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Netflix unleashed Michael Bay and gave him (within its limits) apparent freedom with all of the good, and bad, which that entails. So, here we have a film that generally does not make much sense and lacks coherence and causality. However, that is quite possibly due to the fact that Bay simply blew most of the budget on the best action sequences of (not only) his filmography. The introductory scene in Florence is a formal and logistical masterpiece, for which it would be difficult to find an equivalent in terms of topographic breadth, variety of formal elements, the number of production ideas, and the narrative and spatial trajectories of the individual characters, as well as the detailed planning and shooting. It may seem that Bay has become enchanted with the style of Tony Scott’s late creative period, but that is not entirely true. As a devotee of superficiality, Bay never slips into genuine experimentation with alternating formats and framerates. He merely adopts the concept of a cubist collage of scenes, which allows him to flawlessly map a particular moment, whether action or the state of mind and mood of the characters. At the same time, he discards the existing definition of a money shot as the single moment with which an entire sequence culminates and instead stitches together dozens of such scenes one after the other or, better said, for each moment of action, he finds the most perfect field of view, from which he creates the money shot. Everything is subordinated to the maximum wow effect, not only at the level of the overall collage, but also of its individual fragments. Bay stages breathtaking, logistically demanding shots with several action plans (which is true of both large units and numerous half-details) and with tremendously well-thought-out filling of the frame with movement and energy. It is reminiscent of the aesthetics of John Woo at his absolute creative peak (think Hard Boiled), just hypertrophied into a wild chase through the historic centre of a European metropolis instead of shoot-outs in studio interiors. ____ The rest of the film typically does not offer anything to match the opening sequence; rather, it comprises mainly static dialogue scenes and action sequences set in spatially limited locations. Let’s also acknowledge that, in many respects, 6 Underground is a painful illustration of its director’s limitations, whether in the overarching bombastic idea that only a dandyish billionaire can save the world from evil or in the inability to depict the suffering of war refugees in a manner other than embarrassing kitsch. All masters have their limitations and some are not even respectable people, but that does not diminish their virtuosity in their respective fields. 6 Underground is a bombastic project not just because of Bay, but largely because that is exactly what Netflix wanted from him in order to show off in grand style. Despite the impression of its own uniqueness, Netflix merely repeats what Cannon Films did a few decades previously and the main B-movie studios did long before that, when they attracted distinguished filmmakers to join them with the promise of absolute creative freedom, so that they could earn respect in Hollywood while feeding their distribution platforms with filler trash flicks. Just like those predecessors, Netflix will also turn out a handful of top-rate productions among its original projects, as well as quite a few half-baked films which, conversely, would greatly benefit from the intervention of a producer and script editor. However, 6 Underground raises the question of whether it is actually a badly made film as a whole or, conversely, a perfect product of Netflix algorithms. Due to its episodic narrative and frequent recapitulations, it does not work according to standard dramaturgical rules, but it is perfectly suited for fragmented viewing on mobile devices on the way to work. It is also evident that the entire project is intended to be the start of Netflix’s own blockbuster franchise. After this spectacular kick-off, let’s hope that Netflix approaches it in a similar manner as Mission: Impossible once did and hire a new director with a distinctive style or approach to the genre for each subsequent instalment. ____ Either way, the fact remains that Bay put forth his audio-visual masterclass here and 6 Underground will go down in the history of the genre. And so what if that’s thanks only to a single sequence in an otherwise forgettable film. After all, it will not be the first in that respect; it suffices to recall Bullitt (or, better said, let someone try to remember anything from that film other than the iconic car chase).

Like all heavy-metal horror movies that are taken seriously, this wonderfully shot and stylishly engaging spectacle is also very ridiculous. Fortunately, unlike The Devil’s Candy in many respects, ridicule can be a part of an intense viewing experience in every aspect. The self-regarding myth of the troubled artist and her epic vision is interwoven with the hyper-stimulating antithesis of Only Lovers Left Alive and a dully superficial variation on Abel Ferrara’s The Addiction, which as a whole is alternately annoying and likable. But just when you get over the unbearableness of the main character and the ethos of the entire work connected with it, Bliss can be a fun ride even if you are not part of the obvious target audience, which the film will take as confirmation of its own exceptionalism and status of being misunderstood. Black Panther would say “evacuate all logic, engage all senses and next time get this man a proper screenplay,” because director Joe Begos is obviously an outstanding filmmaker who should finally stop copying his favorite models, though he does that staggeringly well.

A sad story about how a promising director gets a job for a mid-budget action flick but, because she has a worthless screenplay, entirely hopeless casting and inadequate production facilities, the film inevitably bombs and she doesn’t get another chance. At the same time, there was potential, and the basic concept of relating Punisher to earlier works on which it was based and coming up with a comic-bookishly exaggerated film,in which there would be properly caricature-ish schematic characters and slapstick violence, could have been a necessary shot in the armfor this unfortunate series. But in order for it to work, it would be necessary to cast in the lead role an actor whom you wouldn’t spend the whole time mistaking for someone discovered in a commercial for grey Primalex paint orthinking that the assistant director forgot to recall the main character's stand-in from his spot. It would also help if it pressed hard on the gas where style is concerned. The gloominess is fine, but when it lacks color, it simply merges into anonymous black – that’s why the Ninja Turtles are green and eat pizza so that their home in the sewer has a bit of flair, whereas Punisher’s underground lair, with its seamlessness, gives the impression that the production company forgot to hire someone to design the set and the lighting designer “rescued” everything at the last moment. War Zone is riddled with a lot of similar things where a little was enough and could have been better. On the other hand, the introductory sequence of a visit to a mafia get-together, abounding with exhilarating Pollock-esque creativity, shows that this could have been a lot of fun, if...

After the excellent Sinners & Saints, William Kaufman merely proves to be a capable craftsman with One in the Chamber, but he is far from having sufficient resources to in any way elevate this cheap Eastern European production. If, however, the subject matter had found its way into the splendour of, say, Europa Corp. (at the time of its greatest creative glory, i.e. at the time when there was still room for mid-budget action films on DVD and, to some extent, in cinemas), itcould have not only come up with a better screenplay, but would also have given it more adequate production and performers. Kaufman tries to do as much as he can, but with such a low budget and collection of Eastern European faces, he simply cannot work miracles. One in the Chamber lacks that which made Sinners & Saints a revelation – elaborate action scenes and the time and resources to shoot them. Dolf Lundgren goes through the motions, though with his charisma he easily upstages everyone else, while Cuba Gooding, Jr. confirms his status as the Steven Seagal of the new millennium – although he has better acting skills than the man marked for death, he still remains the walking question mark at the end of the question “Who bet with whom in Hollywood that he could be turned into an action star?”

How to transform your own frustration and annoyance into a creative outburst. Angry underground director Damon Packard reckons with Hollywood in his own way and remixes behind-the-scenes material from the Star Wars prequel trilogy into an amusingly outraged alternate universe. If he was that nasty to Lucas, what would his version of shooting the new trilogy look like? We can only speculate about that, as the Disney mega-corporation carefully guards what it lets out from behind the scenes, and Packard would thus not have had enough material to butcher.

An ambitious video genre film that would rather dazzle with passages depicted in a DIY manner than with trashy motifs. Its creators were lucky to be sponsored in the production area by Shapiro-Glickenhaus Entertainment, who were even more ambitious in the context of B-movie productions of the time, because Corman, for example, would have thrown them out straightaway with this nerdy display of practical effects. However, the market demanded it, and Moontrap is thus lodged in the memory also due to the eye-catching inclusion of superficial attractions and how the hell to get some nudity and shooting into a sci-fi film about two astronauts. Otherwise, the expected is confirmed, i.e. Bruce Campbell has charisma to burn, while Walter Chekov Koenig is a hopeless bore. However, thanks to the elements described above, Moontrap has a great atmosphere and thus remains a likable and, at its core, original contribution among the naïve, trashy sci-fi movies of the video era.

If you really want, you can see a grandiose Godot-esque absurdist joke in this film, but it is more appropriate to admit that Star Worms II is simply a very ordinary mess with no hint of anything that would place the film beyond the definition of moving pictures (thought that is successfully called into question in the case of a number of scenes). After sitting through a few minutes of this work, it will come as no surprise that its maker, Lin Sten, never shot anything else, but at the same time it is obvious that Troma’s marketing department was paid handsomely. The film is taken beyond the realm of classic VHS trickery by the knitting together of such a magnificent trailer from this shit and the cutting out of such an attractive cover that some poor wretches actually rented it at video-rental shops. In fact, it’s possible to think of the trailer as the main work, which has lasting value, not only as mandatory study material in the field of marketing, while the scrum of shots crammed together into a feature-length film takes on a role of secondary interest at the level of a behind-the-scenes or blooper reel.

Çetin İnanç is the grand vizier of cinematic recycling and a genius of haphazard dadaism.

This admittedly pulpy attempt to synthesise Start Wars and Mad Max into an epic adventure could have resulted in an outstanding film if the screenplay and direction had been just a bit better. However, it didn’t result in ahopeless cock-up from the ranks of Italian and Filipino imitators of those pop-culture milestones. It is simply a solid genre film that is rightfully half-forgotten, yet passionately exalted by its fans. Ivan Reitman, who is inadequately associated only with his mainstream comedies, follows up his previous production work in the area of self-indulgent adoration of limp heroic stories. As with Heavy Metal, he consciously lent his auspices to a dime-store sci-fi adventure that by no means denies its inspirations and has excellent art direction, as well as enough of its own ideas to warm the hearts of more than a few fans of postapocalyptic films. Though it is clear that the relevant professionals put more work into the art direction, costumes and scenography than the script and direction could put to use in individual scenes, particular instances on this post-apocalyptic planet are impressive with their opulent and straightforward pulpiness, as will as with the impression of an elaborate world that could offer countless other escapades.

Deep Murder is a detective film in the best tradition of Agatha Christie, only set in the world of mainstream porn (though not connected with porn), or what classic porn characters dream about when they’re not sleeping with someone. The concept, as if derived from an SNL or Key and Peele sketch and extended to feature length, surprisingly manages to work throughout the duration of the film thanks to the fact that the creators delve into the individual absurd aspects of the bizarre logic of pornography clichés. From boudoir lighting through the illogical spatial layouts of the house to perfectly nuanced acting, Deep Murder shows not only a thorough familiarity with the aesthetics of mainstream American porn, but also the ability to push it just that tiny, necessary bitto the level of perfect caricature. Though the humour found here is a blend of superficial hollowness, Brechtian absurdism and fierce caricature brought to the level of retarded nonsense and definitely does not suit everyone, Deep Murder is set to become a cult film in the true and original sense of the journey of a glorified handful of true believers.