Across 110th Street

*Warning: this film examines racism from a hardboiled perspective. Be prepared for unsettling language and situations if you happen to view it.

3 bold and foolish citizens decide to rip off the mob, after learning where it meets to count its money, leaving the daring heist with 100,000 apiece, thinking they'll elude detection, staying put in the very same neighbourhood.

The robbery turns into a murder which leads to police interest, thus the rash impromptu entrepreneurs are pursued by more than one well-financed antagonist.

Both groups have grievances to air as they investigate internally and beyond, a steady stream of eager vitriol accompanying conversation after conversation.

With all the conflicting strategical approaches its amazing that group dynamics are able to accomplish anything, aggrieved fluid practicalities confronting active hostile brawn.

What a feast for character development, however, as at least 8 from different walks have their say, as much care and attention adopted to craft the corrupt Captain's lines (Anthony Quinn) as those which define the gravest of suspects.

Many detective films discuss the achievement of results, the pressing desire to move forward with a case as investigators theorize anew.

Their theories at times lacking evidence which they seek by using violence, assuming the resultant coerced information isn't tampered by survival instinct.

Across 110th Street prefers the law and the rights of persons of interest being investigated, as the brilliant Yaphet Kotto defends liberal reforms while critiquing totalitarianism. 

Imagine random conversation, taken as absolute empirical fact, with only a scant cross-section of specific subjects deemed aesthetically appropriate. 

At work perhaps so much concerned intrigue fluently adapts.

But why should one be bound by classification?

Beyond one's working life?

Across 110th Street provocatively pulsates as three interconnected adversaries raise disputatious hell.

Versatile character development recalled the cinema of my youth.

Characters that aren't whitewashed success stories.

Raw determination wildly overflowing.

Young Mr. Lincoln

Like the coziest pillow outfitting a night's rest, or age old family recipes gastronomically ingratiating, Abe Lincoln (Henry Fonda) sincerely assists various members of his community, cultivating a wide spectrum of socioeconomic congress, through well-meaning bright expenditure, and honest caring friendship.

It was a different age perhaps where civil dreams still coaxed companionship, and thoughts of earnest social harmonies still challenged cynical despair.

In the North, in disconnected jurisdictions kept informed by books and newspapers, racism was courageously fought, as it had been institutionalized down below, with callous cruel appalling reckoning.

To this day it still malignantly divides with misguided cacophonous misfortune.

Strange how it could be taken so seriously.

Generation after generation.

It's nice to watch a story less enamoured with all-encompassing ambitions, one that closely examines a thoughtful slice as opposed to the generalized big picture.

Instead of constant change that sees a new character emerge every so often, in the observant Young Mr. Lincoln, a compelling moment playfully sustains.

Not as overflowing with fact and detail as a wide-ranging chronological compass, but still airtight with specific style and in-depth particular emphasis.

So many stories to be freely told about larger than life historical figures. Why consistently focus on their entire lives? When a down to Earth take will also do.

Mr. Lincoln is perhaps too down to Earth at times in John Ford's exploratory film, but his lack of clever worldly artifice doesn't mean he's not always thinking.

His sure and steady composed even-minded patient modest good humoured nature, earns the regard of the respectful town through heartfelt compassion and boundless energy.

Imagine an honest clever statesperson who was largely self-taught and grew up in the woods, developing an appealing universal outlook that found support in the minds of millions.

It sounds like a political impossibility if you don't believe in grassroots democracy. The fact that men and women like this can still rise to become president speaks to genuine robust American democracy.

Imagine a system that substantially promotes integrity of character along with the pursuit of wealth.

Where one can be prominent without being wealthy.

And massive wealth doesn't ensure success. 

It seems like these ideas are at a low ebb and at times it's tough to fight off disillusion. 

But disillusion leads to Putin.

And Biden fits the traditional model I've presented here in many ways.

Running on Empty

A family nurtured on the run from the law, as two aging radicals domestically innovate.

They were both once somewhat younger but not much less idealistic, and they engaged in destructive violence, by blowing up the lab responsible for making Napalm, no was supposed to be there, but an innocent janitor was blinded.

Their network was vast and organized and managed to keep them on the move, to help them avoid incarceration for enough time to raise a family.

Their family's tight and genuinely loving full of creative exploration, the imaginative alternative means cultivated by clandestine life.

It's all the children have ever known and they've matured and adapted well, at least inasmuch as they love each other and are correspondingly respectful.

Mom (Christine Lahti) and dad (Judd Hirsch) feel somewhat guilty but there's little time to wallow, yet when their eldest son (River Phoenix as _______) reaches his late teens he starts to think about University.

He has a musical gift and is earnestly supported by his teacher (Ed Crowley), he even falls for his feisty daughter (Martha Plimpton) and dares to share his courageous plan.

His competing responsibilities are rather solemnly negotiated, as he deals with teenage impulse and unanticipated affection.

It's a bizarro shout out to active engagement generally presented with caring sympathy, I tend to think no one would make a similar contemporary film (in North America), but I'm likely mistaken, you never know what's out there.

I fully support the critique of the manufacture of destructive weapons like Napalm, and the war machine in general, a peaceful world praises productivity, contemplative virtues beyond the utilitarian.

But I can't get behind using violence to putting an end to violence, unless you're forced to do so, as in the case of Ukraine. There are just so many innocent victims. So many people who may have been keen carpenters, teachers, actors, even accountants, if they hadn't got caught up in an ideological conflict. I'd prefer to see concerned citizens capture violent leaders from different sides and force them to fight it out like gladiators on TV. When the people see the hopeless position the gaunt promoters of warlike violence find themselves within, it would no doubt produce a comic effect, which may generate a sustained resonance.

I don't claim to know a universal path forward, there's so much contradiction in an active thoughtful life, so many unforeseen intricate complications that mass cultural endeavour seems foolhardy.

A disposable income seems to help, however, keeping people away from poverty. If they aren't stressed about food and shelter they're more at ease with things in general. 

And businesses flourish and there's less of a need for credit and people can relax and have fun after a busy day's work.

With friends or with their families. 

Disposable incomes.

A huge win win. 

Bergman Island

Dad often liked to talk about how he loved arthouse cinema when he was at University, and the director he remembered watching most frequently was the internationally celebrated Ingmar Bergman.

It was difficult to get dad to watch independent cinema as the years passed by, but he did start to enjoy traditional science-fiction which was a big most welcome surprise.

I admit to never having grown tired of either and to still enjoying the inordinate synthesis, I still find blending the arthouse and the mainstream makes for a more diverse constructive dialogue.

You have the individualistic rebellious insights independently crafted with subjective certainty, mischievously juxtaposed with august objective stately ponderous risk based analysis.

I don't recommend proceeding in this fashion if you want to occasionally communicate with others (about film), my humble experience at least has led me to believe that most people prefer one to the other.

I still find the blend much more intriguing, a wider spectrum, more robust confluence.

I'm too old to worry about categorical superlatives. 

In fact I find them most distasteful.

Ingmar Bergman's films are still fun to watch, as melancholically instructive as they are light and playful, at times showcasing eccentric enigmatic enlightenment somewhat lost with the ways of the world.

Bergman Island is a fascinating treat for curious fans of the prolific director, an extended interview patiently presented at his cherished home on Fårö Island.

His thoughts are still clear and descriptive as he discusses life with vivid detail, courageously holding nothing back, wholeheartedly concerned with unfiltered honesty.

There's a funny moment near the end where he mentions a lie he once made to the press, something spontaneous he said when he had no answer to a question that was suddenly asked and caught him off guard.

He was annoyed because the spur of the moment random response came to be taken as irrefutable fact.

I wonder how often that happens.

A somewhat comic reflection on truth (how often have I thought, "it's just something they said!").

If you're a fan of Bergman or auteurs in general Bergman Island is essential viewing.

Raw insights into sublime genius.

A passionate life.

Not without controversy.

Code inconnu: Récit incomplet de divers voyages (Code Unknown)

Indeterminate reactions sidestepping stimuli, attempts to integrate impressionistic zeal, melded with studied yet experimental role play, opportune emphasis, vernacular vixen.

Pumpernickel panache intuited hesitant precocious pantried parasol protocol, emergent revelation anodyne rubric ecstatic reservation lands unknown.

Subtle or daring cryptic courageous imperative nondescript agile evanescence, manifold merged transformative mysteries maestro a' mewing critically conscious. 

Restive receptive quizzical consommé piecemeal perceptive narrative legend, dwelling itinerant quadrants continuums amorous crooned cartographical quay.

Descriptive departure rhapsodic rapids whippoorwill whirlwind cortical calm, dorsal fin dreamy demonstrative dashing zephyrous zigzag literal lounge.

Nautically nestled lampooned luminescence solemn centripetal sermonized soirée, exotic exodus fermenting fusions coastal consensus taciturn tracts.

Vehement vessels ensconced equilibrium qualms quotients choral affirméd flotilla, doughty destination irrelevant rations unparlayed particulars maritime motion.

Envisioned intricate haphazard hijinks amusingly harmonized holistic surf, assertive rebuffles distraught notwithstanding inquisitive mischievous mirth.

Mundane immersive inevitable unchanging unified concordant prediction, intermittently erupting through humdrum monotonous atonal routine seas.

Variety unsurpassed inexplicably tactile imaginative gripping re-emergence, delicately embraces expansionist curious interactive proclivities. 

Patterns cherished patterns critiqued patterns belovéd patterns disdained, corresponding cohesions upheavals erratically nuanced through mood in flux.

Ever onwards agendas uncharted heuristic random anticipated happenstance, at times successful at others disheartening fluid trajectories fun intercessions. 

The pressing break of day landlubbing routine discordant seclusion.

Tasty latté ready to go.

Subconscious synergies.

Active stasis.

*That's my take on Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir's first date. If they ever really went out.

Die Brücke (The Bridge)

During World War II, as Allied forces cross into Germany, the Nazis refuse to surrender, preferring to enlist children and the elderly to fight against astronomical odds.

Men of conscious attempt to intervene but their humanistic pleas are stubbornly ignored, order and duty cold calculation overriding instincts for self-preservation.

The remnants of a revolting ideology still absolutely hold sway, the fascist Nazi imperialists still clinging to toxic masculinity.

Thus, a group of school children is enthusiastic when suddenly drafted, and given one day of uninspired training before being sent off to the field.

They've grown up together during the war and most unfortunately know little else, and they're very brave intent on self-sacrifice if it means defending their native soil.

The officer in charge decides to desert leaving the kids alone to defend a bridge, he's shot while trying to outwit the authorities codes and classification above all else.

Shortly thereafter, the very next morning, the kids find themselves ferociously tested, as three American tanks attempt to burst through their dedicated defiant deft defences.

What follows is an utterly loathsome grotesque pungent tragic lament, bold innocent lives needlessly lost which were harmlessly playing a short time ago.

Die Brücke (The Bridge) is rather graphic as it presents the fight like a typical war film, to bluntly accentuate the ghastly carnage with lethal despondent absurdist reckoning (the horror maniacally awaiting in the realistic absurdism).

Made in post-World War II Germany (1959) to assist with what must have been an abysmal spiritual reconstruction, I'm not sure how it was received, but it still makes a shocking impact.

I'd argue it's an essential war film which makes an impact like no other, the sight of innocent children enlisted to fight as thoroughly repugnant as it is catastrophic.

Earlier in the film, some of them are so carefree and playful they have yet to form dreams for the future, preferring to play tricks with mice or critique or boast as the endless day passes by like any other.

There were many films in my youth which sought to make war seem unappealing (Jacob's Ladder, The Thin Red Line, Apocalypse Now, Platoon), as artists set about creating a peaceful aesthetic designed to stifle cultural belligerence.

Peaceful egalitarian unions backed them up while fighting racism.

Too bad they lost their hold in Russia (and elsewhere).

And gave way to vicious nationalism.

Planet of the Apes

Explorers sleep quietly slumber for millennia while swiftly passing through space, bravely uncertain as to where they might eventually end up, adventurous and daring, expeditionary finesse, they dream civilization incarnate, and sedately persevere. 

Crashing suddenly in a lake roughly 2,000 years after their departure, they have just enough time to escape, boldly paddling unencumbered to the surrounding desert shores, with enough food and water to last three days, and the pioneering spirit to endure and then some.

They trek for quite some time until enthusiastically finding life, a single plant unassumingly declaring the probability of others.

Vegetation is soon abundant and fresh water readily available, they soon jump in to freely bathe, before encountering a disturbance.

Their clothes are gone they wildly dash to catch the entities who stole them, only to discover a race of humans rather primitive and mute.

The humans are raiding crops but from whom remains undetermined, until furious apes lithely riding horseback appear with nets and horns and rifles.

Suddenly shocked and separated the startled travellers quickly flee, one shot in the neck with a non-life threatening wound then brought to a nearby village. 

He can't talk and he swiftly learns that on his newfound world people surge and struggle.

But there are other forms of communication.

To employ before regaining speech.

I can't discuss how this film ends because I'd rather not spoil the fun, it was one of my favourite cinematic surprises in my youth, and I'd hate to spoil the ending for others.

Not that hundreds of people will be madly rushing to see a Planet of the Apes film from 1968 anytime soon, when several new ones have recently been released, nevertheless, it's worth checking out if you haven't seen it (and somehow never heard what happens in the end).

Simultaneously, the film's far off agrarian inhospitable planet includes parts that been devastated by war, and as I've mentioned before,  after choosing this film at random one evening when I was perhaps 10, it seemed like nuclear war would no doubt be an impossibility on our world, if wiser heads historically prevailed.

Which is another reason this war in Ukraine is so horrifically devastating.

If a country's leader is threatening to use nuclear weapons, how does that leader still have a country to lead?, why hasn't he been arrested?, and why is that country still a member of the United Nations?

Baffling.

Perhaps stranger things have happened.

But certainly not within my lifetime. 

Newsfront

Post-World War II Australia, urges to diversify held within restraints, some see labour and the left as an influential leap forward, others worry about the Stalinist labour camps.

Productive hardworking journalists diligently capture the news within, changes in political culture the business itself energetically presented in periodic vignettes. 

You get to meet reporters and camerapersons plus narrators and overarching executives, and see how their active interpersonal relationships mutate and shift with multitudinous accord.

It's well done, a compelling slice of raw kinetic dis/proportionate compulsion, intricately endeavouring to freely showcase a vast unparalleled nation changing.

How do you monitor the changes. what paradigms to pinpoint, spices to sojourn?, with the massive amounts of incoming data how do you choose which stories to circulate?

Do you want to be known for something in particular or to brandish and broadcast wide-ranging spectrums, is there a timeless quality to certain narratives or do waves a' wingéd work it unbound?

It's been sad to see labour's role in the forecast sharply decline in recent decades, perhaps as the internet expanded alternative sources practically emerged (animated comedy?). 

And as those sources practically emerged traditional news outlets had to cater to a different audience, one with much more elitist pretensions that abruptly abandoned labour in Anglo/American markets.

A long time since I was in school, but even at that time interest in blending social strata had waned, except amongst the French Canadians living in Québec I met in grad school, of whom an enormously high percentage still cared about people.

The percentage was so high and at such a high level that Québec seemed like the best place to be, so even if my French wasn't that great I moved to Montréal to look for work.

I started reading a lot about Québec's history around that time as well, and enjoyed several engaging texts chronicling different periods of French Canadian culture.

I decided I didn't want to live in Toronto or Vancouver and read those books in isolation, or study Québec from afar if I had the chance to live there.

I cared about work and finances too but living somewhere I wanted to be meant much more. So much of life takes place outside of work it's better to live somewhere you love than grow weary with ennui.

Back to journalism, I imagined it would take longer for war to break out after major Anglo/American news sources abandoned the left, and the unhindered pursuit of either wealth or elitist standing once again imperialistically took centre stage.

It's happened nonetheless and will likely continue to happen for decades, if peaceful inclinations don't again take centre stage or at least form part of the master narrative's bedrock.

The jingoistic warlike right will tell you that it's natural just as they did before both World Wars, and it won't care while millions die as it coldly makes astronomical profits.

But just as many others are saying today and have been for previous millennia.

There's nothing natural about these conflicts.

In fact they're a grandiose perversion. 

What Happened Was . . .

A date.

A get together.

Both parties unsure what to do.

It's their first romantic conversation in a while.

Good impressions sought.

Along with good food.

They both work at a law firm but aren't in possession of law degrees, their crafty assistance still essential no doubt to the smooth flowing distilled jurisprudence. 

Jackie (Karen Sillas) likes Michael's (Tom Noonan) sense of humour and the way he proceeds with a lighthearted touch, no stilted airs or predetermined fussiness generally complicating his reliable work.

She's straight up and borderline daring as she honestly shares pastimes and preferences, with little interest in codes or concealments she genuinely delivers the dependable goods.

But she simultaneously doesn't disseminate emphatic criticisms and dissonant avowals, perhaps not wishing to spoil the evening with ornery uptight imperious outbursts.

Perhaps also she's just sincerely curious and realizes you learn more by embracing interest, or at least may generate something prolonged or won't have to keep meeting new people quite so often.

He's uncertain as to how to proceed since he's suddenly encountered direct honest innocence, and isn't used to unceremoniously sharing honest thoughts and open revelations.

The suppressed yet cognizant snob deep within is overwhelmed by the freeflowing gratitude, and he begins to feel somewhat humble and suddenly re-evaluates his bold declarations.

He also starts telling the truth and feels rather embarrassed as he awkwardly does so, but she's worried she's somehow upset him, he's somewhat blind to the catch he's found.

What Happened Was . . . thoughtfully examines insecurity as it engages in unscripted exploration, suddenly abounding with practical material to realistically characterize imaginative fluctuations.

They're both unprepared for reality but she's a little more willing to experiment.

A perfect film if you're worried about dating.

Or would perhaps rather never abandon the single life.