Matty

How much must a woman sacrifice in order to be heard? The piano, a symbol of advanced society, gives Ada a privilege, thank to which she becomes, in the eyes of men, a woman from another, mysterious world, by which the traditional battle of the sexes is enriched with a no less determinative clash of cultures that has a slight whiff of anthropology. While Baines longs to have deeper knowledge of Ada’s world, her husband wants to control it, to colonise it. At the same time, the large musical instrument, which is dragged along like a burden, represents for the protagonist an opportunity to escape into her inner world. Thanks to Baines, she gradually discovers music outside of the realm of her own playing, though at the same time she is distancing herself from her daughter, whose loss would be a greater blow for her than being abandoned by her husband. Whatever she decides, happiness does not await her; at most there is only more pain and humiliation. Though the core of the film comprises a classic love triangle and Ada serves as a magnet for all suffering in accordance with the rules of melodrama, Jane Campion did not make a banal melodrama. Most obviously, her feministic bending of the genre’s rules (for example, she much more clearly demonstrates that a man treats a woman as property that he can trade as he pleases) is evinced by an unexpected evasive manoeuvre just before the end of the film. A strong statement about emancipation emerges – with considerable pain – from a love story about a woman, a man and a piano. When I think about the beautiful music and camera work along with the strong emotional experience and Holly Hunter’s acting, for which I have no words, the highest rating seems to be adequate. But in too many scenes, The Piano offers nothing but that music and nice images, and the director’s concept frequently takes precedence over credibility in the characters’ actions. In this respect, it is unreservedly melodramatic without being subversive. 80%

As a film of indeterminate genre, Dollhouse appears on the surface to be a criticism of the empty lives of today’s young people, who outwardly do not acknowledge having any values. What lies beneath that veneer, however, is an almost Haneke-esque sadistic game played with viewer expectations. The initial situation, where a group of idiots break into a luxury villa, and the way the “innocent” scenes are interspersed with hints of something very unpleasant (close-ups of a drill, a hammer, bruises on a back), lead us to see Dollhouse as a teen horror movie in which there will be a lot of dying (and rightly so). The dialogue, through which the characters seemingly comment on the rules of films like this, necessitates the search for an alternative, less predictable key. I believe, however, that the chosen solution negates all of the assumptions that any given erudite viewer will make while watching. It isn’t shocking for the sake of being shocking. The drastic change in the direction that the film takes (or doesn’t take) enables the director to end the film with a much more imaginative point than that found in a traditional horror movie: at the end, everyone – with the possible exception of the final girl – dies. In the climax, the plot is basically turned upside down, which corresponds to the heroine’s mental state and her and her peers’ disjointed perception of reality. Like Haneke’s psychological studies of contemporary society, Dollhouse is rather exhausting for viewers. However, it will require even more effort to stop thinking about it than it did to watch it. 75%

In the context of the melodramatic “sick flick” subgenre, The Fault in Our Stars is satisfactory as only a film about dying teenagers can be. The creation of endings as one of the primary means of “making sense” of our existence is cleverly elevated to a leitmotif of the narrative, which from the opening words is presented as story about a story (or rather about making up stories). In Hazel’s case, the desire for a concluded narrative and control over her own story is strengthened by her illness. (In the director’s cut, Hazel’s transformation from the subject of the narrative to the subject conveying the narrative is more pronounced thanks to the scene in the ambulance, where she comes up with the continuation of the poem for Gus). The protagonist is motivated by a need similar to that which we as viewers satisfy by watching fictional stories. Due to the fact that our lives will end without us being able to add anything to them, fictional narratives serve as simulators that reconcile us with our own mortality. Melodrama most strikingly exploits the tension between fear of the end and the need to give that end a clearer form. The Fault in Our Stars is not satisfied with the helplessness of the essentially good characters (or those that are willing to change for the better) who are facing a terminal illness and attempts to reflect the aforementioned quality of melodrama on multiple levels. Though it’s true that the film bears all of the hallmarks of midcult filmmaking (parasiting on serious issues, audio-visual attractiveness, wrapping banal ideas up in dubious and important-sounding speeches, superficial characters), it achieves a more powerful emotional effect than many other, similar films thanks to its use of simple narrative devices. Credit is due mainly to the believable young actors and the screenplay, which is artful enough that you believe it rises above the clichés of Hollywood tearjerkers (though it does in fact jerk every last tear). Due to the ingenuity with which the film strives to convince us through flashes of black humour and the signs of unwillingness to play by the established genre rules that it is not just another run-of-the-mill melodrama, I gladly let myself be moved by The Fault in Our Stars. Maybe I’m becoming a softy. Or maybe I’m no longer such a cynic (and chauvinist) that I would reject a well-thought-out “chick flick” on principle. 65%

The first half Gerald’s Game plays out promisingly with just two well-matched actors and a dog (a similar setup as in The Mountain Between Us, which is currently in cinemas) in one room, an unpleasant situation and a few objects that could potentially resolve it. There are plenty of cuts and changes of perspective to hold our attention, the uncertainty of what is real and what is only imagined (in which the film is a more sophisticated variation on torture porn – it’s not just about physical pain, but also about holding on to one’s sanity). The presentation of the female protagonist’s train of thought is handled more elegantly than in, for example, 127 Hours with its affected flashbacks. I consider the flashbacks, which first appear after roughly fifty minutes, to be the film’s main stumbling block. The heretofore concentrated narrative, with its strictly limited number of ways to continue the game, loses traction and gets bogged down in pseudo-psychological explanations for Jessie’s difficulties with men. This is King’s favourite abusive cliché, with which he works in It, for example, and which is based on the rather questionable belief that in order for a woman to discover her inner strength, she must first suffer terribly. Cutting out the flashbacks and the very awkwardly appended emancipatory afterword could turn this into a brisk low-budget surprise that has no need to complicate a simple initial idea with lengthy explanations. At the same time, however, I understand that it is also a service to King’s fans, who will most likely appreciate this self-destructive fidelity to the source material. 65%

As the minutes passed, I better understood what the Dardennes were trying to communicate and, at the same time, understood less why they were communicating it in such a terribly overcomplicated way. They would have done better if they had completely abandoned the very (and intentionally?) unsatisfying pseudo-detective storyline containing too many detours that lead to nowhere and instead used the minor everyday conflicts between the doctor (a role for which Adèle Haenel was superbly prepared) and her patients to point out the mistrust in the community and the problems that arise from it. The film’s main strength consists in its simple, stylistically pure observation of Jenny at work, without any specific objective. Conversely, its weakness lies in its gradually increasing didacticism, which is manifested in the robotic behaviour of the female protagonist, who seeks redemption and rejects compromises, as well as in the oversensitivity of the supporting characters, who are walking theses. We are convinced of the selfishness of people strenuously looking for someone else to blame for their own misfortune through, for example, a teenager who is sick to his stomach at the mere thought that he should be involved in the search for a girl, whom he was one of the last to see before her death. This strange blend of three incompatible genres (social drama, detective story and morality play) culminates with a deus ex machina. Instead of catharsis, we have disappointment. Though that was perhaps partly intentional, (unlike fiction, it does not offer an elegant resolution), but it is largely the result of how poorly written the characters are and how unconvincingly motivated are the actions that the film’s creators forced on them. 55%

Withdrawn into their shells, they communicate with each other only sporadically. They listen, but they don’t understand. They begin to realise what all they have been blind to only when their separation moves from the mental to the physical level. Their sadness seems endless. Nanni Moretti puts all of the weight on the viewer and without pressure leads us to go through the experience of loss together with the protagonists. The Son’s Room is built on carefully observed details of family life. The film’s uniqueness consists in its naturalness and its interest in the ordinary, in which we can see ourselves. The central tragedy is not overstated (as the Italians are glad to do), but only carefully examined. And there is no avoidance of lighter scenes, the exclusion of which would only serve to flatten the lives of the characters. We are not prepared far in advance for the crucial event of the narrative, which simply happens as a natural part of life. The film is dramaturgically enlivened by its division into two overlapping halves. The reprise of earlier shots, but now slower and sadder (a long following shot showing the interconnectedness of Giovanni’s personal and professional lives), forces us to make comparisons, to look for differences and to “find” what is missing. In the end, Giovanni also realises that the only reliable means of filling the gaps is probably (probably, because the ending, with the characters going their separate ways, is ambiguous) not the rules of psychoanalysis, but time, which never stops flowing through all of the comings and goings of his fellow humans. 85%

I would be interested in knowing what made the distributor, after two overlooked Apatow films, buy Trainwreck, which requires a certain knowledge of American sports and is built entirely on the person of a comedian who is practically unknown in this country. The film’s uniqueness and most of its shortcomings lie in the degree to which the title reminds us of Amy Schumer’s previous work. ___ The narrative has a conspicuously sketch-like nature. The overabundance of supporting characters, comic scenes that go nowhere and cameos of famous athletes fundamentally disrupt the rhythm and the film, already short of supporting plot conflicts, lasts a good half-hour longer than the plot would need. Of course, all of Apatow’s films (and most of the films that he has produced) have the same problem, giving priority to improvised scenes over the cohesiveness and focus of the narrative. Trainwreck is the only comedy-drama work put out by Amy Schumer, who bases her humour on being brutally honest to everyone around her, mainly to herself. ___ The concept of a sexy blonde in a miniskirt who has her sex life completely under control and is not unwilling to talk about it at length is used less imaginatively than in some of the sketches in Inside Amy Schumer, but it is still a pleasurable stirring of the stagnant waters of romantic comedies. Contrary to convention, the sexual predator here is not a man, but a woman whose dilemma consists in whether to continue to resist monogamy and dread the thought of marriage and children or to start behaving less promiscuously and more responsibly. Similar problems are usually solved in films and the “seduce and destroy” method is much more commonly applied by men. What is also likable is the fact that the film does not excuse the protagonist’s manipulative behaviour, tendencies towards alcoholism or lack of empathy, nor does it glorify them. That’s just how she is. ___ The film submits to conventions only in its climax, which also works with the idea that Amy is not ashamed of her sexuality and does not hesitate to use it to get what she wants, even if that involves her sweating and embarrassing herself terribly. She doesn’t become a completely generic female character. Despite that, Trainwreck has a significantly “softer” ending than many pre-Code films about passionate and wilful gold diggers who are so rotten that redemption and reform are no longer a consideration for them. ___ Unlike Amy, the men are very transparent and predictable from start to finish. Whereas in Steven’s case this serves to play with stereotypes (the bodybuilder with homoerotic tendencies), Aaron remains Mr. Perfect throughout the film, so there are not many obstacles to overcome in the relationship between him and Amy. The chemistry between Aaron and LeBron James paradoxically works better, as their relationship has such a functional dynamic that I wondered if the film would break down into another Apatow bromance. ___ Trainwreck is not as sure of its own genre identity as its promotion as a risqué comedy would suggest. The storyline with the sister (whose name is Kim, like Amy Schumer’s real sister) and the father (who, like Amy Schumer’s real father, suffers from multiple sclerosis) is definitely not secondary or negligible. In fact, it has much more emotional impact than the coming together of Amy and Aaron, as it shows us the protagonist without her defensive cynical mask, thus revealing her as a vulnerable, emotionally insecure woman. The scene in which Kim’s stepson Allister is momentarily transformed from a comedic character into an extraordinarily empathetic human being is one of the most moving that Apatow has filmed to date. The film has more such sober, though not cheaply sentimental moments and it’s regrettable that they don’t comprise its focal point instead of dialogue about penis size and pulling a condom out of a cervix. ___ Trainwreck thus turns out to be more honest in the area of emotion than in the area of sex jokes, some of which are a bit forced. Unlike in other romantic comedies, real people with authentic feelings appear in it (at least for a moment here and there). I consider this to be screenwriter Amy Schumer’s main contribution to Judd Apatow’s filmography. For her own film career – and I don’t write this gladly – the actress Amy Schumer would do better to stick to shorter and preferably comedic projects for the time being. 75%

Deadpool 2 is a touching family melodrama about the importance of traditional values, with a hero who wants to kill himself most of the time, vomiting acid and brutal action scenes accompanied by dubstep or Enya (decide for yourself which is worse). It is as comparably entertaining as the first one, though at the same time darker and more layered emotionally and in terms of storytelling. ___ Retrospectively (like a large part of the first instalment) only the first 20 minutes or so are narrated, after which film-noir turns into a buddy movie (from prison). Only the second half is a superhero team flick (Rob Delaney as Peter deserves a spin-off). The protagonist’s objective and the role of the villain (again played by the excellent Josh “Thanos” Brolin), who arrives on the scene relatively late, unexpectedly change several times. Everything is connected by the melodramatic background with the late/impossible reunion and (re)construction of the family. This primarily involves the main protagonist’s inner conflict, not the destruction of the world as in other comic-book movies. Therefore, I was not bothered by the numerous entirely serious scenes without self-deprecating humour (besides, if you have one of the characters refer to the screenwriter as an imbecile after some bad dialogue, nothing about that bad dialogue changes). Thanks to those scenes, you take the characters more seriously than they take themselves and the conclusion stimulates the right emotions (in this respect, Deadpool is more self-sufficient than Infinity War – in order for you to be moved, you do not have to know the preceding 18 films; you only have to know what you have seen over the past two hours). ___ The best bits are the opening credits parodying Bond movies, the post-credit scenes (or rather mid-credit scenes, as nothing remains after the closing credits) and jokes that truthfully call out the shortcomings of comic-book films that lack good humour, something with which Deadpool abounds. Besides the competition from DC, this is again captured mainly by X-Men, referred to as an outdated, gender-incorrect metaphor of racism from the 1960s. Conversely, it freezes routine action scenes with confusing editing (with the exception of a few more fluid moments, which with their choreography bring John Wick to mind), which, as in the case of most major productions of this type, was probably not under the control of the director himself, but of the second unit (and subsequently the people in charge of CGI). ___ Despite that, Deadpool 2 is very good summer entertainment whose creators managed to come up with enough ways to surprise us both with content and with the construction of the story and by using the conventions of various genres even without the possibility of somehow repeating the “wow effect” of the first film from beginning to end. 80%

During holidays and weekends, eighteen-year-old Edgar Wright and his friends made a film that is much bolder than Craven’s Scream in breaking and exposing genre rules. Based on the economic logic of the matter, affiliation with a genre (or genres) is only feigned, the actors step out of their roles according to the needs of the narrative, and the people behind the camera (including the director) are also forced to actively participate. Wright uses the framework of Dirty Harry and Lethal Weapon to ridicule the authorities and “their” high British culture, beginning with an opening moralistic warning about the harmfulness of the content and continuing with splatter effects, tasteless humour and the expressing of distaste for a certain brand of cereal. Wright had even greater disdain for overly clever British crime films (without blood spatter and car chases), to which he responded as a movie fan by making a film the likes of which would probably not be made in his homeland for a long time to come. The protagonists characteristically did not learn their special police methods from their superiors, but rather from American genre flicks, in which lies one of the many similarities with Hot Fuzz, which itself is basically an extended version of Dead Right. As in Hot Fuzz fourteen years later, cop movies are simultaneously parodied and deeply admired, so it’s hard not to give in to Wright’s youthful enthusiasm for the project and admire the director’s imaginative and very mature handling of various formalistic refinements. Let’s set aside the inevitable imperfection of the film’s craftsmanship and not go looking for what kind of cinematic trash Wright devoured before reaching the age of maturity (I assume he had seen a full range of video nasties from A to Z), and enjoy this enthusiastically overwrought mix of action, crime, slasher, slapstick and buddy movie. 90%

A reality show that strips its participants to the bone. Though it employs almost every cliché of zombie horror movies, Dead Set has a thrilling pace and a bleak atmosphere, and Andy Nyman enjoys playing his insufferable prick of a character as much as Ricky Gervais enjoys playing David Brent. I was disappointed by the modest number of episodes, but at the same time, I appreciate that the series is not artificially drawn out and ends when it’s still at its best.