Rocketman

Abounding with characteristic irresistible melody, Rocketman presents the early life of Elton John (Taron Egerton/Matthew Illesley/Kit Connor).

By no means like warm fuzzy lighthearted hot cocoa, it hits hard at John's blunt childhood trauma, while illustrating how it affected his sudden rise to fame, and led to years of conflicted unrestrained hitched soul searching.

But it's not all that depressing, that's just the frame his actions are depicted within, and at times it overflows with chill wonder, rich with doubts and expedient sublimation.

He was younger once, not so long ago, and although the details of his youth aren't elaborately nuanced, we learn that his father (Steven Mackintosh as Stanley) never loved him, his mother (Bryce Dallas Howard as Sheila) could be mean, and his grandmother (Gemma Jones as Ivy) recognized his talent, which began to flourish at a young age.

He could play anything he heard and write soulful original music, the former winning him a scholarship at Britain's Royal Academy of Music, after which he found himself leading memorable bands.

Rocketman features his lifelong working relationship with gifted lyricist Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell), and how the two have productively worked together for a mind-boggling 5 decades strong.

With Taupin's lyrics John wrote so many enduring classics, many of which are still played regularly today, and shot them into the stratosphere in the early '70s, from which they've never really descended.

But the excessive wealth and wild lifestyle took its toll, especially considering that he fell in love with his hard-edged manager (Richard Madden as John Reid), who was strictly a man of business.

Rocketman's recalled through a series of defining moments John shares with a self-help group after seeking aid to attain sobriety.

According to the film, he was never really that rowdy, that vain, that hostile.

That much of a prick.

On the contrary, he was a humble brilliant laidback musician who wanted to showcase his talent but didn't do anything excessive to gain recognition, like a really fun cool guy whose ambition was acknowledged without spectacle.

After he became a star his outfits were flamboyant but that was and possibly still is part of the show, part of the thrill of seeing him perform.

Costume design by Julian Day.

The film's musical biography so it isn't overflowing with details from John's life, but the music's enticing and creatively interwoven to sympathize, emphasize, ritualize, and contextualize, reimagining so many great songs, with a damn fine new version of Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting.

It doesn't shy away from presenting hardships but in so doing adds depth to John's character, the chosen details resonating with significance, his style still diversifying to this day.

An incredible artist.

And a cool guy too.

Taron Egerton puts in a great performance.

Gentle intense life.

The Wife

The world's rather oddly constructed, some of its pretensions anyways, the idea that female writers can't sell their work for instance, which I imagine was much more prevalent 50 years ago, Foucauldian analysis pending.

The world certainly seems like a much more open place for men, and when you think of the thousands of psychological, financial, political, and ethical barriers preventing women from expressing themselves, the gross injustice of it all makes you wonder why people who are supposed to be fearless are so utterly afraid of a little femininity?

Women make good storytellers, are capable of doing anything men can do really, and cultural codes that prevent them from selling their work under their own name therefore don't make much sense, especially since they have so many compelling stories to share.

Longer explanation in a book some day.

I don't like everything I read or watch or listen to that's written by women, I don't like everything I read or watch or listen to that's written by men, I didn't realize you were supposed to prefer the one that matched your gender when I was really young, and was severely reprimanded, still am I suppose, but since I live in a theoretically free country I should be free to pick and choose who I like, even in my forties, as long as they aren't spreading hate intended to curtail freedoms, and I don't see it as a feminine and masculine artistic continuum, but rather one composed of stories I like and others which I don't.

I'm much more forgiving with films.

If I wrote about music or books I imagine people would criticize me for being too harsh instead of enjoying what I do.

In The Wife we find a literary married couple who's been given the Nobel Prize for literature even though only one of them is being recognized.

Wife Joan Castleman's (Glenn Close) painstaking imaginative endeavours are hailed for their genius, and husband Joe Castleman (Jonathan Pryce) is given all the credit.

He's a bit of a brute, living a life of freedom and ease that's absolutely dependent on his wife's devotion, and rather than reciprocating her heartfelt sacrifice he consumes countless luxuries and never stops womanizing.

The golden ticket.

You'd think that if you had the golden ticket you wouldn't openly mock its charitable foundations or colonize its endemic struggle.

You'd think you'd respect it at least, especially if its purchase had nothing to do with you.

Value it.

Not the case though in The Wife, as Joe recklessly gorges at the trough (things become more complicated as a mischievous biographer [Christian Slater as Nathaniel Bone] inquisitively stirs things up).

The film examines a fed up spouse's desire to be recognized for her brilliance in a patriarchal world prone to overlook essential feminine contributions.

It's quite direct for a movie focused on award winning literature, although the point it makes shines more brightly since it isn't buried beneath sundry literary filmic devices.

The unacknowledged heroine, the burly bumptious brute.

Like he had no leg to stand on so he went out and bought stilts.

He doesn't even consider sharing it.

After so so many years.

I, Tonya

Piecing together an identity can be laborious work, requiring years of dedicated research and a mastery of sundry source materials, a striking caricature then struck from the resultant reams of research that hopefully captivates both lay and expert viewers or readers alike, with its traditional exceptions, critical controversies exemplified notwithstanding, how does one classify an individual?, I'm still not certain, but can loosely stitch different economic realities together, if so tasked, or perhaps, commissioned.

Some worlds within worlds, however, the figure skating world as it's depicted in I, Tonya for instance, delicately existing within the unpredictable rambunctious buck of wild hardworking American egalitarian miscellany, prefer such narratives to eagerly adopt a prim presentation, as they're inspirationally and influentially disseminated to curious fans, exceptions to the rules obdurately punished for their lack of eloquence, even if, like Tonya Harding (Margot Robbie/McKenna Grace/Maizie Smith), they're one of the greatest representatives the sport has ever seen.

In the U.S even, where a versatile hardboiled lack of gentility has long been its cultural calling card.

More research required.

But you would think that in a culture which also prides itself on athletic achievement, funds would have been made available to assist young Tonya in acquiring the expensive outfits she couldn't buy, especially after she became the first American female figure skater to land the triple Axel, it wasn't the case though, according to I, Tonya, and instead her sartorial ingenuity often resulted in belittling judicial penalties.

Not that goodwill would have saved her.

Eventually, her foolish abusive shitbag husband's (Sebastian Stan as Jeff Gillooly) Cro-Magnon friend (Paul Walter Hauser as Shawn) ruined her career by facilitating an act so loathsomely stupid it still occupies a prominent place in the halls of true idiocy.

True infamy.

Strange film.

The music and mockumentarially realistic interviews set it up like a rip-roarin' homebrewed good time, but then you watch as Tonya's constantly abused from the age of 4 like director Craig Gillespie found a way to incarnate hair on the dog, and it's disconcerting.

You bought it.

Even with all that national attention she still had nowhere else to go, and the people whom you'd think would offer support, the aristos of the figure skating enclave, seem to have given her the crystal clear finger, perhaps hoping her unsuitable image would then quickly fade.

She was tough though, didn't back down, kept fighting until her supporting cast fucked shit up irreconcilably, an iconic American.

The film's really well done if it isn't disturbing.

Frightening.

Don't know where the truth's to be dug out of it but it certainly does facilitate some sincere craziness.

General sobriety's a good thing if you're competing internationally.

I'm not saying the world of figure skating should be like a monster truck rally, although that might make a funny tv movie, but perhaps it could be more sympathetic.

Seems like Ms. Harding should have had a lot more support anyways.

More research required.

As it stands, I, Tonya's an American tragedy.

Always great to see Bobby Cannavale (Martin Maddox).

Le sel de la terre (The Salt of the Earth)

The cultivation of astonishment, the realization of a vision, concerned dedicated multifaceted compassion takes on the most heartbreaking commitments with a tender immediacy humanistically begetting loyalty and awe, Sebastião Salgado, born on a farm in Brazil, spending his life directly embracing the tumultuous and the taciturn, having given up a prosperous career as an economist to do so, in isolated forgotten lands, to create the most stunning collection of photographs I've ever seen.

Famine, war, genocide, helplessness, poignantly captured to reveal true horror, life still attempting to flourish amidst the carnage, herculean patience, aphroditic ascendency.

Taking great personal risks and sacrificing familial leisure and comfort to dodge helicopter gunfire and shed humanitarian light, offering a voice to the downtrodden and the dispossessed, celebrating their courage and resiliency, their unshaken resolute cries, as a matter of conscience, a pact with will, he modestly proceeds, and fascinatingly portrays.

While also visiting remote geographical locations to illuminate unmitigated terrains.

Innocence.

Passion.

Regrowing a forest, battling wits with a polar bear, suffering as his subjects suffer, living, growing, evolving, Sebastião inspires through his erudite humility, naturalistic charm, incomparable humanity, and consummate sagacity.

Transcendency.

Wim Wenders makes the perfect directorial companion to Sebastião's son Juliano.

Le sel de la terre (The Salt of the Earth) is a must see for aspiring artists, for students, for anyone.

To see again and again.

Life force.

Genesis would make an excellent wedding gift.