Antoine et Colette

Having graduated from the sterile confines of his sentence to juvenile delinquency, Antoine Doinel moves back to Paris where he finds work and independence. 

Alertly dreaming of the wonderful day when he can no longer be hounded by institutions, he buckles down and digs in deep to keep his room while embracing the arts.

While at an intriguing performance with his old school friend René, he notices a stunning brunette to whom he takes a modest fancy.

Consistently seeing her at the same venues he cavalierly entertains, he eventually finds the courage to ask her out to see a film.

It isn't love at first sight though, from her objective point of view anyways, and although they spend a lot of time together, the relationship goes nowhere.

Forget her, M. Doinel, can't you see she'll never love you!

You've been collocated not collected.

The resultant frustration despondently shrill.

Difficult to imagine an otherworldly culture so serious so borderline obsessed, with rules and regulations it doesn't fit the France I'm more familiar with chill and peaceful (from books and films).

I suppose I grew up post-Antoine Doinel when his influence was more widespread, and you no longer had to tiptoe-through-the-meanies with nauseous cryptic jaded dread.

Hopefully this blasé revival of excessively devout austere mendacity, will fade without the dull recognition that any culture could have ever been so boring.

Antoine Doinel's still not the heartthrob more familiar in later films, but he still seeks lavish amorous illusion in this less accommodating fluid short feature.

Ironically getting along so well with any set of parents other than his own.

Nice to see him gathering his own vinyl collection.

Even working for a record company.

Vinyl still blows my mind.

*A couple cool scenes even present the mechanics of the old school vinyl industry. 

What About Bob?

The traditional meeting once a week between the maladjusted and their doctors, the routine format innocently encouraging freeflowing thoughts and observations.

A set time-limit producing boundaries within which to fluidly optimize potential, the information shared creating a narrative through which diagnoses can be stipulated.

The expansion or contraction of the framework occasionally necessary confidentially speaking, as dull humdrum repetitive stasis ridiculously shifts into ludicrous gear.

The quaint determination of coordinates bringing psychiatrist and patient together outside the office, likely universally frowned upon as far as professional relationships go, the possibility of misguided friction leading to awkward unorthodox quandaries, inherently structured by comic accident but at times reaching obsessed despondency.

The giving of advice so often unrewarded and intermittently resented by the genuinely insane, who can't accept a humble position within any sociocultural contract.

Tender affection can also characterize habitual desires to play or fraternize, degrees of comfort misread misinterpreted as unexpected meetings flow.

While the offering of modest counsel hopes to clarify points of confusion, the continuous embrace of unsolicited comment forged through madness can churn and fluster.

What seems irritating to you in consistent surprising recurrent conversation, may seem much less irksome to others who only entertain it in modest intervals.

As you point out your irritation and they swiftly counter with disbelief, the vexation itself can exemplify the obnoxious development of a syndrome.

If typically ensconced meaningfully within a reasonable scientific realm, burgeoning unacademic study may stifle clear-headed lucid imagination. 

Generally confined to the family unit it seems rather harmless as expressed by children, but continual confrontation with compulsive lunacy can sincerely obfuscate acute illustrations.

Steadfast reason having maladroitly transformed into random illogical glib orchestrations, dependable equilibrium wildly shuts down and leaves incoherent tense bewilderment.

Thank god for the onset of summer gleefully shouts parents everywhere.

Who have hopefully found enough time.

To regroup, decompress, and sterilize. 

Our Hospitality

Age old insuperable intransigence malignantly motivates unforgiving distemper, a feud established so long ago no one knows why it began in the first place.

Over the years, as stubbornness seethed, convivial enterprise vigorously adapted, and widespread prosperity and temperate goodwill socioculturally spread across the fruitful land.

But not before two inconsolable brouhahas inscrupulously dealt each other fatal blows, their families left to struggle without fathers at a time when few theoretically remarried.

The one child is sent far away to be industriously raised in an oblivious city, wherein which the disillusioning feud no longer holds insalubrious sway.

He learns the subtle and occasionally rambunctious urbane arts of metropolitan life, blissfully unaware of the agéd imbroglio still unctuously upheld by brooding strangers.

It's really just one person cantankerously clinging to tradition best forgotten, the world having changed and diversified everywhere else leaving the children he cares for judiciously unconcerned.

They still want to please their family and abide by old school oligarchic orthodoxies, but they're close to asking themselves why bother? when we can take the train to Cleveland!

After learning of his enticing inheritance Willie McKay (Buster Keaton) returns to his family's domain, completely unaware of the histrionics that once cruelly governed their active degeneration. 

Unfortunately, his malcontent rivals still hold fast to the disenchanting dispute.

Even though their sister's invited him to dinner.

And he soon comes calling inquisitive resolute.

Honesty and integrity must still reverberate within consistently shifting sociopolitical sentiments, as if tawdry banal disingenuous cynicism has yet to overwhelm pleasant endeavour worldwide.

Why hold on to the carnal irreconcilability as it lays waste to generous collective innocence, cultivating a nation of vicious wolves with nothing to feed on but each other?

Note the habitual contentment of endemic zebree and industrious thriving aloof water buffalo, who agreeably eat various plants and efficiently prosper with genuine bemused sincerity. 

The animals who prey upon them strike primarily at the young and old as well as the weak and the infirm, why is such behaviour honourably regarded, is it not intensely revolting?

In a complex film still remarkably relevant Buster Keaton challenges grievous prejudice, and finds an hospitable amorous alternative upon metamorphosing Victorian currents.

Incredible how well each intricate scene is multidimensionally and playfully constructed.

Still an effective way to tell stories.

Such a shame, the warlike reemergence. 

A Woman of Paris

A curious belle habitually considers the manifold opportunities awaiting in Paris, should she be able to cleverly break free from the dismal prison her father's constructed.

A local lad to whom she's betrothed ventures forth one evening in aid, and after her father discovers she's fallen in love he locks his door to her forever.

The lad's own father is also unimpressed and refuses to provide his heartfelt blessing, but as she buys their dependable train tickets, he suffers a fatal collapse.

She doesn't wait around however and years later she's settled à Paris, dating the richest man in town and rather taken with the luxury.

He's quite the cad notwithstanding and even though he does enjoy her company, he's too much of a carefree schmoozer to seek her hand in objective commitment.

Her former belovéd arrives in town and hasn't forgotten how things once were, hoping to secure a rapprochement yet somewhat crestfallen by how much things have changed.

The plutocrat finds it rather comic until he discovers he's quite distraught.

Tragedy awkwardly ensuing.

Remarkably different how things might have been.

I suppose if you're born into a family that takes particular guidelines seriously, and you mature respecting various categories that may have been established regarding oblivion, the earliest ones encountered being somewhat less scandalous, that when you consider historical narrative conventions, one naturally concludes that in the past they must have been stricter.

Since the past indeed took place at an earlier stage and your earliest stages were indeed quite wholesome, the emergence of contemporary scandal a hundred years ago seems out of touch with spiritual computation.

I've heard from time to time that comedic actors hope for dramatic roles, and want to break through in serious films from a desire to develop increasing clout.

But should contemporary comedians consider Charlie Chaplin's genius, what a great thought I had the other day, just watch Chaplin's films for weeks, and the ways in which his comedic films far outweigh his dramatic endeavours, and, to add further emphasis, remain more appealing than so many contemporary dramas, perhaps such comedians shouldn't feel quite so downtrodden, should they rarely abandon humour.

Although comedy has changed remarkably what would Chaplin be creating this postmodern day?

That's a question that should be asked.

I enjoy his dramatic films, but his comedies usurp reason. 

Kari-gurashi no Arietti (The Secret World of Arrietty)

Life proceeds as it always has within a naturalistic microcosm, a loving family nestled tucked away, eagerly searching for vivid adventure.

The adults exercise sincere caution when engaged in thrilling pursuits, age and impertinent patterns having cultivated guarded prudence.

But the world is new for their sprightly offspring who freely seek characteristic difference, and there's so much activity beyond the gates that they can't spend every day inside.

Potentially inhospitable giants reside alone unaware nevertheless, until one of their observant children happens to notice Arrietty (Mirai Shida).

Desires for friendship and nascent networking encourage them to get to know one another, but old school astute and fatalistic reckoning has classified their interactions strictly anathema.

Harrowingly so, for soon Shô's (Ryûnosuke Kamiki) caretaker is aware of the little people, and sets out with pernicious particularity as if their home's been invaded by pests.

Father (Will Arnett as Pod) is aware that they've been detected and has a plan to swiftly escape, but not before dire search and rescue is trepidatiously necessitated.

Unfortunately, the interrelations thus proceed upon austere lines. 

But aren't the affects so much more disconcerting?

When environments cast contemporaneous loci?

Or perhaps there's some harmonies at least resulting from a harmless family that's forced to move, more so than those which would have also resulted from the relocation of deer or wildebeests (thus the harmful impacts of having to relocate any person or animal are maximized)? 

Isn't it an honourable feature of global sociocultural relations, that those possessing enormous wealth use some of it to help care for their fellow citizens?

Perhaps by keeping the factory open while providing a decent wage, so people can squabble about abstract phenomena as opposed to requisite needs.

Heartfelt thanks in turn reciprocated at times for the sustainable way of life, notwithstanding essential arguments which inevitably develop through social interaction.

Perhaps it's just that episode of Heartbeat that I saw so many years ago that keeps such an innocent idea alive, but when it works don't you have more prosperous communities with less crime and more exciting pastimes?

A tragic loss as Arrietty's family is forced to abandon their heartfelt home, and find somewhere else to creatively envision august romance and practical tools.

Ghibli's coveted sense of honest wonder endearingly guides peaceful thoughts throughout.

Communal comfort cozy quarters. 

Interspecial import.

Incumbent fair play.  

Dolittle

An eccentric doctor imprisoned by grief makes the most of his settled routine, taking care of an eclectic menagerie while managing a cloistered estate.

But his seclusion is to be interrupted as a royal patron beckons, she's fallen ill and can't find a cure and knows Dolittle's (Robert Downey Jr.) honest and true.

He's a gifted polyglot as it were who can speak with each and every animal, applying his unique talents to the inviolable veterinary, unravelling inextricable enlivening Beatrix.

Diplomatically assuaging instinct.

To facilitate communal fluencies.

Those who would dispose of the Queen (Jessie Buckley) are none too keen to see him enlisted, even if his quest is against all odds. It's been years since he's left his domain. But he proceeds with animate rigour.

They follow him anyway with villainous intent well-endowed with extraordinary resources, but he possesses adaptive extemporaneous finesse, and can make adjustments which variably avail.

Aided by another who also loves animal kind, they set forth with noble purpose, to break free from slack despondency, and seek robust unheralded virtues.

Clues have they which may lead to nimble fortune.

In defiance of time and tide.

As raccoons shift and sway.

Their voyage symbiotically commences.

The film excels at employing whale kind to assist with bold navigation, briefly granting services submerged to accelerate adventurous import.

Ravages wrought on fierce independence aren't overlooked or casually conveyed, for a tiger has been driven mad by his confinement, incarcerated in vengeful chains.

A cohesive group, gregarious gallantry, enables velveteen execution, a binding adherence to mutual respect reifying the superlative laissez-faire.

In surest action.

Melodiously disposed.

Avidly progressing from trial to predicament, the film perhaps revels in augmented haste, rarely pausing to rear and reflect, instantaneous unimpaired impacts.

Its target audience unperturbed by the steady alert quickening, direct meaning addressing identity, reactions brisk to untold considerations, Dolittle's less concerned with mature obfuscations, immersed in innocent wondrous candour.

Assured unbeknownst lackadaisical ingenuity, it may be easy to find faults, but would a 5-year-old care?

Cool animals.

Spirited goodwill.

Mad Dog Labine

Left to fend for herself after her family takes off for the bush, Lindsay Labine (Ève-Marie Martin) shyly chills with her closest friend.

Things are quite lax in their small Northern town, since most of the residents are in fact gone.

A certain carefree yet hesitant innocent composure qualifies Lindsay's investigations, as if she's upset yet sure and steady, and finds herself generally unsupervised.

Free to explore what she will.

The people who have stuck around forge an eccentric free form instinctually unorthodox eclective of sorts, sincerely expressing themselves beyond the cold master narrative.

Unrestrained movements and cheeky proclamations intermingle with articulate considerations, as if the particular is joyously asserting itself unobserved, and it's not just the adherents of discipline and punishment who claim to respect alternative lifestyles decompressing, they're gone too, in fact it's more like the people actually living alternative lifestyles are no longer weighed down by generic prescriptions, at all, as if gasoline's been replaced with bird song, or the poets gracefully control The Republic.

Temperate freelance watershed inkling.

Like everyone's self-employed.

Or things are way more raccoon than cat or dog.

Labine's town's suddenly like an unscripted curious jocose home on the range, with a library for city hall, its stories blooming with vibrant life.

Traditional outlets for order and authority no longer unconsciously coordinate, as random ideas seek novel justifications.

A peaceful sense of lighthearted relaxation begins to permeate concrete conditionals, as if experimentation can creatively sojourn, regardless of old school superstition.

Lindsay's somewhat shy but actively takes part.

It's quite sad when she's tricked in the beginning, but she's resilient, she bounces back without hesitation.

Look for the moment when she overcomes her shyness and joins in with the revelry around the campfire.

You'll see a beautiful, timid, elfin spirit, who has trouble fitting in, wondrously expressing herself.

The moment's rich with belonging.

Like electric jade.

Compositionally ground with hug power.

Cool film.

*The situation in Mad Dog Labine is quite different from that which may arise from a flood. In the case of a flood, if authorities do suggest you leave your home, it's probably in your best interests to do so, since they likely know what they're talking about. And floods can be very dangerous.

Blair Witch

Disbelieving ingenuous pups curiously travel to the woods at play, bark bark, in search of a sister long lost in legend, guided by hoaxes on trial by fire, unaware of omnipresent psychotic denizens, gleefully clattering while setting up camp.

And what to make of the legend, of the menace, the malevolence, terrorizing the Black Hills Forest for centuries, misguided punishments generating extremes eternal, no reasoning, no guilt, just blind infinite pernicious ambition, for anyone who comes near, for everyone entering the forsaken domain?

Be good they say, well-mannered, tip-top.

Criticize they say, contradict, rise up.

Occupy middle ground, regard each encounter as a fresh set of downs, proceed seriously, jovially, mischievously, passively, formidably, keep that yap shut, freely express every thought, beware of unknown exhilarations of maniacal metaphorical interpretations of attired discourse, as you seek that coupling, that panoramic, as punishment after punishment punishes your unwilful disobedience, and the subjects you choose to stitch and braise.

And flay.

The weather.

It was nice today.

Talk more.

Revolting.

Why are you so quiet?

You must be a snob.

I suppose the film's alright.

Not much to it besides what's to be expected and a clash between locals and outsiders.

And drones.

Classic let's do it again and cash-in.

Contextually.

Indubitably.

Happy Halloween!

Les Aventures de Chatran (Fantasia Fest 2012)

One day Chatran's living with her mother and siblings on the farm, the next, she's floating downriver in a wooden crate, timorously preparing herself for life's unexpected verisimilitudes.

Her friend Pousquet chases after her and is always there in her time of need.

As her hesitant curiosity cautiously explores her new environment's mysterious terrain, collecting eclectic sensory stimuli as she travels through the countryside, a steady approach is diversely enacted, aided by her instinctive elasticity.

Making friends while avoiding the overbearing.

And verdantly investing in deciduous synergies.

La hérisson (The Hedgehog)

The film version of Muriel Barbary's L'elégance du hérisson (The Elegance of the Hedgehog) presents several of the novel's intriguing developments in a necessarily condensed form. Paloma (Garance Le Guillermic) still wishes to commit suicide and Renée Michel (Josiane Balasko) is still the secretly atypical concierge, reluctant to engage in personal social interactions with her clients. Screenwriter and director Mona Achache negotiates the tempestuous gulf providentially cultivated between a character's thoughts in a novel and their depiction in a film by having Paloma shoot and narrate a documentary throughout, thereby maximizing the number of literary ideas transmitted without relying to heavily on intrusive objective narration. The introduction of Mr. Ozu (Togo Igawa) is much more subtle in the novel and his perspicacious intuition comes across as somewhat larger than life (if not forgivably endearing). Paloma's acute perceptively dour psychological observations incisively and playfully occupy its forefront, while Renée's metamorphosis gradually picks up steam. Not sure what either Barbary or Achache are saying by having Renée die as soon as she begins to transcend her preoccupations with her thoroughly researched conceptions of her culture's general attitude concerning her personality as it relates to her job, apart from the fact that it dissuades Paloma from committing suicide, but that's another matter. Thoroughly entertaining, piquantly quizzical, and enigmatically enlightening, Achache's film compliments Barbary's novel even if their relationship could be a little less direct.