Dogman

A kind man.

An awkward man.

A shy man.

A loving man.

He loves animals and his daughter and works hard to impress them, grooming dogs throughout the day to earn money for rest and leisure.

He's done well for himself considering his coastal town's depressed jade, and has friends, clients, healthy relations, and respectability.

He gets by and isn't concerned with that much, but at least still keeps track of the score.

But there's a problem.

A huge problem.

A drug abusing violent bull who cheats and robs the whole neighbourhood takes advantage of his kindness (Edoardo Pesce as Simoncino), and due to his habitual timidity, he has trouble refusing his requests.

You can't negotiate with stark abomination.

And have to one day just strictly say "no".

And take the beating, as it inevitably approaches, Matteo Garrone's Dogman presenting one prick of a criminal abyss, jacked up on malevolent testosterone.

And amphetamines.

It's diabolical dispassionate juxtaposition, each favour just a little more ruthless, and even though each demand's grim and shocking, the door's never shut tight with resolve.

Take care of all things. No matter how brutal. Embrace as they bite, provide guidance they'll ignore.

Marcello (Marcello Fonte) likes being with people. It doesn't really matter who. He wants to fit in, play ball, take part, revel. Enjoy a long lunch. Play soccer in the morning.

But he's too friendly to know when to draw lines.

Seems more like the kind of guy who would read stories to sick kids at the hospital, or plant trees and gardens for his community on weekends.

But if such or similar opportunities exist, he has yet to seek them out or find them.

The film sharply blends innocence and contempt with dismal tragic scorn.

It's painful to watch as Marcello agrees, and is left direly scathed and scrounging.

In a community less saturated with toxic masculinity, he likely would have modestly bloomed, or would have had different options available, that may have encouraged less destructive reckonings.

Dogman makes quite the solemn impact, as lost as it is soul searching.

A world devoid of the feminine.

With good intentions pushed far far away.

Die Kleine Hexe (The Little Witch)

A novice witch (Karoline Herfurth as Kleine Hexe), full of pluck and curious mischief, abounding with energy and playful vigour, seeks to attend the communal Walpurgis Night, even though she lacks the requisite age.

She's only 127.

But she still feels it's in her best interests to clandestinely attend, ignoring the counsel of her loving raven (Axel Prahl as Abraxas), who advises caution with reliable amiability.

She's bored and can't resist the lure of good times however, and soon finds herself engaged in outright revel, doing her best to cavort at ease, underneath the enchanting night sky.

But she's discovered, and reprimanded severely, forced to engage in voluminous study, under threat of the loss of her powers.

She's too light of heart for the others, yet wants to fit in regardless, but has trouble spreading fear and contempt, as she's coldly encouraged to do.

Abraxas warns her.

And her actions are under surveillance.

But warmth and good cheer still spellbindingly animate, as if kindness were resolute, and understanding crystal clear.

A spirited apprenticeship.

Enriching good deeds.

Die Kleine Hexe (The Little Witch) briskly excels at conjuring mirth and wonder, unconcerned with traditional role play, enamoured with innocent charm.

Tasks can indeed be clad in bemusement, and rigour as fabled as distress or scorn, but slowly and surely hard work endeavours, to bewitch the belittlingly thorned.

If you're not fond of Kleine Hexe and her raven, the film may seem a little (or way) too much, but if you appreciate their wondrous candour, it overflows with bizarro amour.

He's a cutey.

Grown weary with the passage of time.

Focusing too intently on Hexe's relationship with the older witches may have resulted in too much conflict, even if the ending's far too easy.

As it stands, Hexe's goodwill and daring affably adjudicate, even if she struggles beneath a grouchy unamused cloud.

Not Abraxas, the other witches.

I thought it was going to be a cartoon when I bought my ticket, but was still pleasantly surprised by the sets and costumes.

Not as well balanced as the Harry Potter films in terms of magical diversity, old witches bad, young witches good, but perhaps such a comment is well beyond the film's target audience, which may have been no older than nine, at least younger than 11, although really, what's a postmodernist to say?

I thought it might be a new European Secret of NIMH or Last Unicorn.

And wish ravens could talk.

Alright film.

Overflowing with fun.

Character driven.

Midsommar

Spoiler alert.

Extreme tragedy strikes, and a young student is torn asunder (Florence Pugh as Dani).

In her hour of need, her partner steps up (Jack Reynor as Christian), providing dependable loving care, even though things would have ended otherwise.

A trip.

A vacation.

A friend invites them and others to visit the Swedish community that reared him (Vilhelm Blomgren as Pelle), an anthropological opportunity adored and beckoning, a remote adventure which seems harmless enough.

They gather and set off, unsuspicious and unaware.

They're greeted with somnambulistic sustenance, and proceed in the interests of friendship.

Yet something's not quite right as they settle in to total isolation, and strange rituals harrowingly bewilder, with no explanations genuinely forthcoming.

Nausea.

Disappearances.

Pure utter terror.

Ari Aster's Midsommar cultivates occultist acculturation, as realistic as one two three.

It's the best horror film I've seen in years, in the same league as The Exorcist or The Omen.

Better even.

I don't even really watch horror films anymore, unless it's Halloween, and never thought it would impress so monstrously.

It maintains an innocent carefree aesthetic throughout, as it slowly matriculates ubiquitous discretion.

Alternative ideas guide the insulated community.

The magnitude of the shock is too severe for outsiders, and even though things don't make sense, nothing is done to countermand or break free.

Thus, rather than spending time and effort presenting a failed escape followed by woeful incarceration, Midsommar's characters incredulously stay put, awaiting what can't possibly be, in confused awestruck senseless immersion.

There's no heroes, no heroics.

No passion. No universal code.

An ancient offbeat strictly orthodox idiosyncrasy has wickedly endured, as manifold perspectives would likely view it, and it recruits new members with neither pretence nor precaution, convinced that once they arrive, they'll never be able to set themselves free.

Even if they aren't kept waiting long.

The realism haunts you afterward since it's difficult to quickly dismiss, it isn't improbable or ridiculous or insane, it's more like vibrant documentary fiction, highlighting novelty's dark side.

Proceed with caution.

Perhaps view with a friend.

Freedoms require limitations.

Through limitations, set yourself free.

😌

Spider-Man: Far From Home

I briefly considered taking a break from Marvel Studios after viewing the last Avengers film.

It was incredibly intense and seeing another related film shortly thereafter seemed borderline overload; I wasn't sure if I could hack it!

The thoughts weren't too demanding though, just one of the hundreds that float around deep down and then suddenly pop into one's head at random individualized intervals while they trek around town throughout the day, and I eventually found myself ready for Spider-Man: Far From Home for one of its first screenings, with an IMAX ticket no less, purchased for a matinee showing.

And I wasn't disappointed.

Not to heap too much praise on Marvel Studios, and it's important to never rest on your laurels or think you've found that magic touch that works each and every freakin' time, but they do consistently release creative stunning convincing witty films that cleverly blend action, drama, comedy, and science-fiction, to present thrilling tales that'll likely hold up for multiple viewings, for now, and far into the foreseeable future.

Adventure films which made similar impacts were few and far between when I was growing up, which likely explains why I find Marvel Studios's consistency so mind-blowing.

It's like what you used to wait 4 or 5 years for comes out every 3 or 4 months.

And the quality's usually high.

With incredibly deep interdependent storylines.

The new Spider-Man film functions as a spellbinding overconfident-emergent-villain vs. doubt-plagued-protagonist revelation, but it's also a chill coming of age Summer teen comedy, the two thematic thrusts imaginatively seasoned with narrative expertise.

If you want multiple characters developed in varying degrees, there are at least 14 given room to manoeuvre within, and the brisk pace sees them observing and commenting along different youthful and aged lines, as responsibility irritates Peter Parker (Tom Holland), who foolishly thought he was going on vacation.

Happy Hogan (Jon Favreau), Mr. Harrington (Martin Starr), and Mr. Dell (J.B. Smoove [who could have used more lines!]) skilfully present differing variations of the appropriate, proceeding in awestruck error, in situations far beyond their control.

Perhaps the situations are a bit too out of control for a student trip to Europe.

It's sort of like an elite counter-terrorist is still in high school and on vacation with his unsuspecting classmates, who become indirectly involved as he confronts dire globalized ambition.

But their somewhat far-fetched integration does make for some thrilling comedy, as long as you're confident nothing will go wrong, and Spider-Man will enact game changing regional parity.

But will he?

I highly recommend Far From Home for both fans of the superheroic and people looking to chaotically chill.

In the Summer.

The Summertime elements are so thoughtfully interwoven I'll likely watch it every Winter and Summer for years to come, in Winter as preparation for Summer, in Summer since Summer is Summer.

I should say that Marvel Studios brought their A plus plus game to move their Spider-Man films into the Iron Man position.

Thor and the Guardians have their work cut out for them.

Along with Black Panther.

And so many many others.

Laidback cool synergistic overload.

I do love these new Spider-Man films.

Overflowing with raw contemplation.

Yesterday

It's mind-blowing how many memorable songs the Beatles wrote.

In such a short span of time.

In 5 years they released Help!, Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Magical Mystery Tour, The Beatles (The White Album), and Abbey Road, in just 5 years they released 7 of the best albums ever recorded, albums that didn't fade with time or grow stale, 7 albums, 5 years, not to mention Let it Be or everything from their earlier years, how did they release that much high quality original material in such a short span of time?, it doesn't make sense when you consider the history of pop music, there's no other band that produced that much quality in such a short period, others have come close, but haven't achieved the same level of astonishing brilliance.

You sometimes have to wait three years for contemporary artists to release a new album, and then it isn't even that good, how long does it take talented artists to write 10 songs I ask you, how long!, how long!

It didn't take the Beatles that long, and assuming they weren't extraterrestrials posing as gifted songwriters while they let loose for a remarkably productive sojourn on Earth, the question of how they superlatively merged quality and quantity so effortlessly in such a short period, a feat that has never been duplicated although many bands have had impressive runs, makes me think they were either just the most gifted songwriters to ever fortunately meet and form a band, a group that used its fame productively, that didn't self-destruct when their popularity become overwhelming (even after they stopped touring), or that the music industry changed so much in their wake that its current makeup won't permit the release of so much monumental material due to the corresponding mass hysteria it generates, as if the goal of denying the release of brilliant material is plain and simply to manage crowds, or prevent people from wildly enjoying themselves, as if they've classified unconscious bliss, and reckoned it an unfavourable commodity.

It could be that the Beatles set the bar so high they discouraged a lot of potential songwriters from seeking genius, so many talented young people worried about being like them instead of zeroing in on their own creative selves.

But if they discouraged some, they inspired many others, who perhaps never would have insisted had they not grown up listening to them intently.

So many songs I still love listening to for what must be the millionth time.

They diversified their material with every album after the early years.

Why has there been no one else like them?

They were much stronger together than they ever were as solo acts.

Yesterday imagines a world where the Beatles never existed, but one struggling singer-songwriter (Himesh Patel as Jack Malik) still remembers all their songs.

He's an instant success when he starts playing them live and suddenly finds himself on the threshold of superstardom.

It's a feel good film blending hope and miracles to find romance through a lack there of and integrity in its most spellbinding.

I think the world'd be worse off if the Beatles never existed; they not only wrote some of the best pop music I've heard, but they also inspired so many other artists to give 'er.

The "if they had never" question doesn't make sense of course since "if they had never no one would have ever known".

I do know though, and I'm glad I've spent so much time listening to their music regardless.

Because of Ferris Bueller's Day Off no less.

My favourite album, Rubber Soul.

Damned innovative.

The Grizzlies

A small community in Nunavut struggles with alcoholism, drug addiction, and suicide, as traditional ways backed up by authentic millennia merge with the legacy of the residential school system.

Strong hunters still persevere, establishing direct links with their ancient descendants.

And some students see the benefits of rigorous study, even if practical applications don't readily present themselves.

It truly is another world, a diverse alternative spirituality.

Inaccessible by road.

Blanketed by the midnight sun.

A somewhat naive teacher lands in this far off realm, unaware of local realities yet determined to make a difference.

He's clueless as the film begins but isn't hardhearted or dismissive.

He listens to local concerns and adjusts his teaching style accordingly.

Well-versed in lacrosse lore, he decides to start up a local team, his dedication and tenacity inspiring local youth, who are hesitant to join yet still curious.

Sports can help combat substance abuse in any community inasmuch as they encourage constructive goals.

If the choice is between loosing oneself in booze and drugs or joining a team that builds character through discipline, I'll take the latter every time.

It's not that simple in The Grizzlies because the community isn't affluent and economic hardships present conflicting responsibilities.

Some kids can't play on a team because they're needed at home, and since the lacrosse team is something new, some families and teachers have troubling believing in its positive effects.

During a town meeting where the team tries to obtain funds to attend a tournament down South, many citizens voice reasonable concerns in opposition, and it's a situation where no one's really right or wrong, but some options take precedence over others.

It's tough to see the benefits of alternative ideas at times and easy to dismiss them. They may seem like they conflict with time honoured traditions at first because they still haven't found a way to culturally co-exist amongst them, and putting food on the table's top priority without a doubt, and sometimes playing games can seem just a little bit silly.

Sports can be a bit ra-ra at times but they promote teamwork, healthy living, interdependence, and communal strength.

They make a huge difference for the lives of the kids in The Grizzlies, and open up doors many residents thought had been shut, permanently.

The North needs dedicated teachers like Russ Shephard (Ben Schnetzer) who are humble enough to adapt to local customs which can teach them to become community leaders.

The North has so much to offer and living there's an experience like none other.

If students have trouble seeing the benefits of education in remote Northern communities, perhaps focusing on astronomy could make a difference.

The night sky is as practical in the North as a transit system is in a city.

I don't see why astronomy can't be used to synthesize the study of math, art, sport and science.

There are endless applications.

Relevant in any age.

Late Night

A fresh unsung outspoken new talent (Mindy Kaling as Molly Patel) suddenly finds herself writing for a popular late night talk show.

Its ratings have been slipping as of late however, and its charismatic host (Emma Thompson as Katherine Newbury) is bluntly searching for new ideas.

But she's become somewhat detached from the scene over the years and could be criticized for having lost the human touch, and although she excels at lauding the high brow, she still has yet to warm up to bold YouTube and Twitter theatrics.

Etcetera.

When she discovers her network is hoping to replace her, she has to dig deep and reimagine her worn image.

Thus she actually sits down with her writing team to quickly craft an alternative plan.

They're as uncertain of how to proceed as she is, since it's been years since she's taken an active role in her show's production, and doesn't even recall the majority of her staff's names.

It can be like that, so she gives them all numbers, acclimatizes herself to workplace codes she's forgotten, and slowly begins the painstaking process of improvised identity transformation.

Thankfully Ms. Patel is as unfamiliar with showbiz ego as Ms. Newbury is with contemporary audiences, and though she's reprimanded openly for plainly expressing her raw ideas, Katherine and her staff soon realize she has something to say.

She's in touch with postmodern pressures, and couldn't have come along at a more opportune time, sharing her ideas just audaciously enough, to make enlivening game changing droll ratings impacts.

Late Night excels at convincingly cultivating change.

Its clever script and dynamic characters compellingly fluctuate as the film progresses, offering insights into diverse social phenomena (dating, moving to a city, marriage, working, friendship, rivalries, social media, popularity, competition, . . .) while confidently managing constant change.

Like thermodynamic life in motion, Late Night flexibly introduces conflict and camaraderie, their schematics realigned as trial and error deconstructs, characters readily adapting to the unpredictable shifting frame.

The characters aren't ideal or all-knowing, flaws abound as they search for solutions, but they're strong enough to move forward after having proceeded in error, or to celebrate success without losing sight of the cold and fleeting.

Real world.

Late Night's super real world and professionally polished, but since Ms. Newbury's persona has to be creatively redefined, unorthodox grit leads to splotches and blemishes, which gradually emerge as best practices themselves.

For a time.

Must be hard to harness all the conflicting creativity and transform it into a convincing narrative night after night.

Films and books can be worked on for years, but late night talk shows unreel in real time every night.

Weeknight.

It's remarkable how they remain relevant year after year while existing in permanent flux.

Balancing the random with tropes and traditions.

Always moving forward regardless.

Best American comedy I've seen since The Big Sick.

Impressive realistic fiction.

Shadow (Ying)

Two dynasties rule a torrential realm yet one has sunk into subservience.

Its nobles protest their King's diplomatic digressions and seek to battle once more those who rationed their defeat.

But their commander has suffered a fearsome blow, and though he can no longer lead, his disciple remains fierce and willing.

A surrogate, a double, a shadow, a brother, found lost in the streets one day years ago, was taken in to become his shelter, should battle prove wanton and reckless.

This shadow effectively deceives far and wide, until he is ready to formidably challenge.

Aided instinctively by a proud weary court, he prepares for the fated day, his patrons having expediently conjured defence through the feminine, as has never been utilized or anticipated before.

Lithe dissonance expounding alarm.

Discreet novel exposure.

Bewitching in convex complement.

Yimou Zhang's Shadow (Ying) presents compelling tragedy.

Modest settings and stately composure give way to shocking excess, as strategic plans denote tactile wonder, and outcomes tax spry febrile throes.

It's like a play, multiple characters nuanced and referenced, august consequences sheathing reward, stark confines generating precepts, latent desire tempting envy.

If you think it lacks distinction or pressure or complaint or pulsation early on, invoke patience as it masterfully proceeds, a narrative rich in subtle intrigue, intricately concealing age old passion.

Bursting forth with beautiful song.

Spiralling in wavelike arrays.

Like a flexed symphonic whirlwind, it classically encircles sworn objectives, alighting loyalty, quest, and betrayal, as it presumes dynastic resonance.

Assurance is by no means decreed and trust consumes arrogant remonstrance.

Impossibility is wildly taunted, depression adroitly commandeered.

As if it never did stop raining.

And there was no other thought to consider.

Outstanding film.

Echoes of Kurosawa.

Rocketman

Abounding with characteristic irresistible melody, Rocketman presents the early life of Elton John (Taron Egerton/Matthew Illesley/Kit Connor).

By no means like warm fuzzy lighthearted hot cocoa, it hits hard at John's blunt childhood trauma, while illustrating how it affected his sudden rise to fame, and led to years of conflicted unrestrained hitched soul searching.

But it's not all that depressing, that's just the frame his actions are depicted within, and at times it overflows with chill wonder, rich with doubts and expedient sublimation.

He was younger once, not so long ago, and although the details of his youth aren't elaborately nuanced, we learn that his father (Steven Mackintosh as Stanley) never loved him, his mother (Bryce Dallas Howard as Sheila) could be mean, and his grandmother (Gemma Jones as Ivy) recognized his talent, which began to flourish at a young age.

He could play anything he heard and write soulful original music, the former winning him a scholarship at Britain's Royal Academy of Music, after which he found himself leading memorable bands.

Rocketman features his lifelong working relationship with gifted lyricist Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell), and how the two have productively worked together for a mind-boggling 5 decades strong.

With Taupin's lyrics John wrote so many enduring classics, many of which are still played regularly today, and shot them into the stratosphere in the early '70s, from which they've never really descended.

But the excessive wealth and wild lifestyle took its toll, especially considering that he fell in love with his hard-edged manager (Richard Madden as John Reid), who was strictly a man of business.

Rocketman's recalled through a series of defining moments John shares with a self-help group after seeking aid to attain sobriety.

According to the film, he was never really that rowdy, that vain, that hostile.

That much of a prick.

On the contrary, he was a humble brilliant laidback musician who wanted to showcase his talent but didn't do anything excessive to gain recognition, like a really fun cool guy whose ambition was acknowledged without spectacle.

After he became a star his outfits were flamboyant but that was and possibly still is part of the show, part of the thrill of seeing him perform.

Costume design by Julian Day.

The film's musical biography so it isn't overflowing with details from John's life, but the music's enticing and creatively interwoven to sympathize, emphasize, ritualize, and contextualize, reimagining so many great songs, with a damn fine new version of Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting.

It doesn't shy away from presenting hardships but in so doing adds depth to John's character, the chosen details resonating with significance, his style still diversifying to this day.

An incredible artist.

And a cool guy too.

Taron Egerton puts in a great performance.

Gentle intense life.

The Souvenir

Spoiler alert.

A lost bored romantic intellectual befriends an aspiring filmmaker who's too blind to be disenchanted 'til they're both very much in love.

She's determined yet shy (Honor Swinton Byrne as Julie), slowly learning to articulate her ideas, and he's in command of thoughtful expressions (Tom Burke as Anthony), which amusingly comment on the artsy world.

He sees something light in her innocent charm which his stilted life is sorely missing, and she enjoys the interactive ideas they warmly share without cost or confrontation.

Early on.

Her first love, her first scandal, her first apartment, her first immersion.

You can interpret the film in different ways but in the beginning their attachment seems genuine.

She genuinely loves him anyways, even after his addiction's revealed.

And the souvenir he provides her with near the end suggests he had genuine feelings too, he wasn't just taking advantage of the free ride, even if he lost control of his reason, and succumbed to blunt bland self-destruction.

Is The Souvenir Joanna Hogg's début film?

If so it's remarkably farsighted.

It's light, charismatic, thoughtful, a bit wild, blending comedic elegance with tragic realization, as if the mind's a random orchestration sweetly plucked in wondrous symphony.

With agile variation.

Composing relevance, nonsense, creeds.

'Til there's something else to do, the film presents wide open-minded invention.

You aren't tethered to specific patterns and expectations even as Anthony gets worse, it's much more freespirited, less checked and balanced like a craze, confident enough to try something novel, yet reliable as if there's something to do.

Some of the scenes, some of the editing, are/is borderline genius.

There were moments when I was close to approaching acritical ecstasy, but the lines weren't as mind-blowing as I instinctively hoped they would be.

The form is though, and many others likely found the content more compelling than I did, who am I anyways?, to even approach something like that in your first film is incredible, and no doubt a brilliant sign for the future.

I imagined Joanna Hogg making brilliant period pieces in the future in fact, rustling up some British history to discursively explore, overflowing with character and subtlety, making points that elucidate tremors.

I keep thinking this is how Jane Austen got started, 19th century style.

Who makes a film like this as a début?

Captivating.

Unique.

Thoughtful and precocious.

Tantalizingly distressed.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Spoiler alert.

Godzilla continues to freely roam the Earth's oceans, with impunity, and since revealing his monstrous longitude, others like have him have indeed been discovered.

Across the globe, lying dormant in slumbrous isolation, as titanic as they are formidable, yet cute and cuddly if considered in miniature.

Bewilderingly conscripted, rogue environmentalists conjure 12 Monkeys, blending in Riddick's Elementals, to unleash destructive fury.

Environmentalists and scientists less interested in freeing giant monsters to destroy half the planet, challenge them, with the aid of the American armed forces, led by Admiral David Strathairn (Admiral William Stenz).

And after Godzilla is defeated by the 3-headed alpha Monster Zero, they track him to his underwater domain, determined to accelerate his convalescence, as he rests following menacing blows.

Mothra comes to his aid in the end, but the other monsters owe allegiance to his nemesis, and it's unknown who will victoriously prevail, while Earth's best and brightest instinctively speculate.

In Monster Zero's corner lies Dr. Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga), her ex-husband (Kyle Chandler as Mark Russell) backing Godzilla.

The result is as wild as it sounds, complete with mythological vindications.

A cool prehistoric Atlantian civilization is even found deep beneath the ocean's waves, abounding with architectural wonders, depicted as Godzilla's home.

How well does Godzilla: King of the Monsters cultivate its ludicrous blockbustering?, and how successfully does it exhale ridiculousness?

It doesn't lack sincere characters, even if what takes place is incredible.

It seems as if it wants to be taken seriously, although what transpires suggests it's of no concern.

There are a lot of cool comments mixed in with chest-pounds that led me to consistently laugh then shake my head, Bradley Whitford (Dr. Rick Stanton) stealing so many scenes, Ken Watanabe (Dr. Ishiro Serizawa) and Sally Hawkins (Dr. Vivienne Graham) adding sublime depth.

But seriously, weapons of mass destruction are no laughing matter, and shouldn't be used to solve problems, and even if Godzilla thrives on radioactivity, there's always a less explosive alternative.

The monster fights are super badass even if they're interrupted much too frequently.

Kyle Chandler's too much a lot of the time.

Which is kind of perfect for a blockbuster.

With the kitsch factor so high he could have made even more of an impact.

Although that could be saved for other films.

Ramboesque films, in which he wears a bandana.

Co-starring Bradley Whitford.

If King of the Monsters had been less serious, it would have been more ridiculous, which would have been nice, but I suppose it's not a comedy, even though it's the comedic aspects of blockbusters that make them memorable.

Too much woe perhaps.

Very heavy on the woe.

The bad decisions made in response to an overwhelming unknown.

Would world leaders really make decisions that shortsighted if confronted with giant monsters hellbent on destroying one another and/or taking over the planet?

Who's to say?

Pretty crazy new Godzilla movie anyways.

A must see for Godzilla alone.

The Dead Don't Die

The traditional zombie film finds itself lackadaisically reanimated, as the ravenous undead seek out mortal sustenance, with organic flavouring, in Jim Jarmusch's The Dead Don't Die.

Much less lively than Zombieland or Planet Terror, it cultivates bewildered slow motion, without letting loose moribund haze, or struggling to refine grassroots bemusement.

It's funny.

It's aware of its chillaxed impersonal lounging, the ways in which it would rather present laidback ingenuous cheek than novel paramedic frenzy, and consistently dispassionately suggests that it could have offered more if it had only simply bothered to do so.

Efficiently.

Thus its form harmoniously complements its genre, its dislocated frostbitten content, a zombie film conjuring primordial zombie, like a tasty craft brew considering mass production.

There's no doubt it emits rebellious angst and bedridden drool, like mad productive insomnia regenerating meaningless gumption, as if it sculpted what it means to turn 40, while leaving out cursive progress and ambition.

While viewing I asked myself if the film would still be cool without the star-studded cast, if it would have still lured me in with decadent charm had it been stacked with unknowns.

There are several unknown actors in the film who add curious depth and unsung integrity, but several big names still intermingle, and seem somewhat out of place in hindsight even if they revel in agile somnambulism.

I think it would have succeeded either way.

It likely would have been stronger without the stars in fact, inasmuch as determined unknowns often make nimble impacts in the genres.

The world has been tipped off its axis after fracking in the arctic disrupts polar reckoning.

And as the sun no longer sets with reliability, governments insist there's no cause for alarm.

Shortly thereafter, the undead descend on unsuspecting towns, arising on different days, to illustrate cannibalistic bedlam.

Had alternative energy sources been globally adopted, and cuts to education vilified with legislative resolve, the world would have likely embraced a much less disturbing future, as if working toward planetary goals was expressly paramount.

What will hopefully seem like absurd cool creative storytelling one day doesn't even seem far fetched at the moment.

Isn't it actually easier and less costly to start transitioning to a greener economy than it is to frack the arctic?

Doesn't going green make more sense than that?

You know it does.

And don't tell me there aren't huge profits to be made.

If it costs more to buy a burger made from plants than it does to buy one made from animals that you have to feed and take care of, there are obviously huge profits in green.

Versatile verdure.

Biodiverse trestle.

Dark Phoenix

The world of the X-Men and Women has become less inherently conflicted, as they have assisted non-mutant kind during many a dark hour of need.

Yet the distrust and fear of their abilities still institutionally lingers, requiring just the slightest provocation to erupt with volcanic fury.

Professor X (James McAvoy) still fights the good fight, but has become so accustomed to praise and reward that he's lost sight of the dire misgivings blindly focused on oppressing his people.

The X-Men and Women aren't revered like the Avengers, theirs is a more hostile world within which old world prejudice still infuriates.

Old world is perhaps the wrong word to be using here, for I doubt multiculturalism is something new.

It's likely existed in manifold alternative forms since the inquisitive dawn of time, perhaps without having to be conceptualized during more enlightened forgotten epochs.

As Foucault would wager.

Without radical designs.

Jean Grey (Sophie Turner) finds herself embodying godlike superhuman powers in Dark Phoenix, and after expressing herself too combatively, leaves Xavier's peace in ruins.

But he refuses to give up on the virtue he still knows constructively resides within, and even as Magneto seeks vengeance, he will not let her drift away.

Not the best X-Men film but it still resonates with endearing themes.

To promote and believe in the goodness of humanity reflects genuine spiritual resolve, but to deny the existence of terror is as foolish as it is naive.

Professor X and Magneto strategize somewhere in between, constantly aware of the other's next move yet still attuned to bold improvisation.

Through the ages.

The fight is fought internally by everyone at times, but losing sight of the value of difference leads to perpetual disillusion.

There's nothing wrong with a bit of spice.

To liven things up a bit.

Chocolate sauce or some gritty granola.

Takes the hardboiled edge off.

From time to time.

And tastes good.

Yum!

Amazing Grace

You change and grow over the years.

Develop. Diversify.

You still love to do some things that you'll probably always love doing, while other interests fade or at least lose some of their lasting appeal.

It seems like this for awhile anyways, but then what seems like 4 years turns into 15, and some of those things that lost their appeal start fascinating again, with qualities beyond expression, seeking unbridled laidback articulations.

You start to notice different things to, or at least observe features you've never noticed before, even though they've been right there in front of you all along, but for some reason have never registered.

Thus the middle-age malaise slowly transforms into a constructive resonance, with a decade and a half more worth of material generating new multifaceted syntheses.

Compelling new ideas and old school boasts of the wild eternal instructively present themselves thereby, revitalizing aspects of the same old same old, while cultivating alternative realms for exploration.

I used to only really zero in on leaf colour in the fall, for instance, but I've started to notice so many wonderful varieties of green this year, perhaps because so many trees were late to bloom.

One prick of a cold Spring dagnabit, that's finally abounding in nascent wonder.

I doubt Aretha Franklin ever lost this regenerative spark of irrepressible contemplation, as she changed and grew over the years, without losing sight of where she came from, or missing a spry tenacious sprightly step.

In Amazing Grace she returns to her gospel roots by performing hymns she loved to sing in her youth, reinterpreted with agile soul, flexibly delivered with profound freedom.

It's like her music found a way in the '60s and '70s to harness communal revelation, blending unique characteristic rhythms with timeless distinct style, gracefully flowing with burgeoning traditions while discovering inspiring orchestrations of her own, thoughtfully scored moving fermentations, abundantly provoking rich frank soulful thought.

And feeling.

She wrote rapturous music that still resonates today with that timeless emboldened innocence that leads to so much wonder.

Cool to see her rockin' it old school in Amazing Grace.

Overflowing with lithe intensity.

Damned impressive age old age old.

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum

Once again with the John Wick (Keanu Reeves) immortalizing survival, this time as the entire criminal underworld extolls chaotic fury.

Congenially, as he's wildly pursued, he seeks the loyal aid of his friends, even if there's little they can do, besides coax divine personal sacrifice.

15 million or so to take his invincible life, too tempting for foolish addicts, too irresistible for would be rivals.

He makes his way to Casablanca in search of He-Who-Sits-Above-the-Table, a lone trek across the desert awaiting, with no guarantee he'll be warmly received.

Yet fortune smiles kindly upon him, and indeed a new deal is made, but not without giving up freedoms, and returning to bogeyman shade.

'Til further complications arise which jeopardize so many many lives.

Madness in searing discountenance.

Focused through utter dysfunction.

Except for Wick of course, who instinctually governs dispassionately.

Although there are points where he could have succumbed, where he almost falls stricken asunder.

The action's intense and the bedlam well choreographed as multiple opportunists seek scathing derisive leverage.

But it isn't as nutso as I thought it would be, and though Wick's still embattled for much of the menace, I still thought there would be less dialogue, less lengthy non-threatening exchanges.

Another dog is imperilled, another ally outcast.

I understand that the dialogue is supposed to be raw, to reflect unpretentious communication with sincere direct honesty, but there are films who use similar conversational strategies which make more of a lasting impact, Paris, Texas, for one, Robert Rodriguez remaining the master.

The first John Wick film was just so good that I keep hoping for similar effects from its successors.

I love Terminator 3 for instance, I'll watch Alien 3 again, Star Trek III, Blade: Trinity, Die Hard: with a Vengeance.

Christopher Nolan's Batman Trilogy excelling far beyond my expectations, with august realistic agency, cinema needs more Christopher Nolan.

I don't consider the Iron Man or Thor films etc. to be trilogies anymore, rather I see them as instalments in an unprecedented colossus that's too vast for these kinds of comparisons.

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum's still cool though, I'll give it that, but it's not more than you would have expected.

The rest of the film could have been as impressive as the fight scenes.

I like how Wick understands animal kind.

Pokémon Detective Pikachu

Spoiler alert.

I admit, that prior to seeing this film, I knew next to nothing about Pokémon.

I had seen various Pokémons out and about from time to time, but mistakenly thought Pikachu was Pokémon, like Spongebob Squarepants is SpongeBob SquarePants, or Dora the Explorer is an explorer named Dora.

Incorrect was I, as I discovered shortly after tuning in to my first Pokémon film, Pokémon Detective Pikachu, a hard-hitting soy young adult feature.

I say young adult because the themes seemed too frightening for younger audiences, considering that animal fights, genetic manipulation, and steroid abuse metaphorically intermingle within, albeit with cutesy cuddly unabashed observations, and two struggling young professionals unaccustomed to workplace romance.

Come to think of it, if you took away the animation and the metaphor, perhaps substituting Bruce Willis and a hangover for Detective Pikachu with amnesia, you'd have a grizzled potentially hard-boiled gut wrenching agitation, with robots instead of Pokémon?, an affair, an obsession, an ulcer?

But on the surface the film's much less 12-step.

It's rather idyllic in fact, a bustling city where humans and Pokémon live in robust harmony, like if everyone in Seattle had a loveable family pet, and was eagerly encouraged to take them to work, to the park, to the cinéma, out to eat.

Everywhere in fact, it's a highly advanced idea, which unfortunately doesn't receive much screentime, as Tim Goodman (Justice Smith), Lucy Stevens (Kathryn Newton), and Detective Pikachu (Ryan Reynolds) uncover more traditional pillow pastimes.

Sigh.

The mastermind behind Ryme City is confined to a wheelchair and desires to briskly walk again.

But since his mortal leverage lacks fluid mobility, he hopes to transfer his mind to a lively Pokémon, the formidable Mewtwo no less.

But not only that, he develops a gas that will merge everyone in the city with their cherished Pokémon companions, whom he will then diabolically rule forever after, employing extant whimsy, brawn, and caprice, however he sees fit, as the wayward crow flies.

Failing to have consulted his constituents, we've no idea if they were hip to the idea, but fortunately critical inquiry comes a characteristically calling, the brazen altruistic intent, sweetly sleuthing with fact-based reconnaissance.

Most environmentalists aren't mad obsessed plutocrats coveting immortality.

They just want to curb pollution and live symbiotically with nature, according to humanistic customs, I'm assuming.

I don't think there's anyone out there who wants to flood nature with toxic pollutants that make people and animals sick; so why aren't we searching for solutions to make such a reality marketable?

Green shifts are becoming available.

They've certainly found one on Apricot Lane Farms.

Where I imagine Pokémon would co-exist.

Perhaps even lighten the load.

Adorably.

Synchronously.

Was there ever any doubt?

Love the Pokémon.

Cool film but not for really young kids.

The Biggest Little Farm

The light shines brightly in this humble holistic documentary.

There's a lot of well-researched well-documented logical doom and gloom out there, to which The Biggest Little Farm resiliently responds.

The situation's bleak and new terms are being created to discuss climate change, but individuals are still tilling new ground, and finding innovative ways to persevere.

Protests are paramount.

They're important to raise awareness and demonstrate active criticisms.

Purchasing decisions effectively sustain them too, inasmuch as what you buy directly effects climate change.

I'm not perfect, I don't make 100% environmentally conscious decisions all the time, but I have cut most of the meat out of my diet, recycle everything I can, usually purchase green, and currently snack on fruit rather than chips much more frequently.

It's handy that many grocery stores are selling sliced fruit in small containers (which will hopefully become biodegradable) in Montréal for 2 to 3 dollars a piece.

If the choice is between a helping of pineapple or a bag of chips for $2.50 when I don't have much time and need a quick snack, the decision's a no-brainer, I'm buying pineapple every time.

Businesses do respond when they start losing money, and if there's people powered momentum to make significant impacts, plastic can be replaced by green alternatives, and our reliance on oil can become much less overwhelming.

When I see how many young people attend climate change protests I'm encouraged.

They clearly care about their future and the future of our planet as well.

If even a figure as low as 60% of them grew up to start environmentally friendly businesses and/or farms, selling environmentally friendly products for competitive prices, products perhaps generated by a hemp revolution like the one mentioned in the film Grass and others, while making environmentally friendly purchasing decisions themselves, greenhouse gas emissions would certainly decrease, and biodegradable containers could seriously reduce plastic waste.

We live within a capitalist system and it's through capitalism that we can fight global warming.

Big money tracks how people spend and if it anticipates mass profits in green markets it will lucratively respond.

If North Americans boycotted McDonald's for a month mouth watering vegetarian and vegan options would definitely appear on its menu, as they have on A & W's without a boycott.

Scrumptiously so.

The Biggest Little Farm's about biodiversity, about farming symbiotically with nature.

The Chester's don't just plant one crop, they plant dozens, and cultivate an awe-inspiring abundance of different foods.

They encounter serious setbacks as they embrace sustainable farming, hiring farm whisperer Alan York to guide them along the way.

They wait it out.

They find solutions.

Symbiotic solutions.

Evergreen solutions.

When snails threaten their fruit trees, their ducks devour the snails. When birds threaten their crops, birds of prey move in to challenge them. When gophers threaten their produce, every animal from miles around shows up to chase them. When torrential rains threaten their farm, its bountiful greens prevent catastrophic run off.

They work with nature in an inspiring way that must make David Suzuki and David Attenborough proud.

It's like they've planted a farm in the forest without harming the animals and are still making a steady profit.

The forest animals are even encouraged to live there, with resident owls numbering close to 100.

It's game changing inclusive brilliant revolutionary farming that radiates distinct harmonies through its patient biodiverse strengths.

And it works, at least it's working for them, although they don't shy away from presenting hardships endured.

Our Planet passionately argues that maintaining biodiversity is integral to fighting climate change and preventing species from going extinct.

If more people farmed like the Chester's in The Biggest Little Farm, if more disposable containers and other products were made with hemp, if more green businesses started popping up, and more people made regular greener purchases while out and about, we would significantly reduce greenhouse gasses, and live more enriching lives.

A definite must see.

You can visit Apricot Lane Farms in California too.

They've expanded into ecotourism.

Mind-blowing game changing impacts.

One of my favourite films.

Zagros

Zagros pulls you in with the simple genuine honesty often disseminated by documentary films.

Patiently listening and modestly sifting through vivid delicate realizations, it sincerely brings to life different aspects of a traditional art, whose practitioners have fallen on hard times, inasmuch as their markets are stifling.

And it's a shame considering how beautiful their finished products are, how stunning, how unique.

How integral.

The herculean labour that goes into creating just one exemplar is mind-boggling from a mechanized point of view, but each individual carpet radiates such intense authenticity that it's surprising they don't sell for a bundle.

To an eager sympathetic clientele.

Zagros begins by introducing craftspersons then investigates their age old supply chain.

We meet feisty nomads who herd sheep across inhospitable terrain, forced to both cross busy roads with their flock, and carefully plan each conspicuous graceful movement.

The domestic remonstrations of ill-tempered critical children taunt a man who dyes thirsty wool, as he has for over 40 years, their protests related to a sparse income earned, his defence uplifted through blithe perseverance.

His children are still unaware of how fortunate they are to have unmitigated access to a mastercraftsperson, who can teach them everything he knows for the asking, and help them earn their own living one day.*

Assuming markets bounce back.

Starting from the top.

His job isn't rich with diversity and uproar, but is still steeped in patrimonial passion, as he skilfully demonstrates with ease, much like Kierkegaard's Validity of Marriage.

Aesthetic Validity of Marriage.

Location makes no difference to the craft although it may to the income generated.

I imagine traditional craftspersons across the globe pursue their art with equal degrees of dedication.

You pay a bit more (hopefully) but it's worth it; I'll never look at carpets the same way again.

I was vilified once in my youth (not for long) for lauding wallpaper. I couldn't understand why at the time. Still don't really. It looked quite nice.

Zagros takes the time to profoundly examine its subject, long relaxed scenes catalyzed in thoughtful homage.

It's like that feeling you get on a sunny afternoon when you're engaged in various tasks but don't have much to do.

I would never have the patience to craft a handmade carpet, although I have nothing but praise for the art.

The harpist creates music, carpets are woven melodically.

Meticulous essentials.

Innate hearty blooms.

Respiring.

*I was lucky to have caring teachers in my youth, and unmitigated access to an old school Irish lexicon.

Diane

Guilt haunts a reliable community volunteer as her grown son's drug addiction becomes increasingly distressing.

She's sure and steady, well-oiled, remarkable, overflowing with humble self-sacrifice, always willing to lend helping hands.

She serves food to the down and out, finds time to visit sick friends, takes care of the elderly, and loves sitting back to discuss bygone days.

Except for one moment in particular, one extravagance that led to grief.

It's unknown if it brought on Brian's (Jake Lacy) troubles, but she unfortunately acts as if it was the root cause.

But she won't give up on him.

Stops by almost every day, brings him food, is critical but not overbearing, sympathizes unless he's reckless.

He responds. Seeks help. Sort of recovers. Becomes overbearing.

Their relationship's somewhat dysfunctional, Brian either wallowing in despair, or seeking to hoist the upper hand when he's sober.

Diane (Mary Kay Place) patiently deals, showcasing the unsung grace of spry active virtue.

Unassured yet sheltered.

Remorseful yet feisty.

She isn't a saint, I don't mean to suggest she's saintly, but her indiscretions are by no means scandalous, in the present moment, long after an impassioned youth.

Or young adulthood.

The time frame isn't specified but you can guess from the relative age of the characters.

A strange film nevertheless, one which possibly makes more sense if you've ever done good deeds, or been weighed down by guilt for things you haven't done, or simply like chillin' with family.

Why the film explicitly presents Diane engaged in hard drug use is a point of confusion, but notwithstanding a bizarre dream sequence, it does resonate with communal optimism, and establish a strong group of friends.

Who argue, reminisce, listen, tease, protest, are there for each other like a sponge or a duster, understand one another, facilitate, appease.

With that familiar kind of camaraderie that presumes but doesn't judge, that predicts but doesn't wager.

Diane and Brian forge a troubled symbiotic nomenclature nestled within discursive drives.

Actively administering.

Flexible choice composure.

Most of the time.

The Hustle

I suppose I don't know much about con artistry, but I've never considered it to be anything less than shady, a disreputable means to earn a living, for as long as you can avoid suspicion.

Whenever it shows up in the news, I don't exactly recall the Vampire Lestat, certainly not ye olde Robin Hood, nor anything remotely spry and charitable.

But perhaps a code does exist between some of its practitioners, complete with its own particular form of tithing, and it's possible that it's only upheld by the most ingenious amongst them, which explains why it's never been deciphered.

Inveterate concealment.

Undetected dividends.

Don't mistake this for a conspiracy theory, it's just lighthearted speculation, it's incredible what people are willing to believe these days, and how they could possibly believe it having graduated high school.

The creative mind speculates, postures, theorizes, contemplates.

But the logical mind applies rationality.

Considers the truth value of a proposition.

And doesn't drink bleach or think minorities are taking over.

A code of sorts exists in this film inasmuch as Penny (Rebel Wilson) and Josephine (Anne Hathaway) are depicted cheating scoundrels.

Not all of the time by any means, but when confronted with what they think is genuine honesty, they still demonstrate concerned sympathy.

Penny is hands-on, rough and tumble, down and dirty, scandalous.

Her scams are light yet lucrative and she enjoys her free time indisputably.

Josephine's more sophisticated, but no stranger to feigned affection, aware of the benefits of the single life, with little patience for soundproof tomfoolery.

She tries to get rid of Penny after she shows up on her Beaumont-sur-Mer turf, which naturally encourages her to stay, which calls for a chaotic plan B.

They wind up in a duel of sorts, the first to con their agreed upon mark out of $500,000 the winner.

But the mark can't help it if he's downright adorable.

Generating the sweetest of codes.

It's daring and brash and raunchy and elegant, a verifiably bold juxtaposition radiating sincere gnarly charm.

I never did see Bedtime Story, but I did see Dirty Rotten Scoundrels several times.

But that's beside the point, The Hustle making inroads of its own, even if the next incarnation may diversify itself even further, if it takes the O Brother, Where Art Thou? approach.

Not bad.

Long Shot

A passionate writer (Seth Rogen as Fred Flarsky), dedicated to pursuing social justice, finds himself unemployed in protest, after a multinational swallows his resolve.

A close friend (O'Shea Jackson Jr. as Lance) sincerely sympathizes and soon they're out about town jocosely revelling.

Finding themselves at a decked out chandelier soirée, Fred notices his old babysitter, who's morphed into the U.S Secretary of State (Charlize Theron as Charlotte Field).

And as fate would have it, she remembers him, is looking for a new speech writer, isn't put off as he lambastes another guest (the owner of the multinational), nor after he engages in further awkward spectacle.

He joins her team, much to the annoyance of other team members, and must quickly adjust his independent style to something more suited to delicate black tie repartee.

He sort of does, although he eventually doesn't have to, as Charlotte falls for his charming rough edges, and the too craft an uncharacteristic bitterly critiqued political brew, less concerned with image and pork barrels, more attuned to environmental embyronics.

The result's like a Disney film written by a John Waters fan who watched too much Family Guy, love driving a highly unlikely scenario, the raunch gaseously scandalizing atmosphere.

But it's still too polished for its lascivious underpinnings, and even if what takes place is ideal, its biodiversity remains somewhat undernourished.

It seeks a less corrupt political sphere wherein which politicians can enact laws beyond the influence of the plutocratic lobby, but it doesn't present a complex narrative that cultivates alternative pastures and therefore fizzles when it should be flourishing, as if it's more concerned with making clever references and sleazy comments than developing a convincing plot, while relying on truest romantic love, alone, to justify its wild ambitions.

It doesn't need much, just a few more scenes explaining how a novel political approach could successfully lead to a less top heavy political spectrum, plus a couple more depicting Fred becoming more accustomed to political life, and more that profoundly explain how playing the maverick card could produce sustainable initiatives, by contradicting long established evidence-based mainstream convention.

But Long Shot is somewhat of a mainstream conventional film that prefers instinct to logic inasmuch as it celebrates action without thought, unconsciously arguing true love's enough indeed.

True love may indeed be enough, but Charlotte is still a remarkable woman, and if she had been given more remarkable lines and had made more remarkable arguments, Long Shot would have seemed more like the validation of a remarkable woman, than the ascension of an ethical man.

Politicians around the world do seem to be making careers for themselves based on instinct, however.

Perhaps traditional parties need to embrace populist bravado to reestablish less reckless international relations?

Bernie Sanders comes to mind.

With his genuine charismatic appeal.

Avengers: Endgame

Considering the scale of the Marvel films, the mind-boggling number of superheroic narratives Marvel's crafted since Iron Man was released in 2008, the billions of dollars it's made, the bold ways it's used them to pursue social justice, Marvel's still never seemed arrogant, or reckless, or condescending, or unhinged, as if it plays its role in the cinematic continuum with as much wild-eyed innocent wonder as its characters radiate in its films, generally aware of its remarkable capabilities, but constantly challenging itself so they never grow stale, likely afflicted with the same doubts that confront many successful professionals, without letting them take control, without allowing them to dissuade and plunder.

I suppose I often write about how often Marvel releases films, or how many of them there are, but loads of comedy and drama and horror films are released every year; if one fantasy/sci-fi/adventure/action studio is bold enough to expand its boundaries far beyond those ever conceived by its rivals, while delivering generally well-crafted products, perhaps overload transforms into melody, from novelty to pest to pastime, changing the fantasy genre in shocking unprecedented ways, without hubris or controversy, with old school hard work, humility, and commitment.

I've come to love many Marvel characters and it's incredible how many of them there are.

Trying to write a script that includes most of them and still respects their characters is a monumental undertaking overflowing with risk and chaos.

And I thought screenwriters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely (is that a real name?) did a great job integrating diverse Marvel personalities in Endgame, Ant-Man (Paul Rudd) conversing with Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), Rocket (Bradley Cooper) boldly telling it like it is, Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and Quill (Chris Pratt) batting heads without much fallout, Nebula (Karen Gillan) sternly arguing with herself, Thanos (Josh Brolin) not saying much but delivering powerful lines, Captain America (Chris Evans) and his motivational speeches, Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) keeping the team together, different characters analyzing time travel, a fierce determined Valkyrie (Tessa Thompson) proclaiming, and the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) emitting concerned humble brilliance.

Others as well.

The dynamics of time travel, or the logical repercussions of the mission the Avengers find themselves on in Endgame, are beyond the scope of this review, but I'll write that Endgame's clever and entertaining from the dismal beginning to the ________ end, with so many cool little moments and only a side of deflating cheese.

In Star Trek, it's always cool when Sarek shows up. How many films and series include Sarek? Yes, Mark Lenard originally played a Romulan.

In Avengers: Endgame it's cool to see around 30 cool characters show up, to highlight what I was getting at earlier.

"You're only a genius on this planet," says Rocket to Iron Man.

"There's beer on the ship," says Rocket to Thor.

Rocket's cheek is pacified after a Captain America speech.

Nebula would have made a great terminator.

The scene during the final battle, when all of Marvel's heroines line up to charge, was really cool, so many different personalities, so much compelling character.

Trying to take all of these characters and situate them in a narrative where the franchise moments are endearing rather than sentimental is a herculean task that seems as if it was handled with ease.

Possibly not handled with ease.

3 hours of endeavour that ties 22 films together.

That's never been done.

Who knows if it will ever be done again.

I even saw it twice.

And loved the poetic final moments.

I guess the series keeps going and this film wasn't released three years later and there's plenty more action to come but no more _________.

That's a huge let down.

Realistic, but still a huge let down.

Be cool to see _______ show up in some Indie films though.

There's no doubt ______ still got it.

And ______ may be sick of playing ye olde action ________.

A spoof would be great too.

How come no one spoofs these films?

There's plenty of material.

Spaceballs was very good.

Overload. Can't compute. Overload. Can't compute.

What a spectacle.

A truly incredible milestone.

It was even better the second time.

Too much, just enough, too little?

I still prefer Star Trek and X-Men.

But Marvel's made some great films.

Which are so much fun to watch.

Is it better to have grown up where Marvel is the norm or to have become accustomed to it after having known a different time?

I can't answer that question.

Crazy time for fantasy films though.

Crazy how much things have changed.

High Life

Sequestered interstellar impudence botanically inseminating raw delinquent justice.

Claustrophobic encapsulations reanimating grouse grizzled seared begrudged camaraderie fertilizing angst consoled.

Mutaric verse.

Holistic cross-section.

Experimental cortical recalibrated resonance reverberating frontiers jejune meaningless runes.

On the sly, roll out, acculturate, condition, speculative tiers definitively impacted, like an age old feudal grave.

A star.

A quasar.

Something compelling evokes infinite something drastic disillusions hallows.

Past the point of inspiration far beyond exhausted fears, nihilistic contamination endemically engineered.

Chill in the garden. Keep chillin' in the garden. The plants grow, nurture, conserve, bustle. There's a celebration of life inasmuch as it flourishes. Why not dig something, play? Comment? Construct? Observe? Sparrows. Leafy green bouquets. Chomp chomp. Chatter. Stretch.

New birth.

Regenerative life.

Space child infinitesimally engrossed caught up waylaid.

Through no fault of their own were they locked up inside, in test tubes of ambient Jekyll & Hyde, lost in the galaxy stars set adrift, with freedoms inherent, candidly pitched.

Elaborate databases.

Books.

Perhaps.

Monte's (Robert Pattinson) devotion.

Travelling forever through astronomical climes, a unique descriptive vocabulary characterizing understated variation.

Like the Inuit describing snow.

Proust delineating obsession.

Interplanetary lullabies.

Velveteen moons.

Remarkably original unsettling independent sci-fi, creating its own unique codes, as if it was extraterrestrially conceived, born of the abstract candelabra.

Keep an open mind.

And proceed with caution.

Strange film.

Solemn incarcerated imagination.

André Benjamin (Tcherny) stands out.

Stockholm

A rather odd bank robbery, responded to with an equal degree of the nutso, the robber himself like a devotee of Bonanza, the cops like classical musicians playing jazz, huggably unreels in Robert Budreau's Stockholm, a bizarro affair romanticizing the awkward, as if in order to respectfully reflect the improvised nature of the heist, extemporaneous production scenarios were evocatively conceived, or as if everyone involved feigned jurisprudent expertise, while delicately crafting loose knotted clips at random.

The police and the robber both consider alternative outcomes, and each volatile exchange further augments their misunderstandings.

It's as if they're trying to play sports but the game they're playing doesn't exist, the boundaries separating theory and practise simultaneously establishing while deconstructing themselves, like they're anxiously attempting to generate code, stipulation, or principle, yet can't quite construct any durable foundation, like suddenly trying to take up astrophysics, or the attempts of zoo animals to imagine independence.

It's like both sides are revelling in tomfoolery at times, but since neither participant knows what they're doing, foolishness is perhaps not the best word, expedient lucidity potentially providing semantic clarity, the comedic applications of either evaluation playfully emergent in the rebellious bottom line.

The comedy is difficult to boisterously generate within, because the policepersons are uptight, and Lars Nystrom (Ethan Hawke) is very kind.

The police assume they have the upper hand and negotiate without taking him too seriously.

He tries to create genuine fear but he's so nice even his hostages adore him.

The laughs are much more subtle, much less bellicose than those you often find in American comedy, as if Stockholm reasonably transmits thoughtful European sensibilities.

When Nystrom resorts to unorthodox methods the results aren't funny at all though, a huge downer in the old botched-robbery-hostage-taking-wild-west-romantic-comedy.

But he is forgiven, and, in fact, rewarded, for his inspired blunder.

Excelling at orchestrating romance for a highly dysfunctional spell, while mismatched adventurous characters dubiously prance and spar, Stockholm's still somewhat too serious a lot of the contemplative time, which would have been less ironic if it had made a little bit more sense.

An absurd scenario no doubt.

In which the realism's too ridiculous.

Tough to pull off.

Napszállta (Sunset)

Dreamlike exploration observing radical tradition, patient determined movements discovering reticent clues, modest celebrity cultivating passage instinctual grace establishing ties, temperate precipitation intuitively encompassed, like Napszállta (Sunset)'s surreal backgammon, and curious Írisz Leiter (Juli Jakab) keeps rolling double sixes.

She would have been an heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire's most prestigious millinery shop if grand misfortune hadn't necessitated alternative fortunes.

The new owner still supplies elegant hats to fashionable royals, and one of his resident artists will perhaps serve at court one day.

But it's not that simple, not quite so clear cut, so homely.

It's a different time, just before the outbreak of World War I, and the aristocracy and the people are expressing themselves confrontationally, neither group willing to accept the other's terms, destructive conflicts having arisen consequently.

The film and myriad other sources truthfully suggest the upper crust was none too kind to its workers of the day, and the people had no means to hold them to account.

Írisz's brother, in hiding and displeased with the corruption, has abandoned peaceful methods of persuasion; she's caught between his anger and the traditions of her artistic heritage.

She's just moved to Budapest and doesn't understand what's happening, wandering somnambulistically between the two parties, accessing highly secretive and exclusive realms without censure, maladroitly assured that peace is ecumenical.

Even though her family was well thought of, and her name is widely known and respected, it's still quite improbable that she would be able to proceed so freely, to go wherever she wants at whatever time.

Thus the dreamlike qualities of the narrative, the intense nightmarish revelations accentuated by obsessive close-ups.

Napszállta's more like grim realistic fantasy than lively magical realism, its chaotic combative testaments composed in dismal haunting fairy tale.

Mátyás Erdély's cinematography creates sombre phantasmagorical confusion that asymptotically incarnates horror, thereby reflecting the terrifying nature of the times, wherein which nothing seems concrete or stable.

But it's still loosely grounded inasmuch as you know where you are and what's transpiring, or at least know as much as Írisz, who knows close to nothing at all.

The total absence of concerned mediators intensifies the conscious anarchy, as does the lack of conversation or explanation, as if a child's on its own for the first time, lost and leading in Twin Peaks's Black Lodge.

Napszállta's bewildered sincerity magnetically draws you in, substituting nausea for lucidity with morose desperate conjecture.

The effect is nauseating at times so it's difficult to take the whole way through, but that doesn't mean its aesthetic isn't uniform, nor its ambivalence, inarticulate.

Bold filmmaking.

Grizzly style.

Mad Dog Labine

Left to fend for herself after her family takes off for the bush, Lindsay Labine (Ève-Marie Martin) shyly chills with her closest friend.

Things are quite lax in their small Northern town, since most of the residents are in fact gone.

A certain carefree yet hesitant innocent composure qualifies Lindsay's investigations, as if she's upset yet sure and steady, and finds herself generally unsupervised.

Free to explore what she will.

The people who have stuck around forge an eccentric free form instinctually unorthodox eclective of sorts, sincerely expressing themselves beyond the cold master narrative.

Unrestrained movements and cheeky proclamations intermingle with articulate considerations, as if the particular is joyously asserting itself unobserved, and it's not just the adherents of discipline and punishment who claim to respect alternative lifestyles decompressing, they're gone too, in fact it's more like the people actually living alternative lifestyles are no longer weighed down by generic prescriptions, at all, as if gasoline's been replaced with bird song, or the poets gracefully control The Republic.

Temperate freelance watershed inkling.

Like everyone's self-employed.

Or things are way more raccoon than cat or dog.

Labine's town's suddenly like an unscripted curious jocose home on the range, with a library for city hall, its stories blooming with vibrant life.

Traditional outlets for order and authority no longer unconsciously coordinate, as random ideas seek novel justifications.

A peaceful sense of lighthearted relaxation begins to permeate concrete conditionals, as if experimentation can creatively sojourn, regardless of old school superstition.

Lindsay's somewhat shy but actively takes part.

It's quite sad when she's tricked in the beginning, but she's resilient, she bounces back without hesitation.

Look for the moment when she overcomes her shyness and joins in with the revelry around the campfire.

You'll see a beautiful, timid, elfin spirit, who has trouble fitting in, wondrously expressing herself.

The moment's rich with belonging.

Like electric jade.

Compositionally ground with hug power.

Cool film.

*The situation in Mad Dog Labine is quite different from that which may arise from a flood. In the case of a flood, if authorities do suggest you leave your home, it's probably in your best interests to do so, since they likely know what they're talking about. And floods can be very dangerous.

Shazam!

Spoiler alert.

As adventurous superheroic narratives continue to unreel ad infinitum, DC's Shazam! humbly presents starstruck ascension in virtual refrain.

Thus, since most Marvel films and the like don't widely showcase young adult contributions, at least not with Shazam!'s degree of potent unsupervised agency, Shazam!'s heroes embolden a raw sustainable niche, complete with role models you don't have to look up to.

Most of the time.

Youth can therefore restrain from imagining themselves as Iron Man or Captain Marvel, fighting villainy at some far off date in the foreseeable future, instead they can consider themselves as one of Shazam!'s tightly knit group of youthful warriors, magically endowed with metamorphic maturity.

It's a wicked-cool ending from some perspectives, even if you do the math beforehand, and the group's a chill multicultural eclective, abounding with awkward foibles, as unsure of themselves as Clark Kent, embracing their alter egos with equal degrees of self-determination.

In terms of friendship and camaraderie and do-gooding and teamwork, Shamzam! moderately excels and convivially matriculates.

It's fun to watch while Billy Batson/Shazam (Asher Angel/Zachary Levi) learns to use his new powers as the aggregate character of the supporting cast develops.

But of course there's a villain and a plot and dastardly deeds and ancient demons, and they must duel with one another outside of lunch and recess.

In the end, as multiplicity inaugurates a rather flimsy final showdown, the power of Shazam instantaneously teaches the team of shocked generally non-violent youngsters how to instinctually battle their combative foes, whom one might think would have an advantage in such a scenario, being the clear incarnations of diabolical vice.

But they don't, and neither does principal villain Thaddeus Sivana (Mark Strong/Ethan Pugiotto), and although it's cool to watch the grown-up kids kick-butt, it's a little too laissez-faire for such a death-defying imbroglio.

Still, the aged Shazam Wizard's (Djimon Hounsou) search for a successor bears thought provoking fruit, which relates to something Barack Obama said recently about avoiding "a circular firing squad."

He was more or less referring to the ways in which discourses of purity can prevent peaceful agendas from ever gaining momentum, as relied upon potential retinues coldly cut down promising candidates who don't magnetically generate uncompromised perfection.

The last of the council of wizards makes this mistake in Shazam!, and almost perishes without having passed on his powers.

The Wizard's dying, and gives young Batson the power of Shazam in radical haste, and could have wildly and chaotically erred if Billy wasn't indeed someone honestly genuine.

He wouldn't have had to proceed with such haste if he hadn't been such a puritan for so many years.

If he had been a little more chill about sharing his remarkable gifts.

Rather than obsessing about messianic instincts.

There's really no such thing you know.

Although it can be fun to believe.

Within reason of course.

If that makes any sense.

Shazam!

Us

Spoiler Alert.

A family attends a local carnival in Summer, and as the father claims a winning prize, his daughter blindly wanders off.

She takes in the sights and sounds with quaint innocent wonder, before finding herself on the beach, approaching a mysterious funhouse.

Undaunted by her lack of adult accompaniment, and curious to see what amusingly jests inside, she boldly enters comma one two three, then delights in both razzle and dazzle.

Yet, ominously awaiting in the house of mirrors, as unaware of its fateful reckoning as its unsuspecting daylit lifeblood, is a startled provocative doppelgänger, who's never known true warmth or joy.

What happens next is concealed as time travels to the present day.

Upon which a family has returned to the same destination, without concern for its treacherous echoes.

Which they have often done, it appears they have often travelled there before, Jordan Peele's Us revelling in auspicious tradition, overflowing with romance embalmed.

People are somewhat happy.

There's cheer, mirth, goodwill, adventure.

They often get along well with one another.

A community, a pact.

A team.

But what if every inhabitant of the Earth, rich or poor, black, white, Asian, First Nations, in fact had a covetous doppelgänger, and they didn't exist in an imperceptible alternative dimension, but lived somewhere deep within the Earth indeed?

And what if the delineations demarcating the ontological zones dematerialized in chaotic rupture, and being became inherently combative, as neither group attempted to understand the other?

Us examines this dilemma through the lens of sedate horror, macroscopically manifested in stark haunting menace, improbability rationalized through dismal absurdity, disquieting comforts, confrontationally invested.

Like Star Trek's Mirror, Mirror if it was somewhat zombie.

More cerebral than it is terrifying, it still harrowingly gestates mayhem.

But without reasons explaining its dire conceit, apart from the mention of abandoned networks of tunnels at the beginning, sparse dialogue, clunky conversation, its narrative is somewhat comic, although the film isn't really that funny.

It's well-crafted nevertheless, and doesn't rely on sensation to tell its tale.

But its apocalyptic ambient cunning falls short of Get Out's daring shocks, a gripping tale in the moment no less, but not something I can't wait to see again.

The Mustang

Why people have to round up wild horses is something I don't understand?

Aren't they just chillin' in wide open unoccupied plains, doin' their own thing, not worryin' 'bout other people's business?

Does someone own the grass they eat?

Are they trespassing in the middle of nowhere?

Must they all be tamed and forced to work, to quietly perform without as much as a recalcitrant neigh, as they're rewarded for doing tricks they can't possibly comprehend, when they could have simply been roaming the forgotten wilderness, wild and unconcerned, harnessed to unbridled freedom?

I don't disapprove of The Mustang's horse rearing program, inasmuch as it exists after the fact.

It's actually a brilliant stroke of enlightened rehabilitation, that teaches hardened criminals genuine kindness, love, and compassionate understanding.

The remarkable benefits of animal therapy can easily be found online, which leads me to think that if prisoners were given stray cats and dogs to care for, things might lighten up in some tense environments.

Training a frisky rebellious stallion certainly helps The Mustang's Roman (Matthias Schoenaerts) to feel again, for after years of unmanageable self-imposed isolation, he suddenly opens up to his gentle daughter (Gideon Adlon as Martha).

Soon after he enters the program.

He doesn't take to it so well at first though.

He's so tightly wound he can't listen to anyone other than himself, even when people freely share valued helpful information.

But why is he so tightly wound?

Where does his obstinacy come from?

It could have perhaps been generated by an all-too-encompassing psychological focus on the individual, a shocking inability to calmly listen to an other.

Anyone else, it's as if he's adopted a god-like persona that fails to heed any alternative viewpoint that doesn't match his predetermined will.

His predetermined will alone.

He's likely encountered wicked tricks, people who claimed camaraderie but only sought to cheat him.

But that doesn't mean there aren't others out there providing judicious counsel, lively inspiring goodwill, or that everyone you meet is trying to screw you.

Just have to give a little.

Be willing to let others in.

The Mustang slips up at times and probably could have left out a lot of the violence, and Roman certainly convalesces rather quickly, but it still presents a caring heart that truly seeks honest redemption, after having given up on everything it loved, after having succumbed to total silence.

If the horses can't run free why not train them with similar initiatives?

But I don't see why they can't run free.

They aren't hurting anyone.

And they make nature all the more wild.

Indubitably.

The Hummingbird Project

Cantankerous competition, bitterly motivating high-stakes vitriol, necessitating vast fluid resources whose liquidity lubricates mass, encouraging dynamic cerebral calculations the practicalities of which harness synergy, theoretical computations duelling in concrete enterprise, boldly navigating luscious landscapes in hard-driven entrepreneurial schism, ingenious thought desperately relied upon as if novelty could be canonically conjured, and instantaneously set in motion, to quickly generate multi-millions.

The improbabilities surrounding Vincent (Jesse Eisenberg) and Anton's (Alexander Skarsgård) attempts to drill a thousand-mile tunnel between the New York Stock Exchange and Kansas, within which they plan to lay fibre-optic cable that will outperform their former employer's minions, are astounding and truly incredible, especially considering Anton has yet to figure out how to save the plutocratic millisecond, and mountains, malcontents, miscues, and maladies lie mischievously waiting, before they ecstatically break ground.

The confidence required to move forward with such a plan is mind-boggling to say the least, yet Vincent's undaunted and inspiring enthusiasm still persuades financial managers to invest.

Mark Vega (Michael Mando) and many others sign on to build the tunnel, their subterranean expertise as lively as their adventurous spirits.

But Eva Torres (Salma Hayek) unleashes pure fury after Anton quits, and boldly sets about to ignominiously destroy him.

With vast resources at her enraged disposal, and an alternative theory which Anton disputed, she sets out with devoted crews, to disenchant his blind flexible resolution.

It's as if Kim Nguyen's Hummingbird Project takes ludicrous Marvel heroics, rationally exclaimed in their own fantastic realm, and practically applies them to the world at large, a more fragile world wherein which failure is a possibility, superpowers are strictly relative, you do have to consult people, and the opposition isn't quite so evil.

Most of the time.

In fact, Anton and Vincent were doing rather well when they worked for Torres, not millionaire well, but well enough, regardless.

Nevertheless, Vincent emphatically believes in his enviable idea as if he possesses bold superpowers, and willfully embraces godlike responsibility with the daring conceit of courageous miracle.

It's a solid film, complete with the coolest chase scene I've seen in a while, and it wouldn't have been nearly as chill if Vincent had been questioned more critically in the beginning, if doubts had disabled his radical undertaking.

Legalistic and tunnelling superheroics combatively abound within, with no sincere guarantees, no legends, no magic, no assurance.

Cultivating the great beyond.

Great cast.

Realistic enough.

Through Black Spruce

A family grieves the disappearance of a loved one, as a distraught daring twin sister (Tanaya Beatty as Annie) heads to Toronto in search of answers.

Uncertain if she'll find anything, and proceeding without much to go on, she follows her only leads, and soon meets her sister's last contacts.

Last known contacts.

Back home her caring uncle (Brandon Oakes as Will) has problems, for he's angered a group of thugs who tend to express themselves viciously.

He's trying to unobtrusively get by, but finds himself branded a person of interest.

He's soon hiding out on a remote island, while his niece runs into troubles of her own.

Rough, gruelling, dire anxious realities, jurisprudently stitched, in tragic combative song.

The characters in Don McKellar's Through Black Spruce find themselves living in contrasting environments, one chill and peaceful, the other harsh and violent.

Living within them tragically bewilders, as conflicts which they had nothing to do with assault wholesome fun initiatives.

An act of healing, a gentle harmless letter sent off to put minds at ease, provokes extreme tension, and disrupts otherwise blooming friendships.

And a career.

The film athletically unreels with hard-edged sophistication, presenting diverse accessible scenes with a tough gritty concerned sensibility.

A fireside chat in Toronto, hunting together in James Bay, introductions to the art world, with specific takes on the discipline of photography.

For instance.

The blend of the two storylines could have been smoother though, as extended time intervals separate the tales from one another.

But since one storyline's urban and the other's set far away, the different paces, the different immersions, may have produced unsought after shocks, had they been edited and merged more consistently.

The lengthy immersions do creatively pull you into different aspects of Indigenous life, notably the non-toxic bug spray, and the extended time gives each of them their own lifeforce, lifeforces which may not have blossomed had they been cut more regularly.

It's nice to see long patient scenes.

And stories about First Nations people that aren't filled with violence.

What happened to Annie's twin remains a mystery, another sad story in an extreme crisis that effects all of Canada and elsewhere.

If the same percentage of woman of European descent disappeared or were murdered as often as their First Nations Canadian sisters, I imagine governments would enlist armies to find a solution to the problem.

To the extreme crisis.

This is no exaggeration.

The statistics are plain as day.

There needs to be a strong will to make Canada safe for these women.

The racist realities of which should be considered.

Good film.

Love Brandon Oakes.

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Alternative dimensions, co-existing in immaterial symbiosis, parallel narratives unconsciously confabulating interdimensional repartee, no first contact, no apparent links, nothing organically orchestrating symphonic resonance, yet conceptual substance fantastically resides, even though manifold possibilities disenchant synthetic theses, corresponding primordial corporealities existing in fluid gurgle, perhaps by accident, perhaps extrajudicially, although their ontological synergies suggest otherwise, as if they're ethereally co-dependent envirosketches.

They're clearly independent inasmuch as each realm reverberates with distinct novelty, complimentary orthodoxies stretched out like multilateral scripture, naturalistic pretensions conflicting in universal bewilderment, as dogmas that seem tried and true are virtually lost in emancipating infinities.

Multivariability.

Emphatically groomed.

But they're clearly dependent insofar as each distillation is characterized by the same peculiarities, compelling factors from each resembling one another, even though their matrices may be innately avant-garde, from the outside looking in, they're still inhabited by the same constituents, still constructed with the same schematics.

What incorporeally organic material binds them?

What's responsible for their biodiverse resolve?

Star Trek examines the concept from different angles, Inception taking a more introspective approach.

If people hear voices who's to say they weren't multilaterally conceived by invisible ecological beings whom they're capable of phantasmagorically translating?

As if physical constructs like iron could be spread like Nutella, as if they could see and transform matter with tectonic credulity, crafting portals out of thin air with geological finesse, like aged astronomical alchemists, intergalactically demure yet cheeky.

Vortex.

Multiple alternative dimensions wildly present themselves in Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, some of them demanding their own agile features, in unacknowledged tantalizing Grindhouse.

And as one Spider-Person perishes, another must heed the call, although he's somewhat shy and  bluntly nervous, and distrusting of his coveted newfound gifts.

Spider-Peeps make for a rambunctious roll call, as diabolical technological largesse seeks to cheat mortal temporality.

Paradigms of popularity dynastically converge in the superheroic postmodern, grating the spice mélange, blending ye olde everything.

So so love film noir Spider-Man.

Plus anime Spider-Woman.

And jaded middle-aged Spider-Man.

A cool collection of Spider-People.

*Still no Mirai no Mirai.

Mirai no Mirai

An imaginative cloister at rest or at play sharply asserts itself in aggrieved upright tantrum.

For the solitary world within which he was ensconced has been definitively altered by the presence of another.

Attention that was once solely centred on him must now be shared with a sister, and even if she's somewhat adorable, he still can't fraternally conduct.

Strange forces align within his domestic playground to provide him with familial aid, and soon, through recourse to animated historical visuals, he's swathed in verbose fluent didact.

But he still may be too young to absorb his interactive lessons, and whether or not he can accept little Mirai (Victoria Grace) remains truly and innocently uncertain.

As dad (John Cho) learns the domestic arts.

And mom (Rebecca Hall) settles back in at work.

The child (Jaden Waldman) creatively explores pasts and presents to embrace Mirai no Mirai, the film excelling at presenting tactile evidence while he struggles to grasp and comprehend.

A wonderful film, rich with effervescent showcase, abounding with nimble tutelage, proceeds to generously foil and viscerally cascade, like windswept rains intermittently drenching the tropics in inclusive instructive echo, it proceeds with a friendly light heart playfully immersed in soothing reprimand.

Revelations must be hidden in order to avoid conflict as mom and dad wonder what's happening in their unassuming nondescript back garden.

As Kun embarks on journey after journey, it's as if luminescence has been seamlessly disseminated, the film's insouciance mysteriously matriculating, in nurtured inculcated frisk.

Deconstructing disillusions of age.

Enveloping unpasteurized wonder.

The scenes aren't boring or risk-fuelled or death-defying or controversial, they're way more chill, like they aren't working within a systematic production slyly cultivating grass-is-greener ideologies.

Thus, with intergenerational independence and particularized unique charm, they offer alternatives overflowing with paradigmatic initiative, laidback, like childhood storytime.

Categorically unconcerned.

You try to keep your eyes open as you age so you don't miss life passing by, like Ferris Bueller, and from time to time you still notice something novel for which you're totally unprepared.

It's like Mirai no Mirai harnesses this outlook in narrativized jazzy melody, which it thoughtfully focuses on itself, to compose something calm and collective.

A must see.