Isherwood

There is a little bit of life in there, and it's fluffed up by the skillful screenwriter into a very effective dialogue whirlwind. Unfortunately, at the end, the film is hurt by exactly what it had been making fun of for more than two-thirds of its runtime, i.e., the tired clichés of all romantic films far and wide. However, thanks to the great actors, it reminded me that even men have a delicate sensitive soul that can be touched sometimes. :) [The bad thing is that the only significant impression I have the day after watching it is Mila Kunis’ absolutely luxurious character.]

Despite recycling all the good and bad from the past, this is the best film in the series - those little girls garner sympathy on all fronts. Yet the most interesting thing about the whole project is that the trailer is one big fake. This opens the door to an interesting theory.

My slight disappointment stems paradoxically from my ignorance of the book, which is obviously not very suitable for filming. This is because the quantity of names becomes annoying after a while, although otherwise, Fincher does great work as usual in all other components, so we do get a great soundtrack (but this time it's too "off the charts" for the Oscar race:)), excellent cinematography (which underlines the pedantic narrative), and precise actors. But I'll definitely go see it again. The fact that the gardener is the murderer will soon dawn on even the slower folks, but that's beside the point. How we get there is the first priority this time. Fincher is the best director alive right now, period.

For a film that takes nearly an hour to really get going, and that the villains don't come up with a megalomaniacal plan to destroy half the world, it's still interesting throughout. This fact is aided by Young's brisk direction and the cleverly simple script that doesn't offer much in the way of action sequences, but I give respectful kudos for those few bits; particularly Bond's fight with Grant on the train is something that, given its physicality, is something that Bourne needed to rediscover 40 years later.

The Bonnie and Clyde of the digital age yearned for analog, resulting in a sympathetically understated film set in the future. In it, a single serious nag at the laws of Niccol's world immediately takes away from the positives but is then ultimately saved by the great Timberlake and even better Murphy.

This is another in Clooney’s series of contributions pointing out the wrongs of contemporary politics. This time he takes the Michael Clayton route, which means perfectly slick suits with a high coefficient of immorality, visual austerity, and audience nausea from all the characters who pass through the film. [PS: Gosling reigns supreme, keep it up.]

I mean it when I say I’d rather see Seth Rogen as Prince Thade, but whatever. This is an unbelievable torrent of the most vulgar, cheap, and lowest form of humor that can flow out of the Hollywood cesspit, and so turning up our noses at the oppressive preachers of morality who don't find this funny is certainly appropriate. I was roaring with laughter from the very beginning, only to realize a third of the way through that the film has a well-constructed regular fantasy story, which works mainly thanks to the great set design and Jablonsky’s perfect music. I don't care whether the film is really that perfect or I just happened to be in the right mood for it, and I give it a full score without any reservations. [PS: Natalie’s bath is exactly the moment when a guy’s brain inevitably bleeds out because his heart is pumping in a completely different direction.

Hollywood fluffy filler about one brother's (lack of )bonding, dosed in the style of an impactful arena film. We see emotions pass through stone faces, cheap whiskey, and the musculature of movers, but the film tries so hard that it's more or less impossible not to succumb to it. Let's take the occasional outpourings of hatred around with a grain of salt and off to the gym!

The fact that Tarsem is ripping himself off might not matter so much, the problem is that the images aren't that cool and don't go to the very core of his visual mannerisms, meaning that they’re just boring. All the strength of the narrative thus revolves around one hospital bed, where a nine-year-old girl whose acting consists of babbling in English, crying, and sniffling. That’s not enough for two hours of runtime, but it is relatively survivable.

The most compelling evidence for why we should adore Abrams. This Scientology production tinsel may have inherited most of its predecessor's hallmarks, such as adrenaline-pumping action and plenty of teasing of past films, but it neglected to add at least a drop of itself to it. Neither the BMW prototype nor the protagonist's breasts stay in your head longer than the legendary opening countdown lasts; there’s zero work with the villain, the plot isn’t very catchy, and the premature climax of everything that was already done in Dubai is Bird's sole responsibility.