When Pigs Fly

Although I lean heavily towards the non-existence of ghosts, I have been eagerly taught to keep an open-mind, meaning that while most of the recorded attempts I've seen on television to capture ghosts seem rather suspect, I still can't categorically dismiss them, as if there's absolutely no possibility of their existence.

As to the existence of the coronavirus, I'm 100% certain that it exists, and think positions to the contrary are oddly ignoring vast swaths of evidence. As to the origins of the virus, they're certainly debatable, but there's no doubt that the virus exists and that vaccinating yourself against it is a solid option.

Should I ignore the vast swaths of evidence which suggest ghosts don't exist as well, and engage in quizzical quantum quackery out of supernatural fascination?

I suppose if a movement caught on which definitively upheld the existence of ghosts, and this movement gained political power, and used its power to promote ghostly endeavours with unsubstantiated reckoning, in some kind of unproductive bizarro way that had seriously negative effects on the economy and the environment, then I would have to deny the existence of ghosts, and embrace distasteful categorical dismissal. 

But that example's absurd and worrying about such possibilities a waste of time (unless you're writing fantasy).

The existence of the coronavirus is not absurd.

And it's claimed millions of lives worldwide.

When Pigs Fly examines an underemployed musician who meets two playful ghosts (Alfred Molina as Marty), and agrees to help them cause cheeky mischief as they embrace various pastimes.

It possesses an endearing lighthearted spirit concerned with stern avenging intrigue, shenanigans erupting with animate requisition as projections pique and premonitions postulate.

It was great to see Sara Driver dedicate her film to ghosts in general, I can't verify if any of them have seen it, but would wager they would have been appreciative if they had.

I'll lend an ear if there's something haunting or enigmatic even that's caught your eye, I don't know how seriously I'll take what you say, but I won't dismiss it, unless you want tons of money. 

That's how so many great fantasies find themselves blockbusting at different times.

Someone had an otherworldly impression, real or imagined, and people listened as the idea took shape.

Do fantasies have utilitarian value, I'd vehemently argue they do. They promote courage, daring, wisdom and modesty, in a manner that isn't stale or antiseptic. 

Spending too much time watching or reading them may occlude practical professional decision making.

Or perhaps not, depending on the industry.

As to motivations, who's to say?

A Star is Born

With a voice as multifaceted as Brooklyn or a night out on Duluth, effervescently reverberating with transformative emotional characterization, sweetly orchestrating discursive labyrinths, purpose delineating fluctuating climax, the in/conclusive communally narrativizing, the independent meteorologically summarizing, Lady Gaga (Ally) firmly embraces the silver screen, irrepressibly showcasing her vast talent, chanting out with distinct virtuosity, enlightened like a seaside glade, I've never listened to her before, what an exceptionally mesmerizing performer.

Starring in a film that struggles to match up.

Although it starts out well as an alcoholic superstar (Bradley Cooper) suddenly decides to check out the local nightlife after another successful performance.

To his immense good fortune, he's lucky enough to discover a local talent whose versatility is as profound as it is unknown (Gaga).

The film excels as the two meet and Ally is instantaneously recognized.

But as the praise keeps rolling in, and rolling in, and rolling in, its gritty edge is blandly dulled, and as Jack's addictions correspondingly get the better of him, the result is a depressing descent into cold reckless shadow.

A Star is Born is just too obvious, not in the good we know this is tacky and we're making fun of ourselves kind of way, but in the bad you're supposed to be taking this seriously kind of way.

And it's super long.

Often when I see something this bad I'll go see something else and write about it instead, to avoid hurting feelings, but I don't have time to do that this month, and therefore, must proceed.

But I won't say much more.

Immediacy can be a useful device but when things are this instantaneous everything just falls apart.

Rapidly.

In terms of making a film, not going with the flow when performing live.

Man.

My mind's too full of negativity.

I think the expression is, field day, or you could have a field day with this one.

Some great performances though.

And some funny family moments.

The first 40 minutes are really good.

Bummer.

Crazyheart

The careers of many successful musicians have their ups and downs, and Scott Cooper's Crazyheart begins by introducing us to one of country music star "Bad" Blake's (Jeff Bridges) less fortunate moments. He's 57, has lived through 4 divorces, and currently travels from city to city in his ancient suburban in order to play for modest yet enthusiastic crowds in small bars and bowling alleys. Smoking and drinking constantly while still managing to competently perform (although he may have to take the occasional 'rest' in the middle of a song), times are tough for this living legend and it's been a while since he's caught a break. While playing in Santa Fe, he agrees to provide journalist Jean Craddock (Maggie Gyllenhaal) with an interview and the two hit it off. Thanks to her sober advice, Bad feels more comfortable reestablishing a relationship with country music celebrity and former protege Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell), and his fortunes begin to relatively improve.

Simultaneously interrogating the life and times of a prominent musician and the consequences of alcoholism, Crazyheart demonstrates that life on the inebriated road necessitates a host of artistic acclimatizations, the most disruptive of which often result in successful professional developments. The film doesn't really vilify alcoholism to any serious extent, and even builds Bad up as a badass tough-as-nails aging artist, still playing by his own idiosyncratic rules, who has aged to much to sustain his choice of lifestyle (it demonstrates that alcohol abuse results in a peculiar constitution without moralizing intently on the subject). Instead, it poetically highlights the productive tension maintained between personal reclusion and communal creation, while evocatively elucidating one man's saturated experience.