POMO

A revival of the best that we have seen from the Marvel and X-Men movies. A nerdishly well-crafted pop-up book of sketches with bold references not only to the characters and relationships of the comic-book world, but also to the behind-the-scenes workings of Hollywood studios, and which are not afraid of being honest and poking fun at themselves. Superbly utilised buddy potential between Wolverine and the comical Deadpool, for whose wisecracking Ryan Reynolds could apply for a patent. The female villain is interesting and powerful, and old characters make surprising appearances. Hugh Jackman performs as if his life depended on it and pretty much everyone gives their all, as if it was a matter of saving a phenomenon. Which it also was.

A rather moronic, yet formalistically playful slasher flick for fans of the subgenre. It attempts to shock with extreme brutality of almost savage proportions, but that is all that it’s capable of, as if it is unaware that the path to unforgettable viewer terror leads elsewhere, through psychology. The RPG featuring a new Jason Voorhees is pleasing and raises expectations of surprises in the screenplay, but those do not materialize. And the dialogue, which is intended to give the “story” some kind of background, is muddled. Actually, there are only two such scenes (if we don’t count those when someone goes into the woods to take a shit): The first á la The Fog, when the camera circles around a group of teenagers around a fire as the legend is being told, lacks atmosphere. And the other, in a car, is needlessly long and tries in vain to give the violence an existential explanation. The only positive aspect in the minimalistic narrative is the slight gradation of what is shown and explained, i.e. the timing of certain moments, such as the first time the killer’s disfigured face is revealed.

The opening attack on New York could have at least approximated the impressiveness of the exposition in Spielberg’s War of the Worlds. I would consider striving for that to be an obvious goal of the filmmakers. And that is reflected in a few shots of people disappearing into clouds of dust on the devastated streets of Manhattan. Together with the dismal interiors of abandoned buildings, those shots create a creditably bleak disaster-movie atmosphere. The film is thrilling in places, but without any of the plot ideas or cinematographic magic that made the franchise’s first two films interesting. Lupita Nyong’o performs as if her life depends on it, but her cat is the most interesting character in the film. The feline’s cautious glances and safely silent walking fit well into the concept of the story and the viewer’s experience of it.

The protagonists kill Nazis with excessive ease, without a hint of suspense as to whether something might happen to them. Not even the supposedly strictest Gestapo agent, played by Til Schweiger, gets up to anything sinister and demonic. However, the film contains a lot of blood and stab wounds, so this cannot be considered family entertainment. There are also a lot of explosions and shooting, which are attractively piratical in the ship and ocean settings. However, Jerry Bruckheimer and Guy Ritchie are merely imitating Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds, albeit stylishly and with an excellent soundtrack, but the screenplay lacks clever dialogue, and though the characters look cool, their inner structure is at the level of an average Marvel movie.

A sexy private dance in a luxury Miami villa in the introduction. A spectacular group performance in a London theatre at the end. And in between, it’s just very bad – boring and even annoying ballast with an overacting Salma Hayek, whose character seems to have been written with the idea of “this is precisely what viewers of our franchise will not want to see”.

A constantly surprising screenplay, a brisk pace, intelligent humor and, in the first half, even a sexy spark make After Hours an exemplary Scorsese film, even though it is lighter and funnier than most of the works in his filmography. The young Rosanna Arquette is beautiful and the master’s directing gets the absolute maximum out of every scene. [Karlovy Vary International Film Festival]

The conclusion of the  X / Pearl / MaXXXine trilogy starts out promisingly and delights the viewer with its insidiously sinister tone, horror distastefulness, 1980s-style audiovisual aspect and setting in Hollywood movie studios, but the depiction of a Satanic cult and the impression made by the point drags the film down into the realm of lazy and cheap bullshit that fans of the series don’t want. Furthermore, the film does not in any way utilize the presence of the infamous "Night Stalker" (see the excellent Netflix documentary), who is mentioned only in news reports. [Karlovy Vary International Film Festival]

A 140-minute ode to vanity, slacking, irresponsibility, alcoholism and mental disarray, masquerading as an ode to the complexity of relationships and finding and maintaining love within them. Getting to know the characters in the first half-hour is enjoyable, but they then become boring and finally contend for the title of the most annoying and unbearable characters in the history of generally favorably reviewed films (I don’t understand that!). Cutting Love Streams in half and having all of the characters die tragically before the closing credits would have elevated the film to three stars. In a Finnish black comedy, for example, the story would be endearing and sympathetic to the characters, but in the hands of Cassavetes, it becomes unwatchable. That said, I like his other films. [Karlovy Vary International Film Festival]

It’s a shame that Daniele Luchetti shies away from showing passionate intimacy in Trust, which would have deepened the protagonist’s relationships with the women in his life, especially the crucial one that makes his life hell. We would better understand his naïveté and his tendency to let himself be manipulated. Perhaps the director wanted to maintain a more sophisticated nature of the work by leaving sex out of it. But his film still isn’t art. But in the hands of, for example, Giuseppe Tornatore, it would have been in every respect. In Luchetti’s hands, it is “only” a solid relationship/thriller genre movie with a good cast of characters and good directing, but with an overly ordinary, almost television form. And with an ending that doesn’t satisfy mainstream viewers, and perhaps even angers them. But they will remember the lesson! [Karlovy Vary International Film Festival]

A well-made conversational film with good acting by not only Daniel Brühl, but also his counterpart Peter Kurth. Next Door does not possess an utterly innovative or riveting screenplay, but it ably holds the viewer’s interest and curiosity, and in the second half, it even manages to pull an ace from its sleeve, which changes the perspective of the characters’ perception. The most valuable aspect of the film is Brühl’s autobiographical portrayal of his true self as a globally successful German actor living in Berlin. And the fragments of his interactions with the everyday world around him. [Karlovy Vary International Film Festival]