is definitely gone. Like the fourth film, this one falls flat due to the script, whose moronic rendition of Michael's return to the game is the least of it. The telepathic plane works only halfway because it loses its purpose in the second half, and the characters mostly behave like incompetent cattle walking towards slaughter led by Michael's hand. It’s too bad that it lacks even the slightest hint of innovation, which would somehow deviate from the model set by the first film, which all the rest followed. All we are left with is a stale routine that does not entertain, let alone frighten.

The craftsmanship is very good, although the basic procedures are copied from the first two films. The same thing happens with the subject matter itself. That wouldn't matter so much if the entire film didn't ride the wave of screenwriting dementia of the highest caliber that not only puts Michael back in the game in the most embarrassing way but also has him going after his own niece. Only the brisk pace and the final point work, whilst the rest is a perfect example of how the series is running out of steam.

The editor of the first film wrote a script, which he then directed, to model a whole new mythology on a pedestal called Halloween, which somehow doesn't include Michael Myers. It's a bold move, especially considering the fact that atmospherically it works quite well (even though it's an unprecedented rip-off of Carpy’s methods). But the plot starts to fall flat after a few minutes, and as the runtime progresses, one of the strangest sequels in the film universe is born. Had this been written and directed by Carpenter, this would have been a 100% notch in his collection of cult B-movies.

In 1981, Carpenter had his hands full with Escape from New York, so he passed the baton of the franchise along with his script to Rick Rosenthal. As a debutant, Rosenthal sometimes had to take inspiration from his teacher (the play with lights and shadows, the use of music, the first-person view), but in terms of suspense, he is able to boldly match Carpenter. Never mind the nagging thoughts about the overly empty hospital or Michael's stamina. Anyone who doesn't get the chills while standing by newborns or taking a hot bath is a major bore. 4 ½.

Commando: Resurrection this is not! The three big explosions swallowed most of the budget, so the rest of the runtime is a blatantly self-serving improvisation (some camera flybys and such), pulled out of the mire of absolute damnation by decent references (Terminator II, Deliverance, Friday the 13th) and a brilliant cast of villains led by the great (!) Robert Patrick, who enjoys the role as much as ever. I don't know whose idea it was to send John Cena out of the wrestling ring and onto the screen, but this mountain of muscle isn't even close to the likes of The Rock, and when you have trouble rooting for him because his opponents are just cooler, it's clear that something is wrong. And the PG-13 rating, no blood... the golden 80.

It’s not a complete disaster, as there is more than enough inventive gore. Yet the soldiers are incredibly stupid, which they indicate in their shitty training, only to confirm it in live action, where they cheerfully put down their weapons and smugly break the basic rules of the unit. To hell with these logical lapses because the director's ineptitude is the main problem. The soldiers chase mutants for an hour and a half without any introduction (the catchphrase "Work is work, family is a secret" doesn't excuse it), so there’s really no need to cheer for this bunch of wannabe cool guys. Moreover, the whole charade is hellishly serious, at times slipping into an unintentional level of self-parody. Aja's insight, which brilliantly spiced up the end of the first film, is very much lacking here. Someone should explain to this German boy scout that Korn documentaries and horror movies are not the same thing.

It’s long, but not long-winded. There are conversations, but it’s not chatty. Fincher is a genius at letting actors stand in front of the camera for two and a half hours and talk about a single subject. However, without a single directorial excess, with only the stylish atmosphere of the 1960s - 1980s span and a very austere Zodiac rampage, the film keeps a steady pace throughout the runtime, and the viewer eventually gets the feeling that the biggest action consists of copying ciphered letters or writing Graysmith's book. Given his previous work, this is a 180° turn, and yet it proves all the more that Fincher's range of skills still offers (especially in the future) many pleasant surprises for the audience.

Spatial animation suits the turtles quite well, although nostalgia still calls for a classic visual coat somewhere in the corner. The problem, in my opinion, is more in the plot peripeteia regarding the brotherly struggle, which puts the two oldest ones in the crosshairs, to the point that the youngest members are left out so much that they become just useless pawns without any justification. The second storyline with the rescue of N.Y. and the whole world along with it is much more straightforward, more nimble, and, most importantly, provides room for absolutely thrilling action. We don’t see that very often in animation, and especially the brotherly battle in the rain or the final fight against the Foot clan will warm the hearts of action lovers. As a result, it's a nice film for a single watch that definitely won't offend and is more than an obvious choice for ideal relaxation.