Reviews

Ideologically, Sedmikrasky still makes sense. More so than ever, in fact. Designed as a feminist act of rebellion against patriarchal political systems, there's a lot to say for it when such systems are on the rise again. Now that so-called strong willed men are elected to office (or otherwise just grabbing such positions for themselves) around the globe, it's no surprise women's rights, hard fought and well earned, are slowly but surely diminished, even in democratic territories. So why not re-release a movie that fought for female independence fifty years back? Maybe because it is dated as heck in all other regards, for one thing.

Sedmikrasky deals with two young women tired of being told what to do by old men and turning the tables on them by questioning everything taken for granted and stopping to adhering to social rules. That sounds pretty hardcore, but the eventual acts of rebellion ultimately prove rather tame. They start by luring cuckolds into dates and humiliating them in public by acting like spoiled brats and messing with their food (a lot!). Soon, things get a bit more serious when they add burglary to their nefarious behavior. Still, that's about it. And all of it is executed in a subversively childish manner, which makes it hard to take seriously fifty years down the road, as we've seen much worse in cinema since. Though we can sympathize with rebels attacking an oppressive system, these two women are mostly just absurdly annoying, making for a good 73 minutes that prove hard to sit through.

What's worse, at least for general audiences, avant-gardist director Very Chytilova applies some mindbogglingly experimental cutting and photography, which makes for a wholly inaccessible movie. Everything is overly stylized, as if filming a dream. What's a modern audience to make of all this weirdness? Movie buffs and art lovers at least will appreciate the constant switching between colour palettes, the abrupt editing and the odd camera angles, not to mention the historical context which makes this film a classic in its own right, a prime example of its tempestuous zeitgeist. But without bearing all that in mind, little remains to provoke thoughts or aspire the latest generation of feminists, aside from good intentions.

Mathematics is generally considered by mainstream audiences as a rather dull topic, but movies about mathematicians often have little trouble finding an audience. There's an odd fascination with the socially awkward minds of geniuses who spend their entire live crunching numbers, or so the success of A Beautiful Mind or more recently The Theory of Everything and The Imitation Game has proved. However, with the success of such films, there's a risk of such biopics finding themselves limited to a specific formula. A misunderstood genius+a harsh, unaccepting society+British acting talent=box office success, such a formula might state. Problem is, these geniuses in question were anything but formulaic people so there ought to be a little more to it than generic writing to make modern audiences fully appreciate their work. Case in point, the legendary Srinivasa Ramanujan and the feeble The Man Who Knew Infinity.

The mathematical wonder Ramanujan was born a poor Indian with an uncanny gift for understanding numbers and dreaming up formulas way beyond the comprehension of his social environment in the early 20th Century. It took a while for his talent to be recognized and even longer for it to be put to good academic use, when he finally moved to Cambridge. There he baffled the minds of his fellows in the short years that remained to him. What made this incredible mind tick? The Man Who Knew Infinity unfortunately is more concerned with focusing on the culture of discrimination Ramanujan faced at academia. In the movie, the misunderstood genius spends most of his time being subjected to racist exclusion rather than getting any work done. And so he stays mostly misunderstood to the audience, who can't begin to comprehend just how unusual his formulas were and what grand ramifications they had for the world of mathematics. Ramanujan is just repeatedly stated to be a genius, and that's that.

Dev Patel portrays this specific genius and does an adequate job carrying the movie as such, but his talent is basically wasted as the ongoing victim of racial slurs who just keeps looking miserable and unhappy. As the genre's conventions have it, it's up to the assembled British talent to keep the movie alive beyond that. With Jeremy Irons as Ramanujan's close friend Hardy, the film does have one great card to play in keeping us interested both in Ramanujan's plight and mathematics in general. The movie is as its most interesting when Irons graces the screen, guiding us and the protagonist through the academic world and mathematical lore of the early 1900s and sharing many an intriguing anecdote about both. These scenes make for the film's most interesting moments, which are constantly hindered by Ramanujan facing yet another insult regarding his cultural roots or skin colour. We get it, racism is bad. Unfortunately, more emphasis is put on this particular message than we would care to hear. Suffering is after all a trope of the genre and worked for its predecessors: as Turing struggled with his homosexuality in The Imitation Game and Hawking with his debilitating condition in The Theory of Everything, so Ramanujan is subjected to the racism of the day.

Which is too bad, since an unusual mind like Ramanujan's didn't deserve to be explored in such a generic period piece as The Man Who Knew Infinity. The movie carefully stays within the boundaries of the genre rather than, like the man it honours, exceeding such boundaries. It drones on endlessly about the poor man's plight rather than making us fully appreciate his work, his field of expertise and his lasting legacy. The Man Who Knew Infinity, sadly, is rather a predictable and dull movie, which hinders general moviegoers to consider mathematics something other than just that exactly. Well, at least Jeremy Irons tried...

Director Boris Khlebnikov conceived of this film as a modern day Western set in Russia, inspired by the classic High Noon. With that knowledge in mind, you can easily recognize it as such, though for those with less prescience in regards to A Long and Happy Life, most of the ingredients are there for all to see. There's the lone hero, the rough but beautiful landscape, the love affair, the oppressed mob and of course the climactic shootout. All in just 77 minutes.

But the aspirations of an American Western aside, this is first and foremost a contemporary Russian social drama. So naturally, things don't proceed as they usually would. Unless you're versed in Russian art-house, where the plethora of problems plaguing the nation, despite Putin's claims to the contrary, are placed front and center. Then you know full well what's in store. Corruption and the inevitability of its winning the day are the central themes of A Long and Happy Life, as they are in many similar films from Khlebnikovs peers. Sascha, who manages a small collective farm in the cold north of Russia, is all too eager to be bought by his superiors to split up the farm so the land can be used for something more productive. The dough gives him the opportunity to abandon this God forsaken place and move to the big city with his girlfriend. However, when the farmers under his command refuse to be moved as the state leaves them with next to nothing if it happens, Sascha's conscience gets in the way of the life from the title he envisioned for himself. Moved by their plight and their trust in him, he resists the officials, refuses the money and fights to keep his farm open. A hopeless battle, he knows, but as an honest man he must fight it anyway.

Now, honest men, those are hard to find, so says Khlebnikov in this fatalistic little film. The farmers sure don't turn out to be such men, as they quickly search for ways to get out, each man for himself, with as much money as he can make of it. And so Sascha soon finds himself fighting the good fight all by himself, betrayed by everybody. Tension mounts and it's obvious things cannot end on a happy note, but rather in a violent showdown only. Such is life is Russia these days, according to Khlebnikov. The point is well taken, but would have been better served by a different lead actor. Alexandr Yatsenko is well suited to play a corrupt underling, but makes a feeble impression as a lone hero. He simply lacks the necessary charisma for the part and so we're not sold on his switch from bored city boy wanting to leave the country to rebellious protector of the common folk. Which is also hindered by the small amount of time Khlebnikov puts into things, in obvious pun intended contrast to the title, since this film is naturally far from long and happy. But if you expected it to be, you are likely not familiar with Russian art-house. Or Westerns for that matter.

Judging from the on-again, off-again subtitle The Beginning, it's clear Universal Studios hopes for this first entry into the Warcraft film franchise not to be the last. A ton of money has been thrown at the screen on a project that has been in development for nigh a decade to entice both fans and ignorant audiences alike, but the best intentions regardless, it's unlikely the film will sit well with the latter demographic, while it remains to be seen whether it'll be to the liking of the former. After all, the gamers are simple spectators on a quest played by Duncan Jones and his team, rather than their own. General viewers meanwhile get treated to a grand and supposedly rich fantasy universe for which they have a tough time developing a feeling, considering Warcraft only forms the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

The World of Warcraft is vast and extensive, yet a film franchise has to start somewhere explaining it all. The Beginning addresses the origin of the wars between Orcs and Men, so it is said in the opening narration. Which also proves a major spoiler to the movie's own plot, considering the outcome of it all has already been determined. While much of the movie follows a minority of Orcs attempting to establish a truce with the world of Men they just invaded, with that opening statement in mind, there's few narrative surprises in store for us. Which doesn't mean we don't feel for this peaceful, noble Orc warriors, who find themselves a pawn of a sinister force's greater schemes to suck this world dry of life like it did their own home before. Brought to life by the latest motion capture innovations, the movie follows the new path of creating convincing digital characters based on intense acting performances, in the same style as the recent Planet of the Apes movie. It works, as these are some of the finest Orcs we've seen on the big screen thus far.

Alas, the same cannot be said for their human counterparts. The noble knights and conniving warlocks of Azeroth aren't nearly as interesting to behold as their fresh enemies, a victim of both dull generic fantasy writing and uninspired performances. Though there's definitely a pool of talent assembled here, none of these actors truly seemed to have affinity with the exotic subject matter. All the silly spells and swashbuckling sword moves can't change that, and there's plenty of both to go around. In fact, Warcraft fanatics will recognize plenty of everything from their beloved games much to their enjoyment and to the detriment of ours, the casual viewers not acquainted with this realm. Especially in the first thirty minutes of the movie, the plot travels from one outlandish location to the next without allowing us much room to absorb it all, get to know its rules or develop a sense of geography for the whole. While names like Ironforge and Stormwind are no doubt iconic nomenclature to the fans, they never rise above the feeling of generic fantasy to inexperienced ears. Same can be said for the other inhabitants of Azeroth: Dwarfs, Elves and the like are briefly seen here and there but otherwise play no part.

Undoubtedly there's more to the World of Warcraft than what's shown here, but for the general audience, what realms are served never really click. it all looks fabulous but none of it makes us truly care on the same level as the Lord of the Rings movies did. Whether the fans will absorb this take on their beloved franchise as much as they did their interactive equivalent remains to be seen, but the studio better hope they do. Other audiences at best get a decent two hours of generic fantasy entertainment out of it, but nobody will be converted to the Warcraft cause. Which, considering the cost of this hugely expensive movie, might easily suggest The Beginning will also prove the end for the Warcraft film franchise.

It's an odd thing, but the press seems to almost unilaterally adore this latest film by Paul Verhoeven, with myself being an exclusion to that fact. Even though I love most of Paul Verhoeven's work - even going so far as to publicly consider the much maligned Showgirls a very fun film - I had a hard time appreciating this film. Even though I admit there's a number of things to appreciate about it.

First thing, it's a superb piece of acting by the lead, the fabulous French actress Isabelle Huppert. She delivers a grand performance as the protagonist, Michele, a powerful director of a video game company who one day unexpectedly finds herself the victim of a brutal rape by an unknown assailant. She effortlessly navigates the part of rape victim and dominant, matriarchal presence at her job and as head of her family of miscreants. Better yet, the dormant demons of her shady past awake to stir things up even more, which soon makes for an intense psychological game between herself and those around her. Nobody is a match for her, both in terms of character and in terms of acting. Sadly, the rest of the cast is nowhere near as exciting to watch and mostly consists of sleazy personas out to make her life more miserable. It's a shame less effort was put into making Michele's surroundings a bit more interesting, but with such a powerful performance as her own, it's hard to keep up.

Second, Verhoeven basically does what he has always done: not give a damn about cinematic conventions and do as he like without taking what many people would consider 'good taste' into account. His continuation of exploring the underbelly of man proves devoid of adhering to the usual norms of narrative progression. Whoever thinks the rape dictates the rest of Michele's actions is wrong, as she doesn't end up a victim of the act, but rather her environment becomes a victim of herself. There's no tear jerking drama here wherein the violated female must come to terms with the traumatic event, nor is there your typical Hollywood style thriller plot which sees the aggressor hunted down by a revenge driven survivor. Yes, Michele does take matters into her own hands and aims to find her rapist, but this detective story thread suddenly comes to a dead stop as the identity of the culprit is revealed earlier than expected, to unforeseen and rather incredulous results. Wherever you think the story is going, Verhoeven doesn't care about your expectations.

Such stubbornness I generally approve of, since there's enough predictable studio drivel going around already. Nevertheless, despite Verhoeven clearly putting his own stamp on Elle which makes it a rather unique final result, I still found it far from a satisfying movie. It's simply too rebellious for the sake of being rebellious. It's a strange and uncomfortable mix of a thriller, family drama and dark comedy, filled with wholly unsympathetic characters. It echoes Verhoeven's scandalous Dutch film Spetters, which saw the auteur heavily criticized and proved one of the prime reasons for him to switch from Holland to Hollywood (and a good choice that was!). However, that film was torn to shreds by critics, while 35 years later Elle is unanimously embraced. The times apparently have changed, but Verhoeven has not changed with them and continues to be an eternal provocateur. In the current political milieu, such an attitude is apparently rewarded. Just not by me. I appreciate Verhoevens refusal to change his style and stick to his (lack of) principles, but I much lament his cynicism. And though it seems the press doesn't share that perspective, I have a feeling many a regular audience member will agree with me upon seeing the strange shock that is Elle.

'Third one is always the worst' says Jean Grey when leaving the theater after watching Return of the Jedi back in '83. She was right about that one, and conscious or unconscious (I doubt the writer intended for this movie to be the weakest in the second X-trilogy), she's also correct about X-Men: Apocalypse. However, also like Return of the Jedi, Apocalypse still is a whole lot of mutant fun for those who didn't expect the franchise to reach new heights anyway.

Granted, it's not the story that provides the mirth, since it's the stuff of repetition, variations on themes and lack of narrative evolution. Basically, another all-powerful mutant rears his head and threatens to destroy the world for mankind so that its stronger successors can take over. And once again, the X-Men, fighting for peace between man and mutant, must get together to stop this megalomaniacal scheme from becoming reality. This time, it's not Magneto who has hatched the diabolical plan, but rather a 5,000 year old ideological predecessor, an ancient Egyptian once worshiped as a god, with the modern moniker Apocalypse. Magneto, once more masterfully performed by Michael Fassbender, merely provides some muscle to help Oscar Isaac's semi-god with his evil shenanigans. Isaac does a decent job playing an age old villain, but he's no Fassbender and his Apocalypse is nowhere near as intimidating or intriguing as the much more relatable Magneto.

Still, the villain suffices for the cause of bringing together two generations of X-Men, the First Class lot and the new batch of young recruits, including novel takes on classic X-characters Cyclops, Jean Grey and Nightcrawler. Their performances and their chemistry make us hopeful for the future of the franchise, should the studio feel like using them for the next installment Apocalypse seems to be building up to. For although it's meant as a conclusion to a trilogy, the ground work is amply laid for more to come and these young stars succeed in making us curious about what lies ahead. The new additions to the cast are aided by snappy dialogue and light humour, making the shortcomings in the plot not nearly as blatant as they would have been in lesser hands. Nevertheless, it's clear director Bryan Singer, who has made his fourth X-movie with this title, has run out of ideas for the X-universe. Though we appreciate his work on both trilogies, new blood would be equally welcome in the creative room as it proved in the cast.

If you thought Gus van Sant would be more suited to make an interesting picture about the phenomenon of the Japanese suicide forest Aokigahara than the creators of the recent bland horror movie The Forest would, you thought wrong. Say what you will about The Forest, it had no other pretensions than being an average spooky flick (except maybe for the 'average' part, but then they should have tried harder). The Sea of Trees, not so. It's a bold potpourri of supernatural thrills, Japanese versus Western belief systems, tear jerking drama and philosophical reflections on the nature of suicide. At least, it likes to be. It sadly fails in every respect, making this a prime candidate for the title of 'Worst Gus van Sant Movie'.

The ingredients for a terrific movie are all there. There's a haunting mystery (a forest where people voluntarily come to kill themselves), a shot at emotionally compelling drama (a husband and wife not getting along but coming together over the latter's impending demise), some damn fine actors (McConaughey, Watanabe, Watts, need I say more?) and lots of wonderful cinematography. The movie only succeeds in offering that last bit to our satisfaction. Whether it's the director or the screenwriter who couldn't be bothered with stringing it all together seamlessly into an intriguing whole is hard to tell. It's certainly not the actors, as all of them appear bored or distracted. In Watanabe's case, matters are made worse due to him apparently having been hired as Hollywood's token Japanese man for this occasion, making him rant on about Japanese superstition ad nauseam. We simply can't learn to care about either him or his American companion, who set out to kill himself but had a change of heart in his desire to help his new local friend get home alive. It's seemingly enough of a motivation after the devastating death of his wife to make him find new faith in life and forget all about his suicidal plans, but not for us to go along with his new lust for living.

We simply cannot care about it all, which also stems from Van Sant's odd choice of going nigh 'full Hollywood' in his dramatic scenes set in the States. Usually he opts for what many consider a more European style, but in this scenario, studio tear jerking methods got his preference. And so we have to sit through dull and ultimately predictable flashbacks explaining the protagonist's desire to end his life, even though, illogically, he and his wife never really got along anyway. The scenes in the forest, meanwhile, offer little more captivating moments or surprising twists. Admirably shot and lit as they may be (though much of it not actually filmed in Japan, but rather Stateside) and accompanied for the most part by decently melancholy music, we still grow restless over the lack of empathy triggered at our side of things. It's not so bad that it makes us want to kill ourselves, but it's still frighteningly frustrating to come to realize that a director who often has something worthwhile to share with his audience, really has absolutely nothing noteworthy to say about a fascinating topic of conversation as the so-called Sea of Trees.

This film, which in English speaking territories is released under the title Being 17, at first has all the hallmarks of your typical teenage drama. There's two seventeen year old boys and a fair bit of animosity between them. However, where usually there's girls or social status involved in explaining said strife, that is not the case here. In fact, there's no particular cause for their mutual dislike at all, it's just there. So we can imagine the horror on the one boy's face when his mother invites the other to come live with them. It's a generous but odd decision, considering their rivalry is there for everybody to see. It's not the oddest choice Quand on a 17 ans makes, since the intention of this film is showing the start of a homosexual relationship. You'll have a tough time believing this film, which takes place over a period of about 18 months, will see the relation between the boys change from mutual hatred and the occasional bit of violence to underscore that feeling, to genuine, physical affection between the pair.

Director André Téchiné - himself a gay man - is no stranger to both gay drama and teen angst. However, he felt the subject material needed the aid of writer Céline Sciamma to flesh the characters out to their best extent. Sciamma recently came off the teen drama Girlhood, which also showed rough relationships between youngsters (though all of them girls in that particular case), but despite the 37 year difference in age between herself and her director, she proves a right addition to make the teen dialogue that much more snappy and convincing. Aided by strong, not to mention daring, performances from both the young actors and their more experienced counterparts, the script goes a long way to make the unlikely transformation from one state of affairs to the other feel that much more real. Cinematography and editing do their bit as the movie moves from a snowy, cold opening to a warm and colourful close in summer, as a perfect (but rather obvious) metaphor for the change in teen moods.

Nevertheless, for the audience it's still a far cry from hate to love (especially a type of love this deeply felt) in just under two hours time. All the ingredients are there to make us convince this is transpiring, but it just moves too fast to make us feel it with the two main characters. It has the pretension, conscious or unconscious, of an emotional epic the likes of La Vie D'Adele (better known as Blue is the Warmest Colour in many regions), but unlike that wonderful film, it just cuts the time necessary to make it equally emotionally compelling for us by a third. We cannot help but feel things are rushed, even though the movie cannot be accused of being fast paced. A change in teen nature of this magnitude simply begs more illustration for full emotional immersion, it seems.

Monsieur Chocolat is one of those typical period dramas that tells a story of days of human degradation gone by more for the sake of the present day than for the desire to accurately reflect the times depicted. Though the director and writers proclaimed their intention of re-introducing a once famous French artist who by the dawn of the 21st Century had slipped into obscurity for a contemporary audience, the issues of race, though certainly a factor of Chocolat's life, are addressed far more strongly than they most likely were back in the days. Of course, Chocolat's entire career was based around his otherness and influenced more by the ignorant cultural notions of white audiences than they were by reality, but that didn't stop him from becoming one of the top theatrical artists of his day. And he was known to be proud of that achievement, even though much of his acts involved getting his arse kicked by a white clown.

But the blatant, painful melodrama of his life suggested by Monsieur Chocolat is more of an attempt to remind modern audiences of the insanity and humiliation on which his career was based rather than on actually reported events. Not to mention Chocolat's private demons involving women, booze, drugs and gambling, which add further obstacles to his career beyond simply attempting to add diversity to his stage acts. Basically, by adding all these other troubles, the writers make it clear that Chocolat is an artist like any other, dealing with the same pitfalls of fame that other artists experienced. It makes for rather generic situations beyond the ever degrading scenes of racial subjugation and does little to push Monsieur Chocolat above the myriad of similar films involving struggling performers of any ilk.

The performances, less so. Omar Sy may actually have hit a career high note in this one, delivering what certainly can be called his most convincing performance since Intouchables. He moves from merry clown entertaining women and children to broken, down-on-his-luck artist plagued by rampant racism seemingly effortlessly. Not to mention he and his co-star James Thierrée are equally matched, with the latter playing a perfect counterpart as the stage obsessed but otherwise grumpy and serious clown Footit, a total opposite to the light hearted Chocolat in many other respects beyond race. The duo makes for a strikingly different pair of personalities you could hardly imagine sharing the circus, though the ultimate break-up feels an inevitable event from the get-go. The circumstances involving their separation were not as 'black and white' as this film suggests though. Again, Monsieur Chocolat feels the need for distorting the truth to underscore the malign racism of the era. That message is well received, but the historical character of Chocolat is not aided by hammering home the message so harshly. However, thanks to this film, he is also not forgotten, so the makers succeeded in that regard as well.

Why would a new mother abandon her child and husband? It's an intriguing question, usually surrounded with heavy social stigma, since any mother denying her maternal instincts is either downright abject or at the least a bad excuse for a person, or so society swiftly judges. Nevertheless, it happens and it begs an answer. Those looking for one will not find it in Mammal. In fact, though at first thought the movie seems to revolve around a mother who accepts a second chance for motherhood, that may be too much of a generalization. But some sort of connection, both emotional and physical, between two vastly different but equally lost souls, is certainly in order in this narrative.

Margaret abandoned her family soon after her son was born, and she now has been out of their lives for 18 years. When news about her son's disappearance reaches her, not much sorrow is demonstrated. Nevertheless, around the same time, she accepts a wild kid from the street, roughly the same age as her own child, to live with her. The big question obviously being why. A simple act of generosity? Or perhaps another shot at maternity, after foregoing that responsibility all those years ago? For a while, the latter option seems to be the case, but when things get overly physical between her and the boy, Joe, that theory doesn't hold up any more. If motherhood is indeed Margaret's objective, she has some odd notions of the concept at least.

Unfortunately, Mammal - the title suggests a nurturing nature to their relationship based on maternal instincts, though there's also an undeniable social aspect to it as well, so one can look at it from both angles - is short on motivations. It's not Daly's intention to spoon feed us all the answers, which is fine, but there's simply too few of those concerning the various characters' actions to go around. Things happen as they do, while particular reasons are entirely up to the viewer to come up with. It makes Mammal a rather hollow film. Thankfully, there's strong performances throughout, which do make us care enough to stick with the protagonists rather than lose all interest entirely. We hardly get to know these people to the extent that we should for Mammal to deliver the gripping drama it feels like it wants to, but as fellow mammals we sympathize enough to feel some emotional connection to stick with them for a good hour and a half.

BvS is rather a disappointment. Not entirely bad (it still looks great and there's some good performances and lovely action, you know), but definitely a letdown.

Maybe the cause of its shortcomings is its director, Zack Snyder. He's been known to favour heavy topics surrounding flawed, traumatized characters living in unpleasant worlds filled with violent death. Even though he usually flavours said realms with a visually appealing, grandiose style of filming and fabulous artistry and dressing. Man of Steel, the movie to kick off this new DC Cinematic Universe which is meant to deliver some heavy competition at Marvel's doorstep, fit that bill perfectly, making the generally colorful and optimistic Superman a brooding alien refugee given near omnipotent power over his new neighbours, the human race. I liked Man of Steel. It made this God like character that much more identifiable by focusing on his lacks rather than his strengths. In its many philosophical moments, Man of Steel felt less like a superhero movie and more like a character study of a God living among man and contemplating his relationship with those who in all respects are so obviously inferior to him. Of course, that relationship is still explored in BvS, as the world now needs to cope with the existence of this powerful presence, a potential saviour to man. However, another type of hero has already been active for decades, it turns out.

For in BvS, the DC universe is supposed to be up and running for decades already. No starting from scratch here, as was the case for Marvel. For every character introduced, there is a long backstory that is teased, which in many cases frustrates more than it intrigues. Ben Affleck's Batman has been fighting crime for twenty years, and it has only made him darker. Crime has not been reduced, while his war on bad guys preying on the everyman has cost him dearly. No wonder he's grown so angry he's not averse to maiming and even killing criminals left and right. The Batman we've grown accustomed to was never a true killer, but Snyder's Caped Crusader has no such moral qualms anymore. And now there's this all powerful extraterrestrial policing the planet. A being Batman holds responsible for the invasion that laid waste to Metropolis and cost him employees and real estate. Affleck does a fine job portraying the sombre, disillusioned vigilante, but it cannot be denied that his explicit aim of killing Superman, who has since amply demonstrated he's on the side of justice, just feels wholly unjustified.

Meanwhile, as if the lethal rivalry between both tormented good guys was't enough to fill a two hour movie, Snyder introduces a younger version of classic villain Lex Luthor to pester them both. This evil tycoon, too, is haunted by a trauma involving his father, which is not enough to fully explain his demonic machinations in this film. What's more, Jesse Eisenberg's performance in the role is devoid of the 'wow' factor we would have hoped for. Applying a typical neurotic hyperactivity, Eisenberg is basically playing a nefarious version of his own Mark Zuckerberg. It doesn't make for a convincing baddie. Nor does Gal Gadot's Wonder Woman leave a lasting impression, which is also due to a lack of screen time (though 151 minutes certainly makes for a long piece already). Again, a shady past is implied but not explored. And so she leaves us confused by her transformation from uncaring socialite to warrior princess fighting for good.

Of course, with a subtitle like 'Dawn of Justice', adding more spice to your duo of core characters for a broader context is expected. So we also get this evil genius and a strong female heroine. But wait, says BvS, there's much more yet. A number of other super heroes is teased. But for ow, we simply cannot care. Worse, the still fairly investing story line of the titular protagonists is hindered by awkward attempts to set up bigger things to come, including an Apocalyptic nightmare of Batman wherein he's plagued by visions of a ruined world ruled by Superman (including insect warriors, I kid you not). Succeeded by a scene in which that same Batman is confronted with a temporal vortex and a warning from the future to stop someone doing something, totally out of the blue. Pointless material, as we already knew Batman was out for Superman's blood and this doesn't motivate him any more. Despite all the useless interruptions provided by DC's self-advertisement for coming attractions (to which we simply are not attracted), it's amazing we still at least care about the two iconic superheroes battling each other.

And their fight proves quite spectacular. Brutal, despite a lack of blood (PG-13 rating and all). But oh so dark and serious. Even Nolan's Dark Knight films, also not particularly light, optimistic fare, never lost sight of the need for a bit of humour and witticism. But Snyder tells such a gritty tale, there's simply no space left for those elements. Unfortunately, after the epic Batman/Superman throwdown, he however feels there is space left for another half an hour of three good guys battling an ugly digital monster. But this climax never feels near as climactic as the fight we expected to see and at least felt somewhat gratifying. As is usual for his approach, Snyder goes over the top much further than we would like him to have gone. Maybe he's not fully to blame for BvS' many shortcomings, a fair bit of it can likely be chalked up to DC interference for setting up the future. But that future does involve Snyder to a great extent, as he's already working on Justice League. We better hope he takes the failures of BvS to heart and lightens up a bit. There's gotta be more to the DC universe than angry heroes beating each other up...

Director José Luis Rugeles has nothing but the best intentions with Alias Maria, but he tries a little too hard to show the full horror of being a young girl growing up in the FARC guerrilla movement. Of course there's little joy to be had and mostly despair to feel, but ninety minutes of watching nothing but misery without offering the tiniest shred of hope makes the audience equally miserable. We can do nothing but sit back and cry injustice about the horrors inflicted upon both women and children in the Colombian jungle, so we end up numb to the entire issue by the time the credits start rolling.

Part of our inability to feel for the plight of Maria, the young female protagonist who ends up pregnant in a society where babies are forbidden save for those of the man in charge, is first time actress' Karen Torres own inability to properly emote. It's laudable Rugeles opted for realism by using people who have lived through some of the same ordeals as their characters, but in terms of acting, it simply backfires. Torres' continuing stoic gaze and the few lines bestowed on her character throughout the piece, don't aid us in rooting for her or her unborn child. Like ourselves when watching this film, she simply undergoes everything that happens with little hope of changing her situation for the better. She and the other FARC guerrillas are like the ants Rugeles highlights throughout the piece: little soldiers with no discernible will of their own who fight and die for the only thing they know. In what few moments of reflecting upon their life Rugeles offers Maria and her fellow drones, contemplating a life outside the terrorist movement never seems to be considered a realistic option.

And their lives doesn't count for much as it is. Children are not allowed to be children here. If they can carry a gun, they are soldiers and so they fight. Same rules apply to them as to their older brothers/sisters in arms. Whoever refuses is shot on the spot, no matter their age. Needless to say, we witness quite a lot of death in Alias Maria. Rugeles doesn't go for excessive gore and violence, but there's still a few moments that show or at least suggest enough to make our stomachs turn. Children are obviously not spared. You'd think an organization that sees its losses mount on a daily basis would be happy with whatever new recruits babies eventually offer. But that's not the case, as baby noise proves to great a risk, even in the dense jungle. Rugeles' point that the FARC has no future, and nor do those who grow up in it, is hammered home quite adequately for his purposes, but at the end, we have simply grown as tired of all the suffering as Maria must be. But lucky us, we can simply leave all her misery behind us and go home...

I had a tough time sitting this one out, for the simplest of reasons: it was bad. Real bad. Mind you, with a title like 'Dirty Grandpa', one would not have expected it to be much good to begin with, but this is a whole new level of badness. There simply are no redeeming features present.

First things first, there are hardly any sympathetic characters. The titular old man is a horny pervert obsessed with getting laid and leading his son astray in a whirlwind of sex, drugs and general illicit behavior. The grandson is a wimpy control freak, set to marry a total bitch. On the way to Spring Break in Florida, they meet a bunch of co-eds, including a seemingly nice girl who we know the grandson ought to hook up with immediately, but who ends up stealing his money in her first scene. Her best friend is a total slut. Not to belittle female sexuality by using this word, but there simply are no other denominations as apt as this one. Add some drug dealers, corrupt police officers and loads of partying college kids who only want to get wasted and laid, and there you have the cast of Dirty Grandpa. You'll find it a real challenge to care about any of these people.

What movie buffs would care about, is veteran actor Robert de Niro's career. Sure, he's done plenty of dramatic roles so he's entitled to have a little fun every now and then. But his audience, save for people who truly are cursed with a total lack of a sense of humor, simply won't enjoy Dirty Grandpa with him. This is just not a funny, well written or empathetic character. This old horndog has just lost his dear wife of 40 years and his first reaction is to go out and screw nubile young women. In the process, he wrecks his grandson's impending marriage (bad match though it may have been) and constantly humiliates his sexuality and belittles his character during their little road trip. This is nothing to laugh at, it's morally reprehensible. And even if this set-up would allow for some comedic potential, it's utterly wasted on an uninterrupted stream of genital jokes. There's not a single conversation between any two characters in this flick that doesn't involve 'cocks', 'asses' or other rampant assorted swearing just for the sake of swearing. Needless to say, it grows tiresome swiftly. Not to mention it's all talk and no action, save for a gratuitous shot of Efron being facially confronted with his grandfather's penis (obviously a rubber item). But when it gets down to it, the sex is tame and prudish. Or are you telling me American women really do keep their underwear on during intercourse?

Question remains, why did Robert de Niro - or any of the actors and actresses involved for that matter, since they're all making total fools of themselves, and of us for watching their disgusting antics - opt to play this part? The script was obviously terrible from the get-go. Sure, there probably was some monetary compensation involved, but I do like to think an actor of his stature isn't so down on his luck he has no choice but to accept any and all projects, no matter hoe feeble, that come his way? Maybe he's just telling his fans to go screw themselves, tired of his fabled reputation and the pressure that comes with it. I don't know what his motivation was, but the result surely won't bring happiness to many audiences. Dirty Grandpa truly has nothing to enjoy. Okay, maybe Zac Efron's bare body for his fan base. But nothing else for sure.

Francofonia is an intriguing compendium piece to Sokurov's breakthrough film Russian Ark, though it lacks the stylistic punch of that particular film. Of course, doing another 100-minute one-take shot would have felt repetitive, as if the director attempted to capitalize on his own past glory. So there's none of that in Francofonia, but that's not to stop Sokurov from pulling a few more cinematographic tricks out of his hat. That, and the overall message, matters more to him than following conventional narrative expectations. Which is made clear a bit painfully, as Francofonia is literally all over the Louvre, rather than sticking to the single time frame that one would have expected to be the primary focus. Even though the museum's survival of the war years during WW II appears to be the subject at hand, Sokurov has a lot more to tell about the place's long history, not to mention sharing his personal thoughts on both the Louvre's background, its place in art history and the treatment of art in general. That's a lot to tackle for a 90-minute movie...

And of course, as a result, not every episode of the Louvre's story proves as interesting. In fact, all of the film suffers from Sokurovs tendency to change subjects, drone on about the abuse and capitalization of art works and sudden jumps to different time periods. Nevertheless, the message remains clear: museums should not be reduced to pawns of commerce, politics or dictators. They are time capsules that tell all of human history and should be carefully preserved, kept well away from the power hungry. The German occupation is just an example of and an homage to a period in history where the joining of forces between two like minded men, who by all accounts ought to be diametrically opposed, preserved countless artifacts for posterity. Sokurov thanks both men for their assistance to cultural history. But he also isn't afraid to remind us that the origin of the Louvre itself is steeped in conquest and theft. After all, the emperor Napoleon captured many pieces of art on his campaigns abroad and had them shipped to the capital of his empire. Hitler simply attempted to do the same and failed in the Louvre's case, while succeeding in a lot of other cases. Art and politics certainly aren't mutually exclusive.

It's a point Sokurovs makes with the help of various stylistic choices, some proved in prior works, others applied for the first time in his case. Though there are no excessively long takes used as there were in Russian Ark, his introduction of historical characters sharing their insights and motivations with us is taken straight from that film. In this case restricted to only two characters (Marianne, the French Spirit of Freedom and Napoleon), rather than many. This is not a coincidence of course, as Francofonia's main tale also deals with two characters, the museum director (representing the side of French freedom) and the Nazi officer (the conquering party, the Napoleonic figure). Their story is intercut with historical footage, while it is itself disguised as historical footage by its old fashioned framing and the many print scratches applied. It would have worked even better if it was in black and white, but apparently Sokurov disagreed. He disagrees with a lot of things in Francofonia. Like art being shipped over seas as any other piece of cargo in containers on large freighters, its very existence threatened by a violent storm. Why does art suffer so much indignity and indifference today, he laments. No matter how fragmented his thoughts as shown in Francofonia, it's hard to disagree with him, when ancient buildings and statues are demolished left and right by zealous barbarians, who are also eager to simply sell such cultural heritage to the highest bidder to fund their cause. World War II may have ended seventy years ago, but art remains ever in danger at the hands of subversive ideologies. Francofonia serves as an cautionary reminder of what could be scrapped from the history pages forever if we are not careful and respectful of art's place in our cultural mind.

Expectations weren't high, and with good reason it turns out. Dutch movies usually aren't great to begin with, but Dutch movies emulating popular American films are often worse. In this case, it's Scream that's being "hommaged". This is a horror comedy made by people who obviously love horror films and have seen their fair share of them. But they've never actually made one before, and it shows.

The plot starts out oh so conventional. A bunch of students accidentally get someone killed in a silly game and do the dumbest thing imaginable (which is usual in this genre): they cover it up and try to forget about it. It obviously doesn't work, and when we catch up with them two years later, the recently graduated college kids turn out to be using not only the fun type of drugs to cope with their shady past. The standard horror trope archetypes are applied to these characters, the likes we've seen a thousand times before. The fact they spend most of the movie either bickering or engaging in supposed sexy slang doesn't make us care at all for them, we just want to see them die horribly fast. For that, the movie certainly takes its time. The masked killer soon stalks the premises of their backwood residence - insofar there are any backwoods in Friesland - but it takes quite a while before people really start dying. Meanwhile, our patience is tested when the kids argue their way from one party to the other, accompanied by obnoxiously loud techno music. To appeal to the modern generation I guess.

And then the second half of Sneekweek arrives. All bets are off as to the identity of the killer. It's not as obvious as you might think. In fact, it's not considerably complicated either, the movie just feels like making it so by twisting things around to such an extent that everybody is suspect. The kills pick up pace rapidly, but leave a lot to be desired in terms of originality or scariness. Not to mention in terms of looking convincing, which they don't. The story quickly turns equally messy, until the final reveal which feels like a big letdown. At least the comedy starts kicking in by providing a few good laughs to horror aficionados, including a memorable one-liner or two. These obviously reference the genre more than they do the movie itself, as is the Sneekweek's intent. The movie's whole set-up is one big reference to the genre, playing with conventions and adding narrative surprises by making things seem different than they are based on what you expect from a slasher movie. Thing is, this sort of film is hardly novel by now. In fact, Sneekweek's prime example Scream is already 20 years old by now, and has been referenced so often that making similarly self reflexive films has become a horror staple itself.

Sneekweek hardly innovates. It does surprise from a narrative stance, but not in a satisfactory way. The movie desperately tries not to adhere to our expectations, and thus ends up confusing audiences more than frightening them. Unless they didn't see Scream or any similar self referential slasher films these past two decades. Considering the movie seems to focus on an audience of 16 to 18 year olds with its young cast and irritating soundtrack, there's bound to be a few people who feel this horror movie was original. Whether they'll enjoy it remains another question.

Basically this movie embodies wasted potential. There's a capable director and a number of wonderful actors, some with notable award winning accolades to their name, attached to this film, but it just doesn't manage to engage the audience. It looks great, but it doesn't feel so. If trans-genders are looking for a movie that illustrates their long plight and continuing calls for understanding and acceptance for their cause, I fear this is not it.

The strongest reason of its failure as such, is that it's simply too clean, too good looking. Though Eddie Redmayne looks androgynous enough to get away with playing both sexes effectively, his Einar's/Lili's long road from man to woman, though destined to end in tragedy, simply is too easy, certainly for the times we are dealing with. Yes, he's forced to leave his own country in search for a more accepting environment and yes, he's looked upon by medical minds as a freak of nature, sick in spirit and in desperate need of a gruesome cure, but the progression of the movie doesn't live up to the many decades of violent misunderstanding if not downright cruelty inflicted on trans-genders. Lili is surrounded by caring people who all too easily accept her plight and encourage her to do what she feels she should do, despite the danger this will place her in and the hardship it causes those closed to her, especially her loving wife who never signed up for this when they got married and who is finally enjoying some professional success. The scene with the physicians looking to operate on Lili with force to "cure" her woes is played more for laughs, though historically there's nothing funny about this sort of medicine which could be described as blatant torture. The only time Lili is physically confronted with her otherness is when she's beaten up on the street by two random hoodlums. Other than that, as trans-gender drama goes, this one is surprisingly happy.

But despite these shortcomings, The Danish Girl has all the hallmarks of a solid period piece. It's capably directed, just not memorably so, unlike director Tom Hooper's own The King's Speech. Costume and set design is top notch, nobody will deny. The lead actors are at the top of their game and their Oscar nominations are well deserved (though I doubt they're good enough for a win), while the supporting cast is equally up to its task. But for all intents and purposes, it's not enough. Emotionally, The Danish Girl underwhelms, thanks to a script that plays it safe and doesn't feel like shocking the audience too strongly. Maybe it feels the notion of trans-gender struggles is risqué enough as it is for audiences? That would be rather offensive to the people it means to represent, who admittedly won't feel very much represented by it anyway.

Whoever considers this 'the Lance Armstrong' film is wrong, despite it being the only non documentary feature film about the former sports legend thus far. Thing is, at its core it's not about the seven-time Tour de France winner. It's about the journalist who exposed him after years of persistent digging. It's even based on the guy's book. So naturally, Armstrong isn't depicted in a flattering way and that's putting it mildly. The infamous cyclist is portrayed as an absolutely single minded, appallingly arrogant fraud throughout the piece, with little to no redeeming character qualities. Simply said, a total jerk. Now, of course nobody will deny that aspect of his character exists. But it can't have been all he ever was/is. After all, he became an inspiration for millions. With the solely negative traits he's endowed with in this film, it's not likely he would ever have been that widely admired. But to the brave, heroic journalist who risked his career and maybe even his life to bring the man down, Armstrong was utterly evil. So that's the Armstrong we get on screen. An Armstrong devoid of nuances, a character from somebody else's pages rather than his own book of life. Which rules The Program out as the biopic it claims to be. But then, history is written by the victors. Which Armstrong himself ultimately didn't rightly turn out to be.

More was to be expected from director Stephen Frears. His previous work showed him most interested in the human side of things, the choices and thoughts that make people who they are, rather than who they seem to be to the rest of the world. The Queen is the best example, where he showed the Queen of England to be just as limited a human being as the rest of us, and therefore a relatable character. The same doesn't hold true for Lance Armstrong, who is portrayed far too one sided and excessively obsessed a character to feel really real. Good performances not withstanding, since Ben Foster does an intense job at playing the star cyclist. Perhaps too much so, going over that top rather than staying right under it. Of course, Chris O'Dowd gives less of a notable performance, thus making him feel more real in the role of the intrepid reporter, which also makes him feel more human than his antagonist, as is the film's intention. And when you say O'Dowd, comedy is the first thing that springs to mind. The Program often feels like it is just that, especially in its first half. After all, we shouldn't take one of the greatest frauds ever too seriously, the film suggests. Too bad, I would have loved to have seen a movie that explains just why Armstrong did the things he did, rather than this film which only shows what those things were (which we basically already knew), rather than their motivations. But why would we need to know why a total jerk does what a total jerk does, right?

This may be a turning point for Pixar. The naysayers who wrote off the studio ever since Disney took over often seemed right in their sweeping generalizations that Pixar's truly creative days of imaginary wonder where done. Sequels, that's what was in store for the audience ad nauseam. It worked well on Toy Story 3, few will deny. Not so much on Cars 2 though, or even Monsters University. So a new original project was definitely desperately needed to show Pixar has lost none of its dreaming potency, and this is it. Inside Out is as emotional and beautiful, not to mention innovative and soulful an animated movie as they come, and especially as they used to come in this company's own case.

It's not as perfect as the likes of Wall-E or Toy Story 3, I'll have you know, since it has some little flaws. Like Monsters, Inc. and Up, that makes it a classic Peter Docter movie. Those films, too, featured the occasional emotional highs that went coupled with some whimsical additions that had a bit of a trouble fitting in the whole. It was especially vexing in the case of Up, where the movie just never got as powerful as it proved to be in its first act. Inside Out equally knows a few moments where the magic diminishes, most notably when it concerns the elaborate logistics of the brain (though personally I found the forgotten imaginary friend rather an obnoxious sort as well, though I appreciated the notion). Docter has learned something from Up's experience though, saving the emotional climax for the end of the film. And it packs quite a punch, as Docter delivers his message that it's okay to be sad. Quite a rebellious act, since the movie still flies the banner of the Mouse House which usually tells us the exact opposite. While still an undeniably happy end, it's unlikely anybody will restrain their tears. As Docter says they shouldn't.

So is this a definite comeback for Pixar? The list of upcoming projects still consists mostly of sequels, with the only original tale for the foreseeable future presented by The Good Dinosaur. I'm more than a bit skeptical about that one, judging from the first teaser and its overly retro dinosaurs parading through near photo-real landscapes. I doubt an Inside Out 2 is out of the question, considering the film is doing fine at the box office. Still, I like to think the naysayers remain in the wrong, and there's still a few tears of joy to be spilled over Pixar's films in the next few years.

And otherwise we'll still have the shorts preceding the main events. Hopefully they'll be as delightful as Inside Out's Lava, which also gets those eyes wet and thus perfectly warms us up for the main course to follow.

You'd think the shady but historically true Project MK-Ultra would make for a smashing political thriller, with its detestable CIA experiments of mind control via drugs and careful conditioning on the unsuspecting American population. Instead, Hollywood loosely appropriated it for a stoner comedy. And sadly, not the funniest imaginable. American Ultra fires more bullets than jokes.

At least the lead casting is a shot in the right direction. Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart have worked together before and it shows, as they have the right amount of chemistry to make a likable couple of losers. From Eisenberg, we've come to expect a certain level of quality, especially when it concerns this type of character. Stewart's performance thus leaves more of an impression, since we still needed some convincing of her talents as a true actress. With her much praised serious role in Camp X-Ray recently behind her, we can safely say 2015 is the year she finally came into her own and left her Twilight stigma behind her. Still, it takes more than two good leads to make for a solid movie. A decent plot and the right balance between action and comedy, for instance. American Ultra doesn't have either.

Where the fun is concerned, the movie starts at least promising, and a few good laughs are to be had in the first act. However, the film increasingly opts for action over comedy, which makes for a rather dull and unfunny finale, where both the jokes and the necessary emotional investment in the main characters is lost in all the gun fights, knife fights, and fist fights. There's simply too much fighting as the movie progresses and most of it is excessively violent, but not in any ironic or tongue-in-cheek manner. It's just a bloody mess, as is the story, which also involves rival CIA agents fighting it out in a manner totally devoid of the intelligence the I in their agency is supposed to stand for. There's also room made for a few stereotype drug dealers and deranged super assassins, but none of it works on the levels the writers probably intended. Director Nima Nourizadeh, fresh off the allegedly culturally notable teen flick Project X, shows a little too clearly he has more affinity with destroying things and blowing stuff up than in making us care about it all.

Fortunately we still have RED to show us how a fun time can be had with CIA assassins being hunted by their own employer. However, a definitive movie about Project MK-Ultra is still very much lacking. If Hollywood does tackle the touchy subject again, I hope they make a more serious movie out of it. Mind control simply isn't funny, as American Ultra shows.

Well, this was positively awful. Of course, the current trend of making a comedy as raunchy as possible by cramming it full of dirty jokes involving excrement and unusual sexual positions has been going for quite a while now, so you can hardly blame this Vacation for that. It's not like the original movie refrained from such shenanigans. But the level of said gags is just abominably low here, making it painfully unfunny for the most part. Too bad, because I know the lead Ed Helms, of Hangover fame, is capable of funnier routines. But even he is hopelessly lost somewhere between the rim jobs and Chris Hemsworth's erection. You got a bad thing going when the holiday car is funnier that the characters driving it. But at least the car doesn't make poop jokes galore. This vehicle of Albanian make is just loaded with silly gadgets and awkward options. Not all of them a guarantee for success, but at least I chuckled over the navigation system's sultry female American voice accidentally being replaced by a seemingly outraged Korean counterpart. If translated however, it would no doubt be revealed to get in line with the rest of the ample obscenities the script contains.

As with most remakes these days, this one wouldn't have been missed if it wasn't produced at all. However, recycling the original film's plot and adding Horrible Bosses or We're the Millers type jokes to it likely saved the studio a few bucks. The story is mostly the same as its predecessor's, while some of the situations are even lifted verbatim from some of the other Vacation movies from the Eighties. It's not like this is that well known a franchise these days, so who would know, right? But if you acknowledge the status of this film as a remake by making jokes about that very fact in the actual film, you sure run the risk of people checking out the previous installments and finding out just how lazy the writing is this time around. Even such references to the original are hardly an inspired move. Remember 21 Jump Street addressing its status as a reboot by literally saying nobody at the top has any better ideas than just regurgitating old notions ad nauseam? It's a funny line, until you understand just how poignantly true it is. We don't need to hear the same argument here to hammer the point home. The movie is unhilarious enough without reminding us a better film with the same name and the same plot was produced thirty years ago. Or that we're likely to see another movie with said name and plot in a few more decades. The kids in this feature definitely appear stupid enough to make the same mistakes all over when they grow up.

Luckily, this Vacation will be swiftly forgotten. It'll prove a lot harder to get that obnoxiously catchy song Holiday Road out of our heads.

Aliens visiting our Earth: it can happen, you know? This is without a doubt a very intriguing premise, but the end result leaves something to be desired. Blame it on the approach, stemming from the lack of archive material to cover, since The Visit: An Alien Encounter revolves around an event that hasn't happened yet and might not ever happen at all. Of course, some dramatization is required when there's little else to show but talking heads. Director Michael Madsen (not the American actor of the same name) opts for an enactment of a possible visit by extraterrestrials, but one that does not show said visitors so as to keep it a complete mystery what they look might like, since we are not likely to find out any time soon. The result is only one side of the visit in question is shown, and it's our own. Which fits the conclusion that whatever else, aliens arriving on our planet will first and foremost be a human affair.

First contact will change the way we look at ourselves. Whatever the visitors may look like - similar to humans or something far from it, something so devoid of human characteristics or even traits of other life forms that share our planet - they will place a mirror in front of us as to the questions of our expectations of the unknown, our control or lack thereof over the unknown, and the resulting dealing with the unknown in ways that are all too human. Fear, a very likely scenario, is a prime human condition Madsen addresses, which is why the governments that prepare for 'The Visit' would hope to keep it a quite affair, rather than a public one, considering the ways the public responds are more than likely to be far from calm and orderly. But however controlled those governments plan to keep things, there's so many possibilities provided by our complete lack of knowing what's coming (or what is not coming at all) that control itself is ever an illusion.

What's left out of the equation is wonder. Most of the scientists interviewed for this film are so busy delving into the ramifications of the visitors' arrival for humankind that they don't tend to pause and wonder over the eventual happening itself. The very fact that this may actually come to pass, in the distant or even close future. You can't really blame them, as they're sitting opposite a camera, addressing the audience as if they were the visitor and are asked to state the first questions regarding their field expertise that enter their minds considering the subject. And then they turn out the dutiful experts indeed. Though it makes for a scientifically intriguing and philosophically appropriate film, it's not the most inspiring one. Madsen hopes to hold off any stale science talk and lack of pace by adding a bit of action in a recreation of The Visit, complete with frightened mobs and charging soldiers, but his stylistic choices of extreme slow motion give it all an overly sensational and exaggerated feeling. Once again, blame it on the absence of actual extraterrestrials to point the camera at.

The Visit: An Alien Encounter is an ambitious and fascinating documentary on paper, but in actuality can't hold off moments of feeling tedious. Nevertheless, the point is well made: if there's aliens coming, be prepared for everything. Some of our governments and scientists certainly are.

A life changing experience after an anxious 14 year wait? That's saying a little too much. A worthy successor to the first trilogy? Sure was. Not on par with the original Jurassic Park film of course, but whoever expected that knew they were deceiving themselves. It was obvious from the get-go they would never rival the magic of that game changing film that revolutionized digital effects. In fact, there's plenty of those throughout the movie, but they are never as awe inspiring or jaw dropping as they were 22 years ago. To be honest, I would actually have preferred a more extensive use of animatronics, since a lot of people tend to forget JP proved to master their use to great effect specifically in combination with the digital aspect, both of them completing the other in bringing that dinomite magic about rather than fixing it on their own accord. JW opted for a 95 percent digital FX rate and it was a little too clear at times, but not so much it took you out of the movie. It's still a major Hollywood blockbuster with a huge budget after all.

And it sure felt as one of those. In both a positive and a negative way. It didn't leave much room for narrative surprises, and the third act was largely an exercise in predictable storytelling, but it still handled it in such an epic way you could not help but roll with it despite your hesitations. There's a few instances in which the audience cheered and so did I, as if we were eight year old kids again (the increasingly strict Dutch rating system unfortunately won't allow kids of that age to experience the new Jurassic dawn, as JW has sadly been issued a '12' rating, despite not being more frightful than that first movie). Kids who had seen most of this stuff before in different guises though, but youthful exuberance abounded nonetheless. A contemporary blockbuster needs a star, and Chris Pratt is it for this film. Combining Alan Grant's common sense with Ian Malcolm's wit and wisecracking, the human hero of the piece certainly felt more heroic that any previous main human character in a JP movie. I don't mind for once, but I do hope the studio isn't gonna craft the next installments, unavoidable considering box office records are again being stamped on, around Pratt's persona and status, since few will deny the true stars are still the dinosaurs, as they should be.

Those stars sure got a chance to shine, as JW provided the most amount of dinosaur time of any of the movies yet. The number of species portrayed easily rivals that of its predecessors, even giving the occasional formerly neglected species (like Ankylosaurus) their due. The most attention as always is directed at the carnivores, with JW dividing most of their screen time between a trained foursome of vicious but communicable Velociraptors and a genetic hybrid named Indominus Rex. Both the notion of taming Raptors and of creating mix-up dinosaurs is handled by director Colin Trevorrow with enough narrative and real world sense not to distance the legions of JP fanatics, as it easily could have done. Ample time is cleared to discuss the ramifications of both with more depth than is usual for a blockbuster film, before diving deeply into the dino fighting. That said, there's two prehistoric characters that are not featured as strongly as we would have hoped for, one being the iconic T-Rex which is intentionally kept out of most of the loop before making a most welcome resurgence. The other is the heavily advertised aquatic Mosasaurus, which unfortunately is allotted only a few more seconds of screen time than already seen in the promotional material, and thus ending up an underwhelming animal we would liked to have seen a lot more of, but which we are sadly denied.

Executive producer Spielberg made the right choice hiring a fairly inexperienced director like Trevorrow for the Jurassic job. Trevorrow proves not only respective of the material and the franchise legacy, but he's clearly a JP fan himself. He shows it off in many scenes, both in composition of shots, score and sounds, but also in many references big and small to that most beloved movie from 22 years past. Potentially polarizing plot pitfalls are handled with the utmost care to make them plausible and relatable, thus adding his own signature to the thankfully enduring Jurassic Park legacy. Though there's still a few things to hold against the movie, both in terms of plot (one-dimensional human bad guy, vague corporate shenanigans) as in execution (too little animatronics, too much reliance on digital creations), Jurassic World succeeds in taking us back to when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, and sparing no expense in guaranteeing they will continue to do so for another generation at least.

Okay, so this movie serves us a most old fashioned fairy tale imaginable and displays a shockingly conservative view on the role of women. Nobody will deny it. But if you can swallow that, it's indeed quite as magical a movie experience as it aims to be (and not even in obnoxious 3D, for a change!). I don't think the studio is excusing reverting to old social values, it just acknowledges a classic tale without feeling the need to utterly change it by updating it to appease a modern audience. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, as this movie proves much more enjoyable than similar recent rehashes of old glory like Maleficent and Alice in Wonderland, which were quite bland and forgetful despite making the female protagonists tough and independent. Both qualities are sorely lacking in the victimized Cinderella, I admit. But this movie seems to say 'Oh, the heck with it! Let's embrace such ridiculously backward gender patterns for a change and acknowledge our true classics as they used to be, not as they should be today!' If Disney meant to say explicitly that women are either weak willed victims or total bitches with this movie, you honestly think grand dames of cinema like Cate Blanchett and Helena Bonham Carter, let alone promising new faces like Lily James, Holliday Grainger or Sophie McShera, would voluntarily have signed up for this slap in the face of their sex? I think they just recognized the obviously outdated romantic plot for what it was and decided to run with it just to enjoy getting a chance to play such outrageous roles, so seldom seen today. And for the better, since if they occurred more often, that would indeed be suspicious and uncalled for. But it's not wrong to indulge in reactionary storytelling every once in a while, to appreciate just how much female roles have changed since the days these types of women were seen everywhere on the big screen.

Plus, the movie is at least a little modern in other regards. There's a black guy playing the captain of the royal guard in a court full of white folk. And him and the prince certainly seem like close chums. That wouldn't have happened in the original animated classic for sure. What a long way we've come!

Not the best way to tackle a topic about identity. The first act of the movie differs in huge ways from the last and despite a light touch of wry humour applied to the scenes between both, you cannot help but wonder how the one (d)evolved into the other so distinctly. Opening on a comedic tone bordering on the absurd, at the end of the film you're watching a heavy emotional drama about a young man's life altered forever. Of course people change over the years, especially under the less than perfect conditions the protagonist lives through, but the viewer has a hard time accepting the unfolding of events in the way told here, and ultimately feels like he/she is watching two separate movies slapped together. It's not wrong to apply some humour to a topic otherwise devoid of that sense, especially if it helps to underscore both parties have more in common than apart. But it must feel like a coherent whole to make it work for audiences. In some ways, the writer says that any sense of optimism Israeli Arab youths harbour in their country will only be squashed by the rampant discrimination they undergo in their formative years, and thus they will inevitably end up as unhappy, pessimist young adults. Maybe that is exactly what the screenwriter wants us to think, considering it's the conclusion he himself drew eventually, which made him move to the USA for good. At the same time however, the plot tells us there is plenty of positive things that could have avoided the bleak outcome presented here. It's not like the protagonist didn't have any friends or couldn't find love. Eventually, it was his own choices that hindered his career as much, if not more so, as the social exclusion on which the film closes.

It's not the Arabs that are dancing in this film, it's the writing that makes the plot dance around various possible outcomes and makes it pick the bleakest where it need not have, and considering the tone of the opening, should not have. Case in point: the life of the writer himself, who did very well in his career despite very similar conditions. And it's the audience that suffers most, by being offered a rather unsettling and unsatisfying close.

Remember Oblivion? Chances are you don't. It was a poor Sci-Fi blockbuster released last year, in which mankind has left the planet after a war with aliens, and now Tom Cruise is harvesting the last natural resources. Or so he thinks, as things are not what they appear to be. Apart from Cruise, the movie co-starred Tom Cruise as several clones of the protagonist. A cynic might be inclined to think Edge of Tomorrow repeats Oblivion's mistakes, and he would not be fully wrong. Edge of Tomorrow, too, has a messy plot involving aliens in which Cruise dies multiple times, at which point Cruise takes over. However, Edge of Tomorrow utilizes a more tongue-in-cheek approach to its overall plot to underscore the absurdity of the situation. Good thing too, as it is indeed all quite laughable. Too bad such a tone does creep in eventually, to the film's detriment.

Edge of Tomorrow is set in a future where a strange extraterrestrial enemy has conquered all of Europe and threatens to do likewise to the rest of the globe. Earth's nations have banded together in an attempt to fight off the adversary. All their battles were lost, save for one, where metal armoured female soldier Rita Vrataski made the difference. By applying similar combat harnesses to every soldier and sending them en masse to invade France, humanity hopes to retake the continent and annihilate the enemy. Of course, things are not as simple as they seem, and the aliens have a few tricks up their sleeve yet. For one thing, time loops.

Enter Cruise, who does an unusual thing here: he plays against character. Cruise is not starring as the monotonously brave action hero, but instead as a cowardly marketing agent for the military, who finds himself accused of desertion when he makes it clear he doesn't feel like covering the invasion to a stern general's face. Thrown in with a bunch of ragtag recruits, Cruise is dragged off to battle and left to fend for himself. He quickly kicks the bucket in a close skirmish with one of the vicious aliens. Then he wakes up back at base, and everything starts over again, much to his dismay as he doesn't do better the second time. Or the third. Try convincing your commanding officer of being stuck in a time loop ad infinitum. Needless to say he doesn't, so Cruise must find a way to discover what has happened to him and how to use it to his advantage, instead of continue dying without end.

So far so good, as the notion of time looping is handled with enough confidence and fun not to feel repetitive. In fact, repetition is cleverly avoided after the first few loops, as Cruise's character tries to alter events in different ways so as not to get boring. This approach too causes problems in the long run, as Cruise dies so many times (hundreds, if not thousands, it is suggested) that the plot soon trots along and seemingly ignores the whole concept, just to further the intricate story. The reason behind the time loops and the method of fighting its cause start to become so convoluted and ridiculous that the ingredient of fun which at first characterized it is ever more lost. What's worse, Cruise resorts to playing a more typical heroic role as the film progresses, while it's the sleaze bag aspect that initially made him interesting to watch. At least his chemistry with the tough but unapproachable Rita is watchable enough as long as the Hollywood romance looming in the background is kept at bay. In terms of acting, Paxton's cocky performance suits the tone of the film best, which makes it all the more regrettable that when he's out of the picture, Edge of Tomorrow schizophrenically feels the need to get serious. Naturally it includes an all too predictable 'what the F!' type ending that suggests you need to think things over, but doesn't make you care enough to do so.

Until that time there's enough to make the viewing experience passable at best. Aside from Paxton, Blunt does her bit with plenty of pizazz, rife with entertainingly flamboyant demeanour. Nevertheless, it's the grandiose battle scenes that demand the most attention, as Edge of Tomorrow makes it progressively clear it intends to be an action movie more than the self aware comedy it initially appeared, until the comic elements are just discarded entirely. The notion of a futuristic landing on the beach of Normandy where men in armour fight weird creatures, proves hard to resist, but its execution is flawed. Often it's not easy to make out what is transpiring, mostly due to the chaotic camera work, which does make the fights seem more realistic. The design of the aliens doesn't help, as they keep moving about which makes it hard to see them as something other than a shapeless bunch of tentacles rolling around. It enhances the sense of battle immersion, but makes it difficult to appreciate the craftsmanship that went into designing what might have been epic war scenes.

Edge of Tomorrow is a definite step up from the forgetful Oblivion, but still a far cry from, say, Minority Report, which also starred Cruise. The movie sadly switches tones halfway through, without securing the audience's allegiance to accept this. Worse, the more the plot progresses, the harder it is for the audience to remain focused, as things have to be taken with too big a grain of salt, while the good humoured use of loops ultimately gets lost in an overly incoherent plot. Cruise pleasantly surprises the spectator at first, before reverting to his standard performance. You could state his career is caught in a similar loop; minor variations do occur, but he always reverts to his established routine.