Summer of 84

An innocent mind rationally filled with suspicion detects neighbourly crime in the Summer of 84.

With no condemnatory evidence, and only his teenage imagination to support his accusations, Davey Armstrong (Graham Verchere) must cleverly engage in covert ops, with a little help from his most trusted closest friends.

In an age synthetically flourishing (not) long before the world went viral, known to many as the most joyous wondrous adventurous decade in world history, complete with physical newspapers and programs regularly broadcast on television, the odd sensational headline grabbing everyone's critical attention, the foolhardy nature of which was lampooned by an aware North American public staunchly versed in peaceful collectivity, a Foucauldean analysis of the times notwithstanding, but things didn't seem so divisive back then, 4 teens set out to secretively prove wrongdoing, using (not so) ancient reliable methodologies such as activity based disguises (manhunt), maneuverable modes of transportation (bikes), non-electronic technologies (binoculars), and inclusive dialogues leaving behind no detectable trace (conversation), as investigatory aids.

The suspect: a police officer living alone within a suburban dwelling, highly respected by neighbourhood families, thought to be dependable for many untroubled yesteryears.

The love interest: in a plot development that's absolutely perfect, an older beautiful resident female (Tiera Skovbye as Nikki Kaszuba) takes a shine to inquisitive young Davey, who is eager to reciprocate her interrogatory mannerisms, much to the amazement of his incredulous retinue.

Classic nerd love (see Meatballs 3).

Conveniently introduced to defy expectations.

Throughout most of the film I was thinking, "okay, this is solid low-budget storytelling skillfully operating within realistically extraordinary circumstances supported by strong characters, music, plot developments, and historical fascinations, but where's the horror?, this seems much more like heavy teen crime drama than a horror film, or even a nail-biting thriller."

Note: ginger wasn't a widespread term in the 80s (in my neighbourhood anyways) and it wasn't so easy to watch a movie late at night in 1984 unless you actually had a VCR and were able to rent what you wanted to see at a local video store, which likely didn't own twenty to thirty copies, or it happened to be on television and your parents didn't mind you staying up to watch it.

But the horror kicks in big time near the end and its impact is much more terrifying due to the intensity of the unexpected shocks.

Actual frights as opposed to campy humour.

A local family also declares political support for a new candidate around the same time.

To learn more about additional related horrors, see Michael Moore's Capitalism: A Love Story.

Yikes!

La vie domestique

What a prick of a day.

The bourgeois baggage bumptiously builds up in this one, as 4 housewives reflexively mold their materiality.

A picture perfect life, complete with good schools, automobiles, and giant houses has been secured, yet aging has reintroduced theoretically antiquated distinctions between feminine and masculine, whose casual unconscious biases and restrained level-headed counterbalances (the dialogue keeps a cool reserved yet provocative head) suggest that La vie domestique can be thought of as a prolonged micromanifested scream, each of its nanofrustrations minimalistically implicated in the stifling restrictions of gender based economically reinforced comments, along with the gut wrenching crunch of ostensible opportunity.

The aforementioned predominantly applies to Juliette (Emmanuelle Devos) as she struggles in her role of supportive wife and mother, providing extracurricular guidance to underprivileged youth while trying to find work in the publishing industry.

She's strong, confident, capable, and aware that time lacks its former robust capacities, alarming amplifications assiduously absorbed.

Her husband (Laurent Poitrenaux as Thomas) tries to comprehend at times but keeps saying the wrong things, seeking to control rather than comprehend, turning domineering near the end.

The ass at the beginning directly establishes the rage.

The rest multilaterally multiplies it.