Lima

I found the first one better, it was more tightly plotted and somehow more engaging, more thoughtful in its introduction to the fantasy world of Arrakis, I understood more the motives of each of the characters. And yet, even there, Denis Villeneuve didn't forget the visual magic - the arrival of Leto Atreides and his long flight in an ornithopter was so visually sexy. Even the Hans Zimmer music was more interesting to me in the first part. The second part is actually quite different in that respect, especially plot-wise in the second half, BUT .... then Denis unloaded some iconic scenes, from the first worm ride, to the black and white arena, to the frontal attack of the worms, with the seated fremen and their flapping scarves, and he had me in the palm of his hand again. The first part was food for the senses and the brain, the second one only for the senses, but you know, I'm a simple person, even Villeneuve pulling excellent visual ideas on me like Houdini pulls rabbits out of a hat is enough to make me happy. Only that Zimmer has been feeling bit tired in the last years and instead of his typical rumbling it wouldn't hurt to reach for some compositional melodic ideas again.

The one that started the hugely successful Universal horror franchise. But it should be noted that Friedrich Murnau beat Tod Browning by knock-out, his expressionistic take from 1922 was much more suited to the lord of darkness and evil. Here, the plot rushes along like a stampede and all the potentially interesting stuff is reduced to a minimum. The scenes of Transylvania and Dracula's castle are done in 10 minutes, albeit with very nice sets (and armadillos instead of rats), the voyage to Demeter lasts 2 minutes, with only two shots alternating – on the deck of the ship, with the sea crashing over it, and a static view of Dracula – well, and the vast majority of the running time is set in the streets of London and boring interiors with enough atmosphere to fit under a mere fingernail. I also have a problem with Bela Lugosi himself. His demonic-ness here is created by the lighting of his eyes in the macro details, otherwise when he throws on his typical smirk I just expect him to utter his legendary "Beware. Beware of the big, green dragon that sits on your doorstep. He eats little boys, puppy dog tails and big, fat snails." Yes, Ed Wood just ruined the demonic aura of Bela for me :o)

My journey through this film - from utter boredom and confusion to great satisfaction. For the first half you don't understand what the film is trying to tell you, where it is going, you just notice at the very beginning a pretty nice production design, Iggy Pop's voice as a radio DJ and Lemmy Kilminster in a small role of a taxi driver playing his Mötorhead hit “Ace of Spades”. With an hour and a quarter to go, you know the plot won't leave one apartment for the rest of the film and you wonder what else they're going to fill it with, given the simple premise. And then, with the robot attack, a geyser of visual creativity, visual personality and some pretty snarky gore is unleashed. There's a bit of Terminator, a lot of Tetsuo, a bit of Blade Runner, and gut-busting gore that would put Fulci to shame. Very, very unexpected indeed, how the film radically switches gears and goes from being a moribund B-movie to a visually distinctive piece that mixes genres in an original way.

Such is the daily routine of a family of ordinary, decent citizens. They grow kohlrabi and carnations in the garden, keep the house in perfect order, pet the dog and frolic in the swimming pool, and all this is provided by the head of the family, who goes to work every day in an exemplary manner and who - by the way - is the director of the most monstrous concentration camp. He is, again by the way, at work dealing with, for example, the more efficient incineration of Jews in ovens, and does it with the same emotional involvement as when you and your wife are deciding what to buy for dinner at the supermarket. And behind the walls of this middle-class family's property, behind those ominous walls, is a human-scale Mordor where the most monstrous acts against humanity are taking place, and you feel an immense oppression thanks to the ingenious sound work and the ominous visual details in the distance, such as the smoke from the ovens, or from the locomotives bringing in more and more human fuel. The film doesn't shove down your throat horrific imagery about how monstrous the Holocaust is, it does it on a subliminal basis, working with your subconscious, and that actually makes it all the worse. It made me sick, but at the same time I bow down to Jonathan Glazer for this bold cinematic experiment that says more about us humans than you'd expect.

Poster tagline: She drained men of their loves and lives!!! This should be featured at the the Shockproof Film Festival. A piece of work from the pen and director's chair of some chauvinist pigs. It addresses the theme of eternal youth, but ultimately demeans women. The basic premise alone – an endocrinologist wants to divorce his wife because she has wrinkles around her eyes (huh, what a horror!). She, therefore, understandably desires to rejuvenate herself to avoid the divorce, and the clue may be an old woman, a 142-year-old retiree, one of the doctor's patients (and in fact the chieftain of a black tribe in Africa) who, with the help of the secrets of the Nando tribe and its medicine Nipe (for God's sake), is able to bring youth and beauty back to the woman. There is one catch, though, a man must be killed in the rejuvenation ritual. So yes, it sounds like colossal shit, and it is shit. And it doesn't end with the ritual. You honestly laugh at the scene where, on a getaway from Africa, a guy has sex with the woman in question, and when Nipe stops performing the next morning and she has wrinkles again, the guy runs from her in terror and screams at her not to touch him. Yeah. And the beauty ride of stupidity continues even after we return to New York, where women are being murdered. P.S. The only good thing was the small role of the hugely charismatic Grant Williams (The Incredible Shrinking Man), who definitely deserved a better film career, but alas, no luck.

Okay, let's check it off. Willem Dafoe has nothing to work with - check, Mickey Rourke, chewing like a herbivore, has nothing to work with - check, and Elizabeth Mastrantonio is as far from a sexy femme fatale as a politician is from a truthful person. It starts off nicely enough, though, but after ten minutes you know that the whole thing is a beautiful example of the director's, or rather the screenwriter's, inability to tell a story in any meaningful way, to somehow engage and draw you into the plot. The plot is something you don’t give a fuck about, and towards the end, after the "cruel" revelation and the nonsensical twist, logic gave itself half a pack of rohypnol. And you might take some molly to get the "experience" going.

At times I thought it was a bit naive, an "old man's" (which John Hughes was definitely not) view of teenage life, but on the other hand I would carve some of the statements and ideas in stone. Certainly the mental processes of teenagers stemming from the traumatic "despotic father vs. son" relationship was hit perfectly by Hughes, the unusual comedic exaggeration was surprisingly fine considering the seriousness of the topic, the light hinting of sexual themes was amusing, the five completely different characters complemented each other perfectly and it just flowed very nicely. A very nice film and a well-deserved major overseas cult following.

A perfect detective story, of the classic cut, with nothing lacking or redundant. There's a paranoid atmosphere, there's a chase of the killer in the dark alleys of Paris and it culminates in the interrogation "grilling" of the perpetrator, wich, by the way, is excellently filmed and edited. Jean Gabin was and always will be the best Maigret, combining passion and vivacity with stoic calm and charisma, and you can only watch in amazement to see which of his character layers he uses when interrogating suspects. Such a multi-layered police figure is not so common in the crime genre, and Gabin grasps it phenomenally. Perhaps the film lacks a major surprise moment, as the killer was clearly offering himself up from the halfway point, but I still enjoyed it to the max.

A delightful and VERY brisk comedy, which was supposed to cement Katharine Hepburn's position as a budding film superstar. She's imminent here, but I was more entertained by the irresistible goofball James Stewart, his cute diction and body language, as if he's always wanting to apologize for what he's actually doing, and when he's hitting on Hepburn, you want to pat him on the head like a big brother :) The only problem I had (and not only here) was with Cary Grant and his single acting stance. I never considered him much of an actor, but he always worked reliably as a magnet for women, so his limited register must not have bothered him.

I would like to use the words of the contemporary intellectual Karlos Vemola "I didn't get it, but it was great", but alas. David Lynch got lost in himself this time, he didn't advance the series or his filmmaking anywhere, he was just kind of showing off in a rather clumsy way, just like his role as the agent here when he yells at David Bowie. So to use Libor Matuška's words "I didn't get it and it left me completely cold". PS: I wonder how many filmmakers would normally get away with this if their name was not Lynch.