Speedy

Perhaps one of the first exuberantly stately carefree yet stern comedic films, wherein which cherished productive pastimes feature prominently in the outlandish narrative.

It's 1928 and Babe Ruth's a playin' for the stalwart Yankees, whom Speedy (Harold Lloyd) zealously follows throughout the day while improvisationally engaged at a soda fountain.

The city has decided to create a vast network of interconnected streetcars, and has set about buying up the extant tracks currently owned by local entrepreneurs. 

Pop Dillon (Bert Woodruff) owns such a peculiarity but doesn't want to sell for paltry chump change, so the prospective buyers nefariously apply themselves to their lucrative ill-gotten banal dysfunction.

Speedy moves from job to job and provides quite the look at the old school city, while taking Jane Dillon (Ann Christy) out to Coney Island to sample practically everything it has to offer.

But one night he becomes aware of the dastardly plan to outwit grandpappy, hoping to start a chaotic dispute and destroy his streetcar in the process (not if the Civil War Vets have their say!).

He can only keep his track if said car runs at least once every 24 hours, thus the maintenance of his plucky vehicle remains eruditely paramount should he wish to stay.

Assistance is thus required and Speedy knows just whom to call.

Calamitous reckoning rambunctiously ensuing.

Age old cacophonous retro zounds. 

I like how films like Speedy take a shine to a particular town, and without being too preachy or pushy gingerly interweave many of its local highlights.

With historical change consistently duelling with resonant traditional ways and means, progress paradigmatically pigeon holes sundry specifics with vehement posture.

Tough to imagine individual tracks uniquely owned by different people throughout the city, who could work them as they saw fit at different times throughout the day.

Was it ever like that with trains as well at a time when perhaps many companies clashed, each seeking to lay down track more efficiently and efficaciously than its rivals?

You really see how the protests regarding the treatment of urban horses are necessary as they transport people around, it even looks like one is ready to collapse when it takes off down the street with a streetcar in tow. 

For a look at the roaring twenties Speedy mischievously delivers, providing practical playful glimpses into entertaining life.

Without overlooking old school definition to harmoniously serenade the future.

Perhaps somewhat too endearing.

But not without exspeedient charm. 

Brewster's Millions

Stipulations.

Conditions which must be reached for an unorthodox goal to be achieved.

At times simply nominal, at others quite the pain, Brewster's Millions embraces the latter, with munificent refrain.

Thus one Montgomery Brewster (Richard Pryor) discovers he's the only living relative of an eccentric recently passed multimillionaire (Hume Cronyn as Rupert Horn), and that he will inherit quite the sum, but only if can first spend 30 million in a month, without acquiring any assets, giving it to charity, or letting anyone else know why he's doing it.

There's the option for a single million no-holds-barred no rules and regulations, but he's a classic gamer and readily accepts the incredible challenge.

It's fun to watch while he lavishly embraces extreme generosity with his friends and staff, and goes about spreading sweetly flowing largesse wherever he happens to fortuitously be.

Notably with his old minor league baseball team with whom he sets up a 3-inning game versus the Yankees, and even pitches for awhile himself in front of the adoring Hackensack crowd.

The ways in which he daringly shares his newfound riches make sundry headlines, but no one can know why he's doing it, not even his closest friend (John Candy as Spike Nolan). 

But those who would inherit the 300 million should Mr. Brewster's efforts fail, diabolically engage in malfeasance designed to ensure their probable success.

Rather unsuspectingly Mr. Brewster proceeds with intuitive freewheelin' dignity.

That would have been quite the month.

Gratuities notwithstanding.

In terms of fun, the lucrative Brewster's Millions emphatically excels from different perspectives, kaleidoscopically coalesced in crafty inspirational song.

Politics takes a swift jab as the most prominent mayoral candidates are feverishly lambasted, Brewster deciding to run himself with no intentions of holding office.

Certainly a film that encourages dreaming or the age old what would I have done?, there's abundant remake opportunity here, just find a 21st-century angle.

I guess a sequel wasn't in the cards but I would have liked to have seen the story continue, nowadays there's no doubt there would have been at least a comic trilogy. 

A chill film if you're looking to relax and watch some craziness for 102 minutes.

Classic old school 1980s.

Co-starring Jerry Orbach (Charley Pegler), Pat Hingle (Edward Roundfield), Peter Jason (Chuck Fleming), Rick Moranis (Morty King), Yakov Smirnoff (Vladimir), and Joe Grifasi (J.B. Donaldo).  

A Woman of Paris

A curious belle habitually considers the manifold opportunities awaiting in Paris, should she be able to cleverly break free from the dismal prison her father's constructed.

A local lad to whom she's betrothed ventures forth one evening in aid, and after her father discovers she's fallen in love he locks his door to her forever.

The lad's own father is also unimpressed and refuses to provide his heartfelt blessing, but as she buys their dependable train tickets, he suffers a fatal collapse.

She doesn't wait around however and years later she's settled à Paris, dating the richest man in town and rather taken with the luxury.

He's quite the cad notwithstanding and even though he does enjoy her company, he's too much of a carefree schmoozer to seek her hand in objective commitment.

Her former belovéd arrives in town and hasn't forgotten how things once were, hoping to secure a rapprochement yet somewhat crestfallen by how much things have changed.

The plutocrat finds it rather comic until he discovers he's quite distraught.

Tragedy awkwardly ensuing.

Remarkably different how things might have been.

I suppose if you're born into a family that takes particular guidelines seriously, and you mature respecting various categories that may have been established regarding oblivion, the earliest ones encountered being somewhat less scandalous, that when you consider historical narrative conventions, one naturally concludes that in the past they must have been stricter.

Since the past indeed took place at an earlier stage and your earliest stages were indeed quite wholesome, the emergence of contemporary scandal a hundred years ago seems out of touch with spiritual computation.

I've heard from time to time that comedic actors hope for dramatic roles, and want to break through in serious films from a desire to develop increasing clout.

But should contemporary comedians consider Charlie Chaplin's genius, what a great thought I had the other day, just watch Chaplin's films for weeks, and the ways in which his comedic films far outweigh his dramatic endeavours, and, to add further emphasis, remain more appealing than so many contemporary dramas, perhaps such comedians shouldn't feel quite so downtrodden, should they rarely abandon humour.

Although comedy has changed remarkably what would Chaplin be creating this postmodern day?

That's a question that should be asked.

I enjoy his dramatic films, but his comedies usurp reason. 

City Lights

Wandering laidback spontaneously cherished ephemeral awakenings, sundry mysteries modestly revealing the innocent nature of unconcerned life.

An ice cream cone there, a pigeon in a puddle, fresh bread at the bakery, a curious spirit squirrel, exuberant sights wondrously manifesting everlasting charm and atemporal enchantment. 

Through serendipitous accident randomly regenerating ruminative imaginative carefree spawn, convivial soirées lacking animate precedent distractingly emerge with ceremonious flair.

Intoxicating friendship somewhat slipshod yet pleasant on flippant occasion, the generous reward for a gracious good deed effortlessly envisaged with exoteric emphasis.

Eccentric shifts the Jekyll & Hideaway happenstanced heartfelt humanistic harkenings, reified revelling rhapsodic restorative multivariable unattached festive extravagance. 

Prone to dream and accustomed to ponder encompassing romantic tales of yore, not without disconsolate modernist reckoning the expedient means the intrepid underscore.

Genuine affection modestly blooming with characteristically enthused comportment, financial strains calamitously composing exacting employment through requisite stress.

The spirited caricature at times less attuned to definitive structure and integral schedule, opportunities imbued come and fervently go as fortune is sought through frenetic finesse.

Even through pugilistic disorder tantamount temptation courageously met, rambunctious refinement preponderant puma elastic engagement unhesitant concord.

If only cerebral stability assurédly sanctified affable orbit, and night and day enrichingly endowed the Little Tramp (Charlie Chaplin) with communal consistency.

Effort engrained not adamantly enraptured with his less hostile personalized approach, a tarnished cosm abounding with resonance leading to quizzical peculiar dispatch.

Not without their fair share of ingenuity trial and error consortiums inclined appreciated, yet not so overwhelmingly invigorating as to usurp inherent inhibitions. 

But life bewitches corresponding mutually conducive alert resilient storytelling, warm and friendly habitual interaction rather agreeable tractable lively.

You don't have to be born rather rich to spiritually divine wealth from the inside.

Productive piecemeal pairings.

Untold aloft melodious blooms.