Ordet

Dishevelled madness emphatically accompanies a scholarly son who embraced study, and took grand imposing theological works to distressed soul and body and mind.

Even amongst an upright people from a severe age religiously endowed, this devout son seems neigh unreachable according to quotidian scripture. 

Upon the farm, one of his brothers is raising a family without faith, his wife dutifully reproaching him yet still conjugally resigned.

His other sibling wholeheartedly seeks the adoring hand of a tailor's daughter, who believes in different spiritual traditions his father scorns with vehement sacrilege. 

Yet united through familial bonds they nurture strength and disciplined fortitude, resolutely caring for one another with kind pastoral bucolic eagerness.

The little children believe their uncle who predicts the future and heralds spirits, with the sincere trusting uncorrupted eye of wondrous observant faithful innocents.

Complications shatter the harmonious simplicity when routine child birth welcomes constraint, and bewildering death despotically envisages humbling loneliness and stoic resolve.

The insane blunt stark reincarnation proclaiming sheer and utter disillusion.

Before objective patience and despondent synergies boldly reawaken slumbering ecstasy. 

Strange to see grim volatile criticisms awkwardly dividing a farming village, acquiesced demographic consistency effectively determining biblical denomination. 

So many divergent alternative faiths vicissitudinously claiming divinity, with fisticuffs and arguments and drills literately fusing spiritual discord.

Ordet's style of film is something I'm not used to a direct illustration of imaginative belief, wherein which archaic lecture and austere fervency generously coalesce with narrative affection.

Was there once a time when religious tales showcasing family life and exotic miracles, widely dominated domestic markets inquisitively inhabited by the faithful?

Was faith so strong that supernatural and otherworldly films created revenue, and were in a studio's best interest to modestly disseminate with robust vigour?

Like the western it likely faded with the secular passage of peaceful times, in the constructive wake of blinding wars which reduced humanity to so much rubble.

Discursive realities monumental trends enthusiastically enriching coffers.

Novelty to trend to anachronism.

Back to school.

Chapter and verse. 

A Tale of Summer

A trip to the beach a nice seaside locale enrichingly equipped with chillaxed amenities, the undulant waves and spirited climate effortlessly producing rhythmic sessions.

Waiting for his partner to eventually show up, Gaspard makes another clever acquaintance, who fluidly abounds with interest and insight and has ample time to relax and ponder.

They hit up clubs and hike and wander discussing various random topics, l'amour intently and curiously considered as inquisitive inquiries bear luscious fruit.

His girlfriend takes her time arriving and another woman makes her interest known, one to whom he gives a newly written sea chanty which she helps perform laidback at her uncle's.

He keeps writing and focusing on music while the girls intriguingly present new questions, neither committing nor rejecting nor preferring as summer breezes tranquilly flow.

When his partner finally shows there's a lot already happening in his life.

As pressure mounts to make a decision.

He plays it cool and functions on instinct.

A much less volatile account of people in the act of falling in love, almost without fits and explosions like the mutual infatuations enamour affectionately. 

Without concentrating on love and relationships the continuous dialogue is diverse and thoughtful, examining books and songwriting and individuality it honestly showcases cerebral discourse.

Can he help not being able to make a definitive decision when reasonably tasked, with so many options suddenly available which he didn't initiate or request or engender?

Word choice becomes more and more important as time progresses and feelings intensify, recourse to multifaceted poetic displacements swiftly losing ground to logical accuracy. 

What a summer to exactingly spend overwhelmed with desire and heartwarming expenditure, no doubt conducive to vigorous shanties intuitively written in heart-throbbing throes. 

Life steps in in the end and gives him a way out of the binding dilemma.

Longing and daydream thereby contracted.

Creative efficiency consummately obscured.

The Freshman

One of the strangest phenomenons I discovered while reading animal-themed literature in my youth, was found in Farley Mowat's Sea of Slaughter which I couldn't find the strength to finish.

It's a remarkably detailed account of mass extinction in North America, of the myriad species that have gone extinct since ye olde Columbus finally landed.

It was too sad for me to get through and the lack of sustainable development initiatives was disheartening, environmental groups pushed aside with much more authority and infantilization than they are these days.

The general lack of concern for the lives of integral multidimensional animals, reminds me of a made-for-TV film they used to show every year in my youth.

It was designed to encourage children to stop caring about farm animals, in the film a young child passionately loves their pet, who is one day destined for the dinner table.

By the end, they have accepted that their good friend indeed had to be sacrificed, and even though they're rather sad, they still get on with work and play.

I didn't buy it, I still felt bad for the innovative animal friend who had to be slaughtered, and although many other viewers accepted the outcome, I never really saw why it was shown across the land.

Wanting the schoolyard teasing and criticisms to stop I never really pushed the matter, however, and went about my daily routine as other shows appeared on television.

Nevertheless, in Sea of Slaughter Mr. Mowat thoughtfully points out, that when some bird species were going extinct, scientists killed many of the last remaining individuals.

They did so so they could preserve their stuffed remains within a display case, and write about their lives and habits with ominous summative elaboration.

Why they didn't try to save the species was what surprised me the most, in my youth they were the ones dependably engaged to protect endangered animals.

Why does the carnal instinct to embrace death with misguided enthusiasm, still drive so many psychotics like the ones you find within The Freshman?

Fortunately, as the film demonstrates, clever entrepreneurs consistently cheat them.

But what for a world where it wasn't necessary?

To stop people cashing in on death.

*I don't know if it's a must-see for Godfather fans, but I recommend it, it's well done.  

Silkwood

A difficult life tempestuously driven by the sincere desire to share bold reckonings, dynamic friendships and bohemian protocols keeping things multilaterally attuned.

Work at the fuel fabrication site where she makes rods for nuclear reactors, has its life-threatening ups and downs while employees maintain a chillaxed atmosphere.

What to do when there isn't any work and you don't want to move far away from home, the overt danger seeming much less perilous when the steady paychecks start rolling in.

But day in day out as people get sick or find themselves exposed to cancer generating elements, builds up the tension and ensures the union actively engages on their behalves.

Trouble intensifies for Ms. Silkwood after she agrees to go undercover, and obtain photos of a technicians's alterations to definitive indicative core sample negatives.

Her partner leaves her after she takes on the increasing clandestine covert responsibilities, and problems get much much much worse to the point where she's left on her own recognizance.

The life of an activist hardships incumbent serialized dilemmas consistently challenging, the disappearance of networks and friends and colleagues as the stealthy work boldly intensifies.

With the union helping to coordinate hardworking team-based initiatives however, effective groups of likeminded people can efficiently criticize industrious greed.

I've never been a fan of nuclear power I imagine I've mentioned this before, it's certainly convenient if you can't build massive dams but still leaves an ominous environmental footprint.

Nuclear material takes thousands of years to gradually break down into harmless components, that's a long time to have to monitor deteriorating waste at different sites.

You'd have to outlast the Roman Empire have a much longer run than The Simpsons or Frasier, how can you guarantee the monitoring of such sites for the non-foreseeable future over the years?

It's easier to do what Hydro Québec has effectively done in La Belle Province, are there not massive rivers in Northern Ontario or Manitoba or Alberta that can also be dammed?

Working with local First Nations to facilitate smooth beneficial transitions, is hydroelectric power not more reliable than nuclear, and respectfully characteristic of a sustainable future?

*I don't want to argue with the people who don't like hydroelectric power either. We're on the same side at the end of the day. Hydro Québec just makes so much more sense to me. 

Ferris Bueller's Day Off

The incorrigible urge the inexhaustible dilemmas audaciously fuelling insurmountable daring, as reflexively situated albeit within imaginative unorthodox compelling gambits.

A day off school intuitively organized with intricate planning and demonstrative skill, mom and dad effectively falling for the ornate scheme with adorable generous loving compassion.

What to do with a full day off while others work and study and research, it's no doubt time to hit the town with creative friends and a wild agenda?!

Word spreads of the distressing illness and communal sympathy encouragingly erupts, as the sights and sounds of versatile Chicago fill a day's fortunes with laidback exception.

But the administration adamantly refuses to obligingly believe the open-minded story, and sets out on a mad concentrated obsessed unyielding quest to locate the lad.

His sister also remains furious after their admiring parents react empathetically.

Emancipated vision.

Holistic embrace.

Freeform lackadaisics. 

Festive revelry.

This was my favourite of the John Hughes films so widely popular in my youth, the nutso envisioning of rebellious fluency exceedingly inclined to diligently chill.

The first 30 minutes are an imaginative treat as Hughes skilfully plays with different narrative styles, and commandingly showcases alternative techniques which are highly advanced and correspondingly influential.

Critics of the time were rather dismissive and I didn't figure out why until I hit my late thirties, but my youthful admiration won out in the end as I dismissed my uptight less-mesmerized evaluations (Rooney goes way too far, it's tough to believe an academic would behave that way).

Matthew Broderick delivers the performance of a lifetime and charismatically shines in the title role, Alan Ruck also memorably concocting they both still show up in movies 40 years later.

Mia Sara, Jennifer Grey, Edie McClurg, and Jeffrey Jones impress as well. 

Much more than just kids skipping school.

A unique exhilarating celebration of life!

Zeus & Roxanne

A family's adventurous dog boldly sets out to discover the neighbourhood, spending time at the calm peaceful beach and chasing cats should they manifest themselves.

His owners take the arts seriously and spend most of their free time engaged, dad writing songs for commercial media while his son photographs whatever he can.

They're vacationing in a rented house across the laidback street from a marine biologist, who's trying to encourage a domesticated dolphin to cohesively rejoin a wild pod at sea.

The dog mischievously follows her one day and even boards her seafaring vessel, where that very same convalescing dolphin serendipitously takes a shine to his daring.

They become friends and their innocent curiosity freely demonstrates interspecies communication, the marine biologist's related grant proposal hoping to study the compelling phenomenon. 

But will dolphin and dog also lay the foundation for a long-lasting humanoid relationship?

Arts & Science zoologically orchestrating.

The chillaxed romantic life.

Animals clearly have built in recognition and know when they're interacting with other members of the same species, and they do so without mirrors or schools it's fruitfully learned in the forest or valley.

They also largely stick to themselves although you see modest interspecies contact at times, notably when food is abundant and everyone's relaxed and less stressed accordingly. 

On the African savannah wildebeest, zebras, water buffalo and gazelles, broadly mingle and affably interact as the seasons change and the migration flows for instance.

I firmly believe interspecies communication is possible under the right accommodating conditions, if the animals are brought up together as babies in a loving environment with lots of food.

Even cats and dogs perhaps seals and penguins can learn to trust one another under such circumstances, as my pet bunny and his friend the guinea pig learned to do so many years ago.

This strategy will likely work more effectively when less testosterone is worked into the mix.

Wild bulls so likely to struggle and fight.

Like the rabbit my dad threw over the fence when I was a child (he was a really mean bunny). 

The Suitor

A young bachelor eccentrically lives the imaginative life of the daydreaming mind, and sees no need to embrace the rituals generally distinguishing adult life.

His books and posters and music and films are artistically preferable to in-depth discussions, and inspire less quotidian materialistic dialogues throughout the idle instructional day.

But his parents see a difficult future for their adored son if he doesn't marry, and adamantly encourage him to seek relationships and stop obsessing about pop music.

Unfortunately, he's constructively lived most of his life at play in his room, and has no idea how to talk to others or indeed even start a conversation.

A series of awkward random shenanigans mischievously and haphazardly ensure, but nothing compares to the stunning stars he routinely sees on television.

He often proposes to the striking tenant who rents a room downstairs in his house, but she can't understand a word he's saying and they remain linguistically divided.

In a last ditch effort he seeks to meet his heart's desire, a famous singer.

Working his way in behind the scenes.

To his grand existential disillusionment. 

You don't see this subject taken seriously in that many sympathetic feature length films, the sequestered perennial youth at habitual odds with relational maturity.

But rather than lump him in with wild lunatics which at times happens in such scenarios, a way is found to compassionately showcase his alternative manners and social expressions.

The behaviour isn't vilified there's sympathy for the amorous non-conformist, a comic account much more conducive to eventual communal integration. 

I suppose I've never investigated how often this type of narrative shows up in film, I just know I rarely see it and have only really heard it mentioned in British pop songs. 

I'm therefore quite impressed with Pierre Étaix's lighthearted cinematic début. 

Not as elaborate as the versatile Yoyo.

Still sewing the seeds of daring exhibition. 

La Ronde

Consistency and balance, an irregular routine effectively embracing artistic showcases, athletic endeavours proactively brokering a solid foundation of limitless trust.

Co-habitation indeed somewhat peculiar in/organic rules and regulations confounding, inevitable variation in the iron clad codes atypically reworking unfettered remonstrances. 

Celebrated conventions oddly tempting newfound adherences to uncanny customs, traditionally upheld by bewildering agents seemingly expressing neither contempt nor grace.

A litany of tools and corresponding professionals intricately available to offer counsel, the idyllic narrative at times tempestuous immaculately overflowing with residual flare.

Should experiment heuristically arise the emergent novelty may generate freedom, although euphoria may not exultantly be the only characteristic to soulfully mediate. 

Like an amusement park ride thrillingly facilitating chaotic ups and downs miraculous prizes, exceptional variety collectively assembled through ludicrous recourse invigorates dreams. 

To stick to the trusted and time honoured artistry the definitive form that brought about so much bustle, I've listened to every Chuck Berry album and I've never heard one that I wanted to soften.

How to make things last for a lifetime how to perpetually reignite the flame, or simply bask in its reliable glow without envy or worry or greed or want?

The single life has significant benefits you can do what you want when you have free time, when I think of all the time I efficiently wasted doing things I didn't want to do I cringe with sadness.

But you don't gain the conversational skills you otherwise would if you had a partner, and there's a slew of situations and potentialities you'll never recognize unless you find them in books.

Not the most advanced dialogue I've ever found in a fortuitous film (the poet has some good lines though).

But it may have indeed been imaginatively groundbreaking in terms of metaconventions way back when. 

Criterion keyword: frivolous.

Black Orpheus

Rio de Janeiro festively prepares for the upcoming enigmatic illusory Carnaval, floats decorated and costumes tailored an immersive atmosphere of harmless mischief.

Nimble Orpheus chauffeurs his trolly through the busy streets with reservéd gusto, thoroughly at ease with lithe maximum occupancy as it swiftly travels throughout the city.

Young Eurydice arrives from the countryside to stay with her invigorating distant relatives, having been chased by a masked quasi-demon rigorously hellbent on her destruction.

Orpheus's fiancé habitually erupts with romantic exposition when they're together, and definitively craves his ubiquitous attention each and every day exceedingly composed.

They even spiritedly head out to meaningfully procure a marriage license, Mira focused and passionately determined to resonantly claim the celebrated singer.

But later in the day as time slowly passes beautiful Eurydice also catches his eye.

The dynamic artist following instinctual elements. 

As everyone embraces ye olde Carnaval.

A lively retelling of an ancient myth energetically situated within modern cities, with creative new features and an inspiring setting transformatively exclaiming romantic awe.

It's not even Orpheus/Breno Mello or Eurydice/Marpessa Dawn who steal the show they're somewhat subdued when objectively compared, to sprightly Mira/Lourdes de Oliveira and vehement Serafina/Léa Garcia who add so much in the brief time they're allotted.

Serafina could have been left out entirely her tempting character by no means essential, but Garcia took the less prominent role and seductively etherealized cinematic history.

It's not just the imaginative retelling of the ancient myth that generates so much credit, its compelling presentation of the market and Carnaval bring its animate emergence to acrobatic life.

Gymnastically adorning so many precious scenes with blithe orchestration and reverberating pith, it fluidly exemplifies perpetual motion with lighthearted irresistible ebullient spirits.

Indeed relationships problematize so much harmless fun when ownership's claimed.

A sincere tragedy no matter the epoch.

Carefree endeavours.

Limitless fun.

Eraserhead

The generation of ideas overwhelmingly uplifting intent transcendental forces, motivation and effort and impact and relevance reflexively augmenting acrobatic flourishes. 

The barren landscape requiring fuel to effectively germinate healthy crops, thoughtful endeavours in bewitching fecundity profusely cascading integral lounging.

The gradual development at times uneasy the formal onslaught of ceaseless ambition, tirelessly adjusting and diffusely remodelling creative cognizance and bold revelation. 

As the seeds tumultuously take root the world at large commodiously ossifies, the general estimable uptight imposition of regulation and duty opaquely cataloguing.

A family prospers and grows communally depicting dynamic tethers, the enviable tradition wholesomely cajoling duplication and collegiality. 

Yet the unbroken ancient line between holistic custom and random alternative, offbeatly vibrates with tenacious recognition as distressing realities duel and challenge.

Thus the emergence of odd surreal fantastic escapes from the awkward humdrum.

Not necessarily cloaked in tedium.

As daring varieties innately juxtapose. 

The industrious dreamlike imagination inherently bewildered by verdant nutrients, yet still reacting to latent stimuli with in/direct in/coherent lucidity.

It's difficult to narrativize the random thoughts which peculiarly inspire dreams throughout the day, the continuous orchestration of improvised insights sub/consciously manifesting elegant distractions. 

What to do with the cerebral material as it suddenly appears within your mind, especially if there are other tasks at hand austerely demanding your strict attention?

The inexhaustible uncontainable ethereal ameliorations of the human spirit, can't be suffocated by even the most dire and dismal environments as Eraserhead suggests.

The spirit of creation still attempts to alter the blandest of circumstances even if untrained, like a natural intuitive humanistic instinct habitually disseminating art and culture. 

What to do with it remains up to you David Lynch went on to direct brilliant films and television.

Never losing the fascination first displayed in Eraserhead.

Which he spent 5 years making and took a paper route to complete.

Moonshot

You know, if I had my own spaceship and I was heading to Mars, you could have a ride with me. 

If you spend a lot your time rolling bagels and your arm hurts from time to time, there'd be a special masseuse onboard, and you could have a ride with me.

If you wash métro stations at night with those giant industrial floor cleaning machines, your cabin would be idyllically polished, and you could have a ride with me.

If you bust out ye olde weed whacker and cover at least 10k a day, trimming grass with agile endurance, while transitioning to mow and plant and clip and prune, you could have a ride with me.

If you wash dishes with categorical moxie and efficiently keep the supply chain moving, there'll be plates for your cake on board, and you could have a ride with me.

If you enjoy playing the keys as a rhythmic specialist or even a frenzied soloist, we could put the band back together, and you could have a ride with me.

If you can keep the orders in your head and delicately time all the dishes in turn, we can feast on freakin' whatever, and you could have a ride with me.

If you love sundry different films and appreciate vast international diversity, perhaps taking in Fantasia while searching for Criterions, you could have a ride with me.

Pretty much anyone could have a ride with me, but why the hell would we go to Mars, which is basically a barren hostile rock, and live in an oppressive small town settlement, that we could never leave? 

When we could go to Colorado, Tadoussac, Montréal, Hamilton or downtown Muskoka?

There are still billions of years of life left on this here planet.

Give or take a challenging millennia. 

Rosaline

Agile independence forthrightly attuned to romantic longing, haplessly falls for a gifted poet intuitively enamoured with fiery discipline. 

Her father desperately seeks someone for her to wed at the same time however, arranged marriages still diplomatically sought at that time in Europe and elsewhere.

Rosaline chooses to marry for love and pines obsessively for the legendary Romeo, not making things easy for him at times, yet still compulsively coveting his distinct verse.

A potential suitor arrives one day whom her father objectively approves of, and they head out in his seductive boat to challenge the sea with nautical bravado.

The suitor tries his best to valiantly please her but is wholeheartedly forsaken, her heart belonging to ye olde Romeo who has thus far requited her advances. 

Rain suddenly descends in torrential buckets thereby delaying their return home, an enchanting masquerade ball ethereally awaiting that includes the coveted Shakespearian in attendance.

Rosaline indeed arrives too late but not after her cousin Juliet has been formerly introduced. 

Romeo having fallen for her indivisibly. 

Encouraging bitter fury enraged!

Love seeing comedic reimaginings of classic tales continuously told, with new characters and emboldened situations absurdly redefining stray narrative elements.

Romeo doesn't mean to be a cad he just accidentally finds himself playing the role, his honest unattached unbetrothed feelings awkwardly lamented throughout the movie. 

Patient Dario steals the show with his courageous resolve and humble cunning, embracing Rosaline's chaotic feelings with resourceful energy and lithe accommodation. 

How Romeo could have overlooked her immaculate bearing inherently overflowing with genuine artistry, her very existence each elegant breath a slow motion incarnate natural wonder.

Alas, in that natural possession of what many desire to stunningly diversify, the majority find her too incredible to risk their cherished sanity through bold proposal. 

I thought the film was for the young ones but mom assures me it was far too mature.

Alternative takes, imposing reanimation.

If you're still interested in that kind of thing. 

Four Christmases

Vacation plans imperceptibly tantalizing quickly approaching festive holiday breaks, time to spend relaxed and stretched out elaborately elongated upright tenements. 

Traditional visits to old school loved ones siblings and family and nieces and nephews, incrementally harmonizing habitual happenstance gregarious growth uproarious sentiments.

But some imaginative couples creatively manifest alternative arrangements, to sneakily avoid the routine remonstrance and inconsolable awkward confabulations.

To Fiji they furtively plan to gallopingly go sans limitations, to lazily bask in freeflowing sustainable enriching waters immersive acclamations. 

Yet when they reach the airport on Christmas Day in fact no less, ominous fog discourteously blankets the surrounding skies with opaque languor. 

To further frustrate their Scroogey mendacity a local news station suddenly broadcasts them live, their relatives witnessing the distressing surprising grouchy exchanges on their televisions. 

Soon it's off therefore to reminisce with emboldened blood and the next generation.

Neither member of the couple prepared. 

For what they're soon to learn about one another. 

Immaculate bliss once exceptionally adorning their perpetual ensconcement in each other's arms, far away from the orthodox torments unsettlingly facilitating unrestrained fury.

They are quite different people leading quite different lives from different points of view, but does that hardboiled multivariable eclectivity not also inspire romantic love!?

The film did seem dialectically dis/oriented to either champion or lampoon family, synthesizing the divergent concepts throughout with varying degrees of symphonic success. 

Was the spirit of Christmas beatifically bound to bring them wholesomely together, to optimistically unite, to generously generate raw animate excursions fluidly fuelled with maladroit mallow?

Offbeat ridicule flamboyant caprice rambunctious sincerity disconsolate diatribes, randomly revolving with road weary rubber gallantly peppered through a hard day's night.

Unpredictable fanciful variety.

At home for the frosty holidays.

Eggnog and shortbread and willow.

Endless timeless specials!

Piccadilly

A popular night club routinely offers exceptional dynamic crowd pleasing performances, its dancers showcasing sundry coveted moves and flourishing finesse with fluid elegance.

The spice freely flows the rhythms distill freeflowing upbeat pleasant fun merrymaking, half their tables zealously reserved (by noon) intense sprightly jocose reliable industry.

But as so often happens, the urge to change one's steadfast surroundings bluntly coaxes, and one of the famous sought after dancers decides he'd rather entertain North America.

The blow is indeed distressing as dependable revenue streams quickly dry up, his equally flexible former partner remaining but not enough of a draw to firmly bring hundreds in.

Then one night an ornery client vehemently complains about a stain on his plate, which prompts the owner to visit the kitchen the scullery in fact where he finds a new spectacle. 

Soon the act is passionately displayed for the curious public who responds with praise, the newfound sensation turning critical heads and swiftly redefining the business's mantra.

But the old act once incredibly loved isn't as willing to be warm and pleasantly accommodating. 

The owner caught between the stubborn lithe rivals.

Following his heart, wherever it leads.

Several decades before the Civil Rights Movement emerged with formidable vigour, Piccadilly sought to break down race barriers with a bold and courageous daring silent film.

Released in England not the United States and in British cinemas not on American television, it still predates William Shatner and Nichelle Nichols's kiss by almost a dashing and carefree 30 years.

I don't know enough about silent films so I'm not sure if such stories were often told at the time, I just know from my own observations that I've rarely seen interracial tales pre-1960.

Pioneering no less and also cool to watch it's still a captivating film, I was interested to see something starring Anna May Wong after she appeared on the American quarter.

She was tired of being typecast in early Hollywood and moved to Europe to find more diverse roles so I'm told, bravery rewarded in this instance at least she clearly steals the show in Dupont's Piccadilly.

If curious about silent film and alternative ways to tell compelling tales, it's worth checking out for sure with many of its themes still resonating today.  

We Live in Time

Temporal constraints motivating and hindering the progressive development of vigorous contemplation, the ticking-clock accentuating bold constructive split-second or strategic plans.

The resonant calm seductively sustaining positive thoughts multivariably exercised, tantalizing fruition anticipated and swathed as definitive timelines filter and structure.

The potential for limitless editing as mischievously suggested by Mr. Orson Welles, also provides lithe and tempting bearings to the infinite reimagining of spiritual studies.

The thriving possibility the interminable tantrums the heuristic horizons the enchanting escapades, demonstratively connecting interactive achievements intermittently coalesced through spontaneous reinvention.

A play's history the variety of performances exceedingly relates to unlimited mutability, the contemporary difference the hubris assumed fantastically enabling bright ahistoricity. 

We Live in Time we adapt and age as newfound challenges and developments alter, well-rounded paths and convincing philosophies economically synthesized through cultural schemata. 

We Live in Time the inherent ridiculousness of geologic masses imperceptibly duelling, inspiring romance and chaos and tragedy as biological rubrics scale and rupture.

We Live in Time the capricious seasons habitually recalling tracks and trajectories, temperate enlivened invigorated festive potentially sentimental breezes crazing.

We Live in Time emergent generations interactively communicating multifaceted alternatives, incongruously compiled in abounding treatises ephemerally delineating temperate eternity.

What a gamer, this determined Almut, who refused to yield even though she had cancer, who still competed in an incredibly demanding event even though she might suddenly die.

The forecast wasn't hopeful but she still may have lived if she had taken it easy, but if she had done so and missed out on the challenge and still passed, it would have seemed so utterly unbearable.

Cooking mind-blowing meals that one feels sincerely embarrassed to eat, like you're devouring Deutschland Café XIII perhaps while discussing the weather with someone who isn't listening.

It'd be fun to compose a poem while examining and appreciating such a meal in real-time.

A picture will have to do for now. 

Dazzling and light, endearing forays. 

Action Jackson

A determined dedicated cop reservédly reputed to authentically infuriate, suddenly finds himself assigned to the plutocrat who disturbingly demoted him way back when.

Still not one to mince words he reestablishes their acquaintanceship rather discourteously, like a lot of hard-edged tales from the time blunt criticism confronting stately acrimony.

The ne'er-do-well in combative question is secretly murdering people to gain control, of a powerful union generally known to pursue social justice regarding the Presidency.

Hoping to control the union and thereby take over the White House, he comports himself tyrannically behind the scenes in his trusted realm.

Jackson learns of his malevolence and sets about applying aggrieved aggravation, but Dellaplane then kills his wife for having talked to him and lays the blame squarely on his shoulders.

With nowhere to go and few to rely on he finds himself adjudicating offbeat stages.

With the help of a nightclub singer.

And reliable visceral absurd awkward instinct. 

This film was severely critiqued upon its release in 1988, so I unfortunately never watched it, and always thought it lacked production values.

It's not Aliens or Die Hard or The Terminator but it holds its own with Rambo 2 or Raw Deal, meaning I'm surprised Weathers wasn't more of a leading man, as he took the fall for its praise of unions.

Thus, even though the How do you like your ribs? line is an instant classic for the action-packed ages, Action Jackson said positive things about forbidden gatherings in American culture.

It even makes unions look powerful and at the same time honest and proactive, it doesn't shortsightedly vilify them or call into question their versatile communities.

Cult status still effectively emerges along with the unsung unionist accolades, too bad Weathers never became a leading man, or had a career like Treat Williams or Roddy Piper (racism perhaps).

Still fun to see him whenever he popped up even if he wasn't leading the way.

Cool careers made in Hollywood like none other. 

Back in the hardboiled uprooted day.

Frankenstein

Once again, literate compassion for the soulful and tender reanimated beast, stitched together reconstituted to forever cheat vainglorious mortality.

When left alone far off and sheltered his innate world-weary warm-heart shines through, his resplendent inner-beauty impeccably beaming with forthright enriching illuminated humanism.

Such a shame that fleeting appearances mean so so so much in the eyes of so many, when countless wise and spiritual educators proactively rationalize the sheer illusion.

At times, it applies both ways to sights pleasant or disagreeable to the eye, both generally distasteful to tenacious treatises and their orthodox criticisms of aesthetics and disconcertment. 

But acting without concern for the inherent nature of unalterable characteristics, leads to much more pleasant thoughtful dialogue in terms of multivariable individual expression.

Through the mass cultivation of the many the reliance on appearance wholeheartedly fades, and sprightly exclamatory universals collectively diversify through latent whimsy.

Thus the blind inclinations which recklessly lead towards herd classifications, relatively loosen their stubborn prejudices and once again nurture the youthful life.

But Frankenstein's creation is herded and ruthlessly attacked through no fault of his own, and then elaborately made to suffer for having striven to defend himself.

That was what struck me from the novel anyways as I imagine I've mentioned before, the poor isolated creature alone and scared secretly monitoring the woodland family.

Completely unaware of his strength and innocently oblivious to old world hatreds, still faintly hoping to engage in conversation to not have to dwell forsaken in shadow.

That's always been the story for me not the depressing antagonistic aftermath. 

Which The Dodo challenges every day. 

Through the heartwarming preservation of life. 

Chez les beaux parents

The tender affection delicately shared between the loving members of a heartfelt couple, routinely generating awestruck accolades through the nimble art of jocose spontaneity. 

Living together in New York Sophie cooks and Gordon teaches, their sturdy union a fluid cascade bearing versatile witness to collective enchantments. 

She's an exceptional chef and one day her ex appears out of the ethereal blue, to offer her a coveted position managing food services at the Château Frontenac.

She has to compete for the job but since her family lives close by, she'll be able to re-establish contact and spend cherished hours ensconced à la ferme.

Gordon is up for the challenge and generally supportive of his partner's endeavours, although when he discovers that Sophie and her potential new boss were once lovers, he responds with critical animation.

The challenge goes well it crucially seems like the brilliant chef may land the position.

The family farm still in financial jeopardy. 

Gordon increasingly unable to stay cool.

I never spent much time reading great romantic works of fiction, or even paperback melodramas effectively disseminating romantic visions.

Romance does immaterially blossom in many classic science-fiction films however, technologically endowed on interplanetary scales intergalactically inclined to diplomatically blossom.

Chez les beaux parents presents an alternative style of Québecois filmmaking, an international collaboration no less with prominent filmmakers from the United States.

It's not Babysitter or Mommy or Tom à la ferme or Quand l'amour se creuse un trou, it's something much more tame more zoological more glad-handing more mainstream.

It's not that it doesn't mean well or that it doesn't try to incorporate more rugged scenarios.

Which probably worked for many people who saw the film.

Who most likely loved it.

Don't listen to me.

The filmmakers still love Québec and that's plainly evident throughout the film.

And I can't critique such ingenious preferences. 

Especially on an international scale. 

Westfront 1918

I often read about the terrors of the First World War while still at school, of the maniacal desperation consistently felt by its brave and valiant soldiers.

New advances in military technology had devised so many cunning new ways to kill, that the omnipresent despotic brutality was enough to drive the most courageous mad.

There is a romantic conception of warfare kept alive through faux medieval battles, where you defend your family with a sword not gas or a submachine gun.

Theoretically, way back when, you could defend innocent lives if you had the nerve or know-how, without having to worry about being cut down by a crafty sniper, mine or bomb (arrows perhaps).

That was a dominant theme in the books and essays read so long ago, that there was nothing romantic about the new style of fighting it was just cold calculated destruction.

It levelled the playing field.

Before, if you were strong and athletically gifted you had an advantage when engaged in sword-fighting, but with the advances in modern weapons technology natural gifts meant next to nothing.

Communication was unclear and patchy and uncertain objectives were awkwardly obtained.

Until hundreds of thousands of recruits mournfully charged machine gun nests.

When the Germans eventually ran out of bullets.

Victory was obtained.

That's not how lives should be lived and it's certainly not how they should be sacrificed, it's odd that people thought things were progressing when they horrifyingly ended up that way.

The romantic lure of the chivalric codes that killed so many millions in World Wars I and II, mistakenly applied, may have taken sociocultural root again, the potential resurrection much more disturbing.

Like crocodiles Dylan's Masters of War hid in crevices and caves for more than a half-century, until the internet had broken down the peaceful net gallantly established by postmodern artists and teachers.

Westfront 1918 hoped not to revisit the devastation of War, released in Germany in 1930 it went so far as to champion camaraderie.

How do you convince incredible people not to throw their lives away attacking other nations living in peace, who have done them no violent harm?

While trying to convince others that those same people living in peace need help to defend their country?

Proceed one step at a time.

Know that you're part of a team much larger than yourself. 

Know that politicians like Kamala Harris stand for you.

And give you a legitimate voice in Congress/Parliament.

Criterion keyword: visceral.

Ant-Man & the Wasp: Quantumania

It's fun to observe the natural world.

There's so much compelling detail interests revitalize. 

With imposing potential - sprawl and industry - the presence of nature remains paramount, and it's always exciting to actively see turtles and raccoons and skunks and deer.

The dire forecasts of a concrete jungle ubiquitously consuming so much more vital space, keeps current animal sightings aflush with wonder as extant natural environs tantalize.

I worry about the metaphorical dimension the infinite interpretive subconscious bedlam, that accompanies fertile thought throughout its playful inquisitive trajectories. 

I generally assume that people understand that I'm just writing about the Natural World, because it's fun to actively engage with agile integral insects and beasts.

Thus, through the art of fair play multilateral matriculations merge and metastasize, without claiming elaborate authority which may have nothing to do with what whomever intended. 

As curiosity matures and mutates.

Ants and bees, fascinating creatures, I try my best not to impede them, and wish we could communicate with them directly, I bet they would make thought provoking observations.

That's what happens in Quantumania ants evolve in the Quantum Realm, and learn to communicate with Dr. Hank Pym and help him out as he battles a tyrant.

Instagram posts note that bees learn arithmetic and their ingenious waggle dances demonstrate intricate thought, ants no doubt communicating in similar ways as they actively engage with their surroundings.

Both species highly adaptive and found in abundance throughout the world, it's cool to see ants treated with so much respect within the versatile Quantum Realm.

Interspecial communication remaining a compelling possibility, bees might think we're boring because we can't fly.

Ants may think we're impractical seeing how much easier it is for them to maintain.

No accounting for beetles and grasshoppers. 

Dragonflies seem to like us.