NinadeL

These are the "impeccable" films that have shaped generations. At the beginning, the protagonist declares: "I don't know." And that’s that. It's hard to judge what was decisive at the time, apart from the partnership with Antonioni. It's so simple to elevate indecision to an art. As long as it has a shape. Given the stock market fun and the recycled performance/non-performance by Delon, I consider it average. However, the last thing I want to achieve in life is to live through the entire tetralogy.

If anyone should have adapted the book "Perfume", it was probably only Tykwer, because a book with such a reputation requires a director of his caliber. It's a slight mindfuck in places, but I think it sufficiently rehabilitates the good aspects of modern German culture. Ben Whishaw is properly disgusting, Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman ensured the general public's attention and Corinna Harfouch and Karoline Herfurth added their inimitable faces to the whole.

I never really related to Jarmusch much (based on my experience with the poser-like Dead Man), but thanks to Broken Flowers and especially through his vampire fable Only Lovers Left Alive, I know he has a sense of humor. It's just not humor for everyone. So what's so wonderful about Broken Flowers? Bill Murray, of course. And the whole cohort of beautiful mature women. The tender Julie Delpy, the very sexy Sharon Stone, the fragile Frances Conroy, the refined Jessica Lange, and, last but not least, the wild Tilda Swinton. One can imagine a wonderful parallel to today's The Private Life of Don Juan. I only rarely share the feelings prescribed in the directing explication. I like slow-fading films.

The viewer's experience is somewhat spoiled by the fact that this is the imaginary climax of a trilogy whose first two parts were not released in the Czech Republic. I’m therefore reviewing this separately from them. Given the subject matter, I often thought of Holland's Europa Europa, during the screening, which is quite logical. Von Trier's formal exhibitionism here brings the combination of black and white and color film into the gears of the plot, the claustrophobic setting of the train compartments, so symbolic of the Holocaust, as if the schizophrenia of the first months after April 1945, viewed through the lens of a slightly naive American, were not enough. A challenging emotional film with a slightly surprising denouement.

The Hitchcock of the 1950s mostly includes all those famous films with Stewart and Kelly, and we see both of them in Rear Window right from the get-go. It's not bad. Watching the relationship of a chair-bound spoilsport with his leg in a cast and his efforts to break up with a frilly blonde whose only concern is her starched skirt. Thanks to the microcosm of the pavilion courtyard, this relationship nothing turns into an attractive detective story, and eventually, the relationship of the main characters turns into something worth paying attention to. Quite a pleasant experience, suitable for occasional repeated viewings.

These short story collages on the subject of capital cities are always problematic. After all, Paris after the year 2000 cannot be such a flat city of stories that fail to engage on their own and fit together as a whole. If I didn't take notes, after a few days I wouldn't even remember Tykwer's rather daring romance with Portman and the lovely ending of Payne, in which such a sweetly earthy American woman bade farewell to the city of all cities. Gérard Depardieu was a complete disappointment and what Natali made was absolute crap. 18 fragments are really too much for one film.

A very weak affair. An unimaginative shot-in-the-dark short story, which then as now attracted attention only by a bunch of familiar (but not interesting) names brought together. To start, we have a moment from the witches' coven, Madonna teases, Ione Skye shows her breasts and Valeria Golino is a familiar face, but no one knows her by name nowadays... and this group isn’t able to do anything together. Absolutely nothing. We continue with a story about how the couple has fun letting a busboy peek into their sex games, and yes, Jennifer Beals was and is sexy, but nothing more. Then we witness Rodriguez's prequel to Spy Kids. Okay, then. And the ending? He tries to convince us, in the words of Quentin himself, that Four Rooms is not complete bullshit, but rather that it holds together. That is the biggest mistake of all.

Once upon a time, in late 1941, the first "Wonder Woman" story written by William Moulton Marston was published. A lot of time has passed since then. Personally, I love the whole Amazon Princess series and the Lynda Carter series, and I'll take my pick from the animation too. I've just been slightly nervous since the new Man of Steel about how this thing would turn out. Turns out it was excellent. Last year, Gal Gadot made her debut as Wonder Woman in Dawn of Justice and attracted a lot of attention. Today, we have a film that we’ve been waiting for for 75 years, which manages to combine a long line of views on Wonder Woman’s origin and her sidekicks, incorporate it all into the new DCU, and treat traditional readers and new ones alike to a slice of their favorite concept. It works. Although it is true that purely for the film, WW2 was traded for WW1, the one that was supposed to end all future wars. Patty Jenkins' Wonder Woman is a wonderful experience and IMAX is the perfect place to experience it.

The Allen movies about relationships are all the same. There are heaps of intellectual references everywhere, sharp humor, multiple layers of emotion, your favorite actors, and your favorite topics for conversation and reflection. I often feel like these are not individual films, but episodes of "Woody and his views on women." You have to be in the right mood and have insight into your own relationships in order to be able to follow it. In addition, it features all the "funny" formal tweaks and speeches to the viewer and once again the endless pile of references to Bergman, Fellini, McLuhan, Chaplin, Groucho Marx, Freud, Visconti/Mann... Commenting on these films is more like a sport, and the one who scores the most points is the one who made a mark every time he was supposed to laugh, be moved, or say "aha, I got that too." Menstruation in conversation is also the absolute pinnacle. Every time. Always.

I am delighted that Kristina was indeed able to complete the film and is now experiencing the pleasure of its screening. Roots in Ego is a dream project that proves that whatever goals a person sets for themselves, they can meet fulfil them in the future. But in order for such a dream to be fully free, its financing must also be free. If you have a vision, go after it. It's worth it.