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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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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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Advertising a gigantic network of tunnels and water is clever engagement. Showing 2 rooms of main functions and too many uncrossable borders is beyond disappointment.

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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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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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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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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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‚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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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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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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Subtly striving for the viewer’s attention is rewarded with hypnotic disturbing discomfort.
This film creates a unique chemistry of sound and silence, control and terror.

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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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Polished but razorsharp  journalism warfare of a fresh millennium; digging for (un)holy truths of untouchable legacies.

A documentary-like disclosure featuring actors vanishing in spotlight.

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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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Substances of blues and tribal music blend and create a kaleidoscope of sombre memories and glaring destinies, giving you nanosecondary closure in space and time.

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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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A limb-saver for the cold-challenged at heart, body and mind. Truly helpful gadget one must appreciate despite its comic resemblance to a vibrator.

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Intentionally terrible and cocky to its audience. A well made piece of trash that feels like it’s laughing at you and should stay sketch-long.

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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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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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Picture-pitch perfect except for the sound of farts offensively trapping a scattered
plot inside of a frame that hits one square between the eyes.

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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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Vincent‘s natural performance gallantly steals an already stolen picture show navigated by a loud but warm director who makes the whole thing fly just right.

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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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Woven together from hallmarks of various action franchises. Popcorn for the eyes, but gnawing hunger for the movie enthusiast.

A visual testament to Netflix’ budget nowadays.

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Tainted shades flutter through this NY-based fever dream, filled with real people in realistic situations, doing the best and the worst for each other.

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With a completely incomprehensible and visual-demanding plot it’s easy to look stunning nowadays.
But nailing it with a well, bagel-circular story is rare.

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Balancing historically accurate brutality and well-rounded storytelling, this feast pushes its narrative of avenging men and succumbing women right into viewer‘s eyes and guts.

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A soft exploration of nostalgia which turns into intoxicating, soul seeking frustration.

The black and white approach lets you see and feel in synesthetic ways.

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Likeable round around Buscemi´s past featuring family and settings no one would object to watch other than a certain female interest that feels uncomfortably young.

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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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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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A good cook that makes one sick in the stomach by cringingly mismanaging both self-respect and culinary success into a greasy cul-de-sac.

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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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Although preceded by a promising start, the problem springs up in the hollow-middle by scattering nothing around other than fun for the people involved.

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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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He’ll sock it to you like a bag of alkaline Christmas chimney bricks that used to be sweet but now burn through charm and bone.

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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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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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Glossy voice with edgy ‚in your face‘ lyrics and humongous hooks, cemented by sticky NIN-esque drum & bass, portraying a fallen angel gone rogue.

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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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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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Brass-balled Baldwin articulates the angry voice of reason coming from a late self-awareness that reflects the present with polished regret and self-derision.

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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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Imagine you’re an energetic Stoner at a Hardcore show inside a barn out in the boonies during a hot summer.
This will be your soundtrack.

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Though not inventing the wheel anew, this 15th surgical cutthroat album full of tightly woven lead and rhythm precision exterminates every cockroach doubting their way.

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This shining 80s retro-phase closing dance creeper hits its target group with (dirty) daring synths and slashing female hooks. The future eats the past.

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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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Firmly cushioned in the eye candy of the revolutionary storm—adorned with a Rock & Rococo soundtrack that invisibly frames the perfect portrait of unawareness.

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Chest-kicking serial-crime kill-Thriller
of breathtaking simplicity and murky south-Korean self-deprecation finding grace in pratfalls and humor of the crassest kind.

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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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Its orange-coloured light shines through memories of one‘s own adolescence like a sunset on an ambient beach.

A fitting ‚calm before the storm‘-embodiment.

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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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Macabre true crime mixed with hilarious character representation?
This richly detailed and beautifully crafted closer look of 20th‘s century’s korean detective work pulls it off.

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Complex messianic circle jerk that transgressively fortune-wheels its dark-hippy nonsensical beauty around bringing its victims to a profound world of shit and cum.

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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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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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Grounded with emotional veracity in the most vocal point of feud with the Death of everything that was holy and pure to rock and roll.

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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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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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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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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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Fully charged but its progressive energy keeps getting cut off by a silver screenplay that can’t tell exposition from emotional-trigger boredom apart at all.

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A big booty in the desert magnetically pulls sore strangers and their dry behavioural rage together to visit the normally closed off parts of hell.

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A fresh and detailed Balkan-conflict account audio-visually narrated in such a perfect crew-cut way that´s bound to blow any Ken Burns away.

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Despite sugar visuals and good Penn-manship this film strays all over the place with those unafraid to fly over an ocean of scrambled plots.

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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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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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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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“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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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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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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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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Dry up to caustic but full of silver guts bravado and true no-nonsense resuscitation that domestically questions everything that´s drowning in its quarrel-lake.

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A roman candle of crazy characters (most of which are no doubt stolen from nearby realities) in an overwrought romanticised dark comedy by bonehead Bono.

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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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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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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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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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Punch-Drunk Love (2002) meets the Lincoln Lawyer (2011) with a pure Sandler as main stressing agent in a beautifully acted display of ugly characters.

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Strongly-subtle dark comedy that can for days on end make one consistently laugh out loud at punch-line silences that stitch to the mind.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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The efficient guy who did what he was told, without overcomplicating things.

He was there when a thug was needed – though, actually wasn’t an actor.

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The one loosely acquaintance, who has the random honor of having sex with the hottest female role, while being a childish doofus with face acrobatics.

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The one friend of a lunatic, forced to play the douchebag, but gave a shit and channeled his anger into creating the most ‘whatever’ attitude.

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The one third (wheel) party character, only around for friend talks and absolutely non-effecting shenanigans.
Even these comic relief scenes make him more uncomical.

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The tragically misunderstood man-child mascot of a movie, which had no creative solution for him.
So he became this impossible Gollum-creature, craving for security.

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For a long time, this alien-like being was driving his desperate career blindly into the wall.
But in the long run, won mastermind status.

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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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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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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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A clandestine teenage brothel run by hard loving parents who keep basking in God´s rain right where the moral crater seems to bleed the most.

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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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Single most black & white modern period-film exquisitely monkey-grinding the royal Randolph hemp out of us with Reznor-sharp reel-changing monochromatic flair.

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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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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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The dream of doing whatever you want after being released from strict band(-c)ages is the strength of this multi-colored song collection.

Songwriter ingenuity.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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Lukewarm ghostly at its wide-open churchy heart when not abruptly peacocking itself up with old lascivious grown-up lustre from nighttimes gone clandestinely wild.

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Precious stone of modern independent cinema and character study “par excellence.” Hysterical, ballistic and mordantly fulminant. A truly stimulating example for period-films to come.

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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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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 original sparks that supernova-ed a whole industry that ludicrously although successfully reinvented both the wheel and how to become a music-free rockstar.

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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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Pair of big shots talking shit on modern radio like normal while acting like they don´t actually put their pants two legs at a time.

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Uneventful eye-thriller meant to box-office fail despite helpful bad intentions. A film about film itself that looks immaculate but does not communicate well.

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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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Evocative beyond repair dividing itself up with a greased-up tug-of-war between old and classic—both morbidly bound together with techno-dramatic ambiances.

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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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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 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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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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Profound motion picture of short stature that proves itself large by showing with stunning, sympathetic sharpness how a pre-adolescent masochist jumps into intentional idiocy.

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