Rio

I didn't think people wanted to keep birds as pets anymore, let alone exotic ones, or I at least figured the practise had remarkably decreased in recent years, but perhaps that was only in Canada and Québec, I admit I haven't read anything about it in quite some time, but ye old Rio brings it back into the forefront, meaning it must still be a problem, in different jurisdictions, around the world.

To reiterate the arguments that convinced me that keeping birds as pets was wrong, it boils down to the fact that they can fly, and it's therefore a horrible thing to keep them locked up in cages.

Even if some birds may be crappy at flying, they still cover thousands of kms in flight over the years, many habitually migrating as the seasons change, that must be a cool way to live.

If a lifeform is capable of flight and soaring from one tenacious treetop to the next, is it not extremely cruel to keep it in a cage, where it has nothing to do but lament its miserable situation?

Thoughts of soaring high above the magnificent clouds in search of food and friends and play, no doubt torment downcast birds in cages as they spend their entire lives excruciatingly jailed.

The horrors of the pandemic may serve as an example of what it's like for birds in cages (and other animals too), the extremely frustrating prolonged time when we were forced to spend so many hours at home.

It was for a good reason that is to stop the pestiferous spread of dispiriting plague, but what a horrible thing indeed to have to spend so much time locked down in isolation.

Caged birds routinely share this horror and understand where we're coming from accordingly, and pet owners should therefore think twice before locking a bird down in a cage.

Of course Rio's Blu can't fly and consequently becomes closely attached to his caring owner, the two forging a loving dynamic as she actively comes of age.

But she doesn't know that he's an endangered species until the day when an ornithologist from Brazil comes calling.

Having located a potential bird companion.

The two the last known representatives of their species.

Rio perhaps spends too much time making arguments which justify the possession of exotic birds, not to mention keeping them as pets, and not enough time focused on freedom, which seems like it should be the film's raison d'être.

Freedom is the focus in the end, nevertheless, when the poachers are thwarted and the beasties fall in love.

It's not worth the money to cage wild birds from the jungle.

The profits are limitless if you let them soar free. 

Arsenault & Fils (Arsenault & Sons)

The patriarchy's up to its old tricks again, this time in Rafaël Ouellet's Arsenault & Fils, wherein which a family of ruthless poachers is thoroughly and counterintuitively whitewashed.

Think of all the families who play by the rules to maintain healthy animal populations. The Arsenault's poach so much that sometimes nothing's left for their neighbours during hunting season. A lot of woodland people can save heavily on their winter grocery bills if they're able to harvest a deer or moose from such a population. But if some rogue family of jackasses shoots everything in the nearby forest (while claiming kinship with nature) including curious bears there's nothing left for thrifty locals to catch. The Arsenault's don't even keep the meat for themselves or distribute it to their community.

They sell it to far off restaurants. 

And when the heat's on they dump it in the forest.

It's basic math, well-meaning bright people have created a system to manage the hunt, and ensure it continues for generation after generation, just as long as you don't fucking kill everything.

As the saying goes, one family poaching for scraps is negligible.

5 million poachers will destroy a forest.

Look at Britain.

What a catastrophe. 

Although a lot of people are bringin' it back.

When we aren't supposed to be falling for the loveable family that's trying to change, while killing innocent bears and moose with high-tech weapons outside of hunting season!, a beautiful lass infiltrates the unit with hopes of bringing them down.

Undercover and at one time conscious of the adorable 4-legged residents of the forest, she witnesses several transgressions and compiles enough evidence to put them away.

But it's classic patriarchy.

In the short amount of time she's spent chillin' with the family, she's unconsciously fallen for them, especially the one who cares little for his appearance (the true patriarch needn't do anything to attract devoted beautiful mates), and she even cares for his nutjob brother.

Worried that they'll die in a confrontation with the cops, she blows her cover and ruins everything.

The writers suggesting she couldn't overcome.

Her natural dependence on lawless men.

I was so angry while watching the production team try to cultivate sympathy for such a way of life, that I thought committing myself to the animal protection squad may just be a great way to live.

I have lots of ideas like that though and I don't know if I'm ruthless enough for the job.

It'd be nice to save animal lives though.

Wish the UN paid more attention.  

La fille du Martin

The passing of a loved one accompanies a young woman's thoughts as she travels to the region of her birth to mourn.

Unbeknownst to her, a free-spirited youth awaits to assist in the grieving process.

As she convalesces basking in the Lac Saint-Jean wilderness, cinematographer Ronald Richard sensuously suggests that its pristine pastimes strengthen her beauty (Catherine Michaud as Sara Leblanc).

That beauty is indeed strengthened, as young love ignites to cause problems for villainous poachers, headaches for parental guidance, undisclosed wisecracks for a fraternal rivalry, and campfire tales for local legends.

Samuel Thivierge's La fille du Martin unpretentiously lodges a romantic reel in the Laurentian filmscape, lightheartedly casting its luminescent lures, hooking urban and rural encampments alike.

Straightforward, freewheeling, and independent yet accountable, it amicably shifts from outstanding shot to outstanding shot, infusing its comedic relations with bucolic luxury, its health sustained by its spry self-restraint.

I'll have to visit Lac Saint-Jean someday.

Only 5 hours away.

Rent an ATV, do some fishin'.

Hey hey!

(Nice porcupine shot).