Venom 2

I was going to forget about Halloween this year when I found myself looking for something to watch on Netflix. Old Dads didn't make the cut so I kept searching till I found Venom 2, which I had missed because of the pandemic. I didn't even clue into the fact that it's a monster movie until after I'd chosen it and settled in. Thus, even when I'm not seeking out Halloween films, they find me, this one's perfectly suited to the times.

When I imagine ye olde Odd Couple films I usually think of Walther Matthau and Jack Lemmon. Their cantankerous übergrumpy disputes were fun to watch in my observant youth.

But it was a different time, without the impressive rise of realistic special effects, when the master narrative still heavily relied on bourgeois scenarios and corresponding efficiencies. 

I figure that's why Star Wars: Episode IV was so overwhelmingly popular, not only was it a cool film to watch, but it was also the first science-fiction film to have realistic special effects.

I love the old '50s and '60s sci-fi due to its imaginative pioneering impetus, and there's no doubt the historical value's significant not to mention the resplendent kitsch factor.

But the special effects are pretty incredible these days with Star Wars having started it all, thus it's no wonder the old school Odd Couple paradigm now plays out with a journalist and a monster.

As times have habitually mutated and resonant tastes transformed and diversified, one member of the couple remains potentially stable, while the other is an overly ambitious carnivorous alien.

They routinely argue about many things as time quotidianly passes, both of them seeking lofty admiration for goals achieved and services rendered. 

Feelings are hurt and grievances aired as their mutually accommodating relationship briefly ends, and Venom heads off into the great unknown and even makes a brilliant showing at a local night club.

But this is Halloween of course and what would it be without psychotic love?, or a pair of lifelong criminals hoping to wed after they break out of prison.

With a chaotic wedding in tow Venom 2 is transported into the comedic realm, which accentuates the brandished horror, and makes for quite the mindf*&*#.

Not exactly what I remember from the grouchy Odd Couple or even Midnight Run.

But certainly a clever twist on a belovéd theme.

Perfect for any Halloween scenario.

*I didn't really like how special effects were used to alter the actor's appearances. Isn't it a slippery slope to using special effects to replace actors entirely? 😠 

Hustle

Hustle does a great job of pointing out how much solid work goes into crafting a professional sports team, just by focusing primarily on one gifted scout (Adam Sandler as Stanley Sugarman) who runs into problems when the owner's son takes over (Ben Foster as Vince Merrick). 

It's like a 24/7 job it's rare he ever stops concentrating on basketball, he consistently sacrifices so much for the team without much complaint or sharp contradiction.

He has an amazing job and gets to spend his time doing something he loves, and can concretely see his emphatic results each time a player he's chosen makes a cool play.

I saw him like a representative for what generally goes on behind the scenes in professional sports, for the tens of thousands of people diligently working to put a dynamic team together.

Even when that team isn't playing well the wheels are still in perpetual motion, making deals and calls and observations hopefully leading to that next championship.

When you think about how many thousands of people are habitually competing to build the next champion, it does seem like the odds against anyone ever winning are so astronomically high that victory's miraculous.

And then if you see your outstanding favourites lose the Super Bowl three times in your curious youth, and then come back to pick up back to back wins less than ten years later, with the same quarterback, you can't help but be thankful to the organization.

If you do actually win the championship it objectively validates every decision made that season, you can take a break and sit back and bask in heralded pseudo-divine contemplation.

Each step of the way not just the winner it's still better to get there than not make it at all, it's like every organization is fighting for each inch of ground at all times and never even considering coming up short.

At least that's what characters like Stanley make me think with their healthy attitudes that keep things focused, with some jobs you have to continuously adapt at any given time with inquisitive reflexes.

That was amazing when the Raptors won I never thought I'd see that happen.

I was pissed Dad didn't get to see the Leafs win again before he passed.

But honestly, he loved basketball so much more.

I'm so happy he got to see that.

Hustle's worth checking out.

King Richard

Sheer uncompromising confidence proactively proceeds with undaunted integrity, as a father is so sure his daughters are peerless, he ignores countless established conventions as they train.

The best in the business lay it down to haplessly explain the traditional course, if you want to excel in the world of tennis, you play what are called "juniors" to prepare for the pros.

They're a series of tournaments for tenacious young players who want to improve their skills through competition, and it's through their heuristic happenstance professional aptitude efficiently emerges.

But Mr. Williams thought differently it's really remarkable what he did, he found the junior circuit so demanding and overbearing that he decided to take his girls out of it.

He was so certain that they could turn pro without competing throughout their youth, he drove some of the most knowledgeable coaches nuts as he consistently refuted their industrious know-how.

I applaud his sublime logic, he wanted his girls to have a childhood and do well in school, he didn't want them to only have tennis to look back on by the time they retired should they turn pro.

Imagine ignoring so many tried and true methods while hoping to do something even the best find next to impossible.

And have everything work out.

Your unprecedented courage rewarded.

It's like a real-life Disney film where inherent miracles nurture impeccability, where a family's guts and raw determination overcome incredible odds to become the world's best.

A parenting team aware of their potential prowess never taking no for a definitive answer, even when dozens of people tell them it's simply impossible and constantly dismiss them with words of wisdom.

So devoted to their family so aware of their unmatched talent, they persevere above and beyond even the most daring unorthodox methods.

But at the same time they want their kids to have a childhood they can pleasantly remember, one where they still chilled out and did fun things while still training to redefine the superlative.

I have to admit, I like these parenting methods, they're very holistic and reasonably balanced.

And Venus and Serena Williams did go on to become the best in the world.

This story's outstanding.

The American dream. 

*Not to mention an Oscar for Will Smith!

Kaamelott: First Installment

Nice to see a familiar style of comedy still observantly elucidating, to the tune of ancient legend emphatically deconstructed in recalcitrant sheath.

Thus, extended less devout commentaries can be expediently relied upon, as the temptation to laze about disarmingly overwhelms protocolian spirits.

Indeed, should a situation arise inherently imploring trust thereupon, debate regarding the utility of action may argumentatively delay courageous concourse.

Was there ever ebulliently a time when innate fidelity preponderantly prospered, and allegiance shone forth across the land with impeccable practical superstitious brilliance?

Or were old school lands aggrieved equanimously equipped with parallel suspicions, and whole-heartedly abreast of postmodern cheek illustriously composed through disputation?

Would the rarefied pretensions of the day have taken note in their limited volumes, of imparticular ineptitude, or would their vellum have harmonized rhapsodic?

Still, within ye olde Kaamelott: First Installment heroic endeavour doth vouchsafe akin, as Arthur (Alexandre Astier) pulls the sword from the stone and lackadaisically assumes regal volatility.

Sensing little effort need be applied to potentially reap heraldic fortunes, other nobles ceremoniously sign-up for the sublime cause sans hesitation. 

Alas, it is nice to see a less shocking and violent mass-marketed comedy, which doesn't rely on racism or cruelty as you sometimes find in this day and age. 

If that's the evolution of comedy is it not regenerating a decadent phase, to be followed by meaningless emptiness so the old theory historically goes?

For so many centuries much brighter comedians have encouraged laughter without bigoted reckoning.

Without bellicose mean-spirits.

Manifest pejorative prosperity. 

Kaamelott has faith in its strengths and doesn't stoop to bombastic prejudice, doesn't infuriatingly apply blunt and crude generalized cultural dissonance. 

In the age of legend it industriously competes with magnanimous superheroes, to provide a thoughtful supplement should the master narrative prove overwhelming.

Asking the age old question, lead through trial and error or ornate pageantry?

They find an intermediate compromise.

Composed so long ago. 

BigBug

Dystopian yet familiar realities lugubriously haunt Jean-Pierre Jeunet's BigBug, as a future wherein which AI predominates officiously contends with the bourgeoisie.

I suppose there's the theory that what's presented on television or in film will be regarded as fact, or at least find an adoring audience, and that audience will proceed to advertise.

Thus, if the irate right was slowly replaced by cantankerous A.I, due to the bipolar resonance of the popular matrix unobservant citizens unconsciously consume, and the bizarro ways in which so many people trust disingenuous initiatives designed to cheat them, a manifest sadomasochistic uniformity could one day emerge and in the darkness bind them. 

Within BigBug, one of two major political parties has been replaced by octogenarian robots, who have slowly used advanced cybernetics to brutally suffocate a robust culture.

The bourgeoisie still attempts to flourish within the mechanized meticulous structure, having adapted to the ubiquitous rules and incumbent authoritarian connectivity. 

Additional robots not associated with politics worry they're becoming obsolete, and genuinely confer to find a way to consistently maintain their resolute use-value.

Thus, both The Terminator and ye olde Data find themselves concretely represented within, a potential future embraced through comedic horror alternatively critiquing cold-hearted lockdowns. 

Artists are lampooned and books are burned, it's like a blasé happy-go-lucky thrill ride through prognostic annihilation. 

Could reality television take on such extremes is it already that bad I never really got into it (I was planting trees in the forests of Northern Canada when Survivor came out), I've never been able to just watch people interact on television, I prefer old school creative storytelling and mockumentaries.

The ruthless sadist who seeks to control every aspect of postmodern life, with duplicitous totalitarian reckoning, is still sincerely critiqued within.

As are cultures that would turn their institutions over to robots to become more efficient, the human factor obliviously overlooked in the superlative practices, grandstanding bravado.

In an obtuse condescending way BigBug reminds its audience of the value of criticism, and that critical strategies should be taught in school to hold back the onslaught of pervasive credulity.

Robot politicians? Robot police? It doesn't have to happen, it's not inevitable.

Prefer the old school humanistic methodologies.

Round the campfire.

Settlin' in. 

The Dive

As two sisters congenially scuba-dive, turmoil and calamity audaciously challenge, one suddenly stuck beneath falling rocks, her air rapidly decreasing.

She's the bossier of the two who's grown gloomier as time has passed, the grim embrace of counterproductive cynicism having obscured life's lighthearted wonders.

Her sister is much less suspicious and still enjoys things like family and friends, and getting together for adventurous undertakings as the seasons change and interconnections fluctuate. 

She wants to chill with her older sis who over the years has grown distant and cold, too independent and radically dismissive, she can't comprehend the awkward tension.

It's as if May (Louisa Krause) has became an authoritarian who seeks to accomplish every task on her own, with no time for consultations or delegating, the strict lonely embrace of absolute disparity.

But when she finds herself trapped beneath the sea with no one to rely upon but a carefree worker, she finds she must once again enter the productive free world and engage in mutually beneficial dialogues.

Relaxation is key as the terrifying nature of their circumstances sets in, likelihood and probability hauntingly destabilizing hopeful psychologies at the desperate outset.

But as necessity is the mother of invention plucky Drew (Sophie Lowe) proves rather industrious, rapidly doing everything she can to facilitate a working solution.

Thus faced with overwhelming odds recklessly existing outside her comfort zone, the worker demonstrates intuitive dexterity and discovers essential requirements.

Not without the incumbent trial and error which accompanies improvised decision making, the perilous predicament begetting haste which in turn at times leads to computational dysfunction. 

Like Saint-Loup's admiration for the bakers and plumbers and other workers who heroically distinguished themselves in World War I (In Search of Lost Time), actions cut through class prejudice, her inspired dedicated resolute resiliency electrifying the pretentious/carefree dialectic.

But after her trials she's left unconscious due to the logistics of rapid ascent, management forced to react reciprocally to save the life of its valiant stalwart.

Not enough time expires in the end to know if the deconstructed cynicism held, and lighthearted takes on animate sweet nothings once again resurfaced with literal composure.

Erlenwein does a lot with The Dive and keeps things tense throughout. 

If you're thinking the plot doesn't have much to go on.

You may be pleasantly surprised. 

Wavelength

An artist facing the void seeks reanimate resuscitation, and discovers a curious lass seeking to hold back observant recon.

The two enjoy spirited fledgling manoeuvres while invoking inquisitive complimentary frolic, before an eerie mystery bewilderingly emerges which leads to experimental enthused investigation.

Voices-in-trouble are being transmitted telepathically from a secret location, the sleuthing of which leads to uncouth jail-time at the hands of the unamused military.

Who have encountered an alien craft and clandestinely moved its survivors accordingly, unable to communicate with the touristic humanoids who've been placed in pandemic style lockdown.

It becomes apparent that whoever contacts them soon suffers biological entropy, their bodies radiating inhospitibility, although they are able to cure corresponding ailments.

The couple desperately seeks their freedom just as the operation is sternly locked down.

But not without having provided emancipatory leeway.

For those involved to romantically break free.

It's classic low-budget sci-fi complete with narration and a romantic hermit, the hidden base in Los Angeles no less, having striven for ironic concealment. 

Perhaps the less prominent filmmakers were indirectly drawing attention, to a movie-making militaristic plot to control hearts and minds through mass produced film.

What percentage indeed of the various budgets of the diverse film companies a' reckoning over yonder, are factually spent on valourizing conflict with sincere hardboiled exceeding lament?

The novel imaginative aliens therefore generate unheralded song, the orthodox clique ensuring rehabilitation with no choice but to dynastically schism. 

Alas look to the ingenious French and other robust agile continental visionaries, who celebrate the diversity of their tribes with harmonious distinct eclectic inclusion.

Continuing to accelerate and zag they seek cultivation of genius as well, to salute nothing universally in particular, at times without resolute agenda.

The telepathic artists within ye olde Wavelength help the aliens escape beyond categorical compunction.

Hewn so long ago.

Manifold viewpoints, multilateral trajectories. 

Babysitter

If you're conservatively religious or not into gender-bending, I don't recommend this film. 

Even if it's one of the best films I've ever seen.

Too much inhibition and a freeform embrace of reckless honest indiscretion, lead to sociopolitical complications after a rowdy husband kisses a reporter.

The news spreads swiftly far and wide and reputation and occupation are soon jeopardized, the foolish manifestation of an adolescent prank thoroughly enveloped in critical ubiquity. 

He attempts to make amends by writing a book to wholeheartedly apologize, but still fails to understand the issue with passionate sincere conscious remorse. 

I don't know if it's supposed to be funny as he haplessly attempts to make things right, and struggles to understand what he's done wrong through the sudden immersion in advanced semantics.

Brilliant director Monia Chokri seems to be humorously illustrating the enormous gulf, between the rambunctious contemporary caveman and new developments in feminist theory.

His well-meaning brother makes things even worse as his good intentions are led astray, by improvised overwhelming waking dreams wherein which he reifies chivalric reconnaissance. 

Unfortunately, he's been somewhat unsuccessful regarding his relations with sustained pair-bonding, and his lack of traditional mutually concordant harmonies have transformed his hypotheses into nightmares.

They hire a babysitter to take care of the child while coming to terms with the media sensation. 

The wife so jaded every practical utterance suggestively radiating bitter irony.

It may be the most hilarious film I've ever seen made on Québecois soil, I haven't laughed this hard since I was a child, the intricate detail indubitably mesmerizing.

It's like every second was delicately crafted by a supportive team each sharing their gifts, a perfect synthesis of dialogue and sound productively edited with astounding precision. 

It's not just that she's taking on Xavier Dolan this film is better than so much of Godard and Truffaut, an incredible mélange of domestic politics internationally applicable to worldwide genius.

It made me think of ye olde Sedmikrásky (Daisies) or Le Tigre or Masseduction or Antisocialites, like an immaculate conglomerate of essences multilaterally matriculated matronly maelströms.

Sad the materialistic lack of voluble longlasting progressive initiatives, frustrating to see the march of history beguilingly devastating incumbent resonance. 

Perhaps a costume is appropriate something out of the ordinary beyond infatuation, dressing up and solemnizing oblivion like thoughtful exercise for terminal distress.

Babysitter still makes a play to significantly change the masculine world.

They say fortune favours the bold.

Who's bold enough for this masterpiece?

Viking

Hypotheses deemed reasonable fluidly facilitate relational replication, as a team is readily assembled which closely matches one sent to Mars.

As the astronauts were being chosen they had to pass a psychological test, during which they could freely respond to a variety of random potentially standardized questions.

Due to the length of the voyage, mission control thought it might be prudent, to duplicate their isolated conditions and place hearty surrogates within similar circumstances.

These volunteers have to take the same psych-evaluations and should their responses match those from a trooper, they'll be given the chance to function as their facsimile on a secluded base back home.

Hence, as drama and challenge coherently test the bona fide in space, their echoes residing on Earth produce the same social situations and generate theories.

Should their Earthen bound drama produce results considered highly applicable, the astronauts themselves can follow their advice and adapt their strategies in focused concordance. 

But what should happen if things become boring or resolute tensions claustrophobically arise?

And are they the only active team, currently reimagining solar schematics?

Imagine NASA with a hundredth the budget still valiantly spearheading courageous initiatives, and as they attempt to recruit concrete fascination, wind up with aggrieved personality (so 21st century).

Thus the mission occasionally lacks prominence in the hearts and minds of the locked-down duplicates, and rather than concentrating on the historical import, nitpicking irregularities steadfastly taunt them (😌).

In terms of a dry lackadaisical critique of bureaucratic function and hands-on theory, Stéphane Lafleur's tremendous Viking industriously lampoons think tanks and committees. 

The results of their disputatious endeavours as preponderantly quizzical as they are performative, needless to say issues endemically complicate throughout the bewildered parallel missions.

Of course space travel and space bureaucracy spiritedly functioning on a shoe string budget, may encounter resonant difficulties as binding conclusions hatch and spawn.

As for the comedic expenditure, the genuine inanity etherealizes throughout, with a structured lack of determinate goals sincerely generating realistic implosion.

Much more clever than relying on a monster to suddenly instigate space shenanigans. 

Keeping the mission in mind.

Great companion for Babysitter.