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I write properly in only one case, acting on "Doubt." Weak film, any such internally rozdymanego, unleashed, and niedorobionego scenario, with niewyczuwalnymi points climaxes, for at the end of the impression urwanego (but want to point out that I'm relieved that John Patrick Shanley won on just such a solution to the plot), the film unfulfilled ( the most interesting topic, the danger of collapse of authority for teenage school pupils priory remains only in embryonic form), so the film "too" film "that there", such a film, which is actually not really even tempted to write. Nieprowokującym, despite the noble intentions of the writer and director, to his thoughts, which leaves the viewer (me at least) imperturbable, indifferent. All I moved in it somehow, the game actors. And that's why I write - because touched not in a positive sense.
The words of respect for Viola Davis, sensitively renders the despair struggling between sense and parental feelings of the mother of a boy who goes nightmare in a difficult adolescence, bows Amy Adams, creating a young nun at a critical moment of the road teaching, bows and finally for the youth, major, credible , building the strong film background. But when it comes to the foreground actors, actress Meryl Streep an Oscar, the Oscar-winning actor Philip Seymour Hoffman, forgive it, but a veto, excuse me, but I shoot Foch. Everyone bow belt. Mighty award prizes, awards, serious critics praise of exclamation marks, the audience sigh. And I, unfortunately, I look at the screen and I want to close my eyes. I do not see a nun who as the superior accused and running, having no doubt that he is right, or priest who is suspected of sexual harassment and boys who tried to defend myself, I see an actress working for another Oscar nomination and actor struggling for confirmation your class. I see Streep and Hoffman, only, not characters, actress and actor in the next creation. Not even about the scene when the self screaming in the melee, when they discover the full extent excitement and enter the difficult cinema to abolish registers decibel - the hard work of acting, it flaunt acting shines through their every gesture, every sound of mimic each allegedly photogenic blink. This is annoying for me.
It is simply inauthentic an actress. It is a celebration of acting, it is playing, playing, playing, made with obvious deference for his own mastery, it is a trace of his pompous certainty step conviction of self-righteousness.
Whatever I do, I delight. Ceases to be an important movie, it ceases to be an important character - it obscures the star winning medals in spectacular marathon. You would understand this, because ultimately it is the job of an actor: to focus attention on himself, only that in this particular ekwilibrystyce is redrawing gesture, facial expression, dialogue. In the case of visible Streep it was already clearly and in "The Hours" (to invoke a tangible example, even in a stage hand flapping buying flowers). In "Doubt" inaugurates the course in terms of squinting eyes at the window, squinting as lifting a finger or heel rather whack. Squinting through a large Z. And it is not. Pardon. przk.