Jiang Ziya

The realm of the demon scurrilously oppresses the unsuspecting people with wicked cunning, until the gods take fluent cardigan mercy and affably supply a kind-hearted champion.

The foes clash and battle and destroy until beauty and wonder fade from the Earth, and all that's left are wanton reflexes bombastically seeking mortal ruin.

Eventually, the fighting stops and the kind-hearted warrior is tasked once again, to see if he is ready to rule the gods with bold decision and incarnate reckoning. 

Banished to a frozen wasteland with many others whom he once fought, he can't sit still and humbly contemplate while tempting questions lithely fluster.

He sets out in search of answers sympathetically unable to obey commands, the compelling drive to aid his new friend in resolute question upheld unbidden.

Yet a higher level of executive functioning officiously scrutinizes his acts meanwhile. 

Attempting to cataclysmically transform.

Kind-hearted reason into absolutist sufferance. 

Does leadership command the unprincipled devotion of warlike jaded contradictory cynicism, or do compassionate alternatives modestly contend with thoughtful levity and playful understanding?

The bellicose leader will no doubt attempt to sincerely seem laidback and humorous, while the decent individual will at times employ strength and discipline to get things done.

But at the end of the day the kind-hearted leader facilitates consistency and open-minded trust (Augustus Caesar/Claudius), while the self-obsessed demagogue extracts envy from decay in a constantly shifting foundationless masquerade (Tiberius/Caligula). 

If you study your nation's leadership going back for hundreds of years, if democratically affiliated, you'll find multivariability. 

Thus Clement Attlee defeated Winston Churchill - how did that happen? - in 1945.

And Biden defeated Trump.

Only to be thrown under the bus for his troubles. 

The Earthling

A curious youngster who's been raised in California finds himself back in Australia visiting the Outback, his Aussie dad resolutely determined to introduce him to his heritage.

But he's not ready for the immersion and shows hesitation when boldly tasked, his father realizing it will take some time to get him used to the verdant zone.

Meanwhile, a cranky elder vigorously returns to the old haunting grounds, dying of cancer he hopes to make it resourcefully back to his old homestead.

He's a freakin' tough mofo who built his house out of rocks from the forest, with his bare hands well far away from road or industry or helping hand.

The young boy's parents begin to squabble on the top of a massive cliff, and as he searches for ample firewood their camper flies off, death awaiting below.

He's crestfallen and patiently waits for his mom and dad to emerge from the wreckage, myriad animals making the night seem rather frightening as it descends.

He's soon discovered by the grouchy man who shows no sympathy when they meet.

And introduces an no-nonsense regimen designed to teach him wilderness survival.

The Earthling's from a different time when Man's Men featured more prominently in film, not that they don't still today I just can't imagine a new film that's this insensitive. 

The poor kid has just lost his parents and at one point his cantankerous saviour, leaves him alone on an imposing cliff face while a pack of wild dogs bite at his feet below.

In classic hardboiled fashion everything's find and they're friends at the end, the young child who once feared going swimming in mountain pools now ready to catch wild birds and wallabies.

I imagine it was stubbornly made in the bountiful wake of ye olde Storm Boy, with which it jams to the hard-edged sounds of deafening clashing bleak death metal.

The child in Storm Boy having been judged to have comfortably had too much of the good life, he of Earthling is obstinately taught to fend for himself hours after his parents die.

The wildlife shots are amazing many different Australian animals shown, from echidnas to koalas to emus there's a cute-cuddly feast for the loving romantic.

Indigenous wisdom is shared and relied upon as they diligently make their way through the bush as well.

Extremely unsympathetic.

With a ton of cool shots from the Outback. 

The Cobbler

The honest excelling hardworking days routinely passing without deviation, vital know-how and requisite skill generating consistent reliable business.

A modest son taking care of the fam after the sudden disappearance of his father, mom resigned yet persistently hopeful that one startling day he'll lovingly return.

The old school neighbourhood traditional and lively characteristically existing as it has for many years, local citizens daring and politically active in the stalwart fight against gentrification.

Things proceed the days pass by difference is found in random conversations, with a wide variety of inquisitive clients who on occasion discuss things at length.

Their shoes as well the various designs some intricate fashions or dependable customs, so many lying about in his shop at the somewhat dull end of a typical day.

Until one day his sewing machine rebelliously decides to stubbornly break down.

Leading him to use an old model from the basement.

With wild unknown imaginary features. 

It's a bit far-fetched this world weary Cobbler although it's still well-suited to the heroic times, not as flashy or bedazzling as Marvel or D.C but so much more appealing in the gentle undertow. 

The protagonist isn't a crazy rich genius with unlimited resources at his or her disposal, nor a gifted scientist creatively experimenting with research grants which lavishly facilitate, he's rather a regular humble Joe who genuinely cares about work and family, and even comes around to loving his neighbourhood and his shop's old school place ensconced within it.

He is uncertain as to how to proceed after accidentally discovering the miraculous tool, and engages in spirited trial and error with comic results before taking things seriously.

Indeed he cleverly takes the unsung side of an elderly resident who wants to keep his apartment, and is able to strategically embrace multi-step planning in complex resilient underground economics.

It's cool to see the little guy stand up and industriously help out the people in his community.

It's more organic, not a $60 dollar cheque.

Strong local initiatives. 

Beyond oligarch power.

Moonshot

You know, if I had my own spaceship and I was heading to Mars, you could have a ride with me. 

If you spend a lot your time rolling bagels and your arm hurts from time to time, there'd be a special masseuse onboard, and you could have a ride with me.

If you wash métro stations at night with those giant industrial floor cleaning machines, your cabin would be idyllically polished, and you could have a ride with me.

If you bust out ye olde weed whacker and cover at least 10k a day, trimming grass with agile endurance, while transitioning to mow and plant and clip and prune, you could have a ride with me.

If you wash dishes with categorical moxie and efficiently keep the supply chain moving, there'll be plates for your cake on board, and you could have a ride with me.

If you enjoy playing the keys as a rhythmic specialist or even a frenzied soloist, we could put the band back together, and you could have a ride with me.

If you can keep the orders in your head and delicately time all the dishes in turn, we can feast on freakin' whatever, and you could have a ride with me.

If you love sundry different films and appreciate vast international diversity, perhaps taking in Fantasia while searching for Criterions, you could have a ride with me.

Pretty much anyone could have a ride with me, but why the hell would we go to Mars, which is basically a barren hostile rock, and live in an oppressive small town settlement, that we could never leave? 

When we could go to Colorado, Tadoussac, Montréal, Hamilton or downtown Muskoka?

There are still billions of years of life left on this here planet.

Give or take a challenging millennia. 

We Live in Time

Temporal constraints motivating and hindering the progressive development of vigorous contemplation, the ticking-clock accentuating bold constructive split-second or strategic plans.

The resonant calm seductively sustaining positive thoughts multivariably exercised, tantalizing fruition anticipated and swathed as definitive timelines filter and structure.

The potential for limitless editing as mischievously suggested by Mr. Orson Welles, also provides lithe and tempting bearings to the infinite reimagining of spiritual studies.

The thriving possibility the interminable tantrums the heuristic horizons the enchanting escapades, demonstratively connecting interactive achievements intermittently coalesced through spontaneous reinvention.

A play's history the variety of performances exceedingly relates to unlimited mutability, the contemporary difference the hubris assumed fantastically enabling bright ahistoricity. 

We Live in Time we adapt and age as newfound challenges and developments alter, well-rounded paths and convincing philosophies economically synthesized through cultural schemata. 

We Live in Time the inherent ridiculousness of geologic masses imperceptibly duelling, inspiring romance and chaos and tragedy as biological rubrics scale and rupture.

We Live in Time the capricious seasons habitually recalling tracks and trajectories, temperate enlivened invigorated festive potentially sentimental breezes crazing.

We Live in Time emergent generations interactively communicating multifaceted alternatives, incongruously compiled in abounding treatises ephemerally delineating temperate eternity.

What a gamer, this determined Almut, who refused to yield even though she had cancer, who still competed in an incredibly demanding event even though she might suddenly die.

The forecast wasn't hopeful but she still may have lived if she had taken it easy, but if she had done so and missed out on the challenge and still passed, it would have seemed so utterly unbearable.

Cooking mind-blowing meals that one feels sincerely embarrassed to eat, like you're devouring Deutschland Café XIII perhaps while discussing the weather with someone who isn't listening.

It'd be fun to compose a poem while examining and appreciating such a meal in real-time.

A picture will have to do for now. 

Dazzling and light, endearing forays. 

JFK

The level-playing field, inherent sportspersonship, in a democracy is change not necessitated by the inquisitive will of honest people?

When someone is elected whose outlook contradicts entrenched lacklustre routine, such contradiction embodies the emboldened principles upon which the nation was founded.

I'm not referring to a situation when someone seeks to rearrange the constitution itself, and make monumental adjustments which indubitably favour absolute power.

Democratic governments persevere because they aren't despotic.

If you think the suppression of despotism is in fact despotic, you need to reevaluate your political outlook, and perhaps study historical examples of various monstrous mechanistic despots.

It was indeed an unsympathetic government astutely equipped with monarchical pretensions, that led to general dismay within the American colonies, and the creation of a country unconcerned with kings.

The political system contains remarkable checks and balances designed to prevent the reassertion of autocratic discord.

But they rely on a sense of fair play.

Which the founding fathers took for granted.

According to Oliver Stone's JFK, President Kennedy wasn't interested in war with Vietnam, and was taking steps to move the country in a different direction, which likely led to his assassination.

He genuinely cared about and forthrightly sought a more peaceful world without violent conflict, a world less lucrative for the sale of weapons, as Jim Garrison (Kevin Costner) resolutely points out.

I often call Biden Michael Moore's president when I listen to him speak at length, he's a genuine person of the people and obviously cares deeply about general fair play.

From a distance, it seems like the only way to get ahead in the U.S if you're not well off is to join the army, and hope you never have to fight somewhere without a legitimate ethical reason (fighting Nazis).

When confronting the startling statistics regarding gun violence in the U.S, I'm clearly surprised it's still so easy to buy a gun, so I asked myself, what kind of country do the people who sell all these weapons to their own people want to maintain?, and the answer is most disturbing, and passionately supported in many circles.

Weapons and violence, the assassination of presidents because they uphold alternative points of view, unravels the fair-minded fabric the founding fathers holistically created.

Is it that hard to work together to achieve productive common goals?

It works so well in so many countries. 

And has often worked in North America too.

Never Let Go

I suppose there are so many cool films from so many old school actors I've never seen, Never Let Go notably showcasing Peter Sellers (Lionel Meadows) in a rather unique uncharacteristic performance, in fact in full-on rank compulsive wickedness this one's shocking to say the least, certainly not ye olde Pink Panther, it may be a bit hush-hush. 

As it should be, the wretched villain knows no decent ethical limit, lovers of turtles and tortoises beware, for he takes his anger out on Testudinal kind, which left me most distressed indeed. 

I sought out the film to see more of Mervyn Johns's work, I had never seen him in anything else besides A Christmas Carol (1951).

Never Let Go is from 1960 and it looks like Johns may have been typecast post-Scrooge, for within he plays a similar character who's fallen upon even harder times.

He has what was known as a newspaper stand (or newsstand) where he sells a variety of papers, journals, and magazines, and lives in a rather modest apartment, his most cherished possession a pristine aquarium. 

He's even more mild-mannered than Cratchit and has unfortunately found little reward, even less after he witnesses a car theft and names names to local investigators. 

The car belonged to a cosmetic salesperson (Richard Todd as Mr. Cummings) who's hellbent on retrieving it, but he's never had much luck when bluntly asserting himself, and initially encounters snide disrespect. 

I can't recall anything else I've seen Todd in and may seek out more of his films, he's like a cross between Richard Burton and Russell Crowe, both of whom I've never seen in film noir. 

Sellers finds him a craftier competitor than he thought he would be at first, and slowly loses his ferocious temper as he comes aggressively calling again and again.

I always hope the Scrooge/Cratchit working relationship will pay dividends for commerce come January, and there's no doubt that for many it does while many more can't comprehend the message.

It was still nice to see Mervyn Johns back at it with that fiery loving habitual strife, but whereas Scrooge can never stifle his passion, the cruel Mr. Meadows befouls indignantly. 

An excessively grim morbid tale scandalously excelling through onerous confrontation, Never Let Go provides unruly disillusionment as everything within is tenaciously crushed.

Strong performances outweigh the lugubrity but still leave fair little preponderant hope.

That poor little innocent turtle.

How could anyone ever be so ruthless?

🐢

Tampopo

A daring trucker, hungry after a long day on the road (Tsutomu Yamazaki as Gorô), stops in at a local ramen shop, where the other customers are somewhat hostile.

He refuses to observe their bad behaviour and soon an unfair fight begins, Gorô's courage reacting with bellicose vigour, but there are are too many determined opponents. 

But the owner takes pity on him afterwards and they soon find themselves amicably disposed, Gorô noting that her restaurant lacks appeal (Nobuko Miyamoto as Tampopo), and deciding to chill 'til he can help improve things.

They begin rigorously researching the competition to incisively scrutinize strengths and weaknesses, Gorô proving to be a good teacher, thoughtful Tampopo eager to learn.

After having focused upon various aspects of the divergent ways different people serve ramen, it's time to concentrate on the dish itself, to make something coveted, lauded, irresistible.

Fresh insights are eagerly sought and soon they've forged a constructively critical retinue, devoutly seeking sumptuous irrefutability, with avid pluck and gastronomic reserve.

Meanwhile, the world at large engages in random culinary acts.

Uncanny scenes adding cosmopolitan flavour. 

To Tampopo's free-flowing itinerant broth.

Effervescent peculiar poignancy rambunctiously distilling airtight emancipation, Tampopo proceeds according to guidelines unaffiliated with external gravity.

A world particular and personalized caught up with jocose mesmerizing self-indulgence, like so many of my favourite artistic works, it's structurally chaotic, yet imaginatively sound.

Praise for unorthodox individuals having forged convivial eclectives, well-versed in variable revelations, beyond financial or economic rubrics. 

Praise for concerned acts of kindness delicately encouraging slow and steady development, conflict erupting through holistic expansion, thereafter appeased through tact and forgiveness.

Praise for proceeding according to mood whether it be compassionate or volatile, praise for non-sequential spicy abbreviations piquantly presented in poetic overflow.

I thought the killing of a live animal went way too far and I was thoroughly disturbed afterwards.

Otherwise a unique unpredictable tale.

Abounding with full-on whatever.

*With Ken Watanabe. 

My Brilliant Career

Ill-equipped for traditional confined pastoral life, an independent headstrong maiden habitually engenders conflict, composed in daydream resilient reverie off-kilter audacious autumnal resolve, she challenges presumed propriety through bold recourse to undaunted vigour (Judy Davis as Sybylla Melvyn).

Warning signs abound and she's critiqued with chagrined austerity, the counsel sympathetic yet hardhearted clad in strict coattail admonishment. 

She listens with feisty disbelief somewhat respectful, rather dismissive, her determined insurmountable spirit soulful sprightly stern and striking.

Ill-amused with worldly prejudice concerning sedate superficial aesthetics, she excites through rapt improvisation and presents provocative enticing gambits.

Two men fall for her inspired enchantments even though she's aloof, uninterested, radiating tantalizing unconcern with natural grace and uncanny dignity. 

She likes one of them, however (Sam Neill as Harry Beecham), yet still can't respond to his sincere affection, her dreams far too intense and enlivening to settle for domestic rations.

Yet frontier economics destabilize her multifaceted salient repose, and unfortunate concrete necessity leads to unexpected unnerving circumstances.

The dream perseveres throughout, as she adjusts to working life.

Her awestruck suitor doesn't forget her.

As she contends in the startling Outback.

Who's to say what path to follow how things will end up what will pass along the way?, Sybylla finds literary success as do many others the world loves good books.

If you aren't that concerned with recognition it's easy not to be disappointed, if you're happy with the material you come up with and aren't consumed by envy, you should be fine.

In Search of Lost Time offers ample support for any artist who likes doing their own thing, manifold praise for uncelebrated artistic endeavour can be found peppered throughout the different volumes.

I diligently tried to follow the conflicting advice I was presented with in my youth, but could never really make sense of it, always knew I didn't posses the right psychology.

Perhaps it's better if you aren't consistently bombarded with different compelling visions, Sybylla doesn't have online access, she just has books to read in the country.

I've always liked the chaos though, the general wide-eyed spontaneous diversity.

Frenetic flux frenzied fixation.

A wonderful film.

An animate must see.

Dunkirk

Hedged-in and horrorstruck, 400,000 soldiers await evacuation from France to Britain.

The blitzkrieg having overwhelmed brave defences, sanctuary upon the continent is rapidly diminishing.

Those who avoided capture or weren't stuck fighting against maniacal odds, found themselves awaiting a rescue that was itself fraught with peril.

On a lonely beach in Dunkirk.

Nazi aircraft bombing them from the skies while u-boats viciously lurked beneath open waters, hope nevertheless still reigned, as the absurdity of their position encouraged resilient pluck.

And so a fleet of civilian boats left Britain's shores to dare save them.

In possession of nothing less than the will to endure that drives so many, they immediately dropped everything to boldly challenge Hitler's despotic ambition.

With resounding allied success.

Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk viscerally threads the line between despondency and fortitude as impossibility is flipped the bird by land, water, and sky.

Heroic acts undertaken by those calmly balancing risk with resolve, Nolan's script modestly yet courageously envisions the potent danger.

A well-edited film (Lee Smith) which patiently blends the restrained passions of men statically suturing on the ground, with those defending them above and approaching by sea, the staggering unnerving losses counterbalanced by fortifying victories, aeronautic adrenaline, nautical initiative, Dunkirk celebrates as it suffers, with unified tripartite tenacity, presenting inherent atrocities without sensationalizing the violence, crisp resolute solemnity as opposed to sadistic sanctimony, steady as she goes, into the great beyond.

The numbers don't add up but its genuine character far outweighs what visual enhancements would have offered.

The real crafted realistically.

It never ages.