Santa Claus is Comin' to Town

A helpless child strategically abandoned at the imposing home of a local magistrate, who has no time for unexpected complications and quickly sends the infant away. 

But as it's transported to its new lodging a mighty wind serendipitously picks up, and wildly blows it into the forest where the resident animals note its landing.

They swiftly aid the oblivious child and beatifically bring it to a new dwelling, where the jolly inhabitants warmly welcome their newfound friend with fly enthusiasm. 

Delicate toy makers by trade, they're able to teach the young learner their craft, while also emphasizing useful subjects to encourage flourishing knowledgeable industry (the animals also help out).

They've been making toys for some time but have been unable to share them, since they can't move them across the mountain which the Winter Warlock haunts. 

On the other side of the mountain lies gloomy morose Sombretown, which keeps things unexceptional without much colour, spice, or flavour. 

The baby all grown up, he decides to defy the Warlock and bring the toys to Sombretown. 

Just as they mayor madly decrees. 

That toys from now on are forbidden. 

Kind-hearted wisdom innocently tasked with fluently delivering joy and wonder, his candid pluck widely overflowing with resourceful freeform humble simplicity. 

One of my favourite depictions of Santa which I didn't discover until recently, Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass at their best as they freely conjure childlike imagination. 

If more people thought like this Santa and loved and lived spontaneous play, kinder hearts would likely cultivate a much less cold and calculating aesthetic. 

His flight likely already having begun, the tantalized world vehemently awaiting his gifts. 

Miraculous speed, transformative knowhow.

Nothing quite like it.

Blessed artistry. 

*Merry Christmas / Joyeux Noël / Happy Holidays!

Gandahar

Lost in the peaceful elegant simplicity of humble distinct village life, the people have neither want nor vehement complaint as the carefree millennia fruitfully merge. 

Living harmoniously with nature they have all they need to frolic and gambol, the matriarchal realm organically constructed in heartfelt sonorous temperate melody. 

Yet strange occurrences begin to take place as villagers on the outskirts are found turned to stone, with no indications as to what's going on the mystery confounding the Council of Elders.

The leading matriarch's impetuous son is reluctantly chosen to swiftly investigate, quickly heading out on a winged steed to the unknown reaches of illustrious Gandahar.

After being attacked in the sky, he is sympathetically taken in by Dickensian outcasts, sublime survivors of a different regime which embraced fascist experiment to achieve mad objectives. 

Longing to return to their former city they use special powers to aid the warrior, who continues on his industrious journey with resolute courage and resourceful knowhow.

Only to discover a villainous plot whereby an army of hostile robots.

Is being lead by a murderous brain. 

With the hopes of condemning his people to oblivion. 

If industrial and technological revolutions hadn't utterly transformed existence, would the mellifluous state of organic nature not be more reliable still?

Life may be shorter with less creature comforts and useful medicines may be hard to come by, but would there be as much of a need for them if disease itself hadn't critically evolved?

We did live this way for thousands of years and even if people did fight amongst themselves, was the health of the planet still largely unaffected and were many animal species not driven to extinction?

If oil runs out, the consistency of the future will no doubt be mired in fluctuating uncertainty, will organic technologies emerge to sustain the infrastructure, or will the advanced lock the remnants of civilization down in gated communities? 

So many forecasts, potential disillusion, so much to learn, variants and mutations. 

More chill to settle into the Holiday Season. 

Friends and family, warmth and magic. 

Man is not a Bird

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Happenstance hive.

Imbroglio depot.

Mechanized maestro. 

Really cool music.  

Come and See

One of the most blunt traumatic films to ever illustrate Nazi World War II horrors, Elem Klimov's Come and See cacophonously presents sheer total war.

Seen through the eyes of a child who dreams of heroically saving his country, the horrifying effects of what he encounters enough to debilitate the strongest man (or woman).

He's left behind after being recruited since his boots fit an older soldier, so he makes the trip back home only to find his family has been slaughtered.

With another orphan he gradually makes the awkward journey to a secret hideaway, where they team up with humble survivors who are desperately struggling to find food.

He then heads out with some brave citizens to find supplies to ease their hunger, but the older individuals are soon shot down and he's eventually captured by the Nazis.

Who then take the citizens of another town and cruelly lock them in a barn.

Which they proceed to light on fire.

The boy narrowly escaping.

There's a visceral haunting grotesque evil effectively showcased in Come and See, which doesn't shy away from directly depicting the inherent terror of unleashed fascism.

As the monsters who wickedly believe they're the master race destroy and devastate, their sick malevolent point of view is thoroughly disputed and castrated.

The film isn't an exaggeration they murdered and butchered unarmed civilians like this, and sent many of the survivors to death camps where they fruitlessly laboured without end.

Such an ideology motivates psychotics who want to viciously and dismally demonstrate, that the openminded collective free world was unfortunately unable to vanquish hatred (it seemed so plausible before the internet).

And just as the Nazis terrorized the Soviet Union Russia currently attacks Ukraine, the victim so obsessed with its once hopeless position that it despicably embraces the oppressor's logic. 

If you want to see the fascist end game watch Come and See in stoic shock, and look on as people who could have been friends are wildly reduced to pestiferous ruin.

It angers up the blood and leaves one more determined than ever.

To embrace the olive branch. 

And stop such things from happening.

The Elephant Man

A gentle soul, curious and thoughtful, is habitually tormented by another, who obscenely profits from his misery and spends next to nothing on his care or comfort.

The individual in question suffers from severe deformities which make him appear extraordinary, people wishing to marvel at his stunning difference and willing to pay for the chance to do so.

No one asks him for his opinion regarding his tragic state of affairs, he isn't consulted his steadfast approval is disregarded, ignored, disdained.

No one talks to him either in fact he's left voiceless and caged and isolated, confronting violence should he humbly protest his scathing chains and caustic fetters.

Fortunately, a kind and sympathetic promising young doctor learns of his struggles, and goes about freeing him from the carnival while searching for a permanent place of residence.

Mr. Merrick is then given the opportunity to calmly express himself and converse, his discussions and observations inquisitively demonstrating tender caring playful cognizance. 

For the first time in his life he's treated with respect and he wholesomely responds with innocent wonder.

As those seeking to exploit him discover his whereabouts.

And set about wildly profiteering. 

A young gifted director with one film to his credit was lovingly tasked with crafting The Elephant Man, David Lynch responding with incisive imagination which still resonates this postmodern day.

The just and the wicked frequently colliding in his chaotic campy down-home daring dramas, we find scenes scenarios that stretch throughout his work in their sophomore distillations in this film.

Is Dr. Frederick Treves who seeks to take away John Merrick's pain and let him live in mindful society, not unlike Special Agent Dale Cooper who genuinely cares for the residents of Twin Peaks?

Is the wretched slave-driver Bytes who makes his living spreading death and decay, harbingers of Frank Booth and Dick Laurent the Baron Harkonnen or the Killer Bob?

The dreamlike fascination with surreal storytelling far beyond what the scene depicts, amorphously anchors our innate curiosity as this early outing creatively transmits.

A good place to start if seeking to learn much much more about David Lynch the filmmaker, while sincerely taking requisite note that the path you're on will get much rockier.

At home with artistically embracing noble and unsettling offbeat emotions.

He spent his life contemplating holistic humanism.

In a bona fide theatre of debutant dreams. 

Blue Beetle

I was seriously impressed with D.C's Blue Beetle.

And I had no idea what to expect.

Awkwardly, I had never heard of the Blue Beetle and didn't know where he or she fit into the D.C Universe, it's actually a bit more fun watching sci-fi-action-adventure when you have no idea who the characters are, notably when Grandma takes cues from T2, and the story deals with crippling student debt. 

According to Instagram, Biden and Harris have taken great strides to ease American student debt burdens, which is impressive, they've actually done something about it, like I said before, it's like Michael Moore's Presidency.

Blue Beetle works with a struggling family who worked hard to put one of its children through college, who returns home after completing his undergraduate degree, to find his family facing eviction.

The landlord tripled the rent and it was just way too freakin' much, after years of reliable solvency, such rent increases should be illegal (partout).

But Reyes is still happy to see his family who are just as enthused to see him, and he fortunately hooks up with the heir to a massive corporation, whom may prove rather handy in the upcoming sequel.

"The Scarab Beetle" chooses him as well and he becomes an unwitting superhero, his genuine honesty motivating the alien's choice, his acclimatization chill with improvisation.

Respect for Latino-America and the integral families that stick together, and extended communities that lend helping hands, it must be a cool network to be a part of.

It's similar with the French they genuinely care about one another, they may feud and bicker and disagree but at the end of the day it's a bona fide community.

With all my elevations of family values I may be giving the wrong impression, I don't actually want to have a family, that ship sailed a long time ago (too crazy for relationships).

A lot of the posts I see on social media and within films and series plus books, do seem to focus on family however, and it does seem to be a universal factor (respect for people who deal with the responsibility [hence often writing about them]).

There are still millions of single people out there for whom this model simply doesn't fit, or fits for a time, and then later doesn't, I do feel more at home with them.

I really loved Blue Beetle it honestly and sincerely cares about people, it's not the millionaires or all-powerful aliens, it's a remarkable family that's easier to relate to.

Hopefully robot police aren't seriously being considered around the world.

That needs to be collectively fought.

Even by ye olde policepersons.

Note: I really need to get into Mexican TV. 

It looks amazing!

I'm putting Blue Beetle up there with Captain America: Civil War (Politics) and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (Animals). 

For its intense focus on Social Justice. 

And cool story.

And amazing Dad.

Spiderhead

The pursuit of manufactured obedience follows the pharmaceutical path, as Spiderhead's solo unattached dismal warden despotically pursues reckless inactivity. 

Unsupervised with serious responsibility he develops several potential new drugs, and tests them on his prison's inmates every decision he makes of his own free will.

Fret not concerned enthused viewer, he wants to keep things friendly and fun, and even strikes up acquaintances with his test subjects while becoming addicted to the drugs himself.

They're far off so far away inimically isolated from spirited criticism, idyllic mad spontaneous digressions only provocatively questioned by one rogue assistant. 

Seeking to make billions on joy and happiness not to mention free form conversation, he still can't dishonour discreet somnambulism with soporific sequestered sedulity. 

Problem: to make sure the obedience drug works he needs to challenge ethical parameters, and see if people will do horrifying things simply because they've been recommended.

Thus, he convinces a test subject to administer his "paranoia" drug to another, but "paranoia" isn't really the right word, it rather encourages excessive terror. 

The subject's driven to suicide after the dose is accidentally augmented. 

But genuine guilt indeed manifests.

With the mass megalomania in jeopardy. 

Here we go again with the pursuit of hegemony unilaterally applied, attempting to accomplish sadistic ends to alarmingly overwhelm free choice and expression.

Odd how so many people spend so much time consuming arts and entertainment, while also cutting down creative synergies, the 1970s and David Bowie were miracles.

The irony let loose in Spiderhead is that independence itself seeks mindless automatons, who'll listen and follow the guidance of whomever no matter what the proactive cost.

Like the dreamy demagogue preaching equality who locks everything down after the revolution, Abnesti proceeds to definitively ensure no one else like him will ever co-exist. 

As others have likely suggested, is it not better to mal/adroitly attune, independent instincts to constructive endeavours to promote diversity and innovation?

Without such inherent expression does decay not metastasize with fetid impersonality, and prevent the development of sundry alternatives from multivariably delineating enchanted metamorphosis? 

Never stop writing poems just because you're convinced someone else is better. 

Keep writing absurdity ad infinitum. 

Who cares if no one else is interested?

Samson & Delilah

You wonder how worlds so radically different could obliviously exist side by side in the same country, one characterized by wealth and prosperity, the other struggling to get by day after day.

In Samson & Delilah, two Indigenous youths run into trouble on their reservation, and soon find themselves living on the outskirts of an Australian city, unable to speak English or find work.

Unfortunately, charitable organizations don't find them and take them in, and help them adjust to the cultural shock, and find work and food and lodging.

Delilah's (Marissa Gibson) mother used to make elaborate quilts which a broker sold for her in the city, giving her $200 for her trouble, then selling them for $22,000.

Delilah finds the gallery by accident but the dealer has no time for her, she then makes cool designs of her own which she isn't able to sell.

Their story takes a violent turn as outrageous thugs come bellicosely calling, imagine you just want to co-exist and make friends and all you ever encounter is hostility. 

It may seem extreme but the story's the same in different parts of Canada.

If only different peoples looked upon each other with respect.

Without fatalistic ill-will.

Fatalism rots the brain with unproductive morose cynicism, replacing imaginative variable dreams with motionless stagnant gaunt depression.

Ask yourself who's spreading fatalism and challenge them instead of fighting yourselves, while striving to build stronger safer communities within which kids are free to prosper.

It would be cool to be a general or a CEO, a principal or a famous actor, but there are so many other cool options out there which also offer a neat way of life.

Samson & Delilah is one of the most heartbreaking films I've ever seen, who could possibly want the world to be that way?, there's still so much work to be done. 

For how many more decades do we have to read or view stories like these before lasting bridges are built all over for different communities?

It's a problem for both the left and right.

Perhaps both sides should spend less time transferring blame. 

The Tracker

*Spoiler Alert.

I'm unaware of another director who critiques patriarchal excesses as well as Rolf de Heer, I'm thinking of Alexandra's Project and The Tracker, wherein which he holds nothing back in his critique of men.

Not men in general or every man but definitely racist and sexist men who go to extremes, in The Tracker's case a rifle toting lawperson who shoots every Indigenous person he sees (regardless of whether they're the one he's searching for), including women and the elderly, and in Alexandra's Project, a lusty husband who gets outduelled through passionate disillusionment.

Most of the men I've met haven't been quite as arrogant as the jerks in Heer's films, not that they don't like to have a laugh or air grievances (you really shouldn't try to take away or prohibit the means by which decent men let off steam regarding relationships [it leads to naturally angry people who don't want to change becoming more and more furious because they have no outlet for their frustrations {which aren't even that serious if the outlet exists unless they're extremists, but become much more intense if severely limited }]), but I picture them discussing other things besides sex and gender roles with their wives (especially after this long), and doubt they would take their prejudices to genocidal extremes (most of them were pretty chill back in the day).

In The Tracker, 4 men set out to find an Indigenous person in the Outback who's accused of killing a caucasian woman, one of them a multifaceted guide (David Gulpilil as the Tracker), one ruthlessly dismissive of Native culture (Gary Sweet as the Fanatic), another young and new to the territory (Damon Gameau as The Follower), and another just along for the ride (Grant Page as the Veteran). 

The Tracker mischievously leads them in the right direction at a slower pace than the fugitive, so he (Noel Wilton) always knows where they are and they never brutally overtake him.

Early on during the search, they encounter free Indigenous peeps enjoying their day, and the mad institutionally supported leader starts firing shots with reckless abandon.

The young recruit is utterly horrified which leads the old timer to question his intelligence, I've said it before, I'll say it again, belligerent jingoism doesn't inevitably monopolize the constructive mind. 

It certainly didn't in the '80s, '90s, and early 2000s when many films like this were being made, but it's become much more fashionable these days, with World War III looming on the horizon (after a pandemic [pass the Ricard]).

If you want to see a Native person fight back and courageously strike a blow for his resilient culture, The Tracker is indubitably a must-see, fully equipped with Indigenous justice.

The trigger happy lawperson is captured because his youthful charge refuses to let him shoot innocent people.

And this youth's generation likely brought about the reforms of my youth.

Which have stalled amidst a colossal prejudiced backlash. 

Chattahoochee

A veteran from the Korean war who managed to distinguish himself has trouble fitting in back home (Gary Oldman as Emmett Foley), and after having grown tired of picket fence pastimes, tries to get the police to shoot him for the insurance money.

He winds up in a psychiatric institution and finds he's in for the long haul, a distressing situation to say the least since he really isn't that insane.

His coherent reflexes help him observe the unfortunate general corruption, the cruel and unnecessary punishment routinely handed out by the sadistic administration.

He keeps track of the abuse in writing and eventually even studies introductory law, learning enough to air legitimate grievances which are generally ignored by unsympathetic staff.

Meanwhile, as the years pass by, his child ages and his wife (Frances McDormand as Mae Foley) seeks divorce, his sister (Pamela Reed as Earlene) never giving up on him, but somewhat perplexed by the daunting legal fees.

Consistent protest within the facility leads to frequent confrontation, irate guards and frustrated staff with no inclinations to change the management.

It's an old school animate take on social justice and institutional reform, the assertion of rights by those left behind by a system thoroughly unconcerned with how to take care of them.

You get to see Oldman and McDormand in their youth delivering exceptional performances, even if Chattahoochee has issues, you can see why these actors made a go of it (didn't they win best actor and actress in the same year? [2018]).

The thought of being generally sane and finding yourself locked down by bureaucratic codes, is aggravated by the reality that so many others who lack rationality can do exceptionally little to freely defend themselves.

Fortunately, Foley's work prevails and over a hundred reforms are introduced, and he's eventually released a free person to passionately deal with middle-aged life.

I imagine things have remarkably improved since Foucault wrote Madness & Civilization, in some jurisdictions anyways, which hopefully aren't suffering from stringent cutbacks.

It seems that caring for the sick goes without saying and there should be principled professionals who proceed accordingly.

Too bad stories like Chattahoochee still emerge.

Laws should prevent sadistic reckoning.

*There's no secret meaning here, no underlying code. This film was released in 1989 and I'd never heard of it. That's why I chose to watch it.

Nightmare Alley

How far should someone go when seeking abundant easy money, where to clearly draw the line between entertainment and ecstatic despair?

People actively seek to believe in mystic supernatural antics, in worlds beyond the concrete material physically composing so much life.

How much of this is healthy or how much goes much too far, are manifest questions which consistently go unanswered, but if your belief in the afterlife provides you comfort, and doesn't cost you a fortune, and you don't make political decisions because a bee landed on your ice cream, and you don't force other people to believe, and you realize it might all be bullshit, I really don't see much of a problem, comfort's an important aspect of life.

Claudius's relationship with the Oracle of Delphi remains mysterious, but who knows how much was true, and how much conjured for dramatic flair?

I've often thought that renowned "oracles" or "fortune tellers" were students of history from the future, who somehow managed to fit in with the past without being locked up for witchcraft or heresy.

If genuine clairvoyants exist today, why aren't they world renowned?

Perhaps they've been sequestered by the highest bidder.

And are lavishly tucked away.

I play the sign game because that's how my mind's always worked, ever since I was but a wee lad, I remember playing the sign game.

But it's off a lot, it's sometimes correct, but isn't reliable enough to make wagers.

Plus, when people realize you're like this they constantly try to trick you. So it's difficult to detect anything that's genuine. Not that it isn't still fun trying.

Nightmare Alley may be a solid horror film but that doesn't mean it isn't revolting, do we really have to see an unfortunate soul bite the head off a live chicken (with special effects)?

Sick in the head, no holding back.

If you want a celebration of the most miserable aspects of existence, hopelessly wrapped up in abhorrent ethical decay, you may indeed prosper from a viewing of Nightmare Alley, which presents harsh lessons for light of heart ambitions.

Don't try to swindle the rich and famous, the brightest lights, don't take things too far.

Life's too precious and worth much more.

There's more value in a dragonfly's existence than overflowing riches.

All Good Things

Traumatized in his youth after witnessing a parent commit suicide, David Marks (Ryan Gosling) struggles to live up to expectations, his family excessively wealthy in possession of sought after prized real estate in Manhattan, he can't make the corporate adjustments, to productive managerial life.

But in his youth he's less concerned with high-end sustainability, and is even somewhat chill as depicted in the film, so much so that he wins the hand of lighthearted freespirited lass (Kirsten Dunst as _____ Marks), the two forging a constructive team, at home in the remote countryside.

At his best he still remains quiet and hesitates to add much to any conversation, but he's still loving and kind and supportive as his marriage passively progresses.

If only the film had ended there, and they'd simply flourished low key down home, but his father (______ Langella) lures him back to the city and packs on tons of stressful responsibility.

He can't deal he flounders can't float and takes his frustrations out on his wife, refusing to agree to raise his own family, eventually turning to violence.

She comes from a much less reserved family and isn't accustomed to resonant gloom, she still applies herself vigorously to education and boldly hopes to one day attend med school.

But her dreams are cut short one evening indeed she suddenly hauntingly disappears.

Her husband likely having played a hand.

In curtailing her resilient progression.

The Fredo factor in lavish expenditure morosely embracing inanimate doom, feeling compelled to richly role play executive constructs for which he's ill-suited.

He clearly needed to do his own thing but his severe father couldn't accept that, and bluntly pushed him into a mindset to which he could not adapt applicably.

But others could and resounding jealousies destructively emerged in sheer despondency, there's no failure if you can't adapt to stilted stratagems that don't fit your personality.

You need to forget the lofty expectations and ignore ill-conceived hypothetical criticisms of your reputation, and find something that suits your mind, North America's great for supplying diversity.

Take Sherlock Homes as a working example as he's imagined on the brilliant Elementary, he falls into a destructive spiral of drug addiction but bounces back with perceptive resiliency.

His father is also well-off and sternly resents his eccentric son.

But Sherlock emphatically defies him.

And leads a strong independent life of his own.

The Plague Dogs

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dogs and fox furtively evade their ostentatious blunt pursuers. 

But the net becomes too tight.

They must reach the limitless ocean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One is far too many. 

*Patrick Stewart has some cool lines. 

The Bookshop

So many harmless ideas.

Why would anyone protest if you wanted to open a bookshop for instance, why would anyone critique sharing ideas and stories, generating dreams, nurturing imagination, long before even television was taken for granted, especially in a small town with no local bookshop?

Books obviously enrich the mind in ways that television and film can't, I simply mention the town's lack of televisions to emphasize how grossly realistic things must have been at the time, for those regularly searching for alternative adventures and fantasies, or sharp cutting-edge non-fiction.

It seemed logical to me, in my youth, that if you wanted to open a store and freely sell things such as books or pizza you would be free to do so.

The thought of living somewhere where the government suddenly banned thousands of books and ideas or forced you to consume specific narratives without comment is baffling and inherently self-defeating.

The Bookshop's set in Britain not long after World War II and I've always taken it for granted that the United Kingdom was rather open-minded at the time, not so naively that I figured there weren't social issues or endemic inequalities that prevented groups and individuals from flourishing, but naively enough to suppose that if you wanted to open a bookshop in a small town without a bookshop, on your own property, you would be able to do so without legal interference.

Bizarro.

Monopolistic tragedies.

Isabel Coixet's The Bookshop is a brave soulful examination of an independent chap's immersion in local culture.

She was so beautiful.

Where many scenes would have ended in similar films, many of The Bookshop's keep unreeling complete with clever added details/suggestions/conflicts/hopes that add so much more to the courageous narrative.

Phenomenally laidback performances well-versed in bucolic sophistication calmly yet severely manifest palpable joys and tensions, actors acting in a serious film as if they were acting in a serious film, cultivating their craft, intently focused on their art.

The Bookshop's like that small town gem you've heard about where you can buy the most wondrous things off the beaten track and they've never even considered advertising.

It's as modest as a Sunday school teacher yet as fiery as a proactive country priest/rabbi/reverend/imam.

Some scenes seem to have been included to simply celebrate life, notably when Florence Green (Emily Mortimer) and Christine (Honor Kneafsey) are unexpectedly showcased at ease playfully enjoying themselves while working, or when Edmund Brundish (Bill Nighy) and Ms. Green are unsure how to end their first meeting, propriety suggesting they part although neither of them wishes to do so.

I'm still terrible at coming and going.

If only life were always spent in the middle of conversations.

A must-see film overflowing with pluck and integrity.

I can't imagine having to shop for books exclusively online.

You can't browse the shelves.

Find the perfect book you never knew you were looking for.

Indian Horse

The legacy of the residential school system which afflicted generations of First Nations children still reverberates today.

A problem with taking religion too seriously, as noted by many others I'm sure, with institutionalizing it and using it to guide governmental policy, is that the people operating within such a bureaucracy don't think they derive their power from fallible mortal men and women, they believe it comes from an all-knowing supreme being, and if they think that they are correctly acting in the interests of a supreme being, that somehow they logically figured out what that being actually wants them to do, it's a completely different kind of managerial ego, because everything they do is sanctioned by perfection, and if their interpretation of his or her omnipotent designs is legally and politically considered to be nothing less than perfect, they tend to believe their actions are irrefutably just.

No matter how cruel.

The residential school presented in Indian Horse doesn't even teach the students real world skills like mathematics or logic, rather it focuses on meticulously studying the bible as if its compelling stories will help them learn how to become accountants or lawyers or doctors.

Thus, as multiple other sources have noted, many students didn't have the skills to find any job whatsoever after graduating, and since many of them had been systematically abused throughout their formative years, many fell into a dire cycle of drug addiction and alcoholism on the streets.

And were plagued afterwards by uninformed cultural stereotypes which developed.

It's not something you just shake off and forget about.

Indian Horse examines a colonized people doing their best to play with a deck stacked against them.

Racism ubiquitously assaults them as they boldly compete, as they regularly face daunting challenges.

One student is gifted athletically and seems poised to make a name for himself in the NHL (Sladen Peltier, Forrest Goodluck, and Ajuawak Kapashesit as Saul).

But he faces internalized demons and mass cultural characterizations that turn the most thrilling time of his life into a harsh struggle.

He would have made a huge difference for any team that had signed him.

If the goal is to win hockey games, why does anything other than one's ability to help teams win matter?

The Shape of Water

An ancient unfathomed independent environmental consciousness is captured and brought back to the United States, in chains, clandestine military operations responsible for its incarceration, it actively expresses its discontent oceanically, stuck within a container in a back room of a forgotten corridor in a decrepit building, wondering why a similar species would proceed so callously, when so much more could be learned under respectful mutual examination?

Others humanistically understand this point, immediately recognizing the unjustness of the circumstances, and unaccustomed to viewing such sincere pain and suffering, decide it's time to uncharacteristically encourage sneaky boat-rocking initiatives.

Introspectively speaking, it's really the brainchild of a lone sweet cleaning person who discovers the aquahumanoid (Doug Jones) throughout the course of her daily labours, tries to make friends, and eventually realizes she cares enough to save him.

With a little help from the ethically inclined.

Her heartstrung horizons.

Symphonically submerged.

Guillermo del Toro's The Shape of Water might not be the best film I've seen this year, but that doesn't mean it isn't my favourite.

It's still incredibly good, and thought provokingly entertains while crossing comedic, dramatic, romantic and sci-fi streams, the resultant energy discharge composed of purest raw loving artistic soul, the delicately distracted uniting to outwit a nuclear family man, in possession of everything people are supposed to desire, accept for his personal accompanying douche baggage.

The film's so well nuanced.

And casted (Robin D. Cook).

So many spoilers.

I have to mention these things.

There's just too much cool in one film.

Like characters from Ghost World decided to take on the army, there's a struggling painter who's lost his cash cow (Richard Jenkins as Giles), a conscientious Russian spy who's more scientist than commie, more concerned with promoting life than objectifying ideals (Michael Stuhlbarg as Dr. Robert Hoffstetler), a splendiferous local cinema that can't find an audience, Michael Shannon (Richard Strickland), Octavia Spencer (Zelda Fuller), multiple cats, pie slices to go, a potent critique of exclusive diners, amorous eggs hardboiled, hilarity ensues as positive thinking bemuses, even the douchiest character makes a reasonable plea for sympathy (he's used to lampoon by-any-means-necessary so well), dialogue heartwarmingly places the "human" back in "humanistic", Nigel Bennett (Mihalkov) seriously impresses in Russian, fellow Canadian actor David Hewlett (Fleming) burnishes the brash bumble, prim cold war ridiculousness with a taste for culinary excess, a bit of gore here and there, Hamilton Ontario's city hall plus the CFL Hall of Fame, methinks, good people given a chance to do something good which they overcome rational fears to do, a sense that everyone loved working on the film, yet didn't let the good times detrimentally effect their performances.

With the incomparable Sally Hawkins (Elisa Esposito) tenderly stealing the show; she has an endearing knack for showing up in the simply awesome.

The plot elements and cool criticisms and situations aren't just a smattering of amazing either, del Toro brilliantly blends them together into a startlingly clever narrative that keeps you acrobatically positioned to appreciate virtuous leaps and bounds, that seem to be vivaciously drawing you into a fantastic day in your life, during which you make a remarkable difference, during which you are the change.

Looking past racially motivated sensation.

Discourses of the huggable.

Like perennial blossoming unassailable fountains of youth.

Spontaneous trips to candy stores.

Artistically crafted vegan ice cream.

Il racconto dei racconti (Tale of Tales)

August propitious enveloping cocoon, swath the embellished confiding ruckus in lavender pretence corresponding can do.

Zodiac.

A mockery.

A complete lack of concern wickedly blended with seditious witness guides Il racconto dei racconti (Tale of Tales) as it dismally lampoons heroic adventure with self-deprecating panache and oblivious tender.

Viscidly challenging you to care for its bland, boring, banal, and bumptious characters, it insolently reminds you that you still haven't left the theatre.

The cinematography's compelling enough (Peter Suschitzky), stating the natural beauty contained herewithin is abundantly more profound than anything these stories have to offer, yet we wrote narratives anyways to illuminate our genuine contempt, for you, asinine aperture, belittle the ebb and flow.

Care for nothing.

Salacious stasis.

The foundations for something more tantalizing laid waste by exasperating lassitude.

Do absolutely nothing, harvest excessive applause.

Galavanting circuitry, crusading camp.

Finsterworld

Emerging from a state of nature to historically contextualize the present, eccentricity multifariously contesting its conditions, authenticity, percolating its plight, poetic instances of curious introspective creativity contentiously enraging the callous, cruelty and innocence sociopathically and lovingly coexisting, tricks, cancellations, balanced asymmetrical genders, beetles and dress-ups and birds, the conformist's intention to ignore, in Frauke Finsterwalder's Finsterworld, a dynamic open-ended multigenerational cross-section, microscopically invested, with macroscopic instigations.

Interpretively dependent.

Spoiler alert.

World War II's legacy haunts the film and difference, while uplifting it to an aesthetic celestial syntax, in various ways, is often contemptuously reprimanded.

The ethnic school teacher who takes his students on a trip to a concentration camp, focussing on its abhorrence, ends up in jail after rescuing a student who's been brutally pranked, giving in to his perverted instincts in the process.

The African character found in the film's final moments is listless and primitive, as seen when a documentary filmmaker ironically visits Africa in search of the authentic, ironic because her visit's based on the recommendation of her policeperson partner, whom she rejects after he reveals he's a genuine furry.

The other german men who salute difference include a pedicurist who takes the dead skin from his clients and then bakes it into cookies which he eventually serves to them as a treat. When one client admits her love for him, he reveals his secret, which is naturally met with ghastliness, although they do end up together.

A school boy who poetically and comically talks to beetles and puppets made out of his hand, reminiscent of Thomas Törless, is assaulted by a wealthy SUV renting tough guy, after possibly viewing his wife relieving herself at the side of the road. The three become quite friendly, when the man who lives in the woods and has just had his dwelling vandalized and bird friend killed starts firing shots from a bridge at the passing traffic, one of them fatally wounding the boy; as if to say that this young Törless's future would unfortunately resemble that of the humble forest dweller, who has therefore spared him a life of loneliness.

The death and incarceration of these two characters (the forest dweller ends up in jail), as well as the rejection of the furry, are perhaps vindicated by the pedicurist's romance, as an elderly german matron embraces difference, perhaps paving the way for a more inclusive cultural frame.

Perhaps Germany is quite inclusive at the moment, I'm just interpreting the evidence provided by this film.

The younger generation's sociopathic rep who doesn't want to accept World War II's legacy and doesn't speak up to save the ethnic school teacher, even though he was the prankster in question, while torturing his helpless victim further in the aftermath by insulting her intelligence, casts doubt on this possibility.

Which makes for a well-rounded albeit bleak conclusion.

To a depressingly thoughtful and brilliant reflexivity.

Outstandingly controversial film.

12 Years a Slave

Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave is an outstanding film, cautiously yet confidently condensing over a decade's worth of lesions into a cruel, wicked, sensitive, combative humanitarian analysis of slavery's perverse apocalyptic logic, without simply establishing stock polar oppositions but still proceeding unambiguously enough for good to be clearly distinguished from evil, this willowing contrast patiently woven by a perceptive painstaking piecemeal punctuality whose periods and com(m)as aren't definitely placed, but rather gradually appear and fade as the years pass, flowing into one another while delineating crescents, conscious of the a/temporal confines of progressive thoughts shortsightedly dominated by racist hierarchical sludge, wherein Christian principles lie in ruin yet are ignorantly and emphatically pontificated nonetheless, this oppressive static systematic abuse inevitably engendering madness, this sustained a/temporal madness captured again and again by the unforgiving sadistic capricious misery inflicted on the suffering, McQueen's morose humble vicious living characters defining slavery's hopeless absolute perfidy, and the monstrous affects of its cultural applications.

12 Years a Slave unreels like a biographical film, but is anything but a simple chronological serialization of events.

Each sequence rather develops an affect of its own, united by the general tragedy, but separate animate pieces still, as if McQueen took the extra time and care to consider each component's vital individuality while crafting it, in order to formally elevate freedom's fluctuating fervours, a voice of protest unconsciously applied, for characters facing the whip for minor transgressions.

Patsey (Lupita Nyong'o) has a small role but she stands out, having delivered the best supporting performance I've seen this year.

She doesn't appear often but when she does she affectively commands every desperate beaten nanosecond, as if, for a brief moment, the entire film solely concerns her, and will only make an impact if she performs second to none.

She also diversifies Solomon Northup's (Chiwetel Ejiofor) character by making a reasonable request which the memory of his former freedoms and hopes to one day regain them disables him from granting.

Thereby further intensifying the madness.

Acting as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Having won the previous year's Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) and Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson) return to District 12 to attempt to resume their normal lives.

Trauma terrifyingly affects them both as haunting memories short-circuit various pastimes.

President Snow's (Donald Sutherland) fascist ideology continues to crush workers throughout the Districts but Katniss and Peeta have given them something to believe in.

That belief steadily intensifies throughout the progress of a mandatory nationwide tour during which they must demonstrate their loyalty.

But fascist kings stack fascist decks, not really even a deck, and an unforeseen revised savage sewer augustly swells, threatening to tether the people's momentum, to a coerced, despotic, desolate, plain.

Upon which obedience is the only option.

There's a lot happening in The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.

Katniss and Peeta's aforementioned trauma adds depth to Haymitch's (Woody Harrelson) character, justifying his excessive drinking.

Rob Ford is not Haymitch. Rob Ford is being legitimately criticized for drinking and driving and smoking crack cocaine. These are things responsible Mayors don't do. These are things responsible people don't do regardless of occupation.

You almost feel bad for Effie Trinket (Elizabeth Banks) as she makes the best of an abysmal situation by seeming to genuinely care about teamwork.

As one of the participants dies during the Hunger Games's Quarter Quell, the sun rises, thereby symbolizing that there is only freedom in death when living under extreme forms of government.

Protests at the highest level do nothing to dissuade Snow's executive, similar mechanisms existing in Canada before Baldwin and Lafontaine introduced Responsible Government.

Katniss's formidable resolve resplendently radiates as if her just constitution was forged by Barton Street Steel.

A crucial moment during which the expediencies of her predicament neurotically test her herculean will exemplifies this in/dependence (beautifully dependent on championing the rights of the helpless).

Trust becomes a critical factor.

The parts which necessitate action don't focus on the violence but rather the obstructions of the civilized combatants.

The film depicts what it could be like to live somewhere where 1% of the population hold 99% of the wealth and there isn't a democratic system in place guaranteeing fundamental freedoms.

Where one size fits all.

Should probably read the books too.