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The whole concept ends up being a bit of a contradiction. I understand that not every idea from Ryan Murphy's gang has the potential for a standalone season in the American Horror Story universe, but I expected a dose of clever plots and instead only occasionally got a few good ones (Feral) that made it to a solid conclusion or payoff. As far as the rest of the standalone stories are concerned, the conclusion is actually the weakest part. An above-average rating jumps out at me after the first season because of how inventive and effective the first, second, and last episodes are, unexpected links to the seemingly fully resolved and maximally utilized Murder House. Returning to the house where everything started a decade ago felt like a capitulation on the promised premise, but the combination of Sierra McCormick and Kaia Gerber or even the captivating Matt Bomer are pleasures I won't find elsewhere. I enjoyed the anticipation of what incredible plot twist each new episode would bring, but next time I'd like the viewer's reward to be more balanced.

A step down from the two years older Taylor Tomlinson: Quarter-Life Crisis. Here Taylor Tomlinson tries to reach surprisingly far thematically, but in doing so harms her greatest strength, namely a seemingly cynical handling of relationship themes. She has always been honest with these, synchronized with the audience, and empathetic. Now, maybe because of an alignment with the darkest of humor, her indifference and malice towards others and herself shine through.

Marc Maron is always true to himself and unlike various other comedians or storytellers, I truly believe that his attitude is not fake posturing. He is simply a former wild man who has experienced his fair share, and who hated everything and everyone for a long time, but with each passing year that roughness fades away. He is at peace with what he has. He has lost love, another piece of life's happiness, and now he's simply living, or at least trying to. He doesn't need to be funny at all costs and build punchlines for a burst of laughter every fifteen seconds. Sometimes we have to wait a good couple of minutes for a crushing line, but listening to everything that comes before and after it contains unfakeable life experience.

Adapting a video game series into a grand, adventurous, action-packed movie that looks more magnificent, adventurous, and action-packed than any of its competitors, is a challenging and seemingly unnecessary task. And yet despite endless pre-production delays, changes in the director chair, and an incredible paradox where the actor originally planned for Nathan ended up in the role of Sully, Uncharted is a success. The creators do not need to reinvent the wheel, they allow the main hero to jump, run, and fall as befits the famous franchise, and above all, they remember that most viewers have played the game and will want to experience something familiar. The traditional flaw of game adaptations is possibly eradicated definitively, and the main visual attractions directly quote the third installment or even exaggerate the conclusion of the fourth one. However, what relieved me the most was the interaction between the main duo. Tom Holland is likable and, as a younger Drake, he can fully embrace the traditional acting role, but Mark Wahlberg, as Sullivan, I was dreading for some time only for him to ultimately steal the show. He perfectly captured the essence of the grumbling mentor with a nose for money.

The stolen pile of civilian genre short stories so committed to tricking you that it refuses to answer its own questions. In the first one, there are so many dead ends and vanities that go nowhere that I didn't want to believe until the last second that Olivia Wilde actually wanted to build her entire universe on a single twist. My rating leans mostly on the divine talent of Florence Pugh, who with nothing more than a raised voice or a slight grimace completely wipes the floor with the vainly screaming Harry Styles or the carefree Chris Pine. The direction and the visuals are almost unjustifiably confident, which blurs a few unnecessary lines in the final impression, but the most visible ones (the airplane, the earthquake) cannot be ignored. 50%

At the time of its premiere, this served as a fond reminiscence of the recently finished new prequel trilogy; during the second viewing, which took place more or less at random about fifteen years later, it was much worse. The animation has not aged well, the development of familiar characters is limited by what we know about their present, future, and side intentions, and the first three quarters of the film are continuous, repetitive action. Between the constant shooting, jumping, flying, and falling, there is no time to catch a breath, and when the gloomy enemies meet for the umpteenth time and both leave alive and uninjured after a several-minute-long fight, I almost dozed off out of exhaustion. Star Wars: The Clone Wars is an endless source of stories, but this point of entry remains closed to me so far.

Anyone who compares this Christmas stroll in the park to twenty-year-old teenage comedies has never seen any – or doesn't remember them. Appropriately festive sparks, a few genuine feelings from random encounters, and even a few truly successful jokes that I will be happy to remember for a long time. Much more restrained, soothing, and generally mood-friendly than I expected from the trailer. And of course, Liv Hewson in her most appreciated role, pretty much like anywhere else she quietly appears.

When the main characters suffer, let the audience suffer as well. This applies to both film adaptation connoisseurs, fans of the source material, and logically, complete neophytes as well. From the start, everyone is presented with one pessimistic outlook after another. Patrick Warburton as Lemony relentlessly assures us that things will only get worse, and you don' even feel like rooting for the main characters because, according to all assumptions, it's not worth it. However, it would be a shame not to experience this series of events. The enthusiasm of all involved is extremely contagious, the gallery of grimaces by Neil Patrick Harris is endless, and those unexpected actor appearances on the scene, at which I enthusiastically jumped out of my chair more than once, give the troubles of the Baudelaire siblings the punch of an event that surprisingly flies quite low under the audience's radar. The only thing that prevented me from climbing the icy wall to the highest rating is the very essence of the book series. Specifically, the cunning approach to the answers that are most eagerly awaited and often end up being transparently simple or even mentioned in passing in a second layer. Those who find this potentially frustrating feature appealing will enjoy this to the fullest. Everyone else can make do with the aforementioned package, all wrapped in unflagging black humor and unique creative solutions.

Season 1 – 90% – Geographically expansive, thematically rich, visually stunning – and breathtaking in every way. Whether you're exploring relationships, leaning into action, or simply watching Pedro Pascal dramatically gaze into the distance, everything fits together, finally proving what has been known for some time: that a good video game adaptation requires enough space, preferably in the form of a high-budget series. Moving away from the in-game shooting to "cutscenes" feels like a gift from heaven, because I am much more interested in exploring the world of infection and the treachery of human nature than in ways to deal with screaming enemies, whose various methods of eradication have already been thoroughly explored by genre-related predecessors like The Walking Dead. This grim world, even despite a hundred and one obstacles, conceals an inexplicably strong life wake-up call, and we can never have too many of those.

The most appreciated TV series of the Chinese wave, a dedicated fan base, and me, for whom the lesson in cultivating demons was the very first of its kind. For a long time, I couldn't properly connect with this world. One supporting character after another was packed in alongside the main duo, most of the younger and older students spoke in long dialogues, and the plot fluttered between the story of a battle with a growing evil and one-act plays set in single locations. But over time, more of the characters grew close to my heart, the plot thickened, and at the key turning point halfway through the whole thing, it all suddenly came together. In the end I appreciated it as a piece that was originally more or less improvised, and it was a joy to see how the action scenes became increasingly clear and magnificent, and how even those little plays or episodic plots fit into the ultimate picture. However, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have rightfully made one principle entirely their own: when their story is strong and moving, it becomes such a heartrending journey that I find it hard to catch my breath, and every encounter or farewell takes a grueling  toll on my tear ducts. Thanks for the test of patience, where everything has its season and the best things come to those who wait.