Shark Whisperer

I suppose the main issue with Jaws is not that it presents a terrifying man-eating shark, it's more that it's an exceptionally well-made film and a remarkable stand out amongst monster movies.

So many monster films come and go but Jaws is a phenom with staying power, the artistic intent wasn't to kill a bunch of sharks (as an interview states on my VHS copy), but it's still a huge thorn in activist's sides.

Ocean Ramsey is an incredible animal activist who has chosen to spend her life defending sharks, alongside her husband Juan Oliphant who films her activities off the Hawaiian coast.

She's been in love with the ocean since but a wee lass growing up on the island, gravitating towards sharks as time passed her work leading to a ban on shark fishing in Hawaii.

She has no fear of the animals and even cozies up with massive Jawsesque great whites, swimming with them without a scuba tank since she can hold her breath for 6.5 minutes.

She's been doing it for so long that she recognizes dozens of the sharks she swims with, who also recognize her and can indeed be called shark friends.

Her knowledge of shark behaviour is highly-regarded by some scientists, who often frown upon pseudo-science but still appreciate what she's done.

I imagine animal peeps will love her, her love of animals is contagious, and the work she does is monumental in raising shark awareness across the land.

Sharks do attack people from time to time but the general frequency remains quite low, I imagine they're much like bear attacks and bears hardly ever kill people.

If I remember the stats from Kevin Van Tigham's Bears (Altitude Superguide) correctly, they only killed around 98 people in North America in the 20th century, they're no doubt frightening in the cultural unconscious, but they're often more afraid of people than they are of them.

The key with Jaws and other monster movies is to remember that they're works of fiction, and although their tales invite sensation, they're not realistic in the slightest.

Unfortunately, many people don't see it that way and confuse the fiction for reality.

Which is why documentaries like Shark Whisperer are so important.

Like it frequently states, sharks need protection.

*A note advertising Shark Whisperer could be displayed on copies of Jaws purchased or rented physically or online. 

Serenity

Something strange, something not quite right, in Serenity's opening moments.

Throughout the first half of the film.

There's a vague concealed derelict somnambulistic longing haunting social relations in the beginning, like a prolonged robot hangover that's been nauseously programmed.

Disaffection, I kept thinking, I'm bound to hear the word "surreal" used to describe this film, as if its otherworldliness is a product of subconscious reckoning, as opposed to a McFlurry saturated with kalúha.

That sounds good.

But you could use the word surreal to describe it, as it progresses, in the commercial sense,
like you would use it if you were still caught up in the mainstream, still unfamiliar with less traditional surrealistic applications.

Boldly crafting alternative traditions of their own.

The surrealism becomes more pronounced and less McDreamy after down-on-his-luck fisherperson Baker Dill (Matthew McConaughey) is tasked with murdering his ex-wife's (Anne Hathaway as Karen Zariakas) utterly loathsome new husband (Jason Clarke as Frank Zariakas) to the tune of a vindictive 10 million.

It's not just that though, there's something else, something more subtle, more puzzling, more disorienting, more real.

Or surreal I suppose. 😉

A salesperson (Jeremy Strong as Reid Miller) shows up with the kind of clarification that doesn't prove or explain anything yet still shuffles the narrative off to different directions, a clever intriguingly frustrating device often used on shows like Twin Peaks or The X-Files, that keeps you genuinely desiring more even if the obscurity leaves you wanting.

The resultant delirium is quite surreal as an identity transformation bewilderingly transcends without any loss of the hermetic I.

The anxiety harrowingly increases at both conscious and unconscious levels as Baker continues to act under extreme existential duress.

The film's uninspiring first half is justified as an experimental work in progress, whose author was still crafting his own remarkable tensions, the film as a whole perhaps meant to metaphorically present a film lover's growth, as they start looking beyond commercial horizons to something less pronounced and material.

It's a strong synthesis of the blasé and the risk-fuelled that comments upon these concepts without saying anything, a mind-meld of the traditional and the experimental that effectively synergizes hesitant abandon.

Looking forward to seeing more of what Steven Knight has to offer.

I'm reminded of Tarsem Singh.

Not sure as to why.

L'Écume des jours (Mood Indigo)

Assembly lines randomly recite a literary legion of improvisationalists who immediately harness their impressions ensemble with the goal of creating a tale of romantic note.

As the awareness of being written gesticulates limitless extraneous sensual amenities suddenly enlighten, becoming subjects of study or being callously yet festively disregarded, foreshadowing the genesis of love's interest.

The amenities coalesce with a practical and ingenious array of irresistible logical displacements whose metaphoric merits urbanely defy any sense of symmetrical cohesion.

What a world, what a world.

A tragic plot does take shape however whose voluminous sorrows, intricately and in/tangibly elaborated upon and refined, bear witness to the indoctrination of the real, whose vice-like grip expedites decay, within.

It's pointless to say that L'Écume des jours (Mood Indigo) should have been more surreal due to its experimental necessarily incoherent design, since its residual plot provides enough relational factors to make its aesthetic accessible, truly as a subject of beauty, and, if I'm not mistaken, Michel Gondry's saying that a minimum layer of consistency and logic enables radical indulgence to support its erratic spontaneity, although the internal despondency was disquieting as the film progressed.

Don't think I'll ever think of indigo again without thinking about this film, or stop searching in vain for a neat pianocktail.

Terraces in the afternoon.

Nothing but time.