Celluloid

Exotic alternative featherwing fathom

gargoilic flight itinerant strand,

innocuous stride jaded carcajewel

evergreen bowrider enveloped song.

Candid seclusion orcaestral cloister

aesthetic shroud velveteen verse,

enlivening shrug joyous sashay

delicate warmth elusive jive. 

Florentine refresh expedient spine

carmellow marshel floral elegance,

latent liaison subconscious swarm

meteeyore mingle preposterous gala. 

Mulletiquette merge bourgeois rebellion

insincere duty jitterbug vibe,

inarticulate vicar amorphous swathe

imperceptible stave sheer instability. 

Corresponding bloom interactive jam

swaggregatorial watershed wriggle,

comatoastie hyphen weathervanguardian

exclamatartarso baleinear. 

Frivolous foray bootcamp blazer

acrylic scripture limestone blues,

emblazoned barnacle suffrage surge

flagship frugality lunar eclipse. 

Flantrepreneurial blithe cherubim 

chillaxed cupidity fletching flex, 

beeswax brethren strident hive

honeycombrackenrig elixir distilled.

Breathtaking ballast temperamental shrill

awkward improvisation serumdipitous salsa,

by the light of the moon quixotic tenure

fanciful frequencies chill affinity. 

Industrious vision resourceful acuity 

cynosure sideline molecular 'moji,

maneuvering magpie acritical crux

aloof quintessentials brittle substance. 

Wholesome weetabixby homely incandescence

cherished camaraderie curious fold,

coordinates clashing sly dissimulation 

mystical conjuring mercurial clips.

Visual inertia ballpoint pendulum

chime illusion rustic clay,

vehicular speed resilient caution

baroque flow swift currentbun. 

Scrutable swishnet legible squire 

victual varmint dormant chant,

taciturnabout clam androgynous boulang'

satchel neutrino gossamer globe. 

A special time of year.

Romantic. 

Chill. 

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. 😜

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.  

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. 

Here Come the Huggets

A different age, an alternative set of technological gizmos exalting newfound creative freedoms, a family's first concocted telephone begetting recourse grand undisciplined. 

Could it have been that there was once such a time when the queue breathtakingly persisted, and excited peeps tantalizingly awaited the heartfelt call of a friendly admirer?

Imagine the profits made in recent decades with the advent of the cellular phone, whereas families used to have one monthly bill per household they may now have one for each individual family member!

Back in the eighties (or 40s in the Huggett's case), there was usually one bill per household anyways, and if you used your minutes and long distance wisely, it wouldn't wind up costing too much.

But now if you have two or three children along with trusted cells for you and your spouse, you could be paying for many a bill indeed perhaps 5 times as much as used to be spent!

That equals astronomically higher profits for reliable service providers, throw in the requisite internet as well and the resultant sums seem theoretically absurd.

Nevertheless, Meet the Huggetts takes us back to a less interconnected day, wherein which people weren't immersed in the cheshire panopticon, assuming not everyone vigilantly kept track of the comings and scandalous goings of their surrounding inquisitive neighbours back then.

'Twas a time endearing indeed when the pressures of work and play abounded, but with jolly good resilient cheer inherent progression was outfitted accordingly.

However, one had to pay strict attention to the robust means through which incomes were generated, and toe the line with saccharine candour while at times sharing contradictory advice.

Without doing any research I'd wager Meet the Huggetts caused quite a stir in its day, and was indeed known as pervasively popular throughout what has come to be known as Great Britain.

In fact the couple, the titular Mr. Joe (Jack Warner) and Mrs. (Kathleen Harrison) Huggett both found themselves roles in Brian Desmond Hurst's A Christmas Carol (1951) shortly thereafter, and there's even a unique scene where Mrs. Harrison shares a bundle with a character named Joe. 

Back in the film, Mr. Huggett's forced to take debilitating lumps after having stuck his neck out for distant relations, the resonant injustice of determinate blame countermanding innate and temperate self-sacrifice.

An able couple notwithstanding the fluid tribulations of athletic life.

Sometimes it's fun to see cultural codes in action.

Transmitted by a film that never sought preservation.  

What Happened Was . . .

A date.

A get together.

Both parties unsure what to do.

It's their first romantic conversation in a while.

Good impressions sought.

Along with good food.

They both work at a law firm but aren't in possession of law degrees, their crafty assistance still essential no doubt to the smooth flowing distilled jurisprudence. 

Jackie (Karen Sillas) likes Michael's (Tom Noonan) sense of humour and the way he proceeds with a lighthearted touch, no stilted airs or predetermined fussiness generally complicating his reliable work.

She's straight up and borderline daring as she honestly shares pastimes and preferences, with little interest in codes or concealments she genuinely delivers the dependable goods.

But she simultaneously doesn't disseminate emphatic criticisms and dissonant avowals, perhaps not wishing to spoil the evening with ornery uptight imperious outbursts.

Perhaps also she's just sincerely curious and realizes you learn more by embracing interest, or at least may generate something prolonged or won't have to keep meeting new people quite so often.

He's uncertain as to how to proceed since he's suddenly encountered direct honest innocence, and isn't used to unceremoniously sharing honest thoughts and open revelations.

The suppressed yet cognizant snob deep within is overwhelmed by the freeflowing gratitude, and he begins to feel somewhat humble and suddenly re-evaluates his bold declarations.

He also starts telling the truth and feels rather embarrassed as he awkwardly does so, but she's worried she's somehow upset him, he's somewhat blind to the catch he's found.

What Happened Was . . . thoughtfully examines insecurity as it engages in unscripted exploration, suddenly abounding with practical material to realistically characterize imaginative fluctuations.

They're both unprepared for reality but she's a little more willing to experiment.

A perfect film if you're worried about dating.

Or would perhaps rather never abandon the single life. 

After Hours

A strait-laced data analyst embraces his routine (Griffin Dunne as Paul Hackett), predictability the 9 to 5 smoothly flowing trusted and disciplined. 

An imaginative co-worker dreams of something more (Bronson Pinchot as Lloyd), something beyond cold codes and programs, an open-minded journal that promotes diversity.

Paul dismisses the idea even though he likes to read, mundanely ensconced in static cynicism, unconcerned with creativity.

Yet while reading alone in a diner, a single lass takes compassionate interest (Rosanna Arquette as Marcy), and soon they've decided to meet up later, Mr. Hackett moving beyond his narrow confines.

But should he have left inanimate routine inexplicably behind with adventurous longing, to suddenly extend bland limitations past the stilted sure and steady?

How will he react to liaised limbo immersed in scintillating shock, as enigmatic interactions present uncanny striking novelties?

It's as if he's entered Lloyd's journal with blasé editorial intent, the artists suspicious of his lacking spry free-flowing flexibility.

Instinctually composed beyond traditional direction, oddball night owls offer conspicuous fervid nimble characterizations. 

Bourgeois logic remains irrelevant he can't make the adaptations, his hopeless attempts to assert control instigating chaotic tension.

The journal requires inherent variability latent unorthodox unawareness, without patterns pragmatic paradigms smoothly shifting random flux.

The desire to reasonably analyze in search of auspicious thematic cohesion, leaves him synchronistically stranded as he attempts to swiftly improvise.

But the unknown erratic elements adhesively unite through enthused criticism, generating instantaneous aggrieved startling multidisciplinary import.

Perhaps he'll be a manager some day but on this night he has no agency, and must adjust to the ironic insurrection of laidback generally accommodating peeps.

Thus the arrhythmic inconclusive intuitive chill spontaneous tangents, prove that they don't watch cable television or sit back and read the news.

A wondrous lively essential eclective naturally responding with unclassified stamina, finds momentary momentum uncategorized active spiritual flight.

I'm not sure if he's meant to be comic or if he's portrayed in a tragic light.

Which lends the film a bit of mysticism. 

When thinking about it later on. 

With Teri Garr, John Heard, Cheech & Chong, and Catherine O'Hara. 

H😻lidate

Ne'er hath there been a more potent elevation of the single life, or the need to exonerate wisdom as it applies to relationships postmodern.

Sloane (Emma Roberts) can't find a compelling reason to once again seek a significant other, so she's consistently critiqued and patronized by her verbose bewildered family.

"There must be something wrong, you don't look happy, mistakes have been made," there's no end to the traditional censure of her freeform alternative lifestyle.

She grows weary of the pervasive counsel and decides to make a compromise, and searches for someone to date on social festive celebratory holidays.

She finds another who's none too fond of strict definitive attachments, and they begin dating on special days when families expect bilateral union (Luke Bracey as Jackson). 

It seems they have both had their hopes crippled by brash arrogance, while attempting to cohesively bond, the results combative, stern, lugubrious.

They've both been concretely crushed. 

And trust romantic means no longer.

Thus, they get to know each other slowly, one raunchy holiday after another, until they finally agree they've found something worth pursing at other times throughout the year.

A chance to vindicate the single life was lost in desire ensuing, a daring independent serenade left hollow and unrequited.

A series of films could have been made indeed wherein which neither Sloane nor Jackson found love, growing more and more unique as each narrative concluded in flux.

And friendship could have been upheld with sober carry-on longevity, a professional intermittent liaison boldly crafting mature respite.

As it stands, I think people will like it, it's full of sentiment I just don't get, not that the characters aren't amusing, nor the idea somewhat cool.

Perhaps longing for something less superficial prevented me from appreciating H😻lidate, for it briefly seemed debonair eccentric at the irritated outset.

A series about single professionals could work as well most certainly, one which discovers long-lasting meaning through endearing humorous friendship.

Different characters in every episode, different countries and walks of life.

Netflix is super international.

Testing limits across the globe.

Cactus Flower

Spoiler alert.

I wonder what the Me Too Movement would make of Gene Saks's Cactus Flower?

It examines a relationship forged between a middle-aged man and a younger woman. It's mutually consensual and he isn't married although he does fool around. However she thinks he is married and that whenever he heads out with another woman he's actually spending time with his wife. After she attempts suicide he decides it's time to marry her, but he needs to find someone to pretend to be his wife before she'll take him seriously. His older administrative assistant agrees to play the part but as the ruse unreels it becomes clear that she's in love with him. She's eventually had enough and tells her rival the truth, which relieves her of her burden, even if she's still in love. In the end, the doctor (Walter Matthau) realizes he's loved her all along and it's clear they're about to fall for each other. Meanwhile his old partner (Goldie Hawn as Toni Simmons) has found someone her own age with whom she seems compatible.

You could take that scenario and make whatever kind of movie but this version of Cactus Flower's a comedy, complete with loveable wayward cad.

He's living the carefree life of a freespirited duplicitous individualist but he adjusts his behaviour when the situation becomes grim, which doesn't justify the actions he took beforehand, but shows that he isn't devoid of thought or feeling.

Even though he generally proceeds as if nothing could go wrong, when something does he reacts quickly, a tarnished blemished conscience emerging from the depths of unbridled excess.

He gets together with the more mature Ms. Dickinson (Ingrid Bergman) in the final moments which suggests he's left youthful shenanigans behind, and Toni is happy with her newfound beau (Rick Lenz as Igor Sullivan [who reminded me of James Stewart]), and doesn't seem to harbour any resentment.

He's off the hook.

He wasn't a Weinstein, he wasn't forcing people to do things they'd rather not, but he was still behaving controversially without much respect for the opposite sex.

And even after his actions have dire consequences he still behaves deceitfully, yet he's still the champion of the narrative, even if it's a bit of a farce.

I imagine this is the type of narrative Me Too generally frowns upon, the good old boy proceeding sans repercussion, without hindrance, shock, or disgrace, everything still working out in the end.

As the women are written they love him, and it takes grotesque degrees of ridiculousness to engender change, he still shines forth as it happily concludes, nestled within comfortable paradigms.

I'd say it's an old style of narrative if I weren't convinced that just isn't so, As Good As it Gets a striking alternative, worth checking out if you haven't seen it.

I try not to prescribe what kind of narrative to write but Me Too's concerns are genuine.

It would be cool if they were creatively leveraged.

Could lead to compelling new ideas.

Tenki no ko (Weathering with You)

Alone in Tokyo after having made a run for it, Hodaka Morishima (Kotaro Daigo) makes the most of unsettling circumstances.

But good fortune shines upon him, and he soon finds digs and a steady job, searching for different people to converse with, then writing about their random tales.

While he was struggling he sought daily sustenance, and at times it was hard to come by, and one evening while embracing hunger, a fast food serviceperson came to his aid (Nana Mori as Amano Hina).

Later, as fate would have it, she finds herself unaware in villainous clutches, with those who seek to exploit her, when he arrives with earnest daring.

Soon they're dearest friends, thoughtfully navigating the cold world around them, applying logic innocently improvised, perhaps inclined to amorous ascension.

As it rains and rains without pause everyday, Hina possesses a miraculous secret, which becomes a full-time job, a luminous pastime enriching alight.

Yet they both should technically be in school, and authorities are aware that Hodaka has run away, and as freedom becomes less unattainably disposed, the police move in to assert jurisprudence.

But before pressing realities come bluntly crashing down, Tenki no ko (Weathering with You) comments on life on the road, on the non-traditional fluidic path, its characters deep as they envision comprehension.

How first love beyond distress and despair can illuminate so much steadfast life, how the forgotten vivaciously remonstrating can evoke prosperity and happiness.

It's not as cheerful as this perhaps sounds, they do encounter pressure and danger, none of their lives void of hardships, which their friendships soothe and mitigate.

I imagine the film's appealing for youthful and aged audiences alike, for its style is sharp yet light and its content free yet fiercely embroiled.

Its diverse multifaceted script examines difficulties associated with never having time off, the necessity of full-time employment, how hard it can be to find a hotel room, compassionate animal care, conjugal misperception, emotional conflicts embraced as children are raised by others, thriving commerce, an unorthodox feisty existence, as if every scene's integral to the narrative yet still has something to say about non-fictional working life, the pros and cons of picking things up on the fly, strong bonds forged as people innovate together.

The film can be so many things for so many different people, its premise built on controversy, its action elevating resolve.

It's first rate magical realism, which rationalizes impossibility as it critiques the real, abounding with incredible depth, Makoto Shinkai is a brilliant storyteller.

I loved how the animation captures the rain and the story highlights the joys of sharing meals.

A film composed to keep you thinking.

Without abandoning soulful yields.

Incredibles 2

A family of adorable lovingly unique superheroes flexibly recommences its eternal struggle against evil, judiciously reimagining traditional gender roles along the way, as the older kids age, and the youngest multidimensionally explodes.

In Brad Bird's Incredibles 2.

Superheroics having been outlawed, a clever plan is hatched to see them jurisprudently reevaluated.

And as Elastigirl (Holly Hunter) steps up to bravely duel the wicked Screenslaver (Bill Wise), Mr. Incredible (Craig T. Nelson) learns that raising young is quite demanding indeed.

Violet (Sarah Vowell) hopes to date schoolmate Tony Rydinger (Michael Bird) for instance, yet said love interest's amorous memories have dis/enchantingly disappeared.

Little Dash (Huck Milner) is struggling with math in school, and the methodologies once used to solve standard problems have bewilderingly mutated, or so it seems, as Mr. Incredible digs deep to decode them.

And it's discovered that baby Jack-Jack (Eli Fucile) has more gifts than the entire family combined, and doesn't know how to cautiously control them, meaning that at any moment their roof might cave in, if order is not improvisationally substantiated.

As Elastigirl (is there anyone like her in Marvel?) spontaneously adjusts to Screenslaver's mesmerizing theatrics, balance reestablishes itself on the eccentric homefront.

Yet petty grudges against superhero kind continue to frustratingly manifest themselves, and an even more diabolical plan is revealed, one so insidious it maliciously promotes fastidious spectacular ruin.

Forever and ever.

Till the end of time.

Thus, extremist uncompromising villainy once again attempts to delegitimize the genuine, fantastic forces independently existing beyond its limits fuelling it as a matter of uptight principle.

Technology is employed to overcome naturalistic endowments as entrenched ne'er-do-wells continue to malign the do-gooding.

The Incredibles just want to modestly raise a family while thwarting genius crime, that's it, and since they're in possession of what it takes to lock down the ignominiously inclined, why not enable their enviable goals, while simultaneously encouraging a healthy bourgeoisie?

A middle-class?

An everglade?

An engine?

Conan.

A long time ago, when I was obsessed with the films I had been forbidden to view in my youth, one night I saw this cool looking cartoon called The Incredibles, and I rented it, and thoroughly enjoyed watching it.

I'm therefore happy to see Incredibles 2 released so many years later, and find that it fits well with postmodern superheroism.

It distinguishes itself by realistically yet humorously introducing a relatable familial dimension, thereby functioning like a Maverick doubling down within the heavens.

Like Switzerland.

Or the Toronto Blue Jays once they start winning.

Blue Jays.

Chirp chirp.

Lady Bird

At any given historical moment, you have powerful institutions, and powerful men and women who want to play roles within them, whether they be Jedi or Sith, whether they seek power to benefit the many or the few, the institutions exist and they need people to fill them up, in times of economic prosperity or depression, they just keep rollin', just keep rollin' on.

If religion dominates a culture, if a country's most powerful institutions are religious, Sith will be attracted to them, and will cunningly take on roles within to deviously feign virtue as they pursue oligarchic ends.

It's much simpler than launching a revolution, much less destructive, more palatable.

Thus it's men and women who pervert religious virtues for their own ends as opposed to those virtues themselves that are inherently corrupt, and if a cold hearted conniving megalomaniac seeks and gains power within a country dominated by religion, his or her tyranny would likely flourish just as it would within a democracy, assuming there were no checks and balances to restrain them, and they couldn't install loyal servants everywhere in a devout bureaucracy.

In a religious society you therefore wind up on occasion with a ruling elite who care nothing about generosity or goodwill, but are more concerned with holding onto the reigns forever, and acquiring as much personal wealth as they can meanwhile.

No matter what needs to be done to acquire it.

There are of course, other religious individuals, good people who recognize the fallibility of humankind and forgive their flocks for embracing desires that they don't encourage themselves but don't furiously condemn either.

They tend to understand that people are trying to live virtuous lives but can easily be swayed by enticing earthly passions, and spend more time trying to find constructive ends for those passions rather than condemning those who gleefully break a rule or two.

Finding religious people like this requires research and critical judgment on behalf of the curious individual, who may find a chill likeminded community if they search for it long enough.

Beware religious institutions who want large cash donations or think the world is going to end on a specific day or that science is evil or that war or racism or homophobia are good things, or that because someone saw a butterfly everyone should invest in bitcoin.

Perhaps consider the ones which argue that people shouldn't be huge assholes all the time and that communities flourish as one using science like a divine environmental conscience.

Or not, it's really up to you.

There can be a ton of associated bullshit.

But if it can stop you from being angry all the time, it may be beneficial.

In Greta Gerwig's Lady Bird, religious youth rebelliously come of age in a small moderately conservative Californian town, awkwardly experimenting with the will to party throughout, reflecting critically on wild behaviours from time to time.

Guilt and gumption argumentatively converse as a passionate mother (Laurie Metcalf as Marion McPherson) and daughter (Saoirse Ronan as Lady Bird) vigorously solemnize independent teenage drama, unacknowledged childlike love haunting their aggrieved disputes, while im/modest matriculations im/materially break away.

It's a lively independent stern yet chill caring depiction of small town struggles and feisty individualities, with multiple characters diversified within, brash innocence spontaneously igniting controversy, wholesome integrities bemusedly embracing conflict.

None of these characters are trying to rule the world, they're just trying to live within it.

Religion provides them with strength, perhaps because they live in region where it doesn't have the upper-hand.

Loved the "eager-football-coach-substituting-for-the-drama-teacher" scenes.

Not-so-subtle subtlety.

Out of sight.

Trainwreck

Trainwreck provides an unconcerned look at players coming off the bench, of accompaniments, of value-added information.

The overt narrative kept losing me.

But throughout the film there are a remarkable number of scenes that suddenly pop-up and add unpretentious inappropriate callous cheeky depth, again and again, scenes which break through the tedium and nonchalantly confide, like writer Amy Schumer was aware that one component of a bipartisan entity (a relationship) sometimes finds romantic comedies unfulfilling, and cleverly came up with ways to keep them playfully amused.

Excalibur.

Enter LeBron James, who I thought performed well enough, commenting on this and that while exercising a pleasantly absurd frugality.

Brainstorming ideas for new articles at the office offers brief insights into minimalistic discourses of the hilarious.

Check out Daniel Radcliffe and Marisa Tomei.

Dianna's (Tilda Swinton) blunt obstinance proves fertile, like an egg pickled in stolichnaya.

And it's like these subtle snarky distractions are slowly building to a fever pitch, in the form of a well-played quasi-intervention, Matthew Broderick, LeBron, Chris Evert, and Marv Albert sitting in, expressing their interest while coveting the genuine, unexpected and well executed, a welcome late inning strike.

Reminiscent of Rance Mulliniks.

Asteroids.

Escobar: Paradise Lost

The tranquilities of a peaceful life living on a beach teaching surfing unexpectedly mutate in Andrea Di Stefano's Escobar: Paradise Lost, as love magnetically draws a couple together, and a Canadian romantic is suddenly thrust into the world of cocaine exportation.

Tectonic shifts.

Alternative outputs.

The couple is quite young and Nick (Josh Hutcherson) somewhat ill-prepared for his newfound corruptly honourable daily transactions, their relationship fervid and flourishing, his responsibilities, a discombobulating mind fuck.

Kingpin Pablo Escobar (Benicio del Toro) takes religion quite seriously.

He distributes wealth to the people.

He takes care of friends and family.

Requiring strict obedience.

And no nonsense.

The film embraces its haunting naive blossoming recourse to sound polarized youthful degeneration with multidimensional popularized efficiency, almost tumbling off a cliff, the established and the entrepreneur coming together as family, age inspecting its curious new fledgling, love securely blanketing the stage.

The crimes.

A chilling if not formulaic examination of familial stress and stipulated largesse, competing ethical constabularies cauterized in political inflammations.

Nick is forced to adapt as the authorities move in and Escobar downsizes.

To fight back.

To survive.

Solid career move for Hutcherson.

American Sniper

Clint Eastwood's American Sniper is about soldiers.

It's not about politics or asking questions, it's about the people who risked their lives fighting for a cause they believed in, incendiary polemics aside, they were on the ground, fighting an enemy intent on killing them, living through events that would haunt the survivors for the rest of their lives, experiential extracurricular extents, forging bonds through action, teams, through combat.

It's focused on one sniper in particular, Navy SEAL Chris Kyle (Bradley Cooper), with a gift for precision, an eye for detail.

He becomes a legend.

A part of a team, embracing his role as protector, he saves the lives of his fellow recruits time and time again, through vigilance and dedication, making decisions no one should have to make, accepting the consequences, psychologically covering up the outcomes.

Civilian life becomes difficult.

He leaves unfinished business in Iraq, a nemesis at large, who continues to hunt his compatriots, this unnerves him as he tries to live with his family, überconscious conscience, the fall out of his exceptional track record.

Which leads to an exciting Young Guns sequence.

A compelling cinematic interpretation of levelheaded battlegrounded hysteria.

Direct, straightforward, and to the point, while mixing in enough trauma to unsettlingly exfoliate, American Sniper brings together eclectic teams, unified through bitter shattering circumstances.

What actually took place is fictionalized to the point where it makes a strong war film, however, this aspect of its creation makes what actually took place seem fictional, which takes away from its realistic impacts.

But it still salutes the life of a great Navy SEAL who went beyond the call of duty and risked everything to do what he believed was right, individuality within the collective, cohesively functioning as one.

Made the most of the worst possible situation.

Persevered.

Whiplash

Worst case scenario.

From my point of view anyways.

The drill sergeant teacher, militaristic jazz, believing that greatness can be cultivated using cruel ruthless humiliating tactics which psychologically destroy while potentially diversifying.

If you can take it.

If you don't break down as he viciously insults you and contentedly rips you to shreds.

This guy's brutal, a true Full Metal Jacket.

Thoroughly versed in the dark side, he finds an historical example where callous pedagogical shocks produce skills beyond exception, and then tries to recreate the soul crushing circumstances which harshly brought about the virtuosities, not taking into account the uniqueness of the situation, the educational, demographic, individual, historical, and social characteristics at play, difference exploited as a means to oppress rather than a factor to be conceptualized, music isn't war, you're trying to elevate not conquer, you have to push to succeed but you can push without pulverizing, excel without collapsing, although there are people who need the drill sergeant, I simply never understood why.

Was lucky in school. Never ran into teachers like this. I can't function in such environments, just shut down and suffer, can barely think.

Long time since I've been in one.

Whiplash is about a young drummer attending Shaffer Conservatory who is given the opportunity to play in their premier ensemble, and chooses to find a way to become part of its core.

The teacher uses despicable methods which lead to improvements but his heavy hand is too much for the 19 year-old to take.

Bad decisions.

Pushed too hard.

He does excel though and is given the chance to say fuck rather than thank you eventually.

A well-casted examination of emotionally disturbing teaching methods and their outcomes, Whiplash's unquestionable villain sacrifices balance for beatification.

Hoping to nurture sheer brilliance.

Clucking malevolently in the abyss.

Her

Permissive inquisitive supple algorithms congenially contravene age-old courting rituals to ambiguously nurture an amorous electronic aesthetic in Spike Jonze's Her, wherein the app deluge is convivially levied, romanticized as a crush, and poetically prorated.

Her offered me new insights into romantic films.

It's not just that they provide heartfelt diagnoses regarding the ways in which different people express their feelings, it's that they can also take contemporary cybernetic enclosures, themselves revealing significant structural shifts in practical cultural interpersonal relations, and affectively normalize them, an extended divergent 21st century version of Data (Brent Spiner) hooking up with Tasha Yar (Denise Crosby), without utilizing monsters or excessive stubbornness, while still examining issues of be/longing and fidelity, and conscientiously theorizing about what it means to be in love.

That's totally romantic.

Simultaneously virginal and promiscuous, Her socially demonstrates the resonant festive frequency of an open-minded ceremonial cooperative, broken up into jaunty quotidian workplace conversations, support networks, and intuitive streamlines.

It asks, is it odd that Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix) doesn't let himself go, or would his life have been more fun if he had more intently, or is he right to embrace a more traditional lifestyle, preferring the contact of person-to-person multiplicities?

Thereby challenging its viewer's conceptions of in/formality.

Subjective principalities, digitized, anew.

What are those Belle & Sebastian lines from The Model, "the vision was a masterpiece of comic timing, you wouldn't laugh at all"?

They fit quite well with Her.

Although the perfect mom video game made me laugh.

Surprised Joaquin Phoenix wasn't nominated for best actor.

Promised Land

Similar to Django Unchained inasmuch as it doesn't hold anything back, Gus Van Sant's Promised Land provides a polemical analysis of fracking (shale gas exploration), giving ample fictionalized room for proponents and critics to have their say.

Set in a struggling small town, attendantly polarizing economic privilege and historical continuity, differing relationships with land, identity, community, the film persuasively establishes prominent competing practical ideological personalities, each competently nuancing myriad aspects of the debate.

It frankly and freely conceptualizes choice and accentuates the risks associated with maintaining principled stances in opposition to enormous reserves of capital.

And allows each individual viewer to determine their own verdict.

I like taking risks.

I'll go to a casino once a year willing to part with $200 dollars. If I lose it in twenty minutes it's quite difficult to stop playing.

But I do.

I'll try new cheeses, beers, tartares, films, expressions, novels, sauces, ideas, try and predict the outcome of playoff games . . .

But water supplies are not something I like to take risks with. They are critical features of communal environmental well being.

Profits generated from fracking do enable the construction of schools etc. while decreasing a nation's dependency on natural gas imports.

But the likely resultant carcinogenic contaminations will increase medical dependencies as well, thereby placing a further strain on the public purse.

You could get lucky and the procedure may not result in any harmful environmental side effects.

If you don't, you're completely screwed for generations.

The decision seems clear to me.

De rouille et d'os (Rust and Bone)

A principled yet free-spirited man (Matthias Schoenaerts as Alain van Versch), pugnaciously rolling with the punches, salaciously catering to his senses, daunting, brave, unconcerned, and powerful, instinctively yet rationally proceeds within economic and familial domains, until the interventions of both an unexpected expedient consequence and the structural features of the natural world, resolutely challenge.

To break through the ice.

Hedonistic and domestic conceptions of commitment and responsibility transformatively engage in Jacques Audiard's De rouille et d'os (Rust and Bone), as financial arraignments tender psychological grit, and individualistic risk conflicts with collective sustainability.

The crucial component, the displaced modifier, the missing link, is love.

The endurance of emotional pain is maximized in this regard as competing applications of fidelity, flourish.

Through sundry strategic applications.

*Kermode felt the love throughout 2012. Thanks to everyone who enjoys reading this blog. Those who don't too I suppose. All the best in 2013.

**Bears

Here Comes the Broom

In Frank Coraci's new comedy Here Comes the Broom, writers Kevin James, Allan Loeb, and Martin Solibakke seem to be asking the question, "can we unite the domains of high school music teaching and mixed martial arts fighting while wholesomely addressing issues of immigration, dating, professionalism, health care, small business ownership, altruistic risk, male bonding, conjugal relations, etc., in order to create a constructive interdisciplinary framework, overflowing with ebullient feelgoodery, that can function as a precursor to model communal action?"

If this is indeed the question that they at one point asked themselves, I can only respond by saying that, in my opinion, "there is a strong possibility."

The film's a lot of fun.

I've never even really been that into boxing or mixed martial arts fighting but Here Comes the Broom gave me a new found respect for both sports and I'll now be more receptive to viewing 'pugilistic' events in the future.

The film lays it on super thick but I liked its relatable trial-by-fire humbly rebellious we're-goin'-for-it-no-matter-what oddball pragmatism, which offers a welcome break from a lot of the sleaze that's out there.

It also focuses on how prominent integral arts programs can be screwed over by overemphasizing sports while focusing on the ways in which those very same programs are essential to the sports that are sometimes overemphasized.

And points out that even when people have difficulties passing tests, they still often have marketable skills that can be remarkably beneficial to their community.

Liked the synthesis.

All good.