Café de flore

Devoted love painstaking parenting newfound nuptials holistic heartbreak, the omnipresent ahistorical interdimensional august flow.

A separation immersive pain prolonged predicaments distressed feelings, dreaming that they'll get back together, even though he's (Kevin Parent as Antoine) found a new partner (Evelyne Brochu as Rose). 

They got together when they were young magnetic maelstrom adolescent l'amour, embracing age old romantic uproar delicately designated bold true love.

But habitual trials enervating ennui and too much alcohol led to crisis, opaque sustained imparted uncertainty, confused inanimate starling stasis.

Meanwhile, in the 1960s, a husband leaves his loving wife, after learning their child is differently abled, an act of headstrong blunt barbarity.

But she's resilient determined and willing to help her son live a normal life, and daringly proceeds with enriched vigour soulfully strengthened through motherly love.

As grieving Carol (Hélène Florent) seeks a spiritualist to shake things up surveyed and spooky, she becomes aware of the mother's struggles (Vanessa Paradis as Jacqueline), as if she's reliving a former life, the shock encouraging disconsolation. 

Impounding grief entropically emblemizes static autosuggestive dissonance, but good friends and heraldic compassion ease the burden heal the wound.

Jean-Marc Vallée possessed great gifts for sharing intimate gentle thoughts, and through his innate joyous wonder crafted amorous lucidity.

A mom surprises her son (Marin Gerrier as Laurent) with chase or adoringly awaits his seaborne vessel, a psychologist (Michel Laperrière) knows just what to say without really saying anything at all.

A couple may have broken up but they still focus on past love, on the enchanting thoughts that brought them together, the world they amicably constructed.

Café de flore bounces back through time sympathetically blending thought and emotion, as they relate to relationships and family, like a passionate active mind.

Controversial questions are raised at times and give no definitive answers, freeform lifelong social exploration innocently contesting the blasé life.

Some people have trouble letting go and heal more sincerely with kind reflection, Café de flore's thoughtful evocative testament fomenting mutual post-conjugal health.

It's nice to see characters who try to focus on the positive.

Diversification, discovery, peace. 

What a filmmaker.

What a life!

C.R.A.Z.Y

A father (Michel Côté) and mother (Danielle Proulx) full of love raise a hyper-reactive family, with 5 boys shenanigan prone experimentally tune to voltaic theses. 

The mother compassionately defends her young when conflict abounds and must be adjudicated, her loving intuitive multidimension reflexively nurturing caressed fair play.

The father is somewhat more stern but he's still playfully proud of his boys, his love panoramically abounding within testosterone fuelled parameters.

But one of his boys instinctually lacks traditional masculine brawn and gusto, gravitating more wholeheartedly towards his mom, he loves his dad and doesn't want to get in trouble, but also doesn't understand at times why he's punished.

The overbearing weight of codes of conduct as upheld by his father and siblings, lead to bewildered awkward adaptations as he struggles to come of age.

Natural endemic lucidity is rambunctiously transformed into hesitant confusion, the simple process of embracing one's thoughts imperiously clad in grand complexity. 

But his father isn't a monster and although he's ill-equipped to openly accommodate, he still loves his gifted child with the honest shock of misunderstanding.

______ (Olivier Bénard/Émile Vallée/Marc-André Grondin) just wants to fit in with the family he knows and sincerely loves, his father recognizing his meaningful attempts to express his genuine heartfelt devotion.

Fortunately his father adapts too and a loving relationship prospers and grows, with holistic balance and comprehensive understanding they remain good friends as time slowly passes.

So many films from the '90s made it seem like such a world would eventually bloom (as I've mentioned before), where rigid immutable conceptions of gender would generally relax to forge open communities.

Such communities don't have to critique people who naturally play traditional roles, the roles do seem to fit many people as they interact with various constructs.

But many others don't naturally fit and shouldn't feel bad for doing what comes naturally. Feeling bad about your own harmless thoughts can lead to intense personal distress.

Inclusive communities where difference thrives heals or avoids such sincere distress, and the resultant conflicts and mental illnesses that can develop through blind intolerance.

If one considers nature realistically how could one code of conduct predominate, when ample evidence historically perseveres which proves paramount difference co-exists naturally?

It's a matter of embracing traditional gender roles along with multifaceted gender difference.

Then learning and growing together.

Like people do so well in Québec.

Elliot the Littlest Reindeer

After Blitzen relocates to Jamaica, Santa (George Buza) needs to find a new reindeer, the resulting tryouts to be held posthaste, with many contenders from across the globe.

A feisty horse, who considers the matter imaginatively, thinks he's well-suited for the position (Josh Hutcherson as Elliot), and stows away upon his owner's (Rob Tinkler as Walter) airborne ride, hoping to sneak his way into the competition. 

His owner's facing tough times and may have to sell off his beloved animals, but little does he unsuspectingly know, the potential buyer (Martin Short as Ms. Ludzinka [and Lemondrop and Blitzen]) wishes them harm.

Things are lively at the distant North Pole as the reindeer gather to formidably articulate, old school rivalries and current disputes freeflowingly spiced with a dash of merriment.

Elliot's offbeat goat friend (Samantha Bee as Hazel) works her magic to see he's admitted, his training having roughly prepared him, for the fortuitous aerodyne heights.

But something's not quite right with the haughty general proceedings, as nimble Hazel accidentally detects, she sees extra cookies being given to DJ (Christopher Jacot) (the cookies give animals the power of flight), just before the first aeronautic stage.

After the resulting mayhem, which sees Santa cancel the events, she teams up with a clever journalist (Morena Baccarin as Corkie), to find the source of the flighty contraband. 

A haunting trajectory of historical intrigue clad in deception harrowingly awaits them.

As their human/animal alliance.

Sees the harmonious convergence of species.

Elliot the Littlest Reindeer traditionally celebrates unorthodox thinking, as 'lil Elliot asserts his independence in the hopes of joining Santa's team.

But many other staple traditions are creatively reconceptualized throughout, as Santa's workshop and associated legends take on the vice of the world at large.

Accordingly, Santa isn't lighthearted and jolly but instead rather stern and imposing, as he objectively oversees operations, in order to facilitate Christmas.

The reindeer are generally critiqued for being self-obsessed and somewhat dismissive, as opposed to simply dutifully managing the smooth flow of Santa's sleigh.

And the elves don't only make toys, and don't just work in a merrymaking shop, indeed discipline and order and inviolable hierarchy are much more prominent than Christmas cookies.

It's a solid alternative Christmas film that breaks new ground with festive flair (I'll likely watch this one again).

Even if I prefer a jolly Santa.

And elves encouraging laugh and play.

*With John Cleese (Donner).

Space Truckers

And through the passage of time, space is slowly colonized, commerce encouraged to flourish within, old school grievances inevitably emerging.

And as politics galactically expand, Earth's government loses control, one man attempting to exploit its weaknesses (Shane Rimmer as E. J. Saggs), with an army of invincible robots.

But his plans remain a secret and he has yet to transport them to Earth, stealth required clandestine collusion, patiently awakening, a trusty space trucker.

John Canyon (Dennis Hopper) arrives at a spaceport two days late with his sought after load, and payment is refused, confrontation bellicosely ensuing, but not before he's proposed once more to the diner's stunning waitress (Debi Mazar as Cindy). 

The confrontation proves irreconcilable and the corrupt boss is sucked into space (George Wendt as Keller), the independent contractor worried about his next move, he enlists the aid of an underground contact.

Who hooks him up unbeknownst with the robots and an even more demanding schedule, which he thinks he can steadily keep, if he transports the goods off-road.

After a collision with a camouflaged meteor he's left adrift in space.

Soon bombarded by covetous pirates. 

And their mad genius cyborg captain (Charles Dance as Nabel/Macanudo). 

Improvised tactics and frowned upon methods reflexively manoeuvre and bargain within, as Space Truckers celebrates old school individuals making a living through extant daring.

Equitable workplace regulations have yet to settle space so everything's controlled by executive caprice, and since there isn't much work to go around, obsequious dispositions flex and flounder.

Youth even confronts age old feisty Canyon and boldly recommends he play by the rules (Stephen Dorff as Mike Pucci), Cindy taking an amorous shine to him, the less stressful modus operandi. 

The company attempts to rip off Mr. Canyon so he responds with contentious cataclysm, just as Macanudo defies the government in order to pursue grand insurrection.

But Pucci doesn't betray his teammates or seek power or corporate control, differentiating himself thereby, in the chaotic mayhem.

The pirates take things a step further loosely organized and swashbucklingly conceived. 

As the formidable robots escape.

Still a future preferable to Covid. 

A Castle for Christmas

A successful writer takes a risk in her most recent romance novel (Brooke Shields as Sophie), her adoring fans rather unamused, yet instead of taking their boisterous criticisms to supple caring heart, she openly defies them on daytime television, before taking off to Scotland.

Fortunately for her, at times different cultures see things differently, her latest book well received across the pond, she even joins a knitting group.

But first she explores the castle where she's suddenly taken roost, its lengthy history of literary interest along with its agile duke (Cary Elwes as Duke Myles).

Unfortunately for him, his debts are forcing him to sell, even though he could hold on to the castle, if he parted ways with its coveted farmland.

But then his tenants would have to move and he's an exemplary aristocrat, caring deeply for his people indeed for whom he feels responsible.

Sophie's headstrong ways produce unexpected uncertain affects, especially after she makes an offer, he has to admit, he likes it.

But it's still his cherished castle and it's been in his family for generations, he can't be expected to passively yield when a well-meaning upstart makes suggestions.

They passionately air grievances with increasingly affectionate disputatious praise.

As the Holiday Season takes hold.

And l'amour seems most inviting.

Perhaps it's too much to take in too much cute and cuddly grouchy romance, daunting challenges inspirational miracles haughty hesitation communal resolve.

Fervent fetching fortuitous fairytale or amorous callings too sweet and saccharine, I can't find fault with its grand magnanimity, nor its jolly merrymaking supporting cast.

'Tis true that there are many a miser who disputes the free-flow of capital, as it's applied to the needs of the many who would rather not live from paycheque to paycheque.

With disposable incomes do realms not flourish with ample sustenance and much less crime?

But there are also many rich folk who genuinely care for underprivileged plights, who are still trying to overcome encumbrances which dissuade the cultivation of relative prosperity.

A Castle for Christmas presents such examples and festively celebrates their strong self-sacrifice, showcasing sincere conscientious goodwill fumbling its way through traditional romance.

As pride adheres to the virtues of compromise age old traditions see communal rebirth.

I don't think I'll watch it every year.

Still enjoyed it this Holiday Season.

Deck the Halls

Meticulously prepared for the upcoming holidays, a fastidious optometrist get things done (Matthew Broderick as Mr. Finch), his loving family receptive to his obsessive celebrations, embracing each vital tradition, with resignéd calm.

But a new neighbour suddenly appears across the suburban street one night, who's less familiar with rigid reservations, preferring the lighthearted easy going improvisational holiday approach, he freely and oddly expresses himself, with well-meaning lovable charm (Danny DeVito as Buddy Hall).

Unfortunately for Mr. Finch, Buddy decides to set up Christmas lights, and goes far beyond a modest array, indeed hoping his house will be visible from space, the ultimate salute to excessive glitz and glamour.

Even more unfortunately for Mr. Finch, Buddy's luminous galactic ambitions lead him to become the most sought after Christmas expert in town, a position formerly held by Mr. Finch himself, who becomes more and more furious with each passing day.

He vociferously airs his grievances yet feisty Buddy does not back down, the two then engaging in grandiose shenanigans which the cross-dressing police chief (Garry Chalk) cannot contain.

Their respective wives and families grow rather weary of the childish rivalry, yet their wise counsel is stubbornly ignored as the festive conflict madly intensifies.

And somewhere along the way the communal spirit of the Holiday Season is lost.

Will the competitive incensed pair?

Forgive and forget, in time for Christmas?

Channeling Planes, Trains & Automobiles, Deck the Halls showcases wild aggravation, blindly expanding distressful atrophy, the uptight professional, the self-made person.

Different lucrative skill sets still hopefully flourish in the North American economy, they provide so much remarkable spice for a thriving culture dynamically composed.

The benefits of a University education the confidence you develop from its projects and tests, not to mention the wide variety of divergent subjects to study, cultivating level-headed prudent multiplicity.

The benefits of the working world instructing the daring with multidimension, as different experiences at different levels in different jobs produce impeccable hands-on contention. 

Perhaps the most successful CEOs find a way to blend the different approaches, not only personally but with their staff as well, as their businesses develop open-minded spectrums. 

Less jealousy for the devoutly studious and fewer dismissals of practical knowledge, could lead to a more well-rounded prosperous business, or simply friendships indeed like no other. 

Puppy Star Christmas

An adorable dog couple welcomes some new pups to their family, while enjoying celebrity in the public eye, and wondering if they'll make good parents.

It's the Holiday Season once again and they're preparing to host a Christmas Special, and it's rumoured that Santa himself may attend, if not advertised with festive vigour.

But a rogue rival self-obsessed canine has grown tired of making an honest buck (George Newbern as Bark), and decides to enlist contacts from his villainous network in an attempt to take down the North Pole.

Since the elves are generally concerned with do-gooding they're ill-prepared for Bark's sneak attack, and his team quickly infiltrates Santa's workshop and soon locks down Mr. and Mrs. Claus!

They proceed to convert that very same workshop into a commercial purveyor of sought after goods, transforming the free toys Santa generously provides into lucrative commodities indeed for sale.

Such wickedness is shortly followed by an appearance on Tiny (Kaitlyn Maher) and P.U.P's (Mackenzie Sol) Special, where they advertise their soul crushing debauchery with outrageous voracious mad ill-gotten song.

Fortunately for Christmas, the aforementioned pups stow away on Santa's sled (it was borrowed by Bark's minions to fly to the Special), and soon find themselves at the North Pole, nervously determined to rescue Saint Nick.

But Bark's carnal influence and unwitting publicity has seen ye olde naughty list expand exponentially.

Are they too late to save Christmas?

Or is it serendipitous impeccable timing?

Only Christmas will tell, or a keen viewing of this here Puppy Star Christmas, I admit I hadn't seen a dog movie in some time (except for Plague Dogs which wasn't a family film [or wasn't a cutesy sentimental family film]), and wasn't prepared for the cuddliness initially.

But it was kind of cool to briefly immerse myself in a non-cartoon world where dogs can speak, and have their own shows and homes and families and are on an equal footing with adoring humanity.  

Strict logicians may find fault with Puppy Star's inspired non-traditional reasonability, even if it augments the wonders of Santa and his benevolent impetus this time of year.

Puppy Star's blunt depiction of super-greed wholesomely castigates avarice unbound, thereby celebrating altruistic endeavours without leaving joyous reckoning behind.

If you're still in touch with inner absurdity or things that seem nuts you may like this film.

It's fun to think about afterwards.

Perfect for the Holiday Season. 

Shaft

Shaft (2019) presents a more traditional depiction of its iconic lead (Samuel L. Jackson), much more bellicose than that envisioned in 2000, perhaps more reminiscent of the original character.

He's moved far beyond rules and regulations, and lives according to his own proper procedure, as he investigates crime with blunt condemnation, making ends meet with radical ease.

But this time the son he left behind comes calling hot on a case (Jessie T. Usher), a daring analyst working for the F.B.I who's mild-mannered, sincerely reserved.

The endearing odd couple scenario is flexibly enhanced by bemused paternalism, as sustained stark and improvised indiscretion wildly mingles with uptight pretension. 

Shaft Jr. is trying to discover who murdered his friend after he returned from Afghanistan, his methods leading to few results while laying the groundwork for inspired investigation.

Paps turns things up a notch while thoroughly shocking his incredulous son, the danger chaotically increasing as they approach concrete definition.

Mom's none too impressed upon hearing about the unexpected rapprochement (Regina Hall as Maya Babanikos), nor by her ex's ensuing repartee on a random evening which swiftly follows.

Reunited as a family they freely dispute while fighting crime.

Even after Jr.'s kicked out of the Bureau.

John Shaft Sr. (Richard Roundtree) happy to oblige.

Shaft boisterously blends distraught anarchy with technological presumption, intergenerationally melding paradigms with impassioned deconstructive pleas.

Much more raw than Shaft (2000), I wondered how thoroughly it impressed, not that its predecessor isn't also complex, it just lacks awkward contentious fidelity.

Are action heroes like Shaft and John McClane fading into the pre-online background, as cyberspatially savvy considerate sleuths prefer brains to brawn in unprecedented shifts?

Or will a new style of clever private eye still duke it out when their favourite apps fail them, the resultant extant absurdity as ahistorically fashionable as gold or astronomy?

It's fun to watch as emergent generations productively mutate traditional varieties. 

The same family achieving similar goals.

Working together, throughout the centuries. 

The Blot

A professor patiently educates for a small salary which hardly provides, his envious wife tired of their grim necessities as she yearns for her neighbour's abundance.

The neighbour knows how to make elegant shoes for trendy jet-setters with finicky flair, his seemingly flippant fashionable know-how much more highly valued than painstaking learning.

Well-off students within the Professor's class engage in shenanigans to pass the time, their disruptive behaviour resignédly noticed, appeals are made which esteem respect.

One of them can't help but take note for he's wholeheartedly fallen for the Professor's daughter, and stops by the library where she works every day for bursts of inspired well-meaning conversation.

She is also desired by a reverend whose monthly pay also lacks modest agency, and the son of the fortunate cobbler who would like to meet her as soon as he can.

But social prestige and occupational pride prevent the free movement of their innocent offspring, who struggle to comprehend their rather disheartening sociocultural stratification.

But The Blot was made when reform was afoot and sought to envisage less rigid realities. 

As to how they've played out a hundred years later, it's difficult to gauge within micro parameters, although The Spirit Level: Why Equality is Better for Everyone provides insights, which critique Anglo-American pedagogy.

There's certainly a steady stream of progressive ideas presented in film, books, music, and television, but alternative absolutist pretensions have bleakly arisen in recent years to contest them.

Rather disillusioning to see the autocratic leverage swiftly take animate hold, it seemed so irrefutably farcical and grotesque that it was shocking to see it transform the public sphere.

It's like there used to be distance between comedic reflection and its general applicability to cultural life, as if comedians knew what they were saying was ridiculous and never thought they'd gain prominent influence.

Although I'm being somewhat unfair since so many comedians do make funny applicable comments, but so much of it became violent and bigoted in recent years while disparaging so much constructive endeavour.

Another compelling exploratory book to be written if it hasn't been already who has the time?

Comedy is an essential democratic tool since it provides a voice to so many who disregard pretension and fight lofty totalitarianism. 

But if it becomes resoundingly violent and then develops pretensions of its own, it can become sincerely distressing if you disagree with its disengaged reflections.

The Knight Before Christmas

A bold knight (Josh Whitehouse as Sir Cole) honourably avails emphatically attuned to the 14th century, warmly accustomed to duty and responsibility as he bravely embraces work and play.

But he has yet to fulfill a quest and thereby improve his chivalric standing, the lack of enchanted adventurous reckoning causing him sincere subconscious dismay.

Until one day alone in the woods what's referred to as "an old crone" mysteriously appears, and tells him of "steel dragons" and "magic boxes" far off in the distant future.

Soon he's transported to the present day without much information to clarify his purpose, when a weary damsel comes to his aid and provides food and shelter for the upcoming holidays (Vanessa Hudgens as Brooke).

She's depressed after having recently lost one whom she loved who treated her crudely, casting her off for the attentions of another who remains uncritical of his unjust behaviour.

As a result, an honest and trusting heartfelt lass has lost faith in true love, and even shares her woebegone misgivings with her confused students as they seek her counsel.

The knight proves a novel distraction as he reacts to the ways of the present, marvelling at the bounty to be found at the supermarket, chasing skunks, and learning to drive.

But he can't figure out his quest and its imposing deadline looms.

Will he find the solution in time?

Or will blasé cynicism ignite disdain!?

Amorously blending cultural codes from disparate centuries united by romance, The Knight Before Christmas exuberantly chronicles timeless star-crossed endearing affection.

Also rewarding charity and self-sacrifice it doesn't shy away from constructive do-gooding, and doesn't present scandalous ulterior motives for age old cohesive communal camaraderie. 

Certainly one must remain vigilant to counter stratagems which prey on trust, but you also can't become so cold and isolated that you no longer recognize genuine honesty.

It's a fine balance that's continuously shifting as new developments strikingly emerge, patterns adapting to unprecedented reactions to newfound endeavours reverberating wonder.

Brooke's strong heart is rewarded by supernatural witchcraft concerned with well-being, the knight also learning to extend himself beyond traditional yearnings for legendary renown.

Within postmodern domesticity he finds grand adventure facilitated.

As so many often do.

Even if you rarely hear about it. 

*Shot in brilliant locations.

Angel Heart

Chillaxed and calm, smoothly going with the flow, a laidback private detective steers clear of complications, preferring to investigate matters unrelated to serious crime, he saunters around Brooklyn, in fluidic flâneur (Mickey Rourke as Harry Angel). 

When suddenly one Louis Cyphre (Robert de Niro) requests his offbeat services, to locate a suspicious missing person, who owes him a significant debt.

It seems harmless enough initially so he follows what leads he can, finding his way to a care home for the critically ill, then to the abode of a drug addicted doctor.

But the doctor shockingly passes shortly after their brief discussion, which leads him to want to move on especially because he's a likely suspect.

Cyphre is determined however and offers him a crisp $5,000, to keep pushing to dig in deep at home in New York then off to Louisiana. 

You would think he would drop the case considering the insanity that follows, but he's hooked on solving the mystery even if it leads to nihilistic oblivion.

The local cops are on to him and he's been followed and encouraged to leave town, but it's like he's more involved then he ever would have imagined if he had stuck to his not-so-strict routine. 

Something drives him to keep on sleuthin' as the mayhem wildly intensifies. 

Mr. Cyphre keeping close tabs.

On the enigmatic spiritual contention. 

It can be important to critically review the ways in which you conduct your affairs, to develop worthwhile working evaluations as I was taught to do in school.

You have to be careful not to be too scathing in order to avoid entropy, but a healthy dose of vigilant self-criticism can help you adjust to phenomenal frenzies.

If no one else is doing this however and you seem to be the only one making adjustments, and your adaptations are generally ridiculed, it's perhaps a best practice to seek novel change, or peeps more amenable to lateral communication.

Fluctuating between the two paradigms in alternative realms or even within the same structure seems par for the course, each day bringing forth newfound surprises along with immutable recapitulations. 

When working life incorporates both self and well-meaning constructive criticism, it's great to stay and tough to leave.

Too much self-criticism is suffocating.

A constructive balance generates calm. 

*With Charlotte Rampling and Pruitt Taylor Vince. 

Il gatto a nove code (The Cat o' Nine Tails)

To me, genetics always seemed like thought provoking science that could easily be exploited by wicked politicians, since in fiction it often seems to be seeking the essential roots of mutating identity, as if it could be used to irrefutably predict potential behaviours, without ever having given individuals time to mature.

If you remove the word "potential" and consider wicked political goals politicians could claim that specific genetic codes will lead to definite behaviours, and then banish the people possessing those specific codes who likely would have happened to be critiquing their most recent agenda.

Correspondingly, if there were a lack of potent public institutions and independent observers, they could disseminate discourses of impeccability, associated with their own DNA.

You wouldn't have to observe empirical evidence for long to realize the theory's rubbish, as people have been doing for decades and decades, but it seems to be returning with malignant rigour, cloaked under the guise of newfound novelty. 

There's a scene from I, Claudius that directly relates, if you have to go further than Claudius's own striking differences from his family, where Claudius discusses parenting with his son Britannicus, and claims he thinks his real father was Caligula. 

Britannicus is notably disturbed because Claudius has been treating him rather poorly, and mentions that he can't help how he happened to be born, and that regardless he only has one father.

The point is that Claudius eases his mind by explaining that he doesn't have Caligula's nature, pointing out how offspring can differ remarkably from what's to be genetically expected.

To me it seems as if there are thousands of variables to be familially facilitated, and children synthesize them with thousands more as they interact with friends and media.

As these thousands of variables blend and crack critique and mingle, unique personalities are forged bearing familial characteristics or not.

I'm proud of the ways I resemble my parents and proud of my own unique perspectives, proud of the mutating mélange that remains open to modest transition.

Dario Argento's Il gatto a nove code (The Cat o' Nine Tails) explore the downside of genetic research, and the potential paranoia that can develop if it's regarded as predetermined fact.

It's a cool film albeit macabre Argento clearly loved filmmaking.

And went the extra mile to add texture and nuance. 

While demonstrating the pitfalls of genetic discourses.  

Jungle Book (Episode 6)

Having wandered into the jungle at but an innocent helpless wee age, little Mowgli (Sabu) finds sanctuary amongst wolves, who in turn rear him as if he were one of their pups, generous and watchful, an unorthodox family thrives.

While aggrandizing within the jungle Mowgli learns its forbidden ways, how to communicate with the different animals, find food, and rest and play.

The most imposing local tiger is none too impressed with this eccentric man cub, and swears he will one day indeed devour him, should he be caught wandering unaware.

But the other animals are quite fond of him and he gradually gains swift skill and strength, having enigmatically adapted, to the oldest school of raw existence.

Unfortunately, one inauspicious day, he's captured by the local village, which instinctually marvels at his wild heroics, and somewhat begrudgingly takes him in.

He quickly irritates its proudest unsurpassed vain boastful hunter, who had held the most ferocious standing, until Mowgli's sudden arrival.

Mowgli cares not for social prestige and simply seeks to freely co-exist.

Unconcerned with myth or legend.

Buldeo (Joseph Calleia) scurrilously haunts him.

Another look at The Jungle Book more intently focused on village life, since it was created long before spry special effects and doesn't rely on animation.

Many real animals are found within alongside giant puppet-like creations, the live shots aren't particularly elaborate, but may still have seemed cutting-edge at the time.

It examines stories from Kipling's book that aren't found in Disney's cartoon, nor Mr. Favreau's stunning rendition, worth checking out if seeking to learn more (reading the book also recommended).

It menacingly captures the aggrieved dynamic perennially narrativized between man and nature, as a young man harmoniously exists in the wilderness, while the older exploits technology to gain repute. 

Harmonious wilderness existence doesn't teach Mowgli sociocultural strategies, which Buldeo also knows how to exploit, as competing bucolic forces clash.

Compete is perhaps the wrong word since Mowgli isn't seeking recognition, but finds himself caught in a preexisting paradigm that hasn't been placated through democratic reckoning.

The man cub raised by wolves proves to be much more civilized than those seeking glory.

Who adopt disgraceful methods to pursue him.

And his caring animal neighbours. 

Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer)

Two brothers work their hearty ancestral farm, gathering nutritious wholesome food from their abundant fertile land.

But they live close to a feisty village and have many trusted neighbours, who rely on their generous spring to kindly irrigate their crops.

One day the older brother decides to dam their fluid fountainhead, and keep all the water for themselves until they've saturated their bounty.

The younger senses danger and knows the villagers will be furious, especially since there's been no rain and none is forecast on the horizon.

Meanwhile, he's fallen in love, and soon he's wed to a carefree lass, their innocent sweetly flowing union effortlessly nurturing the countryside.

But the villagers have responded in fact retaliated with blunt antagonism, the older brother choosing to fight rather than share their rich good fortune.

Soon he's committed murder and is worried about prison life, so he convinces the younger to claim wrongdoing, by tricking him into believing he won't serve much time.

With his younger brother sentenced to 8 years he turns his sights on his distressed bride, who has thoroughly misjudged the man, and virtuously suspects nothing.

Soon he's told her husband's passed alone and forgotten within the prison.

And it seems as if purest malevolence.

Will prosper through disillusion.

The potential for collegial congruity is bellicosely menaced in Erksan's Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer), as greed disproportionately decides to simply take care of its own.

Sharing no doubt would have created interactive social prosperity, not to mention a wide range of goods and services respectfully provided free of charge.

Lazy laidback Summer evenings flush with wine and delicious food, convivially relaxing with friends and acquaintances while the copious harvest manifests.

Instead there's violent disparity and habitual conflict and confrontation.

The loss of a loved one, no time for sleep.

Constant vigilance, prescribed paranoia.

I'm no expert in running a farm but you can't starve everyone else, and refuse to share the Earth's lifeblood as has freely been done for communal millennia. 

Excessive pride and limitless avarice have been condemned throughout the ages.

Susuz Yaz brings them to light.

With toxic mad solipsistic atrophy.

The Plague Dogs

A clandestine facility isolated in the English countryside conducts research into the bubonic plague, and subjects dogs to abhorrent endurance tests, with no concern for their distraught feelings.

But one night after the cleaning of a cage, an infernal latch is left unlocked, and two dogs bravely escape forthwith, into the nebulous realm beyond.

Attempting to reconstitute their latent wild survival instincts, they venture forth with determined vigour, but the lands are unaccustomed to roaming beasts in search of food, unfortunately for Snitter (John Hurt) and Rowf (Christopher Benjamin), the domain is inhospitable. 

A sympathetic fox (James Bolam as the Tod) takes them into his care however, and guides them from place to place as they intuitively adapt.

Soon their presence is detected, after an innocent man is accidentally shot, and local farmers notice sheep missing, the dogs are identified by their collars.

Soon the research facility is taken to task for its inherent wrongdoing, and even though people remain compassionate, a scathing hunt panoramically begins.

The dogs and fox furtively evade their ostentatious blunt pursuers. 

But the net becomes too tight.

They must reach the limitless ocean.

The Plague Dogs vividly captures the barbaric stresses animals undergo, while subjected to heartless scientific experiments, whose results are possibly often inconclusive (do conclusive results lead to less funding?).

If you sign up for emails from PETA you'll receive an abundance of notes chronicling animal abuse, with everything from mice to pigs to owls, it's important to sign their petitions, even if they're tough to read.

The Plague Dogs playfully showcases interactive wild and domestic behaviours, as the fox and dogs share thoughts and survival strategies, with interspecial communication.

The bold animals wisely care for one another while encouraging incarnate stealth, but their convivial trials and errors prove too much for surrounding commerce.

Do we really need to research how long an animal can swim before it drowns?, do tax payers pay the bills for such experiments?, critical inquiries must be applied (as many others suggest every day).

I initially thought research into the ways in which many bear species hibernate may generate interesting results.

But who knows how many bears may die to obtain them?

One is far too many. 

*Patrick Stewart has some cool lines. 

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three

A worst case scenario wickedly presents itself, as a wanton team chaotically pursues destructive avarice. 

The day starts out much like any other with dedicated workers arriving on time, only to discover hijacking afoot, within New York's resilient quintessential métro.

It would seem like the clever no-good-nicks have made a crucial resounding error, for they negotiate far below ground with potential escape roots easily anticipated.

Indeed the confident métro crew is assured they must have them securely locked down, as they brashly make their outrageous demands, while keeping innocent victims hostage.

Tens of thousands of focused potential passengers find their reliable routes exceedingly disrupted, the mayor (Lee Wallace) resting at home sick in bed, ill-prepared for the grandiose bedlam.

Blue (Robert Shaw) has an intricate plan astutely designed to ensure freedom, but calculating flexible discursive Lt. Garber (Walter Matthau) is well-versed in hypothetical practicality.

A deal is made the money dropped off the hostages theoretically soon to be free.

But will the pressing mystery be expressly solved? 

With no time to spare for argumentative contingencies? 

Time trepidatiously taunts while eternal logic reputedly ruminates, the dastardly indiscreet daunting unforeseen having coalesced the stratified multivariable.

The villains counting on resonant distress to frenetically aid their high strung dissolution, rationalities calmly and patiently counter with wise sure and steady complacent formulae. 

It's not as unhinged as it sounds although different levels offer intriguing insights, multiple viewpoints evaluating the stress, most of the attention cast upon Garber.

If you love the smooth flow of the métro and would like to learn more about its labyrinthine intricacies, various practical details of its robust civility are athletically articulated within the script.

Within a stifling cataclysm to be sure that still balances thought and action, an unorthodox peculiarity to be quietly consumed with complex recourse to otherworldly stamina.

Cool how the filmmakers pulled such an elaborate vision off at large old school.

I imagine it was quite difficult to make.

Long before stunning technological surrogates.

Matthau and Shaw!

Unknown

A brilliant doctor resilient and dependable arrives with his wife at a conference in Europe, the two looking forward to innovative discussions throughout the upcoming thought provoking week (Liam Neeson as Dr. Martin Harris and January Jones as Elizabeth Harris).

But Mr. Harris forgets a suitcase at the airport and must return with improvised haste, a random accident then suddenly sending his swift moving cab into the river.

He wakes in the hospital four days later confused and uncertain of his identity, flashbacking memories intermittently bombarding his worried bewildered forlorn consciousness. 

Enough memories are pieced together to locate his wife back at the hotel, but she's claiming another man is her husband (Aidan Quinn as Dr. Martin Harris), and he has the credentials to prove it.

Dr. Harris A has no supporting documentation and is alone in a foreign city, his only contacts the irritated cab driver (Diane Kruger as Gina) and an old school Stasi agent (Bruno Ganz as Ernst Jürgen).

But as they help him piece things together determined hitpeople come viciously calling.

His life hanging in the chaotic balance.

If he can determine which life is his own.

Identities ephemeral consistent mutating sculpted and warped through variable circumstances, sincere lighthearted earnest scenarios generating alternative fluid trajectories. 

In Dr. Harris's case, a traumatic shock engenders tumultuous transmutations, childlike innocence serendipitously resuscitated with headstrong free contradictory will.

As if latent wondrous ethical senses habitually reside within unobstructed awareness, a less reserved curious luminous syndication ethereally materialized through pneumonic flux.

Divergent associates proceed reflexively according to malleable regenerative factors, expectations foiled with animate nuance or transformatively adorned with newfound resonance. 

New sets of variables present cherished fascinations as inquisitive impulses react with the arts, ahistorical multilateral syntheses composing flexible dynamic spectrums.

Acquiring new knowledge leads to the reinterpretation of staple favourites convivially collected, the reinvigoration of personal relationships, intricate staunch identity.

Dr. Harris makes a go of it in Canada and Québec as so many adventurous people do.

Not that anything's written in stone.

Unknown wildly entertains throughout. 

Bride of Frankenstein

People continue to misunderstand Frankenstein's (Boris Karloff) harmless peaceful ambitions, and set out to thoroughly destroy him with distraught malevolent intent.

He's somewhat confused by the grandiose distress and realizes he must avoid the village, hiding out in the surrounding forest where he longs for inclusivity. 

Life's life and who's to challenge what lives if it co-exists with equanimity, securing an active balanced role within Earth's multidimensional nexus.

Frankenstein understands this and strives to harmoniously make friends, but fear and aesthetic prejudice lead to inhospitable conflict.

Meanwhile, another scientist takes wholesome pity on the troubled lad (Ernest Thesiger as Dr. Pretorius), and theorizes that traditional heteronormative constructs may lead to acculturation.

He enlists the reluctant aid of Frankenstein's industrious forefather (Colin Clive as Henry Frankenstein), and sets about creating a mate to appease tumultuous chaotic bearings.

Frankenstein seems somewhat relieved by the altruistic acclamation, having only known disarray since having been shockingly brought to life.

But there's no telling what will happen if the experiment's a success.

Conjugal communal courtly cohesion.

But what if she rejects him?

Few sequels disproportionately proceed with such ineffable progressive momentum, enticingly accelerating with riveting resonance immaculately distilled otherworldly genesis.

Few horror films possess such paramount cultural inoculations, as instinctual bellicose folly is disemboweled with airtight empathy.

The classic scenes where Frankenstein meets the visually impaired violinist living alone in the woods, modest heartfelt honest exemplars of innocent curious tame compassion.

The inspired unchecked ebullience emphatically exclaimed through experimentation, as both doctors philosophically articulate bold corporeal determinations.

Will a future filled with androids be relatively harmless as Picard hopes, or will The Terminator's prophetic bedlam come to calamitously pass?

Does the answer lie within this daring tragic Bride of Frankenstein?

Can animate life for mercy's sake . . .

Also apply to friendly robots?

The Black Cat

Spoiler alert.

A newlywed couple unwinds on their honeymoon, carefreely travelling throughout Eastern Europe, wilfully embracing romantic stratagems, to celebrate their new life together.

Suddenly a stranger joins them in their spacious train compartment, who happens to be heading to the same destination, with which he's intimately familiar (Bela Lugosi as Dr. Vitus Werdegast). 

Upon departure, he secures a ride, and they set off into a forbidding storm, dispiritingly crashing not so long after, lodging fortunately available nearby.

But Vitus has failed to tell them that he's recently returned from prison, and seeks vengeance at the very establishment where they happen to be spending the night.

The owner (Boris Karloff as Hjalmar Poelzig) cheated him during a war along with many of their brave compatriots, for he longed for Vitus's precious wife, and cowardly sought to save his own skin.

Vitus's wife perished shortly thereafter but their daughter enchantingly grew, and eventually wed the man who had ruined her family, lacking paramount prerequisite knowledge.

He also loyally worships Satan and conducts forbidden rituals with local elites at his home.

The young couple struggles to adapt.

Without preponderant divine mercy.

More concerned with character and mood than striking shocking spry special effects, The Black Cat haunts without graphic supplement, as old school legends face off for the first time.

Was this narrative frightening for audiences way back and does it still scare peeps to this very day, have there always been those who find it comic, or perhaps abounding with sardonic frights?

Horror certainly has become much more technical in terms of mind-bogglingly mad diabolics, if you went from finding The Black Cat startling what would you make of A Nightmare on Elm Street?

Is horror more suited to the censors of its time or can it function at random, ahistorically?, audiences from the '30s would have been less familiar with Freddy or Jason, but their world was much more accustomed to war torn strife.

Were censors more strict long ago because the world was still much more blunt and chaotic, and they refused to encourage theoretical bedlam because they distrusted aggrieved elementals?

Apart from the pandemic, the last 75 years haven't seen grandiose crazed distress, on a mass scale like World War II anyways, not that there haven't been sundry harrowing incidents.

Can't say I'll ever get used to lockdowns.

Although they're necessary when things get out of hand. 

I didn't find The Black Cat comic.

I thought it was a cool bit of offbeat storytelling.

After Hours

A strait-laced data analyst embraces his routine (Griffin Dunne as Paul Hackett), predictability the 9 to 5 smoothly flowing trusted and disciplined. 

An imaginative co-worker dreams of something more (Bronson Pinchot as Lloyd), something beyond cold codes and programs, an open-minded journal that promotes diversity.

Paul dismisses the idea even though he likes to read, mundanely ensconced in static cynicism, unconcerned with creativity.

Yet while reading alone in a diner, a single lass takes compassionate interest (Rosanna Arquette as Marcy), and soon they've decided to meet up later, Mr. Hackett moving beyond his narrow confines.

But should he have left inanimate routine inexplicably behind with adventurous longing, to suddenly extend bland limitations past the stilted sure and steady?

How will he react to liaised limbo immersed in scintillating shock, as enigmatic interactions present uncanny striking novelties?

It's as if he's entered Lloyd's journal with blasé editorial intent, the artists suspicious of his lacking spry free-flowing flexibility.

Instinctually composed beyond traditional direction, oddball night owls offer conspicuous fervid nimble characterizations. 

Bourgeois logic remains irrelevant he can't make the adaptations, his hopeless attempts to assert control instigating chaotic tension.

The journal requires inherent variability latent unorthodox unawareness, without patterns pragmatic paradigms smoothly shifting random flux.

The desire to reasonably analyze in search of auspicious thematic cohesion, leaves him synchronistically stranded as he attempts to swiftly improvise.

But the unknown erratic elements adhesively unite through enthused criticism, generating instantaneous aggrieved startling multidisciplinary import.

Perhaps he'll be a manager some day but on this night he has no agency, and must adjust to the ironic insurrection of laidback generally accommodating peeps.

Thus the arrhythmic inconclusive intuitive chill spontaneous tangents, prove that they don't watch cable television or sit back and read the news.

A wondrous lively essential eclective naturally responding with unclassified stamina, finds momentary momentum uncategorized active spiritual flight.

I'm not sure if he's meant to be comic or if he's portrayed in a tragic light.

Which lends the film a bit of mysticism. 

When thinking about it later on. 

With Teri Garr, John Heard, Cheech & Chong, and Catherine O'Hara. 

Time Trap

An ancient cave far off in the woods inspires archaeological reckoning, as a professor cautiously descends in search of long lost cherished loved ones (Andrew Wilson as Professor Hopper).

His students become concerned when they don't hear from him for days, and decide to locate him themselves at an inquisitive social gathering.

Unaware of germane legend or even folklore or tale or myth, they enthusiastically head out with bold wherewithal and primal bearings.

Following a handy rope, they jabber nonchalantly, intent on freely exploring their clandestine cavernous confines.

Nothing is discovered at first and they settle in to quizzical discourse, embracing feats of daring athleticism, with instinctual guttural accord.

Yet after a short time passes they discover a distressing sight, a team member who stayed with their vehicle has fallen and broken his neck.

But even more disquieting, somewhat shocking and eerie what have you, the video he's taken on his trusty cellphone reveals a rupture in space-time itself.

For Furby (Max Wright) had been waiting for days even though they entered the cave quite recently, the resultant uncanny discrepancy as unnerving as it is provocative. 

They soon learn they've entered a realm as temporally discordant as it is eternal.

The centuries rapidly pass.

Enlightening elegiac entropy.

Time Trap adventurously swells and ahistorically acculturates through inductive exhibition, high spirits and impressionable disbelief curating quandaries and quarrels encloistered.

Like a chaotic bewildering immersion in multivariable synthesized anthropologies, intergenerational mutated millennia remonstrate, reproach, and reify. 

I thought the pacing was well-suited to perplexing accidental endeavour, like uninhibited postmodern inclinations transformed into vigorous atemporal search & rescue.

Perhaps time passes too quickly, however, and some of the cave-dwellers are too inhospitable, but it does make for some riveting sci-fi, with an honest portrayal of global warming.

It's great to see North American legend entertainingly brought to life, and even if there may never have been such a thing, its hypothetical import still secretes heartfelt wonder.

Like on Twin Peaks, there must be so many Native legends to cinematically explore.

While respecting contemporary consultants.

I'm a fan of the sci-fi touch.  

Confidential Report

Spoiler alert.

A man of humble origins obtains astounding wealth, and lives the ostentatious lifestyle well-attuned to extravaganza (Orson Welles as Mr. Arkadin). 

But he has trouble living in the present for some self-obsessed depressing reason, free to do whatever he pleases, he decides to track down old associates.

With ill-intent.

He hires a somewhat clueless blunt do-gooding would-be detective, to discover where they've wound up and any additional information he can find (Robert Arden as Guy Van Stratten). 

He had hoped to blackmail Arkadin with his knowledge of an old school name, and managed to fortunately meet him after getting to know his carefree daughter (Paola Mori as Raina). 

He travels far and wide in search of crucial extant intel, leaving a well-trodden path to follow should one scrutinize his investigation.

He encounters several oddballs enigmatically versed in levity, who supply ample scandalous details of Mr. Arkadin's criminal past.

But he realizes too late that he's been followed and they've been murdered.

And he's been framed for a murder himself.

And there's nowhere left to hide.

Leave things be I say in terms of controversial fascinations, there's peace of mind in a steady job and a potentially loving fulfilling relationship.

After work, there are art museums and a fluid stream of homegrown spectacles at Place des arts, delicately blended with international intrigue the seductive synthesis viscerally reeling.

Plus sports.

A sudden inspired idea can generate piquant multilateral harmonies, ephemerally akin to serendipitous spectrums as genuinely concerned as they are suspicious. 

Perhaps the accumulation of wealth does beget a desire for public recognition, it seems to happen often enough in film and literature, even if the riches were acquired somewhat scandalously. 

Does nominal philanthropy exculpate suspect acquisitive propulsion, like secular sociopolitical tithing written off with a lack of pretence?

It seems like social media would lead to a less ambiguous historical take.

But there are so many competing narratives.

Who tells the most gripping story?

Confidential Report presents a cool cast of characters comically united through witless candour.

Live in the present I say.

Augmented tradition.

Novel change. 

Tampopo

A daring trucker, hungry after a long day on the road (Tsutomu Yamazaki as Gorô), stops in at a local ramen shop, where the other customers are somewhat hostile.

He refuses to observe their bad behaviour and soon an unfair fight begins, Gorô's courage reacting with bellicose vigour, but there are are too many determined opponents. 

But the owner takes pity on him afterwards and they soon find themselves amicably disposed, Gorô noting that her restaurant lacks appeal (Nobuko Miyamoto as Tampopo), and deciding to chill 'til he can help improve things.

They begin rigorously researching the competition to incisively scrutinize strengths and weaknesses, Gorô proving to be a good teacher, thoughtful Tampopo eager to learn.

After having focused upon various aspects of the divergent ways different people serve ramen, it's time to concentrate on the dish itself, to make something coveted, lauded, irresistible.

Fresh insights are eagerly sought and soon they've forged a constructively critical retinue, devoutly seeking sumptuous irrefutability, with avid pluck and gastronomic reserve.

Meanwhile, the world at large engages in random culinary acts.

Uncanny scenes adding cosmopolitan flavour. 

To Tampopo's free-flowing itinerant broth.

Effervescent peculiar poignancy rambunctiously distilling airtight emancipation, Tampopo proceeds according to guidelines unaffiliated with external gravity.

A world particular and personalized caught up with jocose mesmerizing self-indulgence, like so many of my favourite artistic works, it's structurally chaotic, yet imaginatively sound.

Praise for unorthodox individuals having forged convivial eclectives, well-versed in variable revelations, beyond financial or economic rubrics. 

Praise for concerned acts of kindness delicately encouraging slow and steady development, conflict erupting through holistic expansion, thereafter appeased through tact and forgiveness.

Praise for proceeding according to mood whether it be compassionate or volatile, praise for non-sequential spicy abbreviations piquantly presented in poetic overflow.

I thought the killing of a live animal went way too far and I was thoroughly disturbed afterwards.

Otherwise a unique unpredictable tale.

Abounding with full-on whatever.

*With Ken Watanabe. 

Nightbooks

A thoughtful youth likes to write stories that are somewhat frightening if not supernatural (Winslow Fegley as Alex), his nascent creative literary endeavours misunderstood by his strait-laced classmates.

Unfortunately, on the night of his birthday party, no ones shows up to indulge and celebrate, his parents having gone to great lengths to materialize, a fitting festive otherworldly soirée.

They begin to doubt their motivations and callously vocalize their frustrated misgivings, Alex listening closely in the next room, he suddenly decides to run away.

Yet even more disastrous, he decides to burn his cherished books, a haughty witch intercepting him as he proceeds down (Krysten Ritter as Natacha), to his apartment's scalding incinerator. 

The witch is none too accommodating however and traps him inside her magical abode, demanding a new story each and every evening, happy endings strictly forbidden.

Due to his absolutist circumstances, he readily seeks wholehearted escape, with the aid of another resident child (Lidya Jewett as Yasmin), who had been hopeless for quite some time.

But a furless invisible cat watches their movements throughout the day.

And doesn't understand when they find: a spell encouraging slumbrous oblivion.

Nightbooks applauds the grim and macabre with sincere devout unlimited reckoning, securing spellbound enriched daunting fantasies for multivariable epochs to come. 

Firmly resolved to withstand criticism of the artistic desire to explore spooky realms, it champions bold incarnate conjuring perhaps with multidisciplinary respite.

If you're ever mundanely thinking that related genres are lacking forward momentum, I suggest checking out Montréal's Fantasia festival as well, where you'll find innovative stories from around the globe.

I have no idea at what age to start consuming frets and frights, they freaked me out when I was really young, but I was really into them throughout my teens and twenties.

Harry Potter offers fascinating insights into freedom of expression, within a robust world equipped with intricate complex plots and characterizations (what happened to J.K. Rowling?).

Nightbooks too, I really liked Nightbooks, and its stressful examination of writing.

If you're thinking of stories write them down.

Social prestige and criticism be damned. 

*The Dream Warriors was my favourite Nightmare on Elm Street film. I never saw numbers 2 or 5 however.

**Can't believe there's a Child's Play tv show/series coming out. That's mind-boggling considering how strict censors were way back when.

The Starling

No telling how the shock of unexpectedly losing someone will short-circuit, but there's no doubt it's an awful experience requiring patience, understanding, and compassion.

In The Starling, a loving husband is thoroughly overcome with grief (Chris O'Dowd as Jack Maynard), after his baby daughter doesn't wake up, a beautiful gift whom he adored.

He's so overwhelmingly grief-stricken that he checks into a local hospital, where caring sympathetic professionals try their best to ease his pain.

His wife remains at home and continues to work while slowly convalescing, visiting her husband once a week and bringing treats for each encounter (Melissa McCarthy as Lilly Maynard).

But since he doesn't progress and remains sadly lost in a deep depression, she struggles to optimistically adjust, especially when he no longer wants to see her.

It's recommended she seek therapy too, guidance from a former psychiatrist working as a vet (Kevin Kline as Dr. Larry Fine), with whom she strikes up a begrudging friendship, like a therapeutic odd couple.

Meanwhile, she cleans her yard and a resident starling starts to pester her.

She responds with uptight disdain.

Then feels guilty for her hasty actions. 

The Starling doesn't shy away from emphasizing sincere distress, and related waves upon waves of anguish as the Maynards come together. 

But it also praises the painstaking sacrifices spouses make while married at times, providing an amicable unassuming exemplar of devout enduring flexible partnerships. 

So many conflicting emotions difficult to comprehend since they're new and sad, add a steady routine on top of them, and there's bound to be a lot of confusion.

Lilly honestly reacts with genuine innocence as she freely adapts, with classic aggrieved McCarthian carnage, somewhat mollified for sombre subject matter.

As Lilly tries to poison the starling, human/animal relations are oddly characterized, she also hits it with a rock later on, the vet fortunate enough to save it.

After that everything's great for the starling and it seems as if she's welcome in the yard.

This is how people who don't understand human/animal relationships write about them (perhaps like Lindsay Bluth-Fünke). 

I sincerely hope that I'm not missing something. 

The Ice Road

Two brothers contend with anti-social commentaries, one suffering from a potent malady that engenders inhibition (Marcus Thomas as Gurty McCann). 

They're both fired after the other raises fists in his determinate firm defence (Liam Neeson as Mike McCann), after which they're stuck looking for work once again, even though they're resolutely versatile. 

Meanwhile, a methane gas explosion traps miners in Northern Manitoba, and the only equipment that can swiftly free them must be transported by ye olde ice road.

From way down south in the 'Peg.

But it's late April and the road's reliability is called into brittle question, ample compensation offered for the drivers, if they don't break through the ice.

Mike and Gurty take on the job with the aid of fellow truckers Jim Goldenrod (Laurence Fishburne) and Tantoo (Amber Midthunder), Tantoo's brother trapped in the mine below (Martin Sensmeier as Cody Mantooth), with time rapidly running out.

If the melting ice isn't enough of a hazard, sabotage is soon calamitously afoot, as Jim's rig suddenly breaks down, after having passed the pre-trip inspection.

It turns out there's more money to be made in letting men perish than saving their lives.

Mike, Gurty and Tantoo disagree.

And strive onwards in strict contention.

Inherent courage reflexively materializes in the face of daunting unpredictability, as maddening shortsighted voracious decisions write off integral animate life.

As kind-hearted gifted trusted technicians lack viable steadfast agency, since they aren't argumentatively or rhetorically stern, and simply possess expert free-flowing knowledge.

Visceral integrity impacting resilience necessitously arises through cause and effect, boldly adjudicating vivacious spirit in terms of hands-on practical tenacity.

Every once in a while it's fun to take in another high-stakes Liam Neeson film, with an over-the-top epic scenario chaotically encouraging heroic action.

It's not clear cut by any means indeed mistakes are made then compassionately forgiven, the circuitous path to pinnacled payload not as straightforward as one might expect.

Apart from the critical pressures of the stressful melting ice road, scene after scene of diabolical intrigue keeps the kinetic distress flowing.

But it's not concerned with superheroes as provocative realism takes centre stage.

And real people confront a worst case scenario.

With productive teams.

Driven by virtue. 

Driven

A greedy pilot hits hard times after the FBI catches him transporting drugs, during a trip where he also visits Disney World with his family, dissolute rupture, grievous error (Jason Sudeikis as Jim Hoffman). 

He agrees to become an informant rather than spend 30 years in the can, and he's set up with a house in the suburbs with a modest income to keep up appearances.

With nothing major immediately materializing he has time to relax and socialize, meeting John DeLorean (Lee Pace) of all people, the two strike up a laidback friendship.

DeLorean's trying to find a way to create and manufacture a unique car, which harnesses years of hands-on experience, in a smooth flowing incomparable ride.

But it's a rather complicated affair involving manifold intricate parts, how to build it, where to build it, how to market it, while still maintaining control of his company.

Hoffman's advice proves fertile and the project sees mechanistic germination, and although there are impassioned critiques, forward motion is swiftly accelerated.

Jim and his wife (Judy Greer as Ellen Hoffman) enjoy their new life attending parties without having to work, but the FBI hasn't forgotten their commitment to engage in duplicitous sincere snitching.

As problems abound for DeLorean it becomes apparent he needs 30 million.

Which Hoffman's drug trafficking contact (Michael Cudlitz as Morgan Hetrick) can provide.

If he's willing to boldly risk everything.

Insights into a world I've never understood in terms of practical realization, lucrative ideas productively entwined with the design for commodities people actually want.

I like driving cars they're convenient but I've never really wanted to own one, bus métro and kayak so much less of a bother, not to mention simply strolling around.

It seems like if there's money to be made there are many better ways to acquire it within the law, that don't engender latent paranoia in everything you do afterwards throughout the day.

And problematize flourishing friendships as they do for Mr. Hoffman in Driven, as he struggles with competing loyalties ethically conflicting with frenzied comeuppance.

A cool film nevertheless directly interrogating high stakes happenstance, still somewhat suave considering its blunt extolled intermittent playful hi-jinx.

Perhaps I'll own a vehicle some day, I'm hoping green alternatives are much cheaper (and faster) by the time that happens.

Don't know if I'll drive it that often.

Although it'd be nice to hit the open road. 

The Abyss

Undercover underwater exploration yields illuminated booty, as the navy teams up with rig workers in search of a lost submarine.

The navy's more concerned with the whereabouts of a noxious radical however, which may lead to mass destruction if acquired by belligerent ambition.

But as they're searching intent deep down they're freely greeted by a burst of light, accompanied by frisky cognizance and inquisitive concerned awareness.

The lifeforms initially remain aloof solely presenting themselves with hesitance, but they're crystal clearly lucidly detected as a feisty doc curiously ventures forth (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio as Lindsey Brigman).

Her feisty husband doubts the provenance of what she earnestly claims she's seen (Ed Harris as Bud Brigman), their upcoming divorce complicating things further as a storm approaches high above.

The aliens eventually appear for most of the crew in aqueous form, possessing the ability to transform water into a conscious mobile thermocline. 

But they get too close to the nuke and one of the navy personnel goes psycho (Michael Biehn as Lt. Coffey).

Deciding it's time to nuke them.

They were just trying to make new friends.

Severely critiquing warlike ambition while fluidly celebrating animate life, The Abyss problematizes piqued peculiars with maddening flush improvised contention.

It was made with concern for particular individualistic collegial resonance, so multiple characters alertly express themselves throughout both the merriment and the malevolence.

What's to be found deep down in the ocean's an enigmatic imaginative catalyst, I'm surprised these kind of films don't show up more often, so much submerged terrain remains unexplored.

Recall the episode of Star Trek: The Original Series where they survey the pleasure planet (Shore Leave plus Once Upon a Planet in Star Trek: The Animated Series), to fathom unpredictable eccentricities resolutely emergent in manifold epochs.

Could this idea have been ethereally transmitted by mischievous immortals living far below, equipped with an evolutionary laboratory hellbent on nourishing life?

The balance of nature is somewhat awe-inspiring in its multilateral environmental harmonies.

The omnivorous bear, the speed of the cheetah.

How do plants evolve to mimic their surroundings?

While that idea's rather ridiculous I can't deny I like television and film.

How does something mimic without consciousness?

An ethereal level unilaterally imperceptible.

*With Chris Elliot (Bendix).

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire - Part 2)

It's not for me to say how influential Welt am Draht was, but it came out in 1973 with ideas that seem like they were ahead of their time.

Although I don't have an exhaustive knowledge of '60s and '70s sci-fi, I wasn't expecting the film to be in line with late 20th and 21st century shenanigans (it's the earliest example I can think of which showcased such ideas).

It concerns virtual environments within virtual environments with some characters aware of their electronic anatomies, eventually responding with paranoid pride, in relation to fractious fundamentals.

The parallels with Star Trek: The Next Generation's Moriarty holodeck character are striking and it may have been where STNG originally found the idea.

Although contemporaneity suggests that different writers were likely thinking about the same ideas simultaneously, if I understand the concept correctly, finding alternative modes for similar hypotheses which various people were considering at the time.

With Welt am Draht's different virtual environments there's a set up similar to Total Recall as well, where people can virtually live someone else's life to gain surrogate sensation. 

Thus, once again, Philip K. Dick may have provided the framework which another artist then expanded upon in his or her work, his story We Can Dream it for You Wholesale (Total Recall) having appeared in 1966.

Thus, Star Trek's holodeck and Total Recall combine as characters within the dreamscapes become aware of their existence, and then seek knowledge of the world beyond while trying to avoid distressing authorities. 

Where does the dreamscape begin, without origins is there organic life?

Multiple dimensions existing in exponential parallel ethereally linked through electronic spirit?

Conscious and substantially determinate yet existentially star-crossed in manifold chrysalis.

Like on Star Trek: The Next Generation I suppose, in episodes which play with space and time, notably Parallels which sees Worf disrupt the universe on his way home from a bat'leth tournament.

Who's to say who's taken different manifestations of these ideas to their most compelling extremes, but The Matrix did an excellent job, and it looks like they're making another sequel.

The first part of Welt am Draht pulls you in with cryptic offbeat uncanny rhythms, it's cool to watch as Fred Stiller (Klaus Löwitsch) slowly discovers the blueprints of his reality.

The second part doesn't add much but it's a cool drawn out conclusion.

It's fun to watch sci-fi sans special effects.

Love it when technological constraints don't spoil good storytelling.

La planète sauvage (Fantastic Planet)

Far off on a hectic planet humans (oms) are treated as undesirables, the dominant haughty traag species rather intolerant of different lifeforms.

They possess much greater height and ancient meditative traditions, along with cryptic advanced writing which the oms can't readily decipher.

They manage the om population with paternalistic uptight disdain, their children allowed to keep oms as pets, the free wild peoples treated like vermin.

One rather observant om is introduced to traag learning however, lessons transmitted through an omniscient horseshoe which traag children use to develop and grow.

Many om years pass and young Terr (Barry Bostwick/Eric Baugin/Jean Valmont) acquires much sought after knowledge, his owner aging at a much slower pace, losing interest with her pet as a teenager.

He takes his opportunity to escape and brings the encyclopaedic technology with him, abruptly adjusting to life in the wilderness, with peeps wary yet impressed by his learning.

Thanks to the didactic device many oms begin to acquire an education, and prove just as adept as they reflexively do here upon our own bountiful Earth.

But the traags decide their numbers have grown much too large to be safely managed.

Presenting an ambitious and wicked plan.

To engage in full-on extermination.

Rather unsettling to casually watch as humans fall prey to strategic whims, carelessly launched by unsympathetic derisive dominant domineering giants.

Their diminutive size and lack of resources leaves them vulnerable to various beasts, as do their scattered proud distrustful clans who bravely subsist in scant isolation.

But the survivors bond in an abandoned rocket field and earnestly learn from Terr's technology, hoping to escape to a clandestine moon upon which they will be free from vile traag tyranny.

Education proves vital indeed and soon a less dependent state of affairs emerges.

As ingenious pedagogical applications redefine ancient endemic balances.

The parallels with our cherished home planet should not be dismissed or even overlooked, as billions of animals spend their entire lives in cages awaiting to be served up as food.

The industry could be much more humane and if meat consumption decreases we could stop global warming.

Unfortunately, pigs and cows can't read.

But there are still millions of humanoids who support them. 

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire - Part 1)

The real world composed of constituent parts practically indicating material projections, consistent tradition reliably upheld as concrete forms refrain from transfiguration.

Fortunately, as time passes and resonant patterns are detected, one is able to generally predict what will physically emerge, structural dependability routinely reckoning as if coherence were indeed endemic, the same buildings appearing on the same streets, libraries convergent, impeccable sandwiches.

The sure and steady can lack variety so spice is eagerly sought like in Plato's Republic, and tempting alternatives emphatically compete to provide soulful sustenance exotic flavour.

Thus the arts envision trajectories upon which to reimagine certified certainty, various in/distinct bold metamorphoses cleverly conjuring kaleidoscopic craving.

Sentiment and novelty oscillate within as abstract patterns extract newfound tradition, but with less elementary toned durability than a street or a house one might expect to see.

Gregarious garnishes astounding adornments laidback lynchpins sombre tomes, remonstrance rhetoric polarities syntheses multiform blends unilateral conceit.

Proceeding with an open-mind may lead to fulfilling multilateral abundance, with intuitive hierarchies inevitably developing, kept in check through reflexive consumption.

Are you too specialized too arcane too generic, too lacking in practical sense?, such questions can lead to a more diverse palette if one can be bothered to consider them effortlessly.

Aren't buffets the best a feed at the trough when they're well-prepared, plate after plate of sumptuous treats judiciously accompanied with varied desserts?

It seems like the will of the pandemic is to encourage lush virtual environments, but after spending so much time indoors it'd be nice to pitch a tent in Parc Jeanne-Mance. 

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire) examines virtual realities as artificial intelligence emerges within them, layers upon layers of structural mimesis provocatively contemplating organic life.

Who's to say if this world we live in isn't a computer program ingeniously manufactured?

I used to think that until I broke my finger.

Related ephemera notwithstanding. 

Koko: A Talking Gorilla

Koko: A Talking Gorilla presents pioneering documentary wildlife footage, shot long before Love Nature and BBC Earth emerged, it offers a direct hands-on approach to the crafting of naturalistic wonder. 

In a scholastic setting.

Is it possible for gorillas to acquire humanistic language skills?

Yes, Barbet Schroeder showcases the evidence within, and even if Koko doesn't learn to sign perfect human, he still learns hundreds of words by heart, and can engage in elementary small talk.

However, I have to admit that as I watched Koko and Penny Patterson communicating, I felt kind of bad for the verbose beastie, who seems somewhat uncomfortable a lot of the time within the film.

He often seems like he'd much rather be foraging around in the jungle, and although the experiment produces compelling results, did it thoroughly take into account Koko's natural instincts, his innate desires to gorilla about?

I like experiments that teach us more about animal kind because they're good at deconstructing stereotypes regarding non-humans, but so many of the them end with horrible results for the animals, that sometimes it seems like it's best not to conduct them.

I'm thinking about Susan Casey's book Voices in the Ocean: A Journey into the Wild and Haunting World of Dolphins, anyways, which starts out with a cool example of beatniks swimming with dolphins in Hawaii, while totally respecting dolphin kind's independence.

But then chapter after chapter chronicles horrendous interactions between well-meaning (and not so well-meaning) scientists (and others) and dolphins, which left me with a rather critical outlook regarding such experiments, since so many of them ended horribly.

I think animal awareness has remarkably improved in some countries and regions over the past 20 years, and there's certainly an abundance of caring people sharing animal love on the internet.

And I imagine generations are following David Attenborough's incredible example as they respectfully interact with our fellow Terran inhabitants (who have just as much of a right to this planet as we do). 

But the good's still mixed with an abundance of bad of cruel practices and experiments that are socially accepted, not to mention cultural prejudices which display shocking misguided horror, sign up for emails from Peta, be prepared for extreme woe.

Koko's treated well in the film and the people involved don't employ old school viewpoints, which justify outrageous abuses of intelligent animals based upon preferences for intellectual standing.

Rather they try to break down the barriers which uphold so many distressing rationalities. 

Koko still seems like he'd rather be playing.

I'm not sure where to draw the line.

I wonder what Jane Goodall thinks of this film?

Note: I love Orangutan Jungle School.

Delirious

A kindhearted freespirit abounding with compassion finds himself inanimately indisposed, without lodgings or food or friendship or frenzy he wanders New York in search of something new (Michael Pitt as Toby Grace). 

He meets a photographer (Steve Buscemi) who spends his time in search of celebrity appearances, which he swiftly captures then sells to earn a buck, used to life on his own and a rather ornery set of rules, he takes young Toby in and sets him up as his assistant.

As Toby's introduced to the long hours of the paparazzi, he tries his best to ease his benefactor's troubled mind, at times breaking through the multilayered masochism, to placate his cantankerous sadospurious vengeful bitterness.

Mr. Grace is a solid character oft maligned for its gentle trusting, and natural sympathetic instincts, and resonant altruistic charm.

He lacks competitive calculating individualistic self-promotion, and has no time for guts or grievances, he's inherently non-violent.

He's more concerned with friendship than relationships or ownership, and can forgive grand impositions without foolishly giving in.

Delirious is quite romantic as Toby suddenly succeeds, yet still caught up with hardboiled dissonance as his jealous patron won't forgive him.

I suppose the grass is greener and many people covet wealth, but isn't it also important to chill and not concern yourself with opulence. 

I'm afraid I tend to see jealousy as an inhibiting destructive force, which slowly leads to spiritual ruin if left unchecked in freeform dissolution.

When you detect that people are trying to make you jealous, ask yourself, are these people good friends?, there's so much wonderful friendship out there with people who don't try to make you jealous.

Sometimes people share things without intending to show off or brag, they simply just like sharing things and don't see the harm in doing so.

The world does seem to be caught up with jealousy though, and as it blindly promotes incoherence so much innocence is lost.

You can preserve such innocence without getting duped over and over again, the two don't go hand in hand, Toby's actions offer a clear example.

Although ridiculous at points, Delirious demonstrates compassionate understanding, goodwill productively materialized, which even brought a tear to me eye.

Taking out your own shortcomings on others is as impractical as it is dispiriting. 

Better to slowly walk away.

Let them find others who prefer that kind of thing. 

Przypadek

Can alternative decisions made in relation to one specific random event produce remarkably different outcomes for an inquisitive mind adapting?

Is it possible that the same person could emphatically respond with melancholic gusto, to diametrically opposed scenarios with shocking dialectic outcomes?

With or without exciting possibility with political support or in the thrilling underground, perhaps with traditional familial responsibilities, could the same person react so divergently?

As if sociopolitical engagement is a mischievous abstract maelstrom, different vessels like practical responses to a constantly shifting incredulous multiplicity.

As if the unexpected the unforeseen consistently introduces unprecedented dilemmas, which reimagine concrete foundations in need of striking transformative flux.

To stay afloat you employ grey flexible conducive relevant bold applications, circuitously dissected by ideological currents simultaneously engaged in the same opaque struggle.

Personal appeal and gracious mentoring provide fleeting cerebral provisions, from one piquant portfolio to the next, subjective instinct objective humour.

Competing forces build dams and levees attempting to limit the Kafkaesque exposure, material movements and spiritual sustenance providing relief within the grand disorder.

Isms and ists market intellectual plumage attempting to bridge variable discreet gaps, consistently haunted by resonant biology (hunger) as they uphold existential preservation. 

The absolutist seeks total control of the entire byzantine aqueous edifice, presuming resulting tsunamic ostentation will one day be followed by mass mellifluity.

The democrat limits the forbidding forces and offers advice for multivariable instances, celebrating fluctuation itself out of sincere respect for public opinion.

Witek (Boguslaw Linda) is immersed within different currents in Kieslowski's Przypadek, immanent ideological commitments compromising noble romantic resolve.

Even the lavish lagooned levitation leads to despondent airborne rupture, every random disparate path linked through chaotic contemporaneity.

Give me a raft or a kayak I suppose, some good bread and a variety of cheese.

A ride hitched on the back of a whale.

Some good books.

A salient film.  

Blizna

Problems associated with industrializing an underdeveloped region haunt the Party official in charge of managing operations, as Krzysztof Kieslowski's Blizna bluntly examines economic controversy, conflicting voices, inherent criticism.

Things haven't changed much in the quiet rural town for quite some time grandiloquently speaking, and while many of the residents adore the status quo, others seek prosperity or reliable jobs.

To build the chemical plant however several homes have to be "relocated", to the grave disillusionment of many citizens who aren't interested in financial compensation (if any was offered).

The age old forest is also decimated even more so as the project expands, there's an abundance of forest in Canada (even so economic development should proceed sustainably), such losses must be catastrophic in smaller nations.

But ecotourism hasn't flourished and the region isn't a vacation destination, and many people don't want to move to seek opportunity elsewhere, since plain and simply, they love their town.

But will they love it when industry settles in and mechanically transforms cherished landscapes and hideaways, as animal life departs and doesn't come back and pollution causes uncharacteristic illness?

Criticisms of the plant endemically abound which discourage its unassuming CEO, who's genuinely concerned with producing fertilizer in order to grow more food throughout the land.

It's easy to focus on a communal goal when a healthy way of life is cautiously preserved, but if pollution and 60 hour weeks become habitual, it can be more difficult to consider macrofactors.

A lot of people don't mind if the money's good and their lives improve, accumulating lavish sought after goods which were difficult to come by in the previous epoch.

But many others do and Bednarz (Franciszek Pieczka) takes their criticisms to heart, forgetting that it's just the price of doing business and that people like to complain.

Especially if there isn't much time to spend with their families and friends and the money isn't very good.

If the pollution makes them sick.

If they lose touch with their beloved environments.

Kieslowski doesn't seem to care much, Blizna examines Bednarz like he's a tragic figure, overcome by flippant grievances that can't see the bigger picture.

Pollution's not even a factor.

It's like the film laments a lack of absolutism. 

Not as balanced as I had hoped, still like nothing I've seen before, even if I found it too top heavy, I imagine it's admired by many an executive.