Isherwood

The film has a good idea in the exposed body of a junkie who left behind a lot of money. However, Boyle had to break the whole plot mightily over his knee twice to get to the end. Thankfully, he showed how much talent he has and very skillfully skated through both a regular psycho-thriller and a distinctive variation of Dostoevsky’s "Crime and Punishment." Admittedly, the film eventually ended up being shallowly cheap, but that made the point all the more entertaining. Genius or incompetence? I got caught up in it and had fun at the same time, so thanks, Danny!

The parody suits the zombies well. All the clichés of the genre are explored here with unprecedented intensity and the ideas (punks, background music, rain) are truly not spared. Yet no matter how good the masks are, no matter how frantic the pacing, it lacks a more perverse dimension, spiced up with a memorable scene or two. In terms of what I like in this regard, I will always prefer Jackson's Braindead.

It’s too flat as a biography of a brilliant writer and too insubstantial as a film about a novel. In the film, Capote’s creative genius is limited to a few lame mentions of his previous work, and the actual creation of what is most substantial goes no further than what the viewer is able to form after reading "In Cold Blood" or watching Brooks' film of the same name. Phillip Seymour Hoffman's 100-minute homosexual creation thus becomes merely an aspirational pose that might have been provocative in the 1960s, but not today. The result is just an empty bubble, which at the time of its release got more flak than it perhaps deserved, and conversely, as a tribute to a brilliant storyteller, or rather a novel, it is about as impressive and original as a piece of marble.

It's got the divine Michael Rooker as a tragic badass, it's got a phenomenal mayor in Gregg Henry, it's got impressive references to other films (The Toxic Avenger on TV), and it just certainly doesn't have the drive that Troma veteran James Gunn could easily aspire to. For the entire ninety-one minutes, I just watched the hints of where this whole charade could have gone if the director had really pushed hard. I want a sequel where it doesn't just stop at assaulting little girls, calling shitty Republicans names, and slimy slugs at every turn.

Snyder is here to entertain! An elegant recycler of the classic sandal adventure and heroic epic wrapped in a beautifully re-styled audiovisual package that has very little to do with history itself, and the search for historical context can hardly be called viewer ignorance. The vast majority of current productions are in the same boat, so why nitpick here when it's clear from the start that the pathetic phrase will be part of every Leonidas (Gerard Butler, the most charismatic leader of the screen a few years back, scores points!) monologue, the purely macho speech of every dialogue, and that the battle will be nothing but visual gluttony of the finest quality? I enjoyed 300 for its relative originality, down to the last drop of digitally redacted blood the characters shed, and I’m certainly not worried about the future of other Hollywood productions. There have already been several similar booms, and in a few years, young angry teens will find their new cult. It is rather surprising how many people, after seeing 300, suddenly crave pure awesomeness, which has survived (and will survive) everything.

The film is overall reminiscent of the final thesis from the camera exams at film school, which Raimi spiced up with an insanely cacophonous musical accompaniment and clearly portrayed his directorial trademarks. Cheryl Guttridge has a nicely constructed mouth that stands out especially during the terrifying scream, while Scott Spiegel takes on a position not unlike Michael Myers from Halloween. Given when it was made, it’s hard to determine what the inspiration was. Other than that, it is definitely a good suspense film with the excellent purposeful dropping of the whole plot into a self-parodic conclusion. Bravo Sam!

It is perhaps bizarre but original. Unfortunately, it's also a somewhat uncoordinated affair, which after a rousing opening starts to rehash the stereotypical system of musicals without any further innovation or invention. Sharman earns points with promising hints, but he could have pushed a little harder. That’s quite unfortunate because this madness stands on its own two feet only thanks to the divine Tim Curry, whose tranny creation is unparalleled on screen. All in all, it’s as entertaining as De Palma's (sadly underrated) Phantom of the Paradise.

From the very first minute, Aronofsky bombards the viewer with an audiovisual whirlwind (a proven collaboration with cinematographer Matthew Libattique) that the senses are unable to take it all in at first. Searching for a cure for the disease called death is an incredibly gripping (the plot), at once cathartic (the form) and especially perfectly intimate (the partnership) spectacle that demands multiple viewings to be fully absorbed. A surreally powerful piece of cinema that manages to grab you by the emotional strings with its mysterious medievalism, the mystical relationship between man and the tree of life, and the dull reality of today. A must for all cynics who see contemporary cinema as too pale.

Nicolas Cage rules! In the flood of absurdities that have been spewing at us lately, these few seconds are truly unique. But when Rob Zombie makes a feature-length version, Cage will be playing second fiddle - those Nazi girls look even more enticing. A perverse delight. :)

The film could have come off as a cheap criticism of the society that drove the two men to carry out an act, it could have become a throwaway argument about the need for the ultimate punishment, or it could have been just a bland thriller about a heartless crime. However, if that were the case Richard Brooks would need not to direct it so shakily that his film would not be, like Capote's brilliant book, a "mere" non-participatory reconstruction with documentary authenticity, which also earns points in terms of the formal aspects (camera, editing). However, despite its apparent detachment, the film ultimately comes across as a pretty solid emotional wrench that evokes neither pity nor sympathy, but instead a cold sense of satisfaction, albeit one that is somewhat crippled.