Joy

Discipline.

Punishment.

The hurricane, crushing, displacing, infuriating, exasperating, draining her reserves with unsettling elasticity, voracious steady plutocratic hunger, petty indignant somnambulistic plunder, she coasts astride, reacting, strategizing, acclimatizing, placating, diplomatically attuned to brokering consensus, to enabling equanimity, fomented franticon, whirlwinds harnessed agon, risking everything she has while enriching her familial bower, through the art of sympathetically nurturing comprehensible inclusive trusts.

She leaves no one behind, her spirit breeding virtue in resplendent fertile abundance, someone you can count on, entrenched hardwired reliability, David O. Russell's Joy (Jennifer Lawrence), an odd synthesis of the exceptional and the mundane.

It's almost there.

The film wavers between the plucky and the humdrum with casual indiscreet dexterity, never seeming too shocking or distant, while enlivening situations you would think might not be so.

In conversation.

By cautiously yet cleverly elevating the tedious, Joy coaxes the extraordinary with undeniable hokey charm, notably when Trudy (Isabella Rossellini) asks her 4 questions.

Still missing something however, its aesthetic resonance asymptotically flirting with the quaintly ethereal, girls on farms, caressing and tantalizing with each exhaled breath, otherwise fun and endearing, well-acted convincing versatility.

American Hustle

Serious sustained elusively sentimental cirrhosis, soberly conceived and symptomatically executed, the established bland underground beacon coerced into serving an opportunistic senseless gold digger, retentively reliant yet arrogantly exploitative, the combination's blinds leaving him susceptible to implosive cracks, their fissures directly proportional to their aggrandizements, seismically de/centralizing, corpus allumé.

Feminine elements complicate and complement the messy procedure as pressures coruscate emotional embers, and logical jealousies prevaricate relational rationalities.

Should this film be taken seriously?

On the one hand, as Irving Rosenfeld's (Christian Bale) character, the intelligent flexible streetwise devoted husband scam artist, suggests, we definitely should be, as his livelihood and familial security depends on it, even though he's a criminal.

On the other, as Richie DeMaso's (Bradley Cooper) character, the brash insubordinate wild-eyed FBI agent, suggests, we definitely should not be, as his reckless and life threatening decisions are simply too preposterous to take, even though he's enforcing the law.

The hilarious repeated transitional scene which sees the camera shoot the ground floor of American Hustle's FBI headquarters and then rapidly shift its focus to the top, suggests that David O. Russell is seriously playfully shining (editing by Alan Baumgarten, Jay Cassidy, and Crispin Struthers).

His beams brightly illuminate upright politician Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner), a true person of the people and loving family man, tricked into accepting bribes.

Ethically, I find it highly problematic when politicians take bribes to stimulate economies through casino construction since casinos can and have ruin/ed the lives of many a low-income worker.

Real worldly, a lot of people don't seem to care about these realities anymore and think being exploited is great.

Rosenfeld doesn't like being exploited although he earns a living exploiting people.

He feels guilty for his actions in relation to Polito's eventual arrest, because even though casino creation is exploitative, Polito is acting on the people's behalf, according to the film's cavalier combustion.

Great film on many levels.

But in terms of bribing politicians to achieve specific ends, it fails to reflectively hustle.

A suave sensational scam?

Not persuasive enough of a play.

But it does offer effective indirect advice on how to avoid being scammed and the script's excellent (written by David O. Russell and Eric Warren Singer).

Which works.

Silver Linings Playbook

Adding two cups rehabilitation, a healthy dose of formal sanitization (some forms of behaviour are denominated sane, others are not, the film does a great job of levelling the forms by showing how their contents are socially inextricable), a dash of crisis, familial spices, and communal interstices, David O. Russell's Silver Linings Playbook cooks up a hearty robust sociopsychological feast, complete with ample servings of dancing, and football.

Could have used the Broncos instead of the Eagles and set the film in Denver but that's off topic.

Silver Linings Playbook is a believable, down to earth, well-scripted multilateral examination of mental illness, romantically busting through many of its stigmas (blame attached regardless of circumstances, . . . ) through the convivial art of cacophonic curtsies. 

Honesty is the key.

Pat (Bradley Cooper) and Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence) proceed honestly yet lack the clean record that often rationalizes honest offbeat conversations. 

Thus, even though their dialogues make sense, it's the self-critical sense making, the acknowledgement of crucial beneficial curative aids, offensively and defensively extracted from their various social interactions, within which interconnected dialogues similarly affect their friends and family, thereby emphasizing without sentimentalizing intergenerational teamwork, that leads to a more gregarious playing field.     

In regards to where honesty becomes destructively inappropriate, the film cleverly draws several lines.

Good companion film for Jeff, Who Lives at Home.

The Fighter

Modestly presenting the difficulties affecting up and coming boxer Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg), David O. Russell's The Fighter demonstrates how the middling element can be used to unite a community. Wedged between a pattern that has lead to stagnation and an opportunity that could turn things around, Micky has to choose between his family and his career as his older half-brother Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale) heads to prison. This isn't easy to do. Before crack cocaine took over his life, Dicky was a professional boxer and his insights and instincts have been crucial to Micky's development. As a manager, however, Dicky has struggled, but due to the strength of their fraternal bound, Micky has trouble tearing himself away. When it comes to his shot at the WBU's Intercontinental Light Welterweight Title, he's training with a new team, Dicky's released from prison, and a decision must be made. Can Micky use his influence to productively synthesize the fiercely opposed historical animosities firmly established between his family and trainers, or will they continue to fight, thereby infantilizing his shot at the title?

The Fighter calmly examines tough subject matter, refusing to sensationalize its controversial content. Topics investigated include crack cocaine addiction, prostitution, police brutality, stubborn familial and communal prejudices, unsympathetic ex-wives, children of crack addicted parents, introducing outsiders to an exclusive social fabric, disdainful expectations, immigration, and the unforgiving underbelly of professional sports. A lot's riding on Micky's progress and the pressure he encounters in his daily life needs to be skillfully managed so that he can succeed in his career. Considering The Fighter's manifold layers of tension, I hesitate to say it's a relaxed film, and it's to Russell's credit that he's able to coordinate these layers with such composure. If he wasn't able to inspire such convincing characters from Wahlberg, Bale, Amy Adams (Charlene Fleming), and Melissa Leo (Micky and Dicky's Mom), he never would have been able to pull it off.