Opposites react in Angelina Jolie's Unbroken, as true strength resiliently responds to the abject whims of contemptuous jealousy, the byproduct of feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing, a modest olympic runner's withdrawn yet irrepressible spirit unwillingly begetting torture, as a lowly pathetic subordinate seeks to cowardly assert himself.
The film's straightforward, a solid accessible account of wartime atrocities unpretentiously layered with both camaraderie amidst suffering and religious sentiment to feature forgiving frequencies while vilifying the wicked.
I find thinking about forgiveness as opposed to revenge leads to peace of mind, you just have to watch out for people who exploit the forgiving for their own ends, and approach each situation on a case by case basis.
I thought the film progressed well, smoothly using the flashback to build character in the beginning, finding ways to keep the narrative flowing while plane wreck survivors are lost at sea, accentuating the terrors of war, lauding independence in the face of brutality.
It's perhaps 15 minutes too long, perhaps because they were truthfully following the actual events of the story, the best scene still coming near the end, stronger minor character development in the last 45 minutes would have worked to its advantage.
That seems to be the way many films are set up, the hero, the villain, no devil in the details, centralized contained conflict.
Information networks have already been established within the POW camp when Louis Zamperini (Jack O'Connell), the Torrance Tornado, arrives, and the film doesn't focus on escape.
They are located near Tokyo which would have made escape somewhat futile.
If not commanding in its absurdity.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Friday, December 26, 2014
Foxcatcher
The regalia of dedication and commitment, the steps to take, one by one, routines, platforms, workouts, sparring, success breeding opportunity introducing patronage, competing forms of professional logistics, an olympic gold medal winner is given the chance to train with one of the wealthiest men in America, as opposed to his fellow olympic gold winning average joe heart-of-gold brother, difference embraced, independence, appreciated, yet the accompanying affluence and opulent caprice problematize traditional approaches, leading to profound psychological disturbances, as he is disciplined and punished, for adopting the regimen foolishly implemented by his surrogate father.
Who loves wrestling, but, unlike Mark Schultz's (Channing Tatum) brother, knows little about the art of coaching.
Balance, order, masters, servants.
His brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) is confident and rational, aware of his exceptional strengths, and not willing to be toyed with.
The frustrated worker who moves up too quickly, the successful middle-class force, and the spoiled oligarch then proceed to battle wits in a repressive atmosphere which Dave doesn't fully comprehend as he follows the strategy that has lead to his extraordinary accomplishments.
Form and content unite in Bennett Miller's Foxcatcher to restrainedly grapple with differing varieties of freedom.
Psychologies of the gods.
Lamenting luxurious liabilities.
Casting by Jeanne McCarthy.
Who loves wrestling, but, unlike Mark Schultz's (Channing Tatum) brother, knows little about the art of coaching.
Balance, order, masters, servants.
His brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) is confident and rational, aware of his exceptional strengths, and not willing to be toyed with.
The frustrated worker who moves up too quickly, the successful middle-class force, and the spoiled oligarch then proceed to battle wits in a repressive atmosphere which Dave doesn't fully comprehend as he follows the strategy that has lead to his extraordinary accomplishments.
Form and content unite in Bennett Miller's Foxcatcher to restrainedly grapple with differing varieties of freedom.
Psychologies of the gods.
Lamenting luxurious liabilities.
Casting by Jeanne McCarthy.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies
They squeezed many a film out of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit, and I loved going to see them all, none of them blowing me away like Star Wars or that cartoon I happened to see on television during a blizzard when I was like 6, but I am much older now, and tend to be blown away by different types of narratives.
Greed is the sin dominating The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, as Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) succumbs to dragon sickness and refuses to share his gold with others.
Others who sheltered him.
Others who protected him.
A delirious dream sequence brings him back to his senses and team Thorin joins the battle, the battle that dominates most of the film, it's a cool battle I guess, the fifth army still indisputably my favourite, as it was watching the cartoon as a child, this time with werebear accompaniment, brilliant move, even if Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt) didn't figure prominently in the action.
The film also productively deals with the unfortunate hardships facing the people of Esgaroth, as they struggle with their new situation, food, organization, lodging, required and sought after, possessing few if any possessions, a leader emerges amongst them.
Other strong features include Tauriel's (Evangeline Lilly) multiple appearances, Bilbo (Martin Freeman), feisty as ever, the focus on teamwork, albeit begrudging teamwork, and concepts like loyalty and honour, mischievously played with as egos clash and contend, which seems to always happen in these films.
But really, why did we have to see so much Alfrid Lickspittle (Ryan Gage)? He's like the worst character.
In battle, why doesn't Gandalf (Ian McKellen) cast more spells? Wouldn't that ease up the pressure a bit?
Who let Lee Pace (Thranduil) get away with that performance?
So much drama, so much pettiness, so much angst, so much fighting.
Quinctilius Varus, where are my eagles!?
Loved the Bard (Luke Evans).
Star Wars starts up again next Holiday Season.
Greed is the sin dominating The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, as Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) succumbs to dragon sickness and refuses to share his gold with others.
Others who sheltered him.
Others who protected him.
A delirious dream sequence brings him back to his senses and team Thorin joins the battle, the battle that dominates most of the film, it's a cool battle I guess, the fifth army still indisputably my favourite, as it was watching the cartoon as a child, this time with werebear accompaniment, brilliant move, even if Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt) didn't figure prominently in the action.
The film also productively deals with the unfortunate hardships facing the people of Esgaroth, as they struggle with their new situation, food, organization, lodging, required and sought after, possessing few if any possessions, a leader emerges amongst them.
Other strong features include Tauriel's (Evangeline Lilly) multiple appearances, Bilbo (Martin Freeman), feisty as ever, the focus on teamwork, albeit begrudging teamwork, and concepts like loyalty and honour, mischievously played with as egos clash and contend, which seems to always happen in these films.
But really, why did we have to see so much Alfrid Lickspittle (Ryan Gage)? He's like the worst character.
In battle, why doesn't Gandalf (Ian McKellen) cast more spells? Wouldn't that ease up the pressure a bit?
Who let Lee Pace (Thranduil) get away with that performance?
So much drama, so much pettiness, so much angst, so much fighting.
Quinctilius Varus, where are my eagles!?
Loved the Bard (Luke Evans).
Star Wars starts up again next Holiday Season.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Congcong Nanian (Back in Time)
Hard luck high school communist romance takes centre stage in Yibai Zhang's Congcong Nanian (Back in Time), five friends, hormonal hearts throbbing, social revelations pressurizing, a tender look back at innocent desires, the magnification of seemingly insignificant events not so insignificant in terms of personal depth and growth, their affects shockingly uplifting and bewilderingly entertained, courage forging a psychological frame of reference within the young psyches, its creation confusing in its definition and covetous of supplementary material, subsequent dreamlike narratives searching for these definitive moments, their emotional mechanics insulating the eternal in a resounding depiction of bliss, youthfully sustained, through the passing of the years.
I think the trick is not to think, "oh, it was so much better back then," but to think, "that was amazing, what I'm doing now is alright too, and the future looks good as well."
The friends have to learn to cope with unfortunate disruptions in their unpredictable routines as they leave high school to pursue different goals, and the world opens up with unforeseen temptations.
The film's a fun exploration of relationships and love, maddeningly elevating foundational convivialities, naivety descending into revenge and horror, with a celebration of the good old days, and redemption in the end.
I kept wondering about restrictions on filmmaking in China while watching as government propaganda repeatedly and hilariously popped-up throughout.
There are a bunch of great communal shots, visually emphasizing the benefits of teamwork.
But I was wondering if government film making restrictions were too harsh to nurture the development of a young Chinese Jean-Luc Godard, which would be a shame, considering how much Godard has done for France.
Basketball has the green light.
I have faith that these restrictions may loosen up a bit, as the middle class continues to prosper, because after I had these thoughts, characters from the film wound up in Paris, a good sign for me anyways, and perhaps, for the future of Chinese filmmaking.
I did like Congcong Nanian, I'm just thinking, there are 1.? billion people in China, and the economy is rapidly expanding, the potential for previously unconsidered revolutionary developments in filmmaking are limitless, especially if the censors become hip to alternative forms of expression.
Not simply who can make the most explosive violent films.
But who can make the most thought provoking intellectually accessible poetic reflections on issues of universal humanistic resiliencies, poignant in their multilayered insights, developing an exceptional Chinese filmic frame of reference, to grow and develop over time.
Perhaps it's already there, I don't see many films from China.
If it's not, trying studying what they've done in Québec.
They are making it working here.
I think the trick is not to think, "oh, it was so much better back then," but to think, "that was amazing, what I'm doing now is alright too, and the future looks good as well."
The friends have to learn to cope with unfortunate disruptions in their unpredictable routines as they leave high school to pursue different goals, and the world opens up with unforeseen temptations.
The film's a fun exploration of relationships and love, maddeningly elevating foundational convivialities, naivety descending into revenge and horror, with a celebration of the good old days, and redemption in the end.
I kept wondering about restrictions on filmmaking in China while watching as government propaganda repeatedly and hilariously popped-up throughout.
There are a bunch of great communal shots, visually emphasizing the benefits of teamwork.
But I was wondering if government film making restrictions were too harsh to nurture the development of a young Chinese Jean-Luc Godard, which would be a shame, considering how much Godard has done for France.
Basketball has the green light.
I have faith that these restrictions may loosen up a bit, as the middle class continues to prosper, because after I had these thoughts, characters from the film wound up in Paris, a good sign for me anyways, and perhaps, for the future of Chinese filmmaking.
I did like Congcong Nanian, I'm just thinking, there are 1.? billion people in China, and the economy is rapidly expanding, the potential for previously unconsidered revolutionary developments in filmmaking are limitless, especially if the censors become hip to alternative forms of expression.
Not simply who can make the most explosive violent films.
But who can make the most thought provoking intellectually accessible poetic reflections on issues of universal humanistic resiliencies, poignant in their multilayered insights, developing an exceptional Chinese filmic frame of reference, to grow and develop over time.
Perhaps it's already there, I don't see many films from China.
If it's not, trying studying what they've done in Québec.
They are making it working here.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Exodus: Gods and Kings
There are so many problems with this movie.
Huge, huge big budget screw up.
It's crafted like you're supposed to like it, like its implausible encounters, flat conversations, mediocre foreshadowings, and tawdry special effects are so infallible that you'll love them because they're attached to a well known biblical story, and not to love them, is to critique that story itself.
The bible deserves better than this.
Scientists are directly critiqued as are advocates of global warming as scientific explanations are delivered for a series of God's plagues, which continue to harass the Egyptians because they obviously can't stop them because in the context of the film they're caused by God.
Homosexuals are treated disgustingly and violently, undoubtably to fuel anti-Gay marriage initiatives, but also to congratulate homophobic bullies, as if segregating and victimizing a group of people is okay, in a film about freeing the oppressed, thoroughly and disgracefully revolting.
Of course the gay character occupies a position of power which he exploits for personal gain, making it difficult to critique what happens to him.
But it's odd that apart from Nun (Ben Kingsley) he's the only minor character to have multiple one-dimensional lines stretching across the film, drawing attention to him throughout, so that we can be sure it's him when death comes calling.
There's no character development in Exodus: Gods and Kings apart from Moses (Christian Bale) and Ramses (Joel Edgerton) who bromantically duel par excellence as fate divides them from their fraternal longings.
It's far too focused on the central characters, I don't care if one of them is Moses, you need secondary levels of strong character development to support primary exchanges, not just the odd subservient line thrown in here and there.
This also creates deep complementary layers of productively dialectic action.
Too top heavy.
Oddly, an Egyptian tells a prophecy and it comes true, thereby validating pagan practices which if I'm not mistaken are unjustifiable if there is only one true God.
Moses is a reasonable man and I would have liked his character if every scene he was in wasn't short and to the point, Ridley Scott even just tacks on the ten commandments like they're a box to check on a spiritual grocer's list, the short perfunctory scene disrespectful of their monumental importance, to be sure.
Doing too much in too short a period of time, and the film's 150 minutes long, an agonizing 2.5 hours, constantly moving forward while cumbersomely dragging its ostentatious feet.
In a film about freeing slaves the only characters they develop, and it's not like they're developed that well, are individual rulers with dictatorial powers.
This is okay in the context of the film for Moses, for he is just, but bad for Ramses, because he is not.
Ramses even survives when the Red Sea drowns his army, standing alone on the opposite shore to Moses, like they're trying to set up a sequel.
Give me The Ten Commandments over this film any day.
The Exodus action film; I'm surprised Ramses and Moses didn't start fighting with the Red Sea closing in.
It's like they're indirectly critiquing Gods and Kings by spending so much money on such a piece of crap.
For shame.
Huge, huge big budget screw up.
It's crafted like you're supposed to like it, like its implausible encounters, flat conversations, mediocre foreshadowings, and tawdry special effects are so infallible that you'll love them because they're attached to a well known biblical story, and not to love them, is to critique that story itself.
The bible deserves better than this.
Scientists are directly critiqued as are advocates of global warming as scientific explanations are delivered for a series of God's plagues, which continue to harass the Egyptians because they obviously can't stop them because in the context of the film they're caused by God.
Homosexuals are treated disgustingly and violently, undoubtably to fuel anti-Gay marriage initiatives, but also to congratulate homophobic bullies, as if segregating and victimizing a group of people is okay, in a film about freeing the oppressed, thoroughly and disgracefully revolting.
Of course the gay character occupies a position of power which he exploits for personal gain, making it difficult to critique what happens to him.
But it's odd that apart from Nun (Ben Kingsley) he's the only minor character to have multiple one-dimensional lines stretching across the film, drawing attention to him throughout, so that we can be sure it's him when death comes calling.
There's no character development in Exodus: Gods and Kings apart from Moses (Christian Bale) and Ramses (Joel Edgerton) who bromantically duel par excellence as fate divides them from their fraternal longings.
It's far too focused on the central characters, I don't care if one of them is Moses, you need secondary levels of strong character development to support primary exchanges, not just the odd subservient line thrown in here and there.
This also creates deep complementary layers of productively dialectic action.
Too top heavy.
Oddly, an Egyptian tells a prophecy and it comes true, thereby validating pagan practices which if I'm not mistaken are unjustifiable if there is only one true God.
Moses is a reasonable man and I would have liked his character if every scene he was in wasn't short and to the point, Ridley Scott even just tacks on the ten commandments like they're a box to check on a spiritual grocer's list, the short perfunctory scene disrespectful of their monumental importance, to be sure.
Doing too much in too short a period of time, and the film's 150 minutes long, an agonizing 2.5 hours, constantly moving forward while cumbersomely dragging its ostentatious feet.
In a film about freeing slaves the only characters they develop, and it's not like they're developed that well, are individual rulers with dictatorial powers.
This is okay in the context of the film for Moses, for he is just, but bad for Ramses, because he is not.
Ramses even survives when the Red Sea drowns his army, standing alone on the opposite shore to Moses, like they're trying to set up a sequel.
Give me The Ten Commandments over this film any day.
The Exodus action film; I'm surprised Ramses and Moses didn't start fighting with the Red Sea closing in.
It's like they're indirectly critiquing Gods and Kings by spending so much money on such a piece of crap.
For shame.
Friday, December 12, 2014
The Homesman
The callous and the cavalier, upstanding non-traditional direct and driven, courage, at home, with faith in the Lord, Mary Bee Cuddy (Hilary Swank) accepts a challenge, a calling, to save the souls of three hopeless wives, whom stark privation has psychologically deranged, longing for bygone days, the future, The Homesman's depiction of frontier life generally lacks the overdone resilience of pioneering spirits, brutal realities aggregating impoverished still born dreams like despondent cynical destitute waves of bustling bitter contempt, Cuddy stands out, having endured and overcome social and natural hardships, strength, vision, fortitude, the product of her religious necessity, assignments, iron clad dues.
She seeks a man.
And discovers one.
He tragically arrives, windswept and woebegone, worldly and weathered thick and thin wits having left him in need of assistance, yet capable of repaying a debt, still too in/transigent to lay back and cuddle, too independent, too mad.
A team.
They forge a team and set out across the prairie to do the Lord's work, his knowledge pertinent and bound, still too mired in misfortune, to recognize eternal signs of beauty.
It's a lesson in harsh patriarchal limits ignoring sound opportunities based on preconditioned ideas the absurdities of which are sorrowfully conceptualized.
No matter what the age, no matter what the station.
Sadness.
Loneliness.
There is redemption in excess which only exacerbates the age.
Time is built into the script like cold hearted bone.
Bleak but well done accept for the editing at points and the occasional scene which could have used a few more takes.
Nice to see Barry Corbin (Buster Shaver).
She seeks a man.
And discovers one.
He tragically arrives, windswept and woebegone, worldly and weathered thick and thin wits having left him in need of assistance, yet capable of repaying a debt, still too in/transigent to lay back and cuddle, too independent, too mad.
A team.
They forge a team and set out across the prairie to do the Lord's work, his knowledge pertinent and bound, still too mired in misfortune, to recognize eternal signs of beauty.
It's a lesson in harsh patriarchal limits ignoring sound opportunities based on preconditioned ideas the absurdities of which are sorrowfully conceptualized.
No matter what the age, no matter what the station.
Sadness.
Loneliness.
There is redemption in excess which only exacerbates the age.
Time is built into the script like cold hearted bone.
Bleak but well done accept for the editing at points and the occasional scene which could have used a few more takes.
Nice to see Barry Corbin (Buster Shaver).
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Bird People
This one's sneaky.
About halfway through, as Gary (Josh Charles) decides to abandon his responsibilities, I was thinking, "okay, this would make a much better novel, I need to know what this character is thinking, why is he acting this way, apart from the panic attack, more detail, more psychology, without said value-added information, this film's becoming desolate, I have no reason to sympathize with him, no reason, to care."
I thought the film was awful but there were signs that director Pascale Ferran wanted me to think this, a number of shots, including one of Audrey (Anaïs Demoustier) standing by a window, which seemed like extraordinarily well captured moments of unconcerned bubble-gum bliss, like ads for soap or candy bars but exceptionally well done, bearing artistic imprints, working with the content, their exceptional qualities tenderly embracing the beautiful, finding art in lives where banalities pervade, revelations, serendipities, flowing with the material while subtly standing out, making a statement without suggesting anything, banality dematerialized, the life hidden within surfacing, rejoicing.
Then there's this, what?, are writers Ferran and Guillaume Bréaud on acid?, switch, which seems ridiculous and totally out of place at first, but then, as the subsequent action progresses, it's like this is incredibly beautiful, so much fun to watch, to take part in, logic and preparation be damned this is one of the coolest surprises I've seen in a film in years, joyous while remaining vigilant (there's a cat), so glad I didn't walk out, you can see why it's playing at Cinéma EXCƎNTRIS.
Patient, delicate, exploratory, curious, a continuation of the voyeuristic theme that doesn't seem intrusive or flighty.
It's a very cheeky film yet illuminatingly subtle, Ferran playing with her audience, setting it free from predictable preconditioned patterns of observation, tempting it to embrace something new, a soothing transformative catalystic swoon, the art of mesmerizing, discourses of the beautiful.
About halfway through, as Gary (Josh Charles) decides to abandon his responsibilities, I was thinking, "okay, this would make a much better novel, I need to know what this character is thinking, why is he acting this way, apart from the panic attack, more detail, more psychology, without said value-added information, this film's becoming desolate, I have no reason to sympathize with him, no reason, to care."
I thought the film was awful but there were signs that director Pascale Ferran wanted me to think this, a number of shots, including one of Audrey (Anaïs Demoustier) standing by a window, which seemed like extraordinarily well captured moments of unconcerned bubble-gum bliss, like ads for soap or candy bars but exceptionally well done, bearing artistic imprints, working with the content, their exceptional qualities tenderly embracing the beautiful, finding art in lives where banalities pervade, revelations, serendipities, flowing with the material while subtly standing out, making a statement without suggesting anything, banality dematerialized, the life hidden within surfacing, rejoicing.
Then there's this, what?, are writers Ferran and Guillaume Bréaud on acid?, switch, which seems ridiculous and totally out of place at first, but then, as the subsequent action progresses, it's like this is incredibly beautiful, so much fun to watch, to take part in, logic and preparation be damned this is one of the coolest surprises I've seen in a film in years, joyous while remaining vigilant (there's a cat), so glad I didn't walk out, you can see why it's playing at Cinéma EXCƎNTRIS.
Patient, delicate, exploratory, curious, a continuation of the voyeuristic theme that doesn't seem intrusive or flighty.
It's a very cheeky film yet illuminatingly subtle, Ferran playing with her audience, setting it free from predictable preconditioned patterns of observation, tempting it to embrace something new, a soothing transformative catalystic swoon, the art of mesmerizing, discourses of the beautiful.
Friday, December 5, 2014
Citizenfour
I always found it odd that suddenly there was this relatively free electronic network that I could use to communicate with others, read the news, shop, bank, play games, book tickets, do practically anything I wanted to do, sitting at home, using my computer.
I understand next to nothing about how it was constructed yet eventually started using it so much that I found it was an integrated inextricable part of my life, an unprecedented development, I started to think we were living in the luckiest moment in human history, and still sometimes can't believe our good fortune, although reservations began to settle in a while back.
With most of my life up online, it began to occur to me that this information could be manipulated in the wrong hands, and used for some bizarre counterproductive purpose, the likes of which never really occurs to me, I don't see why that would happen, I do watch a lot of movies though, the possibility of which still subconsciously disturbs me, however, in the background, at times.
But I figured, whatevs, I live in North America.
I'm Canadian, we have rights, a Charter of Rights and Freedoms, guarantees that you can speak freely, discuss things rationally, irrationally, criticize things as you see fit, without having to worry about being watched or going to prison.
Freedom of movement, equal opportunity, public libraries, freedoms to gather, all of these things that we didn't have hundreds of years ago but have now because previous generations fought for and created them so that our lives could be somewhat more free.
Citizenfour chronicles how the American government has access to all kinds of private information shared between electronic devices and how it can illegally use that information to potentially imprison you for speaking freely about some kind of oppressive instance which at one time would have been the subject of a riveting public debate.
There's no escaping it.
I don't see how you can stop this.
Law enforcement officials are supposed to need warrants to search your private information.
It shouldn't be available to them 24/7 because some lunatics launched the 9/11 attacks.
But it seems like that was the reason why the internet was suddenly available for free for everyone, or at least part of the explanation, giving law enforcement agencies the power to bypass constitutional rights to privacy, on Obama's watch, so that they can access a fluid, hip, integrated police state, your entire life available to the authorities, shimmering in the ether, billowing in the cloud.
Snowden's account of what can be known about someone based upon their online footprint is astounding.
Movements predicted, potential conversations held at specific points, expected patterns of behaviour, etc., I got used to the potential for this a long time ago, figuring it was a possible hazard for anyone who writes about politics, but still wish it weren't so, not an easy thing to get used to.
Snowden risked everything to expose abuses of power by the American authorities which bypass constitutional rights to privacy so that everything Americans do can be monitored and scrutinized.
He didn't just suddenly make the information available online, but worked with reporters like Glenn Greenwald to slowly reveal the truth about the illegal activities that have been sanctioned for years.
He should be welcomed back to the United States as a champion of individual and collective rights and freedoms, and we shouldn't have to wait 30 years to see this happen.
A truly exceptional individual.
What an American.
I understand next to nothing about how it was constructed yet eventually started using it so much that I found it was an integrated inextricable part of my life, an unprecedented development, I started to think we were living in the luckiest moment in human history, and still sometimes can't believe our good fortune, although reservations began to settle in a while back.
With most of my life up online, it began to occur to me that this information could be manipulated in the wrong hands, and used for some bizarre counterproductive purpose, the likes of which never really occurs to me, I don't see why that would happen, I do watch a lot of movies though, the possibility of which still subconsciously disturbs me, however, in the background, at times.
But I figured, whatevs, I live in North America.
I'm Canadian, we have rights, a Charter of Rights and Freedoms, guarantees that you can speak freely, discuss things rationally, irrationally, criticize things as you see fit, without having to worry about being watched or going to prison.
Freedom of movement, equal opportunity, public libraries, freedoms to gather, all of these things that we didn't have hundreds of years ago but have now because previous generations fought for and created them so that our lives could be somewhat more free.
Citizenfour chronicles how the American government has access to all kinds of private information shared between electronic devices and how it can illegally use that information to potentially imprison you for speaking freely about some kind of oppressive instance which at one time would have been the subject of a riveting public debate.
There's no escaping it.
I don't see how you can stop this.
Law enforcement officials are supposed to need warrants to search your private information.
It shouldn't be available to them 24/7 because some lunatics launched the 9/11 attacks.
But it seems like that was the reason why the internet was suddenly available for free for everyone, or at least part of the explanation, giving law enforcement agencies the power to bypass constitutional rights to privacy, on Obama's watch, so that they can access a fluid, hip, integrated police state, your entire life available to the authorities, shimmering in the ether, billowing in the cloud.
Snowden's account of what can be known about someone based upon their online footprint is astounding.
Movements predicted, potential conversations held at specific points, expected patterns of behaviour, etc., I got used to the potential for this a long time ago, figuring it was a possible hazard for anyone who writes about politics, but still wish it weren't so, not an easy thing to get used to.
Snowden risked everything to expose abuses of power by the American authorities which bypass constitutional rights to privacy so that everything Americans do can be monitored and scrutinized.
He didn't just suddenly make the information available online, but worked with reporters like Glenn Greenwald to slowly reveal the truth about the illegal activities that have been sanctioned for years.
He should be welcomed back to the United States as a champion of individual and collective rights and freedoms, and we shouldn't have to wait 30 years to see this happen.
A truly exceptional individual.
What an American.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
The Theory of Everything
I think Stephen Hawking deserves better than this film.
Providing someone who made a unique globally recognized contribution to the study of physics with something as obvious as this, is unfortunate, in my opinion.
Hawking (Eddie Redmayne) meets his future wife Jane (Felicity Jones) in the opening scene, there's no build up or potentially disrupting frenzy induced courtship kerfuffles, it's just, oh, they meet in the opening scene, and it's obvious they're going to get married, and other obvious things keep happening, like 2+2=4, more obvious than that even.
There is the illness.
Hawking struggles with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis throughout, but in terms of dissertation production or locking-down his true love, or having an illustrious career, there's no struggle, the best possible things keep happening, and it's like he never had to make any effort; there must have been effort; there must have been sacrifice.
A struggle, something to break up this crystal clear laundry list of exceptional and deserved preeminence, the film's like hugging your favourite teddy bear, Hawking isn't a teddy bear, he's bad ass, as he's demonstrated over the years with appearances on shows such as The Simpsons, Star Trek: The Next Generation, and The Big Bang Theory, indubitably.
Okay, there's a bit of a bad ass dimension in The Theory of Everything, and this is a feel good tribute to a remarkable person, whose comic spirit and extraordinary tact created ground breaking works, which, I'm assuming revolutionized the study of black holes.
It's not a cheeky mouthy neat unconcerned flip take on the life of a brilliant physicist.
But you can still express both bad assness and wholesome amicability without being cheek or flip, a shot of Hawking watching Black Belt Jones for instance, mixed in with a discussion with a student about Žižek, substituting actual moments from his life for these examples, and keeping them coming throughout the entire duration of the film.
Perhaps he loves bears, who knows, you don't get the details in this script, it's too general, too focused on achievements, and marital milestones, the big picture, lacking the subtle intricate fragments that hold that big picture together.
I don't really think there's some kind of unifying equation out there that can define and delineate everything, but I do think the potential for limitless expansion exists as time progresses.
I used to wonder about the Metrons on Star Trek: The Original Series (honestly, Star Trek isn't in this movie?) and how they managed to reach a higher plane of existence than the crew of the Starship Enterprise.
I theorized that reaching that plane required a universal understanding of a single idea, I've probably mentioned this before, consciously, whereby everyone on the planet thinks the same thing at the same time, at random, something beautiful, like bear cubs playing or homemade blueberry pie, thereby unlocking the door to an expanded collective Metronesque consciousness, everyone transforming into a spiritualized immaterial consciousness at once, like particles of light, or reticent radiation.
Not really the kind of idea you want to put into practice due to associated expenses built in to its potential quackery.
How can humanity become more like the Metrons though?, that is a compelling question.
Where's the Star Trek?
Some sort of whacky black hole discussion in relation to underground science-fiction agendas.
Marriage, marriage, marriage.
Boring.
Providing someone who made a unique globally recognized contribution to the study of physics with something as obvious as this, is unfortunate, in my opinion.
Hawking (Eddie Redmayne) meets his future wife Jane (Felicity Jones) in the opening scene, there's no build up or potentially disrupting frenzy induced courtship kerfuffles, it's just, oh, they meet in the opening scene, and it's obvious they're going to get married, and other obvious things keep happening, like 2+2=4, more obvious than that even.
There is the illness.
Hawking struggles with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis throughout, but in terms of dissertation production or locking-down his true love, or having an illustrious career, there's no struggle, the best possible things keep happening, and it's like he never had to make any effort; there must have been effort; there must have been sacrifice.
A struggle, something to break up this crystal clear laundry list of exceptional and deserved preeminence, the film's like hugging your favourite teddy bear, Hawking isn't a teddy bear, he's bad ass, as he's demonstrated over the years with appearances on shows such as The Simpsons, Star Trek: The Next Generation, and The Big Bang Theory, indubitably.
Okay, there's a bit of a bad ass dimension in The Theory of Everything, and this is a feel good tribute to a remarkable person, whose comic spirit and extraordinary tact created ground breaking works, which, I'm assuming revolutionized the study of black holes.
It's not a cheeky mouthy neat unconcerned flip take on the life of a brilliant physicist.
But you can still express both bad assness and wholesome amicability without being cheek or flip, a shot of Hawking watching Black Belt Jones for instance, mixed in with a discussion with a student about Žižek, substituting actual moments from his life for these examples, and keeping them coming throughout the entire duration of the film.
Perhaps he loves bears, who knows, you don't get the details in this script, it's too general, too focused on achievements, and marital milestones, the big picture, lacking the subtle intricate fragments that hold that big picture together.
I don't really think there's some kind of unifying equation out there that can define and delineate everything, but I do think the potential for limitless expansion exists as time progresses.
I used to wonder about the Metrons on Star Trek: The Original Series (honestly, Star Trek isn't in this movie?) and how they managed to reach a higher plane of existence than the crew of the Starship Enterprise.
I theorized that reaching that plane required a universal understanding of a single idea, I've probably mentioned this before, consciously, whereby everyone on the planet thinks the same thing at the same time, at random, something beautiful, like bear cubs playing or homemade blueberry pie, thereby unlocking the door to an expanded collective Metronesque consciousness, everyone transforming into a spiritualized immaterial consciousness at once, like particles of light, or reticent radiation.
Not really the kind of idea you want to put into practice due to associated expenses built in to its potential quackery.
How can humanity become more like the Metrons though?, that is a compelling question.
Where's the Star Trek?
Some sort of whacky black hole discussion in relation to underground science-fiction agendas.
Marriage, marriage, marriage.
Boring.
Friday, November 28, 2014
The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 1
The Hunger Games return, and President Snow's (Donald Sutherland) grip on his domain loosens as he attempts to augment his stranglehold.
Revolt is in full swing and the people who have nothing are risking their lives to dismantle his order of things.
But they're disorganized, in need of both a communications network to coordinate their freedom fighting and a voice to articulate their common goals.
So they can combat Snow's minions as one.
Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) must decide if she can provide the people with that voice, with that superhuman strength which will give them the courage to persevere.
To sacrifice.
Her situation is extreme.
A tyrannical program of terror has been suffocating free speech and universal human rights for 75 years within her realm, forcing people to work excruciatingly long hours for nothing, at gun point, leaving them with no time to spend with their families, using media to convince them such practices are divine.
Showing off the wealth.
Murdering those who protest.
Mockingjay - Part 1 is bleak but how could it be otherwise?
It's about an unwilling leader coming to terms with their accidental heroism while living underground and fighting an overwhelmingly powerful enemy.
There's no cream or sugar.
No solace.
It still illustrates the end game of tyrannical political programs and the hopeless situation within which its proponents hope to enslave their opposition, who then have no hope but to spend practically every hour of the day working, so they can come home at night and crack open a can of beans, and then watch luxurious images of excess on their television screens.
Mockingjay even shows how the opposition creates propaganda to fight back, calling it propaganda, something I never thought I'd see in a mass produced American film.
Its politics remind me of those from the South Africa Nelson Mandela describes in Long Walk to Freedom, without the focus on race.
How people can treat other people with such disgust makes no sense.
I often think there's a different bible, one where Jesus chills with the rich and viciously punishes the poor for being lazy.
This would explain why tyrannical leaders sometimes seriously promote religion while prominently catering to the interests of the highest bidder.
Balance is the key.
Again, countries like Norway and Sweden seem to have found a working balance, a secular form of Christianity, where the wealthy can still have lots of shiny things and the poor don't have to ingratiatingly prostrate themselves.
Canada's quite a wealthy country as well.
We used to be a leader on the world stage.
Embracing patriarchal buffoonery isn't novel, it's been around a long long time.
The potentiality is built in to postmodern frameworks.
But such frameworks also support countless more cohesive cultural alternatives.
Back to the film, I would have ended it as soon as Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) was overcome.
It is Part 1, and didn't require its own specific ending.
They must have debated that.
Revolt is in full swing and the people who have nothing are risking their lives to dismantle his order of things.
But they're disorganized, in need of both a communications network to coordinate their freedom fighting and a voice to articulate their common goals.
So they can combat Snow's minions as one.
Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) must decide if she can provide the people with that voice, with that superhuman strength which will give them the courage to persevere.
To sacrifice.
Her situation is extreme.
A tyrannical program of terror has been suffocating free speech and universal human rights for 75 years within her realm, forcing people to work excruciatingly long hours for nothing, at gun point, leaving them with no time to spend with their families, using media to convince them such practices are divine.
Showing off the wealth.
Murdering those who protest.
Mockingjay - Part 1 is bleak but how could it be otherwise?
It's about an unwilling leader coming to terms with their accidental heroism while living underground and fighting an overwhelmingly powerful enemy.
There's no cream or sugar.
No solace.
It still illustrates the end game of tyrannical political programs and the hopeless situation within which its proponents hope to enslave their opposition, who then have no hope but to spend practically every hour of the day working, so they can come home at night and crack open a can of beans, and then watch luxurious images of excess on their television screens.
Mockingjay even shows how the opposition creates propaganda to fight back, calling it propaganda, something I never thought I'd see in a mass produced American film.
Its politics remind me of those from the South Africa Nelson Mandela describes in Long Walk to Freedom, without the focus on race.
How people can treat other people with such disgust makes no sense.
I often think there's a different bible, one where Jesus chills with the rich and viciously punishes the poor for being lazy.
This would explain why tyrannical leaders sometimes seriously promote religion while prominently catering to the interests of the highest bidder.
Balance is the key.
Again, countries like Norway and Sweden seem to have found a working balance, a secular form of Christianity, where the wealthy can still have lots of shiny things and the poor don't have to ingratiatingly prostrate themselves.
Canada's quite a wealthy country as well.
We used to be a leader on the world stage.
Embracing patriarchal buffoonery isn't novel, it's been around a long long time.
The potentiality is built in to postmodern frameworks.
But such frameworks also support countless more cohesive cultural alternatives.
Back to the film, I would have ended it as soon as Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) was overcome.
It is Part 1, and didn't require its own specific ending.
They must have debated that.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Diplomatie
The abominations of the Third Reich in ruins, the allies surrounding and closing in on Nazi Germany, General von Choltitz (Niels Arestrup) is tasked to obliterate Paris, ordered, commanded, focusing on its most prestigious architectural venison, to aggrandize Berlin, as it shatters, and prepares for annihilation.
But his command centre betrays him.
A Swedish consul has been watching (André Dussollier as Raoul Nordling), listening, strategically planning his alimentary counterstrikes, voyeuristic rhetoric, announced, risked, deployed.
Competing ethical disciplinary conceptions argumentatively converse, the fate of one of the world's most cherished cities hanging in the balance, militaristic and magnanimous aesthetics desperately franchising disparate souvenirs, time has run out, every syllable must be weighted and choreographed, quickly, rapidly, while seeming logical and scientific, prolongated micropassions, iron set aflame, rigid principled adherence, to jingoistic madness, roasting on the pyre.
He must be saved.
His subordinates would lack his discretion.
Minuscule macromovements.
Abeyance in the heavens.
Diplomatie pokes and prods the cultural and the historical like saintly pensive prose, fortune, tact, and understanding, coalesced to spindle posterity.
Embattled importunate persuasion.
Sailing in the wings.
But his command centre betrays him.
A Swedish consul has been watching (André Dussollier as Raoul Nordling), listening, strategically planning his alimentary counterstrikes, voyeuristic rhetoric, announced, risked, deployed.
Competing ethical disciplinary conceptions argumentatively converse, the fate of one of the world's most cherished cities hanging in the balance, militaristic and magnanimous aesthetics desperately franchising disparate souvenirs, time has run out, every syllable must be weighted and choreographed, quickly, rapidly, while seeming logical and scientific, prolongated micropassions, iron set aflame, rigid principled adherence, to jingoistic madness, roasting on the pyre.
He must be saved.
His subordinates would lack his discretion.
Minuscule macromovements.
Abeyance in the heavens.
Diplomatie pokes and prods the cultural and the historical like saintly pensive prose, fortune, tact, and understanding, coalesced to spindle posterity.
Embattled importunate persuasion.
Sailing in the wings.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Interstellar
Times have changed, and centuries of polluting irresponsibly and unaccountably have left the Earth's soil predominantly barren, unsupportive and lifeless, the survivors carrying on, old pastimes still cherished, historical insights curiously revisited, a voice from the future, codes risen in dust, a father's love for his family, paramount, indeed to be sacrificed.
The big picture.
To do it all again, or make alternative choices.
A mission which cannot be refused.
There's no time to panic, no time, to hesitate.
It doesn't use scare tactics, Interstellar's quite reasonable, scientific.
There are options, pros and cons, we must do this, and hope there's enough time to find a solution.
Elements of the classic Western are reliably built into the script like quiescent caregiving sweet nothings, or an afterthought, a reflex, a calm level-headed proactive reflex, hindsight's compendium, temperately transitioning to science-fiction, its environments still cruel and unforgiving, and wild, with neither monsters nor civilizations, just will power and the unknown, assignments boldly navigated.
Survival.
Some wild cards are thrown into the mix which rely more heavily on the tropes of science fiction, an intergalactic clue, an explosion of self-interest, but they're skilfully intertwined, Interstellar quietly ascending in investigative baby steps, from the micro to the macro, mellowly maturing, to blow you away in the end.
I preferred Inception, and Inception's ending, but the same mix of cognitive entertaining emotive rationality still humanizes Interstellar, and its climax is as strong if not stronger, depending on which film you prefer.
Nolan suddenly creates a bucolic, like Birdman's bucolic foil, after having spent so much time in dreams and Gotham City, outstanding career move, this director is multidimensional.
It's worked into the script.
The big picture.
To do it all again, or make alternative choices.
A mission which cannot be refused.
There's no time to panic, no time, to hesitate.
It doesn't use scare tactics, Interstellar's quite reasonable, scientific.
There are options, pros and cons, we must do this, and hope there's enough time to find a solution.
Elements of the classic Western are reliably built into the script like quiescent caregiving sweet nothings, or an afterthought, a reflex, a calm level-headed proactive reflex, hindsight's compendium, temperately transitioning to science-fiction, its environments still cruel and unforgiving, and wild, with neither monsters nor civilizations, just will power and the unknown, assignments boldly navigated.
Survival.
Some wild cards are thrown into the mix which rely more heavily on the tropes of science fiction, an intergalactic clue, an explosion of self-interest, but they're skilfully intertwined, Interstellar quietly ascending in investigative baby steps, from the micro to the macro, mellowly maturing, to blow you away in the end.
I preferred Inception, and Inception's ending, but the same mix of cognitive entertaining emotive rationality still humanizes Interstellar, and its climax is as strong if not stronger, depending on which film you prefer.
Nolan suddenly creates a bucolic, like Birdman's bucolic foil, after having spent so much time in dreams and Gotham City, outstanding career move, this director is multidimensional.
It's worked into the script.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
St. Vincent
Concealed tender attachments, buried beneath a gruff miserable parched exterior, foul to the uninitiated, frozen finicky finesse, a babysitter, Bukowski shorn and shackled, providing advice, caring for the next generation, a single mother's compensation, working as duty requires, loving and trusting yet unsuspecting, situation confronted, solution, agreed upon, he will care for my child, I will work and have faith in benevolent common decency, the grip and the gristle, asserted hardboiled exactitude.
Opportunity hasn't knocked for struggling Vincent MacKenna (Bill Murray) for some time, then one day it bounds and pounces, his skills and acquired knowledge valuable once again, a sympathetic listener, there, to learn from his life's lessons.
Sleaze and pettiness have taken root over the years, but within their ornery sizzles, character and sacrifice still remain.
Bullies therefore are confronted.
Harrying fortunes assay.
I didn't think St. Vincent would be so well done, but it slowly and slyly reaps inversed inventive concessions, atlantic rapscallions, an impounded sense of goodwill and understanding, hanging on the edge, making ends meet, taking necessary risks, combusted communal curmudgeons.
It's not too cheesy, it's not too perverse.
Melissa McCarthy (Maggie Bronstein) takes a secondary role within and I thought an extended scene with her and Murray mutually fuming, both of them possibly throwing things, would have worked well.
They interact a number of times, but their encounters are too short and sweet, too openly one-sided.
Murray is fantastic though.
So's the kid (Jaeden Lieberher as Oliver).
Naomi Watts too.
Nice to see her showing up in films again.
Complex.
Opportunity hasn't knocked for struggling Vincent MacKenna (Bill Murray) for some time, then one day it bounds and pounces, his skills and acquired knowledge valuable once again, a sympathetic listener, there, to learn from his life's lessons.
Sleaze and pettiness have taken root over the years, but within their ornery sizzles, character and sacrifice still remain.
Bullies therefore are confronted.
Harrying fortunes assay.
I didn't think St. Vincent would be so well done, but it slowly and slyly reaps inversed inventive concessions, atlantic rapscallions, an impounded sense of goodwill and understanding, hanging on the edge, making ends meet, taking necessary risks, combusted communal curmudgeons.
It's not too cheesy, it's not too perverse.
Melissa McCarthy (Maggie Bronstein) takes a secondary role within and I thought an extended scene with her and Murray mutually fuming, both of them possibly throwing things, would have worked well.
They interact a number of times, but their encounters are too short and sweet, too openly one-sided.
Murray is fantastic though.
So's the kid (Jaeden Lieberher as Oliver).
Naomi Watts too.
Nice to see her showing up in films again.
Complex.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Nightcrawler
This film's way too heavy on the psycho for me.
It follows a creative innovative narcissist on his rise to the top, as he tenaciously works to excel, diligently researching his subject to gain a strategic edge, maximizing his manipulations to leverage a precise position.
A competitor recognizes his strengths and offers him opportunities which he ignores, trusting to his own professional instincts, obsequiously going at it alone.
The small fry.
The competitor winds up seriously injured.
The troubled succumb to his designs as he continuously provides them with material to advance their own interests, graphic shots of increasingly violent disturbances, communal misery, cracked and capitalized.
No ethical considerations, just raw carnal base savagery, risk, action, advantage, success.
Murder.
Films like The Talented Mr. Ripley pulled this off in the past, but they usually contained a potent ethical element, a sense that the psycho is brilliant yet deranged; Nightcrawler celebrates Louis Bloom's dementia (Jake Gyllenhaal) like it's some kind of demonic virtue, the fact that he breaks the law repeatedly while abusing unwritten professional codes more of a high-five than a diminution, a harvester of death, moribundly reaping.
Without a sense of impending doom, Nightcrawler becomes a sadistic shock-and-awe jitterbug, he obviously would have been arrested, the ending like a strychnine-laced lollipop.
Gyllenhaal's performance is strong and his confidence inspiring but it's like the rest of the world is an infantile blush, possessing no agency, after the opening moments anyways.
Too focused on the individual.
Lacking the threat of consequences.
Revelling in exploitation.
The unregulated flow of capital.
It follows a creative innovative narcissist on his rise to the top, as he tenaciously works to excel, diligently researching his subject to gain a strategic edge, maximizing his manipulations to leverage a precise position.
A competitor recognizes his strengths and offers him opportunities which he ignores, trusting to his own professional instincts, obsequiously going at it alone.
The small fry.
The competitor winds up seriously injured.
The troubled succumb to his designs as he continuously provides them with material to advance their own interests, graphic shots of increasingly violent disturbances, communal misery, cracked and capitalized.
No ethical considerations, just raw carnal base savagery, risk, action, advantage, success.
Murder.
Films like The Talented Mr. Ripley pulled this off in the past, but they usually contained a potent ethical element, a sense that the psycho is brilliant yet deranged; Nightcrawler celebrates Louis Bloom's dementia (Jake Gyllenhaal) like it's some kind of demonic virtue, the fact that he breaks the law repeatedly while abusing unwritten professional codes more of a high-five than a diminution, a harvester of death, moribundly reaping.
Without a sense of impending doom, Nightcrawler becomes a sadistic shock-and-awe jitterbug, he obviously would have been arrested, the ending like a strychnine-laced lollipop.
Gyllenhaal's performance is strong and his confidence inspiring but it's like the rest of the world is an infantile blush, possessing no agency, after the opening moments anyways.
Too focused on the individual.
Lacking the threat of consequences.
Revelling in exploitation.
The unregulated flow of capital.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Dumb and Dumber To
This film's hilarious.
They don't just concentrate on the immediate joke, rather, they breast stroke through calamitous clefts, halting their progress to consider alternative ideas, persevering to find stable solutions which help them achieve their goals, their environments providing complimentary laughs like fleeced lubricated spawn, onwards and upwards, heave, ho.
The pork chop.
Fireworks.
A train.
The drive home.
Couch fort.
In the bathroom.
A return address.
The right thing to say.
Kitty, cat.
Lloyd (Jim Carey) and Harry (Jeff Daniels) take none to kindly to the imposition of authority, harmoniously expressing their grievances, fully aware that they have been wronged, a ludicrous examination, of jocose power relations.
Some of the situations are a bit of a stretch, lol, good ideas that move the plot along and make for ridiculous commentaries, it must be hard to find ideas to so successfully move a plot like this along, but Harry does last a bit too long at the KEN talks, even if he occasionally exposes weaknesses in various experiments.
What impressed me the most is the undeniable fact that Carrey and Daniels haven't played these characters for twenty years and they still play them so well, with the same raw sophisticated juvenile agility, they're brilliant, an improvement on the original in my opinion, they've still got it, how, did they pull this off?
I don't know if I preferred Dumb and Dumber To to Anchorman 2, I'd have to see them both back to back, twice, the first night watching Anchorman then Dumb and Dumber, the next, watching them again in reverse order.
What a potential cross-over.
Limitless.
They don't just concentrate on the immediate joke, rather, they breast stroke through calamitous clefts, halting their progress to consider alternative ideas, persevering to find stable solutions which help them achieve their goals, their environments providing complimentary laughs like fleeced lubricated spawn, onwards and upwards, heave, ho.
The pork chop.
Fireworks.
A train.
The drive home.
Couch fort.
In the bathroom.
A return address.
The right thing to say.
Kitty, cat.
Lloyd (Jim Carey) and Harry (Jeff Daniels) take none to kindly to the imposition of authority, harmoniously expressing their grievances, fully aware that they have been wronged, a ludicrous examination, of jocose power relations.
Some of the situations are a bit of a stretch, lol, good ideas that move the plot along and make for ridiculous commentaries, it must be hard to find ideas to so successfully move a plot like this along, but Harry does last a bit too long at the KEN talks, even if he occasionally exposes weaknesses in various experiments.
What impressed me the most is the undeniable fact that Carrey and Daniels haven't played these characters for twenty years and they still play them so well, with the same raw sophisticated juvenile agility, they're brilliant, an improvement on the original in my opinion, they've still got it, how, did they pull this off?
I don't know if I preferred Dumb and Dumber To to Anchorman 2, I'd have to see them both back to back, twice, the first night watching Anchorman then Dumb and Dumber, the next, watching them again in reverse order.
What a potential cross-over.
Limitless.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Fury
Sadistic circumstances, engendered by power mad xenophobic imperialistic bombast, retreating, hunted by freedom fighters, the Fury of the Allied Forces, annihilating the remnants of Nazi Germany, near the end of the Second World War, still, mired in combat.
Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) was amazing.
My favourite character to emerge from war-related American cinema in the last 30 years.
By 30 years, I mean ever.
Let's make another film starring Aldo Raine, once again, killing Nazis, but this time stick him in a tank, once again, in command of loyal subordinates, dedicated to reasserting, the magnanimity of the free world.
The free world is not always magnanimous.
One of his loyal subordinates is new.
Green and foolhardy, he is unprepared for battle.
Yet battle engulfs him, and he must quickly acclimatize himself to its demented terrors, its requisite insanities, to become part of Aldo's team, thereby taking responsibility for his own actions.
His acclimatization permeates the film, which is generally another, mass produced somewhat cool entertaining ra-ra we won World War II flick, focusing on the greenhorn's shock, Fury, then saved by an unexpected scene.
Suddenly everything stops, and domestic bliss is upon us, patient and forgiving, miraculous medicinal mercy.
The scene shifts from the blissful to the hogtied, however, as the confines of the present, tacitly shriek euphonics in memorial.
Unexpected and outstanding.
The Germans are divided into the good and the bad, the civilians and the SS, the former, liberated, the latter, condemned.
Perennially.
Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) was amazing.
My favourite character to emerge from war-related American cinema in the last 30 years.
By 30 years, I mean ever.
Let's make another film starring Aldo Raine, once again, killing Nazis, but this time stick him in a tank, once again, in command of loyal subordinates, dedicated to reasserting, the magnanimity of the free world.
The free world is not always magnanimous.
One of his loyal subordinates is new.
Green and foolhardy, he is unprepared for battle.
Yet battle engulfs him, and he must quickly acclimatize himself to its demented terrors, its requisite insanities, to become part of Aldo's team, thereby taking responsibility for his own actions.
His acclimatization permeates the film, which is generally another, mass produced somewhat cool entertaining ra-ra we won World War II flick, focusing on the greenhorn's shock, Fury, then saved by an unexpected scene.
Suddenly everything stops, and domestic bliss is upon us, patient and forgiving, miraculous medicinal mercy.
The scene shifts from the blissful to the hogtied, however, as the confines of the present, tacitly shriek euphonics in memorial.
Unexpected and outstanding.
The Germans are divided into the good and the bad, the civilians and the SS, the former, liberated, the latter, condemned.
Perennially.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Birdman: or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Spiralling prosaic haunting indecision, contraction instigated, distraction, procured, a play must be performed, negative emotion dominating, that voice, that voice which collegially condemns, internally and externally, belittling, haunting, there are specific time limits, the exceptional exceptionally parades, tender loving affairs, perpetual motion, angst rehabilitated, worst case after worst case, coming together, working, in unison, taking things too far, hold tight, flip, perform, do what you have always done, resolve strengthens, misgivings matriculate, swoop, soar, Silencio, glide on the currents like a nuthatched pin cushion, Birdman, Michael Keaton, what happened to Michael Keaton?, he disappeared, I thought, it's bound to be sold out, it's starring Michael Keaton, just like the '90s, purchase advanced tickets, line-up like Batman, she makes out like she did in Mulholland Drive, the soundtrack's embedded, bejewelled, it can't be extracted, necrophonic needlework, the lines, the perfectly delivered palatial lines, discursive krypton, in motion, in constant motion, assert, lose it, discuss, advocate, temporally sketched to last a lifetime, impotency notwithstanding, harness the haunting perpetual motion, aloofly pepper with speeches and scenes all of which are capable of standing alone, united to etherealize commercial artistic bedlam, for applause, for fortune, if I were Tennessee Williams I'd orgasm, Birdman, Birdman, Birdman, syntheses within syntheses, a kind word, still a movie, it's still a movie, it never loses sight of the fact that it's still a movie for entertaining, mesmerizing, a kind of charming magical cinematic awareness simultaneously celebrating and criticizing the medium, without appearing sentimental or confectionary, I shouldn't have used the word magical, a failure, I fail, flotsam flickering and flailing, taking note, sprawling to capture this ingenious tenure, this incomparable sight, this modest, coy, Birdman: or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), in the act of creation, it reacts anew.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Maps to the Stars
Is it possible to take a sterile excessive stale antiseptic and fill it with enough dry 40% neat conversations to soberly materialize a fumigated aesthetic, like sparkling versatile antithetical lard, an affordable Naked Lunch, its sacrificial form industriously high-strung, its intellectual content flowing with literary immiscibility, which, on the one hand makes you feel like insecticide, on the other, like a priceless set of handcrafted heirlooms, David Cronenberg's Maps to the Stars, a restrained hard-lined masterpiece of elitist horror, a subdued synthesis of the mundane and the maniacal, stronger than both Cosmopolis and A Dangerous Method, inflammable family histories, seductively liaising, emphatically, eviscerated?
It is, Cronenberg's patient strategic mix of obnoxious refinements, youthful misgivings, and childish incredulity, slowly building its complex web of serendipitous interconnectivity, makes you wish you were about to pleasantly throw up after having spent $627 dollars on a bottle of scotch, like gentrified gentility, frenzied fire starters, was that Mr. Mugs?, all-knowing and ever-so-loveable Mr. Mugs?, shot down by 21st century infantile ennui, prevented from teaching his lessons, consigned, forevermore?
Bashful, so difficult to blend these elements without being overtly pretentious or inadvertently condescending, still allowing them to preserve their autonomy, pulsating, integrated, heterogeneity.
It's somewhat of a satirical take on both these potentialities, expertly derelicted, by a master who continues to innovate.
Reminded me more of his early texts Stereo or Crimes of the Future than A History of Violence or Eastern Promises.
His roots.
Back to his roots.
It is, Cronenberg's patient strategic mix of obnoxious refinements, youthful misgivings, and childish incredulity, slowly building its complex web of serendipitous interconnectivity, makes you wish you were about to pleasantly throw up after having spent $627 dollars on a bottle of scotch, like gentrified gentility, frenzied fire starters, was that Mr. Mugs?, all-knowing and ever-so-loveable Mr. Mugs?, shot down by 21st century infantile ennui, prevented from teaching his lessons, consigned, forevermore?
Bashful, so difficult to blend these elements without being overtly pretentious or inadvertently condescending, still allowing them to preserve their autonomy, pulsating, integrated, heterogeneity.
It's somewhat of a satirical take on both these potentialities, expertly derelicted, by a master who continues to innovate.
Reminded me more of his early texts Stereo or Crimes of the Future than A History of Violence or Eastern Promises.
His roots.
Back to his roots.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Gone Girl
Just what goes into sustaining a successful marriage, what is that secret critical ingredient for ensuring the preeminence of your conjugal bliss?
Mad blind overwhelming desire may wear off, especially if the couple in question doesn't role play or at least dress-up from time to time, possibly as their favourite Star Trek character, and if the initial hard-pounding insatiable craze dissipates, the arduous work necessary to recapture its incandescence sets in, both participants required to reimagine its stringency, dedication and commitment, adhered to as pluralizing factors.
In David Fincher's Gone Girl, Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) refuses to abide by such an adherence, succumbing to adulterous lechery, slowly destroying the love of his spirited partner.
Mistake.
Or mistakes, seeing how he's been ignoring her for years while living a life of sloth off her trust fund, after having moved from New York City (where he worked as a writer) to Missouri, much to wife Amy's (Rosamund Pike) dismay.
He's a jerk, he blames it on her, total jackass.
But he has no idea that Amy's pure psycho.
The film's divided into two halves, one focusing on Nick as he comes to terms with his inextricable predicament, the other which brings Amy into the mix, focusing on her troubles on the road, until a crucial accidental resurgence, of the romantic love which at one point defined her.
Kierkegaard style.
At first I thought the introduction of Amy was an unfortunate twist.
I figured the film would slowly continue to suffocate lacklustre Nick, his tension inimically increasing, a high-wired harrowing stench, accentuating paranoid asphyxia.
Amy's introduction eliminates this tension, replacing it with alternative constraints which infernalize her psychotic scenario, which is rather excessive, considering that she could have just left him.
But her passion demands vengeance, vengeance which she seeks eruditely, revelling in the media's saccharine sensationalization, before rediscovering that lost kernel of youth.
There's a great sequence where she's robbed after letting her guard down, the sequence diversifying the film's wedded hysteria by injecting minor seemingly ineffectual characters, who become common denominators in the subsequent action.
Gone Girl has plenty of variability, strong major and minor characters, ridiculous yet plausible logistics, competing disastrous degenerations, polarities within polarities, a sympathetic coach, an amorphous yet easy-to-follow blend of media, family, legality, and law enforcement, Proust is mentioned twice (in uncomplimentary fashions however), desperate strategic planning, and a non-traditional take on victimization.
The ending's solid, a bizarre reversal of what's-to-be-expected, the film's myriad depressions, sentimentally sanctified.
Quite dark.
Quite good.
Not my favourite David Fincher film, but you still see why he's one of America's best.
Mad blind overwhelming desire may wear off, especially if the couple in question doesn't role play or at least dress-up from time to time, possibly as their favourite Star Trek character, and if the initial hard-pounding insatiable craze dissipates, the arduous work necessary to recapture its incandescence sets in, both participants required to reimagine its stringency, dedication and commitment, adhered to as pluralizing factors.
In David Fincher's Gone Girl, Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) refuses to abide by such an adherence, succumbing to adulterous lechery, slowly destroying the love of his spirited partner.
Mistake.
Or mistakes, seeing how he's been ignoring her for years while living a life of sloth off her trust fund, after having moved from New York City (where he worked as a writer) to Missouri, much to wife Amy's (Rosamund Pike) dismay.
He's a jerk, he blames it on her, total jackass.
But he has no idea that Amy's pure psycho.
The film's divided into two halves, one focusing on Nick as he comes to terms with his inextricable predicament, the other which brings Amy into the mix, focusing on her troubles on the road, until a crucial accidental resurgence, of the romantic love which at one point defined her.
Kierkegaard style.
At first I thought the introduction of Amy was an unfortunate twist.
I figured the film would slowly continue to suffocate lacklustre Nick, his tension inimically increasing, a high-wired harrowing stench, accentuating paranoid asphyxia.
Amy's introduction eliminates this tension, replacing it with alternative constraints which infernalize her psychotic scenario, which is rather excessive, considering that she could have just left him.
But her passion demands vengeance, vengeance which she seeks eruditely, revelling in the media's saccharine sensationalization, before rediscovering that lost kernel of youth.
There's a great sequence where she's robbed after letting her guard down, the sequence diversifying the film's wedded hysteria by injecting minor seemingly ineffectual characters, who become common denominators in the subsequent action.
Gone Girl has plenty of variability, strong major and minor characters, ridiculous yet plausible logistics, competing disastrous degenerations, polarities within polarities, a sympathetic coach, an amorphous yet easy-to-follow blend of media, family, legality, and law enforcement, Proust is mentioned twice (in uncomplimentary fashions however), desperate strategic planning, and a non-traditional take on victimization.
The ending's solid, a bizarre reversal of what's-to-be-expected, the film's myriad depressions, sentimentally sanctified.
Quite dark.
Quite good.
Not my favourite David Fincher film, but you still see why he's one of America's best.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Horns
Cast out.
Disbelieved.
Betrayed.
Punished.
Horns begin to grow on young Ig Perrish's (Daniel Radcliffe) head as his beloved hometown accuses him of the murder of his one true love, Merrin Williams (Juno Temple), Ig valiantly proclaiming his innocence, searching, desperately, for the murderous guilty party.
Unbeknownst to him, in the beginning, his horns unwittingly command everyone he encounters to reveal their darkest secrets, or embrace violence and/or sexual desire, as if they're dislocating a contingent of vice, irascibly disdained, savagely enacted.
This proves rather confusing.
As does the film, which is a bizarre blend of the sentimental, the ambiguous, and the ridiculous, irreverently devout, as deduced by its spry submission.
The sentimentality seems to be appealing to its youthful market, juxtaposed with the ridiculous, which is generally subscribed to adult behaviour, to vindicate cracks of teenage rebellion, coming of age compartmentalizing certain tendencies, to outrightly misbehave, in preparation for the reign of jouissance.
But as Horns takes a moral turn, as Ig's investigation bears fruit, it becomes unclear whether or not the film is being serious, in which case it becomes quite tiresome, or pretending to be serious while revelling in playful incongruities, what's actually happening being rather serious, and sentimental, the situations themselves devilishly corny, and ridiculous, in which case the film excels.
Hence the ambiguity.
If this is what director Alexandre Aja intended, it's a stroke of maudlin genius, don't think about what's happening, just focus on what's being depicted, graceful in its contrite subtlety, overcoming the bounds of placated smarm.
If not, the film collapses during its final third, the irreverence which sustained its peculiar plea, giving way to a uniform banality.
Need to see more of Aja's work to reach a conclusion.
Disbelieved.
Betrayed.
Punished.
Horns begin to grow on young Ig Perrish's (Daniel Radcliffe) head as his beloved hometown accuses him of the murder of his one true love, Merrin Williams (Juno Temple), Ig valiantly proclaiming his innocence, searching, desperately, for the murderous guilty party.
Unbeknownst to him, in the beginning, his horns unwittingly command everyone he encounters to reveal their darkest secrets, or embrace violence and/or sexual desire, as if they're dislocating a contingent of vice, irascibly disdained, savagely enacted.
This proves rather confusing.
As does the film, which is a bizarre blend of the sentimental, the ambiguous, and the ridiculous, irreverently devout, as deduced by its spry submission.
The sentimentality seems to be appealing to its youthful market, juxtaposed with the ridiculous, which is generally subscribed to adult behaviour, to vindicate cracks of teenage rebellion, coming of age compartmentalizing certain tendencies, to outrightly misbehave, in preparation for the reign of jouissance.
But as Horns takes a moral turn, as Ig's investigation bears fruit, it becomes unclear whether or not the film is being serious, in which case it becomes quite tiresome, or pretending to be serious while revelling in playful incongruities, what's actually happening being rather serious, and sentimental, the situations themselves devilishly corny, and ridiculous, in which case the film excels.
Hence the ambiguity.
If this is what director Alexandre Aja intended, it's a stroke of maudlin genius, don't think about what's happening, just focus on what's being depicted, graceful in its contrite subtlety, overcoming the bounds of placated smarm.
If not, the film collapses during its final third, the irreverence which sustained its peculiar plea, giving way to a uniform banality.
Need to see more of Aja's work to reach a conclusion.
Friday, October 31, 2014
John Wick
A surprisingly well crafted visceral revenge flick, a frenzy attuned to instinctual reflexivity, just in time for Halloween, John Wick delivers a fast-paced sophisticated personalized bloodbath, continentally conceived with considerations for respect, an elite world of criminals, immaculately imploding.
Wick (Keanu Reeves) is a legendary assassin who retired to settle down with his wife who then died, leaving behind a small dog to remind him of her.
He goes for a drive in his automobile one day, and the son of a Russian gangster requests its sale.
He refuses and drives away.
The son then visits him in the middle of the night, beats him senseless with the help of his goons, _____ the dog, and steals the car.
Wick wakes up the next day composed yet enraged, in preparation for an insane rampage designed to express his dissastifaction.
It's a very basic plot, but the visuals, dialogue, music, acting, and combat scenes crystallize a uniform carnal indignant balance, almost Lynchean in terms of surreal elegance, comedy awkwardly yet cursively situated to allow the film to concentrate on internal affairs (the police aren't involved [editing by Elísabet Ronaldsdóttir]), the invincibility factor realistically deconstructed inasmuch as Wick almost bites it a number of times, saved here and there, by trustworthy old friends.
I think the cast and crew really took the making of this film seriously which could be why it stands out.
Casting by Jessica Kelly and Suzanne Smith.
Look for David Patrick Kelly.
Probably didn't have to be quite so violent.
Wick (Keanu Reeves) is a legendary assassin who retired to settle down with his wife who then died, leaving behind a small dog to remind him of her.
He goes for a drive in his automobile one day, and the son of a Russian gangster requests its sale.
He refuses and drives away.
The son then visits him in the middle of the night, beats him senseless with the help of his goons, _____ the dog, and steals the car.
Wick wakes up the next day composed yet enraged, in preparation for an insane rampage designed to express his dissastifaction.
It's a very basic plot, but the visuals, dialogue, music, acting, and combat scenes crystallize a uniform carnal indignant balance, almost Lynchean in terms of surreal elegance, comedy awkwardly yet cursively situated to allow the film to concentrate on internal affairs (the police aren't involved [editing by Elísabet Ronaldsdóttir]), the invincibility factor realistically deconstructed inasmuch as Wick almost bites it a number of times, saved here and there, by trustworthy old friends.
I think the cast and crew really took the making of this film seriously which could be why it stands out.
Casting by Jessica Kelly and Suzanne Smith.
Look for David Patrick Kelly.
Probably didn't have to be quite so violent.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Adieu au langage (Goodbye to Language)
Blessed burnished cinematic, obscurities, stylizing in/coherent poetic exemplars, compartments, of, of symbols fletched with ornamental reliance condoning visualized adherence to vague linguistic polarizers, of; of authoritative intrusions into burgeoning contentments inquisitively dictated like frozen morning dew; of frost and dusty book jackets intertextually precipitating sundry points of view, condensed and ephemeralized with aloof poignancy, crafted in jaded thematic miniature.
Concerned nonetheless.
With the capacity of purpose to historically deflect imaginative horrors subjugating the passions of one's youth.
With engendered protests libidinally interacting to stretch beyond predetermined boundaries and sustain notions of limitless conjugal impunity.
Of joy.
With animalistic contemplative assured responsive discipline, attempts to harangue, roll over, sit, fetch.
For cinema.
For history.
For classics.
If I were to canonize films many of Godard's would be considered.
I do prefer them when their narratives at least attempt to focus on a plot, however, more like narrative critical inquiry than philosophic filmic treatises.
Abstractly entertaining.
Concerned nonetheless.
With the capacity of purpose to historically deflect imaginative horrors subjugating the passions of one's youth.
With engendered protests libidinally interacting to stretch beyond predetermined boundaries and sustain notions of limitless conjugal impunity.
Of joy.
With animalistic contemplative assured responsive discipline, attempts to harangue, roll over, sit, fetch.
For cinema.
For history.
For classics.
If I were to canonize films many of Godard's would be considered.
I do prefer them when their narratives at least attempt to focus on a plot, however, more like narrative critical inquiry than philosophic filmic treatises.
Abstractly entertaining.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Dracula Untold
Dracula revisited, often portrayed as a vicious bloodthirsty tyrant, recast as a loving devoted father, husband, and ruler, willing to risk everything to secure the social prosperity of his dominion, brought up as a warrior, who excelled beyond limitation, against his will, trial by fire, impeccable excretions, having returned home a free man, to govern his people with wise, trustworthy gentility, through the art of thinking critically, and the continuous deployment of tribute.
Yet battle once again demands his obedience, a battle that can't be won through earthly means, and a pact is made with transcendent deviance, limitless power, for an insatiable thirst for blood.
Thus the iconic villain is torn, invincible at war, romantically condemned by his true love.
It's a different take on Dracula, Gary Shore's Dracula Untold, the latest vampiric franchise to tenderly and ravenously strike.
It's alright.
Somewhat cutesy at times, which is odd for a mass produced vampire film, making derelict lesions and hallowed imperfections seem direly quaint by comparison; however, its protagonist is rational and his love undying, his fidelity to the centuries, like twilight's eternal fountain.
Missed Jarmusch's Adam a bit while viewing, but it's unfair to compare the two visions.
Glad Jarmusch made that film.
Jodorowsky and vampires?
It's not too late.
Yet battle once again demands his obedience, a battle that can't be won through earthly means, and a pact is made with transcendent deviance, limitless power, for an insatiable thirst for blood.
Thus the iconic villain is torn, invincible at war, romantically condemned by his true love.
It's a different take on Dracula, Gary Shore's Dracula Untold, the latest vampiric franchise to tenderly and ravenously strike.
It's alright.
Somewhat cutesy at times, which is odd for a mass produced vampire film, making derelict lesions and hallowed imperfections seem direly quaint by comparison; however, its protagonist is rational and his love undying, his fidelity to the centuries, like twilight's eternal fountain.
Missed Jarmusch's Adam a bit while viewing, but it's unfair to compare the two visions.
Glad Jarmusch made that film.
Jodorowsky and vampires?
It's not too late.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Kill the Messenger
An instance where the opening credits are more seductive than the film itself, Kill the Messenger struggles to live up to its illuminatingly opaque origins.
These credits suggest an intense clandestine submersion into a frantic treacherous linguistic labyrinth by shyly presenting the cast and crew as if they're integrated non-factors in the film's journalistic fabric, integral to its action, but secondary to its impact, thereby foreshadowing a hectic clueless ambiguous submission, like The Insider, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, or The Big Sleep, byzantine yet driven, augmenting competitive professional agencies.
The film's content contains such aspects.
Journalist Gary Webb's (Jeremy Renner) life becomes a paranoid misery after he writes a story about the Reagan Administration's possible flagrantly hypocritical role in its war on drugs, applauded and awarded at first before failing to gain traction due to its extremely controversial nature.
He's cast out.
The film's form doesn't match this content well, however, as it follows Webb's path too closely, making it too comfortable and accessible by streamlining its focus.
Had a number of scenes been introduced to take the emphasis away from Webb, in order to diversify its plot by complicating its narrative structure, thereby examining the film's politics, the film's deeper issues, more variably, Kill the Messenger would have been more captivating in my opinion.
Scenes on the ground examining the contemporary Nicaraguan situation, the results, perhaps.
There are some slight diversifications but they're too residual to effectively detach themselves from the storyline and create a compelling subconscious dialogue.
The subject matter they present is still important however.
Undeniably, Webb's life ended in tragedy after he pursued the truth with the highest possible goals.
This fact is emphasized in the film.
Which functions as both enlightened tragedy, and cautionary tale.
These credits suggest an intense clandestine submersion into a frantic treacherous linguistic labyrinth by shyly presenting the cast and crew as if they're integrated non-factors in the film's journalistic fabric, integral to its action, but secondary to its impact, thereby foreshadowing a hectic clueless ambiguous submission, like The Insider, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, or The Big Sleep, byzantine yet driven, augmenting competitive professional agencies.
The film's content contains such aspects.
Journalist Gary Webb's (Jeremy Renner) life becomes a paranoid misery after he writes a story about the Reagan Administration's possible flagrantly hypocritical role in its war on drugs, applauded and awarded at first before failing to gain traction due to its extremely controversial nature.
He's cast out.
The film's form doesn't match this content well, however, as it follows Webb's path too closely, making it too comfortable and accessible by streamlining its focus.
Had a number of scenes been introduced to take the emphasis away from Webb, in order to diversify its plot by complicating its narrative structure, thereby examining the film's politics, the film's deeper issues, more variably, Kill the Messenger would have been more captivating in my opinion.
Scenes on the ground examining the contemporary Nicaraguan situation, the results, perhaps.
There are some slight diversifications but they're too residual to effectively detach themselves from the storyline and create a compelling subconscious dialogue.
The subject matter they present is still important however.
Undeniably, Webb's life ended in tragedy after he pursued the truth with the highest possible goals.
This fact is emphasized in the film.
Which functions as both enlightened tragedy, and cautionary tale.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann (The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared)
A pinnacled piña colada, perchanced and periodized, passively strolls through an entire century, piercingly riding its waves, aloe primavera, alert gestations, blindly yet acutely detonating his trade, Forrest Gump's Benjamin Button teething Archer, hypnotic happenstance, turn that screw, Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann (The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared) flashes back to tumultuous times, with ironic blissful candour, serendipitized tailspins, explosively tiptoeing, from one cryptic epoch to the next.
After escaping from a retirement home to the fury of the underground's Never Again.
Friendships blossom.
A team is assembled.
A sentiment's thrust.
Through the coming of the ages.
Poetically refining what it means to blunder, the situations he finds himself within seem rigged with ideological dynamite.
Franco's saviour builds an atomic bomb to end the Second World War before sterilizing the Commies on his way to becoming a stayed bilateral messenger.
Destined for paradise.
This film has depth; it playfully reimagines twentieth-century carnage with the casual indifference of an essential tribal fluidity, unconscious forward motion, courting precise precious movements.
Impeccable comedy.
It's even family friendly, in the best possible way, like Amélie, with a loveable elephant.
Could have worked Ireland in somehow.
After escaping from a retirement home to the fury of the underground's Never Again.
Friendships blossom.
A team is assembled.
A sentiment's thrust.
Through the coming of the ages.
Poetically refining what it means to blunder, the situations he finds himself within seem rigged with ideological dynamite.
Franco's saviour builds an atomic bomb to end the Second World War before sterilizing the Commies on his way to becoming a stayed bilateral messenger.
Destined for paradise.
This film has depth; it playfully reimagines twentieth-century carnage with the casual indifference of an essential tribal fluidity, unconscious forward motion, courting precise precious movements.
Impeccable comedy.
It's even family friendly, in the best possible way, like Amélie, with a loveable elephant.
Could have worked Ireland in somehow.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
The Giver
Meticulously manicured impartial immersions, the plan, plans within plans within plans, permeating every existential aspect, monitoring, coordinating, harmonious atonal strategically serviced scripts, requirements, nothing out of the ordinary, pharmaceutical synchrony, burnished, witnessed, tanned, The Giver, kindred subjects of Landru, converses with The Third Man, sonic scientific sterility, empiric equilibrium, disciplined and unified, microscopically maintained.
Everything fits within a cohesive holistic whole.
But there's no longer any joy.
No exceptions to the rules.
History's legends have been assigned to one aged caretaker, who sacrifices his knowledge to uphold the new order.
But a protégé is chosen from the ranks of his culture's youth, to share in his burden, to preserve the memories of lost time.
Emotional bombardments proceed to alienate through shock as questions hitherto beyond reason maddeningly dare to forsake.
Exfoliate.
Threadbare.
A classic examination of totalitarian benevolence.
Maudlin yet sane.
Preferred The Third Man.
Everything fits within a cohesive holistic whole.
But there's no longer any joy.
No exceptions to the rules.
History's legends have been assigned to one aged caretaker, who sacrifices his knowledge to uphold the new order.
But a protégé is chosen from the ranks of his culture's youth, to share in his burden, to preserve the memories of lost time.
Emotional bombardments proceed to alienate through shock as questions hitherto beyond reason maddeningly dare to forsake.
Exfoliate.
Threadbare.
A classic examination of totalitarian benevolence.
Maudlin yet sane.
Preferred The Third Man.
Friday, October 10, 2014
A Most Wanted Man
Characteristic candour gruffly composes a brilliantly crafted intricately strategized plan, its nascent dexterity depending on several delicately interconnected volatile fusions, frenetic feasibilities, orchestrated by a rough hands-on been-there-done-that fulcrum, A Most Wanted Man, time pressurizing each micromovement, immaculate manoeuvrability, necessarily set in motion.
Definitive coordinates.
Explosive potential.
Gut-wrenching grizzle.
Temporally repleted.
Günther Bachmann's (Philip Seymour Hoffman) team must expertly function, however, these spies are situated within a competitive international pride, lofty liaising lions, trust, an oppressive factor, guilt, too remote to consider.
Ripe with treachery.
And contention.
Easier to follow than Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, but not as astounding consequently, A Most Wanted Man provocatively sets the stage, then allows Philip Seymour Hoffman to prosper.
There aren't many diversified variables (surprises) after the operation's set in motion, it's very smooth, but Hoffman's performance supplies enough excruciating angst to augment the film's comfortability with bona fide substantial grit.
I've now seen Richard Burton, Gary Oldman, John Hurt, and Hoffman in film adaptations of John le Carré's novels, and would love to see another starring Daniel Day Lewis and Tom Hardy.
A Most Wanted Man's timing is perfect considering the continuing advances of ISIS.
Definitive coordinates.
Explosive potential.
Gut-wrenching grizzle.
Temporally repleted.
Günther Bachmann's (Philip Seymour Hoffman) team must expertly function, however, these spies are situated within a competitive international pride, lofty liaising lions, trust, an oppressive factor, guilt, too remote to consider.
Ripe with treachery.
And contention.
Easier to follow than Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, but not as astounding consequently, A Most Wanted Man provocatively sets the stage, then allows Philip Seymour Hoffman to prosper.
There aren't many diversified variables (surprises) after the operation's set in motion, it's very smooth, but Hoffman's performance supplies enough excruciating angst to augment the film's comfortability with bona fide substantial grit.
I've now seen Richard Burton, Gary Oldman, John Hurt, and Hoffman in film adaptations of John le Carré's novels, and would love to see another starring Daniel Day Lewis and Tom Hardy.
A Most Wanted Man's timing is perfect considering the continuing advances of ISIS.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
The Skeleton Twins
Crippling depressions cope with mundane predictability as a brother and sister are reunited after an attempted suicide in Craig Johnson's The Skeleton Twins, mundane predicability in regards to the lives their leading, not in relation to the film, which is a sensitive reflective chill occasionally brash comment on the applicability of predetermined roles, the individuals who play them (wife, husband, actor, . . .), the results of their interactions, and the coming together of kindred spirits.
The sister, Maggie (Kristen Wiig), is married to a boring yet supportive excessively positive husband (Luke Wilson as Lance) who provides her with stability but strongly lacks an exhilarating thrill factor, which she finds with other men while taking different courses after work.
The brother, Milo (Bill Hader), has been struggling to find acting work in LA, and after drinking too much one night, decides to take his own life.
They meet up for the first time in 10 years shortly thereafter and Milo then decides to return to his hometown in upstate New York to live with Maggie while he recuperates.
They're both somewhat bipolar, and suicidal, so when they're getting along, we're treated to witty caustic unconcerned distracted deadpan takes on living, and when things break down, things often breaking down after something great happens, things turn ugly, vindictive and spiteful, each trying to play a parental role as the other screws up, historical controversies complicating things further.
Neither has had much guidance that has helped over the years, and both crave regular adventurous stimuli to transcend routine frustrations.
It's well-acted, well-written, and the best comedic drama I've seen since Stand Up Guys.
I don't think I've ever seen two former Saturday Night Live actors perform so well in a film this low key and striking.
They convincingly struggle with issues of life and death in a relatable way complete with thoughtful advice which isn't over the top or endearingly ridiculous.
Wilson's great too.
Casting by Avy Kaufman.
The sister, Maggie (Kristen Wiig), is married to a boring yet supportive excessively positive husband (Luke Wilson as Lance) who provides her with stability but strongly lacks an exhilarating thrill factor, which she finds with other men while taking different courses after work.
The brother, Milo (Bill Hader), has been struggling to find acting work in LA, and after drinking too much one night, decides to take his own life.
They meet up for the first time in 10 years shortly thereafter and Milo then decides to return to his hometown in upstate New York to live with Maggie while he recuperates.
They're both somewhat bipolar, and suicidal, so when they're getting along, we're treated to witty caustic unconcerned distracted deadpan takes on living, and when things break down, things often breaking down after something great happens, things turn ugly, vindictive and spiteful, each trying to play a parental role as the other screws up, historical controversies complicating things further.
Neither has had much guidance that has helped over the years, and both crave regular adventurous stimuli to transcend routine frustrations.
It's well-acted, well-written, and the best comedic drama I've seen since Stand Up Guys.
I don't think I've ever seen two former Saturday Night Live actors perform so well in a film this low key and striking.
They convincingly struggle with issues of life and death in a relatable way complete with thoughtful advice which isn't over the top or endearingly ridiculous.
Wilson's great too.
Casting by Avy Kaufman.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Fire in the Blood
It's hard to believe that medicine is available to alleviate the suffering of millions of impoverished global citizens, and, that due to associated prohibitive costs, they're left to die because they can't afford treatment.
According to Dylan Mohan Gray's Fire in the Blood, pharmaceutical companies are the most profitable in the world, but their obsession with increasing their profits primarily and treating the sick as an afterthought is disturbing; always thought curing illness was the primary function of discovering cures for illness, mistaken was I, holding on to a drug's patent so that you can monopolize its sale to people who have no alternative and then jack-up the price is the primary function, recently formalized by the WTO's adoption of TRIPS.
It's revolting.
The film is about the struggle of many African countries to receive access to antivirals which combat but don't cure AIDS, allowing people who contracted it to live a relatively normal life.
A brilliant doctor from India,Yusuf Hamied, created a generic alternative, produced and sold it for a fraction of his American competitor's price, but the sale of his drug was initially not permitted in many countries due to their governments acquiescence to the demands of patent holding pharmaceutical giants, whose stranglehold on the free market was more voraciously tightened by TRIPS.
Apparently these companies don't even spend much on research and development, the majority of R & D for new drugs being funded by the public sector. Why governments don't patent the drugs discovered through such research and then sell them at affordable prices is bizarre, such sales prolonging the lives of their tax payers, thereby increasing tax revenues.
In my opinion, religious organizations should be passionately defending the rights of poor people to have access to affordable medicine.
Isn't this issue profoundly more important than whether or not gay people can get married?
They're gay. They love each other. They want to get married. Who cares? Love doesn't know the difference.
Fire in the Blood mentions how the costs of potentially life saving drugs are becoming prohibitive for many Americans as well.
Prices keep going up, wages keep staying the same.
Another serious problem.
According to Dylan Mohan Gray's Fire in the Blood, pharmaceutical companies are the most profitable in the world, but their obsession with increasing their profits primarily and treating the sick as an afterthought is disturbing; always thought curing illness was the primary function of discovering cures for illness, mistaken was I, holding on to a drug's patent so that you can monopolize its sale to people who have no alternative and then jack-up the price is the primary function, recently formalized by the WTO's adoption of TRIPS.
It's revolting.
The film is about the struggle of many African countries to receive access to antivirals which combat but don't cure AIDS, allowing people who contracted it to live a relatively normal life.
A brilliant doctor from India,Yusuf Hamied, created a generic alternative, produced and sold it for a fraction of his American competitor's price, but the sale of his drug was initially not permitted in many countries due to their governments acquiescence to the demands of patent holding pharmaceutical giants, whose stranglehold on the free market was more voraciously tightened by TRIPS.
Apparently these companies don't even spend much on research and development, the majority of R & D for new drugs being funded by the public sector. Why governments don't patent the drugs discovered through such research and then sell them at affordable prices is bizarre, such sales prolonging the lives of their tax payers, thereby increasing tax revenues.
In my opinion, religious organizations should be passionately defending the rights of poor people to have access to affordable medicine.
Isn't this issue profoundly more important than whether or not gay people can get married?
They're gay. They love each other. They want to get married. Who cares? Love doesn't know the difference.
Fire in the Blood mentions how the costs of potentially life saving drugs are becoming prohibitive for many Americans as well.
Prices keep going up, wages keep staying the same.
Another serious problem.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
The Drop
Patience, understanding, questions, commitment, caring modest consistency, observant faithful hesitancy, towing the line, doing the right thing, balance and order, let's see what happens, Michaël R. Roskam's The Drop follows humble Bob (Tom Hardy) as he works, interacts, and serves, loyally playing by the rules, cautiously keeping to himself, never directly causing a stir or ruffling any feathers, maintaining a sense of fair play, strictly aware, of his strengths and limitations.
Hardy puts in a strong performance. Bob's character is quite different from those he dynamically brought to life in Inception and Star Trek: Nemesis. Bob doesn't show much emotion, but Hardy adeptly uses this hindrance to his advantage, notably as he gets to know potential love interest Nadia (Noomi Rapace), carefully and artfully redefining stoicism thereby, never falling out of character, reserved, peaceful, true.
Strong performances all around, causing me to wonder whether or not Roskam studied and/or worked with David O. Russell, who also excels at creating insightful entertaining high-quality sophisticatedly acted films for mass markets, thoughtfully enlightening nocturnally invested narratives, until I rediscovered that it was Roskam who directed Bullhead, after I wrote this, which can compete with Russell's best work, The Drop can as well but maybe not with American Hustle, although perhaps he still is in contact with Russell.
I thought it was odd when Cousin Marv (James Gandolfini) decides to collude with Eric Deeds (Matthias Schoenaerts) because Deeds is obviously nuts and therefore too indelicate for his scheme, but this fact does intensify Marv's desperation, highlighting that greed leading to desperation ferments bad judgement, subtly juxtaposed with Bob's decisions, both sets capable of distilling ruin.
Detective Torres (John Ortiz) rounds out the script, showing up whenever it started to occur to me that his plot thread wasn't receiving enough screen time, his comments adding a romantic quality to The Drop's final moments, his conversations, playfully examining the divide between law and order.
Solid film.
Hardy puts in a strong performance. Bob's character is quite different from those he dynamically brought to life in Inception and Star Trek: Nemesis. Bob doesn't show much emotion, but Hardy adeptly uses this hindrance to his advantage, notably as he gets to know potential love interest Nadia (Noomi Rapace), carefully and artfully redefining stoicism thereby, never falling out of character, reserved, peaceful, true.
Strong performances all around, causing me to wonder whether or not Roskam studied and/or worked with David O. Russell, who also excels at creating insightful entertaining high-quality sophisticatedly acted films for mass markets, thoughtfully enlightening nocturnally invested narratives, until I rediscovered that it was Roskam who directed Bullhead, after I wrote this, which can compete with Russell's best work, The Drop can as well but maybe not with American Hustle, although perhaps he still is in contact with Russell.
I thought it was odd when Cousin Marv (James Gandolfini) decides to collude with Eric Deeds (Matthias Schoenaerts) because Deeds is obviously nuts and therefore too indelicate for his scheme, but this fact does intensify Marv's desperation, highlighting that greed leading to desperation ferments bad judgement, subtly juxtaposed with Bob's decisions, both sets capable of distilling ruin.
Detective Torres (John Ortiz) rounds out the script, showing up whenever it started to occur to me that his plot thread wasn't receiving enough screen time, his comments adding a romantic quality to The Drop's final moments, his conversations, playfully examining the divide between law and order.
Solid film.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Mommy
Heartbreaking confused insurgent rage pervades Xavier Dolan's Mommy, violently exploding in fits of uncontrollable wrath, volatile and destructive, furiously limited by social, familial, educational, and economic restraints.
But these outbursts liaise with the tenderest consoling spirited charms of a thoughtful caring bold youth hoping to find a way to fit in, unable to play any role besides King.
It's a brilliant fusion, truly brilliant, the best Canadian film I've seen, on par with the best cinema the international community has to offer, Arcand, Maddin, Egoyan, and Cronenberg have a genuine inheritor in Dolan, who's cultivating new ground for Canadian film, and living up to his potential.
Undeniable oscar calibre.
I don't write this lightly.
The youth's struggles are situated within a socio(a)political legal frame successfully supported by a direct honest account of his actions, to provocatively generate cogent debate, regarding individual freedoms, or the curtailment of one's liberties.
Steve Després (Antoine-Olivier Pilon) is free.
Dolan beautifully captures his freedom again and again, twirling a shopping cart, smoking while preparing a meal, synthesizing the joyous and the manic, the sincere and the coerced, to present a less sadistic Clockwork Orange, set within impoverished circumstances, reason and madness aligned to contend.
He doesn't get the basics.
He cannot serve.
It's like he has the constitution of a viking warrior, devoted to his family, requiring constant battle, too undisciplined to acquire any plunder, too wild to learn how to begin.
Contemporary ancient emergence.
If only he played sports.
What a fearsome running back he could have been.
His mother's supportive struggles and practically ideal patience gradually break your heart, as incident after incident disintegrates her resolve, the scene where she dreams of his future, still producing genuine tears.
That scene's too well done, too well timed.
Too unfair.
Discourses of the beautiful, the psychological, the political, the mad, resplendently yet carnally united in a downtrodden brazen familial peace, an illustrious rampage, so delicate, so refined.
So crushing.
So free.
Controversial scenes.
Excellent soundtrack.
Still prefer Tarantino's soundtracks, but this is a good one.
But these outbursts liaise with the tenderest consoling spirited charms of a thoughtful caring bold youth hoping to find a way to fit in, unable to play any role besides King.
It's a brilliant fusion, truly brilliant, the best Canadian film I've seen, on par with the best cinema the international community has to offer, Arcand, Maddin, Egoyan, and Cronenberg have a genuine inheritor in Dolan, who's cultivating new ground for Canadian film, and living up to his potential.
Undeniable oscar calibre.
I don't write this lightly.
The youth's struggles are situated within a socio(a)political legal frame successfully supported by a direct honest account of his actions, to provocatively generate cogent debate, regarding individual freedoms, or the curtailment of one's liberties.
Steve Després (Antoine-Olivier Pilon) is free.
Dolan beautifully captures his freedom again and again, twirling a shopping cart, smoking while preparing a meal, synthesizing the joyous and the manic, the sincere and the coerced, to present a less sadistic Clockwork Orange, set within impoverished circumstances, reason and madness aligned to contend.
He doesn't get the basics.
He cannot serve.
It's like he has the constitution of a viking warrior, devoted to his family, requiring constant battle, too undisciplined to acquire any plunder, too wild to learn how to begin.
Contemporary ancient emergence.
If only he played sports.
What a fearsome running back he could have been.
His mother's supportive struggles and practically ideal patience gradually break your heart, as incident after incident disintegrates her resolve, the scene where she dreams of his future, still producing genuine tears.
That scene's too well done, too well timed.
Too unfair.
Discourses of the beautiful, the psychological, the political, the mad, resplendently yet carnally united in a downtrodden brazen familial peace, an illustrious rampage, so delicate, so refined.
So crushing.
So free.
Controversial scenes.
Excellent soundtrack.
Still prefer Tarantino's soundtracks, but this is a good one.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
The Congress
A thought provoking hypothesis concerning the future of acting descends into dystopian banality as Ari Folman's Congress transforms its initial personal conflict into a convoluted cultural malaise, the leap from the subjective to the universal itself profound, its execution entangled in histrionic thickets.
Computer generated cults and combines engulf the narrative's characterization in a co-opted corporate/revolutionary temporally and physically unbound constraint, which dialectically plays with animation and the corporeal to enticingly comment on a general contemporary lack of concern with poverty and alienation, the individual escapes or s/he suffers, and/or escapes and suffers, with no plan in place to improve downtrodden standards of living.
The relationship between selling your character to a studio through the process of having it duplicated by a complex array of computational codes thereafter used in whatever film the studio sees fit, regardless of whether or not you approve of the role, seems to have been commercialized en masse, individuals escaping to an animated realm to avoid finding solutions to real problems, this realm, probably representing current obsessions with the internet, which can be a remarkable tool for activism and engagement, enables individuals to become their own ideal self on the upload, leaving everything behind in the construct.
Or not. I don't know. This film's a mess. I felt like I had the flu watching its second act. I like complex takes on the byzantine nature of sociopolitical dynamics, but the acts don't communicate well with one another, there's no chrysalis, they just happen.
Without this communication, the film needs to stand tall on its own thereby encouraging you to see it again, like Mulholland Dr. or Lost Highway, and The Congress, with its misplaced animation, becomes too melodramatic and opaque, its structure obfuscating its outputs.
As an obscure piece of relevant cultural commentary it succeeds.
As an enduring film, I'm not so sure.
Computer generated cults and combines engulf the narrative's characterization in a co-opted corporate/revolutionary temporally and physically unbound constraint, which dialectically plays with animation and the corporeal to enticingly comment on a general contemporary lack of concern with poverty and alienation, the individual escapes or s/he suffers, and/or escapes and suffers, with no plan in place to improve downtrodden standards of living.
The relationship between selling your character to a studio through the process of having it duplicated by a complex array of computational codes thereafter used in whatever film the studio sees fit, regardless of whether or not you approve of the role, seems to have been commercialized en masse, individuals escaping to an animated realm to avoid finding solutions to real problems, this realm, probably representing current obsessions with the internet, which can be a remarkable tool for activism and engagement, enables individuals to become their own ideal self on the upload, leaving everything behind in the construct.
Or not. I don't know. This film's a mess. I felt like I had the flu watching its second act. I like complex takes on the byzantine nature of sociopolitical dynamics, but the acts don't communicate well with one another, there's no chrysalis, they just happen.
Without this communication, the film needs to stand tall on its own thereby encouraging you to see it again, like Mulholland Dr. or Lost Highway, and The Congress, with its misplaced animation, becomes too melodramatic and opaque, its structure obfuscating its outputs.
As an obscure piece of relevant cultural commentary it succeeds.
As an enduring film, I'm not so sure.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Sin City: A Dame to Kill For
Barren.
Gut-wrenched and jagged like bitter metallic grist.
Seductive intransitive loyal strands besmirched in brazen castor.
She's in control.
He can't be beaten.
Youth and femininity seeking independence, suffering as their gifts intend.
Manipulation.
Honesty.
Power crushing its seamless outfoxed score, insurgent violence, brutally resigned.
Limits unextinguished.
Doctored dilettante adoring.
Lessons in lesions.
Just another day.
Its consequences sear its combatants with infernal fetching flames, talk, cheap, destined knees.
Full-scrapped and infiltrating, the cold calumny collapsing, its monstrous festered grip, clenching clasped constabularies.
Reactivity.
Its suffocations.
Its distance.
(I wonder if Christopher Lloyd's [Kroenig] performance was a tribute to that of Harry Dean Stanton in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me).
Gut-wrenched and jagged like bitter metallic grist.
Seductive intransitive loyal strands besmirched in brazen castor.
She's in control.
He can't be beaten.
Youth and femininity seeking independence, suffering as their gifts intend.
Manipulation.
Honesty.
Power crushing its seamless outfoxed score, insurgent violence, brutally resigned.
Limits unextinguished.
Doctored dilettante adoring.
Lessons in lesions.
Just another day.
Its consequences sear its combatants with infernal fetching flames, talk, cheap, destined knees.
Full-scrapped and infiltrating, the cold calumny collapsing, its monstrous festered grip, clenching clasped constabularies.
Reactivity.
Its suffocations.
Its distance.
(I wonder if Christopher Lloyd's [Kroenig] performance was a tribute to that of Harry Dean Stanton in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me).
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Let's be Cops
Decision making is confidently yet wryly chastised throughout Let's be Cops, the story of two down-on-their-luck friends who have moved from Ohio to L.A. in search of alternative opportunities.
Chastised yet rewarded.
Alternative opportunities they have found but financial stability alludes them, and one, who is unemployed and regularly relives his youth by playing pick-up football with neighbourhood kids, remains confident it's within their reach, while the other has second thoughts about their future's sustainability.
After misunderstanding the dress code for a masquerade themed reunion, they find themselves walking-the-beat dressed-up as policepersons, and, after having been mistaken for actual policepersons, decide it's in their best interests to play along, taking on organized crime shortly thereafter.
It's kind of funny at times, I liked the characters, and it uses some solid tricks, like introducing a third, wacky member of the team when Ryan (Jake Johnson) and Justin's (Damon Wayans Jr.) chemistry wears off, but there are far too many gaping holes in its reality based plot which aren't backed up by sensationally outrageous outcomes, therefore ironically requiring the suspension of too much disbelief, the improvised situations the partners find themselves within entertaining enough, their logistics, even after they're discovered, built on far too shaky a foundation.
There's something to be said for layering ridiculous scenario after ridiculous scenario on top of a bed of ludicrous jocularity, each hiccup emphasizing courage and adaptability, boldly venturing into the unknown to make a difference, responding positively to multiple bellicose bumps in the road, like launching a petition at change.org.
This strategy works better in a film less attached to quotidian coordinates however, even if said coordinates are somewhat endearing, like a comfy, fluffy, pile-driving pillow.
This strategy works quite well at change.org.
Chastised yet rewarded.
Alternative opportunities they have found but financial stability alludes them, and one, who is unemployed and regularly relives his youth by playing pick-up football with neighbourhood kids, remains confident it's within their reach, while the other has second thoughts about their future's sustainability.
After misunderstanding the dress code for a masquerade themed reunion, they find themselves walking-the-beat dressed-up as policepersons, and, after having been mistaken for actual policepersons, decide it's in their best interests to play along, taking on organized crime shortly thereafter.
It's kind of funny at times, I liked the characters, and it uses some solid tricks, like introducing a third, wacky member of the team when Ryan (Jake Johnson) and Justin's (Damon Wayans Jr.) chemistry wears off, but there are far too many gaping holes in its reality based plot which aren't backed up by sensationally outrageous outcomes, therefore ironically requiring the suspension of too much disbelief, the improvised situations the partners find themselves within entertaining enough, their logistics, even after they're discovered, built on far too shaky a foundation.
There's something to be said for layering ridiculous scenario after ridiculous scenario on top of a bed of ludicrous jocularity, each hiccup emphasizing courage and adaptability, boldly venturing into the unknown to make a difference, responding positively to multiple bellicose bumps in the road, like launching a petition at change.org.
This strategy works better in a film less attached to quotidian coordinates however, even if said coordinates are somewhat endearing, like a comfy, fluffy, pile-driving pillow.
This strategy works quite well at change.org.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Finsterworld
Emerging from a state of nature to historically contextualize the present, eccentricity multifariously contesting its conditions, authenticity, percolating its plight, poetic instances of curious introspective creativity contentiously enraging the callous, cruelty and innocence sociopathically and lovingly coexisting, tricks, cancellations, balanced asymmetrical genders, beetles and dress-ups and birds, the conformist's intention to ignore, in Frauke Finsterwalder's Finsterworld, a dynamic open-ended multigenerational cross-section, microscopically invested, with macroscopic instigations.
Interpretively dependent.
Spoiler alert.
World War II's legacy haunts the film and difference, while uplifting it to an aesthetic celestial syntax, in various ways, is often contemptuously reprimanded.
The ethnic school teacher who takes his students on a trip to a concentration camp, focussing on its abhorrence, ends up in jail after rescuing a student who's been brutally pranked, giving in to his perverted instincts in the process.
The African character found in the film's final moments is listless and primitive, as seen when a documentary filmmaker ironically visits Africa in search of the authentic, ironic because her visit's based on the recommendation of her policeperson partner, whom she rejects after he reveals he's a genuine furry.
The other german men who salute difference include a pedicurist who takes the dead skin from his clients and then bakes it into cookies which he eventually serves to them as a treat. When one client admits her love for him, he reveals his secret, which is naturally met with ghastliness, although they do end up together.
A school boy who poetically and comically talks to beetles and puppets made out of his hand, reminiscent of Thomas Törless, is assaulted by a wealthy SUV renting tough guy, after possibly viewing his wife relieving herself at the side of the road. The three become quite friendly, when the man who lives in the woods and has just had his dwelling vandalized and bird friend killed starts firing shots from a bridge at the passing traffic, one of them fatally wounding the boy; as if to say that this young Törless's future would unfortunately resemble that of the humble forest dweller, who has therefore spared him a life of loneliness.
The death and incarceration of these two characters (the forest dweller ends up in jail), as well as the rejection of the furry, are perhaps vindicated by the pedicurist's romance, as an elderly german matron embraces difference, perhaps paving the way for a more inclusive cultural frame.
Perhaps Germany is quite inclusive at the moment, I'm just interpreting the evidence provided by this film.
The younger generation's sociopathic rep who doesn't want to accept World War II's legacy and doesn't speak up to save the ethnic school teacher, even though he was the prankster in question, while torturing his helpless victim further in the aftermath by insulting her intelligence, casts doubt on this possibility.
Which makes for a well-rounded albeit bleak conclusion.
To a depressingly thoughtful and brilliant reflexivity.
Outstandingly controversial film.
Interpretively dependent.
Spoiler alert.
World War II's legacy haunts the film and difference, while uplifting it to an aesthetic celestial syntax, in various ways, is often contemptuously reprimanded.
The ethnic school teacher who takes his students on a trip to a concentration camp, focussing on its abhorrence, ends up in jail after rescuing a student who's been brutally pranked, giving in to his perverted instincts in the process.
The African character found in the film's final moments is listless and primitive, as seen when a documentary filmmaker ironically visits Africa in search of the authentic, ironic because her visit's based on the recommendation of her policeperson partner, whom she rejects after he reveals he's a genuine furry.
The other german men who salute difference include a pedicurist who takes the dead skin from his clients and then bakes it into cookies which he eventually serves to them as a treat. When one client admits her love for him, he reveals his secret, which is naturally met with ghastliness, although they do end up together.
A school boy who poetically and comically talks to beetles and puppets made out of his hand, reminiscent of Thomas Törless, is assaulted by a wealthy SUV renting tough guy, after possibly viewing his wife relieving herself at the side of the road. The three become quite friendly, when the man who lives in the woods and has just had his dwelling vandalized and bird friend killed starts firing shots from a bridge at the passing traffic, one of them fatally wounding the boy; as if to say that this young Törless's future would unfortunately resemble that of the humble forest dweller, who has therefore spared him a life of loneliness.
The death and incarceration of these two characters (the forest dweller ends up in jail), as well as the rejection of the furry, are perhaps vindicated by the pedicurist's romance, as an elderly german matron embraces difference, perhaps paving the way for a more inclusive cultural frame.
Perhaps Germany is quite inclusive at the moment, I'm just interpreting the evidence provided by this film.
The younger generation's sociopathic rep who doesn't want to accept World War II's legacy and doesn't speak up to save the ethnic school teacher, even though he was the prankster in question, while torturing his helpless victim further in the aftermath by insulting her intelligence, casts doubt on this possibility.
Which makes for a well-rounded albeit bleak conclusion.
To a depressingly thoughtful and brilliant reflexivity.
Outstandingly controversial film.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
The Captive
Generally I find ambiguity enables scripts to reflect a higher degree of realistic contemplation, for it aptly accentuates the diversity of competing/cooperating points-of-view/interpretations/motivations/. . . that compose a multidimensional cosmopolitan filmscape, internally creating open-ended multifaceted polarized exteriorizations, thereby encouraging constructive debate.
But sometimes it's nice to simply watch good versus evil, a basic opposition of hero and villain, which is why I see so many action and western films.
The best of these usually have an ambiguous dimension; while it's clear who is good and who is evil, the protagonist often has several peculiar shortcomings (quick to anger, likes drinking, is never home), and the villains often seem honourable, or at least are quite appealing.
Obviously enough.
The villains in Atom Egoyan's The Captive are not honourable or appealing.
Nor should they be.
They are revolting monstrosities to be loathed and vilified in each and every instance.
Their monstrosity causes the heroes to act violently towards one another, as historical patterns and dead-ends necessitate the investigation of particularly volatile potentialities.
There's no room for ambiguity in The Captive's case, and its greatest shortcoming could perhaps be that it didn't make its villains even more disgusting.
The controversial subject matter is perhaps too watered down to adequately reflect its wickedness, but there isn't much choice when creating works which examine these realities.
Otherwise they would be impossible to sit through.
But sometimes it's nice to simply watch good versus evil, a basic opposition of hero and villain, which is why I see so many action and western films.
The best of these usually have an ambiguous dimension; while it's clear who is good and who is evil, the protagonist often has several peculiar shortcomings (quick to anger, likes drinking, is never home), and the villains often seem honourable, or at least are quite appealing.
Obviously enough.
The villains in Atom Egoyan's The Captive are not honourable or appealing.
Nor should they be.
They are revolting monstrosities to be loathed and vilified in each and every instance.
Their monstrosity causes the heroes to act violently towards one another, as historical patterns and dead-ends necessitate the investigation of particularly volatile potentialities.
There's no room for ambiguity in The Captive's case, and its greatest shortcoming could perhaps be that it didn't make its villains even more disgusting.
The controversial subject matter is perhaps too watered down to adequately reflect its wickedness, but there isn't much choice when creating works which examine these realities.
Otherwise they would be impossible to sit through.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Noruwei no mori (Norwegian Wood)
A poetically crafted romantically frayed conversationally reflexive vibrato, wherein loyalty and trust intellectually intermingle with opportunity's libido, eternal springs caressing the depressed, spirited infatuation inquisitively cascading, limitless potential blossoming in flux, the radiance of rapture, sorrow's devastation, Tran Anh Hung's Noruwei no mori (Norwegian Wood) sees young adults exploring the logistics of desire, fervidly fletched with nature's aromatic ineffability, like poignant, durable, pirouettes.
Exceptionally well-written characters enhanced via situational rationality and environmental temperamentality, exclaim raw spiritual secular synergies, and a defined sense of purpose, strengthened through relational ambiguities.
Some of the most beautiful moments I've seen in a film recently, Toru (Ken'ichi Matsuyama) and Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi) romancing on a windy day in the countryside, an impromptu performance of the titular Beatles's song (one of my favourites), Proust's Captive condensed into a short much less comic rendition of suffering, every scene featuring Midori (Kiko Mizuhara), the seasons changing, a waterfall.
Hyper-reactive withdrawn contemplative driven supportive devotion.
Amorphous amorous schematics.
Billowing wisps encrust.
Integrated imagination.
Substantial.
Exceptionally well-written characters enhanced via situational rationality and environmental temperamentality, exclaim raw spiritual secular synergies, and a defined sense of purpose, strengthened through relational ambiguities.
Some of the most beautiful moments I've seen in a film recently, Toru (Ken'ichi Matsuyama) and Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi) romancing on a windy day in the countryside, an impromptu performance of the titular Beatles's song (one of my favourites), Proust's Captive condensed into a short much less comic rendition of suffering, every scene featuring Midori (Kiko Mizuhara), the seasons changing, a waterfall.
Hyper-reactive withdrawn contemplative driven supportive devotion.
Amorphous amorous schematics.
Billowing wisps encrust.
Integrated imagination.
Substantial.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Bai ri yan huo (Black Coal, Thin Ice)
Yi'nan Diao's Bai ri yan huo (Black Coal, Thin Ice) seems like his first shot at reimagining classic American film noir.
It's dark. Haunting. There's a sense of helplessness on both sides of the law. Wu Zhizhen (Lun Mei Gwei) necessarily seduces. The underground is diversified. Innocence liaises with crime. The investigator (Fan Liao as Zhang Zili) is committed to justice but otherwise an alcoholic sexually aggressive flake. Anxiety persists. Ambiguity laments.
But it's lacking a cultivated heightened sense of permanent desperate byzantine betrayal, the overt narrative shallow and sober when compared to The Big Sleep, The Maltese Falcon, or Trance, too disciplined, too formulaic, to visceralize a dismal atemporal malaise.
Multiplicity's the key.
Multiple egocentric prevaricating convoluted treacherous miscreants, sardonically conceiving obfuscated cul-de-sacs, clues within clues postulating neglect, perseverance sustained, adherence, maligned.
Bai ri yan huo is a solid debut demonstrating Diao's gifts ala cheek, crass, and cluster.
Several main characters speak, but don't play direct roles in the obscurity.
There isn't much collateral damage.
Solid film nonetheless.
It's dark. Haunting. There's a sense of helplessness on both sides of the law. Wu Zhizhen (Lun Mei Gwei) necessarily seduces. The underground is diversified. Innocence liaises with crime. The investigator (Fan Liao as Zhang Zili) is committed to justice but otherwise an alcoholic sexually aggressive flake. Anxiety persists. Ambiguity laments.
But it's lacking a cultivated heightened sense of permanent desperate byzantine betrayal, the overt narrative shallow and sober when compared to The Big Sleep, The Maltese Falcon, or Trance, too disciplined, too formulaic, to visceralize a dismal atemporal malaise.
Multiplicity's the key.
Multiple egocentric prevaricating convoluted treacherous miscreants, sardonically conceiving obfuscated cul-de-sacs, clues within clues postulating neglect, perseverance sustained, adherence, maligned.
Bai ri yan huo is a solid debut demonstrating Diao's gifts ala cheek, crass, and cluster.
Several main characters speak, but don't play direct roles in the obscurity.
There isn't much collateral damage.
Solid film nonetheless.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Salaud, on t'aime (We Love You, Bastard)
The loveable bastard.
Gifted beyond reason, in touch with his emotions, loving, caring, accomplished.
But a total and complete cad when it comes to his dealings with the opposite sex.
Apart from his daughters.
4 with 4 different partners.
Whom he devotedly loves.
Salaud, on t'aime (We Love You, Bastard) is like going to a gift-shop in a bustling small mountain town.
Naturalistic beauty fastens its frames to adorable pristine picturesque attunements, romantically stressed, to vivify anew.
It does come across as somewhat too neat and tidy however, too picture perfect, all of the typical methods of gradually building tension remaining largely absent, all saved-up, for one startling traumatic release.
Stunning photography.
Loved the eagle. Would love to have a pet eagle. The eagle is awesome. But Claude Lelouch overdoes it a bit with the eagle.
Legitimate grievances.
Legitimate love.
Love spending time in the mountains.
Gifted beyond reason, in touch with his emotions, loving, caring, accomplished.
But a total and complete cad when it comes to his dealings with the opposite sex.
Apart from his daughters.
4 with 4 different partners.
Whom he devotedly loves.
Salaud, on t'aime (We Love You, Bastard) is like going to a gift-shop in a bustling small mountain town.
Naturalistic beauty fastens its frames to adorable pristine picturesque attunements, romantically stressed, to vivify anew.
It does come across as somewhat too neat and tidy however, too picture perfect, all of the typical methods of gradually building tension remaining largely absent, all saved-up, for one startling traumatic release.
Stunning photography.
Loved the eagle. Would love to have a pet eagle. The eagle is awesome. But Claude Lelouch overdoes it a bit with the eagle.
Legitimate grievances.
Legitimate love.
Love spending time in the mountains.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Closer to the Moon
A rebellious blend of frustration and boredom brought about by systematic degradations leads a group of former World War II freedom fighters to commit crimes against the Romanian state, in Nae Caranfil's Closer to the Moon, a lively comic recklessly bold statement, on the entrenchment of hypocrisy, exclusively settling in.
The dark side of socialism, permanent socialism existing outside the boundaries established by regular democratic elections, interminably demanding that everyone conform to a specific set of established principles, which serve to lavishly support the chosen incorruptible few.
Closer to the Moon's bank robbers were all members of the elite, but as the state took an antisemitic turn, even though Jewish people had played an integral role in its construction, their privileges and freedoms were gradually stripped away.
Left to flounder, they choose to enact political drama, which is quickly hushed-up, until the officials can attach a propagandistic lynchpin.
The gang plays along, revelling in the irreverently ironic freedoms brought about by being condemned to death.
They're full of life, overflowing with intensity, applying their wit to embellish each precept, gleefully gesticulating, to maximize their resolve.
The film itself functions in the same way, a spirited salute to freedom, chuckling and plucking away, emphasizing group strength as opposed to authoritative coercion.
Seen through the eyes of a starstruck youth.
The dark side of socialism, permanent socialism existing outside the boundaries established by regular democratic elections, interminably demanding that everyone conform to a specific set of established principles, which serve to lavishly support the chosen incorruptible few.
Closer to the Moon's bank robbers were all members of the elite, but as the state took an antisemitic turn, even though Jewish people had played an integral role in its construction, their privileges and freedoms were gradually stripped away.
Left to flounder, they choose to enact political drama, which is quickly hushed-up, until the officials can attach a propagandistic lynchpin.
The gang plays along, revelling in the irreverently ironic freedoms brought about by being condemned to death.
They're full of life, overflowing with intensity, applying their wit to embellish each precept, gleefully gesticulating, to maximize their resolve.
The film itself functions in the same way, a spirited salute to freedom, chuckling and plucking away, emphasizing group strength as opposed to authoritative coercion.
Seen through the eyes of a starstruck youth.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Healing
Feel-good regenerative character building assignments can sternly yet sympathetically rehabilitate both inmate and injured bird alike, according to Craig Monahan's Healing, a family friendly sentimental melodrama.
Respectful, school-of-hard-knocksy, and well-rounded, with several strongly developed primary and secondary (somewhat one-dimensional) characters, it generically yet comprehensively annotates its subject matter, polarities within polarities structuring the altercations, emphasizing forgiveness and zoo therapy, and that no one can be left alone.
If you like animals, notably birds, there's a feast of endearing schmaltzy scenes within, the raptor Yasmin often used to transition, his facial expressions commenting on the action.
There's also a strong egalitarian dimension, Healing's principle character being an Iranian convict who was convicted for murder (Don Hany as Viktor Khadem), its narrative featuring his strengths and weaknesses as an individual, not as a member of a specific ethnicity, while still exploring aspects of his culture to indicate difference without effacing opportunity, giving both him and his Australian cohabitants an equal chance for release.
There are the odd ethnocentric slurs but they're residual, distastefully expressed.
The conflict within the polarities gives the story a gritty character which adds a real-world dimension to its ethics.
I still would have cut down the length by about 15 minutes, the cutesiness dulling its edge as too much time passes.
Respectful, school-of-hard-knocksy, and well-rounded, with several strongly developed primary and secondary (somewhat one-dimensional) characters, it generically yet comprehensively annotates its subject matter, polarities within polarities structuring the altercations, emphasizing forgiveness and zoo therapy, and that no one can be left alone.
If you like animals, notably birds, there's a feast of endearing schmaltzy scenes within, the raptor Yasmin often used to transition, his facial expressions commenting on the action.
There's also a strong egalitarian dimension, Healing's principle character being an Iranian convict who was convicted for murder (Don Hany as Viktor Khadem), its narrative featuring his strengths and weaknesses as an individual, not as a member of a specific ethnicity, while still exploring aspects of his culture to indicate difference without effacing opportunity, giving both him and his Australian cohabitants an equal chance for release.
There are the odd ethnocentric slurs but they're residual, distastefully expressed.
The conflict within the polarities gives the story a gritty character which adds a real-world dimension to its ethics.
I still would have cut down the length by about 15 minutes, the cutesiness dulling its edge as too much time passes.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Magic in the Moonlight
Cold disbelieving hallowed critical reservations cynically socialize themselves in Woody Allen's Magic in the Moonlight, intent on exposing the genuine article, whose youthful pluck, ravishingly portends.
It's scientific reason versus supernatural serendipity, the influence of the latter, interventioning mischievous universals.
With lunar exactitude.
Stanley Crawford (Colin Firth) is difficult to take as he asserts his cantankerous incredulity, as smug as he is exceptional, it's still fun to watch his stubborn transitions, his development of feelings, which can't be rationally explained.
Thanks to Sophie Baker (Emma Stone).
I've encountered too many startling coincidences to categorically deny the existence of the supernatural.
Just the other day, I changed an ______ online for the first time in years, and then, less than 2 hours later, I see my old _______, who was associated with the ___ ______, for the first time since then, casually walking by.
I'm _______ in the middle of nowhere and suddenly I see someone from the town where I grew up, we head out later, and s/he's reading _______ while I've just rented the movie.
It could have been an elaborate joke.
Strange though.
But the number of times nothing exceptionally coincidental takes place far outweighs the number of times something does, meaning that attempts to clarify the seemingly supernatural and base economic and/or political forecasts upon them can be thought of as being somewhat nutso, scientific reason reigning in these domains being of paramount importance, as long as it doesn't attempt to eliminate its spiritual competition.
Not Woody Allen's best, but Magic in the Moonlight does warmly call into question the practice of reasoning, deducing to high jink, which causes love to seem more beautiful.
Clever, quaint, obtuse, and restrained, it caresses and cuddles the curmudgeony, to clarify why some friendships last a lifetime.
It's scientific reason versus supernatural serendipity, the influence of the latter, interventioning mischievous universals.
With lunar exactitude.
Stanley Crawford (Colin Firth) is difficult to take as he asserts his cantankerous incredulity, as smug as he is exceptional, it's still fun to watch his stubborn transitions, his development of feelings, which can't be rationally explained.
Thanks to Sophie Baker (Emma Stone).
I've encountered too many startling coincidences to categorically deny the existence of the supernatural.
Just the other day, I changed an ______ online for the first time in years, and then, less than 2 hours later, I see my old _______, who was associated with the ___ ______, for the first time since then, casually walking by.
I'm _______ in the middle of nowhere and suddenly I see someone from the town where I grew up, we head out later, and s/he's reading _______ while I've just rented the movie.
It could have been an elaborate joke.
Strange though.
But the number of times nothing exceptionally coincidental takes place far outweighs the number of times something does, meaning that attempts to clarify the seemingly supernatural and base economic and/or political forecasts upon them can be thought of as being somewhat nutso, scientific reason reigning in these domains being of paramount importance, as long as it doesn't attempt to eliminate its spiritual competition.
Not Woody Allen's best, but Magic in the Moonlight does warmly call into question the practice of reasoning, deducing to high jink, which causes love to seem more beautiful.
Clever, quaint, obtuse, and restrained, it caresses and cuddles the curmudgeony, to clarify why some friendships last a lifetime.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Escalating like a tepid uninspired frantic boil, the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles film never hesitates to nunchaku an identity of its own.
Formulaic without circumventing its conventions, accelerated at the expense of conscious depth, maudlin where it could have been instructive, taking its love of cheese pizza, far, far to far, it's kind of cool if you grew up with the characters, like a sand duned mediocrity, or going to a beach where you can't swim, but its secrets are revealed much too quickly, leaving no room for theories or suppositions, just blatant banal facts.
Perhaps I'm being too hard on the film.
It's obviously made for children under the age of 10.
Like a preparatory film designed to familiarize pre-adolescent audiences with the filmic structures they'll comprehend more elastically as their parents allow them to see films like The Avengers.
But, if I'm not mistaken, this same age group likely saw The Avengers, and were likely therefore prepared in advance for something with more depth, something with more than just a funny elevator scene.
April's (Megan Fox) a strong character, so is Vernon (Will Arnett), their interactions driving the narrative for viewing parents, Vernon's troubles time-honoured and tragic, April's pursuits, dedicated and commendable.
But still, I mean, wouldn't an 8-year-old know that her attempts to sell a tale about humanoid vigilante turtles to her boss without indisputable evidence would quickly be characterized as narcotic induced quackery, even if they're noble in their ingenuous search for the truth?
I suppose they would identify with April as their parents regularly dismiss the truths uncovered during their own sleuthful explorations.
I don't know.
Formulaic without circumventing its conventions, accelerated at the expense of conscious depth, maudlin where it could have been instructive, taking its love of cheese pizza, far, far to far, it's kind of cool if you grew up with the characters, like a sand duned mediocrity, or going to a beach where you can't swim, but its secrets are revealed much too quickly, leaving no room for theories or suppositions, just blatant banal facts.
Perhaps I'm being too hard on the film.
It's obviously made for children under the age of 10.
Like a preparatory film designed to familiarize pre-adolescent audiences with the filmic structures they'll comprehend more elastically as their parents allow them to see films like The Avengers.
But, if I'm not mistaken, this same age group likely saw The Avengers, and were likely therefore prepared in advance for something with more depth, something with more than just a funny elevator scene.
April's (Megan Fox) a strong character, so is Vernon (Will Arnett), their interactions driving the narrative for viewing parents, Vernon's troubles time-honoured and tragic, April's pursuits, dedicated and commendable.
But still, I mean, wouldn't an 8-year-old know that her attempts to sell a tale about humanoid vigilante turtles to her boss without indisputable evidence would quickly be characterized as narcotic induced quackery, even if they're noble in their ingenuous search for the truth?
I suppose they would identify with April as their parents regularly dismiss the truths uncovered during their own sleuthful explorations.
I don't know.
Friday, August 15, 2014
1987
Unwrinkling elaborated transformative identifiers, situated within familial, amicable, and relational pastimes, expressing frustration, fighting the system, striving to charismatically diversify, with neither recourse nor eligibility, Ricardo Trogi's 1987, operating offline yet still delivering value-added information, interrogates the injustices associated with being 17, starting-out on the bottom, while eagerly seeking amusement.
Ricardo Trogi (Jean-Carl Boucher) must confront the pressures of applying for his first loan, succeeding at his first job, to joyride, or not to joyride?, and answering questions associated with sex, all the while trying to maintain his own sense of purpose, imaginatively genuine, cast out into the real.
It's easy to relate, as you remember your own youthful application of television's guidance to the capitalistic structures faced when first entering the working world, as cruel and dismissive as they could be, eventually elevating with the passage of time.
Trogi hits a low point when his complaints cause him to lash out at his caring yet somewhat clueless father (Claudio Colangelo), who's doing his best to support him, without thoughtfully taking his point of view into consideration.
The film struggles when Trogi's friends fade into the background.
It's set-up like it will focus on their dynamics primarily, but Trogi's family and relationship woes come to occupy the forefront.
Which does lead to some entertaining sequences.
But the dynamics move from the exhilarating to the pontificating, and hilarious though the pontificating may be, especially when you're thinking about the film afterwards, it lacks the wild unrehearsed group dynamics of youth struggling to age.
Although most of the interactions Trogi has with his family and partner are wild and unrehearsed as well.
Ah, the omnipresent authorities are boldly counteracted.
From daydream to ambush.
Consequences abound.
Ricardo Trogi (Jean-Carl Boucher) must confront the pressures of applying for his first loan, succeeding at his first job, to joyride, or not to joyride?, and answering questions associated with sex, all the while trying to maintain his own sense of purpose, imaginatively genuine, cast out into the real.
It's easy to relate, as you remember your own youthful application of television's guidance to the capitalistic structures faced when first entering the working world, as cruel and dismissive as they could be, eventually elevating with the passage of time.
Trogi hits a low point when his complaints cause him to lash out at his caring yet somewhat clueless father (Claudio Colangelo), who's doing his best to support him, without thoughtfully taking his point of view into consideration.
The film struggles when Trogi's friends fade into the background.
It's set-up like it will focus on their dynamics primarily, but Trogi's family and relationship woes come to occupy the forefront.
Which does lead to some entertaining sequences.
But the dynamics move from the exhilarating to the pontificating, and hilarious though the pontificating may be, especially when you're thinking about the film afterwards, it lacks the wild unrehearsed group dynamics of youth struggling to age.
Although most of the interactions Trogi has with his family and partner are wild and unrehearsed as well.
Ah, the omnipresent authorities are boldly counteracted.
From daydream to ambush.
Consequences abound.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Guardians of the Galaxy
Penetrating deep within the lighthearted ventricles of fashionable intergalactic cysts, reflexive agility accommodating both the hunting of bounties and the wisecracking elite, plans projected then prorated, the deviants atomically deified, internal struggles, deconstructive precision, posterity balancing the incision of the blade, a rabble, a rabble arousing, athletic unexpected altruistic instance, for serenity's stringent spawn, the edification of the miscue, teamwork, trust, in tune.
Peter Quill (Chris Pratt) accidentally assembles a formidable team.
They have no choice but to restore order to the galaxy.
Well, not galaxy, more like the region of space they happen to be occupying.
She's green (Zoe Saldana as Gamora). Like on Star Trek.
The film intertextually plays with Star Wars as well, respecting, not glorifying, to hyperdrive into its own interplanetary perspectives.
And a characters says, "there's too many of them."
Searched for a YouTube collage but couldn't find one.
Classic.
I thoroughly enjoyed watching this band of misfits unite to attempt to thwart a fanatical genocidal dick, self-sustaining in their independence, stronger fighting as one.
Cheesy at times, but still raw, resplendent, and finicky.
Can't wait until they save the Avengers.
That must be coming up at some point.
Although, if the frequency of these films increases, curtailed earth shattering attempts to subjugate entire planets are going to start to seem humdrum, unless they continue striving for excellence.
Peter Quill saves Tony Stark, then gives him the finger.
On down the road.
Peter Quill (Chris Pratt) accidentally assembles a formidable team.
They have no choice but to restore order to the galaxy.
Well, not galaxy, more like the region of space they happen to be occupying.
She's green (Zoe Saldana as Gamora). Like on Star Trek.
The film intertextually plays with Star Wars as well, respecting, not glorifying, to hyperdrive into its own interplanetary perspectives.
And a characters says, "there's too many of them."
Searched for a YouTube collage but couldn't find one.
Classic.
I thoroughly enjoyed watching this band of misfits unite to attempt to thwart a fanatical genocidal dick, self-sustaining in their independence, stronger fighting as one.
Cheesy at times, but still raw, resplendent, and finicky.
Can't wait until they save the Avengers.
That must be coming up at some point.
Although, if the frequency of these films increases, curtailed earth shattering attempts to subjugate entire planets are going to start to seem humdrum, unless they continue striving for excellence.
Peter Quill saves Tony Stark, then gives him the finger.
On down the road.
Friday, August 8, 2014
O Lobo atrás da Porta (A Wolf at the Door)
Desire's stability taunts the victim of a brutish man's lust in Fernando Coimbra's O Lobo atrás da Porta (A Wolf at the Door), consuming her unworldly trusting desperation, a locked-latched-and-lesioned barricade, jaded withdrawn innocence, enraged, and vindictive.
Love for the transgressed.
Unforgivable abuse.
Atrocity begetting atrocity.
Wherein recoils the unleashed.
Oddly light, considering its subject matter, O Lobo atrás da Porta emphasizes contemplation as opposed to emotion while exfoliating an affair, a detective's blind recourse, to the facts, judiciously partaken.
The film's madness is kept hidden beneath a cloak of reason, its insulating logistics, perhaps too cerebral for its conditioning.
The score highlights this tension, erupting in intermittent bursts, reminiscent of Ennio Morricone's from The Thing (1982), striking yet transitory, harrowingly subdued.
Seduction.
Seclusion.
Possession.
Crime.
Love for the transgressed.
Unforgivable abuse.
Atrocity begetting atrocity.
Wherein recoils the unleashed.
Oddly light, considering its subject matter, O Lobo atrás da Porta emphasizes contemplation as opposed to emotion while exfoliating an affair, a detective's blind recourse, to the facts, judiciously partaken.
The film's madness is kept hidden beneath a cloak of reason, its insulating logistics, perhaps too cerebral for its conditioning.
The score highlights this tension, erupting in intermittent bursts, reminiscent of Ennio Morricone's from The Thing (1982), striking yet transitory, harrowingly subdued.
Seduction.
Seclusion.
Possession.
Crime.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
A community of apes is flourishing in the forests north of San Francisco, organized and thrifty endowed reactive brawn.
Humans must appease them to acquire a power source they need to continue growing and expanding, a power source lying within the ape's domain, war being an unpalatable option.
Unpalatable though it may be, both sides prepare for battle, while diplomatic agents attempt to harness cooperative wisdom, to the framework of a mutually beneficial future.
Peace and harmony reign for at least a solid three hours.
Before treachery incites.
Born of impenitent vengeance.
The film necessarily struggles to find its identity, as hostilities and passions obstruct the empowerment of conscience.
Perhaps it's too ape-centred for me, the wild productivity of the forest dominating the film's urban concentrations.
It points out that patience and understanding reside within the art of diplomacy, while focusing on how easily its designs are upset by spiteful infringements, the totality of objectification.
Which unleashes the violence of bedlam.
Crushing the foundation of dreams.
Humans must appease them to acquire a power source they need to continue growing and expanding, a power source lying within the ape's domain, war being an unpalatable option.
Unpalatable though it may be, both sides prepare for battle, while diplomatic agents attempt to harness cooperative wisdom, to the framework of a mutually beneficial future.
Peace and harmony reign for at least a solid three hours.
Before treachery incites.
Born of impenitent vengeance.
The film necessarily struggles to find its identity, as hostilities and passions obstruct the empowerment of conscience.
Perhaps it's too ape-centred for me, the wild productivity of the forest dominating the film's urban concentrations.
It points out that patience and understanding reside within the art of diplomacy, while focusing on how easily its designs are upset by spiteful infringements, the totality of objectification.
Which unleashes the violence of bedlam.
Crushing the foundation of dreams.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Boyhood
Cradling incalculable creative mismatched fluencies, irregularly dispatched as an artist comes into being, Richard Linklater's Boyhood follows a struggling family's progressive course for more than a decade, intermingling climactic catalysts and laid-back observations to serialize the traumatic and the beautiful, the courageous and the chill, helpless free-flowing resilient tenacity, a pervasive sense of wonder, enlightened, eiderdown.
Nice to see an asshole who isn't loveable.
What a strong mother (Patricia Arquette).
Responsibility and teaching are major factors, the children living with their mother, spending weekends with their father, encountering caring facilitators of learning along the way.
Dad (Ethan Hawke) steals a lot of scenes because he has less responsibility and can therefore spend more time being cool, but mom commands more respect, having to make extremely difficult choices as her stable partners turn into beasts.
I liked how the film's divided into different sections as the children age without seeming like it's divided at all; Boyhood has a seamless continuous flow which maturely reflects the passing of the years by not choosing to focus too intently on significant events, while still unreeling cogently enough to recognize their developmental importance.
This style also allows Linklater's characters to smoothly change and grow without constant reminders that they are changing and growing, which may have become tiresome.
Nice to see an asshole who isn't loveable.
What a strong mother (Patricia Arquette).
Responsibility and teaching are major factors, the children living with their mother, spending weekends with their father, encountering caring facilitators of learning along the way.
Dad (Ethan Hawke) steals a lot of scenes because he has less responsibility and can therefore spend more time being cool, but mom commands more respect, having to make extremely difficult choices as her stable partners turn into beasts.
I liked how the film's divided into different sections as the children age without seeming like it's divided at all; Boyhood has a seamless continuous flow which maturely reflects the passing of the years by not choosing to focus too intently on significant events, while still unreeling cogently enough to recognize their developmental importance.
This style also allows Linklater's characters to smoothly change and grow without constant reminders that they are changing and growing, which may have become tiresome.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Chef
Don't know what to make of Jon Favreau's Chef.
It has all the ingredients to be a great film, strong cast, relatable situation, strong characters, heartwarming familial pains, a professional individual's difficulties maintaining a sane work/life balance, artistic expression versus profit-based-strategies, cool tattoo, emphasis on resiliency, neat way to move forward, chill sophisticated artistry sustaining a team, acclimatizations to contemporary phenomenons (social networking issues), crisis, tenacity, rebirth, economic realities respected in terms of friendship, change, coming together, growth, it inspires its audience to diversify their outputs, family friendly yet not picture perfect, imbroglios, composure.
I like all of these things.
But Chef just wasn't my style.
Ah well.
It has all the ingredients to be a great film, strong cast, relatable situation, strong characters, heartwarming familial pains, a professional individual's difficulties maintaining a sane work/life balance, artistic expression versus profit-based-strategies, cool tattoo, emphasis on resiliency, neat way to move forward, chill sophisticated artistry sustaining a team, acclimatizations to contemporary phenomenons (social networking issues), crisis, tenacity, rebirth, economic realities respected in terms of friendship, change, coming together, growth, it inspires its audience to diversify their outputs, family friendly yet not picture perfect, imbroglios, composure.
I like all of these things.
But Chef just wasn't my style.
Ah well.
Friday, July 25, 2014
Snowpiercer
The ravages of global warming have accidentally imprisoned the last surviving members of humanity on an invincible super train, Sheldon Cooper's purist blast of ecstasy, which travels the entire globe over the span of a year, codifying condensed calisthenics, perpetual in its autarkic motions.
Built to function as an enviropolitical scientist's incendiary trench-line, if they like quenching sensationally instructive transistors, a fierce class struggle has erupted within, its boiling point having been reactively reached, crisis, calamity, infraction, the oppressed rebelliously coming into being, extinction, be concisely damned.
It comes down to the food supply.
Mixed in with spatial limitations.
Unprepared perplexing stamina.
Jackass authoritative guidelines.
Why the train's supreme ruler chose to employ an oppressive model to govern his domain after the potential for continuous expansion was obliterated, speaks to the ridiculousness of his model itself, as well as the preponderance of its all-encompassing indoctrinations.
The price of a ticket bears consequences eternal.
The population would have to be controlled, but why one section lives in luxury while the other has to resort to cannibalism makes no sense.
The torches made me think of Plato's cave.
The key is solutions precipitated by a lack of preparation.
John Hurt (Gilliam) is showing up in everything cool these days.
Sheldon Cooper would probably have serious issues with the train.
It would be a great lecture.
At least one other species survives.
Built to function as an enviropolitical scientist's incendiary trench-line, if they like quenching sensationally instructive transistors, a fierce class struggle has erupted within, its boiling point having been reactively reached, crisis, calamity, infraction, the oppressed rebelliously coming into being, extinction, be concisely damned.
It comes down to the food supply.
Mixed in with spatial limitations.
Unprepared perplexing stamina.
Jackass authoritative guidelines.
Why the train's supreme ruler chose to employ an oppressive model to govern his domain after the potential for continuous expansion was obliterated, speaks to the ridiculousness of his model itself, as well as the preponderance of its all-encompassing indoctrinations.
The price of a ticket bears consequences eternal.
The population would have to be controlled, but why one section lives in luxury while the other has to resort to cannibalism makes no sense.
The torches made me think of Plato's cave.
The key is solutions precipitated by a lack of preparation.
John Hurt (Gilliam) is showing up in everything cool these days.
Sheldon Cooper would probably have serious issues with the train.
It would be a great lecture.
At least one other species survives.
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