Heightened rationalized improbability permeates What We Do in the Shadows, productively enlivening the confines of the undead, with shattered/rebuilt staggering susceptibility.
Incinerator.
4 vampires have been living together for some time in Wellington, New Zealand, tediously, nonchalantly, constructively, and impetuously approaching eternity, sort of learning and growing together as one, individuality integratively asserted, within their infernal domestic.
A camera crew is granted access and follows them around as they socially interact.
Debating, observing, feasting.
The film successfully works its way into the mockumentary cleavage, adding a bizarre sense of feisty unrealistic yet applicably pertinent ironic existential banality to its hemorrhage, asinine arteries and viscous veins wickedly yet lovingly distributing its worn permanence, like the genre itself is transformatively expired.
A skulking pantheon.
As they explore the external world and attend festive gatherings, favourite representatives of various divergencies emerge, their conversations occasionally fraught with bitterness and decay, a clash with the lycans, everything held together by Stu (Stuart Rutherford).
Stu is the human friend of recently converted vampire Nick (Cori Gonzalez-Macuer), and he aloofly yet essentially stylizes the film.
Nick builds Deacon's (Jonathan Brugh) character by contrasting his youthful rebelliousness with rash exuberance, the two growing ensemble, clueless direct un/concerned advice intact.
Some of the jokes don't work, like swearwolves/swerewolves.
More could have been done with the vampire hunter and the Unholy Masquerade.
Still, as far as people awkwardly placed within a time period they neither understand nor care to get to know goes, taking the time to formulate opinions and conclusions which both validate and empower them regardless, even if they subconsciously recognize their inherent weaknesses, What We Do in the Shadows serves to obscure while lucidly contemplating, as discoveries are made, and friendships develop.
It would be nice to see what Clement and Waititi could pull off with a larger budget and more time.
What We Do in the Shadows could make a funny show, there's plenty of material to work with.
Friday, March 6, 2015
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Elephant Song
Dr. Toby Green (Bruce Greenwood) is ill-prepared for the devious manipulations of psychiatric patient Michael Aleen (Xavier Dolan), as he visits him for the first time on Christmas Eve, at his long term care facility.
Aleen, the unwanted son of a legendary opera singer, skilfully exploits Green's palliative expectations, expediently employing cunning and subterfuge, prevaricative expertise, with goals in mind.
Artfully engaged in indirect communication, they painstakingly proceed through a kaleidoscopic array of circumlocution, Dr. Green unconvincingly naive, unprofessionally struck by Aleen's dazzling intellect.
His disingenuous merit.
To which he cannot rhetorically respond.
It's the film's weakest point.
It's hard to believe someone that accomplished would fall for Aleen's tricks so quickly, so easily, even on Christmas Eve, and sincerely keep up the same level of trust for so long, having been so effortlessly duped from the outset.
Masterfully.
Why does he maintain the level of trust?
Frustratingly quilled yet mesmerizingly insouciant, Charles Binamé's Elephant Song still ambivalently deconstructs relational therapeutics, 2 steps forward, 2 steps back, patient bilateral supplications.
The application of learning.
To heartaching horizons.
*Dolan's that good in English too. Impresario.
**I'm not against employing clichés in writing, but they need to be worked in with carefully placed well-timed elasticity, to thrivingly live again.
***As the crow flies . . . ;)
Aleen, the unwanted son of a legendary opera singer, skilfully exploits Green's palliative expectations, expediently employing cunning and subterfuge, prevaricative expertise, with goals in mind.
Artfully engaged in indirect communication, they painstakingly proceed through a kaleidoscopic array of circumlocution, Dr. Green unconvincingly naive, unprofessionally struck by Aleen's dazzling intellect.
His disingenuous merit.
To which he cannot rhetorically respond.
It's the film's weakest point.
It's hard to believe someone that accomplished would fall for Aleen's tricks so quickly, so easily, even on Christmas Eve, and sincerely keep up the same level of trust for so long, having been so effortlessly duped from the outset.
Masterfully.
Why does he maintain the level of trust?
Frustratingly quilled yet mesmerizingly insouciant, Charles Binamé's Elephant Song still ambivalently deconstructs relational therapeutics, 2 steps forward, 2 steps back, patient bilateral supplications.
The application of learning.
To heartaching horizons.
*Dolan's that good in English too. Impresario.
**I'm not against employing clichés in writing, but they need to be worked in with carefully placed well-timed elasticity, to thrivingly live again.
***As the crow flies . . . ;)
Friday, February 27, 2015
Paddington
Deep in the jungles of darkest Peru, a family of spectacled bears have learned to interact domestically from an adventurous British geographer, spending their time conversing in English while feasting on marmalade, science having been environmentally harmonized with their surroundings, the curious and the coddling, perching merriment's full bloom.
But tragedy strikes as an earthquake shatters their domain, and a loved one is lost, to unforgiving geologic caprice.
The youngest family member, having learned that if he arrives in London he's bound to be looked after by that very same geographer, sets out for the United Kingdom, luck and ingenuity aiding him on his way.
Upon arrival, he meets a kind family who agrees to help him, the husband, begrudgingly, the wife, hospitably, the son, ecstatically, the daughter, morosely.
Comic trials and errors then flourish, as a mystery invites sleuthing, and an evil taxidermist comes 'a callin.'
Set on vengeance and destruction.
What follows is a funny, charming, pleasantly peculiar tale of growth and discovery as a family comes together as one.
Through the power of bears.
Highlights: Paddington (Ben Wishaw) accidentally catches a pickpocket, young Judy (Madeleine Harris) learns to speak bear, whenever Paddington eats something, Mrs. Brown's (Sally Hawkins) outfits, Mrs. Bird (Julie Walters) tying one on, pigeons, baguette sandwiches, the emphasis on codes, manners, heart warmth.
The benefits of learning a Chinese dialect are also mentioned, the relations between youth and age are playfully cross-examined, creative multistep mischievous refinements abound, and there's a focus on understanding, nurtured through well being.
Paddington doesn't really look like a spectacled bear but there could be some variation within the species I'm unaware of.
And he's still young.
Costume design by Lindy Hemming.
You can still interact domestically while speaking bear.
Solid bear sounds.
Loved the alliteration.
But tragedy strikes as an earthquake shatters their domain, and a loved one is lost, to unforgiving geologic caprice.
The youngest family member, having learned that if he arrives in London he's bound to be looked after by that very same geographer, sets out for the United Kingdom, luck and ingenuity aiding him on his way.
Upon arrival, he meets a kind family who agrees to help him, the husband, begrudgingly, the wife, hospitably, the son, ecstatically, the daughter, morosely.
Comic trials and errors then flourish, as a mystery invites sleuthing, and an evil taxidermist comes 'a callin.'
Set on vengeance and destruction.
What follows is a funny, charming, pleasantly peculiar tale of growth and discovery as a family comes together as one.
Through the power of bears.
Highlights: Paddington (Ben Wishaw) accidentally catches a pickpocket, young Judy (Madeleine Harris) learns to speak bear, whenever Paddington eats something, Mrs. Brown's (Sally Hawkins) outfits, Mrs. Bird (Julie Walters) tying one on, pigeons, baguette sandwiches, the emphasis on codes, manners, heart warmth.
The benefits of learning a Chinese dialect are also mentioned, the relations between youth and age are playfully cross-examined, creative multistep mischievous refinements abound, and there's a focus on understanding, nurtured through well being.
Paddington doesn't really look like a spectacled bear but there could be some variation within the species I'm unaware of.
And he's still young.
Costume design by Lindy Hemming.
You can still interact domestically while speaking bear.
Solid bear sounds.
Loved the alliteration.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Jupiter Ascending
Jupiter Ascending could have been better.
It's like they're trying to condense three to four hours worth of material into a 127 minute film, and the resulting action suffers from athletic overexposure.
Everything happens too quickly.
Because they cover so much ground, they're constantly placing characters in new hyper-reactive scenarios, and rather than taking the time to calmly build-up tension while diversifying character, bam, another battle begins, whether it's physical, bureaucratic, or conjugal, and it's like the fighting never stops, yet there's no sense that something could go wrong.
Spoilers.
Okay, the film points out how millions of people, in this case entire planets, can be exploited to increase the riches of a few, in this case a plan is in place to harvest humans to create an expensive highly coveted youth serum that prolongs life indefinitely, but the film also naturalizes royalty, which indirectly suggests that royals should have access to benefits denied to their subjects, like a youth serum for instance, even if the royal in question doesn't want to have anything to do with them/it.
The bee scene is one of Jupiter Ascending's coolest moments, but it doesn't fit well with the film's ethics.
And in the end Jupiter Jones (Mila Kunis) doesn't try to use her new position to break up the intergalactic obsession with the serum, she just goes back to her old life, chillin' with the fam and new partner Caine Wise (Channing Tatum).
Who are also both cool.
It's fun watching Caine fly around on his jet boots, like he's figure skating through time and space, but he does it so often there's a cloying affect, which significantly decreases the cool factor.
The fights he's in are usually full of people hired to do things which involve firing weapons, who obviously never learned how to shoot them.
Also, when Jupiter confronts arch-rival Balem Abrasax (Eddie Redmayne) in the end, his dominion disintegrates far too quickly.
Here's one of the wealthiest people in the universe, and his defence grid seems like it's made out of lego.
A lot of corny dialogue.
Love the Wachowskis, but not Jupiter Ascending.
It's like they're trying to condense three to four hours worth of material into a 127 minute film, and the resulting action suffers from athletic overexposure.
Everything happens too quickly.
Because they cover so much ground, they're constantly placing characters in new hyper-reactive scenarios, and rather than taking the time to calmly build-up tension while diversifying character, bam, another battle begins, whether it's physical, bureaucratic, or conjugal, and it's like the fighting never stops, yet there's no sense that something could go wrong.
Spoilers.
Okay, the film points out how millions of people, in this case entire planets, can be exploited to increase the riches of a few, in this case a plan is in place to harvest humans to create an expensive highly coveted youth serum that prolongs life indefinitely, but the film also naturalizes royalty, which indirectly suggests that royals should have access to benefits denied to their subjects, like a youth serum for instance, even if the royal in question doesn't want to have anything to do with them/it.
The bee scene is one of Jupiter Ascending's coolest moments, but it doesn't fit well with the film's ethics.
And in the end Jupiter Jones (Mila Kunis) doesn't try to use her new position to break up the intergalactic obsession with the serum, she just goes back to her old life, chillin' with the fam and new partner Caine Wise (Channing Tatum).
Who are also both cool.
It's fun watching Caine fly around on his jet boots, like he's figure skating through time and space, but he does it so often there's a cloying affect, which significantly decreases the cool factor.
The fights he's in are usually full of people hired to do things which involve firing weapons, who obviously never learned how to shoot them.
Also, when Jupiter confronts arch-rival Balem Abrasax (Eddie Redmayne) in the end, his dominion disintegrates far too quickly.
Here's one of the wealthiest people in the universe, and his defence grid seems like it's made out of lego.
A lot of corny dialogue.
Love the Wachowskis, but not Jupiter Ascending.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Leviafan (Leviathan)
Isolated in a small town in Northern Russia, a man fights to save his home from a corrupt mayor, relying on an oligarchically inclined legal system, and a lawyer skilled in the art of public sensation.
He's lived his whole life in the town.
Grew up there, became a family man, it's all he knows.
He has personality, responsibilities, a network.
Remote plutocratic politics.
A voice, legal rights, Andrey Zvyagintsev's take on contemporary Russia, Leviafan (Leviathan), like the skeleton of a massive destructive unstoppable procession, religion sans spirituality, futile to fight back, take the offer, drink, drink more, from one historical epoch to the next, take reprehensible thugs and give them wealth, prestige and power, hold them in place with the threat of imprisonment, they'll do as they're told, don't find a middle ground between what things were like before and after the 1917 revolution, recreate the system that lead to that revolution, bask in its imperialistic splendour, lock things down for a generation, flaunt your might, and see what Hobbes gets you.
Trust was placed where trust was deserved, its betrayal ripe with spontaneous idiocy, 10 blissful minutes for the bored, a maximum security sentence for the innocent.
Innocence requires innocence.
Angelic quid pro quo.
The act provides the mayor with leverage, a solid footing, authority.
Opulent construction.
In the gently falling snow.
He's lived his whole life in the town.
Grew up there, became a family man, it's all he knows.
He has personality, responsibilities, a network.
Remote plutocratic politics.
A voice, legal rights, Andrey Zvyagintsev's take on contemporary Russia, Leviafan (Leviathan), like the skeleton of a massive destructive unstoppable procession, religion sans spirituality, futile to fight back, take the offer, drink, drink more, from one historical epoch to the next, take reprehensible thugs and give them wealth, prestige and power, hold them in place with the threat of imprisonment, they'll do as they're told, don't find a middle ground between what things were like before and after the 1917 revolution, recreate the system that lead to that revolution, bask in its imperialistic splendour, lock things down for a generation, flaunt your might, and see what Hobbes gets you.
Trust was placed where trust was deserved, its betrayal ripe with spontaneous idiocy, 10 blissful minutes for the bored, a maximum security sentence for the innocent.
Innocence requires innocence.
Angelic quid pro quo.
The act provides the mayor with leverage, a solid footing, authority.
Opulent construction.
In the gently falling snow.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Timbuktu
Law and order is ridiculously applied to the daily lives of Timbuktu's inhabitants, a city in Mali, and a film by Abderrahmane Sissako, a brutal unforgiving violent accentuation of a fruitless interpretation of Islamic texts, interpreted to profit those in power, regardless of what the texts actually say.
Alternative voices emphasizing Islam's focus on understanding and forgiveness express themselves but are immediately ignored due to their lack of influence.
It's men with guns, large and in charge, unconcerned with their lack of knowledge, severely punishing anyone who breaks their arbitrary laws.
Much more direct than Leviafan.
Musicians performing privately at night face the whip even though they're singing about God.
Women who don't wear gloves and socks are penalized.
A man who sees a girl and wants to marry her is fully supported when the girl's family objects to his inappropriate conduct.
Soccer is frowned upon.
Tough times if you aren't part of the ruling minority.
No opportunities.
No growth.
No music.
Make things as boring and lifeless as possible to maximize and inculcate your barren conception of reality.
This is how the rulers proceed.
Heavily armed.
With constant surveillance.
Alternative voices emphasizing Islam's focus on understanding and forgiveness express themselves but are immediately ignored due to their lack of influence.
It's men with guns, large and in charge, unconcerned with their lack of knowledge, severely punishing anyone who breaks their arbitrary laws.
Much more direct than Leviafan.
Musicians performing privately at night face the whip even though they're singing about God.
Women who don't wear gloves and socks are penalized.
A man who sees a girl and wants to marry her is fully supported when the girl's family objects to his inappropriate conduct.
Soccer is frowned upon.
Tough times if you aren't part of the ruling minority.
No opportunities.
No growth.
No music.
Make things as boring and lifeless as possible to maximize and inculcate your barren conception of reality.
This is how the rulers proceed.
Heavily armed.
With constant surveillance.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Kiş Uykusu (Winter Sleep)
Prolonged drowsy interminable winter, dilemmas and debts and rigid bitter realism, frozen immovable remote reverberations soundlessly echoing through time like omnipresent gallows for some, casual laissez-faire cocktails for others, a small town in Anatolia, a consciousness of place, order, balance, predictability, the insertion of divergence, glacially counterbalanced, from whichever side, whatever predicament, interred for the ages, contradiction's fertile sum, punishment to reward, thoughts eloquently marooned, the snow is falling, confiscated tempests, every point will be made, an old man wandering blindly, his dominion staggeringly glazed, fissured, crumply.
When challenged he preaches.
He has done no wrong.
According to his will, which vainly asserts his blights.
Proven through the narrative's conception.
Of unyielding irrational control.
The darkness of men's souls.
To say, "Be a man at all costs. In a domain ruled by men."
There's a powerful scene, epic in its isolated rustic nocturnal candour, which expresses the rationalities of these mad oppressive entitlements.
Wait for it.
Viewing, it's like you're in the village, present at these conversations, living these lives, freezing, because of their patient plodding conversions.
Thinking.
Finding things to do.
When challenged he preaches.
He has done no wrong.
According to his will, which vainly asserts his blights.
Proven through the narrative's conception.
Of unyielding irrational control.
The darkness of men's souls.
To say, "Be a man at all costs. In a domain ruled by men."
There's a powerful scene, epic in its isolated rustic nocturnal candour, which expresses the rationalities of these mad oppressive entitlements.
Wait for it.
Viewing, it's like you're in the village, present at these conversations, living these lives, freezing, because of their patient plodding conversions.
Thinking.
Finding things to do.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
A Most Violent Year
Patience, hard work, and skill, transferrable knowledge calmly and efficiently presented, threats, competitive thefts assaulting bottom lines, disrupting morale and distribution, fermenting internal disputes, fear and uncertainty corrupting the working day, factions, a lawsuit, thugs, insert stoicism, by the books, leadership, an impenetrable reliance on a sense of fair play cultivated through years of shrewd progressive expansion relied upon during its darkest yet most definitive hour, revenue streams collapsing, worst case options relied upon, an unwavering commitment to the law, like Michael Corleone, if he had started from scractch.
Law and order.
Concealment.
As Abel Morales's (Oscar Isaac) business expands, his competitors employ desperate tactics, their livelihoods threatened, pathological pyrosthetics.
A Most Violent Year resists the urge to fight back.
It keeps a level head.
Distinguishing itself from other films in the genre.
It was odd watching it, I kept waiting for the eruption, the countermeasures, the explosion of pent up rage, disastrous regimens of revenge.
But its aesthetic honours goodwill as opposed to vindication, composure rather than frenzy, its blueprints shackling threats of reprisal, steady assured confidence, in the methods that have ensured success.
It's like the feeling you get when you work hard for something, enjoy the rewards, stay true to a vision, accept professional challenges, and continue to modestly achieve.
Like graduating from high school or being promoted.
Staying in business for decades.
Thoughtful innovations.
Law and order.
Concealment.
As Abel Morales's (Oscar Isaac) business expands, his competitors employ desperate tactics, their livelihoods threatened, pathological pyrosthetics.
A Most Violent Year resists the urge to fight back.
It keeps a level head.
Distinguishing itself from other films in the genre.
It was odd watching it, I kept waiting for the eruption, the countermeasures, the explosion of pent up rage, disastrous regimens of revenge.
But its aesthetic honours goodwill as opposed to vindication, composure rather than frenzy, its blueprints shackling threats of reprisal, steady assured confidence, in the methods that have ensured success.
It's like the feeling you get when you work hard for something, enjoy the rewards, stay true to a vision, accept professional challenges, and continue to modestly achieve.
Like graduating from high school or being promoted.
Staying in business for decades.
Thoughtful innovations.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Wild
One foot forward, a crushing weight backpacked, stricken through the desert, identity intact.
To the summit.
Waves of energizing and/or haunting memories intermittently bombarding and/or enlivening, accomplishments, missteps, experimental independence mixed with overwhelming grief dealt with through taking on a herculean quest for conscious convalescence, reestablished resilience, contemporary being flushing out the destructive life choices made after the death of a loved one, and their corresponding affects on friends and family, a path with a goal and a purpose, the Pacific Crest Trail, blistering heat and instructive elevations, gear, wildlife, companionship, the impossible slowly dispersing picturesque probabilities, a new sense of self, persevering in the hearth throes.
Emerging.
Jean-Marc Vallée's Wild sets out into the wilderness to build a future by confronting the past, through presence, chillingly capturing subconscious correlations, raw elemental exacting births.
She's tough.
Cheryl Strayed (Reese Witherspoon) improvises her way with sheer grit and determination, poetically driving her will, its valleys and peaks, a subtly directed incarnation.
Editing by Martin Pensa and Jean-Marc Vallée as John Mac McMurphy.
Live in the world while focusing on the beautiful.
Posture outfox and sidewind.
Overcome.
To the summit.
Waves of energizing and/or haunting memories intermittently bombarding and/or enlivening, accomplishments, missteps, experimental independence mixed with overwhelming grief dealt with through taking on a herculean quest for conscious convalescence, reestablished resilience, contemporary being flushing out the destructive life choices made after the death of a loved one, and their corresponding affects on friends and family, a path with a goal and a purpose, the Pacific Crest Trail, blistering heat and instructive elevations, gear, wildlife, companionship, the impossible slowly dispersing picturesque probabilities, a new sense of self, persevering in the hearth throes.
Emerging.
Jean-Marc Vallée's Wild sets out into the wilderness to build a future by confronting the past, through presence, chillingly capturing subconscious correlations, raw elemental exacting births.
She's tough.
Cheryl Strayed (Reese Witherspoon) improvises her way with sheer grit and determination, poetically driving her will, its valleys and peaks, a subtly directed incarnation.
Editing by Martin Pensa and Jean-Marc Vallée as John Mac McMurphy.
Live in the world while focusing on the beautiful.
Posture outfox and sidewind.
Overcome.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Still Alice
A high-functioning established warm caring multifaceted professional is confronted at the height of her career with the onset of Alzheimer's disease, and its effects quickly take hold.
She's a fighter, accomplished and strategic, boldly doctoring her plight, taking things in stride, coping, achieving, her family coming to her aid to help out wherever they can, together functioning as a cohesive unit, through strength, distress and helplessness increasing as time passes, slowly transforming into stoic acceptance, the acknowledgement of pain.
Still Alice maturely approaches illness from fruitful familial viewpoints, Alice Howland's (Julianne Moore) husband and children supporting while suffering to do what they can.
Julianne Moore delivers a career defining performance as she pluralizes her conception of identity, stunningly adding varicose variabilities.
There's a great scene where her new self communicates with a predecessor via a preprepared homemade video, a buoyant succinct butterfly.
Her alpha husband (Alec Baldwin as John Howland) convincing juggles his urge to dominate with his expressions of sympathy, respected by Alice through understanding, his attempts to hide his frustrated emotions callously manifested at times.
He has trouble halting his progression.
The children react as befits their personalities, aptly introduced through the art of conversation, the daughters featuring more prominently than the son.
The family's love holds back its depression although it could have been more sorrowful.
Hope in the darkness.
In tune.
She's a fighter, accomplished and strategic, boldly doctoring her plight, taking things in stride, coping, achieving, her family coming to her aid to help out wherever they can, together functioning as a cohesive unit, through strength, distress and helplessness increasing as time passes, slowly transforming into stoic acceptance, the acknowledgement of pain.
Still Alice maturely approaches illness from fruitful familial viewpoints, Alice Howland's (Julianne Moore) husband and children supporting while suffering to do what they can.
Julianne Moore delivers a career defining performance as she pluralizes her conception of identity, stunningly adding varicose variabilities.
There's a great scene where her new self communicates with a predecessor via a preprepared homemade video, a buoyant succinct butterfly.
Her alpha husband (Alec Baldwin as John Howland) convincing juggles his urge to dominate with his expressions of sympathy, respected by Alice through understanding, his attempts to hide his frustrated emotions callously manifested at times.
He has trouble halting his progression.
The children react as befits their personalities, aptly introduced through the art of conversation, the daughters featuring more prominently than the son.
The family's love holds back its depression although it could have been more sorrowful.
Hope in the darkness.
In tune.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Escobar: Paradise Lost
The tranquilities of a peaceful life living on a beach teaching surfing unexpectedly mutate in Andrea Di Stefano's Escobar: Paradise Lost, as love magnetically draws a couple together, and a Canadian romantic is suddenly thrust into the world of cocaine exportation.
Tectonic shifts.
Alternative outputs.
The couple is quite young and Nick (Josh Hutcherson) somewhat ill-prepared for his newfound corruptly honourable daily transactions, their relationship fervid and flourishing, his responsibilities, a discombobulating mind fuck.
Kingpin Pablo Escobar (Benicio del Toro) takes religion quite seriously.
He distributes wealth to the people.
He takes care of friends and family.
Requiring strict obedience.
And no nonsense.
The film embraces its haunting naive blossoming recourse to sound polarized youthful degeneration with multidimensional popularized efficiency, almost tumbling off a cliff, the established and the entrepreneur coming together as family, age inspecting its curious new fledgling, love securely blanketing the stage.
The crimes.
A chilling if not formulaic examination of familial stress and stipulated largesse, competing ethical constabularies cauterized in political inflammations.
Nick is forced to adapt as the authorities move in and Escobar downsizes.
To fight back.
To survive.
Solid career move for Hutcherson.
Tectonic shifts.
Alternative outputs.
The couple is quite young and Nick (Josh Hutcherson) somewhat ill-prepared for his newfound corruptly honourable daily transactions, their relationship fervid and flourishing, his responsibilities, a discombobulating mind fuck.
Kingpin Pablo Escobar (Benicio del Toro) takes religion quite seriously.
He distributes wealth to the people.
He takes care of friends and family.
Requiring strict obedience.
And no nonsense.
The film embraces its haunting naive blossoming recourse to sound polarized youthful degeneration with multidimensional popularized efficiency, almost tumbling off a cliff, the established and the entrepreneur coming together as family, age inspecting its curious new fledgling, love securely blanketing the stage.
The crimes.
A chilling if not formulaic examination of familial stress and stipulated largesse, competing ethical constabularies cauterized in political inflammations.
Nick is forced to adapt as the authorities move in and Escobar downsizes.
To fight back.
To survive.
Solid career move for Hutcherson.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
American Sniper
Clint Eastwood's American Sniper is about soldiers.
It's not about politics or asking questions, it's about the people who risked their lives fighting for a cause they believed in, incendiary polemics aside, they were on the ground, fighting an enemy intent on killing them, living through events that would haunt the survivors for the rest of their lives, experiential extracurricular extents, forging bonds through action, teams, through combat.
It's focused on one sniper in particular, Navy SEAL Chris Kyle (Bradley Cooper), with a gift for precision, an eye for detail.
He becomes a legend.
A part of a team, embracing his role as protector, he saves the lives of his fellow recruits time and time again, through vigilance and dedication, making decisions no one should have to make, accepting the consequences, psychologically covering up the outcomes.
Civilian life becomes difficult.
He leaves unfinished business in Iraq, a nemesis at large, who continues to hunt his compatriots, this unnerves him as he tries to live with his family, überconscious conscience, the fall out of his exceptional track record.
Which leads to an exciting Young Guns sequence.
A compelling cinematic interpretation of levelheaded battlegrounded hysteria.
Direct, straightforward, and to the point, while mixing in enough trauma to unsettlingly exfoliate, American Sniper brings together eclectic teams, unified through bitter shattering circumstances.
What actually took place is fictionalized to the point where it makes a strong war film, however, this aspect of its creation makes what actually took place seem fictional, which takes away from its realistic impacts.
But it still salutes the life of a great Navy SEAL who went beyond the call of duty and risked everything to do what he believed was right, individuality within the collective, cohesively functioning as one.
Made the most of the worst possible situation.
Persevered.
It's not about politics or asking questions, it's about the people who risked their lives fighting for a cause they believed in, incendiary polemics aside, they were on the ground, fighting an enemy intent on killing them, living through events that would haunt the survivors for the rest of their lives, experiential extracurricular extents, forging bonds through action, teams, through combat.
It's focused on one sniper in particular, Navy SEAL Chris Kyle (Bradley Cooper), with a gift for precision, an eye for detail.
He becomes a legend.
A part of a team, embracing his role as protector, he saves the lives of his fellow recruits time and time again, through vigilance and dedication, making decisions no one should have to make, accepting the consequences, psychologically covering up the outcomes.
Civilian life becomes difficult.
He leaves unfinished business in Iraq, a nemesis at large, who continues to hunt his compatriots, this unnerves him as he tries to live with his family, überconscious conscience, the fall out of his exceptional track record.
Which leads to an exciting Young Guns sequence.
A compelling cinematic interpretation of levelheaded battlegrounded hysteria.
Direct, straightforward, and to the point, while mixing in enough trauma to unsettlingly exfoliate, American Sniper brings together eclectic teams, unified through bitter shattering circumstances.
What actually took place is fictionalized to the point where it makes a strong war film, however, this aspect of its creation makes what actually took place seem fictional, which takes away from its realistic impacts.
But it still salutes the life of a great Navy SEAL who went beyond the call of duty and risked everything to do what he believed was right, individuality within the collective, cohesively functioning as one.
Made the most of the worst possible situation.
Persevered.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Whiplash
Worst case scenario.
From my point of view anyways.
The drill sergeant teacher, militaristic jazz, believing that greatness can be cultivated using cruel ruthless humiliating tactics which psychologically destroy while potentially diversifying.
If you can take it.
If you don't break down as he viciously insults you and contentedly rips you to shreds.
This guy's brutal, a true Full Metal Jacket.
Thoroughly versed in the dark side, he finds an historical example where callous pedagogical shocks produce skills beyond exception, and then tries to recreate the soul crushing circumstances which harshly brought about the virtuosities, not taking into account the uniqueness of the situation, the educational, demographic, individual, historical, and social characteristics at play, difference exploited as a means to oppress rather than a factor to be conceptualized, music isn't war, you're trying to elevate not conquer, you have to push to succeed but you can push without pulverizing, excel without collapsing, although there are people who need the drill sergeant, I simply never understood why.
Was lucky in school. Never ran into teachers like this. I can't function in such environments, just shut down and suffer, can barely think.
Long time since I've been in one.
Whiplash is about a young drummer attending Shaffer Conservatory who is given the opportunity to play in their premier ensemble, and chooses to find a way to become part of its core.
The teacher uses despicable methods which lead to improvements but his heavy hand is too much for the 19 year-old to take.
Bad decisions.
Pushed too hard.
He does excel though and is given the chance to say fuck rather than thank you eventually.
A well-casted examination of emotionally disturbing teaching methods and their outcomes, Whiplash's unquestionable villain sacrifices balance for beatification.
Hoping to nurture sheer brilliance.
Clucking malevolently in the abyss.
From my point of view anyways.
The drill sergeant teacher, militaristic jazz, believing that greatness can be cultivated using cruel ruthless humiliating tactics which psychologically destroy while potentially diversifying.
If you can take it.
If you don't break down as he viciously insults you and contentedly rips you to shreds.
This guy's brutal, a true Full Metal Jacket.
Thoroughly versed in the dark side, he finds an historical example where callous pedagogical shocks produce skills beyond exception, and then tries to recreate the soul crushing circumstances which harshly brought about the virtuosities, not taking into account the uniqueness of the situation, the educational, demographic, individual, historical, and social characteristics at play, difference exploited as a means to oppress rather than a factor to be conceptualized, music isn't war, you're trying to elevate not conquer, you have to push to succeed but you can push without pulverizing, excel without collapsing, although there are people who need the drill sergeant, I simply never understood why.
Was lucky in school. Never ran into teachers like this. I can't function in such environments, just shut down and suffer, can barely think.
Long time since I've been in one.
Whiplash is about a young drummer attending Shaffer Conservatory who is given the opportunity to play in their premier ensemble, and chooses to find a way to become part of its core.
The teacher uses despicable methods which lead to improvements but his heavy hand is too much for the 19 year-old to take.
Bad decisions.
Pushed too hard.
He does excel though and is given the chance to say fuck rather than thank you eventually.
A well-casted examination of emotionally disturbing teaching methods and their outcomes, Whiplash's unquestionable villain sacrifices balance for beatification.
Hoping to nurture sheer brilliance.
Clucking malevolently in the abyss.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Selma
Slow moving change.
Sometimes change does move too slowly.
Sometimes mind-bogglingly frustrating bureaucratic 'efficiencies' prevent the advancement of basic civil rights, in Selma's case, the right for African American citizens to vote in the States, in the Southern States, in the 1960s, Alabama particularly.
They have the legal right to vote, but the caucasian population who controls the voter registry comes up with ridiculous loophole after ridiculous loophole to prevent them from actually voting, to make seeking the right to vote seem debased and futile, insert various humiliations.
Obviously this is unacceptable, and leaders emerge to change things, not twenty years from now, but in the near future, Martin Luther King Jr. (David Oyelowo) actively advocating for peaceful non-violent change, for peaceful non-violent dignity.
Selma's best moments feature King in action, delivering powerful speeches which motivate his listeners, debating strategy with his fellow activists, discussing tactics with his devoted wife Coretta (Carmen Ejogo), or holding firm to his principles when upholding them with President Lyndon B. Johnson (Tom Wilkinson).
His goals are immediate and necessary, making compromise an untenable option.
The film presents a basic opposition between progress and stagnation, those standing by the status quo appearing backwards and simplistic, those hungering for change, thoughtful and brave.
Johnson's character does change after the violence reaches outrageous heights and the protests continue.
It's still going on.
In light of the Ferguson tragedy, and several other recent disillusioning American tragedies which have deeply affected African American communities, Selma historicizes the present, to encourage an impregnable sense of unity.
There should be accountability when unarmed people are shot dead.
It doesn't have to be about white versus black, it can be about different groups working communally to forge strong integrated multidimensional secularly spiritual pluralities, strength in diversity, acculturating as one.
It's about simple acts of kindness and the acceptance of alternative points of view.
If the U.S. is the most advanced country in the world, why does it still have these problems?
Why are they persisting?
Generation after generation.
Sometimes change does move too slowly.
Sometimes mind-bogglingly frustrating bureaucratic 'efficiencies' prevent the advancement of basic civil rights, in Selma's case, the right for African American citizens to vote in the States, in the Southern States, in the 1960s, Alabama particularly.
They have the legal right to vote, but the caucasian population who controls the voter registry comes up with ridiculous loophole after ridiculous loophole to prevent them from actually voting, to make seeking the right to vote seem debased and futile, insert various humiliations.
Obviously this is unacceptable, and leaders emerge to change things, not twenty years from now, but in the near future, Martin Luther King Jr. (David Oyelowo) actively advocating for peaceful non-violent change, for peaceful non-violent dignity.
Selma's best moments feature King in action, delivering powerful speeches which motivate his listeners, debating strategy with his fellow activists, discussing tactics with his devoted wife Coretta (Carmen Ejogo), or holding firm to his principles when upholding them with President Lyndon B. Johnson (Tom Wilkinson).
His goals are immediate and necessary, making compromise an untenable option.
The film presents a basic opposition between progress and stagnation, those standing by the status quo appearing backwards and simplistic, those hungering for change, thoughtful and brave.
Johnson's character does change after the violence reaches outrageous heights and the protests continue.
It's still going on.
In light of the Ferguson tragedy, and several other recent disillusioning American tragedies which have deeply affected African American communities, Selma historicizes the present, to encourage an impregnable sense of unity.
There should be accountability when unarmed people are shot dead.
It doesn't have to be about white versus black, it can be about different groups working communally to forge strong integrated multidimensional secularly spiritual pluralities, strength in diversity, acculturating as one.
It's about simple acts of kindness and the acceptance of alternative points of view.
If the U.S. is the most advanced country in the world, why does it still have these problems?
Why are they persisting?
Generation after generation.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Inherent Vice
Blistering pronounced enigmatic athleticism, neat and tidy obscurity, a question asked, a question, answered, competing forms of non-traditional rationalities searching for clues within a down and dirty faceless salute to comic cerebral lechery, with role playing, familiarity, pop-ups, explanations, free form investigative hallucinogenic heartache, golden plunders, an error, bows and arrows, cameolot, freewheeling receptive improvised incognitos, purpose, demand, facts and fictions fused to fornicate, to love, the ether, groundless fluctuating intuitive forward motion, possessed, indecisive, a partnership, sympathy, acquiring a foothold, intransigent brawn, a narrator's clarifications, grinding and gone.
Far gone.
It seems that America's great directors must now hear the call of the The Big Lebowski's pastiche of The Big Sleep to make misguided judgment hedonistically live again.
Insert pot smoke into the underground world of high-stakes narcotic reality.
Remain calm.
React.
It's more about potential and theory, ideas, than plot, although the plot is astounding.
Difficult to say if the events depicted are actually taking place or simply expiring in an exposed hemorrhaged zig-zagged amphetamine.
I didn't see any evidence for this however.
The cast reminded me of that which you often find in feel good comedies, Eric Roberts (Michael Z. Wolfmann) filling in for Sam J. Jones or Billy Idol.
Martin Short's (Dr. Rudy Blatnoyd, D.D.S.) still got it.
I'm buying some absinthe.
Far gone.
It seems that America's great directors must now hear the call of the The Big Lebowski's pastiche of The Big Sleep to make misguided judgment hedonistically live again.
Insert pot smoke into the underground world of high-stakes narcotic reality.
Remain calm.
React.
It's more about potential and theory, ideas, than plot, although the plot is astounding.
Difficult to say if the events depicted are actually taking place or simply expiring in an exposed hemorrhaged zig-zagged amphetamine.
I didn't see any evidence for this however.
The cast reminded me of that which you often find in feel good comedies, Eric Roberts (Michael Z. Wolfmann) filling in for Sam J. Jones or Billy Idol.
Martin Short's (Dr. Rudy Blatnoyd, D.D.S.) still got it.
I'm buying some absinthe.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
The Imitation Game
A mind unlike any other, with an idea, a vision, confidently clad in driven unyielding pertinence, searing arrogant genius, applied to teamwork, to working as a team, to theorize, to crack codes, to imagine an immaculately mechanized gaseous maelstrom, sucking in cyphers then spitting out circumstances, World War II's oppressing destruction caught in its construct like visceral vacuumed variability, results producing tactics which serve to plan, to strategize daily essential outputs affecting lives and the people who live them, the soul crushing realities of life and death logic, covertly consensualized, as spiralling boisterous bedlam.
To suffer in ecstasy.
And win the war.
The Imitation Game celebrates unprecedented advances in theoretical practicalities, adding humanistic plights to the achievement of goals, balance and structure within the hierarchy, competing authoritative conceptions, managing the exceptional's zeal.
Creation's credibility.
Love's unacknowledged blush.
It's about a brilliant mathematician who creates an apparatus that cracks Nazi Germany's enigma machine.
Beyond tragedy, what eventually takes place, difficult to think that so many incredible leaps forward have been squashed in their infancy by culturally accepted prejudices, suffocatingly husking hopes and dreams.
Futures.
From Black Bear Pictures.
To suffer in ecstasy.
And win the war.
The Imitation Game celebrates unprecedented advances in theoretical practicalities, adding humanistic plights to the achievement of goals, balance and structure within the hierarchy, competing authoritative conceptions, managing the exceptional's zeal.
Creation's credibility.
Love's unacknowledged blush.
It's about a brilliant mathematician who creates an apparatus that cracks Nazi Germany's enigma machine.
Beyond tragedy, what eventually takes place, difficult to think that so many incredible leaps forward have been squashed in their infancy by culturally accepted prejudices, suffocatingly husking hopes and dreams.
Futures.
From Black Bear Pictures.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Into the Woods
Intersecting adventurous clips, securely stashed in a spell; wandering blindly baffling blips, serving to cast off a shell.
The forest provides what the hapless surrenders, riddle me opaque bouquets.
Paths intertwining, confidence rendered, lushly air brushing the haze.
The narrator holds things together.
It's not to be taken seriously, Into the Woods, according to his unconcerned tone, as if, even though the events that take place have paramount repercussions, love, happiness, giants, they're still simply banal and insignificant.
This aspect is captured in the film's focus on preparation as opposed to orchestration, apart from the accumulation of necessities, the land of the giants remaining overtly off limits, the balls Cinderella (Anna Kendrick) attends, never actively showcased.
Brilliant way to save money.
It also explains how easily the Baker (James Corden) and his wife (Emily Blunt) acquire the bizarre knick-knacks they must find, the humdrum coronation of the fantastical, realistically equipped with sensation.
The songs are kind of fun.
Evil is punished, good natures, rewarded.
It wasn't enough to keep me captivated, although I did revel in its mischief.
The middle-class finds salvation.
Paths lined with embowering gold.
The forest provides what the hapless surrenders, riddle me opaque bouquets.
Paths intertwining, confidence rendered, lushly air brushing the haze.
The narrator holds things together.
It's not to be taken seriously, Into the Woods, according to his unconcerned tone, as if, even though the events that take place have paramount repercussions, love, happiness, giants, they're still simply banal and insignificant.
This aspect is captured in the film's focus on preparation as opposed to orchestration, apart from the accumulation of necessities, the land of the giants remaining overtly off limits, the balls Cinderella (Anna Kendrick) attends, never actively showcased.
Brilliant way to save money.
It also explains how easily the Baker (James Corden) and his wife (Emily Blunt) acquire the bizarre knick-knacks they must find, the humdrum coronation of the fantastical, realistically equipped with sensation.
The songs are kind of fun.
Evil is punished, good natures, rewarded.
It wasn't enough to keep me captivated, although I did revel in its mischief.
The middle-class finds salvation.
Paths lined with embowering gold.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Big Eyes
Isolated freedom, revelling in its independence yet struggling with domestic determinants, a husband left behind, another guaranteeing affluence, the domain of patriarchy, one gender controlling, uplifting as it suffocates, a deal is begrudgingly struck, the wife possessing talent, the husband seductive salespersonship, his greed stretching beyond the limits of the financial, his oppression, firm and resolute.
Lies.
Nothing but lies.
Desperate for the prestige yet unable to qualify its conviction.
In terms of actually creating his own texts.
Margaret Keane (Amy Adams) produces them regularly, changing and growing over time, a specific insight blossoming in the bower, dedicated, talented, active.
Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz) sells them as his own.
The critical art versus kitsch continuum actualizes the scene as recognition leads to expansion, as opportunity pluralizes the popular.
Do what you do well I say.
If Margaret had wanted to stay in the background, the situation would have been perfect, a fortune made, the strengths of both partners flourishing, a pool, a house, mutual agreement, not bad, if it's agreed upon beforehand, and artfully managed with subtle praiseworthy comments here and there, in various conversations, socially constructing a contradictory narrative, intriguing in its gentile playfulness, if time changes the nature of the agreement, and credit need be applied where credit's due.
No such agreements.
No such amendments.
Don't freak when the critics don't like you.
There are myriad critics, myriad points of view, myriad methodologies, myriad revelations, extract relevant insights that can help you grow from those who aren't malicious, pretend like it's all nonsense, onwards.
This is where liking sports comes in handy.
In the NFL, you can be one of the greatest players of all time, but you'll still be torn up if you have a bad game, you can't let it get to you, the opposition's fierce, prepare for the next game, let it go, let it go.
Walter turns out to be incorrigible, trying to take all the credit for his wife's work, but she embodies true integrity, leaves the luxury behind, and starts from scratch again.
I liked the film and was impressed that Tim Burton wasn't directing another remake.
I think he still has another Beetlejuice within, I watched it again recently, I love that film.
Like Margaret's work, Big Eyes is accessible and witty, charmingly plucking its heartstrings, multidimensionally navigating cultural tributaries.
Nice to see Jon Polito (Enrico Banducci).
And Mr. Terence Stamp (John Canaday).
Lies.
Nothing but lies.
Desperate for the prestige yet unable to qualify its conviction.
In terms of actually creating his own texts.
Margaret Keane (Amy Adams) produces them regularly, changing and growing over time, a specific insight blossoming in the bower, dedicated, talented, active.
Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz) sells them as his own.
The critical art versus kitsch continuum actualizes the scene as recognition leads to expansion, as opportunity pluralizes the popular.
Do what you do well I say.
If Margaret had wanted to stay in the background, the situation would have been perfect, a fortune made, the strengths of both partners flourishing, a pool, a house, mutual agreement, not bad, if it's agreed upon beforehand, and artfully managed with subtle praiseworthy comments here and there, in various conversations, socially constructing a contradictory narrative, intriguing in its gentile playfulness, if time changes the nature of the agreement, and credit need be applied where credit's due.
No such agreements.
No such amendments.
Don't freak when the critics don't like you.
There are myriad critics, myriad points of view, myriad methodologies, myriad revelations, extract relevant insights that can help you grow from those who aren't malicious, pretend like it's all nonsense, onwards.
This is where liking sports comes in handy.
In the NFL, you can be one of the greatest players of all time, but you'll still be torn up if you have a bad game, you can't let it get to you, the opposition's fierce, prepare for the next game, let it go, let it go.
Walter turns out to be incorrigible, trying to take all the credit for his wife's work, but she embodies true integrity, leaves the luxury behind, and starts from scratch again.
I liked the film and was impressed that Tim Burton wasn't directing another remake.
I think he still has another Beetlejuice within, I watched it again recently, I love that film.
Like Margaret's work, Big Eyes is accessible and witty, charmingly plucking its heartstrings, multidimensionally navigating cultural tributaries.
Nice to see Jon Polito (Enrico Banducci).
And Mr. Terence Stamp (John Canaday).
Friday, January 2, 2015
The Man in the White Suit
There's a timeless quality to Alexander Mackendrick's The Man in the White Suit(1951).
Its examination of capital and labour faced with the advance of progress has transferrable applications for any historical epoch.
It's fun to watch too.
A scientist within, Sidney Stratton (Alec Guinness), takes constant risks to develop an indestructible cloth that can't be stained, thereby revolutionizing the textile industry.
The owner of the company he works for is initially impressed, until his competitors note that Stratton's breakthrough will put them out of business, costing the British economy thousands of jobs.
It's a control issue.
Labour hears the news as well and recognizes their precarious position within the new marketable leap forward.
Heads contentiously clash until labour and capital realize they seek the same ends, proceeding thereafter to suppress Mr. Stratton as he tries to move forward with his discovery.
He doesn't realize the impacts of what he's doing until he accidentally bumps into an elderly person in the street, as he's on the run, laundry, the subject of conversation.
It's a compelling study of beginnings, of panic, in this instance, mixed with diverse voices from multiple stakeholders, and several unexpected serendipitous scintillations, the naive and the nepotists, the powerful, and the hungry.
Made me think of the Who Killed the Electric Car? film.
And baby steps.
I always thought that if you were making trillions of dollars from a non-renewable resource, you would spend some of that money on creating independent infrastructures to sustain local economies, if the resource happened to run out.
Future minded thinking.
You see this in the ways infrastructures are developing at the métro stations in Laval anyways, which are equipped with spots where you can park and rejuice your electric car.
Perhaps, as sales of electric cars (which are making a comeback), or hydrogen-fuelled vehicles, increase, petrol service stations will begin to proportionally offer a variety of services for them in order to manage profit fluctuations and keep their workforces employed.
Factories which manufacture cars fuelled by gasoline can switch to harnessing the power of electricity.
Slow moving change, linked directly to increased demand.
Rather than exclusively searching for new oil deposits, the focus could partially switch to finding new sources of electric power, in remote regions, while respecting local traditions, to supply the necessary increases in hydro-electric energy.
If the independent infrastructures are in place, the panic is slowly mitigated over time, and if you have 100 years and ample capital and labour to create them, civil unrest could be minimized.
A lot of people will still be mighty pissed-off however.
They may be upset if they find out they have cancer too.
This option could lead to a much cleaner environment.
A much healthier planet, more sustainable, in the fortunes of time.
Its examination of capital and labour faced with the advance of progress has transferrable applications for any historical epoch.
It's fun to watch too.
A scientist within, Sidney Stratton (Alec Guinness), takes constant risks to develop an indestructible cloth that can't be stained, thereby revolutionizing the textile industry.
The owner of the company he works for is initially impressed, until his competitors note that Stratton's breakthrough will put them out of business, costing the British economy thousands of jobs.
It's a control issue.
Labour hears the news as well and recognizes their precarious position within the new marketable leap forward.
Heads contentiously clash until labour and capital realize they seek the same ends, proceeding thereafter to suppress Mr. Stratton as he tries to move forward with his discovery.
He doesn't realize the impacts of what he's doing until he accidentally bumps into an elderly person in the street, as he's on the run, laundry, the subject of conversation.
It's a compelling study of beginnings, of panic, in this instance, mixed with diverse voices from multiple stakeholders, and several unexpected serendipitous scintillations, the naive and the nepotists, the powerful, and the hungry.
Made me think of the Who Killed the Electric Car? film.
And baby steps.
I always thought that if you were making trillions of dollars from a non-renewable resource, you would spend some of that money on creating independent infrastructures to sustain local economies, if the resource happened to run out.
Future minded thinking.
You see this in the ways infrastructures are developing at the métro stations in Laval anyways, which are equipped with spots where you can park and rejuice your electric car.
Perhaps, as sales of electric cars (which are making a comeback), or hydrogen-fuelled vehicles, increase, petrol service stations will begin to proportionally offer a variety of services for them in order to manage profit fluctuations and keep their workforces employed.
Factories which manufacture cars fuelled by gasoline can switch to harnessing the power of electricity.
Slow moving change, linked directly to increased demand.
Rather than exclusively searching for new oil deposits, the focus could partially switch to finding new sources of electric power, in remote regions, while respecting local traditions, to supply the necessary increases in hydro-electric energy.
If the independent infrastructures are in place, the panic is slowly mitigated over time, and if you have 100 years and ample capital and labour to create them, civil unrest could be minimized.
A lot of people will still be mighty pissed-off however.
They may be upset if they find out they have cancer too.
This option could lead to a much cleaner environment.
A much healthier planet, more sustainable, in the fortunes of time.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Unbroken
Opposites react in Angelina Jolie's Unbroken, as true strength resiliently responds to the abject whims of contemptuous jealousy, the byproduct of feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing, a modest olympic runner's withdrawn yet irrepressible spirit unwillingly begetting torture, as a lowly pathetic subordinate seeks to cowardly assert himself.
The film's straightforward, a solid accessible account of wartime atrocities unpretentiously layered with both camaraderie amidst suffering and religious sentiment to feature forgiving frequencies while vilifying the wicked.
I find thinking about forgiveness as opposed to revenge leads to peace of mind, you just have to watch out for people who exploit the forgiving for their own ends, and approach each situation on a case by case basis.
I thought the film progressed well, smoothly using the flashback to build character in the beginning, finding ways to keep the narrative flowing while plane wreck survivors are lost at sea, accentuating the terrors of war, lauding independence in the face of brutality.
It's perhaps 15 minutes too long, perhaps because they were truthfully following the actual events of the story, the best scene still coming near the end, stronger minor character development in the last 45 minutes would have worked to its advantage.
That seems to be the way many films are set up, the hero, the villain, no devil in the details, centralized contained conflict.
Information networks have already been established within the POW camp when Louis Zamperini (Jack O'Connell), the Torrance Tornado, arrives, and the film doesn't focus on escape.
They are located near Tokyo which would have made escape somewhat futile.
If not commanding in its absurdity.
The film's straightforward, a solid accessible account of wartime atrocities unpretentiously layered with both camaraderie amidst suffering and religious sentiment to feature forgiving frequencies while vilifying the wicked.
I find thinking about forgiveness as opposed to revenge leads to peace of mind, you just have to watch out for people who exploit the forgiving for their own ends, and approach each situation on a case by case basis.
I thought the film progressed well, smoothly using the flashback to build character in the beginning, finding ways to keep the narrative flowing while plane wreck survivors are lost at sea, accentuating the terrors of war, lauding independence in the face of brutality.
It's perhaps 15 minutes too long, perhaps because they were truthfully following the actual events of the story, the best scene still coming near the end, stronger minor character development in the last 45 minutes would have worked to its advantage.
That seems to be the way many films are set up, the hero, the villain, no devil in the details, centralized contained conflict.
Information networks have already been established within the POW camp when Louis Zamperini (Jack O'Connell), the Torrance Tornado, arrives, and the film doesn't focus on escape.
They are located near Tokyo which would have made escape somewhat futile.
If not commanding in its absurdity.
Friday, December 26, 2014
Foxcatcher
The regalia of dedication and commitment, the steps to take, one by one, routines, platforms, workouts, sparring, success breeding opportunity introducing patronage, competing forms of professional logistics, an olympic gold medal winner is given the chance to train with one of the wealthiest men in America, as opposed to his fellow olympic gold winning average joe heart-of-gold brother, difference embraced, independence, appreciated, yet the accompanying affluence and opulent caprice problematize traditional approaches, leading to profound psychological disturbances, as he is disciplined and punished, for adopting the regimen foolishly implemented by his surrogate father.
Who loves wrestling, but, unlike Mark Schultz's (Channing Tatum) brother, knows little about the art of coaching.
Balance, order, masters, servants.
His brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) is confident and rational, aware of his exceptional strengths, and not willing to be toyed with.
The frustrated worker who moves up too quickly, the successful middle-class force, and the spoiled oligarch then proceed to battle wits in a repressive atmosphere which Dave doesn't fully comprehend as he follows the strategy that has lead to his extraordinary accomplishments.
Form and content unite in Bennett Miller's Foxcatcher to restrainedly grapple with differing varieties of freedom.
Psychologies of the gods.
Lamenting luxurious liabilities.
Casting by Jeanne McCarthy.
Who loves wrestling, but, unlike Mark Schultz's (Channing Tatum) brother, knows little about the art of coaching.
Balance, order, masters, servants.
His brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) is confident and rational, aware of his exceptional strengths, and not willing to be toyed with.
The frustrated worker who moves up too quickly, the successful middle-class force, and the spoiled oligarch then proceed to battle wits in a repressive atmosphere which Dave doesn't fully comprehend as he follows the strategy that has lead to his extraordinary accomplishments.
Form and content unite in Bennett Miller's Foxcatcher to restrainedly grapple with differing varieties of freedom.
Psychologies of the gods.
Lamenting luxurious liabilities.
Casting by Jeanne McCarthy.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies
They squeezed many a film out of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit, and I loved going to see them all, none of them blowing me away like Star Wars or that cartoon I happened to see on television during a blizzard when I was like 6, but I am much older now, and tend to be blown away by different types of narratives.
Greed is the sin dominating The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, as Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) succumbs to dragon sickness and refuses to share his gold with others.
Others who sheltered him.
Others who protected him.
A delirious dream sequence brings him back to his senses and team Thorin joins the battle, the battle that dominates most of the film, it's a cool battle I guess, the fifth army still indisputably my favourite, as it was watching the cartoon as a child, this time with werebear accompaniment, brilliant move, even if Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt) didn't figure prominently in the action.
The film also productively deals with the unfortunate hardships facing the people of Esgaroth, as they struggle with their new situation, food, organization, lodging, required and sought after, possessing few if any possessions, a leader emerges amongst them.
Other strong features include Tauriel's (Evangeline Lilly) multiple appearances, Bilbo (Martin Freeman), feisty as ever, the focus on teamwork, albeit begrudging teamwork, and concepts like loyalty and honour, mischievously played with as egos clash and contend, which seems to always happen in these films.
But really, why did we have to see so much Alfrid Lickspittle (Ryan Gage)? He's like the worst character.
In battle, why doesn't Gandalf (Ian McKellen) cast more spells? Wouldn't that ease up the pressure a bit?
Who let Lee Pace (Thranduil) get away with that performance?
So much drama, so much pettiness, so much angst, so much fighting.
Quinctilius Varus, where are my eagles!?
Loved the Bard (Luke Evans).
Star Wars starts up again next Holiday Season.
Greed is the sin dominating The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, as Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) succumbs to dragon sickness and refuses to share his gold with others.
Others who sheltered him.
Others who protected him.
A delirious dream sequence brings him back to his senses and team Thorin joins the battle, the battle that dominates most of the film, it's a cool battle I guess, the fifth army still indisputably my favourite, as it was watching the cartoon as a child, this time with werebear accompaniment, brilliant move, even if Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt) didn't figure prominently in the action.
The film also productively deals with the unfortunate hardships facing the people of Esgaroth, as they struggle with their new situation, food, organization, lodging, required and sought after, possessing few if any possessions, a leader emerges amongst them.
Other strong features include Tauriel's (Evangeline Lilly) multiple appearances, Bilbo (Martin Freeman), feisty as ever, the focus on teamwork, albeit begrudging teamwork, and concepts like loyalty and honour, mischievously played with as egos clash and contend, which seems to always happen in these films.
But really, why did we have to see so much Alfrid Lickspittle (Ryan Gage)? He's like the worst character.
In battle, why doesn't Gandalf (Ian McKellen) cast more spells? Wouldn't that ease up the pressure a bit?
Who let Lee Pace (Thranduil) get away with that performance?
So much drama, so much pettiness, so much angst, so much fighting.
Quinctilius Varus, where are my eagles!?
Loved the Bard (Luke Evans).
Star Wars starts up again next Holiday Season.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Congcong Nanian (Back in Time)
Hard luck high school communist romance takes centre stage in Yibai Zhang's Congcong Nanian (Back in Time), five friends, hormonal hearts throbbing, social revelations pressurizing, a tender look back at innocent desires, the magnification of seemingly insignificant events not so insignificant in terms of personal depth and growth, their affects shockingly uplifting and bewilderingly entertained, courage forging a psychological frame of reference within the young psyches, its creation confusing in its definition and covetous of supplementary material, subsequent dreamlike narratives searching for these definitive moments, their emotional mechanics insulating the eternal in a resounding depiction of bliss, youthfully sustained, through the passing of the years.
I think the trick is not to think, "oh, it was so much better back then," but to think, "that was amazing, what I'm doing now is alright too, and the future looks good as well."
The friends have to learn to cope with unfortunate disruptions in their unpredictable routines as they leave high school to pursue different goals, and the world opens up with unforeseen temptations.
The film's a fun exploration of relationships and love, maddeningly elevating foundational convivialities, naivety descending into revenge and horror, with a celebration of the good old days, and redemption in the end.
I kept wondering about restrictions on filmmaking in China while watching as government propaganda repeatedly and hilariously popped-up throughout.
There are a bunch of great communal shots, visually emphasizing the benefits of teamwork.
But I was wondering if government film making restrictions were too harsh to nurture the development of a young Chinese Jean-Luc Godard, which would be a shame, considering how much Godard has done for France.
Basketball has the green light.
I have faith that these restrictions may loosen up a bit, as the middle class continues to prosper, because after I had these thoughts, characters from the film wound up in Paris, a good sign for me anyways, and perhaps, for the future of Chinese filmmaking.
I did like Congcong Nanian, I'm just thinking, there are 1.? billion people in China, and the economy is rapidly expanding, the potential for previously unconsidered revolutionary developments in filmmaking are limitless, especially if the censors become hip to alternative forms of expression.
Not simply who can make the most explosive violent films.
But who can make the most thought provoking intellectually accessible poetic reflections on issues of universal humanistic resiliencies, poignant in their multilayered insights, developing an exceptional Chinese filmic frame of reference, to grow and develop over time.
Perhaps it's already there, I don't see many films from China.
If it's not, trying studying what they've done in Québec.
They are making it working here.
I think the trick is not to think, "oh, it was so much better back then," but to think, "that was amazing, what I'm doing now is alright too, and the future looks good as well."
The friends have to learn to cope with unfortunate disruptions in their unpredictable routines as they leave high school to pursue different goals, and the world opens up with unforeseen temptations.
The film's a fun exploration of relationships and love, maddeningly elevating foundational convivialities, naivety descending into revenge and horror, with a celebration of the good old days, and redemption in the end.
I kept wondering about restrictions on filmmaking in China while watching as government propaganda repeatedly and hilariously popped-up throughout.
There are a bunch of great communal shots, visually emphasizing the benefits of teamwork.
But I was wondering if government film making restrictions were too harsh to nurture the development of a young Chinese Jean-Luc Godard, which would be a shame, considering how much Godard has done for France.
Basketball has the green light.
I have faith that these restrictions may loosen up a bit, as the middle class continues to prosper, because after I had these thoughts, characters from the film wound up in Paris, a good sign for me anyways, and perhaps, for the future of Chinese filmmaking.
I did like Congcong Nanian, I'm just thinking, there are 1.? billion people in China, and the economy is rapidly expanding, the potential for previously unconsidered revolutionary developments in filmmaking are limitless, especially if the censors become hip to alternative forms of expression.
Not simply who can make the most explosive violent films.
But who can make the most thought provoking intellectually accessible poetic reflections on issues of universal humanistic resiliencies, poignant in their multilayered insights, developing an exceptional Chinese filmic frame of reference, to grow and develop over time.
Perhaps it's already there, I don't see many films from China.
If it's not, trying studying what they've done in Québec.
They are making it working here.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Exodus: Gods and Kings
There are so many problems with this movie.
Huge, huge big budget screw up.
It's crafted like you're supposed to like it, like its implausible encounters, flat conversations, mediocre foreshadowings, and tawdry special effects are so infallible that you'll love them because they're attached to a well known biblical story, and not to love them, is to critique that story itself.
The bible deserves better than this.
Scientists are directly critiqued as are advocates of global warming as scientific explanations are delivered for a series of God's plagues, which continue to harass the Egyptians because they obviously can't stop them because in the context of the film they're caused by God.
Homosexuals are treated disgustingly and violently, undoubtably to fuel anti-Gay marriage initiatives, but also to congratulate homophobic bullies, as if segregating and victimizing a group of people is okay, in a film about freeing the oppressed, thoroughly and disgracefully revolting.
Of course the gay character occupies a position of power which he exploits for personal gain, making it difficult to critique what happens to him.
But it's odd that apart from Nun (Ben Kingsley) he's the only minor character to have multiple one-dimensional lines stretching across the film, drawing attention to him throughout, so that we can be sure it's him when death comes calling.
There's no character development in Exodus: Gods and Kings apart from Moses (Christian Bale) and Ramses (Joel Edgerton) who bromantically duel par excellence as fate divides them from their fraternal longings.
It's far too focused on the central characters, I don't care if one of them is Moses, you need secondary levels of strong character development to support primary exchanges, not just the odd subservient line thrown in here and there.
This also creates deep complementary layers of productively dialectic action.
Too top heavy.
Oddly, an Egyptian tells a prophecy and it comes true, thereby validating pagan practices which if I'm not mistaken are unjustifiable if there is only one true God.
Moses is a reasonable man and I would have liked his character if every scene he was in wasn't short and to the point, Ridley Scott even just tacks on the ten commandments like they're a box to check on a spiritual grocer's list, the short perfunctory scene disrespectful of their monumental importance, to be sure.
Doing too much in too short a period of time, and the film's 150 minutes long, an agonizing 2.5 hours, constantly moving forward while cumbersomely dragging its ostentatious feet.
In a film about freeing slaves the only characters they develop, and it's not like they're developed that well, are individual rulers with dictatorial powers.
This is okay in the context of the film for Moses, for he is just, but bad for Ramses, because he is not.
Ramses even survives when the Red Sea drowns his army, standing alone on the opposite shore to Moses, like they're trying to set up a sequel.
Give me The Ten Commandments over this film any day.
The Exodus action film; I'm surprised Ramses and Moses didn't start fighting with the Red Sea closing in.
It's like they're indirectly critiquing Gods and Kings by spending so much money on such a piece of crap.
For shame.
Huge, huge big budget screw up.
It's crafted like you're supposed to like it, like its implausible encounters, flat conversations, mediocre foreshadowings, and tawdry special effects are so infallible that you'll love them because they're attached to a well known biblical story, and not to love them, is to critique that story itself.
The bible deserves better than this.
Scientists are directly critiqued as are advocates of global warming as scientific explanations are delivered for a series of God's plagues, which continue to harass the Egyptians because they obviously can't stop them because in the context of the film they're caused by God.
Homosexuals are treated disgustingly and violently, undoubtably to fuel anti-Gay marriage initiatives, but also to congratulate homophobic bullies, as if segregating and victimizing a group of people is okay, in a film about freeing the oppressed, thoroughly and disgracefully revolting.
Of course the gay character occupies a position of power which he exploits for personal gain, making it difficult to critique what happens to him.
But it's odd that apart from Nun (Ben Kingsley) he's the only minor character to have multiple one-dimensional lines stretching across the film, drawing attention to him throughout, so that we can be sure it's him when death comes calling.
There's no character development in Exodus: Gods and Kings apart from Moses (Christian Bale) and Ramses (Joel Edgerton) who bromantically duel par excellence as fate divides them from their fraternal longings.
It's far too focused on the central characters, I don't care if one of them is Moses, you need secondary levels of strong character development to support primary exchanges, not just the odd subservient line thrown in here and there.
This also creates deep complementary layers of productively dialectic action.
Too top heavy.
Oddly, an Egyptian tells a prophecy and it comes true, thereby validating pagan practices which if I'm not mistaken are unjustifiable if there is only one true God.
Moses is a reasonable man and I would have liked his character if every scene he was in wasn't short and to the point, Ridley Scott even just tacks on the ten commandments like they're a box to check on a spiritual grocer's list, the short perfunctory scene disrespectful of their monumental importance, to be sure.
Doing too much in too short a period of time, and the film's 150 minutes long, an agonizing 2.5 hours, constantly moving forward while cumbersomely dragging its ostentatious feet.
In a film about freeing slaves the only characters they develop, and it's not like they're developed that well, are individual rulers with dictatorial powers.
This is okay in the context of the film for Moses, for he is just, but bad for Ramses, because he is not.
Ramses even survives when the Red Sea drowns his army, standing alone on the opposite shore to Moses, like they're trying to set up a sequel.
Give me The Ten Commandments over this film any day.
The Exodus action film; I'm surprised Ramses and Moses didn't start fighting with the Red Sea closing in.
It's like they're indirectly critiquing Gods and Kings by spending so much money on such a piece of crap.
For shame.
Friday, December 12, 2014
The Homesman
The callous and the cavalier, upstanding non-traditional direct and driven, courage, at home, with faith in the Lord, Mary Bee Cuddy (Hilary Swank) accepts a challenge, a calling, to save the souls of three hopeless wives, whom stark privation has psychologically deranged, longing for bygone days, the future, The Homesman's depiction of frontier life generally lacks the overdone resilience of pioneering spirits, brutal realities aggregating impoverished still born dreams like despondent cynical destitute waves of bustling bitter contempt, Cuddy stands out, having endured and overcome social and natural hardships, strength, vision, fortitude, the product of her religious necessity, assignments, iron clad dues.
She seeks a man.
And discovers one.
He tragically arrives, windswept and woebegone, worldly and weathered thick and thin wits having left him in need of assistance, yet capable of repaying a debt, still too in/transigent to lay back and cuddle, too independent, too mad.
A team.
They forge a team and set out across the prairie to do the Lord's work, his knowledge pertinent and bound, still too mired in misfortune, to recognize eternal signs of beauty.
It's a lesson in harsh patriarchal limits ignoring sound opportunities based on preconditioned ideas the absurdities of which are sorrowfully conceptualized.
No matter what the age, no matter what the station.
Sadness.
Loneliness.
There is redemption in excess which only exacerbates the age.
Time is built into the script like cold hearted bone.
Bleak but well done accept for the editing at points and the occasional scene which could have used a few more takes.
Nice to see Barry Corbin (Buster Shaver).
She seeks a man.
And discovers one.
He tragically arrives, windswept and woebegone, worldly and weathered thick and thin wits having left him in need of assistance, yet capable of repaying a debt, still too in/transigent to lay back and cuddle, too independent, too mad.
A team.
They forge a team and set out across the prairie to do the Lord's work, his knowledge pertinent and bound, still too mired in misfortune, to recognize eternal signs of beauty.
It's a lesson in harsh patriarchal limits ignoring sound opportunities based on preconditioned ideas the absurdities of which are sorrowfully conceptualized.
No matter what the age, no matter what the station.
Sadness.
Loneliness.
There is redemption in excess which only exacerbates the age.
Time is built into the script like cold hearted bone.
Bleak but well done accept for the editing at points and the occasional scene which could have used a few more takes.
Nice to see Barry Corbin (Buster Shaver).
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Bird People
This one's sneaky.
About halfway through, as Gary (Josh Charles) decides to abandon his responsibilities, I was thinking, "okay, this would make a much better novel, I need to know what this character is thinking, why is he acting this way, apart from the panic attack, more detail, more psychology, without said value-added information, this film's becoming desolate, I have no reason to sympathize with him, no reason, to care."
I thought the film was awful but there were signs that director Pascale Ferran wanted me to think this, a number of shots, including one of Audrey (Anaïs Demoustier) standing by a window, which seemed like extraordinarily well captured moments of unconcerned bubble-gum bliss, like ads for soap or candy bars but exceptionally well done, bearing artistic imprints, working with the content, their exceptional qualities tenderly embracing the beautiful, finding art in lives where banalities pervade, revelations, serendipities, flowing with the material while subtly standing out, making a statement without suggesting anything, banality dematerialized, the life hidden within surfacing, rejoicing.
Then there's this, what?, are writers Ferran and Guillaume Bréaud on acid?, switch, which seems ridiculous and totally out of place at first, but then, as the subsequent action progresses, it's like this is incredibly beautiful, so much fun to watch, to take part in, logic and preparation be damned this is one of the coolest surprises I've seen in a film in years, joyous while remaining vigilant (there's a cat), so glad I didn't walk out, you can see why it's playing at Cinéma EXCƎNTRIS.
Patient, delicate, exploratory, curious, a continuation of the voyeuristic theme that doesn't seem intrusive or flighty.
It's a very cheeky film yet illuminatingly subtle, Ferran playing with her audience, setting it free from predictable preconditioned patterns of observation, tempting it to embrace something new, a soothing transformative catalystic swoon, the art of mesmerizing, discourses of the beautiful.
About halfway through, as Gary (Josh Charles) decides to abandon his responsibilities, I was thinking, "okay, this would make a much better novel, I need to know what this character is thinking, why is he acting this way, apart from the panic attack, more detail, more psychology, without said value-added information, this film's becoming desolate, I have no reason to sympathize with him, no reason, to care."
I thought the film was awful but there were signs that director Pascale Ferran wanted me to think this, a number of shots, including one of Audrey (Anaïs Demoustier) standing by a window, which seemed like extraordinarily well captured moments of unconcerned bubble-gum bliss, like ads for soap or candy bars but exceptionally well done, bearing artistic imprints, working with the content, their exceptional qualities tenderly embracing the beautiful, finding art in lives where banalities pervade, revelations, serendipities, flowing with the material while subtly standing out, making a statement without suggesting anything, banality dematerialized, the life hidden within surfacing, rejoicing.
Then there's this, what?, are writers Ferran and Guillaume Bréaud on acid?, switch, which seems ridiculous and totally out of place at first, but then, as the subsequent action progresses, it's like this is incredibly beautiful, so much fun to watch, to take part in, logic and preparation be damned this is one of the coolest surprises I've seen in a film in years, joyous while remaining vigilant (there's a cat), so glad I didn't walk out, you can see why it's playing at Cinéma EXCƎNTRIS.
Patient, delicate, exploratory, curious, a continuation of the voyeuristic theme that doesn't seem intrusive or flighty.
It's a very cheeky film yet illuminatingly subtle, Ferran playing with her audience, setting it free from predictable preconditioned patterns of observation, tempting it to embrace something new, a soothing transformative catalystic swoon, the art of mesmerizing, discourses of the beautiful.
Friday, December 5, 2014
Citizenfour
I always found it odd that suddenly there was this relatively free electronic network that I could use to communicate with others, read the news, shop, bank, play games, book tickets, do practically anything I wanted to do, sitting at home, using my computer.
I understand next to nothing about how it was constructed yet eventually started using it so much that I found it was an integrated inextricable part of my life, an unprecedented development, I started to think we were living in the luckiest moment in human history, and still sometimes can't believe our good fortune, although reservations began to settle in a while back.
With most of my life up online, it began to occur to me that this information could be manipulated in the wrong hands, and used for some bizarre counterproductive purpose, the likes of which never really occurs to me, I don't see why that would happen, I do watch a lot of movies though, the possibility of which still subconsciously disturbs me, however, in the background, at times.
But I figured, whatevs, I live in North America.
I'm Canadian, we have rights, a Charter of Rights and Freedoms, guarantees that you can speak freely, discuss things rationally, irrationally, criticize things as you see fit, without having to worry about being watched or going to prison.
Freedom of movement, equal opportunity, public libraries, freedoms to gather, all of these things that we didn't have hundreds of years ago but have now because previous generations fought for and created them so that our lives could be somewhat more free.
Citizenfour chronicles how the American government has access to all kinds of private information shared between electronic devices and how it can illegally use that information to potentially imprison you for speaking freely about some kind of oppressive instance which at one time would have been the subject of a riveting public debate.
There's no escaping it.
I don't see how you can stop this.
Law enforcement officials are supposed to need warrants to search your private information.
It shouldn't be available to them 24/7 because some lunatics launched the 9/11 attacks.
But it seems like that was the reason why the internet was suddenly available for free for everyone, or at least part of the explanation, giving law enforcement agencies the power to bypass constitutional rights to privacy, on Obama's watch, so that they can access a fluid, hip, integrated police state, your entire life available to the authorities, shimmering in the ether, billowing in the cloud.
Snowden's account of what can be known about someone based upon their online footprint is astounding.
Movements predicted, potential conversations held at specific points, expected patterns of behaviour, etc., I got used to the potential for this a long time ago, figuring it was a possible hazard for anyone who writes about politics, but still wish it weren't so, not an easy thing to get used to.
Snowden risked everything to expose abuses of power by the American authorities which bypass constitutional rights to privacy so that everything Americans do can be monitored and scrutinized.
He didn't just suddenly make the information available online, but worked with reporters like Glenn Greenwald to slowly reveal the truth about the illegal activities that have been sanctioned for years.
He should be welcomed back to the United States as a champion of individual and collective rights and freedoms, and we shouldn't have to wait 30 years to see this happen.
A truly exceptional individual.
What an American.
I understand next to nothing about how it was constructed yet eventually started using it so much that I found it was an integrated inextricable part of my life, an unprecedented development, I started to think we were living in the luckiest moment in human history, and still sometimes can't believe our good fortune, although reservations began to settle in a while back.
With most of my life up online, it began to occur to me that this information could be manipulated in the wrong hands, and used for some bizarre counterproductive purpose, the likes of which never really occurs to me, I don't see why that would happen, I do watch a lot of movies though, the possibility of which still subconsciously disturbs me, however, in the background, at times.
But I figured, whatevs, I live in North America.
I'm Canadian, we have rights, a Charter of Rights and Freedoms, guarantees that you can speak freely, discuss things rationally, irrationally, criticize things as you see fit, without having to worry about being watched or going to prison.
Freedom of movement, equal opportunity, public libraries, freedoms to gather, all of these things that we didn't have hundreds of years ago but have now because previous generations fought for and created them so that our lives could be somewhat more free.
Citizenfour chronicles how the American government has access to all kinds of private information shared between electronic devices and how it can illegally use that information to potentially imprison you for speaking freely about some kind of oppressive instance which at one time would have been the subject of a riveting public debate.
There's no escaping it.
I don't see how you can stop this.
Law enforcement officials are supposed to need warrants to search your private information.
It shouldn't be available to them 24/7 because some lunatics launched the 9/11 attacks.
But it seems like that was the reason why the internet was suddenly available for free for everyone, or at least part of the explanation, giving law enforcement agencies the power to bypass constitutional rights to privacy, on Obama's watch, so that they can access a fluid, hip, integrated police state, your entire life available to the authorities, shimmering in the ether, billowing in the cloud.
Snowden's account of what can be known about someone based upon their online footprint is astounding.
Movements predicted, potential conversations held at specific points, expected patterns of behaviour, etc., I got used to the potential for this a long time ago, figuring it was a possible hazard for anyone who writes about politics, but still wish it weren't so, not an easy thing to get used to.
Snowden risked everything to expose abuses of power by the American authorities which bypass constitutional rights to privacy so that everything Americans do can be monitored and scrutinized.
He didn't just suddenly make the information available online, but worked with reporters like Glenn Greenwald to slowly reveal the truth about the illegal activities that have been sanctioned for years.
He should be welcomed back to the United States as a champion of individual and collective rights and freedoms, and we shouldn't have to wait 30 years to see this happen.
A truly exceptional individual.
What an American.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
The Theory of Everything
I think Stephen Hawking deserves better than this film.
Providing someone who made a unique globally recognized contribution to the study of physics with something as obvious as this, is unfortunate, in my opinion.
Hawking (Eddie Redmayne) meets his future wife Jane (Felicity Jones) in the opening scene, there's no build up or potentially disrupting frenzy induced courtship kerfuffles, it's just, oh, they meet in the opening scene, and it's obvious they're going to get married, and other obvious things keep happening, like 2+2=4, more obvious than that even.
There is the illness.
Hawking struggles with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis throughout, but in terms of dissertation production or locking-down his true love, or having an illustrious career, there's no struggle, the best possible things keep happening, and it's like he never had to make any effort; there must have been effort; there must have been sacrifice.
A struggle, something to break up this crystal clear laundry list of exceptional and deserved preeminence, the film's like hugging your favourite teddy bear, Hawking isn't a teddy bear, he's bad ass, as he's demonstrated over the years with appearances on shows such as The Simpsons, Star Trek: The Next Generation, and The Big Bang Theory, indubitably.
Okay, there's a bit of a bad ass dimension in The Theory of Everything, and this is a feel good tribute to a remarkable person, whose comic spirit and extraordinary tact created ground breaking works, which, I'm assuming revolutionized the study of black holes.
It's not a cheeky mouthy neat unconcerned flip take on the life of a brilliant physicist.
But you can still express both bad assness and wholesome amicability without being cheek or flip, a shot of Hawking watching Black Belt Jones for instance, mixed in with a discussion with a student about Žižek, substituting actual moments from his life for these examples, and keeping them coming throughout the entire duration of the film.
Perhaps he loves bears, who knows, you don't get the details in this script, it's too general, too focused on achievements, and marital milestones, the big picture, lacking the subtle intricate fragments that hold that big picture together.
I don't really think there's some kind of unifying equation out there that can define and delineate everything, but I do think the potential for limitless expansion exists as time progresses.
I used to wonder about the Metrons on Star Trek: The Original Series (honestly, Star Trek isn't in this movie?) and how they managed to reach a higher plane of existence than the crew of the Starship Enterprise.
I theorized that reaching that plane required a universal understanding of a single idea, I've probably mentioned this before, consciously, whereby everyone on the planet thinks the same thing at the same time, at random, something beautiful, like bear cubs playing or homemade blueberry pie, thereby unlocking the door to an expanded collective Metronesque consciousness, everyone transforming into a spiritualized immaterial consciousness at once, like particles of light, or reticent radiation.
Not really the kind of idea you want to put into practice due to associated expenses built in to its potential quackery.
How can humanity become more like the Metrons though?, that is a compelling question.
Where's the Star Trek?
Some sort of whacky black hole discussion in relation to underground science-fiction agendas.
Marriage, marriage, marriage.
Boring.
Providing someone who made a unique globally recognized contribution to the study of physics with something as obvious as this, is unfortunate, in my opinion.
Hawking (Eddie Redmayne) meets his future wife Jane (Felicity Jones) in the opening scene, there's no build up or potentially disrupting frenzy induced courtship kerfuffles, it's just, oh, they meet in the opening scene, and it's obvious they're going to get married, and other obvious things keep happening, like 2+2=4, more obvious than that even.
There is the illness.
Hawking struggles with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis throughout, but in terms of dissertation production or locking-down his true love, or having an illustrious career, there's no struggle, the best possible things keep happening, and it's like he never had to make any effort; there must have been effort; there must have been sacrifice.
A struggle, something to break up this crystal clear laundry list of exceptional and deserved preeminence, the film's like hugging your favourite teddy bear, Hawking isn't a teddy bear, he's bad ass, as he's demonstrated over the years with appearances on shows such as The Simpsons, Star Trek: The Next Generation, and The Big Bang Theory, indubitably.
Okay, there's a bit of a bad ass dimension in The Theory of Everything, and this is a feel good tribute to a remarkable person, whose comic spirit and extraordinary tact created ground breaking works, which, I'm assuming revolutionized the study of black holes.
It's not a cheeky mouthy neat unconcerned flip take on the life of a brilliant physicist.
But you can still express both bad assness and wholesome amicability without being cheek or flip, a shot of Hawking watching Black Belt Jones for instance, mixed in with a discussion with a student about Žižek, substituting actual moments from his life for these examples, and keeping them coming throughout the entire duration of the film.
Perhaps he loves bears, who knows, you don't get the details in this script, it's too general, too focused on achievements, and marital milestones, the big picture, lacking the subtle intricate fragments that hold that big picture together.
I don't really think there's some kind of unifying equation out there that can define and delineate everything, but I do think the potential for limitless expansion exists as time progresses.
I used to wonder about the Metrons on Star Trek: The Original Series (honestly, Star Trek isn't in this movie?) and how they managed to reach a higher plane of existence than the crew of the Starship Enterprise.
I theorized that reaching that plane required a universal understanding of a single idea, I've probably mentioned this before, consciously, whereby everyone on the planet thinks the same thing at the same time, at random, something beautiful, like bear cubs playing or homemade blueberry pie, thereby unlocking the door to an expanded collective Metronesque consciousness, everyone transforming into a spiritualized immaterial consciousness at once, like particles of light, or reticent radiation.
Not really the kind of idea you want to put into practice due to associated expenses built in to its potential quackery.
How can humanity become more like the Metrons though?, that is a compelling question.
Where's the Star Trek?
Some sort of whacky black hole discussion in relation to underground science-fiction agendas.
Marriage, marriage, marriage.
Boring.
Friday, November 28, 2014
The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 1
The Hunger Games return, and President Snow's (Donald Sutherland) grip on his domain loosens as he attempts to augment his stranglehold.
Revolt is in full swing and the people who have nothing are risking their lives to dismantle his order of things.
But they're disorganized, in need of both a communications network to coordinate their freedom fighting and a voice to articulate their common goals.
So they can combat Snow's minions as one.
Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) must decide if she can provide the people with that voice, with that superhuman strength which will give them the courage to persevere.
To sacrifice.
Her situation is extreme.
A tyrannical program of terror has been suffocating free speech and universal human rights for 75 years within her realm, forcing people to work excruciatingly long hours for nothing, at gun point, leaving them with no time to spend with their families, using media to convince them such practices are divine.
Showing off the wealth.
Murdering those who protest.
Mockingjay - Part 1 is bleak but how could it be otherwise?
It's about an unwilling leader coming to terms with their accidental heroism while living underground and fighting an overwhelmingly powerful enemy.
There's no cream or sugar.
No solace.
It still illustrates the end game of tyrannical political programs and the hopeless situation within which its proponents hope to enslave their opposition, who then have no hope but to spend practically every hour of the day working, so they can come home at night and crack open a can of beans, and then watch luxurious images of excess on their television screens.
Mockingjay even shows how the opposition creates propaganda to fight back, calling it propaganda, something I never thought I'd see in a mass produced American film.
Its politics remind me of those from the South Africa Nelson Mandela describes in Long Walk to Freedom, without the focus on race.
How people can treat other people with such disgust makes no sense.
I often think there's a different bible, one where Jesus chills with the rich and viciously punishes the poor for being lazy.
This would explain why tyrannical leaders sometimes seriously promote religion while prominently catering to the interests of the highest bidder.
Balance is the key.
Again, countries like Norway and Sweden seem to have found a working balance, a secular form of Christianity, where the wealthy can still have lots of shiny things and the poor don't have to ingratiatingly prostrate themselves.
Canada's quite a wealthy country as well.
We used to be a leader on the world stage.
Embracing patriarchal buffoonery isn't novel, it's been around a long long time.
The potentiality is built in to postmodern frameworks.
But such frameworks also support countless more cohesive cultural alternatives.
Back to the film, I would have ended it as soon as Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) was overcome.
It is Part 1, and didn't require its own specific ending.
They must have debated that.
Revolt is in full swing and the people who have nothing are risking their lives to dismantle his order of things.
But they're disorganized, in need of both a communications network to coordinate their freedom fighting and a voice to articulate their common goals.
So they can combat Snow's minions as one.
Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) must decide if she can provide the people with that voice, with that superhuman strength which will give them the courage to persevere.
To sacrifice.
Her situation is extreme.
A tyrannical program of terror has been suffocating free speech and universal human rights for 75 years within her realm, forcing people to work excruciatingly long hours for nothing, at gun point, leaving them with no time to spend with their families, using media to convince them such practices are divine.
Showing off the wealth.
Murdering those who protest.
Mockingjay - Part 1 is bleak but how could it be otherwise?
It's about an unwilling leader coming to terms with their accidental heroism while living underground and fighting an overwhelmingly powerful enemy.
There's no cream or sugar.
No solace.
It still illustrates the end game of tyrannical political programs and the hopeless situation within which its proponents hope to enslave their opposition, who then have no hope but to spend practically every hour of the day working, so they can come home at night and crack open a can of beans, and then watch luxurious images of excess on their television screens.
Mockingjay even shows how the opposition creates propaganda to fight back, calling it propaganda, something I never thought I'd see in a mass produced American film.
Its politics remind me of those from the South Africa Nelson Mandela describes in Long Walk to Freedom, without the focus on race.
How people can treat other people with such disgust makes no sense.
I often think there's a different bible, one where Jesus chills with the rich and viciously punishes the poor for being lazy.
This would explain why tyrannical leaders sometimes seriously promote religion while prominently catering to the interests of the highest bidder.
Balance is the key.
Again, countries like Norway and Sweden seem to have found a working balance, a secular form of Christianity, where the wealthy can still have lots of shiny things and the poor don't have to ingratiatingly prostrate themselves.
Canada's quite a wealthy country as well.
We used to be a leader on the world stage.
Embracing patriarchal buffoonery isn't novel, it's been around a long long time.
The potentiality is built in to postmodern frameworks.
But such frameworks also support countless more cohesive cultural alternatives.
Back to the film, I would have ended it as soon as Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) was overcome.
It is Part 1, and didn't require its own specific ending.
They must have debated that.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Diplomatie
The abominations of the Third Reich in ruins, the allies surrounding and closing in on Nazi Germany, General von Choltitz (Niels Arestrup) is tasked to obliterate Paris, ordered, commanded, focusing on its most prestigious architectural venison, to aggrandize Berlin, as it shatters, and prepares for annihilation.
But his command centre betrays him.
A Swedish consul has been watching (André Dussollier as Raoul Nordling), listening, strategically planning his alimentary counterstrikes, voyeuristic rhetoric, announced, risked, deployed.
Competing ethical disciplinary conceptions argumentatively converse, the fate of one of the world's most cherished cities hanging in the balance, militaristic and magnanimous aesthetics desperately franchising disparate souvenirs, time has run out, every syllable must be weighted and choreographed, quickly, rapidly, while seeming logical and scientific, prolongated micropassions, iron set aflame, rigid principled adherence, to jingoistic madness, roasting on the pyre.
He must be saved.
His subordinates would lack his discretion.
Minuscule macromovements.
Abeyance in the heavens.
Diplomatie pokes and prods the cultural and the historical like saintly pensive prose, fortune, tact, and understanding, coalesced to spindle posterity.
Embattled importunate persuasion.
Sailing in the wings.
But his command centre betrays him.
A Swedish consul has been watching (André Dussollier as Raoul Nordling), listening, strategically planning his alimentary counterstrikes, voyeuristic rhetoric, announced, risked, deployed.
Competing ethical disciplinary conceptions argumentatively converse, the fate of one of the world's most cherished cities hanging in the balance, militaristic and magnanimous aesthetics desperately franchising disparate souvenirs, time has run out, every syllable must be weighted and choreographed, quickly, rapidly, while seeming logical and scientific, prolongated micropassions, iron set aflame, rigid principled adherence, to jingoistic madness, roasting on the pyre.
He must be saved.
His subordinates would lack his discretion.
Minuscule macromovements.
Abeyance in the heavens.
Diplomatie pokes and prods the cultural and the historical like saintly pensive prose, fortune, tact, and understanding, coalesced to spindle posterity.
Embattled importunate persuasion.
Sailing in the wings.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Interstellar
Times have changed, and centuries of polluting irresponsibly and unaccountably have left the Earth's soil predominantly barren, unsupportive and lifeless, the survivors carrying on, old pastimes still cherished, historical insights curiously revisited, a voice from the future, codes risen in dust, a father's love for his family, paramount, indeed to be sacrificed.
The big picture.
To do it all again, or make alternative choices.
A mission which cannot be refused.
There's no time to panic, no time, to hesitate.
It doesn't use scare tactics, Interstellar's quite reasonable, scientific.
There are options, pros and cons, we must do this, and hope there's enough time to find a solution.
Elements of the classic Western are reliably built into the script like quiescent caregiving sweet nothings, or an afterthought, a reflex, a calm level-headed proactive reflex, hindsight's compendium, temperately transitioning to science-fiction, its environments still cruel and unforgiving, and wild, with neither monsters nor civilizations, just will power and the unknown, assignments boldly navigated.
Survival.
Some wild cards are thrown into the mix which rely more heavily on the tropes of science fiction, an intergalactic clue, an explosion of self-interest, but they're skilfully intertwined, Interstellar quietly ascending in investigative baby steps, from the micro to the macro, mellowly maturing, to blow you away in the end.
I preferred Inception, and Inception's ending, but the same mix of cognitive entertaining emotive rationality still humanizes Interstellar, and its climax is as strong if not stronger, depending on which film you prefer.
Nolan suddenly creates a bucolic, like Birdman's bucolic foil, after having spent so much time in dreams and Gotham City, outstanding career move, this director is multidimensional.
It's worked into the script.
The big picture.
To do it all again, or make alternative choices.
A mission which cannot be refused.
There's no time to panic, no time, to hesitate.
It doesn't use scare tactics, Interstellar's quite reasonable, scientific.
There are options, pros and cons, we must do this, and hope there's enough time to find a solution.
Elements of the classic Western are reliably built into the script like quiescent caregiving sweet nothings, or an afterthought, a reflex, a calm level-headed proactive reflex, hindsight's compendium, temperately transitioning to science-fiction, its environments still cruel and unforgiving, and wild, with neither monsters nor civilizations, just will power and the unknown, assignments boldly navigated.
Survival.
Some wild cards are thrown into the mix which rely more heavily on the tropes of science fiction, an intergalactic clue, an explosion of self-interest, but they're skilfully intertwined, Interstellar quietly ascending in investigative baby steps, from the micro to the macro, mellowly maturing, to blow you away in the end.
I preferred Inception, and Inception's ending, but the same mix of cognitive entertaining emotive rationality still humanizes Interstellar, and its climax is as strong if not stronger, depending on which film you prefer.
Nolan suddenly creates a bucolic, like Birdman's bucolic foil, after having spent so much time in dreams and Gotham City, outstanding career move, this director is multidimensional.
It's worked into the script.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
St. Vincent
Concealed tender attachments, buried beneath a gruff miserable parched exterior, foul to the uninitiated, frozen finicky finesse, a babysitter, Bukowski shorn and shackled, providing advice, caring for the next generation, a single mother's compensation, working as duty requires, loving and trusting yet unsuspecting, situation confronted, solution, agreed upon, he will care for my child, I will work and have faith in benevolent common decency, the grip and the gristle, asserted hardboiled exactitude.
Opportunity hasn't knocked for struggling Vincent MacKenna (Bill Murray) for some time, then one day it bounds and pounces, his skills and acquired knowledge valuable once again, a sympathetic listener, there, to learn from his life's lessons.
Sleaze and pettiness have taken root over the years, but within their ornery sizzles, character and sacrifice still remain.
Bullies therefore are confronted.
Harrying fortunes assay.
I didn't think St. Vincent would be so well done, but it slowly and slyly reaps inversed inventive concessions, atlantic rapscallions, an impounded sense of goodwill and understanding, hanging on the edge, making ends meet, taking necessary risks, combusted communal curmudgeons.
It's not too cheesy, it's not too perverse.
Melissa McCarthy (Maggie Bronstein) takes a secondary role within and I thought an extended scene with her and Murray mutually fuming, both of them possibly throwing things, would have worked well.
They interact a number of times, but their encounters are too short and sweet, too openly one-sided.
Murray is fantastic though.
So's the kid (Jaeden Lieberher as Oliver).
Naomi Watts too.
Nice to see her showing up in films again.
Complex.
Opportunity hasn't knocked for struggling Vincent MacKenna (Bill Murray) for some time, then one day it bounds and pounces, his skills and acquired knowledge valuable once again, a sympathetic listener, there, to learn from his life's lessons.
Sleaze and pettiness have taken root over the years, but within their ornery sizzles, character and sacrifice still remain.
Bullies therefore are confronted.
Harrying fortunes assay.
I didn't think St. Vincent would be so well done, but it slowly and slyly reaps inversed inventive concessions, atlantic rapscallions, an impounded sense of goodwill and understanding, hanging on the edge, making ends meet, taking necessary risks, combusted communal curmudgeons.
It's not too cheesy, it's not too perverse.
Melissa McCarthy (Maggie Bronstein) takes a secondary role within and I thought an extended scene with her and Murray mutually fuming, both of them possibly throwing things, would have worked well.
They interact a number of times, but their encounters are too short and sweet, too openly one-sided.
Murray is fantastic though.
So's the kid (Jaeden Lieberher as Oliver).
Naomi Watts too.
Nice to see her showing up in films again.
Complex.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Nightcrawler
This film's way too heavy on the psycho for me.
It follows a creative innovative narcissist on his rise to the top, as he tenaciously works to excel, diligently researching his subject to gain a strategic edge, maximizing his manipulations to leverage a precise position.
A competitor recognizes his strengths and offers him opportunities which he ignores, trusting to his own professional instincts, obsequiously going at it alone.
The small fry.
The competitor winds up seriously injured.
The troubled succumb to his designs as he continuously provides them with material to advance their own interests, graphic shots of increasingly violent disturbances, communal misery, cracked and capitalized.
No ethical considerations, just raw carnal base savagery, risk, action, advantage, success.
Murder.
Films like The Talented Mr. Ripley pulled this off in the past, but they usually contained a potent ethical element, a sense that the psycho is brilliant yet deranged; Nightcrawler celebrates Louis Bloom's dementia (Jake Gyllenhaal) like it's some kind of demonic virtue, the fact that he breaks the law repeatedly while abusing unwritten professional codes more of a high-five than a diminution, a harvester of death, moribundly reaping.
Without a sense of impending doom, Nightcrawler becomes a sadistic shock-and-awe jitterbug, he obviously would have been arrested, the ending like a strychnine-laced lollipop.
Gyllenhaal's performance is strong and his confidence inspiring but it's like the rest of the world is an infantile blush, possessing no agency, after the opening moments anyways.
Too focused on the individual.
Lacking the threat of consequences.
Revelling in exploitation.
The unregulated flow of capital.
It follows a creative innovative narcissist on his rise to the top, as he tenaciously works to excel, diligently researching his subject to gain a strategic edge, maximizing his manipulations to leverage a precise position.
A competitor recognizes his strengths and offers him opportunities which he ignores, trusting to his own professional instincts, obsequiously going at it alone.
The small fry.
The competitor winds up seriously injured.
The troubled succumb to his designs as he continuously provides them with material to advance their own interests, graphic shots of increasingly violent disturbances, communal misery, cracked and capitalized.
No ethical considerations, just raw carnal base savagery, risk, action, advantage, success.
Murder.
Films like The Talented Mr. Ripley pulled this off in the past, but they usually contained a potent ethical element, a sense that the psycho is brilliant yet deranged; Nightcrawler celebrates Louis Bloom's dementia (Jake Gyllenhaal) like it's some kind of demonic virtue, the fact that he breaks the law repeatedly while abusing unwritten professional codes more of a high-five than a diminution, a harvester of death, moribundly reaping.
Without a sense of impending doom, Nightcrawler becomes a sadistic shock-and-awe jitterbug, he obviously would have been arrested, the ending like a strychnine-laced lollipop.
Gyllenhaal's performance is strong and his confidence inspiring but it's like the rest of the world is an infantile blush, possessing no agency, after the opening moments anyways.
Too focused on the individual.
Lacking the threat of consequences.
Revelling in exploitation.
The unregulated flow of capital.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Dumb and Dumber To
This film's hilarious.
They don't just concentrate on the immediate joke, rather, they breast stroke through calamitous clefts, halting their progress to consider alternative ideas, persevering to find stable solutions which help them achieve their goals, their environments providing complimentary laughs like fleeced lubricated spawn, onwards and upwards, heave, ho.
The pork chop.
Fireworks.
A train.
The drive home.
Couch fort.
In the bathroom.
A return address.
The right thing to say.
Kitty, cat.
Lloyd (Jim Carey) and Harry (Jeff Daniels) take none to kindly to the imposition of authority, harmoniously expressing their grievances, fully aware that they have been wronged, a ludicrous examination, of jocose power relations.
Some of the situations are a bit of a stretch, lol, good ideas that move the plot along and make for ridiculous commentaries, it must be hard to find ideas to so successfully move a plot like this along, but Harry does last a bit too long at the KEN talks, even if he occasionally exposes weaknesses in various experiments.
What impressed me the most is the undeniable fact that Carrey and Daniels haven't played these characters for twenty years and they still play them so well, with the same raw sophisticated juvenile agility, they're brilliant, an improvement on the original in my opinion, they've still got it, how, did they pull this off?
I don't know if I preferred Dumb and Dumber To to Anchorman 2, I'd have to see them both back to back, twice, the first night watching Anchorman then Dumb and Dumber, the next, watching them again in reverse order.
What a potential cross-over.
Limitless.
They don't just concentrate on the immediate joke, rather, they breast stroke through calamitous clefts, halting their progress to consider alternative ideas, persevering to find stable solutions which help them achieve their goals, their environments providing complimentary laughs like fleeced lubricated spawn, onwards and upwards, heave, ho.
The pork chop.
Fireworks.
A train.
The drive home.
Couch fort.
In the bathroom.
A return address.
The right thing to say.
Kitty, cat.
Lloyd (Jim Carey) and Harry (Jeff Daniels) take none to kindly to the imposition of authority, harmoniously expressing their grievances, fully aware that they have been wronged, a ludicrous examination, of jocose power relations.
Some of the situations are a bit of a stretch, lol, good ideas that move the plot along and make for ridiculous commentaries, it must be hard to find ideas to so successfully move a plot like this along, but Harry does last a bit too long at the KEN talks, even if he occasionally exposes weaknesses in various experiments.
What impressed me the most is the undeniable fact that Carrey and Daniels haven't played these characters for twenty years and they still play them so well, with the same raw sophisticated juvenile agility, they're brilliant, an improvement on the original in my opinion, they've still got it, how, did they pull this off?
I don't know if I preferred Dumb and Dumber To to Anchorman 2, I'd have to see them both back to back, twice, the first night watching Anchorman then Dumb and Dumber, the next, watching them again in reverse order.
What a potential cross-over.
Limitless.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Fury
Sadistic circumstances, engendered by power mad xenophobic imperialistic bombast, retreating, hunted by freedom fighters, the Fury of the Allied Forces, annihilating the remnants of Nazi Germany, near the end of the Second World War, still, mired in combat.
Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) was amazing.
My favourite character to emerge from war-related American cinema in the last 30 years.
By 30 years, I mean ever.
Let's make another film starring Aldo Raine, once again, killing Nazis, but this time stick him in a tank, once again, in command of loyal subordinates, dedicated to reasserting, the magnanimity of the free world.
The free world is not always magnanimous.
One of his loyal subordinates is new.
Green and foolhardy, he is unprepared for battle.
Yet battle engulfs him, and he must quickly acclimatize himself to its demented terrors, its requisite insanities, to become part of Aldo's team, thereby taking responsibility for his own actions.
His acclimatization permeates the film, which is generally another, mass produced somewhat cool entertaining ra-ra we won World War II flick, focusing on the greenhorn's shock, Fury, then saved by an unexpected scene.
Suddenly everything stops, and domestic bliss is upon us, patient and forgiving, miraculous medicinal mercy.
The scene shifts from the blissful to the hogtied, however, as the confines of the present, tacitly shriek euphonics in memorial.
Unexpected and outstanding.
The Germans are divided into the good and the bad, the civilians and the SS, the former, liberated, the latter, condemned.
Perennially.
Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) was amazing.
My favourite character to emerge from war-related American cinema in the last 30 years.
By 30 years, I mean ever.
Let's make another film starring Aldo Raine, once again, killing Nazis, but this time stick him in a tank, once again, in command of loyal subordinates, dedicated to reasserting, the magnanimity of the free world.
The free world is not always magnanimous.
One of his loyal subordinates is new.
Green and foolhardy, he is unprepared for battle.
Yet battle engulfs him, and he must quickly acclimatize himself to its demented terrors, its requisite insanities, to become part of Aldo's team, thereby taking responsibility for his own actions.
His acclimatization permeates the film, which is generally another, mass produced somewhat cool entertaining ra-ra we won World War II flick, focusing on the greenhorn's shock, Fury, then saved by an unexpected scene.
Suddenly everything stops, and domestic bliss is upon us, patient and forgiving, miraculous medicinal mercy.
The scene shifts from the blissful to the hogtied, however, as the confines of the present, tacitly shriek euphonics in memorial.
Unexpected and outstanding.
The Germans are divided into the good and the bad, the civilians and the SS, the former, liberated, the latter, condemned.
Perennially.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Birdman: or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Spiralling prosaic haunting indecision, contraction instigated, distraction, procured, a play must be performed, negative emotion dominating, that voice, that voice which collegially condemns, internally and externally, belittling, haunting, there are specific time limits, the exceptional exceptionally parades, tender loving affairs, perpetual motion, angst rehabilitated, worst case after worst case, coming together, working, in unison, taking things too far, hold tight, flip, perform, do what you have always done, resolve strengthens, misgivings matriculate, swoop, soar, Silencio, glide on the currents like a nuthatched pin cushion, Birdman, Michael Keaton, what happened to Michael Keaton?, he disappeared, I thought, it's bound to be sold out, it's starring Michael Keaton, just like the '90s, purchase advanced tickets, line-up like Batman, she makes out like she did in Mulholland Drive, the soundtrack's embedded, bejewelled, it can't be extracted, necrophonic needlework, the lines, the perfectly delivered palatial lines, discursive krypton, in motion, in constant motion, assert, lose it, discuss, advocate, temporally sketched to last a lifetime, impotency notwithstanding, harness the haunting perpetual motion, aloofly pepper with speeches and scenes all of which are capable of standing alone, united to etherealize commercial artistic bedlam, for applause, for fortune, if I were Tennessee Williams I'd orgasm, Birdman, Birdman, Birdman, syntheses within syntheses, a kind word, still a movie, it's still a movie, it never loses sight of the fact that it's still a movie for entertaining, mesmerizing, a kind of charming magical cinematic awareness simultaneously celebrating and criticizing the medium, without appearing sentimental or confectionary, I shouldn't have used the word magical, a failure, I fail, flotsam flickering and flailing, taking note, sprawling to capture this ingenious tenure, this incomparable sight, this modest, coy, Birdman: or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), in the act of creation, it reacts anew.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Maps to the Stars
Is it possible to take a sterile excessive stale antiseptic and fill it with enough dry 40% neat conversations to soberly materialize a fumigated aesthetic, like sparkling versatile antithetical lard, an affordable Naked Lunch, its sacrificial form industriously high-strung, its intellectual content flowing with literary immiscibility, which, on the one hand makes you feel like insecticide, on the other, like a priceless set of handcrafted heirlooms, David Cronenberg's Maps to the Stars, a restrained hard-lined masterpiece of elitist horror, a subdued synthesis of the mundane and the maniacal, stronger than both Cosmopolis and A Dangerous Method, inflammable family histories, seductively liaising, emphatically, eviscerated?
It is, Cronenberg's patient strategic mix of obnoxious refinements, youthful misgivings, and childish incredulity, slowly building its complex web of serendipitous interconnectivity, makes you wish you were about to pleasantly throw up after having spent $627 dollars on a bottle of scotch, like gentrified gentility, frenzied fire starters, was that Mr. Mugs?, all-knowing and ever-so-loveable Mr. Mugs?, shot down by 21st century infantile ennui, prevented from teaching his lessons, consigned, forevermore?
Bashful, so difficult to blend these elements without being overtly pretentious or inadvertently condescending, still allowing them to preserve their autonomy, pulsating, integrated, heterogeneity.
It's somewhat of a satirical take on both these potentialities, expertly derelicted, by a master who continues to innovate.
Reminded me more of his early texts Stereo or Crimes of the Future than A History of Violence or Eastern Promises.
His roots.
Back to his roots.
It is, Cronenberg's patient strategic mix of obnoxious refinements, youthful misgivings, and childish incredulity, slowly building its complex web of serendipitous interconnectivity, makes you wish you were about to pleasantly throw up after having spent $627 dollars on a bottle of scotch, like gentrified gentility, frenzied fire starters, was that Mr. Mugs?, all-knowing and ever-so-loveable Mr. Mugs?, shot down by 21st century infantile ennui, prevented from teaching his lessons, consigned, forevermore?
Bashful, so difficult to blend these elements without being overtly pretentious or inadvertently condescending, still allowing them to preserve their autonomy, pulsating, integrated, heterogeneity.
It's somewhat of a satirical take on both these potentialities, expertly derelicted, by a master who continues to innovate.
Reminded me more of his early texts Stereo or Crimes of the Future than A History of Violence or Eastern Promises.
His roots.
Back to his roots.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Gone Girl
Just what goes into sustaining a successful marriage, what is that secret critical ingredient for ensuring the preeminence of your conjugal bliss?
Mad blind overwhelming desire may wear off, especially if the couple in question doesn't role play or at least dress-up from time to time, possibly as their favourite Star Trek character, and if the initial hard-pounding insatiable craze dissipates, the arduous work necessary to recapture its incandescence sets in, both participants required to reimagine its stringency, dedication and commitment, adhered to as pluralizing factors.
In David Fincher's Gone Girl, Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) refuses to abide by such an adherence, succumbing to adulterous lechery, slowly destroying the love of his spirited partner.
Mistake.
Or mistakes, seeing how he's been ignoring her for years while living a life of sloth off her trust fund, after having moved from New York City (where he worked as a writer) to Missouri, much to wife Amy's (Rosamund Pike) dismay.
He's a jerk, he blames it on her, total jackass.
But he has no idea that Amy's pure psycho.
The film's divided into two halves, one focusing on Nick as he comes to terms with his inextricable predicament, the other which brings Amy into the mix, focusing on her troubles on the road, until a crucial accidental resurgence, of the romantic love which at one point defined her.
Kierkegaard style.
At first I thought the introduction of Amy was an unfortunate twist.
I figured the film would slowly continue to suffocate lacklustre Nick, his tension inimically increasing, a high-wired harrowing stench, accentuating paranoid asphyxia.
Amy's introduction eliminates this tension, replacing it with alternative constraints which infernalize her psychotic scenario, which is rather excessive, considering that she could have just left him.
But her passion demands vengeance, vengeance which she seeks eruditely, revelling in the media's saccharine sensationalization, before rediscovering that lost kernel of youth.
There's a great sequence where she's robbed after letting her guard down, the sequence diversifying the film's wedded hysteria by injecting minor seemingly ineffectual characters, who become common denominators in the subsequent action.
Gone Girl has plenty of variability, strong major and minor characters, ridiculous yet plausible logistics, competing disastrous degenerations, polarities within polarities, a sympathetic coach, an amorphous yet easy-to-follow blend of media, family, legality, and law enforcement, Proust is mentioned twice (in uncomplimentary fashions however), desperate strategic planning, and a non-traditional take on victimization.
The ending's solid, a bizarre reversal of what's-to-be-expected, the film's myriad depressions, sentimentally sanctified.
Quite dark.
Quite good.
Not my favourite David Fincher film, but you still see why he's one of America's best.
Mad blind overwhelming desire may wear off, especially if the couple in question doesn't role play or at least dress-up from time to time, possibly as their favourite Star Trek character, and if the initial hard-pounding insatiable craze dissipates, the arduous work necessary to recapture its incandescence sets in, both participants required to reimagine its stringency, dedication and commitment, adhered to as pluralizing factors.
In David Fincher's Gone Girl, Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) refuses to abide by such an adherence, succumbing to adulterous lechery, slowly destroying the love of his spirited partner.
Mistake.
Or mistakes, seeing how he's been ignoring her for years while living a life of sloth off her trust fund, after having moved from New York City (where he worked as a writer) to Missouri, much to wife Amy's (Rosamund Pike) dismay.
He's a jerk, he blames it on her, total jackass.
But he has no idea that Amy's pure psycho.
The film's divided into two halves, one focusing on Nick as he comes to terms with his inextricable predicament, the other which brings Amy into the mix, focusing on her troubles on the road, until a crucial accidental resurgence, of the romantic love which at one point defined her.
Kierkegaard style.
At first I thought the introduction of Amy was an unfortunate twist.
I figured the film would slowly continue to suffocate lacklustre Nick, his tension inimically increasing, a high-wired harrowing stench, accentuating paranoid asphyxia.
Amy's introduction eliminates this tension, replacing it with alternative constraints which infernalize her psychotic scenario, which is rather excessive, considering that she could have just left him.
But her passion demands vengeance, vengeance which she seeks eruditely, revelling in the media's saccharine sensationalization, before rediscovering that lost kernel of youth.
There's a great sequence where she's robbed after letting her guard down, the sequence diversifying the film's wedded hysteria by injecting minor seemingly ineffectual characters, who become common denominators in the subsequent action.
Gone Girl has plenty of variability, strong major and minor characters, ridiculous yet plausible logistics, competing disastrous degenerations, polarities within polarities, a sympathetic coach, an amorphous yet easy-to-follow blend of media, family, legality, and law enforcement, Proust is mentioned twice (in uncomplimentary fashions however), desperate strategic planning, and a non-traditional take on victimization.
The ending's solid, a bizarre reversal of what's-to-be-expected, the film's myriad depressions, sentimentally sanctified.
Quite dark.
Quite good.
Not my favourite David Fincher film, but you still see why he's one of America's best.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Horns
Cast out.
Disbelieved.
Betrayed.
Punished.
Horns begin to grow on young Ig Perrish's (Daniel Radcliffe) head as his beloved hometown accuses him of the murder of his one true love, Merrin Williams (Juno Temple), Ig valiantly proclaiming his innocence, searching, desperately, for the murderous guilty party.
Unbeknownst to him, in the beginning, his horns unwittingly command everyone he encounters to reveal their darkest secrets, or embrace violence and/or sexual desire, as if they're dislocating a contingent of vice, irascibly disdained, savagely enacted.
This proves rather confusing.
As does the film, which is a bizarre blend of the sentimental, the ambiguous, and the ridiculous, irreverently devout, as deduced by its spry submission.
The sentimentality seems to be appealing to its youthful market, juxtaposed with the ridiculous, which is generally subscribed to adult behaviour, to vindicate cracks of teenage rebellion, coming of age compartmentalizing certain tendencies, to outrightly misbehave, in preparation for the reign of jouissance.
But as Horns takes a moral turn, as Ig's investigation bears fruit, it becomes unclear whether or not the film is being serious, in which case it becomes quite tiresome, or pretending to be serious while revelling in playful incongruities, what's actually happening being rather serious, and sentimental, the situations themselves devilishly corny, and ridiculous, in which case the film excels.
Hence the ambiguity.
If this is what director Alexandre Aja intended, it's a stroke of maudlin genius, don't think about what's happening, just focus on what's being depicted, graceful in its contrite subtlety, overcoming the bounds of placated smarm.
If not, the film collapses during its final third, the irreverence which sustained its peculiar plea, giving way to a uniform banality.
Need to see more of Aja's work to reach a conclusion.
Disbelieved.
Betrayed.
Punished.
Horns begin to grow on young Ig Perrish's (Daniel Radcliffe) head as his beloved hometown accuses him of the murder of his one true love, Merrin Williams (Juno Temple), Ig valiantly proclaiming his innocence, searching, desperately, for the murderous guilty party.
Unbeknownst to him, in the beginning, his horns unwittingly command everyone he encounters to reveal their darkest secrets, or embrace violence and/or sexual desire, as if they're dislocating a contingent of vice, irascibly disdained, savagely enacted.
This proves rather confusing.
As does the film, which is a bizarre blend of the sentimental, the ambiguous, and the ridiculous, irreverently devout, as deduced by its spry submission.
The sentimentality seems to be appealing to its youthful market, juxtaposed with the ridiculous, which is generally subscribed to adult behaviour, to vindicate cracks of teenage rebellion, coming of age compartmentalizing certain tendencies, to outrightly misbehave, in preparation for the reign of jouissance.
But as Horns takes a moral turn, as Ig's investigation bears fruit, it becomes unclear whether or not the film is being serious, in which case it becomes quite tiresome, or pretending to be serious while revelling in playful incongruities, what's actually happening being rather serious, and sentimental, the situations themselves devilishly corny, and ridiculous, in which case the film excels.
Hence the ambiguity.
If this is what director Alexandre Aja intended, it's a stroke of maudlin genius, don't think about what's happening, just focus on what's being depicted, graceful in its contrite subtlety, overcoming the bounds of placated smarm.
If not, the film collapses during its final third, the irreverence which sustained its peculiar plea, giving way to a uniform banality.
Need to see more of Aja's work to reach a conclusion.
Friday, October 31, 2014
John Wick
A surprisingly well crafted visceral revenge flick, a frenzy attuned to instinctual reflexivity, just in time for Halloween, John Wick delivers a fast-paced sophisticated personalized bloodbath, continentally conceived with considerations for respect, an elite world of criminals, immaculately imploding.
Wick (Keanu Reeves) is a legendary assassin who retired to settle down with his wife who then died, leaving behind a small dog to remind him of her.
He goes for a drive in his automobile one day, and the son of a Russian gangster requests its sale.
He refuses and drives away.
The son then visits him in the middle of the night, beats him senseless with the help of his goons, _____ the dog, and steals the car.
Wick wakes up the next day composed yet enraged, in preparation for an insane rampage designed to express his dissastifaction.
It's a very basic plot, but the visuals, dialogue, music, acting, and combat scenes crystallize a uniform carnal indignant balance, almost Lynchean in terms of surreal elegance, comedy awkwardly yet cursively situated to allow the film to concentrate on internal affairs (the police aren't involved [editing by Elísabet Ronaldsdóttir]), the invincibility factor realistically deconstructed inasmuch as Wick almost bites it a number of times, saved here and there, by trustworthy old friends.
I think the cast and crew really took the making of this film seriously which could be why it stands out.
Casting by Jessica Kelly and Suzanne Smith.
Look for David Patrick Kelly.
Probably didn't have to be quite so violent.
Wick (Keanu Reeves) is a legendary assassin who retired to settle down with his wife who then died, leaving behind a small dog to remind him of her.
He goes for a drive in his automobile one day, and the son of a Russian gangster requests its sale.
He refuses and drives away.
The son then visits him in the middle of the night, beats him senseless with the help of his goons, _____ the dog, and steals the car.
Wick wakes up the next day composed yet enraged, in preparation for an insane rampage designed to express his dissastifaction.
It's a very basic plot, but the visuals, dialogue, music, acting, and combat scenes crystallize a uniform carnal indignant balance, almost Lynchean in terms of surreal elegance, comedy awkwardly yet cursively situated to allow the film to concentrate on internal affairs (the police aren't involved [editing by Elísabet Ronaldsdóttir]), the invincibility factor realistically deconstructed inasmuch as Wick almost bites it a number of times, saved here and there, by trustworthy old friends.
I think the cast and crew really took the making of this film seriously which could be why it stands out.
Casting by Jessica Kelly and Suzanne Smith.
Look for David Patrick Kelly.
Probably didn't have to be quite so violent.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Adieu au langage (Goodbye to Language)
Blessed burnished cinematic, obscurities, stylizing in/coherent poetic exemplars, compartments, of, of symbols fletched with ornamental reliance condoning visualized adherence to vague linguistic polarizers, of; of authoritative intrusions into burgeoning contentments inquisitively dictated like frozen morning dew; of frost and dusty book jackets intertextually precipitating sundry points of view, condensed and ephemeralized with aloof poignancy, crafted in jaded thematic miniature.
Concerned nonetheless.
With the capacity of purpose to historically deflect imaginative horrors subjugating the passions of one's youth.
With engendered protests libidinally interacting to stretch beyond predetermined boundaries and sustain notions of limitless conjugal impunity.
Of joy.
With animalistic contemplative assured responsive discipline, attempts to harangue, roll over, sit, fetch.
For cinema.
For history.
For classics.
If I were to canonize films many of Godard's would be considered.
I do prefer them when their narratives at least attempt to focus on a plot, however, more like narrative critical inquiry than philosophic filmic treatises.
Abstractly entertaining.
Concerned nonetheless.
With the capacity of purpose to historically deflect imaginative horrors subjugating the passions of one's youth.
With engendered protests libidinally interacting to stretch beyond predetermined boundaries and sustain notions of limitless conjugal impunity.
Of joy.
With animalistic contemplative assured responsive discipline, attempts to harangue, roll over, sit, fetch.
For cinema.
For history.
For classics.
If I were to canonize films many of Godard's would be considered.
I do prefer them when their narratives at least attempt to focus on a plot, however, more like narrative critical inquiry than philosophic filmic treatises.
Abstractly entertaining.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Dracula Untold
Dracula revisited, often portrayed as a vicious bloodthirsty tyrant, recast as a loving devoted father, husband, and ruler, willing to risk everything to secure the social prosperity of his dominion, brought up as a warrior, who excelled beyond limitation, against his will, trial by fire, impeccable excretions, having returned home a free man, to govern his people with wise, trustworthy gentility, through the art of thinking critically, and the continuous deployment of tribute.
Yet battle once again demands his obedience, a battle that can't be won through earthly means, and a pact is made with transcendent deviance, limitless power, for an insatiable thirst for blood.
Thus the iconic villain is torn, invincible at war, romantically condemned by his true love.
It's a different take on Dracula, Gary Shore's Dracula Untold, the latest vampiric franchise to tenderly and ravenously strike.
It's alright.
Somewhat cutesy at times, which is odd for a mass produced vampire film, making derelict lesions and hallowed imperfections seem direly quaint by comparison; however, its protagonist is rational and his love undying, his fidelity to the centuries, like twilight's eternal fountain.
Missed Jarmusch's Adam a bit while viewing, but it's unfair to compare the two visions.
Glad Jarmusch made that film.
Jodorowsky and vampires?
It's not too late.
Yet battle once again demands his obedience, a battle that can't be won through earthly means, and a pact is made with transcendent deviance, limitless power, for an insatiable thirst for blood.
Thus the iconic villain is torn, invincible at war, romantically condemned by his true love.
It's a different take on Dracula, Gary Shore's Dracula Untold, the latest vampiric franchise to tenderly and ravenously strike.
It's alright.
Somewhat cutesy at times, which is odd for a mass produced vampire film, making derelict lesions and hallowed imperfections seem direly quaint by comparison; however, its protagonist is rational and his love undying, his fidelity to the centuries, like twilight's eternal fountain.
Missed Jarmusch's Adam a bit while viewing, but it's unfair to compare the two visions.
Glad Jarmusch made that film.
Jodorowsky and vampires?
It's not too late.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Kill the Messenger
An instance where the opening credits are more seductive than the film itself, Kill the Messenger struggles to live up to its illuminatingly opaque origins.
These credits suggest an intense clandestine submersion into a frantic treacherous linguistic labyrinth by shyly presenting the cast and crew as if they're integrated non-factors in the film's journalistic fabric, integral to its action, but secondary to its impact, thereby foreshadowing a hectic clueless ambiguous submission, like The Insider, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, or The Big Sleep, byzantine yet driven, augmenting competitive professional agencies.
The film's content contains such aspects.
Journalist Gary Webb's (Jeremy Renner) life becomes a paranoid misery after he writes a story about the Reagan Administration's possible flagrantly hypocritical role in its war on drugs, applauded and awarded at first before failing to gain traction due to its extremely controversial nature.
He's cast out.
The film's form doesn't match this content well, however, as it follows Webb's path too closely, making it too comfortable and accessible by streamlining its focus.
Had a number of scenes been introduced to take the emphasis away from Webb, in order to diversify its plot by complicating its narrative structure, thereby examining the film's politics, the film's deeper issues, more variably, Kill the Messenger would have been more captivating in my opinion.
Scenes on the ground examining the contemporary Nicaraguan situation, the results, perhaps.
There are some slight diversifications but they're too residual to effectively detach themselves from the storyline and create a compelling subconscious dialogue.
The subject matter they present is still important however.
Undeniably, Webb's life ended in tragedy after he pursued the truth with the highest possible goals.
This fact is emphasized in the film.
Which functions as both enlightened tragedy, and cautionary tale.
These credits suggest an intense clandestine submersion into a frantic treacherous linguistic labyrinth by shyly presenting the cast and crew as if they're integrated non-factors in the film's journalistic fabric, integral to its action, but secondary to its impact, thereby foreshadowing a hectic clueless ambiguous submission, like The Insider, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, or The Big Sleep, byzantine yet driven, augmenting competitive professional agencies.
The film's content contains such aspects.
Journalist Gary Webb's (Jeremy Renner) life becomes a paranoid misery after he writes a story about the Reagan Administration's possible flagrantly hypocritical role in its war on drugs, applauded and awarded at first before failing to gain traction due to its extremely controversial nature.
He's cast out.
The film's form doesn't match this content well, however, as it follows Webb's path too closely, making it too comfortable and accessible by streamlining its focus.
Had a number of scenes been introduced to take the emphasis away from Webb, in order to diversify its plot by complicating its narrative structure, thereby examining the film's politics, the film's deeper issues, more variably, Kill the Messenger would have been more captivating in my opinion.
Scenes on the ground examining the contemporary Nicaraguan situation, the results, perhaps.
There are some slight diversifications but they're too residual to effectively detach themselves from the storyline and create a compelling subconscious dialogue.
The subject matter they present is still important however.
Undeniably, Webb's life ended in tragedy after he pursued the truth with the highest possible goals.
This fact is emphasized in the film.
Which functions as both enlightened tragedy, and cautionary tale.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann (The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared)
A pinnacled piña colada, perchanced and periodized, passively strolls through an entire century, piercingly riding its waves, aloe primavera, alert gestations, blindly yet acutely detonating his trade, Forrest Gump's Benjamin Button teething Archer, hypnotic happenstance, turn that screw, Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann (The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared) flashes back to tumultuous times, with ironic blissful candour, serendipitized tailspins, explosively tiptoeing, from one cryptic epoch to the next.
After escaping from a retirement home to the fury of the underground's Never Again.
Friendships blossom.
A team is assembled.
A sentiment's thrust.
Through the coming of the ages.
Poetically refining what it means to blunder, the situations he finds himself within seem rigged with ideological dynamite.
Franco's saviour builds an atomic bomb to end the Second World War before sterilizing the Commies on his way to becoming a stayed bilateral messenger.
Destined for paradise.
This film has depth; it playfully reimagines twentieth-century carnage with the casual indifference of an essential tribal fluidity, unconscious forward motion, courting precise precious movements.
Impeccable comedy.
It's even family friendly, in the best possible way, like Amélie, with a loveable elephant.
Could have worked Ireland in somehow.
After escaping from a retirement home to the fury of the underground's Never Again.
Friendships blossom.
A team is assembled.
A sentiment's thrust.
Through the coming of the ages.
Poetically refining what it means to blunder, the situations he finds himself within seem rigged with ideological dynamite.
Franco's saviour builds an atomic bomb to end the Second World War before sterilizing the Commies on his way to becoming a stayed bilateral messenger.
Destined for paradise.
This film has depth; it playfully reimagines twentieth-century carnage with the casual indifference of an essential tribal fluidity, unconscious forward motion, courting precise precious movements.
Impeccable comedy.
It's even family friendly, in the best possible way, like Amélie, with a loveable elephant.
Could have worked Ireland in somehow.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
The Giver
Meticulously manicured impartial immersions, the plan, plans within plans within plans, permeating every existential aspect, monitoring, coordinating, harmonious atonal strategically serviced scripts, requirements, nothing out of the ordinary, pharmaceutical synchrony, burnished, witnessed, tanned, The Giver, kindred subjects of Landru, converses with The Third Man, sonic scientific sterility, empiric equilibrium, disciplined and unified, microscopically maintained.
Everything fits within a cohesive holistic whole.
But there's no longer any joy.
No exceptions to the rules.
History's legends have been assigned to one aged caretaker, who sacrifices his knowledge to uphold the new order.
But a protégé is chosen from the ranks of his culture's youth, to share in his burden, to preserve the memories of lost time.
Emotional bombardments proceed to alienate through shock as questions hitherto beyond reason maddeningly dare to forsake.
Exfoliate.
Threadbare.
A classic examination of totalitarian benevolence.
Maudlin yet sane.
Preferred The Third Man.
Everything fits within a cohesive holistic whole.
But there's no longer any joy.
No exceptions to the rules.
History's legends have been assigned to one aged caretaker, who sacrifices his knowledge to uphold the new order.
But a protégé is chosen from the ranks of his culture's youth, to share in his burden, to preserve the memories of lost time.
Emotional bombardments proceed to alienate through shock as questions hitherto beyond reason maddeningly dare to forsake.
Exfoliate.
Threadbare.
A classic examination of totalitarian benevolence.
Maudlin yet sane.
Preferred The Third Man.
Friday, October 10, 2014
A Most Wanted Man
Characteristic candour gruffly composes a brilliantly crafted intricately strategized plan, its nascent dexterity depending on several delicately interconnected volatile fusions, frenetic feasibilities, orchestrated by a rough hands-on been-there-done-that fulcrum, A Most Wanted Man, time pressurizing each micromovement, immaculate manoeuvrability, necessarily set in motion.
Definitive coordinates.
Explosive potential.
Gut-wrenching grizzle.
Temporally repleted.
Günther Bachmann's (Philip Seymour Hoffman) team must expertly function, however, these spies are situated within a competitive international pride, lofty liaising lions, trust, an oppressive factor, guilt, too remote to consider.
Ripe with treachery.
And contention.
Easier to follow than Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, but not as astounding consequently, A Most Wanted Man provocatively sets the stage, then allows Philip Seymour Hoffman to prosper.
There aren't many diversified variables (surprises) after the operation's set in motion, it's very smooth, but Hoffman's performance supplies enough excruciating angst to augment the film's comfortability with bona fide substantial grit.
I've now seen Richard Burton, Gary Oldman, John Hurt, and Hoffman in film adaptations of John le Carré's novels, and would love to see another starring Daniel Day Lewis and Tom Hardy.
A Most Wanted Man's timing is perfect considering the continuing advances of ISIS.
Definitive coordinates.
Explosive potential.
Gut-wrenching grizzle.
Temporally repleted.
Günther Bachmann's (Philip Seymour Hoffman) team must expertly function, however, these spies are situated within a competitive international pride, lofty liaising lions, trust, an oppressive factor, guilt, too remote to consider.
Ripe with treachery.
And contention.
Easier to follow than Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, but not as astounding consequently, A Most Wanted Man provocatively sets the stage, then allows Philip Seymour Hoffman to prosper.
There aren't many diversified variables (surprises) after the operation's set in motion, it's very smooth, but Hoffman's performance supplies enough excruciating angst to augment the film's comfortability with bona fide substantial grit.
I've now seen Richard Burton, Gary Oldman, John Hurt, and Hoffman in film adaptations of John le Carré's novels, and would love to see another starring Daniel Day Lewis and Tom Hardy.
A Most Wanted Man's timing is perfect considering the continuing advances of ISIS.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
The Skeleton Twins
Crippling depressions cope with mundane predictability as a brother and sister are reunited after an attempted suicide in Craig Johnson's The Skeleton Twins, mundane predicability in regards to the lives their leading, not in relation to the film, which is a sensitive reflective chill occasionally brash comment on the applicability of predetermined roles, the individuals who play them (wife, husband, actor, . . .), the results of their interactions, and the coming together of kindred spirits.
The sister, Maggie (Kristen Wiig), is married to a boring yet supportive excessively positive husband (Luke Wilson as Lance) who provides her with stability but strongly lacks an exhilarating thrill factor, which she finds with other men while taking different courses after work.
The brother, Milo (Bill Hader), has been struggling to find acting work in LA, and after drinking too much one night, decides to take his own life.
They meet up for the first time in 10 years shortly thereafter and Milo then decides to return to his hometown in upstate New York to live with Maggie while he recuperates.
They're both somewhat bipolar, and suicidal, so when they're getting along, we're treated to witty caustic unconcerned distracted deadpan takes on living, and when things break down, things often breaking down after something great happens, things turn ugly, vindictive and spiteful, each trying to play a parental role as the other screws up, historical controversies complicating things further.
Neither has had much guidance that has helped over the years, and both crave regular adventurous stimuli to transcend routine frustrations.
It's well-acted, well-written, and the best comedic drama I've seen since Stand Up Guys.
I don't think I've ever seen two former Saturday Night Live actors perform so well in a film this low key and striking.
They convincingly struggle with issues of life and death in a relatable way complete with thoughtful advice which isn't over the top or endearingly ridiculous.
Wilson's great too.
Casting by Avy Kaufman.
The sister, Maggie (Kristen Wiig), is married to a boring yet supportive excessively positive husband (Luke Wilson as Lance) who provides her with stability but strongly lacks an exhilarating thrill factor, which she finds with other men while taking different courses after work.
The brother, Milo (Bill Hader), has been struggling to find acting work in LA, and after drinking too much one night, decides to take his own life.
They meet up for the first time in 10 years shortly thereafter and Milo then decides to return to his hometown in upstate New York to live with Maggie while he recuperates.
They're both somewhat bipolar, and suicidal, so when they're getting along, we're treated to witty caustic unconcerned distracted deadpan takes on living, and when things break down, things often breaking down after something great happens, things turn ugly, vindictive and spiteful, each trying to play a parental role as the other screws up, historical controversies complicating things further.
Neither has had much guidance that has helped over the years, and both crave regular adventurous stimuli to transcend routine frustrations.
It's well-acted, well-written, and the best comedic drama I've seen since Stand Up Guys.
I don't think I've ever seen two former Saturday Night Live actors perform so well in a film this low key and striking.
They convincingly struggle with issues of life and death in a relatable way complete with thoughtful advice which isn't over the top or endearingly ridiculous.
Wilson's great too.
Casting by Avy Kaufman.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Fire in the Blood
It's hard to believe that medicine is available to alleviate the suffering of millions of impoverished global citizens, and, that due to associated prohibitive costs, they're left to die because they can't afford treatment.
According to Dylan Mohan Gray's Fire in the Blood, pharmaceutical companies are the most profitable in the world, but their obsession with increasing their profits primarily and treating the sick as an afterthought is disturbing; always thought curing illness was the primary function of discovering cures for illness, mistaken was I, holding on to a drug's patent so that you can monopolize its sale to people who have no alternative and then jack-up the price is the primary function, recently formalized by the WTO's adoption of TRIPS.
It's revolting.
The film is about the struggle of many African countries to receive access to antivirals which combat but don't cure AIDS, allowing people who contracted it to live a relatively normal life.
A brilliant doctor from India,Yusuf Hamied, created a generic alternative, produced and sold it for a fraction of his American competitor's price, but the sale of his drug was initially not permitted in many countries due to their governments acquiescence to the demands of patent holding pharmaceutical giants, whose stranglehold on the free market was more voraciously tightened by TRIPS.
Apparently these companies don't even spend much on research and development, the majority of R & D for new drugs being funded by the public sector. Why governments don't patent the drugs discovered through such research and then sell them at affordable prices is bizarre, such sales prolonging the lives of their tax payers, thereby increasing tax revenues.
In my opinion, religious organizations should be passionately defending the rights of poor people to have access to affordable medicine.
Isn't this issue profoundly more important than whether or not gay people can get married?
They're gay. They love each other. They want to get married. Who cares? Love doesn't know the difference.
Fire in the Blood mentions how the costs of potentially life saving drugs are becoming prohibitive for many Americans as well.
Prices keep going up, wages keep staying the same.
Another serious problem.
According to Dylan Mohan Gray's Fire in the Blood, pharmaceutical companies are the most profitable in the world, but their obsession with increasing their profits primarily and treating the sick as an afterthought is disturbing; always thought curing illness was the primary function of discovering cures for illness, mistaken was I, holding on to a drug's patent so that you can monopolize its sale to people who have no alternative and then jack-up the price is the primary function, recently formalized by the WTO's adoption of TRIPS.
It's revolting.
The film is about the struggle of many African countries to receive access to antivirals which combat but don't cure AIDS, allowing people who contracted it to live a relatively normal life.
A brilliant doctor from India,Yusuf Hamied, created a generic alternative, produced and sold it for a fraction of his American competitor's price, but the sale of his drug was initially not permitted in many countries due to their governments acquiescence to the demands of patent holding pharmaceutical giants, whose stranglehold on the free market was more voraciously tightened by TRIPS.
Apparently these companies don't even spend much on research and development, the majority of R & D for new drugs being funded by the public sector. Why governments don't patent the drugs discovered through such research and then sell them at affordable prices is bizarre, such sales prolonging the lives of their tax payers, thereby increasing tax revenues.
In my opinion, religious organizations should be passionately defending the rights of poor people to have access to affordable medicine.
Isn't this issue profoundly more important than whether or not gay people can get married?
They're gay. They love each other. They want to get married. Who cares? Love doesn't know the difference.
Fire in the Blood mentions how the costs of potentially life saving drugs are becoming prohibitive for many Americans as well.
Prices keep going up, wages keep staying the same.
Another serious problem.
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