Prudent planning can effectively ensure that environmental economics create jobs for adventurous workers while collaboratively caring for diverse ecosystems.
The plans can't be drawn up as quickly, and the people potentially living on the sought after lands have to be consulted, compensated, but since these projects often create billions in revenue, is it really that shortsighted to spend an extra 120 million?
It's like cleaning your house.
I don't like living in filth so I regularly sweep up and do the dishes.
Doing these chores helps me to avoid illness plus I don't stain my socks just by stepping on the floor.
It's win win.
The environment's like a massive house, some would argue it's God's house, God's country, and leaving behind toxic pools and/or terrain supersaturated with oil upon which nothing can live turns that verdant mansion into a disgraceful unkempt sofa you'd find at the dump, not at the cool free section of the dump where good natured citizens drop off used furniture, the dumpy section of the dump, i.e, the dump.
It's basic health and sanitation.
Sure, profits rock, but living in harmony with nature's what profit's all about, the environment's undeniably a priceless gift that has gingerly inspired people for countless generations and recklessly compromising its ancient integrity to make a quick buck foolishly belittles the daunting majesty that illustriously defines it.
Think I'm being foolish?
Think again.
Imagine New Brunswick's population increased to 17 million.
There are around 17 million people currently living in the Netherlands according to Siri, a country similar in size to NB.
Currently, if you live in New Brunswick, it's easy to spend time alone in the countryside because there aren't that many people living there compared to Holland and space is relatively abundant.
So I'm told.
(No one has told me that).
Increase its population by 16.25 million and that abundant space becomes precious as it decreases, and sustainably maintaining what's left becomes even more intuitively paramount.
I'm sure with the additional people it would still be just as beautiful.
But that's a much larger mass to deal with.
In Chris Wedge's Monster Trucks, a new species is discovered after greedy Reece Tenneson (Rob Lowe) digs too deep in search of even more wealth.
His monstrous avarice accidentally relocates actual (loveable) monsters who live within those depths and curiously resemble giant bulbous octopi.
Fortunately, gentle yet tough young Tripp (Lucas Till), who's having difficulty getting along with step-father Rick (Sheriff Rick) (Barry Pepper) and doesn't seem to notice that Meredith (Jane Levy) likes him, finds one of the beasties and affectionately names him "Creech."
Before long, a team is assembled, including a reluctantly brave scientist (Thomas Lennon as Jim Dowd) with a guilty conscious, and they're off to save Creech and his kind from the development which would lay their subterranean realm waste.
Their quasi-exobiological ecosystem.
Don't forget Danny Glover (Mr. Weathers).
It's family fun that makes great viewing after an extended hike, or rides on the métro and bus, environmentally aware without any mercantile misgivings, in bold, it cleans up its mess, while metaphorically promoting markets for biofuels.
Mass markets for said fuels can become realities if there's enough consumer demand.
Make some environmentally friendly automobiles and trucks that cost under $30,000 and run on alternative energy sources and that demand may materialize.
It would help clean up the air we breathe.
And make a huge difference, here on homestead planet Earth.
Likely below ground as well.
Loved this film.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Friday, February 24, 2017
La tortue rouge (The Red Turtle)
Adrift unwilling splash immersion.
Unsettled erupting micromissive.
Beached a slumber fitfully sprained.
Awash.
Excursions verdant fruitful splendour.
Swirling marine exposure.
Rebirth. Escape. Dispatch.
Awash.
Repeat, then driven, driven wild, an uncharacteristic fusion steeped in visions manifold inflects unexpected leisure, immaculate pleasures deeply unfolding lifelong treasured dreams canopied, mystiqued, indiscreet wide-open vast panoramic environs, steady shimmering shifting surging intensities, furlong density, expansive imaginative sprite.
Bold red turtle, transformative undefined enigmatic variations, eternal interventions in matters emergentally sound, forever traversing labyrinthine realms, poetically sacrificing as life creeds incarnate.
La tortue rouge (The Red Turtle) patiently and passively pulls you into its mature yet childlike embrace with cozy caresses and blanketed calm.
A truly relaxing way to spend some time lost in ageless wonder, it's as sensitive as it is surprising, emotional yet cerebrally thine.
Loved the crabs.
Unsettled erupting micromissive.
Beached a slumber fitfully sprained.
Awash.
Excursions verdant fruitful splendour.
Swirling marine exposure.
Rebirth. Escape. Dispatch.
Awash.
Repeat, then driven, driven wild, an uncharacteristic fusion steeped in visions manifold inflects unexpected leisure, immaculate pleasures deeply unfolding lifelong treasured dreams canopied, mystiqued, indiscreet wide-open vast panoramic environs, steady shimmering shifting surging intensities, furlong density, expansive imaginative sprite.
Bold red turtle, transformative undefined enigmatic variations, eternal interventions in matters emergentally sound, forever traversing labyrinthine realms, poetically sacrificing as life creeds incarnate.
La tortue rouge (The Red Turtle) patiently and passively pulls you into its mature yet childlike embrace with cozy caresses and blanketed calm.
A truly relaxing way to spend some time lost in ageless wonder, it's as sensitive as it is surprising, emotional yet cerebrally thine.
Loved the crabs.
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Julieta
Clandestine cordial crests revisiting past traumatic emotionally eviscerating relations, quotidian delineations, condemnations, obfuscations, a literary protocol perspicaciously pinpointing buoys and beacons and estuaries and islets, in revelation, orchestration, a confession, contemporary embraces confused by the disappearance, the sudden creative seclusion, infused with relapsed resuscitated cursive, gently and gingerly discovering clarifications whose lucidity exponentially envisions myriad alternative past contingencies, a roll call, a characterized crucible oceanically encapsulated, answers which question themselves, which everlastingly ensure, that their author never simply asks why?
The details of a former life haunt a convalescing classics expert (Emma Suárez as Julieta) after an unexpected encounter bears mythological witness.
Pedro Almodóvar makes a film based on the writings of Alice Munro.
Could there be a more tantalizing artistic synthesis?
I haven't read Ms. Munro for years (a mistake) but I loved reading her short stories in my twenties.
From what I remember, they often modestly yet incisively examined themes that might have seemed too light if they hadn't been treated with such soberly mischievous assured congeniality, like reading an unconcerned humble playful virtuoso, visiting a store in a small town that has that Amélie item for which you've been unconsciously searching for an unspecified period, or spending time with thoughtful friends who haven't turned bitterly sarcastic.
Her stories also stood out because they consistently contained memorable realistic conclusions, valuable advice that actually made you stop and think, that taught you how the world works without destroying or vitriolically critiquing something.
Like a mom.
I was worried Julieta wouldn't narrativize along these lines but was pleasantly surprised with the results.
A kind, sympathetic, bold yet hesitant film, it articulately pulls you into its struggles without preaching or pontificating about sleuths right and wrong.
Delicate strength.
With a stunning closing image that made me want to visit the Spanish countryside (cinematography by Jean-Claude Larrieu [Carrieu]).
I wonder what Jeff Nichols, Steve McQueen or Derek Cianfrance would create from Alice Munro's texts?
That would be cool if they became a bucolic rite of filmic passage.
The details of a former life haunt a convalescing classics expert (Emma Suárez as Julieta) after an unexpected encounter bears mythological witness.
Pedro Almodóvar makes a film based on the writings of Alice Munro.
Could there be a more tantalizing artistic synthesis?
I haven't read Ms. Munro for years (a mistake) but I loved reading her short stories in my twenties.
From what I remember, they often modestly yet incisively examined themes that might have seemed too light if they hadn't been treated with such soberly mischievous assured congeniality, like reading an unconcerned humble playful virtuoso, visiting a store in a small town that has that Amélie item for which you've been unconsciously searching for an unspecified period, or spending time with thoughtful friends who haven't turned bitterly sarcastic.
Her stories also stood out because they consistently contained memorable realistic conclusions, valuable advice that actually made you stop and think, that taught you how the world works without destroying or vitriolically critiquing something.
Like a mom.
I was worried Julieta wouldn't narrativize along these lines but was pleasantly surprised with the results.
A kind, sympathetic, bold yet hesitant film, it articulately pulls you into its struggles without preaching or pontificating about sleuths right and wrong.
Delicate strength.
With a stunning closing image that made me want to visit the Spanish countryside (cinematography by Jean-Claude Larrieu [Carrieu]).
I wonder what Jeff Nichols, Steve McQueen or Derek Cianfrance would create from Alice Munro's texts?
That would be cool if they became a bucolic rite of filmic passage.
Friday, February 17, 2017
Fences
Friendship, family, filaments and filibusters, Denzel Washington's Fences (based upon the play by August Wilson) encloses dreams and protests and confrontations within a patriarchal shard, not that there isn't a willingness to entertain, as long as his fam remembers who's regally legion.
Potatoes and lard.
He's sacrificed a lot to responsibly take care of things, but his personal experience blinds him to the realities facing his youngest son (Jovan Adepo as Cory), who has a shot at playing professional football, even if dad had to spend his career on the sidelines (baseball).
The answer lies within the stories he dramatically tells, stories which enthusiastically explain how the United States changed over the course of the last 40 years (the film's set in the 1950s), meaning that if America's current composition is resoundingly different from that within which he wildly grew up, the tough lessons he learned through his trials may no longer directly apply to his son's struggles, a son who may therefore have opportunities that were cruelly denied him.
He can't understand the new, he can't comprehend change.
He's hard on his wife Rose (Viola Davis) as well, delivering a devastating blow just as their lives start to become less burdensome.
No settling into old age.
No moving on to greener pastures.
It's not as sad as all that when you listen to him telling his tales, nevertheless, when you watch as he multidimensionally exhales fiction, reverie, and fact.
Denzel (Troy) delivers a brilliant performance full of love, contempt, joy, confusion, understanding, obstinacy, fear, and courage, if you ever wondered why he's been so successful for the last thirty years, Fences offers distinct evidence, as Washington proves that he's far beyond playing typecast roles, that he can indeed competently display intricate multilateral e/motions.
While playing a regular guy.
Viola Davis excels as well.
The film's reminiscent of adaptations of Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee plays, an expansive, caring, sophisticated, realistically controversial examination of real people living hard lives, who aren't afraid to share extended thoughts and commentaries.
Lives being lived, power struggles crisp and bold.
Brief moments of tantalizing largesse.
Rustling through rhythms.
Struggles struck and starchy.
Electric portions.
Potatoes and lard.
He's sacrificed a lot to responsibly take care of things, but his personal experience blinds him to the realities facing his youngest son (Jovan Adepo as Cory), who has a shot at playing professional football, even if dad had to spend his career on the sidelines (baseball).
The answer lies within the stories he dramatically tells, stories which enthusiastically explain how the United States changed over the course of the last 40 years (the film's set in the 1950s), meaning that if America's current composition is resoundingly different from that within which he wildly grew up, the tough lessons he learned through his trials may no longer directly apply to his son's struggles, a son who may therefore have opportunities that were cruelly denied him.
He can't understand the new, he can't comprehend change.
He's hard on his wife Rose (Viola Davis) as well, delivering a devastating blow just as their lives start to become less burdensome.
No settling into old age.
No moving on to greener pastures.
It's not as sad as all that when you listen to him telling his tales, nevertheless, when you watch as he multidimensionally exhales fiction, reverie, and fact.
Denzel (Troy) delivers a brilliant performance full of love, contempt, joy, confusion, understanding, obstinacy, fear, and courage, if you ever wondered why he's been so successful for the last thirty years, Fences offers distinct evidence, as Washington proves that he's far beyond playing typecast roles, that he can indeed competently display intricate multilateral e/motions.
While playing a regular guy.
Viola Davis excels as well.
The film's reminiscent of adaptations of Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee plays, an expansive, caring, sophisticated, realistically controversial examination of real people living hard lives, who aren't afraid to share extended thoughts and commentaries.
Lives being lived, power struggles crisp and bold.
Brief moments of tantalizing largesse.
Rustling through rhythms.
Struggles struck and starchy.
Electric portions.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Passengers
A shocking revelation suddenly shatters a crystalline credulity with excessive reactive disillusionment.
Their relationship was advancing quite well.
The ethical dilemma causes grief-stricken Jim Preston (Chris Pratt) sincere concern for months, the internal debate despondently intensifying his loneliness, his robotic companion (Michael Sheen as Arthur) unable to supply compatible warmth, as their massive craft continues thrusting through space.
With almost one-hundred years until it reaches its destination.
"She's so beautiful, lying there, undisturbed, at rest, at peace, what a comfort it would be if she were to wake, she would one day undoubtably forgive me."
Expressing contempt along the way.
While creating an interstellar Eden.
When the rest of the voyagers woke-up decades later, it must have seemed quite incredible, a wild romantic story to found their new colony's literary tradition, slowly transforming into myth over the centuries.
Cardamom.
Morten Tyldum's Passengers succumbs to overcome love's enmity everlasting.
A tortured soul redeemed through a courageous act which generates mercy as a matter of bold reckoning.
Ways are found to keep things moving as the dangers of a small cast taking up all the screentime are creatively confronted.
Oddly seeming like an oblivious arranged marriage or a clever reimagining of Michael Gottlieb's Mannequin, Gottlieb doesn't show up in spellcheck?, Passengers still excels at justifying its misgivings, while mischievously encouraging luscious tactile growth.
Entropically inclined.
'Til loves saves civilization.
Love the comments it makes about the discrepancies between first and second class tickets, the second class passenger undeniably integral to the vessel's survival.
Their relationship was advancing quite well.
The ethical dilemma causes grief-stricken Jim Preston (Chris Pratt) sincere concern for months, the internal debate despondently intensifying his loneliness, his robotic companion (Michael Sheen as Arthur) unable to supply compatible warmth, as their massive craft continues thrusting through space.
With almost one-hundred years until it reaches its destination.
"She's so beautiful, lying there, undisturbed, at rest, at peace, what a comfort it would be if she were to wake, she would one day undoubtably forgive me."
Expressing contempt along the way.
While creating an interstellar Eden.
When the rest of the voyagers woke-up decades later, it must have seemed quite incredible, a wild romantic story to found their new colony's literary tradition, slowly transforming into myth over the centuries.
Cardamom.
Morten Tyldum's Passengers succumbs to overcome love's enmity everlasting.
A tortured soul redeemed through a courageous act which generates mercy as a matter of bold reckoning.
Ways are found to keep things moving as the dangers of a small cast taking up all the screentime are creatively confronted.
Oddly seeming like an oblivious arranged marriage or a clever reimagining of Michael Gottlieb's Mannequin, Gottlieb doesn't show up in spellcheck?, Passengers still excels at justifying its misgivings, while mischievously encouraging luscious tactile growth.
Entropically inclined.
'Til loves saves civilization.
Love the comments it makes about the discrepancies between first and second class tickets, the second class passenger undeniably integral to the vessel's survival.
Friday, February 10, 2017
Hacksaw Ridge
The subject matter presented in Mel Gibson's Hacksaw Ridge makes it difficult to critique the film, which presents an incredible account of an extremely brave unique complicated conscientious objector who formidably served his country during World War II.
Without ever handling a weapon.
In fact, he's one of a small group of soldiers who have received the American Medal of Honour over the years for exceptionally defining undeniable heroism.
He's the only conscientious objector to have received it.
The film follows him from rural upbringing to painful basic training lumps to terrorizing combat zones while patiently crafting a resilient character unyieldingly dedicated to non-violent principles.
His acts are inspiring and noteworthy and it's surprising that they haven't been commercially disseminated until now.
One Desmond T. Doss (Andrew Garfield), of Lynchburg, Virginia.
Hacksaw Ridge succeeds at simplistically creating a multileveled accessible innocent narrative which ethically yet practically blends individual rights with communal commitments to curiously juxtapose the stubbornly naive and the obliviously stern.
It leads the pack in terms of mainstream domestic American war films released in 2016.
But a best picture nomination? A best director nomination?
Outrageous.
Let's take a brief look at a list of war films that Hacksaw Ridge hopelessly fails to live up to: The Deer Hunter, Full Metal Jacket, Saving Private Ryan, Patton, The Thin Red Line, Anthropoid, Inglourious Basterds, Come and See, The Killing Fields, Apocalypse Now, Platoon, MASH, The Terminator, Phoenix, Schindler's List.
Favourable arguments aside, the true story is, that if this film wasn't about one of the most courageous Americans to have ever lived, Mel Gibson's even more of a laughing stock than he was after he released The Patriot.
Sylvester Stallone and Robert Rodriguez like to make guys-guys films too but at moments they also share extremely touching heartbreakingly sensitive artistic observations that soulfully, tenderly, and masterfully break it down.
Without the built-in emotions related to militaristic combat.
It still could happen someday with Gibson.
He's obviously been redeemed.
Plenty of more time for success.
Without ever handling a weapon.
In fact, he's one of a small group of soldiers who have received the American Medal of Honour over the years for exceptionally defining undeniable heroism.
He's the only conscientious objector to have received it.
The film follows him from rural upbringing to painful basic training lumps to terrorizing combat zones while patiently crafting a resilient character unyieldingly dedicated to non-violent principles.
His acts are inspiring and noteworthy and it's surprising that they haven't been commercially disseminated until now.
One Desmond T. Doss (Andrew Garfield), of Lynchburg, Virginia.
Hacksaw Ridge succeeds at simplistically creating a multileveled accessible innocent narrative which ethically yet practically blends individual rights with communal commitments to curiously juxtapose the stubbornly naive and the obliviously stern.
It leads the pack in terms of mainstream domestic American war films released in 2016.
But a best picture nomination? A best director nomination?
Outrageous.
Let's take a brief look at a list of war films that Hacksaw Ridge hopelessly fails to live up to: The Deer Hunter, Full Metal Jacket, Saving Private Ryan, Patton, The Thin Red Line, Anthropoid, Inglourious Basterds, Come and See, The Killing Fields, Apocalypse Now, Platoon, MASH, The Terminator, Phoenix, Schindler's List.
Favourable arguments aside, the true story is, that if this film wasn't about one of the most courageous Americans to have ever lived, Mel Gibson's even more of a laughing stock than he was after he released The Patriot.
Sylvester Stallone and Robert Rodriguez like to make guys-guys films too but at moments they also share extremely touching heartbreakingly sensitive artistic observations that soulfully, tenderly, and masterfully break it down.
Without the built-in emotions related to militaristic combat.
It still could happen someday with Gibson.
He's obviously been redeemed.
Plenty of more time for success.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
Live by Night
Ben Affleck's Live by Night could have been could have been could have been.
It champions multicultural reflexivity as opposed to rigid dictations as its extremely honourable Irish gangster hero Joe Coughlin (Affleck) makes the right moves to sanctify in sacrifice.
Teamwork is essentially adorned with crucial combative exteriorized comeuppances as partner Dion Bartolo (Chris Messina) provides extrajudicial reckoning.
Idyllic forbidden rapturous love bountifully blossoms in different contexts while Joe comes to terms with his unheralded prestige.
A real-world high-level inevitability permeates each action but isn't enough to prevent thought from rationally entreating.
From using honest North American know-how to level-out the playing field.
There's just one problem.
It's too perfect.
All of its calculations and conversations are just plain-old too noble, too wonderful, everything works out too well, it's far too comfortable for a gangster film.
Some loose ends, please.
Instead of feeling worried or anxious or fearful or nervous I just felt complacent, there's no suspense, it was like I was watching a bright mathematician prove a trigonometric identity, or checking out reruns of a favourite dark family friendly show.
Live by Night explains why the term hardboiled was applied to books by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, or indirectly to films by John Huston or Howard Hawks.
Without the hardboiled aspect, you wind up with Live by Night.
Which I may have loved in my youth.
But couldn't get into mid-life.
It champions multicultural reflexivity as opposed to rigid dictations as its extremely honourable Irish gangster hero Joe Coughlin (Affleck) makes the right moves to sanctify in sacrifice.
Teamwork is essentially adorned with crucial combative exteriorized comeuppances as partner Dion Bartolo (Chris Messina) provides extrajudicial reckoning.
Idyllic forbidden rapturous love bountifully blossoms in different contexts while Joe comes to terms with his unheralded prestige.
A real-world high-level inevitability permeates each action but isn't enough to prevent thought from rationally entreating.
From using honest North American know-how to level-out the playing field.
There's just one problem.
It's too perfect.
All of its calculations and conversations are just plain-old too noble, too wonderful, everything works out too well, it's far too comfortable for a gangster film.
Some loose ends, please.
Instead of feeling worried or anxious or fearful or nervous I just felt complacent, there's no suspense, it was like I was watching a bright mathematician prove a trigonometric identity, or checking out reruns of a favourite dark family friendly show.
Live by Night explains why the term hardboiled was applied to books by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, or indirectly to films by John Huston or Howard Hawks.
Without the hardboiled aspect, you wind up with Live by Night.
Which I may have loved in my youth.
But couldn't get into mid-life.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Lion
Lion tenderly applies a limitless open-armed robustly supple characterization to family by plucking two children from a labyrinthine abyss, and gently ensconcing them within the logical wild.
Cohesive collocation.
Improbability abounds at the heart of this familial bloom, which literally represents the realization of a dream, of a belief, of a mother and father seeking to viscerally inscribe a humble message on the optical bedrock of vision, the odds against little Saroo (Dev Patel/Sunny Pawar) ever finding a safe home having been astronomically high, after he fell asleep on a train in rural Northern India, and woke to find himself hundreds of kilometres from home.
Long before the reliability of Google Maps.
Memories of his lost family haunt him in Tasmania, however, and as he seeks not to cause his adoptive mother (Nicole Kidman as Sue Brierley) any distress by keeping his thoughts to himself, he winds up causing her more pain due to his inexplicable self-imposed isolation.
She opens-up to him in an incredible revelation.
What a performance.
Lion excels at internationalizing instincts warm and dear, complicating them through the art of imagining, strengthening them by nurturing responsibilities.
It covers a lot of temporal space which reduces complex relationships to stock familiarizations, apart from Saroo's illuminating conversations with mom, the impact of one scene alone transporting the film to another dimension.
The desperation Saroo feels after finding himself alone in Calcutta is also captured well, perhaps the film could have used another 30 minutes to ensure this refined sensitivity proliferated throughout.
With additional scenes showing the family growing and flourishing dis/harmoniously as one.
Still, a great film with a wonderful ending, beautifully, if not too rapidly, expanding upon convivial conjugal conceptions, thereby globally validating the local, while stabilizing wholesome fantasies in stride.
Cohesive collocation.
Improbability abounds at the heart of this familial bloom, which literally represents the realization of a dream, of a belief, of a mother and father seeking to viscerally inscribe a humble message on the optical bedrock of vision, the odds against little Saroo (Dev Patel/Sunny Pawar) ever finding a safe home having been astronomically high, after he fell asleep on a train in rural Northern India, and woke to find himself hundreds of kilometres from home.
Long before the reliability of Google Maps.
Memories of his lost family haunt him in Tasmania, however, and as he seeks not to cause his adoptive mother (Nicole Kidman as Sue Brierley) any distress by keeping his thoughts to himself, he winds up causing her more pain due to his inexplicable self-imposed isolation.
She opens-up to him in an incredible revelation.
What a performance.
Lion excels at internationalizing instincts warm and dear, complicating them through the art of imagining, strengthening them by nurturing responsibilities.
It covers a lot of temporal space which reduces complex relationships to stock familiarizations, apart from Saroo's illuminating conversations with mom, the impact of one scene alone transporting the film to another dimension.
The desperation Saroo feels after finding himself alone in Calcutta is also captured well, perhaps the film could have used another 30 minutes to ensure this refined sensitivity proliferated throughout.
With additional scenes showing the family growing and flourishing dis/harmoniously as one.
Still, a great film with a wonderful ending, beautifully, if not too rapidly, expanding upon convivial conjugal conceptions, thereby globally validating the local, while stabilizing wholesome fantasies in stride.
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