Disbelieving ingenuous pups curiously travel to the woods at play, bark bark, in search of a sister long lost in legend, guided by hoaxes on trial by fire, unaware of omnipresent psychotic denizens, gleefully clattering while setting up camp.
And what to make of the legend, of the menace, the malevolence, terrorizing the Black Hills Forest for centuries, misguided punishments generating extremes eternal, no reasoning, no guilt, just blind infinite pernicious ambition, for anyone who comes near, for everyone entering the forsaken domain?
Be good they say, well-mannered, tip-top.
Criticize they say, contradict, rise up.
Occupy middle ground, regard each encounter as a fresh set of downs, proceed seriously, jovially, mischievously, passively, formidably, keep that yap shut, freely express every thought, beware of unknown exhilarations of maniacal metaphorical interpretations of attired discourse, as you seek that coupling, that panoramic, as punishment after punishment punishes your unwilful disobedience, and the subjects you choose to stitch and braise.
And flay.
The weather.
It was nice today.
Talk more.
Revolting.
Why are you so quiet?
You must be a snob.
I suppose the film's alright.
Not much to it besides what's to be expected and a clash between locals and outsiders.
And drones.
Classic let's do it again and cash-in.
Contextually.
Indubitably.
Happy Halloween!
Friday, October 28, 2016
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
The Accountant
Uncontrollable utterances, aggressive paternal instruction, autistic militaristic brilliance, humanistically applied, intrepidly cast and driven.
Playing dangerous games with hardboiled foes, Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck) accounts for plutocratic transgressions, willing to humbly assist if lucratively cont(r)acted, able to respond if treacherously played.
The autonomous superlative conscientious individual, codified personal ethics guiding each decision, reified in action, materialized impactions, his giant heart herbaceously beating, his exhaustive knowledge saliently secreting.
He's badass just the facts can chillax everlasting.
Multicaring.
Wizarding throes.
The Accountant enlightens a thoughtful entertaining romantic intellectual thrilling combative gridiron, smoothly intertwining these elements without tritely enumerating sentimental calculi, logically rationalizing while artistically expressing, its quotient quotidianly qualified, with a healthy dose of algebraic leisure.
Guilt or innocence haunts the narrative with critically productive profusion, like an ambiguous circulatory system cloaked in polarized exhaust.
Gradations.
Laconic ledgers, chilling checks and balances.
Sure and steady.
Compacted.
In the black.
Extract.
React.
Counteract.
Subtract.
On track.
Syntax.
Playing dangerous games with hardboiled foes, Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck) accounts for plutocratic transgressions, willing to humbly assist if lucratively cont(r)acted, able to respond if treacherously played.
The autonomous superlative conscientious individual, codified personal ethics guiding each decision, reified in action, materialized impactions, his giant heart herbaceously beating, his exhaustive knowledge saliently secreting.
He's badass just the facts can chillax everlasting.
Multicaring.
Wizarding throes.
The Accountant enlightens a thoughtful entertaining romantic intellectual thrilling combative gridiron, smoothly intertwining these elements without tritely enumerating sentimental calculi, logically rationalizing while artistically expressing, its quotient quotidianly qualified, with a healthy dose of algebraic leisure.
Guilt or innocence haunts the narrative with critically productive profusion, like an ambiguous circulatory system cloaked in polarized exhaust.
Gradations.
Laconic ledgers, chilling checks and balances.
Sure and steady.
Compacted.
In the black.
Extract.
React.
Counteract.
Subtract.
On track.
Syntax.
Friday, October 21, 2016
Two Lovers and a Bear
Isolated Northern ubiquitous unity, tumultuously tethered, erratically inundated, to immerse yourself in wills withstanding galavanting glacial inefficacious lugubrity, viscid amorous personal sacrifices stabilizing paramount im/permanent tidal proclivities, embraces pure and reckless harmonizing disputes like polished flagellated leather, seductively saddling sentimental sensations, buckled broncos buck, minus 30 below.
Inexhaustible lovers suddenly bitterly torn by news that one must head South, Roman (Dan DeHaan) derelict in distress, Lucy (Tatiana Maslany) aware of the agony.
Obscurity.
Frigid lunge frolic.
Kim Nguyen's Two Lovers and a Bear everlastingly exonerates to latch in longing, passionately deconstructing itinerancy, bashfully needleworking flukes.
She understands the terrain and smoothly works in several serious issues facing Northern communities without saccharinely besieging her wild poetic narrative.
Inflammatory psychiatry.
Testaments of true love.
Currently my favourite fictional act of love ever.
The past haunts them both.
Great things happening in English Canadian film.
It doesn't introduce you to the North or acclimatize you piecemeal, rather it farsightedly attunes the flight in distance, freeing the story from hewn explanations thereby.
Interiorized.
I would have handled the bear's introduction differently, his first scene with Roman anyways, a bit more time to groundwork the shock.
The abruptness integrates a cheese factor which fortunately melts as time passes.
Supernatural.
That's two romantic films I've loved this year.
That could be unprecedented.
Hearts hearthbeating.
Inexhaustible lovers suddenly bitterly torn by news that one must head South, Roman (Dan DeHaan) derelict in distress, Lucy (Tatiana Maslany) aware of the agony.
Obscurity.
Frigid lunge frolic.
Kim Nguyen's Two Lovers and a Bear everlastingly exonerates to latch in longing, passionately deconstructing itinerancy, bashfully needleworking flukes.
She understands the terrain and smoothly works in several serious issues facing Northern communities without saccharinely besieging her wild poetic narrative.
Inflammatory psychiatry.
Testaments of true love.
Currently my favourite fictional act of love ever.
The past haunts them both.
Great things happening in English Canadian film.
It doesn't introduce you to the North or acclimatize you piecemeal, rather it farsightedly attunes the flight in distance, freeing the story from hewn explanations thereby.
Interiorized.
I would have handled the bear's introduction differently, his first scene with Roman anyways, a bit more time to groundwork the shock.
The abruptness integrates a cheese factor which fortunately melts as time passes.
Supernatural.
That's two romantic films I've loved this year.
That could be unprecedented.
Hearts hearthbeating.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
The Girl on the Train
Woebegone coy wailing whispers, loves lost unavailing misters, crescents incoherent past, conjuring disclosed the tracks exacting causal punishments, the unignored passions hellbent mystery steeping pains in bellowed seemingly surficial celloed, instinct buried deep beneath each crushing dipsomanic beat, could she clue in expressly solve and vindicate romantic sprawls?
Wherewithal.
Consensual adulterous ramifications haunting Tom (Justin Theroux) and Anna's (Rebecca Ferguson) marriage, his ex-wife Rachel (Emily Blunt) obsessively views the putters of the wealthy suburb where she once happily lived as she passes by on the train every morning, like a saturated classics scholar trying to piece together the activities of an ancient civilization based solely upon tantalizingly loose scattered fragments, it soon becomes apparent that she has seen something, although it will take some fecund fogcutting to find out if she has indeed taken note.
Panoramic puzzling.
Cross worded deluge.
Tate Taylor's The Girl on the Train sounds comedic but is in fact deadly serious.
Tensions gradually increase as the baffled slowly fit the pieces together, jilted jigsawing jousts in stark rendition, autumnal auspicious reminiscence, engendered through firm resolve.
Acrimony.
Tenderness.
The film's well-structured, deftly integrating seemingly innocuous lives to suspensefully prepare you for myopic innocence with scenes that prevaricate in probability.
Multiple characters skilfully intertwined as Rachel's ride proceeds bush tag.
Hokey at points and Rachel's conclusion could have been lengthier.
Traditional comments on marital infidelity chimed.
Infatuated caprice.
Destructive blind ceremony.
Wherewithal.
Consensual adulterous ramifications haunting Tom (Justin Theroux) and Anna's (Rebecca Ferguson) marriage, his ex-wife Rachel (Emily Blunt) obsessively views the putters of the wealthy suburb where she once happily lived as she passes by on the train every morning, like a saturated classics scholar trying to piece together the activities of an ancient civilization based solely upon tantalizingly loose scattered fragments, it soon becomes apparent that she has seen something, although it will take some fecund fogcutting to find out if she has indeed taken note.
Panoramic puzzling.
Cross worded deluge.
Tate Taylor's The Girl on the Train sounds comedic but is in fact deadly serious.
Tensions gradually increase as the baffled slowly fit the pieces together, jilted jigsawing jousts in stark rendition, autumnal auspicious reminiscence, engendered through firm resolve.
Acrimony.
Tenderness.
The film's well-structured, deftly integrating seemingly innocuous lives to suspensefully prepare you for myopic innocence with scenes that prevaricate in probability.
Multiple characters skilfully intertwined as Rachel's ride proceeds bush tag.
Hokey at points and Rachel's conclusion could have been lengthier.
Traditional comments on marital infidelity chimed.
Infatuated caprice.
Destructive blind ceremony.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Snowden
A brilliant patriotic mind finds himself indefatigably immersed within an exponentially expanding parapanopticon, unwarranted global surveillance having become authoritatively sacrosanct, his personal analysis of the phenomenon leading to a subversive conclusion, as he bears in mind the preservation of civil liberties, and takes steps to educate the unsuspecting public.
The clandestine nature of his work up until his point of departure causes problems for his relationship with partner Lindsay Mills (Shailene Woodley [she does good work]), who advocates for social justice and played a constructive role in his sociopolitical transformation.
Edward Snowden, postmodern day Prometheus, his gift of knowledge mythologically cybersecuring distinct praise agon.
If the rule of law inviolably guarantees an individual's right to privacy, which as far as I'm aware it generally does in democratic countries, Snowden hasn't really broken the law but has rather courageously defended it.
His gift shifts paradigms depending upon how seriously people worry about the indents of their online footprints, enlightening awareness as opposed to litigation, inasmuch as no government would ever give up such power.
Best to pretend like you believe them if they ever say they have however.
Good time to start marketing online security packages that block big brother, even if they'll never work!
If ubiquitous international cybersurveillance isn't going anywhere, it seems like a mistake to leave Snowden outside the equation when he could play a leading role in its positive applications.
Whether or not he's broken the law is up for debate, a contention that many have likely made which could controversially generate the trial of the century.
Imagine how annoying it must have been when neighbouring tribes could light fires or only elite members of tribes could light fires and you/rs unfortunately could not?
I doubt tribal times were that exclusive.
The film functions more like an important tool for raising public awareness, for refining critical consciousnesses, than a stunning work of tragic intrigue.
Stock characterizations and sentimental stylizations depreciate its value although such schematics make such a game changing narrative easier to evaluate, lighthearted mass exposure potentially less distasteful than explosive stunts.
Citizenfour's more detailed.
With I could travel to the year 4000 and find out how Snowden's remembered.
Inveterate flame!
Atavistic icon.
*Good subject for the next Presidential debate.
The clandestine nature of his work up until his point of departure causes problems for his relationship with partner Lindsay Mills (Shailene Woodley [she does good work]), who advocates for social justice and played a constructive role in his sociopolitical transformation.
Edward Snowden, postmodern day Prometheus, his gift of knowledge mythologically cybersecuring distinct praise agon.
If the rule of law inviolably guarantees an individual's right to privacy, which as far as I'm aware it generally does in democratic countries, Snowden hasn't really broken the law but has rather courageously defended it.
His gift shifts paradigms depending upon how seriously people worry about the indents of their online footprints, enlightening awareness as opposed to litigation, inasmuch as no government would ever give up such power.
Best to pretend like you believe them if they ever say they have however.
Good time to start marketing online security packages that block big brother, even if they'll never work!
If ubiquitous international cybersurveillance isn't going anywhere, it seems like a mistake to leave Snowden outside the equation when he could play a leading role in its positive applications.
Whether or not he's broken the law is up for debate, a contention that many have likely made which could controversially generate the trial of the century.
Imagine how annoying it must have been when neighbouring tribes could light fires or only elite members of tribes could light fires and you/rs unfortunately could not?
I doubt tribal times were that exclusive.
The film functions more like an important tool for raising public awareness, for refining critical consciousnesses, than a stunning work of tragic intrigue.
Stock characterizations and sentimental stylizations depreciate its value although such schematics make such a game changing narrative easier to evaluate, lighthearted mass exposure potentially less distasteful than explosive stunts.
Citizenfour's more detailed.
With I could travel to the year 4000 and find out how Snowden's remembered.
Inveterate flame!
Atavistic icon.
*Good subject for the next Presidential debate.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Sully
Bring along a hearty appetite and get ready for a film that plummets down to earth, as Clint Eastwood's Sully presents bread and butter filmmaking, toasted with a side of marmalade, that's as straight and narrow as a prairie turnpike and as hard-hitting as a goal line stand.
It humbly elevates the courageous work of brilliant pilot Chesley Sullenberger (Tom Hanks), whose resolute calm under mortal pressure reflexively saved the lives of 155 people by improvisationally landing his plane in the hostile Hudson River below.
But he didn't do it alone, he was eagerly assisted by his capable staff and all the rescue workers who quickly came to their aid.
A real time jazzy impeccable work of practical art, his methods were inevitably questioned then investigated by a legion of computational suspicions.
Bottom lines having been unprofitably effected, Sully has to prove his innocence and thereby revitalize the knowledge of the human factor.
The models his detractors create to analyze his decision lack the input of common sense even though dozens of people likely took part in their creation and execution.
Sully's input wasn't requested, even though he was there, reacting with stoic impeccability.
The film's alright, an accessible well-acted well-written everyperson film that's easy to follow and celebrates a well deserving team.
The reenactment of the plane's descent into the Hudson eats up a lot of screentime though, and, even though Eastwood takes time to briefly introduce some of the passengers, because we know their lives aren't in danger, and the depicted descent is smooth and uneventful, it's more like a textbook display than a mainstream artistic articulation, which, considering the risk factor lying at the heart of Sully's action, doesn't formally give enough credit to the heroic act itself, it's too stale, too abc.
If Sully had began with the passengers entering the airport only to descend into the Hudson shortly thereafter rather than sticking the extended scene in the middle, it would have made more of an impact, according to me, and they could have been seen at other points afterwards throughout as Sully clears his good name.
After the film explains what happened with a brief illustration of Sully's bold decision making and then turns into a cat and mouse insurers and airline reps versus competent workers game, the actual descent into the Hudson seemed unnecessary, and could have been captured instead in chill haunting flashbacks.
Perhaps I'm being too generic.
A competent 21st century David and Goliath tale that picturesquely promotes active rational immediacy, in flight, I sometimes wonder how much money companies lose trying to discredit their employees instead of simply listening to what they actually have to say.
Is there an app for that?
Trusts.
Burdens of proof.
Critical counterstrikes.
Decent filmmaking.
Glad to know pilots like that be surfin' the skies.
One flight at a time.
It humbly elevates the courageous work of brilliant pilot Chesley Sullenberger (Tom Hanks), whose resolute calm under mortal pressure reflexively saved the lives of 155 people by improvisationally landing his plane in the hostile Hudson River below.
But he didn't do it alone, he was eagerly assisted by his capable staff and all the rescue workers who quickly came to their aid.
A real time jazzy impeccable work of practical art, his methods were inevitably questioned then investigated by a legion of computational suspicions.
Bottom lines having been unprofitably effected, Sully has to prove his innocence and thereby revitalize the knowledge of the human factor.
The models his detractors create to analyze his decision lack the input of common sense even though dozens of people likely took part in their creation and execution.
Sully's input wasn't requested, even though he was there, reacting with stoic impeccability.
The film's alright, an accessible well-acted well-written everyperson film that's easy to follow and celebrates a well deserving team.
The reenactment of the plane's descent into the Hudson eats up a lot of screentime though, and, even though Eastwood takes time to briefly introduce some of the passengers, because we know their lives aren't in danger, and the depicted descent is smooth and uneventful, it's more like a textbook display than a mainstream artistic articulation, which, considering the risk factor lying at the heart of Sully's action, doesn't formally give enough credit to the heroic act itself, it's too stale, too abc.
If Sully had began with the passengers entering the airport only to descend into the Hudson shortly thereafter rather than sticking the extended scene in the middle, it would have made more of an impact, according to me, and they could have been seen at other points afterwards throughout as Sully clears his good name.
After the film explains what happened with a brief illustration of Sully's bold decision making and then turns into a cat and mouse insurers and airline reps versus competent workers game, the actual descent into the Hudson seemed unnecessary, and could have been captured instead in chill haunting flashbacks.
Perhaps I'm being too generic.
A competent 21st century David and Goliath tale that picturesquely promotes active rational immediacy, in flight, I sometimes wonder how much money companies lose trying to discredit their employees instead of simply listening to what they actually have to say.
Is there an app for that?
Trusts.
Burdens of proof.
Critical counterstrikes.
Decent filmmaking.
Glad to know pilots like that be surfin' the skies.
One flight at a time.
Friday, October 7, 2016
Les Innocentes
Cut off from secular temptations, living austere lives self-shunned isolation, religiously devout ascetic mothers having peacefully gathered together to worship, suddenly terrorized, in extreme desecration.
A young nurse working in a nearby town agrees to secretly assist, the worldly and corresponding earthen salts bilaterally balmed, rules and regulations complicating their work, chilling aftermaths incrementally materializing.
Patients, healing in harmony.
The practical and the ideological tenderly stride in Anne Fontaine's Les Innocentes, celestially handmade convivial collaboration, democratically uplifting charitable principles, proceeding piecemeal to care for new life.
It's not that the ideological doesn't present rational codes of conduct, different codes clashing depending on the frequency of contemporary rigidities, it's just that the world usually presents sundry contexts many of which are characterized by specific circumstances which don't snuggly fit within dogmatic prescriptions.
Les Innocentes demonstrates how a balanced approach to the application of rules can produce fruitful results without shying away from illustrating the dangers of straying far from the beaten path, which, consequently, justifies the path's well trodden existence.
By breaking down barriers without sentimentally structuring the narrative, the film exemplifies how principled persons can effectively manage competing dedications while maintaining strong identities in self-secured assurance.
Communal constitutions.
A love story's worked in, friendships develop, the clandestine scandalizes itself, Les Innocentes works on multiple levels.
It critiques without castigating, builds-up without beatifying.
Like an exemplar of composure, it handles delicate controversial material with level-headed poise and calm, as Hillary Clinton's been doing for decades debating in the public eye, and Trump can't seem to fake for half an afternoon.
If tragedy descends into comedy he's pure horror.
Selling it like he's a victim.
Making Stephen Harper look like Barbie.
A young nurse working in a nearby town agrees to secretly assist, the worldly and corresponding earthen salts bilaterally balmed, rules and regulations complicating their work, chilling aftermaths incrementally materializing.
Patients, healing in harmony.
The practical and the ideological tenderly stride in Anne Fontaine's Les Innocentes, celestially handmade convivial collaboration, democratically uplifting charitable principles, proceeding piecemeal to care for new life.
It's not that the ideological doesn't present rational codes of conduct, different codes clashing depending on the frequency of contemporary rigidities, it's just that the world usually presents sundry contexts many of which are characterized by specific circumstances which don't snuggly fit within dogmatic prescriptions.
Les Innocentes demonstrates how a balanced approach to the application of rules can produce fruitful results without shying away from illustrating the dangers of straying far from the beaten path, which, consequently, justifies the path's well trodden existence.
By breaking down barriers without sentimentally structuring the narrative, the film exemplifies how principled persons can effectively manage competing dedications while maintaining strong identities in self-secured assurance.
Communal constitutions.
A love story's worked in, friendships develop, the clandestine scandalizes itself, Les Innocentes works on multiple levels.
It critiques without castigating, builds-up without beatifying.
Like an exemplar of composure, it handles delicate controversial material with level-headed poise and calm, as Hillary Clinton's been doing for decades debating in the public eye, and Trump can't seem to fake for half an afternoon.
If tragedy descends into comedy he's pure horror.
Selling it like he's a victim.
Making Stephen Harper look like Barbie.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
The Age of Shadows
A Korean resistance movement viscerally dissimulates to conflagristically adjudicate Imperial Japanese rule, as a conflicted police captain chants out between two antagonistically united worlds, his identity in flux, his loyalties confessing, cyclonically circumnavigating leveraged windswept extractions, comforts and crucibles psychologically contesting dignity, the oppressors intent on trumping, freedom fighters contacting hillside.
Indigo.
The Age of Shadows sticks to the point.
Betrayals and trusts exfoliating allegiances, time generally isn't wasted discussing the sociopolitical.
Rigidly focused on the goals at hand, it pulls you into its sidewinding struggle unfortunately without blending additional layers of historical commentary.
Its explosive immediacy contentiously compensates, although further insights into its temporal dynamics would have levelled the terrain when it hit bumps in the road.
The chaotic action's well-timed and some of its characterizations stylize penchants of the authoritative and/or the emancipatory, but it drags at points which likely held more meaning for domestic audiences (familiarity with the cast etc.).
Was Lee-Jung-Chool (Kang-ho Song) a brilliant strategist or simply someone who could remain calm under excruciatingly stressful circumstances?
Asylum.
Guts react.
Serpentine suspicions.
Active truth.
Proof of tyranny would have built-up the resistance, although its leader Jung Chae-San (Byung-hun Lee) still offers compelling synchronistic insights.
Nothing breaks his spirit.
Warm blooded will.
Sweetly flowing.
Indigo.
The Age of Shadows sticks to the point.
Betrayals and trusts exfoliating allegiances, time generally isn't wasted discussing the sociopolitical.
Rigidly focused on the goals at hand, it pulls you into its sidewinding struggle unfortunately without blending additional layers of historical commentary.
Its explosive immediacy contentiously compensates, although further insights into its temporal dynamics would have levelled the terrain when it hit bumps in the road.
The chaotic action's well-timed and some of its characterizations stylize penchants of the authoritative and/or the emancipatory, but it drags at points which likely held more meaning for domestic audiences (familiarity with the cast etc.).
Was Lee-Jung-Chool (Kang-ho Song) a brilliant strategist or simply someone who could remain calm under excruciatingly stressful circumstances?
Asylum.
Guts react.
Serpentine suspicions.
Active truth.
Proof of tyranny would have built-up the resistance, although its leader Jung Chae-San (Byung-hun Lee) still offers compelling synchronistic insights.
Nothing breaks his spirit.
Warm blooded will.
Sweetly flowing.
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