Great Expectations

In ritual exile dismally fastened to permanently unaltered expressive decay, immutably unable to passively nurture piecemeal envisaged newfound exclamation. 

Abandoned on her festive wedding day while guests and relatives awkwardly attended, the resultant scourge cacophonous and shrill so ubiquitously disquieting she never recovered. 

But moderate remonstrance still boldly illuminated less morose pastures actively within, and a young jaunty lass was delicately instructed in the elegant ways of her former bearing.

But to be locked up away all alone with no one to play with throughout the day, lugubriously distressed the forsaken madame who freely set about discovering a friend.

The fortunate boy unaccustomed to sympathy and even less so to ceremonious eccentricity, fluidly fluctuated and instinctively managed to become a friendly playmate as time passed by.

The woebegone heiress still ideally immoveable as the young spirits mischievously opulently swayed, her house remaining lost atemporally defiant not one slight alteration since her wedding day.

No doubt an obsessive reaction stubbornly derelict and obtusely overwhelmed, still somewhat romantic in the execution of so much superfluous ornery extremity. 

She encourages the young girl to be cruel and even states she's free to break the lad's heart, an organ he'd no doubt freely part with should she see fit to impulsively crush it.

But wickedness aside they generally get on and playfully refuse to acrimoniously delegate, Miss Havisham in turn sinisterly supportive of their innocent fanciful nigh endeavours.

The house still doesn't alter and nothing is changed within, the lighthearted youthful imaginative symmetries still widely unable to facilitate thaw.

Even as they age and inevitably drift very far apart joy remains tightly bound, Pip still in love as he always has been, Estella still generally dismissive and bored. 

Miss Havisham still seems to like Pip even if she doesn't mind Estella's curt dismissals, and in the heavenly abridged yet stunning David Lean film she seems somewhat out of touch with her habitual irritation.

Imagine how much more could have indeed been creatively accomplished.

With a series of intricate films.

Challenging discursive conviviality.

Hobson's Choice

A prosperous shopkeep enjoys the comforts of gregarious bourgeois living, his agile workforce securing fresh profits, his lovely daughters managing his home (Charles Laughton as Mr. Hobson).

He gorges himself on plenty with ample criticisms and bumptious dismissals, boasting wildly down at Moonrakers, where he drinks too much on occasion. 

His lordly litanies cumbrously forget the lively existence of others, however, notably his eldest daughter Maggie (Brenda de Banzie) whom he assumes is bound for spinsterhood. 

She's been taking care of the business and is none too fond of the assumption, nor the incumbent caretaking it presumes, nor her lack of daily wages.

She's also aware that one of their employees is a brilliant natural bootmaker, who lacks worldly pretentious ambition, and could use a patron to his advance his skill (John Mills as William Mossop).

So she makes the bold decision to demand he quit and accompany her elsewhere, to open up a new bootshop in fact, and to take her hand in marriage. 

Soon they've lured much of her father's discerning clients to their innovative new brand, and even serendipitously composed an even more vivacious plan.

Take each film on its own nimble merits without drawing conclusions about family or gender, for in so many men have disavowed gallantry, while in many others women have done the same.

It's not my place to generally conclude which sex embraces banality more often, but rather to analyze proposed fictional and truthful evidence to ascertain who has spoiled particular instances.

It's not the safest way to proceed insofar as you wind up critiquing both sides, the level-headed amongst them appreciating the honesty, both sexes at times proceeding in error.

I think the secret is to revel in the difference the opposite gender provides, assuming they aren't physically or psychologically violent, as that gender manifests so many alternative aspects, over the course of a productive lifetime.

I suspect men who love women and women who love men find it much easier to productively live together.

Creating boundaries and mischievous rules for playfully crossing/breaking through rapt contradiction. 

Hobson knows only one boundary that which asserts authoritarian prominence, his subjects none too pleased with his grandiose postures, and willing to daringly challenge and disrupt them.

If you wish to proceed like Hobson, David Lean's Hobson's Choice may be perilous, for it champions multilateral fair play, within which multiple stakeholders prosper.

But if you seek to enjoy a well-crafted film wherein which democratic impulse constructively asserts itself, you may be rather impressed by this Hobson's Choice, which captures the spirit of resilient open-mindedness. 

Summertime

An American tourist, curious and friendly, finds herself effortlessly immersed in Venice, wondrous monuments and sights to see resplendently resounding with ancient mystery (Katharine Hepburn as Jane Hudson). 

She's been saving for quite some time and her heartfelt sacrifice is finally paying off, the food and fireworks firmaments and fortunes felicitously fascinating with feisty fervour.

An enterprising urchin assists her endeavours as she graciously plays the tourist, his incisive knowledge of the local landscape providing entertainment and commercial escapades (Gaetano Autiero as Mauro).

She enters a shop within which a goblet illustriously guides her acquisitive proclivities, the shopkeeper, having noticed her once before, rather enthused by the striking coincidence (Rossano Brazzi as Renato de Rossi). 

Touristic and tantamount dialectic trajectories then tantalize tactician testaments, with sprightly spontaneous quizzical synergies, a night out on the welcoming town.

They hit it off seductively so soulful stature and synchronous surety, things warmly progressing to amorous awestruck inspiring mutual bold acculturations.

But she's only in town for a limited time and her hour of departure is swiftly approaching.

Could something enduring daringly bewilder?

Romantic poise, cavalier composure?

David Lean's Summertime celebrates love and innocent endearing enchantments, letting go to dynamically dream and embrace relaxed excursions. 

Spellbound sentience impressionable guides not much conflict like a favourite pillow, for once risk is resonantly rewarded beyond grief stricken dispatching doubt.

Venice is picturesquely presented an evocative blend of the old and new, at times it's like you're really there with an animate interest in its unique revelations. 

Not that you're trying to see everything you're rather led by convivial impulse, more of a feeling than a prescribed agenda which calmly takes in everything it sees.

As to how to proceed in similar situations I'm afraid I have no advice. I prefer the European style. Ms. Hudson has no regrets.

Jack Hildyard's cinematography breathtakingly captures so many sights and sounds, revelling in the aqueous undulating abundance as aerial vistas abound.

Perfect if you want to learn more about Venice and life and living too.

I hope to make it there one day.

Would be nice to see so much of Europe. 

Madeleine

A flexible titled dreamer finds a new home in Scotland (Ivan Desny as Emile L'Angelier), equipped with the devoted awestruck l'amour of a reputable fervent lass (Ann Todd as Madeleine Smith). 

She's from a stilted family which discourages intrigue however, her love flourishing incognito, concealed in furtive full-on trust.

Her father (Leslie Banks) hopes she'll accept the courting of a well-to-do local lad (Norman Wooland as Minnoch), who's settled within high society and conjugally keen.

He rules their lavish abode with patriarchal austerity, abiding by strict codes of conduct the subversion of which may lead to ruin.

Or the sanitarium or some such place she has absolutely no desire go, the resultant pestiferous pressure overwhelming her romantic longing.

You would hope there would be more opportunity, other options besides a propitious marriage, but these were different times indeed with fewer outlets for spry prosperity.

Her nerve implodes forlorn and lost she breaks off her clandestine betrothal. 

Her lover notably distraught.

And in possession of secret letters.

David Lean's Madeleine interrogates scandal as a matter of propriety, etched deep with the upper echelons indelicately diagnosing disquiet.

Odd to consider that one so well off would be so strictly bound, not with the desire to promote debauchery, but rather without independent means at her disposal.

It's a shame that tabloid fascination reconstitutes festive fetters, the skeptical gaze of the cynical eye necessitating stealth and cumbersome zeal. 

Madeleine does have deceptive means to be elaborately employed, yet her exceptional liberating scheming fails to pass without further comment.

What risk to take the one which leads to less disputatious uproar, or perhaps to nothing at all, perhaps void of thrill or consequence?

Certainly not a romantic take on lauded cherished flush true love, nevertheless unique in its remonstrations in its unorthodox blinding outrage.

Understanding is of critical import from disconsolate passionate perspectives, commiserating comprehensions deconstructed invariability. 

The inviolable traditionalist may regard Madeleine with horror, as endearing sought after outcomes languish in bitter virulence.

But the novelty remains somewhat comic from alternative dispositions.

By no means grand or exemplary. 

But still encouraging greater freedom.  

Blithe Spirit

A pleasant writer eager to diversify festively flirts with paranormal benediction (Rex Harrison as Charles Condomine), inviting a celebrated medium to his estate to engage in freelance séance (Margaret Rutherford as Madame Arcati).

Scientific objectivity and spiritual curiosity conversationally mingle meanwhile, as his second wife prepares for potential skepticism (Constance Cummings as Ruth Condomine), from the close friends they're sincerely hosting. 

The séance begins and things seem a bit odd as they often do when undertakings lack precedent, and when it suddenly ends humdrum happenstance seems to have been reconstituted. 

But Charles is hearing voices that no one else perceives, his first wife having accidentally etherealized (Kay Hammond as Elvira Condomine), and since he's the only one who can indubitably see her, doting Ruth erupts in fury at the loss of his creative mind.

But even if Elvira can't be seen she can still move objects with physical impertinence, and soon Ruth can't deny her presence, or the resultant distraught envy.

Charles is clever and easy going and does his best to hospitably accommodate, although his diplomatic discernment is cajolingly critiqued as both wives crave attention.

Mortality is habitually embittered as Elvira seeks a self-indulged conclusion.

But Ruth falls into the trap.

Eventually returning to assert predominance. 

The intangible substantially elucidates in David Lean's enigmatic Blithe Spirit, wherein which supernatural composure acculturates through mystical reflection.

The urge to forge consensus irascibly flounders as stalwarts inveigh, monogamy championed in the distracted afterlife, expediency heartily obstructed.

The script's a resounding brain feast for film lovers contesting somnambulistic oblivion, Noël Coward delivering literary liaisons conjugally cultivated through cerebral import.

A comic situation which has likely occurred to some erratically estimating generalized quintessentials, as logical improbability reasonably articulates through grand realistic fiction.

Whether or not there's anything to it I admit to keeping an open mind, as long as it doesn't cost more than 5 or 6 bucks, and an elaborate plot can't be detected. 

I was born predisposed to the otherworldly until science started to make much more sense.

Of course there are so many things it still can't explain.

Yet likely will.

Through the passage of time.