Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World)

Fluidly transmitting interactive hybrid tender phenomena, Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World) randomly travels around the world.

I can't imagine what it must have been like to exotically film in so many countries, at an accelerated intricate pace kinetically connected universally lithe.

I couldn't watch the entire film in one extended sitting so I divided it into 3 parts, the first two hours, the second two hours, and the last 47 odd minutes.

While I was watching I admired its freedom as it temperamentally trotted the globe, while casually presenting endemic technologies along with brief interrogative artifacts. 

The 4 hour and 47 minute film leaves the viewer full of lighthearted enriching anticipation, comfortably rewarded for investing their time while convivially considering the mischievous details.

Part 1 as accidentally compartmentalized offers a chase as previously mentioned around the world, as a romantic artful passionate soul sets out in search of a would-be lover.

He's stolen some money from her which she borrowed from thieves who stole it from Nice, and as she keeps finding him and he keeps escaping dynamic love blossoms with fugacious flurries.

The second act is much more settled as the lively couple finds rest in Australia, several characters who came along for the ride jocosely joining them then forming a band.

The destruction of a nuclear satellite has knocked out communications around the world, with practically no machines in working order it's time to jam sit back and enjoy life.

The last act sees the principal characters become addicted to an ingenious device (global power restored), which records your dreams and plays them back for you to freely watch throughout your day.

Unfortunately, the dreams become reality and those taking part refuse to do anything else but watch them.

Drifting into cerebral psychosis. 

Like turtles all the way down. 🐢

If searching for an offbeat romance that celebrates active unorthodox lives, improvisationally following their own distinct paths, Bis ans Ende der Welt is worth seeing for sure.

My favourite scenario was the chillaxed jam where music reimagines being and nothingness.

Reminded me of old times in the countryside.

Laidback livin'.

Kitchen jams.

Alice in den Städten (Alice in the Cities)

A wandering writer discovers photography while driving around the United States, and takes sundry pictures his editor rejects when he attempts to submit them instead of his article.

He couldn't help not writing it, he was inspired by a different idea, and even though a task had been definitively set, he seductively swerved and creatively reimagined it.

He's out of money nevertheless and his editor won't give him any more, the decision to return to Germany suddenly presenting itself with frank appeal.

While purchasing his ticket he meets a single mom and her curious child, both of whom can't speak English yet also want to return to Northern Europe.

He agrees to awkwardly assist and then finds himself with no place to stay, the mother and daughter agreeing to put him up his habitual thanks most unpresuming. 

The mother is still in touch with her new partner who wants to remain in the United States, and leaves her daughter with the travelling writer and they proceed to sightsee around New York.

They agree to meet at the airport but surprisingly the mother doesn't show up.

But sends word she'll meet them in Europe.

When the next flight arrives, she's not on it.

The child doesn't remember where her grandmother lives and the two have quite the confusing adventure, the writer learning not to be so grumpy as he tries to accommodate youthful maturation.

It's an oddball misfit scenario the oblivious trio not consciously registering, the bohemian lifestyle making bold decisions through spontaneous planning as they make their way home.

As luck would have it, youthful spirit blossoming in friendship unceremoniously wins the day, the artist reluctantly embracing formalities to amusingly calm down the frightened youngster.

She notices his random scribblings and childishly wonders what they might be.

He bashfully plays the absent-minded father.

To improvise with unkempt austerity. 

Beau Travail

A group of dedicated soldiers is professionally assembled in Eastern Africa, and taught to efficiently train in the time honoured art of balanced routine.

The locals curiously regard them as they exercise within their lands, the Legion's regimented solemnity a modern spectacle deriving pathos. 

It seems somewhat innocent and harmless as they freely stick to their upbeat selves, and build a harmonious continuity within their sombre intense ranks. 

With no wars to occupy their time and a general desire to remain aloof, the offbeat focused isolated unit peacefully co-exists with the world around them.

Unfortunately, where many find peace there are still those who cultivate conflict, and the uptight fastidious sergeant finds himself bitterly consumed by jealousy.

A new recruit proves quite remarkable and effectively demonstrates natural talent, in the eyes of their commanding officer he has great potential for a soldiering future.

The sergeant can't rationally stand it and desperately seeks to halt his progress. 

Unable to mediate his contempt.

Or accept the calm endearing tranquility. 

Once again, the evocative Claire Denis crafts a multilayered sensual tale, with a small budget in a foreign land while dealing with potentially volatile subject matter (not often you see thought-provoking low budget independent army films).

Startling to see such a tender take on formidable concrete durable masculinity, emphasizing brotherhood and camaraderie from a mutually self-sacrificing reliable vision.

The consistent observations of the inquisitive locals add so much humanistic depth, as you lightheartedly think along with them, what are they doing there?, while peace envelopes the land.

It starts off with intermittent savvy and congenially blends several different scenes, realistically invigorating the tragic tale with inherent foreign spiralling multiplicity.

Details of the plot are cleverly interwoven to the point where it seems secondary like a distant vision, the conducive galvanizing merry imagery awe-strikingly dismissing imperial entanglements.

I was hoping the entire film would continue to progress in this dreamlike fashion, not that the principal narrative is dull or uneventful, 90 plus minutes of the former would have just been incredible.

Too bad so much grief has to pass before the concluding moments fashionably exemplify, a welcoming world not so timorous or severe presenting alternative manners of masculine expression.

Stentorian peace exotically exclaimed with celebratory festive inhibition.

Rare to see anyone make this point.

Especially with such ingenious visceral exhibition. 

Chocolat

Growing up alone and isolated in a foreign nation while nestled in the country, a young child observes the inner-workings of a French colonial government.

Things generally proceed without dilemma, issue, hiccup, or re-modification, since her father's level-headed and makes Indigenous friends and local contacts.

He's gone for extended periods pursuing various governmental initiatives however, leaving his wife and child in the steady care of a clever resourceful citizen.

Who's been able to casually bridge relaxed European and African customs, with fluid evocative hands-on knowledge he feels at home wherever he goes. 

He's a jack-of-all-generational-trades and gets along well with both parents and children, like a cool open-minded and friendly babysitter who can also fix the generator or chase away hyenas.

The routine life upon the compound proceeds dependably without much uproar, although a plane lands one day nearby due to unfortunate mechanical malfunctions. 

It introduces a cast of characters representing less settled colonialist viewpoints.

Little France observes with wonder.

While the adults search for temporal occupation.

Chocolat presents a raw depiction of a select period from an atypical life, offering accounts of unfiltered memories that seemed peculiar to youth in blossom.

It's fun to watch Claire Denis's film because the narrative isn't strictly linear, there's a story that progresses throughout no doubt but it's broken up by random occurrences.

It's like a thoughtful surrealist embarkation into the innocent world of youth and playtime, in a sincere environment where the child tries to make sense of the strange conversations held by different adults.

The memories are like cool flashbacks to uncanny airs which must have seemed odd, certainly not like the familiar adventures she would have imagined with other bureaucrat children.

As it unreels, one scene after another depicts a fascinating narrative technique, where everything fits, nothing's misplaced, but the individual scenes are like mini-stories of their own.

You can pick and choose the individual tales as if you were leafing through an anthology, or watch them in succinct succession as they serpentinely structure a mischievous yarn.

Like being transported back to early childhood to freely reflect upon bewildering pastimes, the mesmerizing curious vignettes peacefully prosper through animate invention.

Held together by an African saint who can efficiently tread so many walks of life.

Unlike anything I've seen before.

Unique beauty inspired in motion. 

Westfront 1918

I often read about the terrors of the First World War while still at school, of the maniacal desperation consistently felt by its brave and valiant soldiers.

New advances in military technology had devised so many cunning new ways to kill, that the omnipresent despotic brutality was enough to drive the most courageous mad.

There is a romantic conception of warfare kept alive through faux medieval battles, where you defend your family with a sword not gas or a submachine gun.

Theoretically, way back when, you could defend innocent lives if you had the nerve or know-how, without having to worry about being cut down by a crafty sniper, mine or bomb (arrows perhaps).

That was a dominant theme in the books and essays read so long ago, that there was nothing romantic about the new style of fighting it was just cold calculated destruction.

It levelled the playing field.

Before, if you were strong and athletically gifted you had an advantage when engaged in sword-fighting, but with the advances in modern weapons technology natural gifts meant next to nothing.

Communication was unclear and patchy and uncertain objectives were awkwardly obtained.

Until hundreds of thousands of recruits mournfully charged machine gun nests.

When the Germans eventually ran out of bullets.

Victory was obtained.

That's not how lives should be lived and it's certainly not how they should be sacrificed, it's odd that people thought things were progressing when they horrifyingly ended up that way.

The romantic lure of the chivalric codes that killed so many millions in World Wars I and II, mistakenly applied, may have taken sociocultural root again, the potential resurrection much more disturbing.

Like crocodiles Dylan's Masters of War hid in crevices and caves for more than a half-century, until the internet had broken down the peaceful net gallantly established by postmodern artists and teachers.

Westfront 1918 hoped not to revisit the devastation of War, released in Germany in 1930 it went so far as to champion camaraderie.

How do you convince incredible people not to throw their lives away attacking other nations living in peace, who have done them no violent harm?

While trying to convince others that those same people living in peace need help to defend their country?

Proceed one step at a time.

Know that you're part of a team much larger than yourself. 

Know that politicians like Kamala Harris stand for you.

And give you a legitimate voice in Congress/Parliament.

Criterion keyword: visceral.

Kameradschaft

A giant coal mine smoothly stretches from Northern France into agile Germany, both countries in hearty pursuit of abundant resources with industrious zeal.

But as the mine expands and diversifies far beneath the hospitable surface, disquieting developments awkwardly erupt which necessitate chill respective sagacity.

An extended blaze in this lucid case threatens the French side of the massive mine, which they continuously hold off until it overwhelms their sturdy equipoise. 

On the other side of the border, their German counterparts learn of the hardship, and passionately agree to send a rescue team complete with supplies to aid their brethren. 

There are dissenting voices but humanity vanquishes their lack of grace, and inadequate comprehension of goodwill as emphatically applied to angelic standing.

A bold attempt by G.W. Pabst to inspire collegial international relations, and combat the destructive swell ignominiously spreading throughout postwar Germany.

Imagine such alternative thoughts publicly co-existed with the infernal Nazis, and directly challenged their despicable ideology with warm compassionate multilateral friendship.

Within ye olde Kameradschaft we find initiatives which championed the European Union, with multiple languages and ways of life interdependently prospering ensemble.

Would Russia not be welcome one far off day if it abandoned its mad aggression, and devastating obsession to be as powerful as the democratic United States?

Black and white, Jewish and Arab, native and immigrant, does it make that much difference, is it not politically preferable to compassionately unite for common causes?

Look at the destruction in Palestine look at the savagery of the Oct. 7th attacks, is there not an infinitely more suitable way to conduct their alternative codes of conduct?

Don't you want to raise children with the peaceful knowledge that one day they'll do the same, instead of filling their minds with hatred to fight a war with no end in sight?

The sad thing is that before Oct. 7th things had relaxed a great deal in the region, and peace had thriven for so so long that uptight restrictions were widely placated.

I urge anyone in similar situations not to act aggressively should similar restrictions relax, and rather continue to cultivate peace until one day you have a European Union.

But it shouldn't have to come to such bitter malevolent ends.

If people pursue mutually beneficial camaraderie. 

One day one step at a time. 

Jalsaghar (The Music Room)

Traditional techno prestigious glamour entrenched nobility inalienable birthright, delicately maintaining vast ancient customs once thoroughly sought to uphold righteous honour.

The royal in question elaborately ensconced within his palatial discreet colossus, known for entertaining and leisure and horseplay as were his forefathers so much of his kin.

But times change, new ideas and philosophies begin to prosper throughout the land, and new markets new ways to earn money latently tempt inherent ambitions.

As the economy undergoes transformation and the nouveau riche seek respect and authority, the ocean encroaches upon his old lands and leaves him with no means to take in revenue.

Dispiritingly, his wife and only son travel by water to rendez-vous with her family, tragically suffering a moribund fate when caught in a hurricane on their way home.

Left with no rightful heir and too uptight and proud to start over again, he settles into a depressed routine which sees no income or family or friend.

The world erupting in kitschy novelty borderline insouciant bewitching pandemonium. 

He embraces the passing of the years.

Rarely emerging from his elegant den.

There must be an arthouse tradition imaginatively awaiting curious enthusiasts, who aren't as interested in Bollywood's sensation but still directly crave tactile Indian genius. 

Jalsaghar (The Music Room) seductively showcasing the despondent struggle of a political system, as those who can't adapt to the newfound democracy suffer in silence while their wealth slowly fades.

But more than that, if ever there was a relevant film to challenge boredom and decay, Satyajit Ray's cataclysmic masterpiece indirectly applauds diversification.

The industrious Dutch have held back the sea for such a long time their techniques transmissible, had the aging royal simply adopted them he may have kept his people on the land.

Perhaps due to obsessive bearings he never became aware of such maritime difference, but had he focused intently on generating an income, and hired innovative people accordingly, he likely would have continued to profit from his holdings, and never would have had to sell his sacred possessions.

Thus, beware the sedentary life should you find yourself enamoured with rest and relaxation.

As the saying goes, don't rest on your laurels.

Notably if so many rely on your industry.

Pather Panchali

A loving mother wants the best for her children but is desperately obsessed with her remorseless poverty, her dreamer husband slow to provide or clearly understand her protracted woe.

There's no thought of her working herself or finding a way to help make ends meet, the ancient code governing village life definitively maintaining strict gender roles.

Her children enjoy playing in the countryside and modestly excel through recourse to laughter, education not prominent in that part of the country, the children relying on friends and family.

But they're also jealous of their friend's possessions especially when the sweet purveyor walks by, at times leading to their mother's embarrassment as they naturally seek the good things in life.

I really felt for their mom as she despondently waits for her husband to get paid, and he dreams and he dreams and he dreams while his house falls apart and there's nothing to eat.

It's ok to sit back and dream but it's much more convenient when your wife also works, and isn't stuck sitting at home all day with nothing to do while her neighbours deride her.

Could you imagine having no recourse and having to wait months to have money to spend, while your children ran wild in the jungle and the neighbourhood lampooned your lack of wealth?

Open up the inclusive workforce and maximize opportunity for everyone willing.

Her husband's no doubt a cool guy.

But fails to empathize with her situation.

Pather Panchali isn't all doom and gloom it's also full of innocent pluck and tenacity, complete with multiple extended scenes celebrating the joys of childhood and playtime.

I would recommend leaving Disney behind for a weekend and giving this film a try, along with El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive), El Sur, and E.T, that would make for an exceptional film day.

Dickens also seems to be creatively influencing the compassionate film and perhaps Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay's novel, the close focus on delicious food for instance (it's fun to pig out after he describes food), or the inclusion of chill and offbeat characters like Auntie (who reminded me of Mr. Dick in David Copperfield).

Its moderate pace also captures village life as it gradually progresses from season to season.

Moments like how cool it is when you see your first train.

An intense sudden rainfall. 

An improvised chase.

*Criterion keyword - resplendent. 

Shazam! Fury of the Gods

And while engaging in acts of heroism the mighty Wizard's Staff was torn asunder, and the powerful spells it had indeed cast broken, thereby encouraging blatant disharmonies.

The daughters of Atlas in fact wildly reinvigorated at last, the staff having kept them interminably imprisoned within a labyrinthine ancient realm.

Obsessed with divine pretensions and extravagant disastrous displays, they seek to rob Shazam and his friends of their powers, with even more fury than the Philly Press!

Yet feuding erupts amongst them since they can't agree upon a plan, the youngest having fallen for trusty Freddy, the eldest comporting herself with age old wisdom. 

But in the middle lies contemptuous envy who remains inconsolable, bitter and wrathful, and rather than simply pursuing peace it unleashes hellbent devastating carnage.

Mythological beasts and a ferocious dragon attempt to lay waste to the oblivious planet, who once dared to divide their realms, contemporary generations having no idea.

Shazam must come to terms with his habitual doubt and long lasting depression, to embrace the strength resiliently needed to definitively challenge the irascible god.

And deep down in emboldened depths he bravely searches for formidable traction.

To challenge the delirious dragon (cool to see Lucy Liu riding a dragon).

With every ounce of extant vitality. 

Much less sure of himself than Batman or even Clark Kent or the furtive Blue Beetle, Shazam struggles with excessive self-criticism which at times results in self-defeating paralysis. 

As I've mentioned before, logical self-criticism is an effective tool as generally recommended, but it needs to be balanced with reasonable confidence to ensure spirited soulful synergies.

As Shazam! Fury of the Gods proves with resonant disputatious self-awareness, to champion honest mass exclamation through sensational tasked theatrics.

What to make of the ecstatic blend of ancient mythology and modern culture, the regenerative protean of metastasized matrices habitually enabling multivariable mélanges. 

The claim to humanistic divinity still remains widely challenged.

Keeping within realistic rationales.

To avoid mad imperialistic expansion (go Kamala!).

*Still makes for fun movies though.

Ant-Man & the Wasp: Quantumania

It's fun to observe the natural world.

There's so much compelling detail interests revitalize. 

With imposing potential - sprawl and industry - the presence of nature remains paramount, and it's always exciting to actively see turtles and raccoons and skunks and deer.

The dire forecasts of a concrete jungle ubiquitously consuming so much more vital space, keeps current animal sightings aflush with wonder as extant natural environs tantalize.

I worry about the metaphorical dimension the infinite interpretive subconscious bedlam, that accompanies fertile thought throughout its playful inquisitive trajectories. 

I generally assume that people understand that I'm just writing about the Natural World, because it's fun to actively engage with agile integral insects and beasts.

Thus, through the art of fair play multilateral matriculations merge and metastasize, without claiming elaborate authority which may have nothing to do with what whomever intended. 

As curiosity matures and mutates.

Ants and bees, fascinating creatures, I try my best not to impede them, and wish we could communicate with them directly, I bet they would make thought provoking observations.

That's what happens in Quantumania ants evolve in the Quantum Realm, and learn to communicate with Dr. Hank Pym and help him out as he battles a tyrant.

Instagram posts note that bees learn arithmetic and their ingenious waggle dances demonstrate intricate thought, ants no doubt communicating in similar ways as they actively engage with their surroundings.

Both species highly adaptive and found in abundance throughout the world, it's cool to see ants treated with so much respect within the versatile Quantum Realm.

Interspecial communication remaining a compelling possibility, bees might think we're boring because we can't fly.

Ants may think we're impractical seeing how much easier it is for them to maintain.

No accounting for beetles and grasshoppers. 

Dragonflies seem to like us. 

Mein liebster Fiend - Klaus Kinski (My Best Fiend)

Imagine you're deep in the South American jungle working on a film as demanding as Fitzcarraldo, and your lead actor keeps erupting in fits of rage as you fight with the rain and the heat and the bugs.

It wasn't the first film they'd work on under such circumstances they'd already completed Aguirre, the Wrath of God, like two powerful inconsolable filmmaking forces could only lament that they worked so well together.

Kinski live in front of an audience just being himself inspired by the crowd, introduces wild indefatigable levels of supreme individualistic animosity.

Epically convinced of his unrivalled unique ingenious multivariability, he rants and raves with intense proclamations defying anything other than his genius.

Herzog threatens him with death local Natives inform the director that they could kill him, his egocentric chaotic tantrums so unhinged they encouraged murder.

What was it like out in the jungle with that crew the environment challenging to live in without conflict, festering manic clashing wills capable of volcanically exploding at any time?!

They met when Herzog was 13 they briefly lived in the same boarding house together, where Werner took note of his animated routine and was remarkably impressed by his latent fury.

Which was unfairly unleashed at his expense so many so many times. 

As he efficiently crafted his tales.

Gluttons gormandizing.

I was impressed with Herzog's English it's pretty solid for a non-Native speaker, it's rare that someone comes so close to perfecting the accent and chooses so many clever words precisely.

Strange artists, creating through conflict rather than romance or adorability, tuned into the world's stately danger while insanely narrativizing its carnal threats. 

It's like Herzog was a creative Agamemnon and the furious Kinski his invincible Achilles, the two battling Priam and Hector while bellicosely diversifying German arthouse cinema. 

Mein liebster Fiend - Klaus Kinski (My Best Fiend) is fun to watch if you're looking for insights into their working relationship, not without examinations of Kinski's tender side, still certainly absorbed by his insensitive locus.

I wish this had been made before Kinski passed it would have been exciting to see him discuss his work with Herzog, it's no doubt a chilling account from Mr. Herzog's point of view, but it would have been so much more thrilling with more recourse to the alternative.

I'll have to do more research into his life I don't know much about his works besides these stunning Herzog adventures (plus more Herzog films too).

And that he was able to steal scenes and leave a lasting impression.

As the bitter anarchist. 

In Doctor Zhivago.

Herz aus Glas (Heart of Glass)

I suppose that for tens of thousands of years the possession of esoteric knowledge proved rather fruitful, and could generate unique industry which in turn supplied steady work for brave inhabitants. 

It still does in many instances your ideas can generate bountiful incomes, although if they create planet saving envirotechnologies it's also cool to eventually share them with your community for free.

In Herz aus Glas (Heart of Glass), a medieval town is resonantly known for its ruby glass, which it manufactures with artistic grace and reliable marketable old school intensity.

But the only one who definitively knows how to authentically and genuinely produce it, passes without having shared the code, or indeed transmitted it to another.

Panic doesn't immediately set in although tensions slowly start to run high, the factory owner finding mad solutions which the agile workforce swiftly deems barking. 

The factory burns there's no other industry the local clairvoyant's sent to jail for predicting it.

A grim look at the distraught middle ages.

Indirectly championing scientific culture.

Environmental progress and industry finding ingenious ways to boldly progress hand in hand, I've recently joined some online groups which consistently share new green technologies.

Steady employment - something to do - still remains of paramount cultural importance, jobs gained mathematically balanced with those lost to nimbly cultivate immersive interactivity. 

It always amazes me how hard people work and routinely commit to standards of excellence, and I've lived and worked in almost every province and territory, the Canadian and Québecois work ethic internationally outstanding.

New ideas - innovative strategies - reflexively emerging each and every day, to outwit debilitating fatigue and intuitively enable freedom and longevity.

We're lucky to have such a colossal country so much of which remains largely unexplored, such a shame we can't grow food in winter, but the cold temperatures do keep the ideas a' flowing.

I imagine if given the time the resolute workers in Herz aus Glas, would have figured out how to make the Ruby and diligently proceeded to keep the doors open.

By constantly experimenting till they precisely found the missing ingredient like none other.

Likely making other marketable discoveries along the way.

Strongly investing in research & development.

Kaijûtô no kessen: Gojira no musuko (Son of Godzilla)

A forgotten island off the beaten track hosts grand monumental experiments, as revered scientists seek to increase the expanding world's food supply.

Indeed it is speculatively thought that the vital crops sustaining humanity, will fall short of the requisite yields in little more than a 100 years.

Thus, using silver iodide, an ingenious solution is hypothetically put forth, to produce vast weather altering scenarios which create forbidden extreme temperatures.

How the cultivation of extreme cold will help generate abundant crops, isn't provocatively explained although it's assumed there is an answer.

Meanwhile, the scientific equipment periodically detects confusing anomalies, which startle the dedicated technicians who remain uncertain as to their origins.

Until after their first experiment generates hostile colossal preying mantises, who in turn destroy a barrier of rock, within which lies a massive egg.

Before they can devour what lies within the young one's father fortuitously arrives, the ensuing battle borderline epic as Godzilla Jr. watches in breathless shock.

Soon noble Papa Godzilla is eagerly instructing his newborn lad, in the titanic arts of aggrieved distemper, the two blossoming in flower. 

But Kumonga, the local giant spider, has had enough of their tender bonding.  

And when Godzilla drifts off into monstrous slumber.

It comes a' creepily crawling.

The sensational details of the riveting romance which brought about Godzilla's curious offspring, are unfortunately missing from this lively film, perhaps waiting to be found in another instalment.

Yet a newborn Godzilla indeed exists and once inquisitively enacted engrained mischief, however unaware of his gigantic rivals he aloofly appeared to be.

Thanks to his father's teachings he learns to fight back nevertheless, and even saves good old dad from Kumonga in an epic battle near the film's end.

As to altering the weather, hasn't that tended to be considered a disastrous calamitous mistake, the potential room for catastrophic error and international bedlam maladroitly pending.

There are just two many variables to holistically account for when creating such devices, many of which remain beyond our comprehension and also likely beyond that of A.I.

At least it was generally thought to be an incredibly bad idea long ago. 

We have advanced considerably.

But the forecast still lacks precision. 

Chikyû kôgeki meirei Gojira tai Gaigan (Godzilla vs. Gigan)

Godzilla finds himself fiercely dwelling on the sensational Monster Island, far away from the technobustle of old school contemporary Japanese life.

But as he rambunctiously resides a new threat from outer space descends, and intergalactically infiltrates unsuspecting Tokyo and proceeds to set up an amusement park.

Two local citizens become concerned when one of their siblings is mysteriously locked-down, and adventurously gamble on discovering his whereabouts while learning more about the corporation.

They're assisted by an emerging artist who was just commissioned to design the park, who's also able to prove the captive's existence, but not without resulting in their incarceration. 

They soon discover that upon another once verdant planet similar to our own, the primary lifeforms polluted too recklessly and eventually destroyed their fertile world.

Correspondingly, extant insect species were remarkably able to utilize their technology, and even build their own interplanetary spacecraft, to plan the bitter conquest of our precious Earth!

To aid in their colonialist endeavours they've macrocosmically enlisted Ghidorah and Gigan, who fly through space to our innocent planet and proceed to take out Tokyo.

Godzilla and Anguirus quickly arrive to boldly face the enraged duo. 

The alien species diabolically surmising.

That conquering Godzilla will bring about world peace!

Tough to logically situate ye olde Chikyû kôgeki meirei Gojira tai Gaigan (Godzilla vs. Gigan) within inelastic parameters, its traditional reliance on militaristic methods seemingly in conflict with its environmental ethos.

But perhaps as it enlists the army to bravely duel with the bellicose monsters, it also encourages it to tactically listen to its clairvoyant message regarding the environment.

Indeed it reasonably predicts the eventual downfall of our industrious species, as brought about by unchecked pollution pestiferously contaminating both oceans and land.

I wonder if Japan responded and what their environmental footprint's like these days, islands often take their environments much more seriously due to the lack of habitable space.

When you see that messages such as these were even to be found in Godzilla movies over 50 years ago, and much of the world still lavishly pollutes, it's easy to see why postmodern day environmentalists are increasingly becoming more and more prominent. 

Initiative and resolve game-changing macroalterations could creatively cultivate enduring neoharmonies.

Harris and Walz seem likely onboard. 

Which would probably nurture constructive movements worldwide. 

Shin Zatôichi: Yabure! Tôjin-ken (Zatoichi and the One-Armed Swordsman)

Across the multivariable definitive lands of bellicose old school Japan, Zatoichi continues to awkwardly progress in search of honour and friendship and loyalty.

Unfortunately, his enduring prowess leads those who would traditionally salute his daring, to mistrust his holistic self-sacrifice as he haplessly seeks to help them.

Strict absolutes murderously upheld haunt his path in this instalment, as an adventurous family visiting from China runs afoul of ancient custom.

Indeed as the lauded clan leader austerely passes in procession along the road, those in front of him must free the way and humbly kneel and bow and worship.

But a Chinese child's long cherished kite suddenly takes off in front of them as they pass, the swordspeople immediately responding with rancour and consequently murdering strangers in their midst.

A one-armed swordsperson also visiting from China valiantly defends the un-armed innocents, only to be blamed for the resultant massacre and viciously hunted in the shocking aftermath.

Sometime after he flees he encounters Zatoichi with the aghast child, Zatoichi unable to understand his language, but as luck would have it, the boy can translate.

They stealthily stride and furtively fascinate until they find shelter amongst the survivors.

But after Zatoichi departs to gather supplies.

He's erroneously blamed for revealing their location. 

You see people who are interested in the same things curiously associating with one another online, without having to worry about nation or culture the similar interests promoting cohesive bonds.

Dispiritingly, the disseminators of widespread mistrust also prosper online, and miserably challenge the international forums within which global communities thrive and flourish.

Star Trek's universal translator certainly eases linguistic burdens, and makes cross-cultural convivial communication much more generally verbose and heartfelt.

We're not there yet but translating devices are consistently improving year after year, in twenty years I reasonably imagine a similar device may in fact exist.

Back in the day, such a miraculous enabling would have engendered dialogue between Zatoichi and the One-Armed Swordsman, and they would not have had to recklessly engage in a lethal death battle to settle the score.

Perhaps with ameliorated time and animate progressions we'll get there one day.

As the intuitive ideas of younger generations.

Make political headway worldwide. 

Zatôichi jigoku-tabi (Zatoichi and the Chess Expert)

Zatoichi continues to travel throughout Japan, his destination still unknown, his adversaires multiplying.

Unfortunately, due to blindness, knaves and thieves seek to tear him down, but after his brilliant swordpersonship highlights their folly, they vow revenge even though they started it.

Such proceedings regularly occur and he is stuck routinely defending himself, with a high price upon his versatile head, and an inhibiting disability difficult to conceal.

He doesn't make friends either as he regularly cheats people at dice, tricking them into cheating themselves and then critiquing their lack of honesty.

He meets an itinerant master and strikes up a spirited inquisitive acquaintance, the two voyaging by boat together while earning a living as best they can.

But Zatoichi also meets other travellers who passionately seek the samurai who killed their father, and know nothing about him definitively besides the fact that he's quite good at chess.

Moral dilemmas further bewilder as he learns he once murdered the husband of the woman and child he cares for.

Democracy and social justice still hundreds of years away.

Consistent sword fights altruistically emerging.

Had he not learned to ingeniously defend himself Zatoichi the Blind may have flagged and rusted, and never known the voltaic thrill of characteristic difference and pursuits unknown.

Yet even possessing the adventurous intuition so often dismissed by people with sight, he encounters neverending lethal conflict to which he must respond indefinitely.

Sad how the legendary samurai traditionally found within these films, have so much trouble working together and often end up in life or death duels.

Both thoroughly convinced their path is just and in no need of ethical alterations, they eventually must challenge the breathtaking entities who vigorously contradict their chosen way of life.

Thus without the onset of unions they must remain vigilant at all times.

Never embracing the peace of dreams.

Eternal conflict.

Bitter remorse.

*Postmodern samurai could focus on protecting whales and dolphins! 🐋

**Criterion keyword: motif

Kaguya-hime no monogatari (The Tale of the Princess Kaguya)

A childless family holistically subsists within the fertile abundant countryside, utilizing enriching multifaceted bamboo to productively nourish and equip their household.

One bamboo shoot proves more elaborate than the other versatile exemplars within the forest, revealing a miniature person no less in need of love and warmth and shelter and guidance.

Her new parents are unsure of what to do but know she grows quickly and flourishes in nature, as she swiftly befriends the local children who generously teach her about plants and animals.

Other discoveries within the forest lead her father to believe she's destined for royalty, fine silk robes and a huge pile of gold lead him to seek stately honours sequentially.

They move away from the cherished country to the imposing capital where they've built a mansion, and hired a discerning professional nanny to strictly teach her the rules of etiquette. 

She responds with traditional transgressions and febrile fits of fervent fury, but eventually settles into her chosen role out of dutiful love for her mother and father.

Bold noblepeople from across the land soon come a'-calling in pursuit of marriage.

But she responds with impossibility.

To which they counter in roguish fashion.

The dependable roots of a heartwarming Ghibli magically take hold of one's heart within, and enchantingly propagate independent merrymaking with soul-searching skill and tender echoes.

The sought after attention to naturalistic detail and focus on animals of all shapes and sizes, can be wondrously found once again throughout what's come to be known as Kaguya-hime no monogatari (The Tale of the Princess Kaguya).

Crafts are also concentrated on as the Princess moves from station to station, animated accounts of diligent artists distinctively engaged in woodworking wonder. 

The eternal struggle between the carefree ways of a bucolic youth clashing with urban responsibility, permeates the bewildered action as the coveted Princess takes centre stage.

Would it have been better to introduce the Moon People at the beginning of the film instead of much later?, the lack of foreknowledge briefly generating confusion as the shocking revelations augment the end.

But the intricate detail, the copious love for thriving nature to be found within.

And the ways in which it appeals to the fortunate throughout life.

Seductively soothes.

Any critical sensation. 

Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun (My Neighbors the Yamadas)

Difficult to critique a Ghibli so let's try the following context:

It's possible that Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun (My Neighbors the Yamadas) was made for television, it does resemble many of the homely afterschool specials I watched in my youth, with an ordinary family doing ordinary things while at times engaging in bold acts of daydreaming.

It seems like it would meet with ecumenical approval amongst various churches across the land, even though it's irreligious culturally speaking, its awkward examination of a traditional family still likely to be lauded by worldwide censors.

Simultaneously, it generally concerns itself with hokey materialistic conundrums (obvious issues that arise between people trying to co-habitate), meaning that it also would have likely met with the applause of the Politburo. 

The film is kind of like sitting through church and singing along with the canonized hymns, which don't motivate like jazz or pop yet still make you feel constructive and communal nevertheless.

If looking for a film hoping to keep couples together, Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun functions like a televisual minister, and uses age old quotidian examples to exoterically dissuade any thoughts of divorce.

Grandma's kind of funny at times, as she routinely airs her grievances, like the feisty grandmother from The Garfield Christmas Special, proud and determined to defend her utterances.

The animation is different from the other Ghiblis I've seen and is oddly much more like Beavis & Butt-head. It must have been a popular style at that time. I was a bit surprised to see something similar in a Ghibli.

It's strange how the films to be approved of by totalitarian theocracies or communist states, are both so incredibly unappealing if you don't find yourself forced to applaud them. 

You would think that in 100 years the Soviets would have produced more than one Elem Klimov, something to look into I suppose, religious traditions not faring much better (there's also Tarkovsky).

Nonetheless, if you find yourself living under such a regime and you want to produce something that won't get you shot, you could use Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun as a working example, as you curse your historical epoch.

Can't public well-being and the postmodern consciousness not spiritually blend through environmental metamorphosis?

Isn't that what's happening this Summer!

With so many Northern Lights.

It's a natural trend!

Confidentially Y'ours

I don't think I'll ever understand the thrill of hunting.

Whenever I see an animal like a deer or bunny I think I'm incredibly lucky to see it roaming free.

Canada and Québec have a lot of animals though, we're a bit spoiled when it comes to wildlife sightings, and for this reason it still amazes me that in smaller countries with much larger human populations, people still hunt deer and rabbit; this will never even come close to making sense to me!

Julien Vercel pays the price in Confidentially Yours, however, as he foolishly awaits harmless ducks to fly by, when he could have clearly been expressing himself less destructively by engaging in sundry less violent activities.

He's framed for murder.

An associate (who happens to be close friends with his wife) is shot in the face near his location, with the same ammo he habitually uses, ammo which no one else buys.

He discusses his morbid state with his wife after she returns home from an excursion, then takes off for a chat with the law, before returning home to find she's also been killed.

Had he left those poor ducks alone it's emphatically clear his tormenter would have backed down, and let him be to live in peace with his trusted wife and real estate business.

But he had to recklessly seek the freewheeling flesh of independent lifeforms, which leads to heinous punishment and blind monstrous terror as he awkwardly flees.

Fortunately, his co-worker's in love with him and generously agrees to help prove his innocence.

They hide out together and precociously intuit the investigative role of an agile detective.

I suppose Truffaut never moved away from these themes and consistently examined love and fidelity throughout his career, almost as if he's lampooning himself to tease his critics with the structural sensation seductively found in this one.

But I've never known him to take the side of individualistic entities and interlace irate providential misgivings, with the hope of saving France's robust wildlife populations for future generations to freely admire!

Certainly, the French are an admirable people whose commendable work/life balance should be adopted worldwide, along with their sense of humour and delicate timing, but are their wildlife populations not also to be celebrated!?

There must be some incredible ecotourism possibilities awaiting curious peeps when the Olympics finish!

Even Truffaut recognized the tremendous natural beauty.

And aloofly enshrined it in film noir!

Les quatre cents coups (The 400 Blows)

An unhinged imagination mendaciously prone feverishly flows with mischievous delinquency, in a time less alternatively accommodating when harsh punishments still prevailed.

He can't fluently comprehend discipline as its laid out by his parents and teachers, and begins skipping school after a headstrong dispute with his weary fed-up severe enseigneur.

His step-father habitually complains as his treasured belongings keep disappearing, the boy not comprehensively considering his disastrous petty malcontent abbreviations.

Unfortunately, his independent mother even admits his routine irritates her, and like little Claudius he proceeds unloved although he acts out much more rebelliously.

This lack of love the absent bond awkwardly infuriates further as he misses school, and notices her spending time with someone else, someone clearly not his step-father.

His thefts become more daring and he even enlists the aid of a lonesome friend, before the law is swiftly called in and a new trajectory meticulously hewn.

They didn't have to be quite so draconian if they had only accepted sole responsibility.

And made a serious effort to turn things around.

They're occupationally challenged however (they're more focused on their careers).

They don't really care, it's a bitter denunciation of self-centred parents who don't nurture their children, and the horrid situations which potentially arise if the young one reacts with aggrieved insurrection.

It may have had an impact on social reform within France after it was released, nevertheless, the French actually listening to what their artists have to say, since the poor child's utter abandonment and isolation in the film's final moments evocatively promotes the need for systemic change. 🎻

It's a powerful scene which correspondingly brings to mind A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, or any artist in his or her childhood when they let their genius run chaotically amok. 

It's clear little M. Doinel needs compassion not the fastidious lockdown permeating bootcamp, but that's what things were like in the cold-hearted old world which blind foolish unsympathetic jerks look to with manufactured nostalgia.

Many blossoming artists remain ill-accustomed to ubiquitous rules.

Especially when they're young children. 

A bit more progressive in this day and age.

Unrueh (Unrest)

I've never spent much time considering anarchy as it's peacefully presented in Cyril Schäublin's Unrueh (Unrest), which looks at the coordination of semi-autonomous towns loosely connected in 19th century Switzerland.

At the time I speculatively imagine the old world stiff upper lip still strictly predominated, and many citizens were highly critical of the unyielding nature of cold absolutes (how could such a disastrous political outlook be experiencing a necrorenaissance?). 

Important things such as healthcare and education perhaps freely benefit from mass organization, not in the sense that you teach everyone the same thing, but inasmuch as you generally apply the same provincial standards.

Global networks of hospitals and international research can ensure progressive care is universally adopted, to treat the sick and combat disease to medicinally facilitate widespread health and wellness.

The application of such organization to the arts seems counterproductive in my opinion, however, since originality and novel spectrums often emerge in isolation.

Not that there shouldn't be dialogues amongst different uncanny artistic communities, I just don't believe in the codification of molecular alternative expression.

Thus, anarchy works well for artists not in the sense that they ubiquitously rebel (some rebellion works though), but rather to promote eclectic independence amongst individuals who could probably care less.

A lot of material is released every year and no doubt trends and patterns emerge, but the overarching mass cultivation of a specific outlook seems much too totalitarian to me.

Medicine prospers with codes and procedures to guide its workers as they care for the sick, education also benefits from structure to ensure people learn to read and write and count.

But the arts benefit from spontaneity and revelation and inspiration and chance, not that those things can't influence medicine and teaching, but if they're the governing impetus, you may unleash a pandemic.

Pandemics in the arts can be good since books that are fun to read should be widely discussed, they don't necessarily have to be a dangerous thing, although there's always bound to be critical controversy.

Oddly, as I've aged I've learned to incorporate anarchy into my life, I'm not even really that disappointed with things, my love for independent cinema and literature just keeps growing and growing.

It's a right wing strategy to make politics so unappealing that people prefer to generally ignore them.

So I'm still paying attention as best I can.

Although I fear I may have outgrown journalism.

Not The Guardian though. 

Definitely not campy films.  

The Covenant

A group of old world families clandestinely co-habitates with the world at large, keeping to themselves at secretive times while patiently awaiting their time of ascension.

Their families escaped the Salem Witch Hunt way back when fear drove men mad, the anxiety igniting bland social pressures to despotically embrace austere absolutism.

The children attend a local prep school lucidly administered by ye olde Windom Earle (Kenneth Welsh), awkwardly anticipating their spry eighteenth birthdays when their otherworldly powers will magically emerge.

Their powers aren't to be taken lightly their chaotic use has mortal consequences, and if used too often through frivolous indulgence will unnaturally age and ruin their bodies.

Difficult to share such wisdom with lads ebulliently awaiting the passionate moment, when more or less anything they put their minds to will instantaneously manifest.

Especially when it becomes distressingly evident that an unknown 5th student possesses the power, and is recklessly using it for retched misdeeds with no working foreknowledge of truth or consequence.

A showdown ominously looms within the sleepy oblivious trajectory.

Agéd chronicles proving noteworthy.

For the well-read adventurous sorcerers.

The Olympics no doubt a suitable time to celebrate unique and novel abilities, and the remarkable ways they fluidly enrich the humdrum malaise of routine existence. 

No doubt categories and hierarchies and levelling peculiarly mingle in spherical continuums, the definitive dispersal of surrealist fact gracefully lauded through festive ephemera.

In so doing, for some the cheeky sitcom may represent insouciant brilliance, while others seek romantic unions melodramatically arrayed with maladroit im/probability, still others embracing the tragic distinction absurdly characterizing incumbent banality, crime and horror schlock and mayhem, not to mention robust documentaries.

Should the people in primordial possession of rare bizarro traits and talents, not be welcome in villages and towns in order to promote less stealthy isolation?

Weren't the heroes from religious texts in commensurate possession of similar gifts?

Does not celebrating specific historical examples to the obscuring of the present not foolishly generate a stasis none of them would have tolerated? 

Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire

Kong devotedly explores his new home in search of more giant gorillas like him, his investigations resulting in multiple chance encounters with other beasts from the hostile region.

Meanwhile, unprecedented signals are cryptically sent from a vigilant science outpost, which causes confused Jia to have hallucinations the dream logic of which remains a mystery.

After the transmission of the signals Godzilla radioactively expresses himself, by commandeering a nuclear power plant in France and absorbing its unsurpassed Olympic resiliency.

Jia is having trouble at school and frustratingly feels like she doesn't fit in, missing her people and her old way of life she simply can't settle into the scholastic environment.

Fortunately, as incipient chaos galavantingly grips bewildered surface dwellers, a team is assembled to travel to Hollow Earth and find epic answers to cataclysmic questions.

Jia's adopted mom and her ex-partner Trapper plus bloggin' Bernie Hayes are along for the ride, to the cryptic realm where dinosaur-like beings still productively enable macroscopic shenanigans.

As Kong is led to find his people he locates them distressingly enslaved.

While Jia discovers her legendary import.

According to an ancient Hollow Earth tribe.

There's a lot happening in Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire as intense conflicts habitually invigorate, Kong and Godzilla routinely fighting as Jia deals with manifest mythology.

Bernie Hayes adds so much depth as he boldly improvises with heroic fortitude, and Dr. Andrews and her resourceful ex ajoutent parental guidance with ludicrous resolve. 

As the three main plots intersect I would say Kong's has the most appeal, his quest to meet his people stifled by autocratic banality, his consistent altercations more thrilling than Godzilla's. 

When Jia discovers that her voyage to Hollow Earth had been intuitively prophesized it makes for an intriguing plot thread, but it loses some of its mysticism as the enraged Titans reflexively battle.

It should be the principal focus from the viewpoint of so many other stories with similar patterns, narratives which are so much fun to watch, but New Empire's mayhem obscures the fascination.

Still a cool monster movie no doubt with an ethical focus on justice and dignity.

Incredible consistent action.

Classic 'zilla and Kong.

Dune: Part Two

Is there as much of a story to tell after Paul and his mom find themselves lost in the desert?

Dune: Part Two suggests there is. 

The Fremen slowly growing accustomed to the uncanny ways in which the gifted Atreides youth fulfills their prophecy, Paul must still overcome his horrific nightmares to convince the devout majority to follow his lead.

The film's kind of like the episode of STNG where Kahless suddenly returns, and the Klingons agree to manage his legend, hoping the enticing story will win hearts and minds.

But Kahless's return is manufactured in the more scientifically structured Star Trek continuum, whereas Paul's actions verifiably fulfill a prophecy and therefore messianically comport themselves in ye olde Dune.

Yet he still doubts he can effectively lead a massive underground populace in a daring uprising (against the Emperor), their rivals in possession of technological wonders of an extremely advanced destructive nature.

Much of the dialogue concerns Paul's coming of age as he learns to play the influential leading role.

The film widening its scope to include Harkonnen bedlam. 

To add despotic reckless nuance.

You'd almost hope that in 2028 a younger American would feverishly arise, and move the political spectrum away from agéd octogenarians, back to something much more grassrootsy indeed even potentially kind of lithe and nimble (these guys are in charge of the fate of the free world?) - hold on, a lot's happened since I wrote this on Saturday, looks like there is a younger American candidate, and she is indeed feverishly arising (love Bernie, but he's older than Biden)!

I often wish David Lynch had had more time and two separate films to craft his vision, I still love watching what he came up with, but also wonder what he would have crafted these days.

He was one of the pioneers however who was inventing postmodern science-fiction.

They often had to improvise sensational fascination.

Special effects weren't nearly as reliable as they are in the SuperHero Age.

Regardless, I love the Dune story apart from the Atomics and the talking fetus, Chani adding so much in this version, as does the extended look at planet Harkonnen. 

I still find intense belief which defies science to be the most destructive force the Earth has ever seen.

It makes for incredible films and books though.

Just hope it doesn't destroy the planet one day.

Or slowly over the course of depreciating centuries.

*Star Wars + Denis Villeneuve ='s Amazing (the entire trilogy).

Hidalgo

It never really made much difference to me what College or University you went to, or if you learned esoteric details about different branches of knowledge while on the job, what mattered was how enthusiastically you applied yourself to whatever hand you happened to have been dealt, and how you strove for improvement regardless of class or birth, which generally reflects the spirit of the times I grew up in.

Thus, it wouldn't surprise me if Community College students were also making breakthroughs in respective fields, as Frank Hopkins does in Hidalgo, in the competitive sport of horse racing. 

He didn't get his trusted steed from a well-off breeder publicizing coveted lineage, or even from a local stable offering beginners a tempting free ride, instead he chose his trusted mount from a herd of wild mustangs in Oklahoma, whose descendants still freely ride to this day, un jour j'espère les voir.

He gains a world renowned reputation for winning long distance races in the United States, indeed winning an incredible number throughout his lengthy career.

His reputation becomes so enviable that he attracts the attention of Middle-Eastern competitors, who challenge him to the toughest horse race on the planet, a 3,000 mile trek 'cross forbidding deserts.

He's a first class gamer, he courageously responds, with neither question nor concern for personal safety, even after it becomes apparent his life's at risk, and it's not only the elements who seek to hunt him.

He must face some of the finest stallions to have ever been bred in horse racing history, amongst opponents who doubt he will survive one day on his wild unsung beast who lacks proper pedigree.

But as so often happens in the world of sport which usually celebrates talent regardless of rank or birth, Hopkins and Hidalgo really are the best the world's ever seen, and tenaciously win the "Ocean of Fire".

Exceptionally difficult to do and requiring a genuine degree of hard work and sacrifice, but if raised in even a moderately honest political system, if you excel, you should modestly prosper.

Hopkins takes his prize money and doesn't spend it on lavish trinkets, but rather hears that a herd of mustangs is going to be shot, and pays handsomely for them to be released back into the wild (Go Broncos!) 💌

Born of two-cultures and horrified to have witnessed the scurrilous slaughter of unarmed Native peoples, he proceeds honourably as best he can and must be one of the most successful athletes ever.

It'd be cool to see Viggo Mortensen win the Best Actor Oscar some day.

He's had a lot of roles like this one.

Where it seems like he's holding so much back.

*Unlike Captain Fantastic.

Rio

I didn't think people wanted to keep birds as pets anymore, let alone exotic ones, or I at least figured the practise had remarkably decreased in recent years, but perhaps that was only in Canada and Québec, I admit I haven't read anything about it in quite some time, but ye old Rio brings it back into the forefront, meaning it must still be a problem, in different jurisdictions, around the world.

To reiterate the arguments that convinced me that keeping birds as pets was wrong, it boils down to the fact that they can fly, and it's therefore a horrible thing to keep them locked up in cages.

Even if some birds may be crappy at flying, they still cover thousands of kms in flight over the years, many habitually migrating as the seasons change, that must be a cool way to live.

If a lifeform is capable of flight and soaring from one tenacious treetop to the next, is it not extremely cruel to keep it in a cage, where it has nothing to do but lament its miserable situation?

Thoughts of soaring high above the magnificent clouds in search of food and friends and play, no doubt torment downcast birds in cages as they spend their entire lives excruciatingly jailed.

The horrors of the pandemic may serve as an example of what it's like for birds in cages (and other animals too), the extremely frustrating prolonged time when we were forced to spend so many hours at home.

It was for a good reason that is to stop the pestiferous spread of dispiriting plague, but what a horrible thing indeed to have to spend so much time locked down in isolation.

Caged birds routinely share this horror and understand where we're coming from accordingly, and pet owners should therefore think twice before locking a bird down in a cage.

Of course Rio's Blu can't fly and consequently becomes closely attached to his caring owner, the two forging a loving dynamic as she actively comes of age.

But she doesn't know that he's an endangered species until the day when an ornithologist from Brazil comes calling.

Having located a potential bird companion.

The two the last known representatives of their species.

Rio perhaps spends too much time making arguments which justify the possession of exotic birds, not to mention keeping them as pets, and not enough time focused on freedom, which seems like it should be the film's raison d'être.

Freedom is the focus in the end, nevertheless, when the poachers are thwarted and the beasties fall in love.

It's not worth the money to cage wild birds from the jungle.

The profits are limitless if you let them soar free. 

The Thing from Another World

Finally watched the original film depicting John W. Campbell's story Who Goes There?, which is much more of a lighthearted romp than the chilling masterpiece hewn by John Carpenter. 

It's Science vs. The Military in 1951 and in The Thing from Another World the army reigns supreme, the resident scientists made to look like fools who can't reasonably understand the imminent danger.

In fact the scientists take great risks in the pursuit of knowledge to save the monster, who rebukes their heartfelt efforts with morose haughty intergalactic derision. 

They even have foreign accents and are much more internationally inclined, facets which latently upset the good old commandos who quickly take charge of the distressing scene.

The pursuit of knowledge is indeed not nearly as reckless as its dismissively portrayed in this film, which came out as ruthless McCarthyism was ignorantly spreading across the U.S.

The Thing is even organic in this version it comes from a far off vegetal world, where veggies evolved to become the dominant lifeform as humanoids did upon our own (although I'm starting to think bees are a higher form of life [they have wings]). 

In the film the military worries that the highly advanced commie vegetable from space, will eventually take over the entire planet and no doubt unleash ubiquitous environmentalism. 

The scientists look like mad unAmerican conspirators as they struggle to save the alien.

Imagine a time when this kind of thing proliferated.

Hopefully it never comes to pass again.

At least one scientist must be crazy in Who Goes There? since one of them loses it in The Thing (1982) as well, although his data makes hysterical sense considering how much more adaptive it is in Carpenter's film.

Whereas The Thing from Another World is happy-go-lucky sci-fi within which you'd never expect anything to go wrong, Carpenter's Thing is a chilling opus where it's tough to imagine anything going right.

If you watch monster movies throughout your life because they exist and you're sporadically curious, it's tough to find ones you want to watch again, since a lot of them just seek to make quick casholla.

But every once in a while visionary directors roguishly emerge to offer something different.

And take their time to craft memorable metastases. 

With alarming accuracy.

And emboldened vision.

*It looks like Carpenter was fun to work for. It seems like some of his casts really enjoyed working together when you watch his films. That kind of thing can add so much to an aesthetic, or ironically create a friendly dreamlike counterbalance to the mayhem. 

The Fog

The bounteous coast rests undisturbed as a sleepy town's one-hundredth anniversary approaches, with celebrations planned and local dignitaries convivially extolling its historic virtues. 

Village life exuberantly proclaims distracting designations with robust levity, the festivities raising ebullient concerns regarding flights of furtive fancy.

Nevertheless, on the exultant eve a local priest embraces spirited whimsy, when a sudden shocking burst reveals a diary hidden within his walls.

The tale told within its pages describes scandal and betrayal, in terms of lucrative auriferous booty disillusionally constrained.

Best laid plans were thrown aside as a leprous colony was cruelly cheated, indeed instead of finding themselves a home their boat was led to crash upon the shore.

But the rocks didn't eternally tear the trusting ship forevermore asunder, its reconstitution phantominiously conveyed from the afterlife back to the ocean.

And on the very same date the town was founded it bitterly returns under cover of fog.

Contemporary inhabitants blissfully unaware.

A local DJ keeping them up to precarious speed.

Kind of nice when fog descends assuming you aren't travelling or working outside, the meteorological difference eccentrically billowing throughout the quizzical byzantine landscape.

Imagine the chaos if the definitive border dividing spiritual realms enigmatically decayed, and aggrieved spirits from far and wide universally re-materialized across the land.

Like the ending of Ghostbusters I suppose but trepidatiously globalized for postmodern import, the eclectic confusion and ahistorical equivalencies generating confounding limitless grievance.

It could be like a labyrinthine colossus of atemporal bewildered feuding, the manifold steps in the gothic epic as mesmerizing as any R.E.M spectacle. 

If there was time to chronicle the disputes the resultant absurdity may manifest calm.

A quiet regenerative cross-cultural splurge.

A lot of reading.

For something so dream-like.

*I've almost seen every John Carpenter movie.

Days of Thunder

One thing I never really got into was car racing.

I remember the first time I watched a car race on old school television in my youth, and I wasn't that interested in the material, and became nervous when 2 of the brothers present started brawling, it was an awkward day, but still memorable to say the least.

Cars just never jived with me, although they are certainly a convenient mode of transportation, and a significant component of many postmodern economies, and if not dangerous and illegal, it would be fun to drive fast.

Reason and logic eventually came to their aid as I rationally considered their universal value, and when not living in the city they are arguably essential, although I have spent countryside months strictly travelling by foot, bike, and kayak.

I also rather enjoyed Grand Prix Weekend in Montréal, although to be honest I wasn't that interested in the race. It did bring thousands of people to the city however and gave it a unique flair that caught my eye, the lauded difference even if somewhat opulent still impressively stuck out in the urban landscape.

Days of Thunder has a notable cast that efficiently keeps it real throughout the film, challenging one another and falling in love as respect is given to the race car industry.

A sequel could effectively diversify the latent material emergent in the original, using contemporary storytelling techniques to multidimensionally intensify the initial feature.

These films may have remarkable value thousands of years later after fossil fuels run out, and we lament that we never invested in alternative energies before worldwide chaos ensued.

Legends of planes and automobiles will no doubt persist for painstaking centuries, but will they endure for competitive millennia?, that is difficult to accurately predict.

As a model to aid such farfetched calculations we can evaluate the logical merit of anthropological studies, and theorize regarding how accurate they reflect the ancient past in terms of distinct reasonability.

But if everything is forgotten or narratively mutated through imagination, and DVD technology is one day re-created in the future, Days of Thunder would no doubt present something ancient yet futuristic to baffled theoreticians of old school mindsets. 

It would offer definitive proof that at one time human beings drove mechanized beasts at lightning quick speeds.

Many other sports may still be around.

But race car driving will require the Legend.

Ragtime

Sigh.

Ragtime's ambitious no doubt indubitably it proceeds with grandiose lofty intentions, most likely seeking academy award nominations with the sets and the period and the subject matter.

It's one of those films that examines freedom from a despondent viewpoint however, and a sympathetic character resorts to violence to achieve just dividends.

What he's asking for isn't outrageous he just wants his car cleaned, fixed, and an apology, from the scandalous band of misfits who themselves behaved outrageously.

He had done nothing to them his only fault was to have been successful, and then to have lived as other successful people do, even though his skin was black.

What does it matter, why do such petty jealousies motivate so many people, do your best, apply yourself vigorously, have a laugh, what else can you do?

Coalhouse could have just taken his car and cleaned up the mess and eventually forgot about it, extremely frustrating to have to do that but a better outcome than what happened in the long run.

He would have returned to his successful life and left the goons behind to rot, he certainly complained to everyone he could and naturally became more angry when they couldn't help him.

Now, they recked his car and abusively humiliated him there's no question he deserved satisfaction, but turning to acts of terror goes far beyond the initial crime and riles up collective prejudicial misgivings.

And he doesn't get satisfaction in the end, rather the police wind up shooting him after he threatens to blow up a museum, they gun him down when he eventually gives up even though he's unarmed and helpless.

Depressing is the word for such a film it's extremely depressing and sad and hopeless, it makes you feel ill and sick after it's over and by no means encourages another viewing.

I know this is what is recommended by many searching to expand minds and cultivate consciousness, but the revolting way you feel when the film finally ends also makes its shelf-life and influence less long-lasting.

Take a film like Dances with Wolves which tells a tragic tale of honour and friendship on the other hand.

The statistics presented at the end are grim.

But the fight against racism isn't tragically lurid.

City of Hope

It's difficult to rationally consider the various levels of corruption guiding commerce and politics, as proactively delineated by so many commentators throughout the observant course of a vigilant day.

In a two to three/four/five/six party political system the argumentative opponents spend so much time accusing their rivals of corruption, at times the party that seems the lease corrupt emerging victorious how do you lead such a populace retroactively?

In Claudius the God the Emperor Claudius runs into sincere difficulties, not because his colleagues are particularly corrupt but because he is rather just and innocent.

Having spent most of his life observing the government in fluidic motion, even though he had always been judged too dim-witted to actively take part, he survived plot after plot after plot through reasonable supposition and a complete lack of envy.

But his goal was to do away with Emperors and re-establish what was known as the Republic, a form of government less reliant on absolutism and much more democratic and fair and reasonable.

Nevertheless, since, as Emperor, he governs as honestly as he can and indeed turns out to be a trustworthy administrator, the people stop loathing the idea of Emperors as they had under Tiberius and Caligula, and stop imagining a return of the Republic.

To remind them of their folly he hatches one of his most poorly thought out schemes.

The Republic doesn't return.

And his son is murdered.

But films aren't as detailed as books or mini-series, it's difficult to convincingly relate stories of political corruption in less than 3 hours, there are so many personalities from different walks of life to be provocatively considered as the narrative progresses.

Love and family will likely even factor into the manifold intricacies as they passionately fluctuate, but who falls in love and what consequent jealousies effectively motivate resulting dire complications?

It's too much for a lot of filmmakers but always respected if bravely undertaken, John Sayles succeeding with City of Hope more than most as the multivariable tale examines multi-layered corruption.

Multiple storylines complement within as sundry characters seek balance and decorum, or just ride the chaotic whirlwind with as much distinction as they can freely muster.

The image for the inherent madness materially erupting as people search for meaning, is distressingly manifested by a local schizophrenic after a powerful contractor's son is shot by his new girlfriend's jealous cop ex-husband, and he calls out into the street for help, and no one else is listening.

The disturbed man returns his plea with sympathetic non-sensical enigmatic cries.

Not the most constructive image to end on.

But one that does make sense a lot of the time.

Chan is Missing

Please forgive me if this film already has a large following and is widely cherished by many, I had just never heard of it before last week and was pleasantly surprised to see how good it is.

I thought it would make a solid Criterion so I checked to see if it was already in the collection, and even though I didn't find it in my initial search, that doesn't mean it won't make it some day.

Like Donald Sutherland's career, Chan is Missing is chill and flexible, consistently surprising with unexpected scenes, overflowing with creative dialogue regarding enigmatic subjects, Sutherland often added that eccentric touch to a mainstream flick that may have otherwise lacked variability. 

Take the sudden introduction of academic flair as a potential graduate student examines an interaction, between a policeperson of European descent and an aggrieved member of New York's Chinese community.

They're arguing about mundane mechanics and she investigates the dialogue with brilliant cultural awareness, lucidly comprehending both agile traditions with thoughts reminiscent of postmodern detectives. 

It passes quickly in the film it's just a touch of brilliance characteristically blended in, it could have easily been left out but its inclusion functions like an ingenious bay leaf.

I've read the controversy about the bay leaf online, does it actually add anything to the flavour?, while transporting its mythos to the realm of independent film I'd have to say that in this instance it most certainly does.

Chan is Missing is almost like film noir but it lacks some of the more sinister narrative elements, although overlooking compelling works of art such as this film is historically sinister and culturally destructive.

It isn't serious in a strict sense 😝 nor does it get carried away with its eclective lackadaisics, it's more like a remarkably clever production team applied incisive wit to a multilayered vortex (directed by Wayne Wang, written by Wang and Isaac Cronin). 

I'm really surprised by Marc Hayashi I don't recall ever having seen him in anything before, never as the leading man on his own cheeky sitcom, or as a recurring character actor like Earl Boen just showing up everywhere (he's good).

Chan is Missing is a solid Asian-American film that explicitly demonstrates laudable genius, and may have been overlooked because frankly if you're not looking for it, it's rare to ever see anything written and directed independently by Asian-Americans in North America.

I imagine the market's there and it could use more promotion in diversified fields. 

Perhaps it's already found them and unfortunately I'm just not familiar.

Nice that it's lacking swords and mysticism.

*In Canada there was a show called Kim's Convenience that was on for a while so it must have built quite the audience.

**I remember an Asian-American sitcom coming out in the States years ago that was critiqued for overemphasizing stereotypical characteristics.

***I didn't think Chan is Missing was stereotypical. I thought there were just a lot of cool characters being themselves.  

****Love Lucy Liu (Elementary).  

Baraka

I never grow tired of watching nature documentaries or even those visually illuminating the city, Baraka thoughtfully depicting footage from around the globe with stunning piquant composed vibrant artistry.

It's easy to get caught up with your own active life or even that of your incumbent nation, while so many people from different jurisdictions engage in equally meaningful constructive lifestyles. 

Always thrilling to catch brief glimpses into multivariable globalized difference, whether it's a family subsisting in the jungle or the intense dynamics of inner-city life.

Some of it chill like large spiritual groups a' sittin' back chantin' peaceful rhythms, cohesively immersed within various communities promoting productive agile interactions.

Some of it distressing like the unenviable plight of the wee baby chick on its way to the dinner table, so much complex and moribund thought mechanically engineered to generate death. 

The machines, such incredible machines consistently moving with predictable motions, each tiny incalculable component seamlessly essential to the grandiose whole. 

I worry about my weed-whacker breaking down even though I hardly ever use it, there must be tens of thousands of parts if not more in these industrialized factories fabricating goods at all times.

In the same way the bucolic anthems of rural collectives maintain melodic harmonies, as hundreds of people work together in unison to directly praise nature and togetherness.

Coincidentally, how do you even find your place in these colossally imposing massive urban apartments?, if the elevator breaks you'd be in serious trouble and I don't even mind a bit of a walk from time to time.

It's like each building's its own small town and you can easily get lost within.

I imaging they have a level selling groceries etc.

How could you possible live with that many people?

Baraka presents compelling images opening up passages to holistic exploration, its spectrum vast and internationally eclective to village-city-business-and-wilderness.

A good companion piece for ye olde Samsara although watching both films in one night may lead to awestruck overload.

It may have been one of the first documentaries to approach the world in this fashion.

Therefore pioneering, brilliant, and seminal.

The Ploughman's Lunch

Difficult to say if anything you consider will ever lithely generate a relevant buzz, something that fits with trendy conceptualizations regarding spectacular events or age old pastimes.

So many fashions just seem so blasé still visually appealing but dull to write about, is it worth the time to conjure something else about the Suez Crisis or World War I?

There's a philosopher named Derrida who was famous when I was attending university, for so many things I never came to know but also for writing lengthy pieces about random ephemera. 

Not to suggest that a pair of shoes isn't substantial you need to wear them each and every day, but it was so impressive to read lengthy texts about random objects that otherwise seemed meaningless.

He would diversify the specific construct with verbose multidimensional correspondence, eventually proving through elaborate orchestration the meaningful vitality of the mundane item.

Therefore it's possible I never stopped instinctually preferring random offhand knick-knacks to prominent events, which still seem manufactured at times to generate markets for theoretical discourse.

At the same time, the oppression of a people holistically holds my distressed attention, I would rather support intellectual markets cultivating peace and understanding than always write about rocks and squirrels.

But, if I'm not mistaken, and I'm by no means a Derrida or Deleuze expert, in fact if I had read Deleuze in my youth I may have never bothered to write anything afterwards, the point was that elevating everyday objects like shoes or necklaces and indirectly equating them with jewels or crowns, would level the playing field and promote equality that would in turn subliminally contradict warlike pretensions.

Thus, even though one person possessed a radiant tiara decked out with emeralds, they would still respect the creative decisions made by inventive clients of local thrift shops.

And those very same clients meanwhile would apply their wit to the cultivation of creative fashions, without dismissing the bejewelled elegance of hypothetically luxurious esoteric customs. 

I still meet people who respect such insights although so many of them are older than me.

I'll still always love baguettes and cheese (and Ne'Qwa).

Saw a turtle today.

A fox and a rainbow.

Wrestling Ernest Hemingway

Wild exoteric bearings randomly committed to improvised exhaustion, airing grievances with cavalier cantankerousness as he recklessly interacts with resignéd strangers.

If you've heard his stories, you'll hear them again, and it's up to you to decide whether or not you're interested, I often find the exultation of recurring themes rambunctiously tender when conversing with the elderly.

Why not imperiodically exclaim lithe past successes with animate jocularity, especially after having reached your golden years with so much adventure to fluidly discuss?

Walter is much less extroverted he's reserved and mannerly and consistently respectful, following the same constructive well-meaning routine with dependable expectation each and every day.

He orders the same thing at his favourite diner every morning even if it isn't on the traditional menu, a light extravagance delicately hewn to courteously carve indissoluble discourse. 

Like dad, he likes his puzzles, and quietly contends with them lakeside in the afternoon, a peaceful way to flourishingly float throughout life's tranquil agéd fluencies.

Not as bold as Frank however and rarely seeking striking resonance. 

They make an impressive team nevertheless.

As they boldly navigate cyclical distress. 

Perhaps like Jekyll & Hyde characteristically split and bucolically subdued, Walter and Frank making a provocative duo which elastically excels at nothing in particular. 

Frank's unorthodox life during which he never developed self-critical reflections, at times leads to fun bike trips to see fireworks, at others buys a bottle of vodka as a going away gift.

Walter habitually goes with the flow and doesn't speak out unless drastically pushed, their arguments classic enraged debacles generating dissonant cutting offence.

I remember there being somewhat of a buzz about this film in my far distant maladroit youth, but I didn't hear about it again until sometime last week, and if there was indeed such a buzz way back when it was certainly well-deserved I rather liked this film.

Robert Duvall finds a new character to play after having already diversified so many roles, Richard Harris putting in the performance of a lifetime, it made me think that actors who still haven't found that ideal role still have plenty of time to patiently perfect it.

A great companion piece for Grumpy Old Men which was also quite popular around that time.

I hope the crew still isn't annoyed when people say that.

I'd most likely watch this film again.