The Covenant

A group of old world families clandestinely co-habitates with the world at large, keeping to themselves at secretive times while patiently awaiting their time of ascension.

Their families escaped the Salem Witch Hunt way back when fear drove men mad, the anxiety igniting bland social pressures to despotically embrace austere absolutism.

The children attend a local prep school lucidly administered by ye olde Windom Earle (Kenneth Welsh), awkwardly anticipating their spry eighteenth birthdays when their otherworldly powers will magically emerge.

Their powers aren't to be taken lightly their chaotic use has mortal consequences, and if used too often through frivolous indulgence will unnaturally age and ruin their bodies.

Difficult to share such wisdom with lads ebulliently awaiting the passionate moment, when more or less anything they put their minds to will instantaneously manifest.

Especially when it becomes distressingly evident that an unknown 5th student possesses the power, and is recklessly using it for retched misdeeds with no working foreknowledge of truth or consequence.

A showdown ominously looms within the sleepy oblivious trajectory.

Agéd chronicles proving noteworthy.

For the well-read adventurous sorcerers.

The Olympics no doubt a suitable time to celebrate unique and novel abilities, and the remarkable ways they fluidly enrich the humdrum malaise of routine existence. 

No doubt categories and hierarchies and levelling peculiarly mingle in spherical continuums, the definitive dispersal of surrealist fact gracefully lauded through festive ephemera.

In so doing, for some the cheeky sitcom may represent insouciant brilliance, while others seek romantic unions melodramatically arrayed with maladroit im/probability, still others embracing the tragic distinction absurdly characterizing incumbent banality, crime and horror schlock and mayhem, not to mention robust documentaries.

Should the people in primordial possession of rare bizarro traits and talents, not be welcome in villages and towns in order to promote less stealthy isolation?

Weren't the heroes from religious texts in commensurate possession of similar gifts?

Does not celebrating specific historical examples to the obscuring of the present not foolishly generate a stasis none of them would have tolerated? 

Girl with Green Eyes

Who knows how to orchestrate equanimous relations amongst the genders, perhaps the hottest topic throughout multidisciplinary millennia, although I have my suspicions that if you're thinking about it you've missed the gregarious point, successful couples finding a steady routine, which generally dismisses such questions. 

Although I suppose that's just best case, I don't have real world marriage stats to consult, and I usually only see couples on festive occasions, when they're theoretically much less disposed to argument.

Nevertheless, the constructive ebb and flow of power relations and the means of production, seem to prosper when listening is encouraged and both parties reasonably yield, yin and yang harmoniously hypothesizing as heartstrings harken holistic, while some things remain immutable, lucidity of paramount import.

Although seeing things clearly can infuriate at times, mistakes and rash decisions, even impromptu reckoning, encouraging excitement and irrational versatility (romance).

The cultural codes Kate Brady (Rita Tushingham) rebels against are much too bland and dishonourably restrictive, you can see why so many women are furious when immersed within such environments. 

Every aspect of her entire life is to be controlled and managed by men, and should she attempt to stray from the path dire convictions warrant sincere distress.

She embraces manifest courage and makes a break for it into the void, wherein which she encounters reasonability of a flexible nature and appealing uncertainty. 

There's no doubt that her initial circumstances are severe and unsustainable, and that it's cruel to imprison anyone within such a bona fide panopticon. 

Not to suggest there should be no boundaries upholding stable regenerative consistency, unless two or more people fortuitously meet who can resourcefully function without guide or structure, but when such boundaries stiltedly stifle latent creativity and flourishing imagination, they should indubitably face passionate scrutiny, in order to encourage interactive athleticism. 

Brady learns difficult lessons through tantamount trial and exacting error, and seems much more naturally resilient thanks to her experimental resolve.

It's difficult to imagine how intolerant things must have been way off way back when.

She doesn't even set out to be rebellious.

Glad there's much more freedom these days. 

Nightbooks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you're thinking of stories write them down.

Social prestige and criticism be damned. 

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

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

Sleepwalk

Can books harness immaterial authenticity possessing atemporal spiritual substance reified through literary practicality (reading)?

Can extant abstract imbroglios mischievously contextualize the present, without relying on ideological intervention (tricksters) as their readers extensively ponder?

Probably not, although indirect corresponding parallels may seem uncanny if not somewhat mystical, but had the material in question never been covered, would the events have still seemed otherworldly or enigmatic?

As you encounter variable idiosyncrasies (in books and films) it's only natural to narratively apply them, to whatever you happen to be doing at the time or as similar occurrences present themselves.

But are you simply randomly applying ideas chosen at random for different texts, to random storylines inevitably generated as you freely interact with others?

Or is there something beyond coincidence ethereally aligned like Jurassic Park's chaos theory, which attaches seemingly supernatural significance to disorganized interconnected (enticing) ephemera? 

Probably not, in terms of personal history as opposed to applied math.

But if you're ever bored it's a fun game to play.

As long as you don't take your wagers too seriously.

But at times you have to seem as if you're vigorously engaged, nevertheless, in order to inspire confidence in significant others early in life.

Logic aside, some people prefer elevating the absurd to inviolable levels, regardless of relevance to applicable rationalities out of an instinctual preference for determinacy. 

Without comedic reckoning.

Was never able to research the subject that much.

But I imagine there are many people who have.

Sleepwalk follows a bright translator/jack-of-all-trades as she's asked to translate an ancient Chinese text (Suzanne Fletcher as Nicole), the events from the forbidden parables uncannily haunting her life thereafter.

A cool independent low-budget examination of harrowing contemporaneous histories, it's chill yet still discerning much like birdwatching or métro station discovery.

An indirect advocate for libraries and archives, along with historical context and animate consistency, Sleepwalk presents its playful syntheses with less gravity than The Lord of the Rings.

Co-starring Tony Todd, Steve Buscemi and Ann Magnuson. 

Cinematography by Frank Prinzi and Jim Jarmusch. 

Equinox

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

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

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

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

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

Giant monsters are soon detected.

Chaotically posturing at will.

And the ranger is in leagues with Satan.

Their prosperous futures have been jeopardized.

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

As Equinox strides and flexes.

Fully conscious of its ludicrous anxiety.

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

Throw rocks. Get its attention.

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

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

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

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

As delivered with tactile courage.

Intensified at play.

The Book Thief

A struggling family adopts a young girl (Sophie Nélisse as Liesel) in pre-World War II Germany as the fascists's political agenda rapidly spreads throughout the country.

Ideological indoctrination confuses intelligent youth who can't understand its narrow-minded discipline.

The focus is on the good Germans, the ones who were simply trying to make ends meet during difficult economic times and were forced to come up with survival strategies ad hoc as repugnant discourses gained social traction, followed by war.

The Book Thief unreels from a child's point of view and the film is primarily geared towards children.

I'm used to finding more depth in children's films, meaning that they're sometimes more engaging for adults, but that's not necessarily a criticism, insofar as the kids in the audience were likely fully engaged, and it was made for children.

Still, it accentuates the senses of fear and helplessness conscientious citizens feel when trying to express themselves within oppressive environments dominated by violence, but in an oddly inconspicuous way that leaves the impression that nothing could possibly go seriously wrong, even while war breaks out and the hunted desperately seek shelter.

This explains Death's (Roger Allam) avuncular yet cumbersome narration.

The importance of reading is at the forefront, an individual's desire to expand her mind contrasted with what happens when highly fanatical aggressive groups who never had any desire to expand theirs suddenly control the military.

Nazi Germany was responsible for destroying Europe in the first half of the 20th century, but, according to practically every article I read about the European Union, they're currently saving Europe from total financial disaster, playing a much stronger role than either France or Britain, no doubt due to the strength of the good Germans depicted in The Book Thief, their environmental concerns, and resolute calm.

Viewing The Book Thief in this way helps to detach unconscious direct correlations between Germany and Nazism, which, after you've seen around 100 World War II films and read many books on the subject, is an unconscious direct correlation that's tough not to make (like Mexico and drug cartels [more {some?} American films with Mexican characters who aren't labourers or members of a drug cartel would be nice]).

These correlations can then be replaced by less volatile caricatures, as Germany's contemporary status suggests it deserves.

Thus, when you think of Germany, try not to immediately think, Nazis, a period of their history that more or less ended in 1945, but think, getting rid of nuclear power, focusing on green technologies, economy remains strong even after the integration of East Germany, saving the European Union, fiscal responsibility, which are aspects of what's happening now.

Not so easy to do, I know.

But I've done it. So I know that it is possible.