Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun (My Neighbors the Yamadas)

Difficult to critique a Ghibli so let's try the following context:

It's possible that Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun (My Neighbors the Yamadas) was made for television, it does resemble many of the homely afterschool specials I watched in my youth, with an ordinary family doing ordinary things while at times engaging in bold acts of daydreaming.

It seems like it would meet with ecumenical approval amongst various churches across the land, even though it's irreligious culturally speaking, its awkward examination of a traditional family still likely to be lauded by worldwide censors.

Simultaneously, it generally concerns itself with hokey materialistic conundrums (obvious issues that arise between people trying to co-habitate), meaning that it also would have likely met with the applause of the Politburo. 

The film is kind of like sitting through church and singing along with the canonized hymns, which don't motivate like jazz or pop yet still make you feel constructive and communal nevertheless.

If looking for a film hoping to keep couples together, Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun functions like a televisual minister, and uses age old quotidian examples to exoterically dissuade any thoughts of divorce.

Grandma's kind of funny at times, as she routinely airs her grievances, like the feisty grandmother from The Garfield Christmas Special, proud and determined to defend her utterances.

The animation is different from the other Ghiblis I've seen and is oddly much more like Beavis & Butt-head. It must have been a popular style at that time. I was a bit surprised to see something similar in a Ghibli.

It's strange how the films to be approved of by totalitarian theocracies or communist states, are both so incredibly unappealing if you don't find yourself forced to applaud them. 

You would think that in 100 years the Soviets would have produced more than one Elem Klimov, something to look into I suppose, religious traditions not faring much better (there's also Tarkovsky).

Nonetheless, if you find yourself living under such a regime and you want to produce something that won't get you shot, you could use Hôhokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun as a working example, as you curse your historical epoch.

Can't public well-being and the postmodern consciousness not spiritually blend through environmental metamorphosis?

Isn't that what's happening this Summer!

With so many Northern Lights.

It's a natural trend!

Living in Oblivion

Nerve infiltrates compacted peaceful slumber, as unspoken grim anxieties manifest bold social daring.

The act of producing low-budget melodrama generates distracting emotional tributaries, the resultant active jocose jubilee a startling frank holistic wonder.

Much of the action doesn't technically take place even if it still seems realistic, as if the tremors could tumultuously tantalize with neither shock nor animate discord.

As if this kind of thing routinely radiates fluid fluctuation, the finished product an ironic miracle when compared to remonstrations on set.

As if it's just as thought provoking to showcase inherent volatility, as schemes daydreams schematics soporifics seductively succour dis/continuity.

From back in the metaday when filmmakers were more concerned with layers of meaning, and creating remarkably clever scripts, Living in Oblivion proceeds self-reflexively. 

Language employed is critically analyzed as harmless accidents beguile tactile speech, and worst case scenarios disconcertingly duel with resonant rascally aggrieved reverie.

During this heyday way back in fact when I was but a wee ginger lad, I thought it would be cool to create a film adorned with a making of feature which was a common practice at the time.

But I also thought it would be cooler to include an additional making of feature about the making of feature, and then a third making of feature for a 4-disc set in compulsory total.

Thus, there would have been a making of the making of the making of feature to be found in the crazed metaconceit.

Perhaps with each making of feature shot in a different genre.

Sort of like Inception in a way (had this idea before I saw Inception [did Inception indirectly signal the end of the metacraze?]).

The key would have been to apply as much sincerity to each and every making of film (and make sure they were all at least 90 minutes in length).

Probably would have taken too much time.

But the finished product would have been exceptional.

Living in Oblivion bluntly impresses with endearing heartwarming chaotic charm, its agile breakdowns and plump peculiarities highlighting earnest lackadaisical indiscretion.

Daydreaming with 30 seconds to spare.

Latent practicalities of a dream sequence.

The perfect take's emergence.

Obduracy in charge.

Its title's well-suited to a pandemic as meaning consistently shifts and sways.

Found another Steve Buscemi Criterion (Nick Reve [Buscemi doesn't show up in spellcheck!])! 

With Peter Dinklage (doesn't show up in spellcheck either), Catherine Keener, Dermot Mulroney, and Tom Jarmusch (shouldn't show up in spellcheck). 

Doug's 1st Movie

Daydreaming can be a trusty friend if it doesn't interfere with material necessities, at least I've found that healthy daydreams consistently revitalize inanimate life.

Not to be taken too seriously yet not to be dismissed offhand either, the careful maintenance of lively imagination is a helpful tool for countering malaise. 

Doug's 1st Movie captures this potentiality with active assertion and cerebral levity, as Doug's (Thomas McHugh) prosperous lighthearted daydreaming productively blends highest hopes with bewilderment.

He's faced with a daunting challenge after a pesky lake monster befriends him, and he discovers that local waters have been overwhelmingly polluted.

With the help of his trusty friend Skeeter (Fred Newman), they alert the local authorities, but the principal culprit owns most the town, and heavily influences trusted news outlets.

It's strange how polluters spend so much money advertising that they're environmentally friendly, a comparison between oil sands documentaries and industry ads providing an example of bleak disparity.

In Doug's 1st Movie a legion of well-heeled minions rivalling Sejanus's network of spies, is instantaneously and elaborately employed once the threat to Mr. Bluff's (Doug Preis) business is detected.

But rather than spending so much to conceal a reality that pejoratively effects the health of the town, why didn't he spend a commensurate amount of casholla actually cleaning up the polluted lake?

I suppose it's ideological, it's the belief that pollution isn't harmful, and the exponential generation of profits sacrosanct, devoutly tilled and strangely upheld.

Thus, a portion of the operating budget (or some budget or other) is spent casting a rosy image of disastrous environmental effects, to uphold an ideological perspective that equates health with profit generation.

I don't want to see people out of work, I'm in favour of patiently making industry as green as possible without job losses, I'm certainly not ideologically opposed to industry and the ways in which it sustains the livelihoods of so many.

But spending so much to suggest industry has no serious environmental effects, when that money could be alternatively used to mitigate them, doesn't make much sense to me, and many many others.

Fortunately, Doug's also prone to daydreaming which keeps his mind active and imaginatively composed, giving him the strategic hypothetical wherewithal to keep his new monster friend hidden for quite some time.

A surprisingly relevant take on sociopolitical relations, this Doug's 1st Movie packs a precocious punch.

A solid introduction to unfortunate realities.

Composed through thoughtful reverie.  

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

Monumental shifting shocks born on the strings of unexplored imaginary rifts, celestial seasoning, rhizomatic reveries, driven by the emergence of an affective resonance, accelerated paramount experiential zeitgeists, their heights represented by the pursuit of the elusive snow leopard within the Himalayas, upon which Walter Mitty (Ben Stiller) meets the legendary Sean O'Connell (Sean Penn), whose carefree incomparable precision counters Ted Hendricks's (Adam Scott) callous downsizing, impromptu communal exercise, a spirited abounding break.

This is more than just a journey of discovery.

It's a sudden apprehensive full-throttle embarkation, synthesizing the subjective, the romantic, the practical, and the abstract in a hesitantly audacious leap of faith in oneself, the amorous tenacious logic of risk, a quasi-archivist in search of a lost record, love, adventure.

The excursion assists in the development of his eHarmony profile.

Individualistic styles contrast corporate bottom-lines through the art of naturalistic photographic bewilderment, patiently awaiting the arrival of a highly sought after enigmatic boon, having meticulously yet not fastidiously set-up the shot, while remaining somewhat aloof, interruptions noted but welcome, the evidence secondary to the ensconcement, a mature modest chime hallowing the apprenticeship of bliss.

And freedom.

For a windswept mellow-set Béla Flecked rougir.

Loved the discussion of Bowie's Space Oddity.