Polaris

Monopolistic claims to constellated starstruck legend, find themselves creatively trust-busted in Kirsten Carthew's wild Polaris.

The times are grim and perilous and other people are to be avoided, their habituated menacing murderous instincts bellicosely problematizing friendship.

Sumi (Viva Lee) was raised alone by a kind and compassionate polar bear, who taught her the life saving lessons of multidimensional deft ourskind.

One day while venturing forth they're accidentally separated however, and Sumi is captured by a group of plunderers who proceed to lock her in a cage.

Escape brings tribulation as she's tracked and targeted thereafter, a local fuel provider sympathetic (Muriel Dutil as Dee) but still unable to hold them off.

Could the individualistic warlike preponderance of bombastic sociocultural synchronicities, have transformed a once open-minded community into one prone to consistent bloodshed? 

Thus, even after the haunting end of multilaterally interconnected worldwide commerce, the unfortunate distrust still malignantly radiates where once warm and friendly community flourished.

Even in the isolated far north where food is more difficult to come by, and cohesive interactive communal initiatives seem more requisite to widespread health. 

Even with manifold orchards and farms is it not more prosperous to work in groups, to encourage nutrition and fight off hunger and generally work to holistically prosper?

Conflict does seem to abound as people seek to lead and emphatically pair bond, but do these conflicts need to be inherently destructive or could such impulses be proactively tamed?

You see it in Ghibli's Pompoko where the warlike raccoon attempts to take hold, or in ye olde Dances with Wolves where Wes Studi's brethren lament his aggression. 

Look to Germany in 1946 where I've heard people had to eat wallpaper to survive. That's the end game of fascism. That's where warlike tendencies lead.

I still don't think they could transform the North to such inhospitable despondent degrees, although Ofelas (Pathfinder) tells a much different story, and Russia is currently monstrously expressing itself.

Why not work together to secure food and shelter to mutually accommodate throughout the winter, rather than squandering precious resources on endless conflicts which produce nothing?

I'm not trying to jinx myself here but if you're active during the winter, it's a wonderfully productive time where you can get so much compelling work done.

If people are trying to trick you into embracing the belligerent lifestyle ask yourself what do they hope to gain?

And is your life worth lining their duplicitous pockets?

As they horde the profits for themselves?

Newsflash: it's not. It never will be. Read books. Be critical. 

Beware of the cult of Putin. 

And the North American obsession with Trump. 

*I rarring!

**The poster's awesome. 

The Croods

Ancient times, as one oft referenced environmental epoch matriculately metastasizes into another, a family left endeavouring to sensationally survive within, as massive earthquakes and catastrophic rock slides cataclysmically converge to destroy their oldest school cave dwelling, they flee together as one, always bearing in mind their familial solidarity.

Change is definitively critiqued and infuriatingly avoided by the Croods, who have bluntly outlasted their fellow citizens through courageous pluck and dynastic brawn.

But their eldest daughter (Emma Stone as Eep) seeks challenge and novelty and starts striking out from their cave on her own, accidentally meeting an inventive beau (Ryan Reynolds as Guy) who lives independently within the harsh lands.

They become further acquainted after her family departs for the unknown realm, where father Grug's (Nicolas Cage) dependable hunting skills have no time to adapt to the mysterious wonders.

Used to being the unparalleled patriarch he must suddenly intuit a secondary role, Borg implants still millions of years off, frustration and anger therefore materializing.

Yet landscape shifts and paradigmatic upheavals expediently necessitate hierarchical improvisation.

His family still relying on his strength.

As their world crashes in all around them.

I'm not sure how we evolved or multivariably mutated over the course of millions of years, even if sci-fi suggests we emerged from practical interactive interminglings. 

Thus, humanoids from another planet who had thoroughly destroyed their world, crash-landed on ours thinking survival would be simple considering their vast hospitable technologies.

But arriving somewhere lacking the infrastructure to even produce a nail or screw, they soon found themselves at the mercy of local populations who already knew how to formidably survive.

Some resisted the acculturation and sought to remain pure and independent (the Malfoys), while many others realized the benefits of interspecial co-habitation and set about cultivating their mutual prosperity (the Potters). 

Hence, to this postmodern day a mix of the caveperson and the alien still resides, within every culture across the land, producing a wide mix of compelling variety.

And the ancient puritan incestuous impulses still blindly guide at other times as well, even millions of restitutive years later the same fear of change and innovation flourishing.

Nevertheless, somewhere hidden upon the globe lies the ancient remains of those original spacecrafts!

Could they be the first cohesive multicultural evidence?

Still collaboratively resonating to this very day!

Peter Rabbit 2: The Runaway

While wildly profiting off the old Beatrix Potter tales, Peter Rabbit 2 takes shots at the publishing industry, as it innocently explores the urban/rural divide, and wholesomely promotes ye olde school traditional family. 

The dynamic book is selling and a large publishing firm takes note, and lays out the royal red with the hopes of expanding its global markets.

Bea's (Rose Byrne) impressed by the upscale adornments and quickly takes to the commercial schemes, even considering Peter Rabbit in Space along with many other atypical sequels.

Meanwhile, Peter and his bunny friends find themselves hip-hoppitting in the nearby village, Peter (James Corden) accidentally bumping into someone who claims to have known his dad (Lennie James as Barnabas).

They hit it off and scheme themselves soon intending to pull off a gigantic heist, of coveted sought after dry fruit at the chillin' freeform farmers' market.

Red flags inquisitively eschew but both Peter and Thomas McGregor (Domhnall Gleeson) ignore the danger.

Until the local pet shop captures their friends.

And the executive board attempts a hostile takeover.

Peter Rabbit 2 scores points for the countryside and the the humble laid-back agrarian life, as the sinister ways of the nearby town threaten to dilute its bucolic purity. 

The city's not technically like that although you have to be careful not to lose your head, country markets aren't really like that either, they can be pricey, but the artists sell cool things.

It would seem strange to see Petter Rabbit suddenly taking off into space, or surfing or browsing at the mall, but the same author could explore these locales with different characters.

There are always comedic applications which thrive through sheer incomparable inexhaustibility, the best ones leaving you evocatively abashed, the worst threatening the integrity or your immortal soul.

Ideas just come naturally to many after having spent so much time consuming media, it's a consistent mélange of mulltivariable impulses im/precisely interwoven with sub/conscious thread.

There are just so many of them they consistently bombard every constructive day while actively producing, I never really considered what it would be like to have just one and to spend the majority of your time focused upon it.

Sigh. It depends on how you view it but it can be argued that Peter Rabbit 2 is racist, like I said before, I don't think the anti-racism in film and television movements that hit the U.S ever influenced that many in England, but The Runaway lauds bucolic pastures and lambastes its only live-action black character (David Oyelowo as Nigel Basil-Jones) (Barnabas is also voiced by an African American and he's up to no good too).

As the patriarchs come to terms and settle down far away from the hustle and bustle.

Finding it in their hearts to disagree once more.

Peter Rabbit shouldn't be so political. 

The Secret Life of Pets

The Secret Life of Pets hypothetically explores the vast intricate networks forged by animate beasties while their owners labour.

Indubitably multivariable, they elaborately maintain reflexive codes of conduct, outsiders improvisationally electing initiation, as they travel throughout different domains.

Take the two principal characters, loyal pets getting used to living with one another, one once revelling in solitary freedom until the day his gigantic counterpart arrived.

Seeking to rid himself of the burden soon after at a local park, he attempts to play a trick on his compatriot, which leaves them both suddenly headed for the pound, pestiferous prominence meets drastic indelicacy.

But on their way the industrious underground audaciously emerges and sets them free, engaging no less in innovative expediences as they feverishly search and rescue.

Nevertheless, in order to acclimatize they must lie about why they were caught, so they don't seem green on their trip through the maze imaginatively constructed at length below ground.

Meanwhile, a devoted admirer notices that her beloved beau has disappeared. 

And trusted friends head out in search of their cherished fellows throughout the city.

Taking Oliver & Company to the next level The Secret Life of Pets tumultuously delivers, by providing a dynamic interactive cross-section of lively versatile multicultural life.

Not entirely unlike the heralded Rudolph who also travelled the world after encountering vitriol, finding his way to the island of misfit toys/the underground complex, while his friends desperately sought to find his location.

I was surprised to see the underground depicted so intricately in a family friendly animated film, I thought the subject matter would be too riské and that the master narrative would whitewash such things.

But without much whitewash realistic conflict intuitively emerges with unorthodox decorum, and respect is granted to novel ingenuity with emboldened invention and disparate ruse.

Perhaps the reasons explaining how the animals wound up there could have been explored with greater detail, and the heroes could have promised to proactively enable widespread adoptive change upon reemergence. 

I suppose it wasn't a Christmas film but is not viscerally paramount?

To freely share such a message throughout the year.

In praise of open-minded compassionate humanity! 

Just a thought. 😌

Hoping for peace in the Middle-East.

⛄🎄🎁🎅

The Nine Lives of Christmas

As Christmas rapidly approaches, a local firefighter festively complains, for having to take part in a photo shoot, he likes helping out, but it's not his thing (Brandon Routh). 

Across town, a caring lass laments that she has no time for the holidays, between work and studying to become a vet her schedule's full of pressing demands (Kimberley Sustad). 

But her friends think she should date or at least go out from time to time, and insist she agreeably join them for a low-key night out 'round town.

Meanwhile, a homeless cat finds his way over to Mr. Stone's house, and even though he dislikes responsibility, he still takes in the loving stray.

Seemingly unconnected events consistently ensure they bump into each other, and it soon becomes convivially evident that they were tarred with the same independent brush.

Hence since they're not really used to dating it's difficult to recognize the perfect match.

As they humbly mess things up while trying to not to appear genuinely interested.

The cat keeps wholeheartedly mewing and ensuring adorability's infused, the life and times of exasperated awestruck heartfelt exploration bewilderingly shewed.

Could it be that the animal kingdom subliminally facilitates human relationships?

Without the wayward kitty these two ideally matched impeccable soulmates, would have never engaged in the inquisitive parlay sincerely required to proactively pair bond. 

Perhaps through cosmic accident the natural world's inherent beauty, coincidentally helps the romantically inefficient to eventually sight discover one another.

But does the clever work of Mother Nature holistically emit its conjugal magic, throughout the entire year, while emphasizing Christmas?

Does she know precisely where and when the perfectly matched oddball couple will meet, and ensure a captivating critter will correspondingly instigate conversation?

This likely happened regularly long before the industrial age, for thousands of years while uncommitted bachelors and tribal women were torn asunder!

Perhaps even at a time when presents and trees weren't yet anticipated, a fledgling Santa even assisted in her collective amicable pursuits.

Until Satan introduced economic chaos and the destruction of the natural world began.

Global warming transforming worldwide l'amour.

With preposterous disproportionate impunity. 😜

Family Switch

The title's misleading. 

The rebellious self-obsessed years during which curiosity is severely criticized, and traditional wholesome old school activities condescendingly dismissed with haughty verisimilitude. 

The resultant antithetical shockwaves producing unsettling bland confusion, as festive recourse to playful jocosity sincerely struggles amidst the pretension. 

It's the Holiday Season in High School and the Walker Family is bitterly composed, having lost the communicative cohesion that once underscored their familial unity.

Mom's (Jennifer Garner) got a big presentation and daughter CC (Emma Myers) might make the national soccer team, Wyatt's (Brady Noon) hoping to get into Yale and his father's (Ed Helms) band has a unique opportunity.

Usually, the power of Christmas would unflinchingly aid their courageous misadventures, and by harnessing the spirit of the season they would proceed confident and emboldened. 

The unextinguished light fails to constructively guide them however.

Until they stop by a local observatory.

Where corporeal mischief interpersonally accrues.

Given the flamboyant opportunity to craft ebullient effervescent dreams, Family Switch's yuletide extravagance lucidly facilitates transmutation.

It's more like Die Hard nevertheless, more like a movie that takes place at Christmas, the Holiday Season popping up from time to time but by no means the predominant focus.

The otherworldly transformations seemed a bit too studio as well, as if an eccentric mystical expert wasn't consulted when shooting the scenes.

A missed opportunity: when the neighbourhood wives show up and start grilling CC and Wyatt, who are stuck in their mom and dad's bodies, individual criticisms are shared. But without accompanying close ups (think the end of Crocodile Dundee). The focus thus remains on CC and Wyatt. If each individual criticism had been announced with its own striking close up, the collegial balance between supporting and principal actors would have been more universally sustained. 

Part of the narrative directly celebrates teamwork so the point is eventually made. There's actually a lot of cool in this film. They put a lot of time and effort into it (try and find like 6 Christmas films or films that take place at Christmas to watch, some of them don't attempt to excel that much).  

I thought the acting improved a lot after the body switches and the actors starting pretending to play someone else 😜, I don't know if that was intentional, but the secondary characteristic investments paid imaginative dividends. 

I also thought it made a lot of clever points about family, and was thoughtfully designed to bring disgruntled folks back together during the holidays without being too preachy or overbearing.

Director McG should score points for ensuring the cast and crew took things really seriously.

The cast and crew should score multiplie points for creating a year round Christmas film. 

Even without the mind-blowing mysticism. 

Christmas in California.

Worth checkin' out. 

Sing

I always marvel at how tolerant my parents were regarding my singing when I was younger.

Before I learned to just take it easy and productively chill out when performing, I used to take on elevated subject matter, and my poor father had to listen as I bellowed Life on Mars? on the family piano, yet he still never let loose his irate criticisms, and let things take their natural course.

Sing gathers the harmonically gifted from a modest lively urban centre, and fortuitously unites them in passionate song, the reputed prize worth $100,000.

Unfortunately, the prize was a typo that greatly exaggerated the MC's income, but the lofty sum still motivated many, and a solid crew was melodiously assembled.

It must be the case the far reaching talent obliviously chillin' in so many towns, just waiting for similar opportunities to feverishly break out with elaborate invention.

Obsessions with being the best or not simply as good as a friend or relative, prevent so many from pragmatically proceeding as if there ever was an artistic superlative.

If you don't think you're the greatest singer or you needlessly worry how your words will sound, note that the most consistent songwriter in legendary memory won the Nobel Prize and he couldn't even sing.

American Idol is no doubt well-known for giving a shot to inspired local talent, and creating a vast incredible network of aspiring singers across the land.

But are local garage bands still seeking to frenetically emerge ultra summa cum laude, or just exist in the embryonic ether everlastingly invigorating rhythmic liaison?

Dylan, Bowie, The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones seemed to me like they worked like it was their job to write song after song, and didn't just lounge about on the old trust fund seeking performative disruptive accolades. 

You get that rush outside of your comfort zone that effortlessly produces irresistible novelty, and as you constructively/bitterly/imaginatively/proactively/distractedly/vituperatively react there's no all-encompassing parallel for what you come up with.

Liked Sing's city of animals and the collective beasties intuitively enthralling.

Dreams effervescently accruing. 

Multivariable shapeshifting cascades.  

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: The Movie

While the bona fide uncompromising authentic origin tale remains unknown, annual hypotheses loosely based on fact swashbucklingly revitalize widespread interest, the diverse ways in which compelling details vividly transform from one story to the next, festively salute constellated mutation throughout mysterious epic skyways. 

The unimaginative and concretely obsessed may be led astray by absolute claims, attempting to harness commercial synergies through ornate mad disingenuous trusts.

It can at times feel lucid and reasonable to indeed contend you've mastered conspiracy, and can exultingly claim genesizzlin' unalloyed paramount intricate distillate digress.

But then how multivariably arrayed is your manifest mischievous missive, how disciplined in/opportune how distinctly yielding manifold dispersals?

Take Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: The Movie wherein which the wicked Stormella defies Christmas law, and conjures a tumultuous storm to inimically ruin Santa's Christmas Eve flight!

We hear no mention of her in the song nor in the old classics from 1964 or 1948, thus should this account be definitively forecast would it not imprecisely promulgate legend?

It is certainly a humble version and the Holiday Season encourages modesty, as the sublime life of the King of Kings effortlessly illuminates oblivious morrows.

We then find in The Last Crusade the cup of a carpenter awkwardly situated, amongst the luxurious ostentatious pageantry libationally orchestrating abstract life.

It provides trusted Indiana Jones with miraculous good fortune and pious fidelity, through which he's able to heal his father through the unabashed art of temperate self-sacrifice. 

But how to line up every Rudolph the Red-Nosed ever constructively theorized across the globe, and exhaustively vet their fleeting integrity with wholesome and practical unparalleled sights?

Perhaps better to praise inexactitude and celestially bathe in impressionable waters, the sought after divine undiluted tarot disproportionately grave and unimpacting.

Although should it be discovered neither to embrace hysteria nor earthquaking frenzy!

Don't worry, Rudolph shines through.

Stormella even learns to chill out.

🎄🎅🤶🎁⛄

Bullet Train

What a strange film.

There's no doubt it's well done. It seems the more critics lambaste gratuitously violent films, the more clever and entertaining they become, consistently challenging their audiences to duel with themselves as they come to reckless terms with their own narrative preferences. 

Bullet Train even interweaves Thomas the Tank Engine, as a paid assassin uses its inherent lessons to frame and construct his sociocultural views, a tender embrace no doubt endearing as he shoots his way through the chaotic frenzy, even sharing the most violent sequence from the film as he and his brother argue about how many people they took out during their most recent job, their dispute graphically and reminiscently depicted, it's insane, it's just insane.

Another nice guy with a gift for killing shares his therapist's advice throughout, and consistently attempts to talk rather than fight, his wise complaints neither brokered nor adhered to.

Überviolent psychological brainy dramatic comedies are no doubt a 21st century speciality, it's clear decades of vertical mutation have enhanced their intricate design, but are there not consequences to such manifestations?

Most people know the difference between psycho film and playful reality, and don't turn into bellicose beasts just because they saw a violent movie.

But you often hear about mass shootings in the States, so you have to wonder if permitting your populace to purchase multivariable assault weapons, while idealizing mass unattainable wealth, and then constantly showcasing brilliant and hilarious violent films, is not a seriously bad idea, even if you're making billions (are hundreds of millions not enough?).

Take away the mass availability of assault weapons and the mass shootings decrease proportionately, borrowing stats from Bowling for Columbine, and the distressing onslaught that's proceeded unabated since.

Then nerd men can get back to thematically impressing nerd women with their bombastic theatrics, and the next generation of eccentric children can constructively flourish in the librarial thunderground.

It's always the same story. ⛄

If your culture isn't prone to routine psychotic outbursts furiously unleashed on the unsuspecting public, and films like this one are reserved for more mature audiences who like gangster movies, Bullet Train is somewhat of a masterpiece, which still goes a bit overboard.

What would The Godfather or Scarface (1983) have been like if they'd been released at a later date?

They still seem a lot more profound.

And it's clear that they're not comedies. 

Creed III

Adonis Creed's (Michael B. Jordan) life moves on as he embraces family and responsibility, playing a more active managerial role after having given up professional fighting.

Things progress reasonably well on the home front and his marriage seems quite the success, his daughter needing his help however, as she fights back against bullies at school (Mila Davis-Kent). 

As life illustriously floats by an old close friend who went to prison is released, and comes a' callin' one adventurous morn to see how his old reliable chum is doing.

They went to a group home together and one fateful night all hell broke loose, and Majors (Damian Anderson) wound up with a lengthy prison sentence and lost his chance at becoming a heavy-weight champion.

He wants that chance again but doesn't want to wait for several more years, joining the circuit and punching his way up, he wants to become champ freakin' asap.

Unfortunately, this means the utilization of wicked aggressive unorthodox means, which may lead to a shot at the title, but lose the respect of his friend.

Adonis feels reasonably guilty and frustrated by what happened so many years ago.

But has to accept contemporary realities. 

And step back in the coveted ring.

I thought the new Creed film was solid and was impressed with Michael B. Jordan's directing, honestly sometimes when actors direct things go haywire, but that's not the case with Creed III.

It didn't seriously impress like Rocky Balboa which was such an incredible surprise sequel, but it's still a cool thrilling new movie that takes a thoughtful look at fame, fortune and family.

Jordan and Tessa Thompson really stand out at times as they discuss hard-hitting issues, I thought they had some memorable scenes which artistically enhanced deep meaningful strata.

I thought the added tension Creed has to face by confronting himself within the film, added a psychological dimension that was much more profound than just fighting the bad guy.

Majors has taken on underhanded means but Creed still feels responsible for his modus operandi, and sincerely cares about his old friend even though he has to fight him.

Majors takes on the Rocky/underdog role as well which re-establishes a familiar storyline.

They clearly just didn't want to make another sequel.

They thought this one through.

The hard work paid off.    

Cane Toads: The Conquest

The old invasive species tale creatively told once and again, this time a' flourishin' down under, with a fresh democratic imaginative take.

Know then that grubs were destroying Australia's versatile sugar cane crops, so they sought an efficient way to stop them, and subsequently introduced a non-native toad to their robust environment, with the unabashed dogged hopes that it would bravely devour them.

Unfortunately it didn't, and they reproduced abundantly in incredible numbers, and soon starting spreading across the continent as their natural instinct accelerated forward.

If considering whether or not they became a tasty treat for endemic wildlife, believe that their natural fluidic poisons were a problem for local beasties and pets alike.

Many communities were rather annoyed by the massive unrelenting expansion, and inaugurated ways to curtail their progress across the massive fecund land.

Others industriously capitalized on public fascination with the phenomenon, and created products and fertilizer and roadside attractions flouting the new lifeform's integrity. 

I know I would have a good time just sitting back and watching them hop by.

Australia sounds so amazing for wildlife.

The Crocodile Hunter was such a cool show.

As is Cane Toads: The Conquest, it's unlike any nature documentary I've seen, a unique twist on a fascinating genre inherently abounding with camp and craft.

It's a truly democratic account that interviews peeps from multivariable walks, without judgment or pervasive hierarchies pretentiously upsetting the creative balance.

The variety is impressive as he zigzags his way through his inclusive exploration.

If no video footage exists of the cane toad related story, director Mark Lewis engages in dramatic recreations in order to reanimate the yarn.

Perhaps not serious enough for some sterile objective puritans, or people who really don't like the toad, it's difficult to say. 

But I imagine kids and families and audiences around the world would love Cane Toads: The Conquest!

The multiple close-ups and inspired invention.

Producing bona fide unfiltered wherewithal. 

The Holiday Calendar

A creative photographer does the legwork for an unimaginative yet reliable small business, earning enough scrilla to keep up her apartment while her well-meaning family asks tough questions (Kat Graham).

Her best friend is keen and sympathetic and returns one Christmas from his travels abroad, eager to pick up where they left off as habitual merrymaking yearns and flourishes (Quincy Brown).

Meanwhile, her enigmatic grandfather (Ron Cephas Jones) shares one of her recently deceased grandma's treasures, a giant old school European advent calendar that fluidly winds up and shares daily presents.

Things routinely proceed as the photographic enterprise heads outside, to take pictures of youngsters with Santa as he meticulously notes their gift ideas.

But soon strange coincidences take place which only have one spirited explanation, that the gifted intricate advent calendar is mysteriously forecasting fate!

Every day unexpected events find symbolic representation numerically adjudicated, as the innocent shutterbug wondrously believes and sincerely follows the magical path.

But it becomes apparent that the picture perfect beau the calendar has showcased lacks eccentric merit.

Her closest friend making it known he's upset.

Will the spirit of Christmas heal their friendship?

I thought this was a really cool idea for a Christmas film that cleverly reimagines Holiday Season essentials, the old school advent calendar clairvoyantly presenting cryptic yet definitive structure.

A bigger budget with more time spent and perhaps with a major studio reworking the story, not that the original lacks seasonal merriment, I just thought it could be even more epic. 

Imagine living the ahistorical dream with an emancipatory place for a nimble eclective, while securing amorous accolades and the heartfelt devotion of a trusted friend.

Who knows where the regenerative magic of the clandestine Season holistically resides, perhaps it's rather like the Force and is infinitesimally everywhere all at once? 

Notably in eggnog and gingerbread it must enliven these treats every December.

Not to mention random gift ideas.

Hot cocoa.

Hibernating dreams.  

Au hasard Balthazar (Balthazar)

Bold childhood declarations subliminally etched and ethereally nurtured, as time passes piecemeal and peaceful borderline pasteurized enigmatic shades.

Pressing ambitious ingenuity sage book-learning incisively applied, resulting yields tantalizing and abundant copiously accruing practical dividends. 

Rented land unimaginatively considered by its well-meaning spirited and generous masters, resulting in disproportionate dishevelling alarm as the plentiful crops benefit another.

But not initially however only after years of shocking envy, malevolently creates a vitriolic buzz which dishonourably characterizes the industrious tenant.

Meanwhile, a hapless donkey known affectionately as Balthazar makes his way, often abiding by his owner's dictates but at times engaging in judicious free play.

As seasons change and fortunes fade he's dismissively transferred around the small town, an elaborate tale in the paramount slipstream to be nimbly told to other curious beasties. 

His original owner gradually comes of age and shares his adventures throughout the village.

Jealousies prognosticating doom.

Pervasive detritus malignantly engendered. 

I thought this film may be more upbeat upon reading the synopsis championing Balthazar, not that I mind ye olde hardboiled bucolics, I just wasn't expecting the gloom.

There are ways of thinking I don't quite comprehend because they seem ignominiously counterproductive, for instance is it not preferable to applaud hard work and effort should an old or new friend find themselves succeeding?

Perhaps I took the Vulcan message wisely wishing prosperity for others too seriously, but if logic is customarily applied, is it not more fortuitous to encourage goodwill?

Do the Jedi not function commensurately as they mind the galaxy's crafty well-being, do ninjas not also perform the same function, why then are they so often disregarded?

Perhaps 'lil Balthazar knows an age old secret that he's not telling, that would help us move past inanimate grief to a more generally prosperous Star Trekkian dynasty.

It's sad to watch when he's suddenly mistreated although he sometimes does do well, and I was reminded once again of I, Claudius as I viewed another Robert Bresson film.

The emperor Claudius apparently in adulthood generously let his animals retire after years of service.

And let them relax in his fields without burden.

Having adopted the soulful life.

*Imagine a law like that!

**I bet there would be one on Star Trek.

New Rose Hotel

I've never really understood the allure of pursuing high stakes crime. Most related films make it clear that should you reach 50 having embraced such a life, you're remarkably fortunate if you're not locked up and still have a small army of troops protecting you. It's not passing before reaching old age that's disconcerting it's living while constantly worrying about outwitting your adversaries. That must grow tiresome after awhile. But I suppose the work may be more exciting.

In Abel Ferrara's New Rose Hotel, Fox/Christopher Walken celebrates the risk-fuelled life, and living without fear or limits, it's one of his best performances.

Perhaps there's something of the actor's lifestyle caught up with imaginative redefinition, the lucrative transference of artistic synergies inherently illuminating his authenticity. 

The film's well-cast, he's amicably joined by a less animated yet lithe Willem Dafoe (X), who works as his trusted partner engaging in lucrative industrial espionage.

Asia Argento (Sandii) luxuriously complements his smitten improvised amorous calling, the hopeless romantic having found yet another seemingly impressionable curious enthusiast.

But she may have more than one identity and may not seek the cloistered path.

So distressing these inspired freedoms.

Ethereal interconnected independence.

It's kind of like sci-fi noir although the detectives aren't what you'd expect, they're more like spies helping a science-genius move from one covetous corporation to the next.

The ominous sense of impending doom delicately blended with ebullient hope, shockingly seduces and destructively serenades as the jocose trio travels the globe.

Ah well, it doesn't seem like they're hiring poets although in the '90s we really believed, or I did anyways, that the old world stereotypes prejudicially preventing misfits from finding alternative trade routes would fade away.

Into banal feudal oblivion along with war and irritable class-bias.

Since Trump things have changed dramatically.

Not to mention the woeful pandemic.

Nevertheless, I imagined the poems I've been writing recently for several years as time progressed. 

When new rhymes seemed improbable, I rewrote the language.

For better or worse, I don't really know. 

I am still having as much fun, although I need to start transforming my film reviews too.

The future radiating indeterminate.

Just picked up some more horseradish. 

Mis dos voces (My Two Voices)

Lina Rodriguez's Mis dos voces (My Two Voices) takes a hard look at Canadian immigration, with extended thoughtful honest accounts, as three women share their experiences.

It's impressive how naturally they speak, how they can continue talking for such a long time, without pausing or searching for the right word, the films presents a solid look at natural spoken language.

How do you keep the narrative flowing while being filmed for such a long time?, perhaps the language just naturally diversifies when compassionately asked sincere open-ended questions.

It's nice to see people who care about one another and genuinely seek widespread well-being, while candidly sharing what they've practically learned in order to help others in similar situations.

They don't mince words or sugar coat things.

But still warmly share experiences people can relate to.

I know that learning a new language can be tough especially if you start your studies later in life. I'm a bit out of practise these days but I can share some tips I've learned which may help. 

It's really daunting at first because there's so much for you to learn. And you're striking blind from oblivion and seriously hoping to gain some traction.

Keep at it though.

Rome wasn't built in a day.

It can take time to acquire new language skills. I still have so much to learn.

But if you put in an effort you'll find you're making progress and you'll start to notice patterns and shortcuts that can help you express your ideas.

In the beginning, there are a lot of bad days and not being able to communicate is frustrating, but as time passes good days emerge and make things much more interesting.

After you start having good days if you have another bad day it isn't so bad, because you can focus on the good day memories, and rationally expect more of them to come.

Years later a day may dawn where you find you understand quite a lot. I haven't made it particularly far. But there are a lot of conversations I can have.

It just takes a while to build up vocabularies and then match the correct words to the sentences.

But when you suddenly find you can do it.

That's a really cool feeling.

My experience has been much different than that presented by the women in this film.

I just share what psychological strategies helped me in order to aid people in similar circumstances. 

Démanty noci (Diamonds of the Night)

The blunt tiresome imposition of exacting extremist cacophonous doctrine, inflexible coercive stone totalitarian limited unimaginative codes.

With everything narrowly prescribed with short-sighted grim oppressive tidings, the threat of harsh dismissive punishment leads to absent playful recalcitrance. 

With people fearing for their lives the tension palpably pervades, otherwise constructive interactive harmonious multidimensional communal initiatives. 

It's difficult to courageously refuse when facing tenacious organized opposition, even if that's what must be done to preserve inherent lithe vitality. 

Two characters in Démanty noci (Diamonds of the Night) see an opportunity to break free, from a train taking them to a concentration camp during the carnage of World War II.

Youthful and free of guilt and alertly aware of their people's innocence, they flee through a nearby wood with the hope of finding food and warmth.

Director Jan Nemec captures their frightened thoughts as they beg at rural lodgings, deprivation producing uncharacteristic distracting wild unwholesome rumination.

They hold it together however and don't act on their destructive impulses, making their way through the inclement climes while others gather to track and hunt them.

The desperation is manifested through shocking visceral lamentation, as others seeking to maintain their freedoms incoherently give chase.

Divided the country's people do the work of their oppressors for them, everything they're forced to do against their will an abomination.

What country understood Nazi oppression more than the routinely terrorized Soviet Union, who lost millions of its own citizens before it outmatched Hitler's armies?

Who was more deserving of a hero's welcome in contemporary legend and heraldic song, after the war came to an abrupt end and Nazi Germany was reduced to ruin?

Yet who now uses the same brutal tactics to subdue a country against its will, to force the peaceful democratic Ukraine to abandon nation, hope, and freedom?

Historical street cred valiantly gained as Russia fought off Berlin, now lost to their embrace of fascism and imperious monstrous violent aggression.

Who would have ever thought it would come to this twenty odd years ago when amicable thoughts, were disseminated far and wide as the world sought widespread peaceful accords?

It has though nevertheless and the people of Ukraine bravely fight on.

Unwilling to yield once more.

United together as one.

*Written last winter.

Le vent souffle où il veut (A Man Escaped)

A French resistance fighter is woefully captured during World War II, and sent to a brutal prison from which escape is notoriously challenging.

Not one to give up hope he correspondingly applies himself nevertheless, and goes about acquiring tools to help him furtively break free.

The rules within are rather strict so conversation remains quite limited, but he's still able to learn requisite facts from his locked down brethren through stealth and cunning.

Warnings abound regarding improbabilities and potential stool pigeons messing things up, most residents resigned to their fate yet still encouraged by the lieutenant's (François Leterrier) bravery.

His neighbour timorously worries that his escape plans will be detected, and the entire block punished for such ambitions, his fears brought upon by age.

Another prisoner attempts to escape but is unfortunately caught while attempting to do so, his maladroit efforts still supplying the officer with helpful intel regarding necessities.

There are still Nazis to fight and France needs him to secure liberation.

He continues to gradually progress.

Increasing his speed, when he's sentenced to death.

Patiently awaiting the miraculous day when he constructively frees himself from his prison, director Robert Bresson slowly builds up the tension as he meticulously choreographs each struggle.

The palpable concrete uncertainty drives the resonating raw desperation, as hope and logic still efficiently marshal remarkably high spirits considering the circumstances.

The painstaking steps the laborious plan effectively contravenes instantaneous postures, while the cold calculating inhuman pressures chaotically motivate exacting rigour.

Mixed with brief candid exchanges lies irrepressible undaunted light, resplendently illuminating inherent audacity through exoteric recourse to fathomless plight.

Attempts are made to rob prisoners of war of any desire to do anything but, simply follow a severe routine absolutely obscuring identity and purpose.

But the enlivening knowledge of the pervasive injustice recalibrates ethical strides and intuitively guides them.

A prison break film which follows a plan and authentically labours from dusk 'til dawn.

Memorable scenes clandestinely crafted.

Distinct deliberation.

Ecstatic pause.  

A Beautiful Life

A resilient fisherman makes a day-to-day living helping some friends down at the nearby docks, living on a sweet boat that his parents left him after they wound up in a tragic accident.

One of his mates likes to play music and he assists at his gigs around town, one night impressing a legendary widow with his exceptional singing and practical songwriting. 

She likes him so much that she invites him to patiently record at her in-house studio, with her daughter producing the songs, it's an incredible opportunity.

But he isn't ready at first the temperamental transition playing with his head, he still doubts his homegrown talent and trepidatiously remains hyper-critically unsure.

His songs are solid however and as he records them enthusiasm blossoms, and after the first release is met with applause self-assured belief tantalizingly manifests.

Moving from the wharf to superstardom in a couple of months still takes quite the heavy toll.

With newfound relationship responsibilities. 

Tantamount tension.

Consummate joy.

I suppose a lot of people are shy and it's difficult to prepare for mass observation, the overwhelming scrutiny of every micromovement generating controversy, buzz, and takeaway. 

I see the most ridiculous stuff in the For You news section on my cell (can someone hook me up with better articles?), it's like Malibu Stacy getting a new hat, I'm really just not that into it.

Nonetheless, I recognize that people are and that mundane trivialities build community, or through the relationships and fashionable choices of famous stars conversations matriculate.

I worry that fame can alter an otherwise innocent unique trajectory, that it's easy to filter out distractions when you aren't being meticulously criticized. 

If you can harness that tumultuous energy and use it to fuel your celebrated progression, I imagine that things would work out and that your outputs would consistently diversify. 

That's what the Beatles did anyways, they took that worldwide hysteria and responded impeccably. 

It's mind-boggling what they achieved from 1965 to 1970.

So many bands would deal with Satan for the albums Help! and Let it Be.

And for The Beatles, those aren't even the good ones.

Insanely good band.

Cool film too.

*Seriously, between 1965 and 1969 The Beatles released Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Magical Mystery Tour, The White Album (a crazy good double), and Abbey Road. With Yellow Submarine thrown in the mix too. Plus a bunch of hit singles that weren't on the LPs. It baffles the mind how anyone could have ever produced so much amazing pop in such a short period of time. I can't find anyone to compare them with. Plus their sound consistently changed throughout. How did they pull that off? They did stop touring early on. That may have played an instrumental role. 

Speedy

Perhaps one of the first exuberantly stately carefree yet stern comedic films, wherein which cherished productive pastimes feature prominently in the outlandish narrative.

It's 1928 and Babe Ruth's a playin' for the stalwart Yankees, whom Speedy (Harold Lloyd) zealously follows throughout the day while improvisationally engaged at a soda fountain.

The city has decided to create a vast network of interconnected streetcars, and has set about buying up the extant tracks currently owned by local entrepreneurs. 

Pop Dillon (Bert Woodruff) owns such a peculiarity but doesn't want to sell for paltry chump change, so the prospective buyers nefariously apply themselves to their lucrative ill-gotten banal dysfunction.

Speedy moves from job to job and provides quite the look at the old school city, while taking Jane Dillon (Ann Christy) out to Coney Island to sample practically everything it has to offer.

But one night he becomes aware of the dastardly plan to outwit grandpappy, hoping to start a chaotic dispute and destroy his streetcar in the process (not if the Civil War Vets have their say!).

He can only keep his track if said car runs at least once every 24 hours, thus the maintenance of his plucky vehicle remains eruditely paramount should he wish to stay.

Assistance is thus required and Speedy knows just whom to call.

Calamitous reckoning rambunctiously ensuing.

Age old cacophonous retro zounds. 

I like how films like Speedy take a shine to a particular town, and without being too preachy or pushy gingerly interweave many of its local highlights.

With historical change consistently duelling with resonant traditional ways and means, progress paradigmatically pigeon holes sundry specifics with vehement posture.

Tough to imagine individual tracks uniquely owned by different people throughout the city, who could work them as they saw fit at different times throughout the day.

Was it ever like that with trains as well at a time when perhaps many companies clashed, each seeking to lay down track more efficiently and efficaciously than its rivals?

You really see how the protests regarding the treatment of urban horses are necessary as they transport people around, it even looks like one is ready to collapse when it takes off down the street with a streetcar in tow. 

For a look at the roaring twenties Speedy mischievously delivers, providing practical playful glimpses into entertaining life.

Without overlooking old school definition to harmoniously serenade the future.

Perhaps somewhat too endearing.

But not without exspeedient charm. 

Fool's Paradise

A humble generally mute man unconcerned with popularity, is released from a mental hospital and finds himself living on the streets (Charlie Day as Latte Pronto). 

But as fate would have it, he's a dead ringer for a widely sought after Hollywood star, and a reputed producer accidentally takes note and asks if he'll take part in one of his films (Ray Liotta).

Neither fortunately nor awkwardly, the star he's replacing suddenly passes, and he finds himself moving in on his career, soon married in the confusing spotlight.

A down-on-his-luck casting agent soon befriends and seeks to represent him (Ken Jeong as the Publicist), and he sees neither reason to protest nor oblige as he doesn't particularly care about what's happening.

His career slowly spirals out of control since he really has no idea what's going on, but still shows up on set and at dinner parties to make obliviously sincere appearances.

He's somewhat like Chaplin's Little Tramp but without the rambunctious versatility, the intense perplexing permutations which make his films so entertaining. 

He's also kind of like Peter Sellers in ye olde Pink Panther classics, although without the bemusing repartee which leads to intuitive blundering captivation. 

Perhaps if they'd been born at a later date they would have been more concerned with sleaze, and less drawn to borderline wholesome clever family friendly endeavours.

Imagine Charlie Chaplin having matured watching generally uncensored prime time romps, would he have even bothered to pursue filmmaking, and if so, to what inspirational degrees?

A contact once pointed out the protruding mean-spirits in contemporary comedy, whereas there used to be a sense of congenial accord there's currently much more dispiriting sadism. 

Perhaps the same sentiments were there in the past but the tighter censors encouraged less carnage, or a more enthusiastic communal embrace, striving to disseminate respect and well-being. 

Not all the time, the insouciant management of integral cheek still startlingly manifest, where to establish the balance difficult to say with relative collegial im/precision.

Then again, Fool's Paradise may be making this very same point without having expressed it.

Could be taking an ironic swipe. 

Lamenting what's clearly missing. 

The Net

At the dawn of the Cyber Epoch when the emboldened internet was beginning to prosper, a group of clever yet malevolent programmers sought to gain unprecedented 😏 limitless access.

Yet they didn't prognostically count upon a lone systems analyst in Venice, California, who one day stumbled across a cryptic disc unwittingly exposing their dishonest loci (Sandra Bullock as Mr. Bennett). 

She doesn't microanalyze it however before heading to Mexico on vacation, her first extended break in years, she still comes equipped with an ample workload.

Including the coveted disc the existence of which is known by the terrorists, who track her to that very same resort and arrive enamorously a' callin'.

After escaping her seducer's clutches (Jeremy Northam as Jack Devlin)f she unfortunately crashes her impromptu zodiac, and miraculously survives only to awake to find her identity has been stolen.

Not just her trusty ID everything she owns is in fact gone, she tries to verify her identity, but beyond cyberspace she hardly knows anyone.

Plus her mother is struggling with amnesia and barely recognizes her devout care (Diane Baker as Mrs. Bennett).

An ex can assist but their history's awkward (Dennis Miller as Dr. Champion).

It's psychotically defined worst case!

I suppose the odds of this happening are slim but just to be safe if you spend a lot of time online, make sure to still maintain a physical real-world appearance perhaps with neighbours or friends or family (awkward! [just kidding {sort of}]).

I know it's fun to escape on the net and pretend like you're in a sci-fi novel, but the real world also has compelling features like endemic wildlife, cheese and wine.

I wonder how the doomsday scenario presented in The Net plays out on a daily basis, or if the companies hired to provide internet security still have insane access to private information. 

When even the Supreme Court can't seem to keep a secret, you wonder if something's up.

But the checks and balances spiral out of control first someone designs the system and then you trust them to implement it. Then you hire someone else to try to break into it and trust what they're telling you is precise. To be safe, you hire another company to secretly monitor the first enterprise in question. But what if they all went to the same school? 

And devotedly love Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk?

Billions to keep things safe on top of what we already spend on hospitals and schools.

Law and order aficionados can be somewhat too serious. 

But you may want flag waving zealots for these specialized jobs.

And pay them well, they must get offered incredibly high sums to misinform. 

Cool film from back in the day.

Still remarkably relevant. 

*I'm not critiquing Edward Snowden. I think he should be pardoned. He risked everything for everyone. He couldn't be more North American.

Brainstorm

So far, I've had trouble getting into virtual reality. Don't get me wrong, it's kind of cool, but as a substitute for the real thing, it disappoints. Perhaps the technology has significantly advanced in the last 15 years, I haven't checked it out for a long time. But way back when I was highly critical, criticism accepted, I could have have been more open.

I do like watching nature documentaries as a substitute for the real thing, since there are so many places around the world I'll never get to see. I know it's not the same thing, they're not meant to be holistically immersive, but since it's unlikely that I'll ever visit Indonesia or Vietnam 😢, I appreciate being able to watch related wildlife programming.

Brainstorm is some cool old-school sci-fi (1983) that takes an imaginary look at virtual reality, wherein which ingenious scientists actually create realistic virtual experiences.

At first, the genius is rewarded with scientific applause and technological accolades, but soon disreputable agencies seek to weaponize its potential.

It's classic innovative idealistic scientists confronting the corruption of their work, with Christopher Walken erupting in fury near the beginning of his outstanding career.

Fortunately, it predates internet hypotheses so it's still possible to hide the work. It's like they're trying to take out SkyNet before it has the ability to shift and mutate.

If you're fascinated by old school special effects or varying degrees of authentic realism, effects that were made without the total reliance on computers, effects relying on the creative manipulation of the dynamic production qualities of the time, and an erudite knowledge of electronics, Brainstorm's concluding moments are fun to watch, scientific artistry chaotically applied.

Directed by Douglas Trumball, who worked on the special effects for Blade Runner, 2001, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Star Trek: The Motion Picture (it still has cool effects), it's nice to see a tech wiz at the helm, don't recall ever hearing of a similar transition.

I still feel like virtual reality is cheating when it comes to interpersonal experience, I still like talking to people and don't mind getting burned regularly for being honest.

Sometimes I'll ask a question that I know the answer to because I can't think of anything else to say, and then I'll be ridiculed for having asked the question, sigh, it's always the same old story.

Brainstorm isn't Inception but still makes a cool historical impact.

A pioneering look at this type of story.

When special effects were really starting to take off. 

Starcrash

Evasive creative space pirates habitually manoeuvre to outwit the law (Caroline Munro and Marjoe Gortner), until one grievous inopportune day when they suddenly find themselves sentenced to life.

Fortunately for them, a courageous ship was sent out on a vital mission, to discover whether or not a powerful weapon exists, in the far off reaches of space.

As fate would have it, they were no match for the irate destructive colossus, yet three bold innovative cruisers escaped, their whereabouts heretofore unknown.

The space pirates, imaginatively engaged in improvised spur-of-the-moment shenanigans, soon find themselves tasked by the galactic Emperor (Christopher Plummer) to voyage to locate his forlorn son (David Hasselhoff [Hasselhoff does not show up in spellcheck!]).

They respond with innate gusto and are soon soaring throughout the heavens, following clues and appealing hyperbole wherever the seductive stars collide.

As the Emperor's rival the foul and cruel ignominious usurper known as Count Zarth Arn (Joe Spinell), plots to take over the galaxy with his formidable insufferable Lava Lamp. 

When the first two ships lead nowhere our reluctant heroes digress abandoned. 

But one cast-off vessel remains. 

Harbouring symphonic destiny. 

It's all in good fun unconcerned merrymaking inconclusively driving this campy space romp, through the spirited realms of theoretical melee to the upstanding spawn of illustrious bewilder.

Strange how Lucas found a way to make Star Wars seem so much more real, than his robust and ample competition there's no doubt it was a stroke of genius. 

Still though, when it doesn't work out why not add a robot programmed down south (Hamilton Camp as the voice of Elle, Judd Hamilton as Elle), to emphatically uphold intergalactic chivalry as starstruck maidens bravely prosper.

Perhaps space isn't the lofty officious spectacle it's pretentiously thought to be, perhaps horseplay and mischievous exaggeration at times do qualify its stately grandeur.

If not how would cultural propagation consistently redefine and reconstitute, throughout mutating in/animate continuums elaborately cascading in flagrant nadir?

When superlatives fail to provide what else awaits beside kitschy inexactitude? 

Netflix etc. have so much potential.

As does the old school compelling variety. 

Hud

Three generations of a ranching family actively live together in the American mid-west, father and son at ethical odds while the observant grandson comes of age.

Gramps (Melvyn Douglas) is an honourable man who takes responsibility for his actions. When it becomes apparent that his herd of cattle might have foot and mouth disease, he doesn't try to sell them for scandalous profits. 

His son Hud (Paul Newman) on the other hand only sees an enormous loss, and would have sold the cattle to his neighbours and spread the problem across the land.

He also cavorts around town with other men's wives out in the open, and routinely gets into fights and drinks too much and has a furious temper.

Thus, two visions of America irascibly compete home on the range, one steady and trusted and true the other only seeking crass self-fulfillment. 

They're consistently at venomous odds and don't freely beat around the bush, it's plenty awkward intergenerationally so, how do you progress in such heated circumstances?

The grandson (Brandon de Wilde) isn't sure what to do both the adults offering disputatious alternatives. 

The next generation of an adventurous country caught between competing undefined dreams. 

I reckon it's generally like this from one unique epoch to the original other, integral factors and intermediary zones cultivating community while self-obsessed visions tar with the same brush.

There isn't much ambiguity here it's clear to me Hud's quite the rapscallion, and there's nothing sublime or misunderstood about his way of life, he's just a first rate self-centred jerk.

There's something to be said for community building for playing a role big or small in such construction, perhaps not requiring mandatory parades or laudatory ubiquity, but still with a general sense of collective well-being (like you find in Québec).

There are thousands of chill roles to play and many aren't that bad if you show up and work, although things can be tricky from time to time, I try to keep quiet, unless my silence offends.

In one scene from Hud grandpappy relates how the munificent cow built so much of their culture, providing material for clothes and other things while also encouraging nourishment.

I immediately thought of the millions of bison who had historically resided on the plains. 

There was a built in network of ranching way back.

What a tragedy, how things unfolded.

*Not the Broncos win on Monday night versus Buffalo. That was amazing. 🏈

You've Got Mail

Well, it looks like way back when, when giant bookstores starting taking over, an adorable romantic comedy was made to help soften the corporate blow.

I remember the old school crisis and how it effected the local markets, not that independent bookstores disappeared entirely, but I certainly don't see them as much as I used to.

I suppose I don't really know who financed You've Got Mail, but it looks like a traditional piece of propaganda, that makes for a much more pleasant hostile takeover, complete with big business male conquering small business female.

I wonder how it was received at the time.

There's no doubt it's clever.

The internet was just starting up and people were just beginning to use email. 'Twas a fledgling monumental paradigm shift in the ways in which the entire world operates. The people at You've Got Mail clearly understood this, and went about crafting a related narrative.

Which was inherently endearing. 

If not ominously inevitable. 

I do rather like Chapters/Indigo, it is a cool place to look for books, each individual store having to pass the Proust and Dickens test, before definitively delineating its classical authenticity. 

Stick a Starbucks in there.

What a brilliant idea.

A Christmas bonus to whoever thought that one up.

It was a shame to see so many independents go under though, they had character and savvy and weren't quite so freakin' imposing.

My favourite bookstore will always be the local bookshop from my youth, a cool little place where I found my first volume of Proust (after watching Little Miss Sunshine) and many other cool books over the years, the owner used to even feature photos of raccoons in winter, and even took the mayor of Hamilton to court (and won if I'm not mistaken [long before Andrea Horwath who I imagine is doing a great job])!

25 years after the release of You've Got Mail I find myself dreading another paradigm shift, where Chapters/Indigo and bookstores everywhere go out of business, and one's forced to shop online.

That's all I've been doing since the pandemic hit and I have no idea how those stores have coped. All I know is that books used to feature prominently in the mainstream narrative (see You've Got Mail or The NeverEnding Story), and I never really see them mentioned anymore.

There should be money for prestige films that might win Oscars that focus on books. Obviously, I love film. But books and music still feature heavily in my life.

Perhaps I'm just being anxious, and nothing's really wrong, but I keep hearing bad restaurant tidings, and my laundry alarm went off while I was editing this sentence. 

I worry because I don't know many people who read books.

But I never really have come to think of it (outside of University).

Good thing Dad made sure I read as a child.

That was one thing he sincerely pushed. 

Honestly, when I was really young illiteracy still existed in the mainstream mind, and learning to read was regarded as a great thing, like we really had evolved. 

Another step in the wrong direction?

Getting my COVID booster soon. 

Good Morning, Miss Dove

The age old fascination with dependability and routine, as applied to flourishing bucolic life, through tranquil age and consistency, intergenerationally sustained. 

A clever recent University graduate travels home to see her Dad, who brags about her success and dreams of lucrative dividends. 

But he suddenly passes on and she soon soon finds he's been embezzling funds, and in order to avoid shock and scandal, agrees to gradually pay back the debt.

Thus, she refuses to marry a reliable brilliant eager suitor, and takes a job teaching geography at the local primary school, where she remains throughout her life.

It's the old world stiff-upper-lip resigned to duty and objective sacrifice, without flinching or even the  consideration of much more personally enriching paths.

She doesn't entertain regret or destructive bitterness or disastrous envy, and settles into a steady job she devotedly keeps for years to come.

As time passes, many local students must deal with her requisite tests, her level-headed impartiality encouraging widespread lifelong respect.

When she unexpectedly falls ill several ex-students visit her in the hospital. 

The dedication of an honourable lifetime abounding with reticent heartfelt allegiance. 

It's nice to see that dismal alternatives aren't generally focused on in Good Morning, Miss Dove, that the rewards of service and fidelity are angelically uplifted with enchanting charm.

Also nice to see the profession of teaching narratively celebrated and highly regarded, with the advent of new technologies breaking down timeless methods of instruction.

Do people dislike their fellow citizens so much is there that much social tension promoting A.I?, I honestly doubt it would ever replace teachers, but if I'm not mistaken, others disagree.

Then again the sale of CDs and cassette tapes has greatly decreased in recent memory, I hope artists still make comparable amounts from Apple Music etc. but I'm afraid I rather doubt it.

Professional movie making has been significantly challenged by online streaming and Netflix etc as well, my new remote even came with a Netflix button, I've never seen the like for CBC or CNN.

How else did artists used to make money and encourage independent thought, oh yes books!, is the younger generation reading? It's amazing how much you can learn from reading if you just put in a little time and effort.

Has the internet taken billions away from artistic endeavour as part of a plan to promote obedience, or was it just an unfortunate byproduct skilfully envisioned by pent up grouches?

At least schools are still prominently functioning and pandemic experiments proved infertile.

Doesn't mean they won't try again.

Working on my vinyl collection. 

John Q

I'm happy that we have great health coverage in Canada and Québec, and I'm glad that everyone has access.

I'm glad my friends and family and neighbours can see a doctor or visit the hospital without having to pay out of pocket, and that the wide variety of services available continue to expand beyond limitation.

I know it's frustrating having to wait.

It would be nice if things moved more quickly.

But the services are still available and they're available across the board.

Watch Michael Moore's Sicko watch John Q check out the nightmare, awaiting the privatization of health services if there's less of an emphasis on public health.

Imagine you suddenly had to come up with over $200,000 to pay for medical bills, which the insurance plan you had paid into for your entire life wouldn't cover.

Imagine that if you couldn't come up with that money one of your loved ones would die.

Without public health this isn't a rare occurrence. 

Without universal health care it's par for the course.

Universal health care is a sign of enduring progress and practical community, a sustainable way to ensure widespread health at all times across the land.

If we can hire more doctors and invest in hospitals wait times should decrease, and more of our medical school graduates will find the jobs they've worked hard to get.

One of the big differences between private and public health care, as outlined in Maude Barlow's Too Close for Comfort, is that public health care workers put people before profits, while private health is more interested in money.

Thus, the private hospital sets a goal of profits to be earned in a specific month, and then sets about trying to earn them. If there's a shortfall come the 31st heads will roll and people will lose their jobs, hence services are cut for employment security's sake, as administrators with no medical knowledge try to save money. If they save money and produce higher profits the private board running the hospital is more impressed. Therefore, there's an impetus to be as cheap as possible while pretending to provide expert service.

In the public system people care about health and finding more efficient ways to take care of each other.

While providing access to all kinds of different specialists.

For a thriving culture.

It's a total win-win.

Person to Person

Hyper-obsessions with the omnipresent, the characteristic need to express thoughts and emotions, the honesty clarity genuinely beaming, the established difficulties perpetually stoking.

The potential scoop inertly resting within unconcerned inanimate shade, wholeheartedly uninterested in asking questions of an inconsiderate aggressive nature.

Trying to learn a new skill indubitably applicable to arts and crafts, yet unaccustomed to the invasive practices at times associated with acquiring information.

The incipient stages acrobatically wherein which versatile material may flexibly emerge, counterbalanced with awkward politesse and innate feelings of communal well-being.

The joy of life sincerely illuminating multifaceted random cause, as someone who vividly cares goes frolicking about with cheerful genuine stalwart integrity.

A scrutinizing look at urban communities interactively drawn towards communicative life, without much of a focus on automobiles or ye olde home ownership or raising a family.

The unmarried masses productively relating inhibitions cast off and merriment proclaimed, within a volatile spectrum reciprocally radiating instantaneous clash.

So much happening within the city so much free time to extract and chirp, who knows indeed what to imaginatively make of it, fun to lose yourself within the immersion.

I did have problems with observant delineations vocally defining social miscues, which unfortunately turned me into that guy even long after I had learned not to generally share them.

I eventually adapted and grew and slowly mutated into a traditional mode, but I was still prone to humorous outbursts which could at times lead to passionate scorn.

Nice to see the people in this film constructively givin' 'er nevertheless, a cool cast with creative narratives offering thoughtful insights into variable phenomena. 

Books and film and music and poetry there's ample room for a life of the mind.

It certainly never grows boring.

Especially with wildlife sightings. 

A River Runs Through It

Family first and foremost reciprocally resigned in pristine pastures, a sturdy minister and his adventurous sons tenderly taken care of by an adoring mom.

Strict but not overbearing the natural tendency to erupt in play, openly encouraged within temporal limits reasonably applied each and every day.

Fly fishing forges the backbone of glib inquisitive rural endeavours, local rivers and fields and forests ebulliently itemized in joyous caricature.

It's focused on several times and becomes something artistic if not spiritual, the youngest lad remarkably entertaining with paramount dexterous improvised brilliance. 

His older brother's somewhat more tried and true and spends six years away from home at school, learning the integral ways of literature to be creatively taught with bucolic industry.

The younger takes to the wild and emphatically learns the art of journalism, freely expressing his withering whimsy with a festive fair-hand and spry open-mind. 

But somewhat unsettled somewhat borderline reckless he pursues risk-fuelled gambling and drink beyond reason. 

Yet still never arrives late for fishing.

And always puts on quite a show. 

Narrated with old world omniscience as if oracled fate was clairvoyantly hewn, exciting moments and tragic expenditures objectively passing with sagacious sentiment.

I remembered so many exuberant hours curiously exploring throughout my youth, as I watched those rambunctious lads engage in resolute countryside quorums. 

Such a shame when disciplinary regulations counterintuitively produce wanton interludes, the legionary impetus of the pervasive patterns alternatively encouraging adventitious catalogues.

Such a shame when a lack of order counterintuitively begets despotism, through the unfortunate contemptuous dismissal of laidback chillin' and relaxed intuition.

What a consistent pain applying reason and logic to find realistic solutions.

Sport always seems to fend off carnage.

The arts unfortunately lacking commensurate mass appeal. 

Venom 2

I was going to forget about Halloween this year when I found myself looking for something to watch on Netflix. Old Dads didn't make the cut so I kept searching till I found Venom 2, which I had missed because of the pandemic. I didn't even clue into the fact that it's a monster movie until after I'd chosen it and settled in. Thus, even when I'm not seeking out Halloween films, they find me, this one's perfectly suited to the times.

When I imagine ye olde Odd Couple films I usually think of Walther Matthau and Jack Lemmon. Their cantankerous übergrumpy disputes were fun to watch in my observant youth.

But it was a different time, without the impressive rise of realistic special effects, when the master narrative still heavily relied on bourgeois scenarios and corresponding efficiencies. 

I figure that's why Star Wars: Episode IV was so overwhelmingly popular, not only was it a cool film to watch, but it was also the first science-fiction film to have realistic special effects.

I love the old '50s and '60s sci-fi due to its imaginative pioneering impetus, and there's no doubt the historical value's significant not to mention the resplendent kitsch factor.

But the special effects are pretty incredible these days with Star Wars having started it all, thus it's no wonder the old school Odd Couple paradigm now plays out with a journalist and a monster.

As times have habitually mutated and resonant tastes transformed and diversified, one member of the couple remains potentially stable, while the other is an overly ambitious carnivorous alien.

They routinely argue about many things as time quotidianly passes, both of them seeking lofty admiration for goals achieved and services rendered. 

Feelings are hurt and grievances aired as their mutually accommodating relationship briefly ends, and Venom heads off into the great unknown and even makes a brilliant showing at a local night club.

But this is Halloween of course and what would it be without psychotic love?, or a pair of lifelong criminals hoping to wed after they break out of prison.

With a chaotic wedding in tow Venom 2 is transported into the comedic realm, which accentuates the brandished horror, and makes for quite the mindf*&*#.

Not exactly what I remember from the grouchy Odd Couple or even Midnight Run.

But certainly a clever twist on a belovéd theme.

Perfect for any Halloween scenario.

*I didn't really like how special effects were used to alter the actor's appearances. Isn't it a slippery slope to using special effects to replace actors entirely? 😠 

Hustle

Hustle does a great job of pointing out how much solid work goes into crafting a professional sports team, just by focusing primarily on one gifted scout (Adam Sandler as Stanley Sugarman) who runs into problems when the owner's son takes over (Ben Foster as Vince Merrick). 

It's like a 24/7 job it's rare he ever stops concentrating on basketball, he consistently sacrifices so much for the team without much complaint or sharp contradiction.

He has an amazing job and gets to spend his time doing something he loves, and can concretely see his emphatic results each time a player he's chosen makes a cool play.

I saw him like a representative for what generally goes on behind the scenes in professional sports, for the tens of thousands of people diligently working to put a dynamic team together.

Even when that team isn't playing well the wheels are still in perpetual motion, making deals and calls and observations hopefully leading to that next championship.

When you think about how many thousands of people are habitually competing to build the next champion, it does seem like the odds against anyone ever winning are so astronomically high that victory's miraculous.

And then if you see your outstanding favourites lose the Super Bowl three times in your curious youth, and then come back to pick up back to back wins less than ten years later, with the same quarterback, you can't help but be thankful to the organization.

If you do actually win the championship it objectively validates every decision made that season, you can take a break and sit back and bask in heralded pseudo-divine contemplation.

Each step of the way not just the winner it's still better to get there than not make it at all, it's like every organization is fighting for each inch of ground at all times and never even considering coming up short.

At least that's what characters like Stanley make me think with their healthy attitudes that keep things focused, with some jobs you have to continuously adapt at any given time with inquisitive reflexes.

That was amazing when the Raptors won I never thought I'd see that happen.

I was pissed Dad didn't get to see the Leafs win again before he passed.

But honestly, he loved basketball so much more.

I'm so happy he got to see that.

Hustle's worth checking out.

King Richard

Sheer uncompromising confidence proactively proceeds with undaunted integrity, as a father is so sure his daughters are peerless, he ignores countless established conventions as they train.

The best in the business lay it down to haplessly explain the traditional course, if you want to excel in the world of tennis, you play what are called "juniors" to prepare for the pros.

They're a series of tournaments for tenacious young players who want to improve their skills through competition, and it's through their heuristic happenstance professional aptitude efficiently emerges.

But Mr. Williams thought differently it's really remarkable what he did, he found the junior circuit so demanding and overbearing that he decided to take his girls out of it.

He was so certain that they could turn pro without competing throughout their youth, he drove some of the most knowledgeable coaches nuts as he consistently refuted their industrious know-how.

I applaud his sublime logic, he wanted his girls to have a childhood and do well in school, he didn't want them to only have tennis to look back on by the time they retired should they turn pro.

Imagine ignoring so many tried and true methods while hoping to do something even the best find next to impossible.

And have everything work out.

Your unprecedented courage rewarded.

It's like a real-life Disney film where inherent miracles nurture impeccability, where a family's guts and raw determination overcome incredible odds to become the world's best.

A parenting team aware of their potential prowess never taking no for a definitive answer, even when dozens of people tell them it's simply impossible and constantly dismiss them with words of wisdom.

So devoted to their family so aware of their unmatched talent, they persevere above and beyond even the most daring unorthodox methods.

But at the same time they want their kids to have a childhood they can pleasantly remember, one where they still chilled out and did fun things while still training to redefine the superlative.

I have to admit, I like these parenting methods, they're very holistic and reasonably balanced.

And Venus and Serena Williams did go on to become the best in the world.

This story's outstanding.

The American dream. 

*Not to mention an Oscar for Will Smith!

Kaamelott: First Installment

Nice to see a familiar style of comedy still observantly elucidating, to the tune of ancient legend emphatically deconstructed in recalcitrant sheath.

Thus, extended less devout commentaries can be expediently relied upon, as the temptation to laze about disarmingly overwhelms protocolian spirits.

Indeed, should a situation arise inherently imploring trust thereupon, debate regarding the utility of action may argumentatively delay courageous concourse.

Was there ever ebulliently a time when innate fidelity preponderantly prospered, and allegiance shone forth across the land with impeccable practical superstitious brilliance?

Or were old school lands aggrieved equanimously equipped with parallel suspicions, and whole-heartedly abreast of postmodern cheek illustriously composed through disputation?

Would the rarefied pretensions of the day have taken note in their limited volumes, of imparticular ineptitude, or would their vellum have harmonized rhapsodic?

Still, within ye olde Kaamelott: First Installment heroic endeavour doth vouchsafe akin, as Arthur (Alexandre Astier) pulls the sword from the stone and lackadaisically assumes regal volatility.

Sensing little effort need be applied to potentially reap heraldic fortunes, other nobles ceremoniously sign-up for the sublime cause sans hesitation. 

Alas, it is nice to see a less shocking and violent mass-marketed comedy, which doesn't rely on racism or cruelty as you sometimes find in this day and age. 

If that's the evolution of comedy is it not regenerating a decadent phase, to be followed by meaningless emptiness so the old theory historically goes?

For so many centuries much brighter comedians have encouraged laughter without bigoted reckoning.

Without bellicose mean-spirits.

Manifest pejorative prosperity. 

Kaamelott has faith in its strengths and doesn't stoop to bombastic prejudice, doesn't infuriatingly apply blunt and crude generalized cultural dissonance. 

In the age of legend it industriously competes with magnanimous superheroes, to provide a thoughtful supplement should the master narrative prove overwhelming.

Asking the age old question, lead through trial and error or ornate pageantry?

They find an intermediate compromise.

Composed so long ago. 

BigBug

Dystopian yet familiar realities lugubriously haunt Jean-Pierre Jeunet's BigBug, as a future wherein which AI predominates officiously contends with the bourgeoisie.

I suppose there's the theory that what's presented on television or in film will be regarded as fact, or at least find an adoring audience, and that audience will proceed to advertise.

Thus, if the irate right was slowly replaced by cantankerous A.I, due to the bipolar resonance of the popular matrix unobservant citizens unconsciously consume, and the bizarro ways in which so many people trust disingenuous initiatives designed to cheat them, a manifest sadomasochistic uniformity could one day emerge and in the darkness bind them. 

Within BigBug, one of two major political parties has been replaced by octogenarian robots, who have slowly used advanced cybernetics to brutally suffocate a robust culture.

The bourgeoisie still attempts to flourish within the mechanized meticulous structure, having adapted to the ubiquitous rules and incumbent authoritarian connectivity. 

Additional robots not associated with politics worry they're becoming obsolete, and genuinely confer to find a way to consistently maintain their resolute use-value.

Thus, both The Terminator and ye olde Data find themselves concretely represented within, a potential future embraced through comedic horror alternatively critiquing cold-hearted lockdowns. 

Artists are lampooned and books are burned, it's like a blasé happy-go-lucky thrill ride through prognostic annihilation. 

Could reality television take on such extremes is it already that bad I never really got into it (I was planting trees in the forests of Northern Canada when Survivor came out), I've never been able to just watch people interact on television, I prefer old school creative storytelling and mockumentaries.

The ruthless sadist who seeks to control every aspect of postmodern life, with duplicitous totalitarian reckoning, is still sincerely critiqued within.

As are cultures that would turn their institutions over to robots to become more efficient, the human factor obliviously overlooked in the superlative practices, grandstanding bravado.

In an obtuse condescending way BigBug reminds its audience of the value of criticism, and that critical strategies should be taught in school to hold back the onslaught of pervasive credulity.

Robot politicians? Robot police? It doesn't have to happen, it's not inevitable.

Prefer the old school humanistic methodologies.

Round the campfire.

Settlin' in.