Scrooge

Events traditionally unfold in the 1970 version of Scrooge, known perhaps for its musical flourishes and alternative takes on narrative contentions.

Scrooge remains as thoroughly miserly as one would expect if even vaguely familiar, and greedily refuses to grant the slightest clemency to any of his festive hard-working debtors.

To be expected, he also treats Bob Cratchit with cold and calculated avaricious disdain, and once again denies his humble nephew as he pleasantly invites him to Christmas dinner.

Many of the lines no doubt are almost identical to the 1951 classic, as it proceeds with temperate respect to the ageless wonder miraculously crafted.

It does struggle somewhat at times when the story isn't enriched through upbeat song, the less melodious dramatic scenes lacking convincing qualities effectively managed.

I did rather like the songs however and their exuberant convivial ecstatic fortitude, the fitting emphasis on play and fun mellifluously denoting communal cohesion.

Some of them are quite elaborate as well with dozens of extras performing in unison, the intricate nature of the ebullient dancing considerably impressive in stride and swoon. 

In this version, more attention is paid to Scrooge's apprenticeship with ye olde Fezziwig, and Alice is presented as Fezzi's daughter who Scrooge freely falls for even though he can't dance.

An extended scene romancing in the countryside adds much more romantic and amorous depth, Scrooge's inevitable inestimable turn all the more cruel and dishearteningly tempered. 

I always love the Fezziwig scene and it is rather short in some of the versions, I often think all of that effort for such a short time but at a younger age it did seem much longer.

Another notable difference looks at Scrooge's imagined descent into Hell, where he encounters Jacob Marley again and finds himself enlisted as Satan's clerk. 

The final song the purchase of the toys is rather well done Scrooge's generosity unsurpassed.

Not in keeping with the season to state overzealous!

How could it be!

Merry Christmas, everyone. 🎄🎅🤶🌟⛄𐂂👼

The Horse's Mouth

I imagine The Horse's Mouth has been inspiring cheek for generations, as it magnanimously schemes through stray ludicrous accord.

Hark then, take offhand note, an imaginative artist is released from prison, immediately resuming the stress thereafter which initially led to his foul distemper.

Thus, with no income at hand and no commission retroactively forthcoming, a theoretical deal which may have merit seductively swelters in sordid cynosure.

Strange how someone so sought after just wildly wanders half-starved and disputative, you would think there'd be some kind of role for him to adequately play with solemn disinterest?

But wandering salubriously suits him with soliloquized synergies short and syncopated, the odd connoisseur taking distracted note, random deals struck fugaciously unaltered.

Inspiration indeed surely struts and mischievously materializes maelström and mayhem, as it does within The Horse's Mouth when idyllic lustre illustriously liaises. 

Indubitably, a frenzied subaltern is even enlisted with aggrieved bravado, the lack of orthodox laborious blueprints producing reluctant starstruck nebulae. 

No doubt encouraging flagrant entropy resiliently mutating into adamant verse. 

At times some things go amiss.

Textiles tantamount cantankered probity.

You wonder where he's headed in the auspicious final moments, imagine having a boat fortuitously buoyant and inquisitively seafaring.

I suppose if you can catch your dinner with moderate success there's no horizon, puzzling predicaments at times bemoaning yet still loose and lithe and limber.

With abundant material work may flourish beyond reckless trope and placated gale, regenerative lapse demonstrative brine lopsided latitude elegant shades.

Romance wasn't once so dangerous although tremulous realism distorts as well, without hope how do you ever achieve assuming a hearty practical frailty? 

Sometimes things relax and tactile comforts efficiently abound.

Soak it in, time for a breather.

It may even last.

'About on the seas.

*Essential viewing for Alec Guinness fans. It's like Obi-Wan Kenobi if he'd never had Jedi training. 

The Card

Interesting at times to view entrepreneurial innovation, as applied to personal success, within stilted social confines.

Note then that in many a Dickens novel it can be quite difficult to earn a living, the Victorian era accordingly much stricter, and manifestly less forgiving.

Characters often run into difficulties and at times wind up in debtors's prisons, habitually stuck there for years on end with family in tow and scant means of escape. 

The Card takes an alternative approach to the uptight predicaments of the era, and shines forth ingenious particulates which fortuitously illuminate Edward Machin's (Alec Guinness) fortunes.

Oddly enough, while venturing forth, I often take note of random phenomena, striking ephemera that catches me eye, and results in poetic expenditure.

Whether it's the way the moonlight happens to highlight the bushes in a hearty swamp, or how indicative fluid movements seem to be naturally mimicking filmic discretion, unaware, I often take note of something, which then undergoes mutation.

In The Card, Machin approaches life in a corresponding way, yet his ideas inspire commerce to the general aggrandizement of his purse.

Thus, rather than thinking, egad, a mushroom, he comes up with creative ways to collect back rents, which result in hardly any evictions, and genuinely please worried landlords. 

Much like a Dickens hero, he isn't a cad or a vicious scoundrel, he even dutifully looks after his family as time passes throughout pressing life.

It's fun to watch as an ambitious upstart universally excels without recourse to cunning, his profits shared with his trusted mates, his honest success to their mutual confidence. 

It's like the opposite of many a ruthless tale of lucrative desire, so often celebrated indeed it's no wonder we're lodged in metaphysical disillusion. 

But cheerful stories still emerge posthaste and it isn't all übermensch versus union, I'm thinking of the quizzical Yes Man and even Belfast or Bohemian Rhapsody. 

Is it just that the mainstream's losing its audience and has to therefore resort to cataclysmic reckoning, or is this how people practically theorize the evolution of visual narrative through neomonarchism (The Trump Effect)?

Who knows really I can't imagine but I always thought blockbusters financed exceptions.

With the Oscars emergent new data materializes. 

Civilized millennia?

Recalcitrant scope!