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Nominating this rubbish for the Oscars is offensive not only to the main actor nominated, who embodies the worst stereotypes of the frustrated bourgeois African American, but to every african american. Here we are in the midst of a bittersweet comedy that never decides whether to be comedy or drama. Even if the rather than dramatic moments are squalidly embarrassing, as is the whole staging, which moves clumsily and superficially, up to totally ridiculous and out of place moments of metacinema. Awkward and boring are the two adjectives that best suit this filth, which trivializes racial issues by leveraging pathetic existential dramas. This is not american fiction but american rubbish at it's criminally worst.

This movie is as embarrassing as an Italian singer performing a song in English. In a word, "cringe". Let's hope that Adam Driver soon stops accepting parts of Italians, stereotyping them in a ridiculous way. And let's hope Michael Mann shows better form in the "Heat" prequel he is working on. A boring and anachronistic film, as well as linguistically surreal: why have the actors act in English as if it were recited by Italians to interpret Italian historical characters? That pompous puffball Ridley Scott had already failed in this idiocy! The dilemma still remains unresolved. A film to avoid a lot.

The greatest contemporary Italian rock band is not Manneskin but Verdena, a trio of boys from the province of Bergamo in love with Melvins and Nirvana since 1999, an anomaly that this obscene documentary certainly does not enhance, but rather debases and trivializes in a flood of clichés and superficiality, as well as terrible direction, direction of photography and writing (if there ever was any). It is not unfiltered spontaneity that is shown, but only involuntarily stereotyped provincial squalor, very good for detractors and haters. In the fifty unbearable minutes of duration the music is only a hint, more than anything debased: the art of Verdena is trivialized, the three emerge as three strangely brilliant superficial imbeciles, even if the genius is only remembered by those who are their admirers, precisely because it is absent here. Transfigured only in ignorant bizarreness. A neophyte looks at this annoyed and bored mess, amazed by his smallness. Incredible to be able to put together the worst music documentary I've ever seen on the best and most original Italian rock band I've ever had the pleasure of listening to over and over again: only in Italy could it happen that a band could give its approval to be represented in this squalid way, in a riot of unparalleled masochistic naivete. If you love Verdena, forget it. If you want to know Verdena, listen to their albums and avoid this massacre like the plague.

This "La bête" is a strange filmic object, a science fiction melodrama between Lynch, Cronemberg and the minimalism of certain French experimental cinematography a la Godard, also touching on liminal oriental aesthetics, between the kitsch of a Sion Siono and the intellectualism of a Tsukamoto or a Park Chan-wook. The result is an exhausting aesthetic requiem, which romantically travels through time to forget it and make it forget (purify it in its DNA), a bit like the Gondry of "Eternal Sunshine..." and "La Science des rêves", but always cold and inexpressive, almost, in the extreme (in)expressive nuances of Léa Seydoux's face and in the icy looks of the substitute George MacKay (the film was written for the late Gaspard Ulliel). Freely inspired by Henry James's 1903 story "The Beast in the Jungle", Bonello's film talks about love and fear as engines of revolutions and annihilation, necessary but mysterious upheavals. Bonello's first attempt at sci-fi themes claims the right to transmute cinematographic language in an attempt to give a new original form to the unspeakable: the operation is halfway successful, in my opinion, because it fascinates aesthetically but is a bit exhausting on a narrative level and form. One remains dumbfounded and tired after the two-hour-plus duration, visual snippets remain in memory a la Oneohtrix Point Never, one would almost think, crazy sensorial splinters from other eras that resonate inexplicably, perhaps evoking the most famous motto of Hildegard of Bingen "Composing unknown characters and making an unknown language resonate." A mysterious and fascinating cinematographic object, undoubtedly, but not of immediate enjoyment or assimilation, but capable of arousing reflections and reasoning after the fact: a film to be investigated, to dig into for satisfaction. For many but not for everyone.

This series is a scam, as the cycle of books from which it is based probably is, which seems like the usual dystopian remake a la Maze Runner, Hunger Games, or worse, Divergent and From. After the first four episodes in which one tends to believe in the absurdity of the plot, the setting and its protagonists, everything collapses disastrously into a boring pseudo sci-fi mystery soap opera, full of useless lengths that transform everything that just before had a charm and an aura of mystery and interest, in a badly filmed and even worse directed scam, with terrible acting (the worst is Common's pedantic inexpressiveness) and where by now the interest in finding out what this damned Silo is for becomes zero. In short, already in the fourth episode, the script starts the scam of extending the story with useless dead times and narrative dynamics increasingly tending towards flat calm, flattening the characters into stereotyped puppets (the eternally sullen Ferguson, Robbins so treacherous as to be transparent, etc.), each one going in its own (wrong) direction without any more expressive or evolutionary flicker. Arrived at the eighth (yet another bad) episode I don't think I want to continue.

A perfect film in its imperfection. The suspension of disbelief seems to be the stylistic feature of director Aneesh Chaganty, already grappling with the messy intrigue of his previous "Searching", and the corollary "Missing", with a surreal situation well passed off as real. The acting tests of Sarah Paulson (a confirmation even if by now a bit stereotyped in certain roles) and Kiera Allen (a real surprise, we hope to see her again in action) are impressive, but at the service of a plot that is superficial, despite inserting continuous intriguing but fallacious clues and rather unbelievable situations (such as the pharmacy scene) and poorly written. Although at a certain point we already understand where the story is going with (hello Stephen King, how are you?) we still follow this strange story of maternal love and filial devotion to the limit, thanks perhaps to its imperfections in script phase and to the clues hidden in full view by the two excellent performers. But, still, it could have been so much better if it had been written with more care.

An imperfect film, this Belgian, which hides good intentions but badly made. The screenplay is not accurate enough in depicting a surreal story of classist lycanthropy, and affect the fina results. The actor's direction is very poor even if the actors do their best. The attention is completely lost in the second half of the movie, when the heart of the story (rather veiled classist critique) emerges overbearingly, which, however, never gets to the point, whining everything down with superficiality and haste. A difficult film to recommend, honestly, in which you can find reasons of interest, which however are only justifications in defense of an intuition which, unfortunately, never fully expresses itself, even getting a little boring and making people smile, more than disturbing and making us think. By now, I still don't understand the original "Kommunion" title meaning...

After the first three episodes, the Mission Impossible saga fell into the cinematically incapable hands of that Tom Cruise who increasingly resembles the idea that Silvio Berlusconi had of himself as an untouchable and revered star, who transforms anything he touches into gold. , regardless of the good taste, refinement or quality of the products, which are usually all bad and forgotten. This time we reach the apex of the worst Tom Cruise-esque cinematic universe: the first part (help!) of this last chapter is nothing more than a continuous explanation of what just happened and what will happen (within a laughable interweaving) by inexpressive dolls, who occasionally try to be ironic, resulting only all flattened by a cinematography and a direction that static is an understatement, sloppy is paying them a compliment, a bit like Tom's expression Cruise in every frame. Everything is brought down to the lowest level of Cruise's performance, mono-expressive in every shot. A chilling and deadly vision, which manages to overcome John Whick's pneumatic vacuum in uselessness, thanks to the sloppiness with which it is made. After ten minutes you can't help but run away from the cinema. If you liked that infamous Jack Reacher (not coincidentally directed by Christopher McQuarrie), then this lobotomizing boredom is for you, if you don't want to throw away almost three hours of your life forget it and keep away from it!

"The Flash" is, yet, another example of how much the DC universe is agonizing at a cinematographic level, compared to the much more serious and professional Marvel Universe: as usual, Marvel intuitions are plundered, rewriting them worse, in a flood of CGI, multiverses, many unjustified Superman and a Michael Keaton, randomly fished out of the Tim Burton era. Andy Muschietti shows all his directorial paucity, already amply expressed with "Mother" or the very boring "IT". It's also really strange to see the lanky Ezra Miller (quite ridiculous in interpreting The Flash) on the screen, multiple accused in reality of violence, drug possession and criminal behavior. In short, yet another ugly and very expensive mess in the DC house, which copies left and right from Marvel (this time directly from the very bad, but better than this Flash, "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness", to be precise): hopefully the last remnant of the Snyder era for poor DC Comics.

Like the worst Blumhouse film, badly written and worse acted, a sequence of meaningless situations to recall the original just to raise cash. It's a pity that Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell are directly involved in this boring reboot which is neither funny nor scary, but rather makes you yawn and makes you want to leave the cinema after only five minutes. Unnecessarily splatter and violent, it doesn't restless and shows no surprise: a complete waste of time. It is quite clear that the enthusiastic reviews of the users present here are piloted, because it is impossible for a fan of the Evil Dead franchise to like this jumble of clichés and plagiarisms (the apotheosis of squalor is the quotation, totally out of turn, of the " Shining" by Kubrick!), this clumsy and ugly attempt to exhume something that should be put a tombstone, especially after Sam Raimi had already put it there with the ridiculously funny "Army of the Dead". To be avoided.

This fourth chapter adds almost nothing to the John Wick franchise, born somewhat by chance and became a cult narrative for action movie nerds without thickness. The patina and the screenplay are always those of a very high-budget b-movie, full of nonsense and absurdity without explanation: at a certain point one would hope for a narrative turn that goes a bit deeper to explain why the good Keanu Reeves still takes more beatings than usual without ever dying. But nothing, not even that suggestion that had made us think of a parallelism between the Matrix and John Wick is addressed. Too bad, because the idea that Wick was a sort of spin off from the sci-fi dystopia created by the Wachowski sisters could have been suggestive, but I think it was a totally random intuition of some dumb spectator like me. In short, this time the 3 hours of duration and meaningless killings weigh even more than usual, because it lacks the magic or mystery of something other than mere entertainment for decerebrated Russian oligarchs or similar, which John Wick has always been since it's first chapter, after all...

The film works and is credible until Timothée Chalamet enters the scene: from then on it loses all its charm and trudges between improbable dialogues and even more senseless and pseudo-metaphorical situations, which however lead nowhere, becoming a very messy waste of time. No jump scares, the gore is mild and rather than frighten or horrify, many scenes make you uncomfortable and embarrassed, but without an ultimate goal: I must say that a characteristic of Guadgnino's work is always that of giving life to embarrassing or awkward situations and characters. With this "Bones And All" it is confirmed a master in this gaucheness. An excellent premise ruined by a development that gets lost in inappropriate metaphors, rather banal Freudian reasoning that leads to an ending to forget... like this umpteenth bad film by Luca Guadagnino.

This is a squalid docuseries like the story it tells. First proofs are: the presence of Zurlo and Gomez, two well known very bad italian "investigative journalists", as well as the continuous repetitions of seen footage on the editing level. It seems to be a low-grade Mediaset product, only crime news and no reflection or connection on the historical content in which mother and daughter Marchi have operated. Bad photography, direction and editing. The interviews are pathetic and show how the interviewers were clearly intimidated by the two hags. So not to talk about the "scoop" of having found do Nascimiento, which practically does not say a word. Bad soundtrack, unnecessarily dramatic. It just smells rotten like the topic it deals with. The potentially "Italian Tiger King" is nothing but a superficial and boring crime news chronicle, without any real deepening. A missed opportunity to dissect one of the many by-products of the Berlusconian culture.

Michel Franco relentless analysis of the human behavior with all his contradictions reach a new epic high after the magnificent and scary rollercoaster of "Nuevo Orden". Tim Roth is a sore figure, a character that moves through life and human relationship resigned to being misunderstood as life flows in all its merciless beauty and cruelty behind him. Looking for peace and understanding like a modern and tragic Candid. A movie so dense and delicate in the richness of themes it touches that it leaves behind a trail of necessary reflections, reasoning and disturbances. A must see in which to immerge yourself without asking too many questions, during the vision, so much will emerge later. Franco is one of the best director/screenwriter around, his depth, delicacy and crudeness in dealing with universal issues place him among the great contemporary filmmakers: recover all his previous masterpieces!

This is a boring history drama. bad acted and badly directed by Duigan, who is also the writer of the book which inspires the movie. 2 hours in which everything seems to happen, but in which nothing really happen. The story of the relationship between Charlize Theron (ok, every time you see her your jaws drop...), Penelope Cruz and an inexpressive Stuart Townsend during the second world war has no deepness and no meaning, because the characters don't seem to know what they are doing. Even in the most dramatic parts you fell asleep and didn't feel anything. This may be because writers should not direct the stories of their own books (Evil Enko is another example of a very bad adaption), or they don't have the right distance from the story they want to tell.