Asbest

If it wasn't for Stipe Erceg and Frederick Lau... I don't know where to start. It's probably one of the worst TV series I have encountered, by miles. It's lacking a good script first of all - all dialogues, and I do mean ALL, are terrible and stiff and incredibly unnatural. One also does not care about any of the characters introduced. It's reeking of toxic masculinity and it almost feels like a male fantasy drama in which everyone wants to come across as hard as they can and are ready to punch some other man in the face whenever possible. Lots of frowny looks and dominant walks. Ridiculous. The fighting scenes.... LOL. Women either get their nails done and seem a bit beige OR are a power-hungry business type that might have an alcohol problem and seem so overdrawn, that again, it's unbelievable und unrealistic. What a waste of space and money.

At least Stipe Erceg is easy on the eye.

This movie, aptly titled "Asbest," manages to achieve the unthinkable - it makes "Dogs of Berlin" look like a Scorsese masterpiece. If there ever was a prime example of cinematic disaster, this series would undoubtedly take the crown.

From the very first frame, one is thrust into a narrative abyss so devoid of substance that even the most ardent cinephile would struggle to find redeeming qualities. The plot, or lack thereof, meanders through a convoluted maze of incoherent scenes, leaving viewers bewildered and questioning the very fabric of storytelling.

The characters in "Asbest" are as lifeless as the title suggests. It's almost impressive how the filmmakers managed to create a cast with zero charisma, making it impossible to empathize or connect with any of them. Unlike a Scorsese masterpiece, where characters are crafted with depth and nuance, here they exist solely as vessels for painfully cringe-worthy dialogue and uninspired performances.

The visual assault inflicted by this series is unparalleled. I have never seen anything, other than bear spray, mess my eyes up like this. The cinematography seems to be a product of chaos rather than intentional artistic choices. Scenes are poorly lit, camera angles are disorienting, and the overall aesthetic is a jarring mishmash of conflicting styles. It's as if the creators aimed to induce ocular discomfort as a form of avant-garde expression.

The writing in "Asbest" is nothing short of a linguistic travesty. Dialogue is riddled with clichés, absurdities, and cringe-inducing attempts at profundity. The script appears to have been crafted by an AI attempting to emulate human speech but failing spectacularly. Even a first-year film student could produce a more coherent and engaging screenplay.

Attempting to decipher the thematic underpinnings of this series is an exercise in futility. Unlike a Scorcese masterpiece, which often delves into profound explorations of the human condition, "Asbest" seems to revel in its lack of purpose. Themes are introduced and abandoned with reckless abandon, leaving audiences grappling with a narrative void that never comes close to being filled.

The soundtrack, or lack thereof, adds another layer of agony to the viewing experience. Forget the immersive, emotionally resonant compositions of a Scorcese film. Here, the soundtrack feels like an afterthought, a disjointed compilation of random sounds that do little more than contribute to the overall cacophony of disappointment.

In conclusion, "Asbest" is a cinematic travesty that defies all expectations, and not in a positive way. It is a masterclass in how not to create a compelling narrative, develop engaging characters, or craft a visually appealing experience. Comparing it to "Dogs of Berlin" is an insult to the latter, as even that series shines brightly in comparison. This is not just a forgettable production; it is an assault on the senses, leaving viewers yearning for the sweet relief of a well-crafted and intelligible story.

In a cinematic landscape where actors often navigate their roles with finesse and nuance, it is perplexing to witness Kida Ramadan, a performer of notable caliber, stumble so egregiously in this cinematic debacle. It's as if he is attempting to pull off a sleight of hand, trying to convince the audience that this movie is anything but the absolute joke it is.

Ramadan, who has previously stood out as the one-eyed in the land of the blind, seems to have taken an inexplicable nosedive in his portrayal, transforming into the very donkey he so humorously refers to within the series. It's disheartening to witness a talented actor succumb to the pitfalls of a poorly conceived project, leaving audiences questioning if this performance is merely an unfortunate blip in an otherwise distinguished career.

One can't help but wonder what motivated Ramadan to associate himself with such a cinematic misstep. Was it a lapse in judgment or a misguided attempt to inject life into a narrative that was doomed from the start? Whatever the reason, this performance stands as a stark reminder that even the most skilled actors can find themselves shackled by the constraints of lackluster storytelling.

As an audience member, witnessing Kida Ramadan in this role feels akin to watching a once-majestic bird struggling to take flight with clipped wings. It's a disheartening spectacle that leaves us yearning for the days when his presence on screen was synonymous with quality and depth. One can only hope that Ramadan swiftly rebounds from this cinematic blunder and returns to roles that showcase his true prowess as an actor.

I'd prefer enduring a relentless series of drop kicks from Frederick Lau all night long than subjecting myself to another excruciating minute of this cinematic catastrophe. The thought of Frederick Lau's kicks, painful as they may be, pales in comparison to the agony inflicted by the sheer ineptitude on display in this movie. Each kick, a momentary physical torment, seems like a fleeting bliss when compared to the enduring mental anguish induced by the continued viewing of this abysmal production.