The Locksmith

The paramount temptation to freely secure fast endurable easy money, fuelling stock exotic daydreams universally across the land.

So many things to buy so many dreams so many relentless advertisements, the tantalizing independence driving meticulous freeform stacked endeavours.

We learned about advertising in school and through communal discussions way back when, and it seemed like its inherent trickery was generally acknowledged by the critical populace.

And that knowledge was leading to prudent decision making or less rash impulsive purchases, as illuminating logic cut through the uproar and exposed the dispossessing illusion.

It does seem puzzling nevertheless that ads seem to hold more sway now than ever, that even with so much education the fascinating allure can't be seen through.

Therefore, is it education's responsibility to provide a more compelling entertaining alternative, that offers a more appealing cultural collective thoroughly enhanced by constructive minds?

Entertainment has indeed been highly sought after throughout the multifarious ages, whether through discus or sculpture or car racing people have striven to find distraction.

But do they find distraction within the established narratives spearheading impossibility, or within well-reasoned objective impeti cleverly crafted through a sense of fair play?

Rationality can broker enlightenment should cynicism or sarcasm be put down, and a bonafide chill embrace of equality effectively resonate within a community.

But does rationality create more jobs and lead to a more productive impacting workforce, or is it indubitably ludicrous sweet nothings that efficiently devise economic stratagems? 

The uncertain need for ridiculous knick-knacks ephemerally available to be freely disposed of, seems rather insufficient considering, but are they more appealing to the austere alternative?

Perhaps an inquiry should be led to decide the question for ever after, does the cultivation of spontaneous shenanigans outweigh judicious practical life?

Don't countries wherein which life is much more practical and strictly governed, with less nonsense and much more reasonability, have less robust economies?

Is it possible to stop global heating while engaging in carefree initiatives?

Questions for a later hour.

Such a shame to be so serious.

The Interpreter

So tragic there's such a huge gulf between critiquing power and possessing it, between imagination and practicality, competing bright responsibilities. 

What would have happened if Che Guevara had formed a well-meaning headstrong government, would it have been universally praised, or severely vilified like Castro's?

Would he have taken the time to build strong institutions with rational checks and balances, to prevent the rise of absolutism while maintaining socioeconomic consistency?

It's much easier said than done even if that goes without saying, European political institutions somewhat of a miracle when compared to alternatives around the globe.

But somehow through sustained mutation they've been peaceful and prosperous for quite some time, level-heads seeking reasonable consensus from non-extremist points of view.

If this tradition doesn't exist historically and there's no popular will to develop such institutions, how do you move from engrained despotism to sustainably developed reliable democracy?

Such a convergence of logical goodwill formidably depended on with dextrous vigour, somehow did emerge slowly over time, and despotism was overthrown however. 

But the absolute has come again become popular along with a shocking lack of tolerance, opposing viewpoints seeming to prefer rash brinkspersonship to clever rational debate.

The absolutists claim tolerance and personal liberty is another form of stern absolutism, even as it guarantees they aren't arrested within certain limitations.

Tolerance and personal liberty may not appeal to people far too prone to despotically upholding regulations, for whom deviations from a strict code of manufactured conduct results in diabolical shame.

But so many much less serious people don't see the extremist point, don't understand why they should never have any fun and live as if they're a frigid textbook.

It's not that they don't follow the rules, they just often see them like ethical guidelines, making sense within many situations, while at times lacking practical accord.

Thus, taught to generally think critically with an aversion to violence outside of pragmatic games (outlets for pent up emotions), they tend to promote fun and thought provoking amusement to make life much more thrilling outside of work.

If that's an absolutist viewpoint it's more universally liberating than strict extremes, which impose absolutist regulations and ruthlessly punish those who critique them.

How to slowly move towards a more tolerant society if government after government tyrannically disappoints?

There are too many factors that come into play.

But I'd start with independent education. 

Mary Queen of Scots

A young idealistic Queen takes the throne in brave Scotland, a queen as familiar with communal ethics as she is unaware of treacherous plots, her gallant attempts to ecumenically harmonize defiantly subverted by rank misogyny, her courageous desire to have a family, reproached by hearts diffused.

Woeful political intrigue, direst soulless plagues.

It's like at any time there are many conflicting interests, and every one of them thinks they're pursuing just objectives, and if they actually want to reify their ideas even though they rest in opposition, byzantine arrays of begrudged conflicting alliances engulf them, the steady mind keeping track of every variation, even if he or she can by no means lead.

The individual in power attempts to change things and can hopefully rely upon the discipline of her or his colleagues, as Elizabeth I (Margot Robbie) did in England for quite some time.

He or she must command differing degrees of respect, soothe aggrieved adversaries, yield when it's advantageous to do so, act at opportune times.

William Lyon Mackenzie King seems to have been a master at doing this from what I've read, perhaps because he proceeded inductively, that is, even though he had ideals he still had to balance manifold competing factors (personalities, internal and external opponents, divergent regional agendas, budgetary constraints, campaign promises, ethical expectations . . .), each with their own comprehensive sets of particularities, to implement them, so he studied individuals, learned what motivated them, learned when to trust and distrust those surrounding him, since he understood what conditioned their advice, and his incisive study allowed him to balance a relatively concrete house of cards for 9 then 13 years, with an enviable composure few could ever hope to possess.

He knew when to listen, when not too, and therefore gained the respect of the level-headed individuals within his government, and beyond.

There are no mortal gods, only women and men and clever narratives, William Lyon Mackenzie King at least had some support which unfortunately Mary Stuart (Saoirse Ronan) did not, her wise sympathetic ideas unsuited to the volatile times.

She was feisty though, and beautiful, and put up a good fight, won some key victories, and was loved by many.

If Mary Queen of Scots's as independent as it seems, a good match for its headstrong subject matter, director Josie Rourke certainly made the most of her finances.

Convincing battle scenes, impressive aerial shots, a huge number of extras travelling through landscapes which seem remote, castle dynamics, armour.

It's solid, a tragic tale passionately brought to life, myriad characters adding depth, historical sorrow, and contemporary vindications.

There's an incredible shot of Saoirse, which lasts for some time, during which I imagined her becoming more and more sublime as she ages, and continues to take on bold challenging roles.

Margot Robbie's great too, the film's very well cast (Alastair Coomer) and seems to have been taken seriously by everyone involved.

I was hoping for two or three earth shattering royal declarations, the magnanimous linguistic authenticity of which would resonate with incumbent thunder.

But you can't have everything, and the writing's still quite good (Beau Willimon and John Guy).

One of the best films I've seen in 2018.

Enriched through bright enchantments.

Flatliners

I suppose Flatliners passes as a chilling representation of mainstream sci-fi/horror, its 5 med students adventurously engaged in supernatural experimentation, recklessly bringing about their own deaths to pioneer forbidden im/mortal disciplines, risking their coveted careers to entertainingly tantalize, while unwittingly materializing vengeful sociohistorical menace.

It excites eager film lovers by affixing its characters with ingenious analytical and creative abilities, real world superpowers which delineate discriminate diagnoses, yet simultaneously terrifies them by monstrously calling into question the means by which they obtained them, metaphorically speaking, "say no to drugs."

It's as if after flatlining everything they've ever done, read, intuited, or considered, is computationally available, capable of being accessed and applied with immediate inspirational virtuosity, however, since each character has effectively ruined, even ended the lives of others, their genius is maddeningly guilt ridden, and their aspirations spiritually overwhelming.

Like Limitless meets Final Destination, Flatliners packs a potent cerebrally stunning punch, but it gets down to it a little too quickly for my tastes, instantaneously invigorating its narrative without having thoughtfully justified why it's bothering to do so.

Perhaps an additional 15 minutes spent clarifying why the characters are so willingly embracing death enriched with a reflective dialogue concerning the merits of their moribund undertakings would have been too cumbersome, too boring, too intellectual, but it's not like they're thinking about taking a road trip here, or heading to the casino or skipping class.

Or making out in the library.

They be killing themselves to suicidally synergize prohibited prognostics and vivacious versatilities, and methinks that deserves a bit more discussion as the story unfolds, even if it unreels contemptuously thereafter.

Is that middle-aged bias?

Wait, Flatliner's religious underpinnings suggest explanations are unnecessary, so the rash undiscussed experimental adolescent death drive is therefore subconsciously sustained.

However, they're all med students using science to make breakthroughs within earthly realms, and should therefore be questioning everything they do.

Perhaps the soul searching yet practically attuned Ray (Diego Luna), who, unlike his colleagues, worked his way up through bold honest labour, presents a way out of this deadlock, for he's the only character whose past doesn't haunt him, and he's also the only one who doesn't flatline.

But doesn't the person of the world who never seeks to comprehend occult mysteries function like Indiana Jones and Marion at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, never seeking to understand the divine even if it is bluntly presented, out of unacknowledged religious humility, or existential acculturation?

And therefore can't assist?

Beats me.

*I watched Kingdom of the Crystal Skull again last night for the first time since it came out. I liked it a lot more the second time although things get pretty ridiculous near the end. And suggesting aliens taught ancient cultures everything they knew is ethnocentric. Our superbrains created the internet. Theirs created the Pyramids, the Great Wall etc.

**I wrote this last February and forgot that I had mentioned Indiana Jones. I didn't read it again until tonight, the night I had planned to post it on last February (well, I had planned to post it on a Monday in November). And I just recently finished watching all the Indiana Jones movies again.  As in yesterday. Weird.

Hostiles

A violent landscape, the American West near the turn of the 20th Century, most of the major conflicts having come to an end, the remnants of the brutality that saw millions killed or dispossessed still sparring, contradictory conceptions of ownership clashing with abusive indignation, the law stringently enforced, from multiple opposing points of view.

Hostiles is a solid western, unreeling like a traditional American fight your way home film, ambushes, distressed damsels, kidnappings, trespassing, and convicted belligerents awaiting a weathered legendary Captain (Christian Bale as Joseph J. Blocker) as he unwillingly leads a dying Cheyenne Chief (Wes Studi as Yellow Hawk) from New Mexico to Montana.

As he unwillingly leads him home.

Blocker viciously fought American First Nations in many extreme battles and has the reputation for having killed more of them than any other soldier, after almost losing his life in his youth, women and children outrageously included.

The convicted belligerent (Ben Foster as Sgt. Charles Wills) is cleverly used to pursue this point, as he desperately appeals to Blocker's sense of duty, arguing that he's heading to the gallows for committing a crime less abhorrent than many of the Captain's own, thereby appealing to his sense of justice, while delegitimizing applications of the concept.

But he also appeals to his sense of camaraderie, and that's where Hostiles script excels, by narrativizing the strong bonds forged by people who find themselves continuously facing extremes, and the ways in which they grow to platonically love one another as a consequence.

The loss of one having deep long lasting affects.

Yellow Hawk lost his land, his dignity, most of his family, and his way of life.

Captain Blocker fought in many wars and lost many friends and detests having to lead Indigenous warriors home through hostile territory.

But as they travel North, he comes to understand that Yellow Hawk is someone worthy of respect and was likely therefore leading a respectful people.

Yellow Hawk's honest and fair unracially biased actions slowly redefine Blocker's constitution, and the two fierce opponents start working together, overlooking past grievances, respecting each other as persons.

The belligerent be damned.

They also meet and take in the survivor of a horrendous attack early on, during which her husband and three daughters were killed and her homestead set ablaze (Rosamund Pike as Rosalie Quaid), and as Yellow Hawk's family offers their empathy, Blocker notices their humanity, bonds linked by grief further calling into question past actions, his conduct later on, exemplifying conscious evolution.

It's like their entourage represents a fierce multicultural collective which appreciates both genders and is direly forced to fight its way through a relatively lawless realm wherein which the violent scourge and flourish, like unleashed/untethered tigers or birds of prey.

There isn't much dialogue but every uttered syllable means something.

Themes that are less pronounced in many westerns are brought to the fore such as the abuse of Indigenous peoples, the strength of powerful resilient women, forgiveness as opposed to fury, and the changing dynamics of different cultures suddenly living together in peace.

With a conscientious edge.

That isn't too lofty or complicated.

There's still plenty of conflict, it's not a walk in the park or a bushel of apples.

But it's multiculturally vindicated.

With hardboiled romantic community.

L'Insulte

Politicians spreading hate to prey upon the weaknesses of their flocks, to turn their latent prejudices into jingoistic warlike ambitions, to transform tolerant markets into breeding grounds for death and destruction, to gain power for themselves which they will share with no one, perniciously pervert and corrupt the religious and/or secular principles they exploit to gain recognition, then bask in luxurious splendour while lives are lost and communities torn apart, after their viewpoints become codes of conduct, and harmless repartee starts invoking wanton bloodshed.

A mechanic falls for the volatile rhetoric of a Lebanese demagogue in Ziad Doueiri's L'Insulte, and proceeds to express himself contemptuously thereafter.

But the Palestinian man whom he targets isn't willing to let things slide, and immediately comes a' knockin' to assert his sincere displeasure.

He's ignored, tensions escalate, his boss, a levelheaded kind hearted understanding person, asks him to apologize for the way in which he retaliated, he agrees, only to have his people vitriolically criticized as he prepares to do so, a genocidal comment that inflames his passions, and leaves his provocateur on the ground with two broken ribs.

As they wait for their day in court, both men are reasonably counselled, and even though Yasser (Kamel El Basha) has a legitimate defence, he refuses to air grievances when eventually pressed by the judge.

He's an ethical person whom the world keeps beating down.

He won't sit back and take it, but he won't rat out his adversaries either.

Complicated film.

Multicultural dilemmas.

Their dispute makes headlines and soon the appeal is a national sensation, ethnocentric hatreds refuelled by each carefully calculated examination, a recent civil war still haunting collective memories, only the truly wicked hoping to see them reanimated once more.

L'Insulte shows how misguided individual actions can have horrendous cultural repercussions if hatred is left to pontificate unchallenged while those who profit from its dissemination publicly promote its virulence.

Tony (Adel Karam) and Yasser can't stand the spectacle. It's one of the film's best aspects. They detest the ways in which their simple disagreement becomes a demented political powder keg.

They slowly learn to understand, and as they tacitly agree to tolerate one another, both as people and as people who have suffered greatly, the film's deep multifaceted layers become more respectfully binding (revolutionaries turned civil servants, diaspora discourses, a child is born, workplace health and safety . . .).

Myriad characters offer brief challenging insights that condense manifold local, regional, national, and international personal and communal ethicopolitical viewpoints into a compelling heartfelt cerebral narrativization.

An argument that could have just been quietly settled.

If they had listened to their wives.

And ignored mad extremists.

October Gale

Overcome with shattering grief, a widow heads North, to convalesce in the calming wilderness, embowered yet stricken, facing her demons alone.

When catastrophe strikes in the form of a hunted man, desperately seeking escape, who suddenly shows up unannounced on her island, frightened, abandoned, and wounded.

His story's far-fetched, yet when his assailants come calling, their truth projects panic and understanding.

As the power goes out.

And the storm sets in.

Two struggling lonely resiliencies meet, come together, and lock and load, Ruba Nadda's October Gale supplying their depressions with a maniacal impediment to surmount, its vindictive ammunition, oppressing their hopes for forgiveness.

Compassion and trust come to their aid, as they constructively bond, to prognosticate their survival.

Character driven, the film relies on the strong performances delivered by Patricia Clarkson (Helen Matthews), Scott Speedman (William), and Tim Roth (Tom), the intensity of their restrained emotions, embracing the storm's bitter graft.

The film focuses on scarcity, on lack, on the barren repercussions of losing a loved one, which explains why the scenery isn't warmly pronounced, even though they're in an exceptionally beautiful region of Canada.

Poignancy.

Maps to the Stars

Is it possible to take a sterile excessive stale antiseptic and fill it with enough dry 40% neat conversations to soberly materialize a fumigated aesthetic, like sparkling versatile antithetical lard, an affordable Naked Lunch, its sacrificial form industriously high-strung, its intellectual content flowing with literary immiscibility, which, on the one hand makes you feel like insecticide, on the other, like a priceless set of handcrafted heirlooms, David Cronenberg's Maps to the Stars, a restrained hard-lined masterpiece of elitist horror, a subdued synthesis of the mundane and the maniacal, stronger than both Cosmopolis and A Dangerous Method, inflammable family histories, seductively liaising, emphatically, eviscerated?

It is, Cronenberg's patient strategic mix of obnoxious refinements, youthful misgivings, and childish incredulity, slowly building its complex web of serendipitous interconnectivity, makes you wish you were about to pleasantly throw up after having spent $627 dollars on a bottle of scotch, like gentrified gentility, frenzied fire starters, was that Mr. Mugs?, all-knowing and ever-so-loveable Mr. Mugs?, shot down by 21st century infantile ennui, prevented from teaching his lessons, consigned, forevermore?

Bashful, so difficult to blend these elements without being overtly pretentious or inadvertently condescending, still allowing them to preserve their autonomy, pulsating, integrated, heterogeneity.

It's somewhat of a satirical take on both these potentialities, expertly derelicted, by a master who continues to innovate.

Reminded me more of his early texts Stereo or Crimes of the Future than A History of Violence or Eastern Promises.

His roots.

Back to his roots.

Maleficent

Two kingdoms bordering one another, although kingdoms is the wrong choice of word, for although one is certainly the domain of a king, the other has no definitive ruler.

The other's strongest is respected, however, due to her extraordinary abilities, and her application of them, to the art of realm protection.

An act of charity sparks a romantic flame between occupants of the divergent lands, but whereas a magical aura of egalitarian majesty permeates the one, greed and covetousness rule the other, the relationship's male component residing in the later, not that such couples need be composed of both males and females, a fact the filmmakers use to circuitously cultivate their filmscape.

He craves more power.

And ignominiously betrays.

His betrayal has consequences for both the victim and the beast, as darkness reluctantly descends, to clarify his inestimable wickedness.

The couple comes of age.

And a child is born.

Regally recalling and extending Snow White and the Huntsman's proverbial special effects, comically synthesizing the free and the dependent, ravenously adjudicating a curse's immutability, while cloistering the innocent in an ominous crown of thorns, Maleficent tacitly tracks the course of the fairy tale, abiding by while transgressing, its traditional fantastic forms.

Beautifully stipulated and tragically adorned, it presents insights and prohibitions regarding love's cautious stealth, preferring loyalty to might, the incandescent, to the miser.

Carnage

Propriety is caustically deconstructed in Roman Polanski's Carnage as two couples meet to discuss a recent altercation between their contentious offspring.

And inadvertently try to get to know one another.

The situation is this: one kid was confronted by a group of kids mouthing him off so he picked up a stick and hit the leader of the group in the mouth, damaging his teeth. The parents of the former make an effort to apologize to the parents of the later by stopping by their apartment in a show of good faith. They discuss things amicably and the parents of the former are about to leave but one thing leads to another and their conversation is extended.

As the mother of the later (Jodie Foster as Penelope Longstreet) becomes more and more intrusive in her comments and suggestions, the father of the former (Christoph Waltz as Alan Cowan) becomes increasingly defensive and irate. The resulting polemic pits two couples from different socio-demographic backgrounds against one another and the children are soon forgotten as the animosity intensifies.

But each couple has their own internal struggles as well and the genders eventually square off while enjoying another round of afternoon scotch.

Known for its transformative curations.

Carnage works as a deconstructive piece which champions open honest airings of grievances over uptight formal indisputable appearances. Tearing away at the veneers which constitute a wide variety of social interactions, it finds catharsis through confrontation while productively disrupting and recasting established codes of conduct.

As everyone remembers their youth.

This could have been an exceptional film but there's something missing from its bitter tranquil blend. While I respected its formula, I couldn't find that cohesive regenerative spark which would make me want to wholeheartedly engage in subsequent viewings.

Some sort of kinetic catalyst.

Everything's reputably in place to make Carnage stand out and I think that may be the problem. This script may have found more life with a less successful cast and crew looking to make a resounding impact.

As they fight for recognition.

The Naked Kiss

Seeking redemption in the small town of Grantville, Kelly (Constance Towers) leaves behind her street walking lifestyle and finds a job as a nurse helping handicapped children. Her upbeat and dedicated personality make an immediate impact and she's able to start building a new life of her own.

But barriers lie in her way, established by Police Captain Griff (Anthony Eisley), who, having spent the night with her upon her arrival in town, passing his days watching new women arrive on the bus, seducing them, and then recommending that they find work at a sleazy night club, refuses to give her a fighting chance and consistently threatens her with full disclosure.

The situation erupts after her hand is sought by a wealthy local bachelor who has been instrumental in building the town, yet has a few secrets of his own.

Samuel Fuller's The Naked Kiss is blunt, bold, and bellicose, plunging headfirst into the inferno and intensely categorizing its flames. It proceeds at an accelerated pace, quickly moving from one scene to the next, confidently building a momentum whose volatile reactions simplify and complicate its rhythms.

Kelly's transformation is definitive and she uses her newfound energy to combat the forces which once constituted her moribund vitality. She thereby carves herself a place on the other side of the tracks whose foundations are troubled by the stereotypical baggage attached to her former way of life.

Some of the sharp distinctions maintained by The Naked Kiss could have used some more elaboration, but deviating from the film's over-the-top charge would have disoriented its ballistic aesthetic. Thoroughly advocating for personal transformations, it still oversimplifies what is necessary for these transformations to take place.

Sympathy for Lady Vengeance

The snow gently descends along its ethereal path, randomly commissioned, capturing daydreams and murmurings and innocence, a mistake leads to penalties, incarcerated plumes, resurgent resilient ceremonial hues, a daughter, a family, remembrances, takes, withdrawn yet fulfilled as misgivings wake, tied to a chair for his crimes sits and waits, his victims regroup, testimonials discussed, sudden romance, baking, that could have happened, that did happen, that did, it's a possibility, there's a reward, recognition, an angel, fluttering and flying, mystified, the group gathered together, cohesive, confused, rounded-up-singled-out, battered, used, penalties for mistakes no escape lightly staked priorities, he was on the case, he worked in the prison, piecemeal, sharp, perforated introductions, reintroduced with reflections, suggestions, vivisections, a light tapping, sound, panoramic internal detail, resurfaced recalcitrance, submission to the verdict, determined, resolved tick-tocking, snatched, an eye for an eye, rehabilitated, refreshed, working together, together, with each other, at pictures and fissures and scripture, bemoan and beget, implacable, lace, eyeshadow, fallen by the wayside, with friendship, and family and friendship and family and clustered repentant momentous recoveries darkened and resting and snapping and slowly, taking their time, offering advice, stipulating conditions, acquiescing, atoning, sequestering while unleashing Sympathy for Lady Vengeance.

Red Road

Andrea Arnold's Red Road unwraps the hidden obsession lying dormant within its heroine. Kate Dickie plays Jackie who monitors a number of cameras which watch over a run down neighbourhood in Glasgow. One day, Jackie discovers a criminal who is inextricably linked to her past upon one of her screens and becomes obsessed with locating him. Her focus upon Clyde (Tony Curran) soon becomes destructive as she begins to spend more and more time viewing his life and less focusing on the community around her. Within Jackie's quiet desperate desire Arnold paints an intriguing portrait upon an ethical canvas, skillfully interrogating morality while deconstructing the dichotomy established between criminal and security officer, her finished product highlighting the difficulties one experiences in keeping the peace from psychological, communal, economic, and familial viewpoints. Sanity is for the sane and Red Road subtly and playfully challenges the concept of the normal while Dickie's poignant Jackie reminds us of the consequences of absolute loss.