Excelsior

Obsessed with grades a curious squad introspectively comports themselves inquisitively, compulsively attuned to meticulous vibrations shrewdly endowed with austere form. 

Studiously aligned to exacting rhythms they reflexively defy comatose expediency, and proactively consume everything they can instructively regarding knowledgeable life. 

Intricate methodologies furthermore facilitate domestic tasks and fruitful expenditures, as elaborate meals exhaustively enable vast culinary insights into grand gustation. 

Public transit indeed suffices as automobiles require monthly payments, and work conflicts with reading and study as esoteric guidelines promote seclusion. 

They note the habits of other people as peculiarly generating otherworldly impulses, which seem to have less novel interest and lack the allure of imaginative exhibition. 

Until one day they're voluminously tasked with audaciously attending a music festival. 

At which they encounter points of view.

Randomly delivered with disengaged artistry. 

It's fascinating to watch as exoteric alternatives creatively emerge with dynamic flair, and democratic evaluations of discursive thought begin to outmanoeuvre hierarchical remonstrations. 

Instead of vitriolically delineating opposing viewpoints as distasteful, the raw newfound classifications deconstruct traditional liturgies. 

As they listen to conversations which don't have a point and aren't competitive, the resulting nonsensical energetic whimsy magically encourages inclusive insights. 

I liked how the utilitarian exposure led to less venomous codes of conduct, and the accidental immersion in illogic subterraneanly diversified stilted constructs. 

It reminded me of my youth in the country when I hung out with people who had no use for school, and I used to love listening to their odd discussions which were so very different from life at university (they called me dainty). 

They were like unique unconcerned orchestrations naturally overflowing with authentic life, people who actually cared about people, instead of just writing books about how that's a great idea. 

Cool flick. 

Fool's Paradise

A humble generally mute man unconcerned with popularity, is released from a mental hospital and finds himself living on the streets (Charlie Day as Latte Pronto). 

But as fate would have it, he's a dead ringer for a widely sought after Hollywood star, and a reputed producer accidentally takes note and asks if he'll take part in one of his films (Ray Liotta).

Neither fortunately nor awkwardly, the star he's replacing suddenly passes, and he finds himself moving in on his career, soon married in the confusing spotlight.

A down-on-his-luck casting agent soon befriends and seeks to represent him (Ken Jeong as the Publicist), and he sees neither reason to protest nor oblige as he doesn't particularly care about what's happening.

His career slowly spirals out of control since he really has no idea what's going on, but still shows up on set and at dinner parties to make obliviously sincere appearances.

He's somewhat like Chaplin's Little Tramp but without the rambunctious versatility, the intense perplexing permutations which make his films so entertaining. 

He's also kind of like Peter Sellers in ye olde Pink Panther classics, although without the bemusing repartee which leads to intuitive blundering captivation. 

Perhaps if they'd been born at a later date they would have been more concerned with sleaze, and less drawn to borderline wholesome clever family friendly endeavours.

Imagine Charlie Chaplin having matured watching generally uncensored prime time romps, would he have even bothered to pursue filmmaking, and if so, to what inspirational degrees?

A contact once pointed out the protruding mean-spirits in contemporary comedy, whereas there used to be a sense of congenial accord there's currently much more dispiriting sadism. 

Perhaps the same sentiments were there in the past but the tighter censors encouraged less carnage, or a more enthusiastic communal embrace, striving to disseminate respect and well-being. 

Not all the time, the insouciant management of integral cheek still startlingly manifest, where to establish the balance difficult to say with relative collegial im/precision.

Then again, Fool's Paradise may be making this very same point without having expressed it.

Could be taking an ironic swipe. 

Lamenting what's clearly missing.