The Gold Rush

The lour of abundant riches fluidly flourishing with feverish frenzy, drives The Lone Prospector (Charlie Chaplin) north to seek his fortune in the outspoken wilderness. 

But luck deceptively eludes him as his adventure encounters the void, and without food as winter sets in he finds himself starving in a crowded cabin.

Two others have joined him indeed one having recently found good fortune, the other hunted by the adamant law and in no mood for friendly conversation.

The awkward potentially dangerous situation is not without meaningful comic effect, as inherent absurdity echoes incarnate throughout the vast remarkable land.

Eventually, after an offbeat rendez-vous with understated ursine munificence, it's off to a nearby town to patiently wait for the upcoming spring.

Wherein which bourgeois potential's cloaked within seemingly radical excess, the incumbent seclusion forging molten magnanimity that takes some time for the prospector to get used to. 

But with resonant hesitant accord he peacefully acculturates piecemeal by and by, at least attempting to earnestly grow accustomed to something he'll never quite instinctually understand.

Such a shame to have to adapt to not simply intuit the habitual happenstance, trial and error deemed somewhat unproductive when generally applied to prestigious social life.

There seems to be an art to conviviality which many comprehend with innate fascination, whereas others observe somewhat bewildered by the odd animate freeform merrymaking.

Competing rationalities discernibly conceal fortuitous facts and fashionable variabilities, which spontaneously mutate according to im/perceptible personalized aggrieved or ecstatic revelations. 

Why not a quiet evening at home swashbucklingly scrutinized with celebratory sentiment, the discursive means questing themselves for alert dis/proportionate vigorous censure?

Established semantic inhibition reflexively refreshes bold exotic tongues, as inchoate interactive fluencies effusively flutter to perplexingly fathom!

While the rowdy festive heralding doth still pose sociocultural temptation, newfound habits and tantalizing tranquility often offer clement consignments. 

Brilliant film, every second romanticized with sporting dis/passionate uncanny revels (Happy New Year!).

Amazing country far off, so I hear.

With so much land still yet to be claimed.  

Loin du Vietnam (Far from Vietnam)

You wonder why or how it ever seemed so significant, how a tiny jungle country in southeast Asia could have warranted a prolonged bloodthirsty conflict.

With thousands dying in a hostile land uniformly united to defend their realm, ideology butchered with extreme malignancy to attempt to settle a political rampage.

Loin du Vietnam (Far from Vietnam) packs a ferocious punch as it analyzes the Vietnam War, presenting multiple viewpoints from opposing sides furiously hellbent on polemical destruction.

But I don't see a synthesis here it seems plain and clear the resistance was right, or that those challenging the bellicose authorities were in virtuous possession of infallible conviction.

How could you ever convince someone of ideological agency by aggressively bombing them day and night?, the documentary capturing the ruthless madness that viciously encouraged rampant death and devastation.

Violently disseminating your message pestiferously begets similar responses, an eye for an eye the message still the same, many people will fight if you use violence to persuade them.

And what do you win if you radically subdue them, besides ubiquitous engrained somnambulism, the remarkable thrill of having thoroughly convinced someone worth billions more and much less expensive.

If you proceed with friendship or genuine curiosity to lay the foundations for lucrative trade, diplomatically distilling mutually beneficial matrices things generally improve while many prosper.

Peaceful relations hopefully nurture networks which convivially matriculate as goals are met, infrastructure enabled with longitudinal lattice to efficiently enliven fortuitous fable.

People do often seem to be at odds or indeed rather grumpy from time to time, but cultures which embrace feminine counsel seem to succeed with more byzantine balance.

Like I've said before, a solid mix of the genders has led to fun working experiences, the desire to productively intermingle while taking account of multifaceted interrelations, resonantly producing cohesive outputs, negotiating novelty and tradition.

I was sad to hear Jean-Luc Godard passed this year, he's most certainly one of my favourite directors (he's one of 7 directors who made Loin du Vietnam).

I enjoyed so many of his unique films in my youth.

I'm curious to know where he ended up?! 🤔

*Note: some monogender environments can be fun too, but they're definitely more well-rounded or versatile if there's a mix. 

Blood & Wine

The lives of a somewhat traditional family descend into bitter vengeful chaos, after the thieving of a diamond necklace encourages too many unanswered questions.

Had the covetous husband (Jack Nicholson) not sought an uncharacteristic financial panacea, he could have continued selling his wine and perhaps turned his struggling business around.

He even provides his step-son (Stephen Dorff) with age old advice attempting to mean well, the youngster rather dismissive of his by-the-book step-dad and generally uninterested in commercial counsel. 

It's in fact an offbeat salute to disorganized youth and improvised dreams, as the adults prove rather immature and the young ones radiate unworldly competence.

I didn't find Blood & Wine comic while startlingly considering its inherent disillusionment, but when you compare who Mr. Gates tries to be in the film, with the contradictory results he rashly spawns, there's certainly dark humour afoot, that betrays lucid masterful mischief.

I was sad when Bob Rafelson passed away this year because Five Easy Pieces was one of the first independent films I saw, also the first to leave a significant impact no doubt it's a timeless gem that shouldn't be forgotten.

I likely would have still discovered independent cinema but it still definitively functioned like a productive catalyst, and I began to watch more and more underground exemplars of less general attempts to create mass amusement.

I imagine it's still a great place to start although there's no standard recipe for this sort of thing, with lifelong bizarro eclectic trial and error heuristically harkening holistic happenstance.

It was easier with video rental stores if the owners shared a wide ranging perspective, and with shows like Siskel & Ebert to playfully present honest heartfelt takes (still available on YouTube the last time I checked).

It's not that much more difficult now but finding quality films may require a little more effort, but if the desire's there, there shouldn't be barriers preventing you from finding tens of thousand of extant picks on iTunes and YouTube.

I suppose it's actually much easier to just rent films from iTunes or YouTube, if you do enough research. You can watch them from the comfort of your home and there's always a copy available. I found it much more fun to visit and compare individual rental stores, however. Some of them had incredible collections.

Blood & Wine showcases unleashed aggression from unwilling participants habitually docile, the results mind-boggling and incredibly awkward as unaccustomed emotion lacks orthodox sublimation.

Michael Caine (Victor) before finding his avuncular role as Bruce Wayne's stern but caring Alfred.

Jennifer Lopez (Gabriela), Stephen Dorff and Judy Davis also impress. 

Like film noir without a private detective.

8-Bit Christmas

A different time known by many only through festive fable and resolute reanimation, during which new technological developments proliferated, along with the age old tried and true.

In fact inherent resonant syntheses at times harmoniously hastened, newfound revelatory reckoning hitherto unheard of in sundry millennia. 

With such abundant novelty elucidating ingenious spirits habitually distilled, random fluid intermittent auspices risibly attuned to salient synergy.

Within this unsurpassed decade, 8-Bit Christmas shares its tale, with laudable attempts to appear authentic, throughout the incumbent childhood reminiscence.

For one youngster within the neighbourhood has received every newly released toy, and his surrounding covetous playmates seek to be chosen to actively play.

They longingly gather en masse while young Mr. Keane (Chandler Dean) treats them contemptuously, his haughty dismissive cheeky flaunting generally tolerated with tranquil reticence. 

But 'lil Jake Doyle (Winslow Fegley/Neil Patrick Harris) has had enough and after a haunting disturbing incident, sets out to buy a Nintendo of his own to freely accommodate nimble gaming.

The initial plan involves the Scouts and the accumulation of commodities sold, wreathes indeed to communal stalwarts ceremoniously accustomed to symbolic tradition.

If his sales reverberatingly reach sought after insurmountable superlatives, it is thought he will receive a new Nintendo gaming system.

But something's not quite right and his friends may have been misinformed.

Thus inspiring strategic improvisation. 

With the aid of friends and family.

Not merely a history lesson for contemporary enthusiasts intent on study, but also a blueprint for high-stakes shenanigans as once conceived sans online technologies. 

For there was indeed a time when intricate detail was interactively worked into thoughtful recreation, and playful meetings were held in person to freely negotiate what lay outside.

It was called conversation wherein which curious peeps expressed different points of view, and if the answer remained uncertain what were known as books were readily consulted.

I really enjoyed this film and will likely check it out again next Holiday Season (along with works by Raymond Briggs [I have a huge list of shows and films to watch every year {and it just keeps growing!}]). 

It has a classic Christmas ending (love you dad).

Applicable throughout the ages.

*Happy Holidays from Everyone here at Film Reviews! All the best in everything in 2023!

Modern Times

Charlie Chaplin films were often on television when I was very young, and they were just as entertaining then as they are this thoughtful day.

What an incredible entertainer who pioneered chill agile filmmaking, with innate atemporal intergenerational verve, he just set about tellin' cool stories, with remarkably awkward elasticity. 

Even though it's brilliantly evident that every nanosecond's been cleverly crafted, there's still an inherent nonchalance to his films, to Modern Times and ________ anyways, that makes them seem like real-time documentaries.

With saintly esteemed modesty he maladroitly maneuvers, without animosity or presumption with distilled existential innocence.

A character who tries but never fits in but still never loses that integral curiosity, always hoping to smoothly interact while humorously making a constructive haphazard mess of it.

It's like that when you don't fully understand how people generally coordinate their activities, and one mysterious circumstance after another inquisitively materializes offbeat caricatures. 

The golden rule doesn't seem to apply much anymore if it ever did who knows to be certain, rather irate misinterpretation and erroneous fabrication seem to often hinder communal progression.

Wasn't there a time not so long ago when meaningfully constructed well-reasoned arguments, were more politically and socioculturally appealing than fear-mongering and divisive posturing?

Aren't logic and reason internationally applied more communally applicable to environmental dilemmas, since pollution knows no specific geographic border and pestiferously pesters partout willy-nilly? 

It's like the world's trying to resoundingly change and has thoroughly announced widespread conducive reckoning, but rather than take the impetus of such healthy initiatives, the electoral map is redrawn and voting rights rescinded. 

If political parties can't effectively convince citizens to follow a specific course of action, and stubbornly refuse to adjust that course of action, and then try to prevent people from accessing their democratic voting rights to achieve victory, shouldn't they universally rethink how they act and and what they stand for, to actually become appealing, not just frightening, with less polemical leadership?

It's been utterly mind-blowing to see how stubborn politics have become in modern times. 

Stereotypically dishevelling. 

Ubiquitously volatile. 

The Raggedy Rawney

The Raggedy Rawney ruggedly critiques übermasculinst initiatives, inasmuch as it directly presents agile characters with no interest in fighting.

It seems straightforward enough that you don't force people to fight in wars, wouldn't they be useless in the lines anyway and prone to brutal discipline?

There are plenty of people ready to fight or at least ready to present themselves as battle worthy, does it not make sense to leave pacifists behind and let them constructively work on negotiating an armistice?

It actually seemed for awhile that the equation of manhood with military service was a formula fading into the past, and that the public sphere was productively expanding to include myriad alternative masculinist conceptions.

Isn't the cultivation of a world wherein which these conceptions flourish alongside traditional depictions of manhood, not worth tenaciously fighting for with the spirit of the emboldened Ukraine?

Does it have to be a rough juxtaposition of brain and brawn till the end of time, wherein which the athletically gifted furiously contend with well-read snobs?

Does the well-read snob have to continuously push books and learning upon active peeps who have no interest, do the active peeps have to advocate combat with ruthless resolve? 

Both groups secretly long to be genuinely accepted by the other, should they doubt the innocent choices that led them upon their steady trajectory.

Boredom often materializes even within an active routine, a theoretical solution imaginatively presenting itself as a romantic elevation of alternative lifestyles.

I was fortunately saved because I never really cared much about what others were doing (I could also do both), I really tried to seem interested for awhile, but people were often annoyed by my feigned enthusiasm (is there any other way?).

I tried to point out that most of the world inevitably has to feign enthusiasm, through much of their adult lives in order to ironically avoid malaise.

But you can't say that it's rather awkward they just keep presenting the same dull questions, and you keep delivering the same peppy response while wondering if you've gotten it right this time.

It can be rather amusing although you have to keep it to yourself, an honest description delivered with sincere integrity generally anathema and leading nowhere.

I didn't mean for this to be so tiresome perhaps it's not I really can't say.

Cheers to a world without military combat however!

Along with whoever engages in defensive warfare. 

Get Santa

Santa's travels have led him on many a wild-eyed adventurous path, perhaps none so ritualistically disastrous as that trod in the feisty Get Santa.

Within, after accidentally encountering a grounding immobilized malignant encumbrance, he finds himself struggling to locate his cherished reindeer who have erratically dispersed throughout byzantine London.

He seeks to enlist the aid of a troubled soul just released from prison, but his bewildering roundabout strategy sees him scandalously incarcerated instead.

Unaccustomed to prison life, he awkwardly attempts to be disconcerting, but his natural magnanimous innocence ethereally precludes any bellicose mischief.

Meanwhile, the ex-con on parole (Rafe Spall) must help the legend escape, and with the aid and encouragement of his loving son (Kit Connor as Tom), sets about trying to zero-in on the flatulent beasties.

It's a rather complicated procedure considering the number of laws they must violate, on his first day of parole no less, the authorities unsympathetic and unamused.

And just as they reach fabled Elf City and find a new sleigh to break Santa loose, he's suddenly placed back in his cell, and must prepare to be transferred to another prison.

How could such a sociocultural imbalance lead to so distressing an incongruity, as one globally revered for earnest generosity can't enchantingly negotiate spiritual quarter?

As if during that grouchy year the Christmas spirit plunged to unprecedented depths, leaving the habitually wondrous and animately endowed with little recourse for upbeat revelling.

Get Santa captures the inherent disillusionment with woebegone unimpressed adamant criticism, while mischievously celebrating improvised conjuring along with lithe constitutional forgiveness.

In terms of its comedic vocation, the grizzly gaseous go-daddy gallows, maddeningly matriculate maladroit mayhem, with a classic salute to prognostic defiance. 

Seriously, it makes it seem like Santa (Jim Broadbent) has no chance of escape whatsoever, and lays the impossibility on super thick, while still engaging in traditional shenanigans. 

I immediately spotted the Michael Corleone pastiche and thought perhaps it was somewhat ill-suited to the season (the actual scene hails intense violence and heralds the emergence of an intelligent yet ruthless survivalist), but how can I not be forgiving at times such as these, especially when Get Santa fits so well with the '90s.

Classic goodwill and exceptional endeavours oddly uphold this offbeat Christmas romp.

As convincingly touching as many Christmas classics.

High stakes hi-jinx, convivial distaste. 

Tremors 2: Aftershocks

The discovery of graboids having resulted in widespread fame, humble Bassett (Fred Ward) spurns recognition, while attempting to raise ostriches far off the beaten track, independent and somewhat grouchy, overwhelming laidback pride.

When the new guy suddenly arrives (Chris Gartin) with a thrilling lucrative opportunity, to depart for the Mexican desert, and hunt the subterranean beasts once again. 

Initially, the surprising proposal is greeted with adamant repudiation, the safe yet shallow life preferred with correspondent cheeky earnest.

But the reward can't be overlooked without wide-eyed resplendent reckoning, and soon they're off to tempt devastation, to face primordial fears head-on.

As the situation becomes more daunting an old school chum is rapidly contacted, whose bizarro brazen imagination seeks frenetic frenzied fortunes (Michael Gross as Burt Gummer).

But the tactical advantage he swiftly provides bafflingly basks in bitter outrage, genetically prone to mutated dispute, hermaphroditically husked and hallowed.

And as the oldest form of life on Earth larger than a pesky 'lil amoeba, immediately adapts with collective fury, Mr. Bassett's manifest terrified wonder, must quickly improvise once again.

In a mad salute to reckless endangerment, Tremors 2: Aftershocks audaciously delineates, conjuring with airtight quasi-evolutionary bravado, it bears little else in mind than piecemeal tuckered tarnish.

Sort of like a video game where one must outwit ravenous beasts to gain a prize, a new level emerging vehemently posthaste after the opening gambit loses steam.

Considering the total lack of pretension the awkward lighthearted comedic exhaust, it's difficult to apply strict criteria to its evaluation, especially as the legendary Fred Ward takes centre stage, and embraces incumbent meta-criticism with ardent daring.

But had lifeforms such as these indeed been found, I would have recommended a moratorium on oil & gas development in the region, in order to study them more closely, and find sustainable ways to amicably co-exist.

Local First Nation legends would have also been sought to explain the ancient phenomenon, which somehow managed to escape effective note, as people spread far and wide across the globe.

It certainly would not have been time to open fire and pave the way for resource exploitation. 

Scientific study and methodological recourse.

Taxonomic treatise.

Protozoa prone. 

Jenseits des Sichtbaren - Hilma af Klint (Beyond the Visible - Helma af Klint)

Jenseits des Sichtbaren - Hilma af Klint (Beyond the Visible - Helma af Klint) examines prolific artist Helma af Klint, whose pioneering abstractions remain relatively unknown according to the documentary. 

She lived and worked in Sweden in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and spent her life cultivating an uncanny aesthetic that unfortunately never received much attention.

I don't know if she wanted attention but audience or not she persevered, and her family wisely kept her paintings delicately preserved then tucked away.

If someone was hoping to construct a history of abstract painting, it would be surprising if they overlooked Klint (her paintings look cool), which is what art critics in the film suggest happened to the disillusioning misfortune of narrative consistency.

If you have 250 odd pages at your disposal, at least, there's no excuse for omitting a paragraph, or a footnote or page or chapter if you're attempting to present the entire picture (competing narratives within narratives [so blasé]).

I was taught to investigate narrative from multidisciplinary perspectives, and that there was such a wealth of material available that it would be foolish to believe in absolute superlatives (I always thought this seemed natural to most people but I guess so many never bother to listen to works that actually win or are nominated for awards).

Of course I still had favourites which I liked to promote and was surprised when they were overlooked, but a quick application of democratic variability helped me entertain multilateral ethics.

Of course the real world outside of Québec was much different than what I imagined in school, it was rather disputatiously composed of people who actively dealt in superlatives (ironically so much of the best stuff is Québecois! [eat it Lord Durham]).

Multilateral ethics were rather ineffectual and much less exciting than passionate tomfoolery, or sarcastic dismissals of complex thoughts that preferred foolish stereotypes to communal reason.

Nevertheless, I never lost sight of my reliable preferences even if they morphed and shifted over time, and it never mattered to me who or what group was creating, as long as they weren't cultivating a violent racist aesthetic.

It's sad how in the world at large you often have to identify with fads if you want to make money, rather than randomly choosing various texts and judging them based on your own peculiar artistic preferences. 

I still recognize that my conception of artistic may seem like nonsense to others.

Wherein which lies the fun.

If you steer clear of the belligerents. 

De Familie Claus

The abundance of Christmas films presenting alternative takes on Santa, suggest he revels in semantic mischief regarding the history of his origins.

Not that it's by any means intentional or deliberate or part of a plan, but as demonstrated by the multiple Christmas films theorizing his legend, it's apparent manifold mythologies have mutated. 

When embracing the legendary unknown it's important to intricately postulate, at times with the aid of well-considered collectives, at others with inspiring novel independence.

I imagine Santa appreciates the heartfelt conjecture and consummate cajoling conjuring, due to the plethora of well-meaning depictions which playfully hypothesize inherent merriment.

Perhaps within the realm of fantasy corporeal precision materializes at times, like the miraculous validity of a mathematical formula, entertainingly applied with reified reckoning.

Thus, Santa likely resides in the far North at a location yet to be determined, generally agreed to be at the North Pole, but perhaps as far off as nimble Ungava.

Reindeer seem to be the animals of choice to magically transport him around the world, perhaps initially detected by the tribes of Scandinavia who perhaps still aerodynamically vet their herds.

Clearly, at some point in history ebullient peeps colloquially referred to as elves, earnestly joined up with the thankful Santa to authentically assist with his diligent craftpersonship.

Perhaps as Scandinavian herdspeople have cultivated a keen spiritual eye over the years regarding reindeer, there are other dedicated students of Christmas constantly searching the globe for talented elves.

Animals seem to be naturally aware of Christmas and are no doubt ethereally linked to Santa, who genuinely cares for their upbeat revelry as curiously presented by Rankin & Bass. 

Perhaps with nothing to do with excess toys left over after Christmas, Santa and his crew began decorating the local coniferous forest in animate lithe accordance.

The idea was then surreally sequestered within a synergetic waking dream, which when realized earnestly instigated the fervid maintenance of similar arbors.

Who knows how accurate the illustrations or how precise the resonant tales!

Nice to see so many, nevertheless!

Every joyous Holiday Season. 

Bell, Book & Candle

*Cool to see this film has a remake in the mix! Not that the original isn't up to snuff, I'd just love to see what contemporary writers would make of such a snug fit as this (fitting in terms of the abundance of fantasy films being released these days). 

I suppose I've never quite understood why biblical religions are consistently at odds with paganism and magic, and while getting into even more trouble, I've always thought peeps should blend the two.

Should the services of witches and warlocks along with those of the animal kingdom, not be spiritually enlisted to complement mainstream religion?

Does mainstream religion not seek to ecumenically envelope everything, within a multifaceted conglomerate discursively transmutating throughout the world?

And if seeking to envelope everything mustn't exceptions be made at times, to facilitate enriching understanding and mutually respectful supernatural accords?

Did the biblical God not create the animals and also ensure they could prosper throughout his lands, would it not also make sense that he created gifted loving people who could ingeniously communicate with them?

If people were able to interact and fluently communicate with animals, would harmony not flourish throughout the land if they weren't persecuted for their difference?

Much like the dominion of The Biggest Little Farm beings could constructively co-exist, and generally work together to pursue cultivated productivity.

I imagine the cosmopolitan afterlife, effortlessly blended with naturalistic reckoning, accepts people and animals from every religion, assuming they haven't lived the lives of vicious a-holes.

It doesn't make sense that spiritually prosperous influential people unaffiliated with any religion, should suffer the eternal torments of hell after having lived virtuous lives.

Thus, major figures like Christ and Nanabush likely share in heaven's abundance, infinitely spreading their vivid alternatives with gregarious communal friendly import.

As they've gotten to know one another over the course of recent millennia, would they not also have become more familiar with different ways to live a life?

Would they not also have become more tolerant of abounding un/orthodox difference, or the application of ethical goodwill to manifold chillin' grassroots initiatives? 

Should paganism and the biblical religions not therefore come to terms this Holiday Season, to ensure more bountiful multilateral refinements throughout the fertile verdant Earth?

So much knowledge to share and integrate.

With zoological enlightenment.

Released shortly thereafter the old school enigmatic Vertigo.

What a year for Stewart and Novak!

Junebug

A couple basks in enriching romance their union potentially a success, effervescent wondrous innocence characterizing their lithe shenanigans. 

The wife (Embeth Davidtz as Madeleine) runs a caring gallery which genuinely looks after its unsung artists, discovering unknown local talent then helping to find an adoring audience.

Her work takes her to the down-home town where her agile husband (Alessandro Nivola as George) was curiously raised, which means it's time to meet the fam while engaging in bucolic expenditure.

George's brother's (Ben McKenzie as Johnny) become somewhat nasty having grown tired of his steady routine, even though his chill wife's (Amy Adams as Ashley) pregnant and looking forward to starting a family.

He has no time to reminisce but his better half's still warm and friendly, Madeleine sincerely responding to her lack of conceit and freeform enthusiastic reckoning.

There could be more cutting tension arising from prejudicial misconceptions, but thankfully observations aren't frequently shared within the offbeat household's public sphere.

In fact Junebug creatively presents endearing heartfelt loving characters, thoroughly interested in the lives of others as they go about their interactive quibbling.

The arts devoid of stout pretension and destructive distasteful foul snobbery, search freely far and wide for newfound novel uncanny yens.

At the same time homegrown peeps hold back none of their natural spirits, a husband certainly most distressing, his wife like an ebullient summer's bloom.

The buzz around Amy Adams's performance is bang on like nothing else I've seen, her facial movements and inherent fascination far beyond what's oft described as memorable.

It's like there's a range of depth within which multidimension nimbly materializes, and her zags and cascading zigs ethereally flow towards its striking zenith.

Davidtz shouldn't be overlooked either I hope her character has persuasive fluency.

They're an incredible combination.

In a film that promotes compassion and understanding.

Stan & Ollie

An aging comedic duo, whose films were once the most sought after, settles into a British tour, with hopes of promoting another film.

But times have changed and resident audiences have embraced alternative acts, Laurel (Steve Coogan) & Hardy (John C. Reilly) forced to start out in a tumbledown forgotten theatre.

Nevertheless, their impeccable showpersonship soon smoothly generates a buzz, and shortly after recommencing they've embraced the grand marquee once more. 

They're accustomed to lofty praise and soon find themselves fashionably fawned in focus, the chance to return to the silver screen seeming much more likely with each passing day.

But a troubling memory problematizes the seamless reanimated tip-top traction, remembrances of an old contract dispute and the one instance they worked apart.

Had it not been for that one pesky moment their careers would have been holistically united.

Seems silly when you consider the stats.

But sometimes peeps obsess about perfection.

Laurel & Hardy were still well known in my youth and highly-regarded amongst my older relatives, I never really sought out their films but was once a huge fan of Abbott & Costello.

Where would they have been without Laurel & Hardy it's difficult to say, they likely still would have had talent, but would they have forged a dynamic Laurel & Hardyesque tandem that prolonged the paradigm for paramount decades, or would they have created solo acts, unfortunately having abandoned the adored routine?

It looks like Laurel was much more ambitious and wanted to earn them a bigger slice, and was always working on new ideas to potentially produce in upcoming shows. 

Stan enjoyed what they made and didn't want to risk the good life, it looks like famous lucrative actors held little executive sway back then, perhaps like professional sports before the unions.

Do they hold much more sway now?, I believe they're paid much more, and some of the more famous ones can choose their roles, but I haven't really read up on it.

Perhaps "lighthearted" is the wrong word to use to describe Laurel & Hardy's work, I imagine at the time it was truly groundbreaking, perhaps even shocking to old school audiences.

I'll have to see if they made the Collection or if iTunes has any of their films.

Stan & Ollie's worth checking out.

An engaging hommage to comedic legends. 

Miami Blues

The old school progressive drama within which ambivalence envelopes, as the deeds of a petty crook seem less contemptible at times.

He doesn't instigate many of his crimes but instead simply wanders around the city, and waits for others to break the law before unexpectedly stepping in (Alec Baldwin as Frederick J. Frenger Jr.).

He then uses a fake badge to pretend to arrest the violent assailant, and then steals the loot they've stolen before making off scot-free.

Thus he seems like Robin Hood if he'd had a lingering head injury, therefore he doesn't share his goods, nor rob the rich exclusively.

But he takes in a struggling lass who's had a seriously rough time of it, and they attempt to live together in the 'burbs like a sure and steady upbeat couple.

Meanwhile the cop whom he stole the badge from can't catch a freakin' break (Fred Ward as Pork-Chops-Moseley), and moves from the hospital back to his hotel apartment before being assaulted by a fellow policeperson (Paul Gleason as Sgt. Lackley).

He's one of the most unfortunate cops I've seen effectively portrayed in bizarro detective drama.

With an uncanny comic edge.

Like nothing I've seen before.

Mostly because I've never seen the police at such a disadvantage, and I'm not used to seeing petty thugs randomly commit crimes without fear of consequence.

The intricate focus on precise details leading to the capture of violent criminals, generally eludes this oddball caper in which the cops are understaffed, underfunded, and corrupt.

There's no shortage of corresponding crime and as they proceed like a comic noir, they make the case for a more robust economy in which there's ample steady work.

Jennifer Jason Leigh (Ms. Waggoner) excels as her character intuits a domestic role, having spent much of her life being overlooked, she responds with vigour to her newfound calling.

Fred Ward takes on a new role where he isn't a smart-ass confident phenom, in Miami Blues he struggles more than J.J. Gittes in Chinatown and even loses his set of false teeth.

Alec Baldwin alternatively struggles and shines throughout his discombobulating task, some scenes certainly memorable, how was he ever that thin?

Not the most convincing of cop dramas but still abounding with oddball novelty, Miami Blues takes a well-worn genre and reasserts stray originality. 

Perhaps the story comes from Europe, it's difficult to say.

Fun if if you love offbeat characters.

And omnipresent gristle.   

Samson & Delilah

You wonder how worlds so radically different could obliviously exist side by side in the same country, one characterized by wealth and prosperity, the other struggling to get by day after day.

In Samson & Delilah, two Indigenous youths run into trouble on their reservation, and soon find themselves living on the outskirts of an Australian city, unable to speak English or find work.

Unfortunately, charitable organizations don't find them and take them in, and help them adjust to the cultural shock, and find work and food and lodging.

Delilah's (Marissa Gibson) mother used to make elaborate quilts which a broker sold for her in the city, giving her $200 for her trouble, then selling them for $22,000.

Delilah finds the gallery by accident but the dealer has no time for her, she then makes cool designs of her own which she isn't able to sell.

Their story takes a violent turn as outrageous thugs come bellicosely calling, imagine you just want to co-exist and make friends and all you ever encounter is hostility. 

It may seem extreme but the story's the same in different parts of Canada.

If only different peoples looked upon each other with respect.

Without fatalistic ill-will.

Fatalism rots the brain with unproductive morose cynicism, replacing imaginative variable dreams with motionless stagnant gaunt depression.

Ask yourself who's spreading fatalism and challenge them instead of fighting yourselves, while striving to build stronger safer communities within which kids are free to prosper.

It would be cool to be a general or a CEO, a principal or a famous actor, but there are so many other cool options out there which also offer a neat way of life.

Samson & Delilah is one of the most heartbreaking films I've ever seen, who could possibly want the world to be that way?, there's still so much work to be done. 

For how many more decades do we have to read or view stories like these before lasting bridges are built all over for different communities?

It's a problem for both the left and right.

Perhaps both sides should spend less time transferring blame. 

The Interpreter

So tragic there's such a huge gulf between critiquing power and possessing it, between imagination and practicality, competing bright responsibilities. 

What would have happened if Che Guevara had formed a well-meaning headstrong government, would it have been universally praised, or severely vilified like Castro's?

Would he have taken the time to build strong institutions with rational checks and balances, to prevent the rise of absolutism while maintaining socioeconomic consistency?

It's much easier said than done even if that goes without saying, European political institutions somewhat of a miracle when compared to alternatives around the globe.

But somehow through sustained mutation they've been peaceful and prosperous for quite some time, level-heads seeking reasonable consensus from non-extremist points of view.

If this tradition doesn't exist historically and there's no popular will to develop such institutions, how do you move from engrained despotism to sustainably developed reliable democracy?

Such a convergence of logical goodwill formidably depended on with dextrous vigour, somehow did emerge slowly over time, and despotism was overthrown however. 

But the absolute has come again become popular along with a shocking lack of tolerance, opposing viewpoints seeming to prefer rash brinkspersonship to clever rational debate.

The absolutists claim tolerance and personal liberty is another form of stern absolutism, even as it guarantees they aren't arrested within certain limitations.

Tolerance and personal liberty may not appeal to people far too prone to despotically upholding regulations, for whom deviations from a strict code of manufactured conduct results in diabolical shame.

But so many much less serious people don't see the extremist point, don't understand why they should never have any fun and live as if they're a frigid textbook.

It's not that they don't follow the rules, they just often see them like ethical guidelines, making sense within many situations, while at times lacking practical accord.

Thus, taught to generally think critically with an aversion to violence outside of pragmatic games (outlets for pent up emotions), they tend to promote fun and thought provoking amusement to make life much more thrilling outside of work.

If that's an absolutist viewpoint it's more universally liberating than strict extremes, which impose absolutist regulations and ruthlessly punish those who critique them.

How to slowly move towards a more tolerant society if government after government tyrannically disappoints?

There are too many factors that come into play.

But I'd start with independent education. 

Rambling Rose

A traditional bourgeois family reservédly ensconced in solemn routine, welcomes a new less particular nanny who emphatically declares with upbeat candour.

Indeed Rose (Laura Dern) lives in the moment and hasn't been raised to sidestep and sublimate, preferring a much more animate approach to life's chill steady wondrous stream.

The children don't know what to expect as they innocently regard and evaluate difference, Rose's behaviour much more lively than others, but mom (Diane Ladd) and dad (Robert Duvall) aren't noticeably upset.

Dad must even tame his boisterous unassuming bold habitual proclivities, while mom honestly proclaims forgiveness and showcases genuine compassionate forbearing. 

The men keep on arriving however, seemingly to test the young family's mettle, a cavalcade of imaginative dreamers thoroughly pursuing amorous soirées. 

Young Buddy (Lukas Haas) isn't objectively immune as fledgling contemplation ruminates attentively, a unique otherwise forbidden friendship delicately blossoming wholesome anew.

Such versatile carefree freedom suddenly emerging with urgent radiance, characteristically challenging pride and propriety through natural honest intuitive acclimation.

It's as if spellbinding concepts like orthodox mutual attachment, hold no sway in its wild articulate whirlwind romantic resounding arbour.

I've noted that many proceed this way and that there's an intricate network of corresponding customs, with which many people are generally familiar and even quite distinguished in erudite variety.

The difference in Rambling Rose seems to be a matter of frank exposure, the modest community in manifest shock yet still generally appreciative of the exotic literature.

Ships are launched and daydreams delineated as spirited love socioculturally embarks, as to the resulting societal effects I'm afraid I can't lucidly elevate or denounce them.

Is it supposed to be lighthearted and playful or quizzically uncanny or simply absurd, or is there a sincere yet humorous investment on potentially game changing display?

It's a fun if not controversial illustration of enamoured import indubitably worth noting, with fluid debate perhaps freely generated after the first mesmerizing viewing.

Patience and charity, ethical endeavour, concepts defined in so many ways. 

Itinerant artistic accolades. 

Would likely also make a good read. 

American Movie

The raw driven thrill of inspired independent film, chaotically coordinated lackadaisic laidback limbers.

Years of patient agile sure and steady accumulation, slowly taking fluid shape as patches pageants come to life ⛄.

Funding somewhat murky frenetic favours downcast debt, so much time having passed that latent doubts distract distend.

But undaunted brave creative will survives extends shoots forth, engaging adamant mutation festive fertile flexibility. 

Friends and family in support in varying degrees throughout the years, some prone to blunt dismissals, others grateful to take part.

No other option integrated multifarious febrile fortunes, indeterminate orchestration lively ritualistic passion.

I wish more people took the time to actively create in such a way, although there's certainly no shortage of homemade videos on the net.

But Coven's different it's a homemade film which genuinely applies individualistic techniques, to uncompromising storytelling free from marketed motivations.

Not that they weren't hoping to sell some copies and earn a little scratch, but they're not trying to fit a trend or join a movement or full-on capitalize. 

Its nascent steps like underground logistics reasonable existential acumen, confident enriching local community maestro marrowed mirth in motion.

Why not film the entire process year after year keep the camera rolling?, simultaneous narratives taking shape embossed emergence metamatriculation. 

No holding back compelling honesty bold and unconcerned developments, within which resides emancipation from so much scripted routine life.

With many friends and even more critics Mr. Borchardt pursues his grassroots vision, dealin' with a family of his own and difficult work at a nearby cemetery. 

And practically no income for years, sundry setbacks, animate tension, disapproval.

The will to strive on forth.

Incomparable stalwart artist.

A monumental cultural achievement to have so much room for so much variation.

Constitutional cross-purposes.

Irreconcilably rapt.

*Happy Thanksgiving!

Border Radio

A rock journalist and a musician engage in staple domestic tomfoolery, perhaps committed to sustaining the vital should meticulous mayhem materialize. 

In the meantime, for the husband, it's off down south after an act of theft, where he celebrates his unabashed freedom with expert chillin' and self-absorbed calm.

His wife's none too impressed but still must admit she wants to find him, steadily sleuthing viaduct volatility with mutual friends intuitive scorn.

Assistance is readily provided although outcome perusal remains rather suspect, socializing having-something-to-do spontaneously lithe indelible induction.

Like a lovelorn lullaby relapse cervezatude cut economic nausea, an uncertain arrhythmic frequency effervescently tempers said grizzly innocence. 

Pervasive contemporary impenitent prognosis picturesquely pioneering meaningless mercy, a sense of indisposed primordial justice lacking formal judicial concern.

Prevalent protruding prolonged distractions sporadically instigate tranquil harmonies, like you're young with nothing to do and it's the summer and warm outside.

Disjointed realities then suddenly reasserted with a dutiful sense of improvised propriety, as if they're finally gettin' 'round to it as the lickspittle lackadaisically loiters.

With instances of distressed imposition diversifying resonant mischievous solace, at times the discontinuous gravity hauntingly strives to riff somnambulized. 

But holistic freedom's afoot, the cast permitted to add waylaid surety, a randomized reclusive carnivalesque germination engendering manifest familiar disarray. 

From 1987, an early progenitor of the mockumentary style more profuse in later years, still a wonderful way to tell a story, I'll certainly never grow tired of it.

Border Radio doesn't pose any questions anyone's been meaning to ask.

To develop an authentic visceral perspective.

Extemporaneously its own. 

Orlando

What one gains to live forever without aging amongst the royals, while perennially persisting in novel light of heart heuristics. 

Through non-determinate trail and error Orlando (Tilda Swinton) learns of love and politics, like a youngster dabbling in frisk and fancy with everlasting inhibition. 

Not that everyone's at play the social lab invokes decorum, but as time passes new tasks emerge mischievously befitting a young immortal.

Orlando the film generates true innocence ironically immersed in frayed executive, eager to dally forlorn forever while at times taking part commissioned commanding.

The typical tropes you find in narratives concerned with living forever can't be found, as Orlando frolics through the centuries with jocose beam and slight expenditure.

Thus, concerns with true romance and personal loss don't fit within, not that there aren't moments of genuine displeasure along with strong desires fawned unrequited.

Perhaps it's supposed to be much more serious I'm afraid I just can't view it that way, Swinton's simply just too adorable and seems at home at rest at play.

I've had this problem with les adorables who as a metaphysical rule loathe as I admire, thus I've had to abandon the practise altogether in terms of circumspect affection.

It was the same way with pets when I was a kid, I would try to hug them and they'd bite me.

Relationships must be easy since so many people have them.

It'd be nice to have more money.

But other people have the worst taste in everything! 😜

It's cool to see Orlando isn't fraught with studious indelicacy, and her immortality isn't feared or hated as she travels throughout the centuries. 

Why she doesn't travel to the northern forests of Canada and Québec to make a home remains a mystery, she could have watched the wildlife for 100 years and still have spent another 1,000 shopping.

But she loves her gloomy homeland with all its rain and absent bears, are there any major forests left in Britain?, I heard they recently brought back beavers.

A cool companion piece for Highlander, Orlando proceeds with judicious humour, like an earnest library patron who spends their life enjoying stories.

S/he's living them however which does seem like quite the nuisance.

Role playing, expectations.

Disproportionately fashionable.

The Glass Key

The Glass Key examines dependability from a grizzled volatile perspective, honest integrity effortlessly emerging through the proliferation of kindred spirits. 

Indeed, with praiseworthy pertinence it paradigmatically hails consistency, with foundations respectfully laid, long-lasting purpose integral commitment. 

Mr. Madvig (Brian Donlevy) has reached inspired heights and from his summit makes stern decisions, which at times irritate other higher-ups who have no wish to entertain options.

Correspondingly, a well-heeled challenger (Joesph Calleia as Mr. Varna) proceeds to kidnap his most trusted man (Alan Ladd as Mr. Beaumont), and offer him a lucrative deal that doesn't demand much extra work.

But loyal Ed unconditionally refuses and retains his credibility, friendship and values, virtue, integrity, much more important to his sense of self.

He's ruthlessly punished for his denial yet eventually rewarded for remaining true, the kind of generous modest confidante you don't often see adamantly succeeding.

But people used to dream of a world wherein which safe communities would flourish and prosper. 

Solid work their vital backbone.

As businesses excelled in sociosublimity. 

It's too bad the economy remains mysterious and whatever happens produces lateral results, wouldn't it be nice if prosperous good times could last much longer for more and more people.

Is the enigma that utterly baffling that little can be done to create lasting solutions, which produce exceptional value through the vigorous application of industrious labour?

But don't idyllic dreams of ubiquitous prosperity lead to chaos when things go sour, and the joyful robust euphoria suddenly transforms into bitter discomfiture?

But don't others resiliently prosper no matter what the 5-year plan, having resigned themselves to modest mobility through the artful cultivation of resonant spirit?

Aren't others miserable throughout the mutations and can't ever clearly detect varying degrees, their general dismissal of every manifestation a blind dismal crude animate forfeiture? 

These categories pervasively persist and still remain applicable this postmodern day.

Cool to view how often they materialize with rugged elegance and futile skepticism. 

Stardust

A nondescript wall divides two lands both of which have little knowledge of the other, but on occasion people pass through to curiously see what rests on the other side.

One path resembles an old school version of what's often referred to as material reality, wherein which science painstakingly unravels concealed secrets through vigorous study.

The other's indeed much more magical where stars and witches contemporaneously reside, different life forms taking on supernatural proportions as fervid fantasy frenetically sculpts.

An adventurous temperate lad crosses the border one fateful evening, and strikes up an amorous association before swiftly returning home.

Months later, a newborn babe suddenly appears on his modest doorstep, with a note attached and explicit instructions that it's not to be opened till he comes of age.

The babe is reared by romantic blueprints cohesively intuited and adoringly suckled, and even though he lacks corporeal agency, his enriched spirit jocosely thrives.

In the land of fantasy, a brilliant star cavernously crash lands rather unexpectedly, after a none too heartwarming decree attunes unwitting rivals to stellar constellation.

But covetous witches soon learn of its misfortune and one sets out to acquire its light, for if she's able to eat her heart her youthful endeavours will then regenerate.

The former babe learns of his fantastic origins and is transported to the star to fulfill a promise.

Unaccustomed to the land of magic.

His enchanted spirit guides him.

Romantically adorned and everlastingly arrayed, Matthew Vaughn's Stardust rambunctiously radiates, as haphazard improvised declamation serendipitously seeks out love.

A shame to see the two worlds cut off from constructive dialogues akin to outstanding, pejorative prejudice presumed by both sides leading to mutually dissonant contention.

Should the elevated art of persuasion ardently lay down its feverish flourishes, to articulate waylaid concrete indubitably practical schemes and strategies?

Should the blunt and direct fatalistic alarmed wisecracking determinate brigade, allow for scandalous spiritual syndications regenerative uplifting abstract accords?

Do Marvel films in fact represent working syntheses of the aforementioned?

Perhaps at times they do.

As does the crafty Stardust.

*batteries not included

An agéd neighbourhood awkwardly scheduled for demolition posthaste, refuses to abandon one old school apartment and its rambunctious first floor diner.

The tenants see the surrounding wastes yet are unaffected by the deluge, continuing to live as they always have as if nothing has morphed, mutated.

The construction crew has to wait for the go ahead to destructively proceed, so they enjoy tasty heartfelt meals while negotiations wholeheartedly stall.

Unimaginative no-good-nics have been rashly trusted to encourage vacancies, but some people have lived there most of their lives and simply will not swiftly leave.

The rapscallions make things difficult and ruffle riled feathers with ill-gotten-ambition, while an elderly couple cooks crabs and captivates, and a nimble lass befriends an artist.

And just as the pressure seems too much and that their way of life may soon rapidly fade, mechanistic visitors from far off in space suddenly appear to set about fixing things.

Somewhat like Transformers inasmuch as they represent metallic life, they're also somewhat more adorable, and capable of reproducing.

I'm still not sure if enough research has been done to validate the benefits of artificial intelligence, if automatons are built by humans to act like humans is there not the potential for holistic disaster?

Data is generally calm and ubiquitously useful on STNG, but there are episodes when he malfunctions and almost kills the entire crew.

The reasons for his malfunctions are justified, it's like he was suddenly programmed to megalomaniac, but when he's sick the results are horrendous as opposed to the adorable cough of a feverish puppy.

If only I could trust humanoid leadership which seemed much more reliable from 1980 to 2015, but with the rise of Putin it irrefutably seems like imperialistic despots cannot be eradicated. 

The majority of the world may seek the safe integration of benevolent artificial life, but all it takes is one crazy person to hire someone with the knowhow to create fierce warlike robots.

Will the first person to possess the knowledge turn down trillions and keep it to him or herself?

I suppose there are many countries without nuclear weapons.

But forever is a very long time.

The Long Good Friday

It's generally a trick, a feint, a grand complex scheme disingenuously designed, but if you've often experienced that kind of thing, you develop a sixth sense for the tell tale signs.

Harold (Bob Hoskins), on the other endowed hand, creatively blends with intuitive agency, his prosperous organization having smoothly flourished and kept the peace for 10 solid years.

Thus, when he comes home from a trip to outrageously find his peeps under attack, he needs to improvise with eclectic fortitude to expediently reveal the clandestine culprit.

You wonder how Obama did it, how he governed so smoothly for 8 steady years, remember back to a time much more peaceful when radical initiatives didn't rule the day. 

It wasn't that long ago, just somewhere around 6 volatile years, during which there's been an unpredictable focus, not to mention war, and a horrific pandemic.

The last 6 years have felt like 16 there's been so much tactical upheaval, so many mad disillusioning developments that challenge one's engrained trusting instincts. 

I don't want to be suspicious since it's much less pleasant and generally agreeable, but when so many things just don't add up, you inevitably create theoretical explanations. 

But if the current state of affairs seem reckless and your theoretical explanations even more so, cultural productivity may indeed be jeopardized if suddenly embraced, induced, disseminated.

But the bizarre and the hijinx-haywire seem to reemerge in the news every day, uncanny wild multidimensional mayhem recodifying mainstream matrices.

But it was only 6 years ago that you never would have thought we'd have worldwide carnage, or a viral plague destroying the middle class, or millions of people distrusting the world's leading electoral system.

I remember reading about radical tactics designed to make people stop paying attention (probably Chomsky), so it's important to stay in the loop even if it becomes increasingly distasteful. 

While remembering ye olde Obama.

And a peaceful world respectfully strung.

So much desire for the bland sensational.

Sweeping equivalencies, overlooked, effaced. 

Highlander II: The Quickening

The ozone layer all but disappears and the sun's rays punish those still living, until the Highlander known as MacLeod (Christopher Lambert) constructs a massive shield to offer protection.

Years later he's robustly agéd and quietly withdrawn from the engaged life, immortality having faded away after he emerged victorious in instalment one.

He has the choice to peacefully pass or return in triumph to his home world, and since he's grown fond of his new home, he has no desire to solemnly depart.

But back on planet Zeist, the bitter general who once had him banished (Michael Ironside as Gen. Katana), fears his agile reemergence and sends his minions to ensure fatality. 

Meanwhile, the necessity of the shield has been called into commercial question, since environmentalists believe the 'zone has regenerated but still lack evidence to prove their theory.

The entire planet is indeed a customer of the corporation who owns the shield, and if it was proven to be non-essential the most lucrative business ever would swiftly fade.

The minions arrive and quickly find MacLeod and waste no time waiting for the perfect moment, but he resoundingly responds in style thereby regaining his cherished youth.

Having met the leader of the environmentalists (Virginia Madsen as Louise) he must now ethically decide, if he's to investigate their audacious claims with the help of age old friends such as Ramírez (Sean Connery).

But soon Katana arrives in full-on monumental fury.

Dire reckless chaotic reckoning.

Bizarre changes impenitent brood.

There's still a lighthearted touch to the imposing abyss presented in Highlander II: The Quickening, as attempts to seem serious are undercut by mischievous mayhem and lithe longevity.

The return of Ramírez is cheerfully welcome even if the rationale is somewhat ludicrous, and calls into question much of the first film's action, without justifying MacLeod's amnesia.

I suppose the animate sequel strives to diversify the original's plot, but sometimes initial features shouldn't be reimagined or incongruently altered.

The comic touch and Connery's unconcern challenge this point of view with certainty, but not with enough striking substance to leave one feeling unconditionally moved.

The original Highlander's such a cool film I highly recommend it if you haven't seen it.

The Quickening offers further salient material.

Without the original's thought provoking plausibility. 

*That's my last review from the deep pandemic.

El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive)

There was once what was known as censorship, so that impressionable youths could avoid narrative trauma, accompanied by bad dreams and apprehension, throughout the course of the traditionally peaceful day.

Thus, categories such as General Audience, Parental Guidance, PG-13, Adult Accompaniment, and Restricted, kept psychological maturity in check, and prevented the development of madness and paranoia within the investigative general public.

But with the advent of online movie watching these stalwart categories have become less applicable, and younger generations have been unsuspectingly bombarded with material ill-suited to their corresponding age-level.

Not that it didn't happen in the past, in El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive) local enthusiasts bring the cinema to a small town, a wide variety of pictures featured, one week none other than Boris Karloff's Frankenstein.

Two young sisters (Ana Torrent as Ana and Isabel Tellería as Isabel) eagerly take in the age old tale of artificial authenticity, with its accompanying inherent lugubrity, its ill-fated misunderstandings.

The older soon swiftly realizes that the younger has been affected, and takes to morbidly teasing her with sadistic sordid sorority. 

The younger isn't ready for the antics since she can't make sense of the haunting tale, her vivid imagination set to haywire through the horrific happenstance.

They live on a vast estate sedately situated in the Spanish countryside, their father (Fernando Fernán Gómez as Fernando) dreaming of becoming a writer, their mother (Teresa Gimpera as Teresa) keenly focused on the past.

General guidance periodically emerges but ample free time encourages imagination. 

But is Frankenstein coming to get them?

Ill-conjured consumed contingencies.

The film brilliantly depicts thoughtful youth with jocose harrowing perplexed curiosity, a patient heartfelt delicate examination of distressing ill-computed dissonance. 

Why would someone create that?, they've found a niche through gross indecency, the dissemination of random ideas as incredibly eclectic as a national library.

I never watched much horror in my youth but later watched many of the films I'd ignored in my early twenties, occasionally encountering an impressive force but still often wondering why so grotesque?

But lives aren't only orchestrated through the coherent mechanics of the master narrative.

Ill-fated wayward comprehension.

Experimental novelty. 

Out of the Fog

Two agéd workers productively deal with routine life, having purchased themselves a boat to fish the Atlantic after work in the evenings.

I wonder if people still do this in cities if there are still ample public docks to use, to which peeps can tie up a boat which they can then launch after work at their leisure.

Hostility abounds, however, and soon a local racketeer requires payment, to prevent him from causing a scene which may indeed lead to less recreation.

It's outrageous, Jonah (Thomas Mitchell) and Olaf (John Qualen) don't make much money and their neighbours are chill, imagine leaving a boat tied up in a major city and trusting that no one will suddenly take it.

Must have been a more enlightened age within which goodwill played an important role, and blind distrust didn't ruin collectives who had ensured integrity for many a decade.

The racketeer (John Garfield) then has the nerve to start dating Jonah's daughter (Ida Lupino as Stella Goodwin), her old love interest none too impressed (Eddie Albert as George Watkins), she's hooked on the thrilling criminality.

Olaf and Jonah need a plan that may contradict their traditional habits. 

They may not be high flyin' men.

But can still respond if push comes to shove. 

Out of the Fog is a remarkable film inasmuch as it sincerely concerns itself with laidback seniority, and isn't obsessed with wealth or power and is instead rather critical of ill-gotten gains.

Imagine two heroes with no managerial insights cinematically lauded with genuine pride.

When do people living a modest life ever take centre stage nowadays, as they fight to maintain their lil slice from flagrant goons hellbent on violence?

There was a time when millions of these people got together and unified to challenge corruption, constructively working towards common goals like a 9 to 5 shift and weekends for family.

When the world changed in the '90s it seemed clear to me what peeps should do, the higher-ups and the leaders anyways should act compassionately to avoid a resurgence.

But they didn't of course no one learns instead they looked to the 19th century (we'll get away with it this time), and how well plutocrats and oligarchs had it before common people collectively organized. 

Thus, the cycle's repeating itself although there are millions of peeps trying to stop it.

Joe Biden is trying to stop it.

There's no doubt that he's a good man. 

Into the Deep

It was difficult to take Into the Deep seriously until a friend verified it wasn't a mockumentary, it seemed so definitively rehearsed that I had trouble believing real people were being interviewed.

I read on Wikipedia that several people didn't want to be involved with the film after what happened, and that they asked for their scenes to be removed to avoid being exposed to public scrutiny.

It looks like their scenes were then reshot with real actors trying to seem as if their interviews were authentic, but it appears as if actors are trying to fake real life and it doesn't work at all.

Then there's what actually took place which seems even more improbable, a mad genius takes a reporter out for a ride in his submarine and then murders her and dumps the body.

He had been planning a trip to space and hoped to get there before his rivals, whom he had recently worked for until the disputes grew too intense.

Since he was hoping to travel to space, he inspired bright documentary filmmaker Emma Sullivan to follow him, and create a movie about his life for peeps curious about bold endeavour.

As she filmed she captured raw footage of a fledgling psychopath perhaps emboldened, by his sudden emergence into pop culture and its corresponding associations of invincibility. 

Which of course are rather misguided but if the film is true (honestly, I'm still not convinced), he thought he could murder someone in his submarine and then dump the body and get away with it.

When parts of the body are found shortly thereafter he has a wild tale for the police, which continues to change every time they find fresh evidence, until he's finally locked away.

I'm not sure if it's a syndrome, but with the ubiquitous flourishing of social media, along with ye olde traditional televisual outlets, it seems like many will take mad risks to go viral.

Supported by a culture which elevates malevolence and consistently associates it with power through film (even winning Oscars), when people find themselves in the popular spotlight, they may do whatever it takes to go viral.

Reality TV never faded either and with Twitter and Facebook its sphere of influence expanded significantly, whereas on the one hand you have people trained to work in media (CBC, BBC, CNN, NBC . . .), and on the other, a mass improvised colossus 😎.

Perhaps that's why the people being interviewed in Into the Deep seem like ragtag actors, they're trying to be real like their favourite reality TV stars while forgetting they are aren't acting (or are they?).

The story's no doubt incredible how did something like this ever take place?

The world has fundamentally mutated.

There's so much freedom if you live offline. 

The Good Nurse

A dedicated nurse (Jessica Chastain as Amy Loughren), loyal and trustworthy, courageously works through a grievous illness, still unable to qualify for health insurance, she risks her life while raising her young.

She's often friendly and agreeable and willing to share her knowledge to help, as she does when a new colleague arrives (Eddie Redmayne as Charlie Cullen) who's uncertain of specific procedures.

After his sudden arrival mysterious deaths begin to take place however, the hospital trying to cover them up while law enforcement launches an investigation. 

The detectives can't get anywhere until interviewing Ms. Loughren when serendipity strikes, and they're surprisingly able to freely ask questions without being countermanded by obtuse anxiety. 

Their leads eventually suggest the new nurse may be deliberately murdering patients, but the hospital is so worried about avoiding scandal that they emphatically refuse to cooperate. 

Yet his newfound friendship has oddly bloomed and she's sympathetically gained his trust.

Will she be able to produce a confession?

Before he finds steady work in another hospital?

Life's strange and keeps getting stranger as developments which seem irrefutably truthful are lampooned with disgust.

A man's attacked and almost beaten to death with a hammer and days later it's a subject of amusement.

That's sick, utterly contemptible, and worse than that, for many it's acceptable, like the world I hoped for in my youth is a long way from seeing a 10-year conglomeration. 

Why are the lives of serial killers just as virally popular as those of human rights activists?, the void left behind by Hollywood's progressive ambitions eagerly filled by online streaming.

Are elitist attitudes so dismissive and haughty that literally millions would abandon democracy, in favour of an American monarch with absolute power over stunning diversity?

Look at the countries where dictators flourish, they aren't typically characterized by hearty abundance.

Autocrats do not share power.

It's not comic.

It's genuinely distressing. 

The Alchemist's Cookbook

I reckon many imaginative people find the idea of alchemy appealing, the ancient search for magical realism 😎 as exceptionally alluring in any century.

It'd be worth taking a bit of time to compile a comprehensive bibliography, to see how often it's shown up in fiction, I'd wager one exists already.

Or several perhaps, multilaterally speaking, I'm unaware how realistically it was taken by yesteryear, there may even be whole sections in the British and French national libraries, Canadian and American history perhaps not as robust.

You would think it would have once been a dependable subject for versatile comedians, or illusionist/buffoon teams who put their heads together to entertain.

The romantic in me shyly wonders if anyone ever achieved the goal.

Such incredible knowledge of the natural world.

Long before taxonomical exasperation.

But I have no wish to see romance turn to dread like the lead's (Ty Hickson) experience in The Alchemist's Cookbook, his grand misfortune superstitiously compounded by an untutored embrace of the age old discipline. 

He seems to have been of two minds regarding the spirit and the secular, and even though he excelled at chemistry was still routinely bewildered by angels & demons.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if so many people didn't manipulate spiritual authenticity, making it generally impossible to trust any lucid supernatural symbiosis? 

You don't want to trust and be made a fool of, but manifest belief foils bland cynicism, the dismissal of everything consistently dull, the wholehearted embrace a contradictory blur.

I guess you can't feed all the animals in the forest, but if you see one who's injured it's cool to help out, perhaps some tropical forests come equipped with year round bounty, the northern forests of Canada and Québec a challenging struggle.

I wasn't going to watch a macabre flick in 2022 since dad passed away last year around this time, but frights still feverishly found me with mind-boggling active dialectic fervour (I wasn't expecting this film at all).

The age of reason certainly is much less of an inherent habitual gong show, I imagine.

But are people having less fun?

Could be a cool book, it's tough to say.

I imagine an alchemist would see through it regardless of epoch, trend, century, or stigma.

I wonder how raccoons relate to alchemy?

Through multidisciplinary agile play? 

🦝

Un 32 août sur terre (August 32nd on Earth)

A near death experience regenerates instincts to daringly embark on the path of motherhood, a coveted model having barely survived after falling asleep at the treacherous wheel (Pascale Bussières as Simone). 

To suddenly go about the definitive business of engaging in acts which will lead to pregnancy, she relies on the dedication of a trusted friend who has been obsessed for many a year (Alexis Martin as Philippe).

He's somewhat uncertain as to how to proceed and his closest friend recommends refusal, yet even though he's found a new loving partner, he maddeningly can't find the guts to say no.

So it's off to peaceful Utah to accomplish the deed in the heralded salt flats, but they're unable to rent a car and must depend on a suspicious cab driver.

Unfortunately, the offbeat romantic isolation fails to inspire spry animate parlay, the shocking nature of the surprise interconnection leaving studious Philippe shaken not stirred.

The cab driver returns and ups the price, they refuse to pay and are left in the wild.

With nothing but time on their hands.

Incarnate impromptu fascination.

An unorthodox take on romantic true love clad in crazed cheeky carbonite crucible, habitual discussions regarding procreation generally absconded in abstentia.

What lengths will anyone go to if their compulsive daydreaming miraculously matriculates, and a conducive schematic instantaneously materializes out of thin air ze reified rapscallion?

'Tis a tantamount tale for romantic young adults perhaps too prone to radical reverie, highly charged through amorous immediacy the inherent amusement disenchanting fact.

Although to engage in random speculation, I would wager that at least 60% of newborns emerge by accident, and that such an off-putting yet versatile possibility keeps the gene pool rich in non-determination. 

So many thoughtful reasonable people sterilize particularity through prudent planning, and even though they resonate lucidity, lack the wild random vivacities of life.

Do these vivacities produce more novelty than steady reflection and scientific trial and error, I've never heard anyone who lives that way complain, in fact pointing out discrepancies is anathema. 

But why worry about what might have been?, it serves no useful productive purpose.

The present is much more interesting. 

Just have to stay constructively active. 

Maelström

Conflicting emotions morosely problematize picturesque drab conducive momentum, difficult decisions unconscious mourning requisite paramount agile time off.

Through unfortunate circumstance trouble cruelly abounds with the mobile lucrative family business, cascading crucibles Klingon clutches awkwardly aided by a hit and run.

Classic down and out comic lugubrity staggeringly keen to romanticize coincidence, the stars aligned postmodern im/permanence gritty irritable cosmic practicality.

Constant motion demonstrative clarity intuitively reacting to frustrating stimuli, her (Marie-Josée Croze as Bibiane Champagne) family renowned the pressure abrasive outputs enduringly vague inconclusive.

Why all the hassle for simply engaging with piquant particulars precipitous life, the haunting austere adamant duties discernibly daunting lighthearted lackadaisics?

If only taking time off was much simpler a sudden sojourn a querulous jaunt, some place remote perhaps unfamiliar fortuitous fashions restorative calm. 

Not in the cards in this instance as the habitual play grinds dolorous doldrums, although the free sharing of genuine grief begets newfound friendship and lithe l’amour.

A grizzled sizzling disparaging humour harrowingly harks with dissonant certitude, narrated by a fish who keeps losing his head, like your belch tastes like sardines and lime whiskey.

As if the consistent clash of disparate ethics unconsciously produces animate haze, within which peeps must continuously make decisions based upon theories, pragmatism, and expediency.

Within this inherently confusing pinball polemic reason resides, each situation convolutedly clarified through recourse to multivariable mayhem.

The confident decision made can lead to enigmatic trust, any hesitation and everything’s lost even if negatives shake things up.

Social media takes this potentiality to panopticonic levels, like a byzantine web a’ squelched and sticky wherein which myriad strata interconnect.

The clear and rational diagnosis can’t be relied upon to be popular, unless of course it’s fashionable for a monuments brief intersection.

There seems to be less convivial reliance on the sustainability of the collective, as divisive narratives creatively collude to exalt absolute rights.

But Ukraine’s standing tall and fighting off the Russian army.

Wish I could develop a clearer picture.

But then there'd be no maelström.

The Old Man and the Sea

At times the bounty seems neverending as if lavish munificence resonates incarnate, while at others it all dries up and leaves you prone to grievous frustration. 

The dialectics of oceanic endeavours inevitably provoke chaotic equilibrium, the wild tumultuous overcast bearing as furtively belittling as it is advantageous.

What would it be like to make a living aboard a sturdy seafaring vessel, as the weather habitually transforms form one mighty distillation to the next?

The process of change invigoratingly clear as one boldly navigates infinite waters, tried and true dependable depths give way to currents ne'er indefatigable. 

Animate conjecture indubitably delineates creative indisposed spry spectrums, endemic mystics imaginatively endowed with fervid spirits indelicately alighting.

But to actually head out and search when nothing was truly known or proven, before taxonomies within classifications ubiquitously catalogued geographic universals.

I imagine there were whales everywhere frequently emerging to breathe in jest, a trip across the bustling Atlantic producing perhaps as many as 200 sightings.

Not to mention what must have seemed like indeterminate frisky billions, casually adorning limitless shores with unconcernéd and innocent dalliance. 

The Old Man and the Sea picks up some years later and follows a humble fisherperson, who calmly goes with the ebb and flow to earn some bread and lighthearted meals.

He has a chill modest pad unassumingly situated off the beaten track, and a boat and the requisite skill to coast the ocean in search of booty.

But he's been rather unlucky as of late and hasn't managed to catch a thing, his perseverance remaining strong through the potentially enervating drastic drought.

Nature however in its eminence has saved him a colossal agile catch. He just has to haul it in.

After finding himself lost at sea.

Not to take away from its legend, the story was widely popular in my youth, but the film and narrative seemed outdated to me, it's hatred of sharks much too overbearing.

Sharks indeed frighten many but it's certainly rare that they take a human life, in fact for every human life a bloodthirsty shark takes we probably kill around 10 million (ball parkin' based upon stats I've seen on TV of around 250 million sharks being killed a year).

I can't imagine a shark fin making anything taste good.

Sharks maintain the ocean's delicate ecobalance.

And they're being treated with sincere disrespect. 

Thus, I appreciated the tale for it encouraged romantic wonder, but I could never kill so many sharks if they tried to eat my catch.

I'd probably just give my catch to the sharks and would be happy for making them happy.

Sigh. Couldn't cut it as a fisherperson methinks. 

Although I would absolutely love working at sea.