Birth

Genuine love illuminatingly transcends routine day-to-day orthodox trajectories, ingeniously transmitting ethereal dispatches with sincere wholesome munificent dignity. 

But alas, the blesséd union is cruelly and inhumanely torn asunder, as envious death jealously rises then indelicately vanishes with one tortured soul.

Time passes and the surviving member is once again pursued by an old sweetheart, who waited patiently year after year and never gave up after considerable rejection.

A date is set they are to be married friends and family traditionally applaud, but one unexpected mischievous guest suddenly shows up with spiritual discourse.

He claims that he's the bride's enamoured ex-husband and that he's still wholeheartedly in love, the reincarnated reanimated spirit lithe and active within a 10 yr. old.

He's initially dismissed for unfairly toying with mournful feelings and morose emotions, and disrupting an upcoming marriage with zealous uncouth disparaging diatribes.

But he knows so much so many intimate details that were only shared between husband and wife.

Has the spirit world brought their moribund marriage back to life?

Or is the euphoria immaterial and inconclusive?

Somewhat absurd yet still innocent and tender you see the trusting lovelight altruistically shining through, as the bewildered ex-wife falls again for her husband with grave awkward grace and solemn credulity.

Even though he's only 10 and won't be fit to wed for another decade or so, she still considers the traditional role she once dutifully played with authentic temperance. 

I felt bad for the hopeful new husband who waited so long to fulfill his desire, true love and the fates egregiously mocking his steadfast and true uncorrupted fidelity. 

To wait so long and have your wedding annulled after a child shows up claiming to be your bride's ex-husband, would have been a shock too much to bear as furiously related one embarrassing evening.

The contemporary nature of the film sombrely scored with classical melodies, gives it a haunting stern humble edge wherein which you might find reincarnated frequencies. 

The characters are also wealthy (or bourgeois or struggling) enough to take such things seriously without qualm or misgiving.

To resplendently fall for true love everlasting.

Through immortal time.

In eternal disregard. 

Samsara

Ron Fricke's Samsara takes upon itself the modest task of pictorially presenting an interdimensional panoramic account of a synthesized set of (free)ranging semantic variables, a fluid rhetorically viable atemporal mosaic whose effervescent movements are acoustically interwoven according (perhaps) to the harmonics of three itinerant factotums, who practically reverberate throughout the humanistic theoretical continuum, giving birth to hope, sculpting immobility, and choreographing the infinite.

The paradox discovered by Captain Jean-Luc Picard in Star Trek: The Next Generation's All Good Things . . . offers a tool through which to begin cultivating interpretive comprehensions, although in Samsara said paradox seems to be critically oscillating in a cyclical undulation, in order to craft, what Fredric Jameson might describe as, an ontology of the present.

The only other film I've seen recently whose form, in varying degrees, produces similar affects, is Alejandro Jodorowsky's The Holy Mountain, and the two films arguably create a matrix through which to compare the means by which two distinct historical periods use/d their cultural clay to mold multidimensional discursive globalized narratives.

I don't recommend watching The Holy Mountain unless you're into alternative cinema.

But to return to Samsara, I would contend that it suggests that the wisest thought-systems/ethical outlooks simultaneously celebrate the production of structured delicate intricate symmetrical collective masterpieces and their peaceful destruction (the Mandala), thereby humbly attempting to temporalize the eternal.

At other points, it presents incredible naturalistic syntheses of truth and illusion, concretely stylizes exhilaration, offers an absurd example of unfettered patriarchal ambition, interdisciplinarily collocates ancient forms with contemporary contents, patiently juxtaposes opulent and impoverished extremes, counterbalances manifold individuals with sundry groups, alternates the crushing affects of monosyllabic monstrosities with those of incarcerated liberation, conducts the best variation of a lament for the loss of an integrated prolonged cultural artistic fusion I've ever seen, and brilliantly equates both the means of mass production and its 'unforeseen' and mind boggling consequences/circumstances.

Without saying a word.

The apotheosis of philosophical realism metaphorically materialized? An emission/admission of im/mortality? Ostentation saturated with social justice?  Pinpointed timeless reciprocal constructivism?

It takes the cinematography from The Tree of Life to a whole new level (cinematography by Ron Fricke, shot on 70mm film).

Best film I've seen in a long time.