the art of the deal

on the one hand I'm really not sure if you should meet the modern day madness with a Wes Anderson whimsical, tweed-clad, oddball comedy in the first place; then again one could argue that by now we sured the dark satire in reality and can - well then - simply move on to comically bullshitting our world with Anderson's peculiar shenanigans.

it's certainly a questionable decision to put Benicio del Toro's turbo-capitalist, cold-hearted, vigilant Übermensch…

time to close shop. it's the last waltz of Tom "come on, y'all know i'm the real oo7" Cruise and they haul out the big guns; interestingly rather narratively than in the staging of the action set pieces. Mission Impossible 8 feels like an endless exposition of an exposition of an exposition. there's about 3000 different characters in here. madame president alone has an entourage of 8 people around her, each of them delivering a couple of lines to propel…

all vibe - mostly decent Icelandic nature clips going fully asmr keta abuse; that's all nice and stuff but unfortunately it's based on an underdeveloped screenplay. the actors are left alone with nothing much than posing for ideas pretty quickly offering nothing you wouldn't be able to guess a few minutes in.

Valdimar Jóhannsson seems to only have two waves he's riding on here - the atmosphere and Sjón's ground material. while the first one works out pretty well (maybe…

the anti trump film we deserve (and might desire) - goofy as fuck, just like our times. Mickey 17 is a sci-fi satire covered as blockbuster (or the other way round). it's so overly in your face that it'll alienate a lot of audiences that expect anything close to the tone of Bong's oscar enforcer.

the Parasite follow up is by no means an arthouse flick, and therefore it's now easier to understand why it couldn't enter Cannes nor Venice…