The Light Thief

As Krygyzstan adjusts to post-Soviet realities and workers continue to enjoy their lives even though basic food items are difficult to come by, one person of the people continues to function as a link between the haves and have nots, risking his prestigious position to faithfully restore the light. A courageous film from director Aktan Abdykalykov, The Light Thief presents an impoverished rural town struggling to maintain its identity as political currents redefine the ways in which its country is managed. The mayor who fought for the rights of his people is dead and those seeking to obtain their land have replaced him with a naive relative whose loyalty is individualistic and up for sale. Those with capital are willing to potentially finance experimental projects but strict respect must first be paid to their patriarchal order. Svet-Ake (Aktan Abdykalykov) holds his ideals close to heart and isn't willing to sacrifice them. If a family can no longer pay their electric bill, he reconnects their system to keep them attached to the grid. When offered the opportunity to establish a wind farm, he discusses his plans in a state of respectful disbelief. But its creation is necessitated upon the retooling of his ethical code, a personal transformation he is unable to make.

Old World meets New World in The Light Thief's subtly turbulent narrative. Capital is required to refurbish but the only source of its generation is the only asset the people have left. The outlets for negotiations and collaborations are destabilized as technological advances role in. The voice established by the working class is in danger of being silenced.

Boldly championing the dignity of the people while sharply pointing out what's at stake if that dignity is sacrificed, The Light Thief accentuates what it means to take risks as a matter of principle. Focusing to much overt attention on Svet-Ake and not enough on developing minor characters, it still slyly highlights the ingenuity of the town's impoverished youth while suggesting that that ingenuity is threatened.

2 frogs dans l'ouest

Leaving behind her structured life in Montréal, Marie Deschamps (Mirianne Brulé) travels to Whistler in pursuit of adventure and the acquisition of the English language. Things don't progress smoothly in the beginning until the angelic Jean-François Laforest (Dany Papineau) steps in to save the day. With a job and a place to stay, Marie's transition steadfastly accelerates and good previously unimagined times present themselves. But the predetermined all encompassing capitalist master narrative is still seductively ready to pounce, just as bohemian alternatives become all the more tantalizing.

Dany Papineau's 2 frogs dans l'ouest salutes the pursuit of non-traditional lifestyles while highlighting corresponding difficulties as well as those associated with learning a new language. The scene where Marie attempts to order something to eat in English near the beginning of her journey reminded me of similar personal outings in Québec, where you can't help but feel prostrate due to the fact that you can't communicate or don't understand the simple linguistic distinctions that you need to be able to comprehend in order to function, although the percentage of Québecors who speak English is much higher than that of English Canadians who speak French, a fact that many English Canadians should take into consideration. Sport is central to 2 frogs dans l'ouest's vision and the cathartic affects of activities such as snowboarding play a central metaphoric role. Is living in a beautiful place like Whistler or Canmore in order to pursue the artistic life while consistently engaging in exhilarating activities amidst the continuous inspirational presence of breathtaking scenery a good decision?

Yes, yes it is, although I suppose everyone can't live in such places, only the committed few.

Some of the coming of age reflections in 2 frogs dans l'ouest are a little tough to take at times. Papineau develops a lot of sympathy for Marie's father (Germain Houde) who made many sacrifices so that she could go to school as well. But he also didn't make those sacrifices so that she would give up her dreams.

And she doesn't.

Shoot the Piano Player

Sacrifices which destroy the prosperity they engender. Dreams for the future challenged by the threats of the past. Petty jealousies destabilizing the security of the present. A struggling artist trying his best to avoid loving and being loved. François Truffaut's Shoot the Piano Player presents Charlie Kohler (Charles Aznavour) as he makes his living playing the piano in a Parisian bar. Waitress Léna (Marie Dubois) has fallen in love with him and seeks to resurrect his dematerialized fame. Initially content to continue practising his honky-tonk, the power of love reinvigorates his pursuit of something classical. But brothers and gangsters and reflections and passions stand in his way as he psychologically rediscovers the life he once flourishingly possessed.

Shoot the Piano Player's cultivated underground jovially analyzes universal materialistic themes such as marriage and commodity acquisition, deviously situating Truffaut's observations in scenes traditionally used to establish a predetermined variety of character and mood. The resultant character and mood he establishes is therefore composed of startling insights extracted from various experiential outcomes whose histories convivially salute the unexpected. The scene where the thugs discuss their material goods with Fido (Richard Kanayan) after kidnapping him is first rate. Minor characters are given room to breathe, Raoul Coutard's cinematography illustrates the compact social nature of a bustling metropolis, and dreams synthesize with desires to produce a productive yet troubled practical theoretical posture. Its mainstream narrative is full of stipulated thoughts concerning art, careers, and gender relations, stipulated thoughts whose content is romanticized by their underground foil.

Charlie just wants to play the piano. Other people problematize his plans. Léna reminds him of the concerts he could still be performing. His community reminds him that other people still desire Léna.

Paul

One of the most comfortable science-fiction comedies I've seen, Greg Mottola's Paul introduces several distracting characters whose down home urbanized savvy fuels a quaint campy road trip. This road trip includes science fiction writer Clive Gollings (Nick Frost), his best friend Graeme Willy (Simon Pegg), a devoted Christian (Kristen Wiig), and a pot smoking trash talking fun lovin' alien named Paul (voiced by Seth Rogan). Paul has escaped from the military facility which held him prisoner for decades and used his advanced knowledge to drive various technological/pop cultural/industrial/. . . economies.

He seeks to return home.

Clive and Graeme have arrived in America from Britain to attend Comic-Con and then travel the midwest. They accidentally meet Paul on the side of a highway one evening and agree to help him reach his destination. In hot pursuit are Agent Zoil (Jason Bateman) and his reluctant sidekicks Haggard (Bill Hader) and O'Reilly (Joe Lo Truglio), intent on recapturing Paul so that the government can cut out his brain.

And reclaim their weed.

Every scene in Paul is well written, fun, and entertaining (written by Nick Frost and Simon Pegg). The humour isn't the most cerebral but it takes a lot of brains to be able to successfully write and sustain so many catchy one-liners, skilfully using repetition to recapture laughs throughout. There are many hilarious shots of characters standing there with bewildered quizzical looks on their faces, and including Moses Buggs (John Caroll Lynch) in those near the end was priceless. Knowing that the road trip will not likely be threateningly interrupted produces feelings of comfort, although you would think the military would be searching for Paul in greater numbers (this would have ruined the film however!). Paul structurally references myriad science-fiction classics and it's fun trying to unravel them all (I did not catch them all). Watching Graeme and Ruth Buggs (Wiig) exchange romantic observations works well. Frustration, Frost and Pegg are experts in comedically timing moments of productive frustration.

Are humans smart enough to have come up with all of the technological advances of the last 100 years on their own or have aliens been sharing their related knowledge with them? Paul's answer to this question is "no, they are not, aliens have been sharing their knowledge, period."

Arthur

Not sure what to make of Jason Winer's Arthur. Apart from a commercial they ran on the Comedy Network for a couple of weeks, I'm completely unfamiliar with Russell Brand so this was my first encounter with his work. He's made a bold career move in Arthur, overtly suggesting that he is the inheritor of Dudley Moore's legacy, a move that must be followed up by an exceptional performance to be even remotely legitimized. I haven't seen many Dudley Moore films but I remember he was revered enough to be positively and negatively criticized in the mainstream media for a lengthy period while I was growing up, meaning that he likely has supportive and passionate fans remaining. Will they see Brand's reworking of Arthur as an homage to a great comedian by an up and coming artist who respects his entourage, or as an assault on a solidified characterization already firmly canonized within specific pop cultural histories/theorizations?

They're probably not concerned with either of these possibilities as they have better things to do.

But I don't, so I'm mentioning them in an indirect salute to the phenomenon of potential.

I thought Arthur lacked depth and the story simply recycled basic romantic class conscious true love narratives to produce another feel good romantic-comedy without innovating within corresponding traditions. Difficult subjects like arranged marriage, social barriers, child rearing, and corporate management are introduced and brought to the forefront, but Arthur's happy-go-lucky carefree nature euphemizes the constructive discourses delegated by their presence. At the same time, Brand's portrayal of Arthur is enlivening and revitalizing, cheerfully demanding that attention be paid. He's obviously multi-talented and the depth he instills in Arthur's character is striking. Helen Mirren is not to be bested, however, and she delivers a multi-talented characterization of her own, exemplified by the way in which she states the word "chimpanzee." The writers also provide her character with one of the most sublime of pastimes/interests which was sincerely appreciated by this commentator.

I suppose films whose performers subvert the greater cultural evaluations their director is trying to make by destabilizing them by displaying their talents function as prominent symbols of capitalist individuality. And Arthur is the product of successful capitalists who have amassed an enormous fortune, so, Arthur's form is working hand in hand with its content on one level anyways.

Bears.

Thieves' Highway

Can sheer will and determination enable an idealistic man's pursuit of justice in the underground world of fruit and vegetable exchange, or will they leave him distraught, broke and bedridden? Jules Dassin's Thieves' Highway examines this question and anxiously offers an unexpected solution. Nick Garcos (Richard Conte) returns home after years of working and saving his hard earned cash. Only to discover that his father (Morris Carnovsky) no longer has working legs after an accident coordinated by a crooked produce distributor (Lee J. Cobb as Mike Figlia). This upsets Garcos who immediately sets out to avenge his dad by cutting a deal with a shifty trucker named Ed Kinney (Millard Mitchell). Ed knows the whereabouts of an overflowing apple orchard whose gold and delicious bounty is ready for sale. The two strike up an agreement and purchase a truckload of apples each bound for sale to the aforementioned crook. But along the way, Ed's weathered universal slows his pace and young Nick must learn to negotiate deals with hardened thugs who don't believe in fair play.

On his own.

Not sure if Thieves' Highway is a film-noir or not but some of the classic tropes are in place. Anxiety exists although it's perforated with moments of happiness and peaceful calm. The majority of the film's action takes place in the underground but this underground isn't predominantly destitute. Some members of the police force are honourable, there's a lack of jazz music, the straight-and-narrow fiancé (Barbara Lawrence) turns out to be the femme fatale, and the femme fatale (Valentina Cortese) has a definitive change of heart. Does she only have this change of heart because Garcos represents the second generation of an immigrant family, integrated and successful, and is Dassin saying that only film-noir heroes from ethnic backgrounds can save the troubled femme fatale?

There's a lot going on behind and in-between the scenes in Thieves' Highway and some of the logic's somewhat bizarre. I suppose there's a plot, an internal relationship between the different components maintaining the plot's structure, an external relationship between the plot's structure and established film noir conventions, and another external relationship between the director's interpretation of these conventions (what he's trying to say by employing them in this or that fashion) and the ways in which he uses them to reflect his culture. Things often don't make sense. Check. People like to believe in the integrity of the law. Bingo. A strong constitution will achieve results eventually. Strike. Things can work out between a man and a woman. Cheerio.

Unless Dassin is noiring film-noir by turning its conventions upside down to deconstruct its pretensions and shine a light through its constructive darkness, Thieves' Highway doesn't strike me as making a good fit with the definition I was taught to consider to be ridiculous years ago. Perhaps it's just a comedic film-noir where everything works out in the end. Perhaps it's about role-playing.

Opening Night

While knowledge and treaties, expectations and caricatures haunt her, as horrible people transmit their perspectives nonchalantly, striking yet stark, cutting yet insignificant, Myrtle Gordon (Gena Rowlands) prepares for Opening Night and artistically assails its cultural predisposition. A young fan is dead, struck by a car after having sought her attention. A brilliant role threatens her fluidity and unwittingly seeks to sequester her career. Friends offer advice which she refuses to indulge, instead choosing to transform its venom into a seductive performance, on her own terms. Is John Cassavetes a misogynist? He certainly presents how abrasive powerful men can be and how hard it must be for women to have to navigate a culture saturated with paternal misgivings, as they're expressed benevolently as if they represent some sort of divine goodwill, as if they reflect a woman's best interests. The psychological abuse Myrtle suffers directly presents the subtleties of a misogynistic discourse, thereby courting a misogynistic qualifier for the film. But it seemed to me as if Cassavetes was using misogyny to point out how trapped many women feel while championing a strong heroine who stoically and creatively endures and counters its virulence nevertheless, thereby realistically accepting its cultural and political prominence and productively demonstrating the herculean effort required to combat it. He's not playing softball and taking a walk through Central Park, he's presenting difficult and controversial material in order to capture the essence of a pervasive dark cultural tenant from which progress can be made (by those who accept his diagnosis and want to do something about it).

It's really quite ingenious.

Opening Night's a powerful film that doesn't bombard you with its thesis; rather, it modestly presents an artist struggling to maintain control of her craft while suffering a midlife crisis. The politics of performance and the relationship between strict adaptions of written material and inspired improvisations are dramatized within, and Myrtle's predicament (that of the successful female actress trying to preserve her identity in an industry dominated by masculine ideals) reflects that presented by several prominent Canadian journalists in regards to the feminine voice's place in 21st Century film. Rowlands's performance is strong enough to dig deep down into your psyche and propel you to feel what she feels, think what she thinks, as you desperately prepare to deliver the performance of a lifetime. On par with A Woman Under the Influence and stronger than Husbands and Faces, Opening Night delivers a play within a heroine within a film within a vision which courageously exposes a deep rooted cultural miscue.

Made in U.S.A

It's occasionally important to treat fiction as if it's realistic and truth as if it's fabricated I think. At least that's what they taught me in school. Definitive strikes create signs to which meaning is attached for popularized agendas composed of particular events whose governing narrative forms a general conception. In this way we arrive at the truth and make executive decisions in relation to one of its specific interpretations and its collaborative polemic. Reason is a critical tool for such undertakings as it uses logic to evaluate hypotheses. The metaphorical dimension of collaborative interpretive polemics creates a layer of anti-truth from which the next generation of theories receives their political currency. Thinking about things in generational terms is somewhat of a mistake. Generations within generations germinate contradictory classifications assuming your economy is robust and permissive enough to absorb the fallout.

Jean-Luc Godard's Made in U.S.A terminates the truth with extreme flattery. A long list of manufactured expectations is subverted and traditional associations are disengaged from their cultural nuances apart from the idyllic feminine caricature represented by Paula Nelson (Anna Karina) in love. The Rolling Stones's "As Tear Goes By" reappears like Vinteuil's sonata interrogating the infantilization of the left by taking control of its means of production. An arrow flies throughout attaching itself to various established particularities which it accumulates and flattens through means of the continuous ironical disintegration of black and white agendas (like a long never ending line of aggregated kites establishing an evocative intellectual continuum). Suddenly there's a character, a motivation, a detective, murder. To the left to the right, there's no escape. Could it have been phrased differently? Seemingly random ideas and observations are more intriguing than structural designs when rationally designed according to the rhythms of a coordinated fluctuating poetic cinematic sensibility. Love that dress. May have mixed up the decades a bit in this review.

Red Riding Hood

Was excited regarding the release of Catherine Hardwicke's Red Riding Hood due to its examination of werewolves. But there are not many positive things to say about her film unfortunately. Yes, there is a werewolf, and it does star Gary Oldman and Lukas Haas, but apart from these facts it's one of the most sterile, wooden, nauseating teen melodramas I've seen, even more nauseating than New Moon. There's a beautiful woman betrothed to a man she doesn't love, desperately seeking to elope with her subject of desire. Her mother points out the financial benefits of making a good marriage and the rewards that come with financial security. The moon is cloaked in blood, the only time when werewolf bites can create new werewolves. A crusader's lust for victory turns him into the very monster he hopes to slay. The elements of an entertaining werewolf film are present but the execution lacks distinction. It's painful to watch as the predictable lines are heartily coated with sentimental prestige and hardwired blithering. I detected two moments where it seemed as if the film wasn't taking itself seriously, where I thought perhaps irony was its motivating factor and that it had therefore achieved a certain degree of redemption. But these moments pass quickly and fade into the night like crumbs sprinkled from a saltine delicately sleuthing their way through a living room's reconstituted equanimity. One for the money, two for the show. At least little Valerie (Amanda Seyfried) follows her heart.

Limitless

A struggling writer (Bradley Cooper as Eddie Mora) discovers he can access nearly 100% of his forgotten memories/observations after accidentally receiving a miracle drug from his ex-brother-in-law, and proceeds to excel. He finishes his novel in 4 days and afterwards sets out to make his fortune. The drug's side-effects are none to pleasant, however, and he soon experiences blackouts and debilitating nausea. But because he's functioning at such a high level, there are basically no professional consequences and he manages to maintain employment while suffering a dangerous breakdown. Thugs to whom he unfortunately gave the drug come calling for more and it soon becomes necessary to hire protection.

Much can be said about Neil Burger's Limitless. I thought it was an entertaining film whose execution lacked appeal yet still established several provocative dimensions which encourage further reflection. The ways in which Eddie handles his drug addiction for instance. It's like tobacco companies using their resources to find a cure for lung cancer or governments investing heavily in land reclamation technologies to make mining more environmentally friendly. Or drug addiction itself. Burger de/reconstructs the pharmaceutical industry throughout, evocatively investigating its extremes. The cult of the individual is presented existentially and communally as Eddie and Carl Van Loon (Robert De Niro) square off, and the ways in which critical synthetic intelligences (and pharmaceuticals) are valued by a knowledge based capitalist economy receives dramatic attention as well. Eddie's rise leaves behind a lot of plot-related baggage which can be justified by the fact that he's continually moving forward, the film moving to fast for its own internal construction, like a drug addict, but it still doesn't spend enough time examining the publication of his novel or the fact that he could have used his abilities to write something comparable to Proust. The film's writing also has a certain flair that disappears after Eddie abandons his writing career, including the introduction of the ex-brother-in-law. The lows Eddie hits and their consequent despair and paranoia are cultivated directly and poetically as he struggles to maintain, and I thought Burger did a good job of filmically distilling a bad hangover. Sort of funny how when he's a broke relatively sober writer everyone treats him like a drug addict but when he starts taking pharmaceuticals and gaining prestige he's revered. One of the morals suggests that beneficial drugs whose side-effects are curtailed can help you become a United States Senator if you hire shrewd lawyers to cover your ass while curtailing said side-effects and can outwit your enemies when they come to kill you. Libya of all countries is mentioned twice. I guess Gadhafi should have invested more in research . . .

Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in)

Tomas Alfredson's Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) offers a discursive examination of exclusion which awkwardly yet agilely provides a malleable definition for the phenomenon. Little Eli (Lina Leandersson) has been 12 years old for some time and ensures her longevity by drinking the blood of the living. Little Oskar (Kåre Hedebrant) is picked on in school and must find a way to fight back against those who bully him. The two strike up a strange friendship full of silence and short conversations, Oskar learning to speak with girls, Eli reminding him that she is not one. As bodies pile up throughout town, Oskar strikes back against his foes, Eli's supplier of blood dries up, and a group of cats embrace their bellicose instinct. Friendship becomes vital to Eli and Oskar's perseverance as they duel with their enemies and carve a place for themselves in their culture's underground.

Awkwardness abounds in Let the Right One In and the film effectively examines what it means to be an outcast. Oskar's parents are divorced, he's thoughtful and quiet, bullies pick on him, and he doesn't have any friends. Hence, when he meets Eli it's awkward, especially since she possesses the confidence and personality he lacks, the two functioning as social and communal opposites. Alfredson captures the maladroit nature of a child's first encounter with a member of the opposite sex well and the sensibility that governs their interactions flows through the rest of his film. The teachers have awkward relationships with their students. Eli's discussions with 'guardian' Håkan (Per Ragnar) are awkward. The group of strangers Håkan tries to ignore are awkward and their awkwardness incrementally increases as the film unreels. All of this awkwardness never allows us to feel comfortable for more than a millisecond as it agilely transmits itself from scene to scene, developing a frustrated interminably visceral aesthetic whose parts shift to align and forge a chilling climax which detonates its disenfranchised integrity. Being a teenager can often be awkward, as can being a vampire. Let the Right One In distills said awkwardness into an irresistible piece of dexterous disenchantment, delegating its vanquished restrictions for days to come.

Sympathy for the Devil

Showcasing The Rolling Stones (1968) as they record different versions of "Sympathy for the Devil," Jean-Luc Godard's Sympathy for the Devil tamely presents the to-be-legendary band while interspersing footage of the Black Panthers, a verdant interview, and an idealistic book shop. Political verse read from different texts is interjected throughout as graffiti artists championing the left take to the streets. Rich with ambiguous irony and multidimensional interpretive layers, Godard phantasmagorically makes several points which, as far as I can tell, seek to establish, amongst other things, a Marxist film industry in the West and a legion of intellectuals who pursue their activity by abandoning traditional paradigms, creating new compelling forms to provocatively distribute their countercultural content, i.e., The Rolling Stones's "Sympathy for the Devil," communism being demonic in Western eyes precisely because it attempts to politicize the teachings of Jesus Christ while giving birth to monsters like Stalin. Are artists using the internet to create a politico-economic infrastructure that can effectively sustain Marxism in order to promote a more peaceful egalitarian culture that doesn't pervert its altruistic ideals while specific outlets continue to foster a divisive mainstream capitalist agenda? In Sympathy for the Devil, Godard sets up culture and art in opposition so the aforementioned could lead to a material synthesis of some kind (a Dharma Punx video game?). The verdant interview depicts a woman named Eve Democracy (Anne Wiazemsky) being asked wide ranging questions in a forest to which she only answers "yes" or "no," which, according to my interpretation, states that 1960s women were politically situated within a wild uncultivated box that limited their productivity to monosyllabic replies which men preferred and ignored because they possessed no elaboration but still provided the illusion of a voice. The Black Panthers make sharp points concerning language and communication etc., notably in regards to semantics and the ways in which different groups can speak the same language and have no idea what the other is trying to say. A lot more could have been illustrated in the film if The Rolling Stones weren't consistently brought back to the forefront, although, since they're one of my favourite bands and their consistent return represents form working hand in hand with content, it's not such a bad thing. Whether or not they forged and continue to forge a countercultural realm in line with Godard's vision could be the anti-intellectual subject of a poetic montage worked into the chorus of a new podcast.

Rango

Having accidentally escaped from his comfy aquarium, the theatrical Rango (Johnny Depp) is thrust upon the real world's stage. Finding himself in the small Western town of Dirt, he must instantaneously invent a hard-boiled character and deliver a stunning performance. When challenged he doesn't back down and fate consequently hands him a thunderous climax. His reward: the job of town Sheriff. His duty: protect the people of Dirt from ne'er do wells and bring back the water. The town has been drying up and the water that used to vigorously flow has stopped delivering its revitalizing bounty. As necessity demands action and circumstances require trust, Rango mystically discovers his edge and instinctively prepares for the final countdown.

In Rango, Gore Verbinksi works within the Western tradition in order to try and democratize its black and white contours. A monopoly has been sinisterly established thereby preventing the fair and equitable distribution of wealth. A comical hero strikes back, affirming the rights of his citizens in the hopes of restoring their dignity. Aided by a shapeshifting divinity, he develops the confidence he never knew he had and learns to sublimate his fears. Unfortunately, while the basic plot attempts to champion democracy, the formal elements are conservative as they come. The lead female character (Abigail Breslin as Priscilla) is wooden and static, occasionally lapsing into comatose trances when overwhelmed, and doesn't exactly disseminate a multidimensional presence. The people are capable of understanding Rango's idiosyncratic diction but they are still portrayed as foolish and inconsequential in their attempts to do so. Rango does possess an intriguing degree of self-awareness insofar as Rango is aware that he is on a peculiar quest that is being mythologized by a musical group of owls, and from time to time the film highlights its self-referentiality (ambiguously suggesting that Rango never left his aquarium). But at sundown, the quest and story are predominantly Rango's, not the people of Dirt's, even though Rango's purpose is to save the town and provide its inhabitants with a decent standard of living. More scenes showcasing the personalities of the townsfolk would have increased the democratic value of Rango's currency ten-fold.

La Captive

Imprisoned by his theories, obsessively recycling miserable forecasts regarding his relationship's future, driven by jealousy, and tortured by ideals, Simon (Stanislas Merhar) interrogates his desire in Chantal Akerman's La Captive as Ariane (Sylvie Testud) helplessly perseveres. At least that's what happens in In Search of Lost Time and La Captive follows the text closely enough to suggest that this is what's happening in the film. Bored and frustrated by his inability to create, Simon abandons his attempts to prove himself intellectually and focuses his attention on Ariane's past. Convinced he can understand her present motivations through recourse to her anecdotes and observations, he pursues his goal of categorizing her purity. Being incapable of distinguishing fact from subterfuge, his objective investigations quizzically qualify the labyrinthine other. Leave it alone, let bygones be bygones, just have a good time. Take it easy, relax, drink some wine, she's likely done everything you're considering, twice. Without the guidance of American pop culture to rely upon, Simon sinks deeper and deeper into the abyss. In the end, Ariane does the only thing she can to allow him to find an answer as he assiduously scours the ocean searching for his peace of mind.

A lot of the depth from the fifth part of Proust's novel is lost in La Captive's translation. Françoise (Liliane Rovère) and Simon's Grandmother (Françoise Bertin) don't make an impact and Mme Verdurin's famous snub of M. de Charlus is absent. I don't know how you could have worked the later into a film that's less than three hours and doesn't include some kind of internal narration but an attempt would have been nice. At least a scene with M. de Charlus. The long empty corridors and lengthy nocturnal shots point to Simon's troubles within the novel but without more material it's difficult to capture Proust's incessant meticulous analysis (but it was still fun to write about it as if it's there). But La Captive isn't meant to relate to In Search of Lost Time religiously since it's a film that is only based on the novel. Bearing this in mind, greater liberties with Proust's masterpiece could have been taken (although it's so revered taking such liberties requires disciplined audacity! [I suppose Simon's Grandmother does die in The Guermantes Way]). But Akerman's probably sick and tired of hearing devotees of the novel complain about what's missing in her well-crafted film and it does possess a morosely anxious distraught internal consistency that's rigidly maintained throughout. The moral: don't try and ever love anyone while consistently falling in love. And have multiple extensive lies which you trust ready by your side when loving so that one day you can convince yourself that you've found something to hold onto.

Hall Pass

Two sex crazed men get a week off from marriage in the Farrelly Brothers's Hall Pass, a mildly entertaining comedy that can't decide if it's a James L. Brooks film or an episode of Family Guy. Some of the scenes are hilarious but their affects don't travel well beyond their borders, which results in a sticky, disjointed, shapeless mess. This mess aptly reflects the psyches of principle characters Rick (Owen Wilson) and Fred (Jason Sudeikis) as their desire continually confuses their conscience. They simply can't decide whether or not they're trying to revitalize their youth, actually want to pick up, or enjoy being married, and having a hall pass (a week off from marriage) tricks them into having to categorize their feelings. The wives responsible for setting this trap (Jenna Fischer as Maggie and Christina Applegate as Grace) find themselves in a similar situation and have to decide if they're going to play it faithful or make some spur of the moment adjustments.

Pot brownies, Nicky Whelan, psychotic baristas, this film could have been so much more. Its principle problem is that it tries to have a point while nonsensically cavaliering. While Kingpin cavaliered nonsensically, the point was secondary to the slop, and the slop was frenetically flavoured and recklessly spiced, never dishing itself out with clumps of thoughtfulness. Some of the thoughtful points, like the lines regarding hiring uttered by Wilson, settle sharply while dispensing suburban grit, and break up the maudlin motivations. But when so many solid scatological jokes are mixed with these attempts to be poignant, I couldn't help but want to throw up, in a bucket somewhere, and then go relax with Ugly Americans. Which is no longer on on Fridays at 9:30 on the Comedy Network. Which sucks.

The Eagle

A new commander has arrived in Roman-occupied Britain to defend his empire's holdings and reaffirm his family's honour. His father disappeared in Northern Britain while commanding the 9th Legion's 5,000 men and he is determined to discover what happened. His father's legion was also guarding Rome's Eagle Standard, the golden symbol of its imperial might. After having been injured in battle and relieved of his command, he sets out on a quest North of Hadrian's Wall to recover the Eagle and learn of his father's last stand. With only a British slave to guide him, his fate rests in enemy hands.

Ironically lacking in symbolism, the talons of Kevin MacDonald's The Eagle are not incredibly sharp. Championing individualism and suggesting that if one is resolute and brave they can forge themselves a cultural identity, the forces against which Marcus Flavius Aquila (Channing Tatum) and Esca (Jamie Bell) contend aren't exactly formidable. They make their way through hostile territory with relative ease and somehow win a poorly choreographed tussle to escape with Eagle intact. The film's examination of loyalty is bizarre as Esca betrays his people and aligns himself with Marcus even though the Romans conquered his land and murdered his family. Esca owes his life to Marcus after having been rescued from a blood-thirsty gladiator, and it's the solemnity of this debt that makes him honour his bond. If he didn't honour his father's code and consequently betrayed Marcus, even though Marcus's people were responsible for killing his father, it would be as if he had betrayed his father. Perhaps this isn't so bizarre, however, for it points out that groups are composed of individuals and individuals shouldn't be held accountable for the crimes of a group, ala the Good Samaritan, although the noble individual in question is setting out to recover a symbol of his group's domination, although the pursuit is more familial than cultural, as is Esca's fidelity to Marcus. Still, while The Eagle makes some thoughtful suggestions, the execution is stark (which isn't to say Anthony Dod Mantle's cinematography isn't bold) and many of the serious scenes are more comic than audacious. I can still cheerfully hear Brian Blessed screaming "Where are my Eagles!" in the 1976 BBC miniseries I, Claudius. Where are your Eagles Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus, where are they?

Toy Story 3

College. Suburbia. Daycare. Coming of age. Andy (John Morris) is all grown up and preparing for college near the beginning of Toy Story 3, and his favourite toys are worried about their resulting fate. Happy to live out their days in the attic, they suffer a crisis of conscience after having been accidentally thrown in the trash. Narrowly escaping their curbside predicament, they then stow themselves away within a box of donations travelling to Sunnyside Daycare. Accepting that Andy has outgrown them and happy to be living within an environment populated by energetic toy-loving kids again, Buzz (Tim Allen) etc. embrace their new surroundings and approach the transition enthusiastically. But Woody (Tom Hanks) knows that they were supposed to be sent to the attic and refuses to play any other role than that of one of Andy's toys. He therefore sets out to return home while his friends discover that Sunnyside is actually a maximum security prison run by a despotic toy named Lots-O'-Huggin' Bear (Ned Beatty). Will Woody be able to convince his friends that they should return home to their rightful owner, and if so, will he be able to help them escape?

Sigh. So the toys leave the private comforts of suburbia to live within the public domain only to discover that it's being run by a tyrant. They try and grow up, move on, adapt, change, only to be ruthlessly beat down and outrageously abused. The tyrant is defeated and replaced by Ken and Barbie (who live in Sunnyside's most suburban residence) who turn Sunnyside into a warm and friendly place. Which I guess just points out that as you move around working you'll probably find autocratic and hospitable environments, many of which are hospitably autocratic and autocratically hospitable, depending on their socio-political dynamics and how well your personality fits within, and while living within the autocratic, you may spend time wishing you were still at home. But the film's predominant focus vilifies the world outside that within which servants cater to the well-to-do, suggesting that it's better to grow up and live in suburbia than try and develop a more gregarious public sphere. Meaning thumbs down to Toy Story 3.

Winter's Bone

Reminding me of Five Easy Pieces in terms of form, Debra Granik's Winter's Bone envelopes a grizzled resurgent incarcerated aesthetic within a young girl's desperate search for her dad. Ree (Jennifer Lawrence) has been raising her younger brother and sister for some time as her drug-dealing and manufacturing father simply has no interest and her mother has lost her mind. It becomes necessary to find her father who is out on bail after the police inform her that his bond includes their house and land. If he doesn't show up for court, her family loses everything. The people who know where he might be live in a cold violent culture saturated with extremely distinct gender roles and physical consequences for stepping out of line. Ree must enter this world and ask tough questions in order to ensure her family's survival.

Strict, stark, and sharp, Winter's Bone directly interrogates what it means to have consequences. Characters within aren't spending an inordinate amount of time considering options, there's simply a predicament and a potential solution tethered to an unforgiving social scale. Family can be relied upon if and only if this scale is balanced. Inquisitiveness will be tolerated to a point.

Demonstrating resourcefulness, ingenuity, and perseverance, Ree does everything within her power to broker a solution while taking care of her struggling family. The film's uniform statically resilient being is delicately nurtured even if its subject matter is harsh. Presence is effectively cultivated and sustained and agency delegated and retained. Number 3 closely behind The King's Speech and Inception in my pick for the upcoming Best Picture Oscar.

With a cameo from Sheryl Lee.

127 Hours

I've never really liked survival movies with small casts set in dire circumstances. Cast Away, Open Water, Frozen, none of these films were for me. Hence, I wasn't exactly looking forward to Danny Boyle's 127 Hours even though I've loved most of his films and one day hope to purchase a related box-set. The question is: why was 127 Hours nominated for best picture at this year's Academy Awards when everyone knows precisely what is going to happen before it starts? I think the answer lies somewhere in the following. Boyle is faced with the challenge of remaining loyal to the facts while composing a thoughtful piece of entertainment. Peaks and valleys must be employed subtly to satisfy unconscious expectations and avoid sensational solicitations. This has been done. We have to have a reason to stay awake even though we know what's going to happen, thus, new material must consistently be introduced that not only holds our attention but also produces a minimal degree of curiosity. This has also been done and the scene where James Franco (Aron Ralston) pretends to be on the radio was enough to guarantee that I would watch the entire film. A symbol is also required and Ralston represents the iconic adventurous individual, working in the city throughout the week and benignly conquering nature on weekends, bold and resourceful, cheerful and helpful, working within the system but playing by his own rules whenever provided with the opportunity. What happens when nature refuses to be conquered and decides to introduce a diabolical obstacle of its own, thereby reminding the iconic individual that bold activity can also be considered rash? As time passes, the survivor's psyche must be realistically shown to be duelling with the elements while holding onto enough sanity to continue persevering, and Boyle's camera work and stoic script provocatively insulate such outcomes (script co-written by Simon Beaufoy). As these elements synthesize, we must develop genuine affection for the character to the point where his ingenuity and corresponding _______ produce an unconditioned joyful response, a cathartic release, unalloyed happiness. 127 Hours coaxed such a response from me and I don't even like these kinds of films so I can understand why it was nominated for best picture. Excellent performance from Franco as well and I thought his performances lacked depth in Sam Raimi's Spider Man films.

Incendies

A notary public is tasked with delivering two cryptic letters from his former administrative assistant's will to her adult twin children, one mentioning the father they thought dead, the other, the brother they never knew they had. The children receive the letters with opposite reactions, Jeanne (Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin) setting out to the Middle-East in search of her father, Simon (Maxim Gaudette) refusing to take them seriously. With hardly any corresponding information and no working knowledge of Arabic, Jeanne resiliently makes her way from cryptic clue to startling fact while encountering the cold face of historical prejudice. When Simon and the notary public (Rémy Girard as Jean Lebel) finally arrive, everyone comes closer to discovering the truth.

The narrative travels back and forth through time, presenting Jeanne and Simon's mother (Lubna Azabal as Nawal Marwan) as she struggles to survive, and her children as they try to piece her life together. At first I found this device frustrating, wanting to spend more time focusing on Jeanne and Simon and theorize my own version of Nawal's past through their discoveries. But as the stories blend together, the delicate pacing, intergenerational tracings, and temporal effacings stoically reinvest the concept of adventure with a spiritual intellectual assiduity that rarely vouchsafes its resplendent presence (editing by Monique Dartonne).

Not bad.

Delivering serendipitous facts and inevitable allusions which hauntingly dispossess the eternal return of the same, Denis Villeneuve's Incendies interrogates time by historically condensing its contemporary space. The definition of sacred is re-calibrated and dematerialized within, its semantic distinction fluidly overflowing.

And what is all this worth if not for a chance to pursue something distant and arcane?

Heatstroke and heartache and lambastes and pulsates.

Deep down.

Talk to Her (Hable con ella)

Love is a strange emotion, awakening oceanic depths of creativity, thought, and malevolence, to be deconstructed, refurnished, and psycho-analyzed, as maelstroms, typhoons, and sunsets qualify particular epochs and re-materialize evocative conjectures.

Pedro Almodóvar's Talk to Her (Hable con ella) examines love's destructively revitalizing spirit by introducing two men both in love with women in comas. Benigno Martín (Javier Cámara) loves Alicia (Leonor Watling), a dancer whose been in his care for 4 years. He talks to her constantly and treats her as if she's cognizant in the hopes of one day awakening her from her slumber. Marco Zuluaga (Darío Grandinetti) loves Lydia González (Rosario Flores), a volatile matador whose managed to successfully compete in bull fighting's chauvinistic domain. After having been gorged by a bull, little hope is predicted for her survival. Benigno and Marco strike up a related friendship and contrast one another productively. While Benigno possesses the fantastic self-taught grit and determination of a confident yet fragile artistic tragedy, Marco is a journalist and thoroughly educated in the 'realistic traditions of rationality.' Benigno's passionate and devoted approach has a resounding affect on the broken Marco, whose objectivity is eventually remodelled by the clearcut desires of his sensitivities.

One of the most affective investigations of friendship I've seen, Talk to Her presents a subjective ideal tempered by practice whose theoretical forecasts are realistically detonated. In the aftermath a friend awaits, patiently supporting his fallen compatriot, through thick and thin.

The Osterman Weekend

Definitely the worst Sam Peckinpah film I've seen, The Osterman Weekend pretentiously delivers a straightforward thriller in a tawdry fashion. Many of the lines possess merit but it's hard to believe they weren't rewritten to improve upon their catchy yet stark foundation.

Yeah yeah.

So a CIA agent's wife is murdered and afterwards he seeks revenge. He's eventually tasked with convincing television host John Tanner (Rutger Hauer) that three of his closest friends are working for the KGB. The plan: gain Tanner's trust and help him to persuade one of his friends to return to team America and recast himself as a double agent. The setting: a weekend vacation at Tanner's house. The giveaway: the CIA agent (John Hurt as Lawrence Fassett) has actually fabricated the story because he suspects that CIA director Maxwell Danforth (Burt Lancaster) is responsible for murdering his wife. He hopes to expose Danforth's murderous ways on national television in an interview conducted by Tanner. Danforth agrees to the interview after Tanner agrees to betray his friends. Tanner agrees to set Danforth up after Fassett kidnaps his wife and son and murders four of his friends. There's one of the worst car chase scenes I've ever scene. And does shattering glass really need several slow moving close-ups?

The smooth jazz soundtrack doesn't help things. Innovative directors use the ways in which their credits are presented to express meaning. I was fearful that The Osterman Weekend's opening credits were forecasting a predictable bourgeois sickly sentimental swan song, and unfortunately they were. If you're ever wondering where Trey Parker and Matt Stone find a lot of their material, The Osterman Weekend is worth checking out. Otherwise, unless you're a devoted Peckinpah fan or like watching bad movies with exceptional casts, steer clear of The Osterman Weekend ad nauseam.

The Rite

Mikael Håfström's The Rite succinctly examines a doubting would-be Catholic priest's confrontation with theological proof. After having decided not to take his vows, Michael Kovak (Colin O'Donoghue) is 'convinced' to spend two months studying exorcism in Rome. He ardently believes that the possessed are simply suffering from mental illness and doesn't respond to his studies enthusiastically. In order to challenge his beliefs, Father Xavier (Ciarán Hinds) introduces him to an exorcist, Father Lucas Travant (Anthony Hopkins), who allows him to witness his sessions. The sessions are neither mundane nor theatrical and Kovak is initially disquieted by their quotidian mysticism. A beautiful reporter (Alice Braga as Angeline) writing a piece about the legitimacy of demonic possession is hoping to exercise his scoop, thereby serving to further destabilize his conscience. Then, as his father (Rutger Hauer) dies and Travant loses his mind, Kovak must decide where his belief truly lies.

The Rite is a modest sharp-witted calling card for the Catholic faith. The troubles facing Roman Catholicism in Western countries are resignedly referred to and the arguments contradicting its dogma given free room to play. The film is modest insofar as it doesn't bombard you with passionate pleas for legitimacy and showcases several characters, many of them of the faith, possessing the same doubts as the typical disbeliever. The film's modesty generates its sharp-wit because underlying its form is the awareness that intense elevations of Catholic principles don't receive much Western airtime these days, leaving proponents in check, requiring a subtle next move. The Rite is subtle and psychological and presented in the agnostic tradition while still remaining firmly devoted to Catholicism. On a spiritual intellectual contemporary level the film works. Structurally, however, it's somewhat condensed. The film is about Kovak but the most compelling character is Travant. If more screen time had been devoted to Travant's character, examining his history and conscience more zealously, his sudden decent into 'madness' would have seemed less like a gimmick and more like a tragedy.

The King's Speech

Tom Hooper's The King's Speech unites commoner and King with a national goal as the threat of war becomes increasingly more palpable. Providing brief glimpses into the trials affecting representatives of both domains, the film trivializes neither while promoting the ways in which they complement one another. The Duke of York (Colin Firth) stammers and is a source of mild embarrassment for his family when compelled to deliver public addresses. None of the doctors to whom he has been sent has been able to ameliorate his situation which becomes increasingly pressurized as his chances of becoming King improve. Enter Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), a speech therapist whose alternative methods have gained renown and censure within his profession's culture. A confident, bold, and successful practitioner, Logue isn't intimidated when The Duke seeks his help, conducting his experimental business as usual. But a relationship develops wherein the therapist finds himself navigating political currents with which his social histories are unfamiliar. As The Duke learns to speak, Logue learns to hold his tongue, which makes him a trusted advisor as he adjusts and redesigns the manner in which his advice is offered, making it less treasonous. As progress is made, the commoner becomes a friend, and their dynamic deconstructs class barriers as the inevitable clash with Germany approaches.

Of course these class barriers are deconstructed because this situation is exceptional and it's only after every possible traditional outlet is sought out in vain that a plebeian alternative is considered, which seems to be saying that only in exceptional circumstances can royalty mingle with the common person in order to find a working solution, which isn't exactly progressive. Entertaining film nonetheless which suggests that if it wasn't for the relationship established between King and commoner Britain would not have had an august figure to sustain its resolve throughout World War II. Some of the scenes are rushed, there's the occasional inappropriate piece of gaudy cinematic melodrama, and the Duke of York's personal troubles receive much more attention than those of Mr. Logue. But The King's Speech does champion experimental forms of professional conduct and the determined individuals who resolutely pursue them while providing the working person with dignity and humanizing the life of a King.

Nice to see Derek Jacobi looking like pesky old Claudius throughout, Hooper's tribute to the stammering Roman Emperor so brilliantly theorized by the 1976 BBC miniseries.

Meditate and Destroy

Always intriguing when seemingly disparate dimensions synthesize and form a productive counterpoint. But I'm not convinced this is what Noah Levine and Sarah Fisher have achieved in Meditate and Destroy, a documentary film examining the life and teachings of dharma punk Noah Levine. Levine's commitment to buddhism is sound and its principles have provided his life with ways in which to peacefully 'harmonize' with his community. But the role punk rock continues to play in his buddhist meditations isn't investigated as thoroughly within. Facts: Levine adhered to punk gospel in his youth and has placed buddhism within an inclusive frame that can assist individuals engaging in destructive behaviour in finding alternative outlets for their anger. It's not that their anger isn't justified, but more of a situation where Levine provides people suffering from abuse and/or addiction and/or exclusion with an outlet through which they can learn to seek inner peace through self-reflection, and make adjustments that can lead to different non-violent ways of expressing themselves, after having learned to question and understand the reasons governing their destructive conduct. Note that this process is continuous, questions leading to understandings which lead to more questions which lead to different understandings and so on. The film's form shows how individual punks become part of a buddhist community and how that buddhist community is composed of individual punks by consistently presenting groups of people, introducing us to members through close-ups, and then interviewing everyone found within these close-ups, thereby giving them a voice through which they can express how Levine's approach has helped them, moving back and forth between "translator" and "translation" while blurring the lines and showing how each individualized focus is simultaneously both a reflection and foundational component of their universal commitment. But where does the countercultural nature of punk rock fit into this universal commitment, and does it re-manifest itself within? The title of the film is misleading insofar as the Destroy factor is pacified considerably but perhaps that's the point, i.e., learning to destroy destructive behaviours peacefully through an egalitarian disposition that actively accepts and recognizes subjective shortcomings while passively pursuing and elevating an objective inclusive ideal? Taking a word like 'destroy' and re-imagining its meaning in such a way is certainly impressive. And totally punk!

MacGruber

Rejected from the toilet bowl and then re-submerged for an attempted reflush, Jorma Taccone's MacGruber salivates and regurgitates its lewd, moronic humour in an occasionally funny ridiculous big penis joke. Starting slow and then slowly improving, if you happen to find it endearing when a bad joke doesn't work and then the writers try it again anyways, making light of the fact that it didn't work the first time with each subsequent rehashing, MacGruber keeps plugging away with charmingly impotent precision and blunt extreme distaste. A nuclear warhead has been hijacked by a politically connected thug who hopes to use it to blow up Washington, D.C. The only person who can stop him used to be an exceptional counter-terrorism operative who retired after his wife was killed during their wedding. Convinced by Col. James Faith (Powers Boothe) to come back for one more round, MacGruber (Will Forte) returns from Ecuador to put a unit together to recover the warhead. But after accidentally blowing that unit up with homemade C-4, he has to do his best with everything he's got, which, as it turns out, is much more competent than he is.

Borrowing heavily from Live Free or Die Hard, Austin Powers and Team America World Police, MacGruber situates a blast from the past within the present and then forces those familiar with contemporary dynamics to follow his antiquated guidance. Frustrated and confused while not shying away from consistently augmenting their criticisms, MacGruber's new team does their best to deal with his chauvinistic narcissistic improvisations. As the plot unravels, it turns out that just about everyone can be considered one big happy family, cohesively united through scatological sentiments, an important characteristic of this type of comedy's aesthetic. The film does improve as it progresses, mostly due to its intelligent stupidity and the ways in which it champions new members of the workforce, but if you don't like narratives where each consecutive piece of smutty dialogue becomes more and more lascivious as time goes by, there's more than a slight chance you will not like MacGruber.

Note that I watched the unrated version.

The Fighter

Modestly presenting the difficulties affecting up and coming boxer Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg), David O. Russell's The Fighter demonstrates how the middling element can be used to unite a community. Wedged between a pattern that has lead to stagnation and an opportunity that could turn things around, Micky has to choose between his family and his career as his older half-brother Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale) heads to prison. This isn't easy to do. Before crack cocaine took over his life, Dicky was a professional boxer and his insights and instincts have been crucial to Micky's development. As a manager, however, Dicky has struggled, but due to the strength of their fraternal bound, Micky has trouble tearing himself away. When it comes to his shot at the WBU's Intercontinental Light Welterweight Title, he's training with a new team, Dicky's released from prison, and a decision must be made. Can Micky use his influence to productively synthesize the fiercely opposed historical animosities firmly established between his family and trainers, or will they continue to fight, thereby infantilizing his shot at the title?

The Fighter calmly examines tough subject matter, refusing to sensationalize its controversial content. Topics investigated include crack cocaine addiction, prostitution, police brutality, stubborn familial and communal prejudices, unsympathetic ex-wives, children of crack addicted parents, introducing outsiders to an exclusive social fabric, disdainful expectations, immigration, and the unforgiving underbelly of professional sports. A lot's riding on Micky's progress and the pressure he encounters in his daily life needs to be skillfully managed so that he can succeed in his career. Considering The Fighter's manifold layers of tension, I hesitate to say it's a relaxed film, and it's to Russell's credit that he's able to coordinate these layers with such composure. If he wasn't able to inspire such convincing characters from Wahlberg, Bale, Amy Adams (Charlene Fleming), and Melissa Leo (Micky and Dicky's Mom), he never would have been able to pull it off.

The Green Hornet

Can a spoiled good-natured exceedingly wealthy party animal suddenly turn his life around and combat the forces of evil with unerring alacrity and formidable strength? Definitely not without the help of his ingenious barista, and within Michel Gondry's The Green Hornet this is sort of what happens, although the exploits of Britt Reid (Seth Rogan) and Kato (Jay Chou) do not proceed as smoothly as aforementioned. It's a film more about cool gadgets, sophomoric dialogue, and stunning automobiles than battling bad guys and dispensing justice, a different sort of super hero film, if you can call it that, where the villain (Chudnofsky [Christoph Waltz]) has the best lines and the most integrity (ala Frank Booth [note the gas mask]), and the hero is a jealous, ineffectual schmuck (your reaction to Chudnofsky's identity crisis could make or break the film for you [I only saw one Green Hornet ad showcasing Chudnofsky and I'm not surprised; the jokes only work well in context]). A lot of superheroes lack the confidence to engage in superheroic acts until that special moment when they realize they've possessed what it takes to superhero all along. In The Green Hornet, Reid has the confidence to engage in superheroic acts and it's not until that special moment where he realizes he's a douche bag, one who seriously needs his support network, that he discovers the necessary skills. The film's well written insofar as it develops intriguing ingenuous and devious characters full of frustration and weakness who are relatable and comedically tragic and places them within off-beat game-changing big-picture situations (Reid equals fantasy, Kato, reality). The structure's somewhat suspect however inasmuch as more screen time is spent exploring the friendships/relationships between Reid, Kato, and Lenore Case (Cameron Diaz) than developing legitimate underground crime fighters (this would have worked more successfully in a graphic novel). Nonetheless, they do fight crime, and near the end we watch as a socially-conscious American floats through the sky seated beside a brilliant Chinese self-made-person, their livelihood sustained by an incisive woman, existential yet practical as they have made a difference.

Mehopes this image bears fruit in the 21st Century.

Sympathy for Lady Vengeance

The snow gently descends along its ethereal path, randomly commissioned, capturing daydreams and murmurings and innocence, a mistake leads to penalties, incarcerated plumes, resurgent resilient ceremonial hues, a daughter, a family, remembrances, takes, withdrawn yet fulfilled as misgivings wake, tied to a chair for his crimes sits and waits, his victims regroup, testimonials discussed, sudden romance, baking, that could have happened, that did happen, that did, it's a possibility, there's a reward, recognition, an angel, fluttering and flying, mystified, the group gathered together, cohesive, confused, rounded-up-singled-out, battered, used, penalties for mistakes no escape lightly staked priorities, he was on the case, he worked in the prison, piecemeal, sharp, perforated introductions, reintroduced with reflections, suggestions, vivisections, a light tapping, sound, panoramic internal detail, resurfaced recalcitrance, submission to the verdict, determined, resolved tick-tocking, snatched, an eye for an eye, rehabilitated, refreshed, working together, together, with each other, at pictures and fissures and scripture, bemoan and beget, implacable, lace, eyeshadow, fallen by the wayside, with friendship, and family and friendship and family and clustered repentant momentous recoveries darkened and resting and snapping and slowly, taking their time, offering advice, stipulating conditions, acquiescing, atoning, sequestering while unleashing Sympathy for Lady Vengeance.

Lady Terminator

A legendary Javanese goddess known as the South Sea Queen is out for revenge after having been spurned by an innovative lover. Swearing to return in a hundred years to terminate this lover's great-granddaughter, she retreats to the bottom of the sea to plot her vindictive trajectory. 100 years later, a young anthropology student (Barbara Anne Constable) scuba dives through her underwater domain and becomes the body which she carnally inhabits. A violent rampage follows wherein men are seduced and disposed of as she seeks her object of vengeance with coldhearted calculated precision.

Basically a low-budget rip off of The Terminator, Jalil Jackson's Lady Terminator re-imagines Arnold Schwarzenegger's robotic menace and portrays it as an unstoppable she-beast. Up and coming pop star Erica (Claudia Angelique Rademaker) substitutes for Sarah Connor and is protected by law enforcement officer Max McNeil (Christopher J. Hart). The film unabashedly follows The Terminator's narrative with entertaining accuracy even duplicating scenes and reusing the "come with me if you want to live" line. Nothing is taken seriously and it unreels as a fun, ridiculous, salacious peculiarity whose content has been thoroughly homaged in shows like South Park and The Family Guy. Should you be careful when approached by an alluring voluptuous goddess seeking pleasure and pain in no particular order? Yes you should. Should you take the time to meticulously edit your kitschy film to ensure internal consistency before distributing it to your local and foreign markets? No, you should not. Should you try and hide the fact that you're remaking a film four years after its release, following its plot developments religiously, without taking the time to examine any of the pertinent copyright legislation issues? I really don't know, but Lady Terminator is an amusing chaotic highly gratuitous audacious gambit whose legacy has cultivated a devoted underground following. I'm not going to talk about the eel.

Season of the Witch

After willingly and directly embracing the vicious profits of an unrelenting crusade, knights Behman (Nicolas Cage) and Felson (Ron Perlman) desert to find their way home. But representatives of the church are none to happy when they discover them passing through their land, and they quickly have them thrown in the dungeon. Freedom is offered with a price: transport a witch (Claire Foy) who has been blamed for a plague to a remote monastery where she will receive her trial. The knights begrudgingly accept, and, aided by a cast of individuals seeking virtue, or clemency, depart on their most treacherous and psychologically destabilizing journey yet.

Dominic Sena's Season of the Witch is an exercise in bipolarity. Many of Nicolas Cage's lines attempt to sound insightful and wise but come across as questionably delivered hokum. At the same time, he seems to be aware of this as does Sena and at times it seems as if Season of the Witch is subtly lampooning itself. But during other moments its seriousness is genuine which results in a cloying, frustrating affect (occasionally mitigated by Ron Perlman). Everyone within is frustrated however so this affect, albeit irritating, does correspond to the film's internal dynamics. At first, the opening scene seemed rushed and hasty, causing me to fear for the fate of the movie. But as it dragged on, its ridiculousness, qualified by a priest's undying commitment to his calling's principles, had a certain irresistible flair, insofar as it wasn't cut off willy nilly and was given time to grow. The next scene depicts a lacklustre religious figure mundanely yet confidently rallying his troops to combat a group of recalcitrant 'heathens.' The figure lacks the bold, energetic, lively characteristics I've come to identify with those filmically delivering a war cry, and the following scenes do nothing to generate greater sympathy. Hence, one priest is valiant in his fight against evil, another religious figure banal; religion is upheld as just and benevolent and then immediately depicted as rapacious. The dialogue throughout casts doubt on the church's legitimacy as it relates to the hunting of witches, yet witches exist within and logically should therefore be hunted. An over-the-top sensational battle between the forces of good and evil seems ready to be showcased during the conclusion yet instead we receive a brief, run-of-the-mill, laid back encounter which reminded me of Eddie Murphy's The Golden Child. Season of the Witch attempts to play to fans of low budget intelligent horror yet mixes in so many mainstream compromises that its diluted product, once again, occasionally remixed and spiced up by Ron Perlman, who should have been given the leading role, suffocates beneath the weight of its bewitching disorder.

I generally like films which play with conventions and offer a broad taste of ambiguous potential to a wide audience, but Season of the Witch's steady reliance on unimaginative proclamations, unless these proclamations are seen as Behman's unconscious absorption of his crusading leader's disproportionate dialogue, distorts its edge and sickly sentimentalizes its grit. Sena does a lot with his script and there's certainly much to discuss but it lacks the less disheartening developments found in a film like Christopher Smith's Black Death, and falls far short of its intellectually entertaining goals.

Mèche Blanche, les aventures du petit castor (White Tuft, The Little Beaver)

After a furious current deposits him far away from the safety of his mother's lodge, Mèche Blanche, the little beaver, must find his way home. Lost in the wild with little knowledge of the necessary survival skills, Mèche Blanche scavenges and scurries his way through the forest, agilely avoiding a hungry pack of wolves, until he finds refuge with a grumpy old beaver. Meanwhile, back at the dam, Mèche Blanche's mother and sister hold down the fort while conducting a search and outwitting a scurrilous otter. Bears, lynx, raccoons, owls, porcupines, skunks, snakes, frogs and squirrels round out the cast as these beavers go about their business of beavering. Some may find it odd that Mèche Blanche couldn't fight harder against the current which deposits him so far away, or that a bear would cross a narrow beaver dam when it could simply swim past, but it's best not to question the designs of this legend for they bravely define a young hero's strength building quest, as he struggles against the odds and contends with adversity. Friendships are made, tests are passed, hardships endured, and mischievousness managed, as the courageous Mèche Blanche learns what it means to beaver.

Slacker

Fluidly connecting multiple random moments from a day in the life of Austin, Texas, Richard Linklater's Slacker staggeringly introduces manifold characters, themes, and situations, each negotiating its own peculiar qualification, before fading into the background and constructing the affect. Rituals and declarations and circumstance. Considerations and diversification and history. Walking the beat, tweaking the pace, adapting the rhythm, refocusing the plurality. It's about difference, non-financially motivated objectives, rugged potential, and flourishing happenstance. The consent found within this emancipated group has not been manufactured as I've come to understand the white picket fence phenomenon and it's refreshing to watch as its manifestations suggest, plead, and evaluate before fading and reappearing with a refurbished energetically relaxed focus. There's no climax, build-up, or predictable order of things, just a number of individualized reflections presented and compellingly displayed.

Yogi Bear

Jellystone Park is in dire straits. Wicked politician Mayor Brown (Andrew Daly) has decided that its trees must be harvested in order to raise enough capital to keep his bureaucracy functioning. He supports his decision through recourse to a bylaw which states that government supported organizations must earn enough money to cover their operating costs each year, and Jellystone is tens of thousands in the hole with less than three weeks to come up with the cash. Ranger Smith (Tom Cavanagh), documentary filmmaker Rachel (Anna Faris), Yogi (Dan Aykroyd) and Boo Boo (Justin Timberlake) are none to impressed and immediately launch a campaign to sustain their way of life. But subterfuge and treachery are afoot and due to the fact that they don't coordinate their fundraising efforts, Jellystone is threatened with annihilation.

Eric Brevig's Yogi Bear amusingly examines the dynamics of federal and provincial politics. As the right uses local laws to attempt to destroy a public resource, only a national regulation can be applied to thwart it. The left is divided and it isn't until they learn to collaborate that a successful counterattack is launched. The idea that government supported organizations must cover their operating costs is clearly embedded in the script, a fiscal challenge to the sacred cultural essence of parks such as Algonquin. Do logging companies want to cut down the trees and exploit the resources within these Parks? I'm sure some of them do. Do they have deep pockets and lobbyists who are consistently trying to find ways to break down the legal protections preventing them from doing so? Methinks it's most likely. Is it a good idea to promote a fiscally responsible environment wherein such parks cover their operating costs? Sounds like prudent planning to me. But should said parks be commercialized in order to achieve such goals at the expense of the endemic wildlife etc. whose proliferation reflects the purpose of such parks? Definitely not, and for a good example of the negative impact on protected wildlife within commercialized parks see The Grizzly Manifesto by Jeff Gailus. He's smarter than the average bear!

True Grit

Revenge. Determination. The Law. Bold teenager Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) is determined to hire a lawperson in order to bring the man who murdered her father to justice, and she possesses the stubborn constitution and iron will necessary to do so. Refusing to allow the stereotypes regarding her age and gender thwart her, she convinces the grizzled alcoholic U.S. Marshal Reuben J. "Rooster" Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to pursue, and accompanies him along the way. The bumbling Texas Ranger La Boeuf (Matt Damon) is also in search of their quarry and the ensuing relations between the three roughhouse traditional conceptions of law and order. Cogburn and La Boeuf are like a rugged cantankerous reflection of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson and their argumentative dialogue complicates matters before the Coen Brothers round up their complementary strengths and weaknesses (it's as if they've taken a "good" standard lawperson, separated him or her into two, provided both personalities with piss and vinegar, and then used [in this case] feminine strength to bring them together). Mattie saves them from themselves and maintains a firm influential grip, perhaps suggesting that as patriarchal conceptions of the good drink and qualify themselves to death, strong young women will revitalize and recast their semantics, maintaining a prominent place for men while creating one as equally influential for women, thereby manifesting true grit. The fact that her efforts are only substantialized through a stroke of somewhat random good fortune suggests that an egalitarian feminine and masculine distribution of power may be generated both legally and politically and treated as if it was evolutionary publicly, if and only if the actual composition of its resonance is dependent upon frustrated logic reinvigorated serendipitously, i.e., the introduction of and capitalization upon a paradigm which oddly corresponds to and uplifts its socialized framework, something formally similar to Lafontaine and Baldwin's use of restraint in the 1840s. A catalyst, a cyberstone, something from within. Good film.

Black Swan

Discovering that hidden talent, the improvised malevolent sensual complement to your precise demanding technical expertise, with competitors vindictively waiting in the wings, with a smile and a patronizingly friendly remark, ingratiating, lackadaisical, treacherous, while a mental illness, hitherto concealed and dominated, can no longer be subjugated as pressure reallocates psychological resources to spontaneous professional challenges, and exquisitely chaotic repercussions must be embraced. Mother will learn to adjust. Romance is simply an illusion. He could certainly be more of a prick. It's the seductive consequence of perfection. Darren Aronofsky once again coaches his cast into delivering first rate performances as Natalie Portman internally glides her way through Swan Lake. Intertwining an artist's subjective deconstruction with her universal adherence to and revitalization of performance standards, Black Swan suggests the costs of multidimensional characterizations can indeed be extreme, if not everlasting. Smutty and taciturn and evocative and sinister, paranoia is unleashed and interrogated as Nina Sayers learns to dance the Black Swan. While her paranoia is logical, as it increases in proportion to her responsibility it realistically manifests her worst fears and results in her best performance.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Tough to discuss the latest instalment in the Chronicles of Narnia film series without looking at the difference between fantasy and reality as seen through the eyes of pesky newcomer Eustace (Will Poulter), the movie's principal saving grace. Eustace is a mischievous trouble maker whose perspective is governed by fact and he is none to happy with the fact that his cousins Lucy (Georgie Henley) and Edmund (Skander Keynes) are currently living with him. Alas, he is also none to happy when his factual world disappears altogether and he is transported to the realistically-fictional world of Narnia. Expressing his discontent in a number of flamboyant tantrums, Eustace must come to terms with the fantasy in which he has been cast in order to save what remains of his scientific marbles. Thankfully, as he seems reluctant to do so, he is transformed into a giant dragon after inappropriately handling a hidden deposit of gold. As he comes to terms with his scaly scorn, things take a turn for the better, and he is eventually instrumental in defeating the forces of evil.

Seems to me anyways, the dragon being a symbol of the unconscientious nouveau riche, if Eustace were to continue on his present concrete path within the real world, he would have become a miser, breathing impenetrable critical fire wherever he causticly tread. By embracing the fictional realm of Narnia, which realistically molds him in his traditional symbolism, he develops a generous spirit which becomes socially conscientious, like Mr. Scrooge, and begins to help everyone. Thus, we are provided with a basic differentiation between the aristocrat and the oligarch, the one who believes they have an obligation to nurture their community which involves listening to that community's input, and the one who believes they own the community and it should therefore bow down to his or her pressure. By recognizing the realistic beauty inherent in fiction, quests, adventures and what not, Eustace begins to qualify his reality with a wider array of fruitful principles, theoretical hypotheses being an intrepid scientific catalyst, progressive thinkers believing in universal healthcare materializing various tenants of several religious focal points, which, are unfortunately upheld by a King to whom everyone bows, and well, I'd rather not get into it.

It's the holiday season.

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance

A kidnapping scenario where everything goes wrong. The sympathy generated is profound insofar as its apolitical nature sophisticatedly reexamines traditional dichotomies and leaves one anchored in an ambiguous, amorphous juncture. An organ transplant is required. In order to gain the necessary funds a child is kidnapped. After the ransom is delivered, the child accidentally dies. The police and the past-the-point father investigate while a terrorist organization keeps tabs. High and low, rich and poor, everyone is deconstructed while a sadistic sense of humour consistently produces feelings of guilt. Not for the faint of heart, Chan-wook Park's Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance convolutedly presents a nocturnal psychological thriller which playfully and insouciantly complicates its volatile subject matter. Distinct and provocative, it mischievously detonates a compelling aesthetic which creatively questions its audience's motivations. More subtle than Oldboy and an insight into what it's like to live without universal healthcare, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance oscillates and undulates while establishing definitive strikes, a mutated dialectical homage to kaleidoscopic terms of endearment.

Nadja

Pleasantly awkward ridiculous dialogue effectively normalized and elegantly delivered, in scene after scene, as if an electromagnetic butterfly is quietly lamenting its misshapen cocoon, delicately fluttering from one petal to the next, breathing in the air, analyzing the moisture, multiple seductive themes variegating its flight, the wind's benevolent seniority quaintly clarifying its path, Michael Almereyda's Nadja revitalizes Bram Stoker's Dracula through sheer complacence and subterranean muses, voluptuously illustrated, magnanimously debated, by a multidisciplinary soundtrack, a haunting, viscidly structured purpose, a metamorphosis incarnated, a resurrection infuriated, mesmerizing, juicy tidbits lusciously lounging within your consciousness, united, shattered, synthesized, compartmentalized, with no particular goal, no definite objective, besides a sister's love for her brother, a husband's undying devotion, a nurse's attentive care, and a hardwired eccentric romantic. Like Nathalie Parentau's paintings, Nadja's subjects are surreal, affectionate, verbose, and dynamic, uttering convulsive resurgent facts, determining sundry, fervid pronouncements, observing dreamlike, rustic reverberations, and organic, felicitous statements. Immediate and everlasting, it gently settles in the underbrush, and shivers.

Unstoppable

Enjoyed Tony Scott's Unstoppable prior to engaging in further reflection. Overtly, it's an entertaining, generally modest, popcorny thrill-ride wherein two blue collar workers heroically save the day. Issues examined: the hardened worker with 28 years experience must deal with the green newcomer who thinks he knows it all; the ways in which nepotism haunts unions; the ways in which executives ignore the advice of their subordinates and make decisions with only the interests of profit in mind; jealousy's rueful mania; the notion that the good of the many outweighs that of the few; labour costs; the dynamic forged by corporate-media relations during a moment of crisis. Not very many Female characters within and I'm assuming Scott found some of his funding from Hooters. Fox news is legitimized which I found disconcerting. Blue collar workers who have a mistrustful eye regarding unionized labour are provided with a more profound degree of sincerity. Many scenes lack emotional depth, as if the actors are trying to finish several sequences quickly and efficiently throughout the course of a day, focusing on production costs rather than art. Sorry to say that the sum of these parts equals a subtle, sinister form of Republicanism, dangerously barreling down North America's cultural track. If we imagine Denzel Washington and Chris Pine's characters as representing United States Senator from Vermont Bernie Sanders, then Unstoppable's Republican agenda can be deconstructed and revitalized however. The film concerns a runaway train that must be stopped before its toxic contents destroy a section of Stanton Pennsylvania.

Pray the Devil Back to Hell

Providing coordinated snapshots of the movement that led to the end of Liberia's second civil war, Gini Reticker's Pray the Devil Back to Hell distills and memorializes an exceptional postmodern promotion of peace. Interviewing many of the principal participants, Reticker offers personal histories and general statistics to frame and conceptualize her portrait. Her depiction of the civil war modestly evidences the daily atrocities, only graphically referring to one barbaric situation, which highlights the brutality without sensationalizing it, thereby providing her with more time to focus on the movement. The Women of Liberia, Christian and Muslims working together, were basically tired of the civil war and decided to launch a peaceful protest demanding that Charles Taylor's corrupt regime meet with Liberia's rebellious warlords to come to a peaceful agreement. Eventually attracting international attention, they tenaciously and ingeniously held their ground until their goals were met.

Seemingly up against insurmountable odds, the Women of Liberia uprightly stand as a shining beacon of dedicated grassroots political action (Charles Taylor is being charged for war crimes in the Hague). Hopefully their example, brilliantly upheld in Pray the Devil Back to Hell, continues to globally inspire the bold and the oppressed.

The Meaning of Life

Hugh Brody's The Meaning of Life introduces us to several inmates of the Kwìkwèxwelhp minimum security correctional facility (The Kwìkwèxwelhp Healing Village), located on Chehalis First Nations territory in British Columbia. Providing several of them with the opportunity to speak, a vicious cycle of abuse and violent crime is showcased. The residents, having been sentenced to life in prison, recognize that the crimes they committed were heinous and deplorable, the kinds of acts that aren't easily forgiven. Wishing they had taken a different path while making the most of the one they're on, many of them occupy their time with various productive tasks, often producing venerable works of art. The healing village's operation is guided by First Nations's spirituality, and its focus provides the inmates with a high degree of dignity. It is certain that they committed brutal crimes for which one must be locked up as a consequence. But what becomes clear is that most of them were the extreme victims of abuse themselves, many of them Natives who suffered under the Residential School System, and wherever they went prior to committing their crimes, there were few people if anyone willing to try and understand their situation, who weren't selling drugs and/or alcohol. What The Meaning of Life poetically captures is the beauty remaining within these victims, as well as the fact that serving time can have enormously beneficial spiritual affects, especially when that time is served within an institution that respects its subjects. There are certainly no easy answers when it comes to political and ethical viewpoints regarding the nature of discipline and punishment, but people and institutions which attempt to understand the historical, social, and psychological reasons why something occurred, rather than simply judging the fact that it did, are moving in the right direction in my books, dynamically examining multidimensional big picture questions through the productive lens of compassion and culture.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I

Know then that Harry Potter is back once more in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I, wherein he battles death eaters and fascists and feelings all the while coming of age. Most of the regular cast is also back for a scene or two and since the book has been cut in two even more depth than that found in The Order of the Phoenix is presented. Which doesn't mean many of the scenes aren't still curt and melodramatic full of noises and exclamations the kitschy insertion of which is supposed to tap into our preprogrammed dispositions and produce one of a variety of emotional responses. Short and to the point most of the time, yet supposedly exceptional due to the hype and reputations of the cast, the scene where Harry dances with Hermione still adds a nice touch. It's not that I didn't like the film, I certainly did. It's just as entertaining as any of the others, in fact, even more so, because it strays from the typical Hogwarts-and-they're-a-year-older-now format. It's just very rushed. A couple more extended scenes like that where Harry dances with Hermione would have been worth their weight in transitionary gold, or galleons, or something (why did they even include the Dursley's?). I'd really like to see an auteur like Werner Herzog or David Lynch take an aspect of one of these novels and transfer it to another setting within which its character is reconstituted yet traditionalized in order to provide it with more artistic depth. Or perhaps one of them could simply direct the Battle of Hogwarts. Could you imagine how amazing it would be if David Lynch directed the Battle of Hogwarts?

It would be amazing.

The Town

Ben Affleck's The Town is your classic intergenerational flick. You can rent it with an eclectic bunch including your parents and although few will likely be seriously impressed, many will accept its better than average character. It's subdued yet poignant, frank yet thoughtful, situated in an inner-city small town. Sort of cool how Affleck (Doug MacRay) falls for the girl he kidnaps after setting her free (Rebecca Hall as Claire Keesey). Liked the ways in which it cryptically and ambiguously emphasizes how people accidentally suffocate one another as circumstances dictate that they 'must' engage in certain actions, whether they're decent cops or Robin Hood, even if such an emphasis is paranoid and cynical (the internal consistency works). Affleck pulls off the classic complacent comeback performance, successfully portraying a character who never has to display much emotion, which makes it easier for him to appear accomplished since he doesn't have to take any risks. Jeremy Renner (James Coughlin) is provided with more of an opportunity to display his talent than he was in The Hurt Locker, and it looks like he may be around for awhile. Entertaining. The film subtly uses clichés successfully to present an appealing middle-of-the-road entertaining distraction, the kind of film you can hope that your friend with bad taste picks when it's his or her turn to choose a movie. A long ways from Good Will Hunting, but worth a forty minute walk on a cold, dark, typical weeknight.

Fool for Love

Robert Altman's Fool for Love is one of those dark sombre romances that's almost more fun to write about than watch. The basic plot is traditional. A gorgeous woman (Kim Basinger as May) is in love and has been in love with a cowboy (Sam Shepard as Eddie) whose no good for her for over a decade. She tries to overcome her desire by dating someone less bold (Randy Quaid as Martin). When the two subjects of desire meet, an otherwise viscid, enigmatic, nocturnal love story suddenly has all of its secrets revealed, candidly, confidently, and non-chalently, a shocking synthesis of opposites cheerfully and disconcertingly materialized. This portion of Fool for Love's script, by clarifying the details the rest of the film has so cleverly hidden, carnal forbidden details forged by desire's twisted and recalcitrant whims, seems to be saying that if a polar synthesis is unleashed in order to explain two sets of taboo miscalculations (one the direct result of the other), while order will be briefly restored, that order's chaos will not be able to withstand externalized vindications. Hence, while the love remains, the situation becomes even more surreal.

Due Date

As you enter your fourth decade, you may find getting along with people difficult, especially if you're not interested in fucking people over, or, are very interested in fucking people over. If you're interested in fucking people over, you'll get along well with your brethren, but any sort of genuine affection is always mitigated and diluted by an underlying creeping sense of dread, which can lead to misery if not alleviated by church on Sunday (or a weekly chat with a psychiatrist). If you're not interested in fucking people over, you'll seem odd, and the ways in which you interact with others will be judged as suspect and counterproductive, as if you don't want a three storey house, although there will be an unspoken respect for your good nature that underlies your social interactions. Todd Phillips's Due Date takes a representative from both of these categories and sticks them on a road trip together from Atlanta to Los Angeles. Peter Highman (Robert Downey Jr.) simply wants to make it back to L.A. for the birth of his first child while Ethan Tremblay (Zach Galifianakis) has a meeting with an agent in Hollywood. The relationship between their personalities is very Plains, Trains and Automobiles, although the consistently awkward and ridiculous scenarios have been crafted for a 21st century audience (like the difference between Back to the Future and Hot Tub Time Machine or Growing Pains and Family Guy). It's sort of like high-strung lackadaisical perseverance meets care-free trusting tactless generosity while co-ordinating various provocatively inane exchanges on an uplifting heroic comedic adventure. Will an enduring friendship be the result and will Ethan and Peter learn to fuck each other over productively by openly caring for one another? My favourite Todd Phillips's film to date.