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.