Legend

A maiden heads out, in search of her trusted love interest, who lives alone in the forest, anxiously awaiting her return.

They nimbly frolic and amorously explore the nature of his verdant domain, so caught up with love's magnanimity, that he decides to share a secret.

For he knows the location of unicorns whom she is eager to graciously meet, yet such knowledge is strictly forbidden to those who have not grown up in the woods.

Little do they know they've been followed by dastardly goblins seeking malice, who've been tasked to take out the unicorns for an envious Lord of Darkness.

Unicorns maintain metaphysical splendour within their lighthearted realm, their habitual laughter and innate innocence required to nurture time itself.

A forbidden act having been facilitated, a glorious unicorn falls, the other captured and brought back to answer for cherished wondrous humanistic enlightenment.

Along with the crestfallen maiden.

But her suitor is suddenly entrusted with mythical elven aid, after time stops and winter descends, and they realize they need a champion. 

So it's off to the fiery depths to save the universe from eternal darkness.

Guided by valour and instinct.

And perhaps, the power of Christmas.

Not technically a Christmas film, although unicorns no doubt emit the wisdom of Christmas, and have for munificent millennia, through the enchanting art of mysticism.

Their narwhal kin perhaps act as go-betweens with Santa as he makes toys far off at the North Pole, their scintillating seafaring network rich with endemic interactive fluencies.

Perhaps every creature found on Earth is part of this biodiverse switchboard, Santa and unicorns coordinating initiatives throughout the embowered globe.

For some reason I never saw Legend while still a wee ginger lad, plus I also missed Labyrinth and Dragonslayer until reaching the age of adulthood.

Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoy watching old school fantasy that isn't reliant on technical know how, when they still built sets from the ground up, and creative costumes generated adventure.

It'd be cool to see a contemporary filmmaker make a new fantasy film with muppets and physical sets.

Sort of like filming in black & white.

I bet they'd make something awesome.

That would never rival Jim Henson.

Aquaman

Unbeknownst to surface dwellers who recklessly pollute its august fathoms, deep within the ocean reside 7 ancient civilizations.

Swathed in utmost secrecy, they flourish in blissful dissimulation.

Yet one king (Patrick Wilson as King Orm) has grown weary of land lubbing largesse, and madly seeks to start a war with the peoples above.

He requires the loyalty of 3 free realms to bellicosely embark, however, realms which have little interest in non-aquatic regal affairs.

But not all of his subjects believe his plan is conceptually sound, two of them hoping to challenge his legitimacy within reasonable lawful bounds (Amber Heard as Princess Mera and Willem Dafoe as Vulko), for a brother has he who was raised on land yet still commands creatures of the deep, and even though Aquaman (Jason Momoa) has never embraced his submerged heritage, they feel that he may, if he learns of its dire ambitions.

And that only he can thwart them.

His lighthouse keeping father (Temuera Morrison as Tom Curry) still awaits the return of his beloved Queen Atlanna (Nicole Kidman), each and every evening, and has since the day she was taken from him, and forced to marry against her will.

Aquaman can't remember her.

Although he's heard of her brilliant legend.

But his customs are not those of the aristocracy, in fact Aquaman playfully intertwines old and new world pretensions as it supernaturally decodes the throne.

With wild self-sacrificing purpose.

The seven realms could have each represented different philosophies more astutely had their lore been given more detailed narrativizations.

But Aquaman resists the urge to become overly complicated like Dune, even if it's still quite complex, its protagonist like a Paul Atreides who was raised amongst the Fremen, his charming rough adventurous spirit boldly holding the film together.

You don't have to suspend your disbelief to love Aquaman, you simply have to imagine you've never believed in anything before.

And let yourself be immersed in a chaotic world overflowing with innocence and curiosity.

The underwater worlds are incredible and it was soothing to imagine myself within them.

Swimming away.

Aspects of Aquaman may be so improbable that a degree of cynicism may surface.

But it's also saturated with ingenuous goodwill, reluctance and cheek diversifying its depths, uncertain outcomes delineating its contrariety, with objectives as lofty as they are foretold.

A choral cascade.

A mirthful maelstrom.

The Dark Tower

A monstrous evil, scurrilously preying on the gifts of the innocent, intent on unleashing a frenzy of chaos upon worlds existing within worlds, rigorously assaulting their towering quintessence, transporting between realms with exuberant malicious discontent to capture a child and exploit his powers thereby inaugurating bedlam's unconstrained malevolence, after he desperately escapes his minion's demonic clutches, landing in a western world thereafter wherein which hope still communally emancipates.

Like a University professor who tyrannically bends the wills of his or her grad students to her or his own, or a teacher conjured by a shrieking nightmarish Pink Floyd soundscape, the Man in Black (Matthew McConaughey) feverishly seeks young Jake (Tom Taylor), who fortunately manages to obtain aid through opposition (Idris Elba).

In the fantastic dominion of Mid-World.

By the light of a despondent Sun.

As crudely cavalier nauseous malcontents continue to flourish in Trump's grossly irresponsible political construct, The Dark Tower disseminates multilateral luminescence, illuminating paths upon which to sublimely tread, during the villainous nocturnal onslaught, and the promulgation of sheer stupidity.

While artists are abandoned within, violence is recreationally devoured, leaders remain isolated and drifting, and attacks wildly increase in ferocity, an undaunted team slowly assembles, afterwards casting utopian firmaments anew.

Not the best fantasy film I've seen this Summer (I'm wondering if that's why Spaghetti Week at the Magestic [or something like that] is advertised near the end [lol]), but still a cool entertaining traditional yet creative sci-fi western, even if I'm unsure how I would have reacted to it if I were 15, I certainly find it relevant enough these days to imagine that I would have loved it.

The magical power of rhetorical/literary/political/interdimensional/. . . metaphor gracefully comments and forecasts, providing young and aged minds alike with plenty of rationales to reify, while still bluntly emphasizing the truth of scientific fact.

Focusing on the good of the many.

As contrasted with unilateral obsessions.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales has some compelling ideas woven into its text.

There's a strong woman of science boldly using her brain to discover truths unbeknownst as of yet to humankind.

Astronomical insights are cartographically applied to exonerate the supernatural as a matter of practical paternal romance.

A comical misunderstanding of a highly technical term leads to jocular confusion blended with righteous incapacitation.

The mythological and the religious are conjugally contrasted, perhaps to subconsciously juxtapose alternative attitudes acculturatively adopted as one travels through youth to age.

The monkey's back.

So's Mr. Gibbs (Kevin McNally).

But Gibbs doesn't have the striking supportive role he endearingly cultivated in Dead Men's predecessors, as he's shortsightedly reduced to more of a decorative ornament.

It's much more comedic than the other films, the swashbuckling seriousness that held them together sacrificed for generally flat tomfoolery.

Henry Turner (Brenton Thwaites) and Carina Smyth (Kaya Scodelario) replace William Turner and Elizabeth Swann but they're no Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom.

The action's steady and the confusing political threads that abstrusely adorned some of the sequels are absent, but don't let the barrage of buffoonery distract you from the fact that robust characters have transmutated into stock representations.

For instance, Jack's drinking has commandeered his wit and the mesmerizing incomparable lovingly brilliant captain is more like a bewildered wildebeest.

Johnny Depp should have won an oscar for his performance in The Curse of the Black Pearl. The apotheosis of his genius, which has recently fallen upon troubled times.

It may be my favourite performance ever, to appropriately apply an adolescent designation.

Did he ever make a film with Robert Downey Jr.? In a small town? Co-starring Emma Stone, Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Ryan Reynolds?

Plus Mayor Orlando Bloom and Schoolmistress Keira Knightley?

It's actually a great idea, having a washed-up Jack Sparrow circumventing at the helm.

He has aged considerably while drinking recklessly, so toning him down a notch adds an instructive realistic touch.

However, to tone down Jack Sparrow, or to transform his cheeky inspiration into reflexive knee-jerk contractions is to forget why Pirates of the Caribbean films are so appealing, and made me think, this is definitely take 5.

With the classic "everything imaginable is perfect" ending, apart from a significant loss (although I imagine they may resurface for part 6).

Said and done, I almost shed tears to see them back together.

But the significance was still diluted by the humour.

A critique of postmodern sincerity?

Legend

Underground prestige, the lure of the incorrigibly irascible, sophisticated in its blunt obstinacy, thrilling in its inexhaustible excess, a young girl, fascinated by the criminal underworld, scooped up by a smooth talking gangster, lives the life of an espoused sensation, freed from her drab impoverished prospects, shackled by overwhelming instabilities.

Fears.

The Kray twins (Tom Hardy) dialectically indoctrinate with either a suave well-groomed authenticity or an insatiably psychotic rage, depending on which one is in prison or who commands more clout, Leslie Payne (David Thewlis) efficiently bookkeeping as Ronald's hatred for him slowly grows.

Ronald's indiscretions multiply erratically as time passes and his violent caprice threatens their organization's fundamentals.

Frances Shea (Emily Browning) marries Reggie who has the restrained brains to keep afloat but can't shyly tread while Ronald is intent on drowning.

Active invincibility mortally wounded.

Frances suffocated by the madness.

The Legend, boldly applying a feminine conscience through narration to a gangster film in order to examine chaotic crime through the oft overlooked perspective of an observant non-combatant.

It doesn't work very well, the film struggling to assert itself as either a corrupt frenzy or a righteous indignation, the polarized dialogue thereby generated between both the Krays themselves and the Krays and Frances resultantly muddled and incoherent.

It's possible to successfully pull something like that off but I would argue it requires a less straightforward approach, one which utilizes formal cerebral charm to artistically blend fraternal factions.

Legend's so focused on differentiating the Krays (which it does well) that the secondary material, that which would have transported it to another level, staggers in stagnant inadmissibility.

There are several minor characters of note and the script is quite diverse but hardly any of them develop much personality as the Krays engage in reckless gangstering.

Still, there's a great line equating the underworld and the aristocracy.

A strong effort from the filmmaking team, flush with future potential.