novoten

The second act is more thematically focused, which is a big plus for some, as it doesn't divert too much from the boxing and the family, but it's a minus for others because the street scenes had to some extent defined the main character and his struggle. However, there has definitely not been a decrease in quality, even though Donnie forces every imaginable cliché and plot twist his mentor once went through. It paraphrases Rocky II, then openly continues with Rocky IV, and the result of both is a dense amount of the tastiest ingredient. The grumbling Sylvester Stallone is once again a treasury of nostalgia, manly tears, and memories of injustices and joys. If Creed didn't behave numerous times like a spoiled brat (which he ironically had more right to do before), I would probably get carried away by the strength of tying all the storylines of the main characters together, as well as Dolph Lundgren's gaze, which clearly indicates that the Drago clan has undoubtedly experienced a lot. This way, it's four stars for four champions.

1st season – 55% – When after twelve years, David Boreanaz immediately jumped from a relatively episodic procedural to a military episodic procedural, I expected him to be lured in by perfect scripts or some secret premise that would dazzle viewers. However, particularly in the first half, SEAL Team is an excruciatingly predictable parade of all clichés from war movies set in the Middle East, where Boreanaz is indeed the strongest link, but the creators do not make it any easier for him. At one point, they portray him as a thoughtful type of commander, carefully considering every move, only to have him behave like a reckless stuntman aggressively attacking the enemy at every opportunity in the next episode. The worst situation, and not just for him, is the classic macho bragging and joking during the briefing before each mission. There, all I can do is roll my eyes and repeatedly ponder the level of intelligence of each character. Fortunately, with the arrival of a longer military storyline (the civilian ones have sufficient continuity, but often disappear for so long that I wonder if the characters have anything left to do with each other), there is room for the previously anonymous supporting players (Ray, Sonny, Davis) to develop, and the team chemistry finally falls into place. The last three episodes even hint with their almost continuous tension that perhaps a good action series is finally beginning to emerge, and not just filler made up of attractive-sounding fragments.

When the rumors don't lie. Even if National Theatre Live existed for no other reason than to provide us with a fused acting duality, it would be worth it a hundred times over. Frankenstein not only surpasses the boundaries of theater in the version I saw, with Benedict Cumberbatch as The Creature and Jonny Lee Miller as Victor, it cuts into the viewer with brute force, lightens up in unexpected places, visually captivates, and leaves me speechless the next day. The most intoxicating journey from purity to darkness, thanks not only to the main performance, but also the elevation of an eternal story to poignant immortality.

More than an unofficial sequel to Braveheart, Robert the Bruce and his journey resemble a half-hearted remake. There are betrayals, loves, and magnificent battles here too, but while Mel Gibson unnecessarily deviated from historical realities, he was forgiven because with every twist he tore the viewer's heart apart. David Mackenzie holds onto history more firmly and adds more gritty combat, but I can't shake the feeling that it's all too superficial. The opening interaction doesn't work for me as an introduction to the plot, but rather as a teaser taking the form of a scene without cuts. The exposed intestines don't make a point about the horrors of war, but just come out of a person in all their nakedness; warm feelings arise between newlyweds in just a single cut. And Chris Pine, an eternal charmer and rascal at first sight, is only just maturing into the role of thoughtful ruler. In this case, the king is a brave and pleasantly uncompromising figure, but his battle songs desperately lack heart.

From the first moment to the last, a personal tale that gets deep under the skin of the main heroine. But there all the intensity ends. In the introspective, almost demonstratively modest layer of the closed shopper, in the magic of normalcy. I still have yet to decipher the genre deviations for ghosts, I myself refused the voluntary path of doubt towards reports of the unknown, even despite its undeniable power. At the moment when piercing narrative questions are posed, I could finally properly get into that otherness, but the unsettling ambiguity of the answers is cowardly and the grinding of previous points by the conclusion itself is like a waste. Olivier Assayas voluntarily swerves into a dead end right before the finish line.

Gaspar Noé dances an extremely dirty dance, and with his help, this manages to entrance and fascinate you for quite some time. And yet during the excessively stretched-out dialogue, a feeling arose that someone was stretching me out. And that was before the anticipated barrage of purposeless violence and annoying antics accompanied by the spinning of the camera was even on the program, and the fact that the stubborn director refused to move from one spot even a little bit after so many years almost made me laugh. And I had already lost my patience with works presented to the clever audience long ago.

At first glance, this is an odyssey bordering on a thriller: stark, direct, and overwhelming, where I honestly don't understand how the same Damien Chazelle who beautifully dreamed and overflowed with romantic ideas in La La Land is now sitting in the director's chair. In the narrative establishing shot, there is a pure insight into a man's painful soul, at first just wandering, then palpable, then ultimately irreversible – and that is such a force in a silent moonlit landscape that it outshines even the formally perfect aerial sequences. Ryan Gosling's unfathomable gaze into emptiness hasn't been such a good fit in a long time.

Tom Ford is once again dealing with loss. Visually and narratively, he goes one step further than when he introduced us to A Single Man, but this time it is much more unpleasant, although certainly not unfriendly to the viewer. It's just that the Texan noir that the main character reads is so dark, depressing, and hopeless that at times I didn't even want to look at the screen. But that would be a shame because the flood of metaphors, which can drill a decent hole in the viewer's head, is enormous, and the resulting impact is tremendous. The parallels between the book and Susan are incredibly clever, and although the ending itself ruins the enjoyment for some with its antikathartic boldness, it burrowed into me almost painfully.

An honest four stars for one of the most positive old-school cartoons, full of optimism, surprising ideas, and a great narrator. And since they named me after the chief mischief-maker, they deserve that heartfelt fifth star as well.

An intriguing beginning full of potential and an impressive ending that will bring all weaklings to their knees in a strong finale. However, in between, there is just a bit too much of everything. Colors, mood changes, ideas, but before I admire the originality and individual entries into new visions, various premonitions come to mind, and I find myself struggling to figure out how to best be inspired by The Matrix, Fight Club, A Clockwork Orange, or even Mr. Robot. Despite the slightly forced, yet still admirable genre crossover, everything ultimately rests on the core of the main duo. A pair of shaky broken souls that, thanks to the always precise Emma Stone and to my great shock, also the perfect Jonah Hill, leave the viewer amazed and cheering time and time again, even though the secret lies hidden somewhere in a mysterious corner of the brain on how to ward off and heal sadness and despair. Unfortunately, as soon as there is too much talk about the entire research project, Justin Theroux is forced to play a caricature and it immediately throws me off. I understand that creators tend to be a bit mischievous in calmer waters with a fabric full of big scientific words and philosophical paraphrases, but it simply doesn't work, and it ended up taking me several long minutes to get back to the depths of the original concept. Despite the reassuring knowledge that despite all the deeds and twists, Maniac is primarily about finding salvation in unexpected places, I will round up my rating. After all, there can never be enough of such certainties.