Oliver & Company

Suddenly left on the side of the road in a box with several brothers and sisters, a young kitten struggles to comprehend the pressing misfortune closing in all around him (Joey Lawrence as Oliver). 

As fate would have it, he's left on his own, to swiftly intuit sundry sights and sounds, a lone dog taking note of his predicament, then enlisting his aid in an inspired heist.

Said heist proves rather successful but the trusting kitting is denied his fair share, the happenstance hound heading back to his troop to generously provide them with nutritious booty.

The kitty follows at dangerous speeds through perilous traffic and irate exclamations, fortunately locating the harangue hideaway before awkwardly crash-landing in the midst of the feast.

The startled pack isn't intently critical and in fact takes a shine to the curious kitten, freely rewarding his innate courage and granting him space to relax and unwind.

Everything isn't as harmless as it seems there's indeed diabolical parlay outstanding, their owner Fagin (Dom DeLuise) heavily indebted to one Mr. Sykes (Robert Loggia) who calls in the loan.

Desperate to pay back the money with no tactile means at his hapless disposal, volatile elaborate reckoning soon wildly instigates beguiling fathoms. 

Still inherently cute and cuddly even if mature themes at times disgruntle, the latent injustice picturesquely pronounced by the undeniably acute adorability.

Age old class tension gives way to reason as unintentional cruelty morosely erupts, the tender heart naturally accommodating free-flowing wonder and innocent guild. 

Fagin's somewhat different in this version which loosely sticks to the lithe Dickens classic, even though he's overtly destitute his homegrown caring spirit still radiates wealth.

I don't know much about money and I'm certainly no financial advisor, I do know that people who spend more than I do tend to seem like they're having more fun.

I've often felt like I've missed out because I never took a trip to Paris on Visa, I'm glad I don't have the debt, but still wish I had the eclectic memories. 

I'd advise caution when borrowing money and doing the math before taking a loan, if math's not your thing ask someone you trust for help, interest adds up quickly in lopsided circumstances.

Disney takes a hard look at urban life in this one as animation captures fast paced discretion, friendship and upstanding dependable camaraderie agilely lighting the industrious fore.

Be careful when taking on debt but make sure not to ignore the versatile human factor.

How many ways has it been said?

Some day I'm going to the SPCA.

The Toy

A struggling writer suddenly finds he needs to come up with 10 grand, and has no job or book to speak of, but he's soon able to land a cleaning position, which he approaches with rowdy gusto, without a worry or care in the world (Richard Pryor as Jack Brown). 

He's somewhat too free-wheeling however, and soon he's reprimanded by his irate boss (Jackie Gleason as U.S. Bates), for disrupting the free-flow of his staff's communal meal, he's swiftly and firmly terminated.

But he doesn't leave he keeps on workin', still finding the time to wildly play, with showcased items in the toy department, while impressionable onlookers beam (Scott Schwartz as Eric Bates).

The curious shocked enthusiastic lead happens to be the boss's son, and he's been told he can have anything he wants, he rapidly chooses Mr. Brown.

Brown is instinctively aghast regarding the spur of the moment proposal, and has no interest in becoming a nanny, especially to a child so full of disrespect. 

But the father offers him ample compensation although it's not enough at first, but there's nothing he can do, the kid genuinely likes him.

His spirit's much more in tune with universal social democratic freedoms, and he's like nothin' Mr. Bates Jr. has seen before, at either the military college he glumly attends, or in his father's department store.

Brown teaches him about constructive criticism and enjoys the vast critical resources at his disposal.

Imagine pulling that off.

Unparalleled extrapolation.

The Toy bluntly examines taboo potentially shocking unsettling subjects, which may explain why it's somewhat hush hush, and might make a solid Criterion. 

It should be widely commended however for its frank condemnation of racism, and the ways in which it creatively vilifies high stakes segregating disparate tension. 

It also takes a heartfelt look at friendship with sincere honest and caring simplicity, an age-old traditional instructive strategy which produces results if not too sentimental.

If friendship did wholeheartedly flourish beyond race and financial divides, I would imagine the world would be much less violent, considering the catastrophic warlike Putin.

If there's too much of an emphasis on individualism teamwork falls by the arrogant wayside, but if the community becomes to one-dimensional alternative expression blandly suffocates.

Look for the historical periods where the golden mean consistently thrived.

Mutual respect incorporated.

Happenstance heartfelt harmonies. 

Houseguest

A young ideas man diligently dreams about a much larger monthly income (Sinbad as Kevin Franklin), invariably believing he'll find a way to conceptually cash in.

Un/fortunately, this habitually leads to difficulties paying his bills, since the working world consistently eludes him as he haphazardly seeks instantaneous riches. 

Due to his lack of funds, he decides to borrow from alternative sources, who send their goons a' rambunctiously calling after he fails to pay off his debt.

They're also outrageously charging an unattainable extra 45,000$, which leads to an impromptu departure for the nearby local airport.

As fate would have it, a suburban success happens to be awaiting an old friend as he dips and dodges (Phil Hartman as Gary Young), an old friend whom he no longer recognizes after a 25 year interlude before social media.

Kevin claims to be the old school friend and soon he's resting safe in the 'burbs, with his own room and hot meals no less, and the family's unconditional trust.

He presents an alternative disposition on festive occasions and in general conversation, to the one their neighbours are used to, although the shocks are intriguingly harmless.

But he lets a close friend know of his whereabouts with the goons still eagerly searching. 

Will they expose his endearing ruse?

And force him to work for a living.

Had he been less of a romantic his expedient mendacity may have inspired concern, for seeing the heartfelt efforts of the kind and well-meaning taken advantage of can be unnerving.

But he wasn't about to generate offhand long-lasting disingenuous schisms, at least not after hanging out for awhile, and starting to seek genuine friendship.

I imagine if no one wanted to work the maintenance of some infrastructure or other would prove disastrous, and preponderant chaotic uncertainty would wildly reign with emphatic triumph. 

But why should so many spend so much time working while so many others have nothing to do, the latent desire to freely laze about not the exclusive psychology of the rich and famous.

A popular idea espoused by many which still passionately persists this postmodern day (although you rarely hear about it), and brought about constructive socioeconomic developments like the 40 hour work week, sick days, and vacation pay.

It seems like a friendly compromise since there's work but also time for family.

Infrastructures will no doubt endure.

As should the practice of adopting houseguests.

The Entertainer

Archie Rice (Laurence Olivier), a struggling performer, the thrill of the stage, pressing forward ever onwards, hypothetical airtight integration, elastic dynamism salacious foothold.

Perpetual indulgence subjective omniscience fragile attachments paternal reprimands, constant motion deconstructing the breeze, leaving behind scattered remnants of ripe potential (he always knows what to say, or at least always says something).

Pressures paramount tactile gravity hands-on harkened hexed hashed haberdashery, innate insouciance magnetic pulse wayward rhythm irresistibility (people love him).

The hand that's dealt enriching bluff prevarication, smooth operation bewildering necessity (he's creative).

Extolled acquiescence resigned caricature agile concise persevering flexibility, dismissive of resonant embanked calculus, he'd be lost if he wasn't adrift (he's broke).

His inspired reactions lack sympathy for his loved ones, who've grown weary but haven't withdrawn.

Not one to dwell on the past or much besides the immediate moment, he tries to find revenue to launch his new show.

The moment dictates how he'll act and he can no longer write his own cheques.

But he'll do anything to secure independence, no matter what it might dutifully cost him.

Not that he isn't in fact independent, I'd argue he's never known fetter or chain, not that there aren't obligations he negotiates, he just always does so with purest freewill (not me).

In every conversation there's an anecdote or comparison, a reminiscence, a synthesis, a parallel, some truths requiring absurd empathy, as he pulls everyone into his sphere.

He's the kind of person who makes for great conservation and if things aren't too serious a reliable friend, especially if you happen to be in a pub, or heaping praise on his struggling show.

He's aware of responsibility and wants to be responsible but his fluctuating lifestyle makes it quite difficult, he has to create both audience and opportunity and build on whatever momentum's available.

If it's lavish, well then, he's responsible, and if not, fugaciously so.

Things haven't been lavish for some time and people have become rather critical.

But he's far too carefree for critiques, and does his best to verbosely withstand.

The Entertainer presents a showperson who's also a husband, father, and son, who isn't so far gone he's insufferable, but is still by no means sure and steady.

The attention to detail's incredible and it aptly entwines cerebral senses, less luscious conceptions of performance critiquing rowdier, gaudier ways.

Plenty of character, comedy, tragedy, inherent intrigue residual calm, a fascinating script by one John Osborne, that doesn't spare romance or conflict.

Laurence Olivier is once again outstanding (there's so much Olivier in this film) and presents another character who must be seen.

He was quite active for someone so talented (from a contemporary perspective) and played wonderfully unorthodox roles.

No wonder his fans never forgot him.

*This review is about Archie Rice in The Entertainer, who's struggling to keep performing on stage. His character's somewhat sympathetic if not conceited and there's no doubt he's a feisty cynosure. I don't know how the world moves forward from the President of the United States suggesting people inject disinfectants. It's beyond irresponsibility. It's a whole new level of recklessness all its own. Please don't inject disinfectants. Injecting disinfectants will probably kill you.

Mary Poppins Returns

Fitting that Mary Poppins (Emily Blunt) should return in an age where access to independent art has expanded exponentially.

The options everyone has to express him or herself locally/regionally/nationally/globally, free of charge, have perhaps clouded the master narrative's unconscious lucidity, and made alternative forms of peaceful expression more readily agreeable.

Notably animal videos.

Plus everything's accessible from a magical little device that fits in your pocket and is connected to the world at large.

True, because of this device you can be tracked by who knows who wherever you go, and you may be missing out on a lot of cool real world phenomena if you never lift your head up, but it's also like a cool informative instructive multifaceted tricorder, and if you like brainy stuff too, trust me, there's more than one app for that.

Mary Poppins Returns takes place in the pre-technological era, however, yet still provides fascinating insights into how creative people used to entertain.

Poetic or artistic inspiration isn't limited to the night sky or raccoon encounters you know, it's everywhere you look everywhere you go, as Poppins and Jack (Lin-Manuel Miranda) illuminate, and if you don't forget to observe whatever it is you happen to be caught up in, as you did when you were younger, you can turn a bowl discovered at a thrift shop into Ulysses, or a pinecone into Lost in Translation.

And you can share your observations on Instagram or Twitter or other forms of social media usually without having to make much of an effort.

Like the whole world's gone Barbapapa.

Nevertheless, I was worried when I heard they were making a new Mary Poppins film because the first one was universally adored by so so many, and it's always risky to make a sequel to such cynosures, even 54 years later, unless you dig in quite deep and draft exceptionally well crafted flumes.

Which is what Rob Marshall and his crew have fortunately done.

Mary Poppins Returns is phenomenal, a total must see, even if you don't have children, a celebration of creative minds and the positive effects of imagination, which also critiques zealous desires to foreclose, and lauds the symphonic harmonies of robust labour.

I may actually buy a copy.

Lin-Manuel Miranda and Emily Blunt are outstanding.

It collectively unites song and dance in a coruscating choreographed multidimensional cascading cloudburst, sensually exporting remarkably vivid exceptions while suggesting it's what anyone can do.

Just gotta keep those eyes open.

Draw a parallel.

Infuse.

Juggle.

Baby Driver

Split-second ingenious unassailable guiltless reflexes, instinctively classifying delicate improvisation, piquant extemporization, serpentine spontaneity, the driver, driving the getaway vehicle, atavistic awareness vigilantly circulating extractions, an unprecedented impresario envisioned in wild heartlands brake swerve accelerate, coordinate chaos with implicit clandestine credulity, pulsating pumping propulsive paved impertinence, irreducibly reacting, to unpredictable explosive larceny.

Mad skills.

Variably exercised.

Character driven.

Edgar Wright's Baby Driver's hilariously character driven, with Ansel Elgort (Baby), Lily James (Debora), Bats (Jamie Foxx), Buddy (Jon Hamm), Darling (Eiza González), Joseph (CJ Jones), Griff (Jon Bernthal), and Doc (Kevin Spacey) each chauffeuring full-throttle eccentricities that make said characters their own.

The well-thought-out creatively choreographed romantically comedic yet harrowingly hardboiled script (Wright) supplies them with ample maneuverability.

In fact I'd argue this is Wright's best film.

There are two notable oppositions within that reflect different intellectual styles.

Baby and Doc's youthful and aged conversations provide the film with an executive frame as they reticently interact, Doc's nephew Samm (Brogan Hall) brilliantly expanding one of their sequences, while Bats and Buddy concurrently represent clever tenacious earnest hard work, as they durably discuss various subjects between jobs.

Nice to see Jamie Foxx rockin' it again.

Doc heartbreakingly embraces romance in the end, risking everything to aid young Baby and Debora as they wildly set off to matriculate on the run.

I've been focusing on the criminal nature of the film but it's also a warmblooded romance.

Baby owes Doc a large sum of money that he's been slowly paying off for some time.

He meets Debora at the diner where his deceased mom used to work and they hit it off, young adult love at its most endearing, hesitantly tender and shyly enthusiastic.

Since he engages in illicit activities quite frequently, however, the nogoodniks eventually terrorize their sanctuary, especially after they craft plans to escape, which unconsciously precipitate embroiled maturations.

Excellent film that's patiently yet boisterously detailed, the dedicated caregiving, the musical artistry, the Mike Myers gag, the paradoxical sense of coerced altruism, the relaxed quiet dignity, the wanton perplexed angst.

Realistic reverberations.

Sweet sweet summertime.

Breezy.

Les mauvaises herbes (Bad Seeds)

An unlikely trio of mismatched screw-ups ironically discovers health and well-being after one of them forces the other two to help him cultivate his marijuana crop, alone in isolation, on a rural Québecois farm.

The low down.

Simon (Gilles Renaud) has an estranged son with whom he wishes to make amends by leaving him land after he dies. He's been hired by bikers to grow weed to make this dream a reality.

Jacques (Alexis Martin) has crippling gambling debts due to an uncontrollable slot machine addiction and although he lives the life of a cultured actor, has little knowledge of rough impoverished mannerisms.

Francesca (Emmanuelle Lussier Martinez) is much younger than Simon and Jacques and prone to passionate outbursts of justifiable rage. She's lesbian and her parents no longer talk to her and she has trouble relating to others. Her youth dynamically contrasts Jacques and Simon's odd older couple and the film is at its best when her wrath is unleashed.

Les mauvaises herbes (Bad Seeds) is like watching your favourite sports team struggle to win a game. In the end, victory is achieved, and some outstanding plays are made, but there's a fumble here and there, blown coverage, a break away, 12% shooting for half a quarter, a run walked in, calico.

It unreels with two sensibilities, one naive, innocent, and unsuspecting, the other harsh, vindictive, and punitive, like its three principal characters, misfits who haven't had the best of luck (their innocence has led to harsh reprisals which in turn has caused them to be somewhat harsh when they aren't seduced by naivety).

It's funny at times, the introduction of the barn for instance, or Jacques running through the countryside dressed like a French aristocrat, but stalls at points, especially when Simon and Francesca start developing their bond, or when Jacques and Simon are initially juxtaposed (Renaud and Martin don't have much chemistry[Martinez compensates]).

Eventually, after Simon becomes Francesca's surrogate father, and she his lost child, it does work, pulls at the heartstrings without seeming contrived, but the process of getting there has some hiccups, like a running game that doesn't take off till the 4th quarter.

The two sensibilities are sharply contrasted when thug Patenaude (Luc Picard) comes to collect his debts. He's in the barn with Simon searching for Jacques and at first it's too light, he doesn't seem threatening, but then after discovering him hiding beneath a table, it takes a wicked turn and is suddenly frightening, the film becoming more dramatic thereafter.

I still don't see why Patenaude drove the stolen snow mobile over the ice instead of hitting the road, but that's just me.

Jacques makes huge plays in the film's final moments, generating an affective harsh innocence.

He courageously applies his acting skills to the real world to make a deal with bikers before meeting Simon's son (Patrick Hivon as Alexandre).

Some of it comes up short, but Les mauvaises herbes still thoughtfully provides its misfits with room to gently or furiously explain themselves, even Patenaude, its tender moments like spoonfuls of cookie dough, its fury like animated hellspawn.

It blends the immiscible with bizarro good cheer while detonating its intersections with genuine self-righteousness, in the oddest of situations, bad attitudes slowly fading.

There's also a great shot of falling snow.

Kiş Uykusu (Winter Sleep)

Prolonged drowsy interminable winter, dilemmas and debts and rigid bitter realism, frozen immovable remote reverberations soundlessly echoing through time like omnipresent gallows for some, casual laissez-faire cocktails for others, a small town in Anatolia, a consciousness of place, order, balance, predictability, the insertion of divergence, glacially counterbalanced, from whichever side, whatever predicament, interred for the ages, contradiction's fertile sum, punishment to reward, thoughts eloquently marooned, the snow is falling, confiscated tempests, every point will be made, an old man wandering blindly, his dominion staggeringly glazed, fissured, crumply.

When challenged he preaches.

He has done no wrong.

According to his will, which vainly asserts his blights.

Proven through the narrative's conception.

Of unyielding irrational control.

The darkness of men's souls.

To say, "Be a man at all costs. In a domain ruled by men."

There's a powerful scene, epic in its isolated rustic nocturnal candour, which expresses the rationalities of these mad oppressive entitlements.

Wait for it.

Viewing, it's like you're in the village, present at these conversations, living these lives, freezing, because of their patient plodding conversions.

Thinking.

Finding things to do.

Delivery Man

If you loved Ken Scott's Starbuck, you may not appreciate his Delivery Man as much (the contents of the films are too similar), although Vince Vaughn (David) reimagines the character well enough, in classic screwing-up while excelling Vince Vaughn fashion, putting in another great performance, confident personality generally unconcerned with consequences, überfatherhood thrust upon him, a life changing salacious shock, a languid lecherous illustrious lighthouse.

(Still prefer Patrick Huard's performance).

Not going to read what I wrote about Starbuck until finishing this review, for curiosity's sake (I did duplicate the tags however since the film's are so similar).

The narrative is a treasure for those adhering to discourses of hereditary multiplicities, even if it's fictional, since David's offspring possess sundry talents and seemingly limitless flexibilities, when considered as a whole.

I'm assuming there's a group who adheres to discourses of hereditary multiplicities.

I mean, what would happen if you had 534 children with 534 different women and then set them loose on the streets of New York or Montréal?

They aren't all going to end up in the same profession.

They aren't all going to look the same.

They will likely react to various stimuli differently.

Some of them, may even listen to, Tigermilk followed If You're Feeling Sinister followed by The Boy with the Arab Strap then Aladdin Sane after their favourite CFL team loses the Grey Cup.

534.

It could happen.

It's tough for me to write that critically about Delivery Man because, as I mentioned earlier, the film's too similar to Starbuck, which is why I didn't want to see it in theatres but I woke up too late that day to see Heli at EXCƎNTRIS.

It was a late night.

Great translation.

Just too familiar with the story so my reactions were always mitigated by encumbering memories which prevented me from being surprised by the sequences.

Surprise is important.

Good surprises.

Screw-off sadists.

Marshmallows.

We're the Millers

A cornucopia of unrefined protracted sleaze, non-traditional role models doing their best to advise, their chosen economic insignias problematizing their bourgeois endorsements, choosing questionable yet confident manners of expression, juxtaposed with professional counterparts whose assiduity assumes authority yet lacks respectability, the perseverance of youth humanely automatizing errors in judgment, so many errors in judgment, serendipitously sanctioned, incontinently divine.

The film struggles as its characters acclimatize themselves to each other.

All you really have to do is write about what happens and you're good.

Although you're really not supposed to do that.

There are so many good ideas worked into We're the Millers's script that thinking about what happens afterwards trumps actually watching the film, many of the jokes falling flat, not that there aren't hilarious moments.

For me, it's most significant flaw is a product of the enormous and commendable risks that went into its construction, an attempt to simultaneously deconstruct and build-up cherished yet occasionally hypocritical codes of conduct, the juxtaposition requiring a contraceptive consensus to export its value that never intangibly materializes.

Lacking stability, character development is sacrificed for references and in/direct pop cultural criticisms, leaving it blindly searching for a good episode of Family Guy, rather than focusing on Trailer Park Boys, season 2.

Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie

Enjoyed Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie.

Some of the jokes aren't the greatest and one situation almost made me retch, but these guys are undeniably flexible in terms of producing sustained awkward oblivious carefree traumatically endearing comedy, nostalgically nuanced with a 1980s commercial naivety, and overflowing with nimble bad judgment.    

In search of a billion dollars.

Chef Goldblum's (Jeff Goldblum) transitional introduction sets the stage.

The hysterically fruitful job interview where Damien Weebs (Will Ferrell) devotedly demands that Top Gun be played a second time keeps things flowing.

Taquito's (John C. Reilly) epic battle with the mall wolf invokes tragedy.

And Katie's (Twink Caplan) indiscretion cannot tear Tim and Eric apart.

They've been taught what to expect from life and how to approach it from television and the movies, and, as a consequence, haplessly proceed with limitless confidence.

No matter what situation they face.

Ignoring the ways in which everything around them is crumbling and decaying, they manage to not let a little financial instability get them down.

While forging a strategic plan.

And unerringly living the dream.

Real Steel

The latest Rockyesque film to hit the big screen is Shawn Levy's Real Steel, a fun and heartwarming story of how a dead-beat dad (Hugh Jackman as Charlie Kenton) and his feisty son (Dakota Goyo as Max Kenton) forge a strong bond through the power of fighting robots. It isn't the most original narrative although it does creatively work within an established tradition.

And Jackman's love interest Bailey Tallet (Evangeline Lilly) doesn't give up on him even though his reckless ways have proved to be remarkably unprofitable.

Whereas humans were still thought to be at the centre of various cultural dimensions in Rocky's day, in the time of Real Steel technological innovation has usurped their active role. Rather than directly taking part in ridiculous battles which regularly present themselves, proxies abound which can effectively fill in as disaffected combatants. Hence, boxing has been replaced by robot boxing and ex-boxers can continue to make a living boxing if they purchase a robot and expertly learn the subtleties of its dynamic controls.

But can such expertise generate results formidable enough to resiliently defeat the ultimate representative of technological fortitude, Real Steel's Zeus and its mastermind the bumptious Tak Mashido (Karl Yune), without continuing to maintain a multidimensional working person's perspective within the heart of its dynamic cultural trajectory, enhanced by love?

Fortunately it still cannot.

But when robots take over and start making movies for themselves will the human dimension still continue to persevere as the principal factor motivating their legendary decision making?

The answer is potentially fermenting somewhere within communist China.

Starbuck

Donating sperm for cold hard cash.

The thought's likely crossed every man's mind but for Starbuck's David Wozniak (Patrick Huard) it reappeared again and again until he had earned more than $20,000. Never thinking that his donations were particularly fertile and would eventually be used to father over 500 children, he continued to live his carefree life, working for his father's boucherie while racking up $80,000 in debt with a group of thugs.

But his sperm was used to father 533 children and over 100 of them become curious in regards to the identity of their fecund dad and come searching after discovering the fertility clinic's lack of diversity.

David is somewhat taken aback to discover he has over 500 children but can't help but wonder what his legion of offspring are like. He refuses to admit his identity and they decide to try and discover it through recourse to the law, but as the legal proceedings progress, he begins to anonymously search them out one by one thanks to an envelope of corresponding portfolios with which he is provided before the beginning of the trial.

The children are surprised by the pseudo-guardian angel who keeps appearing in times of need yet take a shine to his adolescent enthusiasm.

The group of thugs to which David owes $80,000 are less beaming and decide to make things more difficult for him and his family as time passes.

His strong and determined yet sweet and loving partner Valerie (Julie Le Breton) also does not find his youthful ethos to be picturesquely scintillating after discovering she's pregnant, and proceeds to intensify his real world pressures all the more.

As a matter of consequence.

The film's hilarious and surprisingly light-hearted considering its subject matter. Emphasizing the importance of working for family if things such as following a schedule or pursuing best practices don't come easily to you, Starbuck also accentuates the benefits of family when it comes to discovering innovative solutions for complicated unanticipated problems, while subtly investigating different generational attitudes towards religion, championing a social framework wherein nurturing is directly proportional to responsibility, highlighting the enormous benefits/debilitating pitfalls of constantly embracing spontaneity, and thoroughly cultivating the value of friendship.

Ken Scott's background portrait of Montréal captures the city's intense dynamic cultural mosaic, presenting scene after scene of enlivening multidimensional detail, while riding a bike or taking a stroll through town.

Cinematography by Pierre Gill.