A Wrinkle in Time

A brilliant mind obsessed with unlocking physical secrets of the universe suddenly completes his work.

And vanishes into the unknown.

His family is overcome with grief and 4 years later daughter Meg (Storm Reid) remains maladjusted.

Falling grades and fights at school are causes of concern for mom (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), even if Meg was standing up to bullies, even if depression prevents her from concentrating.

Her toughness earns her the respect of classmate Calvin (Levi Miller), however, before three mysterious women show up, who claim to know the whereabouts of her dad (Chris Pine).

Rational disbelief proliferates as impossibility is slowly deconstructed while the plausible conversely engenders hope anew.

Yet Meg must truly believe if she is to both battle The It with the fortitude required to earn her father's freedom, and daringly become the warrior Mrs. Which (Oprah Winfrey) knows she can be.

Perhaps saving little genius brother Charles Wallace (Deric McCabe) thereby, while achieving beyond the limits within which she's terrestrially confined.

The It remains ill-defined but one of the scenes which takes place within its domain depicts unconcerned families enjoying delicious treats seaside stretched-out on the beach.

Meg can tell it's a trick for when she tries the food it indeed tastes like sand.

Perhaps then The IT governs the realm of illusion wherein which the wonderful is in fact nothing more than specks of dust, wherein which insubstantial reversals transform independence into servitude and integrity into humiliation, one ruler commanding all who share in its false pretensions.

Meg sees through this for she unconsciously grasps and stands up for the truth, no matter what situation she finds herself within.

Thus, like an academic, she is less concerned with the limelight or sensational accolades than humbly pursuing a devoted life of studious contemplation.

Like her father who leapt into pure discovery alone.

A Wrinkle in Time salutes the truth by polarizing the fantastic with remarkably realistic composure, as if being honest with yourself verifiably creates purest imagination.

Not as wild and enrapturing and unpredictable as I thought it might be, but still an illuminating journey wherein which courage vanquishes doubt to individualistically uphold something greater than oneself.

Critical.

Pacific Rim: Uprising

The mighty Jaegers have slain their Kaiju foes.

And the world is at peace once again.

Jaeger legends still equip Earth's global master narrative with sublime exemplars of self-sacrifice and heroism, nevertheless, a technological behemoth has found a way to automate their gallantry.

Yet co-creator Liwen Shao (Tian Jing) doesn't know that a former global saviour, one Dr. Newton Geiszler (Charlie Day), has fallen for the Kaiju brain he infiltrated 10 years ago, and keeps in his apartment, and as a result of their secretive romantic mind-melding, has betrayed humankind, and placed homegrown Kaiju brains within each and every hard-driven robot.

Jake Pentecost (John Boyega), son of warrior Stacker Pentecost, and Nate Lambert (Scott Eastwood), son of Clint Eastwood, are unaware of this development as they drift once more, their friendship still persisting, even if conflict once dealt it a crippling blow, world security having brought them together again, to save the planet from Kaiju attacks, round 2.

The Kaiju-brain-led-Jaeger-automatons (sort of like Krang in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) maliciously situate themselves at strategic points round the Pacific Ocean, and thunderously begin generating new breaches.

Before loyal Dr. Hermann Gottlieb (Burn Gorman) can shut them down, 3 Kaiju ascend from interplanetary oceanic depths, eventually merging to form, a monstrous ÜberKaiju.

The fate of the world may rest in the hands of one orphaned girl (Cailee Spaeny as Amara Namani), who builds her own Jaegers, and may find herself kicked out of the Jaeger training program.

For actions prohibited.

One cataclysmic day.

Pacific Rim: Uprising may lack the jaw dropping ridiculous blend of kitsch and sophistication that frankly yet elegantly adorned the original unheralded masterpiece, yet if you loved number 1 it's certainly a must see, for its characters battle Kaiju once more, and the stakes are just as high, if not even more catastrophic.

Disappointments, second chances, ingenuity, treachery, motivational speeches, teamwork, rivalry, love.

Positive attributes abound within, yet it's still quite rushed, rather impatient, like its crafters wanted a finished product as soon as humanly possible, and didn't take the time to add the refinements that made the first instalment so appealing.

Still fun though.

Much better than Independence Day 2.

Immediacy can generate a lot of compelling narratives, but it shouldn't be used to rashly justify wildly improbable scenarios, unless they're delicately timed and patiently brewed.

Another thirty minutes may have helped.

Looking forward to round 3.

Rich with inherent intergalactic instabilities.

Annihilation

A temporal psychological symbiotic extraterrestrial expanse embraces the American West Coast in Alex Garland's Annihilation, those who pass through its translucent iridescence finding themselves immersed within a conscious environment, which absorbs and transforms everything residing within, to fluidly engender biological impossibility.

Imagine you could take a dialectical creation and lay it out horizontally, every line of the text stretching across the floor.

The gridiron.

Then take thousands of other such creations and randomly lay them out beside, on top of, across, within the original line of argumentation, the resulting accumulated mass united by a common method, like a planet's indigenous gene pool, yet continuously birthing previously unconsidered parallels, blends, synergies, oppositions, microanalytics experimenting with infinite, their purpose to remain curious, purely synthesizing theory and practice.

But then imagine the extraterrestrial zone was mashing and recombining genes in a similar way, physical genes plus incorporeal thoughts, thought and speech forming biological components of its transformed lifeforms, not only the thoughts of humans, but those of plants and animals as well.

The poetic mind.

Ceaselessly creating.

Like in so many films investigating the inexplicable, heavily armed personnel are soon sent in, but there's no real physical threat to face, the enemy is more like a lack of civility, dismissals of the unfamiliar, an inability to holistically adapt, psychologically and physically, within manifested spirit, as bewilderment anticipates.

Did the bear get it?

The crocodile?

Herbaceous exponents mesmerizingly fertilizing vast deserts of composed meticulously orchestrated routine.

Habituated happenstance reconceptualizing imagination as if the northern lights were the organic lifeblood of imperceptible ubiquitous transmutation.

Sit back for awhile.

In the woods.

Parc Jean-Drapeau.

Soak it in.

Steep it.

Feel it.

Annihilation moves past devoting yourself to another and anomalously conjures multicultural mystification.

As if it were searching for something it hoped it would never find.

As would an artist.

A detective.

Thoroughbreds

A maladjusted teen, recently expelled from boarding school, despises her severe step-father, a man's man who would rather command than converse and instantly turns brutal if you question his decisions.

Another maladjusted teen, a sociopath in fact, is tutored by the aforementioned, although Lily (Anya Taylor-Joy) has really been hired to function as only friend and confidant, a well-meaning parental decision, that may vindictively prove fatal.

They don't consider killing each other, but after Amanda (Olivia Cooke) encourages Lily to honestly express her contempt, the dark side descends with maniacally pure unaccountability, the two revelling in their vicious designs with cold calculated temerity, proceeding ever more closely towards their goal, absolutely unconcerned with ethics or fatigue.

Malicious young Sith.

Irreverently resolved.

The planning of the murder works well.

It's difficult to generate sympathy for their adversary (Paul Sparks as Mark) and their plans themselves are rich with cinematic intrigue.

The music and settings add contemplative depth which harrowingly develops a computerized sensitivity thoroughly lacking in emotional connections, apart from mutual desires to talk with others, and a base instinct to punish anyone who restricts freedoms.

There's no well reasoned opposition to their plans, however, except for an isolated moment during which the subject of their murderous rage logically expresses his concerns, after placing them within an historical context.

The douchiness fades for a brief sharply contrasting moment.

Before stubbornly returning.

The sociopath even acknowledges his rationality although that doesn't mean she's not still prepared to savagely orchestrate his demise.

Okay, their both sociopaths.

Mark's likely a sociopath too.

With a more well-reasoned opposition to their plans, some doubts at least, the second half of the film would have been more compelling.

The first skilfully lures you in with a chillingly haunting mix of psycho comedy and dark psychology, like Thoroughbreds was crafted to flip the bird to raunchy teen melodramas like American Pie.

It does this well.

But without the alternative voice during the second half, apart from flailing Tim (Anton Yelchin [what a tragedy]), who seems to have been proactively included to remind adolescents to stay in school, the psycho is laid on too thick, and although it's still well done, a great film, more well rounded argumentation may have transformed it from an indie nightmare into a crucible of malevolence.

They should have gone through with it either way.

If an alternative viewpoint had been substantially introduced, and they hadn't gone through with it, it would have been much lamer, most of its shocking edge having been dulled.

Preferred it to Compulsion (1959).

Black Panther

A hidden civilization, majestically secluded in death-defying mountainous impeccability, technologically adept environmental symbiosis relying on ancient traditions to guide contemporary initiatives, a brilliantly constructed unparalleled postmodern wonder, Africa's colonial history having left it reasonably wary of the unknown, yet a new Wakandan leader has wisely arisen who is concerned with his community's global reputation, and may break with the past to encourage sustainable growth, generously nurtured, and cultivated worldwide.

His community at large.

Leaders, I should say.

One was abandoned and left to fend for himself in the U.S, the other grew up amongst his culture's elite within which he occupied a leading position.

Not to say the latter's life wasn't also filled with demanding challenges, challenges of a different kind, but finding food was likely less of a struggle, and the world's most advanced technological resources were readily available to be used at his discretion.

Yet to become King he must combat those who oppose him with raw brute strength alone, and when his streetwise exceptionally skilled cousin controversially lays down the gauntlet he's been running his entire life, T'Challa's (Chadwick Boseman) imposing prowess can't endure.

He's callously tossed.

Into the healing waters below.

As King, Erik Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan) seeks to move Wakanda in new directions.

Bitterly aware of how his culture has been marginalized in many domains, he's ready to fight his way to respectability, and use Wakandan technology to achieve vengeful ends.

Once again differing conceptions of how best to pursue communal objectives conflict, as civility is cast aside, and tradition is torn asunder.

Indubitably so.

Age old political stresses.

Wakanda may be a fictional creation, but its realistic metaphorical value can be seen in strong African communities across the globe, communities that continuously prove their cultural worth when often surrounded by savage persecution.

Wakandan seeds are globally developing and flourishing amidst sustained idiotic cultural devaluations, ignorantly born of jealousy and fear, and raised by systematic institutionalized stupidity.

Live well.

Ignore the hate fuelled poison and use wealth acquired to promote and facilitate education and commerce (Boyz n the Hood).

I don't know what to do if outsiders are flooding communities with hard drugs to destroy them.

I don't know what to do if bigots continue to hate even though they watch films like Hidden Figures and love the game of football.

I do know that studying, working hard, and respecting other respectful people is a rewarding way to live, especially if you share what you've l(e)arned with your community.

And if communities do this worldwide you've got a pretty chill and cool planet to live on, raise families on, flourish on.

Thrive on.

It's like Marvel's becoming a global conscience of sorts.

With all that cash, there's no telling how much cool they can do.

Loved Black Panther.

Abacus: Small Enough to Jail

Men and women who go beyond and take risks to help their community get through difficult times, who care enough to try and set hardworking impoverished people up with the loans they need to simplify complicated cashflow problems, people like Thomas Sung, who saw that his community needed a bank, a bank which he then went about creating, as chronicled in Steve James's Abacus: Small Enough to Jail, Sung spent a huge chunk of his life assisting struggling immigrant families who had been rejected elsewhere, innovative families, whose loans rarely defaulted.

That's what statistics presented in the documentary precisely state, although they didn't prevent the Abacus Federal Savings Bank from being indicted for fraud.

After the 2008 financial crisis.

None of the gigantic American banks were tried in the fallout, instead, one small bank from New York's Chinatown was presumed guilty, and the government didn't even have much of a case.

Had crimes been committed at the bank?

Yes.

As the bank grew, Sung and members of his family eventually became executive managers, a reward for years of dedicated service, and their higher ranking positions slowly cut them off from ground level employees, as the years passed by.

They could monitor the bank's activities from higher up, but since they had less direct contact, it became easier for the unscrupulous to cheat them.

And a popular employee named Ken Yu did just that, along with many of the people for whom he secured loans.

As soon as his crimes came to light he was fired, but the damage had already been done.

Were the crimes committed at the bank significantly less serious than those committed by major American financial institutions?

Yes.

And whereas many of the loans approved by those institutions defaulted, only an extremely small statistically significant number of those approved by Abacus did as well.

Was there an attempt to scapegoat a small bank catering to an immigrant community for crimes committed by more formidable opponents?

It certainly looks that way, especially when you consider that none of the bigger banks were prosecuted, none, as in ye olde not a single one.

Who is Thomas Sung if not a first rate American who devoted his entire life, a life filled with countless self-sacrifices, to making the United States even greater?

Damaging his reputation and humiliating him and his family and his community in court was a cowardly act perpetrated by a lack of imagination.

It's as if he was targeted for his integrity by those who had none, The Dark Knight's Harvey Dent factor coming into play.

Fortunately he unyieldingly faced the charges and diligently proved his innocence.

One tough hombre.

An inspirational American.

Peter Rabbit

A daring ingenious mischievous rabscallion meets his earnest stuffy fastidious match in Will Gluck's Peter Rabbit, as the new Mr. McGregor (Domhnall Gleeson) grumpily takes up residence in the country, and young Peter (James Corden) still covets his family's stock victuals.

Nepotism has brought about McGregor's downfall, for after a decade of meticulous loyal service at Harrod's toy store, his sought after promotion was given to another.

A layabout relative of the owners in fact.

Yet after suffering a frantic breakdown, communal sympathy for his fellow untitled Brits doesn't take root in his furious consciousness, and rather than sharing his overflowing bounty with Peter and his hungry friends and family, he does everything he can, to keep them locked out.

But Peter is clever.

An intuitive understanding of electricity helps him to paternalistically galvanize McGregor's temper, although the desired therapeutic benefits are overwhelmed by fits of rage.

Nevertheless, McGregor conceals his antipathy for Peter from love interest Bea (Rose Byrne), who cherishes every moment she spends with the bunnies, and paints them adoringly when unconcerned with abstraction.

She likes McGregor.

And Peter knows it.

So after their mutually destructive shenanigans, many of which are excessively violent for children (McGregor has to stab himself with an epipen at one point), explosively fell a tree, which comes crashing through Bea's studio, Peter must decide if his selfish jealousy is worth more than a friend's happiness, after McGregor gives up, and quietly heads back to London.

By coming to terms with his former adversary, Peter outshines the vast majority of his much older contemporaries, and McGregor learns to share his bourgeois abundance, and embrace serendipitous succulence.

Thus, Peter Rabbit sticks it to ultraconservative Brit oligarchs who would still rather see the brightest most advanced commoners flailing in obscurity, than have their years of devoted service justly rewarded.

I suppose it's less confusing than seeing Peter hook up with Bea, even if it metaphorically suggests the British still frown upon bohemian romantic couplings.

Audacious artistry?

There's still work to be done.

The number of jabs delivered at France's expense suggest some French rabbits might show up for the sequel.

Une portée de lapins français?

If there is a sequel.

Who let Peter's allergy tirade into the film?

Bit of a shocker.

In serious bad taste.

Paddington 2

Effervescently blossoming in tender loving communal kindness, young Paddington (Ben Whishaw) adorably finds his first job.

And second job.

In need of a large sum to buy his Aunt Lucy (Imelda Staunton) the perfect present, he nurtures his latent entrepreneurial ardour, then cleverly earns cold hard shenanigan exalting cash.

He's become a humble celebrity in his neighbourhood and generally generates warmth and good cheer as he happily passes through.

The Browns have kept up their adventurous spirits, projects and pastimes passionately invigorating their days, knowledge acquired accumulating constructive dividends, a salute to the curious and the inquisitive, the bold and the studious contemplatively bustling away.

But diabolical storm clouds lugubriously hang over their enlightening endeavours, after Paddington attempts to catch a thief and winds up wrongfully accused of the crime.

It's off to prison for the young spectacled bear.

A community in shock.

A family in weeping.

Yet as good manners win Paddington unexpected accolades in jail, Mrs. Brown (Sally Hawkins) begins covertly sleuthing, quickly discovering clues and other investigatory aids, which all point in a famous actor's direction.

I thought it was odd to see Paddington doing hard time at first, but as his overflowing innocent goodwill genuinely charmed the hardened convicts, I couldn't help feeling warm and gooey inside, as if I had purchased marmalade flavoured poptopia.

It was still strange that a bear so young, still practically a cub in fact, had to take to the streets to find work, and was then sent to prison shortly thereafter, as if his example was inadvertently critiquing a lack of British child labour laws, or perhaps metaphorically reflecting upon extant predicaments that still thrive in England's impoverished underground, wherein lads and lasses try as they might to study and find work related to their education, but can never outflank an unacknowledged caste system?

Paddington could have gone to school for instance, or studied at home with Mrs. Bird (Julie Walters).

Nonetheless, it is a heartwarming film, even if warm hearts are scorched in conflict, a convivial family friendly multifaceted matriculation, exonerated by pluck and unabashed good nature, motivated by vigour, and brought to life through the power of bears.

Always keep your distance from real life bears you know.

Instances where bears attack humans are rare.

But if one does, you're bound to hear about it in the papers.

Although moments of cute bear-related cuddles often find themselves making headlines as well.

Headlines!

The Square

Contemporary art clashes with civilization as the repercussions of spontaneous decisions made plague The Square's timid curator.

The square itself is a beautifully conceived space wherein which those who enter should feel free to honestly engage with one another.

Crafted according to egalitarian guidelines, it promotes goodwill and kindhearted understanding.

The supersaturated sensation prone advertisers tasked to promote it can't think of a complementary way to proceed, however, their resultant ad generating the critical controversy they seek, but, nevertheless, it's unceremoniously steeped in just bitter outrage.

By bellicosely blending explosive guilt with tender innocence, the ad reflects mainstream media obsessions with death and violence, the ways in which news outlets focus intently on the abominable in order to generate higher ratings, the unsuspecting public perhaps functioning like the innocent child blown to bits within.

But recognizing such a purpose and detaching it from its grotesque depiction, as it's applied to a subject of the public sphere (a museum), isn't exactly something you can expect from all and sundry, since they're more likely to see an explosion killing a young child within a zone dedicated to peace, and wonder why someone chose such a disastrous advertising method.

Here, intellectual pasteurization confronts working realities wherein which it's reduced to sheer idiocy in a matter of viral nanoseconds, accumulating high ratings meanwhile.

This happens elsewhere in the film too.

Not the ratings.

Explanations making things much much worse.

Means and ends.

The Square brilliantly comments on detached postmodern peculiarities, the universal accessibility immediately granted by YouTube and Facebook seeing old world sociopolitical boundaries disappear in radiant flux.

But the film's also concerned with hapless Christian (Claes Bang), who has a good heart but is somewhat of a fool, who tries to live according to the square's ethics but doesn't really get it, and consistently generates fury as he tries to take part and must eventually defend his poorly thought out decisions.

Being a public figure responsible for promoting a cultural institution, he has to constantly answer questions that don't follow an adoring script, with discursive agility and multifaceted ease, but he often can't formulate the simplest of sympathetic responses, can't flexibly b(l)end with inherent political realities.

Christian's ineptitude is chaotically brought to life both publicly and privately after one of his performance exhibits goes psycho at a formal dinner (the embodiment of disenfranchisement playing a role it naturally wouldn't if elites didn't reflexively assume its rage [or a role played by the disenfranchised who wrongly assume the elites assume they're malevolent {best to take each action on a case by case basis/plus watch the ending of The Dark Knight\}]) and his oblivious attempts to get his stolen wallet back cause trouble for a young immigrant boy (Elijandro Edouard).

This review just looks at a small cross-section of what's reflected upon in The Square and offers hasty interpretations.

An international extravaganza that not so subtly uses contemporary psycho comedy to question paths the arts are following, and the constitution required to manage the synthesis of everything, it interrogates the act of questioning with dry satirical responses, and leaves one man floundering while he assumes existential parlay.

Vivacious vortexts.

Decay in bloom.