The Alchemist's Cookbook

I reckon many imaginative people find the idea of alchemy appealing, the ancient search for magical realism 😎 as exceptionally alluring in any century.

It'd be worth taking a bit of time to compile a comprehensive bibliography, to see how often it's shown up in fiction, I'd wager one exists already.

Or several perhaps, multilaterally speaking, I'm unaware how realistically it was taken by yesteryear, there may even be whole sections in the British and French national libraries, Canadian and American history perhaps not as robust.

You would think it would have once been a dependable subject for versatile comedians, or illusionist/buffoon teams who put their heads together to entertain.

The romantic in me shyly wonders if anyone ever achieved the goal.

Such incredible knowledge of the natural world.

Long before taxonomical exasperation.

But I have no wish to see romance turn to dread like the lead's (Ty Hickson) experience in The Alchemist's Cookbook, his grand misfortune superstitiously compounded by an untutored embrace of the age old discipline. 

He seems to have been of two minds regarding the spirit and the secular, and even though he excelled at chemistry was still routinely bewildered by angels & demons.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if so many people didn't manipulate spiritual authenticity, making it generally impossible to trust any lucid supernatural symbiosis? 

You don't want to trust and be made a fool of, but manifest belief foils bland cynicism, the dismissal of everything consistently dull, the wholehearted embrace a contradictory blur.

I guess you can't feed all the animals in the forest, but if you see one who's injured it's cool to help out, perhaps some tropical forests come equipped with year round bounty, the northern forests of Canada and Québec a challenging struggle.

I wasn't going to watch a macabre flick in 2022 since dad passed away last year around this time, but frights still feverishly found me with mind-boggling active dialectic fervour (I wasn't expecting this film at all).

The age of reason certainly is much less of an inherent habitual gong show, I imagine.

But are people having less fun?

Could be a cool book, it's tough to say.

I imagine an alchemist would see through it regardless of epoch, trend, century, or stigma.

I wonder how raccoons relate to alchemy?

Through multidisciplinary agile play? 

🦝

Un 32 août sur terre (August 32nd on Earth)

A near death experience regenerates instincts to daringly embark on the path of motherhood, a coveted model having barely survived after falling asleep at the treacherous wheel (Pascale Bussières as Simone). 

To suddenly go about the definitive business of engaging in acts which will lead to pregnancy, she relies on the dedication of a trusted friend who has been obsessed for many a year (Alexis Martin as Philippe).

He's somewhat uncertain as to how to proceed and his closest friend recommends refusal, yet even though he's found a new loving partner, he maddeningly can't find the guts to say no.

So it's off to peaceful Utah to accomplish the deed in the heralded salt flats, but they're unable to rent a car and must depend on a suspicious cab driver.

Unfortunately, the offbeat romantic isolation fails to inspire spry animate parlay, the shocking nature of the surprise interconnection leaving studious Philippe shaken not stirred.

The cab driver returns and ups the price, they refuse to pay and are left in the wild.

With nothing but time on their hands.

Incarnate impromptu fascination.

An unorthodox take on romantic true love clad in crazed cheeky carbonite crucible, habitual discussions regarding procreation generally absconded in abstentia.

What lengths will anyone go to if their compulsive daydreaming miraculously matriculates, and a conducive schematic instantaneously materializes out of thin air ze reified rapscallion?

'Tis a tantamount tale for romantic young adults perhaps too prone to radical reverie, highly charged through amorous immediacy the inherent amusement disenchanting fact.

Although to engage in random speculation, I would wager that at least 60% of newborns emerge by accident, and that such an off-putting yet versatile possibility keeps the gene pool rich in non-determination. 

So many thoughtful reasonable people sterilize particularity through prudent planning, and even though they resonate lucidity, lack the wild random vivacities of life.

Do these vivacities produce more novelty than steady reflection and scientific trial and error, I've never heard anyone who lives that way complain, in fact pointing out discrepancies is anathema. 

But why worry about what might have been?, it serves no useful productive purpose.

The present is much more interesting. 

Just have to stay constructively active. 

Maelström

Conflicting emotions morosely problematize picturesque drab conducive momentum, difficult decisions unconscious mourning requisite paramount agile time off.

Through unfortunate circumstance trouble cruelly abounds with the mobile lucrative family business, cascading crucibles Klingon clutches awkwardly aided by a hit and run.

Classic down and out comic lugubrity staggeringly keen to romanticize coincidence, the stars aligned postmodern im/permanence gritty irritable cosmic practicality.

Constant motion demonstrative clarity intuitively reacting to frustrating stimuli, her (Marie-Josée Croze as Bibiane Champagne) family renowned the pressure abrasive outputs enduringly vague inconclusive.

Why all the hassle for simply engaging with piquant particulars precipitous life, the haunting austere adamant duties discernibly daunting lighthearted lackadaisics?

If only taking time off was much simpler a sudden sojourn a querulous jaunt, some place remote perhaps unfamiliar fortuitous fashions restorative calm. 

Not in the cards in this instance as the habitual play grinds dolorous doldrums, although the free sharing of genuine grief begets newfound friendship and lithe l’amour.

A grizzled sizzling disparaging humour harrowingly harks with dissonant certitude, narrated by a fish who keeps losing his head, like your belch tastes like sardines and lime whiskey.

As if the consistent clash of disparate ethics unconsciously produces animate haze, within which peeps must continuously make decisions based upon theories, pragmatism, and expediency.

Within this inherently confusing pinball polemic reason resides, each situation convolutedly clarified through recourse to multivariable mayhem.

The confident decision made can lead to enigmatic trust, any hesitation and everything’s lost even if negatives shake things up.

Social media takes this potentiality to panopticonic levels, like a byzantine web a’ squelched and sticky wherein which myriad strata interconnect.

The clear and rational diagnosis can’t be relied upon to be popular, unless of course it’s fashionable for a monuments brief intersection.

There seems to be less convivial reliance on the sustainability of the collective, as divisive narratives creatively collude to exalt absolute rights.

But Ukraine’s standing tall and fighting off the Russian army.

Wish I could develop a clearer picture.

But then there'd be no maelström.

The Old Man and the Sea

At times the bounty seems neverending as if lavish munificence resonates incarnate, while at others it all dries up and leaves you prone to grievous frustration. 

The dialectics of oceanic endeavours inevitably provoke chaotic equilibrium, the wild tumultuous overcast bearing as furtively belittling as it is advantageous.

What would it be like to make a living aboard a sturdy seafaring vessel, as the weather habitually transforms form one mighty distillation to the next?

The process of change invigoratingly clear as one boldly navigates infinite waters, tried and true dependable depths give way to currents ne'er indefatigable. 

Animate conjecture indubitably delineates creative indisposed spry spectrums, endemic mystics imaginatively endowed with fervid spirits indelicately alighting.

But to actually head out and search when nothing was truly known or proven, before taxonomies within classifications ubiquitously catalogued geographic universals.

I imagine there were whales everywhere frequently emerging to breathe in jest, a trip across the bustling Atlantic producing perhaps as many as 200 sightings.

Not to mention what must have seemed like indeterminate frisky billions, casually adorning limitless shores with unconcernéd and innocent dalliance. 

The Old Man and the Sea picks up some years later and follows a humble fisherperson, who calmly goes with the ebb and flow to earn some bread and lighthearted meals.

He has a chill modest pad unassumingly situated off the beaten track, and a boat and the requisite skill to coast the ocean in search of booty.

But he's been rather unlucky as of late and hasn't managed to catch a thing, his perseverance remaining strong through the potentially enervating drastic drought.

Nature however in its eminence has saved him a colossal agile catch. He just has to haul it in.

After finding himself lost at sea.

Not to take away from its legend, the story was widely popular in my youth, but the film and narrative seemed outdated to me, it's hatred of sharks much too overbearing.

Sharks indeed frighten many but it's certainly rare that they take a human life, in fact for every human life a bloodthirsty shark takes we probably kill around 10 million (ball parkin' based upon stats I've seen on TV of around 250 million sharks being killed a year).

I can't imagine a shark fin making anything taste good.

Sharks maintain the ocean's delicate ecobalance.

And they're being treated with sincere disrespect. 

Thus, I appreciated the tale for it encouraged romantic wonder, but I could never kill so many sharks if they tried to eat my catch.

I'd probably just give my catch to the sharks and would be happy for making them happy.

Sigh. Couldn't cut it as a fisherperson methinks. 

Although I would absolutely love working at sea.

Yajû no seishun (Youth of the Beast)

Incomparable daring resolution irradiating hard earned trust disdaining compromise, a freelance undercover policeperson infiltrates the yakuza in search of reckoning.

All he knows is that his friend has passed away under suspicious circumstances, said friend a man of upstanding character who would ne'er dwell on treacherous familiarities. 

He was of great assistance during a period of intense sorrow, and supplied financial aid beyond his means to facilitate nourishment and budgetary well-being.

The yakuza are rather impressed with his unparalleled hardcore finesse, and swiftly offer him what he wants and then provide ample chaotic bearing.

But since he's convinced this specific organization is solely responsible for his friend's death, he sells them out to their small-time rivals and gives them precise highly valued information.

Amidst the eye of the storm his good fortune the product of immaculate self-confidence, he continues to dig deeper and deeper as the high stakes dissonance devastatingly disturbs.

The seemingly impossible scenario hyperreactively progresses, from one potentially disastrous debacle to the next as the hardboiled liturgies illuminate.

No doubt inspiring superpowers or larger-than-life realistic resonance, Yajû no seishun (Youth of the Beast) magnetically mystifies incumbent undercover loci.

Joe Shishido (Jô Shishido) reacts with animate composure and sheer definitive wiry wherewithal, the latent clasped kinetic combat discursive diabolic delirium.

With so much impersonal disorganization generally lacking an effective rationale, it's no wonder the invincible improvised ingenious active cynosure reverberates.

It's well done so its incredibility contemporizes extant bravado, leading to renewed revered antitrusts and less monopolistic sentiment.

Without much legwork just shocking audacity the officer suddenly gets 'er done, while intuitively remodelling volatile non-traditional infrastructure. 

I'd have to say I liked it although its voltage shocks and certifies.

In the pursuit of honourable friendship.

Amidst pervasive perfidy. 

*Forgot to mention: the music in this film is outstanding!

Sword of the Beast

During a period of volatile change, many samurai seek reform, to promote egalitarian civility and democratic justice, or clans less prone to autocratic caprice.

Yuuki Gennosuke (Mikijirô Hira) thinks his actions will lead to the cultivation of fairness throughout his clan, but after he disposes of its counsellor with his associates, the ambitious incumbent seeks their ruin.

The incumbent had convinced them to do it with promises of wealth and social prestige, Yuuki indubitably furious as he blindly flees to live as a fugitive in the fertile countryside.

He's zealously pursued by the ex-counsellor's daughter and many of the personnel he once considered friends, labelled an outcast bereft of sanctuary he's consistently betrayed everywhere he goes.

But he does find one independent man amusingly hoping to steal gold from a nearby mountain, in search of stalwart protection as he pans, Gennosuke can't deny it's a good place to lie low.

But another samurai has the same idea and already resides on the auriferous slopes, his wife assisting his painstaking efforts as they covet the haughty forbidden.

They've accumulated a vast sum but if they're suddenly caught they'll swiftly lose everything.

Will the two rogue samurai bond?

Before succumbing to age old destiny?

Hideo Gosha's Sword of the Beast illuminates chaos to deconstruct logic, as courageous honourable spirits innocently contend with mature corruption. 

The sundry enticing twists and turns cacophonously layered with magnetic disillusion, keep the frenzied imbroglio basting with aggrieved vehemence and eternal reckoning.

Not without a comic edge, its youthful characters at times light of heart, even while relentlessly pursued they still find time for love and play.

I imagine they mischievously reflect the carefree confidence of the young adult warrior, never fearing death or injury and ready to fight at any given moment.

Gosha gives these daring samurai manifold opportunities to prove their valour, in a celebration of just independence bravely challenging engrained malfeasance. 

With so-much death-defying animation it's impossible to tear yourself away.

Aligned with intricate ethical dilemmas. 

Who is the beast indeed?

Uncommon Valor

At the end of the Vietnam War, loose ends abound with distressing familiarity, notably American Prisoners or War left behind, including one Colonel Jason Rhodes's (Gene Hackman) only son (Todd Allen as Frank Rhodes). 

Negotiations ploddingly proceed with no concrete results diplomatically forthcoming, grieving loved ones left with nothing to hold onto but sterile rhetoric and ineffective bureaucracy.

Rhodes grows tired of the process and decides to find an alternative solution, taking off for Bangkok posthaste in a valiant effort to locate his son.

Disappointment flourishes eruditely as the years interminably pass, until a definitive lead finally reckons with commanding tactile vehemence.

A team of dedicated soldiers soon gathers to train for the mission, even if they lack the army's support and must rely on private funding.

Colonel Rhodes's son has been found but government reps seek to halt the proceedings, by continuously harassing his honourable efforts and eventually confiscating his gear in southern Asia.

The only way to refinance their mission is to spend every dime they have.

And move forward together as one. 

Back into the heart of the jungle.

Their situation is certainly uncommon but how does one qualify valour's exceptionality?, it seems it's not fair to refer to one's bravery as common if directly engaged in hostile combat. 

It rather seems that difference applies starting with an initial exceptional value, valour distinguishing itself as generally exceptional and nothing less immutably moving forward.

Nonetheless, the soldiers in this film do go beyond the exceptional, and pursue überintense exceptionality as thoroughly demonstrated by one Mr. Wilkes (Fred Ward). 

In fact, the entire team along with their daring courageous local support, distinguishes themselves multilaterally when directly challenged by volatile resistance.

They discuss the enduring friendships which cohesively convinced them to heed the call, bonds distinctively forged like none other amidst daunting peril and shocking uncertainty (as discussed in the film). 

I find the best practice is to advocate against the eruption of war in general, but when madmen do lose control and start them peeps have to be ready to formidably respond.

To see the reduction of someone's life to an acceptable loss is most distasteful. 

Who profits from bellicose engagements?

Should they not be objectively penalized?

Vertigo

A detective quits the force (James Stewart as John Ferguson) after a near-death experience scars him, his partner having plunged to his death trying to desperately save him.

He can no longer deal with heights and suffers from vertigo when looking down, his adoring friend trying to aid his recovery with modest sprightly daring address (Barbara Bel Geddes as Marjorie Wood). 

An old friend suddenly gets in touch (Tom Helmore as Gavin Elster) and tells him a wild story about his wife (Kim Novak as Madeleine Elster), how he believes she thinks she's possessed by the covetous spirit of a long lost relative.

He's hired to casually follow her as she makes her way around town, visiting art collections or pleasantly shopping as the bizarro days lackadaisically float by.

But she suddenly pumps up the volume by drastically plunging into San Francisco Bay, Mr. Ferguson soon jumping in after her, after which they strike up a curious acquaintance. 

But he's too late she's too far gone he unfortunately can't do anything to save her.

He's incapacitated after her passing.

Until one day, he discovers another. 

Blind obsession compulsively drives naive Mr. Ferguson to pursue an ideal, long after the disastrous moment which harrowingly led to his quixotic conviction. 

The mind-blowing shock of regenerative love igniting latent intransitory torments, everyone around him suffering as a result as he seeks fantasized facsimile. 

It's classic Hitchcocks it's been so long since I've seen one of his striking films, the frenzied emotions the intense disbelief wrapped up in crippling uncanny lamentations. 

I saw many of them in my childhood in fact sought to see every one long ago, I even taped Vertigo off of television when but a wee lad, youthful glib impressionable contemplation.

It's an excellent film wherein which people love and love's not a bad thing, it's to be cherished, admired, even Midge is quite admirable, no doubt like hapless Edward in Kierkegaard's Seducer's Diary.

In terms of forging a general consensus amongst highly opinionated peeps, perhaps it is the best film of all time, or the one which has been begrudgingly chosen.

Almost every episode of Elementary contains a much deeper mysterious plot.

With love growing piecemeal I presume.

I must admit, I prefer Citizen Kane (and Aliens). 

Neptune Frost

Immersive soundscape luscious lounging technoconscious enviroactivism, resolute awareness communally composed distinct improvised incisive revelation. 

I was watching Superman (1978) the other day and taking note of Kryptonian crystal, how they used crystalline technologies to perform so many hydroelectric functions. 

I'm not sure why, but seeing the crystals made me think of the rays of the sun, and how they're transmitted across our solar system with luminescent solar levity.

I had been thinking about the Venus flytrap and how it evolved to mimic its surroundings, and was wondering how that could ever be possible without external spiritual light.

Or thought.

Isn't it like plants that have evolved to mimic their surroundings, or animals who have developed specific evolutionary adaptations to aid their survival, consciously thought such adaptations would be beneficial, and psychologically sought them for millennia?

Barring the appearance of a game changing divinity, who simply utilized his or her miraculous omniscience to suddenly spark change around the world, perhaps God rather lives in the sun and orchestrates evolution based upon its quality of light.

Perhaps there's much more to the light we generally halfheartedly consider, and a being capable of manipulating its energy creatively does so to simultaneously spearhead manifold change?

Thus, the porcupine seeks a potent defence to prevent the other forest and jungle and savannah animals from attacking it, and silently prays for quills for millennia, the deity constantly bombarded with myriad thoughts which he or she slowly sifts through till the end of time.

The God then responsible for generating life on Earth through the development of his or her munificent sun, then adjusts the quality of light his or her star shares, which facilitates evolutionary change (and quills for porcupines). 

Without thought, without the desire to slowly suddenly adapt to natural surroundings, how does "inanimate" life suddenly adapt to its surroundings?

Doesn't it make more sense that life in general spiritually communicates, and transmits thought at imperceptible levels which we have yet to comprehensively detect (like how different animals can see, hear, or smell things we can't)?

Perhaps life is a computer program but isn't that a dangerous idea, that encourages the mechanical misperception of fluent goodwill and prosperous life?

Neptune Frost is brilliant and it encourages growth and change. The kind of growth and change that shouldn't take millennia. Through the historical ebb and flow.

Many of its ideas were indeed mainstream in my youth. 

It's never too late to bring them back.

They sought peace and general prosperity.

Charlie's Country

An aging Indigenous hunter goes about his daily business (David Gulpilil as Charlie), peacefully reacting to impositions which have radically transformed his life.

He remembers the old school ways dating back for many a millennia, and is somewhat vexed by colonial laws which often prohibit related freedoms.

Regulations manage so much of what he's traditionally trying to do, that it's like his way of life's been outlawed to his habitual astonishment.

He makes a reasonable case simply stating that it's his land, simply being annoyed by the lack of work or the lack of interest in his culture.

While viewing the film and intently listening to his passionate music, it seemed like a monstrously depressing  history, that there was so much spiritual harmony to be freely nurtured that was generally overlooked by covetous Europeans.

Imagine free spiritual exchanges had won the day with interactive correspondence respectfully matriculating, and these songs and dances were also consistent components of the greater Australian (or Canadian) scene.

And that the cultures were really interacting with mutual respect across the land. And there had never been any lost generations. No chilling grand historical barbarism.

That's the problem with uniform exposition it antiseptically sterilizes so much life, and takes vast vivacious versatile vistas and obtusely replaces them with bland monotony.

It's not even that bland monotony should be overlooked if anything it should be give a different label, and treated with mutual respect that doesn't enrage its anger-prone proponents (note: Russia is invading other countries again and Italy just elected a government that reveres Mussolini).

If one ring rules them all it really does bind them in darkness, with no grand multivariable recourse sleep takes hold with soporific blindness.

I just sort of like trying this and that there are so many different styles available out there, it's as simple as flipping through channels on the TV, or just surfing around on the radio.

I had developed this latently in my youth but Montréal really helped it bloom, I can't think of a better place in Canada and Québec to learn to ensconce yourself in diversity.

Charlie just wants to peacefully live according to the ways his people have for millennia, and while attempting to confidently do so, keeps running into violence.

This leads to a sense of desperation which is worst case if treated with alcohol.

Would you understand if someone took your country away?

Why do you expect Indigenous Peoples to?

Storm Boy

A mild-mannered father (Peter Cummins) takes up fishing off the rugged coast of Australia, securing a modest independent living for him and his only son (Greg Rowe as Mike 'Storm Boy' Kingley).

His wife passed on unfortunately and he never sought the hand of another, incredibly chill laidback pastoral but still stern about materialistic things.

His poor son would like a radio to tune into the outside world, he's naturally curious and doesn't attend school and would like to learn more about his bustling surroundings.

But he's not a brat, he doesn't bother his dad in routine disgruntled tantrum, instead he turns the beach and its enveloping countryside into a multifaceted mysterious classroom.

His habitual innocent candour leads to the making of animal friends, notably after finding some baby pelicans whose parents were likely shot by casual hunters. 

He takes the babies home and helps to raise them with good ole dad, forging fluent amicable bonds, one even stays on into adulthood.

Mr. Percival makes adorable sounds while going about his pelican business, and proves quite perspicacious as the sea erupts in challenge.

But will 'lil Storm Boy ever go to school or at least take correspondence courses?, so full of life and compassionate vision he'd no doubt benefit from general learning.

His Indigenous friend (David Gulpilil as Fingerbone) encourages schooling and teaches him to be cautious 'round snakes, perhaps too cautious indeed they're lifeforms too with a right to exist!

Nevertheless, young Storm Boy authenticates the amiable inquisitive frontier spirit, perhaps not as wild as at the time of first contact, but still overflowing with naturalistic life.

If you can still find joy in nature there's certainly an abundance in Canada and Australia, true the winter makes it difficult in North America, but there also aren't many venomous snakes (or spiders).

Storm Boy presents open-minded individuals who haven't been misled by prejudice, and gradually shows them peacefully interacting with intuitive grace and humanistic dignity. 

It also composédly challenges speciesism by crafting integral animal friends, not just cats and dogs but other animals who can also learn to harmoniously co-exist.

Its inherent calm enabling chill well-meaning tranquil harmless goodwill, should make Storm Boy a family favourite for different generations not only in Australia.

A must see if you have a family that's genuinely interested in the natural world.

It's not entirely chill, tough scenes await!

Why the emphasis on gruelling mortality?

*Isn't Kes's return the worst episode of Voyager?

**Speciesism doesn't show up in spellcheck!

***I can't find the Storm Boy sequel online!

The Tracker

*Spoiler Alert.

I'm unaware of another director who critiques patriarchal excesses as well as Rolf de Heer, I'm thinking of Alexandra's Project and The Tracker, wherein which he holds nothing back in his critique of men.

Not men in general or every man but definitely racist and sexist men who go to extremes, in The Tracker's case a rifle toting lawperson who shoots every Indigenous person he sees (regardless of whether they're the one he's searching for), including women and the elderly, and in Alexandra's Project, a lusty husband who gets outduelled through passionate disillusionment.

Most of the men I've met haven't been quite as arrogant as the jerks in Heer's films, not that they don't like to have a laugh or air grievances (you really shouldn't try to take away or prohibit the means by which decent men let off steam regarding relationships [it leads to naturally angry people who don't want to change becoming more and more furious because they have no outlet for their frustrations {which aren't even that serious if the outlet exists unless they're extremists, but become much more intense if severely limited }]), but I picture them discussing other things besides sex and gender roles with their wives (especially after this long), and doubt they would take their prejudices to genocidal extremes (most of them were pretty chill back in the day).

In The Tracker, 4 men set out to find an Indigenous person in the Outback who's accused of killing a caucasian woman, one of them a multifaceted guide (David Gulpilil as the Tracker), one ruthlessly dismissive of Native culture (Gary Sweet as the Fanatic), another young and new to the territory (Damon Gameau as The Follower), and another just along for the ride (Grant Page as the Veteran). 

The Tracker mischievously leads them in the right direction at a slower pace than the fugitive, so he (Noel Wilton) always knows where they are and they never brutally overtake him.

Early on during the search, they encounter free Indigenous peeps enjoying their day, and the mad institutionally supported leader starts firing shots with reckless abandon.

The young recruit is utterly horrified which leads the old timer to question his intelligence, I've said it before, I'll say it again, belligerent jingoism doesn't inevitably monopolize the constructive mind. 

It certainly didn't in the '80s, '90s, and early 2000s when many films like this were being made, but it's become much more fashionable these days, with World War III looming on the horizon (after a pandemic [pass the Ricard]).

If you want to see a Native person fight back and courageously strike a blow for his resilient culture, The Tracker is indubitably a must-see, fully equipped with Indigenous justice.

The trigger happy lawperson is captured because his youthful charge refuses to let him shoot innocent people.

And this youth's generation likely brought about the reforms of my youth.

Which have stalled amidst a colossal prejudiced backlash. 

Green Grow the Rushes

And a country persisted for centuries and its history expanded tenfold, gradually transforming from a feudal to an industrial society, incrementally balanced by royals and parliament.

But the impetus to transform various codes lacked immutable ubiquity, and while some regions emphatically adapted, others simply couldn't be bothered. 

At one time such regions perhaps adapted a more nationalistic ceremonious fervour, calling about grand chivalric dignity to unquestionably praise exalted decorum.

But as time passed, the inherent labour became too strenuous for many inhabitants, and the uproar which once fiercely extolled farming gave way to a somewhat less traditional occupation.

Less traditional?, who's to say?, some jurisdictions were settled millennia ago, and perhaps still unconsciously embrace the same engrained habits as their resourceful forefathers.

Thus, who's to say when Anderida started bootlegging and generally relying on the bounty of the sea, it seems that at one time they at least thought of farming, although over the years it lost local prominence.

Outlaw liquor from the forbidden continent steadily arrives on the shore meanwhile, which is brought throughout the region then perhaps transported all over England. 

A trio of government reps come preaching duty and responsibility, reminding the townsfolk that land must be cultivated according to 20th century guidelines.

But they've had their own laws in the region for many an indifferent decade, enjoying unconcerned jocose seclusion along with its incumbent grey lackadaisics. 

They try to be as hospitable as they can but find the outsiders most invasive, fortunately thanks to tradition and law they have alternative means at their public disposal.

But when a wild storm suddenly lands a large trusted ship in someone's backyard, their ability to jurisprudently deal is somewhat landlubbed by grandiose conspicuity. 

Trusted figures swiftly move into action and soon the 3 customs agents are locked down in court, while local legions dispose of the booty imaginatively inclined with Dionysian wherewithal. 

Just one scant example amongst thousands quietly delineating a nation each day, as its ancient interconnected paths see the onset of newfound desires and traditions.

Caught within a propitious vortex eschewing embracing various codes of conduct, individualistic poised prompt personality instigating schema forthright characteristic.

Why bother seeking downcast monotony, as long as there's inherent equal opportunity?

Uniformity lays bare extremes.

Amidst such litigious frolic. 

Look Back in Anger

There was a period in my youth when I often went to the local library, and browsed the films they had for rent some of which were starring Richard Burton (The Robe, Cleopatra, The Night of the Iguana, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? . . . ).

I admit I loved his work and found him instantaneously captivating, naturally gifted with cinematic composure enviously admired around the globe (but no Laurence Olivier).

It's honestly like he's not even acting, like he's just going about his daily routine.

What to the 50s and 60s Brad Pitt was to the 90s and early 2000s?

Irrefutable irresistible magnetism.

(Foucauldian investigation pending).

But angry.

In Look Back in Anger it's like you're watching solidified anti-spiritual acid vehemently castigate every moment of every day, with irate fury the superlative venom obdurately infects everyone he encounters (although he also uses it to productively fight racism).

Notably his wife, who's as right as rain, who just wants to chill and ethereally float, as modest as a Boston cream or perhaps mint chocolate chip, still adamantly tempting like chillaxed camaraderie.

Every time he sees her (Mary Ure as Alison Porter) he lays it on thick with bellicose rancour, fit only for the field of battle, the poor lass habitually scornful of things like separation.

But a friend comes to stay (Claire Bloom as Helena Charles) and his vitriolic fury regularly erupts, even going so far as to ruin one of her auditions, for the sake of meaningless voltaic banter.

One bitter interaction to the next he furiously proceeds beyonds limits or bounds, as if an aristocrat suddenly found themselves penniless, or an impoverished worker sought to make a fortune.

Apart from close family, every woman he encounters must endure his pernicious ramble, like watching one of the world's most idyllic cads consistently berate gentle fauns who then fall in love (written by men).

Do things still proceed so obtusely, is socioevolution just something you read about in the news?, I admit to having read several books and newspapers, and never really having met anyone who attempts to live that way (it's often a trap). 

I'm convinced that if I ever did I'd never know it because they're so stuck up beyond oblivion.

And doesn't that defeat the purpose?

Who knows?, discourses of the sincere.

Friday Foster

A curious improvisational photojournalist (Pam Grier as Friday Foster) has to fill in for a co-worker on New Years Eve, the assignment leading to a chaotic shootout involving a celebrated billionaire (Thalmus Rasulala as Blake Tarr).

She snaps several incriminating photos and shares them with her managing editor (Julius Harris as Monk Riley), he's glad to see so many integral shots but is still worried she'll get in over her head.

She isn't one to sit around when diabolical intrigue castigates justice, and when she spots one of the hitpeople responsible (Carl Weathers as Yarbro) at a funeral she quickly borrows a hearse to follow him. 

He's lucky to narrowly escape and soon comes calling with murderous intent, valiantly thwarted through swift ingenuity courageously applied with athletic flexibility.

She meets a well-meaning private detective (Yaphet Kotto as Colt Hawkins) who assists her as she investigates, the two forging a tenacious team whom nimble good fortune recklessly guides.

Friday's able to meet politicians and even romantically interrogates Mr. Tarr, her spellbinding inquisitive yet declarative characteristics winning hearts and minds as she cleverly strides. 

Follow the lead, decode the clue, analyze the scenario, scrutinize the schematic, Friday embraces interconnected details assembled at random while travelling about.

In an age that emphasized intuitive wit and multidimensional applications of practical knowledge, Friday Foster creatively zithered the zeitgeist with exuberant nurturing superconduction. 

From humble beginnings the daring exploration leads to macrocosmic superstructural sentiments, the film suddenly abounding with lavish sensation critically assailed by white supremacy. 

Yaphet Kotto (recently celebrated by the Criterion Collection!) synergistically shines with his trusted smile and lighthearted laugh, at times following a moment of sincere reflection embracing natural democratic freeflow.

And Pam Grier effortlessly authenticates sapient soulful sultry sleuthing, taking it easy or proceeding in earnest the case delineates chill factotums.

The plot may seem somewhat farfetched but it's not too far off the mark if patiently considered, the damned fluidity of socioevolution problematically cutting through seemingly established cultural bedrock.

Calamitous collusion, requisite reckoning, baffling balustrade, seductive sensation.

Worth checking out at some point.

Perhaps while reading ye olde Chester Himes.  

A House Divided: Denmark Vessey's Rebellion

Strategic Planning.

Variable details.

Inherent volatility. 

Exacting daring.

With slavery still rampant in 1822, an established artisan seeks his people's freedom (Yaphet Kotto/James Bond III as Denmark Vessey), Haitian slaves having recently fought a successful rebellion, he wants to cut loose from Charleston (South Carolina) and head out to join them.

His situation is rather prosperous for he was able to buy his freedom, and set himself up with a profitable business, while reading books and embodying confidence.

The majority of his brethren remain enslaved but many listen to his unorthodox counsel, as he lays out their significant numeric advantage, and how they can access ships in port.

Many slave owners fear such a potential outcome but the mild-mannered governor isn't that worried, unable to consider the possibility that there would ever be an armed revolt.

But that's what Vessey plans and even comes close to directly leading.

He's outrageously betrayed in the end. 

Finicky familiarity. 

A House Divided: Denmark Vessey's Rebellion presents unfortunate realities associated with group dynamics, notably ye olde treachery while attempting to plan something controversial.

There must be people out there who are generally trusted by many (Biden and Augustus Caesar for instance), and who fellow group members respect and don't try to usurp with determinate mad power grabs.

Denmark Vessey seems to have possessed these qualities but he nevertheless quarrelled with a jealous African American, who preferred to expose his rebellious plot and remain a slave, rather than see his adversary succeed (it makes no sense and happens all too frequently).

There are other leaders who rule by fear and thereby command the respect of many, but isn't their world rather dark and dangerous, and don't their adversaries have legitimate cause?

I've met people who seemed rather rough and grouchy who weren't really that bad to work for, others who pretended to be right as rain until it became clear they bore secret grudges.

And people who were just generally cool who were respected because they dealt fairly.

A shame Denmark Vessey didn't succeed.

Cool that this old school film still honours his memory. 

C.H.U.D.

A young couple frolics in frenzy within the heart of New York City, blissfully composed and amorously endowed throughout the harmonious effervescent day (John Heard and Kim Greist). 

A sympathetic individual graciously cares for the forgotten homeless, freely supplying them with soup as they embrace impoverished emancipation (Daniel Stern).

A police officer desperately struggles with the sudden disappearance of his loving wife, who went out to walk the dog one evening and was never heard from again (Christopher Curry and Laure Mattos).

In fact, almost a dozen homeless people have gone missing in recent weeks as well, who spend most of their time underground, their disappearance a heartfelt conundrum.

Upon closer inspection, and in consultation with tight-lipped executives, it becomes apparent that below the streets, toxic waste has been recklessly disposed of.

And that very same toxic waste has unfortunately turned homeless people into monsters, cannibalistic monsters no less, who have been terrorizing the city.

Perhaps somewhat farfetched, yet after watching Todd Hayne's Dark Waters it's not as ludicrous as it sounds, if people are tricking rural property owners into burying toxic chemicals on their land, who knows what other locations they're searching for?

It used to seem bizarre to take something so strange so seriously, but if fewer and fewer people are reading books, doesn't the pedagogical import of nutso films become more profound?

Take anti-vaxxing. 

For some crazy reason an irresponsible movement has arisen which emphatically criticizes mass immunization, perhaps with the alternative goal of reanimating different plagues, or some other diabolical means of population control.

It's clear that the anti-vaxxers don't listen well in school, or for some reason thoroughly mistrust the narrative independently constructed by teachers and scientists.

But perhaps they'll listen to seemingly slapdash cinema which doesn't seem like it's trying to educate, which seems critical of clever book learning and anything which might try to instruct.

With such an impetus in place monster movies take on a much more serious role, and their construction becomes more indubitably paramount in the oddball cultivation of the public sphere.

An amazing book lies in wait within or more suitably a documentary film, or a film which educates by critiquing education, for those opposed to traditional coursework.

The internet has changed things and new solutions must be found.

Who's to say where indeed to find them?

Why not start with cannibalistic mutants?! 😎

An Unfinished Life

A loving mother (Jennifer Lopez as Jean Gilkyson) packs up and leaves after her partner becomes abusive (Damian Lewis as Gary Winston), her daughter happy to leave things behind (Becca Gardner as Griff Gilkyson), as they head back to the wilds of Wyoming. 

There the child's grandfather awaits (Robert Redford as Einar Gilkyson) and is something of a grouchy mcgrouchersons, but he means well and sticks up for the downtrodden even if he's difficult to get along with.

His partner (Morgan Freeman as Mitch Bradley) was mauled by a bear and is now generally confined to his belovéd cabin, not blindly seeking rash vengeance, preferring to let the seasoned bear live in peace.

The bear's still around in fact and is eventually captured and then encaged, not in the most hospitable confines, it's sad to think he's no longer roaming free.

Jean and Einar are at odds because Jean accidentally killed his son, after falling asleep at the wheel, he tries but can't honestly forgive her.

She finds work in the old rugged town as 'lil Griff takes a shine to gramps, as he teaches her old school ranching ways, chartered chillin', inchoate enrichment.

But something doesn't sit quite right about that bear's sullen incarceration. 

A plan is hatched seeking animate freedom.

Even though he has quite the temper.

It's a strange mix in An Unfinished Life between different types of violence, on the one hand Jean clearly has to leave her relationship, no one should put up with that kind of nonsense.

But on the other an injured stalwart goes to great lengths to forgive a bear, it's possible he or she may strike again, but are they just functioning according to instinct?

I was happy to see a sympathetic attitude kindly applied to misunderstood bear kind, grizzlies used to range across so much more of North America, and now they don't have very much land left.

It's clear the human has had opportunities to change and definitely should have known better, it's different for a wild daring animal who may freak out if you suddenly surprise it.

Still though, if a bear strikes once and there's no strict penalty, what happens if it strikes again?, if you could transport the bear into the wilds of Northern Canada and Québec, however, there won't be many people around (although bears have been known to travel vast distances back to their original hangouts after being relocated).

The vast majority of the time the bear won't strike according to the books I've read, I've seen several while out and about as well, I've kept my distance and never had any problems.

If only bears were never grouchy or somehow aware of the danger they're in.

I truly believe many of them are.

And that either way they've never meant us much harm. 

Since our ancestors landed! 😜

The Batman

*Spoiler alert.

Reinvented again for another reboot which reimagines traditional tropes, trajectories, a much less pulpy light illumination recast in dire solemnity.

The Riddler returns to confound the Batman with pejorative puzzling and plagued putrefaction (the Penguin also making an appearance), a pattern emerging the details discomforting, the players well-known to the reclusive billionaire.

In this sombre reawakening Bruce Wayne (Robert Pattinson) spends little time managing Wayne Enterprises, having yet to envision the circumstances in which his businesses could benefit ailing Gotham.

Alfred (Andy Serkis) is forlorn yet dutiful and thoroughly worried about his disengaged charge, no doubt proud of his crime fighting agility yet still rather anxious regarding the future.

Batman's more of a young adult in this instalment, still coming to terms with his coveted legacy, passionately lured by the prestige of his role yet at times uncertain as to how to proceed.

He even wipes out at one point and takes a rather severe tumble, the results of which should have perhaps been more serious realistically considering his noted mortality.

The film's still more like the Christopher Nolan Batmans even if he does take quite the unexpected fall, with more of an emphasis on scientific fact than unobserved fantastic comic book reckoning.

Perhaps it's just the subconscious favouritism of yesteryear but I find myself longing for something less logical, like sociopathic Jack Napier's descent into a vat of acidic chemicals only to emerge the nefarious Joker.

Not that The Dark Knight isn't one of the best films I've ever seen, but too much reasonable objective fact can take away from the resonant fantasy (not in Bond, the beginning of GoldenEye was terrible). 

I suppose The Dark Knight did succeed in finding rational means to uphold its sensation, as does Matt Reeves's latest vision, perhaps I'm just searching for the magically real, the cool thing about fantasies is they don't require scientific proof (assuming they don't take over). 

The Batman's still really well done with an impressive cast with many cool actors (Zoë Kravitz, Jeffrey Wright, Colin Farrell, Paul Dano, John Turturro, Peter Sarsgaard, . . .), who add feisty nuance and versatile daring to so many captivating scenes.

Oddly, the Riddler is caught but Batman still fails to stop him.

Batman wipes out.

The Riddler's plot isn't foiled.

With so many superhero films currently flourishing.

This one still finds a way to stand out.

Hoping they mix in Joaquin Phoenix's Joker.

Marvel's continuity is first rate! 

Wonder Woman 1984

Strange how 1984 was chosen for the title of the new Wonder Woman film, since Orwell's novel doesn't influence the plot, which has more to do with one man's unhinged megalomania. 

Indeed a somewhat bland artifact is found and brought to the Smithsonian in the 1980s, its legendary origins unknown at first as steadfast workers research and classify. 

But it turns out a television personality has been seeking its mythic prowess (Pedro Pascal as Mr. Lord), for it's reputed to grant a wish to whomever holds it in their possession. 

Diana (Gal Gadot) and co-worker Minerva (Kristen Wiig) were accidentally granted wishes, and didn't realize there was a penalty for unwittingly coaxing the treacherous stone.

Pedro wishes to become the stone itself and sets about granting elaborate wishes, his wish granting growing more and more outrageous as his prestigious worth ameliorates. 

Diana realizes he must be stopped and has to renounce her wish to do so, for even though she's ecstatic her love interest's returned (Chris Pine as Steve Trevor), his existence is taking away her powers. 

Minerva refuses to give up hers having grown accustomed to superheroic strength. 

The two face off near the chaotic climax.

As Pedro uses satellite technology to grant wishes throughout the world.

Satellites were huge when I was a kid not just in popularity but in size as well, now they're certainly much smaller yet possessed by a much larger number of people.

Does Wonder Woman 1984's use of the Orwellian date relate to contemporary global interconnectivity, or the ways in which satellites and other devices have linked billions of people across the globe?

The technology does seem essential and undeniably facilitates rapid communication, it's still fascinating how quickly one can converse with someone residing on a far off continent. 

But freedom lies with disconnection with a less engaged absorption of worldwide data. It's important to stay generally informed. But I feel so much better when I shut off the news.

I spent years finding cool articles to share with people and advertise my favourite news sources, and to contradict prevalent one-dimensional narratives which ignored the integrity of working people.

Perhaps some people did start paying attention and found some new news sources they liked.

Working class integrity goes without saying.

And used to be a focus in the media year round. 

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

An ancient warrior fortunately comes across 10 vital rings which grant immortality, afterwards using his newfound power with invincible finesse on the field of battle (Tony Chiu-Wai Leung as Xu Wenwu).

Hundreds of years pass and the thrill of ruling loses its appeal, he begins to seek out myth and legend to discover alternative adventurous yields. 

He's led to a mythical forest reputed to nurture fascinating animals, whose unique supernatural existence endemically eclipses mortal agency.

Not that they likely wouldn't spiritedly co-exist with adorable hippos and freewheeling zebree, but having spent millennia secluded in wild embowerment it's difficult to determine how they may react.

Xu finds the entrance to their peaceful home but is mischievously prevented from entering, a feisty resident bluntly refusing his unexpected visitation (Fala Chen as Ying Li).

He slowly falls in love with her and she indeed with him, but he is forbidden from staying in the village, so the two depart for the outer world.

Children are born their family expands but Xu's enemies soon come calling, and take the life of his cherished bride which drives him into a chaotic fury.

Years later he believes he hears her voice behind a forbidden gate.

And swears to break her free.

Unaware he's tragically mistaken.

Shang-Chi's mythic secluded forest with its multidimensional peaceful species, immediately bring humble Ghibli to mind, and I wonder if Marvel and Ghibli influenced one another (Marvel Comic Books and eventually Marvel Film) over the bountiful contemporaneous years.

Or if legends of mythic forest villages gained more prominence as Asian populations expanded, the less forest the greater the mystery the more mythically profound the innovative narrative.

Thus, I may search for some books chronicling the development of forest myths in Asia, which perhaps refer to Ghibli and Marvel, that may be asking too much!

And perhaps stories need to be written of integral First Nations exceptionality, still at eternal play in the unexplored forests of Northern Canada.

So much to gingerly explore if only time and weather weren't pressing factors.

Experimental venturing June through September.

Novel expenditure come January. 

Black Widow

One of the oddest points I remember from reading Plato's Republic, was the theory that children could be taken away from their parents and raised communally without them.

When I pointed out the egregious error Plato had made by suggesting something so abhorrent (I had grown up with other people and it was clear the majority loved their families), I was reprimanded for not taking the point seriously, perhaps having encountered pedagogical psychosis, or a walking breathing idealogical textbook. 

It's always seemed self-evident that most people want to raise their children, and even develop a special bond with them, known universally, in less extreme times, as love.

When the time is right there are instances when poverty and youth require alternative options, but it's not as if such a decision is easy to make, imagine if the impoverished people who chose to keep their children weren't met with so much hostility, and were treated honourably for the tough decisions they've had to make.

There are still those who can't love, however, their lives a meaningless sterile indignancy, many of them manipulating the feelings of people who do, to achieve solipsistic ends.

Adoption, the creation of new families, is a feature of a truly advanced society.

Monstrously perverted by the villains in the haunting Black Widow.

 

Family without love, conviviality, or amicability. 

Rather, an antiseptic society attempts to cleanse itself of feeling, wherein which formula and calculation attain cultural cohesion as opposed to love.

Wherein which you're terrorized if you truly love things (such a burden to be sensitive), by other people who also love, but don't want to be terrorized by emotionless leaders, who see personal attachment as an inherent threat.

In Black Widow, a tyrant preys on orphans whom he subjects to extreme tests, those who pass eventually becoming spies, those who can't, never heard from again.

He turns the spies into fierce international soldiers spreading malice around the world, their loyalty unyieldingly guaranteed, by advanced psychotic brainwashing.

Unfortunately, such ideas persist and haven't faded into history, the cultivation of family and friendship much less amenable to absolute power (on the left and right).

If people argue loving your family is indeed an extreme position, they're clearly fucked in the head, and it's best to swiftly tell them so.

Families can be composed in so many ways with so much distinct unique variability. 

It's a shame things don't always work out.

But that's no reason for categorical dismissal.  

Mononoke-hime (Princess Mononoke)

A young prince must fight a demon who threatens the prosperity of his humble village (Yôji Matsuda as Ashitaka), his people forced to flee long ago after infuriating the emperor. 

He successfully slays the intruder but touches its infected tentacles too, a curse then emerging within his arm which the village elders cannot cure.

Not willing to sit back while it spreads he boldly departs in search of medicine, making his way to a rowdy village engaged in the act of making iron.

He's welcomed for having rescued some of its menfolk from irate wolves, the village leader (Yûko Tanaka as Eboshi-gozen) eagerly entertaining and letting him get to know her people.

But as it dishearteningly turns out, their ironworks is destroying the local wilderness, where a resident forest god has lived forever, in quiet peace and regal seclusion. 

The animals are loosely united and intent on fighting the destructive town, arguments erupting amongst them, at other times, cohesive calm.

A young maiden lives with the wolves and is just as fierce in her condemnation, known as Princess Mononoke (Yuriko Ishida), she denies fear and exhales resolve.

Prince Ashitaka soon finds he's in love with her as all hell emphatically breaks loose.

Eboshi-gozen wants the god's head to grant immortality. 

But is unsure if the legend's true. 

Princess Mononoke and Prince Ashitaka find comfort in their mutual adoring amicability, the ideal unification of masculine and feminine harmoniously embracing age old enlightened daring.

It's more difficult to figure out the role matronistically played by Eboshi-gozen within, for on the one hand she supplies freedom and community, on the other, environmental devastation.

Not only the naturalistic bedlam to be expected by efficient mining, but she also pursues the forest god itself, intent on despairing ancient resiliency. 

She frees many from vile servitude and supplies honest work for her surrounding cast, while promoting the development of Mordor, it's a difficult contradiction to balance.

Environmentally friendly mining practices at peace with resident animals, certainly would have been less burdensome, and providing a heightened degree of friendly interdependency.

Love still innocently flourishes beyond problems associated with industrialization.

A narrative like none other.

Forest mystics, spellbound exhilaration. 

*Note: Ghibli doesn't show up in spellcheck!

Kurenai no buta (Porco Rosso)

An aging pilot hiding away on a remote exotic island, with some wine, a tent, a plane, and a radio, the hours slowly pass by, until called upon yet again (Shûichirô Moriyama as Porco Rosso).

He's somewhat of a virtuoso and was feared during World War I, his daring exploits exceedingly agile mechanistic maestro intuitive ignition.

He works as a bounty hunter recovering loot obtained by pirates, who grow weary of his nimble meddling, and hire a challenger to face him (Akio Ôtsuka as Donald Curtis).

His plane stalls, he's suddenly shot down, after just having made his last payment, the government changing and promoting fascism, which doesn't jive with his democratic sympathies.

Fortunately, friends have been made, one who'll set about rebuilding his plane (Bunshi Katsura VI as Mr. Piccolo), his granddaughter's brilliance seeking distinguished prominence (Akemi Okamura as Fio Piccolo), if she can stop love from fouling things up.

She designs his new wondrous jet stream just before the secret police arrive, the two escaping to Porco's secret hideout, which the pirates have meanwhile discovered.

The challenger arrives and is jealous of how much a maiden thrice widowed loves freewheeling Porco (Tokiko Katô as Gina), and defies him to fight once again, enough money to cover his costs versus Fio's begrudged hand. 

L'amour's injudicious vicissitudes bewilder nimble Porco's individualism, the intensity swiftly increasing the more he denies them, the more he attempts to reconstitute anew.

Transformed into a pig who some quietly say can only have his curse lifted by heartfelt innocence, he worries intently about age and probability, still with no interest in settling.

Definitely the strangest Ghibli I've encountered (it's rather literal) yet still abounding in feminine strength, as it creatively contends with a bellicose world so often composed by combative men.

Versatile lyrics enlighten the madness yet inspire more danger as they're sought after, equanimous tandemed quaint domesticity reservedly tempting romantic plots.

A film certainly like none other this airborne Kurenai no buta (Porco Rosso) imaginatively glides.

What's love like if uncertainty abounds.

And you consistently take to the skies?

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness

Into the Multiverse again, parallel worlds, divergent destinies, similar parameters with variable fruition, expansive alignments, indistinguishable patterns. 

Perhaps the dreamworld links them together, a dreamworld maintained by the midi-chlorians from Star Wars, animate life in one verse linked with the others through dreaming, the end of one's life like a permanent dream, before being reborn in an alternative universe.

For the sake of storytelling, the general parallels oft imagined amongst different verses make narratological sense, inasmuch as consistent character and reliable themes ensure venerable harmonies persist amidst temporal mayhem.

But the odds of the verses realistically maintaining such a high degree of familiarity seem incredibly high in my opinion, with too many monumental shifts encouraging irreparable disparities, too many variables to holistically unite.

But perhaps that's what the midi-chlorians do, I'm certainly no expert, it's just an idea, but it seems like if one world is destroyed by war it would prevent the development of historical paradigms comparable to those found in many others. 

There are many variables to manage when playing baseball, for instance, batting, fielding, pitching, relief pitching, closing pitching, different unique positions, streaks, slumps, coasting, all broken down into over a 100 years worth of statistical analyses, honestly with all that information I don't know how anyone ever makes a decision.

Multiple decisions are made every day notwithstanding the multiplicity of error, competently aligned with foresight and serendipity to make it through game after game.

Does the multiverse take into consideration the complexities of such a game, and multiply them by at least a hundred trillion, while simultaneously ensuring interdimensional commonality, between who knows how many worlds?

Nevertheless, a cool idea, which I imagine has existed since long before it was first written down, fears of being accused of heresy having persisted for millennia, invasively transformed from epoch to epoch. 

The power to travel through the spectacular flux with lucid ease and reflexive understanding, would indeed encourage spirited manifestations throughout one's cogent waking life.

Cool to see Sam Raimi back at it and still applying an independent touch.

Haven't had a veggie dog in years.

While out and about hobnobbing around town.

Spider-Man: No Way Home

 Note: a few years ago, after hearing that another company had purchased the rights to make the next Spider-Man film, I wrote a post expressing perplexed doubts, but I'm wondering if the reasons behind my initial misgivings were misinterpreted, and figured I would supply a more detailed explanation.  I didn't mean to suggest that previous Spider-Man franchises didn't add up, in fact I rather enjoyed the Sam Raimi trilogy way back when, but unfortunately never saw Andrew Garfield's films, for the following reasons. Spider-Man films were just coming out too often (like Batman films). There was Raimi's trilogy. It was great. 5 years elapsed between his trilogy and the first Amazing Spider-Man film. It wasn't enough time in my opinion. I wasn't ready to invest myself in another incarnation of the story, and thought it was more about cashing in, than presenting good storytelling. I may have been incorrect to think that and I never saw the films so I can't describe them, but I certainly wasn't ready for another Spider-Man franchise, hey, it's probably good, I probably missed out. Now Marvel has been making high quality action films for years and the universe they've created is colossal. I figure that if you were 7 years old when the first Iron Man film came out, the cinema of your youth was incredible, if you liked action films. Marvel didn't start out with a Spider-Man film, it introduced Spider-Man during Captain America: Civil War, just kind of snuck ye olde Spider-Man in there, without making much of a fuss. Taking the pressure off the new Spider-Man character made his first film much less of a spectacle, and then it turned out to be really well done, as have its successors, Marvel's youth contingent. Spider-Man: Far From Home ended on a thrilling cliffhanger and had been so well done that the thought of just ending it there and starting up again fresh with a new franchise seemed like such a bad idea, something that wouldn't sit right with millions of fans. The thought of having no closure with that narrative and suddenly having a new franchise with a new origins story and different actors 2 or 3 years later was too much, hence I thought Marvel should continue making new Spider-Man films (they had been doing such a great job). It's not that I thought the new production team would do a particularly bad job, if anything Marvel's excellence has had an auriferous effect across the action/fantasy film spectrum, DC is currently making much craftier films, not to mention the mad craze of independents. But it was possible the new franchise may have been less compelling, and no doubt would have been vehemently criticized regardless, due to the lack of closure. Spider-Man: No Way Home plays with franchise particularities, and brilliantly synthesizes the three latest franchises, in a tender and caring homage to constructive sympathy. Rather than try to defeat the 5 villains who appear after one of Dr. Strange's spells goes awry, with the help of fan favourites from the last 20 years (like living history), this youthful Spider-Man tries to find a way to cure (with help) them from the nutso accidents that led them astray. Meanwhile, he also wants to get into college while dealing with high school and a lack of anonymity. I thought it was a great idea.  An atemporal blend of different creative conceptions. Not sure where it will head next. But in terms of actions films thinking about the dynamics of action films, Spider-Man: No Way Home does an amazing job, without seeming like it's making much of an effort. Not bad. 

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore

The magical world continues to negotiate a menacing combative destructive threat, as Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen) and his fascist minions seek the subjugation of muggles worldwide.

It was thought their bellicose movement would disappear if generally disregarded, but seditious sympathy at the highest levels mournfully led to political profligacy.

Dumbledore (Jude Law) stands against them but can't deliberately enter the fray, extremely powerful amorous magic heartbreakingly preventing him from taking part.

But he assembles a resolute team who synergistically subverts Gellert's monstrous flux, not with enough prowess to halt his ambition, but still with enough daring to make things interesting.

A magical beast takes the ceremonious stage as the magical elite gather in mystical Bhutan, a creature capable of discerning spiritual integrity, a virtuous quality sought by the magical world.

Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne) was able to locate a Qilin mother just as she was about to give birth, but Grindelwald's devout disruptive subjects suddenly emerged and captured the youngling. 

Fortunately, unbeknownst to Grindelwald, the mother gave birth to twins.

While Grindelwald's magic somnambulizes one.

The other awaits felicitous fortunes.

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore makes bold strides in the fantasy realm, with Dumbledore's sexuality directly depicted, a groundbreaking step much like Marvel's Black Panther.

His tragic love maddeningly enduring frenetic devastating bland absolutism, as Grindelwald haunting proclaims, "but who will love you Dumbledore?", before retreating back to his despotic hideaway.

Jacob Kowalski (Dan Fogler) is also back at it with as much audacious reckoning as ever, somewhat hesitant and far out of his comfort zone, but still deftly clad in honourable bearing.

Not as many magical creatures to be found within this instalment, but perhaps a Fantastic Beasts series should be considered, with a dozen or so episodes that feature Newt searching the world for magical beasts like David Attenborough (something calm)?

I have to admit, as a personal addendum, when I'm writing my blogs I truly don't doubt myself, I often like many of the sentences or stanzas I create, and know that if I didn't have to work, they'd be even better.

But the real world is tough to negotiate and I keep expecting to find friends where I only meet adversaries. 

I suppose I'm supposed to get used to it.

But I just simply can't.

It's not a world worth living in. 

Jurassic World Dominion

Back to the old power and megalomania hellbent on global domination, this time having genetically engineered giant locusts which habitually feast on various crops worldwide.

Various crops which happen to have been resolutely cultivated with Biosyn seeds, Biosyn having created a market (like Monsanto?) for its grain, then proceeded to wipe out every form of competition.

Dr. Wu (BD Wong) realizes catastrophe's afoot but can't seek redemption without looking bad, let millions of people starve to death or risk losing face, he wants to make amends but can't think of how to do so.

He's denied by his wicked boss (Campbell Scott as Lewis Dodgson) whose evil intent is rebelliously disputed, as both Jurassic World and Jurassic Park alumni converge on his remote laboratory. 

Doctors Ellie Sattler (Laura Dern) and Alan Grant (Sam Neill) representing scientists generally seeking to promote knowledgeable wonder, like the bourgeoisie they rely on funding to make spiritually prosperous cultural contributions.

Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard) and Mr. Grady (Chris Pratt) are more hands on and take a practical approach to living with dinosaurs, like versatile independent conscientious workers they promote sustainable communal life.

Thus, the mad elitist seeking to monopolize global food production, is courageously challenged by worker and middle-management who daringly obscure his psychotic vision.

But Jurassic World Dominion is also about a world where dinosaurs abound, multiple species fortuitously finding a way to generally adapt to divergent ecosystems.

I suppose it would be a grandiose ecological disaster of intensified colossal invasive magnitude, but thoughts like that kind of spoil the fun, and contemporary and ancient species alike seem to be getting along so well in the film (it's just a movie).

I was almost teary-eyed to see Laura Dern and Sam Neill back at it, after so many intervening years, was but a wee lad when the original came out, I was reading the book at the time, which I thoroughly loved, it's my favourite Michael Crichton.

Apart from the requisite mayhem and the inevitable hoopla of the traditional blockbuster, there are some really cool animal scenes, especially one where Dr. Sattler sees a baby, and says, "you never get used to it".

People who love animals know how true those words are, and that even if you see wild turtles or zebras or water buffalos every day of your life, the experience never gets old or tiresome, it's irrefutably exciting each and every time.

That scene made the film for me and it was also really cool to see the two casts converge.

The likelihood of their plan succeeding: it's up for debate.

Certainly not without the aid of Ms. Watts (DeWanda Wise) and Mr. Cole (Mamoudou Athie).  

Chattahoochee

A veteran from the Korean war who managed to distinguish himself has trouble fitting in back home (Gary Oldman as Emmett Foley), and after having grown tired of picket fence pastimes, tries to get the police to shoot him for the insurance money.

He winds up in a psychiatric institution and finds he's in for the long haul, a distressing situation to say the least since he really isn't that insane.

His coherent reflexes help him observe the unfortunate general corruption, the cruel and unnecessary punishment routinely handed out by the sadistic administration.

He keeps track of the abuse in writing and eventually even studies introductory law, learning enough to air legitimate grievances which are generally ignored by unsympathetic staff.

Meanwhile, as the years pass by, his child ages and his wife (Frances McDormand as Mae Foley) seeks divorce, his sister (Pamela Reed as Earlene) never giving up on him, but somewhat perplexed by the daunting legal fees.

Consistent protest within the facility leads to frequent confrontation, irate guards and frustrated staff with no inclinations to change the management.

It's an old school animate take on social justice and institutional reform, the assertion of rights by those left behind by a system thoroughly unconcerned with how to take care of them.

You get to see Oldman and McDormand in their youth delivering exceptional performances, even if Chattahoochee has issues, you can see why these actors made a go of it (didn't they win best actor and actress in the same year? [2018]).

The thought of being generally sane and finding yourself locked down by bureaucratic codes, is aggravated by the reality that so many others who lack rationality can do exceptionally little to freely defend themselves.

Fortunately, Foley's work prevails and over a hundred reforms are introduced, and he's eventually released a free person to passionately deal with middle-aged life.

I imagine things have remarkably improved since Foucault wrote Madness & Civilization, in some jurisdictions anyways, which hopefully aren't suffering from stringent cutbacks.

It seems that caring for the sick goes without saying and there should be principled professionals who proceed accordingly.

Too bad stories like Chattahoochee still emerge.

Laws should prevent sadistic reckoning.

*There's no secret meaning here, no underlying code. This film was released in 1989 and I'd never heard of it. That's why I chose to watch it.

Minari

The sudden move from California to humble landlocked Arkansas, abundant land awaiting cultivation, intrepid vision, audacious yields. 

Without even a well to speak of they settle in and get down to it, sexing chickens during the day, otherwise pioneering.

Jacob (Steven Yeun) wants to succeed and move beyond habitual happenstance, to have something of their own to fluidly manage, intense labour, fecund independence.

Monica (Han Ye-ri) is less enthusiastic with the abrupt uprooting move, her new house not what she'd expected, their land far away from suburban life.

Their son (Alan Kim as David) has a troubling heart murmur which generates solemn worry, even if childhood proceeds unabashed full of resounding pluck and curiosity. 

A rough and tumble grandma (Yoon Yeo-jeong) comes to stay to help out with the kids and general chores, but David and Anne (Noel Kate Cho) are somewhat perplexed by her vibrant striking unorthodox manners.

Local life flourishes around them as they cautiously reflexively adapt, remarkable difference ample opportunity hauntingly clouded by latent doubt. 

The film endearingly showcases family honestly interacting through uncertain times, making the most of its newfound intricacies while mild-mannered arguments periodically erupt.

The supporting cast introduces enough novelty to poetically distract from quotidian alarm, as granny teaches the kids to play cards, and their helpful farmhand (Will Patton) reacts sans inhibition. 

Minari itself is a compelling crop which robustly fertilizes apt immigration, generally healthy and easy to grow it instinctively blends in manifold surroundings.

Democratically attuned minari elevates the agile passionate immigrant spirit, the vital resilient resonant difference that passively shakes up concrete routines.

The Yis struggle at times as competing dreams manifest in dispute, optimistic overtures and belittling misgivings conjugally clashing with traditional uproar.

But in terms of multidimensionally presenting a well-rounded look at dynamic life, Lee Isaac Chung's Minari impresses on disparate levels without ever seeming holistically fond.

Nice to immerse yourself in a meaningful story cleverly intermingling so many chill aspects. 

A celebration of America's potential.

Along with practical dreams. 

The Presidio

A military policeperson (Jenette Goldstein as Patti Jean Lynch) is shot during a routine call, her death possibly related to another misguided crime.

Her ex-partner is assigned to investigate (Mark Harmon as Jay Austin) but jurisdiction leads to conflict, as he questions army personnel without respect for rank or standing.

Lieutenant Colonel Alan Caldwell (Sean Connery) realizes they'll have to have work together, a joint military/police operation with irate tensions steeping.

Lynch and Austin once arrested Colonel Paul Lawrence (Dana Gladstone) for disgraceful conduct, but when their work was scrutinized, Caldwell didn't support them.

Thus Austin left the army but now finds himself once again, in a position to arrest Mr. Lawrence if the evidence proves compelling.

Caldwell struggles to assist while calling attention to unwritten codes, thereby curtailing cowboy antics liberally applied notwithstanding. 

Austin starts dating his daughter (Meg Ryan as Donna Caldwell) much to his dismay, as the ancient clashes of stubborn cultures take on newfound ballistics.

The Presidio is very direct in search of blunt disgruntling fact, with no concern for feints or subtlety it blatantly marches on.

In a democracy there's room for manifold styles of film, and if one genre eclipses the others it can lead to incestuous deluge.

Thus I've kept an open-mind when freely viewing service films, to strangely embrace agile difference as composed through upheld traditions.

Frank exchanges between honest men often have otherworldly impacts, especially when immersed in rigid strata where trusted honesty is anathema.

It doesn't work so well in The Presidio at least it's not The Rock or Pulp Fiction, it works along the same lines but misses the mark unfortunately.

Still, remember that's just my impression and you shouldn't feel bad if you disagree, like what you like, get into it, artistic criticism isn't objectively orchestrated.

I've met people who had different tastes and at times I was surprised they liked certain films, but I always admired how earnestly they defended them since they weren't trying to impress.

Thus if you happen to love The Presidio I may be somewhat surprised.

Don't be annoyed by my alternative take.

Relativity upholds thriving democracies.  

Sound of Metal

Freely travellin' 'cross the country fluidly movin' from gig to gig, the wild thrilling sustained adrenaline boldly yielding extensive showcase.

Then suddenly the swift withdrawal of an essential sense shocking consternation, distressing requisite adjustments cold uncertainty latent flux.

Fortunately, communities exist to gently facilitate bold transitions, people aware and wholeheartedly concerned with helpful practical communal bulwarks.

A vast undertaking expansive and dear warmly connecting and nurturing individuals, from which new lives energetically emerge compelling unique artistic wonders.

After Ruben Stone (Riz Ahmed) loses his hearing he finds a supportive chill community, which patiently teaches him to adapt in a warm instructive active atmosphere.

He gradually learns sign language while teaching drumming and making friends, the resonant intricate inclusivity producing value added information. 

He's still interested in a procedure which may restore his hearing, however, even if it costs around $40,000 and he doesn't want to sell his ride.

A more robust healthcare system may have easily absorbed the cost, the collective flow of meaningful capital generating universal levity.

Isn't health something to be taken care of regardless of wealth or race or creed, shouldn't everyone have access to the same medicinal opportunities?

Doesn't a healthy population work more effectively on the job, and don't such salubrious dividends lead to systematized prosperity?

Healthy people earning higher incomes have more money to spend, thereby expanding robust economies with various recreational facilities.

I don't know what it's like in the U.S but having access to healthcare in Canada and Québec is great, taxes are somewhat higher, but so far I've never had to worry (there are disturbing stories out there).

Life's different when you don't have to worry about health or prohibitive educational costs. You can spend more time engaged with life and study without having to worry all the time.

Although it looks like the economic shocks of the pandemic are trying to bankrupt the middle-class, there was a chance that debts may have been paid off someday, it even seemed like a working possibility.

Healthy communities. Productive workplaces. Worry free studies. Reliable debt management.

Just takes some higher taxes.

Holistic fair play.

Rhizome ripples.