lamps

I love it when a film takes me away for two hours and lets me wander in an unpredictable labyrinth of cinephile perfection, and in the end exhausts and decimates me emotionally and psychically. The Shining is the only film in my life that can fully do that several times. It’s no wonder that King doesn’t like this masterpiece, Kubrick is a visionary of such style that he playfully surpasses the narrative value and power of an otherwise great book, and he does it “only” with carefully built interiors and a minimalist staging of a space that is arranged in detail and expressively connected to the different perspectives of the three protagonists. What is reality and what is fantasy? Is the deranged Jack an instigator or an unfortunate victim? What do all those carefully constructed events represent and symbolise? Kubrick gives clues, ambiguously and cunningly, to constantly draw the viewer into a seemingly depersonalised world and at the same time force them to experience the simple story of the characters. The Shining is an incredibly complex product by a genius who likes to hide and wrap meanings, but also knows how to narrate with the intensity of a monsoon storm and entertain the viewer with an iconic direction of the scenes and the actors, who are exposed to the bone – Jack Nicholson delivers what’s probably his most amazing performance and he actually carries most of the film’s meaning. I strongly recommend to watch the shorter, 114 minute version, the longer one has redundant scenes that explain things for the dumber part of the audience and lack filmmaking zest.

There’s no point writing anything. Space Odyssey is insanely underrated, because its genius and timelessness lies in the fact that it laughs at common genre conventions in a way most of us regular folks will never allow, which is the very reason why I adore it. If we were trying to defend film as true art (which we certainly want to do), we should use Kubrick's masterpiece as an example. Welles may have his Citizen Kane, Fritz his Metropolis, and Coppola his flawless The Godfather..., but this is the only film that manages to evoke unadulterated viewer ecstasy and a sense of amazement through the imaginative use of basic filmmaking devices such as music, cinematography, sets, and now a dose of high quality visual effects (which are, by the way, utterly captivating for their time). Strauss's Waltz seems to have been composed just to underscore the amazing harmony of the weightless state, and the universe seems to really exist for the sole purpose of allowing Clarke and Kubrick to think about it and create their own and, in terms of filmmaking, the most epic human vision in history, in space, time and thought – at least that’s how I felt during those 140 minutes, although that big message doesn't seem incomprehensible after two screenings (unless I'm terribly mistaken, which perhaps the next screening will reveal). What I've realised for sure, though, is that the HAL computer is a beautiful caricature of Kubrick's work – except that Stanley never makes a mistake.

There are a lot of things about Mad Max: Fury Road that truly fascinate me; here are the most important: 1) The unexpected development of the story and the way it manages the attention of the viewer is not something you see often (if ever) in thoroughbred action flicks. The film and its world are introduced in words by the supposed protagonist, who subsequently becomes a passive figure dragged involuntarily by circumstances and literally trying to do only one thing: survive. These words then basically describe the entire plot, which is simple and based on a few major twists, but at the same time unpredictable as a constant struggle for survival and the related rewriting of ways to stay alive. In a mad, crumbling world without rules, women are the only way to survive – young, healthy and determined women who set the nature of the decisive clash with a male-dominated civilization. Women, who are then involuntarily rejoined by the supposed protagonist and a renegade enemy who is saved again only by the love of a woman. Women who are heading somewhere "Green", but the script eventually cruelly reassesses their determination to get to paradise, and the goal lies 180 degrees away from what the viewer long expected (which may or may not be a wise joke on Miller's part, for what woman doesn't do that 180 at least once a day? :). 2) Action scenes that do not serve as a mere adrenaline attraction, but are a solid and defining component of the aforementioned narrative system; during them, the protagonists develop psychologically, divide and clash, or directly fulfil their personal motivations and goals. The action sequences are even separated from each other by a classic four-act narrative at their core (the first act ends with a flare in the sand after the first set piece, the second with the death of one of the heroes after the second set piece, the third with the revelation of the fake MacGuffin, and the fourth with the journey back and logically the longest set piece). 3) The actual development of each action scene is a detailed rehearsed process in which Miller thoughtfully capitalizes on sub-themes, and each shot has its own undeniable status and weight (Furiosa exchanges a sympathetic look with the chained Max during the first action sequence, laying down their future trust). 4) We already take sophisticated audiovisuals for granted in today's A-list productions, but this film takes the popular notion of "pummelling" to another level. When CGI is present, it looks wonderful, but above all, you can see that it was done in real life, with real vehicles and crazy stuntmen, and that the stars sweated like Miloš Zeman walking up to the first floor. The visuals of the constructed world are as breathtaking as its male moral disjointedness (and its feminist soul appeals to me). 5) Editing techniques in perfect harmony with the energetically pulsating soundtrack, which I consider one of the best of this millennium, and the utmost clarity make every scene the ultimate juicy, high-octane product of cinematic entertainment. I could go on for quite a while, because Mad Max: Fury Road is without a doubt one of the most amazing movie experiences of my life. Original, inspiring, one of a kind. Charlize Theron is beautiful even as a man, Tom Hardy is truly awesome. If there's ever a sequel, I'll be writing the most anticipated review of my life. 100%

An icon to which I owe much, and I’m not exaggerating. When I was little, it made me fall in love with Hollywood big movies, and with the passing of the years and with each new viewing, it has enriched me with more and more discoveries of how to make a perfectly polished and narrated Hollywood big movie. The immense ease with which the story is carried, unravelled and concluded is only a reflection of the meticulously thought-out screenwriting process and the result of Steven Spielberg's admirable work. Even after at least the fiftieth time, it makes me so happy to get carried away by the initial ideal family idyll, which gradually and smoothly turns into a thrilling adventure ride with the raptors that the film tastefully and systematically introduces in the opening scene. Spielberg's production design and Williams' brilliant score cause goosebumps with unlimited staying power, and the stunts just don't get any better or more believable. I love this film, its characters, its world, its story full of timeless directorial tricks (the vibrating water surface, the tree, the rebooting of the system...), and I love the unprecedented aware merchandising. Iconic status with capital I.

The peak of the genre and a delight for connoisseurs. Ultra naturalist filmmaking without hesitation that will exhaust you physically and mentally and won’t let you sleep. The first half is non-stop tension and a brutally stifling and realistic portrayal of the lowest levels of humanity and the moral back-country, and the second half is an incredibly unpleasant reflection of the previously tapped and exploited horrors, all with brilliant cinematography and sound. A film without which the word horror would lose its meaning.

The best Spielberg. When I watch Jaws, I realize how incredibly strong tension can be built in a seemingly unobtrusive way, through the construction of mise-en-scène and the choice of editing techniques, and how the viewer's attention can be guided in such a way that every single scene has the most intense effect. The key is the work with hints and communicating information through simple visual motifs, which manifests itself in the generally diabolical escalation of the terror of the approaching creature and the unrelenting pace of the narrative, particularly in the legendary second shark attack scene, which truly belongs to the hall of fame of the best filmmaking sequences in history. In it, Spielberg, through Sheriff Brody's nervous glances, repeatedly pitches us possible victims of the attack, with the shark's presence confirmed by the sudden disappearance of a dog whose owner calls in vain, and the camera showing us only the frisbee it was supposed to fetch. The already nerve-wracking situation is intensified by the invisible cuts, catalysed by characters crossing in front of the lens, and the tension culminates in a switch to a point-of-view shot of a shark and the famous transfocation raid on Brody, a moment at which I sweat out all the beers from the previous evening every time and my cinephilic self descends into hash ecstasy. And that's somehow how the overall division into two distinct halves works – the first one hints, in the second we see a lot of the shark, and the tension is maintained by alternative directorial techniques (barrels), impeccable dialogue (Quint's narration is directly devoured by the viewer), amazing music, and indescribably effective timing, bordering on sheer shock at times (if the scene described above makes me ecstatic with hash, SPOILER!! Quint's death puts just about every stimulant in the world into me). Perfection, after this you just can't swim peacefully in the sea anymore..... Yeah, and I don't do drugs, it was just symbolism :D

Come and See is fascinating and unique in many ways. Firstly, in terms of historical plausibility and significance – it’s not hard to imagine that this is exactly what happened in those six hundred Belarusian villages in 1943. The Germans marched merrily through the area and, in between humiliating and sexually abusing the local population, chased the villagers into barns and set them on fire. The local youth lived in misery and out of general indignation they allowed themselves to be recruited by the partisans, because they wanted to fight heroically for their people. The corpses piled up, innocent people were doused with gasoline and set on fire simply because 'their race has no right to a future', and the poor survivors carried with them a lifetime of trauma etched into every wrinkle on their faces. Come and See depicts all this not only believably, but also intensely and thoughtfully. The protagonist, the young partisan Flyora, goes through an increasingly violent and horrific ordeal, and for most of the time the camera sticks like a tick to his sensory, visual and even auditory perspective. He begins as a well-mannered, conscientious and optimistic young man, but the events drastically transform his emotions, psyche and appearance. Almost all visual and acoustic features are subjectivised, putting us directly into the protagonist's head, a place nobody would want to be in, especially in the second half. And that is one hell of a devastating spectacle full of filth and mental and physical pain, with a soundtrack that follows dizziness and simulates the greatest human agony... and well, you can take poison for that. And at the same time it’s absolutely unlike any Hollywood war film, which are more fond of artificial dramatization and strong heroism. There are also some poetic elements or editing techniques closer to the European modernism of the 1960s, which sometimes evoke the aura of an art festival. At the same time, it's notable that director Elem Klimov opts for mostly dynamic camera rides and follows moving characters, bringing the style back to Hollywood, even contemporary Hollywood – I could personally imagine, that if Spielberg had this script today (or back in the 1980s), he would stage many of the more action-packed passages very similarly, using long takes and multiple smaller storylines in one take that would gradually interweave and build on each other. Moreover, it is a film that absolutely denies the popular Soviet cult of personality, cultivated under Stalin, which made national heroes out of ordinary protagonists of films or literary works. No one is a hero here, everyone is a victim of an incomprehensible murderous and ideological machine that either makes you mad or sucks all the life out of you, an innocent child. Personally, I consider Come and See to be such an exceptionally shot, effective and precisely consolidated film in every single way that I would rank Klimov among the best directors of the 1980s for this alone. This despite the indiscriminate treatment of the child actors, who obviously went through hell – especially Alexei Kravchenko, Flyora, must have endured the unimaginable and I'm surprised he didn't quit acting afterwards.

A film worthy of its own stylistic and systemic analysis like no other from the 1990s. The definition of perfection of the popular concept of the manhunt, it’s unique both in its surgically precisely escalated plot, where the rhythm of the alternating scenes with the fugitive, the hunter and the key flashbacks is perhaps as melodic and balanced as any Mozart symphony, and in the development of the three-way battle itself (the falsely accused, the pursuer and the real culprit), who strategically chase each other, and have an unprecedented impact on the aforementioned escalation (first the pursuer goes after the accused, then the accused begins to search on his own for the real culprit, thereby drawing some of the pursuer's attention to him, and by the end the culprit is chasing the accused to avoid full disclosure). The performances of Ford and Jones are of course excellent and the music is top-notch, but The Fugitive is above all an absolutely stunningly constructed narrative that doesn't let up and plays with the viewer's expectations brilliantly, both on the level of the whole story and individual scenes (withholding crucial information to temporarily mislead the viewer into believing a threat to the hero like in Silence of the Lambs). A true gem of a film.

Anyone who doesn't take this brilliant ride through the history of adventure and stylistic tropes as an absolute gem is ripe for a psychiatrist. Spielberg and Lucas created a new form of entertainment that, with any luck, won't get old even after 1000 years. An example of a fully effective application of outdated genres and references to a dominant and entertaining filmmaking style, a playful and engaging combination of myth with real thematic background. Excellent music and camera, an awesome Harrison Ford and very possibility the most iconic character in cinema history, and so on, and so on…