Gurov & Anna

Another bleak film, Rafaël Ouellet's Gurov & Anna, not as bleak as Chorus, which seems to have set out to create the most depressing film ever, nevertheless, quite bleak, desolate.

Post-Oscar season.

No sign of a Grand Budapest Hotel this March.

Gurov & Anna examines the line where literature intersects with reality, where imaginary creations try to fit within a quotidian schematic, this particular schematic slowly becoming increasingly more desperate as the realistic variables which haven't been taken into account significantly diverge from their literary counterpoints.

I couldn't generate sympathy for Ben (Andreas Apergis) as he sacrifices his near perfect life for an impromptu affair, an impromptu affair which maniacally consumes him, causing him to lose all sense of decorum.

You see that he's a jerk to begin with, critical when he should be supportive, neglectful of the luxuries life has granted him, more concerned with control than cooperation, a success, but still quite empty inside.

He thinks an affair will somehow revitalize his lost youth, or romantically overcome his overwhelming sense of aged futility, as it does occasionally in books, without taking into consideration the price such sensualists often pay.

He doesn't even try to get to know young Mercedes (Sophie Desmarais), just purely objectifies her, slowly becoming more and more brutal as an individual accustomed to the dictates of reason succumbs to hedonistic madness.

He's made all the right moves throughout his life and doesn't have the historicopsychological makeup to formalize being a complete and utter screw-up.

If that's possible.

When it becomes obvious that he can't control the affair in the same way he controls everything else in his life, not realizing that his ecstasy is the product of the affair's lack of limitations, which can't be controlled without being effaced, entropy sets in, with its accompanying focus on destruction.

Contentment.

There's something to be said for contentment.

Not in the sense that you let it prevent you from changing or let it cause you to stop innovating within the boundaries established by your marriage, in the sense that, from time to time, like Dale Cooper's daily present, without letting it neuter you, you appreciate the wonderful situation you find yourself within, and thereby seek to find new ways to enhance its diversity, through the art of conversation and the love of difference, through youthfully embracing the maturity of the role.

I know it doesn't work out that way a lot of the time.

It does in Kierkegaard's Aesthetic Validity of Marriage however; so easy to write, so difficult to realize.

Mercedes is as full of life and beauty as Ben is full of reserve and banality.

Her presence saves the film.

A complicated look at relationships and their shortcomings, the wonders of the imagination, and realism's abyss.

Garm Wars: The Last Druid

Barren and aimless, two mutually destructive cultures battle for supremacy on planet Annwn, consciousness prolonged indefinitely, omnipresent tactical analysis, the survivors, the residue, a permanent present reliant upon regeneration as opposed to growth to secure its objectives, goals whose rigid confines have imprisoned their masterminds in an endless cycle of repetitive monotonous decay, their citizens in a derelict jagged futureless rot whose entrails pathologically require constant immured virulence.

Bleak film, Garm Wars: The Last Druid, indirectly examining the ethnocentric politics of perpetual conquest and ruin, collegially counterbalanced, by an adventurous dreamlike team.

They head out into the forgotten wilderness, in search of truth, guided by the vestiges of spiritual purpose, embracing the enchantments of the unknown.

Their endeavours lead to some captivating scenes, where two soldiers, bred for war, struggle to define their new perspectives, blossoming in their burdens, embracing difference for the first time, articulating miraculous parlays.

Coming into being.

The film's kitschy sci-fi with a prophetic edge whose juxtaposition of technology and the environment whirlwinds cataclysmic conclusions.

An examination of nothingness, of war, like the end game of 1984. 

With a badass druid.

Driven to succeed without any concept of success, a map is drawn.

Formulating plans on a need-to-know basis, they flatter a scourge, and prepare for the sequel.

Solid Lance Henriksen (Wydd).

The Babadook

An intelligent mischievous creative child (Noah Wiseman as Samuel) has trouble fitting in with his Grade 1 class, notably because a demon terrorizes him throughout the night, known only to him and his mother, as the malevolent Babadook.

His mother (Essie Davis as Amelia) finds it odd that he continues to create elaborate contraptions to defend them against what she considers to be a disconcerting obsession, and can't open her mind to the truth of his dementia, until the Babadook menacingly appears.

It's a disorienting look at the ravages of exclusion.

Amelia can't get over the death of her husband who died on the night she gave birth to her son.

As she has understandable trouble reintegrating, her son's social difficulties exasperate their isolation.

She's older and has built up a thicker layer of psychological feints to conceal her overwhelming grief.

But as the manifestation of their loneliness closes in, threatening their sanity, a new defensive system must be hybridized.

If they can't find recourse to sociological restructuring, the Babadook is free to conquer.

Directer Jennifer Kent creates a haunting atmosphere of ostracized tension within, which works well considering her budgetary constraints.

Patient piecemeal manic hysteria quietly descends, facing bravery and insolence as it seeks leverage.

With additional resources, there's no telling what the sequel may unleash.

Relatos salvajes (Wild Tales)

6 volatile tales, worst case after worst case after worst case, scenarios often drenched in vengeance and justice, unexpected reactions to systemic rigidities, spitfires and incendiaries, riddled with hostility, both participants in the carnage, explosively splintered and drawn.

Who's in the wrong?, detonates each of these backlashed drills, as they comedically yet devastatingly assert themselves, like sociocultural aneurysms, caution and hesitancy be damned, to escorted retributive strife.

Beyond grieving.

Alarming dysfunctions.

The bitter outcast, the conscientious victim, road rage, billeted bombast, chaotic extortion, a bridal blush.

Consequences abound.

Social media condemns then rectifies.

Punishment, misfortune, degradation, resilience, Relatos salvajes (Wild Tales) passionately revels in ambiguous cohesion, disobedient in its logic, playful, carnal, means.

The oppressed and the oppressive, skewered kindred collisions, chance, structure, happenstance, mischievously envisioned in/sane tec/tonics.

The rules.

Play by which set of rules?

Immediacy begets fleeting permanence, instantaneous conception, sudden breaking news.

Chappie

Violent aggravating hierarchical threats competitively embark in Neill Blomkamp's volatile Chappie, as a success story attempts to enhance his marketability through the creation of something beautiful, through the rearing, of robotic young.

It's not happenin'.

His child is quickly hijacked and then alternatively reared by desperate criminals intent on paying off 20 million in debt.

Instead of delicately nurturing his nascent creativity, Ninja (Ninja) prefers to ignite a trial-by-fire, consequently introducing him to a band of troubled youths, who then proceed to throw rocks at him and actually light him on fire.

The youth think he's a police robot, because his creator, Deon Wilson (Dev Patel), uploaded a humanesque consciousness into a broken down police robot, a part of a robotic police force he also created, young Chappie (Sharlto Copley), who remains unaware of these facts, and defencelessly terrified.

He does learn from his experiences though.

Which leads to a memorable science-fiction comedy.

The script's multifaceted (written by Blomkamp and Terri Tatchell), consisting of criminal and professional diversifications which populate the film with myriad characters at different socioeconomic levels, each of them given plenty of screen time to develop, as they pursue various goals before meeting for a ludicrous showdown in the end.

Solid science-fiction/action series are intertextually woven in, Robocop being the most obvious, but Chappie also acknowledges Die Hard, The Terminator, Predator, Alien, and Transcendence to name a few.

Ninja says, "Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker!," at one point.

Chappie fires at the Moose in the same way Sarah Connor fires at the T-1000 in the final moments of Terminator 2.

When the hunt is on, movements are robotically tracked as if a Predator is stalking prey.

It's co-starring Sigourney Weaver (Michelle Bradley).

And human consciousnesses are uploaded to computers like in Transcendence. 

Transcendence wasn't so solid.

As Chappie comes of age in less than a week, a naive innocent caregiving sense of blossoming chaotic youth awkwardly contrasts the social horror show, the dynamics of which are simultaneously shocking and instructive.

The script has all of these elements but it still fails to impress on some fronts.

There are several characters given the chance to develop but they never really move past their first impressions, apart from Ninja, Chappie, and Yolandi (Yolandi Visser), who do change a bit.

And Deon buys a gun.

Ninja easily goes about acquiring the 20 million he needs to pay off Hippo (Brandon Auret), there's no sense that something could go wrong.

The thugs escape the police near the beginning even though it seems obvious they'll be captured.

Catch 'em. Let 'em break out. Make their escape seem plausible.

Cars are easily stolen and it seems like there's no possibility the thieves could be caught.

All this with a robotic police force patrolling the streets.

It's like hardwired explosive emancipated desperate largesse, highly structured to joyously refute the logical, with a thin layer of predictable rationality sensationally stitching things together.

It's campy.

So campy.

Sort of awful.

But still a must see.

You get the sense that there aren't a lot of public funds available to level things out a bit in Johannesburg, from Chappie.

The people on the bottom have no institutional means of moving up and earning a respectable living.

And the people on top have no means of preventing them from excelling at crime.

And are just as ruthless at pursuing their own respectable livings.

Nice to see fallible robot cops. I for one would prefer not to see robots in uniform.

It's possible that the lack of character development in the film directly relates to Blomkamp's brutal depiction of life in Johannesburg, meaning that there's only one dominating personality available, and if you don't embrace it, you won't survive.

Dog eat dog.

Unless you're brilliant like Deon.

Who ends up becoming a robot.

Because he disobeyed his weapons manufacturing boss.

Social safety net people. Public funds.

It's also possible that they partied way too hard while making this film.

Who knows!

Red Army

A different approach to the cultivation of sporting legends was adopted by the former Soviet Union.

Notably in regards to hockey, according to Gabe Polsky's new documentary Red Army.

Constant training, living together in isolation for 11 months of the year, severe punishments for failure, patronizing management of all aspects of a player's life, a rigid system demanding strict and unyielding obedience.

Under coach Tikhonov anyways.

Coach Anatoli Tarasov had a different style, much more gentlepersonly, focusing on the artistic nature of the sport, the application of progressive thought to cohesive teamwork, balance, to equanimous belonging.

Both coaches succeeded, one was despised, one loved.

I never realized how crazy about hockey the Soviet Union was until watching this film, it was like watching Canadians discuss hockey, I didn't know Russians loved the game so much.

Tikhnonov's torturous regime did produce results, the Soviets going undefeated for 2 years in the '80s, Red Army even including footage of Gretzky in awe of their prowess, during his prime, the Russian Five of this period referred to by many as the greatest line ever.

They still hated their whiplashy coach.

I always understood that it's a source of National pride that we defeated the Soviets in '72, but I wasn't alive at the time and only ever really highly respected it because everyone who was alive at that point regarded it as a nation building moment, something much more elevated than just another international hockey tournament.

After watching Red Army, I fully understand why.

Even if Polsky exaggerates the Soviet Union's obsession with hockey, it still rivals our own, and to think that we beat them, winning 3 in a row on Soviet home ice to win the series, against a team that trained religiously, no pun intended, is astounding.

I always thought the Soviets were more well rounded when it came to sport, because their population was so much larger than Canada's, Russia's still is, thinking that with such a large population their athletic interests would be more like those of the United States, although I do recall them winning quite a few medals whenever the Olympics were held and they attended, in my youth, but don't ever recall them playing football, basketball, or baseball.

In Fareed Zakaria's Post-American World, whose title is misleading, he points out that the American economy was/is so dynamically multifaceted that it could/can pursue multiple goals simultaneously, and effectively, while countries with smaller economies have had/had to focus on a smaller number of things, many of which they elegantly pursue/d, but in terms of sheer diversity of excellence, no one could/can compete with the United States.

Perhaps that's why the Soviets focused so much attention on hockey.

They did finish 4th in the World Cup of Soccer in 1966 as well.

I've read a depressing number of articles recently about the lack of high-paying permanent jobs in the United States however, and it would be nice to read about that possible trend disappearing.

Red Army uses the example of Viacheslav Fetisov to offer insights into an individual's growth within a collective system, examining the pros and cons of that system from his own testimony, and that of others, thereby investigating how things have changed in Russia since communism fell.

He's perhaps not the best example to use since he spent most of his life on top, although it was a much less glamorous life than that experienced by exceptional professional athletes in North America or non-Soviet Europe, he still wasn't starving or sent to the gulag, and could hold his head high being one of the best in the world.

He still had very little freedom.

He eventually did play in North America, winning a Stanley Cup in his late 30s playing on a Russian line for the Detroit Red Wings, with one teammate from his former Red Army line (Igor Larionov).

Note that many players don't play that well in their late 30s in the NHL.

An informative tripartite examination of ideology, politics and sport, Red Army delivers a chilling look at objective efficiencies, the value of teamwork, and personal strength.

Unbelievable how many awards Fetisov won.

Good companion film for Foxcatcher.

Terre des ours (Land of the Bears)

As bears wake up from their cavernous winter lairs, nature slowly unravels a bountiful nutrient enriched spread, the frozen months having left them restless and hungry, ready to once again, embrace their awe inspiring surroundings.

Millions of calories must be stored before winter descends once more, and bears must keep active to consume enough to prepare them for their next extended slumber.

Guillaume Vincent's Terre des ours (Land of the Bears) follows them as they adventure.

I've read about bears maintaining loose familial bonds while foraging, and Vincent's film factualizes this tendency.

A young male heads out into the world for the first time without the accompaniment of his mother or sister, and upon encountering his sister early on in the Spring, takes the time to warmly greet her, before they sit back, stray, and frolic.

Younger bears must learn to be bears as well, and 2 leave their den in the care of their mother, passing the time curiously learning her lessons, while also engaging in bold acts of mischief.

Bears abound in this land and come close to forming a sleuth, although they do often still maintain a respectful distance.

Heartbreak strikes as two young cubs who have lost their mother emerge from the woods to take food from cubs younger than themselves.

I've also read about bears adopting motherless cubs, but this doesn't happen in Terre des ours.

While Disneynature's Bears attaches an endearing narrative to its subject/s, Terre des ours takes a more random approach, interspersing events from various bear lives throughout, while adding relevant and informative commentaries.

Not as cute and cuddly as Bears, Terre des ours's form chooses to accentuate the wilder aspects of their lives, the edited accumulation of footage functioning like an instructive a/symmetrical mosaic, the bears within seeming more like wild animals than huggable teddies, which is an intelligent modus operandi, inasmuch as it reflects both strength and struggle.

It's important for humans to view bears from a distance as a general rule.

Treadwell proved that you can oddly live amongst them for long periods, but it's only a matter of time before you're transformed from observer to snack.

I think over the centuries many bears have learned to identify humans with death, and acculturating them to the presence of humans makes the poacher's crime easier to undertake.

Many of them are like giant raccoons, not related to raccoons, they may still be debating this, but they can still turn and suddenly start hunting you. Raccoons usually split quickly. I was sitting in the forest one day and I looked to the left and saw a raccoon approaching who hadn't noticed me. I waved, it looked up, and took off into the bush full-speed ahead.

If you see a bear, move away slowly, but note that it's likely not going to attack.

The bears in Terre des ours spend most of their time fishing and playing, it's a great film for bear enthusiasts and nature lovers generally.

They've chosen great moments to insert songs with vocal tracks, and sustained a visceral sense of majesty and wonder.

Like the bears themselves are living breathing volcanic lava.

Raconté par Marion Cotillard.

What We Do in the Shadows

Heightened rationalized improbability permeates What We Do in the Shadows, productively enlivening the confines of the undead, with shattered/rebuilt staggering susceptibility.

Incinerator.

4 vampires have been living together for some time in Wellington, New Zealand, tediously, nonchalantly, constructively, and impetuously approaching eternity, sort of learning and growing together as one, individuality integratively asserted, within their infernal domestic.

A camera crew is granted access and follows them around as they socially interact.

Debating, observing, feasting.

The film successfully works its way into the mockumentary cleavage, adding a bizarre sense of feisty unrealistic yet applicably pertinent ironic existential banality to its hemorrhage, asinine arteries and viscous veins wickedly yet lovingly distributing its worn permanence, like the genre itself is transformatively expired.

A skulking pantheon.

As they explore the external world and attend festive gatherings, favourite representatives of various divergencies emerge, their conversations occasionally fraught with bitterness and decay, a clash with the lycans, everything held together by Stu (Stuart Rutherford).

Stu is the human friend of recently converted vampire Nick (Cori Gonzalez-Macuer), and he aloofly yet essentially stylizes the film.

Nick builds Deacon's (Jonathan Brugh) character by contrasting his youthful rebelliousness with rash exuberance, the two growing ensemble, clueless direct un/concerned advice intact.

Some of the jokes don't work, like swearwolves/swerewolves.

More could have been done with the vampire hunter and the Unholy Masquerade.

Still, as far as people awkwardly placed within a time period they neither understand nor care to get to know goes, taking the time to formulate opinions and conclusions which both validate and empower them regardless, even if they subconsciously recognize their inherent weaknesses, What We Do in the Shadows serves to obscure while lucidly contemplating, as discoveries are made, and friendships develop.

It would be nice to see what Clement and Waititi could pull off with a larger budget and more time.

What We Do in the Shadows could make a funny show, there's plenty of material to work with.

Elephant Song

Dr. Toby Green (Bruce Greenwood) is ill-prepared for the devious manipulations of psychiatric patient Michael Aleen (Xavier Dolan), as he visits him for the first time on Christmas Eve, at his long term care facility.

Aleen, the unwanted son of a legendary opera singer, skilfully exploits Green's palliative expectations, expediently employing cunning and subterfuge, prevaricative expertise, with goals in mind.

Artfully engaged in indirect communication, they painstakingly proceed through a kaleidoscopic array of circumlocution, Dr. Green unconvincingly naive, unprofessionally struck by Aleen's dazzling intellect.

His disingenuous merit.

To which he cannot rhetorically respond.

It's the film's weakest point.

It's hard to believe someone that accomplished would fall for Aleen's tricks so quickly, so easily, even on Christmas Eve, and sincerely keep up the same level of trust for so long, having been so effortlessly duped from the outset.

Masterfully.

Why does he maintain the level of trust?

Frustratingly quilled yet mesmerizingly insouciant, Charles Binamé's Elephant Song still ambivalently deconstructs relational therapeutics, 2 steps forward, 2 steps back, patient bilateral supplications.

The application of learning.

To heartaching horizons.

*Dolan's that good in English too. Impresario.

**I'm not against employing clichés in writing, but they need to be worked in with carefully placed well-timed elasticity, to thrivingly live again.

***As the crow flies . . . ;)