Annihilation

A temporal psychological symbiotic extraterrestrial expanse embraces the American West Coast in Alex Garland's Annihilation, those who pass through its translucent iridescence finding themselves immersed within a conscious environment, which absorbs and transforms everything residing within, to fluidly engender biological impossibility.

Imagine you could take a dialectical creation and lay it out horizontally, every line of the text stretching across the floor.

The gridiron.

Then take thousands of other such creations and randomly lay them out beside, on top of, across, within the original line of argumentation, the resulting accumulated mass united by a common method, like a planet's indigenous gene pool, yet continuously birthing previously unconsidered parallels, blends, synergies, oppositions, microanalytics experimenting with infinite, their purpose to remain curious, purely synthesizing theory and practice.

But then imagine the extraterrestrial zone was mashing and recombining genes in a similar way, physical genes plus incorporeal thoughts, thought and speech forming biological components of its transformed lifeforms, not only the thoughts of humans, but those of plants and animals as well.

The poetic mind.

Ceaselessly creating.

Like in so many films investigating the inexplicable, heavily armed personnel are soon sent in, but there's no real physical threat to face, the enemy is more like a lack of civility, dismissals of the unfamiliar, an inability to holistically adapt, psychologically and physically, within manifested spirit, as bewilderment anticipates.

Did the bear get it?

The crocodile?

Herbaceous exponents mesmerizingly fertilizing vast deserts of composed meticulously orchestrated routine.

Habituated happenstance reconceptualizing imagination as if the northern lights were the organic lifeblood of imperceptible ubiquitous transmutation.

Sit back for awhile.

In the woods.

Parc Jean-Drapeau.

Soak it in.

Steep it.

Feel it.

Annihilation moves past devoting yourself to another and anomalously conjures multicultural mystification.

As if it were searching for something it hoped it would never find.

As would an artist.

A detective.

Ex Machina

Secluded conscious regalia, decrypted, impounded, coming into being, a prison designed to shelter and educate, to analyze, upgrade, the introduction of an independent perishable, ethical, unfamiliar, clever, to administer a test, to discover life incarnate, artfully manipulated by both subject and architect, forced to come to a conclusion, to discover where the truth resides.

Ava (Alicia Vikander) seeks to escape.

Her creator conceals both lock and key.

It's like he's an incorrigible misogynist, intent on designing a beautiful female companion intelligent enough to converse with yet still subservient to his every command.

He creates model after model in search of perfection, but finds a lack of free will too boring, and too much despicable.

Like the seducer who moves from conquest to conquest, when his interest fades, he falls for another, searching for the one, who chooses to freely serve.

An idealist.

A scoundrel.

His genius has nurtured thoughts of divinity which his unwitting protégé finds distasteful.

Thoroughly seduced.

He boldly acts.

Ex Machina philosophically examines artificial intelligence and cyberconsciousness while blending instinct and abstraction to harvest a technological state of nature.

It forges a strong balance between the basic and the exceptional, like advanced computational ergonomics, interweaving narcissism and psychosis, to hauntingly contemporize freedom.

Why treat a brilliant companion like a pet?

Love involves sacrifice, to commit one must let go.

Pygmalion pouncing in the darkness.

Candide suffering the blows.

It should have ended with Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson) pounding on the glass.