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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.