Westfront 1918

I often read about the terrors of the First World War while still at school, of the maniacal desperation consistently felt by its brave and valiant soldiers.

New advances in military technology had devised so many cunning new ways to kill, that the omnipresent despotic brutality was enough to drive the most courageous mad.

There is a romantic conception of warfare kept alive through faux medieval battles, where you defend your family with a sword not gas or a submachine gun.

Theoretically, way back when, you could defend innocent lives if you had the nerve or know-how, without having to worry about being cut down by a crafty sniper, mine or bomb (arrows perhaps).

That was a dominant theme in the books and essays read so long ago, that there was nothing romantic about the new style of fighting it was just cold calculated destruction.

It levelled the playing field.

Before, if you were strong and athletically gifted you had an advantage when engaged in sword-fighting, but with the advances in modern weapons technology natural gifts meant next to nothing.

Communication was unclear and patchy and uncertain objectives were awkwardly obtained.

Until hundreds of thousands of recruits mournfully charged machine gun nests.

When the Germans eventually ran out of bullets.

Victory was obtained.

That's not how lives should be lived and it's certainly not how they should be sacrificed, it's odd that people thought things were progressing when they horrifyingly ended up that way.

The romantic lure of the chivalric codes that killed so many millions in World Wars I and II, mistakenly applied, may have taken sociocultural root again, the potential resurrection much more disturbing.

Like crocodiles Dylan's Masters of War hid in crevices and caves for more than a half-century, until the internet had broken down the peaceful net gallantly established by postmodern artists and teachers.

Westfront 1918 hoped not to revisit the devastation of War, released in Germany in 1930 it went so far as to champion camaraderie.

How do you convince incredible people not to throw their lives away attacking other nations living in peace, who have done them no violent harm?

While trying to convince others that those same people living in peace need help to defend their country?

Proceed one step at a time.

Know that you're part of a team much larger than yourself. 

Know that politicians like Kamala Harris stand for you.

And give you a legitimate voice in Congress/Parliament.

Criterion keyword: visceral.

Herz aus Glas (Heart of Glass)

I suppose that for tens of thousands of years the possession of esoteric knowledge proved rather fruitful, and could generate unique industry which in turn supplied steady work for brave inhabitants. 

It still does in many instances your ideas can generate bountiful incomes, although if they create planet saving envirotechnologies it's also cool to eventually share them with your community for free.

In Herz aus Glas (Heart of Glass), a medieval town is resonantly known for its ruby glass, which it manufactures with artistic grace and reliable marketable old school intensity.

But the only one who definitively knows how to authentically and genuinely produce it, passes without having shared the code, or indeed transmitted it to another.

Panic doesn't immediately set in although tensions slowly start to run high, the factory owner finding mad solutions which the agile workforce swiftly deems barking. 

The factory burns there's no other industry the local clairvoyant's sent to jail for predicting it.

A grim look at the distraught middle ages.

Indirectly championing scientific culture.

Environmental progress and industry finding ingenious ways to boldly progress hand in hand, I've recently joined some online groups which consistently share new green technologies.

Steady employment - something to do - still remains of paramount cultural importance, jobs gained mathematically balanced with those lost to nimbly cultivate immersive interactivity. 

It always amazes me how hard people work and routinely commit to standards of excellence, and I've lived and worked in almost every province and territory, the Canadian and Québecois work ethic internationally outstanding.

New ideas - innovative strategies - reflexively emerging each and every day, to outwit debilitating fatigue and intuitively enable freedom and longevity.

We're lucky to have such a colossal country so much of which remains largely unexplored, such a shame we can't grow food in winter, but the cold temperatures do keep the ideas a' flowing.

I imagine if given the time the resolute workers in Herz aus Glas, would have figured out how to make the Ruby and diligently proceeded to keep the doors open.

By constantly experimenting till they precisely found the missing ingredient like none other.

Likely making other marketable discoveries along the way.

Strongly investing in research & development.

City of Hope

It's difficult to rationally consider the various levels of corruption guiding commerce and politics, as proactively delineated by so many commentators throughout the observant course of a vigilant day.

In a two to three/four/five/six party political system the argumentative opponents spend so much time accusing their rivals of corruption, at times the party that seems the lease corrupt emerging victorious how do you lead such a populace retroactively?

In Claudius the God the Emperor Claudius runs into sincere difficulties, not because his colleagues are particularly corrupt but because he is rather just and innocent.

Having spent most of his life observing the government in fluidic motion, even though he had always been judged too dim-witted to actively take part, he survived plot after plot after plot through reasonable supposition and a complete lack of envy.

But his goal was to do away with Emperors and re-establish what was known as the Republic, a form of government less reliant on absolutism and much more democratic and fair and reasonable.

Nevertheless, since, as Emperor, he governs as honestly as he can and indeed turns out to be a trustworthy administrator, the people stop loathing the idea of Emperors as they had under Tiberius and Caligula, and stop imagining a return of the Republic.

To remind them of their folly he hatches one of his most poorly thought out schemes.

The Republic doesn't return.

And his son is murdered.

But films aren't as detailed as books or mini-series, it's difficult to convincingly relate stories of political corruption in less than 3 hours, there are so many personalities from different walks of life to be provocatively considered as the narrative progresses.

Love and family will likely even factor into the manifold intricacies as they passionately fluctuate, but who falls in love and what consequent jealousies effectively motivate resulting dire complications?

It's too much for a lot of filmmakers but always respected if bravely undertaken, John Sayles succeeding with City of Hope more than most as the multivariable tale examines multi-layered corruption.

Multiple storylines complement within as sundry characters seek balance and decorum, or just ride the chaotic whirlwind with as much distinction as they can freely muster.

The image for the inherent madness materially erupting as people search for meaning, is distressingly manifested by a local schizophrenic after a powerful contractor's son is shot by his new girlfriend's jealous cop ex-husband, and he calls out into the street for help, and no one else is listening.

The disturbed man returns his plea with sympathetic non-sensical enigmatic cries.

Not the most constructive image to end on.

But one that does make sense a lot of the time.

Quartet

The Facts of Life

The free sharing of age old wisdom oft accrues psychological check, as mantra and adage delicately condition economic tumult and ethical expenditure.

But with myriad personality distinctions effervescently flourishing with multifaceted largesse, the germane likelihood of symbiotic sanction may prove disheartening or indeed quite fun.

A father shares his paternal advice only to find every moral qualm deconstructed. 

His son winds up with a new car. 

Who's to say what's to be done?

The Alien Corn 

Theoretically in possession of everything one might hope to desire, yet longing to achieve the ultimate incomparable brilliant maddening incandescence.

Friends and family generally confused as to why the goal's so profoundly meaningful, considering how many other professions remain available, and he doesn't even have to work.

He's crushed by a virtuoso who didn't mean to hurt his feelings, and even though he's still quite talented, can't find the will to go on.

You can write Bazooka Joe comics or even Shakespearian sonnets, it makes no freakin' difference.

As long as you love what you do.

Beware destructive prejudice.

The Kite

Perhaps at times the parental bond is somewhat too tight, and the desire to be appreciated commensurately by others too unreasonable, so that when an imperious grown-up dispute arises, there's no applicable stratagem to discursively relay.

Sometimes incumbent smothering and a voluminous intent to orchestrate obsessively, may stifle the productivity you rely on, and leave a gaping void where you once harvested.

But in theory at times they say mental health professionals can attain results. 

As in the case of this marriage in question.

With Mervyn Johns (Samuel Sunbury), Hermione Baddeley (Beatrice Sunbury), and George Cole (Herbert Sunbury).

The Colonel's Lady

Worst case for an austere admirer of poignant pomp and reservéd circumstance, the unexpected emergence of imaginative scandal ceremoniously upsetting his stilted life.

No doubt many would remain uncertain if such a surprise suddenly diversified, especially if a tried and true dependable routine had gregariously governed for ages past.

Yet the truth residing in fiction can fortuitously lead to regeneration.

With newfound amenities previously unexpected.

Bit of a shocker, still, no doubt. 

Jingle Jangle

A brilliant inventor modestly celebrates his most recent creation's genesis, a free-thinking figure that consciously reckons with independent advancing foresight. 

But as he sets off to rest, his apprentice walks in to tidy his animate workshop, and he encounters the enlivened toy who turns out to champion corrupt self-interest.

The toy passionately convinces him to dishonourably steal their benefactor's book of ideas, and create a toy shop of his own to slyly compete and wickedly conjure.

The inventor is thoroughly devastated upon discovering his sudden misfortune, and loses the ability to create, his mind stricken with disbelief.

His business slowly fades and his wife and daughter grow more estranged with each and every glum passing day, 30 years pass in fact in total depression borderline madness crippled ambition.

His former apprentice has gaudily emerged as their realm's dazzling preeminent toymaker, furtively driven by the conniving contraption who never relents lets go subsides.

But so much time has woefully passed that another generation has nimbly ballooned, and Jeronicus's (Forest Whitaker) granddaughter soon comes curiously and cleverly and ebullient and pensively calling (Madalen Mills as Journey). 

Has she arrived in time to help grandfather realize his last vital dream?, before the bank reluctantly forecloses, on Christmas day, the timeline's obscene.

Fortunately, she's incredibly gifted, and at a young age rivals gramp's brilliance, and is therefore able to adroitly assist even if her ideas are initially unwelcome.

The most important thing he's lost is the belief he once had in himself, which is why his latest idea won't jive, won't exceedingly generate awestruck wondrous je ne sais pas uncontrived.

It's more like a film that takes place at Christmas than a supple salute to the season, although traditional spiritual surges assuredly sanctify seasonal synergies.

I suppose it's a sign of the times, that an ingenious toy would be full of deception, as opposed to lighthearted wonder, it's certainly not Cabbage Patch or My Buddy. 

Too much of an emphasis on immoral resolve in recent years to be shocked by a malicious toy, it's like themes oft reserved for horror have been whitewashed to critique widespread greed.

The new toy in question resembles E.T so perhaps it represents a manifest willingness to move past blunt impulses, and return to the less self-obsessed guidance of the 1980s, Foucauldian investigation pending.

Does Jingle Jangle's playful synthesis of machine and spirit foreshadow upcoming advances in artificial intelligence?

The rise of robotic humanism?

Computationally coaxing.

Hopefully not, hopefully hearts and hearths continue to flourish organic. 

There's nothing quite like biodiversity.

Born of ancient mutation.

A Ghost Story

A Ghost Story takes itself rather seriously for a bizarro religious art film, opening with intense sorrowful classical music that accompanies the plodding uninspiring narrative for awhile before unobtrusively fading into the dull background.

Not much is known about the featured character before he chooses to remain with Earthen realms, forever spectating his former haunts, dolorously watching as life continues unaffected, self-inflicted emotional torment meets phantasmagorical purposeless attention, dry lifeless exchanges with other ghosts, pointlessness carrying on.

A number of mournful scenes then adorn the story with motionless static depressing longevity, which would have been more tragic if there was more of a reason to care, before, suddenly, wondrously, the camera starts moving, beautiful music then igniting a jaunty passionate grizzled condemnation of nihilism, the finite, the unimaginative, the plain, no counterargument forthcoming which makes sense considering the circumstances (that guy at the party), as the derelict observes, unable to intervene.

Afterwards we're treated to a remarkably creative lively endearing artistic exposition of convivial charm and romantic playfulness, which compensates for the drab meaningless anguish earlier, providing the rationale for the former bland rendition, from vapidity to virtuosity, David Lowery intellectually shining.

I would have left the ghost business out and focused on developing different compelling dialogues for different historical periods transitioning from one to another within the same remote locale instead.

Watch the whole thing, it's impressive, but could have been much more alluring, more penetrating, more provocative, more enigmatic, if it had embraced random ethereal flux, rather than lugubriously making a point that isn't that sharp or innovative.