Showing posts with label Frank Oz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frank Oz. Show all posts

Friday, June 27, 2025

What About Bob?

The traditional meeting once a week between the maladjusted and their doctors, the routine format innocently encouraging freeflowing thoughts and observations.

A set time-limit producing boundaries within which to fluidly optimize potential, the information shared creating a narrative through which diagnoses can be stipulated.

The expansion or contraction of the framework occasionally necessary confidentially speaking, as dull humdrum repetitive stasis ridiculously shifts into ludicrous gear.

The quaint determination of coordinates bringing psychiatrist and patient together outside the office, likely universally frowned upon as far as professional relationships go, the possibility of misguided friction leading to awkward unorthodox quandaries, inherently structured by comic accident but at times reaching obsessed despondency.

The giving of advice so often unrewarded and intermittently resented by the genuinely insane, who can't accept a humble position within any sociocultural contract.

Tender affection can also characterize habitual desires to play or fraternize, degrees of comfort misread misinterpreted as unexpected meetings flow.

While the offering of modest counsel hopes to clarify points of confusion, the continuous embrace of unsolicited comment forged through madness can churn and fluster.

What seems irritating to you in consistent surprising recurrent conversation, may seem much less irksome to others who only entertain it in modest intervals.

As you point out your irritation and they swiftly counter with disbelief, the vexation itself can exemplify the obnoxious development of a syndrome.

If typically ensconced meaningfully within a reasonable scientific realm, burgeoning unacademic study may stifle clear-headed lucid imagination. 

Generally confined to the family unit it seems rather harmless as expressed by children, but continual confrontation with compulsive lunacy can sincerely obfuscate acute illustrations.

Steadfast reason having maladroitly transformed into random illogical glib orchestrations, dependable equilibrium wildly shuts down and leaves incoherent tense bewilderment.

Thank god for the onset of summer gleefully shouts parents everywhere.

Who have hopefully found enough time.

To regroup, decompress, and sterilize. 

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Death at a Funeral

Everything that possibly can go wrong will go wrong.

Bring on the airing of grievances.

Take a walk in the park, take a Valium pill.

Nothing brings a family closer together than a little blackmail.

A father has died and a funeral has been arranged. Friends and family are scheduled to arrive. Personal motivations have piqued ambitious interests. The reverend hopes to depart at 3 o'clock sharp.

Hallucinogenic drugs have accidentally been introduced. An affair has been brought to light. An appropriate time to express one's romantic longings is passing by. Solutions are expediently distilled.

Frank Oz's Death at a Funeral lightly presents intergenerational tensions, sibling rivalries, progressive structures, and scatological sentiments. Historical details are used sparingly to support present actions. The principle subject lies motionless and rarely becomes the object of analysis. Anxiety and awkwardness brazenly duel as an afternoon's solemnity is feverishly deconstructed.

Indirectly suggesting that without the influence of one man's protective guise a family's prosperity is in pedantic jeopardy, thereby functioning as a formulaic exemplar of transition, Death at a Funeral symbolically externalizes emotions such as grief and gives them plenty of room to transmute. Consistently juxtaposing the petty and the poignant while delegating comedic insight with a sober intensity, it will certainly cause you to shake your head more than once as you helplessly and cheerfully ask the question, "why?"