Vivre sa vie

The art of presenting freespirited conversation that seems genuinely inspired in rhythm, that isn't mad or crazed or nutso, nor inspired by the master narrative.

I believe they're called sweet nothings even if they're critically articulated beyond romance, motivating neither king nor country, so vivaciously juxtaposed.

Imagine dialogue beyond jurisprudence, without concern for cookie cut expenditures, as if random commentary indeed suffices, depending on mood and role play.

The bizarro theories you might hear at work, a spirited notion betwixt the pines (polarities), observations spontaneously stylizing offhand fleeting rootless import.

Meaning's often so ostentatious, so grandiose, so definitive, so prime, so concerned with cause and effect that it dishevels as it seeks to clarify.

I suppose during times like these serious messages are positive things, delivered from leading figures (Prime Ministers, Premiers, Mayors, Queens), even if they're super intense. The pandemic is super intense and it's nice to see politicians care. Vivre sa vie is for a different time. Even if its ending is rather acidic.

It's a shame she wanted the money and didn't possess greater situational awareness. But that's precisely what makes her so appealing (Anna Karina as Nana Kleinfrankenheim) as she inquisitively coasts through life.

Her comments evocatively disrupt stately bland quotidian decorum, not in a manner that's trite or scandalous, more like light thoughtful curious sleuthing.

Like she's asking questions that haven't been preconditioned to align themselves with historical baggage, beyond categorical boundaries, which practitioners often lament.

Not that the content of such boundaries doesn't change remarkably, but the form often remains the same, as it's characterized by different approaches to high-stakes protracted meaning.

It's nice to meet people who are unfamiliar with the codes and stratagems, their lives like waking dreams, assuming things aren't authoritarian, they're relatively bold and free.

They're appealing im/precisely because they don't make sense, and demand you consider new cogent classifications, to discover what they're trying to say, even if you have to improvise a context.

Don't be dismissive for too long, or that regenerative spark of peculiar novelty may transform into something less captivating, solidifying as time passes.

That's how you expand upon limitations and diversify semantic relevance, if you can't figure it out just chill, it may have already been forgotten.

Imagine books integral to a film that philosophizes as it zines, like a bird as it moves on the ground without flight, not that it doesn't freely soar through unique interactive heights, it just would have been more uplifting without the hardboiled recourse (or the prostitution).

A practical warning nonetheless that blends carefree thought with economic depression.

It could have been so much less drastic.

The library's free of charge.

Had no idea what it was about when I decided to watch it.

Was just another Godard I hadn't seen.

O slavnosti a hostech (A Report on the Party and Guests)

A group of freespirited observant individuals head out to relax unassuming, their picnic presenting a wide host of delectable goods, the conversation light yet piqued and thought provoking, friendship electrifying as time saunters on.

An important figure is celebrating a marriage in the same embowered locale, and for a while lets them rest undisturbed, before deciding to bluntly interrupt them.

They have no authority throughout the land and there's no one they can call to complain, since the authorities are causing the disturbance, for shits and giggles, or so it seems.

Lines are drawn in the pasteurized sanctuary which cannot be freely crossed, as a goon exercises lavish contempt, and asks questions with no apparent purpose.

Rebellion defies him and attempts to depart only to be challenged head on and resolutely, as others seek peaceful relations, and their captors slowly lose interest.

But then the figure makes an appearance and offers sympathetic glad hands at first, inviting them to take part in the festivities, which are about to get under way.

Some see opportunity knocking and their mild-manners are quickly rewarded, with dialogue and coveted seats, first hand insights into the ruling party.

But one of them secretly resents his cherished freedoms being taken away, and disappears when no one is watching, to the dismay of his newfound liege.

A political hallucination allegorically attired interrogates freedom within stark constraints, as O slavnosti a hostech (A Report on the Party and Guests) discerns eruditely, and characters adopt instinctual remonstrance.

Or sycophancy, or just plain curiosity, the situation tempts what's out of the ordinary, but only after order's established, and initial taunts are dressed up bemused.

How to best proceed can depend upon manifold factors, and trying to clarify which set you've encountered can unsettle 'til patterns accrue.

Like any job interview their caught unaware, yet hoping to make a good impression, displaying their wits and applicable abilities, with lively caution and cheerful goodwill.

But the allegory extends beyond work and independent thought will not be tolerated.

No passing by unnoticed.

Every movement a stockpiled brand.

Nice, anyways, when there's freedom to be had in the evening, and relativistic wonder romanticizes life.

How leading figures lose sight of this at times I'll never know, apart from COVID-19 measures, even if they must lay down the law.

Collective working days, individualistic nights, perhaps provide a working balance.

Constant adherence to everything disenchants so much endeavour.

Equinox

Good weather and the desire for companionship lead two carefree couples to picnic one afternoon, gathered together in the spirit of goodwill, prepared to taste nutritious treats, happy to be spending time with one another, chillin' full-on tranquil.

But the idyllic bright tranquility has been somewhat befouled, for an eccentric teacher's house no longer permits habitation, and a creepy ranger keeps presenting an off-putting watchful eye.

Soon they have descended deep within an imposing cave, wherein an elder has turned hysterical, and an ancient tome contracts forbidden.

Attempting to read the oldest school text proves taxing and disenchanting, since it's been multilinguistically composed, in languages which were never legibly conceived, even if clues can still be deciphered.

Pertaining to good and evil, corporeal spiritual metaphysics, distinct symbols demonically extrapolated, spellbound subtleties symptomatically stricken.

Giant monsters are soon detected.

Chaotically posturing at will.

And the ranger is in leagues with Satan.

Their prosperous futures have been jeopardized.

But bravery confrontationally materializes and the inspired romantics do fearsome battle, the monsters unaccustomed to spirited challenge, the ranger withdrawing in awestruck fright.

As Equinox strides and flexes.

Fully conscious of its ludicrous anxiety.

Not your typical underground comedy nor your harbinger of text forthcoming, Equinox proceeds with the utmost sincerity, even if it's inherently nuts.

Throw rocks. Get its attention.

At all times decisions are made with abounding assured confidence, yet consistency remains ephemeral, logical harmonies instinctually sashayed, it's pure distraughtest nutter.

But if confidence itself is a pancultural guarantor of reason, does Equinox's reflexive reckonings not uplift extemporaneous logic?

Does the fluid agile agency ascertained in its campy reels not reflect the social norms required to assert auras of authenticity?

I'm not certain although I won't deny humorous elevations of intuitive wisdom.

As delivered with tactile courage.

Intensified at play.

Nanook of the North

I suppose there was a time when nature documentaries were something new, when there wasn't a plethora to choose from overflowing with the cute and cuddly?

The Nature of Things has always just kind of been there, chronicling away, but what were things like before the bold instructive multidisciplinary narratives of Suzuki?

There must be some cool books out there examining the history of naturalistic docs, it would be cool to have the chance to check them out some day.

If in existence, I wonder if any of them mention a nature documentary that predates Robert J. Flaherty's Nanook of the North (1922), with its adventurous bold endearing chill filmscapes?

It's not technically a nature documentary although it could be loosely classified as such, since it certainly presents a lot of critters, at home in their arctic environments.

The mighty walrus in its gargantuan splendour makes a thought provoking appearance, as does the lithe arctic fox, and the animate flip harp seal.

Unfortunately, the animals are being hunted, I imagine there was a different attitude concerning hunting in films back then, or that since it was likely something new, related armchair controversies had yet to develop, the subject inchoately generating previously unheard of sedate and shocked sensibilities, which must have opened up many critical heartlands, nevertheless, if you don't like hunting, beware.

I'm not a fan of watching animals being hunted but the Inuit live in a special set of circumstances. There is still an abundance of wildlife for them to hunt (lots of moose and deer elsewhere in Canada and Québec too) and why wouldn't you when a green pepper costs $8?

And it's a huge part of your ancient traditions?

Imagining what it must have been like to capture this independent footage is mind-boggling, inasmuch as they may have been filming in arctic conditions first hand at length without much to go on, with old school equipment that had to stand up to the elements, at a time when so much film was inherently experimental?

Was the equipment more durable back then?

Did they wear warmer gloves?

I imagine the film predates planned obsolescence by decades plus half a century.

Perhaps everything was built of sturdier stuff!

Or they just possessed more innate adventure?

Nanook of the North follows Nanook as he bravely hunts for his family, his vigorous spirit and inspiring good cheer promoting long-lasting effervescent wonders.

The soundtrack and intermittent silent narration add complementary uplifting currents, upon which the documentary glides, through wild unforgiving terrain.

I haven't seen many silent films but Nanook provides clear insights into the phenomenon, its cinematic awareness still relevant and captivating, as it bridges the divide between entertainment and instruction.

I loved watching them build their igloo from glacial disputatious scratch, then add farsighted clever home furnishings, there's no doubt they knew what they were doing.

Perhaps it's too happy-go-lucky considering the environmental extremes, but it still presents a spellbinding tale enriched through courageous endeavour.

I highly recommend it for film lovers in search of the pioneering documentary spirit.

It still radiates contemporary charm.

I'd argue it's truly timeless.

Domicile conjugal (Bed & Board)

A young married couple creatively engages with their community, who's as lively as they are entertaining, fluid interactive inquisitive high spirits.

The film's set in a chill inner-city neighbourhood wherein which personality abounds, and characters work in alternative disciplines, as nothing passes by unnoticed.

Everything's intriguingly unorthodox inasmuch as the characters aren't career oriented, and are still living active productive lives, rich in constantly shifting locomotion.

The story's focused on the young married couple and their struggles to continuously cohabitate, both partners verbosely articulated, capable of aptly uplifting what have you.

It's a remarkable script overflowing with compelling detail and multiple swift nuanced characters, it's so quick and thoughtful it commands your complete attention, critically assailing if you should ever turn away.

The subject matter's refreshing and captures flourishing discourse in motion (book titles, staircases, loans, parking tickets), comments and observations emphatically resound, with random pertinent reflective ebullient life, interlocked through versatile direction.

The plot does steer into sleaze at times and I think the film would have been stronger without the affair, but it seems like Truffaut sought to stultify infidelity, I'm not sure if the results are Me Too.

I wonder what it would have been like if there had been no controversial drama, no traditional plot elements, just communal reverberations?

Can't a multifaceted collection of comical characters and situations just co-exist without something drastic, working and conversing and living without serious game changing invention?

The thoughts and ideas can diversify themselves without having to alter their terrain.

They keep flowing perspicaciously throughout.

But slowly take on a specified logo.

Domicile conjugal (Bed & Board) isn't a grad school seminar, loosely based on a fluctuating theme, but I'd argue it starts out that way, and may have been more impressive if left unrestrained.

Perhaps having multiple conflicting yet complimentary points judiciously interspersed throughout dialogue in flux can make a more meaningful impact, insofar as so much expression cultivates serendipity, which can generate romantic syntax?

If having a predominant point is oft presumed as a crucial essential, when so much life unwinds at random, perhaps manifold eclipsed ideas reflect something more realistic, that boldly suggests je ne sais quoi?

It seems like so much life's a case study where you have to find the principal cause.

This is very important when developing vaccines.

But not as integral to the arts or cinema.

Domicile conjugal's still a masterpiece of urban intensity which brings an irresistible community to life.

Do filmmakers ever go one step further?

Slacker!

Slacker immediately comes to mind!

*Perhaps when developing vaccines you have to search for contemporaneous elements? I don't know much about vaccine development.

Tanin no kao (The Face of Another)

A man's face is badly disfigured in an accident at work, and no one can ease the pain he feels in the bitter shocking aftermath.

Both his wife and boss offer sympathy and paths to follow to attain new heights, but brutal depression sets in, and he won't freely listen to anyone.

He covers his face with bandages and proceeds forlorn and ornery, firm resolute disintegration, a total collapse of drive and will.

But he learns of a highly exceptional procedure that could supply him with a new face, a procedure to which he responds without doubt or hesitation or misgiving.

Delicate steps must be carefully taken to ensure surgical success, legal matters presuming a backdrop that codifies mistaken identity.

The doctor's quite idealistic and sees the potential for soulful growth, the cultivation of new beginnings, a miraculous second chance.

Meanwhile others with similar afflictions wander out and about throughout town, producing unfortunate Frankenstein effects, as they simply try to converse and observe.

I remember reading Frankenstein as a kid, it's a fascinating book, I recommend it.

What really struck me as I was reading it was how tender and loving Frankenstein initially is, as he observes humanity cautiously from afar, before they discover his startling appearance.

They may have had a scholar or a caregiver to help nurture and develop on their hands, if they hadn't reacted with fright, if they hadn't turned him into a monster.

I remember a time before shows like The Bachelor became popular, and the shock amongst my friends when they were first released, I understand that a lot of people love them, but do they not lack genuine depth?

Isn't there still something to be said for personality and conversation and the ways in which they can overcome aesthetic concerns, isn't it more important to be able to talk to someone than just to stare at them in bold excess?

The doctor in Tanin no kao (The Face of Another) doesn't let his grief overwhelm him, but when he discovers his patient wants to use his new face to seduce his wife, not the doctor's wife, it's somewhat of an ethical downer.

The film starkly examines basic instinct at an honest yet derelict level, preferring to directly interrogate desire rather than more profound applications of the intellect.

It's not that it misses the point or proceeds in error or wallows in emotional discord, rather it diagnoses unsettling social characteristics, and critiques them with morose candour.

I imagine people watching the film find the grim reality distressing, and perhaps see themselves somewhat determined to promote compassion afterwards.

It's bleak to be sure and doesn't offer much from the despondent view of its principal character.

Who's given an irresistible reprieve.

And still can't search for something higher.

Lone Wolf McQuade

Old school cinematic invincibility, the versatile hero clad in grizzled impeccability (Chuck Norris as Lone Wolf McQuade).

Working alone, doing what it takes to excel, concerned with honourable courageous forthright excellence, with an instinct for justice, and devout paramount jurisprudence.

He tried to be a family man but his lifestyle was too chaotic, and even though he now lives alone, he's still on good terms with his ex-wife (Sharon Farrell as Molly) and daughter (Dana Kimmell as Sally McQuade).

His style has earned criticisms from an irate distressed senator, who's trying to reign in Texas, to create a less independent image.

He's therefore tasked with a partner (Robert Beltran as Kayo), who will perhaps encourage more relatable ways, but he sees the intrusion as an unjust sanction, and does his best to emphatically resist.

As ne'er-do-wells secretly highjack shipments of government weapons, running the guns across the border, to be sold to the highest bidder.

McQuade's daughter and her fiancée (Robert Jordan as Bobby Drew) park near their machinations one evening, too close for villainous comfort, they're swiftly incapacitated.

But Sally survives and McQuade begins investigating.

Kayo making himself useful.

The FBI clearly disappointed.

It's a pioneering '80s action film that celebrates raw honest integrity, it's not that he's trying to bring it on, that's just how he gets the job done.

It may seem improbable at times, as he presents himself as an open target, for instance, and his adversaries miss with machine gun fire, but that was the type of unheralded hero, presented as a fearless over-the-top force of nature.

His house hasn't been cleaned in years and he doesn't consume much besides beer, but he isn't dismissive of significant others, as they introduce forbidden playful contradictions.

Eventually everyone involved realize they need to rely on his intuition, and even though he hasn't done much to convince them, they come round to his steadfast point of view.

Martial arts forge a tantalizing unconscious as audiences await manifested skills, one David Carradine (Rawley Wilkes) enlisted as nemesis, tension slowly building resolutely throughout.

Things are very direct and blunt, as if there's something crucial to say, as if James Bond were in fact from Texas, and was much more humble and modest and loving.

Some action films are more realistic and sometimes make more sense as a result, but that doesn't mean one should dismiss this style of storytelling, with its stoic hands-on caricatures.

I'm not sure how seriously you're supposed to take it, perhaps I'm not taking it seriously enough, but if you're looking for something cool that's a bit less polished, Lone Wolf McQuade provides an impacting punch.

Brilliant performance from Robert Beltran.

Carradine and Norris were the genuine article.

Chimes at Midnight

Courtly remonstrance august unflattering distaste, pejorative, authoritative, stately consequent nettle.

He doth resound with magnanimous impertinence irresistibly foiled salubrity, impenitent carefree rummaged spirits, rowdy improvised uncertain objectives.

Friendship inclusively abounds regardless of make or measure, oft depicted through random horseplay, yet not limited to sedate shenanigans.

Capable of suddenly stirring up a crowd with comic insubordinate intent, incapable of honest toil with constructive fruitful sustainability.

Unwary of boldly asserting he hath undertaken heroic deeds, in the presence of rank incredulity, with neither shame nor force of conscience.

Odd interminglings of duty bound recourse and ludic unconcerned pub fare, a future King navigating the discrepancies, a scorned romantic, a noble hare.

His friendship with Falstaff (Orson Welles) idealizes wayward youth, the heir to the throne wilfully led astray, even if he responds when indeed necessary, to the commands of lofty allegiance.

There's no synthesis therein forthcoming, Chimes at Midnight resonates disparately, a tragic forthright emergent declaration, divisive paramount telltale labours.

I feel for the hapless Falstaff, who thought he had won Prince Hal's (Keith Baxter) favour, if only he could have once tried to follow procedure, if only he could have toed the line.

After the coronation anyways, he should have assumed discretion, but such a lack of action would have never crossed his mind, a wild insouciant charismatic knight, far beyond austere pomp and propriety.

How he could have persisted for so very long without concern or trouble or worry, how could he have never assumed solemnity at any time throughout his life?

It's not that he isn't sincere.

Like Archie Rice in The Entertainer, he sincerely lives in the nimble moment, perhaps thinking loosely about the future, but never without much thought or care.

They both have goals to attain, projects in mind, hopes and dreams, but present ambitions generally obscure them, or lead to overwhelming bright temptations, spontaneous light merrymaking.

Their friends love them when they're performing and when they're not performing too, but can't reconcile their differences when the monthly rent is due.

Perhaps Henry the V can be accused of having led Falstaff on, of having encouraged a sense of entitlement the foolish knave should have never considered.

Did he not share so many mirthful years with Falstaff to at least not feel somewhat guilty when casting him aside?

I suppose they didn't make Ministers of Arts & Entertainment back then but Falstaff likely could have played the role.

Without much prep or training.

An irrefutable natural.

Gattaca

In the not too distant future, children are bioengineered through science, the most striking aspects of their parents' DNA meticulously cultivated to produce ideals.

But some children are still born the old fashioned way, without genetic enhancements or immaculate codes, known colloquially as "god's children", their entire existence diagnosed at birth.

Vincent (Ethan Hawke/Mason Gamble/Chad Christ) is a god child but his brother Anton (Loren Dean/Vincent Nielson/William Lee Scott) is not, the two competing vigorously in adolescence, little Vincent generally coming up short.

But he learns that to compete against impossibility he needs to embrace unorthodox methods, to contradict prognoses through will, to prove the less fortunate can indeed still challenge.

In the working world this is much more difficult since your biology determines your occupation (even if that's technically illegal), and Vincent wants to travel to space, a possibility reserved for the exponentially endowed.

He can purchase the requisite DNA, however, and follow a rigorous routine to ensure he's never discovered, urine tested daily for non-conforming imperfections, blood and hair and skin samples naturally necessitated.

Known as a "borrowed ladder", he finds a willing participant who can no longer walk (Jude Law as Jerome), no record of his troubles existing in America, he's lived in isolation ever since the accident.

Vincent borrows his ladder and is hired by an agency that eagerly explores space.

Everything goes smoothly as they outwit the system.

Until one of its directors turns up dead.

What I've always admired about the American system is that opportunities exist for people who aren't well off.

I don't know how many of such opportunities exist at the moment, quarantine aside, but it's always been a salient feature of American life.

I like that kids in rural Idaho or small town Missouri or neighbourhoods in New York or L.A or Denver can dream about becoming famous artists and athletes, and like to think such opportunities still exist, that there's still somewhat of a level playing field for American talent.

That's one aspect that makes the United States such a great country.

What differentiates it from so much of the world.

Please understand that I don't bear Harry and Meghan Markle any ill will, they're loved by millions around the world and I truly respect how Harry stood by his wife. I imagine they would likely generate huge blockbuster profits if they were successful in Hollywood, profits that could be used to make artistic films, and that's not necessarily a bad thing, actual quality of the films pending.

But I can't say I'm enamoured with former royals taking the place of kids from Washington or Kansas because they suddenly want to be film stars. It's far too easy for them from my perspective, not that the paparazzi aren't likely a huge pain.

I can't tell you if Vincent makes it to space but the last week of his preparations are by no means easy.

Although he does find love and romance (Uma Thurman as Irene).

And there's a good line too: "They've got you looking so hard for any flaw that after a while that's all you see."

It's always important to improve upon your work or game.

But losing sight of what you do well can be miserable.

That's no way to live.

I'll never understand self-manufactured mental illness.