Humprt Pum

Pochopit a odpustit.

Proč vůbec někdo točí něco, co už bylo stočeno 1000x?

Příjemně odvyprávěný příběh. Ale víc než 2 věty by bylo zbytečné psát.

Výborně vedení herci, ale na tak dlouhý film to netačí.

Na Kevina se hezky kouká + pár pěknejch citátů + skvělý herecký výkon Dallase Robertse.

Vychutnávka s třešničkou na konci. Skóre na www.metacritic.com: 91%. Ztotožňuji se s kritikou San Francisco Chronicles, autora Wesley Morrise (POZOR, MOŽNÝ SPOILER): http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/examiner/archive/2000/05/12/WEEKEND829.dtl&type=movies How is this not a Calvin Klein commercial? The vision is Claire Denis', and the undressed opulence in her "Beau Travail" is a challenge to view what she's doing - toying with the French Legionnaires as a fistful of masculine identities forming a single, sensitive physical force. And she uses the tools in her considerable cinematic lexicon to caress this landscape - as either cheap, fetishistic beauty-marking or an ingenious attempt to give some pretty pictures a smashed-faced soul. Every shot in "Beau Travail," which was one of the artistic high points at this year's San Francisco International Film Festival, points toward the latter. DENIS' film is as fluid as her nine others, demonstrating her skill at inte grating story strands with her handsome visual sense and gift for evocation. Each of her films - particularly "I Can't Sleep" and her telefilm "U.S. Go Home," both from 1994 - is a sensory, metaphysical tale of paranoid suspicion and adolescence. "Beau Travail," though, is a lyric abstraction and a more blatant experiment in sound, vision and narrative. Using "Billy Budd," Herman Melville's posthumous novella set near the close of the 18th century, as its spine, the film distills the watchful homoeroticism in Melville's story involving a captain, a young foretopman and an envious officer. Denis, who adapted the film with frequent collaborator Jean-Paul Fargeau, dries out Melville's story, trading its aquatic milieu for one bound up in the endless scenic vistas of the East African desert. She also swaps Melville's viscous, impenetrable prose (reading "Billy Budd" is like combing the words out of a literary glue trap) for her own dense tone-poetics, veering toward the surreal without getting lost in it. Denis reveals an affection for the Legionnaires and for the geography, imbuing them with the unassuming spiritualism that often wafts through her filmmaking. Her choice of music - which ranges from blaring French house to Benjamin Britten's barreling opera "Billy Budd" to Neil Young's "Safeway Cart" - completes the film's somber atmospherics. FOCUSING on "Billy Budd" villain Claggart, Denis opts to redeem him, transform ing the character into the riled Galoup (Denis Lavant as a predator with a washed-up soul). Galoup narrates the film in julienned reflections. It opens on a nightclub dance floor. The disco's intimate, dark, mirrored space is the obscure day to the less-vague night of the African exteriors. Disbursed throughout the film's hour-and-a-half, the disco scenes are also the setup for the Galoup's implosive ballet, in the final minutes that are like a semi-charmed snake dying on a magic carpet. (Heaven as disco is a priceless visual equation.) The master of arms, Galoup, leads his Legionnaires through the unrelenting exercise rituals that have the spectatorial beauty of arena yoga. And Galoup is both drill sergeant and aerobics instructor. His growing sexual insecurities and fear of futility con sume him and spark his suspicion that Sentain (Gregoire Colin), one of the young men in his fold, has replaced him as the object of their captain's (Michel Subor) affection. His jealousy ruins his career, which is all he's ever known. You can imagine a more agitated filmmaker making Sentain, the Billy Budd figure, one of the many nonwhite guys in the Legion. BUT, REVERSING her concerns in previous films, Denis is less interested in race and more transfixed by the meticulousness of building this operatic dream. Galoup's self-destruction is as much the province of his own head as the gorgeous imagery is the province of Denis'. "Beau Travail" is consciously interacting with so many texts - from Melville's book to Britten's opera to Jean-Luc Godard's hodgepodge first political flick "Le Petit Soldat," in which Subor played a younger version of the man he plays here - it seems drunk on inspiration. Denis has a particularly good time playing with the disjunction between interior and exteriors. The desiccated, cracked landscape looks like paradise used to live there, like Earth, with its centuries-old mosaiclike striations, could use some Oil of Olay. Accordingly, the film is not unglamorous. Denis isn't afraid of arresting the eye with luxurious photography. In fact, she risks objectifying these men, mercifully because she doesn't see beauty as an empty luxury, suggesting that maybe dreaming of Africa isn't such terrible thing at all. Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/examiner/archive/2000/05/12/WEEKEND829.dtl&type=movies#ixzz0SAWlCzMQ

K O N E Č N Ě !!!! www.metacritic.com 80%. Ztotožňuji se s následující recenzí z Washington Post. http://www.washingtonpost.com/gog/movies/district-9,1146825/critic-review.html POZOR - MŮŽE OBSAHOVAT SPOILERY. 'District 9': In Many Ways, It's a Perfect 10. By John Anderson. The poison that permeates the phenomenal "District 9" is the same toxin that has defined so much of human history: The oppression of the Other. In this case, that means scaly aliens with feelers for faces who are confined to South African-style "townships," and who, in director-writer Neill Blomkamp's allegorical thrill ride, represent every tyrannized population since the institution of the pogrom. A sci-fi-fueled indictment of man's inhumanity to man -- and the non-human -- "District 9" is all horribly familiar, and transfixing. That Blomkamp, a South African, would set his propulsive, kinetic and relentlessly nerve-racking thriller in a barely reformed South Africa indicates that subtle political messages are not his forte. Nor are they necessarily his objective. This is an action movie, after all: Cruel twists of fate, narrow escapes, well-deserved liquidations and unlikely alliances all make for a classic summer shoot-'em-up. Still, the underlying gravitas of the story -- in which the aliens are Gitmoed and used for gruesome experiments -- keeps "District 9" smart, even after the aliens start turning their oppressors into Heinz 57 sauce. In a crisp, rapid-fire setup, "District 9" establishes how the ominous mothership came to a halt in the sky over Johannesburg, then sat motionless for months as earthly authorities pondered what to do. In frustration and desperation, a team was sent to cut its way into the ship, where the alien passengers were found weak and malnourished. Taken to the ground, but having no way back to the ship, the aliens became a sub-population of unwanted immigrants, whose disgusting looks and strange appetites -- they're partial to canned cat food -- make them a collective object of fear and loathing. As we reach the film's version of present day, the history has led to a crackdown, replete with evictions, violence and internment. "District 9" is the rare arms-and-ammo flick in which the central human performance is as high-caliber as the hardware. Acting newcomer Sharlto Copley, as craven corporate tool Wikus van de Merwe, gives a performance that is nothing short of tour de force. Assigned to oversee the relocation of the aliens -- or "prawns," as they're derisively called (they do resemble shrimp) -- Wikus has gotten his job through his father-in-law, the head of the evil MNU (MultiNational United). He has no leadership abilities whatsoever; in carrying out the evictions of the aliens, Wikus demonstrates that he is, in fact, a natural coward. He's the kind of bureaucratic creature who overuses his authority because it's all he's got. He's despicable. And Copley's portrayal is precise and true. That he manages to make Wikus a hero, however marginal, is close to miraculous. The film's producer, Peter ("Lord of the Rings") Jackson, has a kindred spirit in Blomkamp, who has a flair for the same kind of humorous violence Jackson showed early in his career (see "Meet the Feebles") and for a judicious but effective use of creepout embellishments: A prawn breeding ground is rich in viscous visuals; the claustrophobic alien hovels reek of dust and decay; the aliens themselves are rangy, revolting characters, almost ratlike in their paranoia and Otherness. They're hard to like, but we like them, just as we end up rooting for the demise of Greater Human Civilization. That we barely get to catch our breath is not a bad thing either.

Učůrával jsem si smíchy do kalhot.

Wau, krása. www.metacritic.com: 77% ( http://www.metacritic.com/film/titles/sinnombre?q=sin%20nombre ). Ztotožňuji se s kritikou New York Times: What is objectionable about this scene isn’t its shock value — there’s a similar, more unsettling dog-eats-man scene in Johnnie To’s great mob movie “Election II” — it’s how the violence is exploited within the context of the story. In “Election II,” the man-is-meat scene underscores the essential moral rot of the mobsters, whom Mr. To refuses to sentimentalize. In “Sin Nombre,” the guy is fed to the dogs both to titillate the audience (hence the shot of the dog bowl) and to show the look of disgust on Casper’s face. His revulsion is critical, because without it he wouldn’t be as likable — character likability is a creative imperative as much in Sundance as in Hollywood — which makes him more like a person and less like a screenwriting conceit. However street, Casper is as sentimentalized a fiction as one of those dirty-faced angels who ran around studio back lots in the 1930s, and his means of salvation, Sayra, isn’t any better. The roads they travel and hardships they endure are finally narrative arcs, calibrated for maximum drama, excitement and entertainment. What keeps the movie from tipping into full-blown exploitation like “City of God,” which turns third-world misery into art-house thrills, is Mr. Fukunaga’s sincerity. What keeps you watching is his superb eye. Working with his cinematographer, Adriano Goldman, he fills in the cracks of his story with moments of beauty — children tossing oranges up to the train, Casper sleeping under a canopy of trees — that make you want to see what comes next. ( http://movies.nytimes.com/2009/03/20/movies/20nomb.html )

Uh. Jedno klišé za druhým. www.metacritic.com: 36%. Kritika, se kterou se ztotožňuji: And so it goes -- gimmicks, shocks, cliches. There is little connective tissue. Once the abortion scene is over, it's never mentioned again. A desperate junkie robs a convenience store in a community where everyone knows everybody, yet no one calls the police. Life in Cracktown simply goes on. The film was shot in neighborhoods near downtown Los Angeles, but no city is identified. There seems to be no church, homeless shelter or clinic where anybody can go for help. One cop (played by Vondie Curtis-Hall and asked to look very tired) drifts through the 'hood but doesn't even disguise his disconnect from all he sees. The film short changes all its characters -- the gangbanger (Evan Ross) angry at the world, the young man (Mark Webber) with his new breast implants, the junkie couple (Illeana Douglas, Ridge Canipe) and their two long-suffering children, the 'hood's one good guy (Victor Rasuk) who nevertheless is on the verge of shaking his crying infant son. They serve only to deliver jolts and despair but never take on any life, hot or otherwise, of their own. (http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/hr/film-reviews/life-is-hot-in-cracktown-film-review-1003988032.story)