Mr. Turner

Summits submerged then skewered sequestered, holland holistic immersed treasured method, polished in grizzled and gruff pirouettes, subsiding colliding opining subtexts, vertigo, vertiginous, response grounded encompassing consumed, independent refuge, disabled domestic docility, specialization, a willingness to extemporaneously compose candour spawn candlelight, candelabras, regenerative concessions superseding convalescent impecunity, harnessed tempestuous incidental asseveration, gravitational in flux, fluttering foundational finessed fossilized fulcrum, heavyweight prehensile sturgeon, immaculately dispersing, paramount proof of life.

Mr. Turner examines one J.M.W. Turner (Timothy Spall), a brilliant British painter from the 19th century.

Shackled to nothing besides his intuition's visceral duty, he devotedly worked to theorize imagination.

People like this can't live within bourgeois constraints, or can perhaps, with loose reigns.

I suppose such partners, due to the extraordinary success of their coveted loved ones, have difficulty sharing them with horns of plenty, jealousy maddeningly provoking feuds to compensate for feelings of worthlessness.

Outspoken.

Perhaps not, not really sure, that seems to happen in books and films and songs sometimes though, and from what I gather, you're supposed to unequivocally disavow such yearnings, if in a bohemian relationship.

Burnished in bedlam.

It's a great film, intelligently written, good thing I started reading Dickens again recently.

It covers neither too much nor too little, rather presenting finely crafted intellectual biospec sequences which blend the tragic and the critical, the penetrating and the porous.

Probably would have cut the last half hour.

There's a tendency in biographical films to elevate the principal character while reducing his contemporaries to trite one-dimensional cheerios.

The greeting.

Mr. Turner doesn't do this, but watch for it because it takes generally complex interconnected diverse personal/professional/romantic/. . . relationships and counterpointingly disembowels them, which, if you're trying to film something swift, leaves your viewer soberly cocktailed.

Mr. Turner's quite rough.

In sympathy.