Burnt

Excellence.

The pursuit of a constantly revolving evolving aesthetic immediacy cohesively demanding strict attention to every detail.

The tiniest seemingly unnoticeable pittance searing an unforgettable scathing blight on chef Adam Jones's (Bradley Cooper) culinary reputation, as he coordinates his kitchen's impeccable outputs with the assiduous rigour of an omniscient razor sharp extremity.

In real time.

His team responding in turn, observantly and efficiently respecting his knowledge, his hyper-reactive creative discipline, they merit the strength of his sought after 3 star accreditation, lacerating the wake of his stern commanding temper, acerbic accessibility, confident he can help them improve.

Which he does, having reformed his life after recklessly responding to his calling's accompanying stresses with a maddeningly adroit consumption of interrogative intoxicants, his resultant penance exasperatingly tedious, competently undertaken, to the haunting revelatory end.

Convalescence.

Adam Jones, the exceptional, striving for authenticity with every nanopeculiarity, synthesizing tradition with inspiration to practically adjudicate ingenuity.

Thriving under pressure, Burnt celebrates teamwork as opposed to constellation, the imperfections of the subjective idealized thereby, accentuated yet indoctrinated, revealing, one picturesque particle at a time.

Humanistic.

August: Osage County

The loss of a family member begets inconsolable griefs and vitriolic censure as three generations representing different familial traditions gather in mourning.

Character development is dynamically and interactively adhered to as historical ideological super(e)latives contend.

Edges are sharpened.

Balance obliterates.

Pharmaceuticals fuel a tumultuous tirade whose sneering strikes and belittling gripes nurture a bellicose backlash whose ominous offensive jeopardizes a solemn ceremonial meal's digestion.

Rancour.

Heartache.

Cast iron confederacies.

August: Osage County isn't that concerned with subtlety, although the family depicted have spent their lives refraining from using direct forms of communication, and the symbolism in the background of the sequence where Charlie Aiken (Chris Cooper) greets his son (Benedict Cumberbatch) highlights this forthcoming transformation, this move from eggshells to shrapnel.

Early on there's a shot depicting Charlie and Little Charlie within their environment at large and you can see the profile of a Native American Chief in the background.

Subsequent shots zero-in-on the two but the profile of the Chief remains.

I thought the inclusion of the profile would have been stronger if it had been left out of the subsequent shots, until I noticed how it related to the film's greater purpose.

The film subtly and not so subtly examines contemporary and historical perspectives regarding relations between Native Americans and those descended from Europeans.

By first keeping the profile of the Native American Chief in the background, the tragic nature of the dismissive attitudes concerning these relations are reflected.

But keeping the profile in the following shots reflects the empathetic attitudes as well since the profile doesn't disappear, while also foreshadowing the film's overt move from reserved ornamentation to full-on acrimonious onslaught.

The film's embattled matriarch (Meryl Streep as Violet Weston) has fallen apart partially because the traditions she held dear in her troubled childhood have dramatically changed, and her children and grandchildren abide by different cultural codes.

Her last scene shows her seeking comfort from her Native American nurse Johnna Monevata (Misty Upham), whom she's bigotedly dismissed at points, who proceeds to comfort her, possibly understanding what she's going through, painstakingly living on higher ground, higher ground which has been generationally transformed and preserved by some, through an immaculate application of the golden rule.

It's a brilliant synthesis.

Written by Tracy Letts.