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A rare case where the main duo is unappealing at the beginning, later relatively pleasant, and in the end, almost maddening in their vitality and distinctiveness. And it's all thanks to a name that I would have never guessed was in the director's chair, at least in the first act. Denis Villeneuve, younger, more straightforward, his first full-length film – and perhaps more broad and surprising than you would expect from a renowned perfectionist. Creating a cohesive romance at the age of around thirty requires a certain amount of naivety; in this case, the need to shoot or wrap it in the most absolute and youthful manner. I quite enjoy the combination of archetypal characters, new wave chattiness, and appropriately polished technical aspects. If it weren't for the fluctuating pace, I would be completely overcome by such a self-assured debut, but the journey to masterpieces was still a long way off.

"Red Tide" – 70% – American Horror Story: a cross-section Stephen King. One part of the team read The Shining, the other Pet Sematary, and the third Salem's Lot. The result exceeded all imaginable expectations, confirmed Finn Wittrock's talent, brought back many beloved faces, and, after quite a long time, managed to surprise with how well the series can scare and thrill... and then it all went wrong. The episode "Winter Kills" drifts away from established certainties, turns the secondary (and sufficiently explored in previous seasons) theme of social criticism into the main theme, burying the show. And that's a terrible shame because, despite the thoroughly genre composition, there was more potential than ever before. "Death Valley" – 40% – Despite a promising premise, this is the worst that the AHS universe has ever offered me. A collection of overworked conspiracy theories that are only lightly touched upon and clumsily stitched together. The black and white visual of the past storyline is well done, but what's the point when all interesting motifs are gradually abandoned and blend into a strange farce. Faithfully B-movie in quality, as befits a Double Feature, but probably not in the way the creators hoped for.

Season 1 – 50% – I will not blame for the unoriginal idea because the premise was definitely not the freshest even in 2005 when the original How I Met Your Mother entered screens. But back then, there was good timing (just after Friends ended), perfect chemistry between the actors, and of course, a central plot twist that could captivate for years. HIMYF is running far behind. The great desire for a series of this type is long past, and the era does not favor classic sitcoms in a weekly format. Instead of filling a void, it's yet another of many. Except for specific moments and surprises, more often than the original, I remember the different efforts that sought to ride a genre wave and didn't last long – Mad Love, Partners, Romantically Challenged, just to name a few. Unfortunately, the magic between the main characters is missing most of the time, and the only one I really like is Sophie, mainly thanks to the amazing Hilary Duff. I am not bored while watching, I wouldn't want to get rid of any character, but from start to finish, everything is just "so-so" and nothing more. It's slowly growing on me, I enjoy the romantic storyline, I roll my eyes at the abundance of dry remarks about sex, but I want to believe that this apartment still holds much more. Season 2 – 40% – A strange combination of mismatched pop culture innuendo, wry slapstick (Ellen) and, primarily, sexual humor that the creators pull out when they don't know what to do next. Which is several times each episode. Somewhere in the middle of the season I ran out of patience, because even the you-know-who cameo is painfully on the nose and only works for a moment. The rest of it is a collection of random scenes in which Sophie continues to look terrible, but I don't see how this shaky girl is the same person as the perpetually over-the-top and ultimately unappealing version of her in the narrator's chair. Perhaps only the final episode can bear comparison with the original on a serious level, but it's the fact that it's only the finale that can move me proves how the entire project is gasping for breath.

Anyone who has read anything by Haruki Murakami, even just a single book, will soon know how it is. You delve deep into art, sex, mental health, and feelings of abandonment – and you keep going back there almost constantly. Unfortunately, in the remaining time, there is a multilingual attempt at Russian classics, which are indeed related to the main character's many problems, but never justify why the sufficiently understandable quest for one's own paths takes three hours. Luckily, Hidetoshi Nishijima appears in the main role, and his intense and focused-every-second or even broken gaze carries the viewer from one car to another without feeling the passage of time.

For some, a happy return to Wes Anderson's roots; unfortunately for me, just a return to Anderson's roots. I would much rather see an ambitious drama that the academy has been serving up in regular doses for the past fifteen years than a hesitant trip to the beloved valley. Just like I was once confused by subjectively unpleasant Punch-Drunk Love, I feel the same here, with a series of episodic stories with a conditional alienation effect that lacks a solid foundation. I don't know why I need a psychopath on a motorcycle or a maniac at a gas station. They throw in an image of the times that does a disservice to the seventies and only increases the frequency with which we circle the main couple, who do not fit together at first or even second glance. There is no comparison with the proven storytellers of wandering youthful tales.

Sense8 Reloaded. How do you evaluate a film that didn't meet any expectations, contains a lot of mistakes, and yet I would rather watch it again than Matrix Revolutions? I'm sticking with a slightly sheepish three stars because the first half is genuinely fantastic. Many parallels, clichés turned upside down, (bitter) commentary on pop culture and the dream factory itself – all intertwined with Keanu Reeves looking even more broken than usual. It's something different than anyone expected, and it works in almost every aspect. Unfortunately, doubts arise with the more action-oriented side of things, while a surprising and, for me, unwanted cameo from the Merovingian is accompanied purely by awkwardness. The entire staircase scene is poorly done, and the only way to overcome it is through Jonathan Groff, who for some reason is in this film and elevates it with each narcissistic performance. Lana Wachowski deserves respect for her initial vision, for the clear desire to bring back something/someone who cannot return, and for faithfully returning to the characters and storylines of all the films, not just the first one. It might anger many people, but even though it involves characters that I didn't need to see again, it concludes something that evidently had been and still is left open within it. Nostalgia is much stronger than genuine feelings, memories overshadow the true face of the film. I already have a great fondness for The Matrix Resurrections, but unfortunately it is beleaguered by problematic visual aspects, a fragmented Morpheus with one strange scene after another, and a strangely rushed ending that suddenly needed to pick up the pace after two and a half hours.

It is not worth measuring how The Vengeance stands against Tim Burton's or Christopher Nolan's concepts; this was primarily about defending Matt Reeves' perspective on Batman's existence. And even though there are many things that don't sit well with me, the living Gotham still immediately gets under my skin and the main character with it. Robert Pattinson doesn't fail for a second, even though this fragile psychological approach could have crumbled in his hands. Bruce Wayne walks in the rain with strands of hair falling on his face and as Batman writes crushing cries like "I am the twilight" in his diary. And yet he never passes into absurdity, he never crosses that emo boundary in such a way that I couldn't take his painfully personal quest seriously in the next scene. Which is crucial because he's literally investigating throughout the entire movie. The crime aspect is so paramount in the film that I even wondered if the comic book stylization was just an obstacle to the creators, distracting them from their obvious desire to make a Fincher-esque movie of their own. Unfortunately, the references to Se7en are so overwhelming that they disturb me and with them the result loses its own uniqueness. The second incomprehensible aspect is the length, which is unnecessary; if they had shortened it, there would have been fewer scenes of watching the dirty and shady city in the background and monologues or dialogues about the dirty city infested with shady individuals. On the other hand, thanks to this, the scale of storytelling never diminishes, as it thoroughly builds a foundation for escalating key scenes (the funeral). In the end, my feelings are mixed, just as they are in the movie, but because they all work, I support the idea that this confident approach should continue and fear not to venture into Batman's enemies and directions. The complete absence of mysticism, or at least caution with supernatural and science fiction elements, could quickly lead to predictability in future sequels.

The continuation of a cycle of stories, which, like Crimson Peak and The Shape of Water, lay dusty in the attic until Guillermo del Toro came along and turned it into a visual masterpiece with the help of a stellar cast, one that critics admire but audiences do not. However, compared to the aforementioned works, Nightmare Alley is more mature, thoughtful, confident, and ambitious in its setting and themes. It plays with psychology, noir, detective stories, or almost a hundred-year-old horrors, and despite the predictable twist, it describes the narrative circle almost perfectly. Perhaps only the screenwriting habit of making the main character make exactly the mistakes that the supporting characters (often repeatedly) warn her against seems unnecessary to me since Pan's Labyrinth. But for lovers of the spine-chilling and immersion into images that look like they have aged for decades, this manipulative journey is a sure bet and, for me, the best del Toro film since Hellboy II: The Golden Army.

In frequent comparison to Alfonso Cuarón's Roma, Belfast cautiously wins because Kenneth Branagh doesn't try to cement his own experiences and perspective on the world as a monument or eternal truth. Like almost every similar gallery of memories, it relies on an emotional impact that is rather sensed and cautious, rather than being able to take one's heart. Every school hour, mischievous escapade, or laid-down backpack are just images from someone else's childhood and pale in comparison to any childhood adventure or mishap that the viewer themselves experienced. The best scene, of course, remains the oft-mentioned "Everlasting Love". If it were the final scene, I would let its power completely consume me and forget everything I have written so far in my review.

Even though I quickly realized that I cannot take any storyline seriously and that the detective subgenre is simultaneously honored and spoofed, it wasn't enough. Neither the incredible transformation of Kristen Bell into a burnt-out suburban lady or pondering over the number of baking pans she used could help me. It is precisely because of those inconspicuous kicks back to the clichés of similar works that are so outrageously exaggerated that I didn't care about the rest of the plot – and on the contrary, there were too few of them that actually worked for me to genuinely laugh at them. What's more, according to interviews, the creators immensely enjoyed writing and filming the finale, which actually seemed to me to cross a line in rather a peculiar and definitively unfunny way. Nevertheless, this The Woman Who Poured Too Much Wine Then Spilled It All Over Her Apartment is a commendable achievement, even though it's aiming at too many targets at once.