A principled yet free-spirited man (Matthias Schoenaerts as Alain van Versch), pugnaciously rolling with the punches, salaciously catering to his senses, daunting, brave, unconcerned, and powerful, instinctively yet rationally proceeds within economic and familial domains, until the interventions of both an unexpected expedient consequence and the structural features of the natural world, resolutely challenge.
To break through the ice.
Hedonistic and domestic conceptions of commitment and responsibility transformatively engage in Jacques Audiard's De rouille et d'os (Rust and Bone), as financial arraignments tender psychological grit, and individualistic risk conflicts with collective sustainability.
The crucial component, the displaced modifier, the missing link, is love.
The endurance of emotional pain is maximized in this regard as competing applications of fidelity, flourish.
Through sundry strategic applications.
*Kermode felt the love throughout 2012. Thanks to everyone who enjoys reading this blog. Those who don't too I suppose. All the best in 2013.
**Bears
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Anna Karenina
Didn't expect to like Anna Karenina after viewing its terrible previews multiple times, but it's actually quite well done.
I usually shudder when classic novels of considerable length are reduced to a specific one-part generalized interpretative 'quintessential' crystallization, but, if I'm not mistaken, Tom Stoppard took this predicament into account when writing his screenplay, and, through sheer interdisciplinary brilliance, managed to pack more multilayered jaunty selective dramatic action into 30 seconds of his adaptation than you often see in a full 120-minute feature, perhaps pleasing devotees of the novel (which I haven't read but I did read War and Peace), while more importantly crafting a demanding entertaining brain teaser.
At least until the act of adultery is committed.
The film clearly demonstrates the oppressive nature of a patriarchal culture without hesitating to sanctify members of its elite while causing their betrayers to appear flippant yet justified.
In terms of love.
Lacking on the various stages is a prominent position for manifold markets from which working people can condition economic cultural amalgams (pulp fiction for instance) through which they can freely synthesize away.
It is perhaps symbolically suggested that the creation of a public sphere within which such operations perform an integral function would nurture a more level playing field for the matriarchically oriented, the optimal situation producing dynamics where both genders possess flexible agencies while reserving a place for the immutable non-authoritarian pink and blue.
Anna Karenina's first act is an accelerated literary cinematic conflagration whose intense inductive transformative flames generously invigorate deductive zodiacs.
Allusively aligned.
(Happy holidays!)
I usually shudder when classic novels of considerable length are reduced to a specific one-part generalized interpretative 'quintessential' crystallization, but, if I'm not mistaken, Tom Stoppard took this predicament into account when writing his screenplay, and, through sheer interdisciplinary brilliance, managed to pack more multilayered jaunty selective dramatic action into 30 seconds of his adaptation than you often see in a full 120-minute feature, perhaps pleasing devotees of the novel (which I haven't read but I did read War and Peace), while more importantly crafting a demanding entertaining brain teaser.
At least until the act of adultery is committed.
The film clearly demonstrates the oppressive nature of a patriarchal culture without hesitating to sanctify members of its elite while causing their betrayers to appear flippant yet justified.
In terms of love.
Lacking on the various stages is a prominent position for manifold markets from which working people can condition economic cultural amalgams (pulp fiction for instance) through which they can freely synthesize away.
It is perhaps symbolically suggested that the creation of a public sphere within which such operations perform an integral function would nurture a more level playing field for the matriarchically oriented, the optimal situation producing dynamics where both genders possess flexible agencies while reserving a place for the immutable non-authoritarian pink and blue.
Anna Karenina's first act is an accelerated literary cinematic conflagration whose intense inductive transformative flames generously invigorate deductive zodiacs.
Allusively aligned.
(Happy holidays!)
Monday, December 17, 2012
The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
Back to cinematic adaptations of J.R.R. Tolkien's world of fantasy.
Back to the shire.
Back to where, it all, began.
Whence an heroic team of dwarves accompanied by one wizard and one hobbit depart in search of adventure, eventually discovering arboreal displacements, upon which they regroup to fend off those who have tamed wanton fury, when the leader amongst them accepts the challenge of a daunting fiend, and his subsequent missteps are gallantly regrounded.
As unity intends.
If you liked The Lord of the Rings trilogy, I can't see why you wouldn't enjoy The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. The Goblin King (Barry Humphries) was a bit of a let down and the same frustrating sense of resigned naive invincible epic substantial critical unwavering exactitude permeates much of the dialogue/action (it's cheesy), but I liked following the troupe throughout their travels, was happy to see many familiar faces, loved Radagast's (Sylvester McCoy) bold rabbitsledding, and found Bilbo (Martin Freeman/Ian Holm) to be a metamorphic symbol of situational alertness.
As he takes up the cause.
Differing conceptions of etiquette acrobatically contend, if you're a fan of the old cartoon there's a playful intertextual dialogue (big fan), the domain of wizardry is environmentally piquanted, philology is advantageously crescented, and the legendary takes on a robust realistic candour.
Through questing.
And check this out. Wish I spoke Russian or that it contained French or English subtitles.
Back to the shire.
Back to where, it all, began.
Whence an heroic team of dwarves accompanied by one wizard and one hobbit depart in search of adventure, eventually discovering arboreal displacements, upon which they regroup to fend off those who have tamed wanton fury, when the leader amongst them accepts the challenge of a daunting fiend, and his subsequent missteps are gallantly regrounded.
As unity intends.
If you liked The Lord of the Rings trilogy, I can't see why you wouldn't enjoy The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. The Goblin King (Barry Humphries) was a bit of a let down and the same frustrating sense of resigned naive invincible epic substantial critical unwavering exactitude permeates much of the dialogue/action (it's cheesy), but I liked following the troupe throughout their travels, was happy to see many familiar faces, loved Radagast's (Sylvester McCoy) bold rabbitsledding, and found Bilbo (Martin Freeman/Ian Holm) to be a metamorphic symbol of situational alertness.
As he takes up the cause.
Differing conceptions of etiquette acrobatically contend, if you're a fan of the old cartoon there's a playful intertextual dialogue (big fan), the domain of wizardry is environmentally piquanted, philology is advantageously crescented, and the legendary takes on a robust realistic candour.
Through questing.
And check this out. Wish I spoke Russian or that it contained French or English subtitles.
Le Nord au cœur
Serge Giguère's Le Nord au cœur provides a concise synopsis of one man's passionate relationship with the Canadian North, Northern Québec in particular. Having spent his life working within and defending the North's diversity, Louis-Edmond Hamelin has been integral in establishing while deconstructing Northern semantic conceptions while working hand-in-hand with Northern Aboriginal peoples.
The sparsely populated Canadian North occupies the majority of Canada's landscape(s) and the traditions of its Aboriginal peoples, from Labrador to Yukon, can be differentiated by sundry distinct variables. Creating a terse one-dimensional definition to encapsulate the vibrant traditions of so many prominent cultures does a disservice to their integrity, and is akin to trying to attach a monosyllabic moniker to Sweden, Norway and Finland.
Louis-Edmond Hamelin's lifework takes this frame into account while striving to ensure that Canada's Aboriginal peoples have a substantial voice in regards to the ways in which their land is developed. Le Nord au cœur demonstrates how political initiatives continually apply invigorated euphemisms to Northern development strategies, transhistorically presented as the new, without first respectfully negotiating with the nations whom these initiatives will directly and perennially impact.
It also offers picturesque visual details of other multidimensional Northern nomenclatures which diversify the North's multiplicities further. Cool look at an openminded man's lifetime commitment to integrating voices which often (still) go unheard.
The sparsely populated Canadian North occupies the majority of Canada's landscape(s) and the traditions of its Aboriginal peoples, from Labrador to Yukon, can be differentiated by sundry distinct variables. Creating a terse one-dimensional definition to encapsulate the vibrant traditions of so many prominent cultures does a disservice to their integrity, and is akin to trying to attach a monosyllabic moniker to Sweden, Norway and Finland.
Louis-Edmond Hamelin's lifework takes this frame into account while striving to ensure that Canada's Aboriginal peoples have a substantial voice in regards to the ways in which their land is developed. Le Nord au cœur demonstrates how political initiatives continually apply invigorated euphemisms to Northern development strategies, transhistorically presented as the new, without first respectfully negotiating with the nations whom these initiatives will directly and perennially impact.
It also offers picturesque visual details of other multidimensional Northern nomenclatures which diversify the North's multiplicities further. Cool look at an openminded man's lifetime commitment to integrating voices which often (still) go unheard.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Thérèse Desqueyroux
And it is foretold that marriage will squander the limitless theorizations of an inquisitive maiden (Audrey Tautou as Thérèse Desqueyroux) as she attempts to redefine herself according to her husband's (Gilles Lellouche as Bernard Desqueyroux [France's Liam Neeson?]) rigid prejudice.
His prejudice and the specific roles to which it narrow-mindedly assigns meaning to every in/tangible subject/object it wields, has not incorporated the art of bilateral communication into its privileged perspective, forcing his wife to seek alternative methods of resoundingly breaking through.
The other side can be distinguished as vital but tradition and continuity prevent him from unclenching his patriarchal grip.
Oblivious and unreceptive to the simplest of his wife's unexpected ambitions, he remains ensconced in his paradigm dans les bras de Morphée.
Interring the process of subjective decay, transferring random natural acts to a domestic realm's uncharted vicissitudes, sinisterly challenging immutable contraceptions, and suggesting that related solutions exacerbate that to which their remedy is applied, in terms of the preservation of identity, Claude Miller's Thérèse Desqueyroux nocturnally invokes fluid conjugal taxonomies as a potential interpersonal strategy applicable to estranged partnerships.
Or simply states that some people shouldn't get married.
No they should not.
His prejudice and the specific roles to which it narrow-mindedly assigns meaning to every in/tangible subject/object it wields, has not incorporated the art of bilateral communication into its privileged perspective, forcing his wife to seek alternative methods of resoundingly breaking through.
The other side can be distinguished as vital but tradition and continuity prevent him from unclenching his patriarchal grip.
Oblivious and unreceptive to the simplest of his wife's unexpected ambitions, he remains ensconced in his paradigm dans les bras de Morphée.
Interring the process of subjective decay, transferring random natural acts to a domestic realm's uncharted vicissitudes, sinisterly challenging immutable contraceptions, and suggesting that related solutions exacerbate that to which their remedy is applied, in terms of the preservation of identity, Claude Miller's Thérèse Desqueyroux nocturnally invokes fluid conjugal taxonomies as a potential interpersonal strategy applicable to estranged partnerships.
Or simply states that some people shouldn't get married.
No they should not.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Ésimésac
If you like community focused films that celebrate the strength of tightly knit towns without hesitating to unabashedly and wholeheartedly melodramatize their conflicts, you'll likely enjoy Luc Picard's Émisésac.
If you like social democratic allegories which charmingly utilize the magically real to critically examine the affects of economic risks and their associated dreams primarily through the social interactions of an innocent, unworldly, inspirational protagonist, you should check Émisésac out.
If you like romantic resolutions that emphasize the human as opposed to the mathematical factors worked into strategic financial planning, Émisésac is for you.
And if you're looking for a film to inaugurate your cinematic holiday season, it's a total must.
Thoroughly enjoyed Émisésac's ample simplified multidimensional spirit, as well as its humble humanism.
Could have used some more multicultural material.
If you like social democratic allegories which charmingly utilize the magically real to critically examine the affects of economic risks and their associated dreams primarily through the social interactions of an innocent, unworldly, inspirational protagonist, you should check Émisésac out.
If you like romantic resolutions that emphasize the human as opposed to the mathematical factors worked into strategic financial planning, Émisésac is for you.
And if you're looking for a film to inaugurate your cinematic holiday season, it's a total must.
Thoroughly enjoyed Émisésac's ample simplified multidimensional spirit, as well as its humble humanism.
Could have used some more multicultural material.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
A Late Quartet
Love listening to the fiddle or violin.
Would be nice to sit back and listen to a couple of hours of violin or fiddle music with an ample supply of grapes and unpasteurized cheese plus a nice glass of red wine.
I don't know that much about classical music but I have a couple of favourite texts (Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor, Rachmaninoff's Symphony no. 2) and enjoy tuning into classical radio stations when I find myself moving from one place to another in an automobile. I usually find that there are moments within many works that induce compelling impressions and others that patiently/quizzically/reflectively/demonstratively/emotively set the scene. The relationship between these elements interpreted through my subjective pluralisis can create a narrative of sorts, a story, an idiom. The same thing happens when I listen to jazz or pop music, The Rolling Stones's Let it Bleed lodged in my memory as the first album to which I suddenly applied this universal transition.
That's obvious enough.
The structural elements within Yaron Zilberman's A Late Quartet resemble a classical piece of music, as can every film I suppose depending on the relative position of its viewer and their own transsemantic didactic verisimilitude.
The film humanizes the performance of classical music with a subtle piquant plasticity which is simultaneously confident, energetically atonal, and furtively self-critical, perhaps theorizing/applying a classical perception of the postmodern, except when it comes to the production of the music itself.
The daring contends with the quartet's format within and the consequent side affects necessitate an harmonious etherealization (in terms of its performance).
I was more concerned with Christopher Walken's (Peter Mitchell) internal posture. It's classic Christopher Walken. One scene precociously pastiches his role in Pulp Fiction and his lines are delivered with the same characteristic bright, perspicacious, concerned yet uncommitted comfortably chilling dexterity that has made him a cinematic icon.
But he's not playing a gangster and/or someone with underlying violent explosivities, steeping, ready to erupt.
He's probably had lots of roles where he doesn't play such characters in films I unfortunately haven't seen.
But in A Late Quartet he plays the friendly, wise, avuncular rock that collegially holds a prominent sophisticated classical music quartet together.
There's one scene where he's sitting back thinking about the death of his wife after some heated social interaction. There's no dialogue, but tears are produced, and, when it's situated within the context of the film, while bearing in mind his traditional roles, which A Late Quartet seems to be doing, it transforms the classical perception of his expressions into something equally affective yet much less threatening.
As if the goal is the reconceptualization of volatility.
His performance isn't the only one that stands out.
Original music by Angelo Badalamenti, cinematography by Frederick Elmes.
Would be nice to sit back and listen to a couple of hours of violin or fiddle music with an ample supply of grapes and unpasteurized cheese plus a nice glass of red wine.
I don't know that much about classical music but I have a couple of favourite texts (Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor, Rachmaninoff's Symphony no. 2) and enjoy tuning into classical radio stations when I find myself moving from one place to another in an automobile. I usually find that there are moments within many works that induce compelling impressions and others that patiently/quizzically/reflectively/demonstratively/emotively set the scene. The relationship between these elements interpreted through my subjective pluralisis can create a narrative of sorts, a story, an idiom. The same thing happens when I listen to jazz or pop music, The Rolling Stones's Let it Bleed lodged in my memory as the first album to which I suddenly applied this universal transition.
That's obvious enough.
The structural elements within Yaron Zilberman's A Late Quartet resemble a classical piece of music, as can every film I suppose depending on the relative position of its viewer and their own transsemantic didactic verisimilitude.
The film humanizes the performance of classical music with a subtle piquant plasticity which is simultaneously confident, energetically atonal, and furtively self-critical, perhaps theorizing/applying a classical perception of the postmodern, except when it comes to the production of the music itself.
The daring contends with the quartet's format within and the consequent side affects necessitate an harmonious etherealization (in terms of its performance).
I was more concerned with Christopher Walken's (Peter Mitchell) internal posture. It's classic Christopher Walken. One scene precociously pastiches his role in Pulp Fiction and his lines are delivered with the same characteristic bright, perspicacious, concerned yet uncommitted comfortably chilling dexterity that has made him a cinematic icon.
But he's not playing a gangster and/or someone with underlying violent explosivities, steeping, ready to erupt.
He's probably had lots of roles where he doesn't play such characters in films I unfortunately haven't seen.
But in A Late Quartet he plays the friendly, wise, avuncular rock that collegially holds a prominent sophisticated classical music quartet together.
There's one scene where he's sitting back thinking about the death of his wife after some heated social interaction. There's no dialogue, but tears are produced, and, when it's situated within the context of the film, while bearing in mind his traditional roles, which A Late Quartet seems to be doing, it transforms the classical perception of his expressions into something equally affective yet much less threatening.
As if the goal is the reconceptualization of volatility.
His performance isn't the only one that stands out.
Original music by Angelo Badalamenti, cinematography by Frederick Elmes.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Tabu
After sterilely establishing a set of sociological effects, wherein moments of personal literary expositions and devout religious expressions firmly respond to an extroverted eccentricity, capriciously gloating in the ether, following a solemn sentimental allegory, Miguel Gomes's Tabu imprioritizes their structural causes, by soberly elucidating their passionate progenitors.
Tabu's dimensions are difficult to define because it obliquely plays with narrative conventions with a jocose leavened degree of cohesive disparity, as if to say, "based upon certain doctrinalized expectations, there are specific aspects which we must include, even if throughout the process of their inclusion, we have found ways to romantically mistrust them."
I highly doubt they would have expressed themselves in such terms.
Sterile's the wrong word to be using. The film's anything but sterile. Yet it coyly employs a pervasive intermittently poppy sterility to slyly postulate its poetic position, as if it's trying to sustain sundry spontaneous combustions, like a ravenous crocodile.
By imprioritizing the structural causes, Tabu laments the ways in which events solidify points of view, as epitomized by Santa (Isabel Muñoz Cardoso) and Aurora's (Laura Soveral, Ana Moreira) relations, as Santa asserts herself.
Although I'm basing this point on a supposition drawn from a character's memory and then applied externally (by me) to a nondescript incidental circumstance (act II).
There's much more to it than that, if that even applies.
So worth seeing.
Tabu's dimensions are difficult to define because it obliquely plays with narrative conventions with a jocose leavened degree of cohesive disparity, as if to say, "based upon certain doctrinalized expectations, there are specific aspects which we must include, even if throughout the process of their inclusion, we have found ways to romantically mistrust them."
I highly doubt they would have expressed themselves in such terms.
Sterile's the wrong word to be using. The film's anything but sterile. Yet it coyly employs a pervasive intermittently poppy sterility to slyly postulate its poetic position, as if it's trying to sustain sundry spontaneous combustions, like a ravenous crocodile.
By imprioritizing the structural causes, Tabu laments the ways in which events solidify points of view, as epitomized by Santa (Isabel Muñoz Cardoso) and Aurora's (Laura Soveral, Ana Moreira) relations, as Santa asserts herself.
Although I'm basing this point on a supposition drawn from a character's memory and then applied externally (by me) to a nondescript incidental circumstance (act II).
There's much more to it than that, if that even applies.
So worth seeing.
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