The Nude Vampire (4 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's second film, made in 1970. I need to stress that I'm only going to be numbering his serious films. What I mean is that Rollin wasn't successful in the 1970's. His talent wasn't recognised by film critics until the late 1990's, and the release of his films on DVD in the early 2000's exposed him to a larger audience. To make money, he made about 20 hardcore sex films from 1975 to 1984, using pseudonyms to distinguish them from his serious films. These films have never been officially released on DVD. The lucky few who have seen them say that they're pretty awful. I'll take their word for it and only write about his serious films.

"The Nude Vampire" unfolds as a strange, dreamlike narrative that deliberately blurs the line between reality, delusion and the supernatural.

The story follows Pierre, the son of a wealthy industrialist, who becomes obsessed with a mysterious young woman he glimpses being pursued through the streets of Paris by a bizarre group of cloaked figures wearing animal masks. She appears fragile, almost spectral, and is eventually captured and taken to a secluded mansion that Pierre later discovers belongs to his own father.

Inside the mansion, Pierre uncovers a suicide cult composed of aristocrats and scientists who are convinced that the young woman is a vampire; more specifically, they believe she is part of an ancient, possibly immortal race whose blood holds the key to eternal life. Unlike traditional depictions of vampires, she shows none of the usual traits; no fangs, no overt predatory behaviour, no clear aversion to daylight. Instead, she is silent, passive and almost otherworldly, often dressed in a sheer gown that emphasises her vulnerability rather than any sense of menace. When the cult meets they draw lots to decide who should shoot himself to offer his blood to the vampire.

Pierre, increasingly disturbed by the group's clinical cruelty, develops a deep emotional attachment to her. He comes to see her not as a monster but as a victim; a captive subjected to endless experiments by men who project their own fantasies of immortality onto her. His father, by contrast, is coldly rational. He insists that their work is scientific, that the woman's nature will eventually be proven, and that her sacrifice is justified by the potential rewards.

The central question of whether she is truly a vampire is never resolved in conventional terms. Rollin avoids any definitive confirmation. There are hints that support the society's belief; her apparent agelessness, her enigmatic presence, the suggestion that she does not belong to the ordinary world. Yet there is no concrete evidence. She never displays supernatural powers and never behaves like a predator.

By the film's final act, Pierre rejects his father's world entirely. He rescues the woman and escapes with her, abandoning the rationalist framework that sought to define and exploit her. In doing so, the film shifts away from the question of scientific truth and towards something more poetic and ambiguous.

The ending suggests that the woman may indeed belong to a different realm, but not necessarily in the literal, folkloric sense of a vampire. She is less a creature of horror than a symbol of mystery; something unknowable that resists categorisation. Whether she is really a vampire becomes almost irrelevant. What matters is that the men who sought to define her were driven by obsession and control, while Pierre's response is one of empathy and surrender to the unknown.

In that sense, the film leaves the question open. She may be a vampire, or she may simply be a woman onto whom others have projected their desires and fears; Rollin ensures that both interpretations remain equally possible.

Wicked Memoirs of Eugenie (4 Stars)

Made in 1980, this is the second film that Jess Franco made based on Marquis de Sade's novel "Philosophy in the Bedroom". The first film was "Eugenie", made in 1970. Jess Franco expressed dissatisfaction with the 1970 film, which is ironic, because it's now considered a cult film. On the other hand, "Wicked Memoirs of Eugenie" has been forgotten. With the exception of a heavily censored German version, it's never been released on DVD or Blu-Ray. The only version available to me is a poor quality rip from television.

The film is structured around Eugenie herself, played by the German actress Katja Bienert, who can be rightly considered to have been Franco's muse. She functions as both participant and narrative anchor. Rather than arriving as an innocent to be educated in the manner of "Philosophy in the Bedroom", she's already integrated into the decadent world of Alberto's coastal villa. From the outset, she moves through it with familiarity, suggesting that her memoirs are not about initiation, but about immersion.

Alberto, a wealthy libertine, presides over the villa, while his sister Alba shares his life in a relationship that carries an incestuous charge the film treats as entirely normal. Sultana, their slave, completes the central arrangement, her status clearly defined and repeatedly reinforced. Eugenie circulates within this closed system, interacting with each of them in turn, and often acting as the point through which their relationships are expressed.

The narrative unfolds as a series of encounters that Eugenie either participates in or observes. At times she seems aligned with Alberto, sharing his detached, voyeuristic perspective; at others she mirrors Alba's more active, manipulative role, drawing Sultana or other figures into increasingly elaborate situations. This fluidity is key to the film's structure; Eugenie is not fixed in a single position, but shifts between observer, instigator and participant.

Sultana's role as a slave provides a recurring axis for these interactions. Many of the film's sequences revolve around how Eugenie relates to her; sometimes exercising power alongside Alba, sometimes appearing more ambiguous, as though testing the limits of the system she inhabits. These variations do not lead to change so much as repetition with slight differences, reinforcing the sense of a closed world.

Alba remains the most consistently active presence besides Eugenie, often initiating scenarios that Eugenie then enters or reshapes. Alberto, by contrast, begins largely as a spectator, watching the women, but gradually becomes more directly involved, drawn into the same cycles he once merely observed. Eugenie's position links these shifts together, giving the film its loose continuity.

There is no conventional plot development or resolution. Instead, the film accumulates episodes that revolve around Eugenie's movement through the villa and its inhabitants. By the end, she has not "changed" in any clear sense; rather, the film has revealed the full extent of the environment she inhabits and her ease within it.

In contrast to the 1970 film, which retains at least a trace of de Sade's didactic framework, this later work by Jess Franco uses Eugenie less as a character to be shaped than as a constant around which its repetitions and variations can revolve.

The Rape of the Vampire (3 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's first film, made in 1968. When it was first released it was met with hostility by cinema-goers. The vampires in the film have almost nothing in common with the vampires shown in American horror films.

"The Rape of the Vampire" begins like an exposé and ends like a dream; what initially appears to be a rational investigation into supposed vampirism gradually reveals itself as something far less easily dismissed.

The first part centres on four young women living in a secluded château under the guidance of an older guardian. When journalists and sceptics arrive, they assume they are dealing with a hoax, or at best a case of shared delusion. The women are pale, withdrawn and oddly ceremonial in their behaviour; they claim to be vampires who have lived for 400 years, yet show none of the expected traits. They do not hunt, they do not display supernatural strength, and they seem almost fragile, as if the slightest disturbance might shatter them.

It would be easy to read them as frauds or victims of manipulation. Rollin encourages this ambiguity by filtering their world through the intrusive, rational gaze of the investigators. The château becomes a stage on which belief and scepticism clash; the women are probed, questioned and ultimately violated, both psychologically and physically.

Yet the film quietly resists the sceptics' interpretation. The more the outsiders attempt to expose the women, the less convincing their explanations become. The women's detachment from ordinary life, their strange unity and their apparent disconnection from time and consequence all suggest that they are not merely pretending. Their vampirism is not expressed through conventional horror imagery, but through atmosphere and persistence; they exist according to a logic that does not align with the human world around them.

The act of violence implied by the title is crucial here. It is framed less as titillation than as an assertion of control, an attempt by the intruders to force the women into a recognisable, human framework. If they can be dominated, the logic goes, they can be explained. But the effect is the opposite. The brutality only deepens the sense that the women belong to another order of being; they may be physically vulnerable, but they are not reducible to the terms imposed on them.

By the time the film drifts into its more overtly surreal second half, the question of whether the women are real vampires has already been answered in everything but explicit statement. They are not frauds, nor are they simply mad. Instead, Rollin presents a form of vampirism stripped of its usual theatrical power; these are creatures defined by frailty, isolation and an almost mournful remove from the living. Their weakness does not negate their nature; it redefines it.

What remains is a haunting inversion of the vampire myth. Rather than predators, these women are survivors of an existence that offers neither release nor fulfilment. Their authenticity lies not in spectacle but in persistence; they endure, quietly and inexplicably, beyond the reach of those who would explain them away.

The Iron Rose (5 Stars)

I watched this film twice today, so I'm reviewing it twice. That's the rules. I can only remember two other films that I've watched twice on the same day, and both were before I started writing my blog. The first was "Downfall"/"Der Untergang", and the second was "Inland Empire".

I'll stick to a few things that I picked up from the excellent commentary by the film critic Tim Lucas.

The cemetery used in the film is the Madeleine Cemetery in Amiens. It's a small town, but it's famous as the burial place of Jules Verne. There's a special memorial to him, with a sculpture that's well known. Jean Rollin was careful not to show Jules Verne's grave in any scenes, because he wanted the cemetery to remain anonymous.

Most of the scenes were filmed at night. The caretaker was bribed with bottles of wine to allow the film crew to spend all night in the cemetery. I hope he didn't lose his job.

The unnamed man in the film was played by Hugues Quester, a moderately successful French actor. He was arrogant and thought the film was below his standards. He looked down on Jean Rollin and hardly spoke with him. He asked for his name to be kept secret, and many film posters called him Pierre Dupont. Ironically, in retrospect "The Iron Rose" is considered his greatest film.

When Jean Rollin died in 2010 an iron rose was placed on the lid of his coffin.

Tim Lucas also went into some detail about the question I asked about whether Karine died at the end of the film or returned to the beach. He's convinced that she survived, but he added some additional thoughts. He suggests that the old woman in the cemetery might be Karine years later, so the sealing of the crypt could be decades later. He also suggests that the beach scenes are Karine celebrating the man's death. It's possible (in Tim's opinion) that the nude scene never happened, it was just a dream she had when the man was locked in the crypt. I personally doubt this interpretation.

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The Iron Rose (5 Stars)

I'm really excited. This week I found out that all of Jean Rollin's films are going to be released as 4K editions. This brings my film collecting full circle. When I bought my first DVD player in 2003, Jean Rollin's films were among the first that I bought. Now, 23 years later, I'm rebuying them all on 4K discs. I ordered 14 of his films last week, and the first eleven have arrived. They're all in beautiful boxes with 80-page booklets, and the discs are packed with special features. The picture quality of "The Iron Rose" was always below average, as a poorly stored film from the 1970's. Now it looks glorious. The film's restoration is obviously a labour of love.

I watched the film twice today. The first time it was the film itself, the second time I watched it with a commentary track by the film critic Tim Lucas. I don't usually listen to commentary tracks from external contributors, I prefer the director or the actors, but in this case Tim has done an excellent job.

Every time I watch the film I ask new questions. This is the most Lynchian of all of Jean Rollin's films. The opening scene on the beach obviously takes place after the events in the film, but Karine seemingly dies in the final scene. That still confuses me, so I asked ChatGPT the question, "Does Karine die at the end of The Iron Rose or return to the beach?" I received a very insightful reply.

---

That final movement in The Iron Rose is one of Jean Rollin's most deliberately unresolved endings; and it's meant to support both of the readings you're suggesting.

1. She dies in the cemetery

The most literal interpretation is:

Karine never leaves the cemetery.

She fully yields to its logic; calm, detached, almost at peace.

The male character collapses into panic, while she assimilates into the world of the dead.

In this reading:

Her "death" is not shown conventionally.

It’s more a spiritual or existential absorption than a physical event.

The cemetery doesn't just trap her; it claims her.

2. She returns to the beach

The alternative, and very compelling, interpretation is:

The beach scene represents a return or continuation after the cemetery.

Karine emerges changed; no longer frightened, but aligned with death.

The rose links the cemetery to the beach, suggesting continuity rather than escape.

Here, she hasn't escaped in any meaningful sense; she's simply carried the cemetery with her.

3. The key idea: transformation, not outcome

What matters isn't whether she "dies" or "leaves", but that:

She accepts the cemetery’s reality.

She becomes emotionally and symbolically one with it.

By contrast:

The man resists, panics, and disintegrates.

He experiences the cemetery as horror.

She experiences it as something closer to belonging.

4. Why Rollin leaves it open

Rollin avoids closure because the film isn’t about plot resolution:

Time is circular or collapsed.

Spaces bleed into each other.

Life and death are not cleanly separated.

So asking "did she die or return?" is almost the wrong question; the film's answer is:

    "those two states are no longer distinct".

Bottom line

Yes, you can read it as Karine dying in the cemetery.

Yes, you can read it as her returning to the beach.

But the strongest reading is:

She undergoes a transformation where death, memory and continuation become the same state.

That's why the ending lingers; it doesn't resolve, it echoes.

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Synecdoche, New York (5 Stars)

"Synecdoche, New York" is one of the most ambitious, disorienting and emotionally punishing films of the 21st century; less a conventional narrative than a sustained immersion into consciousness, memory and decay.

Written and directed by Charlie Kaufman, the film follows theatre director Caden Cotard, played with extraordinary vulnerability by Philip Seymour Hoffman. At first, his problems seem recognisable: a failing marriage, a distant child and a growing catalogue of unexplained illnesses. What begins as a character study soon expands into something far more abstract and unsettling.

After receiving a MacArthur Fellowship, a seemingly unlimited grant, Caden embarks on a theatrical project of total realism. He rents a vast warehouse in New York and constructs a full-scale replica of the city inside it, populating it with actors who play real people, including actors who play the actors themselves. As the project grows across years, then decades, the boundary between representation and reality collapses. Time becomes unstable, identities blur and Caden loses any fixed sense of self.

Kaufman’s central idea, that art is both an attempt to capture life and an admission of its impossibility, unfolds through increasingly recursive layers. The warehouse becomes a physical expression of the mind: obsessive, self-referential and incapable of completion. Each attempt at authenticity pushes Caden further from it. The more detailed the simulation becomes, the less meaningful it feels.

Hoffman anchors the film emotionally. His Caden is not an eccentric visionary but an ordinary man overwhelmed by existence. His physical decline mirrors his inner disintegration, and the film’s emphasis on bodily decay, illness, ageing and fragility, gives it the texture of existential horror. Death is not distant here; it is constant and mundane.

The supporting cast, including Samantha Morton, Michelle Williams and Catherine Keener, reinforces the film’s shifting emotional terrain. Relationships begin, transform and dissolve without resolution. People drift in and out of Caden’s life with dreamlike abruptness; time seems to accelerate beyond comprehension.

Visually, the film moves from muted realism into quiet unreality. Spaces subtly distort, timelines overlap and the warehouse expands into something impossible. Kaufman avoids spectacle; the surreal elements emerge gradually, which makes them more disturbing.

What makes the film so challenging is its refusal of catharsis. There is no clear arc, no resolution and no comforting conclusion. Instead, it confronts the viewer with difficult ideas: that life exceeds understanding, that identity is unstable and that the search for meaning may itself be futile. Yet there is also a kind of tenderness. Even flawed, incomplete attempts at connection, in art or in life, are all that remain.

Over time, the film has come to be regarded as a modern masterpiece, though it remains divisive. Some find it deeply moving, others find it alienating or oppressive. Both responses feel appropriate. Kaufman is not aiming for entertainment; he is attempting to mirror the overwhelming complexity of being alive.

In the end, "Synecdoche, New York" lingers. It unsettles and gradually reshapes how one thinks about time, art and mortality. Few films demand so much; fewer reward that effort so completely.

Success Rate:  - 4.4

The Testament Of Ann Lee (3 Stars)

I saw trailers for this film when I went to the cinema in the last few weeks. It looked good, so I went to see it today, on opening day. I felt confused, not knowing what the director was trying to say. It was only at the end, when the final credits rolled, that I realised it was a true story. I wish I'd known from the start, because I would have got more from it.

Ann Lee is a woman who was born on 29th February 1736 in Manchester, England. She came from a poor family, and she became a child labourer at the age of 10. She felt religious, so she visited different religious groups. Eventually she remained with the Wardley Group, also known as the Shakers. They were a religious group that had split from the Quakers. The leaders preached that Jesus would return as a woman. Ann had visions that revealed to her that she was the new Messiah.

Ann got married and four children. One died in childbirth, the other three died before they reached the age of one. Her visions told her that sexual intercourse is a sin, and even married couples should refrain. The Shakers became celibate.

In 1774 Ann emigrated to America with her followers. In 1784 she died, and the world didn't end.

Despite my low rating, I need to watch the film again. Knowing the background will help me enjoy it more.

The Wandering Swordsman (4 Stars)

"The Wandering Swordsman" is a lively martial arts adventure from the golden age of the Shaw Brothers studio. Directed by Chang Cheh and starring David Chiang, the film blends wandering-hero mythology, fast-paced swordplay and a slightly playful tone that distinguishes it from the director's more solemn works.

David Chiang plays Yu Hsiao, a cheerful but formidable swordsman who roams the countryside helping those in need. When he becomes involved with a group of travelling performers and refugees, he learns that a ruthless warlord is oppressing the local population. Yu's sense of justice draws him into the conflict, and his easy-going personality gradually gives way to fierce determination as the violence escalates.

Unlike many of Chang Cheh's later heroic bloodshed tales, the film begins with a surprisingly light touch. Yu Hsiao is a relaxed and occasionally humorous protagonist; he drinks, jokes and drifts from place to place without much concern for consequences. This carefree attitude gives the early sections a breezy charm, and it makes the eventual confrontations feel more dramatic when the hero's patience finally runs out.

The action sequences are energetic rather than elaborate. The choreography emphasises speed and physicality, with David Chiang's agile performance carrying much of the excitement. While the fights do not reach the operatic intensity of some later Shaw Brothers productions, they remain satisfying and clearly staged.

Visually, the film displays the colourful studio style typical of Shaw Brothers productions of the period. Bright costumes, theatrical sets and bold lighting create a stylised world that feels closer to traditional Chinese storytelling than to realism. The wandering-hero theme also echoes classic wuxia literature, presenting Yu Hsiao as a knight-errant who follows his own moral code rather than any official authority.

Although "The Wandering Swordsman" lacks the tragic weight found in some of Chang Cheh's most famous films, it remains an engaging entry in the wuxia genre. Its combination of humour, wandering adventure and bursts of action makes it an enjoyable showcase for David Chiang's charismatic screen presence. For fans of Shaw Brothers cinema, it offers a pleasant variation on the director's usual themes while still delivering the heroic spirit that defines his work.

Trail of the Broken Blade (4½ Stars)

This is a beautiful film that shows loyalty and honour in the Ming period. Men and women do what is right, not what is pleasant or easy.

The warrior Fang Jun saves a family under attack. The father asks him to teach his daughter Liu Chen martial arts so that she can defend herself, but he's really hoping to find a husband for her. Fang falls in love with her, but she says she loves someone else. Her lover Li Yueh has killed a corrupt government official to avenge his father's death. He's now a wanted criminal, so he's run away and taken on a new identity. Fang promises to find him and reunite the lovers.

Li Yueh is living as a poor stable-hand. The innkeeper's daughter falls in love with him, but he refuses her advances, because he's still in love with Liu Chen, even though he never expects to see her again. By coincidence – one of the many coincidences in the film – Fang comes to stay at the inn and becomes friends with Li Yueh, not knowing who he is. Their friendship becomes closer when they have to fight against common enemies.

It's not a love triangle, it's a love square. Maybe a broken square. Whatever it is, it's obvious from the beginning of the film that it will end in tragedy.

The Weird Man (3 Stars)

"The Weird Man" is one of the more eccentric supernatural films produced by the legendary Hong Kong studio Shaw Brothers. Blending martial arts, folklore and black comedy, the film tells the story of a man who uses dark magic to transform himself into a powerful monster, unleashing chaos in pursuit of revenge.

Director Chang Cheh pushes the material toward grotesque spectacle rather than traditional wuxia heroics. The transformation scenes, crude but imaginative by early-1980s standards, give the film a lurid energy that fans of Shaw Brothers' later supernatural cycle will recognise. At times the tone veers wildly between horror and slapstick, which can make the narrative feel uneven.

Nevertheless, the film has a certain charm. Its practical effects, exaggerated performances and bizarre storyline capture a period when Hong Kong genre cinema embraced outrageous ideas with enthusiasm.

While far from a classic, "The Weird Man" remains an entertaining curiosity; a strange hybrid of monster movie and kung fu fantasy that will mostly appeal to dedicated Shaw Brothers enthusiasts.

A Samurai In Time (4½ Stars)

In the year 1867 the samurai warrior Kosaka Shinzaemon is in a battle to the death with a young warrior from another clan. A lightning bolt strikes him, and he wakes up in the year 2007. He's at the same place, but it's now being used as a film set where Japanese period dramas (jidaigeki) are made. It's assumed that he's a non-speaking extra, so he's immediately involved in the production of the next episode. As the weeks go by, his fighting skills are recognised, so he's given bigger and bigger roles.

This is an amazing film. It was made on a small budget, but it was greatly successful in Japan. I have a few minor complaints about the film which I won't mention here. Maybe I'll write more when I watch it again.

Success Rate:  + 36.5

Flowers of War (5 Stars)

Directed by Zhang Yimou, "The Flowers of War" is a large scale historical drama set during the Nanjing Massacre of 1937. The story follows an opportunistic American undertaker, played by Christian Bale, who takes refuge in a church as Japanese troops overrun the city. Inside the church, a group of schoolgirls and a group of prostitutes find themselves forced into an uneasy alliance as they struggle to survive the occupation.

The film combines brutal wartime imagery with a melodramatic narrative typical of Zhang's style. The opening sequences depicting the fall of Nanjing are chaotic and frightening, capturing the terror of civilians caught in a collapsing city. At the centre of the story is Bale as a reluctant protector, a cynical outsider who gradually assumes responsibility for those sheltering with him. While the character arc is predictable, Bale gives the role enough humanity to keep the film emotionally grounded.

Visually, the film is striking. Zhang contrasts the devastation outside with the candlelit interiors of the church, creating moments of quiet beauty amid the horror. At times the stylised presentation risks softening the historical brutality, yet the film still conveys the moral desperation of people trapped in an impossible situation.

"The Flowers of War" may not be a subtle war film, but it's emotionally powerful. By focusing on sacrifice and solidarity among unlikely companions, it turns a vast historical tragedy into an intimate story about courage and survival.

Success Rate:  - 1.0

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John Rabe (5 Stars)

"John Rabe", directed by Florian Gallenberger, dramatises the extraordinary true story of John Rabe, a German businessman who helped save thousands of Chinese civilians during the Nanjing Massacre of 1937. The film follows Rabe, played by Ulrich Tukur, as he reluctantly becomes the head of the Nanking Safety Zone Committee, organising a refuge for civilians while Japanese troops occupy the city.

The film's most striking element is Tukur's restrained performance. He portrays Rabe not as a conventional hero but as a pragmatic administrator who gradually realises the moral weight of his position. This understated approach helps ground the film amid the harrowing historical backdrop. The supporting cast, including Daniel Brühl and Steve Buscemi, add an international dimension that reflects the multinational effort behind the safety zone.

While the film inevitably condenses events and simplifies some political complexities, it succeeds in highlighting a little known chapter of the Second Sino-Japanese War. Its depiction of the violence in Nanjing is disturbing without becoming gratuitous, keeping the focus on the humanitarian struggle rather than spectacle.

Overall, "John Rabe" is a sober historical drama that sheds light on a remarkable figure whose actions saved many lives during one of the darkest episodes of the twentieth century.

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The Bride (5 Stars)

Many people mistakenly call Frankenstein's monster Frankenstein, as if it were the name of the monster and not his creator. That's always annoyed me. However, in "The Bride" it's justified. The film takes place in 1936, long after the death of Victor Frankenstein, and the monster has travelled to America calling himself Frankenstein. So this time it's okay.

The film completely surprised me. It's been filmed as a surreal framework story, with Mary Shelly herself telling the story. It's beautiful. It's the best film I've seen so far this year.

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (4 Stars)

This film is the fourth adaptation of the 1967 novel by Yasutaka Tsutsui with the same name. The films were made in 1983, 1997, 2006 and 2010. There was also a TV series in 1972. With all this interest in the story, I'm surprised it's never been filmed in other countries.

The film begins in 2010. Kazuko Yoshiyama is a university professor who has developed a means of time travel. She has a car accident, and she thinks she might not recover. She asks her daughter Akari to travel back to her school science lab in 1972 and give a message to Kazuo, her first lover. She says that Kazuo was waiting for her. Unfortunately, Akari travels to 1974 and can't find Kazuo. There's no record of him ever being in the school. Akari meets her mother and shows her a photo of Kazuo, but she doesn't recognise him. Akari says she'll remain in the past until she solves the mystery.

This is a slow-moving story. It's a love story. Akari meets a boy in her mother's school and falls in love with him. There are a lot of interwoven plots and subplots. It's a film that's worth watching a second time.

Marty Supreme (3 Stars)

I've been hearing about this film for weeks. It's received nine nominations for the Academy Awards, including best film. One of my friends has told me it's his favourite film of the year so far. So I expected to enjoy it today. I wanted to enjoy it. But I didn't.

It's difficult to say why I don't like a film without giving away spoilers, but I think I can do it with "Marty Supreme". The main reason that I don't like the film is because I find the character Marty unpleasant. He lies, cheats and steals to get what he wants. He's conceited. He's not someone I can cheer on. He's not someone I'd want as a friend.

A second reason is that he has no noticeable character arc, not even in his table tennis skills. He starts the film as the best, and he ends at the best. That's all I can say about him.

The critics disagree. They see something in the film that I don't. I don't want to put my readers off. Maybe you'll enjoy it more than me.