The Garfield Movie

Ye olde Garfield comically elucidates the decadent steps to satiation, going above and beyond modest humble take out to supply himself with everything on the menu.

His habitual endearing shenanigans see the traditional maintenance of gormandized excess, his enabling kind-hearted oblivious owner freely facilitating ambitious plans. 

Nevertheless, he accidentally finds himself in trouble one dismal and lonesome day, when none other than his legitimate father comes to his daring rescue with ferocious courage.

Garfield and his father are estranged the younger holding an ironclad grudge, blaming dear old dad for abandoning him as a child to a cold and isolated subsistence lifestyle.

His father tries to explain but Garfield ain't a' listenin' to what he has to say, their reunion made even more awkward when an angry nemesis suddenly outwits them. 

They're tasked with stealing thousands of quarts of milk from a local dairy known for its security.

The only one who can aid their struggle.

A resigned bull jaded and lovelorn.

Garfield was huge in my youth he had just come out and was quite the sensation, I still have the first dozen or so books with treasury compilations and holiday specials. 

Did he encourage other lazy underachieving characters like Bart Simpson or Peter Griffin, I can't determine if there's a direct link but similar viewpoints widely circulate? 

I was surprised to see Garfield off his game in this incarnation he's fraught with error, indeed he's the overconfident dismissive fool who unintentionally disrupts their meticulous strategy.

I remember him succeeding unilaterally in the '80s and often encountering self-aggrandizing serendipity, I wasn't sure if I had just forgotten his occasional misfortunes or if the comic had become less mischievous in recent decades.

I fondly remembered ordering take out pizza with tasty breadsticks and lasagna dishes, as I watched Garfield devour legions of cheesy mouthfuls indelicately unconcerned with weight or diet.

The boundless enthusiastic unaffected gains of fictional characters. 

With a bit of editing, effortlessly blooms.

Garfield at Large, posthaste ad infinitum. 

Zatoichi's Pilgrimmage

Wishful fervour disciplined diligence respectful resonance wintergreen worship, spiritual succulence ethereal exigence harkening harbour centurion sanctuary. 

Itinerant dorian unobtrusive gait saccharine sinuosity accredited humility, vistamerlane voyages illusory Amblin curious quest-que-c'est limitless zenergy. 

Meticulous ingenue omniscient accuracy pinpointed poignancy avuncular avatar, tumultuous taste feverish feeling holistic hearing sakiline scent.

Mendicant prayer unsolicited solace whimsical wanderings lighthearted legions, lassitude lambience swaggering sway mischievous chillside clairvoyant Cadillac.

Routine confrontation inherent hostility audacious risks foolhardy imagination, vociferous gathering stentorian stamina inevitable clash moribund machismo.

Feudal offrenzies might-is-right bellicose blueprints ubiquitous death, consistent altercations fascist frequencies all those compelling lives suddenly lost.

Democratic utility exotic levelling synthetic strata virtuous excavation, embittered bucolic genuine artistry innocent huile d'olive fluid transistor. 

Unexpected romance feline fascination amorous accolades vivacious vehemence, agendas unknown uncharacteristic sincere affection malleable trust.

Indeterminate forbidden innate zealous envy jealous contingencies, woebegone conflict adventitious disparities mortality unrequited sensational throes.

Imposing challenge mad threatening menace unlimited avarice despotic Draco, ludicrous forces nebulous netherworld prevalent impassioned volatile venom.

Sustainable sentiments logical larkenstone multilateral warlock wherewithal whirlwind, nightingale ninja swashbuckling samurai centripetal shinobi multifaceted magi. 

Demonstrous defensive discursive demarkations elaborate boreal enlightening reservations, manifold misfortune malevolent mosey courageous self-sacrifice ring-around-rosy.

For once, a brief pause on his journeys.

Innocent play and friendly revelries.

Futuristic democratic delicacy.

Comfy collectives.

Inspired individuals.

Zatoichi and the Fugitives

Lonely travels honourable service distinguished expertise impassive unbound, moderate spirits laidback luminosity chillaxed script amicable spawning. 

Village after village undaunted impressions heuristic avenue versatile innocence, thunderous sympathy locked-down elusivity courageous thirst impish bearings.

Synchronous senses volatile venom meticulous maestro macabre maelstrom, jalapẽnned halo vehement vortex invaluable lotus reticent mamba.

Temperate treasure humble happenstance modest mavenlea generous gremlin, supersonic simplicity salt-of-the-earth tenaciously tilled formidably fastened.

Oriole opposition fujitsu fugitives underling unction bellicose bandits, ancillary antennae undisciplined dogma D'artagnan deaconstruct awkward aversion.

Duplicitous deputy calibrated collusion impractical inspection neoclassical nerve, dandelion dodgeball rutabaga ruse cattail collaboration milkweed wham-o.

Humorous doctor fertilized friendship salubrious saki voluminous laughter, adequate slodgings ambient vertices virtuous Vermeer elegant portrait. 

Cacophonous clash macroscopic orchestrations indefinite delineations tsunami surge, Benedictine blade multifaceted mugwamp magnanimusterings trailblazing munificence. 

Despotic dissonance impulsive embarkation rash reorganization insipid rearrangements, woebegone brinkmanship feverish fortitude bold distillations audacious implosion.

The Zatoichi Zephyr freeform and honest carefree caregiving sensational soil, erudite dissections innovative fair play intuitive bravery inherent stewardship.

Consequent wandering itinerant roll call forensic righteousness playful politesse, omniscient albatross farseeing fulcrum compassionate grizzly acute democracy.

Feudal ferocity.

Immortal sympathy.

Cerebral composition.

Heartfelt hommages. 

*A more intricate Zatoichi. With multiple stakes. And tragic final blows. 

Gypsy 83

Bucolic fashions habitually annoy Gypsy Vale as she randomly fluctuates, moving more style to quip to inspiration as concrete dissonance mundanely obscures.

Her friend Clive offers flamboyant accompaniment as they shoot videos and intuitively experiment, their cohesive bond actively facilitating insouciant fun and alternative brokerage. 

One day they learn of an upcoming talent show to be exotically held in New York City, where they've unfortunately never been but would love to energetically check out.

Gypsy's mom couldn't handle the 'burbs and reluctantly moved there years ago, Gypsy hoping to somehow reestablish contact during the voyage although she's still rather angry.

Their road trip adventure spontaneously begins and they soon find themselves travelling state to state, with improvised stops and inconclusive reckonings emergently enabling freeform postures. 

Their keen choice of clothes and elaborate makeup lead to complications as they flourish.

In a world inarticulately composed.

Foolishly observed with dismissive resonance (they run into a lot of flack). 

Good vibes and genuine friendship impressionably motivate in Gypsy 83, as creative sincere individuals find expression through play and fantasy.

Although woe does abound and wherever they go criticisms arise, their inevitable championing of the blasé reverberates dependable amicable rhythms. 

Even amongst their fellow misfits dispiriting vitriol enervatingly erupts, the critical world fraught with intense snobbery which is often more destructive than lowbrow ignorance. 

The Amish hitchhiker adds some flare as they enthusiastically drive along, with complications eventually devastating the inaugural window harmless and playful.

So irritating that so much sadness has to consistently be resiliently overcome, a less vituperative cultural consensus open-mindedly applied leading to less bitterness.

An active life helps the criticisms fade while tenderly engaged in novel exploration.

Tough to believe in a country as dynamic as the U.S.

There aren't more than a handful of chill cities to live in.

Excluding contemporary times. 

*Criterion keyword: lounge.

The Earthling

A curious youngster who's been raised in California finds himself back in Australia visiting the Outback, his Aussie dad resolutely determined to introduce him to his heritage.

But he's not ready for the immersion and shows hesitation when boldly tasked, his father realizing it will take some time to get him used to the verdant zone.

Meanwhile, a cranky elder vigorously returns to the old haunting grounds, dying of cancer he hopes to make it resourcefully back to his old homestead.

He's a freakin' tough mofo who built his house out of rocks from the forest, with his bare hands well far away from road or industry or helping hand.

The young boy's parents begin to squabble on the top of a massive cliff, and as he searches for ample firewood their camper flies off, death awaiting below.

He's crestfallen and patiently waits for his mom and dad to emerge from the wreckage, myriad animals making the night seem rather frightening as it descends.

He's soon discovered by the grouchy man who shows no sympathy when they meet.

And introduces an no-nonsense regimen designed to teach him wilderness survival.

The Earthling's from a different time when Man's Men featured more prominently in film, not that they don't still today I just can't imagine a new film that's this insensitive. 

The poor kid has just lost his parents and at one point his cantankerous saviour, leaves him alone on an imposing cliff face while a pack of wild dogs bite at his feet below.

In classic hardboiled fashion everything's find and they're friends at the end, the young child who once feared going swimming in mountain pools now ready to catch wild birds and wallabies.

I imagine it was stubbornly made in the bountiful wake of ye olde Storm Boy, with which it jams to the hard-edged sounds of deafening clashing bleak death metal.

The child in Storm Boy having been judged to have comfortably had too much of the good life, he of Earthling is obstinately taught to fend for himself hours after his parents die.

The wildlife shots are amazing many different Australian animals shown, from echidnas to koalas to emus there's a cute-cuddly feast for the loving romantic.

Indigenous wisdom is shared and relied upon as they diligently make their way through the bush as well.

Extremely unsympathetic.

With a ton of cool shots from the Outback. 

Zeus & Roxanne

A family's adventurous dog boldly sets out to discover the neighbourhood, spending time at the calm peaceful beach and chasing cats should they manifest themselves.

His owners take the arts seriously and spend most of their free time engaged, dad writing songs for commercial media while his son photographs whatever he can.

They're vacationing in a rented house across the laidback street from a marine biologist, who's trying to encourage a domesticated dolphin to cohesively rejoin a wild pod at sea.

The dog mischievously follows her one day and even boards her seafaring vessel, where that very same convalescing dolphin serendipitously takes a shine to his daring.

They become friends and their innocent curiosity freely demonstrates interspecies communication, the marine biologist's related grant proposal hoping to study the compelling phenomenon. 

But will dolphin and dog also lay the foundation for a long-lasting humanoid relationship?

Arts & Science zoologically orchestrating.

The chillaxed romantic life.

Animals clearly have built in recognition and know when they're interacting with other members of the same species, and they do so without mirrors or schools it's fruitfully learned in the forest or valley.

They also largely stick to themselves although you see modest interspecies contact at times, notably when food is abundant and everyone's relaxed and less stressed accordingly. 

On the African savannah wildebeest, zebras, water buffalo and gazelles, broadly mingle and affably interact as the seasons change and the migration flows for instance.

I firmly believe interspecies communication is possible under the right accommodating conditions, if the animals are brought up together as babies in a loving environment with lots of food.

Even cats and dogs perhaps seals and penguins can learn to trust one another under such circumstances, as my pet bunny and his friend the guinea pig learned to do so many years ago.

This strategy will likely work more effectively when less testosterone is worked into the mix.

Wild bulls so likely to struggle and fight.

Like the rabbit my dad threw over the fence when I was a child (he was a really mean bunny). 

All the Little Animals

The loss of a loved one lugubriously leads to a new set of rigid familial schematics, and whereas his mother was kind and generous, Bobby's intimidating step-father's acrimonious.

He hurt his head as a child and grew up differently thereinafter, homeschooled in isolation yet still loving and chill and fond.

Not very worldly indeed and wholeheartedly despairing of mature procedures, with hardly any of the requisite knowledge temperamentally toned through objective realism.

His step-father wants his share of the business and all he really knows is not to sign anything, dear old dad threatening a secluded lifetime in a mental institution if he doesn't play ball.

He makes an awkward break for it and soon finds himself hitchhiking across the country, with Cornwall as his destination without any money or clothes or friends.

Yet fate lends a gentle hand after he escapes a life-threatening situation, and meets an eccentric lonesome wanderer who delicately spends his free time administering.

Not a business or office or government but the deceased animals found throughout the countryside.

Whom he gingerly finds and buries.

As he comes across them in his travels. 

Logic and reason and management and consequence take on alternative hues in All the Little Animals, where the most unlikely of protagonists exceedingly champion magnanimous essentials.

There's no doubt that life in all its forms deserves to flourish for the time it's given, but it's not that often you discover the cinema courageously celebrating badgers and moths.

It's not a children's film although they may find it quite endearing, it resolutely adores all animal life and was even made in animal-hating Britain.

I'm even trying not to step on the shoots enthusiastically sprouting from the ground at the moment, hoping not to prevent the dynamic emergence of blooming nimble evergreen plant life.

Inasmuch as I've never seen anything like All the Little Animals before, I have to admit to remaining spellbound regarding its altruistic import.

It's like David Suzuki or David Attenborough asked one of their grandchildren to write a movie.

And somehow it actually got commercially made.

With a stellar cast.

Love for books and animals. 

*I mean to say that it's incredible that this film was made and it would be great if there were more films like it.

**There must be many British people who like animals, all I know is bears went extinct there thousands of years ago (according to Google and a Bears book I read years ago). 

***Islands. 

Action Jackson

A determined dedicated cop reservédly reputed to authentically infuriate, suddenly finds himself assigned to the plutocrat who disturbingly demoted him way back when.

Still not one to mince words he reestablishes their acquaintanceship rather discourteously, like a lot of hard-edged tales from the time blunt criticism confronting stately acrimony.

The ne'er-do-well in combative question is secretly murdering people to gain control, of a powerful union generally known to pursue social justice regarding the Presidency.

Hoping to control the union and thereby take over the White House, he comports himself tyrannically behind the scenes in his trusted realm.

Jackson learns of his malevolence and sets about applying aggrieved aggravation, but Dellaplane then kills his wife for having talked to him and lays the blame squarely on his shoulders.

With nowhere to go and few to rely on he finds himself adjudicating offbeat stages.

With the help of a nightclub singer.

And reliable visceral absurd awkward instinct. 

This film was severely critiqued upon its release in 1988, so I unfortunately never watched it, and always thought it lacked production values.

It's not Aliens or Die Hard or The Terminator but it holds its own with Rambo 2 or Raw Deal, meaning I'm surprised Weathers wasn't more of a leading man, as he took the fall for its praise of unions.

Thus, even though the How do you like your ribs? line is an instant classic for the action-packed ages, Action Jackson said positive things about forbidden gatherings in American culture.

It even makes unions look powerful and at the same time honest and proactive, it doesn't shortsightedly vilify them or call into question their versatile communities.

Cult status still effectively emerges along with the unsung unionist accolades, too bad Weathers never became a leading man, or had a career like Treat Williams or Roddy Piper (racism perhaps).

Still fun to see him whenever he popped up even if he wasn't leading the way.

Cool careers made in Hollywood like none other. 

Back in the hardboiled uprooted day.

Wrestling Ernest Hemingway

Wild exoteric bearings randomly committed to improvised exhaustion, airing grievances with cavalier cantankerousness as he recklessly interacts with resignéd strangers.

If you've heard his stories, you'll hear them again, and it's up to you to decide whether or not you're interested, I often find the exultation of recurring themes rambunctiously tender when conversing with the elderly.

Why not imperiodically exclaim lithe past successes with animate jocularity, especially after having reached your golden years with so much adventure to fluidly discuss?

Walter is much less extroverted he's reserved and mannerly and consistently respectful, following the same constructive well-meaning routine with dependable expectation each and every day.

He orders the same thing at his favourite diner every morning even if it isn't on the traditional menu, a light extravagance delicately hewn to courteously carve indissoluble discourse. 

Like dad, he likes his puzzles, and quietly contends with them lakeside in the afternoon, a peaceful way to flourishingly float throughout life's tranquil agéd fluencies.

Not as bold as Frank however and rarely seeking striking resonance. 

They make an impressive team nevertheless.

As they boldly navigate cyclical distress. 

Perhaps like Jekyll & Hyde characteristically split and bucolically subdued, Walter and Frank making a provocative duo which elastically excels at nothing in particular. 

Frank's unorthodox life during which he never developed self-critical reflections, at times leads to fun bike trips to see fireworks, at others buys a bottle of vodka as a going away gift.

Walter habitually goes with the flow and doesn't speak out unless drastically pushed, their arguments classic enraged debacles generating dissonant cutting offence.

I remember there being somewhat of a buzz about this film in my far distant maladroit youth, but I didn't hear about it again until sometime last week, and if there was indeed such a buzz way back when it was certainly well-deserved I rather liked this film.

Robert Duvall finds a new character to play after having already diversified so many roles, Richard Harris putting in the performance of a lifetime, it made me think that actors who still haven't found that ideal role still have plenty of time to patiently perfect it.

A great companion piece for Grumpy Old Men which was also quite popular around that time.

I hope the crew still isn't annoyed when people say that.

I'd most likely watch this film again. 

Au hasard Balthazar (Balthazar)

Bold childhood declarations subliminally etched and ethereally nurtured, as time passes piecemeal and peaceful borderline pasteurized enigmatic shades.

Pressing ambitious ingenuity sage book-learning incisively applied, resulting yields tantalizing and abundant copiously accruing practical dividends. 

Rented land unimaginatively considered by its well-meaning spirited and generous masters, resulting in disproportionate dishevelling alarm as the plentiful crops benefit another.

But not initially however only after years of shocking envy, malevolently creates a vitriolic buzz which dishonourably characterizes the industrious tenant.

Meanwhile, a hapless donkey known affectionately as Balthazar makes his way, often abiding by his owner's dictates but at times engaging in judicious free play.

As seasons change and fortunes fade he's dismissively transferred around the small town, an elaborate tale in the paramount slipstream to be nimbly told to other curious beasties. 

His original owner gradually comes of age and shares his adventures throughout the village.

Jealousies prognosticating doom.

Pervasive detritus malignantly engendered. 

I thought this film may be more upbeat upon reading the synopsis championing Balthazar, not that I mind ye olde hardboiled bucolics, I just wasn't expecting the gloom.

There are ways of thinking I don't quite comprehend because they seem ignominiously counterproductive, for instance is it not preferable to applaud hard work and effort should an old or new friend find themselves succeeding?

Perhaps I took the Vulcan message wisely wishing prosperity for others too seriously, but if logic is customarily applied, is it not more fortuitous to encourage goodwill?

Do the Jedi not function commensurately as they mind the galaxy's crafty well-being, do ninjas not also perform the same function, why then are they so often disregarded?

Perhaps 'lil Balthazar knows an age old secret that he's not telling, that would help us move past inanimate grief to a more generally prosperous Star Trekkian dynasty.

It's sad to watch when he's suddenly mistreated although he sometimes does do well, and I was reminded once again of I, Claudius as I viewed another Robert Bresson film.

The emperor Claudius apparently in adulthood generously let his animals retire after years of service.

And let them relax in his fields without burden.

Having adopted the soulful life.

*Imagine a law like that!

**I bet there would be one on Star Trek.

Hud

Three generations of a ranching family actively live together in the American mid-west, father and son at ethical odds while the observant grandson comes of age.

Gramps (Melvyn Douglas) is an honourable man who takes responsibility for his actions. When it becomes apparent that his herd of cattle might have foot and mouth disease, he doesn't try to sell them for scandalous profits. 

His son Hud (Paul Newman) on the other hand only sees an enormous loss, and would have sold the cattle to his neighbours and spread the problem across the land.

He also cavorts around town with other men's wives out in the open, and routinely gets into fights and drinks too much and has a furious temper.

Thus, two visions of America irascibly compete home on the range, one steady and trusted and true the other only seeking crass self-fulfillment. 

They're consistently at venomous odds and don't freely beat around the bush, it's plenty awkward intergenerationally so, how do you progress in such heated circumstances?

The grandson (Brandon de Wilde) isn't sure what to do both the adults offering disputatious alternatives. 

The next generation of an adventurous country caught between competing undefined dreams. 

I reckon it's generally like this from one unique epoch to the original other, integral factors and intermediary zones cultivating community while self-obsessed visions tar with the same brush.

There isn't much ambiguity here it's clear to me Hud's quite the rapscallion, and there's nothing sublime or misunderstood about his way of life, he's just a first rate self-centred jerk.

There's something to be said for community building for playing a role big or small in such construction, perhaps not requiring mandatory parades or laudatory ubiquity, but still with a general sense of collective well-being (like you find in Québec).

There are thousands of chill roles to play and many aren't that bad if you show up and work, although things can be tricky from time to time, I try to keep quiet, unless my silence offends.

In one scene from Hud grandpappy relates how the munificent cow built so much of their culture, providing material for clothes and other things while also encouraging nourishment.

I immediately thought of the millions of bison who had historically resided on the plains. 

There was a built in network of ranching way back.

What a tragedy, how things unfolded.

*Not the Broncos win on Monday night versus Buffalo. That was amazing. 🏈

Arsenault & Fils (Arsenault & Sons)

The patriarchy's up to its old tricks again, this time in Rafaël Ouellet's Arsenault & Fils, wherein which a family of ruthless poachers is thoroughly and counterintuitively whitewashed.

Think of all the families who play by the rules to maintain healthy animal populations. The Arsenault's poach so much that sometimes nothing's left for their neighbours during hunting season. A lot of woodland people can save heavily on their winter grocery bills if they're able to harvest a deer or moose from such a population. But if some rogue family of jackasses shoots everything in the nearby forest (while claiming kinship with nature) including curious bears there's nothing left for thrifty locals to catch. The Arsenault's don't even keep the meat for themselves or distribute it to their community.

They sell it to far off restaurants. 

And when the heat's on they dump it in the forest.

It's basic math, well-meaning bright people have created a system to manage the hunt, and ensure it continues for generation after generation, just as long as you don't fucking kill everything.

As the saying goes, one family poaching for scraps is negligible.

5 million poachers will destroy a forest.

Look at Britain.

What a catastrophe. 

Although a lot of people are bringin' it back.

When we aren't supposed to be falling for the loveable family that's trying to change, while killing innocent bears and moose with high-tech weapons outside of hunting season!, a beautiful lass infiltrates the unit with hopes of bringing them down.

Undercover and at one time conscious of the adorable 4-legged residents of the forest, she witnesses several transgressions and compiles enough evidence to put them away.

But it's classic patriarchy.

In the short amount of time she's spent chillin' with the family, she's unconsciously fallen for them, especially the one who cares little for his appearance (the true patriarch needn't do anything to attract devoted beautiful mates), and she even cares for his nutjob brother.

Worried that they'll die in a confrontation with the cops, she blows her cover and ruins everything.

The writers suggesting she couldn't overcome.

Her natural dependence on lawless men.

I was so angry while watching the production team try to cultivate sympathy for such a way of life, that I thought committing myself to the animal protection squad may just be a great way to live.

I have lots of ideas like that though and I don't know if I'm ruthless enough for the job.

It'd be nice to save animal lives though.

Wish the UN paid more attention.  

Jules au pays d'Asha (Adventures in the Land of Asha)

It's a shame there has to be so much conflict as different groups try to inhabit the same space, mad insensitive aggrieved prejudice spoiling what could have been mutually beneficial otherwise.

Latent curiosity and shapeshifting definition steering clear of volatile absolutes, can lead to less authoritarian conviction as so many others have noted.

Less authoritarian conviction leads to less violent prescription as possibility proves multivalent and choice radiates concurrently. 

Thus, to be curious about secular orders and different faiths leads to fascination, through noteworthy respectful chronicles inquisitively investigating difference.

It's fun to imagine the divine touch illuminating each distinctive viewpoint, through natural immaterial observances characterizing piece of mind.

The traditions can be appealing as they provide industrious links, stretching thousands of years into the past, direct connections to extant history.

Applicability to cultural mutations and newfound initiatives scientifically spearheaded, perhaps lead to doctrinal adjustments which celebrate difference and transformation.

You wonder why books stopped being added to sacred texts as if the ancient world had monopolized spirituality, suspicious how divine inspiration has been sharply dismissed forever after since then.

Scientific observations of the heating planet do rationally suggest, that sustainable stewardship of global environments will lead to a less disastrous future.

Perhaps thousands of years ago when technology was rather primitive, and the wild was still imposing and seemed like a limitless potent hostility, the desire to cultivate and criticize it predominantly spread across the land, especially noting habitual plagues and many frustrating incurable ailments, nature must have seemed at times quite daunting to ancient researchers. 

Yet there were also thousands of years when people around the world lived harmoniously with nature, and reciprocal symbiosis drove renewable extents!

I suppose if the fossil fuel age comes to a sudden end and no alternative technologies emerge to replace it, the likelihood of an embrace of nature will be nautically necessitated. 

Perhaps with adaptations and a much less wild and reckless impetus, the loss of such a multidimensional society enough to humble even the most self-serving autocrat.

Back to travelling by boat, ye olde steam engines, bikes, and blacksmiths. 

Things are so expensive in Canada and Québec nowadays it's not like there's much opportunity to travel interprovincially anyways.

Cool film.

*It's not just groceries. Let's look at gas that hasn't gone back down to pre-pandemic levels either. 

Blackberry

Don't really know what to make of this film.

I know it was awesome when blackberries were huge and a Canadian company was performing exceptionally well internationally. I know we excel with minerals and potash and maple syrup and wheat, but a huge tech sensation, that was something new for me (more so than the Canadarm). 

I imagine there are thousands of new innovations being made in Canada every year by crafty individuals, blackberry just generated more media attention, and took on companies like Apple.

Could you have had the iPhone without Research in Motion?

Probably. I imagine someone would have invented something similar around the same time regardless, but trying to make something even more impressive than the Blackberry may have driven dynamic creative iPhone progenitors.

The film closely follows the paths of RIM's ambitious CEOs, Mike Lazaridis (Jay Baruchel) who spearheaded the design, and Jim Balsillie (Glenn Howerton) who was able to market it.

As their prominence grows they both become consumed by power, Lazaridis losing his relatable cool (and cancelling Movie Night!), Mr. Balsillie transforming into a megalomaniac. 

The co-founder who questioned Balsillie's methods gets away with a lucrative sum (Matt Johnson [who also directed] as Doug), and he's right, when you're working insane hours it's things like Taco Tuesday or Movie Night that make the job worthwhile. I don't know how many books and articles have to be written about the subject, it's pizza and jazz that make jobs fun.

And they make you want to work harder, make me want to work harder anyways, it's like working in Montréal, you work super hard during the day to build up the economy, and then prosper after hours with the amazing night life.

I liked how Blackberry the film suggests that sending RIM's manufacturing jobs to China ruined the company. I don't know if that's just something that made the truth based story more coherent, but the more jobs we keep in Canada and Québec the better.

I've heard about companies wanting to set up shop in Canada and Québec precisely because our population's so educated. With mass education you create a bright people that can handle complex tasks and intricate interactions.

Were Balsillie and Lazaridis that brutal, did all power corrupt, perhaps, who am I to say?, the pressures they were under as presented in the film were extraordinary, but that's no excuse for alienating and abandoning your workforce.

I don't like how the film seems to be severely critiquing the company and poking fun about how they're not around anymore, however (I love the CBC, but blackberries didn't have government funding).

I've heard it's 10 times harder to live the American dream in Canada.

For a short time period, RIM made it happen.

Wish Blackberry was still around. Those were cool times.

The more jobs kept in Canada and Québec the better!  

*Heard they had AC/DC at their Christmas party one year. I don't know if that's true. But imagine that. AC/DC at a private party in Kitchener/Waterloo. I wouldn't have believed that could happen in the 1980s. 

The Circus

Jedi training indeed paramount for sundry peeps across the land, prosperous schooling discovering brilliant intrepid bold corresponding padawans. 

But at times the educational system loses track of its young Jedi, and while their powers continue to develop, they have no mentor to lend a hand (see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them). 

They remain remarkably powerful but have no definitive direction, and while attempting to culturally acclimatize can wind up engaged with routine farce.

Take the Little Tramp's (Charlie Chaplin) brief flirtation with improvised ragtag dissolution, which leads to imperial entanglements throughout his otherwise carefree days.

While trying to escape, he makes his way to the local circus, and accidentally proves miraculous, his raw unfiltered Jedi talent naturally sensational.

He has inherent multivariability which flexibly thrives and athletically entices, the resulting versatile wondrous artistry as mesmerizing as any virtuoso. 

Awareness remains a problem as he consciously realizes his strength, and must apply thought to consistently supply what he never meant to deliver in the first place.

He must intuit the way of the Jedi in front of a live audience no less, and habitually manifest the rowdy chaos instinctually engendered with his waking mind.

How many times when you didn't realize you were good at something did it become difficult to reproduce when animately expected, what was perceived to be nothing more than natural blundering instantly upheld as cultural craft?

To learn to continuously supply captivating comedy without any training, to consciously mimic accidental innovation, can take time and practice at that.

For Charlie Chaplin's The Circus the oblivious Jedi struggles upon the stage, after a period of incomparable productivity widely acclaimed by diverse audiences.

He was doing incredibly well until eavesdropping upon his love interest, and assuming the worst for his amorous ambitions lost that salient carefree initiative.

Having never learned to corral his freeform wild imaginative entertaining thoughts, within an expedient objective enclosure, his performance reflexively struggles.

The frustrating endemic throes of people with talent as they learn to develop, doesn't love always seem unattainable and then supernatural if suddenly requited. 

Fret not, a day will dawn when romantic dreams no longer complicate things.

And you can concentrate solely on your work.

It's not nearly as bad as it sounds. 

*In Chaplin's case, it's like he instinctually wrote the sacred Jedi texts during filmmaking's early days. Texts that were in fact page turners. Still to this postmodern age. 

Sounder

Full of well-meaning spirits and calm regenerative congeniality, a trusted backwoods family resiliently scrapes by, working hard but not left with much due to the colour of their skin, wage equality still a long ways off, along with equal opportunity.

Generally speaking, reasonable goodwill assurédly structures their social relations, Paps (Paul Winfield) even pitching for a local baseball team, his family adoringly watching close by.

But one night temptation assails his oft self-sacrificing composure, and frustration from a lack of success hunting leads him to steal meat from the town's local smokehouse.

Had he earned more from the most recent harvest he wouldn't have been so uncharacteristically covetous, poverty rationally driving people to extremes especially when it's regarded with cultural invariability. 

He's taken to a local work camp where he's forced to spend a year toiling, his oldest son (Kevin Hooks) stricken with wholesome regret, his resourceful mom (Cicely Tyson) offering loving counsel.

When his son comes trying to find him he stumbles upon an African-American school, with a dedicated inspirational teacher (Myrl Sharkey) who takes a curious supportive shine.

She loans him some rather thick books and offers him a place to sit back and learn.

But to take it he'll have to move.

After his father returns with a salient injury.

The feisty ingenuity of learning and education constructively reverberates in Martin Ritt's Sounder, where schooling and bold instruction foster change and imaginative verve.

It's motivating to see the enthusiastic student overflowing with determination to improve, in a respectful and challenging environment creatively founded by genuine altruism.

It's a wonderful time the school days when you're surrounded by multivariability, and several different subjects to study, with other students also keenly appreciative.

So much diversified potentiality eagerly disseminating widespread fascination, with practical knowledge and theoretical know-how manifestly awaiting novel syntheses.

Through active engagement with the storytelling arts such inquisitive wonder is proactively sustained. 

So many ideas so much latent productivity.

Sincerely brought about.

By compassionate educators. 💗

Holiday Camp

I'm not sure if families still engage in collective activities such as these, but in Ken Annakin's Holiday Camp, dozens of peeps gather to vacation.

They head to what is/was known as a resort where they share their accommodations, while friendly festive ceremonious synergies earnestly envelope emergent mischief.

The resort in Holiday Camp coordinates activities for its visitors, and every day new engaging experiences tempt the diverse and curious clientele. 

The Huggetts aren't immune to the celebratory serendipitous surfeits, and take the time to bask instinctually within the hyper-reactive cavalcade. 

Young adults frisk through fancy, felicitously reckon and rambunctiously fathom, attuned to the old school patriarchal discipline at one time widespread with stern imposition.

But good times could still be had within the rather more severe limitations, and romance was indeed approved of in order to propagate the next generation.

Eventually, however, not perhaps quite so intently, people at this time still awaiting what's often referred to as "marriage" before diversifying the species. 

Alternative amorous shenanigans were still amicably encouraged through habitual experimentation.

The vast majority of guests indeed quite inquisitive.

Dancing, dining adored.

There's no doubt there was once a time when the rule of men was culturally assured, and their inclinations and intuitive tendencies effectively governed beyond key or code.

Should individuals engage in scandal they were still reprimanded, respective relational responsibilities still promoted and practically conditioned.

How strange would it indubitably be to suddenly be transported to the postmodern age, and negotiate a less one-sided sociocultural continuum wherein which multifaceted peculiarities complement?

And the traditional duel or the steadfast altercation no longer held ubiquitous sway?

Would it be easier for someone from the present to transport back to the ecstatic post-war Huggett era (if not invisible), or for someone from back then to randomly materialize within contemporary Manhattan?

The answer perhaps can be found in Star Trek: The Originals Series's Mirror, Mirror.

The Huggetts still put on a good show.

Startling semantics.

Transitional tides. 

Blood & Wine

The lives of a somewhat traditional family descend into bitter vengeful chaos, after the thieving of a diamond necklace encourages too many unanswered questions.

Had the covetous husband (Jack Nicholson) not sought an uncharacteristic financial panacea, he could have continued selling his wine and perhaps turned his struggling business around.

He even provides his step-son (Stephen Dorff) with age old advice attempting to mean well, the youngster rather dismissive of his by-the-book step-dad and generally uninterested in commercial counsel. 

It's in fact an offbeat salute to disorganized youth and improvised dreams, as the adults prove rather immature and the young ones radiate unworldly competence.

I didn't find Blood & Wine comic while startlingly considering its inherent disillusionment, but when you compare who Mr. Gates tries to be in the film, with the contradictory results he rashly spawns, there's certainly dark humour afoot, that betrays lucid masterful mischief.

I was sad when Bob Rafelson passed away this year because Five Easy Pieces was one of the first independent films I saw, also the first to leave a significant impact no doubt it's a timeless gem that shouldn't be forgotten.

I likely would have still discovered independent cinema but it still definitively functioned like a productive catalyst, and I began to watch more and more underground exemplars of less general attempts to create mass amusement.

I imagine it's still a great place to start although there's no standard recipe for this sort of thing, with lifelong bizarro eclectic trial and error heuristically harkening holistic happenstance.

It was easier with video rental stores if the owners shared a wide ranging perspective, and with shows like Siskel & Ebert to playfully present honest heartfelt takes (still available on YouTube the last time I checked).

It's not that much more difficult now but finding quality films may require a little more effort, but if the desire's there, there shouldn't be barriers preventing you from finding tens of thousand of extant picks on iTunes and YouTube.

I suppose it's actually much easier to just rent films from iTunes or YouTube, if you do enough research. You can watch them from the comfort of your home and there's always a copy available. I found it much more fun to visit and compare individual rental stores, however. Some of them had incredible collections.

Blood & Wine showcases unleashed aggression from unwilling participants habitually docile, the results mind-boggling and incredibly awkward as unaccustomed emotion lacks orthodox sublimation.

Michael Caine (Victor) before finding his avuncular role as Bruce Wayne's stern but caring Alfred.

Jennifer Lopez (Gabriela), Stephen Dorff and Judy Davis also impress. 

Like film noir without a private detective.

Junebug

A couple basks in enriching romance their union potentially a success, effervescent wondrous innocence characterizing their lithe shenanigans. 

The wife (Embeth Davidtz as Madeleine) runs a caring gallery which genuinely looks after its unsung artists, discovering unknown local talent then helping to find an adoring audience.

Her work takes her to the down-home town where her agile husband (Alessandro Nivola as George) was curiously raised, which means it's time to meet the fam while engaging in bucolic expenditure.

George's brother's (Ben McKenzie as Johnny) become somewhat nasty having grown tired of his steady routine, even though his chill wife's (Amy Adams as Ashley) pregnant and looking forward to starting a family.

He has no time to reminisce but his better half's still warm and friendly, Madeleine sincerely responding to her lack of conceit and freeform enthusiastic reckoning.

There could be more cutting tension arising from prejudicial misconceptions, but thankfully observations aren't frequently shared within the offbeat household's public sphere.

In fact Junebug creatively presents endearing heartfelt loving characters, thoroughly interested in the lives of others as they go about their interactive quibbling.

The arts devoid of stout pretension and destructive distasteful foul snobbery, search freely far and wide for newfound novel uncanny yens.

At the same time homegrown peeps hold back none of their natural spirits, a husband certainly most distressing, his wife like an ebullient summer's bloom.

The buzz around Amy Adams's performance is bang on like nothing else I've seen, her facial movements and inherent fascination far beyond what's oft described as memorable.

It's like there's a range of depth within which multidimension nimbly materializes, and her zags and cascading zigs ethereally flow towards its striking zenith.

Davidtz shouldn't be overlooked either I hope her character has persuasive fluency.

They're an incredible combination.

In a film that promotes compassion and understanding.

The Lost Daughter

It's strange how much time I used to spend going to the cinema. In fact it's not strange at all, it was perfectly normal, everything about pandemic existence being strange, but it's been going on for so long that it's starting to feel normal.

That's depressing. And even with the vaccines, there's no end in sight.

Ah well, no use in dwelling, that's counterproductive, and at least we have vaccines and boosters available in Canada and Québec, and the risk of hospitalization is greatly decreased if you get them, I recommend getting the vaccine, getting it soon, I suppose it goes without saying but vaccines help prevent you from getting sick, especially if you get the virus, which is still spreading rapidly, and isn't showing any signs of letting up.

But I used to spend around 8 hours a week carefully or carelessly choosing films in cinemas and travelling back and forth to see them, sometimes while stopping for lunch, it was a great way to pass the time.

Now I've got all the time in the world just to choose two films a week and watch them on my computer or television, and it still seems like I have to find the time, how did I ever come up with all the extra hours?

It's certainly much less engaging watching films at home although there's an endless supply available, still, films are meant to be seen in theatres, and it's kind of lame always watching them on a smaller screen.

No end to the variety, however, and I'm super happy there's a Criterion channel, Criterions used to be really expensive films that you had to buy, if you really wanted to see one and couldn't find it at the library. 

I'm not sure if Maggie Gyllenhaal's The Lost Daughter has resonant artistic flair, but it certainly leaves an impression, and is like nothing else I've ever seen.

It's about an unappealing dull grouch who decides to go on vacation, during the off-season in a resort town, as locals celebrate liberation (Olivia Colman/Jessie Buckley as Leda).

Her ornery disposition and assertive dismissals ensure she doesn't make any friends, she's also generally annoyed when people talk to her, no matter how harmless or well-meaning.

She's plagued by haunting remembrances of the daughters she left behind to pursue her career, the surrounding carefree families at play only serving to vex her further.

She proceeds to steal one of their dolls and even buys it a new fancy outfit, and refuses to return it or just leave it on the beach even after a campaign is launched for days to find it.

The Lost Daughter's total lack of utility and uncanny investigation of gloomy self-obsession, lugubriously generates pathological charm through disorienting morose unabashed stern vision.

It's like a campy intellectual film that leaves you free to discern and judge, is it critiquing cantankerous agency or oddly celebrating unattached dysfunction?

Does she feel bad about not feeling bad about never having tried to cultivate feelings?

I think there's Criterion potential.

Resort towns are fun in the offseason.