Matty

Angelo is a film that only sporadically allows us get close to the characters. At the same time, it never receives their gaze, as it follows them with neutral shots throughout its runtime. This is most apparent during dialogues, which basically are not handled by means of standard cuts from one speaker to the other. We look in only one direction. Instead of being drawn into the picture by the shots/counter-shots, we remain in the position of impartial observers. This observational style, with which Schleinzer previously worked in Michael, underscores the central theme of human objectification. Angelo is exhibited at first. He later begins to appear on his own, but he portrays a learned role that is not a reflection of his true identity, but rather of the distorted (stereotypical) ideas about African culture held by white people (who, through this “colonisation of the mind”, by subordinating foreign elements to their own ways of representation, assert their dominance – therefore, the protagonist’s gaining of independence is the worst sin that he can commit). Depersonalised static shots à la tableaux vivants (contemporary fine art also associates natural lighting and a well-considered choice of colours of the environment and costumes) make the film difficult to access, but, at the same time, the distinctively elliptical narrative with a large number of hints that retroactively give meaning to certain scenes, forces us to fully engage with it. From these two opposing movements that the film requires from the viewer, a special dynamic arises, due to which, together with subversive anachronisms in the mise-en-scène, strict division into chapters and very cynical pointing scenes, Angelo is not a boring film despite its slow pace, but rather a very stimulating work that entices the viewer to watch it again. 90%

The Magic Life of V is an unusually compact drama that completely blurs the line between documentary and fiction (and with respect to how well it works as a result, I find it unnecessary here to address where the raw recording ends and the staging begins). Some compositions are at the level of Roger Deakins and the story develops as a standard psychological drama, enhancing the characterisation of the female protagonist, conveying a limited set of motifs and culminating with an unpleasant confrontation and subsequent catharsis. The main protagonist, twenty-five-year-old Veer, moves between the fictional worlds of larping, where the film takes on the perspective of larpers and transforms into a fantasy or suspenseful survival horror movie, and reality, where she struggles with a mentally ill brother as well as with depression and anxiety – the consequences of a traumatic childhood with her father, a violent alcoholic. I see the film’s primary benefit in the perceptive examination of the possible therapeutic effects of playing games and wearing masks, activities that are otherwise often disparaged by the general public. One of the film's most emotional moments, in which I found myself more than I would have liked, occurs in the dialogue scene when Veer expresses her hope that escaping into fiction and creating alternate identities would one day no longer be a necessary means of self-preservation, but merely a simple source of pleasure. At the same time, I believe that in order for The Magic Life of V to appeal to you in the same way, you needn’t know anything about LARP or be a gamer. All you need is a bit of empathy (and perhaps a weakness for breathtaking panoramas of snow-covered landscapes). 90%

Regardless of the extent of Welles's control over the final form of the film (or rather its various versions), I consider Touch of Evil to be his crowning achievement. In terms of its composition and narrative, this dynamic noir story about the fall of a police captain, told almost in real time and reminiscent of a horror monster flick with its cold-blooded action, appearance and method of shooting, is an exemplary model of “pure cinema”. Working with several plans of action, suggestive high-contrast shadow play, fluid tracking action and camerawork that responds flexibly to the changing positions of the characters (thanks to focusing our attention through the placement of the characters, changes in the size of the given shot and reframing, key scenes in the film can last several minutes without having any effect on the pace of the narrative), precise and frequently ironic and sometimes deliberately discontinuous editing – all of this contributes to the fact that the style not only draws attention to itself (without disturbing the realistic and, in places, even documentary-like veristic nature of a number of scenes), but mainly bears meaning, strengthens the story and contributes to an atmosphere of permanent danger from which there is no escape (even in scenes shot in large chunks, emphasising the isolation of the protagonists). The bleakness helps to elevate the antagonist to the level of a central and truly fascinating character. Conversely, Vargas and his mistress are relatively one-dimensional melodramatic characters who mainly want to break out of the limbo in which they got trapped due to the initial explosion (however important that is for the film’s liberal impression and its theme of the boundaries between various real and imaginary spaces, they are a mixed couple). Whether you see it for the first time or for the eighth time, Touch of Evil can surprise you with its violation of Hollywood genre conventions, stylistic ingenuity and the fact that it does not give the impression of being cold and artificial (otherwise, it probably would not have become a classic). There is nearly no single “ordinary” shot in the film (though it is very probable that this involves a pick-up shot over which Welles did not have control). I am not aware of many equally honest and engaging textbook examples of how to tell a story with images. 95%

First Reformed is a return to Bresson not only by thematicising personal responsibility for the state of the world (the basic outline of the plot is essentially Diary of a Country Priest, while the ecological line is reminiscent of Bresson’s sceptical later films), but also in its rigorous minimalistic style. The academic format, almost monochromatic picture (Schrader originally wanted to shoot in black-and-white), restrained acting, repetitive editing techniques (each disturbance tells us something important or redirects our attention) and composition (transitioning from symmetrical, after the protagonist begins have doubts, to asymmetrical). Only the camera moves exceptionally. Though First Reformed is a serious and slow film of extraordinary formal rigidity, it does not come across as ponderous thanks to its thriller framework and the raising of questions that are relevant to the period (without having a critical tone along the lines of “Old Man Yells at Cloud”). Even though the film has an “old-fashioned” confessional nature, an inspiring tension arises between the diary-style voice-over and what we see. Toller is constantly waging a battle between his thoughts and that which he can express out loud in his position. While writing in his diary, he promises that he will not conceal or omit anything, but he soon rather prefers to destroy certain diary entries. The content of others (the last entries) is hidden from us for a change. As a priest, Toller has a certain social role. He serves others and as such feels responsible for the state of the world and slips into disillusionment and alcoholism because he is not able to change anything. He is roused from his passivity only by meeting a man who does not want to bring a child into the world because of environmental destruction. By presenting the dilemma between private thoughts and public actions, First Reformed differs from Taxi Driver, Schrader’s previous drama about the suffering of a man disgusted by society, from which he openly quotes at least during a drive at night. In a fascinating way, Schrader’s screenplay and Hawke's focused acting express Toller’s slow transformation, which is simultaneously a descent into darkness and an ascent into the higher realms of being (transcendence). At the beginning, he advises Michael to live for that which transcends man, but at the end he realises the inadequacy of the fact that the church deals with spiritual matters and the afterlife instead of the problems of the present. He finds inner peace only after taking a decision on how he will respond to global warming, a loss of interest in religion (his sermons are usually attended by approximately five people; the church serves rather as a souvenir shop) and the radicalisation of young people. For the first time, he does not spend the evening alone with a glass of whiskey, but in a restaurant, where he eats fish. At the same time, a conversation with Michael raises the central idea of life as a search for a balance between despair and hope. Michael at first embodies despair, Toller hope. Later, their positions become complicated. The ambiguous (or dual) ending offers both despair and hope. It shares enough for the film to be satisfactorily concluded, but not so much that you won’t spend a few days thinking about what exactly Schrader is saying in one of his best films, which can be viewed as the stylistic and thematic peak of his work to date. 90%

Visages, villages is a celebration of the French countryside, teamwork and street art. With her fifty-years-younger and thirty-centimetres-taller colleague, Agnès Varda visits places that tell stimulating stories (about people, unemployment, the transformation of the landscape and the demise of the countryside) and allows them to speak by means of large-format photographs. The people they encounter are both the objects and co-creators of their works. They are not primarily interested in isolation, devastation and industrialisation, but rather in the joy of life and the possibility of creative comprehension of reality. They do not want to criticise and do not seek systemic solutions to problems; as conceptual artists, they “only” change the optics through which we view the world around us. Although they are separated by two generations, both of them have their own unrelenting enthusiasm and desire to discover and create. They always respond to the particular environment and intersperse the stories of others with their own (an eye examination, a running gag with sunglasses, excerpts from Varda’s earlier films), which appealingly lends an improvisational and unpredictable character to the film, which could have turned out to be a monotonous series of site-specific stopovers. The film culminates with a “meeting” with Godard that takes the trajectory of the narrative in a completely unexpected direction, which, however, Varda is able to use to the film’s benefit. Her reaction is another expression of the central theme of the documentary – how we see things (people, walls, buildings, ports) is more important than what they actually are. Agnès Varda’s perspective is empathetic, playful and joyful and without a hint of falseness, which makes Visages, villages one of the best feel-good films of recent years. 90%

In its ability to capture the importance of a certain moment in a young person's life, Eighth Grade is as comparably convincing, sincere and unsentimental as Call Me By Your Name (the monologue delivered by the character of the father also ranks among the highlights of both films). Don’t expect a teen comedy. The film is mainly a drama, sporadically sensitive in its approach to the main heroine and occasionally humorous. Many films merely talk about the need to be oneself. Eight Grade understands that need and shows how terribly difficult it is to accept oneself, to overcome the fear of being embarrassed, of not being cool enough. Age does not play such a role. Some people still experience a battle between their nature and peer pressure even after reaching adulthood. Burnham’s feel for the nuances of the life of the socially anxious internet generation and his understanding for one slightly timid girl of above-average intelligence are exceptional and I hope that he will make more empathetic portraits of young protagonists like this one (or Lady Bird, The Edge of Seventeen or The Diary of a Teenage Girl). This is a film with which I definitely want to spend more time and appreciate more how it involves the soundtrack in the storytelling and how cleverly it works with, for example, the interaction of the main protagonist and her surrounding environment (by means of subjective sound and the size and sharpness of the shots), thanks to which we perceive and experience the surrounding reality just as she does. And, without any exaggeration, Elsie Fisher should be nominated for an Oscar. 90%

Koreeda further develops the theme of alternative family models that do not depend on blood relations, but rather on what is shared by those involved (he again works a lot with taste memory here) and whether they feel comfortable and safe together. At the same time, the film shows, but by no means excuses, the dubious foundations of some interpersonal ties. The members of the “family” are united not only by love, but also by financial dependency or a dark secret that is gradually revealed through well-thought-out dosing of information (there is thus a pseudo-detective storyline that keeps us in suspense until the end). Because the head says something different than the heart, there is no simple answer to the question of who should ideally stay with whom at the end of the film. Replacing exposition with the gradual revealing of the protagonists’ past and strengthening of the ties that unite them contributes to the variability of the relationships and forces us to constantly reassess our opinions of the individual characters, among whom Koreeda “democratically” divides attention. At the same time, we get an uncompromising cross-sectional sociological view of modern Japanese society, from teenagers who either prefer to go abroad or to receive money for “swinging their breasts” (and offering company to emotionally deprived young men), through the working class that has a form of certainty, to seniors killing time with gambling machines. At its core, Shoplifters is a rather simple drama that is dark but not completely hopeless, while also being complex in many respects. Like all of Koreeda's films, it is characterised by a slowly paced narrative (divided into several blocks divided by fade-outs), a jagged mise-en-scène and economical yet precise camerawork that involves no unnecessary movements and adapts its point of view to the individual characters according to the needs of the narrative. Though Shoplifters does not in any way manipulate you emotionally, it can, without applying any pressure, bring you to a point where all it takes is for one character to utter a single word and you will find yourself in tears. This is further proof of Koreeda’s unpretentious mastery of his craft. Though it is perhaps formally less inspiring than The Third Murder, more accessible to viewers than Nobody Knows and not as fragile as Still Walking, it is still one of the best-directed films I’ve seen this year. Twice so far, but I will definitely come back to it. 90%

Previously it would have been a biographical drama or a heist film, but to express his political viewpoint this time, Spike Lee uses and reworks for his own needs the conventions of cop films about dual identity. The obstacles that the heroes have to overcome in accomplishing their mission come not only from the outside, but also in the form of their colleagues and superiors, who are unable to let go of their own prejudices and represent a system that disadvantages a certain part of the population. The pairing of two disparate characters serves for more than just creating comical situations that bring levity to a serious topic. It is also a condition for the implementation of Stallworth’s bold plan and, at the same time, expression of the film’s central conviction that the path to success is conditioned by cooperation, the struggle for shared values ​​(though each one is completely different, they appear before the KKK members as one person), which can also be understood as a disputation with blaxploitation films, whose style BlacKkKlansman imitates. ___ The two protagonists start to think more about their respective identities following confrontations with white nationalists, who see them, as a black and a Jew, as a threat comparable to the plague and cholera. For example, in reply to the question of whether he is a Jew, Zimmerman initially answers “I don't know”. He later admits that, because of assimilation, he had never thought about his Jewishness, but he is now beginning to reconsider his position. Like his partner, he stops taking his infiltration of the Ku Klux Klan as nothing more than a job, as it becomes a personal matter for him. While Stallworth stops running away from the fact that he is black, Flip begins to proudly defend his Jewishness “thanks” to a group of anti-Semitic imbeciles. ___ Racists legitimise their words and actions by creating artificial enemies and spreading fear of a race war or the Jewish-Bolshevik conspiracy. Their vocabulary plays a fundamental role in this, though it does not have any sort of richness and displays an elementary ignorance of grammar, but it is also expressive enough to elicit strong emotions and attract unthinking crowds. Emotions replace the ability to work with facts and to argue more thoughtfully. One of the bigots reveals the absence of elementary logic in his attitudes when Flip warns him that it is nonsensical to deny the Holocaust, during which several million Jews were murdered and was thus the most amazing event in history from a white Nazi’s perspective. Within the KKK, relationships are established exclusively on the basis of shared hatred. Joining the organisation is conditioned by knowledge of the hate code (various terms of abuse for anyone who is not a white heterosexual American). However, it is necessary to make the language of this closed group widely known, for example with the aid of Hollywood epics such as The Birth of a Nation. ___ The wave of racially motivated violence in the 1970s was a backlash to some of the minor victories achieved by African-Americans in the previous decade. Similarly, the strengthening position of the extreme right in America today, stoked by the statements of the sociopath whom Spike Lee calls the “Orange motherfucker” and “Agent Orange”, can be seen as “retaliation” for the eight years of the Barack Obama administration. Lee’s film is permeated by parallels with current events in the United States and Europe. Even without the shocking postscript, it would be clear that, as in his earlier films, Lee used a historical theme to draw attention to the persistent intolerance of certain social groups. Though the style changes, the essence remains and the world will continue to need many heroes like Ron Stallworth and Heather Heyer. BlacKkKlansman says as much, perhaps without much nuance, but urgently enough to open the eyes of at least a few people who do not yet have totally whitewashed brains. 90%

This damned hot summer can’t be over soon enough. But in the case of Kirill Serebrennikov’s Summer, I’d be happy for it to last longer. This is despite the fact that it basically consists of a story-less series of musical performances by obscure Russian bands and partially animated musical sequences (which, conversely, feature hits by famous Western musicians). The burgeoning love triangle has a certain dramatic weight, but due to how loose the relationships between the characters are, it cannot have very painful consequences. Nor does the apparatus of the state put any serious pressure on the artists. The bohemian rockers encounter officers only once and deal with censorship easily and with humour. Despite that, we are constantly aware of the danger faced by the free environment that the protagonists have created around themselves in a country that is not free and the tone of the narrative gradually changes from the initial summer contentment to a melancholic premonition of an impending downfall. The final scene, which sums up this fleetingness of life with the aid of two blunt titles, is unbelievably powerful and timeless. ___ Summer is a film in which, as in Russia (or, for that matter, Czechoslovakia) almost nothing happens in the early 1980s. Just repeat the official government actions and speeches, always captured here somewhere in the background on a television screen, with which the regime shapes its (self-)image and maintains the status quo. Rock music, whose lyrics are about free love, alcohol and rebellion against the system, naturally disturbs this order. While musically it mainly involves (progressive and indie) rock or New Wave, the film is a somewhat punkish affair in terms of narrative, which adheres to most of the principles according to which drama should be structured. The rhythm is set by the songs rather than by plot twists. When the film loses its breath, one of the characters, who communicates with other inhabitants of this fictional world as well as with the viewers (to whom he continually announces that what we have just seen never actually happened), helps it get a second wind. However, it is seductively easy to get carried away by the narrative thanks to the film’s tremendous spontaneous energy, catchy songs, numerous outstanding and probably labour-intensive audio-visual ideas (the film’s highlights include the covers of cult records “coming to life”) and, of no less importance, the black-and-white camera work, which shifts from character to character in long shots with a superb intra-shot montage and, together with the songs linking the individual scenes, contributes to the impression of a smooth flow of events. ___ I realise that the film borders on being too dramaturgically lax, that it does not have to so thoroughly take on the cyclical repetition of certain situations that were typical of socialism, that the characters do not undergo any fundamental development and that the end could occur at virtually any given moment (it would have made perfect sense to me if the credits ran after the film appears on the screen and immersion in the sea). I therefore understand that Summer can be an arduous experience for viewers who do not see it from the first few minutes. For me, who had goosebumps even during the opening song (and then several more times after that), it was a totally liberating experience and one of the most accurate cinematic depictions of everything that I associate with summer. I would like to experience a summer like this every year. 90%

A few spoiler-ish remarks on the facts contributing to my opinion that The Last Jedi is the best episode of the Star Wars series (a hair better than The Empire Strikes Back, which this film – like other parts of the saga – in many ways mirrors or even boldly revises): 1) Both films interweave three central conflicts – intergenerational, class and between the light and dark sides of the force (all dialogue scenes between Kylo and Rey as well as the dialogue Rey carries on with herself). Eager young heroes make rash decisions, which generally end badly for them. If they had listened to their older and more experienced masters, they could have avoided some complications. However, generational change is unavoidable. Therefore, it is a matter of whether the young rebels entirely reject or take inspiration from the teachings of their predecessors. The ability to be an inspiration to the younger generation is decisive for the storyline with enslaved children on the planet Canto Bight. In order for the bourgeoisie to enjoy themselves, someone has to work. The final scene indicates that this exploitation may be the impetus for a class revolution. 2) Luke explains to his apprentice that the force does not come only from inside a Jedi, but is founded on balance with the world around him. An example of a person who has achieved harmony with nature is Luke himself, who can get by with the gifts that the island offers him (there is a good reason for the maligned milking scene; it serves as more than just a comical aside). Later, we twice witness how listening to nature saves the heroes’ lives – Finn and Rose escape from Canto Bight thanks to ungulates resembling a horse-llama hybrid, the last insurgents find their way out of the cave thanks to arctic (crystalline) foxes. 3) The film repeatedly and intentionally does not fulfil our expectations and does not build myths, but instead casts doubt on and demolishes them; it does not play according to the rules that the previous episodes followed, thanks to which it is a very stimulating viewing experience. The film does not allow us only to passively watch it and tick off “mandatory items”. Jedi training is terminated prematurely; the expedition to Canto Bight ends in fiasco (though the gifting of the ring to the boy will probably play out in a significant way in the next episode); the main nemesis dies much sooner than you would expect; with the exception of the initial action sequence, the good guys find themselves on the defensive, almost constantly running away from someone and trying to save lives, which is fully in accordance with the motto of the eighth episode – it does not make sense to fight what we hate, but to save what we love. 4) The whole thing looks incredibly good. It is obvious that the filmmakers cared deeply about the compositions, and put a lot of thought into the choice of lenses, the size of the shots and the colour contrasts (how they play with red and white at the end is breathtaking). In short, compared to other franchise genre movies, the camera work here not only fulfils a practical function, but it lays claim to an Oscar nomination with almost every shot. 5) The Last Jedi is truly funny and truly sombre (where neither aspect outweighs the other and the transitions between them are very natural) and, especially in the second half, one wonderful scene follows another, making the film an incredible emotional ride. 90%