Aladdin

With the situation in the Middle-East becoming worse and worse every day, I have to ask myself, what would I do if I had three wishes regarding the region?

First wish: a long-lasting truce between the Palestinians and the Israelis. 

It's sad because it seemed like one was developing before the Palestinians butchered the 1,200 Israeli settlers. Now, after Israel's over-the-top reaction, it seems like peace is a long long long ways off, although there was a time when it seemed like England and France would never stop going to war.

Second wish: moderate life-affirming governments replace the bloodthirsty rulers of Israel and Iran.

I imagine most people in Israel and Iran just want to do what most people everywhere just want to do, that is, work a solid day and then relax with friends and family afterwards. Unless they're extremist nutjobs, they likely don't want to fight in a war that will only profit other extremist nutjobs. So it goes decade after decade in the Middle-East. Israel exists. And it's quite the cool place I hear. 

Third wish: the countries of the Middle-East forge a lasting peace through the creation of an interconnected trade union whose continuous maintenance benefits everyone.

If only they could do what most of Europe has already done. It's not too late for Russia to join. After signing a lasting peace deal with Ukraine. 

Silkwood

A difficult life tempestuously driven by the sincere desire to share bold reckonings, dynamic friendships and bohemian protocols keeping things multilaterally attuned.

Work at the fuel fabrication site where she makes rods for nuclear reactors, has its life-threatening ups and downs while employees maintain a chillaxed atmosphere.

What to do when there isn't any work and you don't want to move far away from home, the overt danger seeming much less perilous when the steady paychecks start rolling in.

But day in day out as people get sick or find themselves exposed to cancer generating elements, builds up the tension and ensures the union actively engages on their behalves.

Trouble intensifies for Ms. Silkwood after she agrees to go undercover, and obtain photos of a technicians's alterations to definitive indicative core sample negatives.

Her partner leaves her after she takes on the increasing clandestine covert responsibilities, and problems get much much much worse to the point where she's left on her own recognizance.

The life of an activist hardships incumbent serialized dilemmas consistently challenging, the disappearance of networks and friends and colleagues as the stealthy work boldly intensifies.

With the union helping to coordinate hardworking team-based initiatives however, effective groups of likeminded people can efficiently criticize industrious greed.

I've never been a fan of nuclear power I imagine I've mentioned this before, it's certainly convenient if you can't build massive dams but still leaves an ominous environmental footprint.

Nuclear material takes thousands of years to gradually break down into harmless components, that's a long time to have to monitor deteriorating waste at different sites.

You'd have to outlast the Roman Empire have a much longer run than The Simpsons or Frasier, how can you guarantee the monitoring of such sites for the non-foreseeable future over the years?

It's easier to do what Hydro Québec has effectively done in La Belle Province, are there not massive rivers in Northern Ontario or Manitoba or Alberta that can also be dammed?

Working with local First Nations to facilitate smooth beneficial transitions, is hydroelectric power not more reliable than nuclear, and respectfully characteristic of a sustainable future?

*I don't want to argue with the people who don't like hydroelectric power either. We're on the same side at the end of the day. Hydro Québec just makes so much more sense to me. 

The Birdcage

A young couple hoping to wed attempt to deceive the would-be bride's father (Gene Hackman as Senator Keeley), for he's a politician with a traditional edge that may frown upon his new festive in-laws.

The potential in-laws themselves are also hesitant to support the union, for the couple's rather young and lack multidisciplinary life experience. 

But, decision made, they proceed abashed yet disrespectful, asking the lively freespirited couple to cloak their natural inclinations. 

They've done quite well for themselves and live within an inclusive open-minded realm, where they even own their own successful nightclub in which Albert (Nathan Lane) regularly performs.

It's easier for Armand (Robin Williams) to give in since it's his son who's matrimonially disposed, even if he's moved far past having to conceal his conducive clutch commercial savvy.

They redecorate their apartment and even practice earnest mannerisms, Armand even going so far as to ask an ex to play a leading role (Christine Baranski as Katharine). 

She happens to be the boy's (Dan Futterman as Val) mother but she hasn't seen him in years, the ethics becoming more and more disreputable the closer and closer they come to seeming orthodox. 

But Albert won't be treated this way and remains a star of first rate standing.

He's ready for a surprise performance.

As his audience arrives for dinner (with Dianne Wiest as Louise). 

The result is a resplendent debacle abounding with resonant tact and mirth, a performance precious in its incomparability delicately redefining eloquence.

I'd argue indefatigably that Laurence Olivier's the best actor I've seen, but I've never seen him reach the heights Nathan Lane ascends in Mike Nichols's Birdcage.

Backed up by Robin Williams whose transformative prowess mischievously bewilders, saving the best of his awkward orchestrations for the detested gastronomic dissimulation. 

But as fate would have it within the film invasive hounds inspire an otherworldly rapprochement, and an uncanny serendipitous synthesis effortlessly enchants as it chaotically unites.

Bizarro bastions bounteously bursting as merrymaking matriculately mingles, I'd hope The Birdcage would dazzle any audience from whatever political or ethical stripe.

Things could be much more chill and compassionate without having to make impractical sacrifices. 

That's what it seemed like in '90s movies anyways.

Or at least many of those I happened to see.

*Most of which are still available for rental.

**With Calista Flockhart (Barbara Keeley) and Hank Azaria (Agador). 

***Surprised The Birdcage isn't a Criterion. 

DragonHeart

The legendary influence of brave King Arthur still honourably remembered throughout the land, a formidable knight (Dennis Quaid as Sir Bowen) rationally instructs a young prince (David Thewlis/Lee Oakes as King/Prince Einon) in the art of cultural governance.

But his teachings are rebelliously ignored as the arrogant Prince comes of age, even after he promised a dragon he would rule wisely, in exchange for the gift of reanimation.

Thus, he becomes cruel and wicked and the people live in disquieting fear, hoping to generally avoid his lavish caprice as they seek sustenance, friendship, and shelter.

The knight falls upon hard times and spends his days pursuing dragons, whom he blames for corrupting his pupil with zealous malevolent menacing magic.

He's incorrect, however, it wasn't the dragon's heart which inspired his tyranny, he was just none too fond of brotherhood and was rather upset when the villagers killed his father.

One dragon outwits noble Bowen and convinces him to embrace bold trickery, to put on a show where he pretends to save a village from the dragon's wrath, and then pockets the coveted reward money.

While engaged in these fraudulent shenanigans a spirited damsel calls out their ruse (Dina Meyer as Kara), a damsel who's just escaped from the King, and is encouraging audacious insurrection. 

They're rather embarrassed and ashamed yet she also reminds them of Arthur's code, after which they forge a loyal alliance earnestly determined to challenge the King.

The King believes himself to be safe and capable of outmaneuvering a band of rebels.

But they're much more organized than he thinks.

Passionate conflict irascibly ensues. 

It's not as intense as it sounds in fact it's quite lighthearted and foolhardy throughout, as Bowen and the last of the dragons creatively argue and discuss history.

Indeed, the lighthearted nature of DragonHeart made me think the comedic potential of dragons has yet to be convincingly explored, a foul-mouthed cheeky ironic lazy dragon perhaps to emerge in the 21st century.

Rather than aiding a distraught hero as he or she engages in epic discord, or simply guarding treasure and punishing those hoping to steal it, he or she could find work in a disingenuous small village, and wholeheartedly take part in wisecracking thereafter.

Perhaps something out of the ordinary would emerge by the film's playful abashed final moments.

Or it would just embrace jaded mischief throughout.

For a solid hour and forty-five minutes. 

*With Pete Postlethwaite (Gilbert) and Jason Isaacs (Felton).

Detour

Nestled in an imaginative enclave, precociously performing with enigmatic adrenaline, an artistic couple contemplates progression, alternative gigs, perhaps a move. 

The piano player entertains wedlock and dreams of resonant conjugal consummation, but the singer sets her sights on Hollywood and soon she's hit the road for L.A.

Inclined to romantically subsist on un/conscious conceptions of loyalty and devotion, her distraught beau haplessly hangs on until his presence is one day requested.

But he can't afford a bus ticket so it's time to hitchhike west, a crash course in random interpersonal attentive discourse phased ensuing.

But one of his jaded interlocutors passes away in the forlorn night, and Mr. Roberts (Tom Neal) doesn't know what to do, so he ditches the body, and keeps on drivin'.

He makes it through a routine scan before patiently stopping to shyly gas up, when he notices a wayward belle seeking passage off to the side (Ann Savage as Vera).

Their discussions are initially glib before she ferociously lays it on 'im, she's had a ride in this car before only with a different lonesome driver.

He emphatically insists that he is not a murderous criminal, yet she isn't the trusting kind, even if she doesn't fear for her life.

She's more interested in selling the car and using the money to go shopping, again, and won't let Mr. Roberts slip away or disappear without dire reckoning.

He's as unlucky as they come, prone to grand idealistic reveries, on his own without a network or an institution to back him up.

She swoops in on his fecund fervour and has soon assumed imperial prominence, the two forging an antithetical derelict dismal gender bias.

His hopes to one day wed and settle down and banally intrigue, mutated into anxious suspicions hysterically clad in verbose irritability. 

If looking for rarefied woe lugubriously distilled through befuddled dis/enchantment,  Detour strays from the master narrative to embalm disgruntled folds.

No chummy freewheeling joyrides or clever concise improvised amelioration, just a steady increasingly angst ridden rollout despondently trekked and touring. 

Not sure if you're really that into old school woebegone film noir, but Detour's a crushing exemplar of the disputed genre's disillusioned tropes.

A good book, canned soup, a recital, a walk through the park, a beanbag chair.

Detour revels in maligned microcosm.

Misguided mischief.

Visceral atrophy.

*I don't mean to be so glum, I just like film noir. And Dostoevsky. But I'm also loving Dickens more and more these days. Plus, Biden's administration seems tip top, and mass vaccinations are on the way. It's still the month of February, but positive things are on the horizon. 

Body & Soul

I wonder what it was like during the early days of cinema, without sound or elaborate effects, just a narrative and intense emotion, gripping unheard of fascination.

Strange to witness the birth of a new art form, the emergence of such grand distinction, whose origins were much less self-evident, much more dependant on study and technology.

The phonograph still amazes me, how did anyone ever figure that out!, to apply sound to a text of vinyl and then play it with an intricate machine.

Camera and film similarly fascinating, abounding with mysterious alternative applications, the resounding capture of jocose fluid movement, exotic presentations of vivacious life.

The captivating leaps and bounds still a matter of clairvoyant conjecture, perhaps these early films generated equivalent degrees of imaginative wonder, even without the brilliant sets and enormous budgets, with much more streamlined visceral accounts.

It must have been fun to provide musical accompaniment, to orchestrate dynamic soundtracks in real time, so much work for versatile musicians (jobs), so much complementary impacting exegesis. 

Films still struggle to depict the multivariable syntheses of books, with much more freedom to postulate the impossible, novels conjure with infinite reckoning, currents taking on lives of their own.

But film brings together so many diverse elements as it symphonically structures less complex ideas, communal abundance ample work mesmerizing texture creative constellations.

It would have been cool I imagine to have been there during film's silent heuristic genesis, as artists sought to inform and entertain while driven by consistent progress.

Was there an emphasis on sequels in the early moments?, series flowing freely unbound, there would have been so much less precedent to work with, futures motivating enthralling pronounced.

It's amazing to see how much sci-fi and fantasy films have progressed in recent decades, special effects having expanded exponentially, it's still mind-boggling what they can currently do.

But the idea of an adventure film made once again with puppets and physical sets, is one that I find quite intriguing which computational scores can't offset.

Perhaps it could also be silent or presented like old school silent film, with modest musical accompaniment, a rather long length, bears, Mark Hamill. 

Body & Soul brings to life silent film with animate spry invention, transformations testaments tracks tribulations, the tantalizing history of film.

There's so much out there beyond the present, so much lying in curious catalyst.

Conflicting epochs, peaks and valleys.

Awaiting reimagined interpretation. 

The Heiress

An innocent artist, unconcerned with the world at large, is encouraged to take an active role, in environs she's ill-equipped to comprehend, but still willing to cautiously explore (Olivia de Havilland as Ms. Sloper).

Her mother was a dazzling sight, in possession of coveted social perspicuity, akin to Oriane de Guermantes, in terms of wit and incisive observation.

Her husband genuinely admired her, and was crushed by her untimely passing, resigned in the following years to focus intently on the practice of medicine.

Unfortunately, he's quite the snob, and even applies his pretensions to his family, so weighed down by the maintenance of ideals, that he dismisses everything that doesn't add up (Ralph Richardson as Dr. Austin Sloper).

His daughter's fascinated by embroidery and has developed enviable skill, and wants to make her father happy, but lacks multilateral bearing.

Nevertheless, she sets out one evening to attend a social gathering, wherein she's courted by a brazen upstart, who's familiar with what she stands to inherit, his candour as fluent as his resolve (Montgomery Clift as Morris Townsend).

Shortly thereafter he's asked her to marry and she's gleefully and passionately accepted, in the belief that she'll make her father happy, and perhaps find some joy of her own. 

But her father is rather suspicious of her fiancé's amorous feeling, and poses unsettling questions to ascertain its authenticity. 

The result is the tragic transformation of well-preserved sequestered peculiarity, which attempts to suddenly adjust to age old rapacious cunning.

She comprehends with the resplendent grace casually borne by the unsuspecting, and perhaps would have been content if she had met an honest person.

Neither heartfelt nor harlequin, The Heiress proceeds to interrogate innocence, its manifestation of purest true love, tragically destined to swoon unrequited.

The results much more traditional than the romantic setting suggests.

Traditional in the withdrawn sense. 

Calculated hesitant gravity.

Neko to Shôzô to futari no onna (Shozo, A Cat and Two Women)

Lazy Shôzô (Hisaya Morishige) catches a break when his lacklustre relationship suddenly dissolves, much to his mother's (Yuko Minami) delight, and perhaps also that of his cat.

He's seeing someone else who's not adverse to domestic subversion, but she's somewhat younger than he is, and prone to fits of righteous outrage (Kyôko Kagawa).

She's quite rich however so Shôzô's mom adores the match, and counsels thoughtful feeling as opposed to obtuse thatch.

But Shôzô's wife (Isuzu Yamada) soon strives aggrieved to reverse the situation, for her sister isn't too enthused with providing accommodation. 

Another seeks to rent the room and will pay three times as much, so she needs swift clever calculation manipulatively clutched.

She knows of one thing Shôzô loves more than anything at that, his distant furtive purcolating agile nimble cat.

Even more than escapading, even more than sleeping in, he loves his tactile independent erudite unhinged.

Cat. 

He loves his cat and his ex-wife knows it and wants to live somewhere less packed, so she tempts her newfound rival to consider devote paths.

She declares to lazy Shôzô that he must freely chose, betwixt his age old loving feline and his cherished muse.

Mother pleads and even begs he listen to her sweetly, the rent is due their business through she explains quite discreetly.

But he's determined unabashed to abide by no one's will, other than that which surmises lackadaisic chill.

It's an odd sort of comedy that boldly theorizes what life would be like for someone who's never sought to do anything at all, whom the opposite sex still finds irresistible.

His shop doesn't make money, he doesn't even know what to charge for the items he sells, he sleeps half the day and loves to spend time at the beach, and his mother's stuck coming up with the rent, yet he's still sought after and even fought for due perhaps to bucolic notoriety. 

Shôzô, even though he has lived as an adult for quite some time, still knows nothing of worldly affairs that don't facilitate relaxation.

Yet he still loves, he loves spending time with his cat: should this loyal devotion be criticized?

Should he be reprimanded or even assailed for living an honest life?

Never feeling lash nor censure?

Boldly sought after.

Loved?

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.

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

Jurassic World, back at it.

Dinosaur-related shenanigans, check.

Some dick trying to cash in on the genetically reincarnated beasties: you got it.

Those who care about preserving both the independence and integrity of dinosaur kind, primed, and ready to go.

Consistent death-defying escapes mixed in with a ludicrous plot that unravels like a particularly intriguing series of Bazooka Joe comics?

Yuppers.

Although the dinosaurs, as in the actual dinosaurs, having been left alone to exist freely on Isla Nublar, still make for a stunning cinematic extravaganza, their wild unpredictable prehistoric codes of conduct generating thrilling exceptional naturalistic exhilarations, that make the unrelenting poaching of elephants, rhinos, lions, tigers, bears, and others, seem even more horrendous, as even more are illegally deprived of life each day.

A UN army to stop them?

I'd greenlight that idea.

Yet, for the next Jurassic World sequel, might I suggest 25 minutes more pure dinosaur, and 25 minutes less human interaction?

Still include plenty of Zia Rodriguez (Daniella Pineda), Franklin Webb (Justice Smith), Owen Grady (Chris Pratt), Claire Deaning (Bryce Dallas Howard), Maisie Lockwood (Isabella Sermon), and Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum), but take it easy on the maniacal conspiring.

Plus, the ending, spoiler alert, suggests dinosaurs will be proliferating partout in Jurassic World 3.

Considering how many were saved from the island, that's a bit ridiculous, unless all the dinosaurs who jumped off the cliff to freedom swam to land and survived, the numbers simply don't add up.

Not including those who can fly.

Methinks more time should be spent on the script for future instalments as well.

I was super happy to see James Cromwell (Benjamin Lockwood) but then he had to deliver the worst dialogue imaginable, over and over again.

He deserves so much better.

Even the first half of Ian Malcolm's speech isn't that tight, although his statements at the end of the film make an impact, as if they reserved the best writing for the last 2 minutes, hoping the rest would be overlooked as a consequence.

Even with the impact, they still make you think the world will be overrun with dinosaurs in the next movie, when those who were shipped off the island weren't exactly handpicked by Noah (I assume dinosaurs lay a bunch of eggs at a time, but how often do they breed and how closely do they watch their young? [elephant moms carry their young for 22 months{mama turtles lay then take off}]).

What happened to Lowery (Jake Johnson)?

He didn't die in the first/fourth film.

He was cool.

The Indoraptor may be a prototype, but it's also a highly refined predator bred to kill and kill.

And kill again.

I don't think turning the lights out would fool it.

Plus, the auction doesn't make much sense.

None of the dinosaurs they're selling apart from the Indoraptor prototype have been genetically conditioned to follow commands, and a bunch of them are herbivorous by nature.

How are you going to turn something that eats grass and plants all day and isn't violent into some strange breed of instinctual vegetarian mercenary?

And how could you trick elite arms dealers into thinking that's a great idea?

Even if it'd make a funny Will Ferrell movie.

And wouldn't one sniper bullet put a dinosaur mercenary out of commission?

If you could weaponize herbivores wouldn't a deer be more suitable option?

I can't believe I'm thinking about these things.

Plus, if Eli Mills (Rafe Spall) is managing the fortune that built Jurassic Park etc., why would he take so many idiotic risks to pick up what probably amounts to spare chump change?

The payouts he had to make after Jurassic World fell apart weren't astronomically high in speculative comparison.

A fun movie to watch lacking in structural cohesion, perhaps Fallen Kingdom's writers made internal and personal sacrifices to narratively lampoon the miserable ethical foundations of global weapons manufacturing, deliberately not thinking things through to sharply critique plutocratic ambitions, while betting on making a shit ton of money meanwhile?

The do-gooders are still awesome.

And the dinosaurs too.

My favourite dinosaur: the stegosaurus.

Always has been.

😌

Office Christmas Party

Overwhelming pressures voraciously complicating the everyday affairs of a hardworking bunch at play, it soon becomes apparent that a lucrative deal must be struck in order to keep the sultry spice flowing, the troubling news being delivered in überScroogelike fashion, the high-end players responding with executive precision.

There's no other option.

It's time to party.

Festivities of epic proportions are therefore precipitated, the celebrations, ecstatically fuelled.

But as the good times roll, will Josh Parker (Jason Bateman), Clay Vanstone (T. J. Miller), and Tracey Hughes (Olivia Munn) be able to convince Walter Davis (Courtney B. Vance) that their research and development should move beyond the experimental phase?

Will Clay's uptight sister Carol (Jennifer Aniston) shut them down to right misperceived childhood wrongs?

Will human resources rep Mary (Kate McKinnon) engage in merrymaking regardless of penitent restrictions?

And will the prostitute (Abbey Lee as Savannah) Nate (Karan Soni) hires successfully pass as his supple theoretical girlfriend?

Before her psychotic pimp (Jillian Bell as Trina) shows up to destroy everything?

Wildly engaging in dishevelling shenanigans, Office Christmas Party educates as it embroils.

Through the magic of Christmas, Clay and Carol stop fighting and come together as a family, while several hilarious subordinates find the partner they've been so shyly seeking.

Lumps are taken, yet necessary risks ridiculously refine surefire stabilities, and remarkably steady technologies cyberspatially save the day.

Dionysian balance.

Brainiac mirth.

Certainly an adult themed Christmas film that sets a bizarro example, Office Christmas Party still excels at letting loose just in time for the holiday season.

Some scenes could have been cut, and a bit more time could have been spent editing the script, but the highs olympianly outweigh the lows, and it's definitely worth checking out.

With so many supporting voices delivering strong orations, it must have been tough for Jillian Bell to outshine them all.

But that's exactly what she does.

Second place going to Randall Park (Fred).

Rob Corddry (Jeremy) needs better material!

El hombre de las mil caras (Smoke and Mirrors)

Cast adrift by the Spanish secret service, disgraced Francisco Paesa (Eduard Fernández) must find other ways to earn a living, his reputation for profound cunning immersed in subterfuge still resonating however, as a crooked formal national police commissioner seeks his admonishing aid.

A plan.

A forecast.

Subordinate reliability a troubling factor, as indelicate months pass and pressures mount, every detail of the plan covertly constructed, contingencies classified with hypothetical clarity.

Interminable patience required by all players, Paesa's foreseen a possible outcome, that leaves him assuredly stacked in the black.

Yet he remains loyal, faithful, truthful, subservient, theoretically, resolute calm submerged and breaching, extrajudicial outcomes speculatively splayed, thatched, patched, acrobatic burlap, either way he's set free, unless he winds up in prison.

For the rest of his life.

Interstitial estuaries.

Comet and cupid.

Compacted nerve.

Expeditiously invigorating cerebral texts and phalanxes, Alberto Rodríguez's El hombre de las mil caras (Smoke and Mirrors) keeps things smooth and steady.

It masterfully pulls you in and then harkingly hails in lockdown.

Penetratingly equipped with pertinent plights enabled, multiple primary and secondary familial and professional plot threads fading then reappearing with expert cinematic timing, thereby effortlessly attaching sub/conscious depth to its politicoethical imbroglio, El hombre de las mil caras is far beyond most of what I've seen this year, another outstanding film from M. Rodríguez.

Immaculately composed.

That's/He's still so much fun to watch.

Verifiable.

*Was into Spanish music last week. Damn it!

HAMMER (Versus)

Tragedy strikes as petty jealousies potentially ruin the career of a self-sacrificing international mixed martial arts contender, but the love interest in question and an opportunistic manager make deals with that very same brat to save the career of their honourable true champion.

Yet the date of the sought after fight doesn't give him enough to heal, and one stiff blow could instantly kill him.

He bears this in mind and wilfully responds to the challenge, death in the ring being infinitely preferable than a lifetime passed having disappointed his fans.

His coach, trainer, and lover eventually accept his decision, having expressed their discontent, and realized their aid is paramount.

But the ring doesn't hold the Russian Hammer's (Aleksey Chadov) fiercest foe, as thugs try to force him to disreputably dive.

Egocentric extremities.

Illicit, unsound.

Patriots and psychotics perniciously square off to wield Russia's HAMMER (Versus), honesty and deception contending therewithin.

It's bare bones, built, direct, no pussyfooting around agendas with esoteric mumbo jumbo, just good guys stuck dealin' with wickedness, making the most of it, as a dedicated matter of principle.

It impeccably sticks to its straightforward format and actively achieves its combative goals.

I can't fault it for that.

But if Rocky's in Moscow, this film's still far east of the Urals, not to say writer Oleg Malovichko can't also reach such a goal, but it will take some time, more passion, deeper digging, and a laid-back blizzard stew.

Winter's coming.

Plenty of time to sit back and write.

*Original title, Versus.

Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden)

Islands of ancient salacious mystique, coveted opulence, irreverent revelations, strategic planning saracen starship, nomadic nomenclature, obsidian overtures spite notwithstanding, lovers leverage contend and lust, tantamount condesa consented trust, delicatessen, octopi, prosciutto, exclusive events held-up hog ties, serendipitous spies, orphans, lives spent in coerced carnal obsession belie wanderlust, trips at sea, unsaddled steeds, a maestro's mercurially manifested misgivings extemporaneously billowing with contemplative vague sorrowful passage, tacit knowledge shimmering in smoke, iridescent stardust stray, fastened.

Sook-Hee's (Kim Tae-ri) innocence ignites plans and projects pristine, poached and sincere passions, cleared tidings focal.

Pinpointed.

Through the breach within reach cloaked and steeped pressures vital.

A plan to steal an old man's fortune multigrainedly awry.

Epic in its orchestrations, Chan-wook Park's Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden) made me think of Davids Lean and Lynch.

Within true love overwhelms calculation to rapturously materialize mint ethereal soul.

Secluded deep in forests green verdant luscious able.

Hauntingly accessible inject garlic gore.

Folklore.

Stationary.

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.