gudaulin

An interesting relationship drama filmed as a psychological drama of a family taken out of the routine of domestic life and exposed to a test of trust. Its sense of atmosphere created by the editing and selection of musical motifs cannot be denied, as well as the decent acting of unfamiliar actors from the North and, after all, the ability to sometimes strike a nerve. However, I will ultimately not give the film a fourth star because Östlund sometimes gets lost in intellectual theses instead of characterizing the problems of partnership life objectively. Some viewers, including myself, will somewhat wonder about what the author wanted to convey, for example, through the pedestrian descent of hotel guests through mountain switchbacks toward civilization. If the entire conflict is built on a story with an avalanche, then the director misses out on much of human psychology and what constitutes the foundation of partnership relationships. Similar incidents belong to the category of those that can annoy, but just like the fallen avalanche of snow, emotions will soon subside and a sober-minded person will only laugh at them. A much greater danger to partnership cohesion is a hysterical outburst of self-pity, pettiness, and self-contempt, as demonstrated by the film's protagonist facing his wife. They belong to those that can forever change one's perspective on a partner and easily destroy the prospect of continued coexistence. By the way, from the perspective of dramatic structure, it would have been much better for the film to let the viewer balance their sympathies for the actors of the story and keep them undecided as to whose side to ultimately lean toward. Until the mentioned scene, the film prompted thinking, but after that, it was only about taking positions. If I were willing to view the avalanche story as a catalyst for long-simmering dissatisfaction, when a hundred nothings can exhaust and one spark can unexpectedly ignite a barrel of gunpowder, the reactions and actions of all family members would make much more sense. However, Östlund never gave me any indications for that and probably meant it exactly as he filmed it. Overall impression: 60%.

I associate Fincher with "precise craftsmanship" rather than a "film event." I got plenty of that in Gone Girl. I definitely do not regret going to the movie theater because the big screen highlights all elements of Fincher's filmmaking art. But then there is the plot and the screenplay, and I'm not as satisfied with those. It's a typical artificial construct, another one in the endless series of American films about highly intelligent psychopathic manipulators and their ability to escape justice. While watching, I couldn't help but think of Primal Fear, which made a name for Edward Norton. The film can be in any genre, but I need to believe in it, and I simply couldn't believe in Gone Girl. The film is simply too well-crafted for me to consider it lighter entertainment. As for the emphasized social-critical dimension toward the media, we have already seen that countless times in American cinema and elsewhere, often done better. For me, it gets 3.5 stars, with the certainty that Gone Girl will have so many enthusiastic fans that it definitely doesn't need the 4th star from me. Overall impression: 65%.

Sometimes in 1985, I discovered Kryl, who fascinated me with his political and critical lyrics, and subsequently, I started listening to other singer-songwriters who opposed the regime. Even then, I was aware of the existence of dissent, but I was not familiar with the term "underground" in practice. My first encounter with the underground, or rather with what identified with it, had a tangible dimension for me. In 1988, I participated in a nationwide round of a high school competition, which, as was customary at the time, took place under the patronage of the so-called Socialist Union of Youth and required certain rituals that appear ridiculous from today's perspective, such as wearing the uniform of the Union. Before entering the local pub, I wisely took off my provocative red tie, but my blue shirt still shocked the present comrades and unmistakably classified me somewhere in the despised regime's riffraff. Subsequently, they vividly demonstrated to me what gliding at low altitudes looks like without an engine. Regardless of this painful experience, I would not have found my way to the underground anyway. It was too noisy, dirty, and smoky from cheap cigarettes in my eyes. Sometimes, from my perspective, it seemed unnecessarily poseurish. Paradoxically, the 90s did the most harm to it in my eyes when the nature-rebelling unofficial underground cultural scene merged with the polished official world of media celebrities and political top figures. It happened through Václav Havel and some individuals from the former dissent. The band The Plastic People of the Universe experienced a strange comeback, even though it was clearly evident that musically, they were stuck somewhere in the 70s and were not progressing. In certain circles, it was fashionable at the time to identify with their heritage, and it was considered good form to attend their concerts and boast about reading Ivan Martin Jirous's books, which usually ended up somewhere in a corner of the library. The first episodes of FU rely on sentiment and reference to the classic underground of the 70s and 80s, paradoxically reminding me more of the atmosphere of the 90s. The series has confirmed to me that I am out of sync with the world of the classic underground in terms of feeling, and its holiest symbols are rather repulsive to me. Moreover, the nearly 40-episode series is a project that is too ambitious for my taste, its scope scares me, not to mention the content, which invokes indifference in me and at times even repels me. Overall impression: 45%.

A schematic crime drama about greed that deserves punishment, which can only be captivating today due to its strong cast. Especially Martin Růžek convincingly portrayed one of his typical rascals and schemers. Overall impression: 40%.

The reliable Lino Ventura in the middle of a murder conspiracy, which aimed to reduce the number of members of the French secret service abroad. Ventura as a sleeper agent, who has long built a solid existence, functional partnerships, and social ties to the extent that he has the right to consider his cover as a real existence, suddenly finds himself in a situation where his previous certainties collapse within a few days and he experiences an increasing sense of uncertainty and fear for himself and his surroundings. It is a film about a world where you cannot trust anyone and where there are no ideals, only the harshest pragmatism and state interests that do not care about the fate of the individual who gets in the way. Overall impression: 75%.

Spike Jonze's film was preceded by a reputation as a cultured romantic spectacle with refined acting performances, artistic visuals, and a sophisticated aesthetic. In short, it was one of the hot candidates for the Oscars. The praise was not lying. If the film were a date, then She has a fine appearance, a meeting with her will definitely not offend anyone, and it is a date on a level where you don't feel like wasting your time with someone mediocre. But unfortunately, a connection with her didn't develop for me. I have no problem with the casting, as Joaquin Phoenix is an excellent actor and delivers exactly what is expected of him. He gives his character a sadly melancholic and even tragic dimension, and his loneliness gradually starts to hurt you physically. I also have no problem with the filmmaking in any way. What I do have a problem with, however, is the genre direction, as well as the way the characters are portrayed and the lack of identification with them. I also have difficulty with how the screenwriter works with the material. This theme directly invites a comedic approach, and in the first few minutes, it seemed to be heading that way and I was enjoying it. But as soon as it turned into a study of human loneliness and emotional dissatisfaction, I started to distance myself from the film. This is especially true when the director presents his protagonist as a victim and someone I should sympathize with. So, who is the victim then? Technology? It is just a tool that can be used well or poorly. If you look into a contemporary restaurant, you will see several couples who show much more interest in their mobile phones than in each other. But those phones are not to blame for their inability to communicate. Computers can save time and perform a huge amount of work, or you can mindlessly waste a lot of time with them. Online discussions can serve as excellent platforms for exchanging opinions and information, but also for empty talk and trolling. If Theodore is someone's victim, then he is a victim of his own nature and actions. I see a man prone to depression who refuses to admit his illness and wallows in his own self. I see a blind man who overlooks the values that are right in front of him. I see a fool who prefers a substitute where he can - and he really can - have a full-fledged relationship. There are very few film characters that I dislike as much as Theodore, and during the final scene on the rooftop of a high-rise building, when the protagonists are about to escape from themselves, I had the strong urge to kick those two cowards down myself. As for love for a computer program, in our world, there are countless substitutes and replacements for a romantic relationship. You can travel, immerse yourself in your work like a workaholic, or dedicate your feelings to fish in an aquarium. A computer program, if cleverly set up, could become a highly seductive and efficient substitute for love, but it will always be a one-sided affair. I grew up on the works of Stanislaw Lem, and they are marked by a deep skepticism toward the possibility of understanding between different civilizations, cultural circles, or even animal species. It is absurd to assume that if I cannot understand, accept, and love other members of the same species, I will gain and maintain a love for artificial intelligence based on completely different values and perceptions. Such a program would cease to fulfill its function precisely at the moment when the term artificial intelligence is fulfilled and it surpasses the barrier imposed by the program. By the way, this development would be much faster than Spike assumes. Overall impression: 45%.

In the life of most intellectuals, there comes a moment when they begin to reflect on the state of the world, and this is a very risky matter. In the overwhelming majority of cases, the conclusion is reached that the world is corrupt, full of injustice, suffering, and exploitation, and unless something drastic is done about it, it is inevitably heading towards a painful demise. If the world is lucky, it will remain with proclamations and warnings, perhaps resulting in an eco-activist essay or a film relentlessly attacking the villains of the world. Fortunately, most intellectuals belong to the realm of idle theorists, but occasionally the world is unfortunate and an intellectual goes from words to actions. Marco Ferreri, fortunately, is no Lenin and sticks to very superficial criticism of consumerism. There are topics that are popular to criticize in one's youth, while some are better criticized in one's prime years (for example, sexual promiscuity). However, there is a rare consensus against consumer society - young and old, small and large, all resist it. It always moves me how intellectuals despise me for my car, apartment, and four meals a day, and tell me of the example of a nomad somewhere in the Sahel who eats only one meal a day in poverty and is supposedly happier than me. I'm not sure if the nomad would eagerly consume if he had something to consume. It's amazing that whenever a poor society had the opportunity for economic advancement, it gladly gave up happiness and instead acquired refrigerators, cars, or motorcycles, enthusiastically imitating the lifestyle of the unhappy Western civilization. Those noble critics of consumerism miss many things - consumer society is by nature less radical, less eager for conflict, and less sick. Besides, communism was not destroyed by weapons and intrigues of Western imperialists, but by the long-term consumption of inedible products while our neighbors on the other side of the fence consumed to the extreme. Marco Ferreri attempted to make a satire of consumer society through four friends who decided to starve themselves to death. What motivates them, the director did not tell me. Was it that they could no longer handle the disgust at how the world around them consumed so disgustingly? The director approached four great actors of his era. Movie stars rarely live exemplary, modest, and environmentally friendly lifestyles; malicious tongues even claim that they are transported by air to film sets much more often than by bicycle or on foot. However, they rarely resist the opportunity to play in an anti-consumerist and anti-bourgeois film, and they invest maximum energy and persuasiveness into their roles. In its time, La Grande Bouffe sparked excited - of course, highly intellectual - debates and was considered an extremely controversial film that inflamed former moralists and prudish sanctimonious individuals. With the passage of time, I consider Ferreri's film to be somewhat superficial and pretentious. In fact, it does not tell me more than the famous dining scene from Monty Python's The Meaning of Life. However, the Pythons needed less than two minutes to reach the same conclusion - that overeating harms health - and the entertainment value was considerably greater. Overall impression: 45%.

An interesting film standing between two worlds and showing us a dual face. The first world includes private producers of the 1st Republic and the Protectorate, a weak economic background, films made on the fly in a few shooting days, and a theme that was a bet on the right emotions in a small market and promised a quick return on investment. The second world belongs to nationalized cinema, where ambitious projects are created thanks to state support, focusing on a more demanding or minority audience, and dealing with serious topics. By its theme, A Dead Man Among the Living falls into the genre of psychological drama rather than a typical crime film. The film addresses questions of guilt, responsibility, and public opinion, which can quickly take stances and just as quickly change them, susceptible to manipulation and capable of being herd-like and cruelly unjust. The execution, however, is still typical of the First Republic era, and even the presence of the usually quality actor Karel Höger didn't convince me to give it more than 3 stars. The screenplay does not avoid having sentimental and melodramatic elements and culminates in a typically moralistic happy ending. Overall impression: 60%.

In the mid-90s, The Kingdom was a revelation on the television screen and, together with Lynch's Twin Peaks, it was proof that series can be made completely differently than before - more refined, more provocative, with consistent violation of serial conventions, mocking clichés, parodying characters and environments as well as traditional themes - and above all, mixing genres. Lars von Trier placed a horror supernatural theme into the serious setting of a royal hospital and confronted rationally-thinking doctors with the irrational world of the afterlife. At the same time, Trier proved himself as an eternal experimenter when he extensively tested the possibilities of handheld cameras or jump cuts. Personally, more than this search for a new film language (which I found rather annoying in the form of wild cutaways and restless handheld camera), I appreciated Trier's traditional ability to create gloomy images and, in combination with movement and music, to create a claustrophobic and suspenseful atmosphere. Even during the opening credits, when the camera slowly descends underground and from beneath cracking planks, accompanied by choral singing, and trickles of blood emerge, something monstrous can be sensed, I consider it a treat even after all these years. Unfortunately, Lars did not play with his characters nearly as long as Lynch, and I consider the subsequent continuation a loss in every aspect. With the passage of time, the first season of The Kingdom appears as a fragment of something that could have been grand and could have belonged among the deserved cult series. Nevertheless, even in this state, it remains interesting in its execution, but ultimately leads nowhere and is unfinished. I would still recommend Twin Peaks to those interested in this style of filmmaking. Overall impression: 80%.

The Decalogue was created in a special situation in a seriously ill country. Poland was unable to reconcile with the martial law from 1981 and the fact that the legal opposition in the form of Solidarity had to go underground. Repression and strict censorship became characteristic of the country in the following years. In the mid-1980s, Poland was deeply divided in terms of opinions and was economically and morally/socially in ruins. Only after the arrival of Gorbachev as the General Secretary of the Soviet Union did the pressure from the state power begin to weaken and prominent Polish directors returned to themes that were characteristic of the Polish moral unrest film movement. Acclaimed director Krzysztof Kieslowski, who had to remain silent for several years after his film Blind Chance, was looking for a subject with a strong substance that would avoid direct political engagement and not contribute to the already tense societal atmosphere, but at the same time would also address fundamental questions of today's morality. As a deeply religious person, he logically chose the biblical Ten Commandments as the ideological basis for the cycle of 10 hour-long television films, with each episode dedicated to one commandment. With the exception of the last episode, which has a comedic tone and is lightened mainly by the presence of Jerzy Stuhr, the others are more intimate dramas, often of a very tragic nature, dealing with the loss of a loved one, execution of a condemned person, or attempted suicide. The series had a significantly limited budget, and Polish state television, promoting it as a religious work, put it in an uninteresting broadcasting time slot. However, it immediately gained extraordinary respect from the viewers and was broadcast by many TV stations abroad with a great response. It was precisely The Decalogue that made Kieslowski famous in France, where he could then realize his film trilogy referring to the ideals of the French Revolution. Overall impression: 90%.