Liz and the Blue Bird

Melodious mirth composite solo camaraderich band symphonic clef, tumultuous trill disputatious rest exclamatory incline innate serendipity. 

Resolute cohesion intricate vehemence lighthearted dangle focused embraced, enriching attunement métrognomic pulse mellifluous measure confident flutter.

Contiguous tone intermittent essentials inadvertent remonstrance succulent pulp, iridescent flora contumelious chatter concerting diffidence opaque ebullience.

Interminable longing sustained infatuation heartfelt curiosity unrequited bloom, conspicuous sublimity inaccurate tension imprecise declension inarticulate canter. 

Supple seclusion immaculate maestrobe salubrious succour intuitive gamble, conducive celerity feverish foibles electric ensemble galvanized pewter. 

Fulfilling abandon bucolic synergies antique innovation provincial charm, widespread inclusion deconstructed exclusivity in/elegant auspices warm variation.

Nurtured stardustbowl fecund exertion wildlife immersion wilderness jive, ample exactitude munificent snacks victual velodrome gregarious gathering.

Twilight enrichment fortuitous fathom aggregate equipoise distilled serenity, felicitous fervour unsolicited schema crepuscular cauldron meticulous mint.

Evergreen gossamer intertwined oboe immoderately sewn tempestuously titled, sweetly flowing maelstrom oceanic crust sonorous brine routines indisposed. 

Elastic voluminous visceral vortex disciplined instinct improvised sea, folio flummox byzantine barter labyrinthine largesse tantalizing temperance. 

Viscid teamwork worthwhile spirit humble membership cast iron elixir, harangue hive exuberant buzz tostito tale ventriloquist vellum.

Meandering moat cardio Castlegar open drawbridge fugacious flutter, studious friendship opalescent chums musical mischief innocent soul. 

Cool when schools have music programs.

Burgeoning melodies, chill virtuosos. 

Forging tight bonds, then breaking free.

So much unrehearsed style.

Rhythmic celebration. 

Major League

The atypical gathering of eclectic characters subliminally motivating awestruck change, through random fluid mismatched architectures cohesively drawn and effervescently flexible.

It must be peculiar to sit back and watch as new agile team members come and go every year, wondering how they'll fit together in what's known as a unit out on the field-court-ice-or-diamond.

With moving parts and composite challenge the nimble athletic remodelling calibrates, edgy solemn yet energetic magnetism definitively nuanced in shifting vortex.

An organic balance fluctuates and fades before vital rebirth augments and accentuates, a mild hiccup a streak a slump a reinvigoration freely generating distance.

How to stay focused and lithe and playful week after week and month after month, routine exception high-stakes expenditures structural discipline emphatic renaissance. 

How to guide a union of adults all too familiar with speeches and pep-talks, who have heard every motivational strategy ever conceived from one match to the next.

How not to be weighed down by observations effectively emerging as time swiftly passes, which lead to malleable conclusions and definitive inexactitude diabolically speaking.

The media once widely limited to newspapers and critical televisual broadcasts, efficiently delivered by educated professionals widely recognized for knowledgeable accuracy. 

Now with the rise of social media excessive vitriol immediately spreads, and chaotically drives mad counterintuitive visions ingenuously improvised and ephemerally splayed.

Yet the team disputatiously endures and genuinely proceeds with inherent daring, as line-ups embrace wondrous orchestrations wildly testing alternative points of view.

Remarkable unexpected achievements boldly illustrating upbeat courage, the surprise substitution line-up modifications trending exciting unprecedented change.

Anticipating the unexpected.

Highlighting the trusted novelty.

Serendipitous schematics. 

Andromeda naysay epsilon.

Must be tough making a living in sports.

Good thing it's known to pay quite well. 

At times.

Ikiru

The fluid motion of the bureaucratic stream meticulously generating endless paperwork, to be filed and effectively categorized as emergent initiatives continuously diversify.

A steady job punctilious no doubt but relatively safe with benefits and comforts, not as lively as poetry or sword fighting but still dependable, reliable, and calm.

Nevertheless, concerned citizens seeking dynamic change may run into hardships, if things stagnate and there's no will to moderately adjust the status quo.

In Ikiru, for instance, determined mothers seek to change their environment, due to the incorrigible waste water leaving their children covered in rashes. 

Coincidentally, a senior civil servant who loves his family and is known for hard work, unfortunately discovers he has stomach cancer and only 6 months to a year left to live.

He decides to uncharacteristically withdraw some money and extemporaneously galavant around town, and soon becomes harmlessly infatuated with a spirited younger employee from work.

As she becomes bored with their routine which is somewhat too outgoing for the conservative climate, she asks him why he likes to spend time with her and he bravely decides to answer.

Her youthful spirit it captivatingly seems has reinvigorated his thirst for life, and caused him to reimagine his working role and spearhead change within his department.

They never see each other again but her accidental influence bears auspicious fruit.

And without much time left to live.

He charismatically champions change.

Stick with Ikiru's good intentions it gradually builds to a wholesome climax (Ikiru, not the United States), difficult to make a thrilling bureaucratic film that modestly presents humble good natured caricatures. 

I'm so used to Kurosawa's samurai that this was a surprise full of uncanny feeling, where the civil service functions bucolically amidst the insurgence of lay councilpeople.

I wonder if it was inspired by Dickens it's like The Circumlocution Office in Little Dorrit, where one of its employees isn't exactly like Scrooge but still wondrously changes for the communal good.

Imagine translating Dickens into French let alone Japanese brilliant translators are invaluable. 

How to understand different languages so well at such high levels.

Mind-blowing to say the least!

Friday Foster

A curious improvisational photojournalist (Pam Grier as Friday Foster) has to fill in for a co-worker on New Years Eve, the assignment leading to a chaotic shootout involving a celebrated billionaire (Thalmus Rasulala as Blake Tarr).

She snaps several incriminating photos and shares them with her managing editor (Julius Harris as Monk Riley), he's glad to see so many integral shots but is still worried she'll get in over her head.

She isn't one to sit around when diabolical intrigue castigates justice, and when she spots one of the hitpeople responsible (Carl Weathers as Yarbro) at a funeral she quickly borrows a hearse to follow him. 

He's lucky to narrowly escape and soon comes calling with murderous intent, valiantly thwarted through swift ingenuity courageously applied with athletic flexibility.

She meets a well-meaning private detective (Yaphet Kotto as Colt Hawkins) who assists her as she investigates, the two forging a tenacious team whom nimble good fortune recklessly guides.

Friday's able to meet politicians and even romantically interrogates Mr. Tarr, her spellbinding inquisitive yet declarative characteristics winning hearts and minds as she cleverly strides. 

Follow the lead, decode the clue, analyze the scenario, scrutinize the schematic, Friday embraces interconnected details assembled at random while travelling about.

In an age that emphasized intuitive wit and multidimensional applications of practical knowledge, Friday Foster creatively zithered the zeitgeist with exuberant nurturing superconduction. 

From humble beginnings the daring exploration leads to macrocosmic superstructural sentiments, the film suddenly abounding with lavish sensation critically assailed by white supremacy. 

Yaphet Kotto (recently celebrated by the Criterion Collection!) synergistically shines with his trusted smile and lighthearted laugh, at times following a moment of sincere reflection embracing natural democratic freeflow.

And Pam Grier effortlessly authenticates sapient soulful sultry sleuthing, taking it easy or proceeding in earnest the case delineates chill factotums.

The plot may seem somewhat farfetched but it's not too far off the mark if patiently considered, the damned fluidity of socioevolution problematically cutting through seemingly established cultural bedrock.

Calamitous collusion, requisite reckoning, baffling balustrade, seductive sensation.

Worth checking out at some point.

Perhaps while reading ye olde Chester Himes.  

L'Atalante

A lonesome ship captain (Jean Dasté as Jean) finds himself a daring bride (Dita Parlo as Juliette), who courageously agrees to move onboard without a confusing hassle. 

Wedded bliss initially abounds as they travel from port to port, stopping in different cities and towns to embrace the local culture.

The first mate's a gentle eccentric who's found a niche to creatively conjure (Michel Simon as Le père Jules), the chill and abiding distracted captain having no problem with all of his cats.

When at sea he playfully finds various ways to amuse and entertain, while instructing the other members of the crew, at times even causing mischief. 

Unless otherwise afflicted he freely engages with wondrous vigour, curious to see what tradespeople showcase in their different shops when browsing ashore.

His carefree life is abruptly unhinged, however, when the captain erupts in a jealous fury, after his wife goes shopping alone without having told him where she's going.

The ship departs without belovéd focus in a callous reckless rage, the bride confused and emphatically crestfallen when unsuspectingly remerging.

It's up to le père Jules to reunite them (and save their jobs) if tidings be.

His merriment thrust afoul.

He departs for search and rescue.

At times your diligence is rewarded with an unexpected brilliant trajectory, overflowing with convivial abundance thoroughly enriched by awestruck tremors.

Le père Jules is one such exemplar and Jean Vigo's L'Atalante one such film, with innate incomparable gravitational intensity delicately nurturing improvisation.

It's always a  mistake to imagine the present as holding an unparalleled take on originality, not that novel films and books don't reside within, but other epochs also flourished creatively.

Perhaps Jules was inspired by one of Dickens's many compelling eccentrics, I really can't say, but he's the earliest example of a virtuous rogue I think I've ever encountered in cinema (1934).

It would be cool to work on a boat but what's even more, a boat full of cats, on top of that, a room full of oddities randomly acquired from around the globe.

Fully capable in times of trouble at others much too agéd to take things seriously, Jules has become one of my favourite fictional characters, in his travelling home upon the sea.

Well deserving of a remake in different languages in different countries, I wholeheartedly recommend the joyous L'Atalante to celebrate chill ideas and endearing personality. 

Edmond

The thrill of having nothing prepared as a deadline beckons.

The improvised full-throttle immediate fledgling flight spontaneously soaring 'cross luscious intuitive biodiverse leafy greens, sporadically to avoid reckless comment, sardonically to uplift brave spirit.

Randomly plucked floral variability instinctually sewn in fecund pulpy reverie, overflowing verbose unedited botanicals regally inspiring embowered substance.

Fertilized on the go.

Specific social serene bewilderments forging intricate romantic unconscious endowments, as accidental liaisons and inarticulate flourishes beget ill-disposed classifications, tradition and novelty subterraneanly disputing henceforth and ever after, flush comedic unresolved discombobulated tension, bubbling up, frothing forth, with vigorous effervescent itinerant dis/simulation.

The budding lifeforce.

Hearty pulsation.

Worked up worked through worked out, discredited on the fly, aggrandized parched momentum.

This Edmond.

Based on Edmond Rostand (Thomas Solivérès).

As he wrote Cyrano de Bergerac.

And didn't finish 'til opening night.

I'd say the film's somewhat too sheepish if it didn't revel in risk-fuelled agglomeration.

I'd say it lacks delicate nuance if that wasn't beside the point.

I'd say it's far too sure of itself, indeed, if it didn't extol extemporaneity.

I'd say it's just far too dreamy if it didn't relish in hands on burden.

It's quite mainstream, a studio celebration of independence, which doesn't shy away from romanticizing hardship, or embellishing means with exceptional ends.

I like hope though, and Edmond abounds with that innocent hope which has told so many inspiring stories without focusing too intently on catastrophe.

There are catastrophes of course, setbacks, misfortunes, banishments, but they're all caught up in a Disneyesque current that makes them seem less cumbersome than they indubitably must have been.

Perpetual motion.

Ceaseless activity.

I got caught up in Edmond's hope-fuelled excitement.

It was a million to one shot.

That still hits the mark to this day.

So I've heard.

Victoria & Abdul

Dualities softly structure Stephen Frears's Victoria & Abdul, like stately courtly pillow fights stuffed with feta cheese.

Abdul (Ali Fazal), a young Indian clerk who's suddenly given the chance to serve the British Queen (Judi Dench), is initially contrasted with Mohammed (Adeel Akhtar), a fellow citizen who has a much less romantic vision of Britain's sleepless empire.

He's also opposed to Victoria's eldest son, Bertie (Eddie Izzard), since his close relationship with the Queen allows her to be much more maternal with him than she ever could be with her entitled offspring.

The Queen is royal yet rough and grumpy after decades of diplomatically socializing, while Abdul is common yet polished and enthusiastic after years of cultivating working relationships.

She's also contrasted with her staff whose racist pretensions cringe at the thought of entertaining and living with an Indian muslim.

Jealousy fosters collusion.

Collusion begets wrath.

The dualistic structures of the script, which is full of light short meaningful scenes which briskly move the film along while digestibly dramatizing intense subjects, create a disputatiously inclusive reverent collage of hospital hostilities and delicate debates, complete with brave moments that champion multicultural communities and uphold principles of mutual tolerance at the highest anti-racist levels.

Eat it Trump.

The release of Victoria & Abdul comes at a critical time.

Trump's in/direct promotion of intolerance and hate is spreading like a loathsome psychological plague, enacting a total disaster for the working people he claims to champion and likely regards as cannon fodder.

I've lived and worked with people from Africa, Indian, China, South and North America, Europe, the country, the city, etcetera, and I've learned that the racist hate speech fuelled by Trump and his supporters is as detestable as it is absurd.

I obviously want to see the terrorists brought to justice.

If the police have more power to stop terrorist suspects before they act without infringing upon the rights of citizens in general, especially considering how freely terrorists move throughout Europe, then perhaps the terrorist brats who keep giving their cultures a violent name will think twice before detonating bombs or driving through crowds.

It should be remembered, as Victoria & Abdul soundly relates, that muslims also seek the benefits of civil society and continue to form an integral part of Western communities.

Most of them simply wish to work and peacefully support their families while simultaneously building strong communities.

Tolerating these communities in an atmosphere of mutual trust leads them to feel like citizens, not muslim citizens but French or American or Canadian citizens.

And if they feel at peace within their cultural surroundings, they'll be much more likely to do the work of the police for them.

Don't let the politics of hate destroy your mind.

Simple acts of kindness, and a willingness to constructively work together, can lead to a proliferation of united nations, the many deconstructing warlike rhetoric with comedic dis/engaged prosperity, psychotic mainstream discourses, crumbling into meaningless dust thereafter.

Which is ironically how they’re often presented.

Beware the ignorant boy Mr. Scrooge, beware.

His kind understands next to nothing.

And seeks to rule everything with extreme prejudice.

Not Fade Away

Youth for me is often characterized by spontaneity and conviction, tackling the unforeseen head-on, learning to personally adapt to shifting interrelated paradigms and opportunities, struggling to synthesize components of both the contemporary and historical real.

Not that careful planning doesn't also often play a strategic role, it's just that this aspect of youth is much less romantic, not to say that it isn't more durable, and more likely to win consistently when playing cards.

Tough to say which trajectory is more reckless.

And it's obviously relative too, the 27 year old seeming more youthful than someone in their 50s, etcetera, etcetera, wow.

David Chase's Not Fade Away concerns a number of youths and the rock and roll band they form during the '60s, as well as the familial and amorous relations of one of its members. Success is referred to within as the result of 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration, from a variety of socio-economic stances.

The question here is, according to this criteria, is Not Fade Away's exploration of youth a success, and if so, does it interrogate the reckless, planting a forest through the trees?

The dialogue also heavily favours the commercial side of art and it's this domain within which the film operates.

It's very calculated.

Throughout I kept thinking that this is the corporate packaged conception of what should be appealing to suburban youth without going so far as to plausibly alienate their parents, based on composite statistical data.

The only possible artistic moment (I should clarify what I mean by art in a book someday) occurs during a point where the film seems pointless, and you're thinking, good lord, corporate pointlessness, how 21st century!

But then the main couple critiques a film they're watching for its pointlessness, after which things become more bourgeois, and a more traditional plot takes shape.

Perhaps I'm too old to comprehend Not Fade Away's spontaneous conviction, but I am old enough to appreciate the skilful ways in which it condenses multidimensional intergenerational issues into a mildly entertaining fictional synopsis.

Still wasn't enough for me though, and if that 10% inspiration doesn't transmit at least the possibility of spontaneous artistic conviction to the rest of the text's perspiration, I can only state, that if packaged corporate youth is a success, with all its missionary incarnations mathematically corporealized, planned twenty years in advance (note that the Rolling Stones, whom I love, are still being used to classify youth 50 years later), and completely lacking spur of the moment improvisation, it's reckless, and therefore youthful, yet hopelessly banal (the wrong side of The Schwartz).

Gus Van Sant's Promised Land offers an escape from this predicament.

Not that this form is ever going to fade away.

Drank a busch tallboy while writing this.

Mars et Avril

A rhythmic terrestrial interplanetary concordance collegially captivates audiences of the future in Martin Villeneuve's Mars et Avril, set in Montréal.

So nice, to watch, a science-fiction film, that humbly celebrates interdisciplinary artistic creation instead of some damn war culminating in an epic battle.

Crisp cosmic cerebral clarity: another, great film, made, in Québec.

The plot concerns the solidification of an abstract feminine image which is in turn corporealized as a musical instrument which a virtuoso performer then instantaneously masters live to the delight of his devoted listeners, thereby uniting inspiration, extraction, construction, distribution, and reception, in a harmonious synthesis of artistic production.

Yet as proof of a legend's historical longevity is ambitiously sought, an unknown factor, a representative of that which was sacrificed in order to sustain a radiant resurgent reverberation, threatens the unity of the whole, by accidentally silencing its voice, while ensuring the survival of its exhalations.

As the output destabilizes, so does the artist's basic distinction between interior and external reality, as if the film itself is unaware of a subtle intoxication, until the manufacturer finds a way to unite the process's conception and etherealization, directly binding two consciousnesses in their dreamwork, and generating un noveau monde.

Now that's science-fiction.

There was an odd moment for me in said dreamwork where I was wondering why the dreamworlds within films often closely mirror those established by alert spatio-temporal objectivities, which awakened a countermemory of David Lynch and Mark Frost's Red Room from Twin Peaks, when the scene suddenly changed to one invoking a comparison between it and said Red Room, with music reminiscent of David Lynch and Angelo Badalamenti's "Sycamore Trees."

That was weird.

The marsonautes infuse the artistic philosophical romance with a cheeky degree of comedy that rounds out the film's intellectual action.

Indeed.

Bonsái

A bond, an extended period of growth, a felicitous fortuitous frequency, historically resonating.

Julio (Diego Noguera) accidentally finds love in Christián Jiménez's Bonsái and its particularized peculiar panoramic proclivities produce a prepositional poignancy.

Subjective logical adaptations to seemingly immutable biological fascinations harness the everlasting.

The simulation of a tangible incorporeality as well as the fabrication of the authentic necessitate themselves when related artistic proliferations are suddenly materialized, due to the verisimilitude encapsulating a missed opportunity.

Beginnings and canonical literary liaisons foundationally reappear.

Melancholic longing permeates each aspect as Julio's amorous recapitulations attempt to revitalize a long lost cohesive fragility.

Or the reification of a dream.

Didn't even know In Search of Lost Time played a role in this film prior to choosing to see it.