Never Eat Alone

Some days I'm pretty busy, there's a lot of stuff to do, but I always try to reserve some time for loved ones, so they don't spend the whole day by themselves.

By so doing, I get updates on the day's events and share observations about my work and studies, while appreciating an alternative way of life which once flourished in yesteryear. 

Sofia Bohdanowicz's Never Eat Alone captures a nimble Canadian ethos, a light yet edgy thoughtful look at something wholesome that isn't austere. 

It reminded me of some of the best programming I used to see on the CBC in my youth, entertainment that was also instructive without making you feel like you were learning.

I know it's difficult for Anglo-Canadian films to compete with American ones in domestic markets, from conducting a bit of research it seems that even the most popular struggle to turn a profit.

I believe it doesn't have to be that way though because I've seen what they've done in Australia and Québec, similar markets where American films are also shown on a regular basis.

That's one of the coolest things about Québec, the minimalized American influence, it's so much less intense than you find elsewhere in the country, a remarkable break from an imposing character.

With the minimalized American influence and a strong focus on supporting local artists, Québec actually developed markets for their films which consistently play in local theatres. 

Talk to the people in Québec and you'll find they have a strong working knowledge of their celebrities as well, like Anglo-Canadians have of American and British ones, it's really quite impressive.

It came about when the Parti Québecois starting financing culture in the 1970s, the government started investing heavily in film etc. and people loved it - the industry took off.

The same thing can happen in English Canada if governments follow the Québecois lead, we can develop markets throughout the country that keep homegrown talent from moving away.

I mention this not only because this seems like the perfect time (this is the perfect time) but also because Australia did the same thing, their government started investing heavily in culture and they made so many incredible films.

Canada is quite similar to Australia in terms of size and population, it isn't on its own in another part of the world far away from the United States however. 

You would think that if the United States was your neighbour you would have an incredible local film industry, like Germany's rivalry with France, with theatres packed every single weekend.

I love English Canadian films like Never Eat Alone because they're creative and heartfelt and loving, if they had a larger market it would no doubt be outstanding.

Look at what Australia has done (see the Australian New Wave) and what Québec has done as well.

Seek out political candidates who would cultivate the same in English Canada.

Create tens of thousands of jobs for local artists.

Note: people always complain about how terrible American films are. Do something about it! Help create a climate where we make even better ones here! When people say it will never work tell them to look at Australia and Québec. It didn't happen overnight. But with support, it did eventually happen.

Criterion keyword: Canada.

*P.S - when I talk about Canadian actors, I don't mean the ones working in the United States or Britain. I mean the ones who have spent most of their careers living and working in Canada. Let's create a more prominent film industry for them. There's no doubt they totally deserve it. 

Just Mercy

It's clear enough that justice is a matter of guilt or innocence, the guilty party convicted for their crimes, the innocent individual eventually set free.

It's also clear that determining someone's guilt or innocence is a lengthy complex procedure, which takes multiple factors into account in order to assert the highest degree of reasonability.

These factors are subject to various interpretive procedures, presented by prosecutors and defence attorneys according to alternative plausible perspectives, each perspective like a contradictory ingredient in an opaque conflicting recipe, which is hopefully judged without bias, within the spirit of daring independence.

Different narratives emerge.

But which one is in fact correct?

Some cases are more complex than others, however, and Walter McMillian's (Jamie Foxx) conviction for murder in Just Mercy is presented as a serious perversion of justice, the evidence supporting his innocence both reasonable and overwhelming, as brave civil rights attorney Bryan Stevenson (Michael B. Jordan) has to go to great lengths to prove.

The world needs more lawyers like him.

He's harassed and humiliated for doing his job to the best of his abilities, because local law enforcement was more interested in locking someone up for the crime than actually finding the guilty individual.

Since they were unable to find the guilty individual, they arrested a prosperous African American, who had been bold enough to do his job well and earn a respectable living, by working hard and honestly persevering.

Serious roadblocks prevent his retrial from moving forward, but his lawyers are determined to see he has another day in court.

Their interactions add interpersonal integrity to the story which abounds with emotionally charged dialogue, dispassionately conveyed, to reflect bitter rational despondency.

Hope and hopelessness creatively converse within to highlight gross jurisprudent indecency, but the resilient lawyers care about truth, and won't back down in the face of disillusion.

Tim Blake Nelson (Ralph Myers) puts in a noteworthy performance as a felon who gave false testimony which led to McMillian's conviction, emanating a compelling presence on screen which complements that of Foxx, Jordan, and Brie Larson (Eva Ansley).

I haven't seen everything Foxx has done since Ray but his performance in Just Mercy reminded me why he once won an Oscar.

I hope films like Just Mercy and Dark Waters inspire practising and potential lawyers to keep fighting the honourable fight.

I know it's hard to remain hopeful sometimes.

But without hope there's just the abyss.

Tweeting relentlessly.

Calling the bravest most intelligent American service people dopes and babies.

It really is reminiscent of various depictions of Caligula.

Reckless callous abuses of power.

Blind unilateral engagement.

Star Wars: Episode IX - The Rise of Skywalker

Rian Johnson's The Last Jedi has become my third favourite Star Wars film, behind A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, but far ahead of all the others, except Return of the Jedi.

I've watched it several times now and it doesn't get old, in fact it gets better every time I view it, and it's wonderful to once again have a Star Wars film to look forward to watching, again and again and again.

And again.

I still watch episodes I-III again when I see them on television, but with less enthusiasm. However, I've come to prefer them to episodes VII and IX for the following risk-fuelled reasons.

It's not that episodes VII and IX are particularly bad, or lack entertainment value, but they're so heavily reminiscent of episodes IV through VI, that they lack the imaginative characteristics of Luca's bold second trilogy.

Take Episode IX, where Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) reemerges.

Could they not have thought of another villain to fill the gap left by Snoke, one who perhaps hadn't met his electric end so many decades ago?

Or made Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) all the more wicked?

An elaborate explanation as to how he comes back to life isn't even provided, we're just supposed to accept that he was so powerful he was able to return from death, and build a massive fleet of star destroyers with planet annihilating capabilities.

Is this a Star Wars film or low budget television?

People may be calling this period of time the post-explanatory age, or the post-Truth age or what have you, but does that mean film narratives with the highest budgets imaginable aren't even going to provide explanations for their controversial plot developments anymore, and fans are just supposed to accept them without thought or thinking?

There's more continuity between episodes I through VI as well, they flow more harmoniously together.

Episode IX may be entertaining, but it doesn't flow well with Episode VIII. At the end of The Last Jedi, for instance, the entire rebel complement can fit on the Millennium Falcon, but their numbers don't seem to have been drastically reduced in Episode IX, or at least it proceeds as if everything's fine. Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran) adds so much to The Last Jedi and I thought earned a place at the forefront of subsequent narratives, but she's largely forgotten in The Rise of Skywalker, like Katherine Brewster in Terminator Salvation. As are the children on planet Cantonica. And the notorious codebreaker DJ.

It's like J.J. Abrams took the criticisms of The Last Jedi, which sees new strong female characters with prominent roles and critiques the manufacture of weapons and the eating of meat, and wanted to make a clean break with it in The Rise of Skywalker (note how Rey soothes the pain of a giant snake within), and the result's more like separate films than a trilogy, George Lucas had much more resolve.

Episodes I-III may be cheesy and some scenes are difficult to watch again and again, but their narratives are still highly complex and the result of in-depth brave storytelling.

They provide reasons for what takes place for instance.

They smoothly flow from one to another.

And Lucas significantly expanded upon the world he created within A New Hope, adding multiple layers of legendary depth, councils and federations and clones and mysticism, the films may have been melodramatic, but they weren't derivative or one-dimensional.

Lucas took brave risks when he created Episodes I-III and didn't back down when faced with bitter criticism.

He ironically didn't rely on what had come before because he was spending too much time creating it.

Episodes VII and IX may be entertaining, but I don't want to watch them again so much, because they aren't complicated or controversial, they're much too free and easy.

Episode IX is jam-packed with action for instance, it rarely slows down unless Rey (Daisy Ridley) is searching for something, but several of the scenes unreel far too quickly, notably the demise of General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson), a ginger, and Kylo Ren's torture of a disagreeable bureaucrat. Lucas had a much better sense of timing and pacing and his films were edited with much more care.

The Last Jedi was too.

Take the moments when Rey and Kylo Ren are being inspected by Snoke, Finn (John Boyega) and Rose are about to be executed, and the Rebel transports are being picked off one by one.

The editing for these three parts of the narrative is exceptionally well done, and keeps you hanging on the edge of your seat as you eagerly await what's going to happen next, and the film doesn't lose sight of the three components of its narrative, and keeps interweaving them with compelling precision.

The Rise of Skywalker loses sight of Finn trying to destroy the super star destroyer for far too long during its exciting climax.

It leaves it hanging as if fans aren't concerned.

While Rey battles the Emperor, who is also her grandfather, come on!, and Lando (Billy Dee Williams) predictably shows up with reinforcements.

One of the coolest aspects of Episodes I-III is that they pointed out how there's no such thing as Jedi blood, how Jedi are born throughout the galaxy at random and if discovered have the opportunity to develop their skills to avoid the risks of becoming obscurii.

It's an aspect this trilogy overlooks, except for the fact that Luke had students besides Kylo Ren who disappear after their cataclysmic falling out.

The Jedi can't end.

There will always be individuals capable of skilfully using the Force.

The Jedi Order may come to an end after which future Jedi may call themselves something different, but they will still technically be Jedi if they don't become Sith, even if they have to train themselves.

You wait 32 years for The Force Awakens with the hopes of seeing more Luke Skywalker and then he doesn't show up till the end, and he's abandoned the rebellion and is living alone on a remote island, on a planet that can't be found.

And Han Solo dies.

Disappointing to say the least.

The relationship between Kylo Ren and Rey is well-developed in the new trilogy and I really like Finn's character, but Episodes VII and IX just seem like they're more concerned with not slipping up than trying to create something new.

It's like they're so worried about not making a bad film that they forgot to make good ones.

Too much "supposed to", not enough, "totally".

Which is what Episodes I-III, with all their issues, tried to do.

It's a shame the latest trilogy completely ignored them (they're ceremoniously discredited in The Force Awakens).

Plus, Episode IX sees gay actor Richard E. Grant take the stage as General Pryde, and he's in charge of the new planet destroying star destroyer fleet.

I didn't think a new Star Wars film would be homophobic.

But there you have it.

Two lesbians kissing for a split-second near the end doesn't make up for this.

Finn should have ended up with Rose too, but instead it looks like he'll hook up with a fellow African American (Naomie Ackie as Jannah).

A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi all had different directors, but they were also consistent and flowed well together.

Totally loved The Last Jedi.

The Rise of Skywalker could have been so much more.

Dark Waters

It seems to me like if you're generating a billion dollars in profit every year just from one product in your vast catalogue, and you don't pay your workforce that much comparatively, as they loyally manifest that revenue, and you know that product is making them sick because you've done the research and it's raised multiple red flags, you should tell them they'll likely become seriously ill if they work for you, so they know what they're signing up for, and pay for their medical bills if they eventually do breakdown as well.

A scant fraction of the profits.

It seems to me like if you know the product you're creating is an environmental disaster that doesn't decompose and will make anything that encounters it seriously ill, possibly forever, that you should take steps to dispose of it properly (a scant fraction of the profits), if that's even possible, or perhaps abandon your plans to market it to the public entirely.

Lifeforms who became extinct prior to our experimentations with fossil fuels could at least blame environmental factors for their disappearance, post-existence.

They didn't or don't have to say, well, we knew we were creating lethal substances that were making people who used them sick, and that they wouldn't breakdown in the environment, ever, but we kept making them anyways because we were raking it in, and were highly unlikely to ever suffer from the ground level consequences ourselves.

Could you imagine we went out not because a meteor struck or a virulent plague emerged, but because we wanted to use frying pans that nothing stuck to and eat cheap food at fast food restaurants?

If there is an afterlife for extinct species we'd be a laughing stock for all eternity.

If we're to become extinct some day, let it happen another way.

The current path that we're on's so shortsighted.

Even though the available research is 20/20.

If you think the companies responsible for creating this mess are unstoppable, your thoughts are by no means misguided, but take note that they can indeed be held to account, and be made to address their actions.

As Todd Haynes's Dark Waters demonstrates.

The film presents dedicated lawyer Robert Bilott (Mark Ruffalo) and his fight against DuPont, who knowingly poisoned their Parkersburg West Virginia workforce and environment, for decades, and were none too pleased when they were taken to court.

Bilott took them to court though and didn't let up even as things became more and more challenging.

He sacrificed a lot to stand up for people's rights and kept on 'till he won a settlement that cultivated fertile grassroots.

His family stood by him throughout and dealt with the despondent gloom, unyielding support and commitment, intense cohesive telemetry.

Dark Waters isn't about ideologically or politically motivated avengers, it's about a god-fearing straight edge family who took plutocrats to court to help a struggling farmer (Bill Camp as Wilbur Tennant).

It calls into question categorial delineations.

While harvesting democratic crops.

Beyond popularity.

More films like this please.

Joker

A confused man who struggles to fit in suddenly responds with unhinged fury, to those who snidely provoke him.

He tries to socialize at work, to enjoy the friendly influence of camaraderie, but is attuned to a different wavelength that pushes others swiftly away.

He sees a psychiatrist on a regular basis to air grievances and seek shelter, but she's ill-equipped to deal with his issues and their encounters increase his frustration.

Before budget cuts bring them to an abrupt end.

He goes off his meds and starts researching his past after reading a letter written by his mother (Frances Conroy as Penny Fleck) to Bruce Wayne's father (Brett Cullen).

And as the woe disparagingly intensifies, he embraces reckless spleen, proceeding wild-eyed and menacing, with neither recourse nor path nor guilt.

Gotham's elite have developed an unsympathetic attitude regarding its impoverished citizens, who find solace in the Joker's (Joaquin Phoenix) rampage.

The result is incredibly bleak.

As despondent as it is abandoned.

A dangerous film, this Joker, released at the worst of times.

Characters like the Joker are often exceptions are they not?, but in recent decades the U.S has seen so much distressing carnage.

Joker could easily be dismissed if it wasn't so well done, and didn't reach such a wild wide audience.

Compassion abounds for the Joker within.

And Batman's father's a condescending jerk.

From the perspective of film, it's easily the best comic book movie, like mainstream tragic arthouse psychological horror abounding with sensitive emotion.

Not just sensational superheroes predictably poised and pouncing, Joker leaves behind both razzle and dazzle to distill nocturnal desperation.

You feel for him as he daydreams, as his explanations are dismissed at work, as he makes friends with a neighbour down the hall, as he traces the roots of his identity.

Perhaps nothing will come of it.

Perhaps people harbouring dark thoughts will see the horrifying nature of their outcomes and be emphatically deterred, like parents who teach children to respect alcohol by getting them drunk, school of hard knocksy pedagogical bedlam.

But hopefully people like Bruce Wayne or his father, people occupying positions of power in the U.S, will consider a more equitable distribution of wealth, and uphold institutions which aid the unfortunate.

It's not perfect in Canada and Québec, Britain, France or Ireland, but there is much less violence, according to Michael Moore's films.

Because these countries have elites who care about the unfortunate, like Bernie Sanders.

And encourage them to be productive team members.

Much harder to own your own weapons too.

Less idealistic.

Much more practical.

Il pleuvait des oiseaux (And the Birds Rained Down)

An aged free spirit spent her life under lock and key, now a relative passes, and she departs to pay respect.

Her nephew's open-minded and understands she could use a break, and happens to know a secluded location where feisty seniors get by.

The male pair's dialled in off the grid and have been for some time, one prone to grouchy outbursts, the other settled like humble pie.

Their lifestyle doesn't easily accommodate others, remote bush living requiring steady supplies, but they're as independent as they are resourceful, in regular contact with sustained sustenance.

Or Marie-Desneige's (Andrée Lachapelle) nephew anyways, who ATVs them up provisions from time to time, stopping to chat and relax lakeside, not so bad this side of February.

An inquisitive photojournalist comes calling with fresh sets of awkward questions, and since they have no interest in being found, they aren't as willing to respond as she had hoped.

Confrontation maladroitly abounds, as love blooms, identity blossoms, and angst prognosticates.

Il pleuvait des oiseaux.

Off the beaten track.

The urge to rigorously classify each and every individual is expressly resisted within, desires to live untethered, beyond, contesting traditional arrangements.

Practical argument may dispute its chill romanticism, but not without its characters having had their honest say.

Arboreally inclined foresty fomentation.

There's something to be said for the offbeat alternative rough and torchlit tumble, keeps you innocently aware through mature spiritual reference.

You have to appreciate what you have as opposed to imagining what you can get, even if online shopping's levelling the field, although that doesn't apply in this instance.

Note: the city is also amazing.

I love it when I meet people who are cyberspatially detached.

I can't do it myself, I admit I love the online world, but there are certain freedoms that persist if you spend your life offline, almost as if you don't exist, like you can't be tracked or followed.

Like a ghost or a bear, a bohemian, a spy.

A classical romantic.

Less prone to inane distraction.

If you somehow read this even though you live offline, consider that if you have no online footprint, you're perfect for spectral espionage.

Bu if iTunes disappears and therefore stops selling music, where do you go to buy music? Will AppleMusic be the only option? It's like downloading music from the internet for free wiped out millions for emerging artists, and record stores slowly merged into iTunes, but if iTunes stops selling music, and you still want to own albums, even if you can listen to them for free on AppleMusic, will record stores bounce back, and will those millions be made available once more?

It's cool to see people like Neil Young and Keith Richards with millions.

Can't say they didn't earn it.

Almost as if downloading music for free was ironically financed by the right wing establishment, to silence active protest, or at least make it much less comfortable to do so.

Il pleuvait des oiseaux generates aged pluck to state "it's never too late."

Cool characters and convincing situations.

A thoughtful narrative blend.

Provocative ego clash.

With love.

It - Chapter Two

A disturbed slumber, 27 years of rest woebegone, sedate irascibility, contumely comas, hellbent on dispensing despotic discontent, extremely confident of his monstrous prowess, as the virtuous gather, somewhat unsure of their deadly purpose, most of their lives having briskly moved on, careers and love, duty and responsibility, adulthood, maturity, they've forgotten what once fiercely threatened them, although one remained staunch and vigilant, conducting devout immersed freelance research, constructing a strategy to fight round 2, sure and steady, carrying on, assured and brave unwavering commitment, adroitly aware confined productive obsession.

He makes the calls.

They are awkwardly heeded.

But with what seems like miraculous good fortune, they return to Derry minus one, the details of their trauma somewhat hazy, a refresher dynastically awaiting.

Mike Hanlon (Isaiah Mustafa/Chosen Jacobs) believes he's discovered the secret to defeating Pennywise (Bill Skarsgård), but it's complicated if not unnerving.

After visiting local First Nations, who have known of Pennywise since time immemorial, he discovered that they each must locate something personal, they'll just know it when they see it, and that each of these personalized items must then be burned together as one, within a cavern deep below ground, to which the beast will be immediately summoned.

But Pennywise has thought of little else over the years, throughout the tormenting intervening period, and is ready to plague them with fear, as they set out in search of nostalgic essentials.

Alone.

Even though the errors of proceeding individually are pointed out, Hanlon states that the ritual requires personalized sleuthing, Pennywise conscious of their adversarial intent, and everything else that they're blindly thinking.

If you saw the made-for-tv version of It as a child, you can't miss the new cinematic enterprise, which supplies fresh hearty chilling frights, and a corresponding sense of unease.

The narrative's compact, it focuses almost entirely on the adults who defeated Pennywise as children, or were psychologically enslaved by him, there's no police or community at large, just a monster and its courageous foes.

Even though it's 2 hours and 49 minutes long, it still unreels with startling brevity, the wayward adults returning to Derry rapidly, leaving work etc. behind far too quickly.

Except for Mrs. Marsh (Jessica Chastain/Sophia Lillis), who needs to get the *&#* out of there.

The scenes are kind of hokey, passing too abruptly to nurture the genuine.

They each encounter Pennywise again, however, on their own, and these scenes are more lengthy and convincing, the film less concerned with matters beyond the terrifying world of Derry, a tight knit group keeping things crisp, shipshape.

The hasty returns, individual pursuits, and lack of community-at-large involvement, make It - Chapter Two seem a bit slapdash, scary and morbid yet slapdash, especially since each character must accomplish a difficult task after suddenly finding themselves in a frightening inhospitable world they left long ago, and they all succeed while only suffering slight mental distress.

But if the realism isn't going to cut it, or will at least only lead to banal shocks, the ridiculous can indeed be relied upon, fantastic excess outwitting routine expectations.

If horror films are supposed to leave you feeling ill afterwards, It - Chapter Two is a blunt success.

Even if it's kind of corny.

And the Henry Bowers (Teach Grant/Nicholas Hamilton) subplot doesn't add much.

Ready Player One

Ready Player One takes Game Night to the next level by presenting a world within which every waking moment characterizes free play.

Arguments lauding the values of physical existence having been virtually refuted, the Oasis intergenerationally supplies invigorating imaginary agency to anyone curious enough to enroll.

It's the ultimate online experience, manifold worlds within worlds abounding with purpose and challenge and leisure and romance, astounding variability thematically applied with visionary intertextual synergies slash infinite individual accommodations, instantaneously accessible, intravenously mounted.

Created by James Halliday (Mark Rylance/Isaac Andrews), a brilliant pop culture enthusiast with a propensity to articulate architecturally, its ownership enters a period of flux after he passes, only those clever and skilful enough to find the 4 keys he's hidden within having the chance to become its new guardians, and since it's valued at half-a-trillion, and its riddles are next to impossible to solve, only a select few possess the talent required, although all and sundry compete by all means.

And then it happens, after years of clueless endeavour, two diametrically opposed groups seemed poised for victory.

One, an accumulation of indentured gamers coerced into working for colossal douche Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn), sheer numbers intended to overwhelm the opposition even if they instinctually lack any genuine personal revelation.

They invade the Oasis en masse, intimidating everyone they can to cheat their way to the finals.

Reminding me of ye olde deflategate thereby.

The other, a bucking homegrown organic dedicated team in the process of formation, possibly lead by a modest competitive young superfan who also possesses innovative interpretive intuition.

Will the 5 of them combine their strengths to outperform the corporate world, thereby preventing it from transforming the Oasis into a heartless tiered unimaginative conglomerate, as if both B.C's coastline and its interior were contaminated by millions of gallons of oil, or the internet itself, was regulated like cable television?

The odds would be stacked highly against them.

If they weren't so exceptionally gifted.

Like indomitable lamda kitshatz haderached omega particles, never pausing to adjust for wind resistance, near wild heaven trucking through the danger zone, they keep goin' mobile as the labyrinthine adventure begins.

Ready Player One playfully unites myriad awe inspiring protocultural constellations like an enigmatic enlightenment transisting renaissance.

Spielberg still possesses the youthful wonder that has helped him to create stunning films for decades, Ready Player One clearly proving that he hasn't lost touch with his incomparable artistic genius, nor his undeniable love of cinema.

I'm betting that whatever decade you grew up in, this film will help you feel like you're back at home in your youth.

A remarkable cohesion of multigenerational inter and independence, it reifies the North American cultural spirit, without losing sight of its cool.

Why wasn't it released in July?

Call Me By Your Name

Lazy Summer days, cozy calisthenic concurrences, adventurous insights, carefree study, inspiring intuitions, definitive imprecision, consequent variability, frozen yogurt waffle cones, shinnicked bones, furtive independence, sensual stealth, unpasteurized promenades, thematic quests, impassioned evanescence, vespertine incandescence, echoing undulations, lunar embarkations, fireside simplicity, hidden roasted treasures.

Randomly sought after.

Improvised replays.

Some work to be done perhaps but certainly not right away, not today or this week, this hour, outlines drawn on the sweltering haze, remembered then forgotten, aeronautically cosigned.

At some point.

Envisaged, aggregated.

Legends of the Fall.

Amour.

Attach romance to the above and meaninglessly embrace the omniscience characteristic of the terrestrially divine, the mortal, insofar as you've become half of Inception's whole, and denied yourself through recourse to another.

Floating around, receding.

Call Me By Your Name cherishes love in Summer with the fleeting devotion of hesitant curious maturity.

Patiently sculpted with blossoming freespirited amicability, the easy going free flowing compassion sans conflict that I was hoping to find in Sleeping Giant, cultural differences praised without exaggeration, tranquil friendships, experiments, rests, excursions, it supplely romanticizes neither one nor the other, sensitively creating with the poignancy of unclassified commitment, it adores without seducing, and delicately tempers fair play.

The tenderest, sweetest, bravest, most sober and intelligent love story I've seen in years, as if love wasn't something controversial, wasn't concerned with ownership, loss, or time.

Scientific artistry.

Ethical understanding.

The Big Short

You wonder how much some of these characters really cared about the fate of the American masses during the 2008 economic crisis.

It's plausible that those who did care did in fact care.

Without them caring however, The Big Short does turn into a celebration of sorts of the lucky 0.00000000000001% who prospered excessively while the unknowing majority was ruined.

Conscience or convenience?

Without them the film definitely would have been tough to take.

Perhaps not.

It's really well written, constant motion following multiple characters who analyze their subject matter and conduct their research from varied perspectives, these perspectives vivaciously instructing audiences in paradigmatic peculiarities which crippled the global economy, while introducing several tertiary adjuncts who often make more than one appearance (editing by Hank Corwin) and diversify its critique of unsustainable capitalist expansion by illustrating both the reckless joys and famished dreams of the lenders and borrowers caught up in early 21st century frenzied financing.

Writers Charles Randolph (screenplay), Adam McKay (screenplay), and Michael Lewis (Book) may have been able to extract the ethical from this frame without stalling its momentum although the ethical focus does transport its erudite pedestrianism to the realm of the imaginative flâneur.

Holy crap The Big Short takes a lot of shots at the chaotic mechanics which oddly upheld American markets for a significant chunk of time and the people who profited from the resultant unrestrained disillusioning economic creativity.

It's a shame because the rampant charlatanism had given people earning modest livings the chance to live the American dream, houses, cars, microbrewed beer, poutine, it was just totally foundationless and eventually crashed unrepentantly, with basically no penalties, and according to The Big Short and recent forecasts by a Scottish bank, is ready to start frothingly socioproselytizing once more.

What do you do, do you live within your means without accumulating much debt or mortgage your life away and enjoy whatever you can get your hands on?

Can't answer that question, but sustainable development seems more profitable to me in the long run, conserving immaculate environmental and technological wonders in turn while eagerly seeking out sources of cultural and scientific mutation.

I did leave the theatre wondering if I had just seen one of the best films of the year or an exceptional Pop-Up Video collage.

But upon further reflection, I do think The Big Short is a contender, even if it's kind of raw-raw.

Thought-provoking conscientious unnerving entertainment.

Worth subsequent viewings, strong cast, well put together.

Godzilla

The presence of two gigantic destructive monsters competitively reawakens the mighty Godzilla, perviously resting in his or her oceanic layer, content and comfortable, in its overflowing radioactive abundance.

Secrets have been kept from the people of Japan, and one man's overwhelming quest to ecolocute them, sets his son on the path to heroic indentation.

Project Monarch has known about the existence of these ancient beasts for decades and has been assiduously researching their origins, attempting to understanding what might be their purpose.

When it becomes clear that aspects of said purpose threaten the longevity of prosperous American cities, the characters hear the kitschy call.

Pinnacled to pressure.

If at one time in your life you found yourself watching every Godzilla film you could find, Gareth Edwards's Godzilla doesn't disappoint.

It's, pretty awful, intermixing enough cheesy sentimentality to settle anyone's disputes concerning the hyperactivity of microwaved plutonics.

But this is what's to be expected from a film respectfully paying homage to its amusingly light predecessors, like a refreshing glass of chilled mountain dew, stricken yet satisfying, all the way through.

Dr. Ishiro Serizawa (Ken Watanabe) impresses.

Some of the best deliveries I've heard in a blockbuster for a while.

How I looked forward to his next line with unfiltered anticipation.

The scene where the troops skydive into San Francisco is incredible.

Dallas Buyers Club

When confronted with the gripping prospect of death, Dallas Buyers Club's Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey) cursively refuses to back down.

Economically finding a way to prolong his counterintuitive friction, he proactively rides the bull, adjusting prejudicial preferences in the meantime, gesticulating, matriculating, stanced.

This ___ker knows how to rock a library.

He does his research, finds alternatives, makes hard decisions, goes into business, and proceeds to assist those who had been condescendingly written off.

The butterfly scene boils it down.

The film's straightforward yet punctual and provocative, brazenly tackling hard-hitting browbeaten issues of gender and sex, not to mention the pretensions of the American medical establishment, friendships and partnerships metamorphically blossoming, underground economies, financing the bloom.

Once again we find economic justifications for a more inclusive sociocultural dynamic, more customers, more profits, sustainable social programs, this time in the heart of Texas.

One of the most unlikeliest humanitarian activists I've seen.

His interests are initially individualistic, but he reaches higher ground throughout his transformation.

Possible oscar nomination for McConaughey?

The Ghosts in Our Machine

Liz Marshall's new documentary The Ghosts in Our Machine follows the beneficial risks taken by photographer and animal rights activist Jo-Anne McArthur as she snaps heartbreaking shots of the animals enslaved in various industries.

Grim statistics numerically accompany her outputs, providing troubling realities with cold hard facts.

The fur industry's profits are increasing, for instance.

Scientific laboratories have actually bred a beagle to maximize its docility.

Dairy cows generally give milk for three to four years before they're butchered, even though they could have lived a much longer life, their utters no longer being profitable.

Facilities like those chronicled in Gabriela Cowperthwaite's Blackfish are sprouting up all over the world.

And the practices adopted by many organic farmers aren't that different from their large-scale competitors.

Animal rights are the focus and discourses which justify animal abuses are contradicted through a wide range of compelling photographic and cinematic images.

The film is informative without being preachy, evocative but not sickly sentimental.

It's not sensational, relying more on the integrity of its illustrations than the volatility of its message.

When they visit the Farm Sanctuary in upstate New York and show close-ups of their resident cows, pigs, sheep, etc., intricately capturing their emotions and personalities, it's truly moving.

The film should be airing on the CBC's documentary channel on Sunday, November 24th.

Finding funding to support your work, an artist's dedication, and historical revelations are featured as well.

Here's an article about animal rights in Switzerland.

This is what I think Ms. McArthur is referring to when she mentions bears.

Farm Sanctuary's catalogue and its value added information are remarkable.

Living an ethical life.

During question period after the film, an audience member asked how Ms. Marshall and Ms. McArthur manage to continue pursuing their goals in the face of so much suffering (paraphrasing), and Jo-Anne recommended Aftershock: Confronting Trauma in a Violent World as an aid.

Sounds like a good read.

Man of Steel

The Man of Steel.

Itinerant and contemplative.

Modest and self-sacrificing.

Sculptor of the spectacularly withdrawn.

Called to action.

Zack Snyder's Man of Steel seeks to altruistically benefit humankind while remaining practically skeptical of their leader's self-serving pretensions.

A 21st century Superman, different from Richard Donner's incarnation, the past continuously and instructively resurfacing, as opposed to being left behind at a certain age.

Like Superman on Facebook.

Prominent features of Superman lore, even his title, are humbly introduced, a sign mentioning Smallville here, an advertisement for LexCorp there, as the film's quasi-historical background subtly reflects Kent's (Henry Cavill) psyche.

Although there's no Jimmy Olsen.

The film confrontationally yet reticently undulates surreal mnemonic passages with sensational graphic carnage, Superman style, as the effected take the time to lend a helping hand, the innocent are humanely taken into consideration, methods of disseminating information multiply, and the ego is intransigently mollified.

The environmental movement finds support as Krypton explodes à cause de rampant resource extraction and later on we find a sole polar bear exploring beside the vestiges of his or her once dependable pack ice.

Jor-El (Russell Crowe) rides a wicked cool H'Raka too.

Solid blend of Superman (1978) and Superman II (1980), paying homage to its most convincing   predecessors while leaving the door open for more adventurous avenues of inquiry.

General Zod's (Michael Shannon) still a bit of a dickhole.

Wasn't impressed with the new Ursa (Antje Traue as Faora-Ul).

Some of the supporting cast had more depth in the earlier films.

It's not just that I was 7 years old when I first saw them.

It's not.