Jungle Book (Episode 6)

Having wandered into the jungle at but an innocent helpless wee age, little Mowgli (Sabu) finds sanctuary amongst wolves, who in turn rear him as if he were one of their pups, generous and watchful, an unorthodox family thrives.

While aggrandizing within the jungle Mowgli learns its forbidden ways, how to communicate with the different animals, find food, and rest and play.

The most imposing local tiger is none too impressed with this eccentric man cub, and swears he will one day indeed devour him, should he be caught wandering unaware.

But the other animals are quite fond of him and he gradually gains swift skill and strength, having enigmatically adapted, to the oldest school of raw existence.

Unfortunately, one inauspicious day, he's captured by the local village, which instinctually marvels at his wild heroics, and somewhat begrudgingly takes him in.

He quickly irritates its proudest unsurpassed vain boastful hunter, who had held the most ferocious standing, until Mowgli's sudden arrival.

Mowgli cares not for social prestige and simply seeks to freely co-exist.

Unconcerned with myth or legend.

Buldeo (Joseph Calleia) scurrilously haunts him.

Another look at The Jungle Book more intently focused on village life, since it was created long before spry special effects and doesn't rely on animation.

Many real animals are found within alongside giant puppet-like creations, the live shots aren't particularly elaborate, but may still have seemed cutting-edge at the time.

It examines stories from Kipling's book that aren't found in Disney's cartoon, nor Mr. Favreau's stunning rendition, worth checking out if seeking to learn more (reading the book also recommended).

It menacingly captures the aggrieved dynamic perennially narrativized between man and nature, as a young man harmoniously exists in the wilderness, while the older exploits technology to gain repute. 

Harmonious wilderness existence doesn't teach Mowgli sociocultural strategies, which Buldeo also knows how to exploit, as competing bucolic forces clash.

Compete is perhaps the wrong word since Mowgli isn't seeking recognition, but finds himself caught in a preexisting paradigm that hasn't been placated through democratic reckoning.

The man cub raised by wolves proves to be much more civilized than those seeking glory.

Who adopt disgraceful methods to pursue him.

And his caring animal neighbours. 

Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer)

Two brothers work their hearty ancestral farm, gathering nutritious wholesome food from their abundant fertile land.

But they live close to a feisty village and have many trusted neighbours, who rely on their generous spring to kindly irrigate their crops.

One day the older brother decides to dam their fluid fountainhead, and keep all the water for themselves until they've saturated their bounty.

The younger senses danger and knows the villagers will be furious, especially since there's been no rain and none is forecast on the horizon.

Meanwhile, he's fallen in love, and soon he's wed to a carefree lass, their innocent sweetly flowing union effortlessly nurturing the countryside.

But the villagers have responded in fact retaliated with blunt antagonism, the older brother choosing to fight rather than share their rich good fortune.

Soon he's committed murder and is worried about prison life, so he convinces the younger to claim wrongdoing, by tricking him into believing he won't serve much time.

With his younger brother sentenced to 8 years he turns his sights on his distressed bride, who has thoroughly misjudged the man, and virtuously suspects nothing.

Soon he's told her husband's passed alone and forgotten within the prison.

And it seems as if purest malevolence.

Will prosper through disillusion.

The potential for collegial congruity is bellicosely menaced in Erksan's Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer), as greed disproportionately decides to simply take care of its own.

Sharing no doubt would have created interactive social prosperity, not to mention a wide range of goods and services respectfully provided free of charge.

Lazy laidback Summer evenings flush with wine and delicious food, convivially relaxing with friends and acquaintances while the copious harvest manifests.

Instead there's violent disparity and habitual conflict and confrontation.

The loss of a loved one, no time for sleep.

Constant vigilance, prescribed paranoia.

I'm no expert in running a farm but you can't starve everyone else, and refuse to share the Earth's lifeblood as has freely been done for communal millennia. 

Excessive pride and limitless avarice have been condemned throughout the ages.

Susuz Yaz brings them to light.

With toxic mad solipsistic atrophy.

The Plague Dogs

A clandestine facility isolated in the English countryside conducts research into the bubonic plague, and subjects dogs to abhorrent endurance tests, with no concern for their distraught feelings.

But one night after the cleaning of a cage, an infernal latch is left unlocked, and two dogs bravely escape forthwith, into the nebulous realm beyond.

Attempting to reconstitute their latent wild survival instincts, they venture forth with determined vigour, but the lands are unaccustomed to roaming beasts in search of food, unfortunately for Snitter (John Hurt) and Rowf (Christopher Benjamin), the domain is inhospitable. 

A sympathetic fox (James Bolam as the Tod) takes them into his care however, and guides them from place to place as they intuitively adapt.

Soon their presence is detected, after an innocent man is accidentally shot, and local farmers notice sheep missing, the dogs are identified by their collars.

Soon the research facility is taken to task for its inherent wrongdoing, and even though people remain compassionate, a scathing hunt panoramically begins.

The dogs and fox furtively evade their ostentatious blunt pursuers. 

But the net becomes too tight.

They must reach the limitless ocean.

The Plague Dogs vividly captures the barbaric stresses animals undergo, while subjected to heartless scientific experiments, whose results are possibly often inconclusive (do conclusive results lead to less funding?).

If you sign up for emails from PETA you'll receive an abundance of notes chronicling animal abuse, with everything from mice to pigs to owls, it's important to sign their petitions, even if they're tough to read.

The Plague Dogs playfully showcases interactive wild and domestic behaviours, as the fox and dogs share thoughts and survival strategies, with interspecial communication.

The bold animals wisely care for one another while encouraging incarnate stealth, but their convivial trials and errors prove too much for surrounding commerce.

Do we really need to research how long an animal can swim before it drowns?, do tax payers pay the bills for such experiments?, critical inquiries must be applied (as many others suggest every day).

I initially thought research into the ways in which many bear species hibernate may generate interesting results.

But who knows how many bears may die to obtain them?

One is far too many. 

*Patrick Stewart has some cool lines. 

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three

A worst case scenario wickedly presents itself, as a wanton team chaotically pursues destructive avarice. 

The day starts out much like any other with dedicated workers arriving on time, only to discover hijacking afoot, within New York's resilient quintessential métro.

It would seem like the clever no-good-nicks have made a crucial resounding error, for they negotiate far below ground with potential escape roots easily anticipated.

Indeed the confident métro crew is assured they must have them securely locked down, as they brashly make their outrageous demands, while keeping innocent victims hostage.

Tens of thousands of focused potential passengers find their reliable routes exceedingly disrupted, the mayor (Lee Wallace) resting at home sick in bed, ill-prepared for the grandiose bedlam.

Blue (Robert Shaw) has an intricate plan astutely designed to ensure freedom, but calculating flexible discursive Lt. Garber (Walter Matthau) is well-versed in hypothetical practicality.

A deal is made the money dropped off the hostages theoretically soon to be free.

But will the pressing mystery be expressly solved? 

With no time to spare for argumentative contingencies? 

Time trepidatiously taunts while eternal logic reputedly ruminates, the dastardly indiscreet daunting unforeseen having coalesced the stratified multivariable.

The villains counting on resonant distress to frenetically aid their high strung dissolution, rationalities calmly and patiently counter with wise sure and steady complacent formulae. 

It's not as unhinged as it sounds although different levels offer intriguing insights, multiple viewpoints evaluating the stress, most of the attention cast upon Garber.

If you love the smooth flow of the métro and would like to learn more about its labyrinthine intricacies, various practical details of its robust civility are athletically articulated within the script.

Within a stifling cataclysm to be sure that still balances thought and action, an unorthodox peculiarity to be quietly consumed with complex recourse to otherworldly stamina.

Cool how the filmmakers pulled such an elaborate vision off at large old school.

I imagine it was quite difficult to make.

Long before stunning technological surrogates.

Matthau and Shaw!

Unknown

A brilliant doctor resilient and dependable arrives with his wife at a conference in Europe, the two looking forward to innovative discussions throughout the upcoming thought provoking week (Liam Neeson as Dr. Martin Harris and January Jones as Elizabeth Harris).

But Mr. Harris forgets a suitcase at the airport and must return with improvised haste, a random accident then suddenly sending his swift moving cab into the river.

He wakes in the hospital four days later confused and uncertain of his identity, flashbacking memories intermittently bombarding his worried bewildered forlorn consciousness. 

Enough memories are pieced together to locate his wife back at the hotel, but she's claiming another man is her husband (Aidan Quinn as Dr. Martin Harris), and he has the credentials to prove it.

Dr. Harris A has no supporting documentation and is alone in a foreign city, his only contacts the irritated cab driver (Diane Kruger as Gina) and an old school Stasi agent (Bruno Ganz as Ernst Jürgen).

But as they help him piece things together determined hitpeople come viciously calling.

His life hanging in the chaotic balance.

If he can determine which life is his own.

Identities ephemeral consistent mutating sculpted and warped through variable circumstances, sincere lighthearted earnest scenarios generating alternative fluid trajectories. 

In Dr. Harris's case, a traumatic shock engenders tumultuous transmutations, childlike innocence serendipitously resuscitated with headstrong free contradictory will.

As if latent wondrous ethical senses habitually reside within unobstructed awareness, a less reserved curious luminous syndication ethereally materialized through pneumonic flux.

Divergent associates proceed reflexively according to malleable regenerative factors, expectations foiled with animate nuance or transformatively adorned with newfound resonance. 

New sets of variables present cherished fascinations as inquisitive impulses react with the arts, ahistorical multilateral syntheses composing flexible dynamic spectrums.

Acquiring new knowledge leads to the reinterpretation of staple favourites convivially collected, the reinvigoration of personal relationships, intricate staunch identity.

Dr. Harris makes a go of it in Canada and Québec as so many adventurous people do.

Not that anything's written in stone.

Unknown wildly entertains throughout. 

Bride of Frankenstein

People continue to misunderstand Frankenstein's (Boris Karloff) harmless peaceful ambitions, and set out to thoroughly destroy him with distraught malevolent intent.

He's somewhat confused by the grandiose distress and realizes he must avoid the village, hiding out in the surrounding forest where he longs for inclusivity. 

Life's life and who's to challenge what lives if it co-exists with equanimity, securing an active balanced role within Earth's multidimensional nexus.

Frankenstein understands this and strives to harmoniously make friends, but fear and aesthetic prejudice lead to inhospitable conflict.

Meanwhile, another scientist takes wholesome pity on the troubled lad (Ernest Thesiger as Dr. Pretorius), and theorizes that traditional heteronormative constructs may lead to acculturation.

He enlists the reluctant aid of Frankenstein's industrious forefather (Colin Clive as Henry Frankenstein), and sets about creating a mate to appease tumultuous chaotic bearings.

Frankenstein seems somewhat relieved by the altruistic acclamation, having only known disarray since having been shockingly brought to life.

But there's no telling what will happen if the experiment's a success.

Conjugal communal courtly cohesion.

But what if she rejects him?

Few sequels disproportionately proceed with such ineffable progressive momentum, enticingly accelerating with riveting resonance immaculately distilled otherworldly genesis.

Few horror films possess such paramount cultural inoculations, as instinctual bellicose folly is disemboweled with airtight empathy.

The classic scenes where Frankenstein meets the visually impaired violinist living alone in the woods, modest heartfelt honest exemplars of innocent curious tame compassion.

The inspired unchecked ebullience emphatically exclaimed through experimentation, as both doctors philosophically articulate bold corporeal determinations.

Will a future filled with androids be relatively harmless as Picard hopes, or will The Terminator's prophetic bedlam come to calamitously pass?

Does the answer lie within this daring tragic Bride of Frankenstein?

Can animate life for mercy's sake . . .

Also apply to friendly robots?

The Black Cat

Spoiler alert.

A newlywed couple unwinds on their honeymoon, carefreely travelling throughout Eastern Europe, wilfully embracing romantic stratagems, to celebrate their new life together.

Suddenly a stranger joins them in their spacious train compartment, who happens to be heading to the same destination, with which he's intimately familiar (Bela Lugosi as Dr. Vitus Werdegast). 

Upon departure, he secures a ride, and they set off into a forbidding storm, dispiritingly crashing not so long after, lodging fortunately available nearby.

But Vitus has failed to tell them that he's recently returned from prison, and seeks vengeance at the very establishment where they happen to be spending the night.

The owner (Boris Karloff as Hjalmar Poelzig) cheated him during a war along with many of their brave compatriots, for he longed for Vitus's precious wife, and cowardly sought to save his own skin.

Vitus's wife perished shortly thereafter but their daughter enchantingly grew, and eventually wed the man who had ruined her family, lacking paramount prerequisite knowledge.

He also loyally worships Satan and conducts forbidden rituals with local elites at his home.

The young couple struggles to adapt.

Without preponderant divine mercy.

More concerned with character and mood than striking shocking spry special effects, The Black Cat haunts without graphic supplement, as old school legends face off for the first time.

Was this narrative frightening for audiences way back and does it still scare peeps to this very day, have there always been those who find it comic, or perhaps abounding with sardonic frights?

Horror certainly has become much more technical in terms of mind-bogglingly mad diabolics, if you went from finding The Black Cat startling what would you make of A Nightmare on Elm Street?

Is horror more suited to the censors of its time or can it function at random, ahistorically?, audiences from the '30s would have been less familiar with Freddy or Jason, but their world was much more accustomed to war torn strife.

Were censors more strict long ago because the world was still much more blunt and chaotic, and they refused to encourage theoretical bedlam because they distrusted aggrieved elementals?

Apart from the pandemic, the last 75 years haven't seen grandiose crazed distress, on a mass scale like World War II anyways, not that there haven't been sundry harrowing incidents.

Can't say I'll ever get used to lockdowns.

Although they're necessary when things get out of hand. 

I didn't find The Black Cat comic.

I thought it was a cool bit of offbeat storytelling.

After Hours

A strait-laced data analyst embraces his routine (Griffin Dunne as Paul Hackett), predictability the 9 to 5 smoothly flowing trusted and disciplined. 

An imaginative co-worker dreams of something more (Bronson Pinchot as Lloyd), something beyond cold codes and programs, an open-minded journal that promotes diversity.

Paul dismisses the idea even though he likes to read, mundanely ensconced in static cynicism, unconcerned with creativity.

Yet while reading alone in a diner, a single lass takes compassionate interest (Rosanna Arquette as Marcy), and soon they've decided to meet up later, Mr. Hackett moving beyond his narrow confines.

But should he have left inanimate routine inexplicably behind with adventurous longing, to suddenly extend bland limitations past the stilted sure and steady?

How will he react to liaised limbo immersed in scintillating shock, as enigmatic interactions present uncanny striking novelties?

It's as if he's entered Lloyd's journal with blasé editorial intent, the artists suspicious of his lacking spry free-flowing flexibility.

Instinctually composed beyond traditional direction, oddball night owls offer conspicuous fervid nimble characterizations. 

Bourgeois logic remains irrelevant he can't make the adaptations, his hopeless attempts to assert control instigating chaotic tension.

The journal requires inherent variability latent unorthodox unawareness, without patterns pragmatic paradigms smoothly shifting random flux.

The desire to reasonably analyze in search of auspicious thematic cohesion, leaves him synchronistically stranded as he attempts to swiftly improvise.

But the unknown erratic elements adhesively unite through enthused criticism, generating instantaneous aggrieved startling multidisciplinary import.

Perhaps he'll be a manager some day but on this night he has no agency, and must adjust to the ironic insurrection of laidback generally accommodating peeps.

Thus the arrhythmic inconclusive intuitive chill spontaneous tangents, prove that they don't watch cable television or sit back and read the news.

A wondrous lively essential eclective naturally responding with unclassified stamina, finds momentary momentum uncategorized active spiritual flight.

I'm not sure if he's meant to be comic or if he's portrayed in a tragic light.

Which lends the film a bit of mysticism. 

When thinking about it later on. 

With Teri Garr, John Heard, Cheech & Chong, and Catherine O'Hara. 

Time Trap

An ancient cave far off in the woods inspires archaeological reckoning, as a professor cautiously descends in search of long lost cherished loved ones (Andrew Wilson as Professor Hopper).

His students become concerned when they don't hear from him for days, and decide to locate him themselves at an inquisitive social gathering.

Unaware of germane legend or even folklore or tale or myth, they enthusiastically head out with bold wherewithal and primal bearings.

Following a handy rope, they jabber nonchalantly, intent on freely exploring their clandestine cavernous confines.

Nothing is discovered at first and they settle in to quizzical discourse, embracing feats of daring athleticism, with instinctual guttural accord.

Yet after a short time passes they discover a distressing sight, a team member who stayed with their vehicle has fallen and broken his neck.

But even more disquieting, somewhat shocking and eerie what have you, the video he's taken on his trusty cellphone reveals a rupture in space-time itself.

For Furby (Max Wright) had been waiting for days even though they entered the cave quite recently, the resultant uncanny discrepancy as unnerving as it is provocative. 

They soon learn they've entered a realm as temporally discordant as it is eternal.

The centuries rapidly pass.

Enlightening elegiac entropy.

Time Trap adventurously swells and ahistorically acculturates through inductive exhibition, high spirits and impressionable disbelief curating quandaries and quarrels encloistered.

Like a chaotic bewildering immersion in multivariable synthesized anthropologies, intergenerational mutated millennia remonstrate, reproach, and reify. 

I thought the pacing was well-suited to perplexing accidental endeavour, like uninhibited postmodern inclinations transformed into vigorous atemporal search & rescue.

Perhaps time passes too quickly, however, and some of the cave-dwellers are too inhospitable, but it does make for some riveting sci-fi, with an honest portrayal of global warming.

It's great to see North American legend entertainingly brought to life, and even if there may never have been such a thing, its hypothetical import still secretes heartfelt wonder.

Like on Twin Peaks, there must be so many Native legends to cinematically explore.

While respecting contemporary consultants.

I'm a fan of the sci-fi touch.  

Confidential Report

Spoiler alert.

A man of humble origins obtains astounding wealth, and lives the ostentatious lifestyle well-attuned to extravaganza (Orson Welles as Mr. Arkadin). 

But he has trouble living in the present for some self-obsessed depressing reason, free to do whatever he pleases, he decides to track down old associates.

With ill-intent.

He hires a somewhat clueless blunt do-gooding would-be detective, to discover where they've wound up and any additional information he can find (Robert Arden as Guy Van Stratten). 

He had hoped to blackmail Arkadin with his knowledge of an old school name, and managed to fortunately meet him after getting to know his carefree daughter (Paola Mori as Raina). 

He travels far and wide in search of crucial extant intel, leaving a well-trodden path to follow should one scrutinize his investigation.

He encounters several oddballs enigmatically versed in levity, who supply ample scandalous details of Mr. Arkadin's criminal past.

But he realizes too late that he's been followed and they've been murdered.

And he's been framed for a murder himself.

And there's nowhere left to hide.

Leave things be I say in terms of controversial fascinations, there's peace of mind in a steady job and a potentially loving fulfilling relationship.

After work, there are art museums and a fluid stream of homegrown spectacles at Place des arts, delicately blended with international intrigue the seductive synthesis viscerally reeling.

Plus sports.

A sudden inspired idea can generate piquant multilateral harmonies, ephemerally akin to serendipitous spectrums as genuinely concerned as they are suspicious. 

Perhaps the accumulation of wealth does beget a desire for public recognition, it seems to happen often enough in film and literature, even if the riches were acquired somewhat scandalously. 

Does nominal philanthropy exculpate suspect acquisitive propulsion, like secular sociopolitical tithing written off with a lack of pretence?

It seems like social media would lead to a less ambiguous historical take.

But there are so many competing narratives.

Who tells the most gripping story?

Confidential Report presents a cool cast of characters comically united through witless candour.

Live in the present I say.

Augmented tradition.

Novel change. 

Tampopo

A daring trucker, hungry after a long day on the road (Tsutomu Yamazaki as Gorô), stops in at a local ramen shop, where the other customers are somewhat hostile.

He refuses to observe their bad behaviour and soon an unfair fight begins, Gorô's courage reacting with bellicose vigour, but there are are too many determined opponents. 

But the owner takes pity on him afterwards and they soon find themselves amicably disposed, Gorô noting that her restaurant lacks appeal (Nobuko Miyamoto as Tampopo), and deciding to chill 'til he can help improve things.

They begin rigorously researching the competition to incisively scrutinize strengths and weaknesses, Gorô proving to be a good teacher, thoughtful Tampopo eager to learn.

After having focused upon various aspects of the divergent ways different people serve ramen, it's time to concentrate on the dish itself, to make something coveted, lauded, irresistible.

Fresh insights are eagerly sought and soon they've forged a constructively critical retinue, devoutly seeking sumptuous irrefutability, with avid pluck and gastronomic reserve.

Meanwhile, the world at large engages in random culinary acts.

Uncanny scenes adding cosmopolitan flavour. 

To Tampopo's free-flowing itinerant broth.

Effervescent peculiar poignancy rambunctiously distilling airtight emancipation, Tampopo proceeds according to guidelines unaffiliated with external gravity.

A world particular and personalized caught up with jocose mesmerizing self-indulgence, like so many of my favourite artistic works, it's structurally chaotic, yet imaginatively sound.

Praise for unorthodox individuals having forged convivial eclectives, well-versed in variable revelations, beyond financial or economic rubrics. 

Praise for concerned acts of kindness delicately encouraging slow and steady development, conflict erupting through holistic expansion, thereafter appeased through tact and forgiveness.

Praise for proceeding according to mood whether it be compassionate or volatile, praise for non-sequential spicy abbreviations piquantly presented in poetic overflow.

I thought the killing of a live animal went way too far and I was thoroughly disturbed afterwards.

Otherwise a unique unpredictable tale.

Abounding with full-on whatever.

*With Ken Watanabe. 

Nightbooks

A thoughtful youth likes to write stories that are somewhat frightening if not supernatural (Winslow Fegley as Alex), his nascent creative literary endeavours misunderstood by his strait-laced classmates.

Unfortunately, on the night of his birthday party, no ones shows up to indulge and celebrate, his parents having gone to great lengths to materialize, a fitting festive otherworldly soirée.

They begin to doubt their motivations and callously vocalize their frustrated misgivings, Alex listening closely in the next room, he suddenly decides to run away.

Yet even more disastrous, he decides to burn his cherished books, a haughty witch intercepting him as he proceeds down (Krysten Ritter as Natacha), to his apartment's scalding incinerator. 

The witch is none too accommodating however and traps him inside her magical abode, demanding a new story each and every evening, happy endings strictly forbidden.

Due to his absolutist circumstances, he readily seeks wholehearted escape, with the aid of another resident child (Lidya Jewett as Yasmin), who had been hopeless for quite some time.

But a furless invisible cat watches their movements throughout the day.

And doesn't understand when they find: a spell encouraging slumbrous oblivion.

Nightbooks applauds the grim and macabre with sincere devout unlimited reckoning, securing spellbound enriched daunting fantasies for multivariable epochs to come. 

Firmly resolved to withstand criticism of the artistic desire to explore spooky realms, it champions bold incarnate conjuring perhaps with multidisciplinary respite.

If you're ever mundanely thinking that related genres are lacking forward momentum, I suggest checking out Montréal's Fantasia festival as well, where you'll find innovative stories from around the globe.

I have no idea at what age to start consuming frets and frights, they freaked me out when I was really young, but I was really into them throughout my teens and twenties.

Harry Potter offers fascinating insights into freedom of expression, within a robust world equipped with intricate complex plots and characterizations (what happened to J.K. Rowling?).

Nightbooks too, I really liked Nightbooks, and its stressful examination of writing.

If you're thinking of stories write them down.

Social prestige and criticism be damned. 

*The Dream Warriors was my favourite Nightmare on Elm Street film. I never saw numbers 2 or 5 however.

**Can't believe there's a Child's Play tv show/series coming out. That's mind-boggling considering how strict censors were way back when.

The Starling

No telling how the shock of unexpectedly losing someone will short-circuit, but there's no doubt it's an awful experience requiring patience, understanding, and compassion.

In The Starling, a loving husband is thoroughly overcome with grief (Chris O'Dowd as Jack Maynard), after his baby daughter doesn't wake up, a beautiful gift whom he adored.

He's so overwhelmingly grief-stricken that he checks into a local hospital, where caring sympathetic professionals try their best to ease his pain.

His wife remains at home and continues to work while slowly convalescing, visiting her husband once a week and bringing treats for each encounter (Melissa McCarthy as Lilly Maynard).

But since he doesn't progress and remains sadly lost in a deep depression, she struggles to optimistically adjust, especially when he no longer wants to see her.

It's recommended she seek therapy too, guidance from a former psychiatrist working as a vet (Kevin Kline as Dr. Larry Fine), with whom she strikes up a begrudging friendship, like a therapeutic odd couple.

Meanwhile, she cleans her yard and a resident starling starts to pester her.

She responds with uptight disdain.

Then feels guilty for her hasty actions. 

The Starling doesn't shy away from emphasizing sincere distress, and related waves upon waves of anguish as the Maynards come together. 

But it also praises the painstaking sacrifices spouses make while married at times, providing an amicable unassuming exemplar of devout enduring flexible partnerships. 

So many conflicting emotions difficult to comprehend since they're new and sad, add a steady routine on top of them, and there's bound to be a lot of confusion.

Lilly honestly reacts with genuine innocence as she freely adapts, with classic aggrieved McCarthian carnage, somewhat mollified for sombre subject matter.

As Lilly tries to poison the starling, human/animal relations are oddly characterized, she also hits it with a rock later on, the vet fortunate enough to save it.

After that everything's great for the starling and it seems as if she's welcome in the yard.

This is how people who don't understand human/animal relationships write about them (perhaps like Lindsay Bluth-Fünke). 

I sincerely hope that I'm not missing something. 

The Ice Road

Two brothers contend with anti-social commentaries, one suffering from a potent malady that engenders inhibition (Marcus Thomas as Gurty McCann). 

They're both fired after the other raises fists in his determinate firm defence (Liam Neeson as Mike McCann), after which they're stuck looking for work once again, even though they're resolutely versatile. 

Meanwhile, a methane gas explosion traps miners in Northern Manitoba, and the only equipment that can swiftly free them must be transported by ye olde ice road.

From way down south in the 'Peg.

But it's late April and the road's reliability is called into brittle question, ample compensation offered for the drivers, if they don't break through the ice.

Mike and Gurty take on the job with the aid of fellow truckers Jim Goldenrod (Laurence Fishburne) and Tantoo (Amber Midthunder), Tantoo's brother trapped in the mine below (Martin Sensmeier as Cody Mantooth), with time rapidly running out.

If the melting ice isn't enough of a hazard, sabotage is soon calamitously afoot, as Jim's rig suddenly breaks down, after having passed the pre-trip inspection.

It turns out there's more money to be made in letting men perish than saving their lives.

Mike, Gurty and Tantoo disagree.

And strive onwards in strict contention.

Inherent courage reflexively materializes in the face of daunting unpredictability, as maddening shortsighted voracious decisions write off integral animate life.

As kind-hearted gifted trusted technicians lack viable steadfast agency, since they aren't argumentatively or rhetorically stern, and simply possess expert free-flowing knowledge.

Visceral integrity impacting resilience necessitously arises through cause and effect, boldly adjudicating vivacious spirit in terms of hands-on practical tenacity.

Every once in a while it's fun to take in another high-stakes Liam Neeson film, with an over-the-top epic scenario chaotically encouraging heroic action.

It's not clear cut by any means indeed mistakes are made then compassionately forgiven, the circuitous path to pinnacled payload not as straightforward as one might expect.

Apart from the critical pressures of the stressful melting ice road, scene after scene of diabolical intrigue keeps the kinetic distress flowing.

But it's not concerned with superheroes as provocative realism takes centre stage.

And real people confront a worst case scenario.

With productive teams.

Driven by virtue. 

Driven

A greedy pilot hits hard times after the FBI catches him transporting drugs, during a trip where he also visits Disney World with his family, dissolute rupture, grievous error (Jason Sudeikis as Jim Hoffman). 

He agrees to become an informant rather than spend 30 years in the can, and he's set up with a house in the suburbs with a modest income to keep up appearances.

With nothing major immediately materializing he has time to relax and socialize, meeting John DeLorean (Lee Pace) of all people, the two strike up a laidback friendship.

DeLorean's trying to find a way to create and manufacture a unique car, which harnesses years of hands-on experience, in a smooth flowing incomparable ride.

But it's a rather complicated affair involving manifold intricate parts, how to build it, where to build it, how to market it, while still maintaining control of his company.

Hoffman's advice proves fertile and the project sees mechanistic germination, and although there are impassioned critiques, forward motion is swiftly accelerated.

Jim and his wife (Judy Greer as Ellen Hoffman) enjoy their new life attending parties without having to work, but the FBI hasn't forgotten their commitment to engage in duplicitous sincere snitching.

As problems abound for DeLorean it becomes apparent he needs 30 million.

Which Hoffman's drug trafficking contact (Michael Cudlitz as Morgan Hetrick) can provide.

If he's willing to boldly risk everything.

Insights into a world I've never understood in terms of practical realization, lucrative ideas productively entwined with the design for commodities people actually want.

I like driving cars they're convenient but I've never really wanted to own one, bus métro and kayak so much less of a bother, not to mention simply strolling around.

It seems like if there's money to be made there are many better ways to acquire it within the law, that don't engender latent paranoia in everything you do afterwards throughout the day.

And problematize flourishing friendships as they do for Mr. Hoffman in Driven, as he struggles with competing loyalties ethically conflicting with frenzied comeuppance.

A cool film nevertheless directly interrogating high stakes happenstance, still somewhat suave considering its blunt extolled intermittent playful hi-jinx.

Perhaps I'll own a vehicle some day, I'm hoping green alternatives are much cheaper (and faster) by the time that happens.

Don't know if I'll drive it that often.

Although it'd be nice to hit the open road. 

The Abyss

Undercover underwater exploration yields illuminated booty, as the navy teams up with rig workers in search of a lost submarine.

The navy's more concerned with the whereabouts of a noxious radical however, which may lead to mass destruction if acquired by belligerent ambition.

But as they're searching intent deep down they're freely greeted by a burst of light, accompanied by frisky cognizance and inquisitive concerned awareness.

The lifeforms initially remain aloof solely presenting themselves with hesitance, but they're crystal clearly lucidly detected as a feisty doc curiously ventures forth (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio as Lindsey Brigman).

Her feisty husband doubts the provenance of what she earnestly claims she's seen (Ed Harris as Bud Brigman), their upcoming divorce complicating things further as a storm approaches high above.

The aliens eventually appear for most of the crew in aqueous form, possessing the ability to transform water into a conscious mobile thermocline. 

But they get too close to the nuke and one of the navy personnel goes psycho (Michael Biehn as Lt. Coffey).

Deciding it's time to nuke them.

They were just trying to make new friends.

Severely critiquing warlike ambition while fluidly celebrating animate life, The Abyss problematizes piqued peculiars with maddening flush improvised contention.

It was made with concern for particular individualistic collegial resonance, so multiple characters alertly express themselves throughout both the merriment and the malevolence.

What's to be found deep down in the ocean's an enigmatic imaginative catalyst, I'm surprised these kind of films don't show up more often, so much submerged terrain remains unexplored.

Recall the episode of Star Trek: The Original Series where they survey the pleasure planet (Shore Leave plus Once Upon a Planet in Star Trek: The Animated Series), to fathom unpredictable eccentricities resolutely emergent in manifold epochs.

Could this idea have been ethereally transmitted by mischievous immortals living far below, equipped with an evolutionary laboratory hellbent on nourishing life?

The balance of nature is somewhat awe-inspiring in its multilateral environmental harmonies.

The omnivorous bear, the speed of the cheetah.

How do plants evolve to mimic their surroundings?

While that idea's rather ridiculous I can't deny I like television and film.

How does something mimic without consciousness?

An ethereal level unilaterally imperceptible.

*With Chris Elliot (Bendix).

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire - Part 2)

It's not for me to say how influential Welt am Draht was, but it came out in 1973 with ideas that seem like they were ahead of their time.

Although I don't have an exhaustive knowledge of '60s and '70s sci-fi, I wasn't expecting the film to be in line with late 20th and 21st century shenanigans (it's the earliest example I can think of which showcased such ideas).

It concerns virtual environments within virtual environments with some characters aware of their electronic anatomies, eventually responding with paranoid pride, in relation to fractious fundamentals.

The parallels with Star Trek: The Next Generation's Moriarty holodeck character are striking and it may have been where STNG originally found the idea.

Although contemporaneity suggests that different writers were likely thinking about the same ideas simultaneously, if I understand the concept correctly, finding alternative modes for similar hypotheses which various people were considering at the time.

With Welt am Draht's different virtual environments there's a set up similar to Total Recall as well, where people can virtually live someone else's life to gain surrogate sensation. 

Thus, once again, Philip K. Dick may have provided the framework which another artist then expanded upon in his or her work, his story We Can Dream it for You Wholesale (Total Recall) having appeared in 1966.

Thus, Star Trek's holodeck and Total Recall combine as characters within the dreamscapes become aware of their existence, and then seek knowledge of the world beyond while trying to avoid distressing authorities. 

Where does the dreamscape begin, without origins is there organic life?

Multiple dimensions existing in exponential parallel ethereally linked through electronic spirit?

Conscious and substantially determinate yet existentially star-crossed in manifold chrysalis.

Like on Star Trek: The Next Generation I suppose, in episodes which play with space and time, notably Parallels which sees Worf disrupt the universe on his way home from a bat'leth tournament.

Who's to say who's taken different manifestations of these ideas to their most compelling extremes, but The Matrix did an excellent job, and it looks like they're making another sequel.

The first part of Welt am Draht pulls you in with cryptic offbeat uncanny rhythms, it's cool to watch as Fred Stiller (Klaus Löwitsch) slowly discovers the blueprints of his reality.

The second part doesn't add much but it's a cool drawn out conclusion.

It's fun to watch sci-fi sans special effects.

Love it when technological constraints don't spoil good storytelling.

La planète sauvage (Fantastic Planet)

Far off on a hectic planet humans (oms) are treated as undesirables, the dominant haughty traag species rather intolerant of different lifeforms.

They possess much greater height and ancient meditative traditions, along with cryptic advanced writing which the oms can't readily decipher.

They manage the om population with paternalistic uptight disdain, their children allowed to keep oms as pets, the free wild peoples treated like vermin.

One rather observant om is introduced to traag learning however, lessons transmitted through an omniscient horseshoe which traag children use to develop and grow.

Many om years pass and young Terr (Barry Bostwick/Eric Baugin/Jean Valmont) acquires much sought after knowledge, his owner aging at a much slower pace, losing interest with her pet as a teenager.

He takes his opportunity to escape and brings the encyclopaedic technology with him, abruptly adjusting to life in the wilderness, with peeps wary yet impressed by his learning.

Thanks to the didactic device many oms begin to acquire an education, and prove just as adept as they reflexively do here upon our own bountiful Earth.

But the traags decide their numbers have grown much too large to be safely managed.

Presenting an ambitious and wicked plan.

To engage in full-on extermination.

Rather unsettling to casually watch as humans fall prey to strategic whims, carelessly launched by unsympathetic derisive dominant domineering giants.

Their diminutive size and lack of resources leaves them vulnerable to various beasts, as do their scattered proud distrustful clans who bravely subsist in scant isolation.

But the survivors bond in an abandoned rocket field and earnestly learn from Terr's technology, hoping to escape to a clandestine moon upon which they will be free from vile traag tyranny.

Education proves vital indeed and soon a less dependent state of affairs emerges.

As ingenious pedagogical applications redefine ancient endemic balances.

The parallels with our cherished home planet should not be dismissed or even overlooked, as billions of animals spend their entire lives in cages awaiting to be served up as food.

The industry could be much more humane and if meat consumption decreases we could stop global warming.

Unfortunately, pigs and cows can't read.

But there are still millions of humanoids who support them. 

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire - Part 1)

The real world composed of constituent parts practically indicating material projections, consistent tradition reliably upheld as concrete forms refrain from transfiguration.

Fortunately, as time passes and resonant patterns are detected, one is able to generally predict what will physically emerge, structural dependability routinely reckoning as if coherence were indeed endemic, the same buildings appearing on the same streets, libraries convergent, impeccable sandwiches.

The sure and steady can lack variety so spice is eagerly sought like in Plato's Republic, and tempting alternatives emphatically compete to provide soulful sustenance exotic flavour.

Thus the arts envision trajectories upon which to reimagine certified certainty, various in/distinct bold metamorphoses cleverly conjuring kaleidoscopic craving.

Sentiment and novelty oscillate within as abstract patterns extract newfound tradition, but with less elementary toned durability than a street or a house one might expect to see.

Gregarious garnishes astounding adornments laidback lynchpins sombre tomes, remonstrance rhetoric polarities syntheses multiform blends unilateral conceit.

Proceeding with an open-mind may lead to fulfilling multilateral abundance, with intuitive hierarchies inevitably developing, kept in check through reflexive consumption.

Are you too specialized too arcane too generic, too lacking in practical sense?, such questions can lead to a more diverse palette if one can be bothered to consider them effortlessly.

Aren't buffets the best a feed at the trough when they're well-prepared, plate after plate of sumptuous treats judiciously accompanied with varied desserts?

It seems like the will of the pandemic is to encourage lush virtual environments, but after spending so much time indoors it'd be nice to pitch a tent in Parc Jeanne-Mance. 

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire) examines virtual realities as artificial intelligence emerges within them, layers upon layers of structural mimesis provocatively contemplating organic life.

Who's to say if this world we live in isn't a computer program ingeniously manufactured?

I used to think that until I broke my finger.

Related ephemera notwithstanding. 

Koko: A Talking Gorilla

Koko: A Talking Gorilla presents pioneering documentary wildlife footage, shot long before Love Nature and BBC Earth emerged, it offers a direct hands-on approach to the crafting of naturalistic wonder. 

In a scholastic setting.

Is it possible for gorillas to acquire humanistic language skills?

Yes, Barbet Schroeder showcases the evidence within, and even if Koko doesn't learn to sign perfect human, he still learns hundreds of words by heart, and can engage in elementary small talk.

However, I have to admit that as I watched Koko and Penny Patterson communicating, I felt kind of bad for the verbose beastie, who seems somewhat uncomfortable a lot of the time within the film.

He often seems like he'd much rather be foraging around in the jungle, and although the experiment produces compelling results, did it thoroughly take into account Koko's natural instincts, his innate desires to gorilla about?

I like experiments that teach us more about animal kind because they're good at deconstructing stereotypes regarding non-humans, but so many of the them end with horrible results for the animals, that sometimes it seems like it's best not to conduct them.

I'm thinking about Susan Casey's book Voices in the Ocean: A Journey into the Wild and Haunting World of Dolphins, anyways, which starts out with a cool example of beatniks swimming with dolphins in Hawaii, while totally respecting dolphin kind's independence.

But then chapter after chapter chronicles horrendous interactions between well-meaning (and not so well-meaning) scientists (and others) and dolphins, which left me with a rather critical outlook regarding such experiments, since so many of them ended horribly.

I think animal awareness has remarkably improved in some countries and regions over the past 20 years, and there's certainly an abundance of caring people sharing animal love on the internet.

And I imagine generations are following David Attenborough's incredible example as they respectfully interact with our fellow Terran inhabitants (who have just as much of a right to this planet as we do). 

But the good's still mixed with an abundance of bad of cruel practices and experiments that are socially accepted, not to mention cultural prejudices which display shocking misguided horror, sign up for emails from Peta, be prepared for extreme woe.

Koko's treated well in the film and the people involved don't employ old school viewpoints, which justify outrageous abuses of intelligent animals based upon preferences for intellectual standing.

Rather they try to break down the barriers which uphold so many distressing rationalities. 

Koko still seems like he'd rather be playing.

I'm not sure where to draw the line.

I wonder what Jane Goodall thinks of this film?

Note: I love Orangutan Jungle School.

Delirious

A kindhearted freespirit abounding with compassion finds himself inanimately indisposed, without lodgings or food or friendship or frenzy he wanders New York in search of something new (Michael Pitt as Toby Grace). 

He meets a photographer (Steve Buscemi) who spends his time in search of celebrity appearances, which he swiftly captures then sells to earn a buck, used to life on his own and a rather ornery set of rules, he takes young Toby in and sets him up as his assistant.

As Toby's introduced to the long hours of the paparazzi, he tries his best to ease his benefactor's troubled mind, at times breaking through the multilayered masochism, to placate his cantankerous sadospurious vengeful bitterness.

Mr. Grace is a solid character oft maligned for its gentle trusting, and natural sympathetic instincts, and resonant altruistic charm.

He lacks competitive calculating individualistic self-promotion, and has no time for guts or grievances, he's inherently non-violent.

He's more concerned with friendship than relationships or ownership, and can forgive grand impositions without foolishly giving in.

Delirious is quite romantic as Toby suddenly succeeds, yet still caught up with hardboiled dissonance as his jealous patron won't forgive him.

I suppose the grass is greener and many people covet wealth, but isn't it also important to chill and not concern yourself with opulence. 

I'm afraid I tend to see jealousy as an inhibiting destructive force, which slowly leads to spiritual ruin if left unchecked in freeform dissolution.

When you detect that people are trying to make you jealous, ask yourself, are these people good friends?, there's so much wonderful friendship out there with people who don't try to make you jealous.

Sometimes people share things without intending to show off or brag, they simply just like sharing things and don't see the harm in doing so.

The world does seem to be caught up with jealousy though, and as it blindly promotes incoherence so much innocence is lost.

You can preserve such innocence without getting duped over and over again, the two don't go hand in hand, Toby's actions offer a clear example.

Although ridiculous at points, Delirious demonstrates compassionate understanding, goodwill productively materialized, which even brought a tear to me eye.

Taking out your own shortcomings on others is as impractical as it is dispiriting. 

Better to slowly walk away.

Let them find others who prefer that kind of thing. 

Przypadek

Can alternative decisions made in relation to one specific random event produce remarkably different outcomes for an inquisitive mind adapting?

Is it possible that the same person could emphatically respond with melancholic gusto, to diametrically opposed scenarios with shocking dialectic outcomes?

With or without exciting possibility with political support or in the thrilling underground, perhaps with traditional familial responsibilities, could the same person react so divergently?

As if sociopolitical engagement is a mischievous abstract maelstrom, different vessels like practical responses to a constantly shifting incredulous multiplicity.

As if the unexpected the unforeseen consistently introduces unprecedented dilemmas, which reimagine concrete foundations in need of striking transformative flux.

To stay afloat you employ grey flexible conducive relevant bold applications, circuitously dissected by ideological currents simultaneously engaged in the same opaque struggle.

Personal appeal and gracious mentoring provide fleeting cerebral provisions, from one piquant portfolio to the next, subjective instinct objective humour.

Competing forces build dams and levees attempting to limit the Kafkaesque exposure, material movements and spiritual sustenance providing relief within the grand disorder.

Isms and ists market intellectual plumage attempting to bridge variable discreet gaps, consistently haunted by resonant biology (hunger) as they uphold existential preservation. 

The absolutist seeks total control of the entire byzantine aqueous edifice, presuming resulting tsunamic ostentation will one day be followed by mass mellifluity.

The democrat limits the forbidding forces and offers advice for multivariable instances, celebrating fluctuation itself out of sincere respect for public opinion.

Witek (Boguslaw Linda) is immersed within different currents in Kieslowski's Przypadek, immanent ideological commitments compromising noble romantic resolve.

Even the lavish lagooned levitation leads to despondent airborne rupture, every random disparate path linked through chaotic contemporaneity.

Give me a raft or a kayak I suppose, some good bread and a variety of cheese.

A ride hitched on the back of a whale.

Some good books.

A salient film.  

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).