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Best brown-bread artisanal hamburgers I’ve had in my lifetime. Period. Immaculate service. Womb-comfy ambiance that would be irresistible if only booze was around.

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Geoffrey Rushes his
Portayal of Proteus
Both amusing
And annihilating all
Significant others
(especially mothers),
But never
Pleased!
(Based-on book)

Don’t skip
Audio Commentaries!

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Cream-petaled dreams of carnality one respectfully drowns into with every nerve-ending never ceasing to embrace the luxurious pain of lust and unavoidable longing.

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Every TV commercial should be exactly this long and at least this fun not to just suck the blood out of our lifetime and cash.

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Fast zoom accompanied by a silence-piercing musical sting hits like a battering ram and leaves your heart throbbing in horrific awe.

Jump-scare masterclass.

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It turns & churns its lyrical core longingly while secreting stringed beauty made fragile again and again by dramatic orchestral chords that rage with urge.

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Not even partially dubious casting could jinx this blood-ruby of classy kitsch—carved out of morbid fascination and respect for the franchise´s original outputs.

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In spite of “his” queenly-elegant, high-fashion posings of the “gifted class”,
his innate compassion evokes sincere smiles and matures him into Gary Cooper!

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For those who have ears a most unwelcome Chinese face mask that feels like making out with a Muppet inside of a sterilized hospital casket.

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Family values suffer
In this Passion Play
Powered by music,
Coal, OIL, & palms
Greased by multiple
Pieces of silver.
Lewis triumphs in
Self-crucifixion.

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“Morbid self-attention” won’t get you to revenge the world against what’s wrongly dark and seldom slightly right. “Don‘t you want to make it, mister?”

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A revealing Madonna within a bond-esque vibe – that’s exactly enough to fill a man’s void of lustful dreams for 6 and a half minutes.

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A magical walkway in between plants and flowers, above daily street life, beside Parisian house facades and rooftops.

Lost in thought, motion and (happily) translation.

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Grinding it’s way through murkiest swamps of noisy Mathcore, this debut hearkens the sheer power-violence of early Converge, while creating their own hurtful recipe.

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Beyond the good one would expect as it beautifully boomerangs itself back to hoped-for Pulp Fiction territory only this time with a heavier cast.

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Everything is hot, but-her cold soul still stinking of bad spirits that left a long time ago because they just couldn’t take her anymore.

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A smooth, liquid chief surgeon who’s searching for himself and other clinically dead existential answers after lowering the bar as far down as to Australia.

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He came as a symptom of common cast-flu but left as a hilarious martyr and plot-hero who briefly but firmly reached for redemption.

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Simple day in the life of a magical place in time. Edgy mannerisms show how ev‘ryday worries can vanish via multiple music video stylistic shenanigans.

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What is it about this man who’s constantly welding attention to himself and the things he’s done under a sordid sense of right and wrong?

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Kinderchor eröffnet dieses teuflische Sakrament. Durchs Höllentor vollführen verzerrte Gitarren, dämonisches Getrommel, weiterer Chorgesang, Hörner thematisch jenes Ritual, welches mit The Satanist 2014 meisterhaft begann.

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Publikum: 90er-Industrialabkömmlinge, Gothicszenemenschen, Unkonventionellisten. Die Band selber hat keine „Rawness“, mehr, dafür setzte man auf sterilen Sound und hippe Beats. „Trenty“ aber nicht „(g)Rossartig“…

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A warm revolver loaded with intense imagination that makes you happy every time you pick it up. It contains Mccartney´s arguably best song: Elenor Rigby.

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Groundbreaking first person-
shot music video by the Guns ‘n Roses of techno that taunted the hell out of the Western pre-internet mainstream media.

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That empanada place was wonderful. I´ll go back and order six for takeaway. We will eat like kings for a week. Mein corazon ist Kaliente.

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Heavenly hellish.
Hilariously british.
A comedy bit for everyone, especially when you’re british and not so religious.
Narrated by your inner little Alan Rickman voice.

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The strict beauty of synchronised flight of heart & mind held together by sound in tragic camaraderie. Picking through the riffs of death & decency.

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Illegitimate children of Plato and Pandora unite on hallowed techno altar floating in chasmous powerhouse. Serotonin saturated oscillations; razor light beams pelt our naked souls.

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This film makes me believe in love. Connection that knows no age, class, or reason. Through each other’s love, both characters become their best selves.

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Intense sounds and rhythms that are like feeling the beating pulse of several types of factory machines at work with a subwoofer-ed up stethoscope.

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Merely and really the mono-thematic ghost of the former “Ghosts I-IV” (2008) album. Diluted while stringed together by ludicrous cries for emotional positivity.

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Cliches are nothing but dosed up bait in an artistic horror film of compensatory length that lightens up instead of darken while blooming us away.

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This thick monolith started immensely exciting and kidnapped me further into an emotion driven, alien luster space trip with no easy way back into reality.

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Cool-covered dark matter album that pulsates with rhyming drums while guitars bend long and calm together between clear-gutter vocals in tension-releasing punctuation.

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The nicely hooded underground of a metallurgic engine compiled by four instrumental members who are fast in repeating themselves well in aggressive shoulder-patting patterns.

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Transgressive-coersive effort that industrially scatters itself all over the place, deep-synthetizing just about anything standing its way while a versatile Sam Kinison sings.

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Only a real life pandemic-craze of biblical proportions could stop the world long and deeply enough to let South Park truly be funny again.

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Excellent low-budget music video self-presentation that further & heavily exploits its innate-tentional limitations by adding a wonderful found-footage vibe to itself.

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Might be the worst sequel “ever to happen to a man or jew”, but its raunchy, manipulative heart still points generously in the right direction.

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BEETLEJUICE is the American Monthy Python. BEETLEJUICE is an 80’s German Expressionism medallion pierced cleanly by Keaton’s sharp comedic perfection. BEETLEJUICE reads like stereo instructions.

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“What a story, Mark.“

The long overdue explanation of the black hole character of 2000‘s film industry called Tommy Wiseau and his hilariously catastrophic movie.

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Good bad-girl song-set that studiedly teases the strung-out listener with a sensually anaesthetic voice that slides gently while burning with revengeful lyrics.

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Death is on the air mainlining darkness into the mainstream through a polyphonic set of prodigious sounds and patterns that gracefully stumble out of adolescence.

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Time-honored period-film that simply and independently pulls off a believable vintage-vibe by bringing out big nuances out of very small-town things.

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“Hey, you guys: me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me. This movie is about me.”

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In high school Dennis Haysbert both acted & played football (note crutches). Here he grudgingly listens to “Camille”, notorious courtesan, who has “seduced” his son.

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Love the finger-ending and visual setup with Donald Duck and J. S. B. Somehow you’ve made the first vertical video that doesn’t look wrong.

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A rediscovered childish ecstasy of riding through beautiful landscapes with this authentic product, that lets you forget the dullness of nowadays routined microwave-city-rides.

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Suicide is not painless, and drinking yourself to death has got to be one of the worst ways to check out of this world affair.

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The epitome of the parasitical social sociopath and the dark behavioral counterpart of Seinfeld‘s (1989-1998) Kramer if let loose in the park long enough.

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Good ole’ “Lidl” and their hit-and-miss product outbursts. Like a sacred cow, one dares not to touch it when a munchies wave arrives.

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Female perspective for angry teenage output and the start of a legitimate life long rebellion hopefully used to make an album once all grown up.

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Improved chemistry between unique lead figures, coming from core, thrash and prog music.

Whether mid-tempo or full throttle, the formula works almost for itself.

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This blackened sharp class model embodies the war cry-sound of the glorifying age of heavy distorted music where rebels and freaks turned into superstars.

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Take extravagant shock rock, spiced up with cool riffs, a pinch industrial pop and wrapped with sugar-sweet, refined bombast.
Voila; a popstar gone heavy.

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This box of pa(i)ndora with its wickedly grinning amount of spiciness is the fastest (gimmicky) way to show someones endurance/ perseverance – the standard thai-procedure.

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The patient himself must triage between a somewhat morally stiff and judgemental narrative and another one directed to the self that´s sympathetic and truly helpful.

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With youth one can hide from adulthood either by extending it or revisiting…but to escape it entirely, however: one has to try much harder.

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Distressing sound corridors under a rainy post-rock ambience, passing gloomy funeral sirens into it’s wrinkling abyss of cold finality.

Visual dark rock, very unexpected.

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Eiskalte Gitarren und stürmische Drums in knochenharter Brillianz. Zwischendurch wehen abstrakt schöne Cleanpassagen eine letzte bunte Herbstbrise in diesen frühwinterlichen, schwedischen Sonnenaufgang. Extrem starkes Debütalbum!

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A post-mortem Bowie knife conniving new generations with tender tantrums for their own wonderful good. A brilliant, dry-clean barbiturate  that melts stone-glass ” :

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Benchmark trip from a fantastic audio-visual realm that does not really clarify the slowly rotating Rubik´s Cube storyline that’s space-cold and trauma-like.

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Im fernsten Osten, Land der Technik und Tradition, umspült der Wert von Ehre und Ansehen die Moral. Kontrolle ist staatlich genormter Puppenspieler der ineinandergreifenden Apparate.

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First:
Watch NO SOUND
(just subtitles).

Next:
Watch w/ voices
(& excellent musical “commentary”).

This delivers Nicholson’s
“Lear/Quixote”
As SUPREME
(Max Sennett)

TRAGI-COMEDY.

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Ein Resümee meines positiven Sinneswandels konzentriert auf Beschreibung der mentalen Wegrichtung und Bestätigung der Notwendigkeit. Astralprojektionen als individuelles Vorwort zum Buch „The War of Art“.

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Found in an Edeka Supermarket where the greens are redder than everyone else’s yellows and even a simple apple has to stand out. Marketing works.

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An indirect-listening that can beautifully rock just so long as one does not pay too much attention. A promising commercial knockoff-band that’s decent.

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Der Hitze-Zenith nach Mittsommer war für (damals) heiße kalifornische Grungeband genau die perfekte Melange zum Einheizen für gemischtaltriges Publikum.
Gelegentliche Funkensprünge wurden gut platziert.

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The ‘one that stands out’ beauty and mind who’s just there for money and fun.
With the least uncomfortable role, she fulfills her task excellently.

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The hard-working element of this cast, which despite her commitment had to act slutty, while being harassed by its romantic counterpart after the cut.

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Talent-heavy (cast-wise) downer about a man who erases his own by hiding behind an embalming hype that far outlasts its allotted 15 minutes.

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Dystopian human-world drama with a very unique but realistic setting.

Damocles’ sword, who’s right and wrong, hangs above people’s heads and on their throats.

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Lost in aquatic-translation. Out of the blue, looking for purpose.
Bubble, bubble – Discovering alternative ways to communicate.
Subtle trouble – Finding alternative version of me.

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The art of creating something successful while taking drugs is for some the needed apparatus and others a misconception. Mind your abyss, control your fantasy,

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Matrix-like science, infused into veins of an industrial kingdom, where someone’s imagination could be either the strongest weapon or the road to armageddon itself.

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Starting with a fascinating switcheroo concept, beautifully hand-drawn art & animations, this enlightening romance follows the closeness of two destinies searching for their unity.

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Three of them fucked prostitutes already. Two are on their way to their right-of-passage-overdose. The drummer studies hard to become an engineer.

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His name is Robert Paulsen and his tits are not as large as his wounded heart which bleeds loud & clear like testicular cancer does.

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Classiest porn noir of the century with a truly horny Douglas who keeps the viewer interested after manually climaxing for the first couple of times.

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A headhunt through early 2000‘s Europe, which shines in a blue-grey velocity and shows how good a minimalistic & realistic action movie can be.

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Complex hard-watch that feels like a nightmare Sake bar-brawl-beating loop with a heart-kicking pace that punches holes into every moral direction.

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Lyrical metal trip divining its way through inventive twists & shouts in the darkest of pink clouds in a self-medicated ward in the sky.

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Organic structure of a bottle episode opener that transforms itself incredibly quickly and deeply into an anthologic prodigy.
A Pilot directly on it‘s master flight.

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Tall, biblical thriller that out-of-the-box polishes and replenishes audiovisual standards up to a stern point of absurdity where nothing ends before pain.

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The introduction alone is so consistently overpowering that it could very well serve as a standalone film and a rewatch-classic for the entire genre.

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Tightly braided razor-wire-sharp mind-trip-comedy that daringly keeps coming back to itself while swinging hard with colorful come-ups and come-downs.

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Influenced by ‚Pulp Fiction‘ and early Kevin Smith  genius, this film belongs to the 90s feelgood-underground pantheon.

A fast burn with warm narcotic release.

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There is never enough time to sketch the spectrum of human life in a few strokes.
But when it succeeds, it leaves you shockingly speechless.

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This crystal-like prism feels like a gun in your hand, but with an outcome of flourishing bubbly delight.
The incense for the eco man.

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A quick study Marilyn Monroe chicken who briefly rubbed everyone´s “Hühnerherz” in the rightest of chock-full-of-charm ways with graciously grave, feathered dignity.

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Thundering riffs and hormone-injecting beats pave the way for angsty madmen, narrating intensifying anthologies of human misdeeds, while passing their point of no return.

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Mercilessly immersive life-long branding mind slicer of an instrumental heavy metal music video that beautifully stuns with the brute force of a thunder-grenade.

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Intimate acid dive into the stolen perspectives of the Dahmer-ed down victims of a seemingly parental crime that got out of God´s wrathful hand.

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With a staggeringly tipsy smile, I entered the guitar-distorted pit, only to be blown away by the whiplash of my own eclectically nostalgic ecstasy.

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If you ever want to feel like a roman cesar in an ancient bathhouse, this is the real deal.

And please mind the bathing cap!

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Locked in a claustrophobic tea kettle, witnessing the boiling point of seasoned people pushing their morals against each other.
Hackman & Washington in superb opposition.

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Recognizing the opportunistic signs that bring one closer to one’s desire for fateful belonging requires the open mindfulness of a wanderer living in the moment.

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Barking dogs don’t bite, but conceal their fragile masculinity under thick hides.

This psychological exposé intersects power’s balance with sharp angles and a descending score.

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The Pharaoh´s curse comes as a sticky security guard who’s sometimes better lit than the stolen pieces themselves guilding an architectural gem with creepy cartonnage.

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Long-winded screw-eightball of a dark & daring political comedy for the news-aware long-attention spanner du jour expansively mirroring 1976´s “Network” efforts.

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The guitar sound, yum. Better pack a 2nd pair of panties before witnessing how your body is being choked, raped and nailed against the wall.

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When good casting goes in the right direction, multiple perfection chemically compounds into an
earthquake that enables entire oceans of televised series to rise up.

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Feels like it’s been recorded inside an alien spaceship. Razorsharp guitar-swarming with icy elements and dreamy twists create a hostile sterility, dissecting ears… smoothly.

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Lovely alternative place to sleep, socialize or just be.
The puzzled together-like atmosphere, the friendly people and especially the chicken create an urban heaven!

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For the romantic hermit that is essentially hobbied at heart—microwaving steady historical isolation with short shocks that light up the whole architectural macrocosmos inside.

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Smack in the stiff middle of the 1960´s cerebral courtesy: a sunny-dark comedy of the black & whitest kind adorned and embalmed with Liberace.

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A perfectly lighted, both gently scripted and edited Neo-Classical 80´s AIDS epidemic horror-metaphor that takes place in ghostly Detroit made by John Hughes.

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Smile-colored, slow burning hot sauce that fires up the mouth and spirit with a crescent heat wave that is both welcome and long-lasting.

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Intriguing community-building affairs vaunted with a cozily speckled beach vibe.
But stripped naked by bland emotional acting and suggestively fading ties at the end.

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A refreshing but maniacally twisted tale of becoming the predator of what lurks in the night‘s shadow.

Where does vengeance end, where does malevolence begin?

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Creeping historical “hacienda”-ascension story full of good people playing uglier-than-fiction roles to cherry things on top of sourly majestic interior/exterior shots.

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A suspenseful gatekeeper for Seoul‘s crime rabbit hole – with a dynamic that is second to none.

Unconventional and arrogant necessities clear the path to deliverance.

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Color-blinding death-toned off-spinning voice-collage artsy-metal album that relaxingly flays out in every sonic direction with labyrinth waves of distorted comfort.

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Disturbing short-lensed piece of horror stunningly justifying its budget with visuals that let both the right talent in and over-the-top gore out.

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Season one is condescendingly sexy in a poor man’s Hollywood/Holloway sort of way while sometimes delivering quality twists provided one’s disbelief gets suspended enough.

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Bleak corridors into the void of meaninglessness expose and narrow down the subliminal morals and ethics of claustrophobic workplaces.

A riveting philosophical tour de force.

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A promising meeting between Being John Malkovich and Fargo infused in Ben Stiller´s blue steel vision of what a good Black Mirror would look like.

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Most likeable of the cast-away cast despite being morbidly obese and condemned to comedy relief. He’ll grow on you proportionally to his own hunger.

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Single, meanest Canadian man alive known in land, space and universe that will undoubtedly kick your blistered jungle-fearing ass with disturbingly rough impersonal kindness.

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‚Crème de dream‘-colored facades, in between an inviting cobblestone paved path and adorned with the finest, winter-resistant greenery.
A mirage of profound trustworthiness.

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Northern peak of a unrealisticly huge capitol has much to offer.
A stunning view, artists, artisans, a scam-elevator and too many smartphone-attentive tourists.

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Sweetery for the little hunger, sweetest proportions and asian venus traps for the big thirst.

Don’t get greedy while glancing sideways, otherwise you’ll get poisoned.

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A temple-like structure in a busy street, drawing the egypt geek‘s attention. Step inside and follow the pyramidal descent into chambers of pharaocious entertainment.

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The inevitable coming-out-of-(teen)age story for the millennial male generation. Filled with stereotypes to empathize with and nostalgic one-liners to never forget.

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It starts really stupid but it Omelettes itself up into a kind of karma theater-play that’s different, kind and refined in an unpretentious way.

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Tense, biological comedy that rattles itself up like a rising sunset-snake squirming along a scuba-diving ray of light in a troubled water-sky.

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It honors the original by keeping it Swedish all the way including blurry accents that can´t stop its long force of satisfactory texture-layer brilliance.

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Euphoric showcase of a world ending punky attitude in 20 songs but in an enigmatic coherent manner. The Netflix soundtrack for your very own apocalypse.

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Entering the void of french Black Metal, this album sets a new standard. A maelstrom of cascading highs, lows, ebbs & flows as it‘s downspiraling.

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The sensory intensity that’s felt through the uncontrolled reactions of those who ancestrally better feel what the terror of such approaching nighttime could be like.

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Solid spectral shit surrounding sound-minded guests with an obscurantist‘s pain manifest that only blood itself could come up with if it had a conscience.

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Could easily be the far out-test comedy ever. A mummy-issued ego trip getting away with its masturbatory pretentiousness while begging for multiple visits.

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Impeccably not grainy but full of particles modern-talkie that feels much longer than only three hours long…ing still for more Gary Oldman time.

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Warm-acted, well-hearted, boutique jewellery piece of naturally grown independent cinema that convincingly re-touches people´s frailty in great memorable angles of tiny actions.

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