Cheminstrel

Incommunicado restless interlocutor

opaque isthmus crackling wood

baroque embellishment ludic verve

incessant antics quivering fletch

summited circa pinnacle plush

inordinate view symbiotic horizon

dazzling downpour gracious melody

leapfroggin' lacka ambient haze

cardiovascular decked out dygnashing

quizzical camper sandstriking smidge

fussy instructions aghast retinue

punctilious incline almond bitters

sawdust sucré atemporal flux

modest demeanour exemplary marrow

chestnutterance spitfire samosa

whiplash stampede 'tripetal blush

accelerant catalyst crucial consumption

jaundiced jaguar infinite loop

Danube dispiriting swollen embankments

didgerdeluge ominiondation

exotic sampler smithereens scoot 

vacillate vermint crafteaspoon critter

vanilla sedgling vehicular blinds

botanical blimsy tobaccolades

frenetic fissure frugallaghershwin

optimal nominal whole grain blather

tantamount treacle viscid supplication

invertebrate buzz infinite fleece

brittle consternation bewildering blasé

comatose stride sleepwalking sentience

dizzying drowsy succour shallot

labyrinthine strata lithe collocation

Morpheus mingle curious swagger

inchoate charm vouchsafing vessel

subconscious structure shapeshifting sands

elusive elocutus jocose jammin'

husky interlude cerebral paucity

juxtaposed lick rhythmic pulse

crescending sorcery glib diminuendo 

improvised guideline denouement stress

fitful romance disinclined thriller

comedic quark siesta sci-fi

meteoric magma galactic chemistry

soluble liquified coaxing unknown

enigmatic math eccentric equipoise 

garland sugargomellow enterprise

rooty microbe coagulate granule 

aggregate shade pebble bipedal

octane inducement incognito nebulae

'dromeda snorbit courageous descent

fugacious fauna feverish fruit

extracurricular unique venture

spawned. 

Mysterious Object at Noon

Clementine fiddlestick cursory 'thusela Flamenco berm androgynous fathom, underground fissure transformative treatise celluloid succulence discursive scorn.

Rummaging rambles intuitive grace bodum battalion hookah heartstrings, phantasmagorical imprecise phase illusory cadre gormandized gallop.

Pulsating puma crackerjack jive humuscle brandish verdant exterior, coagulate coma gelatin frisk intrinsic artisan alcoven citrus.

Animate bristle miscellaneous pimple saturated libation lunar eclisp, illegible tome inedible smorgas buffeted morn grandiloquent hollow.

Evocative barbe enigmatic trestle scaffolding immersion epsilon orb, orchestral filament ancestral verse crisp Caladan calm divergent swathe. 

Quarantine cordial eccentric auburn particular quart infusive willow, Dionysus dagnabbit zoot alors fresh formica fervour macaroon medley.

Basilisk banshee serpentine standard convective baritone accordant sizzle, obsidian jingle curvaceous crucible increment accolade composite plaudit. 

Articulate gamble inefficient meticule popinjay placenta roving dial, Avalon chainsay murky 'marole chatterbox chug phalanx 'catessen.

Adamant chanting fuselargesse alacric schemata cerebral swerve, marigoldenizen lemondrop shades chimney top china utensil torque. 

Iguana gallancelot eclectic gathering skyline sedation decibel vibe, creative celerity bewitching tiger storytime sediment constructive flow.

Narrative nurture inquisitive ensemble clandestine cast gregarious geyser, affable Aragorn certified shuffle interpretive twizzler seditious slush. 

Elephantine vigour chinchilla 'crobatics wild distillations tacit instalments, galactic stern wilderness whimsy collective innovation laidback invention. 

Totally keeps things local.

Offering a slice of Thailand. 

Leads to The Iliad down the road. 

Conceptual inclusive mutation. 

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

The recreational impulse to tell lively tales improvisationally immersed in exotic wonder, effectively drives so much interactivity as days slowly pass and nights stall and linger.

There are so many rules to strictly follow that sensational stories encourage emancipation, being able to fly or breathe under water miraculously motivating agile daydreams.

For children ensconced in unknown consistently reimagined otherworldly lessons, many of which wildly champion imagination the fledgling instincts to revel cathartic. 

Yet balanced with practical reasoning the traditional realities corresponding to our species, birds fly and fish breathe under water while chipmunks and squirrels don't want to be pets.

Distressing unsettling to be sure as one soulfully seeks corporeal independence, to leave the confines of the body behind and transform into pure energy like they do on Star Trek.

Evolution acclimatizing piecemeal as centuries pass and eons articulate, the gradual biological attunements so subtle and microscopic they matriculate unnoticed.

Atemporally speaking still like fresh miracles the remarkable adaptations made to environments over time, many of which seem to have been accompanied by desires to collectively transform and easily acquire nutrients.

The slow passage of time ingenious in its bearings logically enables evolutionary traction, diverse environments habitually gathering sly multivariable communal constructs.

It's not to say to let dreams slowly fade and stoically embrace painstaking millennia, at night and on weekends the transmission of narratives creatively subsists to generate pause.

To fruitfully exercise unorthodox peculiarities through artistic invention and ludic lullaby, makes for less dull invigorating pastimes as things progress, revert or stagnate.

To recklessly play with constructed reality with poorly thought out alternative designs, if in a position of power and gaudy influence has destructive abrasive effects.

The disastrous ways in which the Second World War cacophonously devastated so much of the world, effortlessly critiques ambitious yearnings which ruthlessly seek what isn't for sale.

To remember the difference between fantasy and reality upon embarking on mature expeditions, doesn't mean the former can't be referenced but also encourages logic and reason.

Logic and reason are much more preferable day in and day out as the seasons pass by.

And cooler heads manage things through fact and instruction.

Without worrying about comment and headlines. 

Sing

I always marvel at how tolerant my parents were regarding my singing when I was younger.

Before I learned to just take it easy and productively chill out when performing, I used to take on elevated subject matter, and my poor father had to listen as I bellowed Life on Mars? on the family piano, yet he still never let loose his irate criticisms, and let things take their natural course.

Sing gathers the harmonically gifted from a modest lively urban centre, and fortuitously unites them in passionate song, the reputed prize worth $100,000.

Unfortunately, the prize was a typo that greatly exaggerated the MC's income, but the lofty sum still motivated many, and a solid crew was melodiously assembled.

It must be the case the far reaching talent obliviously chillin' in so many towns, just waiting for similar opportunities to feverishly break out with elaborate invention.

Obsessions with being the best or not simply as good as a friend or relative, prevent so many from pragmatically proceeding as if there ever was an artistic superlative.

If you don't think you're the greatest singer or you needlessly worry how your words will sound, note that the most consistent songwriter in legendary memory won the Nobel Prize and he couldn't even sing.

American Idol is no doubt well-known for giving a shot to inspired local talent, and creating a vast incredible network of aspiring singers across the land.

But are local garage bands still seeking to frenetically emerge ultra summa cum laude, or just exist in the embryonic ether everlastingly invigorating rhythmic liaison?

Dylan, Bowie, The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones seemed to me like they worked like it was their job to write song after song, and didn't just lounge about on the old trust fund seeking performative disruptive accolades. 

You get that rush outside of your comfort zone that effortlessly produces irresistible novelty, and as you constructively/bitterly/imaginatively/proactively/distractedly/vituperatively react there's no all-encompassing parallel for what you come up with.

Liked Sing's city of animals and the collective beasties intuitively enthralling.

Dreams effervescently accruing. 

Multivariable shapeshifting cascades.  

Everything Everywhere All at Once

Multivariable universes loosely interconnected through tenuous familiarity, simultaneously emergent disproportionately taxing impeccably embellished latent hyper-reactivity. 

Perhaps every decision made unleashes alternative inconclusive realities, wherein which parallel characteristics authenticate ill-considered plans.

For each life, millions of distinct worlds invariably populate unique dimensions, which themselves continuously generate immutable mutations in a subjective infinity.

Perhaps it isn't a matter of corporeal space that the physical itself is in fact limitless, like compiling date online, how many electrons in a verbose atom?

Things take shape and manifest consistency during waking hours relatively structured, but just as the rotation of the Earth is imperceptible, perhaps sundry interdimensional interstices flourish undetected.

A brilliant way to travel between them is poetically realized in Everything Everywhere All at Once (apart from dreams), as an active mind abounding with creativity embraces overbearing disillusion.

As family pressures and economic doldrums reach discombobulating heights, escape can no longer be sublimated if it isn't the right thing to do.

She's (Michelle Yeoh as Evelyn Wang) done the right thing in many respects and has never abandoned her responsibilities, even as her father (James Hong as Gong Gong) consistently belittles her, and her wayward daughter (Stephanie Hsu as Joy Wang) refuses to help.

She's kept everything held together with infinite patience and herculean resolve, but one day it all breaks down as she embraces grave ontological flux.

That dangerous question - to be scrupulously avoided, "what if I'd done that instead?", is intensely multiplied ad infinitum, as she encounters representatives from manifold worlds, disparate lives she may have lived.

She has an active imagination so the alternative potential is tremendously profound, comic book confounding and consternating quandaries suddenly disintegrating routine life.

It's one part exceptional nervous breakdown curiously bewildering material reality, and a brilliant synthesis of fantasy and reality somewhat like magical scientific realism. 

I wonder what people who don't like comic books will think of Kwan and Scheinert's conundrum, the ways in which obsessive practicality is suddenly fantastically disposed?

Or how the comic book aficionados will inquisitively consider the realistic intrusion, the reification of their abstract dreams perhaps passionately unappreciated?

I like this kind of thing and the poetic transdimensional drive (you can jump between worlds if you figure out the improbable poetic thing to say or do in any situation), who didn't spend hours imagining such things in their youth, perhaps not with so much detail?

A mother's strength radiates incarnate.

Thankfully not in a world without feeling. 

Classic postmodern impetus.

My favourite Oscar nominee this year (it's super zeitgeisty, if you believe in that sort of thing).

Co-starring Raccoonie.

El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive)

There was once what was known as censorship, so that impressionable youths could avoid narrative trauma, accompanied by bad dreams and apprehension, throughout the course of the traditionally peaceful day.

Thus, categories such as General Audience, Parental Guidance, PG-13, Adult Accompaniment, and Restricted, kept psychological maturity in check, and prevented the development of madness and paranoia within the investigative general public.

But with the advent of online movie watching these stalwart categories have become less applicable, and younger generations have been unsuspectingly bombarded with material ill-suited to their corresponding age-level.

Not that it didn't happen in the past, in El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive) local enthusiasts bring the cinema to a small town, a wide variety of pictures featured, one week none other than Boris Karloff's Frankenstein.

Two young sisters (Ana Torrent as Ana and Isabel Tellería as Isabel) eagerly take in the age old tale of artificial authenticity, with its accompanying inherent lugubrity, its ill-fated misunderstandings.

The older soon swiftly realizes that the younger has been affected, and takes to morbidly teasing her with sadistic sordid sorority. 

The younger isn't ready for the antics since she can't make sense of the haunting tale, her vivid imagination set to haywire through the horrific happenstance.

They live on a vast estate sedately situated in the Spanish countryside, their father (Fernando Fernán Gómez as Fernando) dreaming of becoming a writer, their mother (Teresa Gimpera as Teresa) keenly focused on the past.

General guidance periodically emerges but ample free time encourages imagination. 

But is Frankenstein coming to get them?

Ill-conjured consumed contingencies.

The film brilliantly depicts thoughtful youth with jocose harrowing perplexed curiosity, a patient heartfelt delicate examination of distressing ill-computed dissonance. 

Why would someone create that?, they've found a niche through gross indecency, the dissemination of random ideas as incredibly eclectic as a national library.

I never watched much horror in my youth but later watched many of the films I'd ignored in my early twenties, occasionally encountering an impressive force but still often wondering why so grotesque?

But lives aren't only orchestrated through the coherent mechanics of the master narrative.

Ill-fated wayward comprehension.

Experimental novelty. 

The NeverEnding Story II: The Next Chapter

*This applies more to my haphazard analysis of American politics.

One of the cool elements of a democracy is that it encourages the development of a multiplicity of voices, the cultivation of sundry alternatives to the heroic master narrative.

It doesn't seek to eclipse the heroic narrative but rather to promote less ra ra alternatives, in order to represent the millions of people who aren't engaged in epic quests.

I suppose this goes without saying but it seems like populists are seeking to reinvent the wheel, as if the heroic narrative was somehow in danger of suddenly disappearing.

I like the application of heroics to humdrum daily life, through the application of general comedic agency and particular tragic commitment, for to deny epic possibility to random modest chill existence, is to foolishly underestimate sociocultural potential, and overlook vast compelling markets (see The Lord of the Rings).

I may prefer to watch a film like Museum Hours, but I still enjoy watching Iron Man or Thor, which unfortunately leaves me on the fringes since so many people prefer one style to the other.

But if you can balance the divergent approaches you can cater to so many different preferences, and perhaps avoid wild confrontation by fulfilling manifold desires.

Snobs digress erroneously by dismissing so many things, and creating categorical prejudices which designate them undesirable.

For so many of these things are culturally celebrated by people who don't wish to be dismissed (I don't really care), or made to feel inadequate because they simply don't like serious drama.

It's just the application of equality to widespread divergent artistic tastes, which seems anathema to elitist snobs who often advocate for greater equality (see life).

It wouldn't be much of an issue if millions of people weren't rallying behind the populists, and creating a vast absolutist network of alternative facts on social media.

Such bizarro alternative reckonings shouldn't be dismissed, they're much too powerful, but rather ways should be found to rework them from within based upon probable fact and reason (like robust dynamic schools).

You see they've created new definitions for "fact" and alternative conceptions of "reason" which they uphold without any evidence in order to pursue a dismissed agenda.

Because mainstream discourse has dismissed them they've found outlets to spread their discontent.

Unless both sides are willing to relax passionately upheld categorical prejudices, the situation could become much worse as The Social Dilemma postulates.

I hope it doesn't descend into one strictly policing the other (unless there are acts of violence).

Brute force is so much less convincing.

Reimagine the emptiness, like The NeverEnding Story II.

Museum Hours

The active mind having aged to reimagine engagement through interpretive fluid rapt multivariable impression.

A rambunctious youth clad in melodic calculi (managing and touring with bands), then ruminative middle-age embracing quiet illustration (monitoring different rooms in Vienna's Kunsthistorisches Art Museum).

Living a thoughtful solitary life well-attuned to simple pleasures (Bobby Sommer as Johann), he meets a curious tourist one day visiting from Montréal (Mary Margaret O'Hara as Anne).

She's in town to watch over her cousin who's fallen into a coma, and would love to see the sights but doesn't know where to begin.

The film loosely follows their interactions as they travel in and about town, different features brought to life through historical exposition. It's not just the Kunsthistorisches that shines, Vienna's contemporary spirit enlivens as well, evocatively situated in past and present, replete with urban wildlife.

As Anne and Johann converse reflections on art evanescently materialize, not as if they're searching for essentials, more like chill jazzy random observation.

In fact it's like Museum Hours aesthetically cherishes the chill and random, as various images are freely showcased without a particular focus.

It's not presenting a specific thesis arguing for a point of view, but rather sharing different images to let Vienna thrive on through.

According to individual tastes, a clever seminar in artistic analysis attempts to lead visitors away from cocktail clichés, to more expansive literary compositions, as they observe different paintings, like there isn't an essence to be extracted but rather a variety of compelling interpretive exports.

Johann looks on in studious wonder as a guide imaginatively elucidates, her insights applicable to Jem Cohen's style which doesn't seek to blandly distill.

He observes that the right has made things much more serious, and made casual conversation much less prevalent, if the left loses sight of lighthearted argument, don't you wind up with The Lobster?

If the emphasis is on the correct interpretation of a shifting multivariable phenomenon, aren't such aggressive and violent evaluations highly dubious and irrational?

Taking absurd comedic outputs that clearly lack exhaustive scope, and treating them with biblical import, can lead to an unwillingness for people to participate in sustained and vigorous debate.

If they aren't treated with biblical import but rather as just another form of expression, then you have something much less frightening, and more amenable to inclusive discourse.

Mirai no Mirai

An imaginative cloister at rest or at play sharply asserts itself in aggrieved upright tantrum.

For the solitary world within which he was ensconced has been definitively altered by the presence of another.

Attention that was once solely centred on him must now be shared with a sister, and even if she's somewhat adorable, he still can't fraternally conduct.

Strange forces align within his domestic playground to provide him with familial aid, and soon, through recourse to animated historical visuals, he's swathed in verbose fluent didact.

But he still may be too young to absorb his interactive lessons, and whether or not he can accept little Mirai (Victoria Grace) remains truly and innocently uncertain.

As dad (John Cho) learns the domestic arts.

And mom (Rebecca Hall) settles back in at work.

The child (Jaden Waldman) creatively explores pasts and presents to embrace Mirai no Mirai, the film excelling at presenting tactile evidence while he struggles to grasp and comprehend.

A wonderful film, rich with effervescent showcase, abounding with nimble tutelage, proceeds to generously foil and viscerally cascade, like windswept rains intermittently drenching the tropics in inclusive instructive echo, it proceeds with a friendly light heart playfully immersed in soothing reprimand.

Revelations must be hidden in order to avoid conflict as mom and dad wonder what's happening in their unassuming nondescript back garden.

As Kun embarks on journey after journey, it's as if luminescence has been seamlessly disseminated, the film's insouciance mysteriously matriculating, in nurtured inculcated frisk.

Deconstructing disillusions of age.

Enveloping unpasteurized wonder.

The scenes aren't boring or risk-fuelled or death-defying or controversial, they're way more chill, like they aren't working within a systematic production slyly cultivating grass-is-greener ideologies.

Thus, with intergenerational independence and particularized unique charm, they offer alternatives overflowing with paradigmatic initiative, laidback, like childhood storytime.

Categorically unconcerned.

You try to keep your eyes open as you age so you don't miss life passing by, like Ferris Bueller, and from time to time you still notice something novel for which you're totally unprepared.

It's like Mirai no Mirai harnesses this outlook in narrativized jazzy melody, which it thoughtfully focuses on itself, to compose something calm and collective.

A must see.

The Nutcracker and the Four Realms

The loss of a loved one haunts gifted Clara's (Mackenzie Foy) heart, and her grief stricken father (Matthew Macfadyen) struggles to comfort her.

Festive ceremonies can't ease her troubled mind, nor can appeals to the breadth of tradition, nor the temptation to snuggle away.

Honestly immersed in dire bleak emotion, she visits a trustworthy friend (Morgan Freeman as Drosselmeyer).

And his supportive counsel and sympathetic understanding miraculously ignite her imagination, which magically blooms thereafter, a fantastic realm inadvertently emerging, wherein which she's respected as Queen.

Yet dark forces have set about undermining her rule, forces which take advantage of her naivety.

But those who remain loyal to her innate justice refuse to yield as the usurper rises, the rag tag as composed as they are outnumbered, united with the formerly influential.

Known as Mother Ginger (Helen Mirren).

As darkness descends.

In The Nutcracker and the Four Realms, an enchanting tale wildly revelling in solemn majesty, its embroiled burnished brightness boldly bursting the bland banal.

Within, inherent characteristics predisposed to leisure and play must outwit irreverent subjugation while clashing with concrete woe.

Is it so hard to enjoy the peaceful refinements a culture enlightens without being threatened by their jests?

Enamoured impulse, commercial spontaneity, sportspersonlike intrigue, a weekly night out?

Who doesn't like Mexican food?

The realization that the limitless nature of the democratic arts, as opposed to one-dimensional all-powerful commands they may be, produces much more lively overtures, which can creatively inspire curious hearts and minds, who produce much more clever material when given room to play, and freed from mind-numbing stereotypes, enlivens dull predictable routines, and lets you appreciate Birdman and Ferris Bueller sans hesitation, depending on complementary moods.

No one ever really listens to anyone who uses violence to assert themselves, although they pretend to to avoid pain.

I see smart men and women whose families respect them precisely because they don't micromanage things all the time.

They seem happy because their families are happy, and are always ready to provide assistance when required.

Perhaps Clara realizes her father is like that after contending with thoughtless Sugar Plum (Keira Knightley).

And agrees to dance with him lightly.

Caught up in spirited flight.

Pete's Dragon

A child's imagination can limitlessly prosper as it infinitely expands if pedagogically nurtured like a flourishing free spirit.

In David Lowery's Pete's Dragon, we find a young child (Oakes Fegley as Pete) who has been living in the woods for several years under the watchful eye of a caring dragon.

Elliot's the beastie's name.

His existence is undeniable in the film, but, if he is thought of as representing limitless imagination and Pete has developed limitless imagination while growing up on his own in the wild, then after he is discovered by humankind, what becomes of that imagination in terms of future potential?

In terms of the options available in town?

Two brothers are presented, one (Wes Bentley as Jack) who owns a logging company and abides by the law when extracting timber, and another (Karl Urban as Gavin) who manages the company on the ground and breaks those laws in order to earn higher profits.

Either way Pete's imagination will have to adapt to human civilization, since both options extract wood from the forest.

Jack takes Pete in while waiting to hear from child services, after Pete befriends his daughter Natalie (Oona Laurence), and for the first time since the fatal car accident in the film's opening moments, Pete is surrounded by and immersed within nourishing comforts, comforts that can lovingly engage his imagination.

Meanwhile Gavin, having learned of Elliot's existence, hunts down and viciously traps him, thereby attempting to turn Pete's imagination into an estranged exploited sideshow.

Cunning and ingenuity, no doubt the reflexive byproducts of that imagination, enable Pete and his friends to free tethered Elliot, who is then chased by his would be oppressor, and forced to unleash incendiary objections.

Foes defeated and stability secured, in the end we see Elliot and Pete reunited, Elliot having found companions as well, or Pete having developed an in/dependent artistic/commercial sensitivity, nurtured by a disposable income.

Perhaps not the most well rounded layer of metaphorical interactivity, but if relativity is applied to expand upon the definitions of stability and comfort, as it should be if Elliot is taken into consideration, and these definitions proliferate within the realm of free choice, it's possible that everyone could have their own community of dragons, loveable in their specialized elasticities, curious to energetically explore.

Why the heck not?

As Summer is applied to the upcoming scholastic year?

It's a wikithing.

I can be cheesier.

Swiss Army Man

Languishing in loneliness lugubrious in doubt, hangin' high the penetrating suicidal shouts, when suddenly upon the beach betwixt the waves and sand, a body flatulent in thrust emerges ampersand.

Friendship fervid moribund enriching live decay, frolicking within the flora ursine twitchy craze, batteries a slowly pining loves lost intercepted, consummate stardust inverted glacial verdant 'spectives.

Lessons lounging lynchpins gouging finch the new companion, eagerly consumes the trust with gaseous abandon, launch relight ignite insights the leveraged absentia, automatic crisp erratic exercised 'fluenza.

Visitors a challenging courteous ebbs and flows, calisthenic plights endemic rockets robins hoe, curious the interactions surely socialized, tricks refastened sparred Sebastian glimpsed etherealized.

Caught up in surfin' chagrin like dismal diuretics, forward movement grooved attunements exiled resurrected, burly bitchin' swift restitchin' crucial conversation, wild restyled agile nubile explicit intonations.

Back within the suburbs thinly overwrought disguise, aware the stare lays bare the madness cruising lunar tides, imbued exotic dues hypnotic cloistered campy crystal, jostlin' prim the seraphim bewildered glistenin' gristle.

Loved Swiss Army Man.

What an idea.

Great performance from Radcliffe (Manny).

I've been waiting to see something different from him for awhile.

I don't see everything he does.

Room

A different kind of malevolence, like a sick experiment a demented philosopher would subject his or her family to in order to study the isolated innocence of the nascent imagination.

Solitary semantics.

Ontological incarceration.

A mother and son locked away for years in a shed, never leaving, never seeing the outside world.

The child, Jack (Jacob Tremblay), having spent his entire life in the shed, imaginatively tries to make sense of existence, while his Ma (Brie Larson) attempts to define the outside world.

It's difficult for him to comprehend, and his creative energies, as applied to his confined explorations, idealize the passionate curiosity of youth, his desire to learn more stifled by a lack of resources.

Escape cunningly presents itself and the real world suddenly emerges, but emerging into a hyper-reactive media sensation contrasts monstrous plans with excessive exposure.

It's too much for his overwhelmed mom, as it would be for anyone, but familial strength steps up as required, to cuddle in consultation, and placate emotionally complex obsessions.

Tough film, Lenny Abrahamson's Room, juxtaposing different pressurized extremes and their belittling affects on a severely traumatized family.

Those are the tough questions you don't ask.

Jack's lack of knowledge saves him from the psychological torments disintegrating his mother, his attempts to simply be profound in their hesitant wonder, the compassionate easing the transition for both of them, trust contra control, revelations of an inchoate spirituality.

The Imitation Game

A mind unlike any other, with an idea, a vision, confidently clad in driven unyielding pertinence, searing arrogant genius, applied to teamwork, to working as a team, to theorize, to crack codes, to imagine an immaculately mechanized gaseous maelstrom, sucking in cyphers then spitting out circumstances, World War II's oppressing destruction caught in its construct like visceral vacuumed variability, results producing tactics which serve to plan, to strategize daily essential outputs affecting lives and the people who live them, the soul crushing realities of life and death logic, covertly consensualized, as spiralling boisterous bedlam.

To suffer in ecstasy.

And win the war.

The Imitation Game celebrates unprecedented advances in theoretical practicalities, adding humanistic plights to the achievement of goals, balance and structure within the hierarchy, competing authoritative conceptions, managing the exceptional's zeal.

Creation's credibility.

Love's unacknowledged blush.

It's about a brilliant mathematician who creates an apparatus that cracks Nazi Germany's enigma machine.

Beyond tragedy, what eventually takes place, difficult to think that so many incredible leaps forward have been squashed in their infancy by culturally accepted prejudices, suffocatingly husking hopes and dreams.

Futures.

From Black Bear Pictures.

Beasts of the Southern Wild

Uncompromised unilateral implacable joy is wreathed within Benh Zeitlin's Beasts of the Southern Wild's opening celebrations, as a small community of countercultural enthusiasts gather to revel in the gift of life.

Seen through the eyes of young Hushpuppy (Quvenzhané Wallis), the festivities, and the rest of the film, transmit a youthful candour.

Qualified by directly applying extinct carnivorous didactic extracts to the forthcoming unreeling upheavals, as discoveries bearing no familiar points of tectonic reference, suddenly, present themselves.

And the resilient strength of her family and friends.

Innocently yet formidably dealing with while challenging her adventurous unpredictable shifting bohemian foundations, refusing to accept ill-considered permanent demarcations, imaginatively combatting fantastical realizations, and unyieldingly embracing the cycle of birth, death and regeneration, Hushpuppy inaugurates an icon for the free-spirited impoverished soul, and Beasts of the Southern Wild is a discursive feast for pensive humanistic diagnoses.

Beyond the state of nature.