Matty

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%

If I were twelve years old and saw this movie on basic cable on a Saturday night, I would be thrilled. But I’m not twelve anymore and I saw it at the cinema. Shane Black, who fundamentally influenced the form of modern buddy movies, understood that if you want to make movies like Lethal Weapon today, you can’t take either yourself or the film seriously (see the third Iron Man and The Nice Guys). There are tendencies toward self-awareness in The Hitman’s Bodyguard (though there is sometimes a very fine line between “it’s terribly stupid, you know it’s terribly stupid, and we know that you know” and simply “it's terribly stupid”), but the film handles them terribly inconsistently. Besides the almost parodic scenes (the apocalypse is unfolding behind Michael while he calmly continues his monologue) there are moments of simple exaggeration that are supposed to be touching or, in the worst case, to tell of pseudo-fictional war crimes (given the context, I found the storyline with Dukhovich to be rather tasteless). The characters suffer from the same identity crisis. They sometimes behave like people educated by genre clichés, but in a number of other respects, they just predictably follow conventions and make stupid mistakes. The narrative repeatedly loses momentum due to the unsuccessful attempt to humanise the two characters through their relationship with the dear better half and a more or less serious explanation of how they became the people they are (the flashback to Darius’s first murder, for example, is simply out of place due to its reverent tone). This constant relationship-counselling philosophising, even in moments when the protagonists are clearly short on time, is not skilfully integrated into the ongoing action and serves only to extend the runtime – the main storyline grinds to a halt so that the men can wallow in their feelings and whine a little. The pace is thus fairly uneven and the film seems to be much longer than it actually is. The level is raised significantly by the long action sequences in Amsterdam and The Hague, which have the appropriate verve and wit, even though they are horribly edited and don’t really move the narrative anywhere (well, except when the characters move from one place to another). But then comes the haphazard (in terms of special effects, the screenplay and the acting) final act, which basically negates the preceding hundred minutes (in the end, everything is resolved in a completely different way than what the story had been leading up to the whole time) and the whole film goes steeply downhill. The Hitman’s Bodyguard could have been an excellent high-concept action movie with a pair of charismatic actors (of which Jackson is the dominant force in the film) and a ’90s feel, if it didn’t so clumsily defend its overwrought B-movie nature and add importance in a way that takes all of the fun out of it. 50%

If Joe Wright could tell a story as effectively as he directs, Darkest Hour would be a much less painful viewing experience. Unfortunately, the ambitious British filmmaker again proves to be a great purveyor of kitsch, for whom the main thing is that every scene looks good and is not boring at all costs, not that it has meaningful content and is somehow helpful to the narrative. Visual gimmicks such as shots from a bird’s-eye perspective, slow-motion shots and close-ups of the second hand on a clock mainly give the impression of being manifestations of an almost panicky fear of being ordinary, which I would rather expect from a debut filmmaker trying to demonstrate what he learned at film school. The rather ordinary scenes, relying solely on well-chosen composition and Oldman’s acting (very solid, but you still can’t escape thinking that you are watching a thin actor under a fat mask) are much more impressive, because the ideas in them are not concealed by effects. Besides the occasional victory of form over content, the film is hindered by its unbalanced rhythm (after the brisk first hour, the pace slows significantly before Operation Dynamo), breaking history down to key decisions of great and infallible men, the desperate lack of sound judgment (even if the scene in the underground is based on reality, that does not change the fact that it is terribly unconvincingly constructed and written – I don’t remember seeing anything so dumb even in British interwar propaganda films, where it would be more at home) and insulting leading of the viewer. Through the supporting characters (especially the frightened secretary), the film constantly tells us how we should see Churchill, what to think about him, so that we don’t start to doubt his genius. There is a whiff of believability in the scenes of Churchill with his wife, which the screenplay does not prescribe, only for her to marvel at his penetrating intellect and laugh at his bon mots. Unfortunately, the better work of the actors and makeup artists (and costume and set designers) cannot save what the screenwriter (Anthony McCarten also wrote The Theory of Everything, which suffers from similar shortcomings) and the director neglected. Darkest Hour is an empty, naïve and fake lesson in patriotism, which for two hours laboriously tries to convey the same message that Christopher Nolan was able to put across with much greater impact in the last ten minutes of Dunkirk. 45%

The Beguiled is a gentler, more sensual and more sophisticated take on Thomas Cullin’s novel than the film made by Don Siegel and Clint Eastwood in 1971. In the original film, the ruin of men was represented by jealous and vengeful women who were incapable of suppressing their lust. Therefore, I understand Sofia Coppola’s decision to rework the same subject matter so that the result would not be a film expressing male paranoia about female hysteria and in which Southern belles are defined solely by their sexuality (or lack thereof). Coppola dispensed with the broader historical context and replaced it with a timeless narrative about the battle of the sexes and girls coming of age. Similarly as in The Virgin Suicides and Marie Antoinette, she confines her female protagonists to a golden cage, which provides them with certain privileges but also prevents them from freely expressing their individual interests. This confinement is manifested also in The Beguiled in the disregard for the outside world, corresponding to the point of view of privileged white girls who are only interested in their own needs. Despite its seeming one-dimensionality and superficiality, The Beguiled is a layered, subversive and humorous film with an ambiguous message. 85%

I expected The Post to be a good movie. I did not expect it to be nearly flawless. There is much to be admired in it, especially knowing that the project was announced in March 2017 and was in cinemas by December, but what I enjoyed the most was how various subworlds (family and work, men and women, friends and colleagues, The Washington Post and The New York Times) constantly collide in the film at the level of both narrative and style, which adds dynamics and layering to a film that is largely based on a few people in a room discussing huge amounts of data or deciding on something essential. ___ The differences between the worlds among which the characters move are made clear thanks especially to Kamiński’s camerawork and the directorial control of the space in front of the camera. There is almost no shot that does not convey something through its composition, the placement of the actors, the inevitability with which the characters dominate the given setting (Kay is more comfortable at home, Ben in the newsroom), the contrast of events in the foreground and background, the speed and direction of camera movements.... At the same time, the film never comes across as didactic, but rather as something entirely natural and organic. For example, granddaughters running in the garden in the background during a work conversation between Ben and Kay, and the camera’s sharp glance at a portrait of the female protagonist’s father hanging on a column that she walks past gives the scenes extraordinary emotional depth without descending into sentimentality and slowing down the narrative. ___ Even though we are subjected to a constant flow of information, especially in the first half, which covers several days (in the second half, the field of possibilities of how the narrative can develop further is significantly narrowed and mostly takes place in a single day, thus making it even more suspenseful), you can still find your bearings in the film and know where it is headed thanks to the clarity with which it was made. ___ Thematically, The Post is a prequel to All the President’s Men on the one hand and, on the other hand, another Spielberg story about an absent father, a family (due mainly to which a night-time conversation with the daughter is important, though for many that will be irritating proof that Spielberg can’t handle endings) and the occasional necessity of bending certain rules in order to keep democracy alive. For only the third time in a Spielberg film (after The Color Purple and The BFG), there is at the centre of events a female protagonist around which all storylines and motifs – the fight with the government, social expectations, self-confidence – converge (initially intersecting roughly halfway through the film, until which time Kay does not become involved in the newspaper’s contents). ___ The Post is thus relevant not only as a critique of unlimited power and defence of freedom of the press, but also as a story about a woman who has to risk everything in order to show men that she is just as capable as they are and to thus achieve, at the individual level, the same freedom desired by newspapers to write without sanction about dubious government activities (the strongest scenes include those in which Meryl Streep finds herself surrounded by men who literally and figuratively prevent her from moving and to whom she first submits before gradually learning to stand up to them).___ Due to its seeming lack of action, Spielberg’s latest work will not be easy to follow particularly for non-American viewers (especially those who don’t pay attention to what the film conveys visually), but if you liked Lincoln, you should be very pleased with The Post, despite its being even less of a spectacle (the most epic scene depicts the printing and distribution of newspapers). 90%

In recent years, Alexander Payne has been filming the same story about aging white men who discover rather too late that they have wasted most of their lives and so they set out to find something that gives their empty lives meaning. Set in a world where people can be shrunk down to roughly six inches in order to improve their lives and save the planet, Downsizing is basically no exception; it just has a more ambitious scope and, in addition to the crisis of the individual, attempts to also address the crisis of western society, or rather the whole world, to which Payne adapted the genre and narrative structure. ___ At the beginning, the film switches from an individual point of view to a global perspective and subsequently applies the same technique to Damon’s physiotherapist character, who finds the solution to his problems by becoming more interested in the world around him so that he comes to the conclusion that it is necessary to start with smaller goals (i.e. local, not global). The core of the film comprising a bitter comedy that questions faith in the American dream and never-ending American prosperity is supplemented with a sci-fi satire and (melo)drama with a relatively explicit political-environmental message. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if a scene was supposed to come across as sardonic (because a character says something terribly kitschy and literal and Christoph Waltz smiles like a simpleton) or touching. ___ A bigger problem is the fact that Payne and co-writer Jim Taylor are at times unable to decide whether they are more interested in the characters or in the downsized world they invented for them and whose laws we are now discovering together with the protagonists. The whole idea of downsizing seemed to me like a gimmick serving more or less only as scathing commentary on what people are willing to go through to improve their social status. At its core, this is a variation of a well-known Payne story that could happen even in the real world. I see the sci-fi level mainly as a way to facilitate the work and to more quickly confront the characters with the dilemmas that the screenplay is intended to address. __ The resulting hybrid holds together primarily thanks to Matt Damon, who is just as convincing as a paunchy forty-something with mild depression as he is as secret agent with lethal skills. The genre transformations that the film undergoes partly reflect the development of his character, toward whom Payne is far too indulgent in comparison with his earlier films (often at the expense of stereotyped female characters). ___ In many respects, Downsizing is a rather problematic film and definitely not perfect, but it clearly made an impression on me. And perhaps the real reason I feel the need to defend it instead of maligning it is the laughing Christoph Waltz as a Serbian smuggler named Dusan Mirkovic, who is ably supported Udo Kier. 75%

Though Nolan’s previous films were more refined in terms of narrative and intellectually more ambitious, their ostentatious structure often overshadowed emotion. Dunkirk, which stays more grounded in a number of respects, is his most functional prototype of the epic movie that Hollywood currently needs, a major film that you will want to see not only in a technically well-equipped cinema (preferably IMAX), but also repeatedly. Thanks to Nolan’s focused direction, everything in the film is subordinated to the maximum sensory experience, the intensity of which rises with each viewing, as you become better oriented in the temporal relationships between the individual storylines and can experience more while working less on solving the narratological puzzle. Dunkirk is intoxicating, dizzying and unrelenting in its intensity from start to finish. (Viewed three times in the cinema, of which IMAX twice.) 90%

A Fantastic Woman begins where most melodramas end – with the death of one of the partners. For Marina, Orlando’s death initiates a multi-phase process of defending her own identity. In front of the doctor, the police investigator, and members of Orlando’s family, she must defend everything that shapes her self – her name, her body, her voice. Almost no one is interested in what Marina wants. No one asks how she feels. Others see her not as an equal, but as an anomaly, a threat to the status quo. Each of the characters who judge Marina also represents a certain institution, by means of the which the story of one farewell takes on a political dimension. Marina is not defending only her right to live a full life. She represents everyone who doesn’t seem sufficiently normal to people like Orlando's ex-wife. ___ Lelio bases the narrative more on parallels and variations than on a causal chain of events and plot twists. We perceive Marina’s nudity during her lovemaking with Orlando differently than during the compiling of police documentation or the sauna scene. When she embraces an unknown man in a nightclub, the moment lacks the warmth of her earlier dance with Orlando shot with by a similar camera approach. The protagonist’s search for a strong voice is motivated not only by her desire for equality, but also by her dream of a singing career. Lelio’s directorial skill is perhaps even more evident in the natural blending of the individual and emancipatory stories than in the scenes where he abandons the dominant realistic style and allows the protagonist at least an imaginary escape into a world where she can be herself. ___ A Fantastic Woman is one of those films in which every shot excels by being well thought out. The colours, the framing and the objects in the mise-en-scène bear meanings and provide commentary on the life situation in which the characters find themselves. For example, Marina wears a necklace in the shape of a semicircle through most of the film. When she realises that she cannot base her identity on the absence or presence of a compatible other half, she replaces the half-circle with a key. It’s not the most subtle metaphor for finding the key to one’s soul, but Lelio isn’t going for subtlety. Like the main female character, his bold film, precise in its details and uplifting in the end, does not conceal anything and is not afraid to meet the audience halfway. At the same time, it doesn’t pander or beg for sympathy. Furthermore, it doesn’t force you to accept Marina in all her diversity. The final realisation that you would have liked to spend a lot more time with this fantastic woman is thus all the more valuable. 90%

The problem with Fifty Shades Darker is not that it doesn’t know when to end, but that it never properly starts. An essential tenet of screenwriting is that without conflict, there is no drama. Niall Leonard is apparently unaware of this. The popular statement that “nothing happens in it” applies to such an extent to few other films. Any attempt at suspense or plot twists thus comes across as unintentional comedy because of its lack of substance. Both of the protagonists do basically the same things that they did in the first instalment, though one would think that this time it is a voluntary decision on Ana’s part (she didn't know before that sex doesn’t have to be painful), which is only half true (when, for example, she tells her partner what to do to her). Grey continues to act like a faithless, possessive emotional manipulator who again lays out the rules of the game and doesn’t give much choice to his ingenuous partner, who likes to be bought a big bouquet of roses, a set of Apple products and luxury lingerie. As a result, moments that should seem romantic are actually rather creepy, because we don’t see any sincere feelings behind them. It’s also quite difficult to sympathise with the female protagonist, who has Ben Wa balls inserted into her vagina and only then asks what they are for. The adjective “vanilla” applies less to the central couple’s relationship than to the film as a whole, in which the unfortunate lack of knowing winks at the viewer prevents it from being an expression of self-reflection or an act of subversion (which, I'm afraid, should not have been a scene like something out of Magic Mike). Though the narrative of the first instalment was marked by a similar ponderousness, I found it generally thought-provoking on a deeper level of meaning. The second film is just a sequence of pretty but completely hollow shots that barely hold together (on the other hand, it’s possible that I’m just too annoyed by the film to give it any further thought). It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a similarly arrogant wager on the certainty that the target audience, longing to see a bit of harmless “kinky fuckery”, will come to the cinema anyway. 30%

First Reformed is a return to Bresson not only by thematicising personal responsibility for the state of the world (the basic outline of the plot is essentially Diary of a Country Priest, while the ecological line is reminiscent of Bresson’s sceptical later films), but also in its rigorous minimalistic style. The academic format, almost monochromatic picture (Schrader originally wanted to shoot in black-and-white), restrained acting, repetitive editing techniques (each disturbance tells us something important or redirects our attention) and composition (transitioning from symmetrical, after the protagonist begins have doubts, to asymmetrical). Only the camera moves exceptionally. Though First Reformed is a serious and slow film of extraordinary formal rigidity, it does not come across as ponderous thanks to its thriller framework and the raising of questions that are relevant to the period (without having a critical tone along the lines of “Old Man Yells at Cloud”). Even though the film has an “old-fashioned” confessional nature, an inspiring tension arises between the diary-style voice-over and what we see. Toller is constantly waging a battle between his thoughts and that which he can express out loud in his position. While writing in his diary, he promises that he will not conceal or omit anything, but he soon rather prefers to destroy certain diary entries. The content of others (the last entries) is hidden from us for a change. As a priest, Toller has a certain social role. He serves others and as such feels responsible for the state of the world and slips into disillusionment and alcoholism because he is not able to change anything. He is roused from his passivity only by meeting a man who does not want to bring a child into the world because of environmental destruction. By presenting the dilemma between private thoughts and public actions, First Reformed differs from Taxi Driver, Schrader’s previous drama about the suffering of a man disgusted by society, from which he openly quotes at least during a drive at night. In a fascinating way, Schrader’s screenplay and Hawke's focused acting express Toller’s slow transformation, which is simultaneously a descent into darkness and an ascent into the higher realms of being (transcendence). At the beginning, he advises Michael to live for that which transcends man, but at the end he realises the inadequacy of the fact that the church deals with spiritual matters and the afterlife instead of the problems of the present. He finds inner peace only after taking a decision on how he will respond to global warming, a loss of interest in religion (his sermons are usually attended by approximately five people; the church serves rather as a souvenir shop) and the radicalisation of young people. For the first time, he does not spend the evening alone with a glass of whiskey, but in a restaurant, where he eats fish. At the same time, a conversation with Michael raises the central idea of life as a search for a balance between despair and hope. Michael at first embodies despair, Toller hope. Later, their positions become complicated. The ambiguous (or dual) ending offers both despair and hope. It shares enough for the film to be satisfactorily concluded, but not so much that you won’t spend a few days thinking about what exactly Schrader is saying in one of his best films, which can be viewed as the stylistic and thematic peak of his work to date. 90%