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I can only regret that for so long Satoshi Kon was nothing more to me than just the creator of the now legendary Paprika. His earlier films struck me as small artistic experiments worth getting to only in a moment of leisure. But as I made my way through time to Chiyoko, it finally occurred to me what a great genius her creator was and what a huge loss it is that only four feature films came after it. He was unique in that his signature is not as immediately recognizable as those of his other famous peers. Perhaps only by having a beautiful, shy-looking girl in the lead role and by the musical aspect of Susumu Hirasawa's yodeling choruses. So why did I find Millennium Actress so enchanting? It is from its affection both for the audience and equally for the medium of film. There have been enough love letters dedicated to cinematography, but this one understands its audience. When a documentary filmmaker tearfully and passionately recites his idol's most famous lines, he speaks from the soul to all those who have ever looked at a movie poster with emotion. When combined with the universal and heavily used inspiring message that it's not the destination, it's the journey, you simply have no emotional defense.

Tetsurō Araki presents the best aerial action flick ever, one that surpasses even his own Attack on Titan. What's more, he openly references and even copies The Little Mermaid, gives an ecological wink or two, and emotionally elevates Bubble even to the level of Hayao Miyazaki or Makoto Shinkai. And I don't understand it. I truly expected this to be merely an aesthetically pleasing patchwork of everything possible, and I wasn't wrong. The surprise lay simply in the fact that anything and everything shook and moved me, literally in every aspect. I really didn't want to leave this version of Tokyo, and I would have preferred a series of at least twelve episodes. However, I understand that it could never have looked this flawless.

Genre exploitation to the maximum. A romantic comedy that knows how to be truly romantic (that is to say thoughtful, deeply moving, and full of grand gestures) and equally humorous (and therefore absurdly crazy). I finally experienced Toradora after a long delay, fourteen years after it was created, when it was already an echo of the past. And yet I immediately fell into its madcap world with enthusiasm. School anime is a beautiful subgenre, and Ryûji and Taiga belong to its absolute peak. The enthusiasm with which the creators threw themselves into every occasion on the calendar, with Christmas in the lead, is unmatched.

With the approaching end of the twentieth century, there was an explosion in courtroom dramas, and just about every major star added a piece of that ilk to their repertoire. I distinctly remember how I somewhat despised the genre as something that only revealed the most obvious, because the rest would just be a mere variation on the same. But first of all, that's not true, and second of all, the genre disappeared from film into the realm of the TV series and proper big-budget drama with emotional shouts of "Objection!" for the audience to gape at. And it is exactly Aaron Sorkin's military detour that is the forgotten gem, with its average rating indicating that memories of it are relatively positive, but that the audience did not appreciate it at the time because something similar was sure to come along shortly. And yet A Few Good Men is both a thrilling combination of all imaginable genres and a gathering of brilliant actors, where the 90s star power in the form of Tom Cruise and Demi Moore clashes with Jack Nicholson in what may be his career-best performance, meticulously chewing on each of his lines and where an unguarded moment can turn into the most chilling scene. A treasure that opened the doors to new television phenomena like JAG or NCIS, whose legacy goes on even decades later.

Although the Westview chapter may seem insignificant to the overall development of the universe, it is precisely an excursion into the overseas history of television comedy that definitively surpasses genre boundaries for the first time. Yes, in crucial moments, it is once again a Marvel movie that must have action or a battle, but complaining about that quality is the same as criticizing an episode of a series for focusing on a specific theme rather than foreign characters or plots. I am fascinated by how precisely the individual subgenres are captured, how quickly I am able to tune in to each new game, and how quickly it can freeze even disturbing images. Elizabeth Olsen deserved to steal the show for herself in Avengers: Age of Ultron or Avengers: Infinity War, and I am very glad that the leadership of the MCU took this desire to heart.

The most surprising comic book movie, at least within the MCU. Not only because of the whole range of stimulating themes it addresses, but unfortunately also because of how polarizing it is. Personally, I appreciate it for the amount of audacity and alluring elements it contains. I have seen the silent, contemplative, and in a way, adorable Eternals twice already, and each time the seemingly modest duration felt painfully too short for me. No joke, I would like a four-hour film or a slow-paced series because I am so drawn to this world, and it saddens me that due to obscure marketing it remained a mystery to the fan base before and after the premiere. Every time, after watching, I ponder for hours and days about the choices of the powerful, about predestination for great things, about fate and its variability, about the beauty of ordinary life, about love that can last a few days or centuries, and last but not least, about the inevitability of gaining and losing your closest friends. Only after all of that comes the pleasant wink in the form of the transmission of cultural values across eras, and I was okay even with those, but I still shake my head as to why this very small detail is such a red rag to the public. Such a peaceful film with a perfectly understandable and necessary message, and still it provokes such absurdly strong negative passions.

An inexplicable phenomenon in the form of a film that does not advance the genre forward, does not stand out in terms of acting, repeats itself like a song, and visually quotes a decades-old original scene by scene – and yet critics, viewers, children, and grandparents all nod their heads in agreement and struggle to admit that they just saw the film of the year. Honest action, where screws visibly fly off fighter planes and oil drips, a cliché seen a hundred times, which quakes with every emotion, and the essence of the 80s, extracted to the core, still works a couple levels better at every moment than it did in 1986. Top Gun: Maverick is the opposite of fan service because it brings us back to a fandom that most people only halfheartedly like, and not many would include it among their favorites. And yet it crushes us with nostalgia for times we didn't experience, forcing us to melancholically ponder fates we didn't know for three decades, and we honestly go in any direction it shows us, wondering why we never became pilots.

A Series of Happy Accidents. Thanks to the new location, the spectacle is even more optimistic, which may not surpass the first film in terms of scale, but somehow miraculously manages to piece together episodes of many, many characters into two separate, functional bittersweet storylines, bridging (viewer) generations, and in a more British spirit than the British themselves, most likely definitively concluding the fates of this now legendary clan. Despite the tears, I did not take my eyes off the screen, and the smile never faded from my face.

He only takes things seriously when it suits him, but perhaps that is why he shows moments that are cut out from everyday life, when he can move, freeze, and make us laugh within a single minute. At the most suspenseful moment, he suddenly fires off a gag that would stand out in the craziest comedy from the old school. And last but not least, Tokyo Godfathers is, despite the timing, an almost anti-Christmas story that impresses incredibly deeply during the December holidays. A unique film, deliberately different and at the same time universally communicating with the audience – all while pulling their leg, because over time it turns the most conspicuous character into the most beloved one. Proof that Satoshi Kon was somewhere different from other famous artists I associate with anime – and that is why his premature departure continues to sadden me.

I didn't expect that the emotional wringer Avengers: Endgame gave me would be repeated – let alone that it would happen just two years later and out of the blue. This is not just a journey back home, but also a way to repay long-standing debts to loyal fans, whether it hurts or warms them the most. The first act is still a classic attraction of the pure MCU formula, a hyperactive arcade that some love and some hate. But once it gets serious and Doctor Strange enters the story, everything gets better, purer, and more epic. At a certain point, I became an emotional bundle of joy, thinking constantly the same thing in musical or dialog reminiscences. It's such a great feeling to be a part of this right now. A Christmas gift, the finale of a trilogy, a crossroads of the spider fandom, confirmation of Tom Holland's growing talent, and last but not least, a blockbuster that somehow manages to stand on its own.