Lost in Yonkers

Intelligence, when examined multifacetedly, has many industrious tributaries, whether it's the hands-on practical methods of labour and commerce, or the idle imaginative nature of academia. 

Not that reading isn't hands-on or labour prone to distraction and daydreaming, the multilayered convulsive vortex producing versatile compelling symmetries. 

Standardized tests can delineate efficiencies for specific subjects categorically determined, and if successful with these tests administrative accolades invariably accrue.

Social skills at the same time often aren't tested with authoritative skill, but cultural knowledge brought to vivid life securely allows one to snuggly fit in.

Fitting in can be rigidly frowned upon and categorically dismissed as routine flimflam, just as abstract knowledge may seem rather useless by the utilitarianly inclined.

People often specialize in something and know that subject very well, if you're to ask them a question about it they'll no doubt respond with relevant discourse. 

Do they lack intelligence because they aren't gifted in multiple domains?, I would argue they do not, since their subject of expertise demonstrates erudition. 

Getting along with people, co-existing, should be more highly valued, as a sign of communal functionality that encourages peace and tranquil living. 

Working the eccentric into such a framework along with novel peculiarities less disposed to small talk, is a gifted skill of its collective own readily displaying incumbent sympathy.

In Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace bluntly examines intellectual styles, and without the most diplomatic language, brilliantly arrives at working-solutions.

He points out that most people aren't nearly as intelligent as they think they are and that fools often make incisive observations, while grotesquely filling his multidisciplinary pages with people self-destructively obsessed with over-achievement. 

I always thought it was irritating to focus on subjects I knew little about, and had no interest in thoroughly studying, to show-off my learning with people I didn't like because that was what they expected. 

I thought most people had strengths and weaknesses and respecting their strengths was a sign of culture.

Help them work on their weaknesses in school.

Let their strengths shine at work and play.

The Hit

Extravagant teething steadfast stream notorious nettle lucrative gang, candlestick caution versatile temper floored execution galavant getaway.

Mechanized methods interrogative vocal witness protection continental coda, renewable readymade convertible cloister filament folio aggrieved annotation. 

Mischievous moil literate leisure lorbital library penitent play, bumblebee bustle velodrome vintage innocent moxy cavalier quota. 

Determinant dank diabolical influx tenacious threshing bucolic bantha, syndicate scooping equipped acquisition featherweight fetters rotisserie hide.

Irritating logistics indolent imposition interminable road trip improvised irking, semanticore switch calculated kidnapping indefinite stitch calisthenic contagion.

Erroneous calcite callous communication serendipitous infatuation enamoured intuition, bullheaded attrition voluptuous vexing diehard disentanglements endowed absurdity.

Bookworm contention variable learning sincere reflection keen undertakings, unexpected conversation lighthearted argument artistic reticence instinctual interest.

Comic implosion gloomy humour immiscible remnants juxtaposed jubilee, cerebral severance streetwise baccalauréat Walden urbanity Thoreau-row-row.

Blossoming friendship disciplined obscurity confusing insights angelic equipoise, ambient frustration peaceful serenity sentiment solace teddy bear traction.

Dogmatic decibels uncertain agua offhand distraction lickspittle legion, tumultuous confidence brittle intransigence bulbous oath victual vow.

Blunt obfuscation treasurefeit truffle sideshow ambivalence mangy magenta, awkward perseverance nocturnal chum misinformed magpie telemetric trigo. 

Joie de vivre living-the-art-life chill peace-of-mind inherent discrepancy, books for the soul omnisciently so serious or carefree existenz philos.

With Terence Stamp as the age old dreamer. 

Putting on quite the show.

Criterion Keywords: Terence Stamp.

Odd sensibility, stark eccentricities. 

Live by Night

Ben Affleck's Live by Night could have been could have been could have been.

It champions multicultural reflexivity as opposed to rigid dictations as its extremely honourable Irish gangster hero Joe Coughlin (Affleck) makes the right moves to sanctify in sacrifice.

Teamwork is essentially adorned with crucial combative exteriorized comeuppances as partner Dion Bartolo (Chris Messina) provides extrajudicial reckoning.

Idyllic forbidden rapturous love bountifully blossoms in different contexts while Joe comes to terms with his unheralded prestige.

A real-world high-level inevitability permeates each action but isn't enough to prevent thought from rationally entreating.

From using honest North American know-how to level-out the playing field.

There's just one problem.

It's too perfect.

All of its calculations and conversations are just plain-old too noble, too wonderful, everything works out too well, it's far too comfortable for a gangster film.

Some loose ends, please.

Instead of feeling worried or anxious or fearful or nervous I just felt complacent, there's no suspense, it was like I was watching a bright mathematician prove a trigonometric identity, or checking out reruns of a favourite dark family friendly show.

Live by Night explains why the term hardboiled was applied to books by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, or indirectly to films by John Huston or Howard Hawks.

Without the hardboiled aspect, you wind up with Live by Night.

Which I may have loved in my youth.

But couldn't get into mid-life.

Café Society

Maybe, some more thought could have been put into Café Society.

Perhaps Woody Allen should take some time off, regroup, refresh, relax, recalibrate.

It's possibly a classic exemplar of hubris, of a feeling of invincibility.

You can tell the script is shrewdly written with a diverse variety of characters set up in micro and macro familial oppositions, but it's still sort of superficial, depth is lacking, like reputation rather than intellect is guiding each energetic expression.

The script is more like a first draft than a polished masterpiece.

The elements that might have been transformed into something Oscar worthy are there but it's like Allen forgot to spruce things up, so that rather than vigorously devouring a hearty multidimensional thought provoking eccentricity, parts of his audience are stuck with the stock, and remain famished as the closing credits role.

I think he liked writing this one.

The characters don't really develop apart from Bobby (Jesse Eisenberg) and just predictably interact with one another blandly as the film prattles on.

Casting off hubris to enlighten modesty which slowly and painfully crystallizes as the barrage of counterarguments inquisitively adjudicate checks such tendencies.

Or not, maybe he's just on a bit of a losing streak, he has made 46 films, they can't all be Annie Hall or Midnight in Paris.

Some of them are bound to be not so great.

Although, ahem!, In Search of Lost Time rarely errs, Proust having possessed that inextinguishable everlasting implausibility that hardly ever accepted anything less than pure genius, and he proceeded the entire time as if he was a witless fool.

Wes Anderson?

Alejandro González Iñárritu?

Solid cinematography (Vittorio Storaro) and Kristen Stewart (Vonnie) impresses.

The narration could have been left out or seriously cut back.

The music's too Woody Allen.

It's worse the second time.

Who am I to critique Woody Allen?, doubt I could consistently come up with wonderful films year after year, decade after decade, 46 of them so far, that's freakin' nutso.

I fast incarcerated.

Roller Town (Fantasia Fest 2012)

Rollin' along; roller skatin' down that road.

Bringing disco, back to life.

Haligonian comedy troupe Picnicface insert their distinct brand of hypertense laissez-faire creepy yet ingratiating socio-cultural commentary into their first full-length film, Roller Town, overflowing with the same cerebral mix of nostalgic innocence and nauseous necromancy that nauticalized their television show, ironically transmitted through a vicarious fundamental frequency, which fetishistically elevates the construction of a permanent sense of psychological well-being, localized and qualified by an irresistibly naive belief in the eternal values of pop culture, avatarized with direct access to the divine, while criminally agitating its impending neuroses.  

A lot of the jokes/situations have an immediate impact (are funny) while many of them seem like they were deliberately set up to just be as inane and I-don't-give-a-fuck as possible. But when you think about them afterwards it's these inane moments that lacked depth that make you laugh and want to see it again.

Which isn't that easy to do.