Gezora, Ganime, Kameba: Kessen! Nankai no daikaijû (Space Amoeba)

An unmanned vessel is sent into space with the inquisitive ambitions of studying Jupiter, alone and courageous it magnetically travels in resourceful steady industrious wavelengths. 

But as fate would have it, a discourteous entity serendipitously commandeers its research & development, and immediately sets course for the unsuspecting Earth where it inauspiciously lands in the Pacific Ocean.

The craft is reported as missing and daily routines mysteriously sublimate, the enervating misfortunes scientifically smothered by polemical disputes concerning the galaxy. 

Nevertheless, an observant photographer saw it awkwardly land while travelling by plane, and even though no one authenticates the sighting, he vigorously maintains his fortunate vision. 

At the same time, he's reliably hired to diligently photograph an island in the Pacific, which happens to be situated around the same place where he accidentally saw the spaceship descend.

Gregariously accompanied by an amicable team they bravely head out to the isolated wilderness, curious to meet the local inhabitants who have imaginatively lived there since the dawn of time.

They superstitiously fear a giant sea demon by the name of Gezora who lives in the depths. 

The alien entity having unwittingly assumed.

The ancient enigmatic uncompromising deity. 

Not the most well-thought out of the captivating freeform creative monster movies, Gezora, Ganime, Kameba: Kessen! Nankai no daikaijû (Space Amoeba) still startles and accentuates otherworldly absurd and ludicrous pretensions. 

A more sincere critique of the commercial desires to turn the island into a resort, would have materialized virtuous acclamations ethically attuned to Indigenous agency.

Yet perhaps it indirectly critiques commercial endeavours through its bizarre depiction of the covetous alien, who is rather diminutive globally speaking yet still seeks to effectively conquer the world.

Is that not the initial hubris of so many adventurous businesspeople, who hope their products will establish footholds in worldwide markets internationally speaking?

Starting out from humble origins they create commercials to advertise their wares, which are somewhat like the creature in Space Amoeba who effectively irritates the tenacious locals.

Ridiculous to see interplanetary ambitions maladroitly unleashed in animate obscurity. 

Endemic wildlife saving the day.

As it has throughout the millennia. 

*Criterion keyword: turtle.

Chikyû Bôeigun (The Mysterians)

A quiet town mellifluously enamoured energetically engages in festive rituals, communal friendship collectively augmenting spirited endeavours and cultivated mischief.

The lighthearted mild-mannered individuals curiously converse and dine at play, before a startling blaze is suddenly detected not far off in a nearby wood.

The radioactive nature of the fire chemically defies known scientific understanding, inherently baffling brave local residents who risk their lives to douse the flames.

But before such an occurrence can come to pass, a giant robot emerges from the Earth, and sets about destroying the town with awkward movements and delirious gusto.

The military is eventually able to thwart its destructive malevolent intent, just before its colonialist authorship tyrannically proclaims its wicked objectives.

Relying on their superior technology which destroyed their home world so long ago, they seek to establish a new base on Earth from which to spread their invasive fury.

Internationally disposed, the people of Earth courageously respond with bitter defiance.

Bombastic composure inevitably maneuvering. 

As mutually disabling conflict obliterates.

Strange how the art of diplomacy lacks effective resolve every 4 to 8 years, and bizarre developments maladroitly alter reliable seamless networks and agencies.

In The Mysterians, a constructive dialogue would have gone a long way to cultivate peace, and ensured potential harmony between the species as it was initially considered.

Would it have been that disillusioning to simply approach our planet in good faith, and congenially present their novel ideas with warm and friendly interplanetary mojo?

Alas, their characteristic machismo and absurd extremist irrational demands, lead the entire world to internationally unite and find innovative ways to outgun their technology.

Friendship could have gregariously reigned and affably brought forth mutual accommodations, as it has in most ages of prosperity as closely chronicled by observant scribes.

The Mysterians refuse to lighten up however and are therefore doomed to travel longingly through space.

Forever in search of a chaotic homeland.

Consistently silencing peaceful initiatives.  

Der siebente Kontinent (The Seventh Continent)

Difficult to know where to find spiritual fulfillment within cultures dominated by dubious markets, consistently disseminating similar messages decade after decade epoch after epoch.

Nevertheless, if you cast a wide cultural net you may find remarkable alternative variability, assuming you don't limit yourself to the present and sample manifold styles and rhythms. 

If your culture micromanages music and only lets certain styles and messages get through, it could certainly become excessively tedious as the years slowly pass and nothing changes.

If your culture does accept new styles and genres and continuously strives to develop new markets, as long as the difference thoughtfully compels, it can be much less depressing than totalitarianism.

I watched a ton of television in my youth and became quite adept at channel surfing, finding shows that became lasting favourites which I regularly watched and routinely recorded.

The world of television made perfect sense and I could predict things that were going to happen, having un/consciously consumed so many narratives that entertaining developments became shockingly familiar.

I eventually moved away though started travelling around the country, and many of the places I stayed had no cable television, so I slowly moved away from the once cherished medium.

Eventually, more than a decade had gone by and I found that when I had the opportunity to turn on the TV, I wasn't as impressed as I had been in my youth, and questioned why I had spent so much time watching it.

I had actually found other cool things to do which imaginatively nurtured less manufactured thoughts, and although hardly anyone ever wanted to talk to me, I still found different ways to randomly express them.

It was like my mind was energized and my spirit enjoyed its liberation, you may not understand what a lot of people are talking about, but there's an uplifting world far beyond mainstream television.

Instrumental music made a big difference too as I imagined different scenarios in differing degrees, laidback listening to the incredible solos the inspired teamwork the emphatic orchestrations. 

Silent walks in natural environments made a huge difference as well with cool animal sightings. 

Defying the totalitarian void.

Unlike the family in The Seventh Continent. 

*Criterion keyword: chilli. 

Here

Bas Devos's Here brought back fond memories while also nurturing dreams for the future, Stefan's modest immigration experience humbly encouraging unorthodox travel.

The film follows a laidback worker who has spent some time living in Belgium, as he finishes his last shift and solemnly prepares for a month long vacation back in his homeland. 

As he walks about town casually observing things I was pleasantly reminded of life in the city, and the manifold options routinely available as you variably concoct thematic experiences. 

When he enters a restaurant for instance to get out of the pouring rain, and finds himself suddenly conversing in French with someone who speaks the language fluently.

As he tries his best to understand he knows he has to respond with something, and adamantly hopes it directly applies to the specific topic under examination.

But he gets it wrong he's misunderstood the dialogue halts it's insufficient, but he doesn't take it as a sign to stop speaking he continues onwards with verbal gusto.

By doing so, he actively demonstrates there are lots of words he can turn into sentences, and hopes his curious interlocutor instinctually respects that and keeps on talking.

In the best case scenario, they understand you're learning and that your positive attitude demonstrates you want to be there. 

If they continue the conversation using a less intricate in/formal vocabulary, it's a great opportunity for learning that can lead to chillaxed friendship (miss you).

I understood the old "fridge-clean-out" as well when you throw most of what you've got into a pot, and slowly cook it with spices and liquids until you've created something unique and edible. 

By doing so, you have several meals and fortunately nothing goes to waste, and you can share it with your friends as well as modest Stefan does in the movie.

Nature also figures prominently as he walks from place to place since his car's in the shop, the extant forest he freely travels through bringing on carefree thoughts and nascent wonder.

It's so important as cities expand and depressing sprawl creates a concrete jungle, to remember to plan intermittent green spaces throughout the urban landscape like they do in Québec.

Nice places for lunch or to spot local wildlife or even make a career studying mosses or lichen.

I'm usually careful not to disturb moss in the forest.

Although it does make a comfy place to lie down! 

*Criterion keyword: gossamer.

Black Orpheus

Rio de Janeiro festively prepares for the upcoming enigmatic illusory Carnaval, floats decorated and costumes tailored an immersive atmosphere of harmless mischief.

Nimble Orpheus chauffeurs his trolly through the busy streets with reservéd gusto, thoroughly at ease with lithe maximum occupancy as it swiftly travels throughout the city.

Young Eurydice arrives from the countryside to stay with her invigorating distant relatives, having been chased by a masked quasi-demon rigorously hellbent on her destruction.

Orpheus's fiancé habitually erupts with romantic exposition when they're together, and definitively craves his ubiquitous attention each and every day exceedingly composed.

They even spiritedly head out to meaningfully procure a marriage license, Mira focused and passionately determined to resonantly claim the celebrated singer.

But later in the day as time slowly passes beautiful Eurydice also catches his eye.

The dynamic artist following instinctual elements. 

As everyone embraces ye olde Carnaval.

A lively retelling of an ancient myth energetically situated within modern cities, with creative new features and an inspiring setting transformatively exclaiming romantic awe.

It's not even Orpheus/Breno Mello or Eurydice/Marpessa Dawn who steal the show they're somewhat subdued when objectively compared, to sprightly Mira/Lourdes de Oliveira and vehement Serafina/Léa Garcia who add so much in the brief time they're allotted.

Serafina could have been left out entirely her tempting character by no means essential, but Garcia took the less prominent role and seductively etherealized cinematic history.

It's not just the imaginative retelling of the ancient myth that generates so much credit, its compelling presentation of the market and Carnaval bring its animate emergence to acrobatic life.

Gymnastically adorning so many precious scenes with blithe orchestration and reverberating pith, it fluidly exemplifies perpetual motion with lighthearted irresistible ebullient spirits.

Indeed relationships problematize so much harmless fun when ownership's claimed.

A sincere tragedy no matter the epoch.

Carefree endeavours.

Limitless fun.

Nausicaa

 * Glad I'm not lining up month after month of gruelling resistance themed films. Did manage to find this one by accident on Saturday evening though (I was searching for an Agnès Varda film, but didn't think it would be fascist related). 

In 1967, a harsh military dictatorship suddenly took control of Greece, where it ruled for 7 inauspicious years as people everywhere around them mobilized. 

Imaginative French filmmaker Agnès Varda made the film Nausicaa to commend Greek exiles, who were forced to flee the degenerate lies and systematic torture of the fascist regime. 

Finding themselves in France they fortunately found international networks, and were able to defend democratic freedoms with receptive audiences worldwide.

Unfortunately, as her film was being put together insensitive authorities seized most of what had been produced, and never explained to her why they were taking it, it's thought that the material was subsequently destroyed.

But the Royal Belgian Cinémathèque kept one copy and delicately preserved it, which is now available on The Criterion Channel for those seeking informative and creative texts.

It interviews artists and journalists as they explain the troubles they had with the army, and attempt to find work and lodging in France while reflecting on Greek politics.

The call for widespread resistance took time to find an active audience, but eventually championed the compassionate rights of people who prefer not to join the military.

Nausicaa is also quite experimental it eclectically presents different storytelling styles, loosely adorning one Greek citizen's experiences as he meets a woman whose daughter's half Greek (I believe the daughter is supposed to be Varda).

The ways in which state media outlets mask the truth in order to offer unrealistic pictures of sociopolitical dilemmas are showcased, along with investigations into the general political awareness of France at the time (note how the left recently still dealt a crippling blow to the French right), and thoughtful looks at Greece's culture in the '60s.

Please don't equate my new style of poem with what Nausicaa calls "Medieval Obscurantism". I thought I was writing absurd catchy surrealist poems that are like puzzles, I'm not deliberately trying to sound difficult. 

Difficult to know what parts of the film would have been kept or altered or augmented if it had moved forward, but there's still enough left in this working draft to generate more comment than most of what's out there.

A cool look at the French New Wave applied to television.

The dictatorship didn't last long.

Varda is worth checking out.

Alienoid: Return to the Future

The ancient world tempestuously welcomes alien renegades from a far distant future, whose apocalyptic orchestrations may suffocate all life on planet Earth.

Along for the ride we find a computer program who can take on human form, and serendipitously shapeshift as awkward circumstances dictate. 

He surreptitiously protects a courageous determined fledgling warrior, who seeks to ensure the malevolent convicts permanently rest in medieval Korea. 

Back in the present day, the deadly haava will soon be released, after which all life on Earth will perish and reckless malfeasance rule absolutely.

The multivariable eclectic mix of dynamic characters effectively duel, and furiously express their athletic witticisms as the ensuing chaos thunders.

In terms of recalibrating A.I and giving it transformative humanistic features, could the cyberspatial efficiently be freed from incarcerated bland electronic environments?

If an electronic code exists for variable lifeforms within different realms, could it be effectively replicated thereby creating carbon copies?

Somewhat like the cloned sheep "Dolly" but without the elaborate multifaceted process, Star Trek: The Next Generation providing insights into the organic simulations.

On Star Trek's holodeck diverse beings find instantaneous ingenious life, and can interact and joke and play music while following intricate complex instructions. 

The characters can't leave their simulated environments they're imprisoned there however, in Star Trek you can't find the code for Proust or Shakespeare and see them miraculously reborn.

Nevertheless, within the food replicators organic material is suddenly created, with infinite variety from manifold planets and it fluidly exists in the outside world. 

Thus, within these highly useful machines computer codes take on physical forms (like they do in cyberspace), and can be consumed outside the domains in which they were originally produced (unlike cyberspace).

Thus, if you had a machine that could take a code like that used to clone different animals, you could theoretically duplicate them ad infinitum, like the food replicators on Star Trek.

You could therefore also alter their programming so they could transmutate at will. 

It's just a matter of discovering the manifest codes.

Which clandestinely structure organic environments.

Love the Twin Peaks intertextuality. 

Cool sequel. 

Yoyo

A gifted entertainer exactingly resides in opulent isolation within his castle, every second of every day meticulously corresponding to specified curriculum. 

He dreams of the girl he once fell in love with who still routinely travels and brilliantly performs, their improvised union having spiritedly crafted a darling youngster raised in the circus.

The Great Depression miserably emerges and millions of people find themselves out of work, the idle artist losing his staff then rejoining his family on the staggering road.

His son grows up immersed in lively spectacular entertaining multivariable humours, wholesomely ensconced within random variation he gradually becomes a celebrated clown.

World War II despotically interrupts and lighthearted sentiments are cast aside, the mad dissemination of militaristic bravado autocratically obscuring the chill and genuine.

After the war, the invention of television once again problematizes circus life, as more people find immediate entertainment laidback and tranquil with the fam at home.

Yet little Yoyo reinvents himself once more and becomes even more famous within the medium.

Hosting lavish galas back at his father's castle.

With storytelling, everlastingly at home.

I would argue that gifted storytellers never lose their love of animals, and sincerely respond to their adorable genius no matter how austere their lives become.

The just and the wicked, there's a remarkable difference between world-weary desert-of-the-real morbid tales, and blossoming effervescent dynamic lifeforces ethereally etched with generous compassion.

Thus we see in Pierre Étaix's Yoyo a friendly elephant at different times, who genuinely loves the wee mischievous lad at the auspicious outset and at the conclusion.

Yoyo never really feels quite right when requisitely hobnobbing within the superstructure, and is greatly relieved indeed more down-to-earth when that same caring elephant interrupts his ball.

You see the details of his innocent world magnanimously shared throughout the film, as scene after scene showcases warm unpredictable spontaneous carefree pleasant wonder.

Never lose that love of animals and there's no doubt you'll continue to enjoy this film.

Which inherently investigates artistic re/invention.

From the Silent Film Era to the Age of Television.

*Interesting sounds too.

Yoyo doesn't rely on the stock film sounds you often hear.

Eraserhead

The generation of ideas overwhelmingly uplifting intent transcendental forces, motivation and effort and impact and relevance reflexively augmenting acrobatic flourishes. 

The barren landscape requiring fuel to effectively germinate healthy crops, thoughtful endeavours in bewitching fecundity profusely cascading integral lounging.

The gradual development at times uneasy the formal onslaught of ceaseless ambition, tirelessly adjusting and diffusely remodelling creative cognizance and bold revelation. 

As the seeds tumultuously take root the world at large commodiously ossifies, the general estimable uptight imposition of regulation and duty opaquely cataloguing.

A family prospers and grows communally depicting dynamic tethers, the enviable tradition wholesomely cajoling duplication and collegiality. 

Yet the unbroken ancient line between holistic custom and random alternative, offbeatly vibrates with tenacious recognition as distressing realities duel and challenge.

Thus the emergence of odd surreal fantastic escapes from the awkward humdrum.

Not necessarily cloaked in tedium.

As daring varieties innately juxtapose. 

The industrious dreamlike imagination inherently bewildered by verdant nutrients, yet still reacting to latent stimuli with in/direct in/coherent lucidity.

It's difficult to narrativize the random thoughts which peculiarly inspire dreams throughout the day, the continuous orchestration of improvised insights sub/consciously manifesting elegant distractions. 

What to do with the cerebral material as it suddenly appears within your mind, especially if there are other tasks at hand austerely demanding your strict attention?

The inexhaustible uncontainable ethereal ameliorations of the human spirit, can't be suffocated by even the most dire and dismal environments as Eraserhead suggests.

The spirit of creation still attempts to alter the blandest of circumstances even if untrained, like a natural intuitive humanistic instinct habitually disseminating art and culture. 

What to do with it remains up to you David Lynch went on to direct brilliant films and television.

Never losing the fascination first displayed in Eraserhead.

Which he spent 5 years making and took a paper route to complete.

The Elephant Man

A gentle soul, curious and thoughtful, is habitually tormented by another, who obscenely profits from his misery and spends next to nothing on his care or comfort.

The individual in question suffers from severe deformities which make him appear extraordinary, people wishing to marvel at his stunning difference and willing to pay for the chance to do so.

No one asks him for his opinion regarding his tragic state of affairs, he isn't consulted his steadfast approval is disregarded, ignored, disdained.

No one talks to him either in fact he's left voiceless and caged and isolated, confronting violence should he humbly protest his scathing chains and caustic fetters.

Fortunately, a kind and sympathetic promising young doctor learns of his struggles, and goes about freeing him from the carnival while searching for a permanent place of residence.

Mr. Merrick is then given the opportunity to calmly express himself and converse, his discussions and observations inquisitively demonstrating tender caring playful cognizance. 

For the first time in his life he's treated with respect and he wholesomely responds with innocent wonder.

As those seeking to exploit him discover his whereabouts.

And set about wildly profiteering. 

A young gifted director with one film to his credit was lovingly tasked with crafting The Elephant Man, David Lynch responding with incisive imagination which still resonates this postmodern day.

The just and the wicked frequently colliding in his chaotic campy down-home daring dramas, we find scenes scenarios that stretch throughout his work in their sophomore distillations in this film.

Is Dr. Frederick Treves who seeks to take away John Merrick's pain and let him live in mindful society, not unlike Special Agent Dale Cooper who genuinely cares for the residents of Twin Peaks?

Is the wretched slave-driver Bytes who makes his living spreading death and decay, harbingers of Frank Booth and Dick Laurent the Baron Harkonnen or the Killer Bob?

The dreamlike fascination with surreal storytelling far beyond what the scene depicts, amorphously anchors our innate curiosity as this early outing creatively transmits.

A good place to start if seeking to learn much much more about David Lynch the filmmaker, while sincerely taking requisite note that the path you're on will get much rockier.

At home with artistically embracing noble and unsettling offbeat emotions.

He spent his life contemplating holistic humanism.

In a bona fide theatre of debutant dreams. 

Soleil Ô

It's important to play an active role, to take part, to add your voice, racial discrimination is an unsettling reality that consistently frustrates able bodied workers.

It's wonderful to see when citizens engage and write books or direct films to help struggling minorities, a lot of genuine sympathy and sincere care diligently goes into their compassionate construction.

Soleil Ô follows the plight of African migrants who move to France in the post-colonial period, but it wasn't made by concerned French citizens, it was created by Africans themselves.

According to the colonialist dogma they had been brought up with, they were equal citizens in France, and were surprised to find a lack and housing and employment after they picked up one day and moved there.

The film experiments with narrative techniques as it explores various aspects of racist tensions, which still pop up with alarming regularity there's still so much work to be critically done.

Back in Africa for instance, the abundance of languages is thoughtfully presented, before the colonized citizens have to fight one another in English and French with crosses turned into swords.

A grouchy bigot cantankerously complains about immigration in a relaxed restaurant, before a black singer inspires the patrons and he suddenly changes his stubborn mind.

A mixed-race individual who looks white has to suddenly walk away, from an angry man who just can't help his instinctual hatred and knee-jerk prejudice.

As a white woman and a black man playfully flirt with one another on the street, passers by look on in shock and offer multiple awkward different takes.

Even though black people possess requisite skills they're still forced to work in specific sectors, many of which demand no education and involve industrial cleaning.

I would argue that Soleil Ô's multiple exploratory scenarios, present pioneering mockumentary techniques decades before they became conventional (they may have also been popular at the time but were referred to by a different term).

The comedy is instructive without being violent and there is one character who keeps showing up, the events loosely tailored around his experience as he tries to make coherent sense of things.

It effectively uses humour and logic to rationally comment on distressing realities, hopefully convincing hard-hearted peeps that there are less drastic solutions to economic problems (people shouldn't be assigned specific jobs solely based on the colour of their skin for instance).

First rate experimental cinema perhaps decades ahead of its time, courageously created by the actual citizens whom the racist attitudes affected, Soleil Ô is worth checking out by concerned multicultural citizens, especially because the same attitudes still persist, and need to be fought by the next generation. 

The Cobbler

The honest excelling hardworking days routinely passing without deviation, vital know-how and requisite skill generating consistent reliable business.

A modest son taking care of the fam after the sudden disappearance of his father, mom resigned yet persistently hopeful that one startling day he'll lovingly return.

The old school neighbourhood traditional and lively characteristically existing as it has for many years, local citizens daring and politically active in the stalwart fight against gentrification.

Things proceed the days pass by difference is found in random conversations, with a wide variety of inquisitive clients who on occasion discuss things at length.

Their shoes as well the various designs some intricate fashions or dependable customs, so many lying about in his shop at the somewhat dull end of a typical day.

Until one day his sewing machine rebelliously decides to stubbornly break down.

Leading him to use an old model from the basement.

With wild unknown imaginary features. 

It's a bit far-fetched this world weary Cobbler although it's still well-suited to the heroic times, not as flashy or bedazzling as Marvel or D.C but so much more appealing in the gentle undertow. 

The protagonist isn't a crazy rich genius with unlimited resources at his or her disposal, nor a gifted scientist creatively experimenting with research grants which lavishly facilitate, he's rather a regular humble Joe who genuinely cares about work and family, and even comes around to loving his neighbourhood and his shop's old school place ensconced within it.

He is uncertain as to how to proceed after accidentally discovering the miraculous tool, and engages in spirited trial and error with comic results before taking things seriously.

Indeed he cleverly takes the unsung side of an elderly resident who wants to keep his apartment, and is able to strategically embrace multi-step planning in complex resilient underground economics.

It's cool to see the little guy stand up and industriously help out the people in his community.

It's more organic, not a $60 dollar cheque.

Strong local initiatives. 

Beyond oligarch power.

Stagecoach

A method of travel once widespread and common effectively navigating the wild frontier, transporting people 'cross rugged uninhabited tempestuous forbidden exhaustive terrain. 

The sturdy stagecoach led by agile beasts 🐎 resiliently determined to reach sundry locations, forthright and steady disalarming reliable stalwart steads industriously envisioned. 

Things were somewhat more divisive back then and uptight crusaders could run you out of town, in John Ford's Stagecoach indubitably indeed we find alternative dispositions hitching a ride.

The alcoholic doctor dipsomanically settles in serendipitously next to a whiskey salesperson, a notorious gambler respectful of gentility also joining the stealthy coach.

The journey will take them through hostile lands where the ancient citizens have not been consulted, the domain historically occupied by them their inherent disfavour no doubt justified.

The army will only follow the passengers for a relatively short distance before departing. 

The telegraph line has also been cut.

The resonant danger lurid and taunting.

I had the wrong idea about ye olde Stagecoach I thought it had more of a stiff upper lip, but several of the characters elaborately entwined don't necessarily follow paths straight and narrow.

I was surprised to see that the trusty John Wayne was playing an escaped convict in search of bloodshed, not a lawman or general or pilot just a lovestruck honest to God cool reckless kid.

Those in possession of non-traditional tendencies are given room to orthodoxly manoeuvre, the doctor abandoning liquor to deliver a baby, the lady of the night inspiring conjugal love.

The interrelations between the three cultures the Spanish and British and Native compatriots, are melodiously presented in ethereal song before troubling antipathies erupt once again.

I'd like to learn more about the 17th and 18th centuries and how often British peopled joined Native tribes.

I suspect it happened much more often than imagined.

Details perhaps found in the Library of Congress.

Until then compassionately note that Stagecoach is an entertaining reflection of the times.

Well beyond austere considerations. 

With a tenderhearted endearing finale.

Transformers: The Movie

The famished malevolent Unicron proceeds uncontested throughout the Universe, devouring planets as he randomly travels destructively immersed within timeless space.

As he approaches Cybertron, the Decepticon leadership battles the Autobots, who have retreated to two of its moons and Autobot City upon planet Earth.

The battle is feverishly fought both sides taking heavy casualties, Megatron and Optimus Prime fearsomely opposing one another with embittered fortitude.

As the leaders tumultuously duel, they deal each other fatal blows, Optimus forced to give up the Matrix of Leadership, Starscream banishing Megatron thereafter.

Nevertheless, Unicron has foreseen that only one thing can possibly destroy him, the coveted heralded respected Matrix of honest and fair immaculate Leadership.

He finds Megatron drifting through space and begrudgingly transforms him into Galvatron, before tasking him with furtively retrieving the ancient Matrix foreverafter. 

Always crafty, Megatron decides that if he finds it he'll harness its powers, to defeat ye olde Unicron whom he rather dislikes for presuming omniscience.

But foolish Megatron ignorantly forgets that the divine Matrix only supports just leadership.

The Autobots also seeking to stop Unicron.

As their fight wages throughout the Galaxy.

If you happened to be born at the right time I doubt you'll ever tire of its soundtrack, Transformers: The Movie distilling a passionate craze of robotic rhythms and electro wavelengths. 

It abounds with versatile transformers as one product line replaces another, a trajectory perhaps not followed by other toy brand films after many audiences erupted in fury.

Noble proclamations exuding sublime paths of innocently-defined righteous leadership, embrace community or open-minded togetherness with characteristic sincere savvy. 

Age and youth within the continuum continue their wise and impulsive dialogues, as the reckless Hot Rod and the weathered Kup dispute various subjects throughout their travels.

As Optimus Prime graciously fades it's tough to imagine the Autobots without him, and somewhat frustrating that Megatron bounces back within the film while he does not.

Perhaps another feature that was widely criticized.

The animosity fading with age.

Love watching this film again and again.

Old school longevity, luminescent viscosity. 

Birth

Genuine love illuminatingly transcends routine day-to-day orthodox trajectories, ingeniously transmitting ethereal dispatches with sincere wholesome munificent dignity. 

But alas, the blesséd union is cruelly and inhumanely torn asunder, as envious death jealously rises then indelicately vanishes with one tortured soul.

Time passes and the surviving member is once again pursued by an old sweetheart, who waited patiently year after year and never gave up after considerable rejection.

A date is set they are to be married friends and family traditionally applaud, but one unexpected mischievous guest suddenly shows up with spiritual discourse.

He claims that he's the bride's enamoured ex-husband and that he's still wholeheartedly in love, the reincarnated reanimated spirit lithe and active within a 10 yr. old.

He's initially dismissed for unfairly toying with mournful feelings and morose emotions, and disrupting an upcoming marriage with zealous uncouth disparaging diatribes.

But he knows so much so many intimate details that were only shared between husband and wife.

Has the spirit world brought their moribund marriage back to life?

Or is the euphoria immaterial and inconclusive?

Somewhat absurd yet still innocent and tender you see the trusting lovelight altruistically shining through, as the bewildered ex-wife falls again for her husband with grave awkward grace and solemn credulity.

Even though he's only 10 and won't be fit to wed for another decade or so, she still considers the traditional role she once dutifully played with authentic temperance. 

I felt bad for the hopeful new husband who waited so long to fulfill his desire, true love and the fates egregiously mocking his steadfast and true uncorrupted fidelity. 

To wait so long and have your wedding annulled after a child shows up claiming to be your bride's ex-husband, would have been a shock too much to bear as furiously related one embarrassing evening.

The contemporary nature of the film sombrely scored with classical melodies, gives it a haunting stern humble edge wherein which you might find reincarnated frequencies. 

The characters are also wealthy (or bourgeois or struggling) enough to take such things seriously without qualm or misgiving.

To resplendently fall for true love everlasting.

Through immortal time.

In eternal disregard. 

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.