The Birth of a Nation

A young African American slave preacher responds biblically to his terrestrial owner's recidivistic change of heart as racial tensions vengefully explode in Nate Parker's Birth of a Nation.

Critical applications of dialectical divination, Nat (Nate Parker) and Samuel Turner (Armie Hammer) grow up playing together as friends, their friendship lasting long into adulthood until Sam begins seeking social prestige.

Alcoholism having clouded his judgment, no doubt the result of possessing a tender heart pounding within unjust lands, Sam reasserts himself as plantation ruler and loses the support of his lifelong pal.

Nat has been fortunate enough to receive a rudimentary education, and picks up on both the oppressive and the emancipatory dimensions of the bible as he applies his knowledge to his vicious surroundings.

His people dehumanized and suffering wherever he goes (he has to preach obedience to various plantations so that Sam can earn extra money), he decides their only recourse is full-on insurrection.

What would you have done?

Enslaved in such a hell.

Taught that it was righteous.

Bewitching carnal spells.

The Birth of a Nation celebrates courageous acts undertaken by voiceless desperate beaten down citizens, most of whom were never given the chance to scholastically or industriously define themselves.

Some of the acting isn't the greatest and like many films depicting slavery there's a gratuitous emphasis on the grotesque, which postmodern racists thoroughly enjoy watching, but it's still a solid début from controversial filmmaker Nate Parker, who skilfully if not sensationally demonstrates he could use more time and money.

Similar predicaments still persist in many nations worldwide, dedicated activists still working to spread the word.

A manageable work/life balance is always something to strive for.

Time worked to help businesses remain profitable.

Profits shared to help employees remain comfortable.

Equitable exchanges.

For international communities.

Loving

The daily special, a well trodden path, homemade blueberry pie, that stuff you're getting around to.

Almanacs.

Routine creature comforts, familiarity, trust, the Lovings plain and simply love one another, it's not deeper than that, there are no conditions, no excuses, no liaisons, no subterfuge, just a tradition in bloom as dependable as a grilled quarter pounder, step by step by step by step, a clock, outcrops, a home, that's all they truly wanted, ignoring what came to pass.

The law in their jurisdiction didn't take kindly to mixed race marriages at the time, and still held fast to bizarre justifications for its rules, no matter how innocently they happened to be contravened, no matter how strange they must have sounded to others.

You see, if you believe in God, or making laws based upon biblical texts, Adam and Eve were the father and mother of humanity, and, therefore, brought forth all the Asian, European, American, Australian, East-Indian and Island peoples of the world, and didn't establish strict covenants regarding their matrimonial segregation, naively overlooking demonic trajectories.

Not as simple as all that I reckon, once you work in history and economics and land and desire, but these passions didn't interest Mildred (Ruth Negga) and Richard (Joel Edgerton) Loving, they just wanted to work and raise a family, and didn't even attend when their case reached the Supreme Court, just carefully kept keepin' on meanwhile, setting an example, as dedicated civil rights lawyers strove on.

Jeff Nichols's Loving is a beautiful film which straightforwardly examines love, loyalty, kindness, and security.

It never lets things get out of hand.

In its unassuming bold humility.

It's patient, keeps things on the level, doesn't lose its head, a serious film without much drama.

A chill account, a bucolic masterpiece, Loving lovingly latches to assuredly settle, like down home democracy, romantically fused.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Seemingly eccentric fey dissimulated nuances underscore the symphonically seminal seductive Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne), his offbeat orchestrations xylophonically zephyring crazed ritzy zigzags, since, you see, he's aware, he's aware, he's aware of woebegone wizarding wilt as stern and dismissive as ridden-stricked guilt, stilted passionless unyielding observant trusts, where difference remains shunned, locked-up in cuffs, hufflepuffed heart a beating in menagerie, secreting repleting so dissidently, to see attitudes change having decoded blunders, a transmuted sideline's reformed as a wonder!

In thunderous.

Zoology.

I doubt Queen Hatshepsut encountered such disdain.

And don't really know if he hopes to start a zoo. Or, a, magizoo.

Sigh.

Nonetheless, globe trotting in search of versed beasties, Scamander lands in New York heading west.

But his briefcase disappears, is accidentally switched with another, some of its residents escaping into feisty urban playgrounds.

He's also arrested by a disgraced auror (Katherine Waterston as Tina) with whom he eventually strikes up a friendship along with her nurturing sister Queenie (Alison Sudol) and a curious flabbergasted muggle (Dan Fogler as Kowalski).

Before he can stun the wizarding world with his dashing discoveries however, he must first find his tacit treasures and prevent a newfound obscurus (Ezra Miller as Credence Barebone)(a destructive force created when a magical child's gifts are violently suppressed) from joining forces with a wicked exclamation (Colin Farrell as Graves).

All the while NewYork's magical community manoeuvres to hide their existence from suspecting No-Mages (American muggles), who are afraid of their tremendous gifts, and hope to see them enervatingly exposed.

A bit of a pickle.

Spiked X-Men style.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them impresses as it expands Harry Potter lore.

Demonstrating that Rowling and Yates can keep delivering fresh thoughtful and entertaining narratives which provide hungry fans with fertile feasts even if they don't involve Harry Potter, it enticingly develops new characters with innocent depth and capably composes multilevelled meritorious measures (ethics, politics, the individual, the general, the new, the newt . . .).

Apart from the ruminations regarding war between muggles and magicians.

That is way way X-Men and seemed somewhat too grandiose, too tacked-on for a story about Newt Scamander.

These are epic times!

And the collective mindwash is so Jupiter Ascending.

Eddie Redmayne may currently be my favourite actor, his commanding poise and dignity subtly electrifying animated eccentricities.

Undeniably.

Note: I would have added at least 10 minutes to the exploration of Scamander's domain and an additional cheesy scene near the end where he romantically shows Tina his life's work, possibly with Queenie and Kowalski courting within as well.

Probably being saved for a sequel.

I wanted more fantastic beasts, less armageddon!

Can someone cast the independent Newt Scamander American Honeyesque spell?

Quickly, before there are 6 more big budget end-of-the-world blowouts!

Is working at a University really that tumultuous?

For heaven's sake!

Juste la fin du monde (It's Only the End of the World)

A decade's shocks in wandering, discoveries, independence, success engrained skin dove, a career, applause, resentment, forgotten pastures, frigid climes, an author travels home for the first time in more than 10 years to visit his sheltered family, bewilderment and/or jealousy estranging their contentment, mom, sis, bro, conjugal aggression, imaginary constructs resonating with crisp tangible immediacy, actual conversations, evidence based yearning, but when people have been thinking about what to say for years they often do in fact say something, and if you're ill-prepared for their hypotheticals, your silence may seem bitterly bemused, like a question of authenticity, in an hypercritical emotional pound.

Lost at play.

Bullies betwitching.

Reminiscent of Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee but not quite there yet, although Xavier Dolan's touch makes Jean-Luc Lagarce's play (screenplay by Dolan) unreel like a lighter work of a criterion bound European composer, Juste la fin du monde (It's Only the End of the World) distances itself from Mommy et Tom à la ferme insofar as the potential for searing venomous outbursts wantonly branding like vehement scorched earth policies are stoically withheld till the end, as Louis (Gaspard Ulliel/William Boyce Blanchette/Emile Rondeau) theoretically transitions Dolan's texts into less sensational artistic realms.

The characteristic panic brought on by domineering feelings of inadequacy is still present, but rather than consistently disorienting throughout, it's patiently reserved for a wildly stubborn yet subdued expansion.

Each character has a private moment with Louis, loving tender cold reflective curious caustic revelatory pleading confused moments clad in nebulous joyful desperation, moving from obliviousness to uncertainty to understanding to contempt, Louis remaining frustratingly hesitant à la carte, wherein lies the film's brilliant delicacy.

No resolutions, no answers, less comment, not that they weren't there for the asking, there's just no way to get a word in edgewise.

Unfamiliarity.

Nerves.

Like a dishevelling enactment of acquiesced deterministic repression, Juste la fin keeps so much locked inside as its open wound penitently interpolate.

Driven to distraction and daydream.

Otherwise a pleasant afternoon.

HAMMER (Versus)

Tragedy strikes as petty jealousies potentially ruin the career of a self-sacrificing international mixed martial arts contender, but the love interest in question and an opportunistic manager make deals with that very same brat to save the career of their honourable true champion.

Yet the date of the sought after fight doesn't give him enough to heal, and one stiff blow could instantly kill him.

He bears this in mind and wilfully responds to the challenge, death in the ring being infinitely preferable than a lifetime passed having disappointed his fans.

His coach, trainer, and lover eventually accept his decision, having expressed their discontent, and realized their aid is paramount.

But the ring doesn't hold the Russian Hammer's (Aleksey Chadov) fiercest foe, as thugs try to force him to disreputably dive.

Egocentric extremities.

Illicit, unsound.

Patriots and psychotics perniciously square off to wield Russia's HAMMER (Versus), honesty and deception contending therewithin.

It's bare bones, built, direct, no pussyfooting around agendas with esoteric mumbo jumbo, just good guys stuck dealin' with wickedness, making the most of it, as a dedicated matter of principle.

It impeccably sticks to its straightforward format and actively achieves its combative goals.

I can't fault it for that.

But if Rocky's in Moscow, this film's still far east of the Urals, not to say writer Oleg Malovichko can't also reach such a goal, but it will take some time, more passion, deeper digging, and a laid-back blizzard stew.

Winter's coming.

Plenty of time to sit back and write.

*Original title, Versus.

Moonlight

Locked-down in isolation but technically free, young Little (Alex Hibbert/Ashton Sanders/Trevante Rhodes) moves between drug abusing mother (Naomie Harris) and violently dismissive classmates as gracefully as he can, finding refuge with a childless local dealer (Mahershala Ali as Juan) whose guilty conscience and ironical good nature suggest he accommodate the boy.

An oasis helplessly haunted, Little still attends school, and the bullies still bully as he ages, as he grows, as he matures.

One way to stop bullying is to fight back but they travel in packs in Barry Jenkins's Moonlight.

Cowardice.

Little (now Chiron) does bash the most vicious of them in one day with a chair after which the police take him away, suffer in silence or respond and go to prison, not much of a childhood for the peaceful gay fatherless African American kid.

Moonlight is a sad film, a resilient film, a crucial film, a sophisticated film.

A simple story on the surface which fluently presents coy critiques of cultural codes without recourse to sentiment while patiently blending in focus, asking why is difference so frightening?, why do so many instinctively suppress it?

Difference spices things up to add alternative flavours which merge and diverge with eye-opening wonder.

Adventure.

It's as simple as bread.

Different types of bread.

White bread tastes good but one day you might try brown, then rye, then pumpernickel, then multigrain.

Then you have 5 options rather than one for making a sandwich, and can experiment to find out what tastes best, for you, on each different type.

If you have to prove you're tough by forming a group to violently suppress another or an individual, you aren't tough, you're pathetic.

If you're afraid of difference ask yourself why?, and try something new, something startling, like blue cheese or a strawberry shake.

Overcoming fears is what Men and Women do.

Took me a while to start loving olives and hot peppers.

Now I eat them all the time.

A lot of the gay people I've met are chill with a great sense of humour.

It makes for good conversation.

Not many films make as serious an impact as Moonlight while just simply presenting a story.

It's profoundly chill considering the tale it's telling.

The highs and lows.

The emptiness.

Crack ruins communities, ruins lives, makes a sewer of superlatives, which otherwise may thrive.

There's no simple solution.

Besides giving up crack.

And refusing to sell it.

If that's the economy something's seriously wrong.

It does not have to be that way.

And takes courage to turn things around.

Bravery.

Dedication.

Understanding.

Will.

In the great wide open.

Moonlight states this without saying a word.

Blessed.

The Jungle Book

Deep in the heart of fabled India, drought threatens the health and well-being of a community of beasts, hearty individuals cognizant of the convivial, gathering together to fragilely frisk, like the Whos in Whoville, scarcity doesn't cause them alarm, preoccupations with preponderance secondary to the cultivation of conviction, yet the fiercest of them all, who defines himself through violence, refuses to allow a human child to live amongst them, Shere Khan (Idris Elba) arrogantly proclaiming that he will hunt down and kill young Mowgli (Neel Sethi), who must immediately seek charitable human shelter.

Bagheera (Ben Kingsley) assists, yet Khan swiftly separates them, Mowgli barely able to escape, before eventually finding a friend in Baloo (Bill Murray).

Does Baloo exploit Mowgli's labour?

I suppose he does ask the child to dangerously acquire a gargantuan supply of honey, but Mowgli is also free to indiscriminately gorge himself, and, seeing how he lives in the jungle, far away from the safety of labour codes and stable food supplies, he must fend for himself to survive. If said fending also benefits someone committed to protecting him, who doesn't horde everything, I'd say that doesn't qualify as grossly exploited child labour, rather as a mutually beneficial pact, accompanied by a character building challenge, that mischievously bears fruit.

Loved Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book.

There's nimble minor character development which fluidly moves the narrative along, providing comedic depth to veer and crest and make the film more appealing to family audiences.

Baloo is in fact a sloth bear!

I thought the elephants were used remarkably well. They're given a special role within the jungle's culture which provides their peaceful endeavours with distinction and respect as it should considering their size and intelligence.

Hopefully such a role will help convince people to stop poaching them.

Their slow reproductive tendencies cannot bounce back from the current rates at which they are being cruelly slaughtered.

The climax of the film is well thought out. You have two characters dividing the community, Shere Khan overtly and Mowgli in/directly.

The animals fear humanity's red flower (fire) because when poorly monitored it burns down their forest, their home. Yet Mowgli realizes he can use the red flower to defeat Khan and then challenges him with it. When Mowgli realizes he has alienated his community and proven Khan's anti-humanistic point by accidentally starting a fire with the red flower, he suddenly douses the flame, thereby rejoining his people by sacrificing his advantage.

They then bravely and unsuccessfully attempt to protect him, so he must use his mental agility rather than a weapon to challenge Khan.

Mowgli is like the ultimate environmentalist, constantly finding ways to establish a harmonious balance with nature through the art of lusciously landscaping, symbiotically swashbuckling his natural gifts in the same way that Baloo, Bagheera, and the other denizens use theirs.

I thought Kaa (Scarlett Johansson) would have had more screen time but her cameo does provide crucial insights into Mowgli's past.

I found it odd that Shere Khan stopped hunting Mowgli and decided to terrorize his wolf pack instead, thereby hoping to force him to return.

Why didn't he just keep hunting?

I suppose that may have made the film too dark.

Too dark for young families.

Also loved the Monkey Kingdom.

Need to see this again.

Embrasse-moi comme tu m'aimes (Kiss Me Like You Love It)

Like a warm Summer's eve nestled lakeside in the Laurentians, raccoons preparing to scavenge, beavers swimming by, loved ones relaxing as they digest a hearty meal, a classic novel open to page 1, vinous declarations, campfire considerations, children imaginatively inquiring, the bugs having disappeared in recent weeks, marshmallows bountifully beckoning, caught-up in your partner's loving gaze, loons distantly calling, owls preparing to emphatically hoot, neighbours tossing the frisbee, an ephemeral sense of joyful permanence, André Forcier's Embrasse-moi comme tu m'aimes (Kiss Me Like You Love It), awaiting inside, ready, for comedic consumption.

The film itself may be more dysfunctional than that, somewhat more chaotic, a Québec still governed by religious principles during World War II, as the seeds of the Quiet Revolution were tenaciously sewn.

Lampooning mass marketed attempts to glorify war efforts, happy-go-lucky affairs which grossly dilute apocalyptic inclinations, perhaps designed to critique homegrown racist discourses as well, the pure French race being mentioned several times, or to sweeten the tone of nationalist agendas, as if Québec was fighting two wars concurrently in the 40s, the film wildly habituates to freely state je ne sais quoi, phantasmagorically theorizing with ir/rational repose.

This is buried in a bizarro incestuous love story wherein which twins desperately desire one another yet can't express their forbidden lust.

It's as if the endearing flair for trouble making found in films like Vic + Flo ont vu un ours and 1er Amour found its way into another underground film that boldly reversed the polarities while imploding to create a bumbling campy romp which formally satirizes mass markets while seeming mainstream nevertheless, like you have a bowl of chilli in front of you and every time you eat a spoonful it tastes like something remarkably different, hash browns, apples, kimchee, carrots, whatever.

Perhaps Forcier never thought Embrasse-moi would catch on so he turned it into a mock-American mainstream debacle (complete with an all-star Québecois cast) to diabolically outwit its hypothetical predestination?

If so well done.

Heavy on the sleaze while remaining robustly solemn.

To laugh or cry?

Enigmatic emoting.

Historical mayhem.

Le Pacte des anges

Emancipating encounter, alternative exemplars of cyclically violent circumstances serendipitously clashing in conversations clipped enraged, experiential gruel fuelling uncaged frustrations ala coerced skittish getaway, recklessly bold, blends young, old, unscolded harsh penalties discussed, erupting, penitential precarious predicament, absolving on the run, conscience (quaint) in crucible, materialized beyond the grave, ironic peaceful relations, past lives sunlit shade.

Fates or fortunes fittingly exfoliating to strive lost in longing together for a few.

Mourning steeped in bitters.

Total feminine absence.

Stark cruel loneliness momentarily fades in Richard Angers's Le Pacte des anges, as a man's anger comes back to poetically assault him, surreal justice mischievously at play, a chance for redemption desperately diagnosing rigour, labour, pith, intent, ubiquitous laments, for regenerative heartache.

Grim and bleak origins gradually building towards something beyond destitute survival, materialism buckling under imaginative pressures which environmentally enliven a soul left for dead.

Ungulated indents.

Candlelit coyote.

It's a great film which tenderly examines impoverished spirits to enlighten lively reckonings with fleeting thermal grace.

The accidental and the predestined metaphorically aligning to shelter abstract thought, generations abashed to rebalance conceptions, dialogues taut and trending, traversing wild uncertainties.

Moose really are beautiful when they're dashing through the woods.

It looks like they might collapse with each outstretched hoof, but they know exactly where they're going and precisely where they've been.

I almost fell down the stairs today.

Not really.

Could of though, I suppose.

Smile.

The Nice Guys

I'm thinking there was a time when you wouldn't write a script where teenagers attend parties hosted by the porn industry and wind up having sexually explicit conversations while innocently searching for clues.

It's so daring . . . the novelty . . .

Maybe not.

I've never seen anything like this before anyways, presented like you're ordering a coffee or making a dinner reservation, just kind of chucked in there, like Bukowski got hold of Dora the Explorer and decided to attach mismatched detectives.

A United States Department of Justice official (Kim Basinger as Judith Kutner) wants to cause trouble for the porn industry so her daughter defiantly stars in an adult film.

Mom then hires thugs to kill her.

Prurient pageantry?

Not without my freedom!

I shouldn't critique a film solely because of its inappropriate salacious propensities, I guess, trying to play ball here, but The Nice Guys does flop consistently throughout, beginning slowly, never really generating any momentum, and then falling far short of a thrilling climax.

There's no chemistry between Russell Crowe (Jackson Healy) and Ryan Gosling (Holland March) who struggle to enliven the gravelly script and appear quite awkward in their attempts to do so.

They look for Kutner's daughter (Margaret Qualley as Amelia) and occasionally exploit some insightful sleuthing, but it's blind luck that obliviously moves everything forward and makes the film seem cheap and easy.

Healy's marriage is also introduced as a theme and then forgotten.

No one stands out besides March's daughter (Angourie Rice as Holly) and after seeing how the film uses her character you feel disgusted even mentioning that she's part of the film.

But if you like staggered not-so-well-thought-out jokes and critiques of ethical engagements which champion porno you may like the The Nice Guys notwithstanding.

How did Keith David (Older Guy) end up in this?

Wrenching.

American Pastoral

There are a lot of businesses out there with a socially constructive conscious, owners and workers labouring together as the decades pass to maintain a comfortable undiscriminatory atmosphere that is profitable for everyone involved.

Stereotyping every business as one which voraciously exploits workers is as shortsighted as dismissing a race or ethnicity based upon ridiculous fears that have no logical foundation.

If your country has a level playing field, equal opportunity for its citizens, available jobs, and workers and employers seeking social justice together, democracy can flourish, and health and well-being can intelligently prosper.

Communal affluence resulting from sure and steady productive will isn't some lofty unattainable goal to be cynically dismissed, American Pastoral familially examining this point to nurture its resiliency, its tenacity, even if it doesn't depict activists in the most flattering way.

I've never met activists like the ones in this film but perhaps they're out there.

Business owner Swede Levov (Ewan McGregor) does have a social conscious, is concerned about his multiracial workforce, and legitimately cares about their continuing prosperity, the kind of manager who constructively listens while making decisions.

His daughter rebels however, taking the side of the impoverished but taking things too far.

There's a stark difference between civil disobedience and terrorism and if your activist group doesn't understand this distinction it's best to forthrightly abandon them.

Merry Levov (Dakota Fanning) doesn't abandon them and her loving supportive network is crushed by her actions, too much emotion without enough thought, she had the opportunity to make the same difference her father had, had she been willing to listen to alternative points of view, rather than violently enraging people who perhaps would have listened.

American Pastoral isn't the greatest film but it does give a voice to the socially constructive aspect of responsible levelheaded capitalistic engagement that is often overlooked in mainstream cinema (with perhaps the worst casting of a domestic couple ever).

Creating a legit business that enables your family and your workforce to live comfortable lives is a beautiful thing, a wonderful thing, a democratic thing.

And who really knows what Trump will do.

He seems unpredictable and wild and vindictive but that could have just been a strategy he used to win votes, an odd strategy but one that worked alongside his hopes to bring prosperity back to America.

A lot of people are worried about how his irritable nature will diplomatically translate but all he really has to do to prove many of his critics wrong is sit back and be statespersonlike, listen to advisers when making decisions, and act prudently without flying off the handle.

That's not that difficult to do.

Especially if he isn't constantly provoked.

On the plus side he doesn't really owe anyone anything besides the people who voted him in. A lot of Republicans seem to hate him as much as the Democrats, he's insulted many, many big players on both sides, and doesn't seem bound by political dogma, at all. He doesn't have to scratch backs with paybacks and bivouacs. He has a blank slate and could really try to improve the lives of many impoverished Americans in a best case scenario.

He's the classic outsider, the stranger, the dark horse.

I don't know how else to look at it.

He may not sign the TPP.

He might genuinely care about finding good jobs for hardworking people.

I don't think stranger things have happened.

But maybe they will.

Into the unknown.

I'm hoping he shocks everyone by being boring.

Could have all been part of his plan.

Craziness.

*Did the Republicans create the anti-Republican Republican candidate to win back the Whitehouse? I wonder.

Doctor Strange

Mind and body.

Interrelations.

Descartes aside, the only real indication that my body has a source code independent of my mind is apparent every time I arrive home and have to use the washroom. I can be out for a while successfully holding back with mind over matter but once my body detects an outlet in close proximity it vehemently takes control of my upcoming accelerated actions.

With sharp immediacy.

And irrepressible distinction.

Turning this peculiar relationship into something spellbinding, into something interdimensional, requires a unique set of skills begrudgingly acquired by one Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), which is more than just a rushed formulaic addition to the Marvel armada, don't get me wrong, I love the formula, it's a fun film to watch but doesn't measure up to Captain America: Civil War (with another 45 minutes it may have [Strange's conversion and training passes by too quickly and the intriguing practical applications of the supernatural are pinned-down by the action {too much brawn, not enough brain}]), it's also a metaphorical guide to the spiritual benefits of rigorously studying a subject or subjects that inspire you, whether they be sporting, artistic, scientific, or rhetorical, game tapes, books, experiments or debates imaginatively generating alternative realities for the eager student/teacher/coach/professional from which they can create agile plays, literary allegories, locked-down lightning strikes, or stunning arguments, synthetically, analytically, fictionally, environmentally, as do the Ancient One's (Tilda Swinton) pupils in Doctor Strange, with intergalactic active primrose.

The film metaimaginatively converses with technology to reflect upon spirit and multidimensionally interpose.

Macrodiscourses of empire and conquest having been thoroughly exhausted and replaced by micropastures of cerebral cyberspatialities, real world style, it seems that these are strange times indeed, which Marvel has entertainingly narrativized ad stock.

With the old school tradition of universal conquest still worked in.

Making millions off an American Honey style blockbuster.

That would be, philosophically humungous.

21st century style.

Loved the library.

*No Big Bang Theory cameos?

American Honey

Impoverished entrepreneurial acquisitive camaraderie, credulity, ebulliency, buoyantly wavering breezy undulations, leave it behind and quest curtsey Carolina, viscously reacting to consummate best practice, jousting Jack/Jill, expressly un/fulfilled, expedient liaisons assailing partnershipped fluencies like soul crushing levelling enraging surveillance, betrothals, portfolios, necessitous catalysts ephemerally veiling effacements, attainments, relaxing laid-back chill calm and spatial, their environment stoking anthropomorphic sage, beatific verse terrestrially scolded fleece, blanketed flair rustic resonance, periodic pillows of wind, a rest, jests, caressed tranquility, ecstatic existence, wool undershadowed mellow.

Films like this don't come around often.

Devices you'd find in so many just sort of there for the partaking, not concerned with generating a thought or emotion, more like evocative immediacy living day to day, explosive yet stoic, every 24 hour cycle rewriting codes in kinetic cuneiformed western wrestlin' peach, exotic mundane snuggly fitting docs, the natural world in ribbitting gentle whiles firebright.

I love what Shia LaBeouf(Jake) has done with his career.

Sasha Lane(Star) also impresses.

With poetic fever in erratic fathoms, American Honey plucks and pulsates like unpasteurized raw ambrosia, precepts, dusk till dawn.

Moonshine.

Self-perpetuating brisk momentum.

Quintessential cultural fuel.

Favourite film of 2016 so far.

Another gritty romance.

Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden)

Islands of ancient salacious mystique, coveted opulence, irreverent revelations, strategic planning saracen starship, nomadic nomenclature, obsidian overtures spite notwithstanding, lovers leverage contend and lust, tantamount condesa consented trust, delicatessen, octopi, prosciutto, exclusive events held-up hog ties, serendipitous spies, orphans, lives spent in coerced carnal obsession belie wanderlust, trips at sea, unsaddled steeds, a maestro's mercurially manifested misgivings extemporaneously billowing with contemplative vague sorrowful passage, tacit knowledge shimmering in smoke, iridescent stardust stray, fastened.

Sook-Hee's (Kim Tae-ri) innocence ignites plans and projects pristine, poached and sincere passions, cleared tidings focal.

Pinpointed.

Through the breach within reach cloaked and steeped pressures vital.

A plan to steal an old man's fortune multigrainedly awry.

Epic in its orchestrations, Chan-wook Park's Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden) made me think of Davids Lean and Lynch.

Within true love overwhelms calculation to rapturously materialize mint ethereal soul.

Secluded deep in forests green verdant luscious able.

Hauntingly accessible inject garlic gore.

Folklore.

Stationary.