The Earthling

A curious youngster who's been raised in California finds himself back in Australia visiting the Outback, his Aussie dad resolutely determined to introduce him to his heritage.

But he's not ready for the immersion and shows hesitation when boldly tasked, his father realizing it will take some time to get him used to the verdant zone.

Meanwhile, a cranky elder vigorously returns to the old haunting grounds, dying of cancer he hopes to make it resourcefully back to his old homestead.

He's a freakin' tough mofo who built his house out of rocks from the forest, with his bare hands well far away from road or industry or helping hand.

The young boy's parents begin to squabble on the top of a massive cliff, and as he searches for ample firewood their camper flies off, death awaiting below.

He's crestfallen and patiently waits for his mom and dad to emerge from the wreckage, myriad animals making the night seem rather frightening as it descends.

He's soon discovered by the grouchy man who shows no sympathy when they meet.

And introduces an no-nonsense regimen designed to teach him wilderness survival.

The Earthling's from a different time when Man's Men featured more prominently in film, not that they don't still today I just can't imagine a new film that's this insensitive. 

The poor kid has just lost his parents and at one point his cantankerous saviour, leaves him alone on an imposing cliff face while a pack of wild dogs bite at his feet below.

In classic hardboiled fashion everything's find and they're friends at the end, the young child who once feared going swimming in mountain pools now ready to catch wild birds and wallabies.

I imagine it was stubbornly made in the bountiful wake of ye olde Storm Boy, with which it jams to the hard-edged sounds of deafening clashing bleak death metal.

The child in Storm Boy having been judged to have comfortably had too much of the good life, he of Earthling is obstinately taught to fend for himself hours after his parents die.

The wildlife shots are amazing many different Australian animals shown, from echidnas to koalas to emus there's a cute-cuddly feast for the loving romantic.

Indigenous wisdom is shared and relied upon as they diligently make their way through the bush as well.

Extremely unsympathetic.

With a ton of cool shots from the Outback. 

Birth

Genuine love illuminatingly transcends routine day-to-day orthodox trajectories, ingeniously transmitting ethereal dispatches with sincere wholesome munificent dignity. 

But alas, the blesséd union is cruelly and inhumanely torn asunder, as envious death jealously rises then indelicately vanishes with one tortured soul.

Time passes and the surviving member is once again pursued by an old sweetheart, who waited patiently year after year and never gave up after considerable rejection.

A date is set they are to be married friends and family traditionally applaud, but one unexpected mischievous guest suddenly shows up with spiritual discourse.

He claims that he's the bride's enamoured ex-husband and that he's still wholeheartedly in love, the reincarnated reanimated spirit lithe and active within a 10 yr. old.

He's initially dismissed for unfairly toying with mournful feelings and morose emotions, and disrupting an upcoming marriage with zealous uncouth disparaging diatribes.

But he knows so much so many intimate details that were only shared between husband and wife.

Has the spirit world brought their moribund marriage back to life?

Or is the euphoria immaterial and inconclusive?

Somewhat absurd yet still innocent and tender you see the trusting lovelight altruistically shining through, as the bewildered ex-wife falls again for her husband with grave awkward grace and solemn credulity.

Even though he's only 10 and won't be fit to wed for another decade or so, she still considers the traditional role she once dutifully played with authentic temperance. 

I felt bad for the hopeful new husband who waited so long to fulfill his desire, true love and the fates egregiously mocking his steadfast and true uncorrupted fidelity. 

To wait so long and have your wedding annulled after a child shows up claiming to be your bride's ex-husband, would have been a shock too much to bear as furiously related one embarrassing evening.

The contemporary nature of the film sombrely scored with classical melodies, gives it a haunting stern humble edge wherein which you might find reincarnated frequencies. 

The characters are also wealthy (or bourgeois or struggling) enough to take such things seriously without qualm or misgiving.

To resplendently fall for true love everlasting.

Through immortal time.

In eternal disregard. 

The Holdovers

As Christmas approaches, a severe depressed teacher is suddenly stuck with a pressing burden, to monitor the activities and structure the days of a small group of children at a private school.

The children were left behind for unfortunate reasons their grief somewhat turgid, and to make things worse the ornery prof gives them lengthy flush days full of challenge and study.

Instinctive rebellion athletically simmers as the taut strict injustice wholeheartedly incapacitates, alcoholic coherence and ancient civilizations acerbically mustering seditious resolve. 

When the surprising introduction of chill unexpected adventurous pastimes makes itself freely known, and a former dismissive and angst-ridden parent turns a bucolic leaf and picks up his son. 

He also takes three of the other kids leaving only one student to be chastised and disciplined, the student desperately trying to contact his mom but she can't be reached at the resort where she's staying.

The resident cook still performs her duties as the Holiday Season ominously howls.

Helping the instructor try to loosen things up.

As the frustrated teenager dismally exfoliates. 

It's a traditional woeful bitter look at hard-boiled excessively critical regulations, as they gradually let go of their uptight ceremony and warmly embrace something much more public.

It reminded me of A Christmas Carol (1951) and how Scrooge had to once spend Christmas at a boarding school, until his adoring sister finally convinced their father to let him come home to celebrate together.

Imagine Scrooge the child, bright and decent, despondently stuck at school for Christmas, with Scrooge-the-elder, jaded and unfeeling, scheduling his activities throughout the day.

Scrooge vs. Scrooge the malignant metastases overtly arrayed through pomp and circumstance, slowly learning to get along as the stilted teacher incrementally lets go.

Perhaps if he'd been sent to the military academy he would have wound up more like Ebenezer, the Scrooge-like prof through an act of kindness embracing lithe spirits and altering his destiny.

Much more serious than many a light happy-go-lucky convalescent Christmas film.

That may find a lasting audience amongst the people who listen to the people whom no one ever bothers to care to listen to. 😎

Echo à Delta

A loving family convivially engaged routinely embraces lighthearted mischief, as the weeks fly by and the seasons change their open-minded dedication blooms and burgeons.

Two brothers not far apart in age have made several friends in the verdant bower, biking ensemble from home base to fort to local business to mysterious grotto.

They're close and the curious younger instinctively relies on their frequent discourse, the elder affably accommodating the resultant pair a tenacious tandem.

Aliens engender fascination as they astrologically consider the heavens, with dynamic multi-faceted individuals in gleeful possession of agile technology.

Said fascination doesn't go too far, but does lead them outside one evening, where they boldly attempt to make first contact upon a shed in a frightening rainstorm.

Hours later, the bewildered Echo confoundedly awakes in a nearby hospital, only to be told that his brother has disappeared and that he's lucky to be seated on solid ground.

As the days pass he becomes increasingly more and more exhaustively convinced, that his brother was abducted by aliens and that one day soon he'll suddenly return.

People entertain and wilfully assist as he continues the search for his missing bro.

The adults worried yet rationally uncertain how to impersonally yet endearingly proceed.

It's not as sad if you fall for the quest the uninhibited search for the missing brother, seen through the eyes of a caring young one tenderly obsessed with otherworldly potential.

Conspiracies enchant, the Men in Black must have egregiously influenced psychologists and parents, and painstakingly hid the distressing truth with extraterrestrial distressing hypocrisy. 

Non-traditional role models unsure of themselves efficaciously emerge (with Dickensian gusto), while upbeat friends lithely aid the search with friendly worthwhile upbeat slipstream.

He misses his buddy so much it's eventually tragic and tearfully driven.

Confused youth.

Unyielding capacity.

Doggonit daydreams.

Swathen willow.

Au revoir le bonheur (Goodbye Happiness)

What to make of this film.

It concerns a well-to-do family whose father unfortunately passes, leaving his 4 sons to squabble in grief at their cherished home on the Magdalen Islands (which I'd like to visit). 

They own a rather large business which one of them manages somewhat ruthlessly, and even though they earn plenty of scrilla, he's still tightfisted regarding start-ups.

Another brother is a talented artist as regards brilliant culinary manifestation, yet he's somewhat hopeless in tune with everything else to do with commercial affairs.

I suppose it's a heartfelt look at a grieving disputatious family, but it has elements I just can't let slide, I'm not really that familiar with relationships or dating, but I believe Au revoir le bonheur (Goodbye Happiness) goes way over the top.

I don't think having children with 4 separate women all of whom were left for one reason or another (who all still secretly love him), while not paying child support even though your family's loaded, and eventually impregnating a 5th much younger girl by the end of the film, is a humorous subject, that goes way too far.

It's the kind of idea that occurs to you and you dismiss for being far too insensitive (there's a dark side to creativity), I'm not sure how this film was received in Québec, but it seems to have overlooked La révolution tranquille. 

I'm not exactly in touch with prevalent trends and cultural narratives (although I love wildlife and football), but this may be the most tone deaf film that's ever been presented as a merry bellwether. 

In the 1950s, or long ago when westerns dominated the market, in film and television and novel alike, perhaps Au revoir le bonheur would have been well-received.

When men and only men decided everything and the patriarchy adjudicated with irate prejudice. 

I know there are other things happening in the film, but trying to create a loveable endearing cad with absolutely no awareness of consequence or responsibility (even if such things are annoying), even after it's happened twice, three times, four times, who can't even remember his children's names and loses track of them when he's in charge, is a blind horrendous nauseous infantilism that isn't even fit for the worst trash comedy.

I liked Starbuck like many others but that wasn't nearly as definitively offensive. 

It's presented like a Disney movie with challenges and endemic daring.

I like a lot of oddball stuff.

Assuming there's still conscious sympathy. 

*The pandemic's produced worse. 

The Accidental Tourist

How can the sure and steady traditional orthodox commercial life, be indefinitely extended everywhere, as you travel across the globe?

Would it be prudent to ubiquitously apply local standards irreducibly, regarding low key American cuisine, in Paris, London or Amsterdam?

That's precisely what Macon Leary (William Hurt) sets out to do as he travels the globe, writing helpful guide books for queasy tourists who'd rather not try international food.

He arrives in a select location and seeks out uniform Americana, and transmits the wholesome data back to his audience in waiting.

He's somewhat reserved and shy and never really has much to say, his comfortable life rarely ever changing from ye olde cradle to uptight grave.

But his son meant everything in the world to him and after he passed definitive woe emerged, his wife (Kathleen Turner as Sarah Leary) unable to endure the silence, their once practical marriage ending. 

At a new neighbourhood dog shelter a talkative maiden asserts herself thereafter (Geena Davis as Muriel Pritchett).

Presenting newfound romantic possibility.

And sundry improvised alternatives. 

I wonder what the stats say about travelling abroad, do most tourists want to try French food from France or would they stick to homegrown favourites across the pond?

My main reason for wanting to travel is to try local food from other countries, to just feast in Mexico for a week or indeed in France, Japan, or China.

Leary's books are mainly for business peeps who would rather not be travelling to begin with, so perhaps several of them wouldn't be definitively experimental, but I still wonder what the stats would be would they really still go to McDonald's while visiting Berlin?, certainly mind-blowing that people have such options, even if they seem somewhat monotonous.

People are defensive about their tastes and don't respond well to critical prodding, a lot of the inquisitive time, I gave it up long ago.

In my youth I didn't like to try new things but then found myself working in restaurants, and through habitual freeform snacking found I loved so many different things.

Unfortunately, people are often quite fussy about how they eat and want to prove they've precisely adapted to local custom, and attach corresponding snotty rules to dinner which generally makes things rather awkward.

Imagine turning something as cool as going out to eat into a stilted textbook pretentious reckoning.

I had a friend kind of like Ms. Pritchett long ago.

Those were enticing experiments. 

De Familie Claus

The abundance of Christmas films presenting alternative takes on Santa, suggest he revels in semantic mischief regarding the history of his origins.

Not that it's by any means intentional or deliberate or part of a plan, but as demonstrated by the multiple Christmas films theorizing his legend, it's apparent manifold mythologies have mutated. 

When embracing the legendary unknown it's important to intricately postulate, at times with the aid of well-considered collectives, at others with inspiring novel independence.

I imagine Santa appreciates the heartfelt conjecture and consummate cajoling conjuring, due to the plethora of well-meaning depictions which playfully hypothesize inherent merriment.

Perhaps within the realm of fantasy corporeal precision materializes at times, like the miraculous validity of a mathematical formula, entertainingly applied with reified reckoning.

Thus, Santa likely resides in the far North at a location yet to be determined, generally agreed to be at the North Pole, but perhaps as far off as nimble Ungava.

Reindeer seem to be the animals of choice to magically transport him around the world, perhaps initially detected by the tribes of Scandinavia who perhaps still aerodynamically vet their herds.

Clearly, at some point in history ebullient peeps colloquially referred to as elves, earnestly joined up with the thankful Santa to authentically assist with his diligent craftpersonship.

Perhaps as Scandinavian herdspeople have cultivated a keen spiritual eye over the years regarding reindeer, there are other dedicated students of Christmas constantly searching the globe for talented elves.

Animals seem to be naturally aware of Christmas and are no doubt ethereally linked to Santa, who genuinely cares for their upbeat revelry as curiously presented by Rankin & Bass. 

Perhaps with nothing to do with excess toys left over after Christmas, Santa and his crew began decorating the local coniferous forest in animate lithe accordance.

The idea was then surreally sequestered within a synergetic waking dream, which when realized earnestly instigated the fervid maintenance of similar arbors.

Who knows how accurate the illustrations or how precise the resonant tales!

Nice to see so many, nevertheless!

Every joyous Holiday Season. 

Doraibu mai kâ (Drive My Car)

The active life sustaining supple harmless interactive thought, consoling quirky consternation adept immersive ingenuity.

The calm and patient holistic vision stoic steadfast solemn varsity, pertinent adaptable expansive sizzle earmarked voltaic latent pressure.

But his (Hidetoshi Nishijima as Yûsuke Kafuku) loving partner (Reika Kirishima as Oto) suddenly passes when perhaps he could have intervened, or said something to swiftly alter the dismal moribounding hemorrhage. 

Psychologically deconstructed he gradually jukes and jets and jigsaws, slowly reimagining amenable principle through lighthearted chill experiment.

At one time he reflexively envisioned daunting twists tantalizing turmoil, without pause or critical reflection the plain and simple erudite schism.

But his wife first found the idea, after which he quickly improvised.

The working relationship romantically inclined freeform forgiveness inveterate l'amour, a rare gift celestially insatiable prolonged compression distilled adrenaline.

A common goal remarkably productive intermittent rowdy regenerative horseplay, benefits accrued conducive clutches laidback lax alert consistency.

Not one to overlook novelty, he notices his new driver's (Tôko Miura as Misaki Watari) abounding with pluck, somewhat forlorn yet still observant eager to multidimensionally disperse.

In possession of secrets so much distraction inanimate disconcerting dalliance, inopportune exported rationed irrevocable hardwire harrowing husk.

Kafuku winds up working with a young actor (Masaki Okada as Koji Takatsuki) who had an affair with his wife, the two awkwardly engaged through mutual love lost shin limitless lugubrity.

One young and blunt unwilling to hold back the thoughts which emerge to haunt him, the other sombre and much less eager to discuss such sensitive direct subjects.

Through these discussions a play takes shape as volatility blends with reason.

Only to ceremoniously fade.

Tragic rage.

Resurgent vellum. 

The Starling

No telling how the shock of unexpectedly losing someone will short-circuit, but there's no doubt it's an awful experience requiring patience, understanding, and compassion.

In The Starling, a loving husband is thoroughly overcome with grief (Chris O'Dowd as Jack Maynard), after his baby daughter doesn't wake up, a beautiful gift whom he adored.

He's so overwhelmingly grief-stricken that he checks into a local hospital, where caring sympathetic professionals try their best to ease his pain.

His wife remains at home and continues to work while slowly convalescing, visiting her husband once a week and bringing treats for each encounter (Melissa McCarthy as Lilly Maynard).

But since he doesn't progress and remains sadly lost in a deep depression, she struggles to optimistically adjust, especially when he no longer wants to see her.

It's recommended she seek therapy too, guidance from a former psychiatrist working as a vet (Kevin Kline as Dr. Larry Fine), with whom she strikes up a begrudging friendship, like a therapeutic odd couple.

Meanwhile, she cleans her yard and a resident starling starts to pester her.

She responds with uptight disdain.

Then feels guilty for her hasty actions. 

The Starling doesn't shy away from emphasizing sincere distress, and related waves upon waves of anguish as the Maynards come together. 

But it also praises the painstaking sacrifices spouses make while married at times, providing an amicable unassuming exemplar of devout enduring flexible partnerships. 

So many conflicting emotions difficult to comprehend since they're new and sad, add a steady routine on top of them, and there's bound to be a lot of confusion.

Lilly honestly reacts with genuine innocence as she freely adapts, with classic aggrieved McCarthian carnage, somewhat mollified for sombre subject matter.

As Lilly tries to poison the starling, human/animal relations are oddly characterized, she also hits it with a rock later on, the vet fortunate enough to save it.

After that everything's great for the starling and it seems as if she's welcome in the yard.

This is how people who don't understand human/animal relationships write about them (perhaps like Lindsay Bluth-Fünke). 

I sincerely hope that I'm not missing something. 

The Fisher King

A headstrong shock jock preaches polarities with assertive recourse to immutability, as his dedicated listeners tune in (Jeff Bridges as Jack), in search of tactile calamitous clarity.

But he goes way too far one impassioned evening and bitter criticisms lead to mayhem, as a devout fan takes what he's saying too seriously, and expresses himself with violence thereafter.

Jack may be rather confident and determined but he isn't made of stone, and after hearing about the mass shooting, he's overwhelmed with penitent distress.

Years pass and he's moved into his partner's (Mercedes Ruehl as Anne), working at times in her video rental store, woebegone motionless remorse having destabilized his once strident potency.

He's out and about one befuddled evening where he's drunk too much unfortunately, when some ne-er-do-wells lay into him, having mistaken him for a homeless man.

But homeless people quickly rise to his defence and he outmaneuvers the scurrilous rogues, awakening the next morning in a basement dwelling, accompanied by a fallen school teacher (Robin Williams as Parry).

He soon learns that that very same teacher's respected love interest was outrageously cut down, by the very same disgruntled individual whom he incensed with his improvised vitriol. 

Cosmic forces seeming to be at play he eagerly befriends his troubled saviour, the two forging a dynamic friendship, with mutual convalescence perhaps intuited.

But can Jack save his troubled soul by bringing Parry back from the depths of madness?

Or will traumatic resonance harrowingly consume him, as the shock proves too much to overcome?

Laidback mysticism and hardboiled angst creatively mingle ensemble within, bewildered conscience and integral redemption evocatively articulating the tragic bromance.

But Terry Gilliam isn't solely concerned with the interactions of the two wayward men, for the gals in their lives add so much spice (plus Amanda Plummer as Lydia) that it's well-balanced through fluid cohesivity. 

Magical realism constructively resides within the narrative's hands-on grizzly contagion, a leap of faith inexplicably necessitated to rejuvenate dormant animate spirits. 

The application of truth or utilitarian practicality may have led to a lack of change, for if there had been no sense of guilt, there would have been no need to assail cynicism. 

Even if it isn't practically sound doesn't it make for a more gripping tale, something less banal more out of the ordinary to transcend trusted paramount stability?

In works of literature and film anyways, perhaps not every day at work or in politics.

It's a mistake to categorically deny it.

And so much more boring in the long run. 

*With John de Lancie (TV Executive), David Hyde Pierce (Lou Rosen),  and Michael Jeter (Homeless Cabaret Singer). 

Over the Top

A father regrets having left his family behind and finally has the chance to make amends, travelling by rig to his son's private school, humbly prepared for probable conflict (Sylvester Stallone as Lincoln Hawk). 

He makes his living trucking on the wide open road, transporting vital goods from one feisty locale to the next, reputedly dependable indeed sure and steady, as he smoothly facilitates commerce across North America.

His son's (David Mendenhall as Michael) not impressed however for it's taken him years to pull things together, and his grandfather's (Robert Loggia) vilified him to the extreme, their voyage commences in heated dispute.

But Lincoln relaxes and goes with the flow aware their disagreements reflect his comeuppance, time passing acclimatization slowly etherealizing paternal reckoning. 

But gramps is madly infuriated and sets out to recover his lost grandchild, determined to see him grow up in the lynchpin of luxury far away from his cheque-to-cheque dad.

But paps excels at the art of arm wrestling, and can earn extra scratch on the side, accepting challenges at various truck stops as he journeys between destinations. 

Michael is taken away and Lincoln responds with tactile fury.

But it seems there's nothing he can do.

Put formidably pursue arm wrestling champion of the world.

The narrative uplifts the hands-on with practical hardboiled uncompromised life lessons, forgiveness sought and willing to be earned should familial recourse prove adaptable. 

It emphasizes responsibility in an honourable testament to tenacious capacity, celebrating confidence within bitter circumstances and integral boisterous reasonable wherewithal. 

Lavish absolutist pretensions encounter audacious freeform contradiction, but as they legalistically reassert themselves, flourishing innocence launches a second wave.

It's direct straightforward durable investigation presented with resolute luminous tact, inherent action spiritually reconciled with compassionate justice and an honest living.

You could argue that it suggests wealth crushes struggling ambition as that ambition earnestly seeks justified rights, leaving it with no alternative but to sell everything and gamble with the resultant proceeds.

But Lincoln's son was on his way back in stern refutation of his arrogant confines, and likely would have established a strong relationship with his father despite the law and his grandfather's wishes.

Perfect to sit back and relax while saluting Stallone's classic lack of pretension.

Not on par with Rocky or First Blood but still another entertaining take on daring will. 

Dragonfly

Do voices from supernatural realms at times attempt to communicate with the terrestrially composed, is there something to be said for uncanny spiritual instincts without resorting to coincidence or mental illness, as Tom Shadyac's Dragonfly directly hypothesizes?

A lot of the time it seems like mumbo jumbo that can't be clarified or reasonably explained, even if it's supposed to exist beyond rationality and therefore isn't logically disposed. 

It's foolish to take the irrational seriously since believing in ghosts or the like can lead to folly, although it's fun to imagine they might exist while leaning towards the generally improbable. 

One trick is to consider the possibility of keeping an open yet skeptical mind, while always immediately denying its logical potential if someone starts asking for more than 10$.

I saw many an episode of America's Most Wanted as a lad where true believers were cheated out of tens of thousands, and it seemed like such a depressing waste considering the trusting hearts who took a faithful leap. 

I hate to see the innocent cheated especially when they're gentle and kind. Why people who prey on their humble instincts can't find something more constructive to do is beyond me.

Those humble instincts have persisted nevertheless after a century or so of scientific advancement, advancements that have found evidenced based factual reasons to validate so many practical truths.

As science proves more and more practical theories you would think religious belief would become more and more obsolete, but it still persists with resounding tenacity in many jurisdictions still spiritually composed.

It's like there's an innate drive residing in many to believe in the supernatural regardless of fact, and even if such a drive seems improbable, yet can still sometimes be fun, in the interests of democratic community, methinks it's best not to dismiss it.

Of course I tend to operate within a communal domain where there's mutual respect for opposing viewpoints, and improbability doesn't have the upper hand and isn't creating laws to dismiss science or pandemics accordingly.

I like to hear people tell stories so I'll listen as they narrate away, it's incredible the things some people say, the force of their convictions at times unsettling.

Just proving and dismissing everything with science can be incredibly boring too. Life needs a bit of excitement now and then that only werebears and vampires (etc.) can provide.

As long as you don't believe werebears and vampires are real and can find a practical metaphorical application for them.

Thus rationalizing fantasy.

To tell even more incredible stories.

With planned obsolescence and conflicting authenticities so much discourse sounds absurd (especially as you age).

But what's life without absurdity?

As long as it doesn't cost too much.

The Rhythm Section

Lost and alone overwhelmed by grief, a former A-list student struggles aimlessly to get by, no will, no drive, no purpose, no quarter, moribundly drifting through the years, until a Samaritan arrives.

He's familiar with her case and seeks to facilitate just closure, and at least has the means at his disposal to provide temporary soulful relief.

Coordinates and probabilities, nothing definitive, eager to learn, never having accepted the official account explaining what caused a fatal accident.

Soon her leads dry up though and she's back on the road researching further, eventually finding an ex-secret service agent, who still takes the time to work in the field.

He agrees to train her resolutely, her resolve quickly becoming an obsession, replete with fierce wherewithal, months later she's determined and ready.

She embarks naive yet feisty and soon takes on her first assignment.

Aware of possible limitations.

Seeking the truth regardless.

The Rhythm Section's quite primal, instinctual, reactive, brazen, there's little argument or variability, just raw unyielding focus.

It pulls you in with blunt alarm and keeps things rough and menaced, crazed and stressed, with striking backbeat discipline, it tenaciously accentuates.

But without the variability its plot's somewhat too thin, too reliant on what takes place considering not much happens.

When you see The Empire Strikes Back as a child you don't think that Luke is only trained by Yoda for a couple of days (is it even that long?) before he faces Vader.

But later you discover the Jedi were once educated from a very young age, for decades under the tutelage of masters, which would make Luke's emergence as a Jedi seem slightly absurd if he hadn't learned his profession under epic duress.

It's similar in The Rhythm Section inasmuch as there's too much improbability. It's a serious film so you're meant to take it seriously and the action's direct and grave so it doesn't promote generic misunderstanding.

At least for me.

I don't mean it would have been more probable if the lead had been a man. It just seems like anyone coming out of circumstances comparable to those The Rhythm Section's heroine finds herself within at the beginning, would have had quite the time suddenly transforming into an elite counterterrorist.

But whereas some films improve as you think about them after they've finished, The Rhythm Section seems more and more implausible, not that something similar couldn't have indeed taken place, but the odds of it actually happening are beyond me reasonable thresholds.

Of course good cinema excels as it takes you beyond such thresholds to present something different from typical life, but if it's meant to be persuasive, and goes out of its way to be grim and realistic, it becomes more difficult not to apply logic, the application of which doesn't aid The Rhythm Section (she fights someone who's breathing from a respirator?).

More characters and a more intricate script and it may have been more believable.

The novel's likely more gripping.

Others likely found it more appealing.

It's always a good idea to forge your own opinion.

Dolittle

An eccentric doctor imprisoned by grief makes the most of his settled routine, taking care of an eclectic menagerie while managing a cloistered estate.

But his seclusion is to be interrupted as a royal patron beckons, she's fallen ill and can't find a cure and knows Dolittle's (Robert Downey Jr.) honest and true.

He's a gifted polyglot as it were who can speak with each and every animal, applying his unique talents to the inviolable veterinary, unravelling inextricable enlivening Beatrix.

Diplomatically assuaging instinct.

To facilitate communal fluencies.

Those who would dispose of the Queen (Jessie Buckley) are none too keen to see him enlisted, even if his quest is against all odds. It's been years since he's left his domain. But he proceeds with animate rigour.

They follow him anyway with villainous intent well-endowed with extraordinary resources, but he possesses adaptive extemporaneous finesse, and can make adjustments which variably avail.

Aided by another who also loves animal kind, they set forth with noble purpose, to break free from slack despondency, and seek robust unheralded virtues.

Clues have they which may lead to nimble fortune.

In defiance of time and tide.

As raccoons shift and sway.

Their voyage symbiotically commences.

The film excels at employing whale kind to assist with bold navigation, briefly granting services submerged to accelerate adventurous import.

Ravages wrought on fierce independence aren't overlooked or casually conveyed, for a tiger has been driven mad by his confinement, incarcerated in vengeful chains.

A cohesive group, gregarious gallantry, enables velveteen execution, a binding adherence to mutual respect reifying the superlative laissez-faire.

In surest action.

Melodiously disposed.

Avidly progressing from trial to predicament, the film perhaps revels in augmented haste, rarely pausing to rear and reflect, instantaneous unimpaired impacts.

Its target audience unperturbed by the steady alert quickening, direct meaning addressing identity, reactions brisk to untold considerations, Dolittle's less concerned with mature obfuscations, immersed in innocent wondrous candour.

Assured unbeknownst lackadaisical ingenuity, it may be easy to find faults, but would a 5-year-old care?

Cool animals.

Spirited goodwill.

A Vida Invisível (Invisible Life)

Tumultuous times await a romantic spirit after she's left behind with child and her family brusquely disowns her.

Or refuses to allow her to come home after she returns from her amorous adventure, alone with nowhere to go, having fallen prey to dishonest advances.

Made when she was ready to sacrifice everything.

Her sister's left unawares, has no idea what's transpired, and marries as the months and years pass, settling into domestic life.

But she never gives up her dream of playing the piano in Vienna, nor stops thinking about her missing sister, who communicates regularly in writing, her messages intercepted by a disapproving husband.

The oft irreconcilable relationship between emotion and principle forges an ethical current within, the husbands obsessed with how things appear, the wives sympathetic to concrete reality.

I can't understand how a parent could care more about a principle or social standing than the happiness of their child, or how they could disown him or her absolutely for doing something they may have once considered.

Themselves.

Some things lack prestige or appeal until you've reached a certain age, and it's difficult to imagine that one mistake made in the grips of youthful passion could ever prevent them from luminously radiating, for if principle isn't able to take what once seemed irrefutably endearing into aged spiritual account, are the thoughts and feelings of younger generations to perennially persist in ill-defined obscurity?

How could you know that your grandchild is being raised in a neighbourhood close by and that you've given his or her parents no assistance whatsoever to ease their emotional and financial distress?

How could you suddenly dismiss all the wonderful times cherished with your children as they grew, because they didn't follow a rigid rule to its stifling incapacitating letter?

Is it possible to love rules and regulations more than flourishing life?, to abide by stern codes and customs when surrounded by contemporary endeavour?

There's no doubt youth seeks to uphold what they've been taught to behold as rational, but to make sense of rational traditions when you're young overlooks the exuberance of life.

A Vida Invisível (Invisible Life) demonstrates how a young adult cast aside by her family digs in deep and vigorously strives.

And how that family suffers in her absence, how it would have prospered with her vital strength.

A sorrowful tale crafting knowledge woebegone, which contrasts domesticity with independence to challenge stubborn points of view, it exhales tragedy with forlorn breaths while encouraging compassion and understanding, as siblings long for the abandoned innocence that once so thoughtfully bloomed.

Is it not more shameful to abandon your child?

To leave them alone to dismally struggle?

I'm not encouraging reckless behaviour.

But mistakes require sympathy, not severe punishments.

Terminator: Dark Fate

Liked the new Terminator film.

I was surprised in the opening moments to see a beloved character shot down, and would have been angrier if that had happened much earlier, say in the 1990s, and then thought the initial terminator battle which followed was too textbook, too hasty, but after things settled down and the new parameters became clear, clearer, it took on a life of its own, and at times, seriously impressed.

I admit that I love Rise of the Machines, as I mentioned several times years ago, and Salvation isn't that bad either, although I'm not too fond of Genisys anymore.

I was partial to seeing John Connor chaotically embrace his messianic future, I suppose because it's cool to see the same characters reimagined in successive sequels, even if improbability ridiculously assails strict logic thereby, but that's the trick then, certainly, isn't it?, to make the impossible seem reasonably sound?

Rise of the Machines embraces the ridiculous aspect of reasonable improbabilities and perhaps therefore seems farcical to some, insufficiently serious in fact, lacking sombre and solemn composure.

Although I still think it does a great job of bringing Connor and Kate Brewster together, Arnold Schwarzenegger encouraging reluctant pair bonding, and as far as romantic-comedy-action-sci-fi goes, I can't think of another film that even remotely compares.

But Dark Fate works in the classic Terminator revelations well, the moments when its characters suddenly find themselves subsumed by ludicrous fact, reliant on a team they've never met before, and a plan laid out like a derelict jazz solo.

It did seem illogical that John Connor could be the only one to save the future, that no one else would rise up if he fell, especially considering how eager so many are to assert themselves, against all odds, in oppressive circumstances.

Thus, alternative computations perhaps make more sense than Highlander reckonings, uncharted territory reinvigorating discovery, a traditional plot realigned and recalibrated, repopulated with narrative variation.

It's nice to see Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) back at it. She adds a lot of depth and hasn't missed a beat.

Plus the new characters define themselves well.

Mr. Schwarzenegger lightens the mood.

And is reintroduced with paramount timing.

I suppose it's tough to diversify these films without setting them in the future like Salvation, as long as a terminator travels through time to hunt, and a future leader awaits unaware.

But if you want to keep things solemn while blending in a slight comedic touch, Dark Fate provides a noteworthy template, the dam doesn't burst, humanity fights back, and don't forget the convincing revelation scenes.

Tim Miller and his crew clearly care about the characters and sought to deliver a cool film for its fans.

Theatre troops have been performing Hamlet for centuries.

Working in contemporary themes.

Or reimagining historical authenticity.

As artificial intelligence becomes more prominent, don't Terminator films become more relevant?

So much time wasted in paranoid conflict.

Why isn't it clear there can be more than one?

Abominable

The loss of a loved one drives an innocent youth to seek distraction through work, her bounteous labours distraught self-exclusion, her family concerned, her friends highly critical.

In the evenings, after refusing to sit down for a nice meal, she still regales the slumberous masses with passionate violin song, her emotions as tender as kitten cuddles, her insights conjuring tone, a melancholic im/material maestro, grieving through derelict soul.

One night a mind-boggling surprise timidly awaits her, for a frightened yeti has sought refuge on her rooftop, unaccustomed to concrete or chaos, yet abounding with love for music.

Yi (Chloe Bennet) soon realizes ne'er-do-wells are in hot pursuit, and adjusts her routine accordingly, to facilitate his agile escape, and embrace the forbidding unknown.

But not before friends discover what they're up to, and wind up hitching along for the ride.

There is a slight problem though, for they have to improvise their way from Shanghai to the Himalayas.

With those who would exploit them tracking their every move.

But sometimes risk engenders adventure, and uncertainty begets innovation, saturated with enriching magic, inventing wondrous epic reflex.

Rationally pitched through wild variety.

Blending novelty and convention.

The youngsters indeed strive to reach the legendary Himalayas in DreamWorks's jazzy Abominable, three youths and a gifted yeti cub, exercising latent imagination.

The skills they never knew they had.

The integrity they had been blindly overlooking.

Sometimes you need challenge to awaken vigour and voice, as Paul Atreides does in Dune, although it need not involve interplanetary conflict.

Build a cabinet.

Learn to make pasta from scratch.

It helps if your resolve or your team has recourse to magic, as the lads and lass and yeti do in Abominable, but you can always substitute the word "books" for "magic", and find myriad aids at your local library.

Or libraries if you travel.

Of course conflict demotivates and you need a thick skin to bounce back or continue to move forward, the kids in Abominable persevering against unfavourable odds, assisted by fortuitous transformations.

Perhaps their journey's too cozy, or lacking discombobulation, but it's still fun to watch as they swiftly outmanoeuvre, friendship and family esteemed on the fly.

They're interested in life and living, not cashing in on exploiting difference, and they do what they can to help the yeti regain freedom, proactively managing warm and friendly initiatives.

Inspiring depth.

Like the mysterious yeti.

*It would be nice to have a roommate who played the violin. Just sit back, read or write as he or she practices. That would be amazing.

**With a pet cat too.

The Lion King

I wasn't going to see the new Lion King because I heard it closely followed the original's script, but I wasn't disappointed as it ceremoniously began, for the live action animation indeed compels and motivates.

It's no substitute for the real thing of course, and I prefer to watch nature documentaries, but that doesn't mean the visuals aren't stunning, or zoologically endearing, like a blizzard after a veggie burrito, a trip to the Planetarium, mango icing, or a macchiato with lots of whipped cream.

I can't stress how important it is to conserve Africa's remaining lions, elephants, rhinos, etc.

Their populations have decreased drastically in recent decades, and if concrete action isn't taken, they may disappear forever.

That's not an exaggeration, it's just basic math.

They have just as much of a right to exist as we do.

And don't really do anything to harm us.

It would be cool if politicians committed to shutting down Canada's ivory market during this federal election campaign, if it isn't distressingly frustrating that it hasn't been shut down already.

'Lil Simba (JD McCrary/Donald Glover).

Who's Canada's 'lil Simba?

Nurtured within the chillaxed Canadian and Québecois social sphere, one day emerging to challenge the dissolute Scar (Chiwetel Ejiofor)?

If you enjoyed the first Lion King film, I can't see why you wouldn't like this one, assuming you can get over how much money the film made without changing the storyline much, when there must be original narratives floating around out there that execs are unwilling to take a chance on, I don't really mind sequels as long as they're taken seriously, but an insane number of sequels and remakes have been released in 2019 thus far, as if pirated internet viewing's deeply cutting innovative bottom lines, and no one can afford to take cinematic risks, as if we're living in the age of bland cinematic prudence, born of misguided internet freedoms, which are transforming the world into Netflix, a remarkable minimalistic paradigm shift (it's cool to watch new films at home I suppose [I don't], but the result is that studios are now even less willing to embrace alternative ideas because their profits have been hit hard, theoretically).

Skyscraper!

Where art thou, Skyscraper!

If you accept that the new Lion King exists, however, regardless of its lack of différence, note, again, that it is a fun film to watch, abounding with commensurate degrees of age old wonder.

And imaginary animals can be placed in adorable situations that real life beasties instinctually avoid.

It's adorable.

And hard-edged, chock full of potent life lessons, much of the film's downright no-nonsense, although hakuna matata still resounds with bounty and ease.

Scar takes over again. Until 'lil Simba comes of age.

But wouldn't it be nice if successive governments respected what their predecessors had done, and didn't set about radically altering what they consider to be dysfunctional, unless you replace Scar, who is clearly dysfunctional.

It seems like all successive governments in Canada and the U.S are doing is reversing the decisions their predecessors made, regardless of the fact that significant portions of their countries/provinces/states value them.

There's no progress in such a situation.

And it must be a nightmare for career civil servants.

Politics is much more of a dog fight these days than it was in my youth, and the results are quite unsettling.

I doubt the NDP would change much of what the Liberals have done.

With the wily Jagmeet Singh.

Who's indubitably Simbiotic.

Dark Phoenix

The world of the X-Men and Women has become less inherently conflicted, as they have assisted non-mutant kind during many a dark hour of need.

Yet the distrust and fear of their abilities still institutionally lingers, requiring just the slightest provocation to erupt with volcanic fury.

Professor X (James McAvoy) still fights the good fight, but has become so accustomed to praise and reward that he's lost sight of the dire misgivings blindly focused on oppressing his people.

The X-Men and Women aren't revered like the Avengers, theirs is a more hostile world within which old world prejudice still infuriates.

Old world is perhaps the wrong word to be using here, for I doubt multiculturalism is something new.

It's likely existed in manifold alternative forms since the inquisitive dawn of time, perhaps without having to be conceptualized during more enlightened forgotten epochs.

As Foucault would wager.

Without radical designs.

Jean Grey (Sophie Turner) finds herself embodying godlike superhuman powers in Dark Phoenix, and after expressing herself too combatively, leaves Xavier's peace in ruins.

But he refuses to give up on the virtue he still knows constructively resides within, and even as Magneto seeks vengeance, he will not let her drift away.

Not the best X-Men film but it still resonates with endearing themes.

To promote and believe in the goodness of humanity reflects genuine spiritual resolve, but to deny the existence of terror is as foolish as it is naive.

Professor X and Magneto strategize somewhere in between, constantly aware of the other's next move yet still attuned to bold improvisation.

Through the ages.

The fight is fought internally by everyone at times, but losing sight of the value of difference leads to perpetual disillusion.

There's nothing wrong with a bit of spice.

To liven things up a bit.

Chocolate sauce or some gritty granola.

Takes the hardboiled edge off.

From time to time.

And tastes good.

Yum!

Clara

Vigorous contemplation astronomically acclimated objectively focused on enigmatic night skies.

The loss of a loved one, the end of a marriage, caught up in one's work, cold obsession wears thin.

Pedagogically anyway, those are the kinds of unimaginative questions purposeless fools think up in bland appeals to flippant provocation, having nothing that drives them themselves they seek recognition in blasé slander, as they rigidly capsize then flounder away.

No matter.

Perhaps Dr. Isaac Bruno (Patrick J. Adams) did need a break, but his uninterrupted logical obsession does lead to prosperous discoveries.

With Clara (Troian Bellisario), an independent spirit emboldening itinerant fascination, having travelled the globe she applies to work with Dr. Bruno, bringing passion and impulse and style to their studies, cooly adopting romantic methods, warmly embracing emotions age old.

Imaginary numbers.

Heart.

Spawn of the universe interdimensionally abstracting to practically envision passage, spiritual transference incorporeally transmitting commensurate extraterrestrial caches, juxtaposed entities interpreting as one coyly generating crinkly bifrost, the bond of the inexplicable reciting interplanetary sun drenched dawns.

Sci-fi love, intergalactically conceptualized, resoundingly researched, indiscriminately developed.

This Clara, Akash Sherman's Clara, true synthesis of art and science, like a seashell or desert haze.

Posing questions with no reasonable response, intercessions padded feasible parlance, cool realistic bonsai that values stoic discipline, charmed cogent romance which denotes with precision.

With academically inclined composed characters well suited to dreamy wild cards, Clara contrasts teaching with research, the lab with the world at large, objective analysis with inspired intuition, and dismal grief with resilient hope.

Dr. Durant (Ennis Esmer) and Dr. Bruno's approaches to higher education complement each other well, and even though misfortune has ended Dr. Jenkins (Kristen Hager) and Dr. Bruno's marriage, they still maintain a professional relationship as time slowly goes by.

Alternative thinking and experimental readings lead to rational conclusions which reclassify ontological taxonomies.

I have no idea how to find them, or contact them, but there must be other lifeforms out there.

I don't know how much should be spent trying to find them.

But hopefully some's spent on dolphins, improbability.

The sea.