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gong Joon-Ho’s ultimate genre-defying chef d'œuvre embodies class warfare and capitalist hysteria. In Bong Joon-Ho’s game-changing social critique, the rich and the wretched descends into capitalist hell in sardonic, comical, and horribly grounded fashion. In times of cholera and uncertainty, Bong Joon-Ho’s latest and buzziest masterpiece comes like a head-turning accomplishment, a surgically accurate class fable, a truly gripping multi-genre piece of entertainment, and a reinvigorating storytelling-rich decade-new awake. Ever since its Palme d’Or win, “Parasite” has been ground-breaking new history, not only by becoming the very first non-English language, non-epic-length period drama nabbing the Best Picture award at the 2020 Oscars ceremony, but by giving new life into movie-going experience in an aging era of convoluted streaming-service battles and rowdy franchise-building tentpoles. In a way, “Parasite” feels like the “Inception” of this new century. Back in 2010, Christopher Nolan’s towering 160-million Russian doll odyssey opened several doors industry-wise, putting the absolute, always-coveted formula into one single movie: crushing box office incomes, cerebral, wholly original storytelling, and, above else, priceless craftsmanship power. However, Nolan did not treasure any social-resounding message as sharply as Bong Joon-Ho did overseas. “Parasite”, on the other hand, is a small-budgeted, South-Korean thinking piece that, even while managing different procedures— it turned out to be more profitable than Nolan’s pic —comes to the very same conclusion: great filmmaking is the key. Social-headed slices of art would never be about big budgets and small films like “Get Out” and “The Invisible Man” are proving that studios, either big or small, may still conquer audiences with entertaining, on-point storytelling. Script-wise, “Parasite” is an utter knockout. At first glance, the most outstanding, praised features the film exposes now and again are its turns and twists, the comings and goings of a story where everything mutes into something unexpected. These “think-again” premium plot devices are the main pulling force for mainstream audiences, even though they are not the most powerful assets Joon-Ho has to offer. The truly one-of-a-kind centerpieces are: proceedings and composition. Take for instance the 5-minute towering montage at the end of the first act, where black humor, cadence and rhythm are the beating heart of the sequence. It builds and places anticipation at the highest level by using endless narrative tricks to convey the emotions and reactions the film intends to spring up, blurring the line between good and bad, between wealth and the poverty, between sarcasm and irony. Every one of the characters succeeds at becoming storytelling backbones because of the amazing ensemble cast, which— by the way —became the very first foreign Ensemble Winner at SAG Awards, making, one more time, movie history. Park So-dam, Lee Sun-kyun, Choi Woo-shik, Cho Yeo-jeong, and Song Kang-ho deliver award-worthy performances, endowing to the story tangible, three-dimensional characters that, in incompetent hands, would come out as hollow caricatures. Bong Joon-Ho’s pictures are described as many things at once: black comedies, social commentaries, genre-crossing post-apocalyptic adventures. Owning every inch of them, “Parasite” spices the mix up with deeper, timely metaphors— make no mistake, peaches and basements are not going to be the same; — however, the film owes it to two crucial aspects: visual language and edition. Camera movements, blocking and visual composition are masterfully managed by the director and his crew. It could have been a silent film, and still it would speak volumes. Cinematographer Hong Kyung-pyo executes his vision with perverse precision and voyeuristic delight, grabbing class divide by the throat. What could have ended up as a mere style exercise between the shady lighting from the semi-basement and the luxury LED lighting of the main mansion, it is now the perfect visual cocktail: sophistication and softness, luxury and poverty, ups and downs, dark and light, hungry beasts in empty spaces. “Gisaengchung” by Bong Joon-Ho is the crowning achievement of the decade. Many critics have healed it as “the picture of the year” and, even if it is tout à fait true, “Parasite” transcends the boundaries of society-headed, industry-transforming films; say Jordan Peele’s ambitious allegory “Us” reimagined through the lens and voices of Shakespeare, Hitchcock and Kim Ki-young, and still you are nowhere near to it. Many talented, socially-aware filmmakers and their equally committed crews have paved the way through the years; now Bong Joon-Ho, in total command of his craft, has made it: “Parasite” is a groundbreaking work of art.

Bordering on brilliance, Guadagnino turns into Gaspar Noé and Darren Aronofsky in gut-wrenching new take on the giallo classic. Don't hold your breath anymore, this new "Suspiria" is sheer atmosphere, austerity, and shock. Even if Argento himself considers it "betrayed the spirit of the original," it is one of the few rare slices of slow-burning horror as gorgeously gruesome as coldly visceral, as life-threatening and powerful as to set up itself as a polarizing modern masterpiece. It owns you, you try to get used to it and you're in; you fight back and I assure you that you will suffer even more than this savagely beautiful nightmare's ill-fated "innocents". The script of American David Kajganich is like firewalking, every footstep is a new challenge that pushes you to move forward. The core premise itself is already more than appealing: prestigious dance company, omens, sacrifices, hierarchies, secrets and a glorious, over-the-top witches' Sabbath. Kajganich creates, however, more complex situations, leaves open some metaphorical sequences and, even though he doesn't turn characters into true humans, makes them more assertive to keep the viewer hooked. Of the six chapters and the epilogue the film is divided into— with such precise title cards that ridiculously mean each 20-minute division, —three are still in my mind brighter than ever, and even if the ending section hurts its modern masterpiece status, each chapter is maximized by a magnanimous Tilda Swinton and a resurgent Dakota Johnson. As of today, it's already a tradition that from any of the film festivals comes a film that means an unforgettable experience, whatever the reason may be. Generally, they employ and/or deal with similar subjects: explicit violence operating in at least one sequence that makes the audience so uncomfortable that many leave the theater; uber-sensitive matters treated openly; to turn the viewer into a masochist or a voyeuristic, —that, and get one of the lowest grades on CinemaScore. Darren Aronofsky owned that position with "mother!" two years ago, a multi-layered masterpiece of biblical and environmental metaphors. 2018 was an interestingly competitive year, with "Annihilation" and "' The House That Jack Built ' vying for the label. All the signs were that "Hereditary" was going to be the champion, but Amazon shot at Venice last September, obtaining statim the trophy. Poeticized by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom's glorious cinematography— Academy, cruel snub, —the imagery unfolded here is indelible, hair-tossingly fearless, and primitively spine-tingling. Within the walls of the Markos Dance Academy, life is given for art, dancers hiding out from the strong political and social storm out there, willing to spiral down into this infernal place; do anything for the sake of dance! Oppressively toning down from brown to gray, the film keeps its tone until the ending nightmare comes in, which replaces visions, dance sequences, rehearsals and upsetting developments with a slow-burn scarlet revelation. Occultism, witchcraft and awakening become flesh and blood in about twenty minutes, which also means sure sleepless nights. Walter Fasano's editing work is equally commendable, adapting to its profuse narrative and taking your breath away. There's no room for doubt: what Guadagnino and all his talented crew have made is an achievement in capital letters. Cinematographically, it gives a perfect demonstration on how to present innovatively a point of view/original idea, no matter how insane it is. To exemplify one of the many pitch-perfect mixed moments between excellent sound editing, Thom Yorke's virtuoso score, cinematography, production design, performances and choreography itself is the most visceral, diabolically cruel dance sequence, if you already had the pleasure to see it, you know what I'm talking about; the masochistic initiation seance this new arty classic delivers is simply brutal, definitely not one for everyone. As odd and unnatural as intimate and predatory, the camera movements, angles and framing, particularly in the raw rehearsals, are brilliantly clever, passive or aggressive according to need, orchestrating an increasingly compelling whole. Leave skepticism and apathy behind, warm up and let's dance. "Suspiria" by Luca Guadagnino conjures up an unexpectedly political, obsessively disturbing and blistering chiller. Clearly, the most personal movie for the author yet, this standalone interpretation of Dario Argento's giallo classic is a blend of "Black Swan" and "mother!" starring a coven of witches. This unforgettable, masterful new take within the Markos dance academy values and respects its legacy, while at the same time, pushes the original to more terrifying, darker places, rising an experience like no other.

Why don't they understand that King Arthur belongs to the books? We have gone from ageless classics such as "Camelot" by Joshua Logan, "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" by Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones and "Excalibur" by John Boorman to insufferable "reimaginations" and lifeless adaptations such as Stuart Gillard's "Avalon High," Michael Bay's "Transformers: The Last Knight," Guy Ritchie's "King Arthur: Legend of the Sword" and even Otto Bathurst's "Robin Hood" — which features many of the ingredients that made Ritchie's film what it is.— Exactly in the middle of these two categories lays the latest effort as writer and director of Joe Cornish, which rethinks the timeless legend within a world of smartphones, homework, bullying and chicken wings; while simultaneously trying to condense a fantasy adventure à la Spielberg, a Disney Channel film and a subtle anti-Brexit commentary; of course, not everything works out. First and foremost, "The Kid Who Would Be King" means an irrefutable improvement over shameful adaptations Hollywood has insisted on producing. 20th Century Fox's delightfully British new take is likely to be far from covering its production and advertising costs, but quality-wise, it does redeem and save Arthur from ending up, again, on a "worst of the year" list in the face of the failures/flops from studios like Warner Bros. and Paramount Pictures. After the reckless 2011 hybrid between sci-fi, comedy, and horror he used as his directorial debut, Joe Cornish jumps from playground to the most 80s fantasy, which is called Amblin. It opens with a didactic, gorgeously animated introduction to give some context about what sort of film we are about to see, enjoy and suffer in equal parts. Just like Spielberg, Cornish almost completely restricts parent prominence, using them uniquely as dramatic supporting vehicles. For this reason, Alex, played by Louis Ashbourne Serkis — son of motion capture pioneer Andy Serkis, — his bestie Bedders, portrayed by Dean Chaumoo, and bullies Kaye and Lance, by Rhianna Dorris and Tom Taylor respectively, are the story's eyes. Each one does a great job portraying his roles, especially Serkis, who with his tenderness and unbelievable drama range makes a short part of the film compelling. But when it comes to juvenile performances, Angus Imrie and his hypnotizing and elaborate hand gestures steal the show. It's a huge surprise to learn that stars Patrick Stewart and Rebecca Ferguson are here standing by the project; the former with quite short yet meaty appearances as adult Merlin, and the latter as Morgana, a female villain that even though Ferguson tries her best to deliver a credible, menacing antagonist, the script only makes her look like a one-dimensional cartoon figure that wants to take over the world. Brilliant moments are at a premium, but still, the film treasures some touches of brilliance. From clever commentary against controversial withdrawal Brexit to writing jokes adapting the well-known Arthurian mythology to the 21st century manners; from dazzling blockbuster-like set-pieces to pieces of training as imaginative as catching, Cornish manages to pull several easter-eggs and comical interludes off thanks to his careful, faithful writing and the professionalism and commitment of his actors portraying their roles. As for the rest, "The Kid Who Would Be King" has the potential to become a headache for some adults, nonsense for some teenagers and for most kids an endless fascination. Due to its abusively drawn-out running time, many viewers could stand in a position of radical skepticism midway, not receiving equally the other sequences and narrative moments, which can get to be dull, boring and ridiculous if you don't get into it from the beginning. The film tends to use its purpose of kids entertainment as an excuse to produce visuals and narrative threads that don't work well. From ridiculous to boring, young Merlin's slapstick and Bedders' naive humor might not land so well for grownups, because it handles a kind of humor that even today's children don't understand it as children used to. "The Kid Who Would Be King" by Joe Cornish is not only a taste of its own medicine for majors that don't get tired of re-visiting existing IPs, but a production of British flavor severely diminished by an unnecessary lengthening of the events, a too mild treatment to resonate among today's audiences, some uninspired visuals and a story that fails to create interest for unlikely sequels. Those who grew up in the splendor of the 80s and 90s will certainly be willing to be carried along by the homages and easter eggs of the last century— for starters, the parallelism with films such as "The Man Who Would Be King" —however, those who, like me, belong to the new millennium will have a hard time trying to connect and stay connected with the idea for more than a quarter of an hour.

M. Night Shyamalan hovering between hero and villain in the final chapter of his mini-universe of extraordinary beings. Let me be clear: Shyamalan's one of my favorite directors working right now and I will fight tooth and nail to stand up for him. My duty as a reviewer, however, must always overcome any subjective approach, any dishonest desire. But, why do I say all this? While it's true that the last act of this third installment is insanely brilliant, off-kilter, twisted, as everything surrounding the filmmaker, and cinematically fabulous, act one and two are practically a mess, a deadening pileup of weird decisions that instead of infusing new perspectives into the nowadays suffocating superhero genre, indirectly undermines the exciting plot threads and the style/artistic exercises of the two previous prequels. We're talking about Shyamalan, a name attached to both bewilderment and surprise; for better or worse, "Glass," a film I followed carefully throughout the production, is not the first disappointment of the year, but it does be the most bittersweet yet entertaining ride a movie buff will have in the first two months of this new year. There are serious issues all around the first and second act, among them the tragic absence of something the director has stood out for from the beginning. In the first acts of his best pics, the story drags a sense of restlessness, an enervating discomfort that illuminates the way for the big finale. In the second acts, tension and uncertainty reach unimaginable heights, forcing audiences to keep their breath all along the controversial climax. It's inconceivable then that the first half of "Glass" is a havoc of flat scenes, lacking charm and tact, soul and suspense, in very large part by defective editing. It must be said that young Charles Xavier hands down saves the entire second act to be an outright disaster. The intervention I refer to takes place halfway the feature film between Kevin Wendell Crumb and Dr. Ellie Staple in the one-color psychiatric ward, and is a masterfully performed, planned and filmed, is terrifying, ironic and impressive in unison. James McAvoy steals the entire movie and takes, again, all the interpretative praises. Patricia, Dennis, Hedwig and some of the other cool personalities are back, who, thanks to the laborious performance of the "Atonement" actor, are fully credible, plausible despite his imposing physical. The actor jumping from one character to another knocks us all out, we're in front of a different person in every change. "Split" is still the one that treasures his tour-de-force, but McAvoy is phenomenal here leading it with a performance worthy of cult status. I guarantee you, you're not ready for the grand finale. Talking about plot twists and the last thirty minutes, personally, is pretty much the same thing. It's fascinating how it realistically blends comic book structures into storytelling, moving along within the canons of the all-time comic book proceedings. But this is Shyamalan, so you better look closer. The long-awaited showdown and its corresponding adjunct are as good as they can possibly be, bathed with powerful realism and pessimism that some fans — because this is a movie for fans — will have to think twice to swallow what just happened on screen. Likewise, its low key set-pieces, the trio of performances and the stealthy but aggressive writing moves make up a glorious, intelligent and above all human ending. "Glass" by M. Night Shyamalan is by no means one of the filmmaker's top works. You have to see at least "Unbreakable" — which it's most related to — to understand everything this last installment, which should serve as an integral, standalone film such as "Split", tries to unpack. The film has no identity because of the strange ingredients it mixes up to prove it's unlike the other superhero flicks out there; it's neither a thriller, a fantasy/drama nor a suspense pic, it's all of them at once, a terrible phenomenon coming from a lazy, flat and cinematic energy-free first act. Aesthetically, it doesn't stand out; yes, it's not a big-budget production, but Chris Trujillo's production design and Mike Gioulakis' peculiar cinematography doesn't fit in with each other or the most groundbreaking genre incursions. On the upside, the movie's saved by James McAvoy, who's superb as Kevin and all his personalities once again, a slightly exciting score by West Dylan Thordson — who blatantly borrows "Split" compositions, — a commendable, delicate resolution by Shyamalan and a third act so well executed that it'll surely leave you speechless, something that, in one way or another, the filmmaker keeps doing masterfully.

Epic, mythological CGI mega-spectacle blending "Star Wars" and "Avatar" with "Thor: Ragnarok," one for the ages. "Aquaman" is a stunning miracle; the most visually oddball and mesmerizing big-budget superhero film the world has ever seen. Do not misunderstand me, the Arthur Curry solo film is far from perfect, it presents an origin, born-to-be-king story, rhythmically goes from dynamite to languor and storytelling-wise is whimsical and silly dealing with Greek mythology, but that bravery and audacity, coming from a huge budget and an amazing source material, are what makes it an experience as dangerously unconventional as imperfectly extraordinary. If "Wonder Woman" was somewhat like a Spider-Man for DC, Arthur Curry would oddly be a colorful hybrid with DNA from Tony Stark, Thor and Star-Lord. The King of the Seven Seas has chances to become the most outstanding, fascinating and exotic superhero of the whole combo out there. Momoa gives his role a dominant macho vibe and look, as well as silliness and sarcastic humor that provide much of the funny and not-so-funny jokes spread throughout the feature film. His acting range and rancidity in each of his scenes are the reason why he's so special, so unique, so emotionally relatable and flat-out politically correct. Bigger-sized muscles, two antagonists, responsibility, legacy, kingship, splendid chases, and hand-to-hand combats, we've seen this before, haven't we? — cough, "Black Panther," cough. — But as Ryan Coogler diligently proposed to make a stand against racism, politics, Hollywood's diversity and some other highly important social matters, Wan loosens up and never takes the material too seriously; it's simple: a silly, funny, over-the-top fantasy actioner with two specific purposes on its mind: a message of solving your problems peacefully and an act of redemption for DC. Wan's kinetic and idiosyncratic style for action is high and low from stem to stern. Fight sequences are provocative, diligent, straight out of the wildest video game. He also finds time to experiment and toy with settings, nearly masterful camera movements and angles, with explosive 90/180-degree rotations. The camera savagely runs at the audience, endowing dynamism in large part by the uber-excellent technical, artful features of a couple of incredibly and masterfully executed sequences that might be easily part of the annals of this postmodern genre. Despite CG-overstuffed, even in scenes perfectly filmable in real locations, the film does not limit its creative faculties. Its aesthetics and visual fearlessness, however, make pictures an alluring spectacle propelled by truly great VFX. So far, far away from the gigantic old-fashioned set-pieces of modern Hollywood masterpieces as "Mad Max: Fury Road" and "Mission: Impossible - Fallout," and yet the film's an artificial delight. Wan and his team created an entirely unique aquatic world for us, certainly embellished by Don Burgess, which is over-the-top, dazzling and exciting, absorbent and carefully designed, is pure visual ecstasy. In the end, it's appreciated that this extremely gorgeous world, harmonized by the high-sounding techno-compositions of an unbeatable Rupert Gregson-Williams, is not only a reflection of the cinema of our time, but a reminder of the magnificence sound and image can achieve. Kidman nails it as Atlanna, a kind of character not entirely foreign to her if you take a look at the prolific career of the "Eyes Wide Shut" actress. Her interpretative balance between fish-out-of-water humor and family drama puts her in a strange yet brilliant position; a golden gift for the genre. Played by Amber Heard, Mera's design is literally and figuratively sparkling; she's the one who leads a couple of commendable sequences that breathe #MeToo. Willem Dafoe as Vulko embraces ambiguity, having fun in a simple, smaller role that doesn't seem to agree with his previous efforts. Patrick Wilson and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II wrongly take turns for being the bad guy. It's hard to tell who and where is the real villain here. They both try their best, but the material does not help them at all. "Aquaman" by horror mastermind James Wan is a cinematic oddity; it has an irregular pace, speaks louder than it should, ergo runs longer than it should, but even so, Arthur Curry's first solo adventure is the most playful, hilarious, rewarding and profitable comic book adaptation you will find in the troubled DC Cinematic Universe to date. Even if my voice is shaking, I dare say it is the most eye-catching, wildly stunning sci-fi show I have seen into a big-impact Hollywood production since James Cameron's "Avatar," visually speaking. To make your life easier, "Aquaman" could be synthesized like this: "Black Panther" and "Star Wars" meet "Avatar" and "Jupiter Ascending," and these, in turn, bump into "Thor: Ragnarok," energized by a kinetic video game vibe and an unhealthy dose of toxic masculinity and sheer spectacle.

High-flying birds. "Birds of Passage" affords a very bold look at the brutal Colombian illegal drug trade, disregarding any pre-established reference from well-known productions such as Netflix's TV series "Narcos" or "Loving Pablo" by Fernando León de Aranoa; in lieu, builds a tale of hierarchies, revenge, obsession and justice on this setting, through appealing indigenous characters the story handles under the condition of narrative coherence. Plus, it takes advantage of the Wayuu tribe to unfold events as magnificently shot as told, which allows witnessing a rustic character study instead of another violence-packed drug cartel-set story, necessary ingredients, but subordinated by the surprising turns arising from every new chapter. It deploys the routinely poisonous gangster film "rise," from challenging poverty to naked greed by means of non-indie devices re-adapted delightfully under a Colombian prism. Keeping alive the reason of his underhand glory (to win the hand of his wife), it's even more enticing to experience the corresponding fall glued to the protagonist, a loss the thickest wad of bills cannot make up for. Screenwriting duo Jacques Toulemonde Vidal and Maria Camila Arias seem to understand well how to set up and how to keep in motion this parable by means of the personalized division into chapters or dream sequences strengthening the storytelling in critical moments. The script has a simple shell that galvanizes the audience for certain periods with unexpectedly disturbing scenes, however, if you're willing to dive in, Guerra can catch you off guard. The emulsion between '80s crime film and the director's personal vision makes it resist to define itself as a piece of art cinema, not only due to its effective twists, but its expertise leaving time to both filmmaking styles. Admittedly, violence was unavoidable dealing with three flammable components: drug trafficking, money, and betrayal. Fortunately, the script knows how to handle it with strong underpinnings, it isn't a simple entertainment incentive for moviegoers. Death is meaningful if it represents support for the story to move forward, every shot, every bullet, every blow plays a role and, nowadays, justified film violence is a gift. As a good violence-packed feature film, said scenes are used purposefully and coherently, two non-existent attributes in many indie and mainstream films. Latin American culture has been frivolously explored by film, thus, it's priceless the way the film develops, drawing together the Colombian indigenous panorama and the most aggressive narrative frenzy in order to encourage audiences to stay in. In addition to the unbending hierarchical structures most of the South America indigenous cultures are based on, the film delivers a pressing commentary through the Wayuu traditions, humanizing those who are currently marginalized by a social system resisting progress. Cinematographer David Gallego has shown me one exceptional work and other amazingly well-crafted to date: "Embrace of the Serpent" and "Siete Cabezas." One more time, he teams up with the first Colombian filmmaker ever to give his country an Oscar nomination, this time, in an entirely different location. Gallego's cinematography for his two previous productions, especially the first one, must be appreciated because of achieving visually meaningful frames with hints of magnificence is hard work. It takes advantage of coming-of-age dances, ceremonies, marriages, funerals, and folklore to let free the most creative authenticity, discreetly dominated by a grateful modesty, no bombastic ambition, on the contrary, every feature, prominently colors, matches in an effervescent way. Gallego delivers some dream pictures in this film, beautifully imposing that seize the screen, purified by glorious naturalness. Leonardo Heiblum's score is brilliant. **** bass drums and folkloric indigenous flutes ahead, the composer captures the sounds of a culture and the story's leitmotif, fusing primitive sounds with delightful compositions that empower all the movie and causing a deeper, sharper effect in the viewer; a composer to keep an eye on. "Birds of Passage" by Ciro Guerra and Cristina Gallego isn't another take on narcotrafficking, is a violent, occasionally overwhelming parable that deals with such ancestral issues as justice, greed, betrayal and excesses; a vivid, bold portrait of the ghosts of a country that throws cold water on its present yet. Here another strong feature film from duo filmmakers Guerra-Gallego duo that recognizes them as tightly skilled directors and one of the figureheads of their country. This film hits hard in Colombian filmography, dealing with sensitive issues and the sins and name of an indigenous culture that deserves to be known and respected.

The rebirth of a franchise that finds gold in regression. I can say with absolute conviction that this is easily the best "Transformers" movie to date. Considering those responsible for such remarkable production, you could never picture the dazzling, moving end product. Bay, hated and loved equally, comes back, but just as a producer, which denotes a good, significant step up. An act of redemption by screenwriter Christina Hodson, guilty of shamefully careless screenplays such as "Unforgettable" by Denise Di Novi or "Shut In" by Farren Blackburn. Director Travis Knight is a wholly different story; nominated twice for the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature for the lyrical stop-motion feats "Kubo and the Two Strings" and "The Boxtrolls." American singer Hailee Steinfeld has shaped an acting career brimming with victories, with an Oscar nomination for her practically flawless performance as Mattie Ross in Coen Brothers' "True Grit" and one Golden Globe for her unique Nadine in "The Edge of Seventeen," my favorite coming of age film— Bo Burnham's highly praised "Eighth Grade" is still waiting in my bucket list. — These are the heterogeneous ingredients of a film that surprises not only for its tonal metamorphosis with respect to its predecessors, but the heart, vigor, and simplicity the film uses to weave its story. "Bumblebee" is a nostalgia-driven adventure of unsuspected narrative force, focusing on ever-present themes that movies don't get tired of digging into and, why not, mixing up such as friendship, adolescence and growing up with a doubtless 80s flavor, a time the film takes advantage of. Setting it somewhere between the most fantastic John Carpenter, "Stripes," The Smiths and A-ha is the right time to get rid of any dispensable hassle, going back to basics and staying there, it's just Charlie and the 1967 Volkswagen Beetle in a survival race; zero Bayhem. The film takes its time to set up the underpinnings and to present our heroine's dramatic arch. She lives among abandoned vehicles, car relics, and teenager gloom; on her birthday, she ends up acquiring a beat-up, tiny yellow car, a vehicle that becomes her confidant, her bestie. We've already heard this story a thousand times, but let's face it: no one on planet Earth can resist clever, poignant feel-good movies, no matter time, place or mood, this always enjoyable sub-genre will get followers. Besides, due to Mr. Bay's pyrotechnic filmmaking, it was exciting to imagine such a story starring Bumblebee, in the 80s. The final result couldn't be better. Charlie receives a careful treatment, unfolding her wounds and trying to heal them so honestly that the most dramatic moments are painfully stabbing. Bumblebee receives a dignified narrative background as well: he and his species are being hunted by a pair of Decepticons, which allows displaying the high-sounding, better-handled action sequences with finesse. The funniest, most emotional, tender character-driven moments take place in the first forty-five minutes of footage. The story points at the big finale alongside, via small doses of the trademark complicated, sometimes unintelligible terminology and chronology. The set-pieces, as opposed to those of its predecessors, like the film itself, are much more restrained and compelling, not so groovy or showy because of a realism beautifully rendered with impressive digital effects that, even without high-resolution IMAX screens, endows action sequences with humanizing character. There is a good lack of predictability threatening to eliminate core characters just mid-story through unexpectedly raw images that kids will struggle to bear, excluding PG-13 carnage, a handful of murders amusingly reduced to plasma. Certain continuity, pace and editing errors should be attributed to editor Paul Rubell, however, as a coherent whole, it is a resonant, overly enjoyable popcorn film. Technically and artistically speaking, it's excellently made, the camera moves with finesse and puts special focus on the development scenes like this saga had never seen before, holding their feelings and tones and throwing them to the viewer; it's praiseworthy that every scene gets a precise treatment which justifies its place in the footage. The '80s references and easter-eggs are juicy and countless both physically and spiritually. "Bumblebee" by Travis Knight gives life and hope to a franchise in its death throes through Steinfeld's charming, sincere performance, the heart of a script based on friendship and forgiveness, and the emotional narrative control that Travis stamps in all his movies. Without warning, the "Transformers" film franchise rises from the ashes, and despite its post-credits scene suggests a risky return formalized by Paramount Pictures' brand-new measures, it's better we rejoice now in the candor and simplicity of a film jam-packed with underlying shrewdness.

"For telling us we aren’t the only ones" If you watch "Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse," you're watching the fulfillment of the dream **** of visionaries who, without thinking about it, have inspired millions and millions of people with a piece of art of unusual magnitudes among the wonderfully competitive modern animated film world, and, at the same time, have injected boldness, personality and brilliance into both Sony Pictures after unexpectedly wishy-washy box-office hit "Venom" last October and Marvel Studios' light-hearted and almost predictable live-action fanfare. A milestone in mainstream American animation: Disney and Pixar lose their annual crown this time. They play in different leagues and their only two releases scheduled for 2018, "Incredibles 2" and "Ralph Breaks the Internet," are favs among year-end movie lists, but, due to its one-kind approach and vehement freshness, "Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse" is, above all else, the non-stop-motion— relevant clarification in favor of Wes Anderson's breath-stealing showcase, "Isle of Dogs" —animated motion picture of the year and one of the most exhilarating, witty, socially thought-provoking and artfully made of the decade. The art department led by Dean Gordon and Patrick O'Keefe and the production design led by Justin Thompson have achieved something rather remarkable: to be different, meta-discursive, self-parodic, surprisingly glued to creator Steve Ditko's unique style and mightily dynamic, progressive and dazzling at the same time; guys, this is Oscar-caliber animation. Pictures, trippy and hyper-stylized, revolve and bounce, go up and down all around the screen; the composition of every frame, diligently designed and rendered as for color and motion, is a sheer delight, a miracle that will be studied and swooned over for years to come. A piece of top-notch craftsmanship, the shots here skip from the iconic to the symbolic, from the self-referential to the most unflinching flair, the computerized cinematography catches the audience's hearts and minds. Any and all sequences are viscerally engrossing, surgically sketched and masterfully carried out; its comic roots and computer animation rules well above some Pixar's and Disney's visual pieces of art in fits and starts, in part by such a care between perfectionism and personality, handling edges so special and eye-popping that the experience turns into a high-octane kaleidoscope that, even along the closing credits, keep running. Beyond genre categories, it's great cinema, period. As a feature film, prone instinctively to social drama above mega-spectacle, it overly succeeds on its devices and purposes, as well as in the flavor it delivers all over the footage between exciting storytelling and effervescent visual prowess. The exclusive visual storytelling is taking all the credit, but those who crafted such dazzlingly complex marvel were directors Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman, screenwriter/producers Phil Lord and Christopher Miller. Passion, commitment and vision are three words that perfectly can be the soul of what these men wanted to project throughout the feature. The pre-credit dedication has a truly priceless purpose, enclosing all the ideas and feelings these people had in their minds and hearts when as they say, thousands of doors were closed, but one would always be open: to believe in themselves. We all know Phil and Chris, not only because of the controversy their "Solo: A Star Wars Story" firing unleashed last year, but also their uproariously funny, witty scripts such as "Deadpool" and "The Lego Movie." Nevertheless, the trio of filmmakers is relatively unknown at the wheel of a movie, save for Ramsey's "Rise of the Guardians," for this reason, it's even more surprising to take in that a near perfect masterpiece came out from these brand-new visionaries. "Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse" by Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey and Rodney Rothman, above being a priceless gift for animation, is a one-of-a-kind superhero film, a respectful and sharp commentary on diversity and a piece of art for the ages; a response to the hatred, disrespect, and violence controlling minds and bodies in unjustified warfares. Is this the perfect antidote for an era of Trump, wrong traditionalism, walls, massacres, and indulgences? Forget about one of the best computer-animated superhero movies ever made, this is a reminder that we're not individuals, we're society, that dreaming is what keeps the world in motion and failure what keeps it evolving. Lee's gone now, but this cinematic feat is a proudly fitting tribute; Ditko is a maestro of out-of-reach scopes. Lee and Ditko have inspired millions, including this bunch of visionaries, who in turn have inspired all of us and our moment has come now; you know what they say: with great power comes great responsibility.

Cyber-"Inside Out" meets "Once Upon A Deadpool" PG-13 meta-humor "Ralph Breaks the Internet," the latest animated wonder, is a flat-out improvement over the original, adhering itself to new technologies without losing sight of its two central figures, unfolding another riveting, clever family-friendly journey that commits itself to compete head-to-head against the most acclaimed movies of its subsidiary; it doesn't win the day, but offered something Pixar has overlooked all this time. Don't get confused, this second part does transcend all-time great arcade game's limits to venture into this binary world, developing a refreshing representation of the mechanisms and processes taking place in our everyday devices. This setting's side goal is to raise a human lesson on friendship and sacrifice, to be happy not harming the happiness of those you love, and in that sense, we stumbled upon a fairly mature and grounded resolution, which enriches the scope. It also disposes of knotty storylines by not adding up new protagonists, Ralph and Vanellope remain the leading characters, although it does incorporate supporting roles that hilarious look and behave like their voice actors such as Gal Gadot or Alan Tudyk. Storytelling-wise, Disney will always succeed on his moral and ethical task, but for that, it'll always need the corresponding tear-jerking scene, this time pretty close to that devastating farewell for the pink cotton candy nougat-filled elephant-cat-dolphin hybrid from "Inside Out," they are hands down geniuses achieving it. But the greatest improvement doesn't come from right there. Despite the thousands of screen-time-eager companies, the film wisely does not overstuff its compositions, of course, there's enough product placement to know this is more than a family-friendly film, but after its first act, it mostly centers on storytelling. The Internet takes the form of a sunnier "Blade Runner" metropolis, where millions of avatars restlessly go and come. The many high-rises and high-tech buildings that show the companies' logos off deserve more than one viewing in order to catch the myriad easter-eggs all around the footage. YouTube, Twitter, Snapchat, Internet Movie Database, AlloCiné, and Instagram are some of the sites spotted in broad daylight, but the plot settles in BuzzTube — a hybrid of both companies — an online game called Slaughter Race, eBay and Google for the cinematic finale. Filmmaking-wise, comparisons are obnoxious and in some instances needless, and even so, it's quite obvious to draw parallels between this buddy-comedy and the creative structure of the Pete Docter y Ronnie Del Carmen-directed magnum opus "Inside Out." Switching Riley's five emotions and behaviors for pop-ups, web sites, links and search engines, the depictions here are magnificent, especially the extremely sinister, somewhat disturbing dark web and its creepy, ugly-looking apothecary overlord. Some cybernetic, internet-related processes also got fantastic representations, trying to make easy to understand the universe of algorithms an e-mail or a Google search involve; thus, posting a video, getting a "like," writing a comment and closing specious ads become an imaginative ride. The most unexpectedly brilliant sequence of the movie happens to be killingly funny and oddly self-parodic; watching how they interact with each other and even amend one of the oldest, most rooted Disney princess rules in order to give a cleverly uplifting feminist message is sheer joy; thus this wildly anti-Disney moment turns out to be one of the key sequences in the modern history of animation. But without Disney's routine visual perfectionism, none of this would have been possible. "Zootopia" director of cinematography Nathan Warner hits the mark with the thousands of cards on the table to craft such an ambitious animated world, choosing, along with the huge design and art departments, vivid colors, transparencies and animations that enclose the general meaning of each company. Each branding depiction is vigorous and catching, however, these don't reach the complexity and depth of "Inside Out," thus weakening its creative scope. "Ralph Breaks the Internet" by Phil Johnston and Rich Moore is an exhilarating, fast-paced, high-concept voyage into the most dangerous addiction humankind is facing right now and at the same time is a tender, light-hearted fable about friendship and sacrifice that wholly enhances its means as for the original. It's sweet, harmless and funny like a cute cats video compilation, however, just wait to know a fantastic dark web and everything gets one more layer of meaning. Cinema has gradually adapted to the advances of humanity, for this reason, and although "Incredibles 2" proved it cryptically with its cunning modern-day villain, Disney's latest 2018 release is as necessary as inevitable before an audience living through screens, a generation that has left behind real interaction.

“This is where the operatic section comes in!" "Bohemian Rhapsody" is the most boisterous biopic of the season, the most controversial of the last few years as well, do not though, look at these factors in a good way. Going from awards, nominations, and arbitrary, ceaseless accolades coming from the industry to unsafe firings, serious uproars around the private life of those involved in the movie and harshly mixed opinions between critics, moviegoers and 'Queen' lovers. The music-related cinematic event of the year doesn't go beyond the conventional story of ascent and fall, vice and fame, money-fueled madness and redemption; a frivolous apology that disappointingly gets sidetracked by the shiniest banalities and the primal artistic, personal dilemmas of both Mercury and May, Taylor and Deacon; this flick isn't a true-blue hit, trust me. Let's be honest: the film is pure entertainment, a noisy and shallow spectacle taking advantage of each one of the most emblematic hits of the British band, simulating to deal with the recreations of their properly iconic video clips and striving to deliver unknown answers to the questions about the vicious existence of the Queen frontman. Finding matches in the portrait of real-life footage is entertaining, such as the "I Want to Break Free" music video or its gargantuan finale, however, with a two-hour-plus runtime, is it right to be okay with this, when the brand 'Queen' is involved? I don't think so. First and foremost, Rami Malek's the only true winner among all this chaos. Malek's Freddie Mercury. The American actor has come up with the role people will recognize him for from now on, not only because of the celebrity he portrays but the fiercely impressive performance he acts proudly on the screen. He's not merely imitating the most representative mannerisms of the outlandish singer, he understands carefully the psychology of a man turned into a legend, he does justice to his role even if the lifeless, sanitized script threatens to mess it up. The way he dances and behaves, his voice in the most ordinary dialogs, the expressiveness of his gaze, the inner struggle to find who he truly is, every detail his performance is composed with, beyond the most discussed such as the fabulous voice — a vocal amalgam between the actor, Mercury himself and Christian rock musician Marc Martel — is what enriches and makes it — with the permission of Christian Bale and Willem Dafoe — the best performance in a mainstream film by an actor in 2018. A tough call is to choose which would be the best interpretation between Malek's brilliant performance or the supposedly raw by Baron Cohen. Regardless of your choice, we'd probably have a mind-bending Mercury in front of us. Having said that, the lead man's brutal showcase aside, some factually-based re-creations are deftly realistic, notably two quick-witted music-videos incorporations and the monumental, unforgettable closing sequence at Wembley Stadium. To say that the 1985's Live Aid re-creation, such a symbolic, meaningful 20-minute performance for the history of rock music, is perfect would be a whopper of a lie; by being gratefully long, its pace and rhythm tend to drop constantly, the editing work is respectful but some cheap CGI crowds and quick cuts feel plainly contrived. The 80s', as an eye-catching and helpful visual and narrative resource, are depicted in a lackluster but congruent way, the compositions lack energy and spark even speaking about a time where color and brightness were in its greatest splendor. Directed flat-out by Bryan Singer and replaced during the last days of shooting by Dexter Fletcher, the film is not artistically daring, provocative or inspiring, is freely faithful and straightforward, bombastic when it shouldn't, slow-paced and off-and-on when ironically the most gigantic spectacle must come up. "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Bryan Singer and certainly polished by Dexter Fletcher is not, by no means, the "Queen" definitive biopic, nor it is Freddie Mercury's. In short, a conventionally entertaining biographical film only aimed by Rami Malek's pitch-perfect performance. 20th Century Fox's turbulent production will once again make the British band's iconic anthems popular, will once again bring the leading man into the spotlight, will have thousands of angry fans and will please the less fussy ones on the legacy **** of visionaries who has long been a crucial part in the history of rock music. With a strong supporting cast — especially Lucy Boynton and Ben Hardy, — the all-time great musical support, some impressive re-creations and a performance by Malek for the ages, "Bohemian Rhapsody" is not a boring time at the movies, is an artistic composition that fails on most of its fronts; a look-over as superficial as diluted through the lifetime of five men who found in freedom of expression, **** spirit, togetherness and unique personalities a safe space for perennial memory.

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Yates and Rowling. The fantasy cosmos the whole world fell in love with is back under the title "Wizarding World," this time around no Potter included. Mr. Newton Artemis Fido "Newt" Scamander takes up the torch, a famed Magizoologist known for being expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his gorgeous and naughty creatures and his duty to helm supposedly five entries. Directed by well-known filmmaker David Yates and written by the author herself behind the books, "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" arrived in theaters two years ago, cooking a spin-off/prequel franchise up that got more positive than negative opinions among the stern fandom. Enjoying acceptable box office numbers both domestic and overseas and mostly positive critical reception thanks to the modest-yet-charming performance of Academy Award-winning Eddie Redmayne, wonderfully crafted visual effects, the unexplored pre-Hogwarts world, the fabulous titular beasts and mythical creatures, an enticing plot twist and the delightful journey across New York; "FBWFT" was a pleasant and far-seeing surprise that shocked us sooner rather than later. "Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald" is the second extension set in this long-running sub-Potterverse, directed by the same director of the last four films in the original saga and penned by prolific writer J. K. Rowling. A bolt from the blue is that even with the creative backbone almost untouched, this second part happens to be a pyrotechnic and enjoyable misfire, plenty of deficiently unified sub-plots that ultimately saturate the not-so-eye-popping visual spectacle, introducing untidily so many narrative threads that, instead of complexity, utterly erode the core story. Admittedly the dark beauty of some gigantic, messy set-pieces works not quite right because of the writing individuality, but still, by composition, they're simply bracing, as ever. Philippe Rousselot also returns as director of photography, which benefits visual cohesion as for the franchise' look and tone even when the action moves from America to Europe, mainly to Paris, France. Some shots really work, others shine, but none of them are part of the confusingly edited, overextended, strange action sequences. As usual, imagery is rich in content, not as cozy, universal and relatable as the previous ones, but at least it's impressively appealing. The titular 'fantastic' adjective is tailor-made for these beasts. The two adorable creatures who stole the show last time come back in order to edge into the spotlight with their naive behavior and mini-treatments; but it's Europe which hypnotizes with engaging animals. The Circus Arcanus holds important gears for the plot, so when madness is unleashed in the Parisian streets, it showcases a range of magnificently designed creatures who take over the screen, and therefore, the audience. Newt's traveling zoo/suitcase gives us short glimpses of unexplored habitats, in which the most prominent feature is a visually overwhelming underwater seaweed-seahorse. They monopolize a large part of the long title, but their greater and short splendor takes place only in the first act in visual terms, as story-wise, the greatest trick comes up. Rowling's widely known for erecting fantasy worlds brimming with mythos, facing good against evil, going through an ambiguous area of grays which create beautiful, knotty stories. The primary thread here is clear and synthetic, but to strengthen it and nourish it she draws upon clumsy narrative saturation that ends up throwing an all-star cast, a few engrossing performances and some gloomy digital effects out. The script has no focus to unfold, its ambition to put too much information into a single two-hour-plus feature is atrocious; Dumbledore's true origins are only tested by giving more plot weight to Jacob Kowalski's love affair, mitigate the prominence of the beasts and deliver a worthy development to its great villain are some of the sins that neither the strongest cinematic spell achieves to break. This is a perplexing mythological disaster of endless derivations that, without the talented central figure, would have been the longest headache of this year at the movies. "Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald" by David Yates mesmerizes us with gorgeous beasts, good performances and special re-encounters with characters from the original franchise; but a hodgepodge of overlong, untidy plots doesn't enrich the main world as it should, instead, weakens and endangers this new franchise of dissimilar entries. "The Crimes of Grindelwald" loses its magic, is darker and more tedious than its predecessor, a longueur which tries to provide emotion and thrill with wrongly placed provocative twists that the only thing they achieve is to sink progressively this magical world which is lost in a mess of sequels, spin-offs, homages and Hollywood rip-offs.

Without Curtis, "Halloween" is next on the list of Michael Myers. Jamie Lee Curtis is back, and by far, she's the best of all this. Curtis is a scream-queen by nature as her mother Janet Leigh, one of the founders of the term, played Marion Crane in Alfred Hitchcock's masterpiece "Psycho." But Curtis isn't here to scream this time. 2018 has been one of the richest years in terms of productions with heterogeneous women in front and behind the camera in recent times; Laurie Strode and her clan have been one of the strongest driving forces. Fed up with running and hiding, traumatized by a past that hurt aggressively her own daughter, Mr. Carpenter's final girl turns herself into a badass-yet-scared avenger ready to kill this guy off. Honoring the role that became her a big-name actress, the twice Golden Globe winner unfolds an exploration of trauma that's underdeveloped even despite the strong female empowerment the film breathes, often synthetically. Overlooking the character's narrative, structural imperfection, Curtis is a beast as Laurie. The "Scream Queens" actress does keep her Horror Queen title alive, the facial metamorphosis by facing Myers off is unmissable, her panic gives you full idea about what she went through in just a couple of seconds; it's overwhelming how she unwittingly speaks volumes about her trauma through hysteria and roughness that brings to mind Lieutenant Ellen Ripley from "Alien" or Sarah Connor from "Terminator." We all missed Curtis on the big screen, this makes it up. Respecting the timeless original plot of Debra Hill and John Carpenter, the screenplay penned by Jeff Fradley, Danny McBride and David Gordon Green misses the mark diluting a number of expendable modern-day/yesteryear film horror tropes that even if they get a raison d'être in the duties to meet new audiences' expectations and try to satirize its own copies severely harm the reason for this sequel to exist, neglecting its own disciples: fan or not, no one wants to watch a high school costume party with drunk, horny young folk swarming around the screen when you get, after four long centuries, Michael and Laurie together for less than two hours. A heart-breaking letdown and/or dishonorable marketing campaign turns out to be the core purpose of this sequel, misleading with an event that, judging by time and quality, falls short as for the promises out of the trailers. There are undeniably two leads, but unfortunately, they fade against the disguised and oddly effective symbolism the script deals with. Moving "Halloween" into millennial ground is a logical step to take, but not by means of clear-cut overtones such as a feasible money-hungry third entry by Blumhouse or analogical sequences that besides compensating the pains of a woman represented as three, reaffirms once and again the name of the next scream-queen of the franchise, if you don't think so, pay attention to the last shot of the film. Aesthetically, it's a crowning achievement. Despite rawness and hyper-violence executing some homicides, there are no gore, tension and thrill, and yet the movie is masterfully crafted. In this field, killer-victim sequences shine the most, as the possibly memorable but devoid of substance false one-shot murder scene with Michael breaking into a neighborhood to make his own thing the Halloween night. Throwing the uber-generic chases off, the final 15-minute sequence is disturbingly oppressive, with Laurie looking for her larger-than-life nightmare behind a door or inside the closet all over her place, the suspense building and paranoia grate on your nerves, adding the cat-and-mouse final chase, which, by the way, is visually dynamic. Paradoxically, it seems that the brand-new horror tropes took the entire feature over, quick example: the game with darkness in the backyard scene, which brings clear reminiscences of David F. Sandberg's "Lights Out." "Halloween" by David Gordon Green lacks any tension and paralyzing effect as well as own essence and direction — even if you watch it on October 31st, just like I did, — and yet it's a glorious comeback for Jamie Lee Curtis, an old-school slasher with on-the-nose modern deviations which falls by the wayside by juggling too many expendable agents. This sequel had it all to conquer: firstly, Curtis and her fundamental acting skills; secondly, Michael and his brutal knife and legacy as film icon; thirdly, Carpenter himself as advisor and composer; then, the suspense and thriller genres prone to some hard-to-watch well-crafted scenes; and lastly, horror mastermind Jason Blum's production company, which alongside Universal Pictures have become the most creatively and commercially successful horror-film machines in Hollywood today. Green's festival darling does not flee or hide, rather, toys and misleads with the maneuvers of its star.

"Far from the shallow," Gaga, Cooper and Libatique hit the right notes on this electrifying, gritty and down-to-earth journey to the stars. Being honest, it's my duty to acknowledge I haven't seen any of the previous three movies, my knowledge about them does not go beyond what I have had the pleasure of extracting from think pieces, interviews and critics' reviews. It's also my duty to acknowledge, due to the nature of this new movie, it's not a remake that gets inventiveness as greatest grip; Cooper's "A Star Is Born" does not conquer by raw innovation, but the suitability of the new takes and shifts that make it shines purposely with a force never seen before in the spate of remakes. Will Fetters, Eric Roth y Cooper, based on William Wellman' and Robert Carson's story, have updated the material with such commitment and passion that not only is the most poignant big-studio star-crossed-romances since "La La Land" or the most powerful feature film on music since "Whiplash" came out, both of them directed by Damien Chazelle, but is one of the most wide-ranging, honest-to-goodness and resounding inspections on addiction, vice, aspiration, celebrity, entertainment industry and sacrifice in Hollywood. The script creates its own leitmotifs with respect, improves some others, dragging them into a new stylized "world" looking to set up a perfectly paced melodrama with overwhelming rhythm, with chiaroscuros making this complex romance drama as painfully as inspiring; A dreamy-yet-grounded portrait of dreams and showbiz, one star is born, whereas another is flaming out. Characters are slightly shifted and/or refined likewise, not only more relatable and true to the running entertainment scene, but to today's audiences. Jackson Maine, inspired by American musician, multi-instrumentalist and singer-songwriter Eddie Vedder, is a country rocker star widely known for his musical talent, his old songs and his messy "private" life. Dipsomaniac, downhearted and unhappy — unless a guitar is present, — Jackson begins to catch the sense of dreams when he finds another person to make them come true; a way out that changes worlds, but not fates. Although his final decision could be debated forever, screenwriters are respectful to the original ending, making some fitting, enriching changes along the way, drawing a more holistic design for a man who feels his most beautiful song is gone. In a feature film crowded with accolades and kudos, Matthew Libatique is the one who must take much of the praise. Skipping from L.A. to California, Libatique encapsulates a vibe of naturalness via pink sunsets, the illusion of natural lighting suffuses pictures of a dreamy spirit and the atmosphere of an annihilating stoicism and fluency. Director Darren Aronofsky's longtime collaborator converges lighting, control of form and vision with glorious prowess, the performance scenes shot at the Coachella and Glastonbury festivals and Saturday Night Live are organic and honest because of the fantastic camerawork, focusing entirely on the actors and impregnating intimacy and deprivation into Jackson and Ally's relationship. Set in a supposed present-day entertainment world, cameos as Halsey and Alec Baldwin are guarantees of veracity for this remake, allowing audiences to relate briskly with the atmosphere. Above the romance and drama, "A Star Is Born" is not a musical, is a film about music, therefore, this feature corresponds to and pushes forward the plot. The soundtrack isn't as catchy as "La La Land"'s iconic and fadeless compositions; however, Lady Gaga' and Bradley Cooper's "Shallow" is a shoo-in for Best Original Song, a global phenomenon, a hit aimed by a meaningful, intense live performance amid the film. "A Star Is Born" has enjoyed a rapturous reception by tracks like "Always Remember Us This Way," "Maybe It's Time and "Look What I Found. "A Star Is Born" by Bradley Cooper goes beyond a drama piece of loss and pleasure, fame and failure, hate and love, self-acceptance and selfishness; a fable of showbiz creatures designed in recording studios directed unflinchingly by Cooper and stylized by Libatique's keen visual eye, a meditation on Gaga's career, who delivers one of the performances of the year, shakes the music and film world up at the same time and leaves the viewer a bittersweet feeling, mirroring the true nature of dreaming. This generation's "A Star Is Born" is a painful breakdown of the toxic excesses from success, a vérité-ish take on the false "perfection" of an artist's public persona, a grounded and raw commentary as for how music and entertainment industry works, a love letter to love itself, a downright unwavering and beautiful depiction of the little compatibility between dreams and relationships, a theatrical melodrama and, in the end, a vehicle of spiritual magnificence and emotional depth on what dreaming really involves: some stars are born as others just flame out.

A flawed, erratic film adaptation for one of the most famous, savage and finest Spider-Man villains. In a world with too many superheroes, an anti-hero might be the most befitting antidote to fresh up the heroism-and-rightness-populated scene; as far as cinema is concerned, DC goes ahead of it, with "Suicide Squad" and "Watchmen" on opposite corners of the same ring. Marvel has followed much the same pattern, going through fire and water to conceive a new gem as piercing as original after bringing the Merc wi0th a Mouth to the big screen; alas, has made the same mistake of its top contender. At the last minute, "Venom," which was supposed to keep going R-rated comic book adaptations, took a left turn, an utterly financial one, losing its primal R rating to drown in PG-13 waters. The film stumbles quick-fire, toning down material that must be naturally and strictly violent, extreme and frightening; the artistic vision opted to fall off from the original source in tone, becoming a mainly comedy amalgam lacking in visual appeal that if wasn't for the central figure's commitment, would easily have been on the darker side of the Marvel universe. After a hellish pre-production process, it's strange why Ruben Fleischer was the one to sit in the director's chair, a filmmaker renowned mainly for wisecracking "Zombieland." Marvel looking for new, fitting voices to take over its emblematic worlds is entirely understandable, however, it seems self-defeating to pick up a cinéaste who doesn't deeply know the company's storytelling-filmmaking dynamics. It's no surprise that Fleischer does a great job erecting a messy occasionally-watered-down buddy-comedy that shines by the symbiote-host duality employed incredibly halfway the running. The idea is hilarious off and on, aligning storytelling and performance organically, however, after Eddie comes to terms with the "parasite," this funny underpinning spreads out abruptly along the ham-fisted third act. On the contrary, superhero-action-wise, the filmmaker gets unmistakably lost in a disaster of plots, skipping from a breakup with Anne Weying to a "The Terminator"-esque body-hopping around the globe that reminds Disney Channel's "Wendy Wu: Homecoming Warrior." Poorly original and harshly introduced, such narrative threads run down the golden reputation the anti-hero has achieved in the comics pages along the years. By far it was clear this director wasn't a healthy choice for the character and yet Sony and Marvel refused to change its plans; we have now a Venom movie, a shonky superhero movie, and a good comedy at once, which, according to predictions, has put the worldwide box office on fire. In a feature film that takes nearly forty minutes to land, the tone and pace are atrocious, yet there doesn't lie its greatest sin. "Venom" is on a knife-edge because of visual raucousness. With a hilariously bad CGI, the pictures, ironically composed by the very same cinematographer responsible for the dreamy urban landscapes from Bradley Cooper's Oscar-hungry "A Star Is Born," suffer from a serious on-screen incomprehensibility reinforced by an oversaturation of black at key moments. Matthew Libatique won't ever be a bad cinematographer, he's flat-out an artist, hence it's far-fetched to see these opaque, ghastly set-pieces, visually unappealing, scrambles of semi-liquid creatures fighting on the screen untidily. Hardy grinds away at his physical performance portraying both the Symbiote and Eddie Brock, two roles close to his career. The "Locke" actor endows the exact dose of charisma and intensity, leaning heavier on gags and one-liners than awardable dramatic explorations, still the firm pulse and commitment the actor adds the role makes the offering stronger. Don't be deceived, Sony is sliding us into a post-factual, misleading ground, it's crystal-clear Daniel Espinosa's "Life" is related to all this. "Venom" by Ruben Fleischer is neither a rotten film nor the most outstanding comic book adaptation coming from Spider-Man Sony-Marvel deal; at heart, a messy buddy-film of great inner comedy scope that rarely dabs at the source material in tone and pace; in appearance, a long-drawn-out fandango of obscure frames and unintelligible action sequences that provides neither the theatrical drama nor the visual spectacle the most renowned Spider-Man villain deserves. With an unexpected, enticing post-credits cameo, a mightily effective soundtrack by Ludwig Göransson — going viral at the expense of Eminem, — brilliantly comical fitfully and celestially saved by Tom Hardy's talent, "Venom" will please stop-and-go cinemagoers and the most loyal but uncommitted aficionados. It is certainly far from being the comic book adaptation must-watch was meant to be; Sony and Marvel didn't fight the parasite off, we do.

It's not a distorted "Unfriended," it's a smart, certainly timely cyber drama. "Searching" is a restless thriller that weaves mystery through every-day tech devices, in the style of Blumhouse Productions' awkwardly entertaining found-footage derivate "Unfriended." But what sets apart the Sony Pictures/Screen Gems flick from the fatuous average matinée and places it between one and another category is how much three-dimensional treatment it employs to build an effectively paced family drama packed as a **** pic of modern-day underpinnings. Gifting a pertinent, compelling final turn for anyone going to the cinema, this cyber-crime mystery-thriller is, besides the perfect vehicle to deliver a brilliant performance by the leading actor, an introspective, absorbing and effective offering that will delight followers of this emerging sub-genre. Director Chaganty fully knows the kind of story he wants to tell, therefore manages to get on the audience's nerves with a modern, uncomplicated verve that never finds in excess the answers it needs. Co-writing alongside Sev Ohanian, these two relatively novel screenwriters test their most inventive skills to assemble an electrifying, tech-influenced whodunit/whydunnit that faces a short crisis of cogency halfway through. Moreover, some comical punches are masterfully distributed throughout the first two acts, injecting into the story a vibe of freshness and levity never colliding with the in crescendo tension and the convincing drama. Slightly approached by some other films, it depicts adolescence with palpable veracity, avoiding teen-life problems as bullying or suicide to delve deep into introspection and media abuse by means of youthful characters that play the same stereotypes with relatable confidence, these teenagers belong entirely to our world, which helps considerably in the credibility the film seeks to reap. The script is the agent that better works for the idea thanks to the three-dimensional, kind-of grounded drama, never unbalanced towards melodrama or pastiche, always enriching the relationships between characters. Don't waste time waiting for the most buoyant revelation of the darkest youthful secrets nor hi-tech sequences with explicit violence, there is more well-aimed drama than breathtakingly intense suspense in this story about a fractured father-daughter relationship, the family life between mirrors gestated since a painful past event. The fact that a single actor holds the entire film together speaks volumes, indeed, says it all. John Cho, Hikaru Sulu in the rebooted "Star Trek" trilogy, is an actor who takes quite seriously his job, his latest true proof. He's not in front of the "camera" all the time, but still, the actor delivers a fantastic performance, rich in nuances, interchangeable in purpose. The "FlashForward" actor looks, and acts, as a fairly bona fide modern-day father who tries to get along with his reclusive daughter, neither slipping into over-the-top comedy nor verging on saccharine following the fascinating, heavy-hearted opening montage. His committed performance certainly strengthens the idea, getting we're worried and intrigued at once; his search, instinctively, is ours as well. Nine producers on board, it's hard to reckon how much money it costed, even with three production companies not entirely unknown overseas. Roughly speaking and based on conjectures, it might be slightly higher than "Unfriended"'s $1 million budget, its main reference. That being the case, Sony did not think twice about paying $5 million for its world rights at Sundance earlier this year; an investment that, thanks to the genre, the innovative setting and the raving critics coming out from the fests, will be easily recovered in the first week of release. A solid, understated editing work for this found-footage ramification is primal, therefore, the very same directors of virtual photography are editors here setting up one hour and forty-two minutes of clicks, pop-ups, chats, FaceTime video calls compelling because of the flowing, intriguing development the narrative seeks not to neglect. Torin Borrowdale's soundtrack conflates the sinister investigation-kind melodies and synthetic-yet-exciting sounds of artificiality, honoring its nature of virtual environment without fear. "Searching" by Aneesh Chaganty is not as wildly unpredictable nor is it original as many critics claim, it's a timely digital-era drama varnished with unexpected suspense gimmicks with enough strong suits to become a time-worthy, enjoyable experience for parents and teenagers alike, for viewers committed to scrutinizing under its taut virtual thriller layer. With a formidable performance by John Cho, an emotionally and strategically geared screenplay, a truly great direction which balances the mainstream and the indie, and a suitable soundtrack, this family drama set on screens has something to say, at least, up until before the third act.

It's not Fincher, nor Hitchcock, it's Feig playing at both filmmaking maestros in his newest, twisted psychological chick noir. "A Simple Favor" is, in sum, a stylish, tolerably hyper-twisted psychological crime thriller that places Feig in a gracefully attractive laboratory of genres and tones. Truly great horror-comedy feature films are one of the most hard-to-find cinematographic feats these days; however, narratively and structurally, fusing seriously funny comedy in the narrative tidiness of a whodunit is even more meritorious to praise, a surgically handled work that only an expert on the mechanisms of these genres can achieve; here's a proof. One of the strongest hooks for this domestic noir is the daring style on the divas' attire specifically. Undeniably, the sizzling fineries Lively models with panache during the first two acts and Kendrick, self-indulgent, inherits in the last act pop up on the screen as another à la mode main character. Each of these overwhelmingly fashioned moments comes from costume designer Renée Ehrlich Kalfus, who freezes the viewer up persistently with her original tuxedo designs and their corresponding model. The fashion designer wonderfully personalizes not only the pair of ladies, but the film itself through creations that defy gender standards, which the film runs from several fronts. You are not ready for that navy three-piece suit and six-inch heels, bad weather and umbrella included. Based on Darcey Bell's homonymous novel, the script is penned by Jessica Sharzer— 2016 summer surprise "Nerve" screenwriter —with additional Feig touches on it. Joining up the collection of film adaptations based on mystery books featuring women in morally ambiguous situations, with homicides, supposed suicides and dark places driving the plot forward, Sharzer does what she can to remain faithful to the source story, distilling the key points from Bell's novel. But in "Gone Girl," "The Girl On The Train" times, her writing falls short delivering solid resolutions, the pyrotechnics and suspicious events of the first hour are drowned by an out-of-control whirlwind of conclusions layering one after the other with less and less credibility. Emily Nelson is unhappy. We know it from the first moment because of her relationship with her only child, her creatively blocked husband, her job and her almost nonexistent social circle. Still, she's a confident, successful, classy, capable and ungovernable woman. But when her "perfection" is threatened by a forthcoming bankruptcy, her true self comes up. After the titular simple favor, she goes missing and the "why-where-how" kind of stuff unfolds. Blake Lively, despite not being a high-grossing star, is one of the film's faces towards financial success. Lively is in good hands portraying a sinister, enthralling femme fatale. Embodying Emily in an overwhelming natural way, her caustic, forceful performance achieves to blur the line between innocence and guilt, and that, in this film, means mission accomplished. Kendrick gives a career-best performance. Lively's already proved herself years ago, Kendrick, even with her Academy nomination, has been involved mostly in humor-related flicks, keeping her distance from powerful, serious character-driven plots. Heroine and villain, Stephanie's the real star here. Widow, helicopter parent, detective and vlogger at once, her evolutionary arc is, besides more plausible than Emily's, wildly enjoyable, veering from mistress to stepmother, from bosom friend to enemy with explosive sympathy. Kendrick's great, so does Lively, but together, they're a bomb of secrets, surprises and seduction; one of the most unique, brilliant female duos in a long time. "A Simple Favor" by Paul Feig could be mistaken for a vicious, riotous noir experiment by the director and producer behind "Bridesmaids," however, those who are willing to get a ticket for this fiery cocktail won't feel ripped off up until the third act. Feig gives a half-baked impression of a chic Hitchcock through missing girl genre-worthy storytelling ideas, with fortuitous and gratuitous twists that will delight those who chortled when they shouldn't minutes ago. The cast is unbeatable, its posture is stylish by means of eye-popping outfits, an exquisite and elegant French soundtrack, a production design that is colorfully synthetic and a deficient but focused cinematography. The story falls into an overhasty, depraved spiral of revelations halfway through that, in the end, is a ploy to deliver the best Kendrick's performance to date, showcase underestimated Lively's talents and Feig's skills to surprise in every way. Final oversaturation certainly makes the story an incohesive whole, but the new side of the director, its costume design and the electric chemistry between the stellar ladies are enough incentives to treat the final-act hangover.

"The Nun" is a black cat for James Wan's fairly immaculate "Conjuring" cinematic universe. Until just a few years ago known for his shorts, Corin Hardy made his directorial debut with "The Hallow," a little 2015 horror film that convinced a few by means of its solidly effective imagery and the loaded, mossy aura conjured by Martijn van Broekhuizen. As a visual artist, it seems that his talent is crafting stifling atmospheres, environments expelling discomfort, frames breathing perversion. Set mostly in an Abbey outside the city of Brasov, Romania in 1952, the monastery— a mix between C.G.I. and studio sets —was an open world to terrorize, at least, in terms of atmosphere. Suffocating hallways, super dark rooms and the surroundings of the church plagued by crosses and a lush forest are key tools used to create a dreadful environment. In contrast to its well-achieved atmosphere, the Gothic style coming from inside the abbey makes the pictures an overshadowed, campy, over-the-top Hammer mosaic. Striving to provide scenarios never seen before in this vintage-packed franchise, Maxime Alexandre's cinematography (Alexandre Aja's 2006 remake "The Hills Have Eyes") comes up short of delivering scenes with diminished visual power, evocative and, at the same time, frightening production designs. Better films have greatly benefited from the medieval period, displaying imagery as unique as arresting ("The Others," "Crimson Peak" and even "The Woman in Black"). Leaning too heavily on light and sound games, there are few overwhelming settings. It cried out for more gorgeous shots like that stunning overhead shot of the nuns begging for their lives. The expertise to terrify even the bravest viewer was an important part for success, a disturbingly effective blend of atmosphere, surgically pulsed tension building, skillful camerawork, use of memorable props and a musical accompaniment that makes the effect stronger. Here, there are many proceedings the director borrows, damaging significantly his oppressive atmosphere. Smashed scapulars, upside down crucifixes, devilish shadows, on-and-off demons, trickery with darkness inspired by that "there's someone behind the door" unforgettable sequence, sinister children running around, millions and millions of black-faced nuns — for real, it's unbelievable — and a myriad of clichés adding nothing this special universe. Worse still, the most frustrating and infuriating is how filmmaker Hardy turned this auspicious project into an artificially cheap jump-scares rip-off. "The Nun" is a superficially crafted suspense string that puts it as the worst of the entire franchise. "Horror factor" played a part in success; yet, the true reason was the nearly flawless characterization, characters worried us, we were involved in their lives, we lived in their haunted worlds. Generally, innocent, upright families are the target — "Creation" is an exception, —this time, a soon-to-be-nun sister, a Catholic priest and a charming French-Canadian man dealt with evil forces. Despite the trio delivers good performances, thinly-sketched characters and formulaic encounters don't set up a solid connection with the audience. Abel Korzeniowski composes a score in keeping with the genre, the era, and the nerve-racking atmosphere. Oppressive compositions, nourished by suspense and uncertainty, which aren't scared off by sudden loud sound effects. Likewise, the terrifying design of the titular nun, played by Bonnie Aarons, is phenomenal, her presence, tested with diabolical cleverness in "The Conjuring 2," is uncomfortable, makes you look away from the screen. Burying the soft, pointless plot, Taissa Farmiga and Demián Bichir play their characters with gusto and credibility as ever; they aren't characters open to true dramatic developments, but their committed performances help the film not being the fiasco it was destined to be. "The Nun" by Corin Hardy is the most exasperating, skin-deep and — literally — darkest installment of the entire franchise; a clumsy prequel that sacrifices two great actors, a well-achieved atmosphere, an exponentially effective score and a dangerously promising villain. Dragging this auspicious cinematic universe through the mud, Hardy understands the equation that meant success for the previous films, so he misuses his tools and techniques to end up crafting a strange loud ride with some so-so Gothic-Medieval shots and recycled "booh!" moments extracted from the most bothersome, cheapest horrors of modern cinema. Noting its financial success, this universe's future could be at risk in the event that New Line keeps on fissuring it with films devoid of any efficient, original and moving motor hitting theaters year after year. We miss you, James Wan, come back home.

Albert Hughes' conventional enemy-become-ally survival tale is one of the most disappointing movies of 2018. Sold as the origin of the relationship that changed humanity forever, Sony Pictures' and Studio 8's pic is an atypical drama hybrid that never takes off or defines itself because of some downy editing techniques, the overly light, straightforward underpinning and a monumental deception on the making of iconic pictures that blame blatant artificiality jam-packed with ostensible visual effects. More in the vein of Lasse Hallström's tearjerker "Hachi: A Dog's Tale" and the most common American adventure/survival films, this pic uses up its striking possibilities in no time, by opting to insert inorganically moments of dramatic construction in the midst of the protagonist's ceaseless nightmarish experiences. Daniele Sebastian Wiedenhaupt's script is uneven and whimsical, laying bare its only hook: its arty will that uses Ice Age ferocities to shine. It inaccurately depicts hostility and dangerousness from nomadism only through visual devices, forgetting the key role a good introductory storytelling plays, which, by the way, is abrupt and synthetic kicking off right in a pivotal moment. What's next is a snappish, out-of-place, hurtful timeline switch to end in the starting point once again, which it solves with a fragmented sequence in a disturbing and shameful way that trashes the small narrative construction. From then on, Keda, the main character, will trace his way for survival; and the rest is history. Even so, the father-son relationship is the heartbeat of the first act, the empathy thread that involves the viewer in the journey, which helps to appreciate a good character design and a couple of great performances. It's hard to imagine the transition from ferocious predator to friendly ally in the context the film navigates, therefore the wolf-human relationship must be a slow, naturally layered progression, no catalysts breaking that process. Although the script tries its best, loses focus when it clumsily inserts either some action sequences or unfunny moment. At the end of the day, one would expect such a relationship to be stronger, more real and much more credible to do justice to the kind of ancestral tale and demographics it's dealing with, sadly, the only thing the film's cliche close achieves is to become a huge missed opportunity. Why isn't it a silent film? A bit of a let-down it feels to hear the very first quote, as one would imagine the film is about to attack with all its originality. "A Quiet Place" has revived somewhat silent film in its own way, then, why not? You're right, Krasinski's thriller is a heart-stopping, clever monster movie, whereas Hughes' pic is a manipulative drama, which certainly makes harder its purpose; even so, idealizing this offering, balancing the modern and the traditional, we would be in front of a unique work. You're in a fine mess, firstly, if you put the best of all your movie into a two-minute-plus trailer with better edition than the whole film, and, secondly, if your distribution company delays release date nearly six months in search of a more appropriate, strategic opening weekend. The first time I saw its official trailer was just before seeing a Sony Pictures film, and oh man, that was a great ride, being fully absorbed by the magnificence and grandeur of Martin Gschlacht's images. Some seconds after, I was wowed and excited about what, at least visually, the film would be. Don't expect more than some specific stunning landscapes and one or two gorgeously designed frames, the "guaranteed" top-notch visuals are severely affected by digital effects you see with half an eye, it's outrageous to know the only real thing on screen is the actor. Many of the pictures with chances for memorability were degraded by an incisive, painful artificiality. Atmosphere, in this kind of film, is a key feature, even if C.G.I. is constantly all over the place, for this reason, the feeling of defenselessness and latent danger in the first half of the film is sensitive regardless of veracity, immersing the viewer in the experience thanks to beautiful lighting and some tremendous computer-generated imagery. Its action set pieces aren't particularly unforgettable or originally powerful, with the exception of a couple of arresting, sincerely symbolic sequences at the start and end of the film. "Alpha" by Albert Hughes — his solo feature directorial debut— got moviegoers' hopes up with the flood of marketing pledges, after seeing it, it's no more than a futile epic survival ride that relies heavily on a committed direction and a great performance by Kodi Smit-McPhee, a few visual shocks and the hook any film with a snout in its poster gets for free. A film that gradually gets stuck with fast-and-hollow entertainment, one that fails to break the spell flying over dog-centric drama films, one with no pedigree.

A would-be underwater "Jurassic World" that revitalizes the US-China film deal. Diving into the deep sea, Warner Bros. and Gravity Pictures release their latest Hollywood's big seasonal blockbuster. A prehistoric monster that is madly swallowing millions dollars because of three keystones: the first, of course, is the commercial hook a gigantic shark means in any cinema in any country around the world; the second, the "great cultural diversification" among the crew and cast in, from afar, an American-bodied mega-production, still, however, according to the box office results, it was enough for Chinese audiences to reward it with a boffo gross; and finally; Statham, who claims his action-hero crown after kicking hundreds of asses as "Deckard Shaw" from "Fast & Furious" film series and "Rick Ford" from "Spy," two fabulous scowling characters that makes him an unfailing A-list movie star in the States. Pulling the gimmicks together wisely and promoting them worldwide freshly and genuinely, there was no doubt they were being cooking a powerful smash hit up, satisfying the less stringent moviegoer's guilty pleasures via an unapologetically over-the-top American blockbuster that never attempts to go above and beyond what it really is: a thoroughgoing popcorn finisher for the most flamboyant, unprejudiced film season of the year, B-movie entertainment of overwhelming visual magnitudes by dint of magnanimous visual effects, with charismatic enough characters to make up for the screenwriting inconsistency and dizzyingly clumsy narrative growing exponentially as the movie runs. Go and buy your ticket, then your snacks, lay back and relax, shut your brain off and get in the malevolent jaws of this B-movie giant-shark crowd-pleaser floating above Michael Bay's film style. Erich Hoeber, Jon Hoeber and Dean Georgaris, adapting freely "Meg: A Novel of Deep Terror," the first of a sci-fi novel series from American writer Steve Alten, pen a script devoid of any iota of soundness. With an artificially effective opening, the material is moderately convincing for non-connoisseurs, of course, until sanity fades and Hollywood spectacle take its place. This film is simply a big-budget 2 hour-long action/adventure exercise that wants you to have a blast, only that. Strategic business or not, it severely differs from the adventure found on the pages written by the New York Times Bestselling author, swapping blood-filled attacks and raw scenarios for lighter sequences and humorous deaths which are as frustrating as amusing. Posters and official trailer as evidence to say much of the story takes place far away from shore, a matter commercial advertisements kept hidden at all cost and **** the hopes of many for a giant-sized "Piranha 3-D," for an in-your-face big-budget splatterfest. The savagery betokened from opening sequence takes place just in the last quarter of its running length, savagery quickly transmuting gracefulness. There is no denying Warner deftly crafts its pictures. This sumptuous C.G.I. fanfare could be the finest you'll see in a movie theater from a killer big fish blockbuster. Grant Major's production design is gargantuan, concordant with its gigantic budget ($130 million), creating a visual magnificence that propels and defends its nature: big, dumb action film. The Herculean set-pieces are compelled by Harry Gregson-Williams' soundtrack, mixing environmental and suspenseful compositions that are assembled with popular hits and '80s-'90s classics such as the Thai version of "Hey Mickey" by Toni Basil or "Beyond the Sea" by Bobby Darin, which endows it that nonchalant feeling, that PG-13 the executives have decided to embrace. Unfortunately, the cinematic suspense is fair to middling, keeping in mind this vital ingredient must be handled masterfully in a film about, you know, a Megalodon. Setting aside Steven Spielberg's mandatory, unavoidable reference, it demonstrates careless tension building in the very first glance of the monster, the deaths aren't entirely imaginative and the encounters are far from memorable. This doesn't mean there is no iota of tension, there is, especially in the first act of the film, but Statham's heroism and Li's bravery manage to save this key role. "The Meg" by Jon Turteltaub is a late-summer playfully over-the-top blast. We're not witnessing this year's revolutionary event movie, we're in front of a dumb actioner that brings US-China co-production deals back up— something Matt Damon's "The Great Wall" couldn't achieve —due to its unbelievable profitability and shocking— for good —mixed response from the critics. Seriously, Turteltaub's Statham vs big fish storytelling doesn't need a closer look, save your strength. This is pure popcorn entertainment and it's one of this year's finest. Take the bait, turn off your brain and let this monumental profit-driven shark open wide its jaws and try, just try, devour you for nearly two hours.

A franchise that succumbs without a taste of its own medicine: purgation. With all the odds in its favor, Blumhouse has released its would-be summer hit in the form of a prequel of James DeMonaco's successful utopia — at least in box-office terms, — aiming at big dividends, mainly, in American cinemas. If this is true, then it'd surely mean the elongation of this overwhelmingly worn premise for a couple of more years on the big screen, not counting USA Network's TV series. "The First Purge," an origin film about the birth of the controversial law that has grossed almost USD$ 320 million since 2013, is, by far, one of the most generic, tasteless and violent movies of the company since, paradoxically, the highly ambitious second installment of this same franchise starring Carmen Ejogo and Frank Grillo. "The First Purge" is probably the first and unique of the entire franchise that has a really considerable social-commentary dose, still and all its thick-headedness and inefficiency, since if it is compared with its predecessors/successors, Gerard McMurray strives to say something— via bestial, outrageous scenes that find a solution in controversial violence —about caustic inequality, race snobbery, political manipulation and bigotry, all clumsily enclosed in a political bubble that, strangely, never bursts. DeMonaco taking a back seat in favor of a "new" voice brings on drastic changes into the narrative and visual field; a moderately healthy decision. Although he doesn't enrich the mythos, neither fortifies its origins, he delivers a balanced approach in content but unbalanced in quality. On this occasion, the film doesn't know what it is, a "Get-Out"-ish social freak out or an unsurprising survival thriller, a dilemma drowned, as usual, by a range of **** stings. The characters, far from throwing away modern action film stereotypes, are easy preys to meaningless, cat's paws running around and butchering to preserve their lives. Fortunately, unlike the thousands of mindless horror offerings out there, here the relationships between the characters involve a sense of humanity, which automatically causes that, at some point in the film, we worry about the fate of these fictitious individuals. Peculiarly, antagonistic weight doesn't fall on a fixed actor, rather strongly belongs to wicked government intervention distorting the already nefarious experiment. This is one of its few strong suits, however, much like characters, the shallowness of this "villain" doesn't even try to fight audience's predictions, falling into "race against the clock" field over and over again, a lost race. Y'lan Noel plays the tritely cold-blooded gangster/action hero in a good way, with a strange charm that ends up echoing among the audience. Unfortunately, Dimitri, his character, is portrayed as a violent, vengeful man, two adjectives that clash with the notion of savior in this kind of film. Lex Scott Davis is who delivers the best performance, even if her character is nothing but another indomitable girl; alright, she gets a special plotting push, but, in the end, is one more final girl saved by a super-man. Mugga, the usual Afro-American comedy-horror comic-relief, does quite well her work, is a positive addition to the melodrama that bathes part of the story. I'm absolutely confident that this film will be remembered for two huge disasters: one, R.I.P. promising premise; two, an unfairly wasted Marisa Tomei. They've muted Tomei's character and that's an unforgivable mistake. In the first two acts, the creative mind behind this "social catharsis" doesn't say more than six lines — the first one, in front of an egregious green screen —and as soon as the third act kicks off, a certain "twist" takes place and destroys everything. Marvel's new Aunt May could have been a dream villain, clearly, with a worthy-of-respect design and treatment; alas, it was the greatest sin of a ramshackle tragedy. "The First Purge" by Gerard McMurray is just another run-of-the-mill thriller; a rushed B-movie throwback that doesn't even set up DeMonaco's gloomy, eye-catching visual spectacle. But, at the very least, it does achieve to deliver an obtuse edge of complexity to a premise that was on its last legs, burying a meaty context that hardly will resurface, at least, with brand-new stuff. After an insufferably lengthy period of almost seven hours — the four films' runtime belonging to this franchise, — something has happened: the experiment has expired. Mixing together DeMonaco's ever-aggressive pulp imagery and McMurray's improvement of some storytelling purposes, a perversely violent-yet-juicy cinematic cocktail may have come out from all this madness, unfortunately, said utopia will never be a reality; the experiment is over.

A cuddly but low-spirited studio drama about imagination in adulthood. Set in mid-20th century London, England, this time it's looking for the catatonic imagination of 40-year-old Christopher Robin; he isn't a child anymore, now is fully immersed in work, away from home, away from Ashdown's grayish afternoons lulling the forests, he's left behind his younger years. There's no room for fantasy, isn't it? Look back, folks. Certainly, Greg Brooker and Mark Steven Johnson have written a drama aimed at adult audiences, those who grew up with the books and Disney's eternal adaptations, leaving limited space for new audiences who want to fall in love with the beloved characters for the first time. It stumbles up clear-as-water similarity with the "Toy Story" franchise by John Lasseter and Oscar-winning "Inside Out" by Pete Docter regarding plot development and its usual devices. It's a straight way that doesn't hesitate until reaching its final point, arousing tolerable predictability that doesn't matter by the fact that we're encountering one more time with those plush animals that took us by the hand once. The six-handed (Allison Schroeder, Tom McCarthy and Alex Ross Perry) screenplay is loaded with naïvely effective punchlines, provided mainly by Pooh, a kind of adorable comic-relief. Eeyore's taciturnity and discouragement injects a kind of tenderness that benefits the character's bonding; Piglet's shyness plays in a different field that Eeyore's, since his pristine innocence hooks the spectator into the adventure; Rabbit, Kanga, Owl and Roo surprisingly remain in the background, giving much more screen time to the four most famous animals created by the English author. Although every time the plush characters are on screen all the attention is theirs, Christopher Robin's the vehicle the film wants for us to live the experience. A middle-class grown-up, drowned in work, a father who has forgotten to dream, is the ideal device to narrate this 'become-a-child-again' story. A well-written— much better casted —character, who goes through the required development phases and, at the end, he's a fully different, better man than he was at the beginning, that is to say, he fulfills his role as protagonist. Pay close attention to the peculiar animation style, a hyper-realistic CGI/live-action hybrid that endorses an emphatically unique appearance, even if you have the notion they're not living things throughout the screening, but computer-animated stuffed animals finding life in human-like moves, gestures and behaviors; another artistic beauty by Disney. Production design is visually commendable, recreating mid-1950's Britain truthfully, permeating every frame with moribund post-World War II hostility, of course, filtered by the company's standards. Despite that, they decide to set much of the plot in the shadowy British fields, where tenuity bathes the smallest elements. Matthias Koenigswieser's cinematography could be considered as the darkest, but equally captivating among Disney live-action pictures, thus taking the top place from Dean Semler by "Maleficent." The soundtrack by Geoff Zanelli and Jon Brion breathes magic at times, they're pieces embellishing pictures, not standing out from them; an unsurprising, nice score that is in tune with the visuals. And there's a first-class vocal cast here, counting among its ranks genius voice actors as Jim Cummings, Toby Jones or Peter Capaldi, who with their voices immediately take us back to the past, into a world of hopefulness. The voice ranges and their corresponding nuances represent characters properly, which allows the story to come to life and gives a nostalgic edge that encourages the viewer to stay on. Ewan McGregor, without fail, delivers a good Robin, he goes through a medium-quality personal transformation and despite his half-baked charisma and prominent harshness, his performance is warmly acceptable yet unlikely an Oscar-contender. Hayley Atwell is an out-and-out waste of talent with a supporting role that makes us wonder that after "Marvel's Agent Carter" was canceled by ABC, this gifted British actress must find worthy roles, one that makes her shine and not become one more shadow of a male figure. "Christopher Robin" by Marc Forster is an unambitious, straight drama offering that forgets dreaming with a premise that could have set up a stunning live-action re-imagination of one of the most emblematic classics in children's entertainment industry. Still, the irrepressible, powerful charisma of the animated characters, their occurrences and the amusing over-the-top final sequence will prove a pleasant experience that puts flawed but needed dramatic development throughout its first two acts. Emphatically, Forster seems to stick to the script they've written for him, perhaps it was his chance to be part of the Disney family or perhaps it was a personal dream that failed to connect with audiences as well as expected.

Tom Cruise will never die. By their own efforts, force-sensitive scavenging Jedis; vengeful ladies with psychokinetic skills and enhanced mental abilities or lethal combat prowess from ancient Chinese martial arts; drivers with good values ready for any racing madness involving high speed; young people experiencing memory or hearing problems thirsty for the adrenaline of a car, a motorbike, a yacht or a punch; supermen, superwomen, villains and anti-heroes who fight for stability defending their beliefs about peace, hope, justice, "law" and chaos staunchly; top-secret agents/spies wearing elegant attire that, most of the time, emerge victorious from their missions; retired assassins who forcibly return to 'the Continental Hotel' by a puppy incident and characters and/or animated heroes who save continents, countries, cities, friends and families deserve their due respect and recognition both in the industry and in the history of film. However, suddenly, the sassy boldness and unstoppable charm of the IMF agent who leads, legally or illegally, impossible agency missions have helped to shape one of the best action/adventure films of the 21st century and, sans nul doute, the best actioner since George Miller's 2015 multi-Oscar-winning post-apocalyptic masterpiece. Hence, critics, cinephiles and moviegoers alike are greeting it with raves, comparing the latest and most barbaric adventure of Hunt and his team — save William Brandt played by Jeremy Renner, who was committed heart and soul to Marvel Studios — to modern-classic "Mad Max: Fury Road" for its mastery assembling and disassembling heart-stopping sequences and to the Christopher Nolan DC trilogy, especially with Warner's 2008 classic "The Dark Knight," for its courage to deal with sore, meaningful purposes with a firm hand and mind-blowing ideas, piling layer after layer on the characters and the plot. An A-1 mainstream film must represent each feature of the script to the screen in the best way possible, however, an A-1 mainstream actioner must articulate smoothly the above with, of course, emblematic sequences. Every new movie in the 22-year franchise provides substantial added value coming in the form of legendary Tom Cruise, a true super-man who categorically rejects the use of stunt performers for his high-risk scenes. Modesty apart, Cruise is an actor who, literally and figuratively, gets under Ethan Hunt's skin, he's Hunt, thus becoming one of the few stars who perform their own action scenes today in Hollywood. This time, forget scratches and bruises, an on-set ankle injury has called him, an accident that halted the movie's shooting until his health improved. Drawing upon some landscapes and townscapes of India, UK, France and New Zealand, Rob Hardy, a modern cinematography maestro who has built artistic sci-fi gems such as "Annihilation" and "Ex Machina," places his exquisite style in a setting far from fantasy, getting artfully neat visuals on its objectives with high levels of elegance, sobriety and magnetism on costume and production design, in the old-fashioned Parisian streets or the crushing European dreamscapes. Commitment by each and every one of the members of the huge technical and artistic team is awe-inspiring, they esteem a big budget, and, moreover, prioritize film's artistic purpose over the ever-lurking avidity for extravagant grosses. There are few cases where a commercial advertisement transcends beyond its purpose, here one of the best examples. The creators of the trailer released during Super Bowl LII must not only headline the year-end best trailers lists by critics and movie reviewers, but receive a true award for their exceptional, exceptional work. Although few talk about this kind of stuff in their reviews, the perfectly matched 2-minute stunner made by highly skilled trailer makers deserves it; one of the best trailers of this decade. "Mission: Impossible-Fallout" by Christopher McQuarrie smashes, on several occasions and ways, big-budget action movie tropes much like contemporary classics do, moving away from the artificiality of danger to get fully into building a true-blue adrenaline rush. In these times, making high-quality action films in Hollywood has become an impossible feat, putting the blame on plotting emptiness and tech breakthroughs that bury a good narrative. However, with an overlong period of time in between, mainstream gems serendipitily flourishes trying to propose through risks. That is what makes this "MI" entry to take part in the select, coveted must-see top of the last eighteen years. Film doesn't falsify reality, imitates it, for this reason, those breathtaking set-pieces are an out-of-this-world experience, where suspense and enjoyment are involuntary reactions to a cinematic cocktail everyone should see. A spectacular, unforgettable roller-coaster ride that vitalizes a billion-dolar spy franchise, a triumph that must be experienced in the largest IMAX screen.

Dinosaurs are endangered by J.A. Bayona. Before finalizing its drawn-out closing credits, I witnessed a thank-you line alone in the dark, with an exquisite composition in its very last seconds before the post-credits scene, a first name and a surname that encompass the most appreciable and single improvement that can be highlighted in the eyes of common viewers: Guillermo del Toro. In addition to their friendship and unbreakable 'orgullo'- written in Spanish, - they both share advice on the different audiovisual projects that they carry out, from the most imperceptible details to the most important ones, in this case: the stifling atmosphere that inundates the whole pic for everybody's enjoyment, Bayona' and Del Toro's imagery. "Fallen Kingdom," always lewdly ruled by an unthinkable narrative incongruity and a soaring fandango in the devices used to move forward the plot, is a progression of varying-quality set-pieces differing from the increasing suspenseful anticipations from start to finish. Spanish filmmaker J.A. Bayona described the second installment of this new 'Jurassic' trilogy as the darkest, most gothic in the entire saga in the months prior to its release, and there's nothing more than truth in his words, at least, in most of the taut action sequences on the island and the mansion. Even with MPAA's PG-13 rating as a "restriction," Bayona and cinematographer Oscar Faura find ways to bath the film in an unco survival horror from the middle of the second act, and although it suffers from a wounding disconnection between the genres it handles, artistically feeds off the wonderful camera work, a wild color palette and Michael Giacchino's uncommonly weak soundtrack that gets its only point of glory in the variations of the original franchise theme. Having as basis the 2015 Hollywood prequel, huge surprises were predicted for this new entry, and although the writing was an unhopeful horizon, the visual potential was the main prey for depredators, but even with a fabulous crew, such hopes faded away once the movie is over. Relegating Chris Patt's natural charm to give the chance a "comic-relief" as clumsy as uninteresting is one of its biggest cons, fortifying it with the weak performances of the leading actors and some one-liners lacking in effect. The most discussed issue of the previous film was Claire's footwear, fleeing through a muddy jungle or the high-tech park, this time, naysayers will have reasons to criticize because she becomes the typical, currently unwanted damsel in distress that must be rescued by a man, displaying even an artificial and totally unnecessary "romantic" moment. Even coming from good actors, the performances are medium-quality. The leading actors, even more, their chemistry, the little spark from the first film. They intend to get it back by means of no-more-of-forty-second interactions. Many of the characters are deprived of their essence and potential on screen: Chris Pratt gives up his inherent comic-factor for being the hero; Daniella Pineda pretends to be the very first LGBT character but they are afraid to show it; Bryce Dallas Howard doesn't get a significant plot weight beyond being the target for deception; and Justice Smith is entrusted with a repellent, tasteless character, there is no force in performances or characters here; a really harmful feature. It's not possible to disclaim the amazing cinematography and certain high-tension set-pieces that give you goosebumps in "Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom" by J.A. Bayona, in the same way, it's fair to appreciate the neat construction of some atmospheres brimming with suspense and mainstream-horror-genre tropes that embed their claws with intolerable tenacity. Although moderately efficient and unusual by the "Jurassic" franchise, the darkness and drama the director intends to endow his story don't get a truly effect due to, first of all, the PG-13 barrier between its purposes, and secondly, the discrepancy between the menacing pictures and the frightened script that obviously prevails when it's evaluated as a whole. The fingers of one hand can be useful to count the qualities in favor of this uneven, disappointing sequel, a movie that opens the way for the upcoming, barnstorming cinematic climax. Once more a blockbuster with little soul and a lot of pyrotechnics that will surely be an overseas summer box office smasher thanks to an instinctively striking, aggressive mise-en-scène and the hook provoked by the magnetic leading duo - Pratt and his lizards - however, it will sink in with respect to the summer competitors due to unfunny, medium-quality performances, a short-of-innovation soundtrack, and a simply poor, disjointed narrative and storyline. All this coming to the conclusion that the worst sin committed by this film was to fetter freedom to an artist, in every sense of the word. J. A. Bayona was able to achieve big, praiseworthy things, such as taming the wildest beasts of entertainment.

"Incredibles 2" upholds the Parrs as one of the best families in the history of cinema. "Incredibles 2" is an important film, a smart sequel that enriches its animated universe through a radically contrasting plot that refreshes the Hollywood-era animation, superhero scene. Even when we've seen movies driven by gender-swapped thematic, most of these body-life switches were, first of all, comedies, but also provoked by some kind of magic object or spell, as a fortune cookie, a pair of earrings or peeing in a sacred fountain. On this occasion, the same characters are who will switch roles by their own due to a money crisis, survival compels them to make great efforts, just like a real-world family. Putting narcissistic, kind-of-sexist Bob Parr/Mr. Incredible in check when his wife takes on a fabulous new job is a risky plotting move that, even if it sounds cliché, allows the story to argue that household chores and family issues aren't easy work. Mom is the boss here; she gets the spotlight, a woman who's forced to lay aside her children and husband for an indefinite period to "make supers legal again." There is a strong, meaty commentary/fictional debate on the issue of the legalization of superheroes, a purpose going through several discussion-worthy obstacles. Helen, the new focal point in the plot, blissfully becomes one of the strongest rocks of this sequel because there are insufficient animated films that place a woman in the starring role with such priceless storyline skills. It's an important step in female representation in kids-oriented cinema to see not only how a woman monopolizes the whole story, but also the way they change the stereotyped conception of mother; likewise, just a few decisions feel synthetic as the story takes the right time for Bird's distinctive approach and development on the visual and narrative section, a balance where comedy takes place at home mainly, whereas the most dramatic events takes place among the streets of the huge metropolis. At a given time along the movie, Voyd, the Kristen Stewart-inspired character voiced by Sophia Bush, questions Elastigirl about how it she can level her life as a heroine, mom and wife, and although it's never answered by her, the film itself provides the answer. Special mention for a couple of iconic characters who have the right to be part of the modern-day pop-culture as for animation field. That's right, it's the meanly charming Edna Mode, who, ironically, steals the show completely just as the first film with her upset, super-rich visionary costume designer thanks to the writers' witty work. But alongside Jack-Jack, who supports on his tiny shoulders the best visual gags, they're an explosive duo, in matters of comedy, of course. It will be no surprise that it's already insinuating their own movie, however, Disney has the things clear, and that makes us happy. The animation isn't at the same level of detail as the most visually complex feats of the company, but it isn't by reason of a poorly-crafted work, is because the film sets just some minutes after the first feature film, that is to say, they decide to remain in the same timeline of 14 years ago, safeguarding its textures and animation styles, holding true to the simplicity of the features at that time, a world where realism doesn't have to be part of the equation. There are a few eye-popping landscapes; on the contrary, the film stays in urban settings to develop most of the plot. Truly unforgettable, beautiful sequences can be counted on the fingers of one hand, there are only a handful of important pictures, the best frame: An exhausted Bob going upstairs carrying his two boys in his arms, a visual poem that finds beauty in the emotional. It's understandable that Pixar doesn't deliver a visually arresting experience, but there is a character who went too far, id est, he looked like I was looking at a 2005 video game character, his expressions were made of rubber. It's Bob Odenkirk's character, Winston Deavor, he's of wax. "Incredibles 2" by Brad Bird is an unusual sequel, as it knows how to transmute into a Hollywood modern motion picture by using a mold that respects the universe built fourteen years ago. For a certainty, its greatest virtues are found in the priceless female importance, the skillful editing that balances comedy and drama as only Pixar can do, a super-absorbing soundtrack and an enchanting narrative treatment that simply would not be possible without Bird's experience, the numerous crew and the incredible vocal cast led by Craig T. Nelson, Holly Hunter, Samuel L. Jackson and Catherine Keener. Brimming with messages of representation, equality, family and topicality, this laugh-inducing family-friendly sequel is a step forward for animation and superhero genre, and another knockout for a company that honors its gems of yesteryear, that goes hand in hand with new technologies and its roots, that roots that were the awakening of a new era.

God Save Ari Aster! It's all true. Ari Aster's psychologically brutal and unnerving directorial debut is a supernatural film feat conjured up by a convincing perspective that extracts from spiritism, demonology and necromancy a sufficiently disturbing mythology to perturb your mind with one of the best developed indie horror films of the new century, there are visual and storytelling magic. It's insufficient to say that it gets under your skin as soon as the credits roll, leaving a bad omen and unusual insecurity today in films that only will get away with a sinister tongue-clicking noise. The darkest perversity lurks behind familiar faces. Little known among the mainstream audiovisual world, Aster - New York, 1987 - began to carve out a niche for himself in the field with his meaningful and bizarre short films ("The Strange Thing About The Johnsons"), those that were enough inducements for production company A24 to grant its support to make possible his outstanding, scary debut into the world of celluloid. Credited as the single director and screenwriter - a strangely uncommon guarantee bearing in mind the unbelievable fruits, - this American filmmaker, an absolute new prey for the major studios, consolidates his idea and career with overwhelming solvency, exquisite certainty and necessary tranquility to freak us out; the control he has over the cinematographic tools he possesses is masterful, it's perceptible with every strange, purposeful scene in which the command of camera, script and actors become cardinal handholds to confer tremendous impact on a darkly penetrating family tragedy seen from the outside, but with a sharper review lies an inquisitive and traumatizing story of loss, forgiveness, sanity, family, union and, best of all, human and inhuman demons. The film, as a whole, is a frightening and constantly shocking experience, however, being objective and selective, there are about five sequences simply rewarding, frame after frame with a pace and a surprise factor pathetically horrific that leaves you with your mouth wide open for more than an entire minute, you certainly don't understand why that just happened, but once you're sufficiently related to the characters and the mythology, this fantastic state of shock makes sense. In said sequences, the great affection and respect to the big, seldom-remembered horror classics through narrative executions are noticeable, however, "Annabelle: Creation" came to my mind at the time when we all literally lose our heads; Edward Shults' psychological horror thriller also got reminiscences obviously; "The Killing of a Sacred Deer" in its natural ability to disturb in no time at all or Robert Eggers' incredible unsettling debut with "The VVitch: a New-England Folktale," and there are a lot of similarities in there. That ending, that ending is as mind-boggling and irrationally powerful as firs-timer Eggers's. An insane, schizophrenic third act prepares the ground for a monumental conclusion, one neatly written, astonishing and exciting splashing drops of horror situation after another. The tension is visceral and well-built, it makes you uncomfortable even when apparently nothing happens on screen; that ending is, without stock, one of the best in a real horror film since 2016. Drawing on grimoires to a tragedy plot is a tricky task and whoever wants to set a film on it should be sufficiently prepared and aware that it must deliver a coherent, cohesive and juicy story, faithful to the difficult supporting material and the hopes of the most loyal moviegoers. It's not hyperbole: Toni Collette does deserve an Oscar; if you need proof, just buy a movie ticket, if you need proof, pay special attention to that magnanimous monologue in the grief support group or that "usual" family discussion at the table. Conquering with the most risky and sinister role of her career, "Krampus" actress delivers one of the best distressed-mother performances of all time, as well as a terrifying interpretation in relation to the nuances and demands of the character, there are dramatic peaks that the Oscar-nominated actress reaches with incredible ease, out-of-rational-control scenes in which this talented woman overflows pure talent. No doubt, "Hereditary" by Ari Aster is one of the films of the year due to first-class performances - even bandying about a would-be Academy Award or Golden Globe nomination, - a superb direction for a horror film and a slow-burning story of demons, dark secrets and legacies, a movie with a schizophrenic and psychologically effective pace that advances at full speed under the surface as a bone-crushing beast, willing to damage our dreams, and it has made it. Viscerally unpredictable, visually terrifying and well developed, Ari Aster is this year's Robert Eggers owing to one of the most beautifully unsettling films of the year and the decade.

The new progeny of Ocean's teamed up with Gary Ross loses the jackpot by prioritizing scenic glamour and abusive fidelity. This criminal would-be new series was one of the first in the uncontrollable avalanche of reboots/spin-offs/remakes coming from old-school classics and modern jewels strategically refocused on a female cast. A couple of years ago, when this news reached the ears of the cagey fanatics, a maelstrom of opinions began a still-latent debate about the pros and cons of making films on one-time used bases, creative recycling. This controversy got worse just when the name of the director in control came out: Gary Ross. The "The Hunger Games" filmmaker doesn't have the same experience or vigor behind the cameras as Soderbergh - just compare and contrast the quantity and quality of their films, - and that's clear in his newest movie realizing how much he based on the original trilogy to bring forward his vision and not lose control in the path of this simple, transient story. His ability as a narrator is enough to keep the idea on track, but the originals' dynamic pace and narrative precision are missed. That's why Ross, who is credited as screenwriter alongside Olivia Milch, doesn't give interesting additions to enrich this thieving universe suitably, however, there's a slight improvement with respect to the sequels thanks to its effortless, fine development, getting a pretty cool and manageable trip. The film aims to exalt the clan of women through customary feats and challenges, but does the opposite because handles elements that undeniably pigeonhole most of these ladies in the tiresome gender bromide as the terrible flicks it avoided to become: the MET Gala, designer dresses not as extravagant as expected, a multi-million dollar diamond necklace as the bull's eye and stereotypes of every culture spilled over the supporting characters. Although said setting works, it distorts one of the strongest justifications for this cinematic update. One of the biggest issues is that these intrepid thieves have practically the way free, there are no defined antagonists, actually, there is not one, neither James Corden's role manages to stay in that place and makes difficult to build true suspense and anxiety before an event that can change the course of the game, even when things get rough, the most dangerous enemies are two irrelevant FBI agents. It's a mildly amusing experience, to tell the truth, the story would lack comical spark if it were not for a couple of supporting characters and a few especial diverting situations. We're in front of a film that focuses its strengths fully on the plotting and execution of the robbery, although it doesn't get it too well. The cinematography of Eigil Bryld gives the illusion repeatedly of being a kind of extended advertisement for the most famous museums, shops, and cities, since there is enough material focusing on brands, paintings, sculptures, and buildings, neglecting the mise-en-scène of the core story by trying to give a supposedly clever context. There are plenty of glamour and style in the performance of the film, especially in certain costumes designed for the recreation of the MET-special attention to a museum room showcasing the royalty's relics and jewelry over a moat, a particularly beautiful setting, - however, taking into account the endless visual opportunities that could be expressed on the most important gala-event in America with a different theme, it never makes an accurate use of this great potential because no designs are exhibited with the expected dimensions. Daniel Pemberton's soundtrack plays by the rules as for the original melodies and despite he uses a few ones in his score, he applies small variations that fit well, while his own compositions extol the scenes thanks to the idiosyncratic rhythm, harmony and pace of the most traditional heist movies, no doubt, Pemberton did a great job for this half-baked flick. "Ocean's 8" by Gary Ross is an entertaining, hard-to-avoid Hollywood heist film starring an all-star all-female cast that might have worked better as a standalone movie, nevertheless, this is a spin-off of the hit Steven Soderbergh trilogy that dilates the abusive use of some features that were attractive and groundbreaking at that time but today simply don't convince absolutely. The performances are a pleasure, even with the well-worn material to adapt, the script is laconic in its purposes and lightweight in the execution of itself, the direction by Ross gets to set up a moderately-glamorous summer film that satisfies the undemanding viewers running away from the sunniest days of the summer. If Warner Bros. has in mind to build a new franchise on these capable Ocean's, it must shake the scheme up and implement new and different moves to create its own criminal world, not one living under the shadow of Clooney's Danny Ocean.

This Western, noir and heist sci-fi motion picture directed by three hardly harmonizable filmmakers seems to have what is necessary, but not enough. Undoubtedly, the first, second and part of the third act were formally flat, uninteresting, lacking the charm and dynamic wit that one would expect in a great idea like this, nevertheless, the last fifteen minutes are the wonder, is why you paid your ticket, they are, personally, what the whole movie must have been. The thrilling final minutes where all the characters are pretending, the necessary surprise factor, that deceitful and malicious air, powerful pictures, engaging performances, an overwhelming soundtrack and a true Han Solo made up a full-of-personality ending. Alden Ehrenreich is not the Han Solo we expected. It's true that the actor doesn't have much from where he can hold on tightly to "create" his character, actually, instead of getting under his skin, he seems to perform a well-intentioned but failed tribute to the attractant blackmailer played by Ford, a nice representation on a mold of the character, even though it exceeds him in size. On the other side of the coin, Glover nails it as cheat gambler Lando Calrissian, the personality and feeling that the rapper, actor, screenwriter and a long etcetera gives another of the most emblematic men of the saga are fascinating; unlike Ehrenreich, his interpretation isn't a tribute or a personal adaptation, he's the same character, we see him in his actions, the confidence of his eyes and his glamorous attitude, it's not for nothing that they're cooking up the idea of the first Star Wars film starring a black person, a truly unexpected move. Suotamo's Chewbacca doesn't get a meritorious development since, although he establishes the emergence of his unwavering friendship with Han and shows more Wookiees, his guttural actions don't end up being a source of humor or nostalgia, he's a relegated Chewie; yes, back then, he has had to endure hard slavery for a long time - considering him as a beast - but he never gets the tools to shine as others. Exclusive are those who have the power and experience to judge the cinematography of a seasoned, Oscar-nominated Bradford Young. It's true that there aren't many vivid colors in the frames and sometimes it can be cumbersome to try to understand what's happening on screen because of the palette of opaque, ochre and gray tones, but Young angles to explore new fields with new techniques in order to give a defined personality to a story that gets stuck or, rather, entangled; they say the problems with their work are attributed to a poor calibration of the projectors in the theaters, unable to show in full splendor the high-intensity, low-brightness visuals required by the film. Just like the script, the action sequences and in general the development scenes of the first, second and a large part of the third act, the pictures aren't as aggressively magnetic and engaging as those of "The Last Jedi" or "Rogue One," however, it throws one memorable pic after another along the last fifteen minutes, specifically purposeful angles, dark but perfectly contrasted frames and camera movements able to revive hope. Again, that shows what we expected from this film. Anyway, it's worthwhile to delight our senses and try to find the purpose of the "Arrival" cinematographer with his most commercial release. From my point of view, thank you for a shot etched in my memory by its hurtful beauty, starring Clarke, looking through a fence of pain and illuminated in the eyes by a love that shines from afar. Such happens to the score composed and adapted by John Powell, who leaves much to be desired trying to reach the sound potential of the situations, only showing in those last moments raucously sensory compositions. This is the very first time the twice Oscar-winner editor Pietro Scalia works for Star Wars and although he understands well enough how to play and control the spectator's emotions with films as "Alien: Covenant" or "The Martian" both by Ridley Scott, the final footage, the troubled final footage lacks vividness, spark and emotion even in the seemingly more entertaining sequences. "Solo: A Star Wars Story" directed by Ron Howard - and we all know that Phil Lord and Christopher Miller as well - is the most labile, uneven and controversial entry within the cinematic Star Wars canon all in all. It's short of narrative stunning and direction, an interpretation worthy of the title role, visual and sonorous magnificence, a suitable and personalized tone; this movie needs all this to offer more than a mere heist story to Solo. The dreams and desires of Warsies are condensed in about fifteen minutes, which although they don't manage to be a lift in the face of more than two hours of this irregular space Western, get the hope alive as for the huge potential of the controversial spin-offs of the science fiction franchise by which current science is known.

"Blockers" is cathartically hilarious and singular; an unmissable parental odyssey through the world of the new century Screenwriters Brian Kehoe and Jim Kehoe sign one of the most lucidly witty and superbly developed comedy scripts coming from a major studio so far this year. It's not a lie that the core theme, but not the be-all-end-all, is potentially suggestive, in every sense of the word, however, the true surprise is the approach used to narrate this barrel of laughs. One of the greatest strengths that makes it win the viewer empathy is that this R-rated comedy is easily identifiable, either in the role of parent or son, such identifiability facilitates the connection between side and side to unfold the story with full confidence and fluency; whatever's about to happen, the audience is already in a state of affable predisposition. In that great basis, it gets another important support: its ability to exceed the low expectations that many put in this kind of audiovisual products. I'm not going to lie, I was genuinely shocked to hear about the reception of this flick at the latest SXSW Film Festival, an act that, therefore, multiplied my interest in seeing what this anomalous teen comedy was made of. And the annihilation of those expectations lies in a well-aimed script, again, not by its resolute pathos, but by the tools with which it's worth to relate a story about sex, one which goes beyond its own limits to focus on the fibers of motherhood and modern paternity, acceptance, maturity, understanding, overprotection, sexuality, tolerance, forgiveness and friendship. Sex is the undeniable, disguised McGuffin that helps to develop the plot and all the situations composing this amusing idea. They use inevitably present-age matters as incentives, and that is precisely what makes it so special and endearing, that you, your friend or neighbor can star this adventure: there are divorced parents, single mothers, homosexual characters, sex games, young "chefs" and repressed girls; there's diversity and the plot richness is there. John Cena had already left small hints about his acting aptitude with short roles, however, it's possible to observe closely the comical beast this man of enviable proportions keeps secret with one of his few leading roles. Alongside him, an empowered charming Leslie Mann returns better than ever, an actress who didn't make a good decision selecting a role like her golden years in "The Other Woman" or "Little Birds" in a long, long time. It's good to see her again starring a high-quality flick, managing a delicious balance between naturalness and exaggeration by means of Lisa, an excellently plotted character that, by surprise, isn't portrayed as the typical spinster mother who dies in a bathtub with her thousands of cats eating her hair — even if she literally says so. — Mann easily fits in the trio of "****" parents, endowing a special charm both the group and her character through a display of sincerity and strength; a great satisfaction to know one of the queens has returned reloaded. To date, Ike Barinholtz has been present in several major-studio comedies recently. Thanks to his long journey alternating in the series "The Mindy Project" and that movie catalog, the actor has found his own mark and has known how to use it in the right way. This time he plays Hunter, a divorced father who everyone knows for cheating on his wife with a nanny and for being a lousy paternal figure. At first, his character becomes a sort of retainer to the story, but some minutes later, transmutes into a delightful catalyst to the fierce spark to emerge and work without obstruction. As for the young cast, an impetuous Kathryn Newton, a surprising Geraldine Viswanathan and a depressingly interesting Gideon Adlon lead and manipulate this #sexpact2018, the three women permeate her character with energy and veracity, they're properly related to reality. Steadily facetious, with a light and clever narrative and charismatic and striking performances; "Blockers" by Kay Cannon disperses its weaknesses thanks to a limited, magnificent cast and a wisecracking script, using them to make an undeniably contemporary film, not necessarily by the presence of smartphones, social media, and emojis, but by the organic and trustworthy treatment applied on the story, displaying congruent and coherent attitudes to a 21st century in which, surprisingly, morality and amorality remain standing in front of feelings. Few aspects can be refuted about Universal Pictures' comedy that constantly activates the corner of your mouth and your most perverse sense of humor; an offering that stands out among the rest by its honesty and correct adaptation on the millennial generation through an open-minded prism. A breakthrough for the politically incorrect major-studio comedy, an example from which they must learn, understand and respect, not emulate and spoil.

This canine-themed stop-motion beast wags its tail because of Anderson's filmmaking loftiness. Wes Anderson is not a cult artist, he's a prolific maestro. His films always enjoy an added cachet that positions them far above many only-entertainment flicks, and his latest classical animated jewel meets perfectly what one would expect from an indie author who has erected his sublime filmography frame by frame. It's neither a blatant cultural appropriation of East Asian culture nor a scurrilous Japanese stereotyped assortment drawn by an injurious foreigner, it's a beautifully hand-made and delicate love story, a widely different, a fertile pic in visible and veiled exclamations on freedom, press, politics, principles, fear, transformation, friendship and human and dog's life which feeds off from a top-of-the-range vocal cast and a visual and technical section as eccentric and neat as every of the narrative ambitions of a filmmaker who not only sets up a baroque addition to his exquisite filmography and artistic growth but imbues this high-concept film, with some complacency, of a razor-sharp, sophisticated allegory that is clearly geared to the grown-up minds, those who resist to consider art as a channel of trivial thoughts, not as a mechanism of inescapable contact and advancement. There's no doubt that for Anderson's style newcomers the first thing they will highlight is tangibility of the pictures. When the screening was over, the up-front reference that arose in my mind was the most recent piece of art of Laika Entertainment, "Kubo and the Two Strings," not precisely by the concordance with the cultural basis or some moral similarities, but by the beautifully crafted creations, by being an invaluable gift for cinema, by the unspeakable visual prowess that hundreds of artists have built for us. The symmetrical compositions of the ever-perfectionist director who refuses to subdue his works under the phenomena of the digital age are straightforwardly glittering; a sharper aim to circumvent known superficialities and immerse it into the complicated, visually speaking, Japanese pulp places this film on a higher level in artistic terms, even unfolding the majority of the action on an adjacent island. More broadly, what decorates with personality the feast of strangely gorgeous frames is incredible and awardable cinematographer Tristan Oliver, rich in nuances and recesses endowing the pictures with irrepressible force which grows uncontrollably as the film runs, every frame is an authentic, finely crafted and shaped sculpture passing through the hands of hundreds of exquisite animators who with their talent, literally and figuratively, capture the obsessions of an animation maestro; a spellbinding experience. Anderson isn't only known for his peculiar and unpractical but extremely gratifying filming method, the textual motives that mobilize such handmade constructions intervene in the success of the narrations. The script is written undeniable by the American director because the characteristics of a concise writer arise, sensitive in a given moment, but coolly manipulative when the film itself requires it. With regard to the dicey, well-intentioned plot, it's conceived by eight hands with own name and recognition: Kunichi Nomura, in his first work as a writer; Jason Schwartzman, in his third experience as a film screenwriter; Roman Coppola, in one of the greatest successes of his career; and Wes Anderson, a man who doesn't need a description, just run and get covered with his artistic visions. The perspective he gives the story is simply unique, social and pleasantly revitalizing not only due to the fussy field of animation but the drama genre lines it uses with an unusual confidence in levels of conviction and coherence with respect to a plot that doesn't set in an explicitly human context, in the strictest sense of the word. "Isle of Dogs" by Wes Anderson mesmerizes from beginning to end, partly by its mania of playing with the high expectations always put on a director's job. Accessible and sophisticated, strategic and human, hilarious and dramatic, strangely beautiful and directed; this animated film is an undeniable love letter from the filmmaker to Oriental culture, canines and, beyond doubt, the recesses and perversities of the feelings, actions and inspirations of humankind; A feature film that produces juicy critical, controversial commentaries through generally opposed elements that are quickly woven on a story led by any manifestation of love, prioritizing narrative, technical and artistic fields with the proportionality only a maestro could handle. If you want to enjoy a good movie you will have many more options to choose from, but if you demand a top-notch film you will be welcome to watch as a stop-motion animation monster puts an actor, screenwriter, producer and director— uninterested in making movies for an Oscar — on the front page, a place he has never gotten out from.

A weakly directed stroke of genius Intentions are not enough. Those of writer-directors Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein and American stand-up comedian Amy Schumer could be potable, also very strategic, but their newest mainstream comedy "I Feel Pretty" moves through so many common places and ways of the genre by addressing its teaching purposes that it ends up revolving in circles, getting stuck and losing any minimal apex of transforming effect or connection with the audience. Schumer imbues Renee with the malice, affability and magnetism necessary to weave a solid link between the story, the character and the audience, leading to this mini-universe get a light code of congruence, that is, the characters and their actions aren't foreign or inserted thanks to, besides the ever-correct comedy queen, the "different" background of male leading role portrayed by actor Rory Scovel, as well as the supporting cast that provides almost acceptable performances, especially Michelle Williams, What are you doing there? The big problem doesn't lie in the actors, resides in a much more perverse place: the script. The starting point for the film is more than suggestive, even a little advantageous considering the heated gender panorama today in the industry, though, without an excessively deep analysis, it's concluded that this was the reason that motivated mostly STX Entertainment and the two production companies to set up, as quickly as possible, a film of such caliber with a lady of broad social influence on the front page, since her beginnings as an actress, she's been a fervent defender for women's rights, reflecting her thoughts in most of the roles she creates, where the girl must find who she's and what makes her special. The screenplay, written by the same directors who can show off an almost-laudable experience in the romantic-comedy genre, is satisfied to present the points required to run a surprisingly overlong typical rom-com, however, it's appreciable that the story does its best to not get stuck in the midst of such a genre, because of, from the opening scene, its main motive is to clarify the dilemma and, therefore, the confusing message on acceptance that bombards valuable criticism to "beauty" companies. Trying to deal with the unstoppable clichés cascade, the film throws away big opportunities, used as unexciting expositions while eventually, approximately in the endless third act, the situation worsens as it's perceptible how the screenwriters strive to give a clear, accurate and supposedly bold resolution to the leitmotif, speeches and motivational talks with too many women in the crowd are no longer enough for a real impact. There's a weak pathos and, bluntly, the essence of the film is so distorted and stretched that the powerful debate that could have provoked vanishes into the hot and fun matinee air. It becomes excessively long and narratively slow because the writers choose to wrap up any minimal poorly developed sub-plot — Yes, we speak to you Emily Ratajkowski and Michelle Williams, — a harmful and unsubstantiated decision. It'd not be an Amy Schumer film without her characteristic visual gags, which, by the way, have a hilarious scope, however, the true comicalness is in the premise itself, the thruster of the story is so inherently comical that thousands of better-exploited situations would have reacted if the "love interest" had been extracted from the formula, but even so, at the expense of the undeniable power of the offering, every moment gets a pre-established air of jocularity, unconcern, and wisecrack; the first hour is an intermittent laugh-out-loud enjoyment that beyond becoming the greatest feminine movie teaching (feat) of 2018, managing to be an enjoyable film, which bases its strengths in a glamorous comedian again. "I Feel Pretty" by Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein mislays its raison d'être halfway through and confuses its crucial purposes, but in reward, proposes a feel-good pastime mainly by the undeniable charisma of the leading lady and the absurdly hilarious core story. This is neither her new "Trainwreck" nor the feature film that will redirect the high rate of men and women who have low self-esteem because of an increasingly facile and indolent society, as it squanders the powerful messages that could have produced. Leastwise, we're not in front of a flashy cinematographic hodgepodge, this is a disoriented film that never looked itself in the mirror to know what its main strengths were, it understands how to use just a few, others are practically nonexistent.

Is black humor a racist disposition, Mr. Deadpool? It's increasingly obvious the writing of the screenplay was more complicated than you thought, as shaping the hilarious dialogues for the anti-hero demands inventiveness from more than one brain. Reese, Wernick, and Reynolds stick thousands, thousands, thousands of references, not just as the usual easter-eggs game. Pop-culture is key, the endless mentions on screen through one-liners are sickeningly amusing thanks to our strange time. No-one and nothing can get away from the vicious signs: literature (Pericles), music (dubstep), singers (Cher and Justin Bieber), actors (Jackman and, oh!, Reynolds), of course film ("Star Wars," DC, Marvel, 007's "Spectre," "John Wick" and a long etcetera), and even the movie conception itself, laughing at the writing process, the production companies, its screenwriters and director through an unforgettable meta-cinematographic language. Such was the impact that I began to hyperventilate, picking references that maybe were never deliberately introduced by the screenwriters ("Spy" by Paul Feig or "Inception" by Nolan). Hands down, the film with more explicitly-implanted-in-the-script pop-culture references I have ever seen. It'd be demoralizing to say that, after the titanic and classical work put into "Infinity War" with regard to the creation, treatment, and exposition of its villains, Marvel has taken a step back, sorry, somehow it did. Obviously, most viewers buy a ticket to see their favorite hero do and undo, but it's important to know if whoever gets such punches— curse words in this case —has managed to involve with the audience and the story, here, none of that happened of course. Villain's role changes so many times that, in the end, the course of events seems disoriented; firstly, Cable would become a pain in the neck for the antihero according to the script, however, thanks to a shrewd plot twist, Mr. Nathan gives up his seat to two more characters, a yo-yo move that doesn't favor and ends up giving the perception there is no real villain, perhaps, the only baddie is Deadpool. This installment had the chance to remedy the lack of spectacle in the mise-en-scène and the exposition of the largest and most expensive set-pieces, however, even with a highly qualified stunt coordinator, you never get something really epic matching tremendous levels of violence with some kind of visual beauty. Stuntman-turned-filmmaker David Leitch is known for what "John Wick" is recognized as a cult-film today: its fierce, brutal, meticulously choreographed combats. Although it's evident an upsurge in less-artificial fighting scenes and comically bloody sequences, none of these serves to mask a lackluster visual buffet, in the last, lacking styled compositions that leave you astounded, doing no justice to the exquisite visuals and action in "JW" and "Atomic Blonde," the two previous works of the filmmaker. Jonathan Sela's cinematography handles intelligent and frankly striking angles, but he never ventures to pass the limits over and decides to settle with a couple of laudable sequences that always shine under the shadow of the well-made fights in the first flick, I find it somewhat strange, especially taking into account who its director is, not even the final sequence which draws its strengths on the always-funny performances and the unbeatable screenplay. There are similarities in a specific sequence, one that many remember from Miller's pic for the misuse of special effects, yes, the one in which Wade Wilson is kicking asses along a freeway as an opening scene, here, it's Domino who must withstand an embarrassing set-piece, it's unheard of the poorly-achieved digital effects it must endure, it seems as if the crew had forgotten to finish it and had decided to release it that way, the scenes aren't realistic at all, it looks like a 2000's video game. Tyler Bates doesn't do a sincerely rewarding feat as his "soundtrack" for the film vomits hyperactive and energetic melodies over the frames, that don't contribute anything to the visual part to excel. The only original song which can really monopolize the spotlights soon is 'Ashes ' interpreted by the queen Celine Dion, one which is used, covertly, more than once. "Deadpool 2" by David Leitch unimpeachably dynamizes only some of the features which made the first movie so freestanding, unusually special and extravagant while neglecting aspects of cardinal importance as a good approach to the characters, a stunning visual section and a deep, conscious development and treatment to a powerful villain. But don't worry, you'll get more vicious action, trenchant jokes and one-liners, visual gags, a new volatile group of heroes, many, many references of all kinds and an experience that does not disappoint, but what's a Wade Wilson/Ryan Reynolds who gets his long-awaited sequel where the only thing that matters is the surface? By the way, did I leave the stove on?

Avengers forever! There is plenty to celebrate. Today, releasing its nineteenth movie, the multibillion-dollar American film production company Marvel Studios not only celebrates a decade of glories since the unsuspected inauguration of cinematic universes with "Iron Man" by Jon Favreau, time in which, of course, it reaps trillions of dollars for The Walt Disney Company; but also celebrates that its heroes, idealizations of human beings, have become effigies for thousands of kids and grown-ups; celebrates film and comic with passion thanks to remarkable artists who have materialized fictions in the eyes of a humankind in the depths of despair; celebrates life through real feelings packed in gorgeous bags; celebrates it's got an imperishable place in the Popular Culture of the 21st century; celebrates emotional beauty and the complexity of emotions in a **** viewer who watches; celebrates the endless praises and universal acclaim has obtained with each entry, with every mistake, with every success; celebrates the establishment of a brand that seemed dead in the history of modern cinema— yes, the post-credits scene; —celebrates, at the expense of its interconnected stories, another important establishment in mainstream movies: too many easter-eggs; celebrates the influence that its heroes have caused in the minds of many people; celebrates the start **** finale, one more phase, which actually means three phases of triumphs and falls; celebrates that they have built the unimaginable: reaping the fruits of an idea that at first all dismissed — especially production studios, — the fruits that, while represent in monetary gain, also represent a deep-rooted pride of reviving the golden age of comic-film adaptations, building multiverses with more pros than cons where fearless charisma, white humor, feelings, passion, PG-13 ratings and audiovisual high-quality were capital rules in the conception and subsequent production of live-action stories printed in paper; but above all, it celebrates something that is honestly unusual currently: to make cinema, good cinema, human, ambitious, inspiring, diverse cinema with disproportionate amounts as a budget, brilliant. Today, we must wear our most elegant clothes because a long way is coming to an end, a painful, exciting and hopeful end; it won't go away for keeps— never mind — but what we know as Marvel is fading away: marvelous talents, marvelous characters, marvelous messages, marvelous enlightened dreams, marvelous cinema. "Avengers: Infinity War" by Anthony Russo and Joe Russo won't be an expressly idyllic experience for many viewers, what is more, it seems that the mega-event set up by the spoiled brothers of Marvel has switched the game and instead of filling it with nondescript pyrotechnics and visual gags, they morph the accustomed action superhero film into a drama of unthinkable reaches, standing out by the seriousness, coherence, and severity of a script that knows how to use their strengths through characters brimming with soul, personality, and powerful messages. The film veers when it pleases, and although doesn't do it precisely in the best way sometimes, it hits the spot in almost every aspect, causing a really disarming effect, when the credits rolling down, you're still in your seat, speechless, depressed, shocked; no doubt, no superhero film had achieved it to date. Disney's subsidiary company is not jealous of the dark and pessimistic tone of DC, as it has created its own tone with much more deadly consequences than the Warner Bros company's flicks. The first shared universe in cinema history has been manufactured by artists who after long working hours have relegated time with their families to bring happiness to others through adaptations which are etching in our memories. How many kids scamper with Captain America shields in their heads or Iron Man scarlet armors? Ten years of stories as proof of a work full of sacrifices, ups, and downs, But today, after such a long time, the time has come to say thank you, thank you for having transformed present-day cinema, for better or worse. Just like J.J. Abrams' 2015 space opera "The Force Awakens," a new movie-event takes place this year, "Infinity War," the first part **** farewell, shakes our senses, its heartbreaking movements deliver a matchless adventure and its strong impact will affect the spectators for much longer, a must-watch. Watching the final scenes is hard task because your eyes are full of tears, that's a faithful sign of what kind of film it is; A motion picture as entertaining as melancholic that shows Marvel's love for his creations and that serves as a very complex turning point leading up to what will mean the closure **** superhero century.

All gods must fall down. "Rampage" is the typical American blockbuster. And not necessarily one of the good ones. Titanic beasts, pompous action sequences, openly fanciful storylines, characters pigeonholed into lifelong stereotypes and one disaster, one apocalyptic disaster that incoherently assures the conception of a new franchise. We're so bushed of this situation that we're bursting with joy when an original idea doesn't become a shameless exploitation. Although many agree that Brad Peyton's newest movie chaos has been the best of video game adaptations due to critics consensus, actually, it's fairly incorrect and unfair to ensure that, based on the film itself, it's noticed that the 1986 arcade game launched by Midway Games doesn't conform even 20% of the DNA of Peyton's film, is a story frankly distant; It's better to say that it's a source of inspiration, but drastically not an adaptation. Toying with animalistic hybrids growing disproportionately and destroying almost all the City of Chicago, especially to Hollywood, looks suggestive, looks juicy, smells like money, an authentic CGI milking, and ultimately, that's what it becomes. There is not a story that really thrills the spectator, there are no attractable or special characters leading this unfortunate journey, there are no powerful twists and credible plot decisions for the film, in fact, there is not even a good execution of the action sequences, which, to be honest, have been one of the most frighteningly insipid, synthetic and soporific in a big-budget adventure movie, putting different kind of beasts in an urban quadrangle to fight each other is no longer as fun as before, just ask "Pacific Rim: Uprising." The references and "homages" are obvious and offensive. The fight sequences between these gigantic animals bring back memories of the great classics of Japanese monster cinema, especially Kaiju and Daikaiju. Many of the set-pieces in which these creatures dispute without contention brought to my memory immediately the hyperstylized and bombastic "King Kong: Skull Island" by Jordan Vogt-Roberts, the dramatic and slow-burning "Godzilla" by Gareth Edwards and, of course, Ishiro Honda's Japanese masterpieces. The disappointing thing is that it never fulfills its purpose, a disrespectful honor, they simply use them to bestow a personality, that is already nonexistent, to a film that is as clumsy as long. There is something special to highlight Andrew Lockington's soundtrack. In different parts of the film, mostly in the first and second act, the compositions imposed on certain scenes were paradoxically appealing, I had never heard such unusual melodies in an action film, the effect I had on the scenes was minimal but moderately unusual and new. Jaron Presant's cinematography looks good, not spectacular, new-generation video-game zooms are well-used, four is the perfect number, but there are no risky or innovative ideas, a factor that should be key in this genre in which the script is terrible, the pictures must shine, Hollywood must attract people into theaters, at least, for their exaggerated production and art designs, but actually, if Warner's box office results for this movie are fabulous the only justifiable cause is The Rock, as its mediocre CGI and its futile premise end up being, rather a good focus of attention, a red alert for our money. As for Bob Ducsay' and Jim May's edition, there are not many good things can be said, as the film is tortuously long to be a pre-summer blockbuster, almost two hours of obscene visual gags coming from an albino monkey and frankly ineffective sequences that prey on the spectator's interest and end up overwhelming the experience, a cutting tactic, an endless nightmare that made me yawned fifteen times, but relax, long runtimes are only acceptable with films as "Blade Runner 2049." "Rampage" by Brad Peyton is not a lousy feature film, but is not a moderately enjoyable one either, has a fantastic cast — which is unfortunately thrown into the trash — but poorly structured, all-dimensional characters. The action sequences, the main offer of the studio for audiences, are odd-looking — not in the good sense of the word, — its edition does not give any impact to the cinematic experience it supposedly offers. The film won't harm the unstoppable career of The Rock, however, compared to the average of his films and the previous and much more exciting disaster movie with the same filmmaker ("San Andreas") is sadly inferior. A useless toy, grandiloquent and empty entertainment that will earn millions of dollars, but that will be forgotten as fast as the destruction of Chicago; excessively long, monotonous and clumsy; Warner Bros' last bet in the universe of video game adaptations slips back to the last position of the list.

We shout out loud with gratitude in the face of an archaic cinema facet revivified by post-modern suspense genre: Silence. What was the last time you watched a nearly-silent suspense film made by a major Hollywood studio? It seems that this question has no answer. The main originality builder here is its ability to evolve in a particular not-talking film, that's already a bombshell. With an over limited use of dialogues and an intrepid skill in conceiving an irrefutably captivating story with coherence and vigor, it seems impossible to make a movie without the actor's voice, for many artists is a requirement for storytelling understandability, since the characters are the link to the viewer, they make the connection, but, not all the stories take this kind of paths. Broadly speaking, this kinematic tool seems to be the engine of the idea, however, dissecting my own experience and some spectators' opinions, such a factor didn't work in top form. Christopher Tellefsen deserves personalized recognition thanks to his decision of reducing as much as possible the length, synthesizing the crucial parts and discarding what doesn't contribute, focusing the core of an entertaining genre film. Time flies by as situations are located in the right place, carefully beneficial choices. After the screening, I found four memorable scenes, dark dreams coming true thanks to a set of artistic and creative components to achieve such level of effectiveness and unbeatable naturalness: The first one takes place at the beginning, just before the main titles make their appearance as vanishing powder; the second one is an incident inside a creepy silo; The third one is a painful sacrifice demanding a few wipes and the fourth one, exhibited in the last act, is starring Emily Blunt in a bathtub and the danger lurking, certainly brutal and the best of all the movie by far. The sound section is good, but that isn't enough. Despite pictures had to execute the narrative function the dialogues could not, the accompaniment was to be exceptional, as original as the ideas of the script and terribly disturbing as it should be in a horror film. Two Oscar nominations, but Marco Beltrami's soundtrack doesn't have much to highlight because it complies with simple emotional, atmospheric compositions and loudly cheap high-sounding sounds when the creatures make their entrance, it's quite common and unimaginative in a manner of speaking. A huge dissatisfaction with such powerful references, however, the biggest disappointment was the sound editing work, which plays its role half-heartedly, it doesn't use an important feature in the way it should, a terrible flaw. While on several occasions a good frightening impact is achieved by breaking the silence with an accidental sound, all the alternatives the story had are not explored. With his third work as a director, John Krasinski burst into as an inventive and original voice for suspense genre. His film is a tension construction class, as well as a visual delight thanks to a sensible and exciting perspective on a story that isn't wasted. It's amazing to see how he understands the function of each camera movement, knows how to keep an exquisite timing between the characters and sets up vicious sequences that leave the spectator petrified. We place a value on the prioritization of the coherence and storytelling sharpness, bringing the characters in the foreground, not relegating efficient jump-scares with oppressive atmospheres leading to a breathtaking climax. Like hotcakes on the tables of the major studios, he announces himself as one of the most innovative Hollywood filmmakers and screenwriters at the expense of this spectacular debut that took everyone by surprise — let's just look at its worldwide box office, making "horror" movie history — not for his role as an actor, but for his unexpected endowments as far as cinematographic constructions are concerned. "A Quiet Place" by John Krasinski is a dystopian, heartbreaking, nerve-wracking nightmare, any reluctant spectator will end up surrendering to the supreme tension of this sci-fi thriller starring the never quiet life of this prepared family. Sometimes intense, poignant and irrecoverably tense; the humanity in its narrative mechanisms, the power of the pictures and the fireproof charm between the leads guarantee one of the best forays in the genre this year; alongside "Get Out" by Jordan Peele, it's really fascinating many comedy actors keep tremendous creative minds for different genres, ironic thing, we find horror in humor. Great achievements and broken promises, the film leaves an inexplicably bittersweet flavor, perhaps more bitter than sweet, because it disappoints to understand that most of the time, when hyper-positive buzz catapults a film tends to be a dissonant marketing squeal.

Do you play God or Devil? Beyond the story about lost, vengeance and repulsion that he sets up, what makes Lanthimos so unique and aggressive is his power to relate poetically atrocious fables, a type of narration that is far, far from the prototype used by cinema currently. He already did so with his previous film and now backs it up with "The Killing of a Sacred Deer", dangerous ideas and perspectives without anesthesia embellished with peculiar breakdowns on lies, justice, forgiveness and hard feelings; rubbing salt in the wound of many conservative moviegoers who describe this type of cinematographic approach as ostentatious, ambitious and shamefully voyeuristic. The story veers completely over a psychological, captivating and supernatural air and many movie lovers appreciate that, we really do. Suggesting subtly that everything shown on screen isn't explicitly all they want to say is a tool for the audience, who must start, on its own, a quick but much deeper study of the connections between the pictures, questioning each line getting out of the mouth of any character, every decision, every distraction, a game in which the spectator must be more clever. Along with "mother!" by Darren Aronofsky, "The Killing of a Sacred Deer" has one of the craziest, most symbolic and visceral scripts, in the bad and good sense of all the words, of the last decade, guaranteed stupefaction. The screenplay, written by the director alongside his habitual co-writer Efthymis Filippou, is overwhelming; from the opening scene, there are signs warning of an abrasive, variegated in-crescendo trip that gradually, as if it was an uncontrollable beast, increases in strength and belligerence to devour what could have been a tasteless drama. This kind of thing makes more interesting the stories in which no one knows what the hell just happened, that fictional game in which the writers immerse us whether we like or not. Don't forget the superb, staggered build of tension and discomfort, because in fact, the story is not made up of efficient twists and clever moves placed in the right moments, but the story itself is a big, insane twist. Certain elements are required for something like this goes well, fortunately, they're used on this occasion: top-notch performances, an antiseptic cinematography, a lancinating soundtrack and an infinity of technical, artistic and narrative support that become this work, only for a few ones, in one of the best of the year. Here is one of the few films in which the majority, if not all, of the performances are magnificent and strangely credible. Farrell does an outstanding job in this movie, his movie, we feel true anger, his bewilderment and dread are real through his steely gaze, and unlike many other similar-storyline characters, he's a defenseless father contemplating how his family crumbles, one by one, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Of course, the next big revelation is one of the most terrifying and ominously disturbing antagonists of this year: Barry Keoghan. The 25-year-old actor has found a very complex character, full of nuances represented by means of monologues that he verbalizes in a way as natural as disturbing, the coldness of his boiling hate is what turns his interpretation into a fabulous triumph, there are sincerity and depth in his words, is such the power of his dramatic range that with just a couple of lines and one "loathsome" plate of spaghetti petrifies an entire theater, a visceral performance. Thimios Bakatakis' barbaric visual section must live up to the brutality and strangeness of the enigmatic writing, frankly, it goes significantly beyond. The cinematographer spreads the messages out through a thin and aggressive line of symbolic pictures, from the most deeply dramatic to those blatantly violent; the camera slithers harshly along hospitals, onerous houses, coffee shops and disturbing basements, using long shots to feed the unstoppable tension through tilt and travelling moves that accompany the characters all the time, even making the viewer to hide behind a shield in every moment, it's restless and frightened of what may come as soon as a change of scene happens. Upsetting, exultantly cruel and incredibly hard to watch and forget, Yorgos Lanthimos's "The Killing of a Sacred Deer" is his film less chimeric in terms of visual setting, however, the stark and eccentric display of his ideas and the deep-rooted metaphorical meaning of them are pillars in this rabid tale of karma, morality, vengeance, and humility, smothering the spectator' tolerance limits, causing dissimilar results in each experience, in my case, a da*n obsession to know more about this unclassifiable Greek filmmaker. Quickly, the filmmaker shapes his filmography on metaphorical bases, with esoteric and complex ideas that define a caustically indelible work. No doubt, the second film, narrative and visually, more controversial, perverse and atrocious of 2017.

Shockingly exquisite and overwhelming piece of art crafted by high-fashion maestros. His newest piece of art, which aspired to six Oscars without any surprises, wickedly slips through the 1950's day-to-day characters of Daniel Day-Lewis, Vicky Krieps, and Lesley Manville: a close-minded designer, his faithful and inseparable sister-assistant and his new wife and muse. What the director and screenwriter — two in one — communicates through the aesthetics of his storytelling comprises more than a mind can get caught in one fell swoop, as it displays a dazzling commentary about loving relationships and how they can destroy each other or construct each other. As expected, the only thing our characters will swim against the tide, creating an inhabitable environment where subjugation, confrontations, and madness build a fatality barrier. The story never gets caught in muddy matters as giving a vengeful and righteous attitude to the unsubmissive lady, giving her a voice to express what goes through her mind, to express how the relationship is getting her to fly off the handle and in the end, inexplicably, how it manages to transform her. It's time to say goodbye, Daniel Day-Lewis has bestowed one of the most forceful, intoxicating and electrifying interpretations of his career for his fervent followers, the definitive show of one of the real egregious artists of the last century. Well-spoken **** is who concludes his filmography, the designer by which the British actor had to undergo a hard preparation process in order to portray with honesty and truthfulness the unspoken pain and personal demand of a man who can only fall in love with his threads. It was a huge surprise to hear about the nomination the Academy gave Lesley Manville thanks to her role as the nosy and demurely envious Cyril, a character that, although is important for the development of the central conflict and shows the unspeakable talent of the actress, never gets to stay the necessary time on screen to justify tremendous recognition. Perhaps, the truly inexplicable thing is that, even if she performs a restrained and applaudable work, the real laurels and props should go to Vicky Krieps, because it's such the scope of her interpretation that the scenes in which both ladies share screen are pure fire. Turning to the matter in hand, Krieps is the absolute femme-fatale of the film. Her powerhouse performance is rebellious and caustic, emotional and fun when she should, never melodramatic; each line of the screenplay comes out delicately from her mouth, using as means a character who doesn't want to lose freedom at the expense of an unsolicited recognition and toxic love. And of course, the visual section leaves anyone speechless. A close-up, the camera slowly moves away from Alma's face, who, tranquil, narrates how unconditional and true was her love for the designer. Having as a background an incandescent bonfire coloring her skin of a crackling orange lost in blackness, it's how opens one of the most aesthetic and brilliantly crafted movies I have seen on the big screen. Obviously, it's primarily Mark Tildesley's production design that jumps out at you, which facilitates the staging of a discredited cinematographer who, without expecting, turns out to be the one who directs and writes, a man who truly put, soul, mind and heart to a memorable work. The colors of the landscapes, the textures of the dresses, the coincidence of the elements and the setting allow the construction of scenes that now are in my mind, without intention of leaving. Among the endless delicacy of vintage beauties, There are specifically two with which I'll remember the film: the first défilé de mode in which Alma models a gorgeous dress, a phenomenal and impossible to improve moment; and **** looking for his wife at the New Year's Party, the fall of the multicolored balloons is a feat and an artistic gift full of love for cinema. Shockingly beautiful, interestingly touching and caustically moralizing, "Phantom Thread" by Paul Thomas Anderson is an intense trip through the damaging relationship of two human beings consumed by hate and love, a story which you will only be willing to enjoy if you know the characteristics and constraints of the works from this warhorse. Laying on the table again the importance of women at any time, age and context, the film acts as a treatment to current global issues such as love martyrdoms, marital conflicts, abuse and human reaches. With an invaluable interpretation of Vicky Krieps and an emotional and sublime farewell to acting ****, the film benefits from the onerous and elegant high-class visuals and a passive-aggressive narrative to deliver an absorbing story, with dimensions of perfectionism as exquisite as those of the protagonist, with whom, from a personal point of view, the director/writer raises a representation of his own story; his films are the refined, detailed and tantalizing dresses.

Beyond the waters of the first love. There are awful, bad, regular, admissible, good and excellent adapted screenplays. This belongs to that last lucky category. Adapting Aciman's words is not easy, I would say that it would be an unfilmable material, and not precisely in visual terms, it's actually the narrative and emotional weight that requires a reliable adaptation. "Eight White Nights" American writer has shown a particular delicacy describing the situations on paper, uses language and technique in a compact and naturally functional way, his narrations seem to breathe life in images, in real images. That's why James Ivory's screenplay deserves gold recognition, because, with the duty to be up to the vision of the author, the level of demand was considerably further, however, there was no risk whatsoever here. Based on a customary but effective mold, the plot has a traditional structure until the third act, because the resolution seems to get us back, emerging more problems, knowing such difficulties are mere vehicles used by the author to represent an irrefutable truth: real life isn't a fairy tale and will never be; at least, it was for half an hour. Separate mention must be made of certain scenes that border on the memorable. The pictures get a solid position in the story, thus, the conception and the approach of those moments play a vital role in different but powerful ways. From vitality-radiating lines to power-expelling dialogues, each moment builds one more pillar in the plot, no matter how insignificant may seem — there's a lot for the ordinary spectator surely, — they keep an intrinsic meaning correlated with the characters. The performances are, beforehand, a foretold delight. Timothée Chalamet is off the charts as Eliot, the sincerity and fidelity that this young actor— who participates in two of the films nominated in the Academy Awards this year —imbues into the extracted-from-the-book character are overwhelming, establishing himself as the promising young of the moment, since with that final scene he ratifies a commendable tour de force. There is no doubt that the film wouldn't be the same without his simplicity and natural charisma, what is more, it'd be nothing because Chalamet is the whole film, his interpretation steals all the attention, even the praises that were directed towards enormous — figurative and literally — Armie Hammer. It seems that the actor has taken on a big challenge with Oliver, one that means transmute himself internally with sensitivity and moral complexity. It's worth mentioning the fascinating work of the protagonist's parents, Amira Casar and Michael Stuhlbarg, especially the father's due to his tearful monologue, brimming with understanding and power, he expresses and encloses unusual skills. Another fundamental cornerstone, truly fundamental is called Luca Guadagnino. We know that the Sicilian filmmaker is prone to tales of love, words like 'frivolous' or 'plastic' will never be used as adjectives to describe his stories. The filmmaker's sensibility and inscrutability make the film an irreplaceable, pessimistic and wonderful, deep and amusing, reflective and peculiar time; the best film of the director and genre in recent years, no doubt about it. Visually, it's not an easy film, far less exhaustive, the true beauty is in the lack of artificiality, everything is emphatically vivacious, coherent with the beauty of the writing, proposing angles and constant soft focuses to set in the focal spot it needs, a skillfully functional strategy; likewise, it represents that intimate and relaxed aura of the book, altering minimally the contents from this one. Personally, "Call Me by Your Name" could be the "Brokeback Mountain" for a new generation and not for its realistic approach to the portrait of virility or the importance of any person's feelings, but by the vastness of messages (truths) that a simply deep story can say, a change, that's what it wants. "Call Me by Your Name" by Luca Guadagnino invigorates again homosexual-love stories in cinema by means of a staggering coming-of-age, led by a terrifying interpretation of Timothée Chalamet and a shrewd and very personal eye of a director who fortifies his filmography, while it's one of the most faithful and emotionally charged film adaptations of the last century, proving that even if you have a pre-established foundation, originality, passion and creativity in the artistic field are vital for a motion picture which reaches a whole new level of emotional power, here, an example. Getting rid of taboos, this film is one of the most human, magnetic and heartfelt movies about teenagers and love I have seen in my short life, one that leaves opportunities for more bold and talented writers, actors, directors or any kind of artists to raise their hands and say: Here I am and this is my story.

It wasn't her fault. Uncovering the most controversial scandals in sports history has become cannon fodder for some writers this season. Late last year, Netflix's eye-opening documentary, "Icarus," faced up to the dishonest doping method created for hundreds of cyclists and athletes consciously by way of a narrative enough expressive and refined to take home one coveted Academy Award. In other circumstances, the seventh art chose to portray one of the most talked and paralyzing "incidents" in the history of female figure skating, Tonya Maxene Harding's. It's not necessary to say that, in the first period, who seizes the story is Allison Janney, an Oscar-winning actress who plays the figure-skating prodigy's chain-smoking, domineering soulless mother. At an acting level, Janney is superb as LaVona, a character who demanded a complicated search for humanity amongst so much revulsion and coldness. Surprisingly, she gets it by using her overwhelming talent that knows the exact point between containment and emotional overflow. In the second stage, two big screen giants take the lead, the actors who must handle the rest of the story. On the one hand, there is an unexpectedly fiery Sebastian Stan, whose performance reveals an overwhelming dramatic range, necessary and extremely functional to the story because of his character, Jeff is a great gamble in the mind of any actor because, as well as requiring a serious dedication and a keen eye to take the right positions in the right circumstances, it comes with a deep analysis on unwavering machismo in that time, however, also involves peculiarity portraying certain relationships in which women don't decide to cut a toxic relationship off. Stan left me speechless with the first blow, I didn't think at all that his role would take a turn as exciting as disturbing. And the big star of the show comes into play: Margot Robbie. The actress plays the title figure skater, Tonya, who must stand earnest personal falls throughout her life to understand that most of those unfortunate events coming her way almost daily have been consequences of the past, that "it's never my fault" card, repeated constantly by her, proves the irreverently empowered spirit of the woman, one which won't embrace man's injustice. The character is very caustic but deeply disturbing from the perspective in which the story exhibits it. The third stage can be named as the grand finale, the one that thousands of people in the 94's knew, yes, that "incident". A clear genre switch is perceived in this part, as it replaces the kind of black humor comedy with drama, and then jump to a singular thriller against the clock about the search for the culprit, a risky bet that could hurt the excellent dramatic construction that was being set up to that point. Besides, the whodunit sub-plot doesn't upstage the storyline, instead, it's articulated when it should and when it doesn't, allows the main story to follow its course to re-incorporate in the end, because we're there to see Tonya's full heap of trouble and that aspect has an important role. Artistically and technically, Gillespie's film excels, first of all, by the precise handling of incomparable framing and angles, putting in the second place its cinematography and the staging of other moments. Film inventiveness concerning the photographic stuff underlines what the script doesn't achieve by means of a simple but vivacious visual power, never falling into plasticity and always treating the vision of the director with respect. An unexpected and rebellious fourth wall breaking is highlighted, an unaccustomed technique in a drama and even more in a film of this nature, smashing the traditional rules imposed for biographical adaptations, it endows the film with an interesting satirical air that together with mockumentary style with which present the dramatized interviews, present an enviable balance between black humor and sentimental drama. "I, Tonya" by Australian Craig Gillespie manufactures an aggressive portrayal about broken dreams, ambitions and success, vices, repercussions and defeats, working as, in addition to a voyeuristic and enlightening vehicle for the events that stirred the sporting world, an opportunity for gifted actors to push to the limit their interpretative skills. Stan, Robbie, and Janney keep firm the story from beginning to end with their impressive talent, fortifying Gillespie's intriguing vision and strange career, a filmmaker who with more indie stories could make a space among the giants. Incendiary, intense and praiseworthy acted, this film definitely puts a spotlight on actress-turned-producer Margot Robbie while showing a sweeping and realistic cinematic look at an event of unimaginable media outreach.

A hilarious and surprisingly clever comedy in which the spectator has an assured victory. It opens with a thematic alteration on the production and distribution companies' habitual logos, a technique that shows irrefutable personality and conviction with the unfolding idea. I keep firm the belief that when a studio uses this sort of visual harmonization denotes full confidence with its audiovisual production because just like Marvel Studios and Universal Pictures, the captivating and playful entries of the classic logos of New Line Cinema, Warner Bros., Davis Entertainment and Aggregate Films are fantastic. A kind of warning 'bout what's to come. A stylish initial move. As far as the story is concerned, several peculiarities can be highlighted. You're right, it's a banal and fanciful storyline, but it doesn't matter too much when the narrative approach works as it does here, indeed, the risky turns, that the script takes, end up being more laudable because it's a plot that could easily fall ridiculousness, tediousness and predictability broadens its radar with a diabolically twisted game night where physical and emotional comedy complement each other in an exciting way, getting a really strong connection between audience and characters. No one can refute that the story of Mark Perez is sensationally effective in his narrative wit, very few jokes feel false, or out of place, every push-line is sidesplitting and placed at the right time. His screenplay handles an unusual humor range given that it sets up fiercely funny circumstances on such trivial matters as the seminal glands of a stressed man or a woman who cheated on her husband with a supposed Denzel Washington clone or as inherently comical as a bullet extraction or and bloody incident in a room sacredly pristine. "Game Night" works and takes hold on this sort of moments, spilling and developing a series of unreal twists that become delightful as the story goes on. Turning the table-game formula into something so bombastic, enjoyable and disturbing is an example to follow for the upcoming comedies from major studios. God!, such a great time I had with this insubstantial anomaly. What does success — in every sense of the word — depend on a feature film? It'd be thorny to analyze what justifies such a phenomenon, however, one thing is clear: ideal casting choices play a vital role, and here, yes they did. Although many aren't happy with this, Jason Bateman has done so well with comedy, since whenever this man signs one up, miraculously, the result is not a critical garbage. As already happened last year with "Office Christmas Party" and now "Game Night", a film in which he plays a more likable, wisecracking and sincere character. Bateman teams up with "SNL" comedian Rachel McAdams, another American comedy giant. They both have an impressive feeling that was difficult to predict, their scenes as a duo are among the best in the film, a competitive couple that truly amuses the spectator through their nonsense and funny actions. Likewise, the other couples performed by Sharon Horgan, Billy Magnussen, Lamorne Morris and Kylie Bunbury polish with charisma the characters, getting the audience to consider them key pieces in this whodunit, each of them uses an independent humorous category in order to fit their sub-plots together in an appropriate way in the diversity of the narrative, even so they take a little part in the main story. A fundamental component of a satisfactory cinematographic experience that usually takes second place in comedy movies is the soundtrack, however, on this occasion, there was something that caught my attention. It cannot avoid using of certain smash hits — in fact, few — yet Cliff Martinez's compositions combined the traditional resonances of terror, drama, and action to produce an explosive, exciting, and peculiarly special score, given that, personally, he got to show hilarity coming from the images to be consistent with the sound accompaniment going from car chases to a frantic hunt throughout an onerous mansion, an unexpected finding. Hilarious, fast-paced and unexpectedly twisted, "Game Night" by John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein is the perfect choice for a day of good studio films, a work that appeals to comical visual and narrative without warning, providing a courageous extremely amusing experience. American comedy genre begins 2018 with the right foot thanks to Warner Bros. Pictures' latest incursion. Hopefully, this pic will not only be a money magnet because it's a fresh proposal, which is expected to serve as a model to follow, not to copy, for all its competitors, which must roll the dice strongly, given that Kevin Tsujihara's production studio is winning the game.

"Black Panther": Marvel Studios' first fiction which portrays a part of our world with seriousness and sensitivity. We may well could be in front of "The Movie" of the MCU, by virtue of its coldness by man-made entertainment or fantastic narratives as a plot base, placing a homogeneous criticism on race, social chaos, feminism, power, politics, technology, honor and human demons, an unusual maneuver hitherto by the company that works perfectly in the ideal story, as T'Challa, king of Wakanda, becomes a milestone in the history of comic film adaptations, because of it's the first one that manages to blur that unresectable concentration by comedy and action in order to enter a field of more realistic, moralistic and compelling treatment, of course, without relegating an exciting, kinetic and fearless process to reach that stage. Another of its many strengths, which is present in the solid screenplay, is the important participation of women in the storyline. Just like "Wonder Woman" did, this film proudly represents what it means to be a woman of color, an impressive achievement — even if it's sad to mention: what differentiates white and black women? —for those "minorities", since each one of them receives a virtuous development, each one treasures a coherent and exciting dramatic background, daring individuals with hopeful characteristics; courageously intelligent believers, figures who honor two of the least respected groups by a society that grows in machismo and vanity: women and black people. In addition to writing rich and electrifying stories and foundations for them, the fighting scenes, which lies on the shoulders of the Dora Milaje, are superb, very close to Patty Jenkins' spectacular combats executed by the Amazons, the relation is valid thanks to the impact of these gigantic set-pieces that ends up being inspiring, getting to raise another important analogy. Visually, Coogler's feature film is a glorious feast. It can claim to have the same bravery and power in the pictures as the most recent release of the company, as it represents a radical color and style opposite with respect to Taika Waititi's colorful ode, here sobriety leads to sublimity in many of the scenes that enroll with honor in the best of the MCU; it's impossible to believe how the studio is surpassed by each new entry and this is no exception. Wakanda is as beautiful as complex thanks to the hard work of Rachel Morrison, the art & production department and anyone involved in the creative and artistic process. There are many people agree that Ludwig Göransson's score will be a strong contender for several gold awards. In addition to a lot of praises, the accompanying melodies and specific compositions that nourish fight sequences, moments of tension or a trivial talk are spectacular, his score has a great influence by African culture, drums and instruments are compactly intermingled with the vitality and extravagance of heroic melodies, a necessary choice as thanks to this important effect, the film manages to be what it is, a representative marvel. It should be noted that the soundtrack created in the name of the film by Kendrick Lamar goes very much in the style of his songs and is concordant; especially "Pray For Me" included in one of the most stylistic scenes, where The Weeknd's stunning vocals shine on their own. And finally: Ryan Coogler. It's not odd that the film opens in Oakland, California, because the filmmaker is from there, he knows the ailments of his people. The film works in many fields, it's perceptible the effort in the idea and it's perceptible that the director knew how to portray what on the paper seemed so difficult, here, he's not limited to using a fantastic language because he also mixes culture and diversity in a film that will serve as a catapult to fame and opportunities. The American director and screenwriter presents one of the most interesting visions put on the genre, because it's one with foundation and purpose: to reach the heart of minorities, giving a message of peace, union and equality, symbolized by a hopeful ending very similar to "The Last Jedi's" final scene, a little boy starts dreaming. "Black Panther" by Ryan Coogler transforms what a superhero movie must be, delivering children of color an idealized model with which they can dream now. In the long run, the film from the "Fruitvale Station" director and screenwriter works in many fields at the same time, it serves as a social commentary on the selfishness of the white people, politics, vices and discrimination while coherently produces a novel and unusual journey among Wakanda's technological and fascinating landscapes. Somehow, it's the "Get Out" of Marvel Studios, and reverses the comic-adaptation formula, placing its hero in harsh situations that can be compared to the real-life difficulties of a normal person. By far, one of the most different and original superhero flicks to date,

Are tedious replication and habitual creative absence ghosts for a resurrected horror genre? Aiming to be one of the scariest delectations in the first film semester as far as supernatural horror sub-genre is concerned, Lionsgate's movie ended up being, from a very personal perspective, the first fiasco of the year. Openly, it's shameful and disappointing to accept that two filmmakers, creative goldsmiths for their work, have wasted such colossal talents in a horrible way, with tremendous assembly it's inconceivable that a film of such punishable caliber has been released in theaters. Probably surprising for many, there is wretchedly little to say about this huge disaster, which means a terrible false move for a genre that might well be flirting, again, with the painful irreversibility. Among the noteworthy aspects, without hesitation, the successful, gloomy and faithful cinematography of 20th century. Few films afford to have such visual marvels because of the complexity that these involve, however, now Ben Nott gives an important contribution to present-day cinema. This mansion has nothing to envy the crystal building from "Thir13en Ghosts" or the dark famous house from "The Amityville Horror," and even so it's used with lazier creative skill throughout all the runtime, sometimes reach to be moderately enjoyable thanks to the constant insecurity that denotes its walls, its doors, its imposing architecture. Besides, in the middle of its soporific predictability, an uncomplicated but acceptable sequence takes place, it never manages to produce a full impact, but it sets up a successful step by step tension that, odiously, ends with a shocking editing and an insulting jump-scare. The previous factor is the biggest flaw and disappointment of the film, abusing strident and ominous music and poorly accomplished scares that are neither effective nor terrifying, stifle the idea, have no control whatsoever, for the audience, suspense and terror are supported, by 90 percent, on such cheap and unsustainable tricks that are so common in this kind of work today. Now, not to mention the huge waste of acting talent. Helen Mirren and Jason Clarke should never have accepted a role in a movie like this one. It's not possible to understand Clarke's hardships regarding— spoiler! —the death of his wife or his addiction to medicine, as for the difficulties of the erratic and tormented heiress regarding her deceased husband and daughter occurs the same thing, they're illogical and cold, since their exposure is terribly insipid, the characters don't present a well-shaped background or clever introduction to get some of the principal purposes of the first act, It should be added that the character of Finn Scicluna-O'Prey, Henry Marriott, is used shamelessly as a single-use comic relief, I mean their interventions tend to the unnecessary comedy leading to a boring and incoherent pace. Also, the performance of the kid shows no spark or connection to try to justify his function, another major error. And the worst part is coming. Despite all that, the real big mistake lies in the worst place of all: the script. The movie initially exhibits already-known prototypes: a mysterious widow resides alone in a haunted Victorian mansion; however, the interesting variable here is that, besides the fact that Helen Mirren is who interprets a terrifying lady with a lot of secrets, day after day evil spirits destroy and reconstruct the house, a twist inspired in real life events that could easily add good things to the typical haunted-house stories. It wasn't the case. The script is tempted by superficialities such as unjustified jump-scares or the development of a sub-plot coming from nowhere. Although the story seemed to explore a rich dual discovery journey between the doctor and the widow, it ended up being a family demonic plot, returning without cause to the usual gloomy horror tropes. "Winchester" by The Spierig Brothers is a misleading invention that means a false step in the triumphant streak of horror movies, as it drowns itself in a sea of jump-scares and traditions, from which we have wanted to escape for many years. Poorly-structured characters, nugatory sequences, emotionless editions and oversaturation of sound effects and goofy jump-scares compose the real first horror film hodgepodge of the year. What was predicted as a Magnum opus for the genre in the first half of 2018 just encompassed all a horror movie buff really fears: a wasted story, wasted high-scale actors, a fantastic but wasted mise-en-scène and endless and repellent successions of jump-scares. To be honest, in the end, it did turn out to be a real horror experience, but not those that make you suffer with pleasure, but those which you want to lock in a mansion with thousands of passageways and no-exit rooms. Although, all in all, it's doomed to the worst fate: oblivion.

One hundred and fifty shades as a lightweight and flat-footed alternative of melodramatic entertainment. It's possible to define the incongruousness, incompetence, absurdity, pedantry of this script in just one two-word line, which is paraphrased by the great actress Dakota Johnson through, sadly, the role giving her worldwide reputation. That affirmation takes place in the initial scenes of the film, where they want to celebrate a major event, and she said it with such insolence that is offensive: "Is it yours?" What? How is it possible that after a year and a half sleeping together in the same bed, an enviable salary and an almost-a-trillion-dollar grossing she doesn't know that she must stop talking nonsense, he's your husband now, you know he has tons of money, don't you?, with just one sentence, this film provoked an absolute suppression of a serious and rigid review, therefore, I simply sat down on that dark seat to capture blunders and blunders from the beginning of the action to the arrive of the closing credits, I survived miraculously. Normally, in my reviews I talk about performances in a positive way, i.e., if such a component isn't a strong point in the film I opt to omit it, however, most of the time I evaluated them since they are a fundamental part in the harmonious ensemble that made up a feature film. With surmised anticipation, "Freed" has broken the rule. I'm ready to write, with the utmost respect and humility, about Jamie Dornan, Eric Johnson and the remaining cast, except Dakota, who performed lousy characters, at least, that keeps it coherent. Likewise, the leading male character never loses that look of concern or that frown when some fatuous vicissitudes arise in the script, we never knew about which "fifty" shadows they've been spoken for more than three hours, he simply seems to be an eye-candy and something else. Dakota Johnson is the only one who impregnates a bit of love on her character, half-heartedly. All right, she's tender, naïve and unnecessarily submissive, but Johnson knows how to turn the card around and get the spectator to try to accept her motivations, an event that never happens. It's cumbersome and delicate to talk about this feature owing to its nature but it's a matter to discuss: the sexual scenes. It's not a secret that for many people the main motive inciting them (mostly young people) to attend a theatre is the curiosity to watch them surrounded by a considerable number of people, a couple having peculiar erotic relations, intimate acts portrayed on the screen smoother than the explicit and bawdy descriptions by the author in the books. Inside a tub, at Mia's, in red rooms, black rooms, cars or beds, any cliché and "coveted" place will have the shameful DNA of "Freed". Artistically, they aren't a feat of art, shots that focus on Anastasia's panting mouth or Christian's muscular back, arrhythmic sequences in which you can feel the lack of feeling between these actors, and even so Dornan claims that he made sure to make his co-star laugh in this kind of scene, I think it was in the final cut. Nor does it have much to brag about in visual terms. From Seattle cold landscapes to luxurious closed spaces, the movie is, almost entirely, locked in the city and in burdensome rooms, only a couple of scenes were filmed in a forest. Metallic colors predominate and a beautiful white is only glimpsed at the beginning, a necessary contrast of repetitive dark nuances. In a nutshell, visually, you expect on the screen, again and again, Johnson's breasts and the same black shoes that Christian wears in two different scenes. Easily the best part of all this suffering: a fantastic musical accompaniment. And we don't talk about the work done by Danny Elfman, usual composer of the franchise, we refer (again) to catchy hits from artists such as Julia Michaels or Rita Ora and Liam Payne, who take part of a score that will be the next playlist for millennials for a while, electronic danceable sounds provide a kind of uninhibited tone to the scenes, the sad thing here is that even these songs are inserted in a wrong way. Christian closing the door of his red room in the face of his audience is a cynical sign of the little importance that the demanding public meant to this franchise. "Fifty Shades Freed" by James Foley finally says goodbye to the goose that lays golden eggs, bye bye melodramatic loves and dopey plot decisions, gone are those dark times, the light has come not only for the protagonist, also for the public. The short summary created by the flick in the third act, shows the abysmal decay that the movie suffered, simply to conclude with an ending as stereotyped as the film itself. The movie franchise was a very tough nut to crack, but Universal Pictures has broken hearts this Valentine's Day, because its great love, that lover which gave it exorbitant amounts of money, is gone forever, so they say.

A canonical class on character development, performances and direction. A game-changer. I have just witnessed one of the— narratively speaking —more intense feature films ever, one that, surprisingly, doesn't require Parisian landscapes or delicate photographs to be the most effortlessly acidic film offer in a very long time, one incorporating a really powerful drama and a delicious caustic black humor, putting you as a voyeur of the pain of others, a depraved buy purgative activity. The leading role of " Fargo" wonderful actress Frances McDormand, which will surely lead her name to global media focus, she expels strength, even when her heart is broken into hundreds of pieces. This impetuosity is precisely the agent allowing an almost instantaneous connection from the first scene on the road, that imperfection, remorse and feeling, seeking vindication in such emotional ways that announces the establishment of a new Ellen Ripley, for indie-drama genre, her brave nature, supported on the grief of a mother, stirs up a sensational feeling from which the film drinks on several times to achieve an unbeatable narrative cadence. The second great discovery is underestimated-actor Sam Rockwell. Rockwell returns with a worthy-recognition role, a really big one, Dixon, an alcoholic sheriff who doesn't frequent good manners, an arrogant policeman who doesn't care to pass over the world to be victorious. Needless to say, this actor executes one of the most powerful moments of the film at the hands of his character. Last, but not least, is a not-remotely-unusual player, as most of his performances get to touch the overwhelming, the really overwhelming. Willoughby is a police chief who failed to fully resolve a murder and **** crime, moreover, he's outweighed by repercussions that cause the three billboards of the protagonist and a life-or-death decision, here a controversial debate rises up, to confront a dreaded fatal fate. A huge praise deserves some set-pieces pushing beyond the mettlesome narrative development. The film is rich in sequences that transmit by means of the pictures, and although it's almost impossible to avoid spoilers, it can be said that such strong points are distributed proportionately between the scenes where supporting and leading characters are involved in other words, between sequences that don't focus only on the bad-ass protagonist, even though, indirectly, all the moves lies on her. A mother, two local sheriffs, flames, explosions, love affairs, three billboards on deep-scarlet background and serious lettering, a surly dentist and a hired murderer are the ingredients used for the construction of a film which is based on its potent and articulated screenplay. The score is brutal. From the start, I have considered musical accompaniments as key pieces for the success of transmission of emotions, of truth; A filmmaker must get to most possible resources to make sense of the specific and general purposes of the story, so I personally think that a simple melodic structure supports fabulous acting and creative task. Carter Burwell, who curiously had also worked with Mr. McDonagh in "Seven Psychopaths", has behind him gold scores of the stature of "Carol", "Anomalisa" and "Mr. Holmes"; Now, he reappears with full hands through compositions that are rightly coupled with the most heartfelt moments of the film, His score for this story express, on many occasions, more than pictures, because from masterful and harmonic sounds he transmits grief, tribulation, intractability and madness accompanying the characters, while potentiates his chances to opt for the coveted golden man. We will have to keep a close eye on this New Yorker, as he insinuates being the next monster producing excellent soundtracks for deep films thanks to his undeniable talent. "Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri" written and directed by Martin McDonagh will make history in my review Watchlist as the first motion picture in which I didn't evaluate technical or visually artistic aspects, which clearly are executed in a beautiful, crude and stunning way, however, I haven't considered them as a fundamental part because this film is purely story and characters. I was skeptical about a true audiovisual production mustn't be made up of visual, narrative and creative art, however, this work has shown me that art can be conceived by putting some components a greater importance than others, but finally, they are all there. A blistering catharsis led by top-notch performances and a glorified direction, this film is the most human, poignant, shocking and coherent drama I have seen in a long time, a major achievement for cinematographic narrative that reveals the potential emergence of a feasible writing maestro, while it serves as a magnet to unite a hugely talented group of people who make the film what it is.

A maze which may have had many other exits. "The Death Cure" began its commercial run as one of the first offers of the year as it was the month of January that served to enjoy the last adventure into WCKD's roots for long-time fans who were still true and curious moviegoers who wished to overlook the first two films — an unhealthy decision. — Briefly, the film returns seasoned as usual with dangerous-action scenes, two of all them at the level of its predecessor, with some surprising sacrifices plot but with an incompetent and illogical resolution that leaves a rather bitter taste on the world of this franchise. It was supposed to make a big name for itself, which, sadly, did not happen that way. I can imagine screenwriters and executives, avid for more but willing less, sitting at the same table discussing the different — absolute? — closing possibilities to this treacherous trilogy. They were of course conditioned by the book written by Dashner from which they had to adhere their ideas, however, it's perceptible the dependent additive has managed to balance the degree of honesty and divergence with the inspiration source, screenwriters' narrative additions and executives' postulates, in a comparable amount, are even praiseworthy at certain times, but not fascinating and even jarring and laughable. At first glance and although the writers could not move freely at all — although in Hollywood times we see that this isn't an impediment —, betting to go back a place from they just get out seems incoherent, a simple mechanism setting up more action and ostentatious moments, only voided sporadically by tools that blind for a limited time extremely melodramatic lines or melancholic dramatic scenes. The story is commonly designed, that is to say, we follow the fight of the hero, he's defeated several times, but finally wins, the interesting and peculiar thing is that on the way loses important supporters, ergo there are two significant heart-breaking moments that take a vital role in main character's personal development that boost the purpose of destroying WCKD. It's hard to find ways to turn a standard ending into a memorable one, but not impossible, and I don't mean pessimistic conclusions, just, getting something different, something the spectator doesn't expect, sadly, this feature film chooses common solutions, falling into also habitual cinematographic oblivion. It's already a custom that over-the-top set-pieces offer good-approach choreographies, which, although are not at the level of those present in the second installment, excite and provide a dazzling experience as soon as a cohort of infected arises. These moments are acceptable and even enjoyable, however, there are a couple of sequences that go beyond. On this occasion, the first sequence shares the setting of one of the previous installments, with the daring young runners jumping, as if they were superheroes, from the top of a building. The second and personally the best-sketched-and-accomplished sequence is starring Rosa Salazar and an autobus full with innocents, and despite it doesn't get a completely true result, it made my hair stand on end for the fate of the kids in that unstable bus; an excellent moment, the only one I'd say. Aesthetically, it does not become a focus of praise either. Keeping a predominant place for darkness and a little presence of vivid colors, the film becomes a little dull, no different settings or racking focus are used, simply, the camera follows or remains static to the actions of the characters. This doesn't mean that it is lackluster and anodyne, it's just one more rescue in which the colors don't have the role they should, leaving expectant to the spectator by a much better visual splendor. Of course, special effects used to get this futuristic city are fantastic and complex, they never feel synthetic or manipulative, as in the compendium of buildings or whitish laboratories take place two key moments. Thus, the conclusion of film trilogy "Maze Runner" at the hands of Wes Ball, the same filmmaker of all the three movies, provides an independent film, endless, but dynamic, laughable but entertaining, cliché about the hopeful fate of its characters. "The Death Cure" shows a good handful of set-pieces and won't mean a tortuous or incoherent time for those who decide to buy a ticket, however, for the most loyal fans and readers will be an idea that relegates great opportunities to stick an ideal conclusion, predicted and lack of the surprise factor. Even so, as a whole, the saga, despite being below Katniss Everdeen's tetralogy but far above "Tris" Prior's unfinished tetralogy, is worthy of a Sunday afternoon to enjoy run-of-the-mill Hollywood adaptations brimmed with action, where what matters is not how getting out of the maze, but, ironically, looking for a way to get back in.

A monstrously powerful fable about love and loss where plot simplicity, narrative depth and artistic beauty are unified and glorified. Without false decorations, there is no doubt that "The Shape of Water" is an eye-catching drop-dead gorgeous masterpiece, Del Toro's last Magnum opus is a eerie and charming homage to ordinary-people-do-extraordinary-things stories and, without hyperbolizing my extreme love for this filmmaker— although that's just the truth —his film is one of the most clever, stirring and visually handsome experiences, a deeply moving and impressive modern-cinema classic, an artistically perfect, beautifully acted, directed and scripted impossible-love movie that I have seen in my whole life. For the most stringent movie-buffs, like me, the first thing coming to light when the screening is over is that the script has many plot holes, namely, neither it provides minimal explanation about how or why was the creature created, nor uses scientific technicalities or the peripheral problems of the main role, the supporting characters or the time in which it's developed; the film simply doesn't walk around and to enjoy it is necessary to understand it in the way its director wants: As a story about monsters in which love and loss, as a whole, play the greatest roles. This film allows executing extraordinary tours de force for two members of the cast. Year after year, the great Michael Shannon surprises more and more. His Richard Strickland is voracious, egomaniac, magnetic and terrifying; this performance is made by real quality, portraying a man oppressed by machismo, greed and power, possibly a reflex that reconciles in a good way with the mess of sexual and labor harassment that has begun to be strengthened in recent months, an epitome of all those monsters with ties and contacts that simply require and cancel. On the other side of the coin, the second monumental performance lies, of course, on the shoulders of Sally Hawkins, getting that a mute lady gains a powerful label, not a new icon of female overcoming or anything by style, a sign of love, faith, and freedom. Del Toro keeps doing his job excellently, selecting a top-notch artistic team. Flick after flick, story after story are strongly driven by an overwhelming visual tidiness, leaving out genre or purpose, it's a tradition that each of its motion pictures means sublimity in creative fields. His newest work could be placed on the top of the podium. "The Shape of Water" is what it's thanks to the hard work put on it, a feat that must be recognized and praised. Dark colors and lack of brightness are trademarks, each scene uses the global tonality in order to encompass throughout the film the feeling that the filmmaker wants the spectator to get. While in the opening sequence prevails a gloomy green color in the water, in the later set-pieces you can appreciate green olives, pale whites, yellowish and greenish blues that give shape to the idea. In addition, such colors are also applied to costumes, makeup, staging and visual tricks, supported by an ideal and particularly opaque illumination that denotes a quietly beautiful time. Pictures are flawless. Its cinematography embellishes key scenes and the ingenious approaches switching from one scene to another use old-school techniques that Del Toro frequents, and here get a new level of complexity and intensity, simply outstanding. Alexandre Desplat is also an important piece in the puzzle, he plays again a role of issuer of emotions by means of sound, through a work that surely will give him besides an enormous recognizing, satisfaction and pride for becoming one of the most requested Hollywood composers. Guillermo Del Toro's "The Shape of Water" is a devastating experience, not due to its subtle horror moments, its entertaining material or its mischievous comic sense, but simplicity and delicacy with which this filmmaker treats his invention, a work brimming with gold qualities that are not created by film-romantic traditionalism, the core purpose is a message about loss and happiness, because this, in many cases, means love, and that's precisely the meaning of the movie title. In its entirety, water may never be contained, water is amorphous, love is amorphous, therefore, its conceptions are entirely immeasurable. It's one of the best years for Mexico in the American industry thanks to "Coco" and "The Shape of Water", it's also time to remunerate all the contributions for cinema made by this peculiar filmmaker. While some people give him millions of dollars and little gold men, we, the dreamers and most loyal followers, give our deepest respect, admiration and gratitude, becoming, at least personally, a true role model.

Possibly the best movie sequel of a family live-action pic in a long, long time. First of all, the new installment inserts, in my opinion, a female predominance that is a little synthetic, forced and purposeful to the issues of today's women and men equality. In the opening scene, it's not papa bear who executes dangerous feats, it's Aunt Lucy, who proves to have enough guts, up to there a generous honor, however, all female sub-plots in the Brown family become erroneously comic: swimming an entire ocean or writing a men-free newspaper? Really? Fortunately, the excessive female empowerment ceases from there, and perhaps it'd have worked better if this cool load had been distributed throughout the film, the saturation of the onset didn't help at all. Moreover, the script is not exempt from showing stereotyped and traditional versions and failed comedy moments, but, they're, luckily, limited, opening the way to the eccentricities that enable it to be a family film, probably, belonging to the best of the best of the new century. As most of the supporting plots lack a solid and credible identity, writers Simon Farnaby and Paul King opt to deposit all their narrative inventiveness in the protagonist's central plot, since, in the end, it's he who must be under the spotlight, of course, an action made possible by a three-dimensional antagonist. Hugh Grant stands in for the main role in the scenes where the bear is missing, because this villain, a funny character and peculiar enough not to surpass the barrier of the absurd, makes possible the gratifying amount of comedy situations and justifies, eloquently, the progress of the story and its corresponding junctures. The acting power not only lies on the antagonist's shoulders, we also receive charming and juicy interpretations from actors such as Peter Capaldi and Sally Hawkins, creating a dynamic pace and a fluid connection with the audience. It's important to dedicate a whole paragraph to the unexpected humor of the feature film because supported by elements previously mentioned such as cast or artistic inventiveness, it manages to be one of the best shaped, most virtuous and functional comedies of recent times. It's known that within the feasible "Paddington" movie franchise, the comic factor rests mostly upon the shoulders of the dewy-eyed bear, because of this we see how, amusingly, different jobs pop up through the life of the animal. With all the different variables and combinations for comedy genre, the film chooses to put one more physical and boisterous in scenes where the nice protagonist is usually the architect, in the same way, it's evident a dynamic and sincere collective charm that always derives from the interaction between the characters and the leading role. Likewise, the screenwriters are perceptive enough to interweave every funny moment with subsequent situations, in other words, the characters or actions, they perform without intent, are generally part of a humorous range bigger than the achieved with a single scene, a better result. On this occasion, the vivid colors, an innate feature of the first film, return, however, it differs, radically, because they don't end up being cloying, Erik Wilson knows how to endow a film focused on a defined-personality animal, clearly, supported by a source of inspiration, however, this doesn't devitalize the enchantment and strength of a world that makes speeches through the visual landscapes with aplomb about hope and union. A major achievement is the artistic section of the work, it's dazzling and laborious the way in which they avoid ridicule moves even having pink-dressed prisoners, a family with extravagant garments or a metropolis with serious wrapping but colorful content; every little feature is visually coherent as a whole, a polychromatic whole. It's a huge victory for family comedies. Added to the handsome cinematography, it seems incalculable the number of special effects responsible who took an active part in the film, however, based on their work on specific scenes, it's possible to give approximations with full conviction. No wonder, Paul King's "Paddington 2" returns to the top, materializing splendid visual wills and proposing important teachings, operations that allow it to be a compelling film for general audiences; A creative and deep-felt comedy that means a real event because it vindicates the poor quality of the most recent family flicks. As a motion picture, it borders on the critical perfection and commercially has become a moderate hit, however, the true victory of King's movie is to conceive one of the best cinematic adventures about love, family and, could not miss the peculiarities of a charismatic kind-hearted bear; creatively surprising and narratively dynamic, we welcome a feature film that is truly worth paying for, without noticing its smell of marmalade.

Death has never before been so alive. Oscar-winner Lee Unkrich and Seattle Film Critics Award-winner Adrian Molina seem to be consolidated as the kings of the present-day animation because, through the "hypothetical" inequality of years working in the field, they have achieved, in a magnificent way, to synthesize the characteristics with greater sensitivity and affinity from their previous works to use them in a plausible co-direction that allows the film to be what it is. Likewise, it was an outstanding job what they did with the general draft or/and the original story that plays a vital role for the success of the idea, in which it's possible to catch respectful and fresh reference parallelisms to certain functional aspects present in prior flicks such as the independence representation from "Finding Nemo", the overcoming of a specific problem in a gracefully dynamic way from "Monsters, Inc", and, of course, the most perceptible, an emotional and severe final message coming together harsh reality from "Toy Story 3." Additional to the aforementioned two directors-screenwriters, names of the caliber of Jason Katz and Matthew Aldrich stand out in the writing for their prestige and recognition in the company, leaving, as a result, an Aldrich-Molina explosive mix that provokes the correct working of the powerhouse script. In the case of this animated feature film, death, an openly polarizing subject at present, has got a subtle, clever treatment in order to capture, in a fantastic way, the truth hiding the loss of a loved one, using accessible analogies which stir up a proactive unique masterclass in core plot idea development. About this, the whole film moves with a comfortable margin among corny drama and circumstantial comical situations that achieve, within all that unreal and hopeful context, reflect difficult and pure reality, leaning, with respect, in the ideal Mexican holiday that fits perfectly with the leitmotiv. It's clear that what makes easier the excellent final cut is the charisma and the particular essence of the story and its characters, they are pawns serving as a bridge between message and audience. Creatively, the film uses its tools in a way that exhibits the meticulous quality showed in the Pixar works. It follows the patterns of introduction and development evidenced in previous works, and although the most assiduous film buffs can feel repetitive this prototype, it's always estimable the effort to dodge the traditional through stories that transcend narrative barriers, unequivocally, through emotional scripts. While the first two acts are a complete enjoyment, the highlight is reserved for the final part because "Coco" has the luxury of having the second more emotionally disturbing and sentimentally dramatic climax in an animated film of the 21st century, only behind, no doubt, "Toy Story 3". It's overwhelming the set of emotions that an audiovisual extremely glorious moment can convey audience, one that has been fire engraved in the annals of cinema, one that will ensure the presence of hankies. The visual section is a whole other story. After a beautiful graphic simplicity coming from "Cars 3", the studio goes back roots and decides to bet on sharply-meticulous landscapes again, using as tools bright colors, colorful textures and confections that are going to leave you open-mouthed, maybe, that's why many film attendees come to the theaters with each new release, they're aware of the dimensions of tidiness and the labor demands that the company portrays through its continuous masterpieces. In the same way, the sound aspect excels in counted periods, however, in which it succeeds, it does it in an unbeatable way. Although it does not reach near-perfect scores as Lin-Manuel Miranda's melodies for "Moana" or Randy Newman's for "Toy Story", the film extracts what can most of these in the drama set-pieces, undoubtedly highlighting "Remember Me" by Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, which climatizes the most powerful emotional moment in the movie. "Coco" by Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina condenses a wide range of American cinema's strangeness and traditional elements, delivering the animated audiovisual work of the year par excellence. This enjoyable and deeply touching Magnum opus has reserved a gold place in the most prestigious movie awards, however, beyond critic acclaims or awards, its creators must feel fully fortunate that their film has gained a little piece of memory and love in the heads and hearts of millions and millions of people, perhaps, just like I did. We can breathe a sigh of relief, Disney pics keep to signify learning pillars for the growth of many people.

Universal and Blumhouse's horror franchise must remain under lock and key Despite the pic exhibits flaws here and there regarding timing, pace, narration, editing, artistic complex and performance level, each of these is strongly stirred up by two terribly nugatory triggers. The first one, without hesitation, is the disastrous writing process. Even though the storylines have been propelled by the characters created by Leigh Whannell, the first two films enjoyed Wan's endorsement and protection, evincing the insightful skills of the filmmaker to form nerve-racking situations, however, it's curious to detect that the progressive fading of the franchise begins at the moment that the Malay only credits as a co-producer, a fact that gave his buddy full freedom to write and even direct new stories over his creations, a deadly mistake. The Australian actor and screenwriter claimed to have found the ideally respectful way to re-enter the world of "Insidious", the key: a new leading role. However, his assertions are false by realizing that he has **** to exhaustion a fictitious universe that had promising possibilities, full of ways to build moments of genuine **** make matters worse, with "The Last Key", the writer becomes an imminent danger to the franchise, he has not found a success either as a director, as a writer or an actor, being one of the shameful members of the comical hypercompetitive "ghost-hunting" couple. Digging up the past of a character who, although is charismatic and one of the few strengths of story, is already dead is not an evidence of overflowing originality or feasibility of entertainment; piecing together events, by way of prequels, over the reconstruction of a character's past doesn't bode good results for a genre film and so it is, Whannell's script tries to moralize Elise by means of the mold of heroin with infinite lives and a logos that shames a promising series of stories that, one day, was in the hands of groundbreaking minds. As for the horror sequences, the main and possibly the only purpose for most audiences, the decline in effectiveness is potentiated by cementing tension explicitly in jump-scares and unstoppable crescendos confining it in the list of those films of apparent horror, not achiving scenes that make moviegoers' hair stand on end is a big problem in this kind of film, likewise, it incredibly gets even worse as there are two sequences in which it could deploy a creating tension process moderately disturbing, just to be interrupted and abruptly disrupted by the incessant insertion of contiguous scenes or a traditional horrible cheap scare, simply depressing. The screenplay is another story. If the audience goes to the laughter and not the lament to react to your film, there is something to worry about. With thousands of indie films as supporting evidence, not always the most valuable actors are those who perform interpretations for an award, however, in this film, although none of them has a great recognition around the globe, no one can get the story off the ground, mainly by the melodramatic and outrageously laughable lines of dialogue. Entrusting to a newcomer a franchise that was announcing its agony ultimatum is the other big trouble. Adam Robitel is a producer who has to his credit more functions as an editor and actor than as a filmmaker, it doesn't mean that he does not contemplate the necessary know-how to make a triumphant flick, however, the fourth installment of the franchise should have never ended up in his hands. The director is said to be the captain of the film boat, it's also said that an audiovisual work reflects the vision of such filmmaker, namely, on his or her shoulders lies the weight of the decisions that an idea must take here and there, this is why when "The Last Key" screening is over, it seems alarming the difficulty of the novice director to conceive an intense and refreshing complete pic, three missing epithets. Inserting, with short shrift, digital and manual techniques averagely, as the footage runs, one warns a kind of freak show where creepy and cartoonish creatures file, fulfilling a simply acceptable function. "Insidious: The Last Key" by Adam Robitel should throw away the last key that opens the door to the franchise. Rigid, intermittent and lack of any vestige of narrative power, the fourth installment digs up the laughable past of an emblematic character for a saga that seems lost, while simultaneously, buries the short possibilities of recovering the strengths from past times. That characteristic old-school touch that gave the images and sounds an obscure spooky nature is buried under exhibitionist visual dust. Anyone who pays a ticket for this silly idea, will have to get ready to go to the darkest side of Hollywood world, an uninspiring and vile place where men with leather briefcases and stately ties dictate sequels or conclusions of stories that, one day, could transcend a fictional barrier.

A ductile Sunday follow-up that **** the pledges raised from its wheedling envelope. Within the culture broth that has become American cinema, lies adaptation, remake, reboot and continuation; "Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle" drinks from these four disadvantaged categories. A hybrid that becomes an adaptation of the mythical reference book, a remake of the legacy and mythology of 90's story, a reboot of the time and customs in which the tale develops, a sequel when posing a contemporary plot with a fascinating twist, and even reaches to play with homage in certain fragments that venerate the motion picture from twenty-two years ago. With sufficient controversy and critic, more non-exemplary ideas are cooking up, desperately, with major studios as sponsors, while, quietly and gradually, small indie productions are dedicated to being such small minority. Jake Kasdan directs the flick that means the kick off for a possible needless saga of stories that, according to the grossing at the box office — which are predicted favorable —, will have the chance of arriving in the years to come. Basically, the mythology is preserved, a mythical board game in which every roll of the dice means a drastic change in the real world of the players, however, the variable in the declared sequel reverses the rules, it's founded on the transporting of the players inside the game — now video game cassettes — personified by the sexiest, most hilarious and requested movie stars of today. So far, everything looks interesting and potentially functional, however, this game is missing pieces. The script starts to waver hardly in the introduction of the new batch of actors, some high school boys who fit perfectly in the stereotyped juvenile roles, only, to pour them in the cloned characters of modern cinema. Although the film takes its time presenting the four young protagonists, the spectator never gets good vibes with any of them due to a lousy and clichéd sketch of characters, their attitudes fall into the abhorrent common places and end up in those same places. It's worth highlighting the high level of predictability that the script shows, it's possible to anticipate each move that story is going to execute, besides, adding a poor chemistry and charm between the quartet of the young characters. Likewise, we shouldn't expect any kind of identification with the plastic avatars in the jungle-themed game, equally pigeonholed in the roles of strength, intelligence, beauty and stupidity; nor with an antagonist who allows different disgusting insects come out from inside his ears or mouth. Yeah man, the film knows how to build up ephemeral situations in which the vis comica of each one of them pops up, nevertheless, it never touches the same emotional, comical and even sinister dimensions of the feature film directed by Joe Johnston, where we watched a newcomer Kirsten Dunst along with the acting master Robin Williams. It's indisputable that thanks to the busiest and most popular cast, led by the always hilarious Jack Black, the story remains standing and manages to stretch a dynamic and kinetic pace as much as possible, however, it does by an odious predictability and some visual landscapes that don't exploit the huge possibilities that they held in their hands, even though most of the locations are real places (Hawaii) and its special medium-level digital effects. As is customary in these types of proposals, the film is as chaotic as the situations it exhibits due to traditional symptoms, that are hidden behind all the creative process. The first and main trigger is the number of screenwriters, four writers proposing and laughing at an executive table while they prepare a cocktail of dramatic and sidesplitting moments as unequally functional as necessarily witty. As a strong point, a cunning, subtle play around the video-game-themed background, the screenwriters gave with an ingenious magical formula to overturn the storylines or the different settings of newfangled video game consoles with, of course, a narrative and parody purpose, however, many of these situations work well, even though the film is riddled with them. Jake Kasdan's "Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle" brings together three of the funniest movie stars of the moment, one "Doctor Who" Scottish actress and one former member of the American pop-rock band Jonas Brothers to deliver a free-entertainment film with the exact doses of nostalgia and new content, devoid of any drop of true originality, but brimming with one-liners and comical moments that follows the proper procedures of the typical mega-studio productions in the genre. A funny follow-up to close a year of surprising cinema of just quality, therefore, simply stays in that way, in a correct and admissible time killer, not something really substantial. One more play in the lucrative game called Hollywood. A game, just that.

Much more emotional and comical than it appears, "The Last Jedi" is an unusual follow-up in deified Star Wars canon. "The Last Jedi" is titled the latest entry in this huge galaxy. Dynamited controversy arose at the time when it was announced officially and publicly the name of this episode, causing hundreds of suspicions and therefore theories that connected and disconnected hypothesis about whether a possibility would be provided to find more than one Jedi in the tale. Did they allude Luke Skywalker as the last one? End the Jedi? Who are Rey's parents? What has the real reason Kylo Ren murdered his father? Is this movie featuring a new lightsaber color? Will Finn and Poe have a more personal relationship? Thousands and thousands of attractive questions came up on the web daily, Internet-using fans who theorized about the possible course of the second part, in which most of their questions have been solved. As an advice or a warning, there is a great surprise factor — of the many — that will replace the death of Solo in the previous installment, IE, this flick keeps shocking cardinal events for the course of the story that will leave you on the edge of your seats, with an analogue or more powerful impact that this one of Ren hurting his father's torso with a vengeful lightsaber. What is this obsession Mr. Vader has for killing characters with lightsabers? Regarding the new adds in terms of characters, three roles are those that stand out in importance and presence. The first one is the aforementioned Rose Tico, a three-dimensional maintenance worker introduced in a key point and although it presents absolutely nothing of her past, she stars one of the most poignant and deeply romantic scenes of the franchise. The second one concerns Golden-Globe-nominated Laura Dern, who, thanks to Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo, must be placed at the forefront of the Resistance. Her tenacity and courage make this woman a fundamental character for the progress of the story, while on the way delivers a sophisticated, determined and as always superb Dern. Finally and personally the most unexpected participation is Puerto Rican Benicio del Toro's performance. Surrounded by complete secrecy and theories, DJ, the character played by "Sicario" actor, is a kind of intergalactic mercenary, corrupt moral, an expert in deciphering ultra-confidential codes. Currently, one of the most potential roles for following installments. Technically, just wide-open eyes. The creative journeys the film proposes are irrefutably evocative, captivating and professionally realistic, enabling a thorough immersion in the voyage. Cinematography doesn't go far from its predecessor, however, it's important the radical change that gives Steve Yedlin for the pictures; Camera angles and movements (characteristic of the films) harmonize different technical components of the film, making a drastic improvement at the cinematographic level, the movements are more intimate and personal, there are a greater presence of close-ups, fast and dynamic movements in the battles and dolly variations or precise approaches in situations where more than two characters are on screen. John Williams, the always perfect John Williams. Master in compositions of sound masterpieces, the score manufactured for this film is, without hesitation, one of the most melodic, portentous and powerful of the entire franchise. Staying on traditional strings, the composer manages to beautify each scene with his traditional symphonies, melodies that are masterfully joined with the advance of the story. Ineffably, I had an inexplicable connection with the soundtrack of this feature film, it was something wonderful to listen again the emblematic anthem of the saga at the beginning, that made my heart stop, an act that would be repeated a couple of times later. Bravo, Maestro. Rian Johnson's "The Last Jedi" leads the spectator placidly into a legendary voyage of lies, revelations, and transformations motivated by an unexpected comical touch, an important social message, first-class performances and an unforgettable score, sadly, the script doesn't end up being perfect and although it manages to resolve many of the unknowns of the previous installment, doesn't propose others as a substitute, any of them is sufficiently suggestive to keep in suspense the devout fanatics during two years before the arrival of the last movie. With unaccustomed twists in the genre, risky but well-received decisions, Johnson makes his official letter of presentation to the galactic universe, one in view of knowing the new trilogy that is in the hands of the promising filmmaker. Without fear of being wrong, the director will get great things for "Star Wars" future, for now, has created and delivered a great Christmas gift: magnificent action sequences, moving performances and a more acute and intimate analysis of the already legendary characters: We love Rey, Finn and Poe.