An evil British businesswoman orchestrates an unconventional scheme: hiring an amateur soccer coach from the US to undermine and dismantle her ex-husband's team from within. Despite its seemingly improbable premise, “Ted Lasso” successfully navigates the fine line between fiction and relatability. The show's charm lies in its ability to present situations that feel anything but real, yet consistently deliver relatable emotions that resonate with viewers. Initially painted with broad strokes, the characters gradually reveal depth and nuance, endearing themselves through their struggles and triumphs.
One of the show's strengths is its balance between sugar-coated optimism and grounded storytelling. Although Ted usually manages to infect the whole team with good feelings, at the same time, he does no miracle. In its first season, the series resists the temptation to rely on miraculous solutions, offering a surprisingly realistic resolution for a comedy of this kind.
However, it felt like a limited series would have worked better. Starting from season two, the writing felt noticeably uninspired, as if the writers had no idea of what to do with most of the cast. Too often, they would resort to contrived and mechanical plot developments happening just because it was convenient for the characters' journey at that point. Changes always occur abruptly and without any buildup whatsoever. Additionally, the inclusion of "thematic" episodes feels forced, with a different character each time serving as a puppet to yell out social issues that definitely needed a more organic and in-depth exploration.
Ultimately, it felt like the characters only got random things to do for each season before being abruptly brought back to the status quo with a couple of excuses at the end. In addition, the series has veered increasingly toward romantic entanglements and sappy plotlines, sacrificing some of its earlier charm and wit.
Overall, the show still works as a proper “feel-good” comedy for the current generation, but ultimately falls short of its potential, leaving viewers longing for the tighter storytelling and fresh humor that made the first season shine.
Since the second season, the series has veered increasingly toward romantic entanglements and sappy plotlines, sacrificing some of its earlier charm and wit. Episodes are juicier and more team-focused, but the writing lacks the spark of inspiration seen in the first run of episodes, often resorting to contrived and mechanical plot developments happening just because it was convenient for the characters' journey at that point. Changes often occur abruptly and without any buildup whatsoever. This is particularly evident in Keeley's relationships (blah), and the complete mishandling of Nate's highly anticipated subplot, which fails to deliver on its promising setup. Ultimately, it felt like the characters just got something random to do for this season before being abruptly brought back to the status quo with a couple of excuses.
The extended episode length can be both a blessing and a curse. It allows for a deeper exploration of team dynamics and moments of inspired writing, but it also runs the risk of dragging out when focusing on the bland storylines. Additionally, the inclusion of "thematic" episodes feels forced, with a different character each time serving as a puppet to yell out social issues that definitely needed a more organic and in-depth exploration.
Overall, the season offers moments of enjoyment and payoff, but it ultimately falls short of its potential, leaving viewers longing for the tighter storytelling and fresh humor that made the first season shine.
This miniseries offers a loose reimagining of the political environment and power struggles that led to the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600 and the rise of the Tokugawa shogunate. The fact that they changed the names of all characters shows that the goal is not to document historical events, but to instead reflect on the political and social climate of the time.
The biggest merit of the series lies in the use of its budget to meticulously prepare the cast and setting, making everything remarkably believable not only to the Western market but especially to its Japanese audience, only indulging in exoticism in its more atmospheric sequences. While Japanese productions tend to fall victim to their low budgets and the industry's taste for camp, "Shogun" adopts the gritty and "rigorous" approach typical of Western productions, somehow reminiscent of shows like "Game of Thrones." The only downside might be the direction of the Japanese actors, with some lackluster performances (like Toranaga's son) and tons of unintelligible dialogue (Asano, in particular, who still remains my favorite character nevertheless).
Despite most cliffhangers finding anticlimactic resolutions, I found the main narrative and power struggles engaging, especially when focusing on the relationships between the main characters. Initially, it's challenging to keep track of all names and alliances, but the introduction of the British co-protagonist, newly shipwrecked in Japanese land, naturally guides the audience into the story without relying too heavily on exposition dumps.
However, I would not recommend the series to those expecting epic battles, as the conflict remains predominantly sentimental or political, with the sparse action sequences being limited in both scale and length.
In "The Good Place," we follow the journey of a woman mistakenly sent to paradise instead of hell, as she endeavors to become a better person while remaining undercover. The show's core dynamics and world-building are enchanting, although some of the humor, especially with characters like Jianyu, can become repetitive. Nonetheless, the blend of jokes and pop culture references remains largely enjoyable. I appreciate how the series presents ethical dilemmas and philosophical viewpoints without feeling like a lecture. While there are moments of oversimplification, they don't detract from the show's substance and relatability. The protagonist’s flaws might feel caricatural, but they perfectly exemplify our human inclination to make mistakes despite our awareness of basic moral codes.
The first season exposes some contradictions that are ultimately addressed in the finale, along with a clever twist that sets the stage for multiple seasons of compelling storytelling. From the second season onwards, the show undergoes frequent changes, with many mid-season episodes altering the status quo to such a degree that they could pass as season finales. Thanks to this tendency to continuously shake things up, the series manages to stay fresh without succumbing to the fatigue typical of long-running shows.
My only complaint is the prominence of love interests in the plot despite the apparent lack of chemistry between the characters. They all feel like good friends but never believable lovers. While all characters are indeed likable, maintaining the focus on all four proved challenging. Although Michael, Janet, and Eleanor shine as the most memorable characters, the others often feel too caricatural, serving the same jokes each time and quickly running out of steam. Despite this, I would still recommend "The Good Place" as one of the most consistent, lightheartedly fun, and still somehow thought-provoking, comedies out there.
S1 + S2 > S4 > S3
A serial killer on death row asks a misfit university student to find the real assassin behind one of the murders he’s been accused of. Unlike the usual plot where an innocent person has been wrongfully accused of committing a crime, this time we have a man who already confessed the rest of the murders, and that does nothing to hide his nature. However, he insists that there might be a second killer on the loose, and that only someone who can understand his mind will be able to figure it out.
The film is composed of alternating investigative phases, conversations with the killer in the style of "The Silence of the Lambs," and fragments of the protagonist's daily life in a sort of coming-of-age film style. Despite the plot initially falling victim to continuous clichés and conventional tropes, towards the middle the film begins to reveal its true intentions, surprising the viewer with continuous twists and even revelations that partially make up for things that felt corny in the first half. More than the murder mystery, it’s the subtle way in which the film tries to let you enter the mind of the killer that fascinates. The result is a flawed but intriguing film, enhanced by an inspired direction and several visually appealing ideas. The screenplay might struggle to live up to the plot's ambitions, but at least it manages to shuffle the cards in an interesting way. The only real tragedy is the look and acting of the long-haired guy.
A couple of seasoned cooks rediscover their passion in the Loire Valley in the late 19th century. Sounds like the premise of the sentimental movies my Grandma used to watch, but instead, we are talking about a work of a rare sensibility, delicacy, and balance. Like the dish at the center, the magic sparks from the slow and laborious simmering of simple but carefully calibrated ingredients. Perhaps more than half of the runtime is spent in the meticulous portrayal of the daily tasks of the two, in an exaltation of slow food both in preparation and consumption, cradling us with the astonishing beauty of direction, the golden warmth of diffused light, and the little sounds coming from the kitchen.
Despite the relatively limited space reserved for actual narration, having spent so much time in the kitchen with the two protagonists allows us to grasp even what remained unspoken, in a relationship that is at times so discreet as to seem idealized, at times tenderly carnal, at times strangely ambiguous in overlapping romance with professional respect. Through the preparation of dishes, we have seen them renew their complicity, subtly flirt with each other, but also elevate themselves individually as in a sort of ascetic ritual.
Undoubtedly, one of the best uses of food as the main expressive and communicative vehicle for a human story, without being excessively condescending or unnecessarily artificial. Between this and "Perfect Days," I am rediscovering a considerable cathartic potential in the depiction of manual labor in film. It might lack the emotional waves of a melodrama, but it makes you lose track of time in the same way as when you spend hours on YouTube watching people build bamboo houses.
The first half is quite enjoyable, masterfully staging such an absurd idea as a Barbie live-action with a language and tone perfect for its target audience. Granted, it's a kind of humor that is metanarrative and strictly generational, destined to age at an alarming rate. Yet, it's more than enough to crown the film as the queen of the past summer.
Unfortunately, the problems emerge once the story shifts to the real world, where the narrative tends to overload, veering into chaotic exposition and overly simplistic resolutions. The fact that the film itself invites you to "not think about the details" says a lot. Plot elements presented as potentially significant, such as the conflicted relationship between mother and daughter, or even the entire role of the president of Mattel, end up being set aside without explanations, perhaps in an attempt to make room for more discussions on patriarchy or to indulge in movie quotes and musical digressions until the very last narrative beats.
Regarding the infamous feminist overtones, I remain rather conflicted. At times, the film seems genuinely intent on taking revenge against the patriarchy, while at other times, the monologues and speeches become so didactic and heavy-handed that they almost seem self-mocking. It's as if the film’s point was not simply to condemn misogyny but rather to point the finger at the extreme currents on both sides. In the end, it's not as if the Barbies came off any better than Kens, or real-life men for that matter. It might just be a delirious overreading on my side, but the fact that the infamous monologue of the mother has alienated millions of men and brought even more women to tears would only confirm my thesis that even if "Barbie" may have proven to be superficial in multiple instances, it still showed depth that the audience it’s sardonically making fun of.
"Moulin Rouge!" has always been one of the films I loathed when I was younger. And here I am, reevaluating it positively in the Year of Our Lord MMXXIII. The ostentation and extremization of all the clichés of melodrama, the unapologetically kitsch presentation, the epileptic '90s MTV-style editing… all factors that might sound derogatory, but instead become added values in this absurd operation undertaken by Luhrmann and company. A full commitment to bad taste in every detail, yet it never ends up becoming a parody. On the contrary, it’s a movie that in many ways dignified an iconography that we may now tend to sweep under the rug, but that will likely one day be aligned with the great classics of cinema. At times, it might even be compared to one of Disney’s finest classics, complete with hyper-choreographed musical sequences and the Bohemians working as the fairies/animal sidekicks to the protagonist.
You might think, can the presentation alone compensate for the utter stupidity of the story narrated? Yes and no. Despite the tight pace of the opening scenes, which first overwhelms and then intoxicates the audience, the film suffers from an interminable second act that feels obnoxious to say the least, especially when Kidman suddenly goes from Paris’ most known prostitute to a barefooted nun. The vocal performances of the two leads do not help either, suffering from an unwelcoming stiffness in what was supposed to work as the most emotional beats of the film. Fortunately, it all picks up in the final moments.
"Attack on Titan" undoubtedly lives up to the hype, offering a layered and accessible adventure suitable for audiences of all ages. It manages to maintain a delicate balance between adhering to the traditional "shonen" narrative tropes while skillfully avoiding the most clichéd genre stereotypes.
The series' real allure lies in the depth and ambiguity of its characters. While they may initially appear to fit into the standard anime archetypes, the deliberately slow-burning progression of the story allows for profound introspection and character development. Despite their stylized characteristics, they exhibit a human quality through their inherent contradictions, hardly any of them being unequivocally right or wrong.
In the long run, the plot often adheres to familiar paths without delivering major surprises, but it does throw in unpredictable and grim turns, shedding light on a bleak view of the world and human nature. Choices that initially appear as the obvious things to do may lead to tragedies, keeping no character truly safe. At times, the limited perspective of the characters can even reshape our perceptions of their decisions.
However, one major drawback is the prevalence of fillers and lengthy inner monologues that serve no purpose other than to reiterate the obvious or imposing character traits that could have been suggested through visual storytelling or concrete episodes. Furthermore, as the series progresses, the previously palpable atmosphere of danger surrounding the characters can be compromised by instances of implausible plot armor, possibly due to the characters' soaring popularity within the mainstream audience.
These might be less noticeable when binge-watching the show, but are particularly evident in the second season, where things start to get a little repetitive and the main protagonists’ team gets consolidated. Then, the show luckily makes a remarkable improvement in terms of pacing and risk-taking in its storytelling, reaching its peak from the end of the third season to the first half of the fourth season. The latter, in particular, explores the world of "Attack On Titan" at its bleakest, introducing complex themes and political subterfuges that are not so obvious in this kind of narrative. At this point, there are no clear-cut villains; each side possesses its motivations and questionable beliefs, mirroring the complexities of real-world conflicts.
Unfortunately, the series loses some steam and narrative focus after the first half of the fourth season, with production delays intensifying the sense that these final episodes (and their source material) were developed somewhat on the fly. Despite the fourth season being billed as the "Final Season" in 2020, the series extended into 2022 with an additional run of episodes, concluding with two specials in 2023 to close the plot. This last phase exhibits both highs and lows, at times relying on conventional anime chitchat and fanservice, obvious plot armor for the protagonists, and questionable ways to get them out of problematic situations and successfully "assemble" to save the world.
Overall, the series' ending doesn't venture as boldly as its premise would suggest, but it still found a reasonable compromise between its established worldview and the mainstream audience's expectations. While there remain loose ends, a few wasted character arcs, and some perplexing dynamics (including the key to it all), considering the uncertain pacing and direction the plot was starting to take with its characters... it left me mostly satisfied. It may come out as a little rushed, but considering the huge delays in production, it was definitely time to bring this epic journey to a close.
Ratings:
Season 1: 8
Season 2: 6.5
Season 3: 9
Season 4 Part 1: 8.5
Season 4 Part 2: 6.5
Average: 7.7
"Slow Horses" delves into the world of the MI5's cast-offs, agents who've fallen from grace, consigned to trivial tasks and dull office work. While the series kicks off with a rather bleak introduction in the first episode, it quickly takes a sharp turn, plunging the team into a high-stakes operation filled with plot twists and surprises.
The show doesn't reinvent the wheel, but it skillfully weaves together all familiar elements of spy thrillers, thanks to its well-crafted writing and a compelling ensemble of characters. It may take a couple of episodes to find your footing, but once you're in, you won't want to stop watching. The showrunners also make excellent use of the series' British qualities, adopting a more grounded and less pyrotechnical approach to tension, always underscored by that distinct, dry humor that will never make you burst into laughter, but still maliciously caress your soft spots.
What sets the first season apart is its ability to engage viewers on both sides of the espionage game, leaving us equally invested in the protagonists and antagonists. The second season goes for a more traditional set of villains (the "Russians"), but still manages to deliver solid entertainment. It was lovely to see again the entire team coming together as a united front to solve the case after all its twists and turns, making for a rewarding viewing experience. Even when you thought the show was sticking to the usual stereotypes, it turns out you had it all wrong. The third season takes the stakes even higher, with the same kind of internal conflicts and intrigues that initially drew me into the series. However, it felt like they went a little overboard with the action sequences. I anticipated the Slow Horses would devise a more intriguing and clever resolution. Instead, the climax unfolds in a surprisingly muscular and implausible manner.
Although I used to be an ardent enthusiast of “The Kingdom” in my youthful hipster days, it’s worth mentioning that it requires prior knowledge of its esteemed cult status to survive beyond the first episode. Commencing as a poorly shot soap opera, the narrative weaves supernatural mysteries on top of the medical drama as a pretext to explore the bizarre behaviors exhibited by the hospital’s staff. In this regard, it’s easy to draw parallels to “Twin Peaks”. The comparisons to “The Office” for the documentary-alike camerawork are also understandable, especially when employed to accentuate the deadpan comedy. While the premise initially appeared dull and fragmented, the series gradually gained momentum, culminating in an absurd ending that alone justifies the time invested.
In contrast to its inaugural season, the second season showcased an enriched awareness of the series' comedic potential, recalibrating the already limited screen time allocated to the horror elements. While the individual moments of both comedy and horror generally feel more convincing, the broader canvas paints a panorama of narrative meandering, as characters and subplots forge ahead propelled more by inertia than purpose. Although I’m aware that the subversion of audience expectations has been part of the fun, it’s hard to find motivation when every cliffhanger resolves in nothing. This evolving pattern, while perhaps a deliberate choice to mock soap opera conventions, gradually tests the plausibility of a cohesive message or an overarching theme.
Just like David Lynch resurrected "Twin Peaks" a quarter-century after its cancellation, Von Trier decided to keep treading the same path with his medical alternative. Despite the passage of time and the passing of the original protagonists, this latest incarnation of "The Kingdom" managed to faithfully recreate the original series' atmosphere while also pointing out that the world has changed in the meantime. It accomplished this by employing a self-aware form of humor rich in metatheatrics. The new lead character, Karen, is a dedicated viewer of the original series who voluntarily confines herself in Denmark's craziest hospital in a quest to unravel all the lingering mysteries. Needless to say, she will bring more chaos than closure. Meanwhile, the "Mini-Me" of late Dr. Helmer storms in to follow in his father's footsteps and restore the Swedish supremacy in Denmark. Needless to say, he will end up becoming yet one more embodiment of the hypocrisies of modern society. The social critique continuously flirts with boomer humor, yet manages to amuse effectively on many occasions.
Just like in the original run, the series just keeps meandering without a clear narrative structure, oscillating between comical moments and low-budget supernatural quirks. Although the level of self-indulgence manages to set the bar even higher than in the original series, I must admit that my interest kept growing steadily. Once you get used to the slow pace of the first couple of episodes, things are only going to get denser and crazier, culminating in that beautiful mess of a final episode.
Von Trier continues to tread the path paved by "Twin Peaks" with his medical alternative "The Kingdom," finally making its return a quarter-century after its cancellation.
Despite the passage of time and the passing of the original protagonists, this latest incarnation manages to faithfully recreate the original series' atmosphere while also pointing out that the world has changed in the meantime. It accomplishes this by employing a self-aware form of humor rich in metatheatrics. The new lead character, Karen, is a dedicated viewer of the original series who voluntarily confines herself in Denmark's craziest hospital in a quest to unravel all the lingering mysteries. Needless to say, she will bring more chaos than closure. Meanwhile, the "Mini-Me" of late Dr. Helmer storms in to follow in his father's footsteps and restore the Swedish supremacy in Denmark. Needless to say, he will end up becoming yet one more embodiment of the hypocrisies of modern society. The social critique continuously flirts with boomer humor, yet manages to amuse effectively on many occasions.
Just like in the original run, the series just keeps meandering without a clear narrative structure, oscillating between comical moments and low-budget supernatural quirks. Although the level of self-indulgence manages to set the bar even higher than in the series, I must admit that my interest kept growing steadily. Once you get used to the slow pace of the first couple of episodes, things are only going to get denser and crazier, culminating in that beautiful mess of a final episode.
If the first season of "The Bear" was all about diving headfirst into the chaos of a new workplace, wrestling with change, and battling inner demons while questioning ourselves, season two takes us on a journey through the process of self-improvement, touching themes like creation and self-improvement, without forgetting the bitter pill of sacrifice one has to swallow when dedicating to an activity.
The breakneck pacing of the inaugural season gets partly replaced by a more contemplative mood, with each episode focusing on a different character and taking a dive into their souls.
Although I have to say that there are moments when you can't help feeling an extent of malice behind the curtains, with the showrunners waving cameos and nuggets of wisdom right in your face. The Christmas episode could have easily been the apex of any other show, but I thought it went a little overboard for a show that has been working so subtly on its characters up to that point. Regardless, this is still one of the rare times where you feel like the pearls of wisdom being dropped are actually worth listening, as if they were coming from real people. And that is what keeps us coming back for more.
Although the narrative might not have aged too well, the film has gained a particular charm from a visual and sometimes even directorial perspective, especially in the few moments when the animators let loose their frustrations in brief bursts of macabre and expressionistic artistry. I'm not an expert in the field, but I've always found it fascinating how early animation used to be all about creativity and visual absurdities to highlight everything that cinema of the time couldn't achieve. That's why you're treated to minutes of animals dancing and doing domestic chores rather than focusing on the narrative. Slapstick gags and mellifluous songs abound, yet without pushing my tolerance level too far. I had completely forgotten about all those bits meant to teach children basic hygienic norms, which is quite absurd considering that might be the whole point of the film.
Despite Snow White and the Prince being paper thin, mostly dull characters, the dwarfs singlehandedly steal the show, dominating the scene in 90% of cases. The Evil Queen rules before and during her transformation, but she eventually becomes a somewhat ridiculous caricature. The middle part of the film could have been significantly trimmed in favor of more introductory scenes. The castle is briefly presented as deserted, without the slightest interaction between the characters before the story starts (it’s all delegated to the opening narration).
Setting aside its undeniable historical significance, it’s now an enjoyable but ultimately skippable film, unless you have a particular taste for vintage aesthetic.
While the Fast saga is becoming more akin to Mission Impossible, Mission Impossible is also getting more akin to Fast. It can’t be a coincidence that both films managed to demolish the Spanish Steps in reverse during the same season. Ok, let’s not mention the substantial technical and artistic disparity between the two films.
I must admit that at first, "Dead Reckoning Part One" didn’t win me over, primarily due to the unnecessarily intricate and contrived narrative, embellished with Nolan-esque dialogues and excessive gravitas. At the same time, Cruise's pre-title smirk was enough to instill reassurance. Since then, the film gradually relaxes, reinfusing the goofy humor to effectively contextualize the over-the-top excesses of the action sequences. As a result, the film marks yet another advancement in the saga, surpassing itself in terms of visual entertainment and skillfully redefining the boundaries of “too much” (in a good way).
Did this kind of plot genuinely require two films? Absolutely not. Did the nearly three hours of this first part drag or feel even remotely boring? Absolutely not, although the contrived essence of the plot and character relationships does become somewhat evident once the post-theater adrenaline wears off.
The only true drawback lies in the poorly managed character of the National Intelligence director. Paris didn't entirely convince me either, despite her undeniable on-screen presence and charm. Grace initially reminded the Mary Sue from Indy 4, but I think my aversion is mostly due to the consequences she brought to the plot and team structure (sigh).
Now, I wonder how they will further raise the stakes and fill another three hours of screen time.
The opposite reactions of two sisters facing the end of the world. Gainsbourg's character is relatively full of life and survival instincts, and understandably goes on an hysteric rampage. On the other hand, Dunst's character is a chronic depressive, facing the apocalypse with subdued resignation if not a sense of peace. Some scenes even suggest she may even have attracted the planet Melancholia towards Earth, much like how depression can engulf and destroy everything and everyone around you.
The first part is undeniably the most exhilarating, being both hilarious in its presentation of silly characters and heartbreakingly poignant in highlighting the protagonist's depression and instability in relation to the expectations of her peers. Healthy people impose happiness on her, continuously reprimanding her lack of appreciation of the luck in her life. On the other hand, equally depressed individuals tend to minimize her condition, claiming everyone has their own battles to fight and that it's time for her to snap out of it.
The second part slows down considerably, and given the fact that the gorgeous opening of the film has already spoiled the ending, we are kind of left there waiting for it to happen. Initially, the focus is on Gainsbourg's character taking care of Dunst's, transitioning from her critical tone in the first part to a more neutral and respectful approach. However, as the end approaches, the roles reverse, offering consolation to us depressives who have caused trouble to our friends and families all our lives. When the apocalypse arrives, because it will, it will be our time to comfort and lead our loved ones in the face of the inevitable.
The film itself feels somewhat disjointed, and if you didn't enjoy it, it probably means you are healthier than you thought. Good for you! Personally, I couldn't handle the numerous parallels to real-life situations, even with all the grotesque overtone added by Von Trier.
Unfortunately, all the visually stunning scenes are concentrated in the first gorgeous minutes of the film, leaving us a bit thirsty for more during the rest.
Undoubtedly, "Rogue Nation" stands out as the most well-balanced installment in the saga so far, albeit the repetition of the same dynamics has started to become tiresome. This marks the umpteenth occasion where Ethan finds himself hunted by authorities, the IMF frozen for whatever reason. Nevertheless, the film showcases commendable attention to maintaining a consistent tone and a keen awareness of all the elements that have made the saga memorable up to this point.
Moreover, the film's strength lies in its choral approach and skillful utilization of supporting characters, a trend initiated with "Ghost Protocol" and now further enhanced by the addition of a charismatic female counterpart for Ethan.
Although the villain surpasses the lackluster Cobalt character by miles, I must admit that I wasn't entirely convinced by the Syndicate. The danger is palpable through the description of their vicious acts, yet when it comes to action, it’s just a bunch of henchies. The tension escalated in the final sequences, but I couldn't help but feel that there were too many subquests leading up to that point, which slightly impacted my overall engagement. On the other hand, I can't deny the guilty excitement I experienced during the Fast and Furious-esque car chase in the middle.
If all the MI films I’ve watched to this point ended up boring me around the second half, “Ghost Protocol” is the first to entertain me throughout, featuring impactful action sequences that skillfully push the boundaries of believability and amusing with a plethora of absurd gadgets you would expect in a Bond movie from the late 90s. However, I must confess the tone of the third film felt more balanced. The self-aware approach of “Ghost Protocol” can be delightful, but things sometimes tend to get a little too ludicrous, as you would expect in a Bond movie from the late 90s.
The writing is still a tragedy. The villain, in particular, had no presence nor clear motives, getting barely introduced through random archival footage. His appearances are so limited that even the terrible skit with the Indian billionaire received more screen time. In addition, many subplots end up being completely useless: I think about the Russian police, the female agent’s revenge story, or the dramatic potential of Jeremy Renner’s backstory getting brutally raped and annihilated in the ending. Even impactful sequences like the one in Dubai felt without a clear purpose: why put everything at risk by setting the meeting if they had to give out the real codes anyways? Couldn’t they just find an easy way to tail the villains afterward?
While the visual entertainment partially compensates for the flaws in the plot, the more I think about it, the lower my rating drops. It’s been too many times Ethan gets “hunted” (aha) for something he hasn’t done while the IMF is unable to operate or support him for whatever reason.
A woman on the run from a group of gangsters seeks refuge in the small town of Dogville. The residents initially appear supportive and forgiving, but things start to degenerate as their awareness of holding the upper hand emerges.
As the first installment of an incomplete trilogy on the American dream, Dogville employs the confined boundaries of a microcosm to exemplify the contradictions and arrogance of a country that presents itself as supportive to the stranger and forgiving to its citizens. The protagonist gradually becomes objectified by the other residents as they lose control of moral authority, exploiting her gratitude in a sort of emotional blackmail.
The events unfold within a theater setting, featuring a minimalist stage design with simple chalk lines standing for walls and delineating the outline of the buildings. This gimmick not only pays homage to epic theater but also underscores the lack of protection within communities, where every action and intention end up exposed and under everyone’s judgment.
Despite its three-hour dialogue-driven narrative, the film is well-balanced between entertainment and introspection, although I must admit I have a thing for stories that bring out the worst in people. Despite the deliberate attempt to alienate the audience, I found myself consistently drawn to the dread and filth portrayed on screen. Still, I would have appreciated a more in-depth exploration of all fifteen adult inhabitants of the village. Ultimately, the focus predominantly narrows to the same four or five characters.
Revisited for the first time in at least twenty years during a retrospective at my neighborhood's movie theater. I remember my extremely premature encounter with the film, as it traumatized me emotionally while at the same time introducing me to an entirely new style of filmmaking.
The manipulative melodrama might raise some eyebrows, but it serves as a perfect counterpoint to the gritty realism of the cinematography. Instead of settling for a superficial critique of the American dream in a pseudo-neorealist fashion, the film filters everything through the protagonist's love for musicals and Hollywood sentimentalism, which becomes the driving force behind the narrative. Selma's presumed integrity and unconditional love for her son remain underdeveloped, as they only serve as the backbone of the narrative. Much like Björk's music video for "It's Oh So Quiet," which seemingly inspired the film's screenplay, Selma clings to the "music" that emanates from the sounds of everyday life, utilizing them as a gateway to an imaginary world of musicals—an idyllic escape from her disease and hypocrisies that plague her reality. The film's first half fuels the flames of sentimentality with malice, as everything is aimed at delivering a powerful blow once the viewer is brought back to reality.
While I do appreciate Björk's music and found her first and last appearance as an actress surprisingly convincing, the songs she contributed to the score are more miss than hits. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that their dissonant quality proves immensely fitting in the second half of the film, where the contrast between the musical world and the actual events becomes painful. Personally, I would have filmed the musical segments in a more traditional and lavish manner to heighten the contrast further.
The only aspect that truly bothered me was how contrived some pivotal plot twists tend to be. For instance, the scene in which Selma kills the police officer ends up feeling somewhat pathetic, with him imploring her to take his life as the only way to afford the child's operation (???). A single gunshot would have sufficed to ensure Selma's death penalty, or she could have simply lost control. Not to mention the wife who leaves him there agonizing when she could have easily called the police from downstairs. It was also quite stupid that the girls at the factory not only arbitrarily recycled the money from Gene's operation to pay for the lawyer but also didn't bother adding a single cent to the amount. I understand that otherwise, Selma wouldn't have noticed, but come on.
The tragic demise of a young drug dealer who, after witnessing his life flash before his eyes, embarks on a tour through the streets of Kabukicho, spying on the aftermath of his passing while seeking an opportunity for reincarnation.
I must confess that I remembered the film as a much more psychedelic spectacle and a significantly less melancholic and depressing experience. Perhaps the weight of age on my shoulders is helping me feel the void more?
The underlying plot, albeit fragmented and worth less than twenty minutes, is subordinate to its portrayal onscreen—a masterful fusion of immersive subjective long takes, evocative glimpses into the protagonist's past from behind his shoulders, and swirling shots that seamlessly oscillate between arthouse and filth exploitation. Despite the janky CG used for the computer-generated aerial perspectives and wide-angle shots, the overall visual presentation continues to feel innovative and impactful, continually capturing the viewer's attention.
Nonetheless, the latter half of the film languishes in its excessive length, diluting the overall impact of the experience. Furthermore, the way the protagonist meets his demise feels a little far-fetched, if not outright ridiculous - although it could all be interpreted as a massive drug-induced hallucination under the influence of the book borrowed from the French guy. Not that it matters.
This is the one where all the saga's protagonists band together against the Joker. There's a breathtaking scene with an exploding dam, and, most notably, Vin Diesel playing Rocket League with a massive bomb rolling through the streets of Rome, Indiana Jones-style.
I'm astounded reading reviews from those who suddenly realized they've been eating crap for ten films. While I share the weariness of reaching the eleventh chapter, "Fast X" is hands down the best of the bunch, thanks in part to Justin Lin's departure with a decent shooter. The result is as Trashy and absurd as the last four or five films, but at least it's shot and staged with a relative finesse and an underlying self-awareness. The tone and production value are more in line with modern blockbusters, and although it feels like it’s progressively becoming a generic superhero flick with cars, the mind-blowing sensory impact of the action sequences is undeniable.
The writing remains a tragedy, further exacerbating both the soap opera elements and the Dragon Ball-esque components. Fortunately, the editor comes to our aid, cutting out almost all the plot moments in favor of never-ending car chases, explosions and random brawls (I swear, every character gets at least one punch-up with no particular reason). But I think it’s worth mentioning that the queue at the bathroom was epic during Vin Diesel and Melchior’s intense dialogue.
Actual score: 4.5
Guilty pleasure score: 7.5
Overall: 6
Although it feels like these characters still have so many stories to tell, the fourth season provided a satisfying (yet bitter) conclusion. The overall plotting might feet slightly uneven, as we keep going back and forth some of the same dynamics we’ve already witnessed in the previous seasons, yet each individual episode had something interesting to say.
I must admit, I rolled my eyes when the Pierce acquisition reared its head again, and I couldn't help but sigh when Roman started slipping back into his old habits. But fear not! There's a major shift early on that flips the script and adds a fresh perspective to the mix. Sure, it takes the show a few episodes to find its footing again, but once it does, buckle up for a great ride that will leave you gasping for breath by the surprising, yet somehow sadly realistic, finale.
While comic relief characters like Tom and, to some extent, Connor managed to get more three dimensional over time, the siblings have been strangely static. Especially when they start messing up mid-season, I thought the writers overdid it a little. For how inept they might be, I remembered them a little smarter. Still, we’re talking about minor flaws in one of the rare shows where quality could stay consistent throughout its entire run.
It's undeniable that James Gunn's signature formula can get a bit tiresome, especially after three movies, a special, several appearances in other films, and even a couple of similar reiterations with DC. However, his last adventure with the Guardians of the Galaxy was far from stale. Despite stagnating a little as a writer, Gunn has undeniably grown as a director and visual storyteller. One could argue it’s due to the colossal budget and the growing army of professionals at his commands, but the difference in execution compared to other Marvel productions is mind-blowing, both in the action sequences and the dramatic moments (which, in this film, tend to get particularly dark and impactful, except for that ridiculous tunnel of light).
The only thing that rubbed me the wrong way was the forced breakup of the gang. It felt so disconnected from everything that had been built up to that point. It’s crystal clear that this movie was intended to be the third of many, focusing on consolidating the team along the same lines as the second chapter. It’s a shame that external factors pushed it to be the finale of a trilogy, but there should have been a more organic way to get to the same point other than most characters having sudden epiphanies and realizing it’s time to fly the coop. This rush to move forward in the Marvel scheme may have been inevitable, but it’s what prevents me from raising the rating movie despite my initially ecstatic reaction. The overall pacing is relentless, and while each member of the team gets their moment in the spotlight, there’s barely a chance to catch your breath and delve into their characters.
This is the one where cars rain from the sky and a submarine armed with nuclear missiles emerges from the ice. But most importantly, it's the one where The Rock grabs a missile with his bare hands and hurls it at the enemy (love it). Or even better, it's the one where Jason Statham redeems himself to the point he has an epic adventure as a killer-babysitter. The actual twist of the film should be Toretto temporarily becoming a villain, but it’s just a mere excuse to keep him and The Rock separated during their legendary on-set feud.
For reasons unknown to me, the world seems to be particularly serious about the Fast saga and hates all the movies after Brian's departure. Yet, I continue to find them the most memorable in terms of guilty pleasure entertainment. We've reached the same level of childish absurdity and grotesque antics as the old Power Rangers movies, but at least we're spared the boredom that plagued the previous installments I watch F&F to experience something unapologetically wild and outrageous unavailable elsewhere, definitely not for another run-of-the-mill mediocre action flick. I found the ice part a bit lackluster due to excessive CGI, but the parallel movie featuring The Rock and Statham delivers plenty of satisfaction. In their spin-off, they lose some of their edge, but as sidekicks to dilute Vin Diesel's self-seriousness, they're perfect.
The direction is even better than usual, although a little confusing when it comes to fighting scenes.
Guilty pleasure score: ★★★1/2
Actual score: ★★
Final score: ★★1/2
Japanese title: Wild Speed SKY MISSION
This is the one where the cars do HALO jumps and gracefully crash from one building to another.
Although it was supposed to be Jason Statham’s supervillain extravaganza, his role ended up being quite limited, with unneeded sub-bosses and government bullcrap getting in the way. Honestly, a Dragon Ball-style showdown with Vin and Jason would’ve been way cooler, but hey, maybe they'll get it right in the next installment? (Probably not).
The Rock is left waiting on the sidelines for most of the movie, but when he makes his triumphant return, it’s sheer cinematic heaven.
Overall it’s all as apologetically atrocious as in the previous six installments, but you can at least notice that it was shot by a decent director this time. No one but Sir James Wan could capture the essence of trashy kitsch that the Toretto family thrives on. It's a kind of directing that would flop in any other movie, but in this crazy world, it fits like a glove.
Sadly, due to the untimely passing of Paul Walker, we're denied the customary final BBQ scene this time around. They had to forcefully rearrange the plot to make his footage fit, but let's be honest, the original idea probably wasn't any better.
Actual score: 4.5
Guilty pleasure score: 7.5
Final score: 6
"The Whale" is undeniably a powerful chamber drama that explores the self-destructive tendencies of a man unable to confront his grief and past mistakes. Although much smaller in scale, I could relate to his feelings of loneliness and emotional emptiness, as I too have turned to binge-eating junk food to fill the void, only to hate myself even more afterward. I just hope there will be a true friend like Liz near me in my last days.
While I enjoyed the film overall, I found the daughter's character to be a bit too one-dimensional and exaggerated, and her relationship with her father developed too quickly and mechanically. On the other hand, I found the way the film dealt with Charlie's relationships with Liz and his ex-wife to be much more complex and touching.
The inclusion of religion as a theme was unexpected, but it felt like it ended up absolving Liz and Charlie of responsibility. I would have preferred if their life choices were solely responsible for their downfall, instead of an external element over which they have limited control.
Nevertheless, “The Whale” still brought me to tears in several instances. It’s more of a crowd-pleaser, but it always stops just a step before exaggerated melodrama. The dynamic and cinematic direction also skillfully compensates for the limited setting and number of characters. For an Aronofsky film, it could almost be called sober, if not for the slightly sentimental ending.
In "Grace and Frankie," Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin play two aging women whose husbands reveal that they have been secretly in love for over twenty years. Frankie is a hippie who has lived life to the fullest, while Grace is a grumpy, cynical career woman who has coped with her frustrations and unhappy family life by drinking. Although they have known and despised each other for decades, circumstances force them to share the family’s beach house while trying to rebuild their lives. Gradually, they develop a strong friendship that transcends their individual values and prejudices.
Despite its quirky premise, “Grace and Frankie” mostly plays out like a classic sitcom from the late 90s, complete with choppy writing and an uneven tone. However, the chemistry between the two leads is so good that I would watch them do anything until the end of time, no matter how sloppy things get.
The show hits its peak in seasons two and three, when a stronger emphasis on family drama arises. The challenges of aging and the impact of our actions on those around us are hinted at, creating a more relatable and memorable experience. Unfortunately, the show rapidly declines from the fourth season. The main problem is that the same overall structure and dynamics keep getting rehashed each season, and Grace's character becomes too soft too soon, making the same recipe feel bland. Additionally, the feel-good comedy dominates too much, overshadowing the poignant family drama that could have made the characters even more relatable. Even when exploring Sol and Robert’s goofy relationship, we only scratch the surface of their problems, despite their more grounded approach to life providing a more relatable counterpoint to Grace and Frankie’s extravagance.
The supporting cast is another major issue contributing to the show's decline. Although it seems that the showrunners were planning for the kids to get a more prominent role over time, they clearly had no clue of what to do with them. The lack of consistent storylines and character development resulted in them becoming more annoying than anything else. Brianna is the only exception, though she has little interesting material to work with in the later seasons (just like her mother, she gets too soft too soon).
Grace and Frankie's love interests fare no better. Although they are initially introduced as important characters who can add new dynamics and spice things up, they are conveniently disposed of with ridiculous excuses as soon as they become a threat to the status quo. Jacob is the only one to get decent storyline without turning into a joke, but poor Nick...
Overall, "Grace and Frankie" has its ups and downs, but I would still recommend it as a casual comedy to enjoy occasionally, provided you can feel the chemistry between the two leads. Just be sure not to binge-watch it.
Japanese title: Wild Speed EURO MISSION.
This is the one in Europe with the tank and the cars flying around attached to an airplane (it will take another three movies to see the cars fly independently). Toretto’s family completes its transformation into a real team of superheroes at the service of the government, complete with a supervillain and a deadly device that could destroy the world. And let’s not forget the mandatory BBQ scene, soon to become a staple of the franchise.
Despite the hilarious premise of the plot and the renewed self-awareness that breathed new life into the series with its fifth installment, this one sadly got back to the tone of the fourth, with more bloated melodrama and much less dumb fun. Perhaps if the film were shorter, it would have been easier to overlook the terrible writing and incomprehensible choices made by the characters. But, alas, the movie drags on for what feels like an eternity, indulging in meaningless side quests and character-centered moments that add nothing to their personalities. The only redeeming factor is the demise of one of my all-time unfavorite characters. I also kind of liked how Roman became the audience's voice and started making fun of the plot himself.
Actual score: 3.5
Guilty pleasure score: 5.5 with sparse 7 to 7.5 moments
Final score: 4
“Welcome to Raccoon City” has proven that playing it safe and sticking to the source material may not be the best approach. I do appreciate that this Netflix adaptation has at least attempted to inject some novelty while still paying homage to the core elements of the franchise. I was also pleased to see them give more screen time to non-human creatures instead of just focusing on plain zombies. The problem is the overall execution was surprisingly sloppy under any possible aspect. Old-fashioned in the worst possible way.
As for the perplexing two timelines that converged towards the end, it seemed as though the writers were trying to keep us on the edge of our seats with a big reveal. However, everything was already crystal clear from the beginning, so we didn't really gain any new insights throughout the seven episodes. Nevertheless, despite the bashing from video game fans, I don't think it was as terrible as they make it out to be. In fact, the video game's plot and cutscenes are similarly tasteless and clumsy, albeit in a different manner. Don’t get me wrong; I do enjoy playing the "Resident Evil" games. However, I never thought that the narrative was their strongest aspect.
