Isherwood

In the currently fashionable trend of building action on fast editing and lots of CGI effects, Shooter is a very likable old-school alternative, which does not hide its ambitions to be a stylish B-movie. In addition, its plot and narrative style, built on basic clichés, blatantly refers to the genre mannerisms of action films of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Fuqua understands that well-mastered craftsmanship can do a lot. Therefore, despite its 2-hour runtime Shooter is a very enjoyable time spent in a whirlwind of compelling action that centers around the divine Mark Wahlberg, who never lets his pissed-off expression drop and makes you think of the greatest action fighters who dominated similarly-themed films 15 years ago. And if he had sharper catchphrases, I’d give it five stars! For the genre-devoted viewer, this is the ultimate comfort food, whereas for the rest of the world, based on other reviews, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.

It is not so much the uncontrolled recklessness of nationalization, but rather the concentrated nature of the little Czech man in the form of a Beskydy village that becomes the subject of criticism (but also celebration) in this epic fresco by Jasný. A third of the way through it takes away your words, then your breath, and finally, your superlatives. I have never experienced such huge applause from such a small number of people in the movie theater.

Before he fell out of favor with the regime, Vojtěch Jasný was commissioned to make a short film for the Expo exhibition held in Osaka, Japan in 1970. You can feel patriotic zeal and boundless love for the Czech nation from every shot, but to be honest - despite the short runtime, I was bored as hell with this (hyper)intellectual montage in the movie theater. Although I have to admit that the Czechs could not have shown the world a better calling card.

The new Bond concept is decent. Campbell serves up some ethereal action that gives the agent a respectable coat. Unfortunately, it loses steam in building the dramatic arc, and thus the plot drags on for a long two hours. But who cares. The Soviet Union fell, leaving Bond a respectable legacy. The new era demanded a sharper dose of action, which GoldenEye fulfills to a tee, and I enjoyed that tank in St Petersburg more than anything I've seen in a long time!

Rather than a classic novel, Kazantzakis' book is a philosophical-theological summation of the nature of human belief in God, and of religion as such. It must have been clear to Scorsese that if he didn't want to bore the viewer with a five-hour colossus, he had to extract only a straightforward plot skeleton and it would be up to him alone how much of the motif of the Messiah as a simple man he would cram into the film. I don't want to poke at it, but I wonder how many of the people who are giving this work full credit have also read the actual book. At the beginning of every dialogue, in every subsequent scene, I waited for Scorsese to finally unleash that (according to the reactions at the time) blasphemously heretical confession... and nothing happened and then the end came. I certainly don't see the director's excessive religiosity behind all the restraint - the provocateur has always been timeless - but rather it is the limited means of the film medium that simply and easily fail to capture the idea, however great the effort. So to all those praising this work, I am extremely happy for you and I even tip my hat to the great Marty for having the courage to take on such a project. But for me, Kazantzakis' book (which occupies a place of honor in my library) will always be so essential that I simply cannot rate the film any other way, even though it is cinematically absolutely perfect!

Zelenka screws the individual dialogues onto a simple plot but forgets that film is not theatre that can be convinced. In the world of moving pictures, the situations into which he sends his characters seem implausible and overly contrived. The (sub)genre notion of tragicomedy is fulfilled in none of them because the boiled hair, sexual voyeurism, and the romantic storyline itself lack a final point. The whole becomes just a boring, overly poser-like and wannabe farce, which when it finally ended after two hours, left on my tongue another of the many curses addressed to Czech cinema.

I understand Helgeland. I understand why he struggled for seven long years to make sure that his directorial debut saw the light of day in the form that he imprinted on it and that it was not a matter of the producers trembling before the ratings. Payback: Straight Up is (like L.A. Confidential) a pure reference to the spirit of the traditional noir school, whose clear rules Helgeland follows with humble reverence all whilst paying homage to it in the way he handles the entire film. A principled man craving his share of the money, a beautiful femme fatale with a (dis)pleasing profession as a luxury prostitute, men of the law strictly breaking it for their own benefit, a sold-out wife, and a crooked colleague. Helgeland handles all the attributes simply, matter-of-factly, with an occasional measure of rough humor to temper the explosion of harsh violence that is often perpetrated against women. Mel Gibson embodies arguably his darkest, but given his look, perhaps most typical protagonist, one that is a far cry from any of his previous or later film characters and one that probably won't be fully appreciated by all audiences. Payback: Straight Up is a film that gives its title its full dimension, and should give hope to similarly "afflicted" directors in that creative freedom can be satisfying years later. Although it didn’t work out financially, the film will definitely win over the fan base. Thanks, Brian!

I don't want to diminish the reality on which the film was based, but the man deserves a much more significant commemoration. I also don't consider Bauer's book to be perfect. It is only a very simple literary (therefore very readable for the ordinary consumer) story about one superhuman feat. In the parts where the writer scores points with his gripping description of the extreme situations Clemens Forell finds himself in, the screenwriter either misses the mark, or the director fails. From the plot, which is totally castrated by the most thrilling moments and those that are relatively attractive for the audience, the director wasn't able to draw more than single images, without any emotional connections. Forell wanders, experiencing moments of suspense, fear, and action, but overall, he’s stuck in a roundabout effect that points to the only possible ending. Moreover, that moment becomes (starting with the bridge crossing) the only real moment, despite its creeping kitschiness, that doesn't chill and can be believed. The Germans had to wait until Downfall to have their major film.

Edgar Wright mightily kicks Michael Bay’s ass, burying all conventions and correctness under tons of unique ideas, and leaving the diabolical Simon Pegg to mow down his enemies in an even more uncompromising manner than Bruce Willis in his prime. The film is a unique demonstration that properly referenced, honored, or parodied genre fiction can royally entertain. Unfortunately, this creates an unpleasant issue on the way to the viewer's heart, which may be ordinary ignorance of film action. It’s a simple equation: the more classic films you've seen, the more fun you'll have.

A painful moment of dying accompanied by captivating music that energizes, arranged in masterful choreography that takes your breath away. And Roy Scheider in the role of a lifetime, who seems not to be acting, but actually dying. The cinematography is magical, the editing flirts with genius, and the film shines as beautifully as only 1970s cinema can. A musical, a reflection of the times, a biography... two hours of a wasteful genre span, but which tells the entire story in an unspoiled way, to finally enter mercifully into the arms of the friendly Mrs. Death.