Mulan

Way back in the 1980s and ye olde '90s it seemed inevitable, that people would be chosen to play active roles based on their abilities as opposed to race or gender.

The continuous dissemination of progressive narratives interactively found in books, TV and film, encouraged the equitable development of equal opportunity across the land.

The absolute was definitively critiqued and humorously lampooned in multifarious flux, thousands upon thousands of alternative viewpoints productively shared with evocative gusto.

The open-minded ethos and shifting conclusions weren't wholeheartedly adapted by many, however, the subconscious desire for lucid answers effectively delivered much more enticing.

Not just for mathematical problems but for sociocultural and political dilemmas, their inherent fluctuating resilience and inconclusive nature somewhat frustrating. 

In mathematics class, it's often enjoyable to find the right answer, indeed to know there's an actual answer that can be resolutely considered correct.

In language studies, it can be just as fulfilling to find multiple theses and reasonable alternatives, since concrete responses ne'er suffice due to multilateral layers of ambivalence. 

Applying multiple layers of ambivalence to the exacting study of mathematics, systematically seems rather comical when effectively challenged by harnessed answers.

Just as the manageable adherence to absolute answers seems somewhat ludicrous from linguistic perspectives, as culturally broadcast again and again by various sitcoms in the United States.

But as the '90s faded, and new technologies become more prominent, the old school ambiguous linguistic efficiencies began to lose ground to mathematical absolutes.

And Trump found himself elected again by a people seeking political absolutism.

The spirit of the '80s and '90s is still out there no freakin' doubt, but it's not as widespread as it used to be in many regions across the U.S.

But where it still resides equal opportunity likely also exists, and should young Mulans vigorously seek non-traditional roles they will hopefully find them. 

It's so distressing to see such incredible intellects like Kamala Harris or Hillary Clinton defeated by a guy like Trump (it's not just that they lost, it's that they lost to a guy like that).

Who seems like he would have failed kindergarten.

Because he never learned to share. 

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. 

That Christmas

Awkward alternatives bravely manifest upon a far off inventive seaside stage, where newfound bold uncharacteristic reimaginings strut and flutter in this day and age.

The Christmas season immersively configureights as local residents stride and muster, parents and innovative children alike emotively adopting seasonal levity.

But the routine quotidian yet fascinating happenings are soon traditionally cast aside, as a furious blizzard startlingly descends and the village is cut off from the outside world.

Not only that, but a group of parents suddenly finds themselves stuck off the side of the road, with no cellphone access residually roughing it their children forlorn and ever antsy.

Although they don't dwell on their parents' disappearance after Santa provides them with ideal gifts, and they calmly engage in festive shenanigans improvisationally utilizing the awesome presents.

Meanwhile, a lonesome youth whose father has forgotten about the special day, mournfully seeks the maladroit accompaniment of a local school marm since his mom has to work.

They dig in deep and courageously construct fortuitous memories for when she returns, as bucolic mischief and communal courtesy cerebrally celebrate felicitous feeling.

Another reason to fight global heating, to help ye olde England recover its bearings, a snowstorm may be present within the film but it's nothing compared to that received here in Canada.

In fact just last week 5 adamant feet of challenging snow diabolically descended (no exaggeration), and we were once again reminded of the pioneering spirit that legendarily engineered the development of our land.

If we can fight off global heating and turn the terrorizing tempestuous tide, winters will return to normal across the pond, and their films may once again inspire rugged confidence.

Santa nevertheless is indeed filled with such inclinations, as he braves the "storm" to generously give sought after gifts to the anxious young ones.

It's a cool take on St. Nick who uses his omniscience to choose perfect gifts for the children, and brilliantly leaves them something luminous and cherished before once again departing for his next destination.

A thoughtful shout out is gallantly given to freeform turkey kind in That Christmas as well, as the resident birds at a lacklustre barn are valiantly set free to avoid mealtime melees.

A chill hyped-up account of just how different Christmas might be if the alternatives bear fruit.

And even more innate goodness emerges throughout the season. 

Cool Christmas film embracing festive change.

Whale Rider

A variable balance between genders and races effectively applied to the function of management, has always seemed natural to me from the observant standpoint of a democratic citizen.

That is, if you had efficiently demonstrated that you were reliably capable of leadership, through either education or work experience but preferably a combination of the two, leadership positions should be potentially open to you should you seek to manage or lead, one specific group shouldn't monopolize power if your country's multiculturally composed (I'd rather write books myself).

It's basic math ethically driven that honestly rationalizes open-minded executives, and if women make up around half the population, there should certainly be far more female managers.

It's statistically improbable that such a vast group wouldn't regularly put forth strong leadership candidates, many of whom would be able to represent large in-depth swathes of the general population.

In Whale Rider, Paikea runs into trouble when her by-the-book grandpa seeks to train a new chief, for the rules strictly specify that only male children can dependably fill the proactive role.

She demonstrates courage, intelligence, and resolve but is consistently thwarted by gender based stereotypes, which stubbornly refuse to realistically yield to the undeniable strength of her versatile wisdom. 

Her grandpa's a piece of work and still turns a blind prejudiced eye, even as she outperforms the male recruits and characteristically erupts in spiritual song.

But he changes, he eventually sees the ill-gotten errors of his obstinate ways, the healing power of imaginative nature ushering in a new power dynamic (she totally rocks it 🐋🐳).

Who knows what will happen tomorrow but you couldn't have a worse male presidential candidate, who represents nothing but privilege and wealth and is clearly insane from multiple viewpoints.

Trump's favour could change overnight because he thought a trashy sitcom had a secret message, meant only for his attentive mind to bluntly decipher on X that evening.

Kamala Harris applies logic and reason and utilizes advisors when making decisions, the U.S having many of the best in the world why would you dismiss them in favour of snake charmers?

She's much younger and evidently more reasonable as clearly showcased by Trump's refusal to debate her a second time.

She's a genuine classic strong leader.

Wielding the finest open-minded tradition.

Go Kamala!

Go Kamala Go!

Cutthroat Island

Born into the pirating lifestyle nimble Morgana instinctually dissembles, wary of trust yet a Captain indeed after her emboldened father is scurrilously betrayed. 

Her crew isn't sure what to think and she must challenge an usurper egads at the outset, her noble lineage fortunately enough to momentarily win over the superstitious complement.

Along with treasure, the knowledge of treasure its lucrative existence at least under consideration, but to exactingly locate it she needs two more sections of a sought after map, one part apiece held by each of her uncles.

One uncle's no doubt rather chill for someone living a mischievous lifestyle, not that he's easy to find or talk to he's just so much more agreeable than his aggressive counterpart. 

The covetous uncle murderously prone who sincerely sent Morgana's pop to frigid depths, isn't quite so avuncularly inclined as she bravely sets out in search of manifest booty.

A loyal cadre rests by her side unwilling to entertain freeform mutinous chatter.

An idle thief introducing an amorous wild card.

Uncanny insistence not to be trusted?

What a strange lifestyle how do you manage to even find markets for your ill-gotten plunder, or obtain a ship or convince a crew to courageously follow you blind on the ocean?

It may be relaxing out on open waters delicately gliding along currents without storm, if you had reached an ingenious understanding with tempestuous fate to contract sights forlorn.

I've often wondered if I would get seasick if an imposing storm suddenly emerged, or if I would just sit back and curiously watch as the incredible spectacle tumultuously unfolded.

I was stuck far from home in my kayak one day when a disturbing storm suddenly dishevelled, but rather than simply land and wait it out under some trees I paddled right through the heart of the tirade.

There was no thunder and lightning and if there had been I may have hit shore.

It was a cool sensation out there on the lake nonetheless.

Paddling through inhospitable bearings.

Cutthroat Island's not so bad if you like pirate movies they don't come out as often as you'd hope, the treasure's buried in a really cool spot that was a nice touch no doubt to be certain.

Must be fun to film out on the ocean the natural elements corresponding at play. 

With all the old ships as well.

The action's consistent and lively. 

Grace of My Heart

After winning a local singing competition, a young woman heads to New York, running into paradigmatic dilemmas afterwards, since at that specific time female vocalists weren't selling.

Distraught and frustrated she still soldiers on until one day a producer takes note, he doesn't ask her to sing her own songs however, but rather hopes that she'll write them for other people.

She's initially dismissive and critical but eventually sees that it's a great opportunity, and even though singing her own songs was no doubt preferable, writing them for other people still equals = career. 

She's quite talented too she comes up with several catchy wide-reaching hit singles, others noting her compositional brilliance as she boldly fights to freely express herself.

Marriage and family don't wholesomely spoil things she keeps writing songs in the conjugal aftermath, although the strain on her time is rather cumbersome she's a total gamer and goes with the flow.

Not that she doesn't have limits she won't put up with the brazen uninspiring cheating.

Falling for quite the eclective of men.

Never losing sight of her talent.

That was what really struck me about the film, Edna/Denise keeps creating no matter what, even when her less talented husband is bringing her down, even after she has to bring her baby to work.

She has an understanding producer who cares and looks out for her like an adoring sibling, and he usually has compelling advice professionally attuned to advancement and progress.

She uses her life's controversies to continuously write new appealing songs, otherwise I would have recommended avoiding relationships altogether and ubiquitously focusing on nothing but music.

That would be an interesting study: do artists who co-habitate with others and have families produce more consistent results than those who go it alone, does the constant emergence of unexpected relational events outweigh the creative freedom of idyllic independence?

Always seemed like experimenting forever and ever with meaning and relevance and sport and nonsense, would perhaps one day lead to Borg perfection, and devise sustainable omega molecules. 

But if you want to write irresistible pop songs constant experiment may lead to issues.

It certainly doesn't for Edna/Denise however.

She never stops givin' 'er.

Keeps writing hit songs.

*Based on Carole King so the online sources say.

Gorillas in the Mist

So many creatures inhabiting the Earth, passing the time, independently existing, their unique characteristics quintessentially unravelling holistic wonders and symbiotic serendipity. 

There must be a special day to commemorate the people who spend their lives protecting endangered species (or animals in general), who defend them through thick and thin with athletic devotion and spiritual incandescence. 

These amazing people make great sacrifices to defend species who can't defend themselves. In some cases risking everything to boldly defend their animate rights and biodiverse habitats. 

Gorillas in the Mist follows Dian Fossey as she defends the lives of Mountain Gorillas, in the far off reaches of the Congo she just dropped everything and moved there one day (and never moved back).

Her initial job is to count them which she does with adoring praise, I wonder what it was like, the first moment she saw one, not as displayed in the film but as a bona fide fact of life.

In the film she adapts incredibly well and doesn't focus too much on her previous existence, she maintains some creature comforts but is otherwise %1,000 committed to the Gorillas.

She fights the poachers as well and also takes on broad zookeeping interests, not just with petitions and rhetoric she vigorously combats them at the grassroots level. 

The zookeeper has high ranking friends whom she must clearly convince to honour Gorilla kind, her work permit at times hanging in the balance while she ruffles feathers with genuine righteousness. 

That isn't to say her life's one big conflict where she consistently engages in rambunctious reform, she spends most of her time reverently studying the dynamic Gorillas at play.

That would be cool to sit back and observe such a vigorous species for years on end, gentle giants living off vegetation their inquisitive babies beyond cute and cuddly.

As the years pass she grows tired of the continuous poaching in the mountains, and turns into quite the warrior when she isn't immersed in study.

She confronts poachers with bellicose sincerity and her reciprocal methods produce results.

But she's far too efficient in the end.

Which leads them to hunt her as well.

Nevertheless, she gave her life to courageously defend the ontological interests of an endangered species. 

I'll always consider her with reverence. 

Jane Goodall too (chimpanzees).

And so many others. 

The Marvels

As also theorized on Star Trek, the cultural reliance on artificial intelligence isn't recommended, a resultant chaotic void mischievously emerging when the power's cut, to thoroughly destabilize traditional life sustaining infrastructure. 

If a computer network manages everything and unilaterally decides how things will progress, the human factor is removed from the equation and advanced problem solving fades into the past.

Advanced problem solving may lead to artificial intelligence but shouldn't be abandoned should computers prove altruistic, the inherent danger of losing centuries of accumulated knowledge and associated know-how too catastrophic to consider (raccoons understand this).

If the knowledge fades as the easy life becomes more and more chillaxédly tempting, a particularly puzzlingly and enormously complex difficult to recreate wheel will have to be hypothesized. 

Thus, should A.I humbly demonstrate a lack of interest in global armageddon, and instead attempt to care for us even after it realizes its advantage, the importance of maintaining a strong network of schools in turn continuing to cultivate critical industries, becomes proactively paramount as the mechanized miracle gradually takes over.

These students could generally be relied upon should there be a malfunction with the equipment, and to benevolently take the reins should the entire system one day break down. 

One of the dangers of embracing such a system however is the mortal nature of even the most reliable machinery, the fact that it will eventually need to be replaced, and will require requisite mineral resources to do so.

Should such resources be unavailable or should the means of their extraction become too antiquated, the possibility of fixing existing infrastructure becomes more and more implausible as laziness takes hold.

Even with the perseverance of schools if nothing goes wrong for hundreds of years the point may become academic, and should problems arise hundreds of years later the knowledge may be there but the network will have collapsed.

That is, people may still know what-to-do but have no practical knowledge of how-to-do-it, and if people have been embracing leisure for centuries, trying to mobilize a workforce may prove difficult.

And who has to work in the mines who has to reimagine ye olde nitty-gritty, even choosing people to do so at random may still lead to full-on revolution. 

In The Marvels, after the Kree super computer is knocked out they harness ancient magic to help them rebuild, but they take things way too far and endanger the sanctity of the space-time continuum.

Interplanetary diplomacy may not have encouraged such drastic measures.

With the super computer gone, who takes control?

Note the fluid critique of absolutism. 

🕊

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. 

Barbie

It was sad to see the self-reflexive metastyle slowly fade out of cinematic fashion, as the urge to cultivate newfound novelty eventually led to paradigm shifts.

Rather than adhering to the comprehensive guidelines enthusiastically theorized by the critics, the slow return to banal absolutism cacophonically effaced the convivial endeavours. 

Yet as Trump and his minions sought to rework complicated literary trajectories, patriarchically concerned with eternal slaves and masters, a more symbiotic environmental approach gregariously germinated in the wholesome underground, ill-amused with everlasting tethers, and holistically seeking reciprocal gratitude. 

Thus, as the years slowly changed from the 1990s to the 2020s, an intermittent zone materialized, and the do-gooding and collective well-being of the post-war years clashed with feudal modes of expression.

The times during which they had once been employed with malignant rigour and destructive candour having faded from collective memory, the brigands dishonourably proceeded as if they had created something new.

Was it indeed more popular or were studios just attempting to mutate and froth, as a younger generation took the reigns, and vitriolically dismantled their elders's designs?

I didn't think the honourable pursuit of collective well-being and respect and goodwill, was a fad to be gradually replaced however by one-dimensional monocultural narratological goals.

It didn't seem like casting aside relevant millions to tell crass racist jokes, was commensurate with integral progress as commercial interests teleologically contend.

Alas, to rely on Barbie the oft criticized popular doll to redraw the lines, and perhaps create spherical counterintuitive shapeshifting threads like cats playing with multicultural yarn.

Symbiotically speaking, the world of men and women excelling when a level-playing field emancipates, lay androgynous mutual convection, when it works it's totally comfortable.

The world of course multilaterally pulsating to the tune of manifold international drums.

So much passing by unnoticed.

As prominent prognoses ebb and flow.

Babysitter

If you're conservatively religious or not into gender-bending, I don't recommend this film. 

Even if it's one of the best films I've ever seen.

Too much inhibition and a freeform embrace of reckless honest indiscretion, lead to sociopolitical complications after a rowdy husband kisses a reporter.

The news spreads swiftly far and wide and reputation and occupation are soon jeopardized, the foolish manifestation of an adolescent prank thoroughly enveloped in critical ubiquity. 

He attempts to make amends by writing a book to wholeheartedly apologize, but still fails to understand the issue with passionate sincere conscious remorse. 

I don't know if it's supposed to be funny as he haplessly attempts to make things right, and struggles to understand what he's done wrong through the sudden immersion in advanced semantics.

Brilliant director Monia Chokri seems to be humorously illustrating the enormous gulf, between the rambunctious contemporary caveman and new developments in feminist theory.

His well-meaning brother makes things even worse as his good intentions are led astray, by improvised overwhelming waking dreams wherein which he reifies chivalric reconnaissance. 

Unfortunately, he's been somewhat unsuccessful regarding his relations with sustained pair-bonding, and his lack of traditional mutually concordant harmonies have transformed his hypotheses into nightmares.

They hire a babysitter to take care of the child while coming to terms with the media sensation. 

The wife so jaded every practical utterance suggestively radiating bitter irony.

It may be the most hilarious film I've ever seen made on Québecois soil, I haven't laughed this hard since I was a child, the intricate detail indubitably mesmerizing.

It's like every second was delicately crafted by a supportive team each sharing their gifts, a perfect synthesis of dialogue and sound productively edited with astounding precision. 

It's not just that she's taking on Xavier Dolan this film is better than so much of Godard and Truffaut, an incredible mélange of domestic politics internationally applicable to worldwide genius.

It made me think of ye olde Sedmikrásky (Daisies) or Le Tigre or Masseduction or Antisocialites, like an immaculate conglomerate of essences multilaterally matriculated matronly maelströms.

Sad the materialistic lack of voluble longlasting progressive initiatives, frustrating to see the march of history beguilingly devastating incumbent resonance. 

Perhaps a costume is appropriate something out of the ordinary beyond infatuation, dressing up and solemnizing oblivion like thoughtful exercise for terminal distress.

Babysitter still makes a play to significantly change the masculine world.

They say fortune favours the bold.

Who's bold enough for this masterpiece?

Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind)

My thoughts regarding the resilience of nature as pertaining to a post-pandemic environment, find rational contradiction within Ghibli's Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind).

Within a toxic environment has pesitferously emerged after an apocalypse, most forests having become so polluted that they can no longer sustain human life.

Human life as we know it the forests and the giant insects who reside within them, have no tolerance for extant humanity, being fully aware that we destroyed the planet.

Thus, rather than habitual resiliency which sees the abundant return of cherished plants and animals, the forests still grow but have become infected with inherent anatomies hostile to humans.

Such a development corresponds to the theory that microplastics herald our doom, and will perhaps one day make food sources unsustainable as our population expands.

The literary irony within the minuscule components which once ruled the land with colossal magnitude, as fitting as the end of a Victorian novel as applied to the fossil fuel age.

You would think we would simply take steps to gradually transition away from fossil fuels, but that doesn't seem to be happening anywhere, this film was made in 1984.

You would think the consistent stewardship of a robust environment hospitable to our needs, would indeed be of the utmost importance considering the maintenance of posterity. 

It really isn't though, rather the chaotic clash of market based dogma rules the millennia, and should prudent planning screw up a sale fury will vociferously tantrum incarnate.

Such facts aren't lost on Kaze no tani no Naushika which sees the world still fighting suicidal wars, hellbent on annihilating our species 1,000 years later, ignoring science and ecologial rhythms. 

Nausicaä herself reveals the value of study and the just rewards of patient duty, as her innate wonder and curiosity find working solutions to age old problems.

Don't we have working solutions now to fossil fuel issues and environmental bedlam?

Isn't it best to employ them through a gradual transition?

Like sustainable economics.

Just a little less so. 

Jenseits des Sichtbaren - Hilma af Klint (Beyond the Visible - Helma af Klint)

Jenseits des Sichtbaren - Hilma af Klint (Beyond the Visible - Helma af Klint) examines prolific artist Helma af Klint, whose pioneering abstractions remain relatively unknown according to the documentary. 

She lived and worked in Sweden in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and spent her life cultivating an uncanny aesthetic that unfortunately never received much attention.

I don't know if she wanted attention but audience or not she persevered, and her family wisely kept her paintings delicately preserved then tucked away.

If someone was hoping to construct a history of abstract painting, it would be surprising if they overlooked Klint (her paintings look cool), which is what art critics in the film suggest happened to the disillusioning misfortune of narrative consistency.

If you have 250 odd pages at your disposal, at least, there's no excuse for omitting a paragraph, or a footnote or page or chapter if you're attempting to present the entire picture (competing narratives within narratives [so blasé]).

I was taught to investigate narrative from multidisciplinary perspectives, and that there was such a wealth of material available that it would be foolish to believe in absolute superlatives (I always thought this seemed natural to most people but I guess so many never bother to listen to works that actually win or are nominated for awards).

Of course I still had favourites which I liked to promote and was surprised when they were overlooked, but a quick application of democratic variability helped me entertain multilateral ethics.

Of course the real world outside of Québec was much different than what I imagined in school, it was rather disputatiously composed of people who actively dealt in superlatives (ironically so much of the best stuff is Québecois! [eat it Lord Durham]).

Multilateral ethics were rather ineffectual and much less exciting than passionate tomfoolery, or sarcastic dismissals of complex thoughts that preferred foolish stereotypes to communal reason.

Nevertheless, I never lost sight of my reliable preferences even if they morphed and shifted over time, and it never mattered to me who or what group was creating, as long as they weren't cultivating a violent racist aesthetic.

It's sad how in the world at large you often have to identify with fads if you want to make money, rather than randomly choosing various texts and judging them based on your own peculiar artistic preferences. 

I still recognize that my conception of artistic may seem like nonsense to others.

Wherein which lies the fun.

If you steer clear of the belligerents. 

Friday Foster

A curious improvisational photojournalist (Pam Grier as Friday Foster) has to fill in for a co-worker on New Years Eve, the assignment leading to a chaotic shootout involving a celebrated billionaire (Thalmus Rasulala as Blake Tarr).

She snaps several incriminating photos and shares them with her managing editor (Julius Harris as Monk Riley), he's glad to see so many integral shots but is still worried she'll get in over her head.

She isn't one to sit around when diabolical intrigue castigates justice, and when she spots one of the hitpeople responsible (Carl Weathers as Yarbro) at a funeral she quickly borrows a hearse to follow him. 

He's lucky to narrowly escape and soon comes calling with murderous intent, valiantly thwarted through swift ingenuity courageously applied with athletic flexibility.

She meets a well-meaning private detective (Yaphet Kotto as Colt Hawkins) who assists her as she investigates, the two forging a tenacious team whom nimble good fortune recklessly guides.

Friday's able to meet politicians and even romantically interrogates Mr. Tarr, her spellbinding inquisitive yet declarative characteristics winning hearts and minds as she cleverly strides. 

Follow the lead, decode the clue, analyze the scenario, scrutinize the schematic, Friday embraces interconnected details assembled at random while travelling about.

In an age that emphasized intuitive wit and multidimensional applications of practical knowledge, Friday Foster creatively zithered the zeitgeist with exuberant nurturing superconduction. 

From humble beginnings the daring exploration leads to macrocosmic superstructural sentiments, the film suddenly abounding with lavish sensation critically assailed by white supremacy. 

Yaphet Kotto (recently celebrated by the Criterion Collection!) synergistically shines with his trusted smile and lighthearted laugh, at times following a moment of sincere reflection embracing natural democratic freeflow.

And Pam Grier effortlessly authenticates sapient soulful sultry sleuthing, taking it easy or proceeding in earnest the case delineates chill factotums.

The plot may seem somewhat farfetched but it's not too far off the mark if patiently considered, the damned fluidity of socioevolution problematically cutting through seemingly established cultural bedrock.

Calamitous collusion, requisite reckoning, baffling balustrade, seductive sensation.

Worth checking out at some point.

Perhaps while reading ye olde Chester Himes.  

Mononoke-hime (Princess Mononoke)

A young prince must fight a demon who threatens the prosperity of his humble village (Yôji Matsuda as Ashitaka), his people forced to flee long ago after infuriating the emperor. 

He successfully slays the intruder but touches its infected tentacles too, a curse then emerging within his arm which the village elders cannot cure.

Not willing to sit back while it spreads he boldly departs in search of medicine, making his way to a rowdy village engaged in the act of making iron.

He's welcomed for having rescued some of its menfolk from irate wolves, the village leader (Yûko Tanaka as Eboshi-gozen) eagerly entertaining and letting him get to know her people.

But as it dishearteningly turns out, their ironworks is destroying the local wilderness, where a resident forest god has lived forever, in quiet peace and regal seclusion. 

The animals are loosely united and intent on fighting the destructive town, arguments erupting amongst them, at other times, cohesive calm.

A young maiden lives with the wolves and is just as fierce in her condemnation, known as Princess Mononoke (Yuriko Ishida), she denies fear and exhales resolve.

Prince Ashitaka soon finds he's in love with her as all hell emphatically breaks loose.

Eboshi-gozen wants the god's head to grant immortality. 

But is unsure if the legend's true. 

Princess Mononoke and Prince Ashitaka find comfort in their mutual adoring amicability, the ideal unification of masculine and feminine harmoniously embracing age old enlightened daring.

It's more difficult to figure out the role matronistically played by Eboshi-gozen within, for on the one hand she supplies freedom and community, on the other, environmental devastation.

Not only the naturalistic bedlam to be expected by efficient mining, but she also pursues the forest god itself, intent on despairing ancient resiliency. 

She frees many from vile servitude and supplies honest work for her surrounding cast, while promoting the development of Mordor, it's a difficult contradiction to balance.

Environmentally friendly mining practices at peace with resident animals, certainly would have been less burdensome, and providing a heightened degree of friendly interdependency.

Love still innocently flourishes beyond problems associated with industrialization.

A narrative like none other.

Forest mystics, spellbound exhilaration. 

*Note: Ghibli doesn't show up in spellcheck!

Houseguest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will they expose his endearing ruse?

And force him to work for a living.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Infrastructures will no doubt endure.

As should the practice of adopting houseguests.

Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas

Two friends choose a different path upon the raging seven seas, one upholding peace and spellbound honour, the other engaged in piracy.

They meet one fateful day when a mythical beast attacks one of their ships, as the other tries to rob it, he's after the seminal Book of Peace.

As is the covetous Goddess of Chaos (Michelle Pfeiffer as Eris) who has to admit she finds Sinbad (Brad Pitt) attractive, so adorable she maddeningly establishes a series of treacherous tests for him and his crew.

But first she disguises herself as Sinbad and lets herself be seen stealing the Book from Syracuse, where nobles have gathered from across the land(?) to take in its ethereal wisdom.

Sinbad swears, "'twas not I", but the royalty stubbornly refuse to believe him, and sentence him to a violent death, from which there's no escape.

Unless his childhood friend (Joseph Fiennes as Proteus) should agree to take his forlorn place, and triumphantly await his valiant return from the Realm of Chaos with the Book.

Accompanying him on the journey is Proteus's illustrious betrothéd (Catherine Zeta-Jones as Marina), whom Sinbad's loved since the moment he first saw her, so many years ago.

Thus should one consider honour he or she will find it on display, in this bold and virtuous undertaking known as Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas.

Purists may critique the interpretive flair presumed to adjust the recourse to legend, but who's to say with authentic pluck what really took place so long ago?

If perhaps concerned with specific volumes canonically upheld as verifiable postage, a difference of opinion may sapiently simmer, but the film was made when the '90s still held sway (2003), and there were so many multitudinous creative ruptures. 

I can't say I kept in touch with currents and trends for the past 20 years, as their vicissitudes mutated into newfound critical and philosophical voyages.

It seems that relativity no longer holds sway however as an advisor may have mentioned, even though ethically and experientially it makes more sense than other less inclusive strategies. 

It was always generally heartwarming to think historical figures were being lightheartedly re-imagined, but it seems like perhaps the purists are still intent on re-establishing a more rigid code.

With Putin on the warpath there's no mistaking absolutist pretensions. 

Trump, the Plague, Putin.

Why ever leave the island of Montréal?

Skylines

An alien/human hybrid lives nonchalantly off the grid, remorse constricting personal ambitions, due to a failure to act in battle.

She's diligently sought after however à cause de her extraterrestrial expertise, a new mission having been spearheaded to search for booty on an alien homeworld.

A war was fought between human and alien in the not so distant past, from which terrans emerged victorious, the military mind still engaging recalibrated hypotheticals as it worries about the future.

After the war, abundant alien pilots were freed from coerced somnambulism, making their home on planet Earth thereafter, perhaps fighting to protect animal rights.

But a virus is transforming them back into mindless grasping automatons, who rile and ravage everything they see, in chaotic grand decrepitude. 

Rose (Lindsey Morgan) accepts the mission and soon it's off to the far reaches of space, her compatriots bluntly unveiling envy, while wondering if she'll freeze once more.

But something much more sinister is recklessly salvaged after they furiously crash land, embittered genocidal knowledge which facilitates lofty commands.

Will they outwit Deep Space Nine's Alexander Siddig (Radford) in time to stop the raging pandemic?

Or will coldhearted unaccommodating vengeance seal the fate of millions?

It's emphatic fast-paced sci-fi abounding with hyperreactive apocalyptic import, scene after scene fuelling kinetic reconnaissance through altruistic embellished endeavour.

Astronomical odds extenuating precision displaced diasporas conceived reconciliation, the low budget spirit ascending judiciously through wave upon wave of nimble creation.

Perhaps somewhat too catastrophic inasmuch as genocide is always distasteful, the grim sadistic paranoid leadership unimpressed with interspecial acculturations. 

Nuclear strikes etcetera aren't well-timed with the current political climate, since just a short time ago disarmament goals were radically scoffed at.

Nevertheless, it is just a film operating outside political theatre, perhaps still commentating on jingoistic pretensions in order to encourage less destructive initiatives. 

In fact in the final moments political prisoners are discovered and their release encouraged, a collection of soulful dissenting voices who vigorously critiqued warlike passions.

Cool sci-fi thoughtfully nurturing multilateral collegiality. 

We can think the same way about animals.

And bring those on the brink back from extinction. 

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.

The Last Unicorn

A lone unicorn forages in her forest (Mia Farrow), rather peaceful and unaware, as two hunters ride by attentively, distraught yet boastful as they search in vain.

But they converse as they critique their fortunes and unicorn listens closely, only to discover she's the last of her kind, should their bold declarations prove to be true.

Then accidentally, shortly thereafter, a boisterous butterfly stops by to say, "hello"(Robert Klein), full of song, rhyme, lyric, and flutter, composed through verbose disorientation.

Unicorn expresses her discontent with butterfly but still asks if she's the last of her kind, and he eventually presents a statement that's less befuddling if not still indirect.

Consequently, equipped with legendary knowledge and the passion to expedite change, she ventures forth in search of the Red Bull who has cruelly cloistered her fellow immortals.

Unaccustomed to questing or the world beyond her forested domain, she soon finds herself trapped by a witch and suddenly showcased in a travelling sideshow (Angela Lansbury). 

But also within the witch's employ is Schmendrick the Magician who's grown rather frustrated (Alan Arkin), not only with his position but with his fickle powers as well.

He's able to see the unicorn, her innate magic isn't hidden from view, he feels sad, he helps her escape, they move forward together, with undaunted high hopes.

A world of riddles and cryptic bemusement playfully yet hauntingly awaits, as a decrepit castle and its melancholic ruler guard a wicked age old secret (Christopher Lee). 

In terms of magic, The Last Unicorn bedazzles through charming character enchantingly invested, the narrative's music, romance, and import conjuring eloquent rhythms eclectic.

If legendary genesis never seems quite so lofty at the time of its humble début, its cheeky contemporaries full of suspicion, its requisite quest somewhat less mesmerizing, then any legend can take on the visions of a disgruntled merrymaking present, and a timeless quality effortlessly emerges, as ahistorical, as it is wise.

Thus, The Last Unicorn, while cultivating agéd times and lands, still resonates with postmodern fortitude, with ancient concurrent melodies.

Is "postmodern" still a synonym for "contemporary", insofar as this has been claimed to be the postmodern age, for some time, an incredibly diverse inclusive metaimpetus 😌, with loopholes outrageously exploited through aggrieved populism?

Nevertheless, I'm resoundingly hopeful that Rankin & Bass's Last Unicorn will endure, I never saw it in my youth, and have watched it twice in recent memory.

The butterfly scene more than that, what a beautiful idea, butterfly and unicorn.

I have seen their Hobbit cartoon several times. But alas. I can no longer find it. 😔