novoten

A self-aware high-octane romp that ultimately nothing can stop. Neither the overly worn-out Emily Blunt, nor the fact that we have seen all the twists, tricks, and punchlines a million times elsewhere. The noble assassin Bill Nighy and his pleasantly eccentric apprentice Rupert Grint easily managed to shoot down any and all objections.

During my prepubescent years, the first Rambo was, for me, a pure action-filled masterpiece with almost an artistic psyche, making me appreciate myself for having it as my favorite from the entire series. And although it no longer makes sense to expect anything more from the prologue of a sad killer's story, John is still an unquestionable action idol for me.

What used to make Ramba in my eyes, hasn't been lost even here, and "the one whose war is over" still has a lot going for him with the look of an older basset hound. Thanks to the second "Hot Shots", however, the first half-hour can hardly be taken seriously, especially the dialogue "I'll tell you a story, John". But even the most heated episode of the series doesn't take the magic of memories too far.

The necessary trimming of a million specific '80s references in film language (even under the guidance of the original author, Ernest Cline) transforms into a million fleeting enchantments, for which everyone must reach out and inevitably contemplate how many of them they couldn't even catch. And it's good, because blindly following a cult template would be a path to hell. Therefore, the challenges are more action-packed, straightforward, inevitably easier, and, first and foremost, easier to find. The entrances to the paths to individual keys are more about luck and intuition than encyclopedic knowledge, but after watching it for a few days, even that doesn't bother me anymore, despite such a change taking away some of Parzival's nerdiness. Similarly, the casting of Olivia Cooke takes away from Art3mis that desirable curviness (the dreamy hottie from the original remains far from the gates of adaptation) and replaces it with a girl named Samantha, but given her talent, which surpasses the rest of the youth by a bit, I almost understand this decision. And the cherry on top? Mark Rylance. Every smile, solemnity, and wink creates an immensely touching combination of life disappointments and boyish efforts. Steven Spielberg becomes the king at least once again. Nobody could have expected the transformation of a cult geekgasm into a loving celebration of human relationships.

Although I'm glad that the "randomly filmed unorganized horror" format still works great, this time it might have been a bit too much for me. While I was willing to hold my breath for Blair Witch and cower in fear for Cloverfield, [Rec] not only failed to make me identify with anyone (killing the reporter with her eternal "Keep filming! Film everything!") but the extra experience is not about atmosphere and escalating tension, but rather about when there's a moment that stops my heart and makes my ears explode. And even though those moments are really deadly, I need much more satisfaction than that. 50%

It is sad to say, but the demise of Invasion was practically clear after just two episodes. Presenting a thrilling sci-fi thriller and serving up a pure interhuman drama with a light (often too light) mysterious background is simply commercial suicide. And so, even though it is not possible to fall in love with Larkin or Rose, it still pulls you more towards Tom and towards progressing that mysterious superior story a little further. In later episodes, however, even that is not enough and Invasion becomes an interesting experiment, disproportionately stretched out into a whole series. The second one actually never should have been created. This kind of (although relatively open-ended) conclusion saves a lot, and thanks to it, the overall impressions are mainly favorable.

My first Woody. I remember the old evening TV projection with a smile and nostalgia because I had no idea who that scruffy and determined scatterbrain was, but I let myself be drawn into the comedy mixed with cautious mystery. And because the jokes, neuroses, Diane Keaton, and everything else worked, I soon tried it again with Master Allen. However, I never thought, not even by mistake, that I would see forty of his films and he would become my creative idol.

Huge and just after the end of the movie, an indescribable depression about addiction to anything, with incredible performances by the central quartet. Amazing Aronofsky's direction full of captivating visual ideas makes this film an unforgettable masterpiece.

The continuation of a cycle of stories, which, like Crimson Peak and The Shape of Water, lay dusty in the attic until Guillermo del Toro came along and turned it into a visual masterpiece with the help of a stellar cast, one that critics admire but audiences do not. However, compared to the aforementioned works, Nightmare Alley is more mature, thoughtful, confident, and ambitious in its setting and themes. It plays with psychology, noir, detective stories, or almost a hundred-year-old horrors, and despite the predictable twist, it describes the narrative circle almost perfectly. Perhaps only the screenwriting habit of making the main character make exactly the mistakes that the supporting characters (often repeatedly) warn her against seems unnecessary to me since Pan's Labyrinth. But for lovers of the spine-chilling and immersion into images that look like they have aged for decades, this manipulative journey is a sure bet and, for me, the best del Toro film since Hellboy II: The Golden Army.

Whoever is even slightly familiar with Asian romance, Classic will not surprise them, but does it matter when tenderness flows from it in mighty waves? Personally, I much preferred the radiant and loving story of the mother, where there is no shortage of sadness or, conversely, scenes illuminated by love, with a climax in a brilliant war passage. The daughter's storyline is perhaps too lengthy in its melancholy. 75%