The Lost City

A famous adventure/romance novelist (Sandra Bullock as Loretta Sage) begins to question her professional identity, when the launch of her latest book fails to inspire commercial motivation.

She's done it so many times that the book tour and associated hoopla, seem too superficial to sincerely entertain even though her adoring fans can't wait.

She's jealous of the easy going male model (Channing Tatum as Alan) who adorns the covers of her texts as well, he loves the media sensation, this doesn't evince discerning pageantry.

After she turns the anticipated launch into a dire ill-fated farce, she seeks in vain for heartfelt felicity, before a covetous mean-spirited billionaire (Daniel Radcliffe as Abigail Fairfax) suddenly has her kidnapped. 

She's flown to a tropical island and tasked with locating enticing treasure, local Natives imploring them to leave it alone, the alarming obsession metastasizing madness.

Alan soon follows along with an Indiana Jones/James Bond type rescuer (Brad Pitt as Jack Trainer). 

Ill-prepared for the ensuing task force.

Still improvising with resonant throng. 

The Lost City embraces traditional stately oft criticized tropes and accessories, yet effectively makes the age old adventurous point, that its principal goal is to just entertain. 

Therefore, I had to ask myself, am I genuinely enjoying this film?, beyond multivariable criteria, and I had to admit, I was.

I was lightheartedly reminded that novel bizarre stylistic independence, and counterintuitive literary jigsaw, don't imaginatively motivate some, who are more concerned with intuitive fun.

I suppose a lot of the time it isn't the mischievous wordplay, but just hot bods and romantic adventure that make people interested in watching films.

I also suppose it isn't the goal of many to only enhance the authentic aura, of low-budget brainiac films perhaps one day destined for whimsical cult status (it doesn't make any sense!).

The pandemic's cut me off from theatres and my lifestyle changed as time moved on, and I found for the first time in over a decade I had what is known as free time.

I love the free time I have to just to sit back and listen to music.

But movies are meant to be seen on screen.

The direct experience deconstructing cynicism.  

*Loved the Raiders/Terminator pastiche near the end.

Neko no ongaeshi (The Cat Returns)

Simple acts of genuine kindness at times cultivate appreciation and respect, the unsuspecting recipients flush with reciprocity should time's passage munificently flow.

Thus, in Neko no ongaeshi (The Cat Returns), the Kingdom of Cats regards Haru with admiration, for having generously gone out of her way while altruistically assuming death-defying risks.

She's rather mild-mannered yet inquisitive and enjoys sleeping in with no time for breakfast, teachers critical of her habitual tardiness yet still sympathetic to the studious cause.

Having naturally developed an intuitive love for animals she notices one legendary day, that a cat may be run over by a fearsome passing truck, which encourages genuine distress.

She quickly scoots into traffic and boldly saves the unobservant feline, who, as fate would have ceremoniously have it, happens to be the Prince of Cats.

Cat kind responds in turn with abundant gifts freely delivered, and even if Haru doesn't know what to do with the mice, she's still taken aback from all the attention.

But soon she's taken away to the exotic otherworldly mythological chillaxed cat kingdom.

Where she's betrothed to the very same Prince.

As she starts to transform into a cat!

Imagine a less self-obsessed world where sincere kindness and warmth played a role, and people looked out for one another like the Québecois while structuring their cultural and communal relations.

I don't hear it mentioned often anymore but the Pay it Forward movement was a very cool thing, I don't know what it transformed into but hopefully the thought behind it's the same. 

The movement as I recall sought to reward acts of kindness, self-sacrificingly shared between conscious individuals, conscientiously aware of the tender exchange.

If someone was kind enough to do someone a favour or help someone out without having been called upon, then the person who received the aid would then help someone else in the near future, or Pay it Forward.

Marrying the King of Cat's son and transforming into a cat may have taken things too far, but had there been a courtship ritual involved, perhaps the results would have been somewhat different.

An appealing idea nonetheless which effortlessly radiates cohesive collegiality. 

It exists in so many forms.

Constructively mutating across the land.  

Nightbooks

A thoughtful youth likes to write stories that are somewhat frightening if not supernatural (Winslow Fegley as Alex), his nascent creative literary endeavours misunderstood by his strait-laced classmates.

Unfortunately, on the night of his birthday party, no ones shows up to indulge and celebrate, his parents having gone to great lengths to materialize, a fitting festive otherworldly soirée.

They begin to doubt their motivations and callously vocalize their frustrated misgivings, Alex listening closely in the next room, he suddenly decides to run away.

Yet even more disastrous, he decides to burn his cherished books, a haughty witch intercepting him as he proceeds down (Krysten Ritter as Natacha), to his apartment's scalding incinerator. 

The witch is none too accommodating however and traps him inside her magical abode, demanding a new story each and every evening, happy endings strictly forbidden.

Due to his absolutist circumstances, he readily seeks wholehearted escape, with the aid of another resident child (Lidya Jewett as Yasmin), who had been hopeless for quite some time.

But a furless invisible cat watches their movements throughout the day.

And doesn't understand when they find: a spell encouraging slumbrous oblivion.

Nightbooks applauds the grim and macabre with sincere devout unlimited reckoning, securing spellbound enriched daunting fantasies for multivariable epochs to come. 

Firmly resolved to withstand criticism of the artistic desire to explore spooky realms, it champions bold incarnate conjuring perhaps with multidisciplinary respite.

If you're ever mundanely thinking that related genres are lacking forward momentum, I suggest checking out Montréal's Fantasia festival as well, where you'll find innovative stories from around the globe.

I have no idea at what age to start consuming frets and frights, they freaked me out when I was really young, but I was really into them throughout my teens and twenties.

Harry Potter offers fascinating insights into freedom of expression, within a robust world equipped with intricate complex plots and characterizations (what happened to J.K. Rowling?).

Nightbooks too, I really liked Nightbooks, and its stressful examination of writing.

If you're thinking of stories write them down.

Social prestige and criticism be damned. 

*The Dream Warriors was my favourite Nightmare on Elm Street film. I never saw numbers 2 or 5 however.

**Can't believe there's a Child's Play tv show/series coming out. That's mind-boggling considering how strict censors were way back when.

Stuber

The friend secretly absorbed with each and every amiable interaction, from the request for a ride to the desire for advice, overwhelmed with romantic longing, as futile as it is interminable.

The work obsessed dad blindly caught up in locked down affairs, his commitments demanding fidel ubiquity, a daughter used to absent-minded gruff brooding.

The blunt co-worker, in possession of more authority, who brands nicknames and thinks you love them, and revels in economic gloom.

Corruption on the force creating volatile deadly conflicts, needs for versatile flexibility, chaotic discredited isolation.

Vic Manning (Dave Bautista) still needs a ride.

And Stu (Kumail Nanjiani) is there to pejoratively provide one.

He's even recruited to take part in the action, and rapidly learns to take disturbed risks.

His protests register even if they're ignored, as leads are followed and clues deciphered.

Parenting and personal relationships introduce romantic distractions, as they briskly Uber around town, from one total disaster to the next.

In search of a monstrous killer.

Who's escaped Manning's clutches before.

Stuber crosses mild-mannered and hardboiled streams to track down supernatural malevolence, generously disputing in begrudged mismatch, reluctantly computing with forlorn self-sacrifice.

It's a bit far-fetched.

Stu has never fired a gun before and Vic can hardly see yet they outperform the competition with soul searching relative ease, the showdowns not as slapstick as they could have been, disbelief acutely shuddering in echo.

In order to suspend disbelief, situations should be genuinely ridiculous, and when they blend in too much realism, they disrespect fantasy and simply seem improbable.

Not cool improbable, improbable improbable.

Cool improbable like when Stu's ride blows up in the end.

Could have ran with that throughout.

Batista and Nanjiani work well together though, and it's fun to watch as they mindfully meld.

Stuber is another film where the nice guy learns to be manly by being forced to engage in violent combat, however, but the man's man also learns to be more of a nice guy by having to rely upon gentle grief within.

Which almost gets them killed at times, but works out well when they aren't battling, Manning eventually coming to terms with his past, then strengthening his relationship with his passionate daughter.

A bit too ra ra but slightly saved by an unlikely duo, Stuber's full of head shaking novelty, that wildly plays with contemporary phenomena.

Some laughs but of the "wow that must have hurt" variety, Stuber could make a cool Ride Along crossover, especially if they leave rationed reason far behind.

Long Shot

A passionate writer (Seth Rogen as Fred Flarsky), dedicated to pursuing social justice, finds himself unemployed in protest, after a multinational swallows his resolve.

A close friend (O'Shea Jackson Jr. as Lance) sincerely sympathizes and soon they're out about town jocosely revelling.

Finding themselves at a decked out chandelier soirée, Fred notices his old babysitter, who's morphed into the U.S Secretary of State (Charlize Theron as Charlotte Field).

And as fate would have it, she remembers him, is looking for a new speech writer, isn't put off as he lambastes another guest (the owner of the multinational), nor after he engages in further awkward spectacle.

He joins her team, much to the annoyance of other team members, and must quickly adjust his independent style to something more suited to delicate black tie repartee.

He sort of does, although he eventually doesn't have to, as Charlotte falls for his charming rough edges, and the too craft an uncharacteristic bitterly critiqued political brew, less concerned with image and pork barrels, more attuned to environmental embyronics.

The result's like a Disney film written by a John Waters fan who watched too much Family Guy, love driving a highly unlikely scenario, the raunch gaseously scandalizing atmosphere.

But it's still too polished for its lascivious underpinnings, and even if what takes place is ideal, its biodiversity remains somewhat undernourished.

It seeks a less corrupt political sphere wherein which politicians can enact laws beyond the influence of the plutocratic lobby, but it doesn't present a complex narrative that cultivates alternative pastures and therefore fizzles when it should be flourishing, as if it's more concerned with making clever references and sleazy comments than developing a convincing plot, while relying on truest romantic love, alone, to justify its wild ambitions.

It doesn't need much, just a few more scenes explaining how a novel political approach could successfully lead to a less top heavy political spectrum, plus a couple more depicting Fred becoming more accustomed to political life, and more that profoundly explain how playing the maverick card could produce sustainable initiatives, by contradicting long established evidence-based mainstream convention.

But Long Shot is somewhat of a mainstream conventional film that prefers instinct to logic inasmuch as it celebrates action without thought, unconsciously arguing true love's enough indeed.

True love may indeed be enough, but Charlotte is still a remarkable woman, and if she had been given more remarkable lines and had made more remarkable arguments, Long Shot would have seemed more like the validation of a remarkable woman, than the ascension of an ethical man.

Politicians around the world do seem to be making careers for themselves based on instinct, however.

Perhaps traditional parties need to embrace populist bravado to reestablish less reckless international relations?

Bernie Sanders comes to mind.

With his genuine charismatic appeal.

Aquaman

Unbeknownst to surface dwellers who recklessly pollute its august fathoms, deep within the ocean reside 7 ancient civilizations.

Swathed in utmost secrecy, they flourish in blissful dissimulation.

Yet one king (Patrick Wilson as King Orm) has grown weary of land lubbing largesse, and madly seeks to start a war with the peoples above.

He requires the loyalty of 3 free realms to bellicosely embark, however, realms which have little interest in non-aquatic regal affairs.

But not all of his subjects believe his plan is conceptually sound, two of them hoping to challenge his legitimacy within reasonable lawful bounds (Amber Heard as Princess Mera and Willem Dafoe as Vulko), for a brother has he who was raised on land yet still commands creatures of the deep, and even though Aquaman (Jason Momoa) has never embraced his submerged heritage, they feel that he may, if he learns of its dire ambitions.

And that only he can thwart them.

His lighthouse keeping father (Temuera Morrison as Tom Curry) still awaits the return of his beloved Queen Atlanna (Nicole Kidman), each and every evening, and has since the day she was taken from him, and forced to marry against her will.

Aquaman can't remember her.

Although he's heard of her brilliant legend.

But his customs are not those of the aristocracy, in fact Aquaman playfully intertwines old and new world pretensions as it supernaturally decodes the throne.

With wild self-sacrificing purpose.

The seven realms could have each represented different philosophies more astutely had their lore been given more detailed narrativizations.

But Aquaman resists the urge to become overly complicated like Dune, even if it's still quite complex, its protagonist like a Paul Atreides who was raised amongst the Fremen, his charming rough adventurous spirit boldly holding the film together.

You don't have to suspend your disbelief to love Aquaman, you simply have to imagine you've never believed in anything before.

And let yourself be immersed in a chaotic world overflowing with innocence and curiosity.

The underwater worlds are incredible and it was soothing to imagine myself within them.

Swimming away.

Aspects of Aquaman may be so improbable that a degree of cynicism may surface.

But it's also saturated with ingenuous goodwill, reluctance and cheek diversifying its depths, uncertain outcomes delineating its contrariety, with objectives as lofty as they are foretold.

A choral cascade.

A mirthful maelstrom.

The Commuter

A horrible day becomes incredibly worse as an honest intelligent literary family man finds himself caught up in a plutocratic conspiracy, after having been callously dismissed from work, multiple lives dependent on his aggrieved spontaneity, while time quickly passes, in chilling centigrade.

He's a commuter, commutes downtown tous les jours from a quiet idyllic hideaway, for 10 years in fact, doing his best at work to ensure his clients are treated fairly, let go so the miserly company he worked for wouldn't have to pay his pension.

Disgraceful.

On his commute home, he's villainously coerced into discovering the identity of a conscientious individual in possession of evidence which would incriminate the perpetrators of an executive level crime, before the last stop, malfeasance which he or she also witnessed, the upper levels none too pleased with the illicit nature of their dealings being made public, and willing to pay lavish sums to see those they can't buy off silenced.

Not in Trump's case though.

Wow does everyone ever love screwing that guy over.

It's becoming a sport.

The commuter in question, one Michael MacCauley (Liam Neeson), has to uncharacteristically schmooze with his fellow passengers, the awkward nature of the exchanges becoming increasingly hostile as time runs out.

He's friendly and greets everyone daily, but is more known for reading on route, not forcing small talk.

There's even a great Texas hold-em match which demonstrates how unreasonable pressures lead otherwise upright peeps to use xenophobic strategies to obtain scurrilous sought after goals, the politics of who belongs aggressively employed out of sheer wanton hopelessness, psychotic demands bellicosely breeding psychotic outcomes.

Michael feels ashamed and eventually stops playing along even though his puppeteers claim they've abducted and will harm his family.

Inspired by his example, soon everyone on the train is self-sacrificing, and there's another great scene, where you see them metaphorically creating a union.

Makes it harder to be fired.

Just have to make sure the company you work for remains profitable.

It's a thrilling bold ethical castigation of those who caused the 2008 financial crisis and were never held to account, The Commuter is, the ways in which they still screw over little guys and gals with or without the aid of law enforcement also a subject of interrogation, paydays and corrupt ways plus pilfering and penny-pinching pronounced and nuanced, cronies versus constitutionals, 😉, stickin' it to the man, evidenced through combative conscience.

Smoothly situated in a sustained daily environmentally friendly ride, the opening moments cleverly capturing loving variations on a conjugal theme, The Commuter breathtakes to incarcerate belittling politics of division, or at least derails attempts to shatter hardworking solidarity.

With a classic performance from Mr. Neeson, whose unparalleled passion gradually builds as the tension chaotically intensifies, the other characters on the train adding complementary cheek, notably Colin McFarlane (Conductor Sam), and the one and only Jonathon Banks (Walt)(Gremlins, Freejack).

With Vera Farmiga (Joanna), Sam Neill (Captain Hawthorne) and Patrick Wilson (Alex Murphy).

My timing for the métro was perfect afterwards.

Didn't miss a beat.

The Fate of the Furious

A mad evil genius, hellbent on disabling geopolitical individuality, captures Dom (Vin Diesel) in The Fate of the Furious, in a loathsome attempt to make his honourable good nature her own.

Having recently proven to the Cuban people that he can indeed be trusted, aligning repute with action in victory aflame, his team can't understand why he's betrayed them, as the clandestine Mr. Nobody (Kurt Russell) greenlights their cold pursuit.

The independence of so many reliable furiousae imminently threatened by sheer nuclear arithmetic, it's imperative that high octane risk potential variably triggers alarm.

The team still excels without its leader, while said maestro recalibrates slipstream, Cipher (Charlize Theron) exposing them to coerced extreme disorder, fraught with maniacal familial leverage.

They must assemble in accordance with the abilities that have enabled them to defy the blasé and the mediocre, a baker's half dozen all-pro renegades, continuously eclipsing radially refined exuberance, caught up in arch-villainous bluster, acrobatically shifting gears thermoclined.

Masterminds.

Bringin' it.

Expounding.

The ill-tempered quickly regain their composure to regally embrace destiny punch maximum overdrive within.

Searching for new ways to exhaustively entertain, they battle a submarine no less, and a legion of remotely controlled ghost cars.

If practically everything is technologically outfitted, in the future, even raking, will every upcoming detective film and television show revolve around how a seemingly secure system was hacked, driverless cars being potentially used to commit murder, every crime solved thereafter by a neuromantic cybersleuth, potentially named, Chevron Wikireseau?

Nanosyntheses.

Enjoyed The Fate of the Furious and definitely preferred it to part 7.

Dom's compelling blend of tenacity and tenderness is reconstituted au début, and the massive accompanying cast has an intricate role to play, minor and major denizens alike, notably the subplot involving Deckard (Jason Statham) and his mom (Helen Mirren)(if Judi Dench can rock Philomena, Helen Mirren bejewels Magdalene Shaw), new fast learning by-the-book toehead (initially) Little Nobody (Scott Eastwood), and a frustrated Roman (Tyrese Gibson) who's been disrespectfully seven/elevened.

There are so many characters to take into consideration when writing these scripts.

Plus an incarcerated Dwayne Johnson (Hobbs) of course.

Tej Parker (Ludacris) could have had a bigger moment.

Risky to play freebird with Interpol?

Fast, furious, frenetic, freewheeling.

If you don't like these films, why do you go see them?

Tough to top the submarine, the torpedo.

Can't wait to see what happens next.

I don't even drive. I ride the bus.

The entire world's after them but they sort of work for the government.

Is that 21st century?

High stakes heuristics.

Barrellin' on down.

Suicide Squad

Villains.

The expansion of the DC Extended Franchise.

Slowly approaching Marvel proportions, Suicide Squad introduces several fresh faces and forces them to apocalyptically annihilate.

The gods themselves.

Their insouciance is malevolently matched by their expertise and as ridiculous as it sounds, they're grouped together as an elite special task force to take on even more ruthless antagonists because government reps are worried the next Superman may be dictatorial in his humanistic approach.

It sounds counterintuitive but I like the idea, assemble a Deadpoolesque unit and send them forth to enforce the global security they once so contemptuously menaced.

But Deadpool has stolen Suicide Squad's thunder with its discombobulating array of hyperreactively loquacious lightning strikes.

I suppose it's easier to take one character and electrify his cheeky vitriol than it is to take a bunch and do the same as they're coerced into acting against their wills, but Deadpool's script still erratically eclipses Suicide Squad's and provides writers of its sequels with a tumultuous target to shoot for.

"For which to shoot" just doesn't work.

Suicide Squad also expands upon DC's encroachment into X-Men territory, the volatile vanguard, perhaps lacking in versatile prerequisites.

There's so much happening in Suicide Squad and so many new characters being written, that the story suffers from oversimplification, although the individuals within it make for some memorable malfeasance.

It's all about the particulars.

Which I loved, Dead Shot (Will Smith), Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), El Diablo (Jay Hernandez), and Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje) each leaving lasting impressions, as do antipode Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman) and Amanda Waller (Viola Davis), and I look forward to seeing them pop up again from time to time.

I'm assuming Diablo will return.

I love the im/mortal dimensions of fantasy/sci-fi/adventure/detective characters.

I'm even thinking Krycek might somehow return some day.

Almost forgot to mention the new Joker (Jared Leto) whose character diabolically diversifies the plot while heartbreakingly hustling truly romantic tragedies.

Leto has tough acts to follow and he macabrely makes the character his own.

The Joker's scenes add an unexpected dimension to the film as he keeps showing up in carnivalesquely chaotic flashbacks (and the present) which save it from mediocrity even if the narrative's still somewhat feeble.

The DC Extended Universe is in dire need of a Captain America: Civil War.

Something outstanding.

Lots of Joker.

Just how I see it.

Les mauvaises herbes (Bad Seeds)

An unlikely trio of mismatched screw-ups ironically discovers health and well-being after one of them forces the other two to help him cultivate his marijuana crop, alone in isolation, on a rural Québecois farm.

The low down.

Simon (Gilles Renaud) has an estranged son with whom he wishes to make amends by leaving him land after he dies. He's been hired by bikers to grow weed to make this dream a reality.

Jacques (Alexis Martin) has crippling gambling debts due to an uncontrollable slot machine addiction and although he lives the life of a cultured actor, has little knowledge of rough impoverished mannerisms.

Francesca (Emmanuelle Lussier Martinez) is much younger than Simon and Jacques and prone to passionate outbursts of justifiable rage. She's lesbian and her parents no longer talk to her and she has trouble relating to others. Her youth dynamically contrasts Jacques and Simon's odd older couple and the film is at its best when her wrath is unleashed.

Les mauvaises herbes (Bad Seeds) is like watching your favourite sports team struggle to win a game. In the end, victory is achieved, and some outstanding plays are made, but there's a fumble here and there, blown coverage, a break away, 12% shooting for half a quarter, a run walked in, calico.

It unreels with two sensibilities, one naive, innocent, and unsuspecting, the other harsh, vindictive, and punitive, like its three principal characters, misfits who haven't had the best of luck (their innocence has led to harsh reprisals which in turn has caused them to be somewhat harsh when they aren't seduced by naivety).

It's funny at times, the introduction of the barn for instance, or Jacques running through the countryside dressed like a French aristocrat, but stalls at points, especially when Simon and Francesca start developing their bond, or when Jacques and Simon are initially juxtaposed (Renaud and Martin don't have much chemistry[Martinez compensates]).

Eventually, after Simon becomes Francesca's surrogate father, and she his lost child, it does work, pulls at the heartstrings without seeming contrived, but the process of getting there has some hiccups, like a running game that doesn't take off till the 4th quarter.

The two sensibilities are sharply contrasted when thug Patenaude (Luc Picard) comes to collect his debts. He's in the barn with Simon searching for Jacques and at first it's too light, he doesn't seem threatening, but then after discovering him hiding beneath a table, it takes a wicked turn and is suddenly frightening, the film becoming more dramatic thereafter.

I still don't see why Patenaude drove the stolen snow mobile over the ice instead of hitting the road, but that's just me.

Jacques makes huge plays in the film's final moments, generating an affective harsh innocence.

He courageously applies his acting skills to the real world to make a deal with bikers before meeting Simon's son (Patrick Hivon as Alexandre).

Some of it comes up short, but Les mauvaises herbes still thoughtfully provides its misfits with room to gently or furiously explain themselves, even Patenaude, its tender moments like spoonfuls of cookie dough, its fury like animated hellspawn.

It blends the immiscible with bizarro good cheer while detonating its intersections with genuine self-righteousness, in the oddest of situations, bad attitudes slowly fading.

There's also a great shot of falling snow.

Sicario

Revenge.

Obsession.

Law.

Order.

The big picture, international intrigue, drugs smuggled in from Mexico to the United States, 20% of the American population consuming them while the profits fuel domestic violence south of the border, the number of sequestered kingpins having expanded in recent decades, too many to control, too deadly to ignore.

Stats and info provided by Sicario.

The film indirectly comments on ISIL, on Saddam Hussein, the theory that he was the strongperson who kept the extremists in check, who maintained Iraqi order regardless of his methods, the vacuum created after his removal having led to ISIL, who is currently seeking to control much more than Kuwait.

Plutocratic blunders.

It's the same thing in Sicario, the Americans having had more success monitoring/controlling the drug trade when there was only one kingping narcotically nesting, according to the film, a multidimensional marketplace full of alluring alternatives working well for the sale of computers or jeans, but not for the trafficking of drugs.

Wolves eating wolves.

Victims menaced and menacing.

Sicario fictionalizes tough decisions, capital gains, as Alejandro (Benicio Del Toro) seeks to assassinate a leading man, and Kate Macer (Emily Blunt) idealistically monitors his actions, the masculine and the feminine conflicting thereby.

A Mexican policeperson, a father, enters the narrative to ask the question "do Alejandro's methods justify his results, do his means justify his ends"?, the violent violently infernalizing social spheres, do as you're told or you'll never grow old, dig in deep and try to exist, extreme unlicensed ego, upheld by any means necessary.

No exceptions.

No limits.

No humour.

Behind the scenes kings and queens.

À la carte.

I liked the film; thought that it could have been more menacing.

Shades of Zero Dark Thirty. 

Snitch

Looking for a dramatized look at how seriously mandatory minimum sentencing laws, laws such as those recently enacted in Canada even though authorities on the subject from the States have sincerely critiqued them, suck?

Look no further.

Ric Roman Waugh's Snitch overtly breaks it down, as one man finds a way to save his son from a system gone wrong, by any means necessary.

The consequences of proceeding by any means necessary harrowingly present themselves shortly thereafter, however.

The only way for John Matthews (Dwayne Johnson) to save his generally law abiding son (Rafi Gavron as Jason Collins) from a lengthy mandatory minimum drug trafficking prison sentence simply for receiving a package which he didn't really want in the mail, is to go undercover for a smug termagant who agrees to reduce his son's sentence if he can infiltrate a criminal organization and instigate the arrest of a well-heeled trafficker, which is the option his son was presented with, but, since he didn't know any traffickers besides his friend who sent him the package and was also arrested, and didn't want to be coerced into informing, he was forced to serve the minimum sentence, the judge having no opportunity to use her or his insight to make their decision.

Cold hard cruel absolutes.

That ignore the evidence.

John swallows his pride again and again and suddenly finds himself ready to take down a kingpin, much to the termagant's self-centred delight.

But in the process, his bold decision and enormous risks threaten everything he holds dear.

The particular sometimes indicates a structural issue that can be modified in order to enhance production.

In Snitch's case, Mr. Matthews functions as a particular designed to modify ethical institutions, his sacrifice directly calamitizing one of their misguided aspects.

However, it's possible that a non-contextual cult has been built upon this potentiality, using it to make antiquated outdated notions seem hip and new, even when the evidence provided by recent similar endeavours can be thought of as wholeheartedly indicating otherwise.

This is a problem.

Great performance by Dwayne Johnson.

I've only seen him in supporting roles and was wondering if he could take the lead.

Job well done.

Stand Up Guys

Went in blind to this one, lured by the cast, became worried after viewing a preview for Red 2, but then the laid-back unpretentious low-key credits and accompanying music brought upon feelings of relief, illuminated by Doc's (Christopher Walken) artwork, reminding me of those from Barfly and Pulp Fiction, for some unknown reason.

Was still worried that the film may be too status quo having been let down by similarly cast movies in the past, but wow, my worries faded quickly as I discovered that in the twilights of their careers, Christopher Walken, Al Pacino (Val), and Alan Arkin (Hirsch) were taking on grizzled rambunctious radioactive roles with hardly any inkling of sanitary preconditioning, they just thought it up and did it, ironically reincarnating the precocious spirit that likely lead to them becoming Hollywood mainstays in the first place.

Challenge. Acceptance. Realization.

That description applies more directly to Al Pacino who plays the most dynamic part but Walken and Arkin also get the job done.

The film explores a pyrotechnic variability while slowly excavating poignant distinct clarifications.

Hirsch's introduction escalates a seismic shift after which malfeasancient minerals are mercantilized.

It's funny.

Director Fisher Stevens knows how to make you laugh by encouraging specific nondescript awkward facial expressions or juxtaposing a hardened con with his choice of tasty treats.

Economic matters are classified while its joie de vivre is liquidated.

And family and friendship find frenzied filial refinements in the final moments.

Plus, these guys have a potent response for the coercive rapacious scum found in Kim Nguyen's Rebelle.

Volatile, chill, and collaborative.

On the record.

John Carter

Was surprised by the internal dynamics of Andrew Stanton's John Carter.

Within, one finds a disengaged despondent protagonist, John Carter (Taylor Kitsch), refusing to take part in any unnecessary interpersonal relations because his family was murdered by the North during the American Civil War.

He's searching for gold in the Arizona Territory.

After escaping from regional military authorities, he finds himself in a cave where he is accidentally transported to Barsoom (Mars).

On Barsoom, he winds up in a typical scenario where one side of a bloodthirsty jingoistic 'might is right' community (Zodanga) is using a weapon of unlimited power, given to them by godlike beings (the Therns) who want them to rule the planet, to defeat their ancient enlightened enemies (the citizens of Helium) who are on the brink of discovering a method of harnessing an infinite source of energy (the Ninth Ray) whose secrets have been manipulated by the Therns for millennia.

A third party, whose political structure and cultural activities are somewhat Romanesque (the Tharks), are avoiding the conflict.   

Helium can end the war if Tardos Mors (Ciarán Hinds) marries his daughter Dejah Thoris (Lynn Collins) to Zodanga's leader, Sab Than (Dominic West).

However, the resourceful, fierce, and brilliant Dejah refuses and escapes with the serendipitous assistance of Mr. Carter.

The Tharks provide them with sanctuary until their curiosity proves sacrilegious.

If one thinks of Zodanga's aggressive warlike colonialist activities as representing an ideology far to the right, Helium's feudal yet scientifically and socially progressive practices (women can be just as strong, intelligent, and successful as men and science isn't being used exclusively in the manufacture of weapons) as one that is left of centre, the Tharks as having adopted a neutral approach whose internal ideological dimensions are still far to the right (the non-voting uncritical receptors of Republican pop culture?), the Therns as a powerful interventional technologically advanced group seeking to maintain their immemorial monopoly, and John Carter as a jaded nihilistic entrepreneur only seeking to return home, then the altruistic effects of the following denouement could possibly play out.

Sab plans to murder Dejah after their wedding thereby uniting the cities while eliminating the feminine scientific element. Carter overcomes his individualism, decides to fight for Helium, and uses his influence with the Tharks to secure their aid. Together they out maneouvre the Therns and Zodangans leaving the door open for the people of Helium to develop constructive means of utilizing the energy of the Ninth Ray to bring about a more sustainable perennial planetary infrastructure whose enduring surplus could break down the dominant feudal structures preventing the Tharks, Zodangans, and citizens of Helium from forging a united front capable of shielding themselves against the Therns's meddling.

And their preference for brute force.

And general smugness.

The Devil's Double

Caligula meets Scarface in Lee Tamahori's The Devil's Double, a sickeningly volatile portrait of Saddam Hussein's lunatic son Uday and the unfortunate subject coerced into functioning as his double(Latif Yahia). Dominic Cooper plays both roles and displays a remarkable tenacity in their execution.

It's a shame they're so difficult to watch.

I have no idea what Uday Hussein was like while living but if the acts he's depicted unleashing in The Devil's Double are even seriously exaggerated he must have been a first rate fucker. The spoiled capricious tyrannical salacious vindictive murderous son of a despot, he never holds back when it comes to satisfying whatever whim crosses his mind, and operates within a mad ethical spectrum wherein he is the insane judge, jury, and executioner. If you should displease him, his forces will destroy you and everyone you love, brutally. Unfettered, energetic, unconditioned jouissance, with unlimited resources at its disposal.

As it pursues its desire.

He needs a double to represent him in public and the humble Latif tries to successfully yield to his will. The two form a tempestuous public/private yin and yang as they carve a place for themselves in their culture's destiny. Love interest Sarrab (Ludivine Sagnier) melodramatically complicates things as she craves them both. Munem (Raad Rawi) tries to maintain a hemorrhaged degree of order as his upright constitution continuously confronts Uday's.

Oddly, Saddam (Philip Quast) isn't presented as a monster and he occasionally attempts to keep Uday in check. Uday's brother is shown in a dimly flattering light as well as he responsibly handles his political affairs.

The film staggeringly balances the two sides of Uday's identity as it attempts to reasonably analyze a maniac while working within his irrational frame. According to Tamahori's portrait, there's little room for ambiguity in the construction of Uday's constitution.

Adolescence meets power and refuses to accept responsibility. Pleasure endures without consequence. A populace rages and weeps. Madness ruins a civilization.

The argument can be made that if reprobates like Uday were given free reign in Iraq to do as they pleased, their elimination represents a victory for liberty. But externally inflicting such liberation on an oppressed people robs them of the catharsis obtained from settling the matter for themselves. It also sets up a dangerous set of circumstances wherein the 'liberators' eventually become the 'oppressors' thereby opening up critical domains which attempt to justify the excesses of the usurped as their authoritarian rule becomes more appealing in the aftermath.

Helping the people's revolutionary goals after they've been set in motion and then departing after the misery has been removed is a different matter.