Little Women

Sisters living together in old school bucolic surroundings, lively animate reckonings overshadowing speechless gloom.

A cross-section of formative events congenially pitched and harmonized, love and care guiding inquisitive actions, a mother providing lucid instruction.

Not necessarily gloomy, it just seems like it must have been that way, so locked down in one specific set of circumstances, without the internet lying in wait.

But Little Women emphasizes grassroots creativity, or wholesome bonds forged through familial endeavour, the theatre as tantalizing as postmodern film, perhaps predating phrases like the art of conversation.

If people had no technological distractions to prevent them from directly interacting with one another (I'm reinterpreting the phrase), and dialogue flourished throughout the course of the day, conversation may have seemed less like an art form, and more like something freeflowing and natural.

Discussing topics at length may not have been reserved just for soirées and seminars, and sundry nuances may have been eagerly explored, by loquacious lackadaisical candlelight.

Perhaps with less of an emphasis on making weak arguments appear strong, and more of a desire to encourage prosperous articulation, people actually making their own nightly narratives, and debating while casually observing.

I was monitoring the activity of a relative the other day, who overflowed with tenacious curiosity, and I was somewhat relieved when The Last Jedi caught his attention, and I could then worry less about inspired destruction.

But I checked myself for having such thoughts, and took to heart accusations of entropy, for I should have been eagerly engaged, and ready for every distinct counteraction.

As parents prior to television no doubt must have rigorously been, how much tighter family bonds perhaps were back then, how much more available people were to please, how much more time there might have been for tasks at hand.

I'd like to read essays and/or books comparing 21st and 19th century pastimes, and Little Women as well, to learn more from its compelling story.

Greta Gerwig's film's exciting to watch, and kept me captivated from beginning to end.

It focuses on goodwill and charity at times which pleasantly caught my attention, not just because I saw it during the Holiday Season, but also since I rarely encounter self-sacrifice in contemporary film.

Or conversation.

Good things happen when people commit to reducing poverty and make healthier green alternatives more accessible.

It seems like the cast had a lot of fun while making it, but still worked hard to create a good film, the kind of vigorous reliable teamwork that can be facilitated by an emphasis on cool.

Having fun off screen while sincerely delivering when it's time to work, Little Women's most impressive, like working in Montréal.

And I've found a fictional companion for Ethan Hawke in my personal filmic pantheon (in my head), the one and only Laura Dern (Marmee March), they both keep showing up in so many cool films.

They've been around a while too.

Sort of like Harry Dean Stanton but not the same.

Not that the rest of Gerwig's cast didn't impress.

Left the cinema feeling happy.

The Beguiled

Lost and desperate, unable to move, in need of shelter, nourishment, warmth, comfort, convalescence, clinging and clutching, forlornly crutching, a young isolated soldier lies dying in the woods having survived to expire woebegone, patiently waiting to succumb to his injuries, consciousness slowly fading, as the days coldly pass by.

A haven, a sanctuary, a cloister, a dream, a school nestled in the forest delicately composed, full of sympathy and understanding, it miraculously takes him in, cares for him, coddles him, feeds him, talks to him, falls in love with him, the absence of men blended with Corporal McBurney's (Colin Farrell) charm and good looks leaves it tantalizingly taken and amorously affected, yet he can only respectfully choose one belle without slighting the others wholesale.

Like Paris of old yet disregarded by the gods, he grievously misjudges the situation and attempts to claim everyone for his own.

Perhaps he's not thinking clearly, due to his wounds, but he honestly believes his counsel can guarantee active lust, and proceeds to recklessly gorge with impulsive selfish gluttony.

Hold on, just let me explain . . .

Look, we're just . . .

Let's think about this logically . . .

I swear, it's not my fault!

Screwin' up big time, even if he would have screwed up less if he hadn't been so adamantly sought after, the palatial invokes the pernicious, a wanton craven eruption, infernally and retributively so.

It's a great film, painstakingly and provocatively crafted by Sofia Coppola, her clever well-written multileveled script and poetic title, composed with several compelling characters from different ages and regional backgrounds, presents a sound intricate knowledge of her controversial subject matter, and what otherwise could have been a raunchy sensational grotesque flash comes across as a cerebral elegantly fierce tale.

The feeling, the tranquil restful sensitive bucolic emotion stylizes an environmental awareness that's as curious as it is unconcerned.

Cinematography by Philippe le Sourd.

Nicole Kidman (Miss Martha) keeps getting better.

Pressing matters for the unrestrained, an optical host confined to disillusion.

Desire undoubtably blessed incarnate.

Rent in wonder dis/possessed of forthright loss.

I would have ended it right after he hit the floor.

A controversial metaphorical take on the American Civil War.