The NeverEnding Story II: The Next Chapter

*This applies more to my haphazard analysis of American politics.

One of the cool elements of a democracy is that it encourages the development of a multiplicity of voices, the cultivation of sundry alternatives to the heroic master narrative.

It doesn't seek to eclipse the heroic narrative but rather to promote less ra ra alternatives, in order to represent the millions of people who aren't engaged in epic quests.

I suppose this goes without saying but it seems like populists are seeking to reinvent the wheel, as if the heroic narrative was somehow in danger of suddenly disappearing.

I like the application of heroics to humdrum daily life, through the application of general comedic agency and particular tragic commitment, for to deny epic possibility to random modest chill existence, is to foolishly underestimate sociocultural potential, and overlook vast compelling markets (see The Lord of the Rings).

I may prefer to watch a film like Museum Hours, but I still enjoy watching Iron Man or Thor, which unfortunately leaves me on the fringes since so many people prefer one style to the other.

But if you can balance the divergent approaches you can cater to so many different preferences, and perhaps avoid wild confrontation by fulfilling manifold desires.

Snobs digress erroneously by dismissing so many things, and creating categorical prejudices which designate them undesirable.

For so many of these things are culturally celebrated by people who don't wish to be dismissed (I don't really care), or made to feel inadequate because they simply don't like serious drama.

It's just the application of equality to widespread divergent artistic tastes, which seems anathema to elitist snobs who often advocate for greater equality (see life).

It wouldn't be much of an issue if millions of people weren't rallying behind the populists, and creating a vast absolutist network of alternative facts on social media.

Such bizarro alternative reckonings shouldn't be dismissed, they're much too powerful, but rather ways should be found to rework them from within based upon probable fact and reason (like robust dynamic schools).

You see they've created new definitions for "fact" and alternative conceptions of "reason" which they uphold without any evidence in order to pursue a dismissed agenda.

Because mainstream discourse has dismissed them they've found outlets to spread their discontent.

Unless both sides are willing to relax passionately upheld categorical prejudices, the situation could become much worse as The Social Dilemma postulates.

I hope it doesn't descend into one strictly policing the other (unless there are acts of violence).

Brute force is so much less convincing.

Reimagine the emptiness, like The NeverEnding Story II.

Turner & Hooch

A fussy cop works a small town beat in tune with blasé predictable rhythms, everything filed in fortune frisked throughout the flogged fastidious day (Tom Hanks as Scott Turner). 

He's put in for a transfer however to the less familiar big city, and only has a week to go before he makes the shocking move.

But as he prepares to daringly depart a close friend is suddenly murdered, his dog left with nowhere to go if Turner doesn't take him in.

The case offers an enticing break from traditional misdemeanours, albeit fraught with potent woe tragic discourse bitter reckoning.

The dog's a resounding wrecking ball who is unaccustomed to disciplined order, his instinctual rambunctuosity bold and playful yet borderline chaotic.

Turner may be uptight but he's still a gamer and willing to go with the flow, Hooch even accompanying him to work where he quickly generates voyeuristic leads.

Turner may have been ill-prepared for the sudden distressing ill-composed calamity, but his resilient know-how and clever insights make up for the lack of precedent.

Of course, it's first and foremost a dog/cop movie wherein which the canine endearingly wreaks havoc, absurd laughs and heartfelt hyperbole overwhelming the practical element.

In fact adult me noticed the time and thought, "the film's more than half way through and they haven't even started investigating!", but then I remembered that such concerns made no impact as a child as long as they were dealt with in due time.

Turner & Hooch is certainly much less radical than K-9 and also more plausible and collegial to boot, the two forging a bizarro hands-on synthesis if viewed late at night in close succession.

While K-9 upholds improbability with frenetic freeform frenzied excess, T & H celebrates moderate logic as it's applied to bucolic metamorphosis. 

You might think it's just a silly dog movie best reserved for ages 5 to 10, but Tom Hanks by no means dismissed it and delivered an incredible performance considering.

The flexible ways in which he resoundingly reacts to scenes where it's just him and a dog, demonstrate so much otherworldly multidimension that I was instantly reminded of Kyle Lowry. 

I guess you can't make films like these with cats but that shouldn't prevent people from trying, perhaps not just one cat but several and a plot to prevent the subversion of independent theatre.

They do a lot more with Hooch than Jerry Lee not that they both don't have their moments.

I don't know if they were released by rival studios.

But they both came out in 1989.

With Reginald VelJohnson (David Sutton) and Craig T. Nelson (Chief Hyde).  

K-9

A lone cop impulsive and independent seeks to take down a well-heeled ne'er-do-well, who's aware of his unorthodox sleuthing, yet unable to conceal his villainy. 

Dooley (Jim Belushi) proceeds unabashed concerned with neither foresight nor self-preservation, driven solely to uphold the law, he fiercely asserts zealous wild dedication.

K-9 lauds improper procedure and lacks the prudent planning often found in cop films, taking an uncompromised and headstrong approach stubbornly cultivated by just gut instinct.

Its protagonist may be prone to do-gooding.

But his heroics overlook bad lieutenants. 

He's assisted by a dog (Rando as Jerry Lee) who's none too friendly and engages in acts of maligned disobedience, the two forging a reluctant partnership as Dooley moves closer to making his bust.

The partnership intuitively collaborates with ill-mannered ornery obtuse dispositions, Dooley reining in a kindred spirit while still ignoring everything else people say.

Exasperation irreverently railing.

Aggrieved comic quirks, bizarro urban westerns. 

I suppose there will always be a market for audacious rash decision making, which cuts through the bureaucratic rigamarole and produces instantaneous potent results.

In a film or book on the weekend, to escape strategic planning, cautiously employing corporate totalitarianism, it's fun to watch as improvisation prevails, as stilted principles flail to adapt.

Most people aren't CEOs and many still dream of comparable autonomy. 

I don't myself although people think I do at least I've never wanted to be the boss, although to make more money I've had to accept responsibilities which were at times rewarding.

K-9 perhaps isn't the greatest dog/cop film although it courageously perseveres, with Ed O'Neill (Brannigan) and Pruitt Taylor Vince (Benny the Mule) delivering brief entertaining performances.

There isn't much point in critiquing it again although it's kind of funny when you sit back and think about it, how many millions are spent on a daily basis by people who don't seem to know what they're doing?

Well spent.

But here I risk engaging in snobbery for K-9 indubitably found its market, and if it has many loyal fans out there, I can't accuse its creators of negligence.

Multidisciplinary markets.

I've had worse films recommended. 

When given an opportunity, make the most of it.

Lofty pretensions be damned!

Ansiktet (The Magician)

A different time, a feudal age, wherein which independent theatre was severely scrutinized, authoritative sadists ridiculing mystery applying cold-hearted principles to magical daring, inspired performance requiring sanction to entertain through fascination, the hard work sarcastically ignored the illusions castigated.

A tortured artist once proud of his talents travels from town to town, awaiting dismissive observations and outright refusals from obtuse officials. 

Happiness has been transformed into resigned melancholia, for even though he possesses great talent he's governed by austerity. 

Audiences wish to be amused by his tricks as he conjures and casts and calibrates, the integrity of seamless illusion widely sought after from age to age.

Star Trek may have never prospered.

There's no telling what would have become of vampires and werewolves.

The horrors of absolute control.

Far too concerned with practical reason.

It's not that practical reason is in itself a bad thing in fact it's obviously essential to daily life, the smooth flowing of robust commerce dependent upon its logical reckoning.

Practical film and reasonable books also generate compelling ideas, which fruitfully encourage thought and invention leading to progress and even more comfort.

But there's only so much rationality a person can take after working all week and taking care of a family, and if everything has a utilitarian purpose it may seem like work never ends.

Efficacious totalitarianism has no doubt spoiled many a relaxing weekend.

Comedy and the genres presenting absurd breaks.

Which congenially deconstruct obsession. 

Best if they don't get the upper hand either of course, surrealism best reserved for relaxed play, after work when there's nothing left to do but chill out sit back and dream.

Albert Emanuel Vogler cheats his haughty oppressors through an exceptional act of improvised dissimulation, their resultant angst increased ten-fold by the sudden news that they've been outdriven.

And a brilliant smile adorns Vogler's face as he prepares to perform once again.

The melancholia temporarily subsiding. 

As the middle-class emerges. 

Nattvardsgästerna (Winter Light)

I suppose when you're happy doing your own thing and you've generally created spiritually enriching films, according to improvised guidelines which imaginatively mutated over time, it may at some point occur to you to direct the saddest most despondent film ever conceived, to make a distressing point cloaked in sheer austere lugubrity. 

Pushing things past the strictly solemn to approach rarefied uncompromised misery, Ingmar Bergman's Nattvardsgästerna (Winter Light) distills utter complete hopelessness. 

It's unfortunate to shyly say that the lack of hope is derived from honesty, from a pressurized irreconcilable desire to share one's thoughts with imposing candour. 

Does such a truthful need reflect genuine social lucidity, inasmuch as the ability to freely express oneself is oft admired and sincerely celebrated?

Is the sharing of doubts and misgivings not encouraged by different cultures, to avoid pent up obtuse hardheartedness followed by shocking emotional explosions?

In Nattvardsgästerna, the individual under examination occupies a prominent position however, and people look to him for strength in difficult times of spiritual stress.

When he makes his own lack of faith apparent and expresses it with candid levity, the results are completely disastrous for his diminutive humble flock.

He attempts to ease troubled minds by modestly employing frank concern, but misjudges tortured temperaments who were seeking guidance not familiarity. 

The cultivation of ideals thus receives distraught import, through morose unrestrained melancholia blindly abandoning its lofty discourse.

It's an extreme example sheltered in woebegone obfuscation, utilizing provocative misjudgment to comment upon mortality.

If you could approach every social interaction like a French judge interpreting the Civil Code, socially, not judicially, each interaction adapted to specific circumstances, then perhaps through lauded perspicuity you could efficiently prescribe communal medication (one case at a time).

Populism has wildly challenged the establishment of wise decision making however, through realistic democratic loopholes which instinctually bewilder.

Those occupying positions of power must proceed confidently nevertheless.

As alternative rationalities clash and codify.

A bleak film.

Disposed noblesse. 

Rosewood

An affluent stranger arrives in town perhaps intent on settling (Ving Rhames as Mann), a veteran of World War I who's fed up with violent chaos.

He proceeds with reservation meeting many people without saying much, his experience far too disconcerting to suddenly chill unbound and trusting.

In a neighbouring laidback town two lovers meet for an assignation, the aftermath extremely cold as toxic masculinity furiously erupts. 

Her face is bruised and battered and can't be hidden from her timid husband, so she runs out into the quiet streets to proclaim she's been assaulted by an African American.

Her white assailant visits a local black homestead in case hounds are roused to follow him, as her story enflames racist tensions and a mob gathers seeking vengeance. 

The residents of the African American town misjudge the situation, since they've lived there in prosperous peace for amicable generations.

The stranger quickly departs but bigots head out in hot pursuit, while the mob descends with unleashed fury and women and children flee to surrounding swamps.

He returns to assist and guide but it's too late for the honest town.

But a local shopkeep keeps his head.

And brings an engine round.

Many of the women and children escape but the cultural damage is done, no reparations or retribution for the innocent victims of terror.

According to Posse and 19th century chronicles this was by no means an isolated incident, as hard fought freedoms were vigorously asserted within a climate of grand dismissal.

It's beyond depressing to sadly think about how racist pretensions never faded, or how over a hundred years after the American Civil War they still persist with blunt derision.

Aren't the regions where they still culturally persist still economically disadvantaged, with overflowing prisons and lacklustre public institutions and the majority of the wealth possessed by an elite few (see The Spirit Level: Why Equality is Better for Everyone as I've mentioned before)?

Rosewood highlights the insanity associated with passionate hatreds, the lack of rational thought applied when zealous fervour actively pontificates.

Seeing disproven conspiracy theories proliferate in the current bizarro reckless public sphere, people drinking bleach and attacking pizza parlours, is disheartening to say the least.

When I was younger there was a much stronger emphasis on fact based evidence and journalistic integrity.

Not to mention public education.

Which hopefully isn't being replaced by YouTube videos. 

Posse

Sentenced to life in the military, a soldier reacts intuitively driven (Mario Van Peebles as Jesse Lee), his services valued depended upon exploited, the situation coercive, treacherous, untenable.

He's tasked with covert ops requiring stealthy habitual concealment, to disrupt an antagonistic supply chain, and secure chip chop munitions.

But as the mission proceeds uninhibited a coveted chest of gold is detected, and it becomes clear they'll be betrayed by those seeking ill-gotten enrichment.

Another battle is fought from which he escapes with the gold and his life, plus a dedicated resilient crew, and a plan to return home unscathed. 

He's followed by his former commander (Billy Zane) who's aware of his path however, but through tenacious nerve and reservéd foresight he's able to avoid ballistic conflict.

He's headed back to the scene of a crime which saw an honest man outrageously cut down, for wondrously sharing a peaceful dream freely envisioned by many others.

He seeks vengeance for the racist wrongdoing for the coldhearted dismal injustice, even though things have generally settled down and his former love interest misses him dearly (Salli Richardson-Witfield as Lana). 

But the guilty derelict perpetrators raise the alarm upon hearing he's returned.

Just as the former commander arrives.

High-stakes ferocious westerns.

Posse presents preponderant perdition incredible acts of racist abuse, how could things have deteriorated so much, in a country celebrated for widespread freedom?

The posse itself is an innovative eclective prone to cohesion and uniform rigour, embracing difficult choices through courageous wherewithal as they're left with no other options.

The films adds enviable depth of character as they fight their way countering insurmountable odds, playful breaks and solemn flourishes peppered throughout the cataclysmic forays.

Existence is a wonderful thing and laissez-faire socioeconomic spirits augment it, if power and control leave you paranoid is it not better to persist less emphatically?

Or to let communities peacefully develop according to the same sets of laws, the same initiatives and opportunities that enable so much constructive thought?

Why would any country want overflowing prisons and general pugnacious unrest?

The answer to that question's mind-boggling.

When compared to productive alternatives. 

*Loved this film in my youth. It made a big impact (made me hate systemic racism).

Finding 'Ohana

A trip to Hawaii, to settle in with the fam, who's been sorely missed for the past decade, yet is still just as feisty as ever.

Leilani (Kelly Hu) moved away to New York shortly after her second child was born, embracing hectic traversed transformation, and acculturated distinct juxtaposition. 

Not that bad of a situation albeit fraught with geographical discord, the best of both worlds occasionally accessible, even if her children have trouble adjusting.

They're used to an accelerated pace innately attuned to unexpected variability, and although the countryside offers accredited novelty, Pili (Kea Peahu) and Ioane (Alex Aiono) still crave extrapolation. 

Fortunately, Pili discovers an old journal chronicling the history of legendary treasure, and after effortlessly making a new friend (Owen Vaccaro as Casper), has soon borrowed a vehicle in headstrong pursuit.

Her brother soon learns of their plan and after acquiring the aid of a new acquaintance (Lindsay Watson as Hana), proceeds to follow them with grouchy intent, eventually finding them in the depths of a cave.

They must sleuth and search synergistically if they're to locate the vast booty however, while bearing in mind additional myths which may complicate tonal procedures.

Gramps (Branscombe Richmond) and mom worry at a bright local hospital after the children cannot be found.

As New York and Hawaii unite.

Adventurous forays unbound.

Energetically disseminating bold exposition and grievous error, Finding 'Ohana ebullionly excavates inquisitive confident reverent equipoise. 

Character intergenerationally flourishes upon ancestral lands, disputes familially interlocking ignored free-spirited commands.

The family within is a striking example of innovative postmodern Indigenous peoples, many of whom work within the dominant discourse without having sacrificed code or tradition.

The film's generally light of heart even if its subject matter could have been much more solemn, several disheartening economic and spiritual realities endemically generating enlivened enterprise.

The voyage interrogates ecstatic endeavour in order to emphasize austere imposition, without losing sight of the playful innocence naturally embraced by active minds.

A campy blend of enlightened spirits temporally tempered and passionately gaged, Finding 'Ohana revels in multidisciplinary archaeologies at wondrous impacting play.

Genealogical. 

______ wishes.  

Penguin Bloom

Tragedy strikes a loving family on an adventurous trip to foreign lands, as a wooden railing suddenly breaks and then leads to partial paralysis.

Mrs. Bloom (Naomi Watts) is none too impressed and struggles to adjust to immobile life, her husband and children also uncertain as to how to convalescently proceed.

One day at a time piecemeal slowly developing compensating characteristics, the shocking disheartening unknown tumultuously traversed resiliently reconciled.

But there's a long natural stasis throughout which catalyzed incentives fail to materialize, ineffable qualms maddening frustrations routine resignation nihilistic necessity.

Until one day little Noah (Griffin Murray-Johnston/Essi Murray-Johnston) brings home an injured bird, who was in the sights of a hungry lizard before he was miraculously saved.

The magpie is criticized at first due to its wild habitual shenanigans, but as time passes his industrious resonance endearingly charters soulful serenity.

Mrs. Bloom grows less weary and even takes on kayaking, and as her children joyously revel in her recrudescence, the magpie gradually learns to take flight.

It's a charming heartfelt enlightened illustration of resurgent life, a family coming to terms with calamity as newfound hope rapturously reckons.

It doesn't whitewash the depression nor overlook the corresponding despondency, the resultant gritty reanimate life all the more compelling in its vital complexity.

The fam is patient and understanding and they progress as a supportive team, friends stopping by to altruistically aid through the art of cohesive community.

Penguin Bloom also excels at heuristically highlighting the tender benefits of resplendent pets, who spiritually heal downtrodden fortunes as they effortlessly bark, mew, and wag.

Or chirp in this airborne instance in Penguin's caring awkward stride, how did they accumulate so many cute scenes?, at times I thought Penguin was a robot (say "no" to pet robots!).

Cool to see Naomi Watts back at it she shows up in so many cool films, an impressive diverse array of characters snuggly embowered in eclectic environs. 

I think she deserves more recognition, she's performed so well in so many films, unless she's happy doing the independent thing, throw in Hawke and Dern imagine the Criterion!

Penguin Bloom's pretty cool too, Netflix is rockin' it, so good to see.

Nice to see hopeful family films sometimes, especially when they integrate animal friends.