Keyhole

Where to begin.

We've broken into a building that's surrounded. Some of us have passed on. A search must be conducted. The patriarch is in charge. Part of his family is in attendance. Memories are temporally fluctuating.

Clocks ticking, imperious and constant. Joy revels in an immediate departure. What's to be made of these meaningful incursions? Electronic fissures resonating incorporeally.

And there's need of wallpaper.

Guy Maddin harnesses a permanently detached constructive sensibility to his productively ironic surreal cheeky familial incandescent aesthetic in his new film Keyhole, and this time there's no foundation to which one can directly cling, other than Ulysses, or David Lynch's Black Lodge, perhaps.

Few filmmakers can successfully unleash structured serpentine points of disjointed transient distinct significations through the popularized lampooned esoteric intellectual constituency as multidimensionally as Maddin.

We are provided with clues to what in fact might be going on. From these clues, depending upon the ways in which they are strategized, specific arguments (rhetorical facts) can be generated. Supporting evidence can be gathered from interpretations based upon hypotheses framed by logic, inasmuch as they fit into the whole, insofar as they cohesively belong.

To this precise moment.

Ulysses Pick (Jason Patric) is in charge. This much we know. His authority is paramount to Keyhole's flexibly united incongruity as he tries to comprehend the motivations of the other.

He is also invincible.

He is trying to return to his family, some of whom he doesn't recognize. He seeks answers to questions he is in/capable of asking. The high seas have become his house as the internet minimizes geographic exploration. His omniscience is tempered by his forgetfulness as he struggles to determine what has been substantially dematerialized. An idea becomes pragmatic when historical echoes align themselves with its potent focused intent.

For the time being.

Leap frogging from estimation to realization for genuine enigmatic jaunts, from which catalysts instructively and divergently testify, while pliantly managing internal disruptions, his allegiances deteriorate as the hierarchy pulsates, made all the more hauntingly vivid by its enduring staggering lack.

It's about generating inextricable mysteries from which manifold dimensions (jurisprudence, politics, science) can find practical applications after mining their way through the discursive data.

And a good old-fashioned game of catch.