Ad Astra

Resolute calm enabling worn compact endurance, as split-second horizons galactically persevere.

Haunting commissions convivially prorated invoke distraught conjecture, amidst flossed commanding tremens, a firm shake, hardboiled rations.

Isolated escorts contract both fact and prayer to brave conflicted laments in disputed lunar wastes.

Provoked inherent danger characteristically anointing fury, as reckless impacting recourse gravitationally upends.

Heralds of the absurd embrace age old discretion to definitively proceed and spite incumbent salience.

Prerogative alternatives attuned to crisp latitude, wherewithal in bold defiance, the need-to-know forlorn, askew.

Comma weightlessness, resounding brace, emphatic nebulous accompaniments, maddeningly strained.

A destination charted, strictly relative, the loyal man pursues, a rewarding rash reunion, punchy portents, presence, portals.

Preservation.

In search of awestruck epic, Ad Astra evokes the severe, a textbook sequent caustic quest, a minimalistic slight solemnity.

The action disrupts the logic.

The thought disturbs the action.

It can't decide if it's cerebral psycho-sci-fi or reticent adventure, and the mix is disconcerting if not resignedly underscored.

Take the scenes where they drive across the moon's surface to reach a distant launchpad. There's plenty of opportunity to develop character through dialogue as they cross the inhospitable terrain, while intercutting shots of the heavens to add interstellar savour, but instead they're hounded by bandits shortly after they depart, of course barely making it after sustaining heavy casualties.

Before this scene the film seems serious, like it wouldn't rely on something so obvious, like it's more concerned with brains than brawn, like it has true epic potential.

It's very similar to Apocalypse Now, inasmuch as they both concern young capable determined officers given assignments which demand stealth and sacrifice, which demand they navigate extreme hardships to confront heroes who have lost their minds in remote locations.

There isn't much dialogue in Apocalypse Now either, but it's also an innovative groundbreaking visceral risk-fuelled narrative shot on site in the Philippines, where the actors had to dig deep just to deal with production demands.

Several of its scenes stick with you afterwards due to their enigmatic depth and Captain Willard's odd relationship with his crew. Ruth Negga's scenes (Helen Lantos) stand out in Ad Astra, but without a consistent supporting cast, or much dialogue to work with, and a tiresome psychological test Roy McBride (Brad Pitt) has to take regularly, Ad Astra doesn't measure up, and leaves you wishing it had drawn parallels more precisely.

Apocalypse Now's rich with the spirit of independence that's difficult to create in a studio.

Ad Astra's alright, it's entertaining, I was disappointed but wasn't bored, but from the way it begins and its cast and its premise I thought it would be so much more.

Perhaps a good companion film for Apocalypse Now on a double-bill though.

Make sure to show it first.

Save Brando till the bitter end.

Freaks

Spoiler alert.

Freaks presents a bleak sociopolitical scenario wherein which mutants are routinely hunted down and taken without reason or hesitation.

Its similarities to the The X-Men resonate with complimentary vibes, but even if the two visions are similar, it should be noted that The X-Men don't have a monopoly on this kind of narrative, as long as its characters aren't flatly duplicated.

Where's the hybridization otherwise?

The main difference between Freaks and The X-Men and Women is that The X-Men storyline is well-known, while Freaks keeps you guessing if you didn't read anything about it beforehand, besides that it's science-fiction and made in Canada, and somewhat provocatively titled.

It's like Magneto's worst nightmare.

The majority has designated anyone who doesn't fit a rather bland personality stereotype as a freak, and if différence is detected, it's wiped out with extreme prejudice.

The mutants are scattered and disorganized, forced to contend with the majority on a terrifying individual basis.

A father (Emile Hirsch as Dad), who doesn't understand the majority's conventions well, tries to teach them to his gifted daughter (Lexy Kolker as Chloe), who's unaware of their predicament, and uncertain as to how to proceed.

He's chosen to hide but can't make his daughter understand why, and as she ages she becomes more curious about the forbidden world outside.

A heavily armed reporter thinks she sympathizes, but the climate's so extreme any attempts to communicate are layered with panicky violent unacknowledged distrust, like the society you find in The Lobster, or what I imagine an atheist confronts if they live in a strict theocracy.

Freaks lacks alternative depth inasmuch as the mutants have no rights or recourse, but it does function as an effective critique of extreme governments, and the violence and prejudices they habitually nurture.

On the right extreme, the best and brightest and their goons use violence to force the majority to yield; on the left the moral majority banishes independent thought to languish in remote obscurity.

This is an oversimplified version of the polemic that doesn't do its myriad nuances justice, but works in relation to the context of the film.

In a well-rounded society the groups respectfully co-exist, the respect a cab driver has for a physicist for instance, due to the physicist's brilliant expertise, and the corresponding respect that same physicist has for the cab driver, extracted from the knowledge that they work extremely long hours, provide a helpful service, don't make much money, and have a remarkable knowledge of the city or town they work in.

It's only when the physicist derides the cab driver in anger for not possessing a similar degree of expertise, or the cab driver lashes out at the physicist for possessing lucrative knowledge, that a rather chill orderly structure breaks down, social relations then becoming more disagreeable.

Ask yourself which political parties support such a public sphere? and you may find yourself voting for good times this October.

For a culture that isn't super uptight all the time.

For a country that genuinely supports différence.

I can't stress how important it is to vote in the upcoming federal election. Voting is one of our most important freedoms as Canadian and Québecois citizens. It doesn't take that long and you can even take time off work to do it. Voting helps you be the change, it's one concrete way that you can in fact make a real difference.

This difference is magnified in a proportionally representative system.

Proportional Representation isn't radical change.

It's simply good governance.

Based solely on the numbers.

Bruce Dern (Mr. Snowcone) shines.

He has some great lines too.

The Lion King

I wasn't going to see the new Lion King because I heard it closely followed the original's script, but I wasn't disappointed as it ceremoniously began, for the live action animation indeed compels and motivates.

It's no substitute for the real thing of course, and I prefer to watch nature documentaries, but that doesn't mean the visuals aren't stunning, or zoologically endearing, like a blizzard after a veggie burrito, a trip to the Planetarium, mango icing, or a macchiato with lots of whipped cream.

I can't stress how important it is to conserve Africa's remaining lions, elephants, rhinos, etc.

Their populations have decreased drastically in recent decades, and if concrete action isn't taken, they may disappear forever.

That's not an exaggeration, it's just basic math.

They have just as much of a right to exist as we do.

And don't really do anything to harm us.

It would be cool if politicians committed to shutting down Canada's ivory market during this federal election campaign, if it isn't distressingly frustrating that it hasn't been shut down already.

'Lil Simba (JD McCrary/Donald Glover).

Who's Canada's 'lil Simba?

Nurtured within the chillaxed Canadian and Québecois social sphere, one day emerging to challenge the dissolute Scar (Chiwetel Ejiofor)?

If you enjoyed the first Lion King film, I can't see why you wouldn't like this one, assuming you can get over how much money the film made without changing the storyline much, when there must be original narratives floating around out there that execs are unwilling to take a chance on, I don't really mind sequels as long as they're taken seriously, but an insane number of sequels and remakes have been released in 2019 thus far, as if pirated internet viewing's deeply cutting innovative bottom lines, and no one can afford to take cinematic risks, as if we're living in the age of bland cinematic prudence, born of misguided internet freedoms, which are transforming the world into Netflix, a remarkable minimalistic paradigm shift (it's cool to watch new films at home I suppose [I don't], but the result is that studios are now even less willing to embrace alternative ideas because their profits have been hit hard, theoretically).

Skyscraper!

Where art thou, Skyscraper!

If you accept that the new Lion King exists, however, regardless of its lack of différence, note, again, that it is a fun film to watch, abounding with commensurate degrees of age old wonder.

And imaginary animals can be placed in adorable situations that real life beasties instinctually avoid.

It's adorable.

And hard-edged, chock full of potent life lessons, much of the film's downright no-nonsense, although hakuna matata still resounds with bounty and ease.

Scar takes over again. Until 'lil Simba comes of age.

But wouldn't it be nice if successive governments respected what their predecessors had done, and didn't set about radically altering what they consider to be dysfunctional, unless you replace Scar, who is clearly dysfunctional.

It seems like all successive governments in Canada and the U.S are doing is reversing the decisions their predecessors made, regardless of the fact that significant portions of their countries/provinces/states value them.

There's no progress in such a situation.

And it must be a nightmare for career civil servants.

Politics is much more of a dog fight these days than it was in my youth, and the results are quite unsettling.

I doubt the NDP would change much of what the Liberals have done.

With the wily Jagmeet Singh.

Who's indubitably Simbiotic.

Nezha zhi motong jiangshi (Ne Zha)

A couple committed to protecting their realm from demons who maladroitly arise, jests with the birth of a magical newborn, who's an ill-tempered god hellbent on partaking in routine village life, annoyed that his powers are quotidianly ill-favoured, too young to hold back when hospitably disposed.

He seeks friendship yet is prone to mischief and can't comprehend why he's consistently rebuked, which leads to volatile discontent declarations, and generalized feelings of mutual disaffection.

His parents are uncertain of how to raise their malcontent offspring, and trust a hedonistic immortal to both guide and provide active care.

But he responds too precociously to his loosely structured lessons, and the results are both disconcerting and counterproductive, things becoming much worse when he learns he'll live only three short years, and is indeed frenetically fated, to unleash wanton reviled ill-repute.

He meets his counterpart one day, who is destined for greener pastures, seaside pastures, a god of water secretly raised by dragons, who's also inquisitive and young, and seeking to make trusted oddball friends.

The divine proclamations which indisputably govern their predetermined constitutions have been cast in immaterial chrome, yet they're determined to follow different paths, to make their own fates, randomly preconditioned.

Listen for The Terminator theme music.

It's super deep, this Nezha zhi motong jiangshi (Ne Zha), with its lone bemused disposition, abounding with intricate detail, as it contemplates counterintuition.

In action, while it calisthenically unreels, as hyper-reactive as its nimble namesake, as unrestrictive as leaps and bounds.

Part tragedy as it generates sympathy for a youngster who can't help but cause destruction, yet longs for someone to play with, who isn't afraid of him, or easily duped.

Part comedy as symbiotic shenanigans cerebrally startle and delicately sway.

It's as if predictability were vehemently critiqued by innocent gifted youth, aware of their otherworldly powers and dismissive of fate and forecast.

As if it's comic that ties bind no matter how much agency's secured, and tragic that you exist apart especially if you're born romantic.

To be fated for mystic fortunes adds pressure to attempts to chill, as youth imagines the outer world while taxing mundane rhapsodics.

Nezha (Lü Yanting) gives 'er despite scorn and protest, as misinterpretation confounds.

The film's must-see animation for lovers of fantasy and robust storytelling.

Extraordinarily complex and profound.

Still innocent enough for younger audiences.

Downright quizzical.

Epically nuanced.

Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbour Totoro)

A family moves far away to raise young in idyllic surroundings, the peaceful breeze a windswept melody, the silent nights a tranquil balm, even if living in the city can be equally mesmerizing, its rhythmic variations wondrous catalysts, its gritty flux dynamic grains, a different kind of symphonic swing, still in tune with seasonal contrarieties, the countryside presents more immediate environmental difference, the rays of the sun like molten fusion, a livid storm compressed surprise, it's good for restful relaxation, for decompressing from time to time, but can lack what you weren't expecting, if you don't dig deep, experiment, sleuth.

Look for animals.

Learn about different birds.

Make your own diverse mechanics, soaking up whims and signs, like the kids in My Neighbour Totoro, as they nimbly acclimatize.

Prudent planning was exercised in their locale, and patches of forest were left amongst the fields, the rice fields abounding but not all-encompassing, the children still finding lots of room to play.

Wherein which they discover a magical realm, bold immersed unrestrained imagination, a godlike creature with remarkable powers, exhaling induced exclamation.

Like an idea he can slip the mind, but concentration helps Totoro shine through, to perhaps summon the omniscient cat bus, or play music at the end of the day.

The film doesn't retail shock or ceremony.

It's as unobtrusive as it is inquisitive.

The exact opposite of a horror film in fact, you aren't filled with dread or anxiety afterwards.

It's like productive chill curious growth invigorated, as if you've just seen a badger or had dinner at a local restaurant, as if it's distilled that feeling you get when you're free of responsibility and have time to explore, blend, hypothesize, adventure, recall all those things you misplaced in the bustle, like a band you used to really like, or a view you haven't seen for awhile.

Everything's there in the city too, just have to keep your eyes open, like the girl I saw discover a caterpillar at Sainte-Catherine and Peel one day, or signs that look like animals. A wayward soccer ball in the park. Eating sushi as you walk down the street. A bottle dropped with conversational intent.

I missed the conversational intent of the bottle drop because I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts, and didn't realize I was supposed to pick it up, and that the person who had dropped it wanted to talk to me.

I believe the expression is, my bad.

Totoro's like all those things you never expected to see all decked out and rolled into one.

The divine chillaxed im/material.

Always present.

Never forgotten.

It - Chapter Two

A disturbed slumber, 27 years of rest woebegone, sedate irascibility, contumely comas, hellbent on dispensing despotic discontent, extremely confident of his monstrous prowess, as the virtuous gather, somewhat unsure of their deadly purpose, most of their lives having briskly moved on, careers and love, duty and responsibility, adulthood, maturity, they've forgotten what once fiercely threatened them, although one remained staunch and vigilant, conducting devout immersed freelance research, constructing a strategy to fight round 2, sure and steady, carrying on, assured and brave unwavering commitment, adroitly aware confined productive obsession.

He makes the calls.

They are awkwardly heeded.

But with what seems like miraculous good fortune, they return to Derry minus one, the details of their trauma somewhat hazy, a refresher dynastically awaiting.

Mike Hanlon (Isaiah Mustafa/Chosen Jacobs) believes he's discovered the secret to defeating Pennywise (Bill Skarsgård), but it's complicated if not unnerving.

After visiting local First Nations, who have known of Pennywise since time immemorial, he discovered that they each must locate something personal, they'll just know it when they see it, and that each of these personalized items must then be burned together as one, within a cavern deep below ground, to which the beast will be immediately summoned.

But Pennywise has thought of little else over the years, throughout the tormenting intervening period, and is ready to plague them with fear, as they set out in search of nostalgic essentials.

Alone.

Even though the errors of proceeding individually are pointed out, Hanlon states that the ritual requires personalized sleuthing, Pennywise conscious of their adversarial intent, and everything else that they're blindly thinking.

If you saw the made-for-tv version of It as a child, you can't miss the new cinematic enterprise, which supplies fresh hearty chilling frights, and a corresponding sense of unease.

The narrative's compact, it focuses almost entirely on the adults who defeated Pennywise as children, or were psychologically enslaved by him, there's no police or community at large, just a monster and its courageous foes.

Even though it's 2 hours and 49 minutes long, it still unreels with startling brevity, the wayward adults returning to Derry rapidly, leaving work etc. behind far too quickly.

Except for Mrs. Marsh (Jessica Chastain/Sophia Lillis), who needs to get the *&#* out of there.

The scenes are kind of hokey, passing too abruptly to nurture the genuine.

They each encounter Pennywise again, however, on their own, and these scenes are more lengthy and convincing, the film less concerned with matters beyond the terrifying world of Derry, a tight knit group keeping things crisp, shipshape.

The hasty returns, individual pursuits, and lack of community-at-large involvement, make It - Chapter Two seem a bit slapdash, scary and morbid yet slapdash, especially since each character must accomplish a difficult task after suddenly finding themselves in a frightening inhospitable world they left long ago, and they all succeed while only suffering slight mental distress.

But if the realism isn't going to cut it, or will at least only lead to banal shocks, the ridiculous can indeed be relied upon, fantastic excess outwitting routine expectations.

If horror films are supposed to leave you feeling ill afterwards, It - Chapter Two is a blunt success.

Even if it's kind of corny.

And the Henry Bowers (Teach Grant/Nicholas Hamilton) subplot doesn't add much.

The Peanut Butter Falcon

Crafty strategic planning critical timing pugnacious pudding.

An iron clad tenacious second round deftly wrought greased up leviathan.

Another proceeds in error, thieving what could have been his, rather irritated by austere repercussions, well aware that he's truly at fault.

He responds with fury, as if he were legion and not mortal man, this time raging beyond heartfelt mercy, courageous reckless madness.

He has a good heart, he's just slightly insane, or at least doesn't recognize law, or authority, of any kind, unless it's done right by him.

He then saves a stranger from drowning, and they head out on the resplendent run, applying homegrown irate grassroots logic, heartwarmingly bidden, they build quite a raft.

Another proceeds in hot pursuit, unaware she's given herself away, do-gooding yet friendly and sympathetic, disillusioned by rules, expediency.

Does the wrestling school they seek still exist?, and is the Salt Water Redneck (Thomas Haden Church) still there to train them?

They're sought after with sadistic scorn.

Which doesn't mean they can't fall in love.

The Peanut Butter Falcon flips the bird to prudence and regulations, and celebrates primordial will.

Self-righteous magnetism, as adamant as it is impulsive, organically orchestrates as it blindly flexes.

Tenderness and warmth await as compassion and understanding embrace agile elasticity, improvised reason contemplating with raw passionate substance, like wayward soulful jazz, harnessing modernist themes.

Paramount absurdity realistically toned in stereo, jukebox genesis ebullient bayou, madcap maestros unbound and breathless.

Luminescent unrestrained unrestricted dis/orientation, plunging to suffer quixotically, soaked in ir/reverent s(pl)urge.

Reemerging in familial consensus.

Ready for the great wild unknown.

Glad this wasn't made by Scorsese.

Why should forethought have all the fun?

Okay, one character applies forethought. He thinks he's locked down for life, and is therefore reasonably frustrated because he hasn't done anything wrong. The institution where he lives should have taken him out from time to time. A road trip or a day at the beach. Not just two or three rooms forever. That doesn't make any sense.

There's a cool fun sort of vibe within that you don't often see work so successfully.

Like an old school Larry Cohen film.

I think they had fun while they made Peanut Butter Falcon but still took everything seriously.

The feisty spirit of independence.

I highly recommend it.

Ready or Not

Ornate bedazzling conjugal prudence, quizzically steeped in risk-fuelled dilemma, substituting strategic seance for picturesque pleasures, familial fraternizing, an evening bygone, enormous wealth obtained through rash demonic recourse, bearing conditions, inextricable bounds, a friendly gathering perhaps, a meet and greet, presumed paternal pastures, pejorative precipitate, malicious discountenance, you must play by the rules, dissembled decrees, overstated maladroit discerned incumbent acrimony, bewitching flights of fancy, hidden codes, simplicity.

It could have been sundrenched and storybook, their marriage freely uplifting protest, age old yet modernly equipped, escapading nascent naivety.

A beach even.

Some ice cream.

Yet their wedded bliss is dependent upon satanic ceremonious sanctity, as humble and waylaid as it is despotic, cruel, assumed tensions with in-laws ballistically manifested, stubborn caprice immortally presumed, a game of chance as alluring as apple pie, with a slice of cheese and whipped cream and cinnamon, no preparation given to the rapturous bride, her adoring husband rather upset.

Run for it.

Deconstruct the embargo.

Grace (Samara Weaving) outwits her adversaries for some time, but in so doing Ready or Not runs into trouble, for the logical course she frenetically follows lacks character and interactivity, the question, "how do you fill a script, wherein which a newly wed must be grimly hunted down and then ritualistically sacrificed, with steady doses of thoughtful conversation?", remaining, the answer to which requires necromantic genius, and supplies more verbose discontinuities.

I think the idea was to keep most of them around to perform the sacrifice in the end, even if it could have been done with a far less complementary ensemble.

Such an approach wouldn't have made as much sense, but it would have provided more spoiled food for thought, I'm not sure how seriously horror writers have to take sense anyways, inasmuch as the genre's inherently nuts.

If they had still made it seem realistic it would have been phenomenal.

There are some great horror films that do come across as if they're real though, their horror producing much more lasting feelings of anxiety, why do I watch these films?, but it's not as if they reasonably or rationally make sense when you think about them afterward, it's more like they do a much better job of making the absurd seem plausible, as if meaninglessness were something profound.

Which Ready or Not could have been with less chase and more pace as it generates distressing alarm.

I know I wrote I don't watch horror films much anymore.

But Les Fauves made a perfect fit with my schedule.

And Ready or Not co-stars Kristian Bruun (Fitch Bradley) from Murdoch Mysteries.

He has some great lines.

I would have ended the film with the phrase, "got married."

It seemed more appropriate at the time.

Not the greatest but still above average.

It's like it has action figures in mind.

*I didn't even mean to rhyme all that.

**Damn.