Matty

I was quite irritated that the narrative has almost no order and constantly jumps between films and topics (and the shots of Friedkin’s appearances at various festivals are randomly inserted into it). The commentary of the crowd of celebrities contributes to the distraction and does not provide much that is beneficial. If the director had simply sat Friedkin down in a chair and let him talk for an hour and a half about his life and career (i.e. the model successfully applied to the documentary De Palma), we would have learned more. At the same time, the entertainment element and briskness of the narrative would not have had to suffer from this, as Friedkin is a pleasure to listen to for his impudence, (film) erudition and supply of humorous stories from filming (and he obviously likes to listen to himself, even if he is not too infatuated with himself to appreciate someone else’s talent – for example, the best American director today is, in his opinion, a woman, Kathryn Bigelow). I appreciate the fact that the film (mostly) does not unnecessarily repeat the information known from earlier documentaries about the shooting of The Exorcist or The French Connection, and attempts to reveal lesser-known facts. On the other hand, it is regrettable that it does not give more space to other, more obscure projects, not only the documentary The People vs. Paul Crump, which together with television training pushed Friedkin toward a veristic way of shooting and an emphasis on authenticity and immediacy at the expense of elegance (the first take is fine, even though the whole crew can inadvertently be seen in reflection in the shot, because “who gives a fuck”). ___ Of the many memorable quotes of a filmmaker who is likable for his casualness and the fact that he rarely bothered with what was appropriate (whether in public statements or narrative conventions), I would have at least this inscribed: “Nobody can top Buster Keaton.” 75%

Hale County This Morning, This Evening is probably the best antithesis of last year’s Green Book. A visually captivating search for alternative ways to represent black bodies, which is to say the African-American minority. With a very loose structure, an associative montage and musical rhythm. No conflicts, no drama, no white people. Nothing that you would expect from a movie with a racial subtext. Just life the way it is lived. As RaMell Ross explained after a screening, a white American audience found the film boring because nothing happens in it, because it was just a sequence of everyday scenes. African-Americans, on the other hand, appreciated the fact that someone viewed them primarily as people, not as members of a particular ethnic group defined by skin color and burdened with numerous stereotypes. It is good to be aware of the kind of thought patterns and expectations with which we approach the narratives of members of a given culture. With its concept (unlike Green Book, it does not reinforce myths, but rather dismantles them; it does not lead to anything specific, does not assert anything definitive, and does not judge anyone), Hale County provides an excellent starting point.

The Magic Life of V is an unusually compact drama that completely blurs the line between documentary and fiction (and with respect to how well it works as a result, I find it unnecessary here to address where the raw recording ends and the staging begins). Some compositions are at the level of Roger Deakins and the story develops as a standard psychological drama, enhancing the characterisation of the female protagonist, conveying a limited set of motifs and culminating with an unpleasant confrontation and subsequent catharsis. The main protagonist, twenty-five-year-old Veer, moves between the fictional worlds of larping, where the film takes on the perspective of larpers and transforms into a fantasy or suspenseful survival horror movie, and reality, where she struggles with a mentally ill brother as well as with depression and anxiety – the consequences of a traumatic childhood with her father, a violent alcoholic. I see the film’s primary benefit in the perceptive examination of the possible therapeutic effects of playing games and wearing masks, activities that are otherwise often disparaged by the general public. One of the film's most emotional moments, in which I found myself more than I would have liked, occurs in the dialogue scene when Veer expresses her hope that escaping into fiction and creating alternate identities would one day no longer be a necessary means of self-preservation, but merely a simple source of pleasure. At the same time, I believe that in order for The Magic Life of V to appeal to you in the same way, you needn’t know anything about LARP or be a gamer. All you need is a bit of empathy (and perhaps a weakness for breathtaking panoramas of snow-covered landscapes). 90%

Captain Marvel is a film that, like its protagonist, seeks its true identity and is not very successful in doing so. In its better moments, it is a fast-paced buddy movie with a digitally facelifted Samuel L. Jackson and Brie Larson in a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, thus rather an extended episode of The X-Files (but without the mystery). In worse moments, it is a sterile space/soap opera (but without a sufficiently detached view). The overarching “detective” framework, in which Vers searches for who she really was/is, has an original exposition (Carol is a more or less “burnt-out” superhero from the beginning; she only fulfils a role that is not her own), though the development remains very predictable. In addition to that, it does not raise enough questions that would maintain our curiosity (which is even truer of the second of the two origin stories, following the inception of the Avengers). Its rhythm, characterisations and (towards the end) CGI are grating. The story arc is mediocre, the environment is nondescript and, with the exception of some surprising background music, the action scenes are generic. The emancipation storyline approaches naivety and literalness (when the heroine has to stand on her own two feet, then she stands on her own two feet, in several consecutive shots, culminating for the sake of certainty with the declaration “I don't have to prove anything to you” – for its unforcedness, the scene in which Brie Larson walks through a video rental shop among VHS tapes with 1980s hypermasculine action heroes is far more telling). The problem lies in the fact that, in its old-school simplicity, Captain Marvel is not as consistent as the formally and stylistically much cleaner Wonder Woman. Other than Brie Larson, the film’s main value added, thanks to which it is not (by a slim margin) the weakest Marvel movie, comprises an orange cat and the cameo of Stan Lee reading the Mallrats screenplay. 65%

It is a joy to find out that Soderbergh was already making fully grown-up films at the age of 26. Sex, Lies and Videotape is a less accessible affair than one would expect from a festival hit (and it shows well the direction taken by the Sundance Film Festival, which has recently raised the visibility of much more gratifying films). ___ Each character has a problem that can be perceived as a symptom of more far-reaching social ills, thanks to which the film is a multi-layered psychosexual portrait of a generation. Graham, a man who adheres to the philosophy of one key, fights his (emotional) impotence by parasitising on strangers’ lives. Despite his obscure hobby, which satisfies a certain need (YouTube fulfils a similar confessional function today), he is the most emotionally well-balanced character, which seemingly enables him to attract the emotionally distracted Ann. Thanks to his composure, Graham is also the sincerest character, which encourages greater openness in others. ___ In art films, a popular narrative formula is when a third person enters the relationship of a couple, a disruptive element that gradually casts doubt on all certainties. Soderbergh was able to make that formula special through the atypical redistribution of power. The marriage of Ann and John, an all-too-typical 1980s yuppie, is not idyllic, so Graham’s influence on him is not destructive, but liberating. ___ Though the absolute majority of Freudian dialogue scenes take place in interiors (exteriors serve only to separate larger plot segments), those scenes are very “filmic”, although that may not be too obvious at first glance (the only formal element revealing debutant enthusiasm is the “expression” of an orgasm by means of the vertigo effect). Just as in the dark relationship dramas of the 1970s (Five Easy Pieces, The Last Picture Show), which served as Soderbergh's inspiration, the characterisation of the characters is aided by the mise-en-scène and slow camera approach. The increasing frequency of cuts increases the tension, the shots follow one another graphically or with the aid of sound transitions (overlapping dialogue), which create the impression of the fateful interconnectedness of the characters (without the convulsiveness found in some later dramas with a webbed narrative). The self-consciousness of the narrative is also outstanding. While the characters lie, the images create an ironic effect by “telling” the truth; some information is intentionally withheld to magnify the surprising effect of the revelation, some cuts are “invisible” to the point that they amount to confusing time-space connections (Ann only sits in cars and she is suddenly in front of Graham’s house, a long flashback with an interview between Ann and Graham begins without warning so that we are taken back in time). ___ Therefore, the maturity praised in the introduction to this review does not refer only to the film’s thematic maturity, but also its formal maturity. As early as with his debut, it became clear that Soderbergh ranks among those filmmakers who actually think things over for a long time before shooting anything. 80%

Alita pushes computer acting to a new level, aided by a story whose straightforwardness and naivety (most painfully rising to the fore in the development of an extremely hollow romantic subplot) that have their charm, but it’s not enough for a two-hour film. I would rather suppose the basis of the film to be a young adult novel by an American author who loves Japanese culture and James Cameron films (at least the latter bit about James Cameron, who wrote the screenplay, is probably true), rather than a Japanese cyberpunk manga comic book. Christoph Waltz with a rocket-powered pickaxe, describing a martial art called Panzerkunst, philosophising about whether one can love a cyborg, and Mahershala Ali as Blade don't help much. Nevertheless, Rodriguez has not been so focused in his storytelling for a long time. Even more so than in the patient building (or revealing) of the world from the lowest floor, this can be seen in the uncluttered action sequences with very complex choreography (I would not shy away from a comparison with Ready Player One). I wouldn’t be surprised if it is such a failure that we won’t see a follow-up, but I also wouldn’t mind if a sequel was made. 65%

This film makes me sad. Not because of its content, which goes to such extremes that it loses its persuasiveness, but due to the fact that Nadine Labaki squanders her talent by presenting two gruelling hours of shots of sad (often crying) faces of emotionally and otherwise destitute characters (often children). It is basically just a pile of evidentiary material explaining why twelve-year-old Zain decided to sue his parents for conceiving him. I hope that was not the intention, but the film, which borders on poverty/misery porn (it crosses that line in scenes underscored by sentimental music) throughout its runtime, gives the impression that poor people, whose motivations are not in any way clarified, should not have children at all. The system represented in the film by the judiciary and the police by all accounts seems to work, and the complicity of the upper class is not taken into account at all. The final “corpse” is apparently supposed to refer to The 400 Blows, but Truffaut’s adolescence in difficult conditions did not deprive him of all joy and he did not make such a terribly didactic and one-sided film that basically goes nowhere, but rather only clubs us to death with misery, loneliness and suffering and more and more unfortunate twists of fate. 40%

When Christian Bale thanked Satan for inspiring his portrayal of Dick Cheney at the Golden Globes, he not only gained the fondness of the Church of Satan, but also expressed how McKay’s film is problematic. He takes a very easy target and, and with a complete lack of nuance, depicts Cheney as the most demonic figure in modern American history, responsible for the war in Iraq, the torture of prisoners and numerous other crimes against humanity. Despite Bale's convincing physical transformation into the powerful politician and the humorous etudes of the actors in supporting roles (though humorous in a way similar to the celebrity cameos in Anchorman), this is a one-dimensional portrait of a diabolical figure without any psychological depth and tells us nothing that we wouldn’t already know. Furthermore, it is an ugly, dull film with mundane direction and, most importantly – unlike The Big Short, which used the same alienating procedures much more systematically – it is not entertaining. The elitist condescension to viewers who clearly would not enjoy Vice (the girl in the intertitle scene, telling her friend how she looks forward to the next instalment of Fast & Furious) is, despite how clever the film pretends to be, really stupid. 50%

If anything puts the brakes on this ensemble western packed with everything a classic western should contain (Monument Valley, Indians, a shootout on the street), it’s a stagecoach stuffed with everything that the United States represented before the war. Though this microcosm of society enables Ford to characterise Kid as a self-reliant individualist standing outside the established social structures and, at the same time, to expand on his favourite theme of the birth of the American nation, the relationships between the characters are not well depicted in the Maupassant-esque comedy of morals and their “resolution” through the somewhat unfair use of a deus ex machina in the form of a band of savage Indians (who, unlike in The Searchers, are nothing more than an obstacle on the way to a civilised society). However, a few sardonic melodramatic interpolations and funny flashes of Ford’s humour are trampled into the ground during a long action scene with an example of unmistakably first-class filmmaking. The back projections and exterior shots with stunts are so skilfully combined that the transitions between the realistic and “artificial” environments are not jarring and the sequence unfolds at such a pace that you gladly forgive Ford for the baffling axle crossing. Perhaps it is a pity that not only the socio-critical dimension of the film remains in the shadow of this magnificent sequence, but so does the brilliant direction of the introductory part. Ford directs Stagecoach partially as a silent film. He mostly relies on static shots; instead of words, he lets the looks that the characters exchange do the talking and those looks thus have even greater storytelling value, which is not diminished by the details and other stylistic revivals in the film (the introduction of Wayne’s character is unforgettable thanks to the unique use of a swift approach of the camera). Every cut, every change in the size of the shot has its justification in Ford’s expressive economy. The style does not needlessly draw attention to itself; from the depth of the composed shots (which evidently had a strong influence on Citizen Kane), we learn only what is necessary for the plot structure. The clarity and comprehensibility of the narrative seem completely natural, which is due not only to the distinctiveness of Ford's direction, but also the difficulty of expressing it in words. Try to describe something invisible. Even though its qualities may not seem so obvious to you, Stagecoach remains a milestone of cinema. It is the film that started the revival of the western genre and took a B-list actor with rigid expressions and statuesque poses and turned him into an immortal film icon. 85%

Cumberbatch plays another highly intelligent sociopath who goes against all conventions (and he does so splendidly). This time he gives us a behind-the-scenes look at politics based on strong emotions and the creation of an alternative reality with the aid of social networks and data analysts (due to the brief runtime, not much emphasis is placed on the perspective of voters, though some reasons for their anger and desire to change the narrative are taken into account). In terms of information, however, it is incredibly dense, while also being clear, comprehensible and very nimble. The news footage could have been incorporated into the story in a more elegant manner, an occasional bit of image-based storytelling (not merely an unrelenting stream of words) would not have hurt anything, and the “confessing” Cummings’s framing of the story comes across as hollow (the narration also jumps to the other camp, where he was not present). However, I take a certain incompleteness as a necessary toll for how soon the film was made after the British referendum, thanks to which it has a lot of (angry) energy in it. Despite the relative faithfulness to the actual events, it is primarily opinion-based political commentary (with caricature drawings of some politicians), not an unbiased reconstruction. In spite of the exaggerated tone and cynicism of most of the characters, the result is more chilling than entertaining, as it is already clear that undermining fundamental trust in facts and authority has rather atrocious consequences. I at least hope that when Johnson and Farage see themselves in that context, their blood vessels will rupture. 75%