Blizna

Problems associated with industrializing an underdeveloped region haunt the Party official in charge of managing operations, as Krzysztof Kieslowski's Blizna bluntly examines economic controversy, conflicting voices, inherent criticism.

Things haven't changed much in the quiet rural town for quite some time grandiloquently speaking, and while many of the residents adore the status quo, others seek prosperity or reliable jobs.

To build the chemical plant however several homes have to be "relocated", to the grave disillusionment of many citizens who aren't interested in financial compensation (if any was offered).

The age old forest is also decimated even more so as the project expands, there's an abundance of forest in Canada (even so economic development should proceed sustainably), such losses must be catastrophic in smaller nations.

But ecotourism hasn't flourished and the region isn't a vacation destination, and many people don't want to move to seek opportunity elsewhere, since plain and simply, they love their town.

But will they love it when industry settles in and mechanically transforms cherished landscapes and hideaways, as animal life departs and doesn't come back and pollution causes uncharacteristic illness?

Criticisms of the plant endemically abound which discourage its unassuming CEO, who's genuinely concerned with producing fertilizer in order to grow more food throughout the land.

It's easy to focus on a communal goal when a healthy way of life is cautiously preserved, but if pollution and 60 hour weeks become habitual, it can be more difficult to consider macrofactors.

A lot of people don't mind if the money's good and their lives improve, accumulating lavish sought after goods which were difficult to come by in the previous epoch.

But many others do and Bednarz (Franciszek Pieczka) takes their criticisms to heart, forgetting that it's just the price of doing business and that people like to complain.

Especially if there isn't much time to spend with their families and friends and the money isn't very good.

If the pollution makes them sick.

If they lose touch with their beloved environments.

Kieslowski doesn't seem to care much, Blizna examines Bednarz like he's a tragic figure, overcome by flippant grievances that can't see the bigger picture.

Pollution's not even a factor.

It's like the film laments a lack of absolutism. 

Not as balanced as I had hoped, still like nothing I've seen before, even if I found it too top heavy, I imagine it's admired by many an executive. 

Living in Oblivion

Nerve infiltrates compacted peaceful slumber, as unspoken grim anxieties manifest bold social daring.

The act of producing low-budget melodrama generates distracting emotional tributaries, the resultant active jocose jubilee a startling frank holistic wonder.

Much of the action doesn't technically take place even if it still seems realistic, as if the tremors could tumultuously tantalize with neither shock nor animate discord.

As if this kind of thing routinely radiates fluid fluctuation, the finished product an ironic miracle when compared to remonstrations on set.

As if it's just as thought provoking to showcase inherent volatility, as schemes daydreams schematics soporifics seductively succour dis/continuity.

From back in the metaday when filmmakers were more concerned with layers of meaning, and creating remarkably clever scripts, Living in Oblivion proceeds self-reflexively. 

Language employed is critically analyzed as harmless accidents beguile tactile speech, and worst case scenarios disconcertingly duel with resonant rascally aggrieved reverie.

During this heyday way back in fact when I was but a wee ginger lad, I thought it would be cool to create a film adorned with a making of feature which was a common practice at the time.

But I also thought it would be cooler to include an additional making of feature about the making of feature, and then a third making of feature for a 4-disc set in compulsory total.

Thus, there would have been a making of the making of the making of feature to be found in the crazed metaconceit.

Perhaps with each making of feature shot in a different genre.

Sort of like Inception in a way (had this idea before I saw Inception [did Inception indirectly signal the end of the metacraze?]).

The key would have been to apply as much sincerity to each and every making of film (and make sure they were all at least 90 minutes in length).

Probably would have taken too much time.

But the finished product would have been exceptional.

Living in Oblivion bluntly impresses with endearing heartwarming chaotic charm, its agile breakdowns and plump peculiarities highlighting earnest lackadaisical indiscretion.

Daydreaming with 30 seconds to spare.

Latent practicalities of a dream sequence.

The perfect take's emergence.

Obduracy in charge.

Its title's well-suited to a pandemic as meaning consistently shifts and sways.

Found another Steve Buscemi Criterion (Nick Reve [Buscemi doesn't show up in spellcheck!])! 

With Peter Dinklage (doesn't show up in spellcheck either), Catherine Keener, Dermot Mulroney, and Tom Jarmusch (shouldn't show up in spellcheck). 

When Pigs Fly

Although I lean heavily towards the non-existence of ghosts, I have been eagerly taught to keep an open-mind, meaning that while most of the recorded attempts I've seen on television to capture ghosts seem rather suspect, I still can't categorically dismiss them, as if there's absolutely no possibility of their existence.

As to the existence of the coronavirus, I'm 100% certain that it exists, and think positions to the contrary are oddly ignoring vast swaths of evidence. As to the origins of the virus, they're certainly debatable, but there's no doubt that the virus exists and that vaccinating yourself against it is a solid option.

Should I ignore the vast swaths of evidence which suggest ghosts don't exist as well, and engage in quizzical quantum quackery out of supernatural fascination?

I suppose if a movement caught on which definitively upheld the existence of ghosts, and this movement gained political power, and used its power to promote ghostly endeavours with unsubstantiated reckoning, in some kind of unproductive bizarro way that had seriously negative effects on the economy and the environment, then I would have to deny the existence of ghosts, and embrace distasteful categorical dismissal. 

But that example's absurd and worrying about such possibilities a waste of time (unless you're writing fantasy).

The existence of the coronavirus is not absurd.

And it's claimed millions of lives worldwide.

When Pigs Fly examines an underemployed musician who meets two playful ghosts (Alfred Molina as Marty), and agrees to help them cause cheeky mischief as they embrace various pastimes.

It possesses an endearing lighthearted spirit concerned with stern avenging intrigue, shenanigans erupting with animate requisition as projections pique and premonitions postulate.

It was great to see Sara Driver dedicate her film to ghosts in general, I can't verify if any of them have seen it, but would wager they would have been appreciative if they had.

I'll lend an ear if there's something haunting or enigmatic even that's caught your eye, I don't know how seriously I'll take what you say, but I won't dismiss it, unless you want tons of money. 

That's how so many great fantasies find themselves blockbusting at different times.

Someone had an otherworldly impression, real or imagined, and people listened as the idea took shape.

Do fantasies have utilitarian value, I'd vehemently argue they do. They promote courage, daring, wisdom and modesty, in a manner that isn't stale or antiseptic. 

Spending too much time watching or reading them may occlude practical professional decision making.

Or perhaps not, depending on the industry.

As to motivations, who's to say?

Sleepwalk

Can books harness immaterial authenticity possessing atemporal spiritual substance reified through literary practicality (reading)?

Can extant abstract imbroglios mischievously contextualize the present, without relying on ideological intervention (tricksters) as their readers extensively ponder?

Probably not, although indirect corresponding parallels may seem uncanny if not somewhat mystical, but had the material in question never been covered, would the events have still seemed otherworldly or enigmatic?

As you encounter variable idiosyncrasies (in books and films) it's only natural to narratively apply them, to whatever you happen to be doing at the time or as similar occurrences present themselves.

But are you simply randomly applying ideas chosen at random for different texts, to random storylines inevitably generated as you freely interact with others?

Or is there something beyond coincidence ethereally aligned like Jurassic Park's chaos theory, which attaches seemingly supernatural significance to disorganized interconnected (enticing) ephemera? 

Probably not, in terms of personal history as opposed to applied math.

But if you're ever bored it's a fun game to play.

As long as you don't take your wagers too seriously.

But at times you have to seem as if you're vigorously engaged, nevertheless, in order to inspire confidence in significant others early in life.

Logic aside, some people prefer elevating the absurd to inviolable levels, regardless of relevance to applicable rationalities out of an instinctual preference for determinacy. 

Without comedic reckoning.

Was never able to research the subject that much.

But I imagine there are many people who have.

Sleepwalk follows a bright translator/jack-of-all-trades as she's asked to translate an ancient Chinese text (Suzanne Fletcher as Nicole), the events from the forbidden parables uncannily haunting her life thereafter.

A cool independent low-budget examination of harrowing contemporaneous histories, it's chill yet still discerning much like birdwatching or métro station discovery.

An indirect advocate for libraries and archives, along with historical context and animate consistency, Sleepwalk presents its playful syntheses with less gravity than The Lord of the Rings.

Co-starring Tony Todd, Steve Buscemi and Ann Magnuson. 

Cinematography by Frank Prinzi and Jim Jarmusch. 

Cutter's Way

Independent thinking cynically disposed a lack of purpose embittered tension, disparaging resolute alcohol consumption concealing tranquil constructive pastures. 

A clever incapacitated curmudgeon fluidly expresses existential laxity, thoroughly unamused with bells and whistles or anything whatsoever other than drink (John Heard as Cutter). 

He has good friends committed to taking care of him to delicately nurturing his troubled spirit, the job rather difficult at times since he's prone to bursts of antagonism. 

But one of them witnesses a man who likely engaged in the act of murder, yet is unwilling to talk to the police since the volatile subject is rich and powerful.

His lack of natural daring reawakens Cutter's sense of adventure, his innate romantic composure swiftly shifting back to cavalier. 

His judgment's still somewhat hazy insofar as he thinks his plan will work, that he can blackmail the notorious oligarch and then turn him in once he pays up.

Richard Bone (Jeff Bridges) and Cutter's partner (Lisa Eichhorn as Maureen Cutter) are noticeably less enthused, but Cutter's seen quixotic daylight and can't turn himself away.

He's like a pirate with no ship mundanely caught up with static landlubbin', with his discerning eyepatch and peg leg potential picturesquely protocolled in caricature. 

Inherently independent, salty sea bound stray severity.

Without a goal in sight he's reckless letting loose on routine convention, forgetting what it means to be neighbourly, somewhat of a menace at times in fact.

But his youthful unwavering reckoning does eventually compensate, certainly not for his neighbour's car, but perhaps for endemic eccentricity. 

Perhaps an outcast amongst independent swashbuckling critical hopeless endeavours (the film), due to its fatalistic attitude about Vietnam, and its initial outburst of vulgar racism. 

As a tragic protagonist Cutter is a bit hard to take, the transformation of hope into fatalism generally producing resonant discord.

Boredom generates malcontent flourishes, but doesn't have to aggressively assail, everything found in the immediate vicinity including others who are bored also.

It's cool when bored people get together to put on a play or make a YouTube channel. Start a small business of some kind. Perhaps a restaurant. A local sports league.

But Cutter needed the epic to revitalize his distraught soul.

And as he becomes proactive it impresses.

The final moments are exceptional. 

Across the Pacific

A career soldier in possession of rank is kicked out of the American military, he attempts to enlist with the Canadian Forces, but word of his disgrace has travelled quickly (Humphrey Bogart as Rick Leland).

With nothing to do, and no local armed forces to fight for, he boards a ship heading west, hoping to serve a country oversees with resigned mercenary indifference.

With time on his hands, aboard the ship in question, he relaxes with some of the guests, meeting an adventurous maiden from Medicine Hat (Mary Astor as Alberta Marlow), and a bored professor who lives in the Philippines (Sydney Greenstreet as Dr. H.F.G. Lorenz). 

He soon discovers work is available although it's somewhat treacherous and controversial, but if he's willing to supply Lorenz with information he may have found a lucrative track.

The ship stops in New York, in Panama, where it's refused passage along the canal, stuck with nowhere to go unattached he's forced to make a critical decision. 

But does he betray the Allies and sign-up for colonial aggression?

Or will he remember his Native soil and dreams forged with less bellicose intrigue?

I'm so used to seeing John Huston films thoroughly unconcerned with the master narrative, taking place far underground with enticing nondescript wicked levity.

That it was strange to view Across the Pacific and see something much more patriotic, rah-rah, or at least directly concerned with world events of an imposing and nationalistic tenure.

We have a traditional troubled wayward confused embroiled protagonist, confidently navigating ineffable obscurity with courageous inspiring hapless tenacity.

But there's a secret, he may be unorthodox but he isn't out on his own, although his position is still rather tenuous reputed suspicions notwithstanding.

Perhaps Mr. Huston briefly flirted with a more traditional Hollywood career, and considered making standard films to cash in on predetermined trajectories.

But Across the Pacific's so over the top in the final moments that it seems like Huston's critiquing himself, going the extra yard to prove his ironic mettle even if he couldn't really care less.

Not about the subject matter, the mainstream story itself perhaps didn't generate alarm.

But about working within the ornate system.

The most peculiar John Huston film I've seen.

*According to the IMDB Vincent Sherman directed the final scenes. Perhaps Huston refused to do it. Bizarro either way. 

Key Largo

 *Spoiler alert.

An idyllic break far off in southern Florida, with fish to catch and an ocean to sit by things seem like they couldn't be better.

The bar is stocked, his hosts eager to see him, for he brings sought after news (Humphrey Bogart as Frank McCloud), of a son and a husband's final days in combat, they can rest easy, peace reassured. 

The hotel they've owned for quite some time has several additional guests, however, who have paid handsomely to be left alone and are none too fond of visitors.

Initial contact is rather abrupt the antagonism slowly but surely increasing, it's readily apparent that something disquieting has callously called and rascally roosted.

They were just hoping to quietly reside while they made their lucrative deal, having left the bright lights behind and travelled there by boat.

A hurricane approaches and the law keeps stopping by, in search of two escaped convicts who may be innocent of any crime.

Those visiting, those renting, those fleeing, those having lived there for many a year (Lauren Bacall as Nora Temple and Lionel Barrymore as James Temple), find themselves at the mercy of concurrent clashes socioculturally and torrentially bound.

The menace invariably metastasizes as Johnny Rocco (Edward G. Robinson) malevolently emerges, with enough time to exchange bits and pieces of fascinating troubled grandiose discord.

McCloud courageously counters with peaceful dreams inspired by World War II victory, Rocco testing his mettle forthwith, there's little McCloud can do in the foreboding fray.

Key Largo may be somewhat too blunt for fans of The Maltese Falcon, as the bellicose lack of subterfuge leaves little room for mystery.

If searching for frank exclamations boldly jettisoned with antiquated daring, Largo may prove rather sporting, nevertheless, if not too headstrong or overpowering.

Still saturated with humble belief multilaterally composed, competing psychological imaginations excavated from the same cultural bedrock.

A chaotic lament for guiltless freedom still wildly critiquing ethics duty bound, as dreams of a world reborn come to terms with extant realities.

Indigenous characters suffer in the background for they can't enter during the storm, and two of them are shot having done no wrong having taken refuge in a reputed sanctuary.

Duty does win out in the end and bucolic romance is bravely restored.

Not without having been assailed.

Competing beliefs, convergent ideologies. 

The Birdcage

A young couple hoping to wed attempt to deceive the would-be bride's father (Gene Hackman as Senator Keeley), for he's a politician with a traditional edge that may frown upon his new festive in-laws.

The potential in-laws themselves are also hesitant to support the union, for the couple's rather young and lack multidisciplinary life experience. 

But, decision made, they proceed abashed yet disrespectful, asking the lively freespirited couple to cloak their natural inclinations. 

They've done quite well for themselves and live within an inclusive open-minded realm, where they even own their own successful nightclub in which Albert (Nathan Lane) regularly performs.

It's easier for Armand (Robin Williams) to give in since it's his son who's matrimonially disposed, even if he's moved far past having to conceal his conducive clutch commercial savvy.

They redecorate their apartment and even practice earnest mannerisms, Armand even going so far as to ask an ex to play a leading role (Christine Baranski as Katharine). 

She happens to be the boy's (Dan Futterman as Val) mother but she hasn't seen him in years, the ethics becoming more and more disreputable the closer and closer they come to seeming orthodox. 

But Albert won't be treated this way and remains a star of first rate standing.

He's ready for a surprise performance.

As his audience arrives for dinner (with Dianne Wiest as Louise). 

The result is a resplendent debacle abounding with resonant tact and mirth, a performance precious in its incomparability delicately redefining eloquence.

I'd argue indefatigably that Laurence Olivier's the best actor I've seen, but I've never seen him reach the heights Nathan Lane ascends in Mike Nichols's Birdcage.

Backed up by Robin Williams whose transformative prowess mischievously bewilders, saving the best of his awkward orchestrations for the detested gastronomic dissimulation. 

But as fate would have it within the film invasive hounds inspire an otherworldly rapprochement, and an uncanny serendipitous synthesis effortlessly enchants as it chaotically unites.

Bizarro bastions bounteously bursting as merrymaking matriculately mingles, I'd hope The Birdcage would dazzle any audience from whatever political or ethical stripe.

Things could be much more chill and compassionate without having to make impractical sacrifices. 

That's what it seemed like in '90s movies anyways.

Or at least many of those I happened to see.

*Most of which are still available for rental.

**With Calista Flockhart (Barbara Keeley) and Hank Azaria (Agador). 

***Surprised The Birdcage isn't a Criterion. 

The Fisher King

A headstrong shock jock preaches polarities with assertive recourse to immutability, as his dedicated listeners tune in (Jeff Bridges as Jack), in search of tactile calamitous clarity.

But he goes way too far one impassioned evening and bitter criticisms lead to mayhem, as a devout fan takes what he's saying too seriously, and expresses himself with violence thereafter.

Jack may be rather confident and determined but he isn't made of stone, and after hearing about the mass shooting, he's overwhelmed with penitent distress.

Years pass and he's moved into his partner's (Mercedes Ruehl as Anne), working at times in her video rental store, woebegone motionless remorse having destabilized his once strident potency.

He's out and about one befuddled evening where he's drunk too much unfortunately, when some ne-er-do-wells lay into him, having mistaken him for a homeless man.

But homeless people quickly rise to his defence and he outmaneuvers the scurrilous rogues, awakening the next morning in a basement dwelling, accompanied by a fallen school teacher (Robin Williams as Parry).

He soon learns that that very same teacher's respected love interest was outrageously cut down, by the very same disgruntled individual whom he incensed with his improvised vitriol. 

Cosmic forces seeming to be at play he eagerly befriends his troubled saviour, the two forging a dynamic friendship, with mutual convalescence perhaps intuited.

But can Jack save his troubled soul by bringing Parry back from the depths of madness?

Or will traumatic resonance harrowingly consume him, as the shock proves too much to overcome?

Laidback mysticism and hardboiled angst creatively mingle ensemble within, bewildered conscience and integral redemption evocatively articulating the tragic bromance.

But Terry Gilliam isn't solely concerned with the interactions of the two wayward men, for the gals in their lives add so much spice (plus Amanda Plummer as Lydia) that it's well-balanced through fluid cohesivity. 

Magical realism constructively resides within the narrative's hands-on grizzly contagion, a leap of faith inexplicably necessitated to rejuvenate dormant animate spirits. 

The application of truth or utilitarian practicality may have led to a lack of change, for if there had been no sense of guilt, there would have been no need to assail cynicism. 

Even if it isn't practically sound doesn't it make for a more gripping tale, something less banal more out of the ordinary to transcend trusted paramount stability?

In works of literature and film anyways, perhaps not every day at work or in politics.

It's a mistake to categorically deny it.

And so much more boring in the long run. 

*With John de Lancie (TV Executive), David Hyde Pierce (Lou Rosen),  and Michael Jeter (Homeless Cabaret Singer). 

Kari-gurashi no Arietti (The Secret World of Arrietty)

Life proceeds as it always has within a naturalistic microcosm, a loving family nestled tucked away, eagerly searching for vivid adventure.

The adults exercise sincere caution when engaged in thrilling pursuits, age and impertinent patterns having cultivated guarded prudence.

But the world is new for their sprightly offspring who freely seek characteristic difference, and there's so much activity beyond the gates that they can't spend every day inside.

Potentially inhospitable giants reside alone unaware nevertheless, until one of their observant children happens to notice Arrietty (Mirai Shida).

Desires for friendship and nascent networking encourage them to get to know one another, but old school astute and fatalistic reckoning has classified their interactions strictly anathema.

Harrowingly so, for soon Shô's (Ryûnosuke Kamiki) caretaker is aware of the little people, and sets out with pernicious particularity as if their home's been invaded by pests.

Father (Will Arnett as Pod) is aware that they've been detected and has a plan to swiftly escape, but not before dire search and rescue is trepidatiously necessitated.

Unfortunately, the interrelations thus proceed upon austere lines. 

But aren't the affects so much more disconcerting?

When environments cast contemporaneous loci?

Or perhaps there's some harmonies at least resulting from a harmless family that's forced to move, more so than those which would have also resulted from the relocation of deer or wildebeests (thus the harmful impacts of having to relocate any person or animal are maximized)? 

Isn't it an honourable feature of global sociocultural relations, that those possessing enormous wealth use some of it to help care for their fellow citizens?

Perhaps by keeping the factory open while providing a decent wage, so people can squabble about abstract phenomena as opposed to requisite needs.

Heartfelt thanks in turn reciprocated at times for the sustainable way of life, notwithstanding essential arguments which inevitably develop through social interaction.

Perhaps it's just that episode of Heartbeat that I saw so many years ago that keeps such an innocent idea alive, but when it works don't you have more prosperous communities with less crime and more exciting pastimes?

A tragic loss as Arrietty's family is forced to abandon their heartfelt home, and find somewhere else to creatively envision august romance and practical tools.

Ghibli's coveted sense of honest wonder endearingly guides peaceful thoughts throughout.

Communal comfort cozy quarters. 

Interspecial import.

Incumbent fair play.  

Mimi wo sumaseba (Whisper of the Heart)

Inquisitive fascination drives a young student to actively read (Yoko Honna as Shizuku Tsukishima), her love of fiction borderline exhaustive as she eagerly embraces diverse narratives.

While vigorously engaged one day with the investigative art of literary exploration, she happens to notice upon the cards in her texts that someone else is reading the very same books!

Who could this mysterious kindred spirit be and do they have many things in common?, these questions worth at least an intermediary degree of alert practical heuristic sleuthing.

She finds herself on the métro curiously travelling to the library one afternoon, when she notices a grouchy cat onerously lounging with their fellow passengers. 

The cat reaches his or her trusty stop and abruptly departs with agile obfuscation, Shizuku still following him or her upon their route, until they reach an otherworldly destination.

The antique shop incontrovertibly proves to be a thought provoking creative catalyst. 

Whose revelations interfere with Shizuku's school work. 

After she's encouraged to write her first novel.

A peaceful celebration of the reflexive life patiently resides within Ghibli's Mimi wo sumaseba (Whisper of the Heart), routine developments ecstatically yielding to sudden opportune enigmatic spells.

Enchanting elevations of wondrous observations cleverly crafted through innocent insights, blend with sincere and caring tutelage to foster lively enthused animation.

Of course dispiriting misgivings honestly arise throughout the engagement, to provide a prudent indeterminate perplexity which must be challenged with genuine daring.

As artistic expression seeks cheerful endearment romance awkwardly bewilders simultaneously, love's flourishing wild uncertainties evoking earnest productive confusion.

Through which the narrative emanates cherished lucidity as it casually and freely progresses, the tragic clock the emergent blimp violin construction impromptu jammin'.

Not often one encounters cinema generously presented with so much levity.

Concrete complications questioned concordance. 

Mesmerized on the thoughtful horizon. 

DragonHeart

The legendary influence of brave King Arthur still honourably remembered throughout the land, a formidable knight (Dennis Quaid as Sir Bowen) rationally instructs a young prince (David Thewlis/Lee Oakes as King/Prince Einon) in the art of cultural governance.

But his teachings are rebelliously ignored as the arrogant Prince comes of age, even after he promised a dragon he would rule wisely, in exchange for the gift of reanimation.

Thus, he becomes cruel and wicked and the people live in disquieting fear, hoping to generally avoid his lavish caprice as they seek sustenance, friendship, and shelter.

The knight falls upon hard times and spends his days pursuing dragons, whom he blames for corrupting his pupil with zealous malevolent menacing magic.

He's incorrect, however, it wasn't the dragon's heart which inspired his tyranny, he was just none too fond of brotherhood and was rather upset when the villagers killed his father.

One dragon outwits noble Bowen and convinces him to embrace bold trickery, to put on a show where he pretends to save a village from the dragon's wrath, and then pockets the coveted reward money.

While engaged in these fraudulent shenanigans a spirited damsel calls out their ruse (Dina Meyer as Kara), a damsel who's just escaped from the King, and is encouraging audacious insurrection. 

They're rather embarrassed and ashamed yet she also reminds them of Arthur's code, after which they forge a loyal alliance earnestly determined to challenge the King.

The King believes himself to be safe and capable of outmaneuvering a band of rebels.

But they're much more organized than he thinks.

Passionate conflict irascibly ensues. 

It's not as intense as it sounds in fact it's quite lighthearted and foolhardy throughout, as Bowen and the last of the dragons creatively argue and discuss history.

Indeed, the lighthearted nature of DragonHeart made me think the comedic potential of dragons has yet to be convincingly explored, a foul-mouthed cheeky ironic lazy dragon perhaps to emerge in the 21st century.

Rather than aiding a distraught hero as he or she engages in epic discord, or simply guarding treasure and punishing those hoping to steal it, he or she could find work in a disingenuous small village, and wholeheartedly take part in wisecracking thereafter.

Perhaps something out of the ordinary would emerge by the film's playful abashed final moments.

Or it would just embrace jaded mischief throughout.

For a solid hour and forty-five minutes. 

*With Pete Postlethwaite (Gilbert) and Jason Isaacs (Felton).

First Knight

Back to Camelot, prosperous legendary city of age old daring and just reasonability, led by the whimsically enlightened boisterous King Arthur, who fell in love with kind Guinevere, and befriended one Sir Lancelot. 

This time round insurrection plagues the land as a rogue knight seeks absolute power, his minions bellicosely spreading discontent, as everyday peeps simply try to get by.

He believes Arthur and his knights are too tolerant since they've wisely embraced fair play, and prefer to see people peacefully cohabitating to baleful pernicious destructive autocracy.

Arthur's brotherhood freely expresses ideas round the table in open discussion, and although he has the final say, he's open to counsel and fresh perspectives. 

But his convictions are sternly tested after he earnestly rewards young Lancelot, for risking his life to save noble Guinevere, who had fallen into the rogue knight's clutches. 

Lancelot wants Guinevere to leave with him and build a new life far away together, and she can't deny her feelings, after he's boldly come to her rescue.

Arthur catches them together and sees a look upon Guinevere's face which his prowess has never inspired, the genuine gaze of devout passion, it drives him to bitter madness. 

He charges them with treason and lavishly decrees to hold their trial in the public eye, and hundreds gather to keenly watch the unexpected unprecedented spectacle.

But the trial bears the familiar stench of unsympathetic destitute absolutism, for he could have been more understanding had he embraced sublime forgiveness.

His descent into absolutism paves the way for the rogue knight's return.

And he cleverly almost takes Camelot.

Before Arthur makes the ultimate sacrifice. 

Lancelot still avenges him and might does not assert tyrannical rights, the lighthearted unassuming romantic emerging at the forefront of the ethical imbroglio. 

Thus age gives way to perspicacious youth and a new day dawns for the compassionate kingdom, but how the knights regrouped in the aftermath unfortunately remains unknown.

At least further data isn't provided within Jerry Zucker's amorous First Knight.

Perhaps love and romance in fact endured.

Not such a bad thing when they govern at play. 

Medicine Man

Laidback far off in the jungle, ensconced within an Amazonian tribe, a doctor searches for the cure for cancer (Sean Connery as Dr. Robert Campbell), as encroaching industry rapidly assails.

He's been on his own scientifically speaking for the past 3 productive years, when a research assistant comes querulously calling, hoping for an update on his progress (Lorraine Bracco as Dr. Rae Crane). 

She's unaccustomed to field research but she's a gamer and athletically makes do, initial quarrels gradually mutating into spry collegial conversations.

It helps that Campbell's well-versed in freespirited adventurous exploration, and can expertly guide her through the forest at a variety of elevations.

But his last research assistant was also female and he cantankerously drove her away, unable to let himself be forgiven, for introducing a viral element.

Fortunately, he's found the cure, there's just one pesky problem, he can't synchronously reproduce it, and neither can diligent Crane.

It's a dedicated romantic tale confrontationally composed through agile wonder, promoting biodiverse necessities and the essential need for wildlife preservation.

There's a thoughtful acclimatizing scene where Crane observes Campbell interacting with his tribe, not with the intent of spoiling his fun, but rather out of respect for his cohesive integration.

While Campbell's work is extremely important and his potential discovery of paramount depth, his Indigenous hosts suffer for his research, one tribe lost, another forced to relocate.

These tragedies take place even though he takes every resolute precaution, so many lives lost through effects unforeseen, even when proceeding with the best intentions.

Don't confuse this with the horrifying legacy of Canada's residential school system, Campbell has respect for the Natives and has no desire whatsoever to assimilate them.

I don't think the people who ran those schools ever considered taking painstaking precautions, otherwise we wouldn't have found so many grass graves (new ones every week), imagine one child died at school in our time, due to mismanagement, the outrage would last a generation. 

And we've found four mass graves so far, it's clear something they were doing at these schools wasn't working. And they didn't try to change their methods. Most likely hoped that God would intervene.

I ask you, is medical science not what people have been praying for since the beginning of time?

Why didn't these schools have trusted medical resources?

I doubt children died at comparable rates in similar rural circumstances. 

Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls

After the calamitous passing of a stalwart raccoon brother, Ace Ventura (Jim Carrey) despondently retires, taking up residence far off in an isolated Tibetan monastery, he settles inconsolable, while ruffling many a feather.

But his services are required in remote Nibia in the not so distant future, at the request of the concerned consul Vincent Cadby (Simon Callow), the monks grant him swift departure, bewildered go-between Fulton Greenwall (Ian McNeice) rather confused by his behaviour.

His assignment is to locate a sacred white bat known as Shikaka of the Wachati tribe, who is being offered as their Princess's dowry, as she prepares to wed a Wachootoo Prince.

The Wachootoo are none too amused by the unexplained disappearance, and threaten war to air their grievances, the Wachati much less prone to violence.

Ace has no leads no clues yet still proceeds with bold determination, vigorously applying his uncanny methods with pejorative pressure and erratic schism.

Enter the playful unpredictable with exuberant athletic jocose alarm.

Can't believe I never saw this in my youth.

Even if some films get better with age.

If you're looking for improvised mad unruly rowdy raunchy conglomerates, randomly exerting recalcitrant remonstrance, through unabashed gaseous discerning repartee, Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls offers reckless cheek unclouded unbound, services required, services rendered, with grand eccentric revelry.

The ways in which he ignores so much of what people say and transforms every encounter into an obnoxious farce, efficaciously deconstructs fussiness with counterintuitive constructive chaos.

If you love animals it's a must see, especially for the joyous concluding moments, wherein which trophy hunting is resoundingly beat down, by ecstatic health and wellness.

It's also hilarious, I laughed out loud several times, that doesn't happen often anymore, it felt amazing, it's just so much fun to watch serious people try to work with him, as he jettisons rarefied irreverence. 

But it does go too far I'm afraid, I was surprised to see it suddenly make light, of the ways in which European diseases and viruses killed so many Indigenous peoples, that joke should have been left out.

Ace goes off-roading through the jungle too, destroying a lot of delicate flora along the way, it just seemed odd for someone who cares about wildlife so much to destructively smother it with a huge machine.

These moments don't ruin the film but they were somewhat shocking and inconsiderate nonetheless.

Ventura's rebelliousness knows no bounds.

But at times exceeds even outrageous incredulity. 

The Sleepover

A day proceeds according to routine habitual chill random expectations 😜, imaginary impulses confidently broadcast, friends consulted, schoolwork resumed.

For a sister the evening's provocative inasmuch as a wild party awaits (Sadie Stanley as Clancy Finch), her brother looking forward to a wholesome sleepover camped out in his old school backyard (Maxwell Simkins as Kevin). 

But earlier in the day, he was caught on video, randomly gesticulating with animate poise, his mother critiquing the mean-spirited cinematographer, who posted the private moment to YouTube.

Par for the course, although potentially harmful to his budding young developing self-esteem, he isn't phased, content and casual, back at it self-aware renditions.

Yet calamity strikes through shocking revelation later on in the laidback night, for his mom was also featured in the cantankerous clip (Malin Åkerman as Margot), which was viewed by curious millions.

Including the old gang of thieves she once led in an alternative life, before relocating to witness protection, they attempt to make larcenous headway.

Assertive coercion reluctant submission an awkward reunion impacting immediacy, her newfound cherished bourgeois family life haunting imposed begrudged nostalgia. 

Her husband's been kidnapped too and is unaccustomed to reckless crime (Ken Marino as Ron). 

He enjoys running his bakery.

Ordering pizza, PTA meetings.

High stakes shenanigans jocosely materialize inordinately spastically ensue, as requisite improbability seeks fortuitous fortune, by any spirited means necessary.

The mood is lightheartedly salient insofar as it lacks ostentatious pretensions, preferring to harness lackadaisical endearment as it crafts ill-conceived adventure.

Youthful trials are mischievously mixed with sober mature yet resigned matriculation, the resultant intergenerational mayhem concocting playful atemporal innocence.

The application of logic seems ill-suited to this specific endeavour, since applications of reasonability would instantly stultify its joie de vivre. 

Simkins delivers a performance that tumultuously holds things together, his intense emphatic enthusiasm as joyful as it is productively mischievous.

So important to embrace freeform unabashed inspired horseplay at times, as long as it isn't causing a ruckus, that results in grievous discernment.

It's great to see exuberant expression overflowing with novel unconcern.

Untamed and unrestrained.

Absurd creative momentum.

Shaft

Racism erupts with full-on blind distressing malevolence, as an African American steps outside, and is beaten to death by an irate brat.

Previously, the brat (Christian Bale as Walter Wade, Jr.) derisively employed stereotypical misconceptions in a distasteful attempt to brazenly humiliate him, but he responded with calm rebuttals which incisively turned the tide.

A witness to the murder exists but she fears for her health and safety, and swiftly disappears when approached with questions (Toni Collette as Diane Palmieri), detective John Shaft (Samuel L. Jackson) understanding yet unimpressed.

Wade is granted bail and departs for Switzerland shortly thereafter, where he remains for a scandalous two years before he returns and is taken back into custody.

He's granted bail again and makes it known that he's impenitent, yet the witness still exists, which makes him nervous if not frightened.

He enlists the aid of a local drug dealer (Jeffrey Wright as Peoples Hernandez) to discover her wayward whereabouts, but he isn't eager to help, without ample compensation. 

Shaft's on to them as well as members of his own department who are assisting their criminal endeavours, cleverly messin' up their plans, as they engage in grand malfeasance. 

But can he locate the witness in time, and even then, is she willing to testify?

High stakes practical ethical reckoning.

An honest cop, entrenched corruption.

Shaft (2000) delineates hardboiled boundaries with hyperreactive retributive dissonance, freeflowing justice materially manifested through lucid teamwork and reverent calm.

There's more to it than many a cop film as it boldly resuscitates dormant proclivities, by encouraging active prolonged dis/integration within a thoughtful volatile recalibration.

At first I though the subject matter was a bit too blunt, perhaps bordering on the sensational, but considering the shocking tragedies continuously emerging in the U.S, the narrative packs a realistic punch these days.

Is it not preferable to embrace less polarized divisive political optics, in order to cultivate a cultural aesthetic which isn't obsessed with race or creed?

As many others have humbly suggested, in response to different dilemmas over the centuries, isn't it more cost effective and less economically disorienting, to forge common ground upon which to pursue life?

I imagine the police would like to have less to do, or to apply themselves to less catastrophic scenarios.

Hope that's the case anyways.

Life's so valuable.

It's important to live it. 

*With Dan Hedaya (Jack Roselli), Busta Rhymes (Rasaan), Pat Hingle (Hon. Dennis Bradford), and Richard Roundtree (Uncle John Shaft). 

**Outstanding performance from Jeffrey Wright.

Over the Top

A father regrets having left his family behind and finally has the chance to make amends, travelling by rig to his son's private school, humbly prepared for probable conflict (Sylvester Stallone as Lincoln Hawk). 

He makes his living trucking on the wide open road, transporting vital goods from one feisty locale to the next, reputedly dependable indeed sure and steady, as he smoothly facilitates commerce across North America.

His son's (David Mendenhall as Michael) not impressed however for it's taken him years to pull things together, and his grandfather's (Robert Loggia) vilified him to the extreme, their voyage commences in heated dispute.

But Lincoln relaxes and goes with the flow aware their disagreements reflect his comeuppance, time passing acclimatization slowly etherealizing paternal reckoning. 

But gramps is madly infuriated and sets out to recover his lost grandchild, determined to see him grow up in the lynchpin of luxury far away from his cheque-to-cheque dad.

But paps excels at the art of arm wrestling, and can earn extra scratch on the side, accepting challenges at various truck stops as he journeys between destinations. 

Michael is taken away and Lincoln responds with tactile fury.

But it seems there's nothing he can do.

Put formidably pursue arm wrestling champion of the world.

The narrative uplifts the hands-on with practical hardboiled uncompromised life lessons, forgiveness sought and willing to be earned should familial recourse prove adaptable. 

It emphasizes responsibility in an honourable testament to tenacious capacity, celebrating confidence within bitter circumstances and integral boisterous reasonable wherewithal. 

Lavish absolutist pretensions encounter audacious freeform contradiction, but as they legalistically reassert themselves, flourishing innocence launches a second wave.

It's direct straightforward durable investigation presented with resolute luminous tact, inherent action spiritually reconciled with compassionate justice and an honest living.

You could argue that it suggests wealth crushes struggling ambition as that ambition earnestly seeks justified rights, leaving it with no alternative but to sell everything and gamble with the resultant proceeds.

But Lincoln's son was on his way back in stern refutation of his arrogant confines, and likely would have established a strong relationship with his father despite the law and his grandfather's wishes.

Perfect to sit back and relax while saluting Stallone's classic lack of pretension.

Not on par with Rocky or First Blood but still another entertaining take on daring will. 

Tango & Cash

Two exceptional cops pursuing justice in L.A, the press following their daring exploits, local ne'er do wells unimpressed.

They usually get-'er-done without relying on standard procedure, their results curtailing grand transgressions, their methods critiqued with aggrieved resolve.

They wind up causing so much commotion that they're targeted with cunning foresight, a crime boss thinking it foolish to murder them, preferring to see them locked up instead.

Tango (Sylvester Stallone) is prim and polished if not somewhat bold and reckless, employing formal codes of conduct in both random discussions and choice of attire.

Cash (Kurt Russell) pursues law and order with more passionate critical zeal, unconcerned with upper crust etiquette while expressing himself with enthused vitriol.

A disputatious team polemically and audaciously emerges, as they're both sent to a rowdy prison where they've crossed paths with many an inmate.

Unfortunately for them, the prison guards and much of the administration have been bought by the very same adversary, who was responsible for framing them beforehand, and even stops by to see them electrocuted (Jack Palance as Yves Perret).

Their only chance is escape back at it within the world at large. 

The force reluctant to rearrest them.

At least for 48 hours.

Stallone and Russell actively deliver a fast paced energetic vortex, like a hyperreactive embargo fluidly reverberating high stakes stasis.

From the way it's presented you'd think it's as lucid as hands-on practical exoteric reckoning, if something crazy didn't happen every five minutes to keep the wild plot counterpoising on.

Indeed I wondered if they were characters from a comic book I'd never heard of at times, the entertaining over-the-top scenarios innately fantastic phenomenonally spawned.

If it had been made in the 21st century it likely would have had multiple sequels, it's hard to imagine they didn't make another one, but it was released before the internet and Netflix.

Perhaps that's for the best since it does go way too far, in terms of cowboy cops using brazen violence to achieve jurisprudent ends.

At times anti-immigrant sentiment also bursts forth, and rehabilitative prison goals are directly scrutinized.

I'm afraid I'll have to argue that this one's too prone to discipline and punishment, take a couple of lines out and it's much improved, too sensational for its feigned reasonability.

Daring cop drama tainted by excessive force, lockdowns, and xenophobia, still cool to see Russell and Stallone at odds, they've made many chill films, this one's just too outrageous. 

Love & Monsters

As a giant asteroid heads towards Earth, international consensus launches a strike, of hundreds of volatile nuclear missals, which mange to chaotically get 'er done.

But unfortunately the fallout from the explosions leads to extreme environmental disaster, as tiny insects see exponential growth, and proceed to take out most of humanity.

The survivors live in isolated communities kept in close contact through radio, able to survive and gather food on the surface as long as they can avoid the inveterate beasties.

Joel Dawson (Dylan O'Brien) lives with a tight-knit community resiliently composed through extracurricular agency, but he's generally critiqued by his fellow survivalists for lacking determined battle hardened wherewithal.

But he still adventurously dreams of love lost in the bitter apocalypse, and is able to contact his cherished love interest through old school tenderized trusted technologies. 

Tired of having no opportunity to prove himself, he decides to head out to meet her (Jessica Henwick as Aimee), the distance daunting the quest calamitous, resources scanty, awareness, lacking.

But to dream is to resonate spirit ethereally expanding through limitless boundaries, and Joel possesses indomitable daring romantically synergizing illustrious l'amour.

Naturally, she's moved on when he reaches her but it was still worth the herculean effort.

Which taught him to cultivate courage.

And randomly reflex and improvise.

A dramatic tale comedically denoting sci-fi love in a time a horror, Love & Monsters champions reveries within localized epic congress.

The foolish flourish, ferment, and flounder, yet still matriculate through honest endeavour, trials tantalizing friendship impressed with neither recollection nor spastic endurance.

I suppose if at one time you have billions of insects and then perhaps millions of them mutate to gigantic proportions, their numbers may drastically decrease in the aftermath, if they also take on the reproductive rates of lions or tigers.

But would reproductive rates have been effected, wouldn't the abundant gigantic insects reproduce at such a rate that the Earth's bountiful resources would be consumed in less than a fortnight?

Perhaps not, there's not much data to go on, but fortunately forests remain in tact, and even if humanity's scattered and demoralized, there's still communication and interactive hope.

Joel's an understanding protagonist who can go with or direct the flow.

Encouraged by trial and error.

Seeds of resolute calm. 

The Year of Living Dangerously

Arriving within the tantalizing unknown with no contacts and resolute viability, working within unfamiliar parameters exhilarating recourse refined animation.

The ambiguous reflexes of the bold indeterminate fluidly encouraging resilient jazz rhythms, inordinate pluck and lithe tenacity generate immersion beyond expression.

Mr. Hamilton (Mel Gibson) finds himself far from Australia working his first assignment as a foreign correspondent, with no contacts and a relative lack of sympathy locking down conducive facilitated succession. 

Fortunately compassionate reason curiously materializes from the opaque outset, and an integrated ethicist possessing spry fluencies lends a hand and quizzical quarter (Linda Hunt as Billy Kwan). 

Hamilton is able at least to write about something after the interviews he cleverly conducts, but he's arrived at a pivotal moment in local history wherein which intriguing narratives harrowingly instigate.

By no means shy, he pursues the lead with undaunted gripping paramount resolve. 

Risking both life and flourishing love interest (Sigourney Weaver as Jill Bryant). 

To discover impeccable headlines. 

Tough to say where the cynosure harkens with the most consequent influential reckoning, if it's not Montréal, New York, or Denver, it's slipped past my residual wanderings.

Why one location would ever be so prominent in a multifaceted international continuum?, makes less sense to me than the lateral alternative expanding networks exponential variability.

But if you like where you're living it certainly seems as if it embodies practical universalization, especially if such considerations concern it in the least and it could care less about generalized pertinence. 

At times it seems it would be wonderful to simply stay on the island forever.

If you didn't know people elsewhere.

Or have thrilling engagements at times beyond borders.

That sense is captured in The Year of Living Dangerously which makes its environs seem cataclysmically irresistible, as so many films set in specific locations do, future research compelling forthcoming.

The enticing poise of the unfamiliar subtly celebrated like vital novelty.

I finally saw this film.

Linda Hunt doesn't disappoint. 

Crocodile Dundee II

Back at it.

Livin' the cosmopolitan crescendo with carefree commitment and resonant calm, his bucolic mannerisms and coy misunderstandings an immersive backwoods buoyant imbroglio (Paul Hogan as Crocodile Dundee). 

His wife continues reporting interrogatively investigating fiction and fact (Linda Kozlowski as Sue Charlton), while enjoying the comforts of bold unpredictable youthful regenerative domesticity. 

But she was married once before and her daring ex-husband has taken perilous photographs (Dennis Boutsikaris as Bob Tanner), of a blunt unforgiving cacophonous execution overflowing with diabolical intrigue. 

He fears for his life and sends her the photos but their destination is soon intercepted, the ne'er-do-wells following them to bustling New York where they engage in flagrant kidnapping.

Crocodile soon learns of his wife's disappearance and comes up with a plan to facilitate rescue, enlisting the aid of a local network of free-wheeling chillaxed non-traditional peeps.

Their unorthodox plan is indeed a success but Dundee doesn't trust the witness relocation program.

And heads with his wife to the hospitable outback.

To range and rustle secluded down under.

A delicate blend of the grim and the gossamer mischievously materializes at ease within the film, as a lighthearted spirit prone to adventurous reckoning reconciles wisdom with resolute tact.

Indigenous knowledge inviolable custom effortlessly guides his freeform endeavours, nature encyclopedically grasped and authenticated through active study and lively application.

The script's logic may perhaps raise questions regarding the plausibility of a detail here and there, the kidnappers pursuit perhaps rather foolhardy considering their destination and incomprehension.

It isn't really that concerned with probability or likelihood however, just that you love the rugged Crocodile as he interacts and explores in different environs.

He is a fascinating character and well-worth checking out if you're unfamiliar. His films were incredibly popular in my youth and I still love watching them to this day.

Traditional gender roles are even creatively deconstructed as Mick discovers urban flexibility, and adapts to the equanimous rhythms of multifaceted abstract economies. 

There's remarkable bush in the wilds of Québec and Canada as well, but I don't recall ever seeing a rural/urban divide ever examined so respectfully in a homegrown film.

Lots of potential there anyways.

Building bridges.

Can't wait to see more of Québec. 

With Charles S. Dutton (Leroy Brown), Kenneth Welsh (Brannigan), Stephen Root (DEA Agent), John Meillon (Walter Reilly), Steve Rackman (Donk), Gerry Skilton (Nugget), and Maggie Blinco (Ida). 

Diner

A group of tight-knit childhood friends gather together during the Holiday Season, real world responsibilities clashing with rambunctious innocence, as traditional character flamboyantly illustrates, and habitual boredom is resolutely challenged.

Robert Sheftell (Mickey Rourke) overflows with appealing audacity which local residents find irresistible, apart from the bookies with whom he makes bets, without the requisite cash to cover them.

William Howard (Tim Daly) is considering a Masters but his old school sweetheart's pregnant (Kathryn Dowling as Barbara), and has a career of her own, and doesn't want to get married.

Edward Simmons (Steve Guttenberg) isn't as scholastically endowed, but will agree to get married, if his partner can pass his prick of a football test, what a fan, what a disgraceful romantic.

Laurence Schreiber (Daniel Stern) can't find things to talk about with his wife (Ellen Barkin as Beth Schreiber) and critiques her disregard for his record collection, still finding it more entertaining to chill out with his friends, selling TVs by day, doing whatever by night.

Timothy Fenwick Jr. (Kevin Bacon) can't grow up either although he's less responsibly attached or attuned, his older brother thinking he's up to no good, his unorthodox shenanigans proving his point.

They're chillin' in the same neighbourhood where they grew up, their plans hatched in a popular local diner.

Where eccentrics and stock characters alike.

Frequent the tastes of 1950s America.

Diner celebrates young adult antics as they reckon with cultural codes, innate desires to persevere carefree encountering disorienting sober perplexities. 

It's a classic case of trying to find something to do when everything's been done and what's left you mistrust, emerging from teenage triumph and adolescent angst to discern discrepancy with bewildered consequence.

Fortunately bucolic history and reliable community observe and interact, mistakes forgiven impulses soothed hypotheses tested ridiculousness nurtured. 

The limits tightening although not without friendly moments of clarity and avuncular understanding.

It's pretty strait-laced peeps striving to create with the domains of family, church, and football, rebellious instincts paradigmatically ensconced within nightly news broadcasts and 9 to 5 days.

Not without its charm through its general relevance to volatile small town/suburban life.

Boredom boxed, mischief manifested.

Resilient friendship.

Fries and gravy.  

The Wizard

An autistic youth struggling to comprehend the sudden passing of his twin sister, buckles down and heads out on the road (Luke Edwards as Jimmy Woods), both sets of parents rather unsettled by his departure, he's swiftly located, and brought back home.

It's a pattern, so he heads out again this time with the aid of an older brother (Fred Savage as Corey Woods), who doesn't want to see him committed to a psychiatric institution which is where he would have wound up.

The two travel unfettered undisciplined until they reach an accommodating bus station, where they meet Haley (Jenny Lewis) who's on her way home and discover Jimmy has a knack for video games.

Not just a knack, he's exceptionally talented, so much so that Haley suggests they head to Los Angeles, and enter the "Video Armageddon" competition taking place a few days away.

But they're being tracked by two separate sleuths one a father and brother team (Beau Bridges as Sam Woods and Christian Slater as Nick Woods respectively), the other a slimy weaselly reptilian eager to make a quick opportune buck (Will Seltzer as Mr. Putnam). 

Jimmy may have a natural gift for video game playing but he's still unfamiliar with many exemplars, so Corey and Haley take him to "Nintendo School" so he can practice, prepare, and prognosticate. 

Will they reach their sought after destination in time for the vigorous showdown, or will parental responsibility assert immobile lockdown?

Families split on how to proceed.

Competing diagnoses clashing best practices. 

The Wizard imagines adventurous purpose to pursue quizzical unorthodox therapy, ie., rather than place the child who keeps wandering away in therapy, why not try to find out where he's going?

Their trip could have more closely resembled a video game in its resilient collegial questing, insofar as a more calamitous test of endurance would have been more reminiscent of something like Zelda.

But it's lighthearted and free and easy less concerned with hardship or tribulation, not that obstacles don't present themselves, they're just not so intense and at times rather comic.

If you love video games I reckon The Wizard may provide ample lackadaisical endearment, as several characters including Jimmy's father embrace unheralded electronic inspiration.

The games focused upon may perhaps provide historical import as well, an examination of ye olde old school to function as an instructive comparison.

I never made it very far with video games myself, I just didn't see the point after I reached a certain age.

I've missed out on quite a lot of conversation consequently.

And the occasional not-so-subtle reference.

Outcast

A ruler seeks a less combative way to cultivate his culture's destiny, and denies the throne to his first born son, who flourishes amidst rage and conflict.

But the studious son he chooses is not well-versed in the vicissitudes of intrigue (Bill Su Jiahang as Prince Zhao), and even though he has been chosen, he must flee to avoid his brother's wrath (Andy On as Prince Shing). 

The ruler passes, his heartfelt wishes bluntly ignored and traditionally outweighed, but as coincidence or fate would have it, his vision finds an honourable adherent. 

For a lone warrior ruined by the crusades is randomly wandering his vast kingdom (Hayden Christensen as Jacob), in search of potent spiritual redemption, lost in drink and purposeless posture. 

He senses injustice and agrees to defend the literary lad along with his devout sister (Yifei Liu as Princess Lian), who are trying to reach the wilds beyond a far off mountain, where they believe they'll indeed be safe.

But his brother's minions pursue them everywhere and they're soon betrayed by those they trust, the lone warrior fortunately formidable gallantly gifted focused resolute. 

But he's haunted by ghastly past lives that left him doubtful and woebegone.

The doubts challenged through stern conviction.

Independent freelance, robustly trained.

Outcast presents insurmountable odds disputing courtesy, tact, and diplomacy, as the intellectual spirit yearns for transformation, in an epoch plagued by war.

If I remember details from a Chinese history course I took way back correctly, China generally focused on its own well-being in the past. It was rarely imperialistically disposed and tended to concentrate on its own enlightenment. 

They were so certain of their civilization that when barbarians came to plunder, they had no need to defeat them militaristically, preferring to wait for their culture to win them over (a process called "sinification").

Thus, I tend not to take theories which suggest China is seeking to colonially express itself seriously.

Why would they focus primarily on themselves for millennia and then suddenly embark on crusades? It makes more sense to wait for the world to change than risk losses in some disastrous conflict.

Further, after centuries of woe they've finally reasserted themselves as a preeminent culture.

Why would they risk all that for a bit of land?

When they're already so blessed with so much diversity back home?

Outcast postulates redemption through a noble act unbidden and unrewarded, compensation driven through active spirit, the vigorous rapport of a peaceful life.

I imagine China's much more concerned with peace based upon the learned hypotheses shared by well-read teachers.

What's to be gained from a grandiose conflict?

That they don't picturesquely possess already?

With Nicolas Cage (Gallain). 

The Ridiculous 6

Is it important to cultivate ethical guidelines within unorthodox narratives ad hoc, even if the scandalous nature of the storytelling may disorient prim propriety?

Does briefly letting go of pressurized stilted robotic mechanisms, foster a carefree liberating meaninglessness not without aesthetic value?

Does randomly subverting poignant perspectives lead to a more robust cosmopolitan criterion, insofar as democracy nourishes abundance, within which impartiality flourishes?

Is there something more to debauched comedies than the preponderant praise of the ludicrous, exceptionally spun and courageously endowed through the cacophonic art of eccentric assertion?

The pandemic has instigated global limbo stentorian stasis assiduous abeyance, and with a generalized inability to generate forward movement, the past resurfaces with interrogative suspension.

Forward momentum peculiar progressions heuristically heal anxieties and doubts, or at least give you something else to focus on as bizarro developments intermittently bewilder.

I've kept things positive during the pandemic to avoid slipping into melancholia, as best I can, which means I've had to cut out many media outlets, which have focused on doom and gloom too intently for some time.

It's of course important to follow what's happening and to be aware of what's going on, but how to avoid sad thoughts while watching these newscasts regularly is a trick I have yet to master?

I would have introduced Frontline Worker Beat and ran multiple interviews with daring workers, to get a more hands-on personalized look at the pandemic, apart from political speeches and updates about rising or decreasing case numbers (from across the country).

Things seem to be so stratified these days.

It's not good for the health of a democracy.

Thus, a return to no-holds-barred comedy to focus on lighthearted yet boisterous bedlam, to celebrate a sense of resounding hope amidst seemingly insurmountable odds.

One feature you often find in these films which I've written about before, is a salient synergistic sense of camaraderie uplifting potentially distraught spirits.

Isolated individuals operating without connections come together to pursue an absurd goal, the pursuit itself invigorating complacency as they diversify their offbeat team.

Thus the pursuit of an unexpected goal provides purpose even if it isn't stately or august or infused, and since many people aren't that concerned with entrenched enterprise, the goals pursued honestly reflect democratic life.

Should diverse democratic life be celebrated?, of course it should, ad infinitum!

The Americans are very good at it.

As is the inexhaustible, Adam Sandler (Tommy). 

Dragonfly

Do voices from supernatural realms at times attempt to communicate with the terrestrially composed, is there something to be said for uncanny spiritual instincts without resorting to coincidence or mental illness, as Tom Shadyac's Dragonfly directly hypothesizes?

A lot of the time it seems like mumbo jumbo that can't be clarified or reasonably explained, even if it's supposed to exist beyond rationality and therefore isn't logically disposed. 

It's foolish to take the irrational seriously since believing in ghosts or the like can lead to folly, although it's fun to imagine they might exist while leaning towards the generally improbable. 

One trick is to consider the possibility of keeping an open yet skeptical mind, while always immediately denying its logical potential if someone starts asking for more than 10$.

I saw many an episode of America's Most Wanted as a lad where true believers were cheated out of tens of thousands, and it seemed like such a depressing waste considering the trusting hearts who took a faithful leap. 

I hate to see the innocent cheated especially when they're gentle and kind. Why people who prey on their humble instincts can't find something more constructive to do is beyond me.

Those humble instincts have persisted nevertheless after a century or so of scientific advancement, advancements that have found evidenced based factual reasons to validate so many practical truths.

As science proves more and more practical theories you would think religious belief would become more and more obsolete, but it still persists with resounding tenacity in many jurisdictions still spiritually composed.

It's like there's an innate drive residing in many to believe in the supernatural regardless of fact, and even if such a drive seems improbable, yet can still sometimes be fun, in the interests of democratic community, methinks it's best not to dismiss it.

Of course I tend to operate within a communal domain where there's mutual respect for opposing viewpoints, and improbability doesn't have the upper hand and isn't creating laws to dismiss science or pandemics accordingly.

I like to hear people tell stories so I'll listen as they narrate away, it's incredible the things some people say, the force of their convictions at times unsettling.

Just proving and dismissing everything with science can be incredibly boring too. Life needs a bit of excitement now and then that only werebears and vampires (etc.) can provide.

As long as you don't believe werebears and vampires are real and can find a practical metaphorical application for them.

Thus rationalizing fantasy.

To tell even more incredible stories.

With planned obsolescence and conflicting authenticities so much discourse sounds absurd (especially as you age).

But what's life without absurdity?

As long as it doesn't cost too much.

Doug's 1st Movie

Daydreaming can be a trusty friend if it doesn't interfere with material necessities, at least I've found that healthy daydreams consistently revitalize inanimate life.

Not to be taken too seriously yet not to be dismissed offhand either, the careful maintenance of lively imagination is a helpful tool for countering malaise. 

Doug's 1st Movie captures this potentiality with active assertion and cerebral levity, as Doug's (Thomas McHugh) prosperous lighthearted daydreaming productively blends highest hopes with bewilderment.

He's faced with a daunting challenge after a pesky lake monster befriends him, and he discovers that local waters have been overwhelmingly polluted.

With the help of his trusty friend Skeeter (Fred Newman), they alert the local authorities, but the principal culprit owns most the town, and heavily influences trusted news outlets.

It's strange how polluters spend so much money advertising that they're environmentally friendly, a comparison between oil sands documentaries and industry ads providing an example of bleak disparity.

In Doug's 1st Movie a legion of well-heeled minions rivalling Sejanus's network of spies, is instantaneously and elaborately employed once the threat to Mr. Bluff's (Doug Preis) business is detected.

But rather than spending so much to conceal a reality that pejoratively effects the health of the town, why didn't he spend a commensurate amount of casholla actually cleaning up the polluted lake?

I suppose it's ideological, it's the belief that pollution isn't harmful, and the exponential generation of profits sacrosanct, devoutly tilled and strangely upheld.

Thus, a portion of the operating budget (or some budget or other) is spent casting a rosy image of disastrous environmental effects, to uphold an ideological perspective that equates health with profit generation.

I don't want to see people out of work, I'm in favour of patiently making industry as green as possible without job losses, I'm certainly not ideologically opposed to industry and the ways in which it sustains the livelihoods of so many.

But spending so much to suggest industry has no serious environmental effects, when that money could be alternatively used to mitigate them, doesn't make much sense to me, and many many others.

Fortunately, Doug's also prone to daydreaming which keeps his mind active and imaginatively composed, giving him the strategic hypothetical wherewithal to keep his new monster friend hidden for quite some time.

A surprisingly relevant take on sociopolitical relations, this Doug's 1st Movie packs a precocious punch.

A solid introduction to unfortunate realities.

Composed through thoughtful reverie.  

Falling Down

Joel Schumacher's Falling Down provocatively asks the question, "is ill-composed vigilantism more troublesome than it's worth?"

As a down-on-his-luck somewhat rigid individual finds himself stuck in another traffic jam, and rather than patiently waiting it out, decides it's time to abandon his car and walk (Michael Douglas as D-Fens).

His journey begins at a local convenience store where he critiques their elevated prices, haggling to bring down the cost of a Coca-Cola, before tearing the place asunder.

He then proceeds to walk through gang territory where he's suddenly asked to pay toll, his stubborn refusal instigating violence which eventually leaves him with a bag full of weapons.

He can't accept that he's divorced and prohibited form spending time with his daughter, and wants to see her on her birthday without any desire to make amends.

Meanwhile a cop is retiring after having worked several years behind a desk (Robert Duvall as Prendergast), for which he's frustratingly insulted by his Captain (Raymond J. Barry), who thinks he shouldn't have played it safe.

He's played it safe because he loves his wife who made significant sacrifices to marry him (Tuesday Weld), and has become somewhat neurotic over the years, trying to deal with grim potentialities. 

He's sympathetic and understanding and does his best to go with the flow, accepting idiosyncrasy and peculiarity particularized par for the communal course.

As D-Fens travels across L.A becoming more and more irate as the hours pass, Prendergast takes note of his comings and goings then heads out to solve one more case.

Falling Down presents sustained criticism of vexing realities taken for granted, from two similar yet divergent perspectives interrogating alternative paths seeking reason.

I've never understood waiting for hours and hours every working day in traffic, if the métro's a possibility it can save time and facilitate reading.

Convenience stores are convenient, why does it matter if things cost a little more? If my hair's eventually going to turn grey, it won't be because I spent a little extra on snacks.

You witness a vitriolic exchange while shopping for who knows what, if it's apparent the owner's unhinged, why do you hang around?

Job creation's essential, better to have people working then idle and irritated, even if the creation of work is at times perhaps not as rational as logic would hope.

It's still fun to attentively watch as D-Fens actively vents his frustration, as he heads from one worst case scenario to another, and takes on peeps just as angry and stubborn.

He goes way too far of course although I imagine others think he should have gone further.

A day spent crossing every line.

No limits, no rations, no quarter. 

Captain Ron

Oceanic endeavour.

The wide open seas.

From island to island.

Serendipitous spawn.

Martin (Martin Short) finds suburban living somewhat humdrum even if he's ensconced in a bountiful bower, and one day unexpectedly discovers he's inherited a seafaring vessel, barnacly and boundless, ye olde ad hoc treasure, a novel idea expressing itself forthwith, pack up the fam, ride arrhythmic waves.

His wife's (Mary Kay Place as Katherine) none too thrilled with the idea but agrees without hesitation, after hearing of their daughter's (Meadow Sisto as Caroline) engagement, to a freewheeling modicum of ill-repute.

The plan is to sail the Caribbean for a month or so and then quickly sell the ship in Miami, but there's just one prim prohibitive problem, none of them know anything about sailing.

Fortunately, a Captain is provided but he's not as bourgeois as they had innocently hoped, indeed even more freewheeling than Caroline's fiancé, playful unorthodox methods to boot.

But they're gamers so they freely make do until Captain Ron (Kurt Russell) starts driving Martin crazy.

But has he taught him something along the way?

Beyond landlubbed highly strung legitimacies?

It's the classic corporate/bohemian showdown and naturally the artist is unaware of the competition, he's sure and steady if not unhinged, yet still facilitates forthcoming formulae. 

It's a matter of dialect of comatose comprehension unforeseen patterns chillaxed yet cogent, unfettered flamingo flotsam familiarity, indubitably active, consubstantially withdrawn.

Ron shares his knowledge freely yet is unaware of its shocking import, and the ways in which the well-to-do dismiss it, with pretentious instinct and rationalistic calm.

Martin loses that calm however as his disbelief mutates into audacity, and even though Ron's advice proves wise eventually, Martin still attempts to assert autonomy.

Where do you draw the line between myth and reality when alternative dispositions suddenly clash, who's guilty of cynicism or embellishment or gullibility or honest sincerity?

It seems this subject needs more clarification insofar as communication is paramount, essential.

Misinterpretation par for the course.

Artistic abundance randomly flourishing.

In the Name of the Father

A young borderline ne-er-do-well buck earns a living through controversial means (Daniel Day-Lewis as Gerry Conlon), his dependable father supportive yet stern (Pete Postlethwaite as Giuseppe Conlon), his animate fortunes fluid yet dour.

He heads to England leaving Belfast behind in search of something non-specific in particular, meeting an old friend on his brisk maiden voyage (John Lynch as Paul Hill), the two finding their way to a commune. 

Jealousies cloud their smooth integration and conflict erupts within the bower, however, firmly necessitating agile itinerancy boldly embraced with freewheeling concessions.

But on that very same eve a long peaceful pub is scurrilously attacked, the two friends in the reckless vicinity, the police searching for someone to blame.

They're soon callously rounded up and slowly beaten into sedate submission, and the cops take their interrogations to the next level, and arrest most of Gerry's close family.

Father and son wind up sharing a cell amongst hardened felons unaccustomed to innocence, young Gerry broken yet looking for friends, aged Giuseppe resigned to his despondent fate.

Years later a determined lawyer resolutely seeks veracious social justice (Emma Thompson as Gareth Peirce), as applied to the wrongfully convicted victims of the heinous crime.

The police know they've imprisoned the wrong people since the legitimate culprit freely confessed.

Yet they're unwilling to admit their mistake.

As the years pass by interminably.  

I think a lot of the time the police do a great job, in fact they've been quite helpful on occasion, wrongfully imprisoning people to appease the public is frustratingly distasteful to say the least however.

Moving forward with intent to convict even though it's probable the suspects are innocent, leads to widespread mistrust in law enforcement, and derivate righteous anarchy.

In the Name of the Father holds law enforcement to account while uplifting honest independent inquiries, as a father and son languish in sensational injustice, and many others face similar sentences.

It proceeds too quickly at times, for it covers a lengthy time period, barely scratching the surface of what could have been said in a prolonged reflective series.

But the moments it does choose to share are considerate and make for thought provoking jurisprudent theatre, poignant pastimes and just grace and dignity cultivating passionate aggrieved freespirits. 

Mind-boggling to wonder why anything like the events in this film came to pass?

They had the proof of their innocence.

Politics and law, a dangerous combination. 

My Cousin Vinny

Proper procedure.

The correct steps to be taken in the precise order.

Never wavering from the script's strict imposing code.

Inviolable structure.

Airtight renditions.

Vinny Gambini (Joe Pesci) possesses the argumentative wherewithal, the incisive logic reasonably applied to ascertain guilt or innocence, but when it comes to the specific testaments concerning how to traditionally proceed, he's somewhat at a loss, and struggles to acclimatize. 

It's like the stellar unwritten rules which drive unorthodox independent filmmaking, have been transferred to a court of law, in Jonathan Lynn's My Cousin Vinny.

Vinny's held in contempt several times to punish his undisciplined disorienting candour, but he takes it in stride unconcerned with pejorative principled checks and balances. 

It was a different time (1992) breaking down barriers which upheld uptight and rigid formalities, in order to accommodate sociocultural differences which hadn't been raised in plutocratic splendour.

Then again, Lydia Berman in Thunder Force invigorates similar non-linear spirits, perhaps a Foucauldian study needs to be conducted regarding American comedy's progressive intentions. 

A lack of room for alternative dispositions can provoke a cynical malaise, nevertheless, and widespread support for flagrant difference which challenges dismissive pretension. 

Of course codes of conduct need to be respected within reasonable non-farcical bounds. 

But if people possess the content but lack the formality trouble will brew if they're left by the wayside (I'm not writing about myself, I like my jobs and oddball inclinations, but there are people much more ambitious than me who may be looking for answers from rowdier sources).

Accommodation works both ways and peeps can't just say and do whatever they feel like all the time.

But if procedures prevent competent employees from competing because they're not wearing an acceptable tie or discussing esoteric topics, with abstract obscurity and orthodox disdain, doesn't the resultant managerial gene pool banally stagnate, and innovation fail to materialize? 

I imagine it's not like that in many spheres, however, and sometimes I forget the multiple representations of provocative difference found in the credits of Michael Moore films.

Exceptions multitudinously grounding.

Alternative visions materialistically conveyed.

I saw My Cousin Vinny in my youth (at Christmas) and was so impressed with Marisa Tomei (Mona Lisa Vito). 

I was happy to see her nominated for an Oscar too.

And was super impressed when she won. 

*A classic.

The Beastmaster

Prophecy declares that an evil priest (Rip Torn) will be slain by a king's gifted son (Marc Singer as Dar), so he engages in open defiance, and attempts to murder the infant. 

Who is saved by a conscientious villager who them raises him as his own, teaching him the arts of logic and sword-fighting as he patiently comes of age.

As he matures he also learns that he has a natural gift with animals, and can indeed converse and interact with them as if they were taxonomic kin.

Soon his village is attacked by fierce barbarians and in the aftermath he alone survives, setting out to grieve incarnate wandering upon the open road.

By chance, one day he encounters two nimble maidens frolicking unrestrained, one who seems to take an interest in his imposing derelict tragedy (Tanya Roberts as Kiri). 

But she is to be sacrificed and must be boldly saved and then set free, Dar befriending other victims of injustice correspondingly, whom he agrees to fight along side.

They must save a dynamic city from the very same evil priest of long ago.

Who's allied with the barbarians. 

And hellbent on pernicious ritual.

A just emancipating vision disposed to humble daring legend, adventurously emerges as noble Dar quests impassioned. 

Instinctual freedom untethered largesse distinctly abound with forthright recalcitrance, within a realm chaotically composed through distraught prayer and demonic terror.

In an age creatively refusing to be limited by impossibility, Beastmaster brazenly interrogated lavish budgets and special effects.

If you want to imaginatively conceive beyond disheartening technological constraints, look to Don Coscarelli and his crafty film which pursued fascination reprieved regardless.

His animals were real and he wasn't confined by dismissive inconsiderate assumptions (don't make this: it will be cheesy), proceeding epically unimpeded by pejorative disjunction.

Perhaps inspiring many who work for Marvel or DC or independently this postmodern day, remarkable to see how much things change, over the course of the passing decades.

You think, "how could things surpass contemporary animate production design?"

While longing for long lost muppets.

Audacious initiative. 

Impossibility.  

With John Amos.