Yearning

 *Spolier Alert

A dedicated daughter-in-law spends her life managing her new family's business, her intricate savvy and reflexive know-how having saved it from ruin during World War II.

Her husband passed in the war though and she sadly never married again, although she honourably cherishes his memory with devout respect and wholesome dignity. 

A new supermarket opens in town and starts undercutting their trusted prices, leaving her in-laws in a difficult spot which they need to manage with nimble moxy. 

It's decided to expand the business and boldly open a much larger store, but the loyal intuitive multifaceted manager is initially denied a leading role. 

It's thought that she should remarry and a suitable candidate is wisely chosen, 17.5 years having gone by since her husband passed, the idea perhaps not that socially awkward.

But she refuses out of heartfelt devotion and eventually decides to return to her home.

But not before she distressingly discovers.

That her deceased husband's younger brother is madly in love with her.

The ending's a brilliant illustration of the conflicting post-war attitudes in volatile Japan, the younger less rigid experimental viewpoints and the older more orthodox sociocultural rules. 

Reiko has to admit that she has feelings for Koji and that she's felt amazing since she learned of his passion, yet still feels determinably duty bound to her old husband's stately ultimate sacrifice. 

She's also much older than Koji and it's a bit weird marrying two brothers from the same family, but that doesn't mean she isn't tempted to continue living in the world she's created.

Unfortunately, while travelling home Koji follows her upon the train, and in their confusion they depart somewhat early and get a hotel just to think for the night.

Koji goes for a walk after another heated argument morosely breaks down, and gets too close to a haunting cliff's edge and earth-shatteringly falls to his unrequited end.

But is the film condemning Koji for having tried to break with the old conservative ways?

Or modest Reiko for not having embraced the newfound less severe liberal ideology?

It's classic obscured ambiguity which likely still generates debate amongst film fans.

A genuine tragedy embroiled in conflict.

Much too serious or excessively light. 

Piccadilly

A popular night club routinely offers exceptional dynamic crowd pleasing performances, its dancers showcasing sundry coveted moves and flourishing finesse with fluid elegance.

The spice freely flows the rhythms distill freeflowing upbeat pleasant fun merrymaking, half their tables zealously reserved (by noon) intense sprightly jocose reliable industry.

But as so often happens, the urge to change one's steadfast surroundings bluntly coaxes, and one of the famous sought after dancers decides he'd rather entertain North America.

The blow is indeed distressing as dependable revenue streams quickly dry up, his equally flexible former partner remaining but not enough of a draw to firmly bring hundreds in.

Then one night an ornery client vehemently complains about a stain on his plate, which prompts the owner to visit the kitchen the scullery in fact where he finds a new spectacle. 

Soon the act is passionately displayed for the curious public who responds with praise, the newfound sensation turning critical heads and swiftly redefining the business's mantra.

But the old act once incredibly loved isn't as willing to be warm and pleasantly accommodating. 

The owner caught between the stubborn lithe rivals.

Following his heart, wherever it leads.

Several decades before the Civil Rights Movement emerged with formidable vigour, Piccadilly sought to break down race barriers with a bold and courageous daring silent film.

Released in England not the United States and in British cinemas not on American television, it still predates William Shatner and Nichelle Nichols's kiss by almost a dashing and carefree 30 years.

I don't know enough about silent films so I'm not sure if such stories were often told at the time, I just know from my own observations that I've rarely seen interracial tales pre-1960.

Pioneering no less and also cool to watch it's still a captivating film, I was interested to see something starring Anna May Wong after she appeared on the American quarter.

She was tired of being typecast in early Hollywood and moved to Europe to find more diverse roles so I'm told, bravery rewarded in this instance at least she clearly steals the show in Dupont's Piccadilly.

If curious about silent film and alternative ways to tell compelling tales, it's worth checking out for sure with many of its themes still resonating today.  

The Iron Claw

I've never really been that concerned. 

In The Iron Claw, the determined father employs strict uncompromising codes, to drive his children to pursue excellence and become prominent exceptional wrestlers.

They do experience a lot of success and the family becomes well-known and respected.

But the lack of compassion and blunt disappointment leads to habitual shock and dismay.

One brother, driven by high expectations, refuses to see a doctor when he becomes quite ill. He has to keep up appearances to become world champion. And unfortunately dies in his hotel room.

The 4 brothers love their father but he's a cold and stubborn man, who refuses to embrace even harmless emotions as he drives his children to become the best.

As they strive to superlatively improve they're totally reliant on his admiration, as well as each other and their mom but they seek his attention in the cloistered enclave.

But he judges seeking attention as weak which leads to genuine familial dysfunction. 

Two sons even take their own lives.

One still resiliently soldiers on.

My dad wasn't Mr. Affection but he wasn't a prick either. And he was proud of what I was doing. And let it show from time to time.

In regards to competition, I have to admit that I'm heavily influenced by Fish: The Surfboard Documentary. Within, a talented surfer loses a competition and points out that he felt awful because he lost, even though he had performed exceptionally well. He therefore stopped taking part in future competitions because they made him feel awful.

That makes a lot of sense to me and most likely millions of others.

The Iron Claw's a cool critical examination of sport.

In the end championing the human factor. 

Just gotta note if the strategy's working.

If it ain't, there's alternative options.

Blackberry

Don't really know what to make of this film.

I know it was awesome when blackberries were huge and a Canadian company was performing exceptionally well internationally. I know we excel with minerals and potash and maple syrup and wheat, but a huge tech sensation, that was something new for me (more so than the Canadarm). 

I imagine there are thousands of new innovations being made in Canada every year by crafty individuals, blackberry just generated more media attention, and took on companies like Apple.

Could you have had the iPhone without Research in Motion?

Probably. I imagine someone would have invented something similar around the same time regardless, but trying to make something even more impressive than the Blackberry may have driven dynamic creative iPhone progenitors.

The film closely follows the paths of RIM's ambitious CEOs, Mike Lazaridis (Jay Baruchel) who spearheaded the design, and Jim Balsillie (Glenn Howerton) who was able to market it.

As their prominence grows they both become consumed by power, Lazaridis losing his relatable cool (and cancelling Movie Night!), Mr. Balsillie transforming into a megalomaniac. 

The co-founder who questioned Balsillie's methods gets away with a lucrative sum (Matt Johnson [who also directed] as Doug), and he's right, when you're working insane hours it's things like Taco Tuesday or Movie Night that make the job worthwhile. I don't know how many books and articles have to be written about the subject, it's pizza and jazz that make jobs fun.

And they make you want to work harder, make me want to work harder anyways, it's like working in Montréal, you work super hard during the day to build up the economy, and then prosper after hours with the amazing night life.

I liked how Blackberry the film suggests that sending RIM's manufacturing jobs to China ruined the company. I don't know if that's just something that made the truth based story more coherent, but the more jobs we keep in Canada and Québec the better.

I've heard about companies wanting to set up shop in Canada and Québec precisely because our population's so educated. With mass education you create a bright people that can handle complex tasks and intricate interactions.

Were Balsillie and Lazaridis that brutal, did all power corrupt, perhaps, who am I to say?, the pressures they were under as presented in the film were extraordinary, but that's no excuse for alienating and abandoning your workforce.

I don't like how the film seems to be severely critiquing the company and poking fun about how they're not around anymore, however (I love the CBC, but blackberries didn't have government funding).

I've heard it's 10 times harder to live the American dream in Canada.

For a short time period, RIM made it happen.

Wish Blackberry was still around. Those were cool times.

The more jobs kept in Canada and Québec the better!  

*Heard they had AC/DC at their Christmas party one year. I don't know if that's true. But imagine that. AC/DC at a private party in Kitchener/Waterloo. I wouldn't have believed that could happen in the 1980s. 

The Card

Interesting at times to view entrepreneurial innovation, as applied to personal success, within stilted social confines.

Note then that in many a Dickens novel it can be quite difficult to earn a living, the Victorian era accordingly much stricter, and manifestly less forgiving.

Characters often run into difficulties and at times wind up in debtors's prisons, habitually stuck there for years on end with family in tow and scant means of escape. 

The Card takes an alternative approach to the uptight predicaments of the era, and shines forth ingenious particulates which fortuitously illuminate Edward Machin's (Alec Guinness) fortunes.

Oddly enough, while venturing forth, I often take note of random phenomena, striking ephemera that catches me eye, and results in poetic expenditure.

Whether it's the way the moonlight happens to highlight the bushes in a hearty swamp, or how indicative fluid movements seem to be naturally mimicking filmic discretion, unaware, I often take note of something, which then undergoes mutation.

In The Card, Machin approaches life in a corresponding way, yet his ideas inspire commerce to the general aggrandizement of his purse.

Thus, rather than thinking, egad, a mushroom, he comes up with creative ways to collect back rents, which result in hardly any evictions, and genuinely please worried landlords. 

Much like a Dickens hero, he isn't a cad or a vicious scoundrel, he even dutifully looks after his family as time passes throughout pressing life.

It's fun to watch as an ambitious upstart universally excels without recourse to cunning, his profits shared with his trusted mates, his honest success to their mutual confidence. 

It's like the opposite of many a ruthless tale of lucrative desire, so often celebrated indeed it's no wonder we're lodged in metaphysical disillusion. 

But cheerful stories still emerge posthaste and it isn't all übermensch versus union, I'm thinking of the quizzical Yes Man and even Belfast or Bohemian Rhapsody. 

Is it just that the mainstream's losing its audience and has to therefore resort to cataclysmic reckoning, or is this how people practically theorize the evolution of visual narrative through neomonarchism (The Trump Effect)?

Who knows really I can't imagine but I always thought blockbusters financed exceptions.

With the Oscars emergent new data materializes. 

Civilized millennia?

Recalcitrant scope! 

The Millionairess

An exceptionally talented man of business gains a vast imposing fortune, and only has one adoring daughter after his life comes to an end.

A rather sporting man full of chide and eccentric flourish, conditions must be met to legitimately acquire his colossal resource.

Thus, his flamboyant progeny (Sophia Loren as Epifania) can only marry if rather fortunate, and her prospective husband can turn 500 pounds into 15,000 in just three weeks. She realizes she can fix things and proceeds to do so for a sheath of muscle. 

But he's unable to grin and bear it.

Soon she must find another.

As fate would have it, during a mock-suicide attempt she's saved by an impoverished doctor (Peter Sellers as Dr. Kabir), who's sincerely dedicated to the sick, and has no genuine interest in money.

The habitual "impertinence" soon ignites an inextinguishable flame, she's determined in hot pursuit to become his betrothed alluring patron.

He's a student of the mind and has not interest, nevertheless, but still gives Epifania a challenge which must be definitively met.

Yet in his disinterested haste he generously gives away the 500.

Leaving her to embrace despair.

And impecunious improvisation.

Strange to see a conscientious individual sternly refusing limitless abundance, not that such an occurrence itself is odd, but since there's so much obsession with material these days.

Indeed it seems the more difficult it becomes to astronomically endow oneself, the less ethical concerns emphatically refine an inner voice.

In terms of programming and aesthetic shallows which grossly overlook collective objectives, and blindly uphold vain personal strategies with misperceived monopolistic psychology.

The Millionairess presents an alternative time when respected self-sacrificing age old duty, still made its way to populist markets and produced miraculous effects.

It's like mass collaboration has been disingenuously disdained, and too much of an individualistic bias is creating a lack of faith in public institutions. 

Healthcare and education remain the backbone of a multivariable cultural thrust.

With millions of people developing interactive loci.

Structurally stable.

Resiliently sound. 

With Alastair Sim (Sagamore). 

Hobson's Choice

A prosperous shopkeep enjoys the comforts of gregarious bourgeois living, his agile workforce securing fresh profits, his lovely daughters managing his home (Charles Laughton as Mr. Hobson).

He gorges himself on plenty with ample criticisms and bumptious dismissals, boasting wildly down at Moonrakers, where he drinks too much on occasion. 

His lordly litanies cumbrously forget the lively existence of others, however, notably his eldest daughter Maggie (Brenda de Banzie) whom he assumes is bound for spinsterhood. 

She's been taking care of the business and is none too fond of the assumption, nor the incumbent caretaking it presumes, nor her lack of daily wages.

She's also aware that one of their employees is a brilliant natural bootmaker, who lacks worldly pretentious ambition, and could use a patron to his advance his skill (John Mills as William Mossop).

So she makes the bold decision to demand he quit and accompany her elsewhere, to open up a new bootshop in fact, and to take her hand in marriage. 

Soon they've lured much of her father's discerning clients to their innovative new brand, and even serendipitously composed an even more vivacious plan.

Take each film on its own nimble merits without drawing conclusions about family or gender, for in so many men have disavowed gallantry, while in many others women have done the same.

It's not my place to generally conclude which sex embraces banality more often, but rather to analyze proposed fictional and truthful evidence to ascertain who has spoiled particular instances.

It's not the safest way to proceed insofar as you wind up critiquing both sides, the level-headed amongst them appreciating the honesty, both sexes at times proceeding in error.

I think the secret is to revel in the difference the opposite gender provides, assuming they aren't physically or psychologically violent, as that gender manifests so many alternative aspects, over the course of a productive lifetime.

I suspect men who love women and women who love men find it much easier to productively live together.

Creating boundaries and mischievous rules for playfully crossing/breaking through rapt contradiction. 

Hobson knows only one boundary that which asserts authoritarian prominence, his subjects none too pleased with his grandiose postures, and willing to daringly challenge and disrupt them.

If you wish to proceed like Hobson, David Lean's Hobson's Choice may be perilous, for it champions multilateral fair play, within which multiple stakeholders prosper.

But if you seek to enjoy a well-crafted film wherein which democratic impulse constructively asserts itself, you may be rather impressed by this Hobson's Choice, which captures the spirit of resilient open-mindedness. 

Working Girl

Caught up in a fast-paced sleazy biased combustion, unafraid to bite back but running out of options, a creative, imaginative, brave cutting edge ingenue, moves forward with bold reckoning, to wildly make definitive things happen (Melanie Griffith as Tess McGill).

Her new boss (Sigourney Weaver as Katharine Parker) breaks her leg skiing so she's tasked with managing her affairs, and while taking care of this and that, discovers one of her ideas was stolen.

Since her boss is immobile and was likely going to pass her work off as her own, she decides to pursue it herself, improvising in nondescript motion.

Daringly poised on the boundless shifty breach, she accidentally makes first contact, and he's as enamoured as he is intrigued (Harrison Ford as Jack Trainer).

But she can't let him know she's technically not an executive, and can't believe her bad luck when she finds out whom he's dating.

Back home her steady beau has thoughtlessly found someone else (Alec Baldwin as Mick Dugan), and her plucky best friend (Joan Cusack as Cyn) wonders if she's gone too far.

But this is her chance and she's set on success, and her idea's a good one, even if she struggles ill-composed.

Unaccustomed to high flying competitive hostility, she still elegantly disarrays.

The results are mixed if not edgy inasmuch as Working Girl invokes sentimental style.

Since Tess is uncertain, as she applies the knowledge she's learned in school, without professional backing, it makes sense that the film should be a little bit wobbly, somewhat disjointed, like a working form in contextual motion.

As she becomes more sure of herself, Griffith and Ford piece together some convincing scenes, and the ending's sure and steady, as it soothes the latent aftershocks.

It's a sympathetic tumultuous testament to feminine strength, which sincerely values Tess's trials, and sincerely sways their sombre projection.

She's tough, and doesn't put up with nonsense, even though she's clearly dug in deep, and lacks a wide ranging social network, and has betrayed the only person who would hire her.

But even if the film's disjointed pulse aptly reflects genuine attempts to define oneself, some of the scenes still fall a bit flat, without enigmatically enriching the staccato.

There's one where Tess stands alone at night surrounded by mist for instance, that would have seemed much more classical if it hadn't been so sentimentally hewn (a number of solid scenes that don't fit well together at times coalescing in the end, is different from several solid scenes added to some melodramatic downers that don't fit well together at times stitched together in the end).

Mike Nichol's has made many great films but he's a bit off in this one.

It would have been stronger if Tess's boss had been a man.

And Griffith had received top billing.

It's still a solid examination of willful resolve struggling under realistic hardships.

With many endearing scenes.

Where the actors work so well together.

Napszállta (Sunset)

Dreamlike exploration observing radical tradition, patient determined movements discovering reticent clues, modest celebrity cultivating passage instinctual grace establishing ties, temperate precipitation intuitively encompassed, like Napszállta (Sunset)'s surreal backgammon, and curious Írisz Leiter (Juli Jakab) keeps rolling double sixes.

She would have been an heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire's most prestigious millinery shop if grand misfortune hadn't necessitated alternative fortunes.

The new owner still supplies elegant hats to fashionable royals, and one of his resident artists will perhaps serve at court one day.

But it's not that simple, not quite so clear cut, so homely.

It's a different time, just before the outbreak of World War I, and the aristocracy and the people are expressing themselves confrontationally, neither group willing to accept the other's terms, destructive conflicts having arisen consequently.

The film and myriad other sources truthfully suggest the upper crust was none too kind to its workers of the day, and the people had no means to hold them to account.

Írisz's brother, in hiding and displeased with the corruption, has abandoned peaceful methods of persuasion; she's caught between his anger and the traditions of her artistic heritage.

She's just moved to Budapest and doesn't understand what's happening, wandering somnambulistically between the two parties, accessing highly secretive and exclusive realms without censure, maladroitly assured that peace is ecumenical.

Even though her family was well thought of, and her name is widely known and respected, it's still quite improbable that she would be able to proceed so freely, to go wherever she wants at whatever time.

Thus the dreamlike qualities of the narrative, the intense nightmarish revelations accentuated by obsessive close-ups.

Napszállta's more like grim realistic fantasy than lively magical realism, its chaotic combative testaments composed in dismal haunting fairy tale.

Mátyás Erdély's cinematography creates sombre phantasmagorical confusion that asymptotically incarnates horror, thereby reflecting the terrifying nature of the times, wherein which nothing seems concrete or stable.

But it's still loosely grounded inasmuch as you know where you are and what's transpiring, or at least know as much as Írisz, who knows close to nothing at all.

The total absence of concerned mediators intensifies the conscious anarchy, as does the lack of conversation or explanation, as if a child's on its own for the first time, lost and leading in Twin Peaks's Black Lodge.

Napszállta's bewildered sincerity magnetically draws you in, substituting nausea for lucidity with morose desperate conjecture.

The effect is nauseating at times so it's difficult to take the whole way through, but that doesn't mean its aesthetic isn't uniform, nor its ambivalence, inarticulate.

Bold filmmaking.

Grizzly style.

Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden)

Islands of ancient salacious mystique, coveted opulence, irreverent revelations, strategic planning saracen starship, nomadic nomenclature, obsidian overtures spite notwithstanding, lovers leverage contend and lust, tantamount condesa consented trust, delicatessen, octopi, prosciutto, exclusive events held-up hog ties, serendipitous spies, orphans, lives spent in coerced carnal obsession belie wanderlust, trips at sea, unsaddled steeds, a maestro's mercurially manifested misgivings extemporaneously billowing with contemplative vague sorrowful passage, tacit knowledge shimmering in smoke, iridescent stardust stray, fastened.

Sook-Hee's (Kim Tae-ri) innocence ignites plans and projects pristine, poached and sincere passions, cleared tidings focal.

Pinpointed.

Through the breach within reach cloaked and steeped pressures vital.

A plan to steal an old man's fortune multigrainedly awry.

Epic in its orchestrations, Chan-wook Park's Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden) made me think of Davids Lean and Lynch.

Within true love overwhelms calculation to rapturously materialize mint ethereal soul.

Secluded deep in forests green verdant luscious able.

Hauntingly accessible inject garlic gore.

Folklore.

Stationary.

Jurassic World

The miraculous theme park envisioned by John Hammond has become a reality, and profits are steady, but their future is theoretically in jeopardy, or they at least may not continue to increase, hence, a new carnivorous force of immaculate magnetism is required, the product, the indominus rex, a creature so malevolent it makes the fearsome tyrannosaurus look like a fluffy pillow, bred to dominate, severely shackled.

But it's highly intelligent and soon tricks its creators into setting it free, proceeding to rampage thereafter, as hundreds of tourists unsuspectingly stride.

Enter one Owen (Chris Pratt), adventurous pulsar, intimately aware of danger, his knowledge essential, his strategies, ignored.

His relationship with the velociraptors he trains forges the film's ethos in relation to the ways in which it examines the phenomenon of control.

He maintains a respectful attitude, looking at their relationship symbiotically, he controls aspects of their dynamic but only because he respects the team, and treats it with corresponding assertive humility.

He's indirectly compared with Simon Masrani (Irrfan Khan), who also finds freedom in letting go, a constructive truth in my opinion, variations on a theme, but he made the mistake of authorizing the indominus's creation without applying either oversight or foresight, for which he pays an incendiary penalty.

Too much progress.

You see a number of the park's features throughout and wonder how its profits could ever be called into question.

It looks mind-blowingly amazing.

How driving a spherical vehicle through a field of dinosaurs could ever become boring doesn't make sense to me.

Even the petting zoo could never become boring.

But future profits are called into question and the aforementioned apex predator is the solution, treated with foolhardy disrespect, and then hunted as it threatens their very existence.

Bad decision.

Small aggressive dogs can be difficult to control.

But aside from the appealing critique of the poor decisions that can be made when obsessing about profits that are already stable, and team leaders who apply too much or too little oversight to their vitalities without taking into consideration the agencies of their networks, found in Jurassic World, it's generally a chaotic enough blockbuster, romance blooming amidst the carnage, reckless youth suddenly coming of age.

B.D. Wong (Dr. Henry Wu) makes a welcome reappearance in the franchise; I always wondered what happened to him in the original.

My favourite character was Lowery (Jake Johnson), who likes to think of his working space "as a living system, with just enough stability to keep it from collapsing into anarchy." 

Nice line.

There are some other nice lines.

Too much oversight is provided by Hoskins (Vincent D'Onofrio), who wants to turn Owen's velociraptor team into a militaristic fighting force. 

His ideas are fast-tracked. 

Menacing progressions are critiqued, although their devastations develop character.

Those that survive anyway. 

Unfinished Business

Undervalued.

Underappreciated.

Dan Trunkman (Vince Vaughn) reacts harshly after his boss announces budget cuts that decrease his well-deserved salary, his hard work not seeming to count for much, which leads him to decide to start his own company, prorated with specialized exactitude.

He immediately hires a 67 year old ex-employee of the same company who was forced to retire, plus a youthful space cadet eagerly seeking his first job.

A strong team they forge.

One feature from the film that could have been developed differently was the dynamic (almost) established between Timothy McWinters (Tom Wilkinson) and Mike Pancake (Dave Franco).

You see it early on, Pancake knows next to nothing, and McWinters is an experienced bitter vet, Trunkman lying somewhere in between, and when Pancake asks McWinters for clarification, he steps in with seasoned awkward advice.

I was hoping Pancake's questions would become increasingly ridiculous and McWinters's answers increasingly inappropriate as Unfinished Business progressed, Trunkman offering chill intermediary comments, but this didn't really happen.

They're hoping to close a big deal and find themselves competing against Trunkman and McWinters's former company, in Germany, and their former boss is ahead of the game, and revelling in self-satisfied obnoxiousness.

Trunkman must child rear while negotiating the deal and this is where the film steps up, Vaughn adding a new dimension to his persona, or at least one which I've never seen him develop so well before, believably portraying a caring, loving, dad, loved the motionless fake screen freeze technique.

It doesn't detract from his parenting.

It also steps up with American Businessman 42, a work of living art, seriously comedic, informatively pranked.

There are also some exploits, the aforementioned team.

Not the strongest film I've seen starring Vaughn, but the traditional sublime underdog functioning playfully yet competently is present, providing cultural insights that make sense in terms of community development, sidewinding and succeeding, workin' it, pushin' it, livin' it.

Wilkinson and Franco round things out.

Could have been diggin' a bit deeper.

When China Met Africa

Mark and Nick Francis's When China Met Africa presents a modest portrait of Chinese investment in Zambia and follows the lives of three individuals trying to secure a place for themselves within its economic dynamic.

Mr. Liu grew tired of struggling to make ends meet in China and moved to Zambia in search of opportunity. He's done well for himself and his family and has recently purchased his fourth farm.

Mr. Li manages the construction of Zambia's longest road for a multinational Chinese business and runs into trouble after government funding dries up.

At the same time, Zambia's Trade Minister travels to China in order to secure finances to encourage his county's economic development.

External narration and constant statistics do not support the film's construction as it simply presents brief insights into the daily activities of these men and the ways in which they conduct their affairs.

Zambia is meant to stand in for Africa in order to demonstrate how Chinese investments are changing its economic landscapes but I hesitate to draw strict parallels between its experience and that of other countries insofar as Africa is an extremely diverse continent whose multidimensional politico-economic markets resist such characterizations.

The film may have been more appropriately titled When China Met Zambia.

Mr. Li's attitude is stoic and wise as he encounters setbacks and delays and his stable and calm disposition no doubt have facilitated his capacity to endure.

The influence of capital is examined at local, national, and international levels as Mr. Liu must pay his workers, funds must be secured to encourage infrastructure development, and that development encounters difficulties trying to ensure its structural integrity (which corresponds to Mike Holmes's comments regarding home building on Canadian Reserves).

While When China Met Africa provides an explicit grassroots examination of Chinese investment in Zambia and its related projects at micro and macro levels, its lack of accompanying statistics leaves you hungry for more information (nice).

The film also functions as a strong investigation of the ways in which English functions as a prominent international language of communication as the international characters negotiate, manage, and interrelate in different English dialects.

The ways in which business is conducted on the ground are eye opening in regards to the negative environmental effects of deregulation.

Mr. Popper's Penguins

As I suspected, the penguins in Mark Waters's Mr. Popper's Penguins are very cute as they mischievously frolic and mingle. But the film itself leaves little to the imagination as it slips and slides from one happy-go-lucky scene to another.

As if they made this film for children.

Mr. Popper (Jim Carrey) makes his living acquiring real estate and in order to become a full-fledged partner must convince Mrs. Van Gundy (Angela Lansbury) to sell her Tavern on the Green, a family run restaurant and the only piece of privately held property in Central Park. Mrs. Van Gundy will only sell to someone possessing personal and familial integrity, however, and balks at his initial proposal.

Mr. Popper has not been very successful at raising his family and is currently divorced and none to popular with his two children. But as fate would have it, his deceased father has left him 6 penguins which are a huge hit with his disgruntled kids. As the film reels on, the penguins bring Popper and his family closer together as he learns to genuinely care for them. Yet how will these penguins effect his professional development as they wear down the hardboiled edge responsible for nurturing his commercial acumen?

The penguins themselves are somewhat magical, possessing intuitive humanistic gifts that accentuate their cuddliness.

Unfortunately the writing surrounding their shenanigans, apart from the opening scene and those involving Pippi (Ophelia Lovibond), fails to impress, and although there are a couple of moments within which Carrey displays his considerable talents, many of the lines with which he is supplied freeze his gravitational intensity.

For someone who makes a living convincing people to let go of their most cherished possessions, throughout the film it doesn't take much for him to be outwitted. It's fun to watch while someone who possesses considerable talents in one domain can't find an outlet for them in another, but you would expect him to be somewhat more aggressive in his personal life considering that such tendencies are responsible for his financial security.

Perhaps Mr. Popper's Penguins is saying that you don't have to be a sharp ruthless cutthroat to be successful in business, and that one's modest clever creativity is enough to enable their career related acceleration?

Perhaps it is also saying that the introduction of something absurd into a predictable yet successful routine can recalibrate one's traditional approach in such a way that they discover that for which they have always been searching yet never consciously realized they desired?

Perhaps it is also saying that when one's personality alone is not enough to garner the support of their loved ones, special commodities are required in order to speak to that which they have been indoctrinated to love more than anything else, capitalism?

Whatever the case, the film doesn't flow well and where you would expect there to be cohesive links fluidly encouraging a congenially frosty dynamic, its Antarctic pitfalls breaks up the progress, and only a cheerful, bright, occasionally endearing narrative remains.

I would have rather seen a film entitled Mr. Smithers and his Little Dogs, starring John Waters, where the hero and his 6 little dogs reunite a recovering morphine addict with a former prostitute through the power of puppy love.

It's only a matter of time.

Arthur

Not sure what to make of Jason Winer's Arthur. Apart from a commercial they ran on the Comedy Network for a couple of weeks, I'm completely unfamiliar with Russell Brand so this was my first encounter with his work. He's made a bold career move in Arthur, overtly suggesting that he is the inheritor of Dudley Moore's legacy, a move that must be followed up by an exceptional performance to be even remotely legitimized. I haven't seen many Dudley Moore films but I remember he was revered enough to be positively and negatively criticized in the mainstream media for a lengthy period while I was growing up, meaning that he likely has supportive and passionate fans remaining. Will they see Brand's reworking of Arthur as an homage to a great comedian by an up and coming artist who respects his entourage, or as an assault on a solidified characterization already firmly canonized within specific pop cultural histories/theorizations?

They're probably not concerned with either of these possibilities as they have better things to do.

But I don't, so I'm mentioning them in an indirect salute to the phenomenon of potential.

I thought Arthur lacked depth and the story simply recycled basic romantic class conscious true love narratives to produce another feel good romantic-comedy without innovating within corresponding traditions. Difficult subjects like arranged marriage, social barriers, child rearing, and corporate management are introduced and brought to the forefront, but Arthur's happy-go-lucky carefree nature euphemizes the constructive discourses delegated by their presence. At the same time, Brand's portrayal of Arthur is enlivening and revitalizing, cheerfully demanding that attention be paid. He's obviously multi-talented and the depth he instills in Arthur's character is striking. Helen Mirren is not to be bested, however, and she delivers a multi-talented characterization of her own, exemplified by the way in which she states the word "chimpanzee." The writers also provide her character with one of the most sublime of pastimes/interests which was sincerely appreciated by this commentator.

I suppose films whose performers subvert the greater cultural evaluations their director is trying to make by destabilizing them by displaying their talents function as prominent symbols of capitalist individuality. And Arthur is the product of successful capitalists who have amassed an enormous fortune, so, Arthur's form is working hand in hand with its content on one level anyways.

Bears.

Thieves' Highway

Can sheer will and determination enable an idealistic man's pursuit of justice in the underground world of fruit and vegetable exchange, or will they leave him distraught, broke and bedridden? Jules Dassin's Thieves' Highway examines this question and anxiously offers an unexpected solution. Nick Garcos (Richard Conte) returns home after years of working and saving his hard earned cash. Only to discover that his father (Morris Carnovsky) no longer has working legs after an accident coordinated by a crooked produce distributor (Lee J. Cobb as Mike Figlia). This upsets Garcos who immediately sets out to avenge his dad by cutting a deal with a shifty trucker named Ed Kinney (Millard Mitchell). Ed knows the whereabouts of an overflowing apple orchard whose gold and delicious bounty is ready for sale. The two strike up an agreement and purchase a truckload of apples each bound for sale to the aforementioned crook. But along the way, Ed's weathered universal slows his pace and young Nick must learn to negotiate deals with hardened thugs who don't believe in fair play.

On his own.

Not sure if Thieves' Highway is a film-noir or not but some of the classic tropes are in place. Anxiety exists although it's perforated with moments of happiness and peaceful calm. The majority of the film's action takes place in the underground but this underground isn't predominantly destitute. Some members of the police force are honourable, there's a lack of jazz music, the straight-and-narrow fiancé (Barbara Lawrence) turns out to be the femme fatale, and the femme fatale (Valentina Cortese) has a definitive change of heart. Does she only have this change of heart because Garcos represents the second generation of an immigrant family, integrated and successful, and is Dassin saying that only film-noir heroes from ethnic backgrounds can save the troubled femme fatale?

There's a lot going on behind and in-between the scenes in Thieves' Highway and some of the logic's somewhat bizarre. I suppose there's a plot, an internal relationship between the different components maintaining the plot's structure, an external relationship between the plot's structure and established film noir conventions, and another external relationship between the director's interpretation of these conventions (what he's trying to say by employing them in this or that fashion) and the ways in which he uses them to reflect his culture. Things often don't make sense. Check. People like to believe in the integrity of the law. Bingo. A strong constitution will achieve results eventually. Strike. Things can work out between a man and a woman. Cheerio.

Unless Dassin is noiring film-noir by turning its conventions upside down to deconstruct its pretensions and shine a light through its constructive darkness, Thieves' Highway doesn't strike me as making a good fit with the definition I was taught to consider to be ridiculous years ago. Perhaps it's just a comedic film-noir where everything works out in the end. Perhaps it's about role-playing.

The Social Network

I'm on Facebook every single day. Mostly just to play Scrabble but also to see the news items etc. that friends have designated as worthy of sharing. And to see who is adhering to the art of creating compelling Facebook Profile Status Updates. It's not the easiest thing to do although its analysis depends upon which of the myriad factors one's disposition chooses to exalt as wrought iron synthetic principles at that specific time, which depends upon how that day's events have individually affected his or her historical constitution. Even if you have principles that you always apply it depends upon how those principles align themselves with and are interpreted by your personality's unique composition at that given moment. I'm just trying to say that it must be fun being a judge.

David Fincher's The Social Network examines how Facebook came to be, placing its provocative genesis within a generally non-judgmental framework. Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) is distraught regarding a relationship that has gone sour and engages in cybershenanigans in order to reestablish his sense of self. Said shenanigans impress three other students who resultantly share their idea for a social networking site, hoping that he will join their team. However, believing he can improve on their idea and develop it on his own, with a little help from his friends, Zuckerberg breaks and predominantly partners with his best friend Eduardo (Andrew Garfield) instead. But differing philosophies concerning how the company should be managed significantly rupture their bond, and the film unreels by staggering two simultaneous lawsuits with the practical details composing their judicial trajectories.

Zuckerberg comes across as exceptionally shrewd and benefits economically and culturally if not socially from his endeavours. The film's well structured (especially the opening scene), thankfully providing unnecessary depth for some of its characters while realigning our attention every couple of minutes or so. Generalizations regarding personalities are delivered incisively (internally speaking) and the difficulties of fantastically capturing the legal realities disrupting Zuckerberg's life are handled well (the scenes are terse and kitschy yet volatile and characteristic [the form 'distilling' the undergraduate personality]). Sean Parker's (Justin Timberlake) introduction effectively breaks up the narrative, functioning as a transformative bridge much like that in David Bowie's "Changes." And although the breakdown of Zuckerberg and Saverin's friendship is a little tough to take, at least its resolution sees some ethics transferred to the world of business. After lengthy, expensive, legal proceedings.

Well, I'm about to check Facebook for the 16th time today in order to see if that ukelele jam's still on for tomorrow and whether or not I can score a Scrabble bingo. Why did T_______ post that picture? That's not going to go over well. I would start my own zoo but you can't design it from scratch and I want a zoo that only contains different types of bears. This kind of functionality isn't present people . . !

Dinner for Schmucks

Stacking awkward conversations and embarrassing situations upon harrowing miscommunications and mismanaged revitalizations, twisting it all up, and igniting a raging disorienting inferno, of comedy, Jay Roach's Dinner for Schmucks delivers a consistently progressing discomforting crescendo, within which Tim (Paul Rudd) must come to terms with Steve Carell's Barry. A prestigious promotion is within Tim's clutches if he can 'negotiate' a deal and impress his new contemporaries. At the same time, he must find an individual whose relationship with reality can be thought of as questionable and bring him or her to his boss's party. The party showcases representatives of the peculiar, the person possessing the most distance unknowingly winning the day. But when Tim's partner Julie (Stephanie Szostak) discovers this malevolent purpose, she forbids him from attending, throwing an ethical wrench into his professional plans. Conscience and economics then engendger a combustible quandary, which thoroughly complicates what it means to do the right thing.

Steve Carell shines and saturates Dinner for Schmucks with a cheerfully disconcerting other worldly constitution, whose gesticulating regulations coordinate comedic justice. I shook my head several times. Paul Rudd holds his own and soberly responds to Carell's offbeat harmonies. A light-hearted comedy filled with sandpaper and pith, Dinner for Schmucks will demand your attention if you don't mind sitting back to shiver and squirm. Here's hoping one day Carell finds his Dr. Strangelove. Excellent supporting performances from Zach Galifianakis and Jemaine Clement.