Wavelength

An artist facing the void seeks reanimate resuscitation, and discovers a curious lass seeking to hold back observant recon.

The two enjoy spirited fledgling manoeuvres while invoking inquisitive complimentary frolic, before an eerie mystery bewilderingly emerges which leads to experimental enthused investigation.

Voices-in-trouble are being transmitted telepathically from a secret location, the sleuthing of which leads to uncouth jail-time at the hands of the unamused military.

Who have encountered an alien craft and clandestinely moved its survivors accordingly, unable to communicate with the touristic humanoids who've been placed in pandemic style lockdown.

It becomes apparent that whoever contacts them soon suffers biological entropy, their bodies radiating inhospitibility, although they are able to cure corresponding ailments.

The couple desperately seeks their freedom just as the operation is sternly locked down.

But not without having provided emancipatory leeway.

For those involved to romantically break free.

It's classic low-budget sci-fi complete with narration and a romantic hermit, the hidden base in Los Angeles no less, having striven for ironic concealment. 

Perhaps the less prominent filmmakers were indirectly drawing attention, to a movie-making militaristic plot to control hearts and minds through mass produced film.

What percentage indeed of the various budgets of the diverse film companies a' reckoning over yonder, are factually spent on valourizing conflict with sincere hardboiled exceeding lament?

The novel imaginative aliens therefore generate unheralded song, the orthodox clique ensuring rehabilitation with no choice but to dynastically schism. 

Alas look to the ingenious French and other robust agile continental visionaries, who celebrate the diversity of their tribes with harmonious distinct eclectic inclusion.

Continuing to accelerate and zag they seek cultivation of genius as well, to salute nothing universally in particular, at times without resolute agenda.

The telepathic artists within ye olde Wavelength help the aliens escape beyond categorical compunction.

Hewn so long ago.

Manifold viewpoints, multilateral trajectories. 

La soupe aux choux (Cabbage Soup)

Two old school disputatious farmers resist postmodern technological developments, and live carefree as they always have down home and grouchy suspicious of change.

They maintain a fertile plot not too far away from the closest town, where they have somewhat of a reputation for bold naturalistic bucolic disarray.

One chill and typical evening they freely exchange rebellious thoughts, delicately guided by flatulent fervour as bold inspiration strikes, when the random generation of lightning suddenly shocks contemporaneously, followed by an alien shortly thereafter, hoping to make first contact.

Communication proves somewhat difficult due to interplanetary divergence, but the exotic scent of M. Ratinier's (Louis de Funès) cabbage soup soon grabs the alien's (Jacques Villeret) rapt attention.

Things return to normal the next day after his swift departure, although the police must patiently entertain many wild stories concerning bright lights.

But the visits continue in search of knowledge and those who cast off every nuance of contemporary life, must come to terms with radical advancements intricately engineered in space itself!

The result is generally heartwarming as absurd independence thrives through reward, and is provided with everything its neighbours seek without having done anything to succeed or prosper.

Although within their scant exaggerations they still comprehend sociocultural rootiments, which progressively facilitate intergalactic uproar, and newfound extraterrestrial resonance.

Who's to say what's to be shared with visiting aliens should they journey to Earth, with millions of potential imaginative cues it's difficult to say what's to be showcased?

I would probably mention craft beer to be appreciatively consumed in moderation, along with nutritious cheese accompanied by fruit and pieces of bread.

I may also recommend literature and film by promoting a well-balanced approach, the perusal of clever dramas and enticing science-fiction at times contradicted by not-so-serious comedies. 

Would my humble and generous gifts perhaps lead them to share the secrets of space travel, provided without much encumbering cost, along with a vast network of inhabited worlds?

I can't say for certain if that would come to pass, but why not dream of sundry potential outcomes?

Like Jean Girault did when he made La soupe aux choux (Cabbage Soup),

A lighthearted piece of endearing diplomacy.  

Jungle Book (Episode 6)

Having wandered into the jungle at but an innocent helpless wee age, little Mowgli (Sabu) finds sanctuary amongst wolves, who in turn rear him as if he were one of their pups, generous and watchful, an unorthodox family thrives.

While aggrandizing within the jungle Mowgli learns its forbidden ways, how to communicate with the different animals, find food, and rest and play.

The most imposing local tiger is none too impressed with this eccentric man cub, and swears he will one day indeed devour him, should he be caught wandering unaware.

But the other animals are quite fond of him and he gradually gains swift skill and strength, having enigmatically adapted, to the oldest school of raw existence.

Unfortunately, one inauspicious day, he's captured by the local village, which instinctually marvels at his wild heroics, and somewhat begrudgingly takes him in.

He quickly irritates its proudest unsurpassed vain boastful hunter, who had held the most ferocious standing, until Mowgli's sudden arrival.

Mowgli cares not for social prestige and simply seeks to freely co-exist.

Unconcerned with myth or legend.

Buldeo (Joseph Calleia) scurrilously haunts him.

Another look at The Jungle Book more intently focused on village life, since it was created long before spry special effects and doesn't rely on animation.

Many real animals are found within alongside giant puppet-like creations, the live shots aren't particularly elaborate, but may still have seemed cutting-edge at the time.

It examines stories from Kipling's book that aren't found in Disney's cartoon, nor Mr. Favreau's stunning rendition, worth checking out if seeking to learn more (reading the book also recommended).

It menacingly captures the aggrieved dynamic perennially narrativized between man and nature, as a young man harmoniously exists in the wilderness, while the older exploits technology to gain repute. 

Harmonious wilderness existence doesn't teach Mowgli sociocultural strategies, which Buldeo also knows how to exploit, as competing bucolic forces clash.

Compete is perhaps the wrong word since Mowgli isn't seeking recognition, but finds himself caught in a preexisting paradigm that hasn't been placated through democratic reckoning.

The man cub raised by wolves proves to be much more civilized than those seeking glory.

Who adopt disgraceful methods to pursue him.

And his caring animal neighbours. 

Amistad

The 19th century.

A group of slaves being transported at sea courageously revolts and takes control of the vessel.

Unfamiliar with nautical logistics, they rely on two former captors to sycophantically steer, but weeks later provisions grow slim, and they're forced to gather fresh supplies on land.

They weren't being led back to Africa as promised, and are soon detected by the American navy, who imprisons them as runaway slaves, thinking their bondage was secured legally.

At the time, Britain has nobly outlawed slavery but Spain still permits human trafficking, the Spanish crown seeking to reobtain what it claims is its property, the Americans confused by conflicting demands.

If the individuals whose freedom has been denied turn out to have been born in a Spanish country, they then belong to the Spanish crown, or the scoundrels who acquired them on its behalf, and, unfortunately, there's little the abolitionists can do.

But since they were illegally obtained in Africa their rights to freedom have been scurrilously denied.

But their lawyer needs to prove they came from Africa.

And he can't speak their language.

It takes quite some time in fact before they find someone who can, and even with the reliable African testimony, the Africans still have to prove their innocence three times.

Amistad covers a lot of ground as it champions liberty and freedom, intertwining multiple diverse threads as it weaves a compelling plot.

The independence of the American courts is analyzed through political intrigue, since the freedom of the wrongfully enslaved Africans will enrage the American South.

President Van Buren (Nigel Hawthorne) is worried about losing the next election, but also about starting a civil war, so he interferes behind the scenes, although he thankfully can't guarantee specific outcomes.

The abolitionists approach Christianity with open-minded considerate impacts, religion at times an instrument of persecution, here it pursues social justice.

Amistad is at its best as lawyer Roger Sherman Baldwin (Matthew McConaughey) gets to know his clients, notably the feisty Cinque (Djimon Hounsou), who led the sublime revolt in question.

As they slowly learn to communicate a world of enriching ideas opens up, Baldwin interested in learning about African customs, Cinque generally frustrated by appellate courts.

Kindness and understanding guide Amistad's resiliency, as it concentrates on compassionate endeavours, interwoven into a practical dynamic.

Its graphic depiction of slavery's innate horrors encourage impassioned just pursuits.

Difficult to imagine anyone could have ever treated people that way.

Amistad successfully assails such injustice.

*Billions of animals still suffer from much worse circumstances around the world. The abuse inflicted is horrifying. I'm glad so many people are trying to change things.

Where'd You Go, Bernadette?

Crushed by a devastating thoughtless blow, a brilliant artist can no longer create, and although she finds solace in her loving daughter, and aloof husband, her interactions with neighbours and local professionals perspire maladroit dysfunction, and as time passes, repressed creative impulses manifest scorn, imaginatively characterized and robustly contorted, then transformed into bitter confrontation.

An old colleague (Laurence Fishburne as Paul Jellinek) explains how she's become a menace to society, with a particularly astute caricature, which cleverly outwits diagnoses and accusations, hits the nail on the head as it incisively were sir, observant synopses, regenerative calm.

But her husband's taken a more traditional route, and enlisted the aid of mainstream psychiatry, which does produce effective results at times, but is unfortunately ill-equipped for his wife's distemper.

It's a shame that he resorts to seeking outside help considering how strong their marriage appears earlier on in the film.

They're mutually supportive, they pleasantly talk to one another, they're both full of love for their daughter, they seem like a conjugal success.

But they've lost touch deep down, as some playful editing emphasizes, and even though they consistently converse, they do so without saying anything.

If they had just been talking to each other in the concurrent scenes.

Elgie's (Billy Crudup) 20 years of constant work have left him blind to his wife's grief, caused him to forget what she gave up long ago, that she needs outlets, projects, challenges.

Work.

Thankfully the film's quite level-headed even as locales switch to Antarctica.

It's a charming adventurous warm and friendly soul search that concentrates on understanding as it's refined by insightful youth.

Listening.

Where'd You Go, Bernadette? does air grievances as it diversifies Ms. Fox's (Cate Blanchett) portfolio, her exchanges with superkeen PTA neighbour Audrey (Kirsten Wiig) bearing disputatious fruit, her sharp dismissal of a curious admirer suggesting she could be somewhat less anti-social.

But she's totally not PTA, she isn't interested in textbook trajectories, she could likely write a book that no one would understand, with the same ingenious mischievousness found in Ulysses.

Categorically beyond expression, she's still devoted to her loving family, her daughter Bee's (Emma Nelson) sincerest bestie, she's grounded yet requires initiative.

Projects.

Their daughter teaches them to listen and because they're chill they hear what she's saying, finding fun working solutions down the road, realized with core resiliency.

The penguins and sea lions are worked in well.

They just kind of show up and aren't focused on with adoration.

Cutting back the rug to find the sprout is impressive.

As is Bernadette and Audrey's rapprochement.

A feel good family film that isn't cheesy or gross, Where'd You Go, Bernadette? remodels mature compassion.

It's a lot of fun too.

Can't wait to see it again.

Would have chosen a flavour instead of naming the dog Ice Cream (Inception). 😉

With Judy Greer (Dr. Kurtz [mainstream solutions are like Bernadette's Heart of Darkness?] and David Paymer (Jay Ross).

Annihilation

A temporal psychological symbiotic extraterrestrial expanse embraces the American West Coast in Alex Garland's Annihilation, those who pass through its translucent iridescence finding themselves immersed within a conscious environment, which absorbs and transforms everything residing within, to fluidly engender biological impossibility.

Imagine you could take a dialectical creation and lay it out horizontally, every line of the text stretching across the floor.

The gridiron.

Then take thousands of other such creations and randomly lay them out beside, on top of, across, within the original line of argumentation, the resulting accumulated mass united by a common method, like a planet's indigenous gene pool, yet continuously birthing previously unconsidered parallels, blends, synergies, oppositions, microanalytics experimenting with infinite, their purpose to remain curious, purely synthesizing theory and practice.

But then imagine the extraterrestrial zone was mashing and recombining genes in a similar way, physical genes plus incorporeal thoughts, thought and speech forming biological components of its transformed lifeforms, not only the thoughts of humans, but those of plants and animals as well.

The poetic mind.

Ceaselessly creating.

Like in so many films investigating the inexplicable, heavily armed personnel are soon sent in, but there's no real physical threat to face, the enemy is more like a lack of civility, dismissals of the unfamiliar, an inability to holistically adapt, psychologically and physically, within manifested spirit, as bewilderment anticipates.

Did the bear get it?

The crocodile?

Herbaceous exponents mesmerizingly fertilizing vast deserts of composed meticulously orchestrated routine.

Habituated happenstance reconceptualizing imagination as if the northern lights were the organic lifeblood of imperceptible ubiquitous transmutation.

Sit back for awhile.

In the woods.

Parc Jean-Drapeau.

Soak it in.

Steep it.

Feel it.

Annihilation moves past devoting yourself to another and anomalously conjures multicultural mystification.

As if it were searching for something it hoped it would never find.

As would an artist.

A detective.

Arrival

Time shifts encoded rifts temporal gifts communication, a brilliant linguist (Amy Adams as Louise Banks) practically applying her knowledge to freelance first contact with an alien race, 12 mysterious ships having suddenly appeared across the globe, but no one knows why they've arrived and even though they haven't attacked or encouraged hostilities many fear the worst, for which they hysterically prepare.

The aliens write using extraordinarily complex symbols the deciphering of which requires the coordinated efforts of worldwide ingenious minds.

But as paranoid tensions continue to increase and the aliens share a sign which appears to mean weapon, the universal olive branch is sensationally shaken.

Fortunately Dr. Banks has the last word, her caring friendly curiosity refusing to abandon peaceful interstellar objectives.

In overdrive.

Another outstanding film from Denis Villeneuve, who's competently directing in different genres, Arrival rationally manages chaotic instincts to surgically fictionalize scientific translation.

Palindromic comprehension.

It flips typical sci-fi by placing understanding in the forefront and violence beneath the surface while still generating an exciting story with multiple ethicopolitical elements.

Bejewelled.

It also questions the nature of time and space to ontologically shiver epistemological certainties.

In relation to origins, to meaning, to the interrelations between the myriad signs presented to a subject every day and their potential interpretations, like an abstract grid infinitely connecting everything within existence with flexible stability, instinct, awareness, knowledge, corrections, detecting harmonies and juxtapositions with piquant patterns or unique exposés, messages, revelations, guides, the artist/mathematician/scientist/politician/welder/ . . . generating imaginative conditionals from such material to cure a disease or make an audience laugh, blending seemingly immiscible particulars to create something uniform, a node, a whorl, a beacon, something distinct, eventually subsiding into overwhelming euphorias fractionally reduced to the pristinely primal, at ease with one's environment, in conflict or judicial correspondence.

I got in trouble when I was young for thinking reincarnation was real, it just seemed obvious to me, which eventually transformed into the idea that perhaps there was no beginning, no ending, there was just being, which doesn't make much sense but there it is, foolishly matriculating.

I also saw the Star Trek: Voyager episode where Q claims the Q have always been years later.

He didn't explain whether or not human consciousness lives after physical death.

I also really loved swamp water when I was young. Once I discovered you were free to mix all the sodas together when fast food restaurants gave you your own cup to fill, it was straight to the swamp water.

Lol.

Sometimes it was rather tasty.

Delicious even.

Exponentially sound.

Like a library.

Keanu

Can a ridiculous plot supported by an irresistible gimmick cast aside its kitschy credulity to generate a quivering constellation which instructively calibrates curricula of its own?

The cutesy.

The adorable.

Keanu does demonstrate how one can go about teaching struggling lost disadvantaged youth after bourgeois nice guy Clarence Goobril (Keegan-Michael Key) infiltrates a drug trafficking gang to help his depressed friend Rell Williams (Jordan Peele) recover his beloved kitten, using the music of George Michael to elucidate the art of communication, skills which they hilariously apply during the film's rambunctious climax.

Immersed in reckless carnage.

Said climax pulls together the best aspects of the film and was fun to watch but the build up consistently stalls since it's painfully apparent that these two suburbanites could never have tricked anyone.

The uneducated aren't that dumb you know.

It's too light.

Because it's too light, the situations Clarence (Smoke Dresden) and Rell (Oil Dresden) find themselves within lack the threat of death, even when they're almost killed, which is what Keanu required to transform into something other than a cute cat movie.

Yet, if they had just kept reintroducing Keanu, the sought after kitten, throughout, making him an integral part of the story rather than losing sight of him for prolonged periods, I probably would have thought, this makes no sense, it's a great nonsensical idea, and this incredibly loveable kitten's frequent appearances at least acknowledge the incoherency, highlighting its inherent encumbrances, while reminding me not to take it too seriously.

Instead I was stuck taking it seriously as it tried to be serious, Keanu having indeed plucked its lilies, to be crushed by the weight of its praiseworthy gambit.

Short-term prison sentences awaiting the heroes in the end.

Keanu!

Keanu!

Adieu au langage (Goodbye to Language)

Blessed burnished cinematic, obscurities, stylizing in/coherent poetic exemplars, compartments, of, of symbols fletched with ornamental reliance condoning visualized adherence to vague linguistic polarizers, of; of authoritative intrusions into burgeoning contentments inquisitively dictated like frozen morning dew; of frost and dusty book jackets intertextually precipitating sundry points of view, condensed and ephemeralized with aloof poignancy, crafted in jaded thematic miniature.

Concerned nonetheless.

With the capacity of purpose to historically deflect imaginative horrors subjugating the passions of one's youth.

With engendered protests libidinally interacting to stretch beyond predetermined boundaries and sustain notions of limitless conjugal impunity.

Of joy.

With animalistic contemplative assured responsive discipline, attempts to harangue, roll over, sit, fetch.

For cinema.

For history.

For classics.

If I were to canonize films many of Godard's would be considered.

I do prefer them when their narratives at least attempt to focus on a plot, however, more like narrative critical inquiry than philosophic filmic treatises.

Abstractly entertaining.

Kon-Tiki

Since a young age I've preserved a healthy skepticism regarding whether or not Columbus discovered America.

As I'm sure many others have as well.

Noting that many of my interlocutors have always maintained a healthy degree of mistrust regarding anything people other than themselves happen to mention, and figuring that this is nothing new, that people have always cultivated such suspicions, it seems hard for me to believe that everyone agreed that the Earth was flat way back when, and that a bunch of disenfranchised trouble makers never simply jumped on a boat to sail the open unrecorded seas, forbidding prohibitions be damned.

I know there are continents on the other side of whatever ocean.

But if I didn't, yet I knew there were islands in the middle of mainland lakes, I could easily hypothesize that similar landmasses existed offshore, and confidently set out in search of their voluptuous bounties.

Thinking ancient cultures didn't travel open waters trading and communicating with each other ir/regularly is too Eurocentric a viewpoint for my tastes, too reliant on the written word, as it was for Thor Heyerdahl (Pål Sverre Hagen) in Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg's Kon-Tiki, who sets out to prove that Indigenous Polynesians already knew, thanks to their reliable oral traditions, that some of their islands were settled from the East as opposed to the West, by ancient Peruvians bravely crossing the Pacific.

Thor boldly proceeds with a crew of 5 adventurers, on a raft, across the Pacific, with no support from the scientific communities of his day, risking everything to expand certain understandings.

Kon-Tiki congenially presents a family friendly bit too comfortable narrative considering wherein hope, faith, inspiration, and truth miraculously guide a stalwart team, with endless shots of their leader (Norway's Peter O'Toole?), and the crabby sentiments of a pesky stowaway.

Its best sequence shows how broken attachments lead to immediate retributions whose consequences, instigated after a confrontational organizational challenge, pits trust against doubt, the same doubt that Heyerdahl represents regarding established truths of his time, said trust triumphing, and said consequences, the situation demanding an immediate life saving response, prove remarkable fortuitous, if not generally foolhardy.

It also productively examines group dynamics for although Herman Watzinger's (Anders Baasmo Christiansen) doubt threatens his group's cohesiveness at times, his continuing presence provides them with the information they need to avoid disaster as they approach their destination, thereby elevating the film's conception of a critical yet devout unified team.

A contemporary established theory that I often hear referenced that seems suspect to me suggests that North and South America were populated by peoples walking across the Bering Land Bridge from Asia.

I've also heard other people suspect this theory and am drawing on such conversations (and writings) in presenting this idea.

And I mean, seriously, enough people crossed this bridge to cultivate multidimensional populations from Tuktoyaktuk to Patagonia, walking all the way, only crossing a land bridge between East Asia and Alaska?

Makes more sense to me that there were already peoples inhabiting North and South America and some eventually walked over the bridge to join them.

Does anyone dispute that Australia's Indigenous population lived there for millennia before first European contact?

Worth investigating anyways.

Thérèse Desqueyroux

And it is foretold that marriage will squander the limitless theorizations of an inquisitive maiden (Audrey Tautou as Thérèse Desqueyroux) as she attempts to redefine herself according to her husband's (Gilles Lellouche as Bernard Desqueyroux [France's Liam Neeson?]) rigid prejudice.

His prejudice and the specific roles to which it narrow-mindedly assigns meaning to every in/tangible subject/object it wields, has not incorporated the art of bilateral communication into its privileged perspective, forcing his wife to seek alternative methods of resoundingly breaking through.

The other side can be distinguished as vital but tradition and continuity prevent him from unclenching his patriarchal grip.

Oblivious and unreceptive to the simplest of his wife's unexpected ambitions, he remains ensconced in his paradigm dans les bras de Morphée.

Interring the process of subjective decay, transferring random natural acts to a domestic realm's uncharted vicissitudes, sinisterly challenging immutable contraceptions, and suggesting that related solutions exacerbate that to which their remedy is applied, in terms of the preservation of identity, Claude Miller's Thérèse Desqueyroux nocturnally invokes fluid conjugal taxonomies as a potential interpersonal strategy applicable to estranged partnerships.

Or simply states that some people shouldn't get married.

No they should not.