The Circus

Jedi training indeed paramount for sundry peeps across the land, prosperous schooling discovering brilliant intrepid bold corresponding padawans. 

But at times the educational system loses track of its young Jedi, and while their powers continue to develop, they have no mentor to lend a hand (see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them). 

They remain remarkably powerful but have no definitive direction, and while attempting to culturally acclimatize can wind up engaged with routine farce.

Take the Little Tramp's (Charlie Chaplin) brief flirtation with improvised ragtag dissolution, which leads to imperial entanglements throughout his otherwise carefree days.

While trying to escape, he makes his way to the local circus, and accidentally proves miraculous, his raw unfiltered Jedi talent naturally sensational.

He has inherent multivariability which flexibly thrives and athletically entices, the resulting versatile wondrous artistry as mesmerizing as any virtuoso. 

Awareness remains a problem as he consciously realizes his strength, and must apply thought to consistently supply what he never meant to deliver in the first place.

He must intuit the way of the Jedi in front of a live audience no less, and habitually manifest the rowdy chaos instinctually engendered with his waking mind.

How many times when you didn't realize you were good at something did it become difficult to reproduce when animately expected, what was perceived to be nothing more than natural blundering instantly upheld as cultural craft?

To learn to continuously supply captivating comedy without any training, to consciously mimic accidental innovation, can take time and practice at that.

For Charlie Chaplin's The Circus the oblivious Jedi struggles upon the stage, after a period of incomparable productivity widely acclaimed by diverse audiences.

He was doing incredibly well until eavesdropping upon his love interest, and assuming the worst for his amorous ambitions lost that salient carefree initiative.

Having never learned to corral his freeform wild imaginative entertaining thoughts, within an expedient objective enclosure, his performance reflexively struggles.

The frustrating endemic throes of people with talent as they learn to develop, doesn't love always seem unattainable and then supernatural if suddenly requited. 

Fret not, a day will dawn when romantic dreams no longer complicate things.

And you can concentrate solely on your work.

It's not nearly as bad as it sounds. 

*In Chaplin's case, it's like he instinctually wrote the sacred Jedi texts during filmmaking's early days. Texts that were in fact page turners. Still to this postmodern age. 

Uptown Saturday Night

The allure of chic amenities tantalizes a bold cab driver (_____ ______ as Wardell Franklin), but he needs an earnest wingperson to attempt to gain entry into the club.

Mr. Jackson (Sidney Poitier) has reservations concerning the somewhat elevated price tag, but he also can't deny he's curious, and doesn't want to disappoint his friend.

Their clever ruse proves rather prosperous the following adventurous Saturday night, but just as they're joyfully raking it in, several thugs crookedly come a' callin'.

Disillusion lugubriously abounds but even more so the very next day, when Jackson discovers he's won the lottery, and the winning ticket's in his wallet.

While he had reservations about the club, the massive payload generates audacity, and he decides to search for the thieving no-goodniks, in the unfamiliar underground. 

Franklin comes along for the ride and after a private detective exasperates their frustration (Richard Pryor as Sharp Eye Washington), it's off to question notorious phenoms with a plan as blunt as it is distressing.

But fate rewards them for embracing daring and soon they've found a compelling lead, even found the individuals responsible, an enormous return without much of an effort.

They find themselves enabling the brokerage of a new criminal partnership for their troubles, which even leads to a game of baseball, at a local church BBQ.

Hapless celebrity serendipitous success with a lack of consideration for the resonant danger, Sidney Poitier's Uptown Saturday Night placates stilted severe stresses.

Ye olde versatile implausibility efficiently achieving herculean goals, without letting disputatious doubts defile their frank dissimulation.

Like the bumbling Inspector Clouseau or the maladroit MacGruber, Jackson and Franklin find working solutions to problems they never wished they'd had.

The absurd situations generate levity which in turn manufacture humour, as humble laidback domestic reticence embraces virile volatility.

Some of the additional plot devices contemporary audiences take for granted (security at the club, others searching for the stolen goods), may be difficult to find within the film, but there's still a pioneering sense of improvised good fortune which characteristically excels.

Probably wouldn't have gone to such lengths myself but who's to say what's to be done?

Didn't know Sidney Poitier directed so many films.

What a career.

What a lifetime. 

Chimes at Midnight

Courtly remonstrance august unflattering distaste, pejorative, authoritative, stately consequent nettle.

He doth resound with magnanimous impertinence irresistibly foiled salubrity, impenitent carefree rummaged spirits, rowdy improvised uncertain objectives.

Friendship inclusively abounds regardless of make or measure, oft depicted through random horseplay, yet not limited to sedate shenanigans.

Capable of suddenly stirring up a crowd with comic insubordinate intent, incapable of honest toil with constructive fruitful sustainability.

Unwary of boldly asserting he hath undertaken heroic deeds, in the presence of rank incredulity, with neither shame nor force of conscience.

Odd interminglings of duty bound recourse and ludic unconcerned pub fare, a future King navigating the discrepancies, a scorned romantic, a noble hare.

His friendship with Falstaff (Orson Welles) idealizes wayward youth, the heir to the throne wilfully led astray, even if he responds when indeed necessary, to the commands of lofty allegiance.

There's no synthesis therein forthcoming, Chimes at Midnight resonates disparately, a tragic forthright emergent declaration, divisive paramount telltale labours.

I feel for the hapless Falstaff, who thought he had won Prince Hal's (Keith Baxter) favour, if only he could have once tried to follow procedure, if only he could have toed the line.

After the coronation anyways, he should have assumed discretion, but such a lack of action would have never crossed his mind, a wild insouciant charismatic knight, far beyond austere pomp and propriety.

How he could have persisted for so very long without concern or trouble or worry, how could he have never assumed solemnity at any time throughout his life?

It's not that he isn't sincere.

Like Archie Rice in The Entertainer, he sincerely lives in the nimble moment, perhaps thinking loosely about the future, but never without much thought or care.

They both have goals to attain, projects in mind, hopes and dreams, but present ambitions generally obscure them, or lead to overwhelming bright temptations, spontaneous light merrymaking.

Their friends love them when they're performing and when they're not performing too, but can't reconcile their differences when the monthly rent is due.

Perhaps Henry the V can be accused of having led Falstaff on, of having encouraged a sense of entitlement the foolish knave should have never considered.

Did he not share so many mirthful years with Falstaff to at least not feel somewhat guilty when casting him aside?

I suppose they didn't make Ministers of Arts & Entertainment back then but Falstaff likely could have played the role.

Without much prep or training.

An irrefutable natural.