Alien: Romulus

Alone on a colonized world pestiferously ill-suited to humanoid habitation, boldly caring for a kindly android who tries his best to raise her spirits.

A miraculous day defiantly emerges when temporal quotas are efficiently attained, but the corporation cruelly refuses to honour its word and perniciously adds on 5 to 6 years.

Her friends have a radical plan to circumvent slavery with audacious cunning, take a ship and resourcefully hijack cryostasis equipment to reach a far away world.

The daring plan is put into action and the required tools industriously discovered, but a serious hiccup objectively impedes their smooth star sailing across the universe.

For they've accidentally landed upon a virulent space station isolated and hauntingly adrift, whereupon mad elaborate experiments were viciously conducted to catalyze evolution. 

Indeed Weyland Corporation after all of these sequels has finally obtained their sought after serum, which unnaturally transforms biological organisms unfit for space into model citizens.

The same android schematic from the original Alien even malevolently pursues the despotic objective. 

Scientifically mutate contemporary DNA.

To create invincible übermensch. 

Fortunately, the opportunistic marauders aren't so blind to the disastrous potential, and valiantly ignore the robot's plans to bring the formula back down to their planet.

Note that as the excessively rich attempt to make cyborgs hundreds of thousands may be permanently damaged, if you want to give your life for the experiment wisely make sure they're giving you at least $20 million (or try to outlaw that kind of thing). 

Alien: Romulus looks back to its roots and even reanimates the alien from Alien, while paying homage to Aliens and Alien: Resurrection in its bleak horrifying yet hands-on testament (Walter Hill also produces). 

I'm not saying they aren't really cool movies I even bought the Quadrilogy over 20 years ago, but the possibility of escape of the collective reimagining of the cultural codes responsible for Weyland remain unchallenged. 

I thought Alien, Aliens, and Alien: Resurrection made me care more about their characters, that those films gave them more room to develop, genre films that focus on developing minor characters are so much cooler (and rewatchable).

Alien: Romulus spends a lot of its time developing the android Andy and the lead hero.

While indirectly commenting on education and cyborgs. 

There's a lot more to the movie than that. 

*If you're hoping that doesn't happen with the baby, it does.

Moonshot

You know, if I had my own spaceship and I was heading to Mars, you could have a ride with me. 

If you spend a lot your time rolling bagels and your arm hurts from time to time, there'd be a special masseuse onboard, and you could have a ride with me.

If you wash métro stations at night with those giant industrial floor cleaning machines, your cabin would be idyllically polished, and you could have a ride with me.

If you bust out ye olde weed whacker and cover at least 10k a day, trimming grass with agile endurance, while transitioning to mow and plant and clip and prune, you could have a ride with me.

If you wash dishes with categorical moxie and efficiently keep the supply chain moving, there'll be plates for your cake on board, and you could have a ride with me.

If you enjoy playing the keys as a rhythmic specialist or even a frenzied soloist, we could put the band back together, and you could have a ride with me.

If you can keep the orders in your head and delicately time all the dishes in turn, we can feast on freakin' whatever, and you could have a ride with me.

If you love sundry different films and appreciate vast international diversity, perhaps taking in Fantasia while searching for Criterions, you could have a ride with me.

Pretty much anyone could have a ride with me, but why the hell would we go to Mars, which is basically a barren hostile rock, and live in an oppressive small town settlement, that we could never leave? 

When we could go to Colorado, Tadoussac, Montréal, Hamilton or downtown Muskoka?

There are still billions of years of life left on this here planet.

Give or take a challenging millennia. 

Rosaline

Agile independence forthrightly attuned to romantic longing, haplessly falls for a gifted poet intuitively enamoured with fiery discipline. 

Her father desperately seeks someone for her to wed at the same time however, arranged marriages still diplomatically sought at that time in Europe and elsewhere.

Rosaline chooses to marry for love and pines obsessively for the legendary Romeo, not making things easy for him at times, yet still compulsively coveting his distinct verse.

A potential suitor arrives one day whom her father objectively approves of, and they head out in his seductive boat to challenge the sea with nautical bravado.

The suitor tries his best to valiantly please her but is wholeheartedly forsaken, her heart belonging to ye olde Romeo who has thus far requited her advances. 

Rain suddenly descends in torrential buckets thereby delaying their return home, an enchanting masquerade ball ethereally awaiting that includes the coveted Shakespearian in attendance.

Rosaline indeed arrives too late but not after her cousin Juliet has been formerly introduced. 

Romeo having fallen for her indivisibly. 

Encouraging bitter fury enraged!

Love seeing comedic reimaginings of classic tales continuously told, with new characters and emboldened situations absurdly redefining stray narrative elements.

Romeo doesn't mean to be a cad he just accidentally finds himself playing the role, his honest unattached unbetrothed feelings awkwardly lamented throughout the movie. 

Patient Dario steals the show with his courageous resolve and humble cunning, embracing Rosaline's chaotic feelings with resourceful energy and lithe accommodation. 

How Romeo could have overlooked her immaculate bearing inherently overflowing with genuine artistry, her very existence each elegant breath a slow motion incarnate natural wonder.

Alas, in that natural possession of what many desire to stunningly diversify, the majority find her too incredible to risk their cherished sanity through bold proposal. 

I thought the film was for the young ones but mom assures me it was far too mature.

Alternative takes, imposing reanimation.

If you're still interested in that kind of thing. 

Scrooge

Events traditionally unfold in the 1970 version of Scrooge, known perhaps for its musical flourishes and alternative takes on narrative contentions.

Scrooge remains as thoroughly miserly as one would expect if even vaguely familiar, and greedily refuses to grant the slightest clemency to any of his festive hard-working debtors.

To be expected, he also treats Bob Cratchit with cold and calculated avaricious disdain, and once again denies his humble nephew as he pleasantly invites him to Christmas dinner.

Many of the lines no doubt are almost identical to the 1951 classic, as it proceeds with temperate respect to the ageless wonder miraculously crafted.

It does struggle somewhat at times when the story isn't enriched through upbeat song, the less melodious dramatic scenes lacking convincing qualities effectively managed.

I did rather like the songs however and their exuberant convivial ecstatic fortitude, the fitting emphasis on play and fun mellifluously denoting communal cohesion.

Some of them are quite elaborate as well with dozens of extras performing in unison, the intricate nature of the ebullient dancing considerably impressive in stride and swoon. 

In this version, more attention is paid to Scrooge's apprenticeship with ye olde Fezziwig, and Alice is presented as Fezzi's daughter who Scrooge freely falls for even though he can't dance.

An extended scene romancing in the countryside adds much more romantic and amorous depth, Scrooge's inevitable inestimable turn all the more cruel and dishearteningly tempered. 

I always love the Fezziwig scene and it is rather short in some of the versions, I often think all of that effort for such a short time but at a younger age it did seem much longer.

Another notable difference looks at Scrooge's imagined descent into Hell, where he encounters Jacob Marley again and finds himself enlisted as Satan's clerk. 

The final song the purchase of the toys is rather well done Scrooge's generosity unsurpassed.

Not in keeping with the season to state overzealous!

How could it be!

Merry Christmas, everyone. 🎄🎅🤶🌟⛄𐂂👼

Transformers One

Tough and experimental young friends resiliently attuned to calisthenic mischief, bored with their jobs and inherently curious about the political composure of their planet's temperament. 

They work in the mines digging for energon without the requisite cogs which enable transforming, carefree and dreamy yet brave and self-sacrificing they function with enterprising inquisitive accolades. 

Yet as their heroics win them applause their planet's adored leader isn't quite so impressed, indirectly banishing them to an unheard of sub-level where they find themselves managing disregarded waste.

Appropriately, after making new friends, they soon courageously travel to their planet's surface, in search of the long lost matrix of leadership, the location of which may have been revealed.

Further distress despondently awaits them in the inhospitable lands terrorized above, as the treacherous nature of their belovéd leader is freely showcased by a legendary warrior.

To inform their brethren that they were meant to have cogs and that their tireless labours simply profit hostile aliens, definitively emerges as a compelling mission to which they immediately respond with vociferous stewardship.

A revolutionary tale tempestuously told to harness innate hard-working nobility, bold transformations multivariably brandishing integrity and exception across the land.

The citizens denied their honest fair share of the spoils of their labours react with indignity, and collectively express their enraged disapproval with rebellious instinct and distinguished resolve.

Certainly focused on Transformers the sentient robotic aliens fuelling, narrative discord aggrieved animation improvised cognizance intermingling microbes. 

Unfortunately, their inspired insurrection leaves Orion Pax and D-16 at odds, the classic Professor X/Magneto dialectic reemerging with democratic/authoritative repercussions hemorrhaging.

It reminded me of Coruscant in Attack of the Clones when Skywalker and Kenobi chase down the bounty hunter, and ye olde "splinching" from the Harry Potter films when the newfound Transformers have issues changing.

Indubitably textbook evaluations of open-minded leadership resiliently tested, no doubt applicable to political studies should they seek exemplars of seditious tales.

Sad to see the flourishing enmity as it's coldly birthed in revolutionary flames.

To be spread far and wide from planet to planet. 

Megatron and Prime at odds thereverafter. 

Four Christmases

Vacation plans imperceptibly tantalizing quickly approaching festive holiday breaks, time to spend relaxed and stretched out elaborately elongated upright tenements. 

Traditional visits to old school loved ones siblings and family and nieces and nephews, incrementally harmonizing habitual happenstance gregarious growth uproarious sentiments.

But some imaginative couples creatively manifest alternative arrangements, to sneakily avoid the routine remonstrance and inconsolable awkward confabulations.

To Fiji they furtively plan to gallopingly go sans limitations, to lazily bask in freeflowing sustainable enriching waters immersive acclamations. 

Yet when they reach the airport on Christmas Day in fact no less, ominous fog discourteously blankets the surrounding skies with opaque languor. 

To further frustrate their Scroogey mendacity a local news station suddenly broadcasts them live, their relatives witnessing the distressing surprising grouchy exchanges on their televisions. 

Soon it's off therefore to reminisce with emboldened blood and the next generation.

Neither member of the couple prepared. 

For what they're soon to learn about one another. 

Immaculate bliss once exceptionally adorning their perpetual ensconcement in each other's arms, far away from the orthodox torments unsettlingly facilitating unrestrained fury.

They are quite different people leading quite different lives from different points of view, but does that hardboiled multivariable eclectivity not also inspire romantic love!?

The film did seem dialectically dis/oriented to either champion or lampoon family, synthesizing the divergent concepts throughout with varying degrees of symphonic success. 

Was the spirit of Christmas beatifically bound to bring them wholesomely together, to optimistically unite, to generously generate raw animate excursions fluidly fuelled with maladroit mallow?

Offbeat ridicule flamboyant caprice rambunctious sincerity disconsolate diatribes, randomly revolving with road weary rubber gallantly peppered through a hard day's night.

Unpredictable fanciful variety.

At home for the frosty holidays.

Eggnog and shortbread and willow.

Endless timeless specials!

The Prince of Egypt

Misjudged the title of this one.

I thought it was going to present an old school Egyptian tale, one that I'd never heard before, and offer insights into the culture that definitively flourished for agile millennia (I'm curious and I don't know that much about it).

Obviously that wasn't the case and The Prince of Egypt is in fact Moses, and the film examines the famous Exodus that led the Jewish people to new lands.

I was still surprised to see a cartoon showcasing such a revered and solemn tale, with animated pluck and illustrated mischief not grim and stately sombre discord.

Moses is a bit of a punk and habitually revels at play within, causing great disturbances as he teases Ramses who may inherit the civilization.

Ramses is worried because his absolutist father isn't quite so sure he would govern wisely, that he may be too soft indeed to effectively administrate something so vast and historically imposing.

Moses assures him he'll be okay before running into his actual family, who left him freely cast adrift on the fertile Nile so long ago.

Upon discovering his Hebrew roots Moses reacts with sympathy and compassion, for an enslaved people sincerely struggling to maintain balance and upbeat order. 

He leaves his life at the palace behind and takes up their cause with concerted gusto, notably after God commands him to nimbly help his struggling overlooked and crippled subjects.

I don't mind interpretive takes on biblical legends postmodernly accentuated, the literal accounts and associated stories often coming across as far too dull.

In an age of multivariable invention is it not crucial to flexibly adapt, and even embrace alternative interpretations reflexively recharacterizing biblical myths?

When I consider that Moses parted the Red Sea for instance and I imagine it through a parliamentary lens, it's as if the centre-left-red wanted the Hebrews to remain in Egypt, and at one time the far-left-red agreed with them.

But then Moses's messianic savvy was able to convince the more compassionate far-left-red otherwise, and as the red politicians at large debated his clever points, the Jewish people escaped emergent and free (the government wasn't paying attention because it was arguing so much).

It actually sounds a lot cooler with the sea being parted by a sympathetic God.

But is that the only way the story can be told?

For a God, wouldn't it be boring? 

Piccadilly

A popular night club routinely offers exceptional dynamic crowd pleasing performances, its dancers showcasing sundry coveted moves and flourishing finesse with fluid elegance.

The spice freely flows the rhythms distill freeflowing upbeat pleasant fun merrymaking, half their tables zealously reserved (by noon) intense sprightly jocose reliable industry.

But as so often happens, the urge to change one's steadfast surroundings bluntly coaxes, and one of the famous sought after dancers decides he'd rather entertain North America.

The blow is indeed distressing as dependable revenue streams quickly dry up, his equally flexible former partner remaining but not enough of a draw to firmly bring hundreds in.

Then one night an ornery client vehemently complains about a stain on his plate, which prompts the owner to visit the kitchen the scullery in fact where he finds a new spectacle. 

Soon the act is passionately displayed for the curious public who responds with praise, the newfound sensation turning critical heads and swiftly redefining the business's mantra.

But the old act once incredibly loved isn't as willing to be warm and pleasantly accommodating. 

The owner caught between the stubborn lithe rivals.

Following his heart, wherever it leads.

Several decades before the Civil Rights Movement emerged with formidable vigour, Piccadilly sought to break down race barriers with a bold and courageous daring silent film.

Released in England not the United States and in British cinemas not on American television, it still predates William Shatner and Nichelle Nichols's kiss by almost a dashing and carefree 30 years.

I don't know enough about silent films so I'm not sure if such stories were often told at the time, I just know from my own observations that I've rarely seen interracial tales pre-1960.

Pioneering no less and also cool to watch it's still a captivating film, I was interested to see something starring Anna May Wong after she appeared on the American quarter.

She was tired of being typecast in early Hollywood and moved to Europe to find more diverse roles so I'm told, bravery rewarded in this instance at least she clearly steals the show in Dupont's Piccadilly.

If curious about silent film and alternative ways to tell compelling tales, it's worth checking out for sure with many of its themes still resonating today.  

We Live in Time

Temporal constraints motivating and hindering the progressive development of vigorous contemplation, the ticking-clock accentuating bold constructive split-second or strategic plans.

The resonant calm seductively sustaining positive thoughts multivariably exercised, tantalizing fruition anticipated and swathed as definitive timelines filter and structure.

The potential for limitless editing as mischievously suggested by Mr. Orson Welles, also provides lithe and tempting bearings to the infinite reimagining of spiritual studies.

The thriving possibility the interminable tantrums the heuristic horizons the enchanting escapades, demonstratively connecting interactive achievements intermittently coalesced through spontaneous reinvention.

A play's history the variety of performances exceedingly relates to unlimited mutability, the contemporary difference the hubris assumed fantastically enabling bright ahistoricity. 

We Live in Time we adapt and age as newfound challenges and developments alter, well-rounded paths and convincing philosophies economically synthesized through cultural schemata. 

We Live in Time the inherent ridiculousness of geologic masses imperceptibly duelling, inspiring romance and chaos and tragedy as biological rubrics scale and rupture.

We Live in Time the capricious seasons habitually recalling tracks and trajectories, temperate enlivened invigorated festive potentially sentimental breezes crazing.

We Live in Time emergent generations interactively communicating multifaceted alternatives, incongruously compiled in abounding treatises ephemerally delineating temperate eternity.

What a gamer, this determined Almut, who refused to yield even though she had cancer, who still competed in an incredibly demanding event even though she might suddenly die.

The forecast wasn't hopeful but she still may have lived if she had taken it easy, but if she had done so and missed out on the challenge and still passed, it would have seemed so utterly unbearable.

Cooking mind-blowing meals that one feels sincerely embarrassed to eat, like you're devouring Deutschland Café XIII perhaps while discussing the weather with someone who isn't listening.

It'd be fun to compose a poem while examining and appreciating such a meal in real-time.

A picture will have to do for now. 

Dazzling and light, endearing forays. 

That Christmas

Awkward alternatives bravely manifest upon a far off inventive seaside stage, where newfound bold uncharacteristic reimaginings strut and flutter in this day and age.

The Christmas season immersively configureights as local residents stride and muster, parents and innovative children alike emotively adopting seasonal levity.

But the routine quotidian yet fascinating happenings are soon traditionally cast aside, as a furious blizzard startlingly descends and the village is cut off from the outside world.

Not only that, but a group of parents suddenly finds themselves stuck off the side of the road, with no cellphone access residually roughing it their children forlorn and ever antsy.

Although they don't dwell on their parents' disappearance after Santa provides them with ideal gifts, and they calmly engage in festive shenanigans improvisationally utilizing the awesome presents.

Meanwhile, a lonesome youth whose father has forgotten about the special day, mournfully seeks the maladroit accompaniment of a local school marm since his mom has to work.

They dig in deep and courageously construct fortuitous memories for when she returns, as bucolic mischief and communal courtesy cerebrally celebrate felicitous feeling.

Another reason to fight global heating, to help ye olde England recover its bearings, a snowstorm may be present within the film but it's nothing compared to that received here in Canada.

In fact just last week 5 adamant feet of challenging snow diabolically descended (no exaggeration), and we were once again reminded of the pioneering spirit that legendarily engineered the development of our land.

If we can fight off global heating and turn the terrorizing tempestuous tide, winters will return to normal across the pond, and their films may once again inspire rugged confidence.

Santa nevertheless is indeed filled with such inclinations, as he braves the "storm" to generously give sought after gifts to the anxious young ones.

It's a cool take on St. Nick who uses his omniscience to choose perfect gifts for the children, and brilliantly leaves them something luminous and cherished before once again departing for his next destination.

A thoughtful shout out is gallantly given to freeform turkey kind in That Christmas as well, as the resident birds at a lacklustre barn are valiantly set free to avoid mealtime melees.

A chill hyped-up account of just how different Christmas might be if the alternatives bear fruit.

And even more innate goodness emerges throughout the season. 

Cool Christmas film embracing festive change.

The Cars that Ate Paris

It's tough to say what's bound to happen if you leave isolated communities on their own. 

Should representatives of a central government keep in consistent contact as they blossom?

If they had in The Cars that Ate Paris, the situation may have been different, and the thriving supplemental auto parts industry may not have flourished so devastatingly. 

The leader would have been proactively concerned.

He's attempting to facilitate familial community.

Local inhabitants can routinely depend on an uplifting speech to keep them motivated. 

He's not particularly adept at generating sincere enthusiasm, yet still attempts to absolutely encourage village-wide co-operation and understanding.

Inhabitants have grown to be somewhat restless due to a lack of sure and steady employment, and have taken to recklessly engage in spirited acts of hard-driven disjunction. 

One individual survives and isn't sent to the local hospital, where outsiders are usually lobotomized after their cars are blown off the road. 

He lacks vision and focus and usually seems quite friendly and unobtrusive, and is therefore permitted to live in the town assuming he doesn't cause any mischief.

Xenophobia is taken to ridiculous degrees as the murderous townsfolk routinely express themselves, alone and forgotten in the far distant Outback where rarely a traveller comes passing through.

Absurd no doubt but indubitably commensurate with low-budget frights from around the world, its innovative use of vehicular vocation demonstrating odd technoautomotive authenticity.

The ways in which they doctor up their cars with intricate designs and supplemental parts, reminded me of Fury Road and I wondered if The Cars that Ate Paris had been historically instructional. 

Then it occurred to me that the phenom's likely widespread across the sweltering resourceful Outback, and that these films are artistic examples of something I've never seen in North America. 

I would argue that the moment when the clueless lobotomized outsiders show up at the mandatory town dance, transports The Cars that Ate Paris to another level, that's as shocking as it is original.

A challenge if you like old school cult films the existence of which encourage disbelief.

Before heading out on the road.

Destination carefree and uncharted. 

Don't Play Us Cheap

Lo and behold, a classic dinner party festively abounding with rhythmic song, the random celebratory inspired exclamations as unconcerned and versatile as they are contagious!

But the laidback chill and welcoming get-together has found its pernicious carnal adversaries, uptight individuals austerely prone to bombastically break up the tranquil merrymaking.

Imps from Hell in fact who can instantaneously change their shape and form, initially existing as vainglorious bats before diabolically transforming into humanoid revellers.

They strive to impress the Dark Lord by ruining an otherwise felicitous night, seeking reward recompense and favour in abysmal pits ominously inhabited. 

Fortunately, the guests assembled are far too good natured to fall for their traps, and easily find reflexive criticisms carefreely capable of sustaining the fun.

Most of the characters have a song to sing that's full of harmonious hard-working accords, mellifluous tales of united resplendency avidly coaxing freeflowing rebellion. 

Salt-of-the-Earth recitals fluidly enchant with gracious exactitude, Melvin Van Peebles having written the songs while expertly directing the feature as well (originally performed as a live musical).

I loved it so much I found the soundtrack and listened to many of the songs again, impressive soulful collaborative music gossamer gospel Motown motivation.

The music continuously innovates the feverish climax bewitching ensemble, as many of the characters gather together and sing several songs at the same chillaxed time.

It starts out humble and modest and slow then virtuously builds as other artists join in, before suddenly emerging as a bona fide fulcrum of synergistic spectacular stardust.

Why not simultaneously compose mischievous quotidian narrative accompaniments, cheerfully championing hard work and play and teamwork and friendship and family and Christmas (not technically a Christmas movie)?

The food looks so good too and there's so so so much of it freely available.

Fortuitously praising one more Saturday night.

Tantalizing treatise.

Mind-blowing maestros.

Crimes of the Future

As the ubiquitous commodified presence of pepped-up plastics and frenetic fossil fuels, begin to osmotically transform incumbent biological organisms, mutations matriculately metastasize and preponderantly promulgate across the land, the macabre growth of peculiar novelties transitionally emergent through stressed out synthesis.

Is it as farfetched as it sounds could we gradually adapt to consume plastic, to find sustaining fulfilling nourishment within the manifold products created thus?

I figured we wouldn't adapt and microplastics and forever chemicals would produce widespread woe, the former too tiny and omnipresent the latter too eternally carcinogenic. 

But life is consistently resilient as trees growing on outcrops reliably demonstrate, or the ways in which South American jungles have consumed ancient towns, the fact that fish continuously evolve. 

When I was young, and I considered pollution it seemed like waterways were under serious threat, especially considering how much sewage winds-up in rivers and oceans, it's a big time issue, sustainably speaking.

But even in those polluted waters we still find many resident fish, who somehow still live immersed in destructive chemicals, how do they do that?, how do they survive?

The perseverance of these fish lends credence to Crimes of the Future, and its endemic evolutionary theory that we'll one day live off plastic.

As we slowly mutate, new organs will spontaneously develop within our virulent bodies, to be registered by a curious government meticulously concerned with classified engagement.

Perhaps performance artists would indeed show off their newfound growths, in enigmatic underground showcases composédly cataloguing piecemeal evolution.

It's classic Cronenberg the reemergence of the Master still proving he can convincingly perplex 50 years later, many horror films have a short shelf life but his work from the '70s and '80s still seriously impresses.

Fittingly, it's difficult to know if the film's intended to be taken seriously, or exists solely to kerfuffle while provoking opaque comic registry.

Classic ambiguity conglomerately clasped in distinct dialogues convolutedly conversing, the characters consistently lying to one another, lucidly opposed unconcerned cross-purposes. 

Of course animosity manifests between old school humans and the emergent mutants, which makes for startling solemnities through eclectic interactive discomfort.

Kristan Stewart really impresses I had no idea she could perform that well, Cronenberg really brings out the best in her, the acting's good all around but she stands out.

Irrelevantly, I'll bear in mind this scenario as long as fish continue to swim.

Hope future generations don't adapt to eat plastic.

That sounds much worse than bugs.  

The Holdovers

As Christmas approaches, a severe depressed teacher is suddenly stuck with a pressing burden, to monitor the activities and structure the days of a small group of children at a private school.

The children were left behind for unfortunate reasons their grief somewhat turgid, and to make things worse the ornery prof gives them lengthy flush days full of challenge and study.

Instinctive rebellion athletically simmers as the taut strict injustice wholeheartedly incapacitates, alcoholic coherence and ancient civilizations acerbically mustering seditious resolve. 

When the surprising introduction of chill unexpected adventurous pastimes makes itself freely known, and a former dismissive and angst-ridden parent turns a bucolic leaf and picks up his son. 

He also takes three of the other kids leaving only one student to be chastised and disciplined, the student desperately trying to contact his mom but she can't be reached at the resort where she's staying.

The resident cook still performs her duties as the Holiday Season ominously howls.

Helping the instructor try to loosen things up.

As the frustrated teenager dismally exfoliates. 

It's a traditional woeful bitter look at hard-boiled excessively critical regulations, as they gradually let go of their uptight ceremony and warmly embrace something much more public.

It reminded me of A Christmas Carol (1951) and how Scrooge had to once spend Christmas at a boarding school, until his adoring sister finally convinced their father to let him come home to celebrate together.

Imagine Scrooge the child, bright and decent, despondently stuck at school for Christmas, with Scrooge-the-elder, jaded and unfeeling, scheduling his activities throughout the day.

Scrooge vs. Scrooge the malignant metastases overtly arrayed through pomp and circumstance, slowly learning to get along as the stilted teacher incrementally lets go.

Perhaps if he'd been sent to the military academy he would have wound up more like Ebenezer, the Scrooge-like prof through an act of kindness embracing lithe spirits and altering his destiny.

Much more serious than many a light happy-go-lucky convalescent Christmas film.

That may find a lasting audience amongst the people who listen to the people whom no one ever bothers to care to listen to. 😎

Action Jackson

A determined dedicated cop reservédly reputed to authentically infuriate, suddenly finds himself assigned to the plutocrat who disturbingly demoted him way back when.

Still not one to mince words he reestablishes their acquaintanceship rather discourteously, like a lot of hard-edged tales from the time blunt criticism confronting stately acrimony.

The ne'er-do-well in combative question is secretly murdering people to gain control, of a powerful union generally known to pursue social justice regarding the Presidency.

Hoping to control the union and thereby take over the White House, he comports himself tyrannically behind the scenes in his trusted realm.

Jackson learns of his malevolence and sets about applying aggrieved aggravation, but Dellaplane then kills his wife for having talked to him and lays the blame squarely on his shoulders.

With nowhere to go and few to rely on he finds himself adjudicating offbeat stages.

With the help of a nightclub singer.

And reliable visceral absurd awkward instinct. 

This film was severely critiqued upon its release in 1988, so I unfortunately never watched it, and always thought it lacked production values.

It's not Aliens or Die Hard or The Terminator but it holds its own with Rambo 2 or Raw Deal, meaning I'm surprised Weathers wasn't more of a leading man, as he took the fall for its praise of unions.

Thus, even though the How do you like your ribs? line is an instant classic for the action-packed ages, Action Jackson said positive things about forbidden gatherings in American culture.

It even makes unions look powerful and at the same time honest and proactive, it doesn't shortsightedly vilify them or call into question their versatile communities.

Cult status still effectively emerges along with the unsung unionist accolades, too bad Weathers never became a leading man, or had a career like Treat Williams or Roddy Piper (racism perhaps).

Still fun to see him whenever he popped up even if he wasn't leading the way.

Cool careers made in Hollywood like none other. 

Back in the hardboiled uprooted day.

Fedrelandet (Songs of Earth)

Imagine living there, naturally ensconced in overwhelming breathtaking beauty, consistently revelling in awestruck wonder as the seasons change and life delivers.

It's fun to catalogue the passing of the seasons like the family does in Fedrelandet (Songs of Earth), humbly showcasing their fertile land which they've boldly cultivated since at least 1603. 

Incredibly beautiful consistently revitalizing miraculous mountainous energetic environs, overflowing with habitual endemic resplendency, what a place to grow up then resiliently stay.

Not that it hasn't been difficult, emergency visits to the hospital were arduous at times, in fact to cure routine and troublesome appendicitis one required a nine hour trek over a mountain to a hospital.

And while the mountains constantly provide mood-altering rejuvenating lithe panaceas, they can at times wipe out whole families when they suddenly tremble with capricious fury.

But the beauty outweighs the risk their rooted reasonable irreducible rubric, providing ubiquitous inspirational levity like the perennial emergence of prehistoric dawn (I spent a year in the Rockies).

Mr. and Mrs. Mykløen are still enamoured with old school l'amour, it's uplifting to watch as they lovingly chill far away in the mountains on the family farm.

Still as holistically fascinated with one another as they lucidly were when their eyes first met, the unyielding preservation of romantic love everlastingly conjoined through limitless longevity.

Strong health and inherent vigour naturally accompanying their lives in the mountains, as they still hike like billy-goats to imposing mountain tops far above the sea.

It's impressive to view the heights they reach without looking like they've put in much of an effort, a life of bold adventurous mountaineering begetting calisthenic courageous camaraderie. 

Fjord living seems remarkably versatile from the stunning vistas and prominent panoramas, not to mention incomparable envisaged reflections in the pristine waters and out on the ice.

Filmmaker Margreth Olin (the Mykløen's daughter) periodically showcases wildlife within her film too, deer and moose and ravens and ferrets industriously existing in inhospitable lands.

There must be tourism it may be cold and isolated but it's still like nowhere else on Earth (crazy Northern Lights).

But perhaps that kind of thing would disrupt the harmony.

What a thrilling way of life.

Effervescent through the centuries (crazy waterfalls too).

*The Mykløens explain things much more clearly in the film.

Gojira (Godzilla)

In the original demonstroustive lobotomy, Godzilla haunts the forbidding seas, nuclear testing having enabled his reemergence, with fabled bellicose unfiltered brawn.

Ships begin to disappear and the mainland must take observant action, and indeed scientifically investigate the forlorn embattled terrified region.

Island legend warns of a giant-dinosaur-like-creature who once roamed the surrounding waters, in excruciating flagrant frenzy from time to time or epoch to epoch.

Upon arrival, noted scientists bask in prehistoric awe, as the colossal-beastie revels chaotically throughout the aggrieved distant locus.

ReBorn of nuclear experiment which greatly enhanced his body armour, invoking proclamations of invincibility throughout the industrious domain. 

Yet another disastrous weapon may be able to resoundingly sting however.

Its creator hesitant to deploy its hubris.

In light of fervent fee-fi-fo-fum.

Making much more of a tantalizing attempt to bombastically craft a compelling narrative, the first enraged Godzilla feature proceeds rather like a serious film.

Complete with a definitive way to radically save their island home, as opposed to the habitual acquiescence to Godzilla's unhinged distraught fury.

Reminding me at poignant points of ye olde Frankenstein or even Dracula,  there's much much more of a diabolical urge to effervescently ferment a legitimate film here.

With the incumbent scientist battling his will to painstakingly study the ancient beast, as it recklessly employs surreal embittered conspicuous contumacious brevity.

If only Godzilla had peacefully remained inattentively submerged below, and refused to unleash devastation at random upon the unsuspecting surface.

Nuclear experiment having audaciously mutated his once sedate and aloof spirit.

Grandiose ambition, ominous relief.

Fortuitous fuel. 

For so many sequels. 

Great Expectations

In ritual exile dismally fastened to permanently unaltered expressive decay, immutably unable to passively nurture piecemeal envisaged newfound exclamation. 

Abandoned on her festive wedding day while guests and relatives awkwardly attended, the resultant scourge cacophonous and shrill so ubiquitously disquieting she never recovered. 

But moderate remonstrance still boldly illuminated less morose pastures actively within, and a young jaunty lass was delicately instructed in the elegant ways of her former bearing.

But to be locked up away all alone with no one to play with throughout the day, lugubriously distressed the forsaken madame who freely set about discovering a friend.

The fortunate boy unaccustomed to sympathy and even less so to ceremonious eccentricity, fluidly fluctuated and instinctively managed to become a friendly playmate as time passed by.

The woebegone heiress still ideally immoveable as the young spirits mischievously opulently swayed, her house remaining lost atemporally defiant not one slight alteration since her wedding day.

No doubt an obsessive reaction stubbornly derelict and obtusely overwhelmed, still somewhat romantic in the execution of so much superfluous ornery extremity. 

She encourages the young girl to be cruel and even states she's free to break the lad's heart, an organ he'd no doubt freely part with should she see fit to impulsively crush it.

But wickedness aside they generally get on and playfully refuse to acrimoniously delegate, Miss Havisham in turn sinisterly supportive of their innocent fanciful nigh endeavours.

The house still doesn't alter and nothing is changed within, the lighthearted youthful imaginative symmetries still widely unable to facilitate thaw.

Even as they age and inevitably drift very far apart joy remains tightly bound, Pip still in love as he always has been, Estella still generally dismissive and bored. 

Miss Havisham still seems to like Pip even if she doesn't mind Estella's curt dismissals, and in the heavenly abridged yet stunning David Lean film she seems somewhat out of touch with her habitual irritation.

Imagine how much more could have indeed been creatively accomplished.

With a series of intricate films.

Challenging discursive conviviality.

Burden of Dreams

If you're ever under a lot of pressure to achieve a difficult goal, which seems beyond accomplishing too impossible to ever attain, perhaps watch Les Blank's Burden of Dreams as it films the making of Fitzcarraldo, and Werner Herzog's Herculean labours trying to finish the chaotic anti-epic.

Then watch Fitzcarraldo itself and consider that he actually did finish it. With setbacks that would have sent Olympic athletes home in exasperation. No matter what he got 'er done.

I don't know if these films are part of a master class in improvisational independent filmmaking, where the students study Herzog's endeavours and reach conclusions as to his methods.

Or arduously research grand ambition as applied to making international films, where extremely complicated and delicate agreements must be reached with critical Natives.

Or practically study the provision of supplies to an isolated camp deep in the jungle, where hundreds of extras and film personnel had to be well-fed to fend off the boredom.

With the deep pockets of a Hollywood studio it would have perhaps been a different story, although I imagine they would have backed out after the setbacks became too outrageous (punitive raids etc.).

Credit to Herzog for never backing down and to every cast and crew member who stuck it out till the end. 

Hyperintense ominous immersion. 

Ineffable formidable frustration. 

Heart of Darkness comes to mind and Apocalypse Now as well no doubt, as if Herzog was somewhat like Kurtz madly delegating lost in the jungle.

Interviews capture distinct moments alternative viewpoints his different moods, many of them courageous and vigorously defiant while some give way to augmented misery. 

The diaries of Les Blank and Maureen Gosling excerpts of which come with the Criterion Edition of Burden of Dreams (they used to anyway, I bought my copy 20 years ago), offer disenchanting insights into the chaos and some of the decisions that had to be made.

Still to make them to be so artistically obsessed the bona-fide-mad-genius expediently concocting, reflexively adjusting to constant insane pressure, with everyone confused seeking guidance and instruction.

While Kinski erupts in fury (Blank doesn't focus much on Kinski but you can see it in Herzog's My Best Fiend) and the threat of mutiny ubiquitously languishes. 

The absolute pursuit of compulsive artistry. 

People actually risking their lives.

I don't know if there ever was what could be considered a plan.

If there was and it was written down it should be in a museum.

Copies available for study.

With mind-bogglingly resilient discipline. 

*Cool shots of jungle animals at times. 

Microcosmos

If seeking to find a source of enticing limitless variability, look no further than the world of insects, where diminutive dynamism thrives indelicately. 

Lithely chronicled in Microcosmos as patiently directed by Claude Nuridsany and Marie Pérennou, within vibrant versatile insect life peculiarly transmits intense reverberations. 

The scenes they capture motivate wonder to efficiently charm warm and pleasant enchantments, as imaginative random uncanny creatures magically enhance sundry fertile environments.

They present ants and moths and snails and bees and butterflies plus dragonflies to name a few, as they go about their embowering business within sprightly forests, ponds, and meadows.

The shots they take of a random meadow or pond or even the integral backwoods, peacefully remind observant viewers of the incredible life residing yonder.

It's not the easiest thing to do to film or photograph chill insect encounters, to find moments which showcase romance or strife or industry can take a long time.

So worth it when it finally comes to evocatively and picturesquely pass, so many mind-blowing moments in Microcosmos it's a feverish feast for the cerebral senses. 

The unobtrusive close-ups delicately offering detailed macroscopic visuals, that focus on the limbs and bodies and colours which nature has crafted with so much precision.

It's often the colours I find most intriguing the illuminative spectrum artistically manifested, intense greens reds oranges and blues collectively conjuring luminescent spontaneity. 

So many of them have wings as well their bodies are so compact and they can fly, I must admit that if they can sense us they likely pity our lack of flight.

Lol, there's no doubt many of them can sense us dragonflies even protect us when mosquitoes swarm, and bees severely criticize if we seek their honey, and flies indubitably make their presence known!

I've mentioned that it's like an art museum the sundry ludic bug shapes and sizes (and nature generally), as I'm sure many others have as well, the striking majesty of creation/evolution.

The world of insects really is much more diverse than that of rodents or reptiles or birds, there are so many shockingly unique characteristics that fluidly regale multivariable lifeforms. 

I liked the lack of narration and the light-hearted chill and comic soundtrack.

I wonder how many naturalists Microcosmos inspired.

As winter sets in, bring on the documentaries (plus Love Nature)! 

Henry V

Was curious to see more of Laurence Olivier's celebrated work, and realized I had perhaps been somewhat hasty by overlooking his Shakespearian cult. 

Thus to return to the elegant bard whose gift for language surpasses so many, to once again bask in ingenious horseplay distilling eloquent novel reckonings.

I was impressed by Mr. Olivier in Henry V but not as blown away as I thought I would be, even if I struggled to think of who could best him, and only came up with a very short list.

The lack of mind-numbing esteem which I was unable to share with Olivier to be certain, is an unfortunate byproduct of his heroic method which he generously shares through rich humility.

That is, his Henry is modest and sincere much different from the vain boasting oft encountered these days, and although he still shines through with resonant fortitude, some of his genius may have been held back.

Not that I would have wanted him to brag or gloat or bluntly engage in übermasculinity, but had he found himself in Branagh's more hardboiled film he may have had more time for intrigue and mischief (not that Branagh wasn't impressive himself, I haven't seen the film for 30 years but loved it in my youth [his Frankenstein wasn't very good though]).

I did wonder considering the times if Marlon Brando had ever tried the role, having recently watched The Godfather again and been genuinely blown away by his performance.

My mind switched to Brando and Shakespeare and I have to admit I couldn't come up with anything, until Google reminded me he had played Mark Antony long ago in Julius Caesar.

But he shockingly turned down Hamlet which if I'm not mistaken is a sought after role, it could very well have been that he preferred America and wasn't as enamoured with the best of Britain.

Olivier took on the role however I haven't seen it yet but will watch it soon, is there more bravery for embracing theatrical superlatives or mesmerizingly inventing fresh characters anew?

To see them both at odds on the stage may have seemed incredible no doubt way back when, but Britain often steers clear of the Americas, unless they're reunited in fantasy and science-fiction.

To dream humbly nevertheless of a stately dialectic theatrically apotheosized. 

Yet the giants often respect each other's talent.

And professionally leave so much up to the imagination. 

Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah

Unlike any Godzilla film I've seen before, Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah (1991) unreels as special effects were improving in Japan. They're still a long ways off from where they are now and a bit behind films like Star Wars or Aliens, but that doesn't mean the production team didn't use them as frequently and conspicuously as possible.

Plus, instead of using model vehicles real world tanks etc. were employed, more money spent on this instalment which radiates novel curiosity like none other.

Things are relatively peaceful in Japan as sundry professionals go about their business, a young writer tired of covering the supernatural hopes to break into the nonfiction market.

He hears a tale of an extant dinosaur who saved a battalion during World War II, and wonders if it was indeed the very lifeform whom nuclear experiments transformed into Godzilla.

Meanwhile, ambassadors from the future suddenly arrive with mischievous intent, claiming that Godzilla is such a pest in the future that he threatens the very existence of atemporal Japan.

They have a copy of the writer's book and hope to use it to find the dinosaur, whom they will then transport to another location so he never absorbs the transformative radiation. 

But it soon becomes apparent that contemporary politicians have been duped, as three cute bat-like genetically altered animals are transformed into King Ghidorah!

As Ghidorah levels Japan people realize once again that they need Godzilla; will approximate manifested manipulations exotically enable further monstrous malevolence!

It's actually a lot more complicated than that director/writer Kazuki Ômori went all out on the script, perhaps too much for one single Godzilla film but no doubt a feast for the over-the-top senses.

My theory that some dinosaurs lived for a great deal of time after their mass "extinction", seems to have been shared by inquisitive others actually brought up with ancient oral traditions.

Perhaps there's too much taking place in the inventive comprehensive macromanic King Ghidorah, but if you like consistent twists and unexpected developments legitimately hatched it's a frenetic frenzy.

Complete with a futuristic scenario where Japanese corporations control the world, it leaves no exuberant stone unturned as it ludicrously theorizes things yet to come.

Likely generating controversy in Godzilla circles around the experimental world, due to its incredibly ambitious undaunted seemingly limitless narrative daring, there's no doubt it's a fluidic must see in a league of its own crafting kernels incarnate, tantalizing transmutating treatises, disputatiously reverberating confounding as one.  

Frankenstein

Once again, literate compassion for the soulful and tender reanimated beast, stitched together reconstituted to forever cheat vainglorious mortality.

When left alone far off and sheltered his innate world-weary warm-heart shines through, his resplendent inner-beauty impeccably beaming with forthright enriching illuminated humanism.

Such a shame that fleeting appearances mean so so so much in the eyes of so many, when countless wise and spiritual educators proactively rationalize the sheer illusion.

At times, it applies both ways to sights pleasant or disagreeable to the eye, both generally distasteful to tenacious treatises and their orthodox criticisms of aesthetics and disconcertment. 

But acting without concern for the inherent nature of unalterable characteristics, leads to much more pleasant thoughtful dialogue in terms of multivariable individual expression.

Through the mass cultivation of the many the reliance on appearance wholeheartedly fades, and sprightly exclamatory universals collectively diversify through latent whimsy.

Thus the blind inclinations which recklessly lead towards herd classifications, relatively loosen their stubborn prejudices and once again nurture the youthful life.

But Frankenstein's creation is herded and ruthlessly attacked through no fault of his own, and then elaborately made to suffer for having striven to defend himself.

That was what struck me from the novel anyways as I imagine I've mentioned before, the poor isolated creature alone and scared secretly monitoring the woodland family.

Completely unaware of his strength and innocently oblivious to old world hatreds, still faintly hoping to engage in conversation to not have to dwell forsaken in shadow.

That's always been the story for me not the depressing antagonistic aftermath. 

Which The Dodo challenges every day. 

Through the heartwarming preservation of life. 

Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre, the Wrath of God)

As colonialism expands in the jungles of South America, the Indigenous inhabitants engage in trickery, wholeheartedly convincing several of the invaders that a vast city of gold exists deep within, the tale too tantalizing to ignore, soon a diverse outfit departs in pursuit.

Unaccustomed to the haunting jungle with its sweltering heat and bugs and mud, the ensemble makes slow progress initially until confronting a hostile river.

Here the group splits up with many of the party remaining behind, as a courageous group virtuously led bravely sets out alone down its course.

Virtuous ideals clashing with blunt pragmatism such strained relations when people don't value life, ironically tormenting the high-minded colonialists who had already instigated so much Native carnage.

Conflict abounds as the lethal Aguirre soon disagrees with his captain, and plans a much less sympathetic voyage weak on heart and strong on ambition.

He's able to persuade most of the company to boldly adhere to his brutal methods, as they drift deeper into the jungle on their adventurous own without knowledge or know-how.

Their rafts are detected by Natives hoping not to suffer like their enslaved brethren. 

Arrows picking the Spanish off one by one.

As Aguirre's madness irascibly intensifies.

A remarkable feat of filmmaking which took considerable risks to accomplish its goals, hats off to the daring cast and crew (plus Herzog) who set out on the river expedition.

It mustn't be as dangerous as it looks or else I doubt anyone would have agreed to do it, and how did the camera crew get all those shots as the wild river raged with absolutist fervour?

A former prince even travels amongst them and bitterly complains about his newfound bearing, not much is made of the dynamic character but he does show up from time to time.

Adorable animals occasionally adorn the blood-soaked verse with contradictory tender, but at times they aren't treated humanely most notably the awkward rebellious horse scene.

Music also interrupts the flow of augmented acidic despondent mutiny, as mellifluous sounds generously erupt from an endemic pipe playfully attuned.

When you stare into Kinski's eyes it really is like you're sailing through an abyss, it's like he spent so much time furiously exclaiming when they weren't filming that he forgot to radicalize his lines on set.

A marvel of cinematic industry that likely never would have been made if the mechanics had been scrutinized, I can sincerely applaud its visceral fortitude assuming the cast and crew knew what they were getting into. 

📽🎞

We are Zombies

That would be odd if everyone who had ever lived continued to exist until the end of time, spatial limitations and moribund immortality disproportionately confounding spiritual orthodoxies. 

Build up I say, like in Asia, unless you want one massive sprawling country, covering integral forests nationswide, with no room for resilient animals.

Has there ever been an animal zombie film within which not only humans nexercise livid purgatory, and everywhere you go every living thing that has ever existed regenerates evermore?

It could be related to a celestial deficit where living beings of all kinds are denied an afterlife, the gods furious or dismissive or bored and consequently no longer interested in accepting newcomers.

It could correspond to a disastrous future where ubiquitous pollution has destroyed the environment, while populations both living and dead continue to expand ad infinitum (there's an episode of Star Trek for that! [the expanding population not the pollution {Original Series}]). 

It wouldn't have to be on this planet it could be discovered by adventurers in space, who happen to be carrying a spiritual adviser with them who could slowly detect the absent celesticity.

In the end they could locate extant clerics still in possession of the ancient codes. 

To once again open the doors of Valhalla. 

And gleefully repopulate ethereal equivalencies. 

Condos etc. do seem like the way to go although they may not fit with many cultural narratives, wherein which vast estates and boundless lands occupy definitive prominent theatre.

Whatevs, apartments can fit so many more people and offer multiple stunning wide-ranging views, you can build up and up and up to reach haughty-high-heaven if you really want to.

It must be strange within however waiting for the elevator at times may be frustrating, and if they shut down for a long period of time that could be borderline life-threatening for older residents.

I suppose they would be so gigantic that they would be like small towns of their own, and develop unique genuine multiplicities generally attuned to elaborate social structures.

You could even incorporate dance halls with first rate acoustics and a lively theatre, thus creating self-sustaining enclaves with schools and shopping malls and medical centres.

Planet Zombie still a long ways off note the value of birth control and family planning.

We are Zombies isn't as cataclysmic as some.

But still showcases some classic carnage.

Disturbingly decadent!  

Jubilee

Queen Elizabeth I seeks direct knowledge of the future, and an accommodating angel is summoned, divinely endowed with prophetic precision he graciously enables clairvoyant caricatures, as they travel to a post-apocalyptic future feverishly enamoured with punk rock.

Strange to provide ahistorical comparisons between the alternative social constructs, but whereas the Queen monopolises power way back when, a media mogul exercises similar authority over yonder.

His friends characterize the past with random inspired proclamations, like a series of disgruntled spirited diatribes diabolically manifested through armageddon. 

Puzzling to the astonished Queen who takes it in with modest whimsy, somewhat shocked by the blatant contrasts but otherwise scientifically disposed.

The police have taken to violence and no longer put up with the slightest objection, quickly firing should constructive criticisms ever dare to voice concerns.

People discovered with nothing to do must endure underground lectures on various topics, an audience desired found within the streets where millions remain unemployed.

What can the bewildered Queen then boldly administer amongst her subjects?

To imagine alternative global paths.

Prominently incorporating widespread leisure. 

Treading imaginatively throughout time multivariable presents chaotically mingle, to effectively generate kinetic shards exuberantly coruscating wild endeavours.

Had the Queen spent more time delicately observing the tribulations of her stately epoch, perhaps the sensational uproars may have seemed less grandiose as semantically situated within composite streams.

Thoroughly saturated embellished beacons enthusiastically disseminating jocose hypotheses, not as devoutly determined by chronological forecasts much more individualistically composed. 

Like ye olde Lite Brite or David Lynch's picture to be found in another room, Jarman bedazzlingly creates improvised disharmonies through substantial recourse to extant obscurity. 

With good times endearingly awaiting the shape-shifting collectives in balm and friendship, indeed forging lackadaisical teams to fortuitously treasure infinite subjectivity. 

Carefree and unfortunately at odds with so many disciplined lavish demeanours.

Still unafraid to ebulliently exist.

Brilliant breaching.

Nebulous nerve. 

*Criterion keyword: freight. 

Fata Morgana

Fascinating to hear so many myths imaginatively delineating nimble creation, so many cultures effectively emphasizing dynastic difference enigmatically sewn.

The age of storytelling enduring for millennia it must have been entertaining to listen to such tales, as they transformed and mutated and diversified throughout the casually passing centuries.

At times it seems as if the divergent narratives were inspired by different beings, and that it was potentially several alternative alien visitors who taught different customs around the world.

Or perhaps not different alien groups but the same group over long periods of time, who changed remarkably on their homeworld amongst intermittent visitations.

I've never understood why different cultures are so fussy about creation myths, and why with the advent of international communication it doesn't seem somewhat silly to insist they're true.

To insist they're incredible stories elaborately crafted to be heard again, even more captivating when compared with one another, makes much more sense in my opinion.

Fata Morgana evocatively presents eclectic images from Algerian deserts, and showcases them stitched together while a narrator recites a creation myth.

The myth isn't overflowing with pizazz and didn't generate that much interest, but the random collection of images and entertaining soundtrack made for cool old school accompaniment (Leonard Cohen).

I remember an old working arrangement where I was tasked with encouraging young ones to read, and I showed up one day with a book of myths which we read together for a short period.

The memory stands out because the child was so dismissive at the time, not just of the myths we were reading but of the existence of creation myths themselves.

He was so scientific, I started laughing, I wasn't expecting to hear so much criticism from someone that young.

But you can't count out the feisty Québecois.

Even when they're Anglo like in this instance! 

Storm Boy

An ominous board meeting looms for the former director of a prosperous company, which may result in the industrialization of large verdant swathes of Western Australia. 

He's more or less retired and not that concerned with business as of late, his son leading the woebegone way to widespread inanimate environmental degradation. 

His granddaughter is quite concerned though and at irascible odds with her dismissive father, and as granddad listens to her passionate criticisms his mind begins to impressionably sway.

He begins telling an old school tale of his unorthodox childhood isolated on a beach, where he grew up with his father and three pelicans and a local friendly Indigenous neighbour.

The tale, much like the original, follows young Kingley as he raises the pelicans, his father and friend warm and pleasantly accommodating throughout the non-traditional animal husbandry.

The birds are an active lot whose jaunty forthright exuberant instincts, lead to the acquisition of thousands of pounds of increasingly larger delicious fresh fish.

Unfortunately, bird hunters are near who outrageously kill just to have deranged fun.

But as he trains them they thoughtfully respond.

And a bird sanctuary may be on its way! 🐦 

Plus the deal to alarmingly pollute so much vital Australian land, is suddenly challenged by the swift reemergence of a caring activist and his granddaughter. 

It's a heartwarming familial account of the spectacular bonds forged between different species, and the ways in which so many animals can forge lifelong ties with us if raised from birth.

Look to the energetic Moo Deng who recently captured the world's attention, or at manifold other online videos delicately telling similar stories. 

Not just when humans are involved, one video depicts a leopard raised by a cow, who still returns to visit her years later, intense congenial interactive love!

I didn't think this version of Storm Boy would be like a reimagining of the original, which I strongly encourage curious peeps to synchronously check out if you've got time.

The new version's good, don't get me wrong, but the original shouldn't be overlooked by any means.

It's much more independent and ingeniously realized a genuine masterpiece to be widely shared. 

🎄🎅🤶⭐

Raising Arizona

At times, the constructive benefits of living a dull yet productive life, fail to impress the potentially high-rolling illicit transgressive provocative crowd.

But enduring grace ironically saves an awkward confused convenience store thief in Raising Arizona, as he falls in love with a beautiful cop who takes his picture every time he's brought in.

He eventually wins her hand and they soon swiftly realize they're indeed somewhat married, and therefore expected to responsibly nurture uptight consistent bourgeois contingencies.

Things take a grandiose maladroit turn when friends from the joint come a' humbly calling, however, having escaped and in need of a place to slyly hold up for the foreseeable future.

It's even more intuitively stern since H.I and Ed were unable to have children, yet recently noticed that a furniture salesperson's wife had just had quintuplets on down the road.

They then managed to acquire an active son through ill-gotten-improvised lacklustre means, yet in their attempts to forge a legitimate family were ill-prepared to accommodate felons.

With bounty hunters in search of the youngster and the destitute guests planning a lucrative heist, the conjugal duo just tries to raise junior and function as respectable husband and wife.

A tumultuous tale effervescently bound to inordinate cascading of diligent degrees, effectively unable to immersively ameliorate as chaotic circumstances diabolically dishevel. 

Comedic instincts wildly disseminating a lack of balance and cohesive structure, the cultural rules and abrasive regulations perhaps too stable for such ways of life.

Alas the embrace of dependable codes can seem inalienable when viewed from a distance, but if attempting to randomly realize them you may encounter highfalutin infrequencies. 

Consulting a laidback professional such as a marriage counsellor or family planner, may lead to less outrageous conduct should you have difficulties succeeding as one.

H.I and Ed don't really seem like readers but there are television shows and documentaries that can also help.

Note that they're both striving to make things work.

And likely doing a better job than ye olde Kermode. 

Whale Rider

A variable balance between genders and races effectively applied to the function of management, has always seemed natural to me from the observant standpoint of a democratic citizen.

That is, if you had efficiently demonstrated that you were reliably capable of leadership, through either education or work experience but preferably a combination of the two, leadership positions should be potentially open to you should you seek to manage or lead, one specific group shouldn't monopolize power if your country's multiculturally composed (I'd rather write books myself).

It's basic math ethically driven that honestly rationalizes open-minded executives, and if women make up around half the population, there should certainly be far more female managers.

It's statistically improbable that such a vast group wouldn't regularly put forth strong leadership candidates, many of whom would be able to represent large in-depth swathes of the general population.

In Whale Rider, Paikea runs into trouble when her by-the-book grandpa seeks to train a new chief, for the rules strictly specify that only male children can dependably fill the proactive role.

She demonstrates courage, intelligence, and resolve but is consistently thwarted by gender based stereotypes, which stubbornly refuse to realistically yield to the undeniable strength of her versatile wisdom. 

Her grandpa's a piece of work and still turns a blind prejudiced eye, even as she outperforms the male recruits and characteristically erupts in spiritual song.

But he changes, he eventually sees the ill-gotten errors of his obstinate ways, the healing power of imaginative nature ushering in a new power dynamic (she totally rocks it 🐋🐳).

Who knows what will happen tomorrow but you couldn't have a worse male presidential candidate, who represents nothing but privilege and wealth and is clearly insane from multiple viewpoints.

Trump's favour could change overnight because he thought a trashy sitcom had a secret message, meant only for his attentive mind to bluntly decipher on X that evening.

Kamala Harris applies logic and reason and utilizes advisors when making decisions, the U.S having many of the best in the world why would you dismiss them in favour of snake charmers?

She's much younger and evidently more reasonable as clearly showcased by Trump's refusal to debate her a second time.

She's a genuine classic strong leader.

Wielding the finest open-minded tradition.

Go Kamala!

Go Kamala Go!

The Alamo

The classic three colonel quandary this time defending ye olde Alamo, where a lot of good people lost their valiant lives courageously fighting reckless tyranny.

Plato's Republic can lend a hand giving a coherent account of their personalities, as convincingly theorized by James Edward Grant likely after having embraced agile study.

In The Republic there are 3 classes of people chillin' out then gettin' er' done, those known as producers providing goods and services, at times irrationally or superstitiously expressing themselves.

The second is labelled the auxiliaries and it defends the city from agression, its bravery valued and at times commended when they're promoted to the rank of guardian.

The guardians or philosopher kings are a strictly rational lot, driven by temperance, courage, wisdom, and emergent justice, they uniformly focus on reasonable good governance and can be prickly pears when encountering tomfoolery.

In The Alamo, Colonel William Barret Travis corresponds to such a character, in charge of defences and unwilling to leave or surrender even though the situation seems hopeless. Driven by principle and ideal he's quite severe in his language and commentaries, not many men willing to fight for him, although those that do admire his courage.

Jim Bowie is a classic producer he's rough and tumble and lacks regal eloquence, drinking too much at times - even far too often, his questionable discipline endearing to his men.

These two colonels wield lucid rancour and almost kill each other more than once, Bowie furious he wasn't given the command even if his chaotic conduct should have convinced him otherwise.

The third colonel is Davy Crockett played by John Wayne who also directed, his spirit wise his loyalty abounding his men thoroughly devoted to his command.

He admires Travis's wisdom even if he thinks he's a haughty stuffed shirt, who's difficult to get along with and too overbearing yet still a great soldier at the end of the day.

He likes the other's pluck and resilience but soon realizes he lacks knowledge and insight, building a bridge between them through friendship which makes for a somewhat rowdy yet fastidious accordance.

It's certainly entertaining at times and even gives the peaceful characters noble voices. 

Such voices prominently revelling at times.

Peaceful times.

With Kamala's grace.

Abigail's Party

There's more to the appreciation of art than the ready-made exemplars designated famous, personal choice and inspirational lounging eclectically factoring in novel unpredictability. 

It's therefore important to make your own choices based upon what you specifically enjoy, not simply a work that's been historically lauded, but rather something you genuinely love.

There is the cocktail party game where you're supposed to recall celebrated painters and writers, and correspondingly list their famous works while modestly reciting what's been written about them.

It's not such a bad thing to be well-informed and aware of the critical continuum, but if you start to gather a collection of your own, are you doing so because you like it, or someone else does?

I admit to having more respect for the kitschy aficionado than the literate snob, even if I disagree with many of their choices, I still highly value their unabashed individuality.

If you can learn the categorical distinctions while also cultivating your own subtle voice, you may develop enviable taste that for a time may clearly fascinate.

It's not about being right or wrong you see it's more like romance or falling in love, it's difficult to find cherished longing in a textbook when you could be globetrotting with a Nickelback fan. 

When you start to read all the conflicting accounts that defiantly challenge the encyclopedic status quo, and become immersed in the critical maelstrom thoughtfully keeping things fresh and active, it becomes apparent that there really aren't any foundations although manifold traditions joyfully emerge, but with the lack of organic resonance, why do your own preferences not also matter?

Thus, there is vitriolic criticism passionately unleashed in Abigail's Party, regarding the elevation of paintings exuberantly categorized through aggrieved sincere textbook learning.

I feel bad because he's trying to educate himself and I widely support such scholarly ambitions, but he loves and brags about things simply because he's rather quite certain that he's supposed to.

His wife's more into the modern and couldn't care less what anyone thinks.

She's still rather cruel to him however.

So hard to hold it together.

If you're ever critiquing your personal decision to indeed never marry perhaps watch this film, and chant decisively with the blessed thereafter since really thank god that isn't your life.

Not that married life doesn't certainly have discerning benefits bachelors miss out on.

But you eventually reach a certain age.

Where it no longer holds much mischievous meaning. 

*Criterion keyword: beaver 🦫 

Chez les beaux parents

The tender affection delicately shared between the loving members of a heartfelt couple, routinely generating awestruck accolades through the nimble art of jocose spontaneity. 

Living together in New York Sophie cooks and Gordon teaches, their sturdy union a fluid cascade bearing versatile witness to collective enchantments. 

She's an exceptional chef and one day her ex appears out of the ethereal blue, to offer her a coveted position managing food services at the Château Frontenac.

She has to compete for the job but since her family lives close by, she'll be able to re-establish contact and spend cherished hours ensconced à la ferme.

Gordon is up for the challenge and generally supportive of his partner's endeavours, although when he discovers that Sophie and her potential new boss were once lovers, he responds with critical animation.

The challenge goes well it crucially seems like the brilliant chef may land the position.

The family farm still in financial jeopardy. 

Gordon increasingly unable to stay cool.

I never spent much time reading great romantic works of fiction, or even paperback melodramas effectively disseminating romantic visions.

Romance does immaterially blossom in many classic science-fiction films however, technologically endowed on interplanetary scales intergalactically inclined to diplomatically blossom.

Chez les beaux parents presents an alternative style of Québecois filmmaking, an international collaboration no less with prominent filmmakers from the United States.

It's not Babysitter or Mommy or Tom à la ferme or Quand l'amour se creuse un trou, it's something much more tame more zoological more glad-handing more mainstream.

It's not that it doesn't mean well or that it doesn't try to incorporate more rugged scenarios.

Which probably worked for many people who saw the film.

Who most likely loved it.

Don't listen to me.

The filmmakers still love Québec and that's plainly evident throughout the film.

And I can't critique such ingenious preferences. 

Especially on an international scale. 

Echo à Delta

A loving family convivially engaged routinely embraces lighthearted mischief, as the weeks fly by and the seasons change their open-minded dedication blooms and burgeons.

Two brothers not far apart in age have made several friends in the verdant bower, biking ensemble from home base to fort to local business to mysterious grotto.

They're close and the curious younger instinctively relies on their frequent discourse, the elder affably accommodating the resultant pair a tenacious tandem.

Aliens engender fascination as they astrologically consider the heavens, with dynamic multi-faceted individuals in gleeful possession of agile technology.

Said fascination doesn't go too far, but does lead them outside one evening, where they boldly attempt to make first contact upon a shed in a frightening rainstorm.

Hours later, the bewildered Echo confoundedly awakes in a nearby hospital, only to be told that his brother has disappeared and that he's lucky to be seated on solid ground.

As the days pass he becomes increasingly more and more exhaustively convinced, that his brother was abducted by aliens and that one day soon he'll suddenly return.

People entertain and wilfully assist as he continues the search for his missing bro.

The adults worried yet rationally uncertain how to impersonally yet endearingly proceed.

It's not as sad if you fall for the quest the uninhibited search for the missing brother, seen through the eyes of a caring young one tenderly obsessed with otherworldly potential.

Conspiracies enchant, the Men in Black must have egregiously influenced psychologists and parents, and painstakingly hid the distressing truth with extraterrestrial distressing hypocrisy. 

Non-traditional role models unsure of themselves efficaciously emerge (with Dickensian gusto), while upbeat friends lithely aid the search with friendly worthwhile upbeat slipstream.

He misses his buddy so much it's eventually tragic and tearfully driven.

Confused youth.

Unyielding capacity.

Doggonit daydreams.

Swathen willow.

Richelieu

I haven't read a Royal Commission on the current state of labour relations in Canada, but I do imagine there are businesses that treat their workers well.

People fought hard to create labour laws and continue to fight hard to strengthen them.

Such laws should apply to migrant workers as well.

Hiring labourers from foreign countries shouldn't equal brutal lawlessness. 

If your profit margins are so slim or the people you work for seek outrageous quotas, quotas that can't be legitimately reached without brutalizing your workforce, the management structure needs to be reorganized, with the well-being of you workers empathetically factored in.

The foreign labourers I worked with were hardcore they got the job amazingly well-done, going far beyond what was required of them, it was crazy impressive working with them.

To see them mistreated is an insult to their integrity.

They worked extremely hard and were entirely self-starting.

The job wasn't brutal and the expectations weren't unreasonable though, like they are on both accounts in Richelieu, an extremely difficult case.

The spirit of Québec that I've read about and experienced first hand steps in to help them, their translator going to great lengths to assist them while her mom patiently explains what to do.

There are some powerful scenes in the film passionately directed by Pier-Philippe Chevigny, notably the operating room sequence along with the heartwarming ending.

How could everyone involved be immersed in such hostile relations (the managers are brutalized by the people representing the shareholders as well [what the hell kind of environment do such hostilities cultivate])?

If this film is focused on industry standards, there's no doubt that things need to change.

If you run a legitimate business that gives workers a fair shake and treats them well, you're not only creating a safer work environment, you're also contributing to humanistic profit.

Humanistic profits lead to peaceful communities and much less stress for cultures in general.

Much less crime, much better books and films.

It's a win-win scenario.

That creates dreams and hope.

*Strong performance from Ariane Castellanos.

**People are people, no matter where they're from.   

Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World)

Fluidly transmitting interactive hybrid tender phenomena, Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World) randomly travels around the world.

I can't imagine what it must have been like to exotically film in so many countries, at an accelerated intricate pace kinetically connected universally lithe.

I couldn't watch the entire film in one extended sitting so I divided it into 3 parts, the first two hours, the second two hours, and the last 47 odd minutes.

While I was watching I admired its freedom as it temperamentally trotted the globe, while casually presenting endemic technologies along with brief interrogative artifacts. 

The 4 hour and 47 minute film leaves the viewer full of lighthearted enriching anticipation, comfortably rewarded for investing their time while convivially considering the mischievous details.

Part 1 as accidentally compartmentalized offers a chase as previously mentioned around the world, as a romantic artful passionate soul sets out in search of a would-be lover.

He's stolen some money from her which she borrowed from thieves who stole it from Nice, and as she keeps finding him and he keeps escaping dynamic love blossoms with fugacious flurries.

The second act is much more settled as the lively couple finds rest in Australia, several characters who came along for the ride jocosely joining them then forming a band.

The destruction of a nuclear satellite has knocked out communications around the world, with practically no machines in working order it's time to jam sit back and enjoy life.

The last act sees the principal characters become addicted to an ingenious device (global power restored), which records your dreams and plays them back for you to freely watch throughout your day.

Unfortunately, the dreams become reality and those taking part refuse to do anything else but watch them.

Drifting into cerebral psychosis. 

Like turtles all the way down. 🐢

If searching for an offbeat romance that celebrates active unorthodox lives, improvisationally following their own distinct paths, Bis ans Ende der Welt is worth seeing for sure.

My favourite scenario was the chillaxed jam where music reimagines being and nothingness.

Reminded me of old times in the countryside.

Laidback livin'.

Kitchen jams.

Alice in den Städten (Alice in the Cities)

A wandering writer discovers photography while driving around the United States, and takes sundry pictures his editor rejects when he attempts to submit them instead of his article.

He couldn't help not writing it, he was inspired by a different idea, and even though a task had been definitively set, he seductively swerved and creatively reimagined it.

He's out of money nevertheless and his editor won't give him any more, the decision to return to Germany suddenly presenting itself with frank appeal.

While purchasing his ticket he meets a single mom and her curious child, both of whom can't speak English yet also want to return to Northern Europe.

He agrees to awkwardly assist and then finds himself with no place to stay, the mother and daughter agreeing to put him up his habitual thanks most unpresuming. 

The mother is still in touch with her new partner who wants to remain in the United States, and leaves her daughter with the travelling writer and they proceed to sightsee around New York.

They agree to meet at the airport but surprisingly the mother doesn't show up.

But sends word she'll meet them in Europe.

When the next flight arrives, she's not on it.

The child doesn't remember where her grandmother lives and the two have quite the confusing adventure, the writer learning not to be so grumpy as he tries to accommodate youthful maturation.

It's an oddball misfit scenario the oblivious trio not consciously registering, the bohemian lifestyle making bold decisions through spontaneous planning as they make their way home.

As luck would have it, youthful spirit blossoming in friendship unceremoniously wins the day, the artist reluctantly embracing formalities to amusingly calm down the frightened youngster.

She notices his random scribblings and childishly wonders what they might be.

He bashfully plays the absent-minded father.

To improvise with unkempt austerity.