Buena Vista

Ricochet mesmer slipstream succour

lavender lychee ostentatious box,

glimmering gambit salient showcase

articulate amber forensic flutter.

Disputatious dimples congenial hoodwink

Cartesian ruse distracting artifice,

gatewaylaid fractal allegorical thresh

starboardroom stilts incensed interrogative.

Surmiserly summit plasticine perch

meteoric missive platonic pulse,

organic stature compatriot bling

mythicustardis rank collusion. 

Rubiks lexicubist heuristic hustle

postulate pulpit jalloquent jammies,

nasal synaptitude ‘cilious sights

budding gustation auracular spore.

Envisaged spawning clan osmosis

atypical tinkering noxious loci,

demstereo breadcrumbs stray emissions

Helios hummuster hamster queue.

Rowdy ‘curricular ringside hocus

glistening glide drenched composed,

sonorous speed pitchfork titling

lathe immersion soothsaying’ chide.

Chomnibus chortle burlap burmagma

echohort hooting jubilant shade,

regal component emerald swirl

nominal bombast negligent girth.

Lazuuli thicket persnickety pomp

opalescent timber carcabijoux wood,

auriferous musée optical transmission

looseleaf insignia sierra grotto.

Embellietzsche wiz imputed signs

carnavalesque temper video highlights,

modest decorum macadamia crunch

glamorous nuisance haughty hardwire.

Eggstatic scramble dynamo rouse

emphatic clamber captious wrinkle,

revitalized cessation indicative lullaby

nutrient flux panjam’Alabam.

Cardinal construct tectonic willow

birch barking mad-hasher dashery-doo,

mandolin rhythm sinewfoundlinger

scallop malaise recrudescent tread.

Cavalier cadeptation kalamuschmooze

otiose llama blesséd bray,

beure d’arachide dissimulacrum,

cyberspace sizzle bold conjecture. 

Many things taste better with salsa.

I like to just have the odd mouthful.

Spicy, but not too spicy. 

Variety begets tempation.  

Gandahar

Lost in the peaceful elegant simplicity of humble distinct village life, the people have neither want nor vehement complaint as the carefree millennia fruitfully merge. 

Living harmoniously with nature they have all they need to frolic and gambol, the matriarchal realm organically constructed in heartfelt sonorous temperate melody. 

Yet strange occurrences begin to take place as villagers on the outskirts are found turned to stone, with no indications as to what's going on the mystery confounding the Council of Elders.

The leading matriarch's impetuous son is reluctantly chosen to swiftly investigate, quickly heading out on a winged steed to the unknown reaches of illustrious Gandahar.

After being attacked in the sky, he is sympathetically taken in by Dickensian outcasts, sublime survivors of a different regime which embraced fascist experiment to achieve mad objectives. 

Longing to return to their former city they use special powers to aid the warrior, who continues on his industrious journey with resolute courage and resourceful knowhow.

Only to discover a villainous plot whereby an army of hostile robots.

Is being lead by a murderous brain. 

With the hopes of condemning his people to oblivion. 

If industrial and technological revolutions hadn't utterly transformed existence, would the mellifluous state of organic nature not be more reliable still?

Life may be shorter with less creature comforts and useful medicines may be hard to come by, but would there be as much of a need for them if disease itself hadn't critically evolved?

We did live this way for thousands of years and even if people did fight amongst themselves, was the health of the planet still largely unaffected and were many animal species not driven to extinction?

If oil runs out, the consistency of the future will no doubt be mired in fluctuating uncertainty, will organic technologies emerge to sustain the infrastructure, or will the advanced lock the remnants of civilization down in gated communities? 

So many forecasts, potential disillusion, so much to learn, variants and mutations. 

More chill to settle into the Holiday Season. 

Friends and family, warmth and magic. 

Storm Boy

An ominous board meeting looms for the former director of a prosperous company, which may result in the industrialization of large verdant swathes of Western Australia. 

He's more or less retired and not that concerned with business as of late, his son leading the woebegone way to widespread inanimate environmental degradation. 

His granddaughter is quite concerned though and at irascible odds with her dismissive father, and as granddad listens to her passionate criticisms his mind begins to impressionably sway.

He begins telling an old school tale of his unorthodox childhood isolated on a beach, where he grew up with his father and three pelicans and a local friendly Indigenous neighbour.

The tale, much like the original, follows young Kingley as he raises the pelicans, his father and friend warm and pleasantly accommodating throughout the non-traditional animal husbandry.

The birds are an active lot whose jaunty forthright exuberant instincts, lead to the acquisition of thousands of pounds of increasingly larger delicious fresh fish.

Unfortunately, bird hunters are near who outrageously kill just to have deranged fun.

But as he trains them they thoughtfully respond.

And a bird sanctuary may be on its way! 🐦 

Plus the deal to alarmingly pollute so much vital Australian land, is suddenly challenged by the swift reemergence of a caring activist and his granddaughter. 

It's a heartwarming familial account of the spectacular bonds forged between different species, and the ways in which so many animals can forge lifelong ties with us if raised from birth.

Look to the energetic Moo Deng who recently captured the world's attention, or at manifold other online videos delicately telling similar stories. 

Not just when humans are involved, one video depicts a leopard raised by a cow, who still returns to visit her years later, intense congenial interactive love!

I didn't think this version of Storm Boy would be like a reimagining of the original, which I strongly encourage curious peeps to synchronously check out if you've got time.

The new version's good, don't get me wrong, but the original shouldn't be overlooked by any means.

It's much more independent and ingeniously realized a genuine masterpiece to be widely shared. 

🎄🎅🤶⭐

Baraka

I never grow tired of watching nature documentaries or even those visually illuminating the city, Baraka thoughtfully depicting footage from around the globe with stunning piquant composed vibrant artistry.

It's easy to get caught up with your own active life or even that of your incumbent nation, while so many people from different jurisdictions engage in equally meaningful constructive lifestyles. 

Always thrilling to catch brief glimpses into multivariable globalized difference, whether it's a family subsisting in the jungle or the intense dynamics of inner-city life.

Some of it chill like large spiritual groups a' sittin' back chantin' peaceful rhythms, cohesively immersed within various communities promoting productive agile interactions.

Some of it distressing like the unenviable plight of the wee baby chick on its way to the dinner table, so much complex and moribund thought mechanically engineered to generate death. 

The machines, such incredible machines consistently moving with predictable motions, each tiny incalculable component seamlessly essential to the grandiose whole. 

I worry about my weed-whacker breaking down even though I hardly ever use it, there must be tens of thousands of parts if not more in these industrialized factories fabricating goods at all times.

In the same way the bucolic anthems of rural collectives maintain melodic harmonies, as hundreds of people work together in unison to directly praise nature and togetherness.

Coincidentally, how do you even find your place in these colossally imposing massive urban apartments?, if the elevator breaks you'd be in serious trouble and I don't even mind a bit of a walk from time to time.

It's like each building's its own small town and you can easily get lost within.

I imaging they have a level selling groceries etc.

How could you possible live with that many people?

Baraka presents compelling images opening up passages to holistic exploration, its spectrum vast and internationally eclective to village-city-business-and-wilderness.

A good companion piece for ye olde Samsara although watching both films in one night may lead to awestruck overload.

It may have been one of the first documentaries to approach the world in this fashion.

Therefore pioneering, brilliant, and seminal.

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

Pink Floyd was in a bind after their leading member became incapacitated. But they regrouped and dug in deep and years later wrote Dark Side of the Moon (and Atom Heart Mother and Meddle).

I can't think of another band that held it together after their leading person sort of passed, and even went on to improve upon his work, not that I still don't love listening to Piper.

In a similar way, but under much different circumstances, Marvel's Black Panther lost Chadwick Boseman, and likely had to make considerable adjustments to keep things real to narratively excel.

And I couldn't believe it.

Flabbergasted, if I'm not mistaken, is the word.

Wakanda Forever is like limitless joy radiating infinite happiness in a never-ending ocean of strength, illuminatingly upheld with fluidic fortunes nascently enabling elaborate forum. 

A major takeaway for anyone whose ever been pissed off about what happened to Indigenous South and Central America.

I try not to think about it because it's so uniformly frustrating that it obscures clear thought, and opens doors to distressing depression especially when you see it happening again.

Nothing can be done about it, but fiction doesn't play by the same mortal rules, and in Marvel's Wakanda Forever, Indigenous South Americans are a potent factor.

They survived thanks to a special flower the existence of which was revealed to them by their god, which transformed them into vibrant merpeople, who then made their home far beneath the open sea.

Not just a home, there's so much respect, like the respect given to African Americans through the creation of Wakanda, the extant versatile Mayas and Incas having built a formidable civilization under the sea.

They also ride whales and admire turtles Wakanda Forever totally jamming with Whale Rider, not only by introducing integral whales but also by championing prominent female characters.

It's like a monumental Indigenous/Feminist/African inherent feat of incredibility, with total respect given within, in terms of equality, ingenuity, and innovation.

Nature isn't forgotten as well the miraculous existence of any given species, is venerably compared to Wakandan and Talokonil technology, the cultures prospering through cultural symbioses. 

Like Pink Floyd, Marvel held it together and created another action packed inspiring phenom. 

The ocean is undeniably vast. 

Who knows what lies underneath?

*If Namor wants to buy Black Panther Shuri a present, I recommend picking up a really cool bike.

**Wrote this on Friday night after having a swim. 

***I know humpback and orcas get the most press because watching them jump is amazing, but don't forget about all the other whale (and turtle) species out there. They need representation too!

****There are a lot of bad things happening in the ocean, considering the infamous garbage patch and the intense underwater sound disturbances. The Talokonil (and the Metkayina) could tackle some of those issues in these films. I can't believe how much I love them. 

Neptune Frost

Immersive soundscape luscious lounging technoconscious enviroactivism, resolute awareness communally composed distinct improvised incisive revelation. 

I was watching Superman (1978) the other day and taking note of Kryptonian crystal, how they used crystalline technologies to perform so many hydroelectric functions. 

I'm not sure why, but seeing the crystals made me think of the rays of the sun, and how they're transmitted across our solar system with luminescent solar levity.

I had been thinking about the Venus flytrap and how it evolved to mimic its surroundings, and was wondering how that could ever be possible without external spiritual light.

Or thought.

Isn't it like plants that have evolved to mimic their surroundings, or animals who have developed specific evolutionary adaptations to aid their survival, consciously thought such adaptations would be beneficial, and psychologically sought them for millennia?

Barring the appearance of a game changing divinity, who simply utilized his or her miraculous omniscience to suddenly spark change around the world, perhaps God rather lives in the sun and orchestrates evolution based upon its quality of light.

Perhaps there's much more to the light we generally halfheartedly consider, and a being capable of manipulating its energy creatively does so to simultaneously spearhead manifold change?

Thus, the porcupine seeks a potent defence to prevent the other forest and jungle and savannah animals from attacking it, and silently prays for quills for millennia, the deity constantly bombarded with myriad thoughts which he or she slowly sifts through till the end of time.

The God then responsible for generating life on Earth through the development of his or her munificent sun, then adjusts the quality of light his or her star shares, which facilitates evolutionary change (and quills for porcupines). 

Without thought, without the desire to slowly suddenly adapt to natural surroundings, how does "inanimate" life suddenly adapt to its surroundings?

Doesn't it make more sense that life in general spiritually communicates, and transmits thought at imperceptible levels which we have yet to comprehensively detect (like how different animals can see, hear, or smell things we can't)?

Perhaps life is a computer program but isn't that a dangerous idea, that encourages the mechanical misperception of fluent goodwill and prosperous life?

Neptune Frost is brilliant and it encourages growth and change. The kind of growth and change that shouldn't take millennia. Through the historical ebb and flow.

Many of its ideas were indeed mainstream in my youth. 

It's never too late to bring them back.

They sought peace and general prosperity.

Blizna

Problems associated with industrializing an underdeveloped region haunt the Party official in charge of managing operations, as Krzysztof Kieslowski's Blizna bluntly examines economic controversy, conflicting voices, inherent criticism.

Things haven't changed much in the quiet rural town for quite some time grandiloquently speaking, and while many of the residents adore the status quo, others seek prosperity or reliable jobs.

To build the chemical plant however several homes have to be "relocated", to the grave disillusionment of many citizens who aren't interested in financial compensation (if any was offered).

The age old forest is also decimated even more so as the project expands, there's an abundance of forest in Canada (even so economic development should proceed sustainably), such losses must be catastrophic in smaller nations.

But ecotourism hasn't flourished and the region isn't a vacation destination, and many people don't want to move to seek opportunity elsewhere, since plain and simply, they love their town.

But will they love it when industry settles in and mechanically transforms cherished landscapes and hideaways, as animal life departs and doesn't come back and pollution causes uncharacteristic illness?

Criticisms of the plant endemically abound which discourage its unassuming CEO, who's genuinely concerned with producing fertilizer in order to grow more food throughout the land.

It's easy to focus on a communal goal when a healthy way of life is cautiously preserved, but if pollution and 60 hour weeks become habitual, it can be more difficult to consider macrofactors.

A lot of people don't mind if the money's good and their lives improve, accumulating lavish sought after goods which were difficult to come by in the previous epoch.

But many others do and Bednarz (Franciszek Pieczka) takes their criticisms to heart, forgetting that it's just the price of doing business and that people like to complain.

Especially if there isn't much time to spend with their families and friends and the money isn't very good.

If the pollution makes them sick.

If they lose touch with their beloved environments.

Kieslowski doesn't seem to care much, Blizna examines Bednarz like he's a tragic figure, overcome by flippant grievances that can't see the bigger picture.

Pollution's not even a factor.

It's like the film laments a lack of absolutism. 

Not as balanced as I had hoped, still like nothing I've seen before, even if I found it too top heavy, I imagine it's admired by many an executive. 

Downsizing

Diseases, viruses, contagions, and plagues, having become much less common in the Western World in recent centuries, the afflicted often living long productive lives regardless, a Canadian even having recently found a way to stop cancer cells from spreading, it seems that either humanity is soberly outwitting its microbacterial/. . . foes, or they've used stealth to regroup so that they can one day deliver an unsolicited crushing biological blow, which will significantly reduce unselected populations, and make trivial obsessions seem much less monumental.

Havoc unleashed as the misperceived threat pounces.

Desperation disseminated as no cure can be found.

Heroic scientists combatting the pestilence in experimental pharmaceutical conclaves.

Subterranean realms geothermally flourishing with the spontaneous agility of a holistic labyrinthine avant-garde.

Global warming is undeniable, and taking steps to fight it paramount, and when people argue that it's too late, that we can't reverse what's already been done, I tend to think they've embraced gross ignorance to cover up their lack of transformative imagination.

Alexander Payne's Downsizing is ripe with metamorphic creativity however, even if its cute and cuddly miniaturizations wind up satirically reinstating the status-quo, the idea itself applied and collectivized literally, without much savage elaboration.

A bird attack?

Tame the ants!

I like to overlook the irrational, or find related metaphorical justifications, especially while viewing films who seem to be ironically catering to realistic pretensions which seem out of place in the prognosticative fantastic, so although the sea voyage from the airport was stretching it a bit, and could have been less dry, they were towing vodka, it still suggests that a wild credulous embrace of the unknown can generate blissful compensations, at peace in distilled waters, the compensations themselves rich inasmuch as they bask in surprisingly unfathomable depths, wherein unforeseen variables constantly tempt at play.

If you can simultaneously keep a level-head while somehow getting caught up with them.

Nothing like that happens in Downsizing though, it's more of a laid-back chill examination of how a good natured individual stoically deals with distress, his composed self-sacrifices fraught with cumbersome repercussions, which he patiently ignores with resigned saintly composure.

And humour.

A remarkable look at humble moderation and the seemingly preordained aspects of random belittling chance, Downsizing wasn't as energetic as I thought it would be, but still excelled at fomenting fortunes rich in communal longevity.

Who knows for how long?

Add more ridiculousness, harvest sequels and/or televisual applications.

A bird wouldn't actually be ridiculous I suppose.

It would seem sensational but would actually be realistic.

Restrained genius?

With Udo Kier (Konrad).

The Shape of Water

An ancient unfathomed independent environmental consciousness is captured and brought back to the United States, in chains, clandestine military operations responsible for its incarceration, it actively expresses its discontent oceanically, stuck within a container in a back room of a forgotten corridor in a decrepit building, wondering why a similar species would proceed so callously, when so much more could be learned under respectful mutual examination?

Others humanistically understand this point, immediately recognizing the unjustness of the circumstances, and unaccustomed to viewing such sincere pain and suffering, decide it's time to uncharacteristically encourage sneaky boat-rocking initiatives.

Introspectively speaking, it's really the brainchild of a lone sweet cleaning person who discovers the aquahumanoid (Doug Jones) throughout the course of her daily labours, tries to make friends, and eventually realizes she cares enough to save him.

With a little help from the ethically inclined.

Her heartstrung horizons.

Symphonically submerged.

Guillermo del Toro's The Shape of Water might not be the best film I've seen this year, but that doesn't mean it isn't my favourite.

It's still incredibly good, and thought provokingly entertains while crossing comedic, dramatic, romantic and sci-fi streams, the resultant energy discharge composed of purest raw loving artistic soul, the delicately distracted uniting to outwit a nuclear family man, in possession of everything people are supposed to desire, accept for his personal accompanying douche baggage.

The film's so well nuanced.

And casted (Robin D. Cook).

So many spoilers.

I have to mention these things.

There's just too much cool in one film.

Like characters from Ghost World decided to take on the army, there's a struggling painter who's lost his cash cow (Richard Jenkins as Giles), a conscientious Russian spy who's more scientist than commie, more concerned with promoting life than objectifying ideals (Michael Stuhlbarg as Dr. Robert Hoffstetler), a splendiferous local cinema that can't find an audience, Michael Shannon (Richard Strickland), Octavia Spencer (Zelda Fuller), multiple cats, pie slices to go, a potent critique of exclusive diners, amorous eggs hardboiled, hilarity ensues as positive thinking bemuses, even the douchiest character makes a reasonable plea for sympathy (he's used to lampoon by-any-means-necessary so well), dialogue heartwarmingly places the "human" back in "humanistic", Nigel Bennett (Mihalkov) seriously impresses in Russian, fellow Canadian actor David Hewlett (Fleming) burnishes the brash bumble, prim cold war ridiculousness with a taste for culinary excess, a bit of gore here and there, Hamilton Ontario's city hall plus the CFL Hall of Fame, methinks, good people given a chance to do something good which they overcome rational fears to do, a sense that everyone loved working on the film, yet didn't let the good times detrimentally effect their performances.

With the incomparable Sally Hawkins (Elisa Esposito) tenderly stealing the show; she has an endearing knack for showing up in the simply awesome.

The plot elements and cool criticisms and situations aren't just a smattering of amazing either, del Toro brilliantly blends them together into a startlingly clever narrative that keeps you acrobatically positioned to appreciate virtuous leaps and bounds, that seem to be vivaciously drawing you into a fantastic day in your life, during which you make a remarkable difference, during which you are the change.

Looking past racially motivated sensation.

Discourses of the huggable.

Like perennial blossoming unassailable fountains of youth.

Spontaneous trips to candy stores.

Artistically crafted vegan ice cream.

Limbo

A struggling small town, as conscious of its historical economic uncertainties as it is of its naturalistic providence, its identity surfing Northwest waves with surges of prosperity before suddenly crashing with hawkish speed, introduces a newcomer to its local pantheon, her voice mellifluously diagnosing with gritty surgical precision, a tavern effervescently supplying tales and testaments and intrigue and romance, while a local canning factory shuts down, a mayor envisions the benefits of ecotourism, a couple grow tired of meagre cashflows, and winter incrementally and hauntingly approaches.

As all of these plots threads stitch together and breakaway, like preparations being made for a regional mini-series replete with bucolic melodrama, a wayward son shows back up in town in desperate search of liquid capital, his by-the-book sibling unaware of his shady dealings, the two reunited for a trip by sea enriched by artistic accompaniments, which indiscreetly departs with adventurous cheer, glibly unaware of the creditors who pursue them.

Some films chart a different course halfway through, and courageously alter their narrative visions, such as Full Metal Jacket or Lost Highway, with more success than John Sayles's Limbo.

Theoretically speaking, or inasmuch as one is to apply thought to speculate regarding its cryptic prophetic ending, the second half of Limbo works, after three of its characters find themselves lost on Pacific shores without much hope of rescue.

The rest of its characters disappear though, after having been creatively developed, and I have to admit that they had been developed to the point that I was somewhat irked to see them largely absent from the rest of the film.

However, during the second half young Noelle (Vanessa Martinez) does demonstrate remarkable storytelling skills as she pretends to read from a diary found sitting in an abandoned cabin which doesn't contain many entries.

The film was released in 1999.

By isolating an imaginative youth and then celebrating her literary agility, minutes before her rescue arrives, and then ending the film before we find out whether or not she's been rescued or murdered, Sayles may have been expressing his concerns regarding the future of American cinema, her death representing one wherein which friends sell each other out to make a quick buck, or original storytelling fades as commercial interests place more of an emphasis on calculating revenues than cultivating independence, her life allegorically symbolizing the flourishing of American small town communal solidarity, with its corresponding continuing focus on original ideas, which would inevitably find themselves hailed in the nation's cinemas.

It looked like her feisty mom (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio) had finally found a stable nice partner (David Strathairn as Joe Gastineau) as well, a relationship that may have prospered within diverse creative cultures.

The depth of Sayles's prophecy can't be explored here unfortunately, but I can confidently claim there are still many excellent independent films being made in the U.S., and many that are still out there to make a quick buck.

Did the 2000s engender a paradigm shift or cleverly dissemble artistic realities which never stop agitating?

How would I know?

May make a cool book however.

Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

A peaceful life, a planet in possession of an indigenous miracle, its inhabitants living harmoniously with their environment, excelling at sustaining life in symbiotic exhilaration, pure simplicity matched with subtle eloquence, resplendent tranquil nimble mores, Fiji!, Endor!, Pandora!, Europa?!, falls prey to expansionist greed, victimized to the brink of extinction, the memory of its free people quickly fading, into refined contested disputed intergalactic lore.

Adherences to historical records formally tricked into officially believing nothing happened, the survivors fittingly conceal themselves in emptiness, the possibility of their existence unconsciously haunting their betrayer, on a bustling multidimensional metropolis nestled in neurasthenic nevermore.

Whereupon young love is burgeoning, two youthful recruits risking everything to obtain mission objectives, competent and respected enough to brave seeking evidence that will condemn a superior officer, athletically gifted and intellectually endowed, capable of infinitesimally infiltrating while still pausing to appreciate art, a serendipitous synergy pursuing altruistic cardioaccruements, they generationally contend with that which is forbidden, mineralogically setting sail, into cyclones Vedic honed.

As a matter of conscience.

Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets heats up virtually, technologically, terrestrially, and subterraneanly inclined environments, metaphorically synthesizing a lifetime engaged ensemble, through the provocative art of proactive pioneer.

Within a multicultural conglomerate safely harbours species at risk, if they aren't systematically sought after, and can steadily remain undetected.

A compelling look at the evolution of social media, Valerian ascends to olympian symbolic heights while occasionally stalling on paths taken to reach them.

Recalling that fair solutions do present themselves when cultures negotiate in good faith, it celebrates youthful fair play backed up by regulatory checks and balances.

The naturalization of animosity grossly misrepresents cross-cultural social relations.

People often don't take comedic applications of glorified negligence seriously.

If they think about the situation.

Separate the sleaze from the discontinuity.

Monster Trucks

Prudent planning can effectively ensure that environmental economics create jobs for adventurous workers while collaboratively caring for diverse ecosystems.

The plans can't be drawn up as quickly, and the people potentially living on the sought after lands have to be consulted, compensated, but since these projects often create billions in revenue, is it really that shortsighted to spend an extra 120 million?

It's like cleaning your house.

I don't like living in filth so I regularly sweep up and do the dishes.

Doing these chores helps me to avoid illness plus I don't stain my socks just by stepping on the floor.

It's win win.

The environment's like a massive house, some would argue it's God's house, God's country, and leaving behind toxic pools and/or terrain supersaturated with oil upon which nothing can live turns that verdant mansion into a disgraceful unkempt sofa you'd find at the dump, not at the cool free section of the dump where good natured citizens drop off used furniture, the dumpy section of the dump, i.e, the dump.

It's basic health and sanitation.

Sure, profits rock, but living in harmony with nature's what profit's all about, the environment's undeniably a priceless gift that has gingerly inspired people for countless generations and recklessly compromising its ancient integrity to make a quick buck foolishly belittles the daunting majesty that illustriously defines it.

Think I'm being foolish?

Think again.

Imagine New Brunswick's population increased to 17 million.

There are around 17 million people currently living in the Netherlands according to Siri, a country similar in size to NB.

Currently, if you live in New Brunswick, it's easy to spend time alone in the countryside because there aren't that many people living there compared to Holland and space is relatively abundant.

So I'm told.

(No one has told me that).

Increase its population by 16.25 million and that abundant space becomes precious as it decreases, and sustainably maintaining what's left becomes even more intuitively paramount.

I'm sure with the additional people it would still be just as beautiful.

But that's a much larger mass to deal with.

In Chris Wedge's Monster Trucks, a new species is discovered after greedy Reece Tenneson (Rob Lowe) digs too deep in search of even more wealth.

His monstrous avarice accidentally relocates actual (loveable) monsters who live within those depths and curiously resemble giant bulbous octopi.

Fortunately, gentle yet tough young Tripp (Lucas Till), who's having difficulty getting along with step-father Rick (Sheriff Rick) (Barry Pepper) and doesn't seem to notice that Meredith (Jane Levy) likes him, finds one of the beasties and affectionately names him "Creech."

Before long, a team is assembled, including a reluctantly brave scientist (Thomas Lennon as Jim Dowd) with a guilty conscious, and they're off to save Creech and his kind from the development which would lay their subterranean realm waste.

Their quasi-exobiological ecosystem.

Don't forget Danny Glover (Mr. Weathers).

It's family fun that makes great viewing after an extended hike, or rides on the métro and bus, environmentally aware without any mercantile misgivings, in bold, it cleans up its mess, while metaphorically promoting markets for biofuels.

Mass markets for said fuels can become realities if there's enough consumer demand.

Make some environmentally friendly automobiles and trucks that cost under $30,000 and run on alternative energy sources and that demand may materialize.

It would help clean up the air we breathe.

And make a huge difference, here on homestead planet Earth.

Likely below ground as well.

Loved this film.

Captain Fantastic

Intellectual athleticism, extreme elastic environmental ecstasies, raising the fam in the wilderness like a self-sufficient acrobatic critically inclined motility, hunting game and gathering edible plants, roots, berries, vigorously debating political and ethical thought while fighting as if atavistic Thoreau went forth and meritocratically multiplied, thickets and thespians, excavated escalades, plundered idyllic trial-by-fire equanimity, willing free spirits, stereoscopic centigrade.

Off to the city.

To pay last respects.

Confrontation.

Introspecs.

Competing rationalities flourish in Matt Ross's Captain Fantastic as the traditional is multidimensionally deconstructed, the stark opposition culturally communalized entre the devout and the dedicated aptly displaying reasonable idiosyncrasies, alternative acclimatizations, to frenetically fluid shushed postmodern democracies.

The religious tradition, obediently abiding by the structures that be with respect for law and authority contra the inquisitive argumentative life that debates to understand dynamic sociopolitical distillations.

Both approaches formidable in their fragility.

They clash at a funeral for one of the clan's matriarchs, her father disgusted by his son-in-law's way of life.

The film, a wild playful illustration of familial fervency that is a definite must see, practically every scene generating active thought, a rowdy critical examination of critical examination, as mischievous as it is shrewd, as carefree as it is uptight, questions as it answers to inculcate critical discourse, an interrogative humorous vista, envisioning variety with causal robust gaze.

As Ben (Viggo Mortensen) accepts that he has to respect even if he disagrees while engaging with others, his humanity conscientiously expands, even if it irks him considerably.

Top-down and bottom-up, his children catalyze this transformation.

Balance you know.

Liberty.

The Legend of Tarzan

I suppose The Legend of Tarzan is an adventure film, an action film, a story, a, legend, not a penetrating critical essay examining European colonialist practices in Africa and the resultant horrors they unwittingly released.

Thus, in the final moments, as a British aristocrat who was raised in the wild by fictional mangani apes celebrates the fact that he thwarted the ruthless plans of a self-starting Belgian to brutally enslave the Congo, the entire country, human and beast alike, united behind this altruistic white man, I should have forgotten about the following century of violence and joined in the joyous festivities.

Oddly, The Legend of Tarzan is an American film that champions blue blood as opposed to hard work, the hard working risk takers's flagrant strategic planning unquestionably no match for his adversary's aesthetic environmental nobility.

In the context of the film, this is a good thing, for Tarzan (Alexander Skarsgård) succeeds and the ignominious Leon Rom (Christoph Waltz) is devoured by crocodiles, and the people of the Congo can continue to exist as they have for millennia, beholden to no one besides themselves, as Tarzan does not seek to divinely rule.

But if you dig deeper, it's more like a clever manifestation of white supremacy either way.

A no win scenario for Africans.

The evil religious one who clearly considers himself superior and wants to enslave the population is defeated by the good laissez-faire one whom everyone in the country, including the animals, regards as if he's an omniscient god.

African and American characters alike are given prominent roles within that are combatively fierce and strong.

But none are as strong as blue blood Tarzan, who is mightier than all and has therefore indirectly upheld aristocratic British class privileges.

Apart from all this, even if you overlook all of this, the film's not that great.

It starts out well, introducing characters I wanted to learn more about while establishing a narrative I wanted to eagerly follow.

But there's just way too much sentiment, too many stock characters having predictable diminutive conversations in cliché situations.

Apart from George Washington Williams (Samuel L. Jackson) who impressed and functioned like a colonialist conscience.

It moves too quickly, the scenes that try to slow down the pace a bit and develop some character are far too short and adversarial, like the production team's trying to accelerate the interactions so you don't have time to figure out how awful they are.

A lot of cool stuff does happen with the animals and I've always dreamed of seeing an ending like The Legend of Tarzan's within a different context.

Still though, gross historical aberrations, the double white supremacist whammy, and characters relying on underdeveloped merit.

Elusive indoctrination.

Clever in its villainous duplicity.

The Messenger

I've been thinking that if you possessed the ability to identify sundry song birds while walking through the woods, that walk would be a much more rewarding experience.

There are so many.

I've always loved seeing bears and raccoons, deer and foxes, skunks, chipmunks, minks, but learning more about song birds now seems like the best way to expand my knowledge of the forest, which is in need of expansion, in the interests of lifelong learning.

Because there are so many of them, it's difficult to notice if species are declining if you no longer hear the song you can't identify; there are still plenty of other songs being sung, so it still seems like song bird populations aren't threatened or decreasing every year.

But according to Su Rynard's documentary The Messenger, song bird populations have been decreasing every year for at least 40 years, windows, cats, habitat loss, climate change and chemical insecticides thought to be largely responsible.

I know the inclusion of cats sounds odd.

Aren't cats and birds just interacting as they always have, like lions and zebras or wolves and deer?

It's not quite that simple, as The Messenger suggests, by lucidly pointing out that house cats are actually invasive species, brought with humans wherever they go.

If house cats are thought to be lions and song birds zebras, it's like North America had billions of zebras and no lions until domestic cats showed up on the scene, stealthily silencing many bird songs.

It's recommended that cat owners keep their cats indoors for longer periods of time, or all the time, for even if it may seem like your cat doesn't eat many birds, cats are annually responsible for 1.4 billion bird deaths, and 32 song bird species are now extinct because of cats.

The Messenger also points out how the bizarro French practice of eating ortolans whole, possibly other song birds as well, needs to stop. It's like hunting elephants for ivory. Ortolan numbers have plummeted and people are continuing to eat them, as poachers continue to kill elephants, extinction looming on the horizon, it's disgusting, plain and simple.

It's not just a trifling matter when a species disappears; ecosystems can be harshly effected.

The Messenger mentions how Mao's ludicrous campaign to kill all the tree sparrows in China because they ate grain resulted in 30 million human deaths. The tree sparrows also ate insects that ate crops and without the tree sparrows to eat them, thirty million people starved to death.

It's thought that ariel insectivores are declining in Europe and North America, song birds that live around farms and grasslands, because farmers are using neonicotinoids to kill insects. It's believed that these chemicals have no effect on the aquatic environments they saturate, but this may not be the case, and they may be killing additional insect populations in said environments which aerial insectivores eat to survive.

If farmers can find ways to encourage song birds to live on their farms, perhaps they wouldn't need chemical insecticides. Song birds and bats. According to The Messenger, song birds also excel at distributing seeds and pollinating plants, while forming links with other species that cultivate a healthy ecosystem. It's also nice having them around, hearing them sing, watching them perch and scavenge about.

Windows and lights are also responsible for prematurely ending the lives of many a song bird. Many of them can't see windows and fly straight into them. There are ways to adjust windows to make them bird friendly, notably placing distractions on them that help song birds to see that they're flying into a window rather than continuing on a safe path. Lights being left on at night near windows often attract song birds as well, who often migrate at night.

Climate change.

On the plus side, Icarus Technology allows people to track song birds as they migrate around the world. It must be fascinating following their flight paths as they travel from one continent to the next.

If song bird populations have been decreasing for decades, it's a sign that the phenomenon isn't cyclical, and something can be done about it.

The Messenger travels across the globe interviewing passionate song bird enthusiasts to help people better understand these oft overlooked naturalistic wonders.

Their songs have inspired and are inspiring great musicians. Their colouring is stunning. They play productive roles in nature. And these tiny creatures the size of one's hand travel back and forth from continent to continent to the same precise seemingly impossible to find location year after year.

If millions of people kept their cats inside for longer hours, adjusted their windows to make them bird friendly, and kept lights out when they're not using them, billions of song bird lives may be saved.

Ecotourism is flourishing here and there.

Why not apply that concept to suburban and urban environments?

The ecoburbs?

Bet they're already doing it in Germany . . .

El abrazo de la serpiente (Embrace of the Serpent)

Serpentine seductions, recoiled recollections, imposed civilization, the Amazon, stratus immemorial.

A German ethnologist (Jan Bijvoet as as Theodor Koch-Grunberg) falls ill in the jungle and only one man knows the plant that can cure him.

He's reluctant to help however due to the ways in which Europeans have invaded and ravaged his lands.

Indigenous knowledge, they hadn't created firearms or printing presses, but their wisest knew everything about the land, the creatures and plants and seasonal harmonies, symbiotic symmetries, psychoencyclopedic utility, what to use and what not to use, how to co-exist for millennia, neither stewards nor supplicants, living with nature as one.

From their point of view, European culture may have resembled a serpent, a massive anaconda, sanctimoniously suffocating their people, with intent monstrous gluttony.

From that of the European, the serpent may have been symbolized by the Amazon river itself, terrifyingly labyrinthine, spiritual yet unaware of the Christian God.

These inadequate reflections haunt Theodor and Karamakate's (Nilbio Torres and Antonio Bolivar) hostile interactions as a Christianized Indigenous person (Yauenkü Migue as Manduca) mediates, fully aware of rubber plantation horrors, with the scars on his back to prove it.

There's a powerful scene where a crippled Indigenous rubber labourer begs to die after he's discovered alone by them, their dialogue affecting divergent moralities, as acculturation marches on.

The three travel through the jungle in search of a sacred plant (yakruna) and Karamakate's lost people whom he thought were dead, encountering the destructive path of progress along the way.

Old and new worlds clash as they struggle to forge an understanding, another plot following their path decades later, as a young admirer of Koch-Grunberg's work enlists Karamakate's aid to find yakruna after having read Theodor's diaries.

Throughout this plot thread, Karamakate worries that he's become a chullachaqui, an empty shell, a void, as his memories slowly start to return.

El abrazo de la serpiente (Embrace of the Serpent) values environmental wisdom, culture, immersion, gradually heightening colonialist tensions, as they move closer and closer toward medicinal convalescence.

Progress itself is Ciro Guerra's unwilling target, as the dark side of rapid commercial expansion clashes with the remnants of holistic worlds.

A cautious pace lures you into the narrative and lets its unveilings speak for themselves, while mesmerizingly intuiting dreamlike fascination and cultivated dread, a wild consciousness, harnessed, revitalized, exclaimed.

What a world it must have been.

The moon and the sun coaxed interactive eternity.

Blessed embowered succulence.

Transcendent joyful sorrow.

Mei rén yú (The Mermaid)

A trillion dollar corporation has purchased land off China's coast and placed invasive devices within the surrounding oceanic depths to dissuade dolphins from congregating at play.

However, unbeknownst to them, mermaids and an octopus-person also called said shores home, and have somehow found a way to locate the offending plutocrat.

Having infiltrated one of his exclusive soirées, the unimaginable hybridly heartbeats, as the plutocrat in question is starstruckly enamoured with his would-be mermaid assassin.

Both octopus-person and a wealthy covetous bombshell are none too happy with the ensuing romance, and do everything they can, to hasten its bitter ruin.

Riddle me tryst.

If the mermaids are thought of as representing elephants or lions or the mighty panda, then proactive progressions can be initiated utilizing the mischievously ludicrous reels of Stephen Chow's bizarro Mei rén yú (The Mermaid).

For in its final moments, scientists rush in, armed to the teeth, to brutally force the ancient luminaries to heel (see Farley Mowat's Sea of Slaughter).

To, fluke.

Barraging them with machine gun fire, many of the endangered clan are lost, the others forced to flee to more hospitable domains.

From time to time, I read about the markets established within China for things like bear paw soup and tiger bone wine, and that China's bourgeoise, with their corresponding disposable incomes, is now roughly the size of the United States.

Europe and North America made significant efforts (while coming up short) to stop the rapacious killing of rhinos, lions, elephants, and endangered bears when scientific research demonstrated that their populations could not bounce back from continued sustained ravenous hunting.

Such populations remain low but could also remain stable if steps are taken to crush the markets facilitating their extinctions.

I plead with the people of China, stop the systematic slaughter of exotic animal populations. They deserve to live and thrive upon this planet just as much as we do, and if we can take steps to ensure their continuing survival we should take them immediately.

With a population as large as China's with vast economic resources at its disposal and cultural traditions that encourage the killing of elephants and rhinos etc., beings such as these don't stand a chance, unless powerful concerned movements are created or enhanced to save them.

I'm hoping these animals will always continue to exist, that the world will always be populated by these majestic incomparable crucial wild beasts.

As do millions of people in China I imagine.

Make it happen!

There are plenty of other ways to earn a living.

The East

Professional integrity lands itself a high-level covert assignment, full of danger and risk, wherein it must clandestinely adjudicate its broad range of astute sociological reflexes to infiltrate a stealth pack of humanistic hyperreactivists and expose their audacious whereabouts.

She finds them far too easily, but after coyly yet adhesively nestling, finds herself inductively considering their proactive cause, which seeks stricter much more effective regulations regarding the ways in which big business generates profit.

She works for a rather big business herself and must come to terms with its motives as she becomes increasingly integrated in both domains.

Her partner is frustrated.

Her conscience is bifurcated.

Friendships coalesce.

She is neither arrogant nor weak.

The East melodramatically yet crucially materializes the dissonant underground social dynamics of altruistically pursuing game changing objectives (the comments made by the underground collective occasionally seem at odds with their ethical ideals), bringing some of Terry Eagleton's arguments to life, without shying away from juxtaposing economic with ethical impoverishment.

The scene where Izzy's (Ellen Page) estranged parent jumps in the toxic sludge works well.

Laws can be made to correspond to the goals fought for in this film.

Made and enforced.

Check out Vincent Lam's Tommy Douglas, part of Penguin's Extraordinary Canadians series, and find out what the CCF party did for ordinary hard working citizens of Saskatchewan in a relatively short period of time, when a lot of people thought nothing could be done.

They enacted social democratic change while balancing the budget.

They proceeded cautiously and soundly to legitimize their movement's thrust.

Not that easy to do of course, but there are people all over the world who become rather upset when their water supply turns carcinogenic.

It's just common sense.

Epic

The people of the forest, immersed in regenerative evergreen trash talk, immune from the industry of the Stompers, yet still perceptive of their high-flying subterfrugal ways, promoting defensive broad-leaf deciduous synergies, with a staunch sustainable virtuous verdure, to cultivate alimentary symbiotics, and an everlasting intergenerational presence.

The Boggans seek to steal Queen Tara's (Beyoncé Knowles) special pod and awaken it in darkness, thereby sentencing their domain to a putrid epoch of unprecedented decay, during which their malodorous minions will leave the environment in ruin.

A distrusting Stomper's diminutive descension unfurls a wild card in full bloom.

Her realistic encounter with what she considered to be her father's crackpot theories forges deep resplendent rudimentary roots, as well as a cornucopia of friendships.

The profession of safeguarding information is integral to the action.

A living, breathing, biodiverse ecotopia of enchantment and wonder, Epic fumigates unfettered industrial predilections to nurture an arboreal florescence.  

Bats get a bad rap though.

Bats are necessary components of a thriving ecosystem and would likely gluttonously feast on Boggans.

I've seen countless bats flying around at dusk and have never had one crash into me.

Mischievous asymmetrical mosquito munchers.

Bats!

After Earth

Professional militaristic familial dynamics unexpectedly find themselves stranded within a forbidding ravenous planetary panopticon, whose evolutionary criteria must be subsumed then surmounted, as predatory predicaments transform snacks into sentiments, in M. Night Shyamalan's After Earth.

The film's more straightforward.

Establishing a basic super-easy-to-follow far too predictable framework, whose truculent dimensions highlight the potential social impacts of an exhausted environment, it focuses intently on a fearless father (Will Smith) and his spirited son, the only survivors of a craft which crash lands on Earth centuries after humans were forced to flee.

The frame isn't necessarily a problem since After Earth's obviously made for a generalized teenage audience, and I liked the fear speech, but, apart from one scene which indicates that enormous buffaloesque herds have returned, I thought the futuristic depiction of Earth could have used more flora and fauna.

Perhaps due to Epic's contemporaneous release this feature was deliberately limited.

Epic for girls, After Earth for boys?

No comment.