Movie Crazy

December quill-equipped ensemble factor modiqualm quotient chordal fillet, exacting fluidity kinetic flow hypochondriac misgivings cardiac crux.

Gormandized jellephant cerebrawlroom efficacious boracle totemement salam, mi-mayo-mocha chandelier chattenoog gainsay fabricolé samima muse. 

Aesthetic distillate marshmallow boogie succulent vapour triangulated, chromosome quarters galaxatively hemisphere hallowed saturnine surf.

Boardroom ecclecutive javelin jounce indelicate quarrel varmintage vase, insufferable stratos aerosol Ambrose vinaigrotto cistern garrulous glade. 

Distended gaze immaculate swell elegant disposition batwing broth, inaugural neutre neurasthenic satchel insipiddly wrinkles countryside comb. 

Atypical blossom uncanny insights bewildering bloated exceptional novelty, cadalliance syndicate locomotive midriffs inspiring nerve elusive tangelo.

Tangerine splish naccensual nectar mandarin strobe fruitfulsummary, saracen sash atemporal frieze syncopated spunk vehicular gruel.

Cantina quartzy ancestral craze mammoth hymnautical melodic anthem, crucible clutch sporadic imploding camomile nettle sequential lament. 

Stagnant fertility hybrid-precipitate precocious swoon 'moticon marble, talisman toggle torrential steam ethereal aggregate cosmic mellow.

Splendiferous bog ostentatious fen impersonal auspices heraldic libation, rhythmic rhododendron salubrious sway byzantantrum breeze auricular beat. 

Sensory hommage commensurate cordial viaduct quackery gobbledygook, enigmatic jargon vernacular void infinite syntax fecund soil. 

Jamboree jostle jubilee jig Lafayeti haunts cochon d'inde, wilderness waddle coaxing aglow serenade sorghum tantalized truff. 

New situations can be inspiring. 

Especially as they become more familiar.

Trek on down the lane.  

Pick up a bike. 

Cruise through the city. 

Tokygo-Ga

Nightclub nectar enriching recreation innate entertainment dazzling alms, seductive maze labyrinthine lorbit Byzantium burnish impulsarcadence. 

Diligent lifetime ceaseless production steady centripetal narrative niche, domicidewinder conjugal cloudburst merrymaidentyne nuptial nerve.

Spacious economy hesitant movement bold captivation disciplined dogma, resilient fortitude experimentation focused creativity longitude larvae. 

Reliable crunchie consistent conversion understudy unction enveloping flick, able craftspersonship intricate angle vehement volume stoical syntax.

Inherent angst-ridden dissatisfaction fleeting obsession cataclysmic birth, Fitzcarraldo finesse herculean hubris wilderness welfare courageous dawn.

Electronic hardwired hammerstein hospice dubious dojos Pokemoonstruck-chuck, compulsive standardized addicting caution robotic revelry covert charisma. 

Unflagging wonder itinerant treatise curious roots inspiring levity, shared admiration decent distinction honest endeavours lighthearted lattice.

Stifled malignance deconstructed dommage delicate stewardship familial curation, consequent mischief storytime sentiment mysterious lullaby frenetic fables. 

Watershedwaylaid curvaceous current tidal imagination robusterbar, campy improvisation innocent divergence communal construction industrious populace. 

Octopickwicycle lion canisterlinger wolverminestronecold jellyfishmongermaine, oceanic fluid volcandid eruption sugar sweet sodelay energon cubes.

Billowing Brandywine nonchalant flow inquisitive scale meteoric concomitance, algebraic chordinance renegade fugue sharpened asymmetry cleffervescent rhythm. 

Distinguished exacting bulbluster track homme de chemin de ferreticenturion, stylistic filmmaker civil auteur urbane citizen engaged existence. 

Half to check out Tokyo some day.

Especially the food.

Wish they'd ease up on the whale hunting.

Otherwise a fascinating culture.  

Chronicle of a Summer

Happiness can be difficult to find if you spend your time consistently looking for it, questions seeking to discover if you're happy often encouraging disgruntled malaise. 

A blissful state of visceral integration can immersively flourish if unacknowledged, the conscious interrogation of the waking dream potentially producing unsettling affects. 

In the final episode of the original Twin Peaks series Marcus Aurelius is quoted, Waste no time arguing what a good man should be, be one, so the saying goes, the meticulous depth into which ethical discussions sink often generating misery, if you're not interminably disposed they can go on ad infinitum. 

Attempting to apply the morose despondency to the lighthearted nonchalance often found when working, while attempting to inspire a higher state of awareness, often gets bogged down in manifold detail, and leads to greater confusion as opposed to widespread lucidity.

Simple solutions sweetly flowing with unobtrusive easy-to-follow-messages, can lead to more lasting results as melodramatically demonstrated by advertising. 

For the people who see through the ads and constantly feel aloof and cynical, a comprehensive literary bearing with lengthier more convincing arguments may help.

If they seek the dynamic realization of their arguments in a mass restructuring of postmodern society, they may find frustration routinely abounds as they spearhead colossal change.

If they can settle for elaborate books which imaginatively delineate alternative reconstructions, without radically attempting to implement their designs, if such designs demand shocking changes to the smoothly flowing status quo, and discuss things amongst themselves, they may find peace for a time, if they aren't just indefinitely accustomed to doom and gloom.

If they attempt to implement abstract theories that even they have trouble understanding, without thinking through the startling consequences the intense remodelling is bound to have, woe may be widely disseminated as we see happening in the United States these days, where stubborn idealistic governmental impositions are obstinately ruining a once robust economy.

If only things were certain like they seemed to be earlier on in life.

The more media you consume, the more jaded.

While happiness can't be found without consuming more media.

Unless you stop thinking about it.

Go with that flow. 

Strange Brew

A TV show is granted to two playful brothers who take rest and relaxation beyond excessive limits, their habitual shenanigans still sincerely amusing and able to please a critical crowd.

They're tasked with creating a film which they proceed to do without much of a budget, or crew or script or plan they're loving fans are none too impressed.

Out of beer and without any money, they concoct a plan to trick the Beer Store, a mouse in a bottle furiously exchanged for serendipitous suds should things go well.

The irritated staff has no patience however and quickly sends them to the brewery, where they try the same scam without success yet somehow manage to secure new jobs.

Their friendly nature genuinely endears them to the cheerful staff once they're introduced, while their carefree mindsets accidentally ensure they wander at random throughout the brewery.

Where they eventually discover the Brewmeister's mad and intends to addict the world to his despotic lager.

A mind control drug having been infused.

Within a fresh batch headed for Oktoberfest. 

A different age, a less serious time, when alternative narratives found lithe animation, their absurd ideas not meant to cultivate political movements or autocratic agendas.

Rather ridiculous heroes were meant to outwit much more maniacal foes, and celebrate sloth and gluttony through lackadaisical nimble networks. 

Who would have thought that the people at Fox would see such narrative strategies as political gold, and effectively use them to convince the public that candidates like Trump were closet geniuses?

For decades they catered to audiences who preferred characters who didn't excel, or even moderately comprehend good governance instead they never stopped behaving like children.

And Trump emerged in the televisual vortex to provide these people with a Fox Network candidate, not someone who wanted to improve things but instead a self-obsessed vainglorious madman.

I don't deny finding these characters funny when ludicrously situated within a sitcom, but to see them unleashed as leaders of the free world is far too dangerous and full-on insane. 

Sigh.

That's why the people who should love me hate me and why those who shouldn't secretly adore me.

Too complicated for blunt storytelling.

Which for some reason holds American sway.  

Jacquot de Nantes

A young experimental film enthusiast concentrates on vivid storytelling, having instantaneously been mesmerized by the first live puppet show he went to see.

Growing up in Nantes in France with loving parents in a lively neighbourhood, his imagination roamed far and wide while often focused on the cinema.

Family life embraced the trades since his father owned a bustling garage, and wanted his son to become a mechanic and learn his catechism and keep things real.

Little Jacquot hesitantly obliged since he wasn't as rebellious as some, but still worked on creative independent films alone at night in their humble attic.

His mother and father had to admit that he had real talent when he showcased his films, every meticulous minuscule detail having been delicately crafted.

World War II breaks out and the family is briefly torn apart, dad working in a shell-factory by day, the children moving to the countryside at times.

But Jacquot never stops creating nor watching films with heartfelt awe.

Eventually directing agile tales. 

As part of the French New Wave.

Jacquot de Nantes proceeds with loving candour as it romantically illustrates its subject, dynamically directed by Jacque's wife the incredibly talented Agnès Varda.

She carefully links his active childhood with laidback material from his films, first imagining how the moments might have taken place before showing them depicted on the silver screen. 

Jacques Démy himself also comments to add more depth to the bold filmography, his poignant insights generating layers of intricate exuberant narrative detail.

Captivating to see a sincere exhibition of a thoughtful artist and his breathtaking work, lovingly shot by another auteur who genuinely loved him with innocent tenderness.

I've never seen one of his films which is a shortcoming I'll have to remedy. 

Such knowledge.

Such wild inspiration. 

Peacefully blossoming.

Limitless and free.

Burden of Dreams

If you're ever under a lot of pressure to achieve a difficult goal, which seems beyond accomplishing too impossible to ever attain, perhaps watch Les Blank's Burden of Dreams as it films the making of Fitzcarraldo, and Werner Herzog's Herculean labours trying to finish the chaotic anti-epic.

Then watch Fitzcarraldo itself and consider that he actually did finish it. With setbacks that would have sent Olympic athletes home in exasperation. No matter what he got 'er done.

I don't know if these films are part of a master class in improvisational independent filmmaking, where the students study Herzog's endeavours and reach conclusions as to his methods.

Or arduously research grand ambition as applied to making international films, where extremely complicated and delicate agreements must be reached with critical Natives.

Or practically study the provision of supplies to an isolated camp deep in the jungle, where hundreds of extras and film personnel had to be well-fed to fend off the boredom.

With the deep pockets of a Hollywood studio it would have perhaps been a different story, although I imagine they would have backed out after the setbacks became too outrageous (punitive raids etc.).

Credit to Herzog for never backing down and to every cast and crew member who stuck it out till the end. 

Hyperintense ominous immersion. 

Ineffable formidable frustration. 

Heart of Darkness comes to mind and Apocalypse Now as well no doubt, as if Herzog was somewhat like Kurtz madly delegating lost in the jungle.

Interviews capture distinct moments alternative viewpoints his different moods, many of them courageous and vigorously defiant while some give way to augmented misery. 

The diaries of Les Blank and Maureen Gosling excerpts of which come with the Criterion Edition of Burden of Dreams (they used to anyway, I bought my copy 20 years ago), offer disenchanting insights into the chaos and some of the decisions that had to be made.

Still to make them to be so artistically obsessed the bona-fide-mad-genius expediently concocting, reflexively adjusting to constant insane pressure, with everyone confused seeking guidance and instruction.

While Kinski erupts in fury (Blank doesn't focus much on Kinski but you can see it in Herzog's My Best Fiend) and the threat of mutiny ubiquitously languishes. 

The absolute pursuit of compulsive artistry. 

People actually risking their lives.

I don't know if there ever was what could be considered a plan.

If there was and it was written down it should be in a museum.

Copies available for study.

With mind-bogglingly resilient discipline. 

*Cool shots of jungle animals at times. 

Mein liebster Fiend - Klaus Kinski (My Best Fiend)

Imagine you're deep in the South American jungle working on a film as demanding as Fitzcarraldo, and your lead actor keeps erupting in fits of rage as you fight with the rain and the heat and the bugs.

It wasn't the first film they'd work on under such circumstances they'd already completed Aguirre, the Wrath of God, like two powerful inconsolable filmmaking forces could only lament that they worked so well together.

Kinski live in front of an audience just being himself inspired by the crowd, introduces wild indefatigable levels of supreme individualistic animosity.

Epically convinced of his unrivalled unique ingenious multivariability, he rants and raves with intense proclamations defying anything other than his genius.

Herzog threatens him with death local Natives inform the director that they could kill him, his egocentric chaotic tantrums so unhinged they encouraged murder.

What was it like out in the jungle with that crew the environment challenging to live in without conflict, festering manic clashing wills capable of volcanically exploding at any time?!

They met when Herzog was 13 they briefly lived in the same boarding house together, where Werner took note of his animated routine and was remarkably impressed by his latent fury.

Which was unfairly unleashed at his expense so many so many times. 

As he efficiently crafted his tales.

Gluttons gormandizing.

I was impressed with Herzog's English it's pretty solid for a non-Native speaker, it's rare that someone comes so close to perfecting the accent and chooses so many clever words precisely.

Strange artists, creating through conflict rather than romance or adorability, tuned into the world's stately danger while insanely narrativizing its carnal threats. 

It's like Herzog was a creative Agamemnon and the furious Kinski his invincible Achilles, the two battling Priam and Hector while bellicosely diversifying German arthouse cinema. 

Mein liebster Fiend - Klaus Kinski (My Best Fiend) is fun to watch if you're looking for insights into their working relationship, not without examinations of Kinski's tender side, still certainly absorbed by his insensitive locus.

I wish this had been made before Kinski passed it would have been exciting to see him discuss his work with Herzog, it's no doubt a chilling account from Mr. Herzog's point of view, but it would have been so much more thrilling with more recourse to the alternative.

I'll have to do more research into his life I don't know much about his works besides these stunning Herzog adventures (plus more Herzog films too).

And that he was able to steal scenes and leave a lasting impression.

As the bitter anarchist. 

In Doctor Zhivago.

Ed Wood

The robust nature of the American economy not only promotes the cultivation of genius, but also elaborately diversifies sundry spirited markets to relativistically uphold wide-ranging communal distinction.

Thus even without lauded academic study, or even the crafty mentorship of a gifted professional, random improvised passionate hands-on dedication can still ensure regenerative success. 

Are new intellectual embarkations not created when people proceed without skill or knowledge, their prominent errors and mistaken judgments accidentally nurturing novel eccentricity (as others have noted)?

To the curious open-minded enthusiast does enigmatic multivariability not accentuate harmonies as well, not solely within catchy appealing widespread relevance but also through blind innocent misapplication? 

But what may seem like impeti awry indeed brilliantly resonates with others astutely, the obtuse kitschy unconcerned orchestrations intuitively augmenting authentic dis/integration.

There seem to be styles which emerge from time to time which encourage mainstream trends referred to sophisticatedly, their nodes and anthems consistently manifesting popular themes and fashionable echoes. 

Although closer studies meticulously point out the competing ways in which such narratives are constructed, and the primordial multidimensional sociocultural goo amorphously binding everything together.

It all sort of fades genuinely deteriorates when you find yourself hardly ever watching television, or aloofly avoiding ideological interests claiming absolute embalmed authenticity. 

In your free time of course, relaxing, it's nice to envisage courageous alternatives, for a couple of weeks perhaps even a month transitional ephemera constructively cascading. 

So many great works of literature or even film remain inaccessible, it's certainly essential to preserve and study their form and content without generally dismissing everything else simultaneously.

In this manner the spectrum of comments and the variety of audiences interactively expand, thereby introducing manifold interpretations correspondingly attuned to concurrent inclusivity. 

Was the idea much more popular before the internet enabled such an infinite network?

The irony something to study anyways. 

How could definitive conclusions, faced with abounding contradiction and foil, ever culturally reinstate a feudal fulcrum, in a postmodern context as diverse as contemporary science-fiction?

Egads. 

Fool's Paradise

A humble generally mute man unconcerned with popularity, is released from a mental hospital and finds himself living on the streets (Charlie Day as Latte Pronto). 

But as fate would have it, he's a dead ringer for a widely sought after Hollywood star, and a reputed producer accidentally takes note and asks if he'll take part in one of his films (Ray Liotta).

Neither fortunately nor awkwardly, the star he's replacing suddenly passes, and he finds himself moving in on his career, soon married in the confusing spotlight.

A down-on-his-luck casting agent soon befriends and seeks to represent him (Ken Jeong as the Publicist), and he sees neither reason to protest nor oblige as he doesn't particularly care about what's happening.

His career slowly spirals out of control since he really has no idea what's going on, but still shows up on set and at dinner parties to make obliviously sincere appearances.

He's somewhat like Chaplin's Little Tramp but without the rambunctious versatility, the intense perplexing permutations which make his films so entertaining. 

He's also kind of like Peter Sellers in ye olde Pink Panther classics, although without the bemusing repartee which leads to intuitive blundering captivation. 

Perhaps if they'd been born at a later date they would have been more concerned with sleaze, and less drawn to borderline wholesome clever family friendly endeavours.

Imagine Charlie Chaplin having matured watching generally uncensored prime time romps, would he have even bothered to pursue filmmaking, and if so, to what inspirational degrees?

A contact once pointed out the protruding mean-spirits in contemporary comedy, whereas there used to be a sense of congenial accord there's currently much more dispiriting sadism. 

Perhaps the same sentiments were there in the past but the tighter censors encouraged less carnage, or a more enthusiastic communal embrace, striving to disseminate respect and well-being. 

Not all the time, the insouciant management of integral cheek still startlingly manifest, where to establish the balance difficult to say with relative collegial im/precision.

Then again, Fool's Paradise may be making this very same point without having expressed it.

Could be taking an ironic swipe. 

Lamenting what's clearly missing. 

The Fabelmans

Complications emerge as a young filmmaker comes of age (Gabriel LaBelle/Mateo Zoryan as Sammy Fabelman), traditional paths proving rather unorthodox, natural rhythms and dynamic imagination vigorously challenging habitual routine, bewilderingly misunderstood at times, what can you do, but keep moving forwards?

His father's (Paul Dano as Burt Fabelman) gifted with electronics and keeps finding new jobs in different cities, his career idyllically advancing, his family life somewhat haywire.

His oldest son for instance finds constructive camaraderie in Phoenix, and as his filmmaking aspirations develop, a curious legion facilitate his dreams.

Questions of race or ethnicity don't become confusing until they move later on, and non-sensical religious tensions frustratingly divide what should have been non-violent friendships.

Whatever happens he keeps creating never shying away from visionary responsibilities, sexuality a bemusing mistress, elaborately examined through multivariable storytelling. 

It's fun to watch as his narratives come to life and his ideas bedazzle and entertain, I'd argue it's essential viewing for any youngster hoping to one day make films.

The way he intuitively learns to encourage performance and produce special effects without any training, skilfully blended in far reaching scenes abounding with props and a large cast in motion.

I started writing poems in the woods as a lad and kept it up throughout my adult life, I never really wanted to coordinate people though, I generally preferred being alone.

It would have been cool to actively take part but everything was always quite serious, and creativity flourishes at play, when y'all ain't mad about somethin'.

Sam does extraordinarily well when directly engaged with others, however, and builds up what appears to be a genuine rapport in enthused environs.

I sort of wish I'd had an odd experience with an eccentric uncle like his in the film (Judd Hirsch as Uncle Boris) in my youth, I always thought the arts would be like a friendly union, remarkably incorrect was I.

But at times if I read the signs correctly there are definitely prolonged periods of fascination, and I'm very grateful to the people who support me, and put up with my variable moods.

Perhaps I should steer clear of the middle as is also advised in They Live, but I usually don't proceed with a plan, I just sit down and see what I come up with.

I suppose to be honest I'm guided by how I was taught to behave in my youth, in school, on TV, with family, and at church, the pedagogical strategies often at odds.

I imagine everyone's like that while trying to negotiate mutating stimuli.

If I don't say it often enough, I'm thankful.

Spazz may just be my best.

*I was really impressed that the mom in Everything Everywhere All at Once never abandons her daughter, not even with the universe at stake, she still believes in her troubled child. In The Fabelmans, Mitzi (Michelle Williams) leaves her husband for another man (Seth Rogan as Bennie Loewy), but it isn't a spur of the moment decision, and she struggles to hold on to her marriage for years before leaving. It must have been an incredibly difficult decision to make and I don't blame her for making it. I think people should try to make it work. But if it doesn't and you're miserable, there's no harm in leaving. She still looks after her kids and they continue to forge loving bonds. I always wanted things to work out as a kid. But so many things change with the passage of time.

American Movie

The raw driven thrill of inspired independent film, chaotically coordinated lackadaisic laidback limbers.

Years of patient agile sure and steady accumulation, slowly taking fluid shape as patches pageants come to life ⛄.

Funding somewhat murky frenetic favours downcast debt, so much time having passed that latent doubts distract distend.

But undaunted brave creative will survives extends shoots forth, engaging adamant mutation festive fertile flexibility. 

Friends and family in support in varying degrees throughout the years, some prone to blunt dismissals, others grateful to take part.

No other option integrated multifarious febrile fortunes, indeterminate orchestration lively ritualistic passion.

I wish more people took the time to actively create in such a way, although there's certainly no shortage of homemade videos on the net.

But Coven's different it's a homemade film which genuinely applies individualistic techniques, to uncompromising storytelling free from marketed motivations.

Not that they weren't hoping to sell some copies and earn a little scratch, but they're not trying to fit a trend or join a movement or full-on capitalize. 

Its nascent steps like underground logistics reasonable existential acumen, confident enriching local community maestro marrowed mirth in motion.

Why not film the entire process year after year keep the camera rolling?, simultaneous narratives taking shape embossed emergence metamatriculation. 

No holding back compelling honesty bold and unconcerned developments, within which resides emancipation from so much scripted routine life.

With many friends and even more critics Mr. Borchardt pursues his grassroots vision, dealin' with a family of his own and difficult work at a nearby cemetery. 

And practically no income for years, sundry setbacks, animate tension, disapproval.

The will to strive on forth.

Incomparable stalwart artist.

A monumental cultural achievement to have so much room for so much variation.

Constitutional cross-purposes.

Irreconcilably rapt.

*Happy Thanksgiving!

Border Radio

A rock journalist and a musician engage in staple domestic tomfoolery, perhaps committed to sustaining the vital should meticulous mayhem materialize. 

In the meantime, for the husband, it's off down south after an act of theft, where he celebrates his unabashed freedom with expert chillin' and self-absorbed calm.

His wife's none too impressed but still must admit she wants to find him, steadily sleuthing viaduct volatility with mutual friends intuitive scorn.

Assistance is readily provided although outcome perusal remains rather suspect, socializing having-something-to-do spontaneously lithe indelible induction.

Like a lovelorn lullaby relapse cervezatude cut economic nausea, an uncertain arrhythmic frequency effervescently tempers said grizzly innocence. 

Pervasive contemporary impenitent prognosis picturesquely pioneering meaningless mercy, a sense of indisposed primordial justice lacking formal judicial concern.

Prevalent protruding prolonged distractions sporadically instigate tranquil harmonies, like you're young with nothing to do and it's the summer and warm outside.

Disjointed realities then suddenly reasserted with a dutiful sense of improvised propriety, as if they're finally gettin' 'round to it as the lickspittle lackadaisically loiters.

With instances of distressed imposition diversifying resonant mischievous solace, at times the discontinuous gravity hauntingly strives to riff somnambulized. 

But holistic freedom's afoot, the cast permitted to add waylaid surety, a randomized reclusive carnivalesque germination engendering manifest familiar disarray. 

From 1987, an early progenitor of the mockumentary style more profuse in later years, still a wonderful way to tell a story, I'll certainly never grow tired of it.

Border Radio doesn't pose any questions anyone's been meaning to ask.

To develop an authentic visceral perspective.

Extemporaneously its own. 

Living in Oblivion

Nerve infiltrates compacted peaceful slumber, as unspoken grim anxieties manifest bold social daring.

The act of producing low-budget melodrama generates distracting emotional tributaries, the resultant active jocose jubilee a startling frank holistic wonder.

Much of the action doesn't technically take place even if it still seems realistic, as if the tremors could tumultuously tantalize with neither shock nor animate discord.

As if this kind of thing routinely radiates fluid fluctuation, the finished product an ironic miracle when compared to remonstrations on set.

As if it's just as thought provoking to showcase inherent volatility, as schemes daydreams schematics soporifics seductively succour dis/continuity.

From back in the metaday when filmmakers were more concerned with layers of meaning, and creating remarkably clever scripts, Living in Oblivion proceeds self-reflexively. 

Language employed is critically analyzed as harmless accidents beguile tactile speech, and worst case scenarios disconcertingly duel with resonant rascally aggrieved reverie.

During this heyday way back in fact when I was but a wee ginger lad, I thought it would be cool to create a film adorned with a making of feature which was a common practice at the time.

But I also thought it would be cooler to include an additional making of feature about the making of feature, and then a third making of feature for a 4-disc set in compulsory total.

Thus, there would have been a making of the making of the making of feature to be found in the crazed metaconceit.

Perhaps with each making of feature shot in a different genre.

Sort of like Inception in a way (had this idea before I saw Inception [did Inception indirectly signal the end of the metacraze?]).

The key would have been to apply as much sincerity to each and every making of film (and make sure they were all at least 90 minutes in length).

Probably would have taken too much time.

But the finished product would have been exceptional.

Living in Oblivion bluntly impresses with endearing heartwarming chaotic charm, its agile breakdowns and plump peculiarities highlighting earnest lackadaisical indiscretion.

Daydreaming with 30 seconds to spare.

Latent practicalities of a dream sequence.

The perfect take's emergence.

Obduracy in charge.

Its title's well-suited to a pandemic as meaning consistently shifts and sways.

Found another Steve Buscemi Criterion (Nick Reve [Buscemi doesn't show up in spellcheck!])! 

With Peter Dinklage (doesn't show up in spellcheck either), Catherine Keener, Dermot Mulroney, and Tom Jarmusch (shouldn't show up in spellcheck). 

Matthias & Maxime

Friends gather to celebrate life within secluded surroundings, artistic expression boldly reconstituting unspoken sublimated desire, an accord harmlessly struck, a shock recomposed endeavours, worst case in light of expectations, shy protests crafting haunts.

A return to urban routines, mild vast driven stoked responsibilities, one friend making ends meet in a bar, another focused on strict legalese.

Not that simple, neither cradled nor binary, distinct multiple clasped characterizations, intermingling nuanced intermediaries, conscious delegates a crew a neighbourhood.

Young adult cultural instinct, twenty something perspicacious reflexivity, not the fight like I've come to understand it, less jagged, less aggressive, less blunt.

A son struggles to take care of a parent who's recovering from drug addiction.

Lofty heights beckon as a visitor hails difference.

Lighthearted yet solemn and serious.

Exploration, presumption, discovery.

Matthias & Maxime, Xavier Dolan's latest, more in touch with something real, less volatile than Mommy or Tom à la ferme, but more impacting than Fin du monde or John F. Donovan.

I was hoping he'd make a film like this, a transition to something new, not that similar themes don't abound, it's just less wild, less chaotic, less psycho.

He does psycho well, but it started to seem like most of his films were going to be about nutters expressing themselves violently, so it's nice to see something laidback and chill, something relatable, something frisky, something calm.

It's not bourgeois by any means, although it has sure and steady elements, his characters still struggling to define themselves even if they aren't concerned with identity politics.

Exist is perhaps a better word, the film's concerned with thoughtful experimental existence, as threadbare as it is brisk and versatile, quite practical for something so imaginative.

I mean there aren't many bells and whistles, its sets more quotidian, less ornately endowed, characters spiritually composed and thriving in clever situations that don't overtly display intellect, don't draw attention to their value-added observations, just converse like they aren't trying to say something, the western character for example.

Matthias & Maxime (don't like the title) opens up fertile narrative ground that no other filmmaker is traversing, that can't be as easily criticized for being over the top, and requires more hands-on subtle innovations.

Still bet he could make one hell of a horror film.

Note: Québec could use more sci-fi.

It's great to watch films made by directors who care about their characters.

And work sympathy into their stories.

Introducing unexpected impulse.

Solid grizzled and gritty romanticism.

The Souvenir

Spoiler alert.

A lost bored romantic intellectual befriends an aspiring filmmaker who's too blind to be disenchanted 'til they're both very much in love.

She's determined yet shy (Honor Swinton Byrne as Julie), slowly learning to articulate her ideas, and he's in command of thoughtful expressions (Tom Burke as Anthony), which amusingly comment on the artsy world.

He sees something light in her innocent charm which his stilted life is sorely missing, and she enjoys the interactive ideas they warmly share without cost or confrontation.

Early on.

Her first love, her first scandal, her first apartment, her first immersion.

You can interpret the film in different ways but in the beginning their attachment seems genuine.

She genuinely loves him anyways, even after his addiction's revealed.

And the souvenir he provides her with near the end suggests he had genuine feelings too, he wasn't just taking advantage of the free ride, even if he lost control of his reason, and succumbed to blunt bland self-destruction.

Is The Souvenir Joanna Hogg's début film?

If so it's remarkably farsighted.

It's light, charismatic, thoughtful, a bit wild, blending comedic elegance with tragic realization, as if the mind's a random orchestration sweetly plucked in wondrous symphony.

With agile variation.

Composing relevance, nonsense, creeds.

'Til there's something else to do, the film presents wide open-minded invention.

You aren't tethered to specific patterns and expectations even as Anthony gets worse, it's much more freespirited, less checked and balanced like a craze, confident enough to try something novel, yet reliable as if there's something to do.

Some of the scenes, some of the editing, are/is borderline genius.

There were moments when I was close to approaching acritical ecstasy, but the lines weren't as mind-blowing as I instinctively hoped they would be.

The form is though, and many others likely found the content more compelling than I did, who am I anyways?, to even approach something like that in your first film is incredible, and no doubt a brilliant sign for the future.

I imagined Joanna Hogg making brilliant period pieces in the future in fact, rustling up some British history to discursively explore, overflowing with character and subtlety, making points that elucidate tremors.

I keep thinking this is how Jane Austen got started, 19th century style.

Who makes a film like this as a début?

Captivating.

Unique.

Thoughtful and precocious.

Tantalizingly distressed.

Snowden

A brilliant patriotic mind finds himself indefatigably immersed within an exponentially expanding parapanopticon, unwarranted global surveillance having become authoritatively sacrosanct, his personal analysis of the phenomenon leading to a subversive conclusion, as he bears in mind the preservation of civil liberties, and takes steps to educate the unsuspecting public.

The clandestine nature of his work up until his point of departure causes problems for his relationship with partner Lindsay Mills (Shailene Woodley [she does good work]), who advocates for social justice and played a constructive role in his sociopolitical transformation.

Edward Snowden, postmodern day Prometheus, his gift of knowledge mythologically cybersecuring distinct praise agon.

If the rule of law inviolably guarantees an individual's right to privacy, which as far as I'm aware it generally does in democratic countries, Snowden hasn't really broken the law but has rather courageously defended it.

His gift shifts paradigms depending upon how seriously people worry about the indents of their online footprints, enlightening awareness as opposed to litigation, inasmuch as no government would ever give up such power.

Best to pretend like you believe them if they ever say they have however.

Good time to start marketing online security packages that block big brother, even if they'll never work!

If ubiquitous international cybersurveillance isn't going anywhere, it seems like a mistake to leave Snowden outside the equation when he could play a leading role in its positive applications.

Whether or not he's broken the law is up for debate, a contention that many have likely made which could controversially generate the trial of the century.

Imagine how annoying it must have been when neighbouring tribes could light fires or only elite members of tribes could light fires and you/rs unfortunately could not?

I doubt tribal times were that exclusive.

The film functions more like an important tool for raising public awareness, for refining critical consciousnesses, than a stunning work of tragic intrigue.

Stock characterizations and sentimental stylizations depreciate its value although such schematics make such a game changing narrative easier to evaluate, lighthearted mass exposure potentially less distasteful than explosive stunts.

Citizenfour's more detailed.

With I could travel to the year 4000 and find out how Snowden's remembered.

Inveterate flame!

Atavistic icon.

*Good subject for the next Presidential debate.

Hail, Caesar!

Film production, the magnification of dreams and ambitions, pluralizing heroism and gallantry with clear and precise occasionally ambiguous envisioned dexterity, precipices and pageants promulgating objectivity and sentiment with equally concise provocations, the contemporary and the historical rivetingly aligned, mischievously extracting, the im/pertinence of our times.

A film set.

A star.

A gathering of observers. 

Identity in flux.

Hail, Caesar! converses with Trumbo, a comedic counterpoint to its tragic pen, wherein communists have infiltrated Hollywood and are engaged in criminal activities directly undertaken to support the Soviet Union, only a hardboiled behind-the-scenes gruff steady executive and his up-and-coming Western foil standing in their way, laughs consistently produced amidst the touching absurdity, which seriously suggests it's inherently ridiculous, without failing to shrewdly present itself as a matter of unconcerned dazzle, denoted connotations covertly overted, not the Coen Brothers best comic material but it passes, Burt Gurney (Channing Tatum) and his little dog, Baird Whitlock (George Clooney), defender of the dialectic.

It's a compelling tool, this, dialectic, oppositions and syntheses you know, but using it to predict the future with dispassionate inevitability is where it errs, the end of history functioning like a religious utopia (a 19th century form fused with secular content) which foolishly casts out history and religion, people are never going to stop remembering the past or believing in the fantastic, and attempts to laud a future which does so is a naive waste of critical resources.

Although, I suppose, in my mediocre understanding of the concept, in an egalitarian society things are, oddly enough, much more equal, and due to the equality of opportunity and resources people would be less willing to bear grudges, and less concerned with what happened hundreds of years ago, because they aren't labouring at all times for peanuts, make things more equal, more comfortable, and such grudges could decrease in severity because it's easier to let go of a grudge when you have free time and a disposable income, things to do, goods to acquire.

It's kind of like a generational thing though, if that theory is still taken seriously (it should be), new generations rebelliously critiquing whatever happens to be the norm, movements generated by boredom, generations growing up in a culture based on equality still seeking to define themselves by rallying against the system, even if it was that system that gave them the opportunity to rally against it, its opposite having no such recourse, taking it apart so their grandchildren can rebuild it.

I don't think you can eliminate the desire to change things and stand out through change no matter how perfect a system you create unless you can somehow materialize the affects of the adversarial without promoting stagnation and decay.

Sports do this well.

But the dialectic in terms of momentary observation, observances of historical mutations, brief narrative evaluations rather than definitive prognostications, is a constructive tool, fun to play with, there are plenty of oppositions out there to note, many of which haven't been thought up to strategically condition the future.

Maybe they should have been, maybe not, doesn't change my thoughts that Hail, Caesar! is funny and worth seeing, a lighthearted yet brash take on life, a minor film in the Coen Brothers's oeuvre. 

With Clancy Brown (Gracchus), Robert Picardo (Rabbi), Wayne Knight (Lurking Extra #1), Dolph Lundgren (Submarine Commander), Patrick Fischler (Communist Writer #2), and Christopher Lambert (Arne Seslum).

Réalité

Malcontent enabled extractions, meandering like constipated reflexologies, prolifically backed-up, essentials, blunt banalities, a study of purposeless toyed flanked robotics, the aimless and the asinine, fluctuating between two worlds, a groan's canonization, bewildered supine prophylactics.

Resisting closure.

Residual repose.

I think this is how Quentin Dupieux approached Réalité.

I'm probably wrong.

Often in bizarre films concerned with the pointless mundane aspects of existence there are still some exceptionally peculiar hooks that pull you in to consider attaching the cult classification to their inanities.

These aspects, while present in Rubber and Wrong, are largely absent from Réalité, it's hopelessly unconcerned.

Its firm contempt for any kind of interlinking commonality, for any kind of rapport with films other than those I've already mentioned, is bold and risky if not rash and burdensome.

Unfortunately, while this bold risk takes a rebellious stand, the hooks that made Rubber and Wrong so commendable are missing in action, and although it's possible that Quentin Dupieux is comically ripping himself off, thinking, I'll make this as obtuse as possible just to see if my reputation can still guarantee unconditional applause, there's nothing really present in the film that would make me want to see it again.

Unless there's a Quentin Dupieux night being held somewhere.

At which point I would give it another shot.

Closer to the Moon

A rebellious blend of frustration and boredom brought about by systematic degradations leads a group of former World War II freedom fighters to commit crimes against the Romanian state, in Nae Caranfil's Closer to the Moon, a lively comic recklessly bold statement, on the entrenchment of hypocrisy, exclusively settling in.

The dark side of socialism, permanent socialism existing outside the boundaries established by regular democratic elections, interminably demanding that everyone conform to a specific set of established principles, which serve to lavishly support the chosen incorruptible few.

Closer to the Moon's bank robbers were all members of the elite, but as the state took an antisemitic turn, even though Jewish people had played an integral role in its construction, their privileges and freedoms were gradually stripped away.

Left to flounder, they choose to enact political drama, which is quickly hushed-up, until the officials can attach a propagandistic lynchpin.

The gang plays along, revelling in the irreverently ironic freedoms brought about by being condemned to death.

They're full of life, overflowing with intensity, applying their wit to embellish each precept, gleefully gesticulating, to maximize their resolve.

The film itself functions in the same way, a spirited salute to freedom, chuckling and plucking away, emphasizing group strength as opposed to authoritative coercion.

Seen through the eyes of a starstruck youth.

Argo

It should be noted that Ben Affleck's Argo takes bold steps to attach the responsibility for the hostile anti-American attitudes presented by some Iranian citizens displayed within to the political activities of American and British authorities of the 1950s, and that it is these same authorities who are in/directly responsible for the subsequent rise of madpersons like Ahmadinejad.

It should also be noted that this may not be the wisest time to be releasing a film which displays passionate anti-American feelings amongst those very same citizens, due to the potentially volatile dynamics of our current historical period, although, perhaps my reluctancy to endorse its timing could be a sign of my own hesitancy in regards to taking great risks, which Mr. Affleck, in creating this film at this particular time, has certainly done.

I myself believe that an incredible secret has been kept in Iran based upon my viewings of Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis, Maryam Keshavarz's Circumstance, common sense, and a conversation I had six years ago in passing, that being that many, perhaps even a vast majority of Iranian citizens, don't care whether or not they develop an atomic weapon, have no wish to go to war with Israel, and simply want to peacefully work, live, laugh, love, and travel in a clean environment, like citizens in every other country, without having to be afraid all the time.

Yet I have no idea what you do when a lunatic like Ahmadinejad is in power (or George W. Bush for that matter) or how to go about diffusing the situation.

There are scurrilously ambitious people who seek power and consider everyone else to be like them. They employ reprehensible tactics to achieve this power, and, thinking everyone else to be like them, seek to prevent others who aren't like them from employing the same tactics to usurp them.  This attitude is applied nationally and internationally. Seeing conspiracies everywhere and fearing violent reprisals, they conspire violently, thereby creating that which they feared in the first place, vaingloriously spreading misery.

Argo goes a long way to prevent the spread of misery in its best scene by cleverly intermingling different realities facing American and post-revolutionary Iranian citizens, a scene which shows the Americans laying the rhetorical groundwork to 'make' a fake movie while Iranians try to punish the American and British imposed Shah who butchered them for decades and managed to find sanctuary in the States afterwards, a scene which pulls its American audience into the Iranian situation, its frame reminding them to bear in mind that the events depicted took place in 1979, 33 years ago.

In one of Star Trek the Next Generation's best moments Worf (Michael Dorn) commends his son Alexander (James Sloyan/Brian Bonsall) for choosing the path of peace (Firstborn).

Yes, Worf highly honours the path of peace.

By creating a film which exoterically tackles an extremely important contemporary international political phenomenon with the goal of saving lives or preventing a war, which places the situation within a controversial militaristic, governmental, and individual historical context, Ben Affleck's created quite a film, its exoteric qualities capable of entertainingly reaching a wide audience, and perhaps having a lasting affect.

As if to say, if you thought there was anti-American sentiment flowing through Iran 33 years ago during a volatile time of historic change directly caused by the meddling of American and British authorities, imagine how much there will be if an actual war is started, for decades, centuries, to come.

It doesn't have to be like that.

Not at all.