Chikyû kôgeki meirei Gojira tai Gaigan (Godzilla vs. Gigan)

Godzilla finds himself fiercely dwelling on the sensational Monster Island, far away from the technobustle of old school contemporary Japanese life.

But as he rambunctiously resides a new threat from outer space descends, and intergalactically infiltrates unsuspecting Tokyo and proceeds to set up an amusement park.

Two local citizens become concerned when one of their siblings is mysteriously locked-down, and adventurously gamble on discovering his whereabouts while learning more about the corporation.

They're assisted by an emerging artist who was just commissioned to design the park, who's also able to prove the captive's existence, but not without resulting in their incarceration. 

They soon discover that upon another once verdant planet similar to our own, the primary lifeforms polluted too recklessly and eventually destroyed their fertile world.

Correspondingly, extant insect species were remarkably able to utilize their technology, and even build their own interplanetary spacecraft, to plan the bitter conquest of our precious Earth!

To aid in their colonialist endeavours they've macrocosmically enlisted Ghidorah and Gigan, who fly through space to our innocent planet and proceed to take out Tokyo.

Godzilla and Anguirus quickly arrive to boldly face the enraged duo. 

The alien species diabolically surmising.

That conquering Godzilla will bring about world peace!

Tough to logically situate ye olde Chikyû kôgeki meirei Gojira tai Gaigan (Godzilla vs. Gigan) within inelastic parameters, its traditional reliance on militaristic methods seemingly in conflict with its environmental ethos.

But perhaps as it enlists the army to bravely duel with the bellicose monsters, it also encourages it to tactically listen to its clairvoyant message regarding the environment.

Indeed it reasonably predicts the eventual downfall of our industrious species, as brought about by unchecked pollution pestiferously contaminating both oceans and land.

I wonder if Japan responded and what their environmental footprint's like these days, islands often take their environments much more seriously due to the lack of habitable space.

When you see that messages such as these were even to be found in Godzilla movies over 50 years ago, and much of the world still lavishly pollutes, it's easy to see why postmodern day environmentalists are increasingly becoming more and more prominent. 

Initiative and resolve game-changing macroalterations could creatively cultivate enduring neoharmonies.

Harris and Walz seem likely onboard. 

Which would probably nurture constructive movements worldwide. 

Enigma

You wonder how many billions are wasted every year spying on other countries, without producing many results, imagine there was more of a consensus to productively get along, and those billions could be spent on jazz music and preponderant culture.

Were things much more worse off during the obsessed and stealthy brutal Cold War?

Or is there even more multilateral distrust cloaking international relations these days?

Hopefully not, a rather distressing subject such a shame it still persists, banal compulsions to preen and promulgate through listless superlative desire.

Enigma takes place during the Cold War in ye olde locked down strict East Germany, wherein which a covert operative seeks a coveted code scrambler.

The scrambler will theoretically give the West unlimited access to Soviet communications, and help them foil a pressing plot to murder 5 outspoken troublesome dissidents. 

Alex Holbeck (Martin Sheen) can hide in plain sight and has the luxury of remaining anonymous, even as his radio show consistently lambasted censure within the Iron Curtain, agents were never able to identify him, which left him somewhat of a free hand.

He has several contacts in East Germany to provide aid during his hour of need, but Russia has learned of his infiltration and sent their best man to intercept him (Sam Neill as Dimitri Vasilikov). 

A clever clandestine tale multilaterally results, resolute bravery and headstrong conviction guiding initiatives on either side.

Does the cultivation of novelty continuously have to adapt to fads and forums, do goodwill and peace not ethically transcend the cheeky impetus to shake things up?

Shouldn't resource provision and modest comfort not lead the way, with quality goods at affordable prices reasonably presented with dignified poise?

I suppose if trillions weren't spent every year on spying and the military you'd have to find something else for those people to do, notably the ones who weren't good enough to play football yet still sought volatile means at their disposal.

In the interests of taste, it would likely be a disaster if millions of them started to play the guitar, and endless songs about discipline and loyalty interminably bombarded television and the internet.

But I can sacrifice good taste if it means the curation of world peace.

What a strange world in which we live.

The animals couldn't think less of us. 

Black Widow

One of the oddest points I remember from reading Plato's Republic, was the theory that children could be taken away from their parents and raised communally without them.

When I pointed out the egregious error Plato had made by suggesting something so abhorrent (I had grown up with other people and it was clear the majority loved their families), I was reprimanded for not taking the point seriously, perhaps having encountered pedagogical psychosis, or a walking breathing idealogical textbook. 

It's always seemed self-evident that most people want to raise their children, and even develop a special bond with them, known universally, in less extreme times, as love.

When the time is right there are instances when poverty and youth require alternative options, but it's not as if such a decision is easy to make, imagine if the impoverished people who chose to keep their children weren't met with so much hostility, and were treated honourably for the tough decisions they've had to make.

There are still those who can't love, however, their lives a meaningless sterile indignancy, many of them manipulating the feelings of people who do, to achieve solipsistic ends.

Adoption, the creation of new families, is a feature of a truly advanced society.

Monstrously perverted by the villains in the haunting Black Widow.

 

Family without love, conviviality, or amicability. 

Rather, an antiseptic society attempts to cleanse itself of feeling, wherein which formula and calculation attain cultural cohesion as opposed to love.

Wherein which you're terrorized if you truly love things (such a burden to be sensitive), by other people who also love, but don't want to be terrorized by emotionless leaders, who see personal attachment as an inherent threat.

In Black Widow, a tyrant preys on orphans whom he subjects to extreme tests, those who pass eventually becoming spies, those who can't, never heard from again.

He turns the spies into fierce international soldiers spreading malice around the world, their loyalty unyieldingly guaranteed, by advanced psychotic brainwashing.

Unfortunately, such ideas persist and haven't faded into history, the cultivation of family and friendship much less amenable to absolute power (on the left and right).

If people argue loving your family is indeed an extreme position, they're clearly fucked in the head, and it's best to swiftly tell them so.

Families can be composed in so many ways with so much distinct unique variability. 

It's a shame things don't always work out.

But that's no reason for categorical dismissal.  

No Time to Die

*Spoiler Alert.

Love's rewards having proven too enticing to ignore, James Bond (Daniel Craig) cultivates a continuous relationship, only to be surrounded one afternoon by the newfound henchpersons of a former rival, he doesn't understand how he's been discovered, and instinctively suspects betrayal.

He finds a new location el lobo solo off the grid, and settles into bitter retirement, trying to prosper through idyllic recreation, unable to placate his volatile will.

Meanwhile, a terrorist network steals a pernicious bioweapon which was developed by MI6, and uses inchoate Borg technology to specifically target individualized DNA.

But it even take things further and finds more widespread applications for the malevolence, intending to unleash it on the unsuspecting world, with genocidal morbid reckoning.

Bond lambastes M (Ralph Fiennes) (having returned) for having sponsored its dissimulated production, who naively thought it would save lives by making assassination more precise. 

To make things worse, the belovéd belle whom he left behind with regret and pain (Léa Seydoux as Madeleine), is sought after by the terrorist leader (Rami Malek as Lyutsifer Safin [who spared her life when she was a child {Coline Defaud}]), and Blofeld (Christoph Waltz) knows their secret.

Without much time with shocking immediacy Bond reflexively engages.

An international incident caught in the crossfires.

Along with his unknown offspring.

The dangers of manufacturing lethal weapons to make the world a safer place, are epically brought to bear on irresponsible bureaucrats lacking accountability. 

It seemed like things were progressing so peacefully for such a long time sustainéd equanimity, but a small fraction of the global population still preferred mutual animosity. 

Becoming more influential and less and less discreet resurgent jingoism renewed latent fears, and wiser ambitions to forge international consensus lost public ground to reckless profit. 

But their reckless ambition didn't only awaken narrow-minded prejudice and unrestrainéd self-absorption, but extremist elements seeking radical shifts to pursue alternative constructs were also empowered.

No Time to Die pits radical evolution against traditional desires to slowly change.

Both ambitions are in need of reclarification. 

Looking forward to checking out News Nation.

*First Bond film I haven't seen in theatres since 1989.

**Still hoping Daniel Craig stars in 7 Bond films to tie him with Roger Moore and Sean Connery, although it doesn't look like it's going to happen (if you count Never Say Never Again).

Across the Pacific

A career soldier in possession of rank is kicked out of the American military, he attempts to enlist with the Canadian Forces, but word of his disgrace has travelled quickly (Humphrey Bogart as Rick Leland).

With nothing to do, and no local armed forces to fight for, he boards a ship heading west, hoping to serve a country oversees with resigned mercenary indifference.

With time on his hands, aboard the ship in question, he relaxes with some of the guests, meeting an adventurous maiden from Medicine Hat (Mary Astor as Alberta Marlow), and a bored professor who lives in the Philippines (Sydney Greenstreet as Dr. H.F.G. Lorenz). 

He soon discovers work is available although it's somewhat treacherous and controversial, but if he's willing to supply Lorenz with information he may have found a lucrative track.

The ship stops in New York, in Panama, where it's refused passage along the canal, stuck with nowhere to go unattached he's forced to make a critical decision. 

But does he betray the Allies and sign-up for colonial aggression?

Or will he remember his Native soil and dreams forged with less bellicose intrigue?

I'm so used to seeing John Huston films thoroughly unconcerned with the master narrative, taking place far underground with enticing nondescript wicked levity.

That it was strange to view Across the Pacific and see something much more patriotic, rah-rah, or at least directly concerned with world events of an imposing and nationalistic tenure.

We have a traditional troubled wayward confused embroiled protagonist, confidently navigating ineffable obscurity with courageous inspiring hapless tenacity.

But there's a secret, he may be unorthodox but he isn't out on his own, although his position is still rather tenuous reputed suspicions notwithstanding.

Perhaps Mr. Huston briefly flirted with a more traditional Hollywood career, and considered making standard films to cash in on predetermined trajectories.

But Across the Pacific's so over the top in the final moments that it seems like Huston's critiquing himself, going the extra yard to prove his ironic mettle even if he couldn't really care less.

Not about the subject matter, the mainstream story itself perhaps didn't generate alarm.

But about working within the ornate system.

The most peculiar John Huston film I've seen.

*According to the IMDB Vincent Sherman directed the final scenes. Perhaps Huston refused to do it. Bizarro either way. 

Q Planes

The writing in Q Planes is exceptional (Brock Williams, Jack Whittingham, Arthur Wimperis, Ian Dalrymple) and it's so much fun to watch, the cast revelling in the opportunity to deliver fast-paced vigorous dialogue.

Brought to life by Laurence Olivier (Tony McVane) and Ralph Richardson (Charles Hammond), it freely showcases animate brilliance, without fretting about miscommunication, or pretentious elevations of the monosyllabic.

I think there was a time when films had to compete with books more strenuously, in Britain anyways, in order to justify the aesthetic integrity of the medium, and screenwriters were therefore more willing to prove their genius as it applied to sundry films.

It's just a theory, crafted from watching multiple Criterions during the pandemic, and perhaps books are still as popular today, even if film seems to no longer be competing with them, but if there was a time when British screenwriters freely shared their ingenious commentaries, to generate literary merit for an art form oft dismissed, and film eventually became more popular than books and left literary ambitions behind, I'm worried that as Twitter becomes more popular along with Facebook and Instagram etc., that the quality of language as it applies to future films will be even less cerebrally compelling.

If film stopped competing with books after establishing itself as a respected art form, will the resultant dull conformity be devalued further by the rise of social media?

It's not that contemporary film writing is particularly bad, it's just so rare when you see a film whose writing is exceptionally good (Wes Anderson), they still have to give out awards every year, but I certainly haven't seen a Q Planes in recent memory.

I do remember emerging from University to be critiqued in the working world, for possessing an advanced vocabulary and writing with alternative flair.

I also remember being critiqued as a child for possessing an advanced vocabulary, which didn't seem that impressive at the time, but words just came naturally to me in my own little way and I found it offputting to have to search for generalized vocabularies, rather than speaking freely, it's so much less work to simply state what you're thinking.

I adapted, but it still made much more sense to move away from the English world, and try to learn a new language, even if I was starting much too late, and had moved past chilling out and about.

The constant thrill of unfamiliar communication is a wondrous motivating factor, that enlivens so many situations that would otherwise seem dull.

General comprehension is certainly laudable but there's so much rudimentary expression these days.

A democracy should also cater to literary flair.

As it once did.

In sundry films.

Red Sparrow

Extreme deception bluntly orchestrating maddeningly corrupt initiatives, coldly addressing severe characteristics with the flippant admiration of vanity in bloom.

Emaciated modus operandi, secretively adjusted objectives, flirtatiously plummeting pirouettes, applauding emotionless utilitarianism.

Innate degeneracy opulently upholding volatile foundations meticulously irradiated.

Occupational hazards phantasmagorically posturing with the resigned duplicitous elegance of nouveau riche ostentation, spread so delicately thin that one's senses aspirationally swoon with treacherous wonder.

Dissimulated.

Prevaricated.

If you can figure out what lies beneath a question's seeming innocuous simplicity as it's delivered with clumsy sincerity by someone who has no respect for you, it's easy to lie and give them the answer they expect to hear, the poorly concealed sarcastic nuances of their tone having betrayed their vicious intentions, their misguided readymade conclusion (along with what they intend to do with it), and after providing the answer for which they search which is easy enough to detect, you'll hopefully never hear from them again, calico.

Red Sparrow.

Wherein incomparable poise is wounded then theoretically transformed into a solicitous unimaginative reflection exalting spirited disillusion, commandeered to effortlessly seduce while never questioning executive artifice.

She does seduce effortlessly and you wonder how an undercover operative could have let his guard down so obliviously, but it does save time in a film that's already considerably lengthy.

For good reason.

It patiently follows resourceful Dominika Egorova (Jennifer Lawrence) from career ending catastrophe to harrowing rebirth, accentuating her helplessness piecemeal before considering an alternative only awkwardly presented hitherto, thus enabling multidimensional character development within the strictest confines.

Pigs at the trough beware, Egorova is comin' to get 'cha.

The Americans are generally presented as trustworthy agents while the Russians betray their government with cause, a comment on the price of bearing petty grudges, one disloyal American voraciously bisecting the cultural stereotypes.

Not as intricate as some spy films, but Lawrence's stark brutal portrayal of a coerced fledgling homegrown psychopath still brazenly holding on to her innocence, as accompanied by a feisty Nate Nash (Joel Edgerton), a reserved General Korchnoi (Jeremy Irons), and a fierce Matron (Charlotte Rampling), situated within a clever direct script whose subject matter is uncannily relevant if Icarus and Russia's other international relations woes are interwoven, still helps Red Sparrow stand out, the groundwork for an outstanding sequel having been provocatively laid.

Perfect February release.

Mind-bogglingly coincidental.

Atomic Blonde

If this is the mainstream cinematic age of fantasy and action, it’s fascinating to see how different directors are imagining themselves franchised in the genre(s), as they create hyperreactive propulsive enterprising incinerations which vehemently ponder conundrums cloaked in smarm.

Brainiac brawn.

Succulent seduction.

King Arthur: The Legend of the Sword, John Wick, and Atomic Blonde do this anyways, offering jousts and jinxes to challenge unconcerned juggernauts.

Atomic Blonde is borderline brilliant with its kinetic complications and extensive improvisations, multiple characters each playing integral roles as a beautiful deadly agent thrives on information hunger.

The cold war is about to end (that’s end!) but not before a coveted list of pejorative players appears for sale on clandestine markets which seek to see its content temporally manifested.

French, Russian, British and American operatives desperately clash to obtain it on the streets of a divided Berlin, double-crossing, combatting, entertaining, conjoining, keeping track of who’s in first simmering hardboiled whats and I-don’t-knows, as it becomes clear that everything’s obscured, and only those who can proportionally balance the incisive with the bellicose have a chance at emerging unscathed.

The judicious exchange of bodily fluids a portentous exemplar of trust notwithstanding.

Or slightly scathed.

Quite scathed perhaps.

I didn’t see Ghost in the Shell so this statement may be incorrect, but Lorraine Broughton's (Charlize Theron) altercations (perhaps) set a new standard for tenacious females furiously and potently defending themselves.

Cool title, cool action, cool interactions, icy wherewithal, David Leitch's upcoming films may be some of the best espionagesque cerebral thrillers to ever gladiatorally grace American cinemas, notably if he keeps working with Elísabet Ronaldsdóttir (editing) and Kurt Johnstad (screenplay).

The music’s fantastic too and creatively mixed with the action.

Not for the feint of heart but essential to establish glacial bearings, Atomic Blonde exfoliates in overdrive to romanticize tranquility.

And calm.

Leitch used to be a stuntperson apparently. Has a stuntperson ever gone on to direct before?

Allied

Fully cloaked undercover, watching every movement, scrutinizing each step, re/actions precisely measured to maximize discretion, on the road scripted codes liaised lessons, eager learner, coy discerner, modicums, romance, drills, an extroverted beauty chively strung singing along in chorus, friends in high places, versatile integration, his partner, his assigned wife, don't let emotions cloud judgments till it's time to gasp, to fire, to strike.

To love.

Precious freedoms, mission prerogatives.

Canadian Max Vatan (Brad Pitt) breaks with tradition and falls for Marianne Beauséjour (Marion Cotillard) in the field.

Less amorously aware than his new partner, the two make a marigold match.

Wed after accomplishing their objectives in Casablanca, they return to London to settle during World War II (Max is an intelligence officer who still actively strategizes while Marianne raises their daughter at home).

But there's a catch.

According to V-section, Marianne is a German spy, a potentiality Max can't face, having fully devoted himself to enabling their prosperity.

Bliss in crisis, Robert Zemeckis's Allied briskly examines conjugal fidelity, the rival in question a bellicose nation intent on grieving, the rewards of domestic security too high to blindly tow the line.

Torn between resistance and reconnaissance, upside down and inside out, the film passionately obscures Max's trusts, while keeping things strictly on the level.

Mythic misfortune presented in gallant 20th century plight, shorn trajectories and burnt down bulwarks critically commandeering catastrophe, appointments are met and duties kept in check, all the while clad in confidence, for remaining unsuspicious, for never having had a jealous mind.

Internal gridiron grind.

International intrigue, clutched all-weather.

Outstanding.

Somewhat, teary-eyed, was I.

Snowden

A brilliant patriotic mind finds himself indefatigably immersed within an exponentially expanding parapanopticon, unwarranted global surveillance having become authoritatively sacrosanct, his personal analysis of the phenomenon leading to a subversive conclusion, as he bears in mind the preservation of civil liberties, and takes steps to educate the unsuspecting public.

The clandestine nature of his work up until his point of departure causes problems for his relationship with partner Lindsay Mills (Shailene Woodley [she does good work]), who advocates for social justice and played a constructive role in his sociopolitical transformation.

Edward Snowden, postmodern day Prometheus, his gift of knowledge mythologically cybersecuring distinct praise agon.

If the rule of law inviolably guarantees an individual's right to privacy, which as far as I'm aware it generally does in democratic countries, Snowden hasn't really broken the law but has rather courageously defended it.

His gift shifts paradigms depending upon how seriously people worry about the indents of their online footprints, enlightening awareness as opposed to litigation, inasmuch as no government would ever give up such power.

Best to pretend like you believe them if they ever say they have however.

Good time to start marketing online security packages that block big brother, even if they'll never work!

If ubiquitous international cybersurveillance isn't going anywhere, it seems like a mistake to leave Snowden outside the equation when he could play a leading role in its positive applications.

Whether or not he's broken the law is up for debate, a contention that many have likely made which could controversially generate the trial of the century.

Imagine how annoying it must have been when neighbouring tribes could light fires or only elite members of tribes could light fires and you/rs unfortunately could not?

I doubt tribal times were that exclusive.

The film functions more like an important tool for raising public awareness, for refining critical consciousnesses, than a stunning work of tragic intrigue.

Stock characterizations and sentimental stylizations depreciate its value although such schematics make such a game changing narrative easier to evaluate, lighthearted mass exposure potentially less distasteful than explosive stunts.

Citizenfour's more detailed.

With I could travel to the year 4000 and find out how Snowden's remembered.

Inveterate flame!

Atavistic icon.

*Good subject for the next Presidential debate.

The Age of Shadows

A Korean resistance movement viscerally dissimulates to conflagristically adjudicate Imperial Japanese rule, as a conflicted police captain chants out between two antagonistically united worlds, his identity in flux, his loyalties confessing, cyclonically circumnavigating leveraged windswept extractions, comforts and crucibles psychologically contesting dignity, the oppressors intent on trumping, freedom fighters contacting hillside.

Indigo.

The Age of Shadows sticks to the point.

Betrayals and trusts exfoliating allegiances, time generally isn't wasted discussing the sociopolitical.

Rigidly focused on the goals at hand, it pulls you into its sidewinding struggle unfortunately without blending additional layers of historical commentary.

Its explosive immediacy contentiously compensates, although further insights into its temporal dynamics would have levelled the terrain when it hit bumps in the road.

The chaotic action's well-timed and some of its characterizations stylize penchants of the authoritative and/or the emancipatory, but it drags at points which likely held more meaning for domestic audiences (familiarity with the cast etc.).

Was Lee-Jung-Chool (Kang-ho Song) a brilliant strategist or simply someone who could remain calm under excruciatingly stressful circumstances?

Asylum.

Guts react.

Serpentine suspicions.

Active truth.

Proof of tyranny would have built-up the resistance, although its leader Jung Chae-San (Byung-hun Lee) still offers compelling synchronistic insights.

Nothing breaks his spirit.

Warm blooded will.

Sweetly flowing.

Spectre

Audaciously challenging his most cunning reanimated nemesis, Bond, James Bond (Daniel Craig), must reflexively disconnect an intrusive network of terrorist and governmental spies, threatening to legally monitor all of Great Britain's online activity, disguised as freedom fighters, to facilitate limitless access to all.

Blofeld's (Christoph Waltz) back, and it soon becomes clear that he's cacopheinated every catastrophe Daniel Craig has averted thus far, Spectre having returned to the franchise's fore in transition, with the intent of legitimizing vigilant maniacal longevity.

Bond must stop them, and M (Ralph Fiennes), Moneypenny (Naomie Harris), and Q (Ben Whishaw) assist him along the way.

It's nice to see Q out in the field and Moneypenny continuing to play a more vital role.

There's a clever subplot where M must counter governmental representative Max Denbigh (Andrew Scott) who's in league with Spectre and hoping to shut down the 00 program permanently.

M knows that fighting terrorism still requires a human touch and although disappointed in Bond for (sort of) disobeying direct orders and stealing, still adamantly cheers as he recklessly takes Spectre on.

The film's alright, but I'm ranking it third in the Daniel Craig Bond films, much better than Quantum of Solace, but not as strong as either Casino Royale or Skyfall.

It's like it spent too much time trying to recapture the essence of the Connery films, and although this did appeal to my love of that epoch, it still seemed like it didn't focus enough time on continuing to quintessentially complicate Daniel Craig's.

He's been in 4 now and I think it's safe to say he's the best Bond since Connery.

I'm hoping he's back for a fifth.

He deserves the money.

Look at what they pay Schwarzenegger for the Terminator films.

Also, I've seen more exciting opening sequences, the opening sequence should really function as an outstanding separate short film with the potential for integration in the main narrative still standing on its own merit, The Living Daylights perhaps providing the best example.

Spectre's desert base suffers from Jupiter Ascending syndrome as well and destructs far too quickly near the end.

Nevertheless, Mr. Hinx (Dave Bautista) is a classic giant of a foe, Waltz and Craig forge a chilling familial dynamic, its contemporary analysis of invasive information gathering behemoths fits well with the times, Blofeld lives to die another day, and Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux) is an exceptional Bond Girl.

With the best Bond Girl name ever.

According to Citizenfour, terrorist organizations didn't help governments establish omnipresent online access you know, they completed that task on their own, although, since they justified said completion on the grounds that they established such networks to fight terrorism, it's as if the terrorists were responsible for causing democratically elected governments to treat their own citizens like terrorists.

That's solid Bond.

Even if people are held accountable, it does seem like such networks are here to stay.

I'm already imagining old man conversations where I discuss the ways of the 1980s with a youthful generation of the future, discussing how there used to be a concept known as privacy which faded as the years passed to uproarious thunderous applause.

It's like hip Orwell.

That's how the West reimagined 1984.

Constant surveillance coupled with limitless access to anything you could possibly be interested in worldwide, exceptions pending.

I can't imagine Trudeau's Liberals using such tools to land their opponents in prison on trumped up charges sensationalized in the media, which is what it seemed like Team Harper was eventually going to do.

Perhaps they can neuter them to the point where scenarios like the one just suggested can never be enacted?

Or just scrap Bill C-51, and the TPP.

I bet that's what James Bond would do.

Perhaps Prime Minister Trudeau II is like James Bond?

Slash Jedi.

Bridge of Spies

I remember reading a comic about Pink Floyd in my youth to learn more about the band.

It was fun and informative and one of its frames still sticks out in my mind.

It concerned the creation of The Final Cut and depicted David Gilmour exclaiming something like, "most of these songs were cut from The Wall."

Harsh times.

The band only ever reunited for one show.

Steven Spielberg's Bridge of Spies made me think of that moment due to its similarities to Lincoln.

Similar themes, a similar pursuit of justice, of truth, a principled man upholding fundamental rights amidst an onslaught of professional and cultural criticism, doing what's right, consequences notwithstanding.

But it's a pale comparison of Lincoln, whose robust multidimensional political intrigues made me recommend it for best picture in 2013.

To its credit, Bridge of Spies does stick to a particular aesthetic throughout, jurisprudently maintaining constitutional continuity, it's just that this aesthetic, no doubt cherished in my youth, is overflowing with trite sentimentality.

You know exactly what you're supposed to think and feel in every scene.

It's like Lincoln focuses directly on the American community with a large cast and myriad staggering displacements, while Bridge of Spies clandestinely curates a lawyer's objective search for counterintuitive yet ideal vindications of the American individual, in a blunt straightforward concrete crucible.

No bells and whistles here, just a basic introduction to American liberty provokingly stylized for today's film loving youth.

It does advocate for a remarkably logical and upright attitude concerning the sociocultural politics of espionage.

I can't behind this one though.

Way too formulaic.

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

The lighter side of the cold war squares off in Guy Ritchie's The Man from U.N.C.L.E., as the CIA and the KGB team up to hunt down nuclear weapons, polished and grizzly, both agents preferring to work alone.

An East German bombshell (Alicia Vikander as Gaby) tearjerks and tantalizes to provide them with cover, diligently driven, ready to cut loose.

What follows is fun if not formulaic, it's meant to be a good time, not striving for originality here, it's definitely not Snatch., Sherlock Holmes, or Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, a less explosive cross-cultural collision, still cocky enough to serialize fried snarky charm, pleasant, entertaining, like a seaside pitcher of lemonade.  

It's quite sure of itself, a much better A View to a Kill sans Christopher Walken, you keep thinking, "their cover should be blown and it's not, their cover should be blown, and it's not," before you just roll with it, sit back, consume.

There is one scene that stands out, and it unreeled just when I was thinking, "now is the time for an unexpected break from the predicability," Solo (Henry Cavill) then escaping death only to find himself seated in a truck accompanied by Dionysian delights, of which he partakes, while Illya (Armie Hammer) frenetically frisks and flounders (Ritchie's take on the [manufactured?] west/east antagonism?).

Solo smashingly rejoins the fight moments later.

I found it odd that we was drinking Johnnie Walker Black near the end, unless it was blue and I couldn't distinguish the colour, but Solo seems more like a JW Blue man, although the black is much more unconsciously accessible.

Harvesting trust.

Also, I was surprised by the amount of detail Solo learns about Illya during the night, claiming he read up on him.

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. doesn't take place in the age of exponential information access.

How did he come across all the highly classified details?

What was read, shared, exposed?

*Hold on. Further research has proven that Johnnie Walker Black was a good choice. Still, Solo, Blue, Blue, Solo.

Spy

Feet stompin' fist poundin' head boppin' finesse, dodgin' unlodgin', deke death's caress, the test swerving strenuous random incisions, athletic acumen, jocose renditions.

Cro-Magnon.

I wasn't expecting Spy to be so consistently funny.

Apart from the first 15 minutes or so, the comedy cleverly entertains, a study in rapid-fire instantaneous comebacks, mellifluous mouthpieces, agilely exchanging feints.

Channeling Archer.

It follows the emergence of a multidimensional spy, Susan Cooper (Melissa McCarthy), as she leaves command headquarters and heads into the field for the first time.

She's the only one capable of successfully completing the mission because her organization's adversaries are familiar with all of their active agents.

Rick Ford (Jason Statham) doesn't trust her and hilariously errs critically, his outlandish tales providing ludicrous added depth, hardboiled yet klutzy, stumbling the whole way through.

Casting by Zsolt Csutak.

Modestly audacious, Spy blends the wholesome and the crude to frenetically fry and sensationally sizzle.

Cloaked like a reborn marbled masquerade, it excels at enlivening, while mischievously poking fun at gender.

Heartfelt.

Citizenfour

I always found it odd that suddenly there was this relatively free electronic network that I could use to communicate with others, read the news, shop, bank, play games, book tickets, do practically anything I wanted to do, sitting at home, using my computer.

I understand next to nothing about how it was constructed yet eventually started using it so much that I found it was an integrated inextricable part of my life, an unprecedented development, I started to think we were living in the luckiest moment in human history, and still sometimes can't believe our good fortune, although reservations began to settle in a while back.

With most of my life up online, it began to occur to me that this information could be manipulated in the wrong hands, and used for some bizarre counterproductive purpose, the likes of which never really occurs to me, I don't see why that would happen, I do watch a lot of movies though, the possibility of which still subconsciously disturbs me, however, in the background, at times.

But I figured, whatevs, I live in North America.

I'm Canadian, we have rights, a Charter of Rights and Freedoms, guarantees that you can speak freely, discuss things rationally, irrationally, criticize things as you see fit, without having to worry about being watched or going to prison.

Freedom of movement, equal opportunity, public libraries, freedoms to gather, all of these things that we didn't have hundreds of years ago but have now because previous generations fought for and created them so that our lives could be somewhat more free.

Citizenfour chronicles how the American government has access to all kinds of private information shared between electronic devices and how it can illegally use that information to potentially imprison you for speaking freely about some kind of oppressive instance which at one time would have been the subject of a riveting public debate.

There's no escaping it.

I don't see how you can stop this.

Law enforcement officials are supposed to need warrants to search your private information.

It shouldn't be available to them 24/7 because some lunatics launched the 9/11 attacks.

But it seems like that was the reason why the internet was suddenly available for free for everyone, or at least part of the explanation, giving law enforcement agencies the power to bypass constitutional rights to privacy, on Obama's watch, so that they can access a fluid, hip, integrated police state, your entire life available to the authorities, shimmering in the ether, billowing in the cloud.

Snowden's account of what can be known about someone based upon their online footprint is astounding.

Movements predicted, potential conversations held at specific points, expected patterns of behaviour, etc., I got used to the potential for this a long time ago, figuring it was a possible hazard for anyone who writes about politics, but still wish it weren't so, not an easy thing to get used to.

Snowden risked everything to expose abuses of power by the American authorities which bypass constitutional rights to privacy so that everything Americans do can be monitored and scrutinized.

He didn't just suddenly make the information available online, but worked with reporters like Glenn Greenwald to slowly reveal the truth about the illegal activities that have been sanctioned for years.

He should be welcomed back to the United States as a champion of individual and collective rights and freedoms, and we shouldn't have to wait 30 years to see this happen.

A truly exceptional individual.

What an American.

Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann (The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared)

A pinnacled piña colada, perchanced and periodized, passively strolls through an entire century, piercingly riding its waves, aloe primavera, alert gestations, blindly yet acutely detonating his trade, Forrest Gump's Benjamin Button teething Archer, hypnotic happenstance, turn that screw, Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann (The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared) flashes back to tumultuous times, with ironic blissful candour, serendipitized tailspins, explosively tiptoeing, from one cryptic epoch to the next.

After escaping from a retirement home to the fury of the underground's Never Again.

Friendships blossom.

A team is assembled.

A sentiment's thrust.

Through the coming of the ages.

Poetically refining what it means to blunder, the situations he finds himself within seem rigged with ideological dynamite.

Franco's saviour builds an atomic bomb to end the Second World War before sterilizing the Commies on his way to becoming a stayed bilateral messenger.

Destined for paradise.

This film has depth; it playfully reimagines twentieth-century carnage with the casual indifference of an essential tribal fluidity, unconscious forward motion, courting precise precious movements.

Impeccable comedy.

It's even family friendly, in the best possible way, like Amélie, with a loveable elephant.

Could have worked Ireland in somehow.

A Most Wanted Man

Characteristic candour gruffly composes a brilliantly crafted intricately strategized plan, its nascent dexterity depending on several delicately interconnected volatile fusions, frenetic feasibilities, orchestrated by a rough hands-on been-there-done-that fulcrum, A Most Wanted Man, time pressurizing each micromovement, immaculate manoeuvrability, necessarily set in motion.

Definitive coordinates.

Explosive potential.

Gut-wrenching grizzle.

Temporally repleted.

Günther Bachmann's (Philip Seymour Hoffman) team must expertly function, however, these spies are situated within a competitive international pride, lofty liaising lions, trust, an oppressive factor, guilt, too remote to consider.

Ripe with treachery.

And contention.

Easier to follow than Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, but not as astounding consequently, A Most Wanted Man provocatively sets the stage, then allows Philip Seymour Hoffman to prosper.

There aren't many diversified variables (surprises) after the operation's set in motion, it's very smooth, but Hoffman's performance supplies enough excruciating angst to augment the film's comfortability with bona fide substantial grit.

I've now seen Richard Burton, Gary Oldman, John Hurt, and Hoffman in film adaptations of John le Carré's novels, and would love to see another starring Daniel Day Lewis and Tom Hardy.

A Most Wanted Man's timing is perfect considering the continuing advances of ISIS.

Wakolda (The German Doctor)

An ingratiatingly intelligent financially secure monstrosity suavely earns the trust of an unsuspecting family in Lucía Puenzo's Wakolda (The German Doctor), a Nazi war criminal having fled to Patagonia to continue conducting his medical experiments, preying on local families, and their innocent children.

Lilith (Florencia Bado) instinctively trusts the doctor, who is in possession of experimental knowledge that can help her grow.

She's growing at a much slower pace than the other children at school, and they've taken to bullying her as a consequence.

Her father refuses to allow the treatment, thinking, "who is this person who shows up out of nowhere, with neither references nor credentials, saying he can help my daughter, with medicine that the local doctors have never heard of"?

There's no cross reference.

Josef Mengele (Àlex Brendemühl) proceeds nonetheless, pursuing his perverted conception of science on the available human resources.

But his presence is detected.

The film's focus on Lilith and her beautiful curious wondrous spirit, seeking friendship, ignoring her tormentors, using the library, adds additional depth to the repugnance of the Nazi, to whom she's simply a T to be crossed, a doll to be played with.

The film doesn't directly condemn, rather, it uses character, setting and confidence to vilify the doctoral aberration, suffusing viewers with an idyllic subconscious revulsion, to passionately overcome the ambivalence.

There have been films in recent years highlighting the fact that many German citizens were themselves caught up in the Nazi's terror, during which time they felt like they had no choice but to follow the party line.

Wakolda's ambiguity acknowledges this, while using emotion to appeal to the intellect, to present a compelling exemplar of the guilty.

They only care for the individuality of the exceptional.

For everyone else, there are no exceptions.

The East

Professional integrity lands itself a high-level covert assignment, full of danger and risk, wherein it must clandestinely adjudicate its broad range of astute sociological reflexes to infiltrate a stealth pack of humanistic hyperreactivists and expose their audacious whereabouts.

She finds them far too easily, but after coyly yet adhesively nestling, finds herself inductively considering their proactive cause, which seeks stricter much more effective regulations regarding the ways in which big business generates profit.

She works for a rather big business herself and must come to terms with its motives as she becomes increasingly integrated in both domains.

Her partner is frustrated.

Her conscience is bifurcated.

Friendships coalesce.

She is neither arrogant nor weak.

The East melodramatically yet crucially materializes the dissonant underground social dynamics of altruistically pursuing game changing objectives (the comments made by the underground collective occasionally seem at odds with their ethical ideals), bringing some of Terry Eagleton's arguments to life, without shying away from juxtaposing economic with ethical impoverishment.

The scene where Izzy's (Ellen Page) estranged parent jumps in the toxic sludge works well.

Laws can be made to correspond to the goals fought for in this film.

Made and enforced.

Check out Vincent Lam's Tommy Douglas, part of Penguin's Extraordinary Canadians series, and find out what the CCF party did for ordinary hard working citizens of Saskatchewan in a relatively short period of time, when a lot of people thought nothing could be done.

They enacted social democratic change while balancing the budget.

They proceeded cautiously and soundly to legitimize their movement's thrust.

Not that easy to do of course, but there are people all over the world who become rather upset when their water supply turns carcinogenic.

It's just common sense.