Shadow (Ying)

Two dynasties rule a torrential realm yet one has sunk into subservience.

Its nobles protest their King's diplomatic digressions and seek to battle once more those who rationed their defeat.

But their commander has suffered a fearsome blow, and though he can no longer lead, his disciple remains fierce and willing.

A surrogate, a double, a shadow, a brother, found lost in the streets one day years ago, was taken in to become his shelter, should battle prove wanton and reckless.

This shadow effectively deceives far and wide, until he is ready to formidably challenge.

Aided instinctively by a proud weary court, he prepares for the fated day, his patrons having expediently conjured defence through the feminine, as has never been utilized or anticipated before.

Lithe dissonance expounding alarm.

Discreet novel exposure.

Bewitching in convex complement.

Yimou Zhang's Shadow (Ying) presents compelling tragedy.

Modest settings and stately composure give way to shocking excess, as strategic plans denote tactile wonder, and outcomes tax spry febrile throes.

It's like a play, multiple characters nuanced and referenced, august consequences sheathing reward, stark confines generating precepts, latent desire tempting envy.

If you think it lacks distinction or pressure or complaint or pulsation early on, invoke patience as it masterfully proceeds, a narrative rich in subtle intrigue, intricately concealing age old passion.

Bursting forth with beautiful song.

Spiralling in wavelike arrays.

Like a flexed symphonic whirlwind, it classically encircles sworn objectives, alighting loyalty, quest, and betrayal, as it presumes dynastic resonance.

Assurance is by no means decreed and trust consumes arrogant remonstrance.

Impossibility is wildly taunted, depression adroitly commandeered.

As if it never did stop raining.

And there was no other thought to consider.

Outstanding film.

Echoes of Kurosawa.

Rocketman

Abounding with characteristic irresistible melody, Rocketman presents the early life of Elton John (Taron Egerton/Matthew Illesley/Kit Connor).

By no means like warm fuzzy lighthearted hot cocoa, it hits hard at John's blunt childhood trauma, while illustrating how it affected his sudden rise to fame, and led to years of conflicted unrestrained hitched soul searching.

But it's not all that depressing, that's just the frame his actions are depicted within, and at times it overflows with chill wonder, rich with doubts and expedient sublimation.

He was younger once, not so long ago, and although the details of his youth aren't elaborately nuanced, we learn that his father (Steven Mackintosh as Stanley) never loved him, his mother (Bryce Dallas Howard as Sheila) could be mean, and his grandmother (Gemma Jones as Ivy) recognized his talent, which began to flourish at a young age.

He could play anything he heard and write soulful original music, the former winning him a scholarship at Britain's Royal Academy of Music, after which he found himself leading memorable bands.

Rocketman features his lifelong working relationship with gifted lyricist Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell), and how the two have productively worked together for a mind-boggling 5 decades strong.

With Taupin's lyrics John wrote so many enduring classics, many of which are still played regularly today, and shot them into the stratosphere in the early '70s, from which they've never really descended.

But the excessive wealth and wild lifestyle took its toll, especially considering that he fell in love with his hard-edged manager (Richard Madden as John Reid), who was strictly a man of business.

Rocketman's recalled through a series of defining moments John shares with a self-help group after seeking aid to attain sobriety.

According to the film, he was never really that rowdy, that vain, that hostile.

That much of a prick.

On the contrary, he was a humble brilliant laidback musician who wanted to showcase his talent but didn't do anything excessive to gain recognition, like a really fun cool guy whose ambition was acknowledged without spectacle.

After he became a star his outfits were flamboyant but that was and possibly still is part of the show, part of the thrill of seeing him perform.

Costume design by Julian Day.

The film's musical biography so it isn't overflowing with details from John's life, but the music's enticing and creatively interwoven to sympathize, emphasize, ritualize, and contextualize, reimagining so many great songs, with a damn fine new version of Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting.

It doesn't shy away from presenting hardships but in so doing adds depth to John's character, the chosen details resonating with significance, his style still diversifying to this day.

An incredible artist.

And a cool guy too.

Taron Egerton puts in a great performance.

Gentle intense life.

The Souvenir

Spoiler alert.

A lost bored romantic intellectual befriends an aspiring filmmaker who's too blind to be disenchanted 'til they're both very much in love.

She's determined yet shy (Honor Swinton Byrne as Julie), slowly learning to articulate her ideas, and he's in command of thoughtful expressions (Tom Burke as Anthony), which amusingly comment on the artsy world.

He sees something light in her innocent charm which his stilted life is sorely missing, and she enjoys the interactive ideas they warmly share without cost or confrontation.

Early on.

Her first love, her first scandal, her first apartment, her first immersion.

You can interpret the film in different ways but in the beginning their attachment seems genuine.

She genuinely loves him anyways, even after his addiction's revealed.

And the souvenir he provides her with near the end suggests he had genuine feelings too, he wasn't just taking advantage of the free ride, even if he lost control of his reason, and succumbed to blunt bland self-destruction.

Is The Souvenir Joanna Hogg's début film?

If so it's remarkably farsighted.

It's light, charismatic, thoughtful, a bit wild, blending comedic elegance with tragic realization, as if the mind's a random orchestration sweetly plucked in wondrous symphony.

With agile variation.

Composing relevance, nonsense, creeds.

'Til there's something else to do, the film presents wide open-minded invention.

You aren't tethered to specific patterns and expectations even as Anthony gets worse, it's much more freespirited, less checked and balanced like a craze, confident enough to try something novel, yet reliable as if there's something to do.

Some of the scenes, some of the editing, are/is borderline genius.

There were moments when I was close to approaching acritical ecstasy, but the lines weren't as mind-blowing as I instinctively hoped they would be.

The form is though, and many others likely found the content more compelling than I did, who am I anyways?, to even approach something like that in your first film is incredible, and no doubt a brilliant sign for the future.

I imagined Joanna Hogg making brilliant period pieces in the future in fact, rustling up some British history to discursively explore, overflowing with character and subtlety, making points that elucidate tremors.

I keep thinking this is how Jane Austen got started, 19th century style.

Who makes a film like this as a début?

Captivating.

Unique.

Thoughtful and precocious.

Tantalizingly distressed.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Spoiler alert.

Godzilla continues to freely roam the Earth's oceans, with impunity, and since revealing his monstrous longitude, others like have him have indeed been discovered.

Across the globe, lying dormant in slumbrous isolation, as titanic as they are formidable, yet cute and cuddly if considered in miniature.

Bewilderingly conscripted, rogue environmentalists conjure 12 Monkeys, blending in Riddick's Elementals, to unleash destructive fury.

Environmentalists and scientists less interested in freeing giant monsters to destroy half the planet, challenge them, with the aid of the American armed forces, led by Admiral David Strathairn (Admiral William Stenz).

And after Godzilla is defeated by the 3-headed alpha Monster Zero, they track him to his underwater domain, determined to accelerate his convalescence, as he rests following menacing blows.

Mothra comes to his aid in the end, but the other monsters owe allegiance to his nemesis, and it's unknown who will victoriously prevail, while Earth's best and brightest instinctively speculate.

In Monster Zero's corner lies Dr. Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga), her ex-husband (Kyle Chandler as Mark Russell) backing Godzilla.

The result is as wild as it sounds, complete with mythological vindications.

A cool prehistoric Atlantian civilization is even found deep beneath the ocean's waves, abounding with architectural wonders, depicted as Godzilla's home.

How well does Godzilla: King of the Monsters cultivate its ludicrous blockbustering?, and how successfully does it exhale ridiculousness?

It doesn't lack sincere characters, even if what takes place is incredible.

It seems as if it wants to be taken seriously, although what transpires suggests it's of no concern.

There are a lot of cool comments mixed in with chest-pounds that led me to consistently laugh then shake my head, Bradley Whitford (Dr. Rick Stanton) stealing so many scenes, Ken Watanabe (Dr. Ishiro Serizawa) and Sally Hawkins (Dr. Vivienne Graham) adding sublime depth.

But seriously, weapons of mass destruction are no laughing matter, and shouldn't be used to solve problems, and even if Godzilla thrives on radioactivity, there's always a less explosive alternative.

The monster fights are super badass even if they're interrupted much too frequently.

Kyle Chandler's too much a lot of the time.

Which is kind of perfect for a blockbuster.

With the kitsch factor so high he could have made even more of an impact.

Although that could be saved for other films.

Ramboesque films, in which he wears a bandana.

Co-starring Bradley Whitford.

If King of the Monsters had been less serious, it would have been more ridiculous, which would have been nice, but I suppose it's not a comedy, even though it's the comedic aspects of blockbusters that make them memorable.

Too much woe perhaps.

Very heavy on the woe.

The bad decisions made in response to an overwhelming unknown.

Would world leaders really make decisions that shortsighted if confronted with giant monsters hellbent on destroying one another and/or taking over the planet?

Who's to say?

Pretty crazy new Godzilla movie anyways.

A must see for Godzilla alone.

The Dead Don't Die

The traditional zombie film finds itself lackadaisically reanimated, as the ravenous undead seek out mortal sustenance, with organic flavouring, in Jim Jarmusch's The Dead Don't Die.

Much less lively than Zombieland or Planet Terror, it cultivates bewildered slow motion, without letting loose moribund haze, or struggling to refine grassroots bemusement.

It's funny.

It's aware of its chillaxed impersonal lounging, the ways in which it would rather present laidback ingenuous cheek than novel paramedic frenzy, and consistently dispassionately suggests that it could have offered more if it had only simply bothered to do so.

Efficiently.

Thus its form harmoniously complements its genre, its dislocated frostbitten content, a zombie film conjuring primordial zombie, like a tasty craft brew considering mass production.

There's no doubt it emits rebellious angst and bedridden drool, like mad productive insomnia regenerating meaningless gumption, as if it sculpted what it means to turn 40, while leaving out cursive progress and ambition.

While viewing I asked myself if the film would still be cool without the star-studded cast, if it would have still lured me in with decadent charm had it been stacked with unknowns.

There are several unknown actors in the film who add curious depth and unsung integrity, but several big names still intermingle, and seem somewhat out of place in hindsight even if they revel in agile somnambulism.

I think it would have succeeded either way.

It likely would have been stronger without the stars in fact, inasmuch as determined unknowns often make nimble impacts in the genres.

The world has been tipped off its axis after fracking in the arctic disrupts polar reckoning.

And as the sun no longer sets with reliability, governments insist there's no cause for alarm.

Shortly thereafter, the undead descend on unsuspecting towns, arising on different days, to illustrate cannibalistic bedlam.

Had alternative energy sources been globally adopted, and cuts to education vilified with legislative resolve, the world would have likely embraced a much less disturbing future, as if working toward planetary goals was expressly paramount.

What will hopefully seem like absurd cool creative storytelling one day doesn't even seem far fetched at the moment.

Isn't it actually easier and less costly to start transitioning to a greener economy than it is to frack the arctic?

Doesn't going green make more sense than that?

You know it does.

And don't tell me there aren't huge profits to be made.

If it costs more to buy a burger made from plants than it does to buy one made from animals that you have to feed and take care of, there are obviously huge profits in green.

Versatile verdure.

Biodiverse trestle.

Dark Phoenix

The world of the X-Men and Women has become less inherently conflicted, as they have assisted non-mutant kind during many a dark hour of need.

Yet the distrust and fear of their abilities still institutionally lingers, requiring just the slightest provocation to erupt with volcanic fury.

Professor X (James McAvoy) still fights the good fight, but has become so accustomed to praise and reward that he's lost sight of the dire misgivings blindly focused on oppressing his people.

The X-Men and Women aren't revered like the Avengers, theirs is a more hostile world within which old world prejudice still infuriates.

Old world is perhaps the wrong word to be using here, for I doubt multiculturalism is something new.

It's likely existed in manifold alternative forms since the inquisitive dawn of time, perhaps without having to be conceptualized during more enlightened forgotten epochs.

As Foucault would wager.

Without radical designs.

Jean Grey (Sophie Turner) finds herself embodying godlike superhuman powers in Dark Phoenix, and after expressing herself too combatively, leaves Xavier's peace in ruins.

But he refuses to give up on the virtue he still knows constructively resides within, and even as Magneto seeks vengeance, he will not let her drift away.

Not the best X-Men film but it still resonates with endearing themes.

To promote and believe in the goodness of humanity reflects genuine spiritual resolve, but to deny the existence of terror is as foolish as it is naive.

Professor X and Magneto strategize somewhere in between, constantly aware of the other's next move yet still attuned to bold improvisation.

Through the ages.

The fight is fought internally by everyone at times, but losing sight of the value of difference leads to perpetual disillusion.

There's nothing wrong with a bit of spice.

To liven things up a bit.

Chocolate sauce or some gritty granola.

Takes the hardboiled edge off.

From time to time.

And tastes good.

Yum!

Amazing Grace

You change and grow over the years.

Develop. Diversify.

You still love to do some things that you'll probably always love doing, while other interests fade or at least lose some of their lasting appeal.

It seems like this for awhile anyways, but then what seems like 4 years turns into 15, and some of those things that lost their appeal start fascinating again, with qualities beyond expression, seeking unbridled laidback articulations.

You start to notice different things to, or at least observe features you've never noticed before, even though they've been right there in front of you all along, but for some reason have never registered.

Thus the middle-age malaise slowly transforms into a constructive resonance, with a decade and a half more worth of material generating new multifaceted syntheses.

Compelling new ideas and old school boasts of the wild eternal instructively present themselves thereby, revitalizing aspects of the same old same old, while cultivating alternative realms for exploration.

I used to only really zero in on leaf colour in the fall, for instance, but I've started to notice so many wonderful varieties of green this year, perhaps because so many trees were late to bloom.

One prick of a cold Spring dagnabit, that's finally abounding in nascent wonder.

I doubt Aretha Franklin ever lost this regenerative spark of irrepressible contemplation, as she changed and grew over the years, without losing sight of where she came from, or missing a spry tenacious sprightly step.

In Amazing Grace she returns to her gospel roots by performing hymns she loved to sing in her youth, reinterpreted with agile soul, flexibly delivered with profound freedom.

It's like her music found a way in the '60s and '70s to harness communal revelation, blending unique characteristic rhythms with timeless distinct style, gracefully flowing with burgeoning traditions while discovering inspiring orchestrations of her own, thoughtfully scored moving fermentations, abundantly provoking rich frank soulful thought.

And feeling.

She wrote rapturous music that still resonates today with that timeless emboldened innocence that leads to so much wonder.

Cool to see her rockin' it old school in Amazing Grace.

Overflowing with lithe intensity.

Damned impressive age old age old.

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum

Once again with the John Wick (Keanu Reeves) immortalizing survival, this time as the entire criminal underworld extolls chaotic fury.

Congenially, as he's wildly pursued, he seeks the loyal aid of his friends, even if there's little they can do, besides coax divine personal sacrifice.

15 million or so to take his invincible life, too tempting for foolish addicts, too irresistible for would be rivals.

He makes his way to Casablanca in search of He-Who-Sits-Above-the-Table, a lone trek across the desert awaiting, with no guarantee he'll be warmly received.

Yet fortune smiles kindly upon him, and indeed a new deal is made, but not without giving up freedoms, and returning to bogeyman shade.

'Til further complications arise which jeopardize so many many lives.

Madness in searing discountenance.

Focused through utter dysfunction.

Except for Wick of course, who instinctually governs dispassionately.

Although there are points where he could have succumbed, where he almost falls stricken asunder.

The action's intense and the bedlam well choreographed as multiple opportunists seek scathing derisive leverage.

But it isn't as nutso as I thought it would be, and though Wick's still embattled for much of the menace, I still thought there would be less dialogue, less lengthy non-threatening exchanges.

Another dog is imperilled, another ally outcast.

I understand that the dialogue is supposed to be raw, to reflect unpretentious communication with sincere direct honesty, but there are films who use similar conversational strategies which make more of a lasting impact, Paris, Texas, for one, Robert Rodriguez remaining the master.

The first John Wick film was just so good that I keep hoping for similar effects from its successors.

I love Terminator 3 for instance, I'll watch Alien 3 again, Star Trek III, Blade: Trinity, Die Hard: with a Vengeance.

Christopher Nolan's Batman Trilogy excelling far beyond my expectations, with august realistic agency, cinema needs more Christopher Nolan.

I don't consider the Iron Man or Thor films etc. to be trilogies anymore, rather I see them as instalments in an unprecedented colossus that's too vast for these kinds of comparisons.

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum's still cool though, I'll give it that, but it's not more than you would have expected.

The rest of the film could have been as impressive as the fight scenes.

I like how Wick understands animal kind.