The details of a significant literary fortune gravely concern a renowned P.I., after its author passes away.
For multiple motivations could have driven his children to murder, although things seem quite prim and proper during preliminary investigations.
But bold personalities have lied about particulars to appear both innocent and ready to please, their uncoordinated individualized tales melodramatically unwinding under further examination.
Classic lackadaisical mischief improvisationally askew, a bit of lacklustre stiff-lipped cerveza effervescent undrafted clues.
An ingenue accompanies Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) as hypotheticals brashly accumulate, her involvement hushed up meanwhile while others clash and conciliate.
Unnerved as if something's counterpoised, or shifty, ill-gotten, extraneous, her own misdeeds wouldn't be so incriminating, if they weren't so exceedingly awkward.
Disbelief as inherently relied upon as stealth or disingenuous inquisition, what's to be said is difficult to say, if everything isn't just brought right back up.
Veracity assuming verisimilitude.
Awaiting redoubtable spectre.
A murder mystery not as stealthy as I had expected, still induces endearing alarm, more commercial than Frost, Morse, or Vera, its lighthearted humour in sharp cheeky contrast.
Almost as if writer/director Rian Johnson is aware of the appeal of astute British sleuths, yet sought something less traditional for his star-studded Knives Out, then hired Daniel Craig (James Bond) to detect with a Southern accent, to craft something much more American.
It's first rate unperturbed spice mélange, unconcerned yet still strict and serious, bashful yet residually haunting, determined to make things up as it goes along.
It generates enough interest early on to still entice as it gives itself away, cleverly concealing less evident alternatives, to sustain reanimating perspectives.
If there ever was an old world its conception disputes the new, as the media picks up the scoop, and youth habitually makes the right moves.
It's cool to see a film that finds a physical image to sum up its form in the end, although I can't mention what it is, although from what I've said it should be somewhat obvious.
Neither too light nor too dark and damning, another creative film from the versatile Rian Johnson.
Not as edgy or grim as Looper.
But certainly a lot more fun.
Showing posts with label Inheritances. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inheritances. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 3, 2019
Friday, October 18, 2019
Downtown Abbey
I suppose I may have once had harsher words for a film about servants desperate to humour British royalty, inasmuch as they don't seem to have much leisure time, and there's no mention of rights or unions.
In fact they don't seem to have any time off at all, and serve altruistically day and night, the demanding nature of their age old situation less amenable to ye olde 9 to 5, any questions of an alternative lifestyle, absent from the master narrative.
I'm unfamiliar with the series so I don't know if they receive adequate wages, and if you're ever thinking about forming a union it's always best to consider whether or not it will bankrupt your employers, but if the idle rich can't afford to pay a decent salary, who can?, and Downtown's nobles don't seem to be working that hard.
Of course they have their own dainty way of labouring, comparatively, which has more to do with socializing and planning events than sweeping or dishwashing, and since a significant proportion of the population expects them to play these roles, handed down through the centuries, who I am to criticize them for doing so?
It's the democratic element you see which ironically uplifts the monarchy insofar as such traditions have just as much right to persevere as any other.
Their workers can still quit at any time should they find something lacking, or a better situation, although in many cases I imagine they strictly soldier on.
Due to the prestige they associate with their position, a bizarro rank and file reflection of aristocratic privilege, a phenomenon where one's proud to be of service to a duke or earl even if their quality of life's somewhat bland, for they imagine that others envy them, oddly enough, but then again, others actually do.
Covetously so.
I imagine serving the nobility must seem idyllic if you're serving the nouveau riche, if that's how you want to live your life (gaining status by association with a snotty clique), although I may be incorrect indeed, depending on how hip newfound wealth finds flex-time.
All I'm trying to say is that when you don't have many options you may settle for something snotty, who am I to judge?, and may even find it quite rewarding, depending on the character of your team.
The film does present a solid team equipped with full-time work by employers who don't hold them in contempt and do honestly listen to what they have to say.
Of course the idle rich don't have to sustain these networks, they could live much more modestly to be sure, but then thousands of people would be out of work, and the people who care about elite social activities would have to find other forms of media to entertain them.
So distressing, the items that trend on AppleNews.
As unimaginative as such pastimes may seem, a democratic conscience should try to tolerate them, assuming they don't imperialistically express themselves, or attempt to squash integral freedoms.
The world of Downtown Abbey is both resourceful and respectful.
Model worker/management relations.
Perhaps too prim and polished.
Remarkably cohesive bonds.
In fact they don't seem to have any time off at all, and serve altruistically day and night, the demanding nature of their age old situation less amenable to ye olde 9 to 5, any questions of an alternative lifestyle, absent from the master narrative.
I'm unfamiliar with the series so I don't know if they receive adequate wages, and if you're ever thinking about forming a union it's always best to consider whether or not it will bankrupt your employers, but if the idle rich can't afford to pay a decent salary, who can?, and Downtown's nobles don't seem to be working that hard.
Of course they have their own dainty way of labouring, comparatively, which has more to do with socializing and planning events than sweeping or dishwashing, and since a significant proportion of the population expects them to play these roles, handed down through the centuries, who I am to criticize them for doing so?
It's the democratic element you see which ironically uplifts the monarchy insofar as such traditions have just as much right to persevere as any other.
Their workers can still quit at any time should they find something lacking, or a better situation, although in many cases I imagine they strictly soldier on.
Due to the prestige they associate with their position, a bizarro rank and file reflection of aristocratic privilege, a phenomenon where one's proud to be of service to a duke or earl even if their quality of life's somewhat bland, for they imagine that others envy them, oddly enough, but then again, others actually do.
Covetously so.
I imagine serving the nobility must seem idyllic if you're serving the nouveau riche, if that's how you want to live your life (gaining status by association with a snotty clique), although I may be incorrect indeed, depending on how hip newfound wealth finds flex-time.
All I'm trying to say is that when you don't have many options you may settle for something snotty, who am I to judge?, and may even find it quite rewarding, depending on the character of your team.
The film does present a solid team equipped with full-time work by employers who don't hold them in contempt and do honestly listen to what they have to say.
Of course the idle rich don't have to sustain these networks, they could live much more modestly to be sure, but then thousands of people would be out of work, and the people who care about elite social activities would have to find other forms of media to entertain them.
So distressing, the items that trend on AppleNews.
As unimaginative as such pastimes may seem, a democratic conscience should try to tolerate them, assuming they don't imperialistically express themselves, or attempt to squash integral freedoms.
The world of Downtown Abbey is both resourceful and respectful.
Model worker/management relations.
Perhaps too prim and polished.
Remarkably cohesive bonds.
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
My Cousin Rachel
A loyal adopted son, filled with impotent rage, blindly seeks closure concerning his father's sudden death as it relates to a mysterious relationship beguiled in the Italian countryside, forged with an enigmatic English belle, who had the strength to seduce proud misogyny.
He sets out seeking justice, never having had much interest in women either, but soon finds himself enraptured with the sought after murderess, his presumption quickly fading as her charms mellifluously sway, his fortune soon levitating at her disposal, all-encompassing infatuation contending with more worldly criticisms, is she friend or foe?, matron, or dominatrix?
Beyond classification.
Contraceptive indigo.
My Cousin Rachel commences soundly.
Its sophisticated introduction to character, historical period, familial severance, and exotic cataclysm, gingerly yet coercively narrated with bitter incisive pause, led me to think I had stumbled upon something otherworldly, something radiant, something timeless.
It's not that the rest of the film isn't worth watching, it is, but My Cousin Rachel's first 25 minutes or so lour you in with a compelling cinematic elegance that rarely showcases its distinct eloquent reticence.
There are no answers, no solutions, no conclusions, it's strict theory, strict conjecture, a mystery lacking a brilliant sleuth, wherein which contingencies construct discombobulating distractions that harrowingly question what has indeed come to pass, a man who knows nothing about women obsessed with a woman who knows everything about men, who's intent on achieving independence from stiflingly patriarchal codes of conduct, without ever asking for anything, or seeming as if she desires six pence.
Was Rachel (Rachel Weisz) the hapless generous victim of sexist preconceptions themselves incapable of trusting anything a woman says after having fallen in love, thereby sacrificing their former unconscious unilateral independence, their control, as a consequence, and winding up mad, or was she indubitably trying to poison both father and son in order to access their vast unencumbered fortune?
Can free unattached wealthy male loners ever listen to anything overtly uttered by their curious brilliant feminine correspondants without suspecting conspiracy and treachery, the magnitude of the duplicitous betrayal slowly intensifying as the bond between them grows tighter and tighter?
How would a brilliant woman without a fortune who seeks control over her own affairs ever achieve financial and personal independence without comment in a society dominated by men?
Would both characters have lived pleasant lives if homosexuality hadn't been culturally abhorred?
Sometimes narration works, sometimes it doesn't.
The narration was working in My Cousin Rachel, and I wished it had played a more prominent role throughout the majority of the film.
He sets out seeking justice, never having had much interest in women either, but soon finds himself enraptured with the sought after murderess, his presumption quickly fading as her charms mellifluously sway, his fortune soon levitating at her disposal, all-encompassing infatuation contending with more worldly criticisms, is she friend or foe?, matron, or dominatrix?
Beyond classification.
Contraceptive indigo.
My Cousin Rachel commences soundly.
Its sophisticated introduction to character, historical period, familial severance, and exotic cataclysm, gingerly yet coercively narrated with bitter incisive pause, led me to think I had stumbled upon something otherworldly, something radiant, something timeless.
It's not that the rest of the film isn't worth watching, it is, but My Cousin Rachel's first 25 minutes or so lour you in with a compelling cinematic elegance that rarely showcases its distinct eloquent reticence.
There are no answers, no solutions, no conclusions, it's strict theory, strict conjecture, a mystery lacking a brilliant sleuth, wherein which contingencies construct discombobulating distractions that harrowingly question what has indeed come to pass, a man who knows nothing about women obsessed with a woman who knows everything about men, who's intent on achieving independence from stiflingly patriarchal codes of conduct, without ever asking for anything, or seeming as if she desires six pence.
Was Rachel (Rachel Weisz) the hapless generous victim of sexist preconceptions themselves incapable of trusting anything a woman says after having fallen in love, thereby sacrificing their former unconscious unilateral independence, their control, as a consequence, and winding up mad, or was she indubitably trying to poison both father and son in order to access their vast unencumbered fortune?
Can free unattached wealthy male loners ever listen to anything overtly uttered by their curious brilliant feminine correspondants without suspecting conspiracy and treachery, the magnitude of the duplicitous betrayal slowly intensifying as the bond between them grows tighter and tighter?
How would a brilliant woman without a fortune who seeks control over her own affairs ever achieve financial and personal independence without comment in a society dominated by men?
Would both characters have lived pleasant lives if homosexuality hadn't been culturally abhorred?
Sometimes narration works, sometimes it doesn't.
The narration was working in My Cousin Rachel, and I wished it had played a more prominent role throughout the majority of the film.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Jupiter Ascending
Jupiter Ascending could have been better.
It's like they're trying to condense three to four hours worth of material into a 127 minute film, and the resulting action suffers from athletic overexposure.
Everything happens too quickly.
Because they cover so much ground, they're constantly placing characters in new hyper-reactive scenarios, and rather than taking the time to calmly build-up tension while diversifying character, bam, another battle begins, whether it's physical, bureaucratic, or conjugal, and it's like the fighting never stops, yet there's no sense that something could go wrong.
Spoilers.
Okay, the film points out how millions of people, in this case entire planets, can be exploited to increase the riches of a few, in this case a plan is in place to harvest humans to create an expensive highly coveted youth serum that prolongs life indefinitely, but the film also naturalizes royalty, which indirectly suggests that royals should have access to benefits denied to their subjects, like a youth serum for instance, even if the royal in question doesn't want to have anything to do with them/it.
The bee scene is one of Jupiter Ascending's coolest moments, but it doesn't fit well with the film's ethics.
And in the end Jupiter Jones (Mila Kunis) doesn't try to use her new position to break up the intergalactic obsession with the serum, she just goes back to her old life, chillin' with the fam and new partner Caine Wise (Channing Tatum).
Who are also both cool.
It's fun watching Caine fly around on his jet boots, like he's figure skating through time and space, but he does it so often there's a cloying affect, which significantly decreases the cool factor.
The fights he's in are usually full of people hired to do things which involve firing weapons, who obviously never learned how to shoot them.
Also, when Jupiter confronts arch-rival Balem Abrasax (Eddie Redmayne) in the end, his dominion disintegrates far too quickly.
Here's one of the wealthiest people in the universe, and his defence grid seems like it's made out of lego.
A lot of corny dialogue.
Love the Wachowskis, but not Jupiter Ascending.
It's like they're trying to condense three to four hours worth of material into a 127 minute film, and the resulting action suffers from athletic overexposure.
Everything happens too quickly.
Because they cover so much ground, they're constantly placing characters in new hyper-reactive scenarios, and rather than taking the time to calmly build-up tension while diversifying character, bam, another battle begins, whether it's physical, bureaucratic, or conjugal, and it's like the fighting never stops, yet there's no sense that something could go wrong.
Spoilers.
Okay, the film points out how millions of people, in this case entire planets, can be exploited to increase the riches of a few, in this case a plan is in place to harvest humans to create an expensive highly coveted youth serum that prolongs life indefinitely, but the film also naturalizes royalty, which indirectly suggests that royals should have access to benefits denied to their subjects, like a youth serum for instance, even if the royal in question doesn't want to have anything to do with them/it.
The bee scene is one of Jupiter Ascending's coolest moments, but it doesn't fit well with the film's ethics.
And in the end Jupiter Jones (Mila Kunis) doesn't try to use her new position to break up the intergalactic obsession with the serum, she just goes back to her old life, chillin' with the fam and new partner Caine Wise (Channing Tatum).
Who are also both cool.
It's fun watching Caine fly around on his jet boots, like he's figure skating through time and space, but he does it so often there's a cloying affect, which significantly decreases the cool factor.
The fights he's in are usually full of people hired to do things which involve firing weapons, who obviously never learned how to shoot them.
Also, when Jupiter confronts arch-rival Balem Abrasax (Eddie Redmayne) in the end, his dominion disintegrates far too quickly.
Here's one of the wealthiest people in the universe, and his defence grid seems like it's made out of lego.
A lot of corny dialogue.
Love the Wachowskis, but not Jupiter Ascending.
Friday, October 10, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Elena
As a barren particular is brought into the forefront, behind which
rests a model representative of flight, stationary and passive, pensive
and solitary, the image's distinction begins to slowly fade, before,
after a fellow aviator arrives, it is subtly and universally
interiorized.
What follows is an expertly executed yet modestly matriculated morphology, wherein each member of a seemingly content couple exercises their predetermined propensities to finance a younger generation.
Hypocrisy and deception abound.
Historical preference bifurcates.
Galvanized wit is rewarded.
And opportunity will not be displaced.
Andrey Zvyagintsev adopts sparse means to inculcate a breathtaking exemplar, which suggests that the film's form undeniably upholds Elena (Nadezhda Markina), although an internal cross-examination, mischievously interjected by its music, which preliminarily tricked me into believing Elena is simply a collusively cheeky quotidian parody of your traditional blockbuster, sustainably supports the case's other systemic suitor (original music by Philip Glass).
The imaginary factor is brilliantly lubricated by Elena Lyadova's (Katerina) provocative pirouette, volatile yet absorptive, as she self-indulgently tears up the runaway.
Melancholic film.
What follows is an expertly executed yet modestly matriculated morphology, wherein each member of a seemingly content couple exercises their predetermined propensities to finance a younger generation.
Hypocrisy and deception abound.
Historical preference bifurcates.
Galvanized wit is rewarded.
And opportunity will not be displaced.
Andrey Zvyagintsev adopts sparse means to inculcate a breathtaking exemplar, which suggests that the film's form undeniably upholds Elena (Nadezhda Markina), although an internal cross-examination, mischievously interjected by its music, which preliminarily tricked me into believing Elena is simply a collusively cheeky quotidian parody of your traditional blockbuster, sustainably supports the case's other systemic suitor (original music by Philip Glass).
The imaginary factor is brilliantly lubricated by Elena Lyadova's (Katerina) provocative pirouette, volatile yet absorptive, as she self-indulgently tears up the runaway.
Melancholic film.
Monday, January 9, 2012
The Descendants
An Hawaiian lawyer's textbook life is adulterously disrupted after his wife has a boating accident rendering her comatose and their eldest daughter reveals the secrets of her infidelities. Her coma forces him to take an active role in the rearing of their two daughters to whom he has remained patriarchally aloof for most of their lives. His family is incredibly wealthy however his relatives have squandered most of their fortune and hope to sell off 25,000 acres of coastal land holdings in order to continue to support their lavish lifestyles. He is the sole trustee of the family trust which controls the land and has the final say in how it is managed.
Alexander Payne's The Descendants follows him closely as he gets to know his children, seeks to meet his wife's love interest, and decides what to do with his family's inheritance. As much of an exploration of shock as it is an examination of improvisation, the knowledge Matt King (George Clooney) relies upon to ensure his success in the legal realm finds itself curiously deconstructed when confronted with that of the domestic.
As he struggles to comprehend.
Acknowledging that the cookie-cutter approach to living has its share of unforeseen non-transmissible calisthenics, he still finds a means through which to visualize permanence. Less a reflection on the self-absorbed behaviour that results in partners seeking attention elsewhere than a thorough elevation of frugality, void of risk, The Descendants offers scene upon scene of pristine Hawaiian imagery without making them seem beautiful.
Not turning 25,000 acres of coastal land into a resort because you believe some wilderness areas should be protected from commercial development for future generations would be beautiful. Not turning 25,000 acres of coastal land into a resort because you believe its permanence represents your smug superiority is not beautiful.
Alexander Payne's The Descendants follows him closely as he gets to know his children, seeks to meet his wife's love interest, and decides what to do with his family's inheritance. As much of an exploration of shock as it is an examination of improvisation, the knowledge Matt King (George Clooney) relies upon to ensure his success in the legal realm finds itself curiously deconstructed when confronted with that of the domestic.
As he struggles to comprehend.
Acknowledging that the cookie-cutter approach to living has its share of unforeseen non-transmissible calisthenics, he still finds a means through which to visualize permanence. Less a reflection on the self-absorbed behaviour that results in partners seeking attention elsewhere than a thorough elevation of frugality, void of risk, The Descendants offers scene upon scene of pristine Hawaiian imagery without making them seem beautiful.
Not turning 25,000 acres of coastal land into a resort because you believe some wilderness areas should be protected from commercial development for future generations would be beautiful. Not turning 25,000 acres of coastal land into a resort because you believe its permanence represents your smug superiority is not beautiful.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
The Abandoned
Horror films can be a tasty treat when sweetened astutely and Nacho Cerda's The Abandoned is seductively saccharine. It’s about a demonic homecoming, a past whose stones were best left unturned, an impiate encounter with one's family roots. The heroine is an American movie producer who is suddenly and unexpectedly notified that she owns land in the Russian woods upon which stands her lost family's home. She travels there only to discover that it has a life of its own and is inhabited by her hitherto unknown twin brother. While they get to know each other, they are plagued by the presence of doppelgängers along with eerie visions of the event that irrevocably ruptured their parent's marriage. The grotesque imagery with which they duel is steadfastly maintained and Cerda ensures that his terror is neither kitschy nor compromised.
The Abandoned helped me to understand an important quality of the horror genre, the hows and the whys. While watching some films, why something happens or how something happens is often important, alluring, enticing. But a successful horror film reminds us that within such narratives these questions can intriguingly be left unanswered. I can't explain the contradiction that exists between the fact that the heroine's brother is alive throughout the film even though his infant corpse is discovered, nor how this house is able to cultivate its demonic presence, but that presence is so frightening and disconcerting that it competently forces you to feel its horrific reality, leading me to believe that an integral component of the successful horror film lies not in its rational coherency, but instead, in the intensity of its macabre ambience.
The Abandoned helped me to understand an important quality of the horror genre, the hows and the whys. While watching some films, why something happens or how something happens is often important, alluring, enticing. But a successful horror film reminds us that within such narratives these questions can intriguingly be left unanswered. I can't explain the contradiction that exists between the fact that the heroine's brother is alive throughout the film even though his infant corpse is discovered, nor how this house is able to cultivate its demonic presence, but that presence is so frightening and disconcerting that it competently forces you to feel its horrific reality, leading me to believe that an integral component of the successful horror film lies not in its rational coherency, but instead, in the intensity of its macabre ambience.
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