Get Santa

Santa's travels have led him on many a wild-eyed adventurous path, perhaps none so ritualistically disastrous as that trod in the feisty Get Santa.

Within, after accidentally encountering a grounding immobilized malignant encumbrance, he finds himself struggling to locate his cherished reindeer who have erratically dispersed throughout byzantine London.

He seeks to enlist the aid of a troubled soul just released from prison, but his bewildering roundabout strategy sees him scandalously incarcerated instead.

Unaccustomed to prison life, he awkwardly attempts to be disconcerting, but his natural magnanimous innocence ethereally precludes any bellicose mischief.

Meanwhile, the ex-con on parole (Rafe Spall) must help the legend escape, and with the aid and encouragement of his loving son (Kit Connor as Tom), sets about trying to zero-in on the flatulent beasties.

It's a rather complicated procedure considering the number of laws they must violate, on his first day of parole no less, the authorities unsympathetic and unamused.

And just as they reach fabled Elf City and find a new sleigh to break Santa loose, he's suddenly placed back in his cell, and must prepare to be transferred to another prison.

How could such a sociocultural imbalance lead to so distressing an incongruity, as one globally revered for earnest generosity can't enchantingly negotiate spiritual quarter?

As if during that grouchy year the Christmas spirit plunged to unprecedented depths, leaving the habitually wondrous and animately endowed with little recourse for upbeat revelling.

Get Santa captures the inherent disillusionment with woebegone unimpressed adamant criticism, while mischievously celebrating improvised conjuring along with lithe constitutional forgiveness.

In terms of its comedic vocation, the grizzly gaseous go-daddy gallows, maddeningly matriculate maladroit mayhem, with a classic salute to prognostic defiance. 

Seriously, it makes it seem like Santa (Jim Broadbent) has no chance of escape whatsoever, and lays the impossibility on super thick, while still engaging in traditional shenanigans. 

I immediately spotted the Michael Corleone pastiche and thought perhaps it was somewhat ill-suited to the season (the actual scene hails intense violence and heralds the emergence of an intelligent yet ruthless survivalist), but how can I not be forgiving at times such as these, especially when Get Santa fits so well with the '90s.

Classic goodwill and exceptional endeavours oddly uphold this offbeat Christmas romp.

As convincingly touching as many Christmas classics.

High stakes hi-jinx, convivial distaste. 

Sabita naifu

Witnesses to a crime must choose between cash and conscience, the police desperate to find a witness, the killer flagitiously roaming free.

There's more accommodation than you might expect but not if greed recklessly overflows, grievous tests of heinous hang-ups begetting morose mortal woes. 

The initial crime is callously compounded by further murderous malfeasance, as it becomes apparent that the very same culprit also terminated innocent true love.

When the bereaved forsakenly discovers the rampant illicit carnage, he sets off to furiously avenge his unsuspecting humble sweetheart.

It's much easier to suddenly confront higher-ups in this old school style of film, and soon an extended street fight reminds one of The Quiet Man or They Live. 

But by the belligerent declarative end it becomes despondently clear, that another is responsible heretofore delegating unscathed.

The despondent lover resolutely agrees to help the local constabulary, as does another witness who is soon grimly betrayed.

A crooked counsel distressfully dissembling is soon caught by just repose.

But can his intel make amends?

As righteousness implodes.

Modest nondescript bold filmmaking jurisprudently avails within, as corruption and rehabilitation mutually balliset unhinged.

Imposed amoral mechanization confronts conscientious betrayal, as upright balanced codes of conduct disenchantingly detect treachery.

Suppose that's the way things go as cultures cultivate civilization, alternative visions boisterously clashing swathed in disconsolate ideological conflict.

Those who enjoy the conflict chaotically prosper beyond reason, irreconcilable institutional sophistries ensuring unconcerned abstract elevations.

In the artistic realm such elevations make for compelling books, Proust et les signes (Deleuze) for instance which isn't too abstruse.

In politics however you would hope one outlook doesn't govern inherent multiplicities, unless such a viewpoint encourages multicultural lateral growth and inclusive sustainable employment (or there's a pandemic on and people need to wear masks, stick close to home, and social distance, in order to avoid catching and then spreading a deadly virus).

Too bad mutually constructive lateral growth so often gives way to imperial ambitions.

I'd rather chill in Parc Jeanne-Mance myself.

iTunes music.

Microbrasserie du Lac-Saint-Jean. 

The Windermere Children

When I was growing up, the horrors of World War II and Nazi oppression still weighed heavily on hearts and minds, and cultures went to great soulful lengths to instructively ensure they wouldn't be forgotten. 

You didn't have to search for very long to find outlets condemning the racist violence, and politicians who condoned hatred had very short-lived careers.

The state of the public sphere today is a reckless mess. There's no general emphasis on consensus or teamwork or collegiality or reconciliation, just a mad reactionary groundless onslaught of grotesque irresponsibility. 

Even something as consensus building as a plague has been divisively politicized, and official acts of incredible stupidity abound with gleeful unconcern.

But if I remember correctly, sowing deep rooted contempt for government by promoting bureaucratic chaos (the government appears to be dysfunctional all the time so people lose faith in politics) is a far right strategy, which is being employed ad infinitum to champion sheer catastrophe (see Chomsky).

The Nazis took power in such a climate in hopeless post-War Germany, and unleashed an unprecedented deluge of hate that crippled Europe for decades.

The holocaust was the most revolting undertaking ever unleashed on unsuspecting peoples, and the racist ideologies that encouraged it are once more circulating in the public sphere.

The Windermere Children presents survivors of that unimaginable horror, that extreme repugnant terror that claimed millions of innocent lives.

To see what the kids have been reduced to near the beginning of the film, is to witness utter despondency pure and ghastly total war.

But thanks to the caring endeavours of a British philanthropist and a group of teachers, they were delicately nursed back to health as the film wondrously demonstrates.

There are politicians like Biden who truly care about humanistic enterprise, and have no interest in dividing a nation into disparate unintegrated groups.

They seek non-violent productive community, not the profits of war.

The world can be more peaceful, it's just a matter of respect and productivity.

A focus on international community.

That doesn't leave behind individualistic ambition. 

The Mustang

Why people have to round up wild horses is something I don't understand?

Aren't they just chillin' in wide open unoccupied plains, doin' their own thing, not worryin' 'bout other people's business?

Does someone own the grass they eat?

Are they trespassing in the middle of nowhere?

Must they all be tamed and forced to work, to quietly perform without as much as a recalcitrant neigh, as they're rewarded for doing tricks they can't possibly comprehend, when they could have simply been roaming the forgotten wilderness, wild and unconcerned, harnessed to unbridled freedom?

I don't disapprove of The Mustang's horse rearing program, inasmuch as it exists after the fact.

It's actually a brilliant stroke of enlightened rehabilitation, that teaches hardened criminals genuine kindness, love, and compassionate understanding.

The remarkable benefits of animal therapy can easily be found online, which leads me to think that if prisoners were given stray cats and dogs to care for, things might lighten up in some tense environments.

Training a frisky rebellious stallion certainly helps The Mustang's Roman (Matthias Schoenaerts) to feel again, for after years of unmanageable self-imposed isolation, he suddenly opens up to his gentle daughter (Gideon Adlon as Martha).

Soon after he enters the program.

He doesn't take to it so well at first though.

He's so tightly wound he can't listen to anyone other than himself, even when people freely share valued helpful information.

But why is he so tightly wound?

Where does his obstinacy come from?

It could have perhaps been generated by an all-too-encompassing psychological focus on the individual, a shocking inability to calmly listen to an other.

Anyone else, it's as if he's adopted a god-like persona that fails to heed any alternative viewpoint that doesn't match his predetermined will.

His predetermined will alone.

He's likely encountered wicked tricks, people who claimed camaraderie but only sought to cheat him.

But that doesn't mean there aren't others out there providing judicious counsel, lively inspiring goodwill, or that everyone you meet is trying to screw you.

Just have to give a little.

Be willing to let others in.

The Mustang slips up at times and probably could have left out a lot of the violence, and Roman certainly convalesces rather quickly, but it still presents a caring heart that truly seeks honest redemption, after having given up on everything it loved, after having succumbed to total silence.

If the horses can't run free why not train them with similar initiatives?

But I don't see why they can't run free.

They aren't hurting anyone.

And they make nature all the more wild.

Indubitably.

Healing

Feel-good regenerative character building assignments can sternly yet sympathetically rehabilitate both inmate and injured bird alike, according to Craig Monahan's Healing, a family friendly sentimental melodrama.

Respectful, school-of-hard-knocksy, and well-rounded, with several strongly developed primary and secondary (somewhat one-dimensional) characters, it generically yet comprehensively annotates its subject matter, polarities within polarities structuring the altercations, emphasizing forgiveness and zoo therapy, and that no one can be left alone.

If you like animals, notably birds, there's a feast of endearing schmaltzy scenes within, the raptor Yasmin often used to transition, his facial expressions commenting on the action.

There's also a strong egalitarian dimension, Healing's principle character being an Iranian convict who was convicted for murder (Don Hany as Viktor Khadem), its narrative featuring his strengths and weaknesses as an individual, not as a member of a specific ethnicity, while still exploring aspects of his culture to indicate difference without effacing opportunity, giving both him and his Australian cohabitants an equal chance for release.

There are the odd ethnocentric slurs but they're residual, distastefully expressed.

The conflict within the polarities gives the story a gritty character which adds a real-world dimension to its ethics.

I still would have cut down the length by about 15 minutes, the cutesiness dulling its edge as too much time passes.

Vic et Flo ont vu un ours (Vic and Flo Saw a Bear)

Callous direct confrontational cheek infused with rehabilitated romantic longing curiously cohabitates with its surrounding community, comfortably nestled in a formerly saccharine sugar shack, problems with those they encounter, there are problems with those they encounter, in Vic et Flo ont vu un ours (Vic and Flo Saw a Bear), wherein an elderly ex-con whose formative years were likely filled with anger, the film being unconcerned with historical details, an emancipated secluded parareactive present, reunites with her luscious love interest, whose fermenting fugacious boundless wanderlust, delicately soothes, and traumatically glistens.

There are those who are seeking revenge.

Those who vitriolically interact.

The sedate, the facilitative, the confused.

And trusty, tight-lipped, do-gooding Guillaume (Marc-André Grondin).

The sequence where he takes Vic (Pierrette Robitaille) and Flo (Romane Bohringer) to the aquarium and the museum is invaluable.

The film's form itself mischievously mirrors Vic and Flo's grizzled disregard, their justifiable frustrations with their roles in the order of things, as displayed by the rapid fire hyperactive opening credits, overflowing with kinetic energy, setting up a cerebral symphony, as if Denis Cȏté is saying, "yes, I could have done more, but isn't what I have done enough to still warrant critical acclaim, which doesn't concern me anyways, je m'en fous?"

I've only seen Vic et Flo ont vu un ours and it's good enough to make me want to rent the rest of his films, quickly full-speed ahead, this guy is awesome.

The same applies to Guillaume Sylvestre.

They don't actually see a bear but the moment where you're thinking, hey, maybe the title isn't metaphorical, couldn't be more dysfunctionally discomforting.

Jackie (Marie Brassard) looks a bit like Wild at Heart's Juana Durango (Grace Zabriskie) at one point.

Pourquoi? Pourquoi!

Dolphin Tale

Dolphins, swimming around, investigating things, discussing various topics, demonstrating interest, responding playfully, gregarious and cheerful, mischievous, resilient, diligent, ebullient. I've always enjoyed watching dolphins go about their dolphin related business and Charles Martin Smith's Dolphin Tale provides plenty of dolphin focused activity.

There's just one problem.

Winter, the dolphin about whom this tale is told, has had to have her tail removed after complications resulting from being entangled in a crab trap. The Clearwater Marine Hospital is dedicated to her rehabilitation, but after she learns to swim by moving her back from side to side instead of up and down (as she would had she a tail), it becomes apparent that her spinal cord won't be able to withstand the unnatural movement, meaning her future is in jeopardy.

Enter Sawyer Nelson (Nathan Gamble), the boy who helped save Winter from the crab trap. Winter takes a shine to Sawyer and responds more positively to his care than to that of her other attendants. Sawyer's cousin (Austin Stowell as Kyle Connellan) unfortunately has his legs damaged in an explosion which sends him to a hospital specializing in prosthetics.

Which gives Sawyer an idea.

Perhaps a prosthetic tail can be made for pesky Winter, thereby saving her spinal chord and ensuring that she will be able to swim till an old age.

Will this tail be ready in order to showcase Winter at an event designed to raise funds to prevent the Clearwater Marine Hospital from being sold to a corporation and turned into a hotel?

Only time will tell.

Watching the film will also tell, and if you want to see a somewhat cheesy yet inspiring and uplifting story wherein a shy disengaged youth learns to make friends and become a contributing community member (even though he has no love for prepositional phrases), full of plenty of exciting shots of a dolphin who won't let things like not having a tail keep her down, Dolphin Tale is for you. And even though there are two single parent families within and their children become good friends, the father and mother don't establish a romantic relationship, which is where I thought the script was headed.

To learn more about the Clearwater Marine Hospital Aquarium and follow Winter's adventures, visit here.

The Meaning of Life

Hugh Brody's The Meaning of Life introduces us to several inmates of the Kwìkwèxwelhp minimum security correctional facility (The Kwìkwèxwelhp Healing Village), located on Chehalis First Nations territory in British Columbia. Providing several of them with the opportunity to speak, a vicious cycle of abuse and violent crime is showcased. The residents, having been sentenced to life in prison, recognize that the crimes they committed were heinous and deplorable, the kinds of acts that aren't easily forgiven. Wishing they had taken a different path while making the most of the one they're on, many of them occupy their time with various productive tasks, often producing venerable works of art. The healing village's operation is guided by First Nations's spirituality, and its focus provides the inmates with a high degree of dignity. It is certain that they committed brutal crimes for which one must be locked up as a consequence. But what becomes clear is that most of them were the extreme victims of abuse themselves, many of them Natives who suffered under the Residential School System, and wherever they went prior to committing their crimes, there were few people if anyone willing to try and understand their situation, who weren't selling drugs and/or alcohol. What The Meaning of Life poetically captures is the beauty remaining within these victims, as well as the fact that serving time can have enormously beneficial spiritual affects, especially when that time is served within an institution that respects its subjects. There are certainly no easy answers when it comes to political and ethical viewpoints regarding the nature of discipline and punishment, but people and institutions which attempt to understand the historical, social, and psychological reasons why something occurred, rather than simply judging the fact that it did, are moving in the right direction in my books, dynamically examining multidimensional big picture questions through the productive lens of compassion and culture.

Red Road

Andrea Arnold's Red Road unwraps the hidden obsession lying dormant within its heroine. Kate Dickie plays Jackie who monitors a number of cameras which watch over a run down neighbourhood in Glasgow. One day, Jackie discovers a criminal who is inextricably linked to her past upon one of her screens and becomes obsessed with locating him. Her focus upon Clyde (Tony Curran) soon becomes destructive as she begins to spend more and more time viewing his life and less focusing on the community around her. Within Jackie's quiet desperate desire Arnold paints an intriguing portrait upon an ethical canvas, skillfully interrogating morality while deconstructing the dichotomy established between criminal and security officer, her finished product highlighting the difficulties one experiences in keeping the peace from psychological, communal, economic, and familial viewpoints. Sanity is for the sane and Red Road subtly and playfully challenges the concept of the normal while Dickie's poignant Jackie reminds us of the consequences of absolute loss.