Sweetie

Another imaginative exploration of creative random unhinged expenditure, wherein which therapeutic regimens lack generalized familial accord.

Thus two sisters unaccustomed to objectivity attempt to congenially cohabitate, with respective partners and alternate routines disputatiously abounding with cacophonous resonance. 

It's a cool look at regenerative eccentricity vividly applying itself to adulthood, there's no nightly newspaper anywhere to be found nor 9-5 signifiers reupholstered on television.

The one sister clandestinely gets what she wants and instinctively believes in reflexive fortune telling (Karen Colston as Kay), her adoring husband does his best to entertain and admits at times to incredulous longing (Tom Lycos as Louis [he's like the Australian Fred Ward]).

The other habitually chillaxes with neither plan nor propitious pattern, yet consistently amuses with innocent endeavour as she vigorously experiments with tactile temperaments (Geneviève Lemon as "Sweetie").

Her father is sincerely adoring and doesn't understand Joy's sincere criticism (Jon Darling as Gordon), a classic compassionate and understanding citizen perhaps a product of the Australian New Wave.

Yet even if I contend that said New Wave humanistically diversified the land down under, with a versatile continental spirit effervescently blooming with cascading retention, there's still somewhat of a stiff upper lip that prevents ye olde Sweetie from cohesively acculturating. 

Likely uninterested in running the gauntlet as a newfound immigrant where her unorthodox spirit may have met with less vitriol, while unsuccessfully living a non-traditional life (within reason), she succumbs to the pressures of bitter castigation and loses sociocultural mobility.

I suppose I don't know if I'm correct or if it's just a byproduct of cultural osmosis, but living beyond Anglo-American borders seemed to generate peace and tranquility.

After running the gauntlet I found people weren't that concerned with commercial life emphatically immured, there were still intensities but applied to different things, I certainly never would have cooked dinner for anyone.

As long as I kept things chill things proactively progressed and life was moderately rewarding.

Seemed like the way things were progressing in the '90s. 

Which I would have understood through alternative perspectives had I grown up there. 

Nightmare Alley

How far should someone go when seeking abundant easy money, where to clearly draw the line between entertainment and ecstatic despair?

People actively seek to believe in mystic supernatural antics, in worlds beyond the concrete material physically composing so much life.

How much of this is healthy or how much goes much too far, are manifest questions which consistently go unanswered, but if your belief in the afterlife provides you comfort, and doesn't cost you a fortune, and you don't make political decisions because a bee landed on your ice cream, and you don't force other people to believe, and you realize it might all be bullshit, I really don't see much of a problem, comfort's an important aspect of life.

Claudius's relationship with the Oracle of Delphi remains mysterious, but who knows how much was true, and how much conjured for dramatic flair?

I've often thought that renowned "oracles" or "fortune tellers" were students of history from the future, who somehow managed to fit in with the past without being locked up for witchcraft or heresy.

If genuine clairvoyants exist today, why aren't they world renowned?

Perhaps they've been sequestered by the highest bidder.

And are lavishly tucked away.

I play the sign game because that's how my mind's always worked, ever since I was but a wee lad, I remember playing the sign game.

But it's off a lot, it's sometimes correct, but isn't reliable enough to make wagers.

Plus, when people realize you're like this they constantly try to trick you. So it's difficult to detect anything that's genuine. Not that it isn't still fun trying.

Nightmare Alley may be a solid horror film but that doesn't mean it isn't revolting, do we really have to see an unfortunate soul bite the head off a live chicken (with special effects)?

Sick in the head, no holding back.

If you want a celebration of the most miserable aspects of existence, hopelessly wrapped up in abhorrent ethical decay, you may indeed prosper from a viewing of Nightmare Alley, which presents harsh lessons for light of heart ambitions.

Don't try to swindle the rich and famous, the brightest lights, don't take things too far.

Life's too precious and worth much more.

There's more value in a dragonfly's existence than overflowing riches.

Angel Heart

Chillaxed and calm, smoothly going with the flow, a laidback private detective steers clear of complications, preferring to investigate matters unrelated to serious crime, he saunters around Brooklyn, in fluidic flâneur (Mickey Rourke as Harry Angel). 

When suddenly one Louis Cyphre (Robert de Niro) requests his offbeat services, to locate a suspicious missing person, who owes him a significant debt.

It seems harmless enough initially so he follows what leads he can, finding his way to a care home for the critically ill, then to the abode of a drug addicted doctor.

But the doctor shockingly passes shortly after their brief discussion, which leads him to want to move on especially because he's a likely suspect.

Cyphre is determined however and offers him a crisp $5,000, to keep pushing to dig in deep at home in New York then off to Louisiana. 

You would think he would drop the case considering the insanity that follows, but he's hooked on solving the mystery even if it leads to nihilistic oblivion.

The local cops are on to him and he's been followed and encouraged to leave town, but it's like he's more involved then he ever would have imagined if he had stuck to his not-so-strict routine. 

Something drives him to keep on sleuthin' as the mayhem wildly intensifies. 

Mr. Cyphre keeping close tabs.

On the enigmatic spiritual contention. 

It can be important to critically review the ways in which you conduct your affairs, to develop worthwhile working evaluations as I was taught to do in school.

You have to be careful not to be too scathing in order to avoid entropy, but a healthy dose of vigilant self-criticism can help you adjust to phenomenal frenzies.

If no one else is doing this however and you seem to be the only one making adjustments, and your adaptations are generally ridiculed, it's perhaps a best practice to seek novel change, or peeps more amenable to lateral communication.

Fluctuating between the two paradigms in alternative realms or even within the same structure seems par for the course, each day bringing forth newfound surprises along with immutable recapitulations. 

When working life incorporates both self and well-meaning constructive criticism, it's great to stay and tough to leave.

Too much self-criticism is suffocating.

A constructive balance generates calm. 

*With Charlotte Rampling and Pruitt Taylor Vince.