Welt am Draht (World on a Wire - Part 1)

The real world composed of constituent parts practically indicating material projections, consistent tradition reliably upheld as concrete forms refrain from transfiguration.

Fortunately, as time passes and resonant patterns are detected, one is able to generally predict what will physically emerge, structural dependability routinely reckoning as if coherence were indeed endemic, the same buildings appearing on the same streets, libraries convergent, impeccable sandwiches.

The sure and steady can lack variety so spice is eagerly sought like in Plato's Republic, and tempting alternatives emphatically compete to provide soulful sustenance exotic flavour.

Thus the arts envision trajectories upon which to reimagine certified certainty, various in/distinct bold metamorphoses cleverly conjuring kaleidoscopic craving.

Sentiment and novelty oscillate within as abstract patterns extract newfound tradition, but with less elementary toned durability than a street or a house one might expect to see.

Gregarious garnishes astounding adornments laidback lynchpins sombre tomes, remonstrance rhetoric polarities syntheses multiform blends unilateral conceit.

Proceeding with an open-mind may lead to fulfilling multilateral abundance, with intuitive hierarchies inevitably developing, kept in check through reflexive consumption.

Are you too specialized too arcane too generic, too lacking in practical sense?, such questions can lead to a more diverse palette if one can be bothered to consider them effortlessly.

Aren't buffets the best a feed at the trough when they're well-prepared, plate after plate of sumptuous treats judiciously accompanied with varied desserts?

It seems like the will of the pandemic is to encourage lush virtual environments, but after spending so much time indoors it'd be nice to pitch a tent in Parc Jeanne-Mance. 

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire) examines virtual realities as artificial intelligence emerges within them, layers upon layers of structural mimesis provocatively contemplating organic life.

Who's to say if this world we live in isn't a computer program ingeniously manufactured?

I used to think that until I broke my finger.

Related ephemera notwithstanding. 

Maleficent

Two kingdoms bordering one another, although kingdoms is the wrong choice of word, for although one is certainly the domain of a king, the other has no definitive ruler.

The other's strongest is respected, however, due to her extraordinary abilities, and her application of them, to the art of realm protection.

An act of charity sparks a romantic flame between occupants of the divergent lands, but whereas a magical aura of egalitarian majesty permeates the one, greed and covetousness rule the other, the relationship's male component residing in the later, not that such couples need be composed of both males and females, a fact the filmmakers use to circuitously cultivate their filmscape.

He craves more power.

And ignominiously betrays.

His betrayal has consequences for both the victim and the beast, as darkness reluctantly descends, to clarify his inestimable wickedness.

The couple comes of age.

And a child is born.

Regally recalling and extending Snow White and the Huntsman's proverbial special effects, comically synthesizing the free and the dependent, ravenously adjudicating a curse's immutability, while cloistering the innocent in an ominous crown of thorns, Maleficent tacitly tracks the course of the fairy tale, abiding by while transgressing, its traditional fantastic forms.

Beautifully stipulated and tragically adorned, it presents insights and prohibitions regarding love's cautious stealth, preferring loyalty to might, the incandescent, to the miser.

Camille Claudel 1915

Attaching a strictly temporal dimension to the passage of time, wherein a brilliant delicate artist's psychological sentence is thought to be perennially relapsing, her in/direct encampment in the Real having seared an ominous dread, intransigent incarnate interference, a burning flame shrouded in darkness, no companions, no recourse, no distinctions, hospitable exclusion, reclusively aligned.

She can't break free.

Powerful performance by Juliette Binoche (Camille Claudel).

She is provided with the chance to convalesce and her ability to reason traumatically cloisters logical probabilities whose unrequited lesions awoke excessively paranoid delusions.

Her loved ones remain condemnatory, acting in accordance with principles which they consider to be charitably Christian, imprisoning her for life in an asylum, proudly refusing to listen.

The authoritative sanctioned madness is regally revealed as two differently abled persons are rebuked for not rehearsing their play with the requisite depth of emotion.

Mme Claudel is obviously disturbed, not possessed, and may have benefitted from more suitable surroundings, pharmaceutical aids, and/or an understanding listener.

That's not to say pharmaceuticals should have definitely been administered.

If pharmaceutical companies are run like a business who seeks to see revenues increase every quarter, and they rely upon people being diagnosed with particular characteristics in order for their products to be sold, a rather disreputable culture could resultantly emerge, if specific diagnoses are not cross-referenced.

Pharmaceuticals may not have been required in Camille's case as her self-diagnosis indicates, her hypothesized cure seeming reasonable enough, affable, sane.

A different time; Camille Claudel 1915 examines a different set of historical rationalities.

A patient, helpless, conspicuous film, judiciously stark, the sound and the fury.

The Thing

Wasn't that impressed with Matthijs van Heijningen's remake of John Carpenter's The Thing. Carpenter's version has strong character development, a cohesive skillfully manufactured presence which accentuates the heightened sense of stoic desperation, patient timing which delicately constructs the stifling paranoid aesthetic, a haunting soundtrack which anxiously disrupts any calming sentiments, and convincing special effects which have steadfastly survived the test of time. It's one of the best sci-fi/horror films I've seen, directed by a master working in the prime of his career.

Van Heijningen's Thing works as a mildly entertaining film that pays homage to Carpenter but, like many Friday the 13th movies, focuses too intently on its main characters, leaving little room for the supporting cast to establish itself (thereby failing to intensify the bond between audience and text). None of the performances match that of Kurt Russell's or Keith David's, and apart from some dismissible deviations, the script parallels that from Carpenter's far too closely, and lacks the timing and pacing etc. that enables it to endure.

Rather than remaking the film and revitalizing the narrative's life force, Van Heijningen relies on balances already cultivated in the 1982 instalment, and expects their latent influence to free him from having to intricately reimagine his subject. There are funny scenes where characters stop to ask one another how they are doing while raging fires burn and power dynamics are lampooned as individuals attempt to retain control, even though such attempts challenge the decrees of logic which their scientific pursuits are theoretically supposed to uphold, but it's as if we are expected to deductively relate to specific stock performances whose dynamics are taken for granted rather than being creatively and internally nurtured, which adds a slapdash quality to the affect, and destabilizes its innovative instincts.

There's also the issue of how both films allegorically salute xenophobia but that's another matter.

The 21st-century Thing. Was Carpenter's work crafted during a moment when studios cared about both profit and product and consequently encouraged artistic exploration in the construction of their modes of expression?

Probably not, but Carpenter's movie works on a number of levels that are simply not present in this remake, which seems to have only been distributed to sell tickets.

Carpenter didn't want to sell tickets.

No he did not.

Contagion

Wasn't that impressed with Steven Soderbergh's Contagion. It successfully manages several different plot threads and introduces a wide variety of characters, positioning them in various socio-political quadrants as they react to the spread of a devastating global plague, establishing friendships, watching as loved ones die, exploiting the situation for personal profit, falling victim to the ludicrous ambitions of a culture of desperation. It starts out well, getting right down to it, not spending much time investigating historical details while still encouraging interest within its accelerated format, disease, widespread contamination, diagnosis, containment. But as it unreels, it inconsistently delivers its subject matter, some scenes astutely demonstrating the talents of its superstar cast, others falling flat and causing you to wonder if Soderbergh ran out of time and didn't have the resources to encourage multiple takes. I suppose that if everything is 'normal,' or the world isn't distinctly suffering from the effects of a plague, and then the disease quickly spreads and disseminates chaos, it makes sense to have orderly and traditional opening scenes followed by poorly executed bourgeois hokum (the film itself is infected). This device can work exceptionally well if the director carefully crafts a seductive self-awareness. I didn't spot such self-awareness within Contagion, however. It seemed more like actors with established reputations running through the motions, as if they had taken Law and Order or CSI's format, tweaked it for the big screen, made a number of definitive, instantaneous, unalterable conclusions based upon a shallow degree of ready made research, waited for the content to easily slide into its manufactured mindsets, threw in something heroic yet disengaged, and gingerly cantered towards an incredible turn out at the box office. Some scenes and performances stand out and it was better than mediocre, but still, a very formulaic piece disguised as hip and innovative entertainment, quietly fading into the trivial.

Red

I liked Robert Schwentke's Red even though there's not much to it. I recommend it if and only if you're searching for a mildly entertaining brain numbing occasionally amusing action flick wherein several old-school big names (Helen Mirren, Bruce Willis, Morgan Freeman, John Malkovich, Richard Dreyfuss, Ernest Borgnine) give a Space Cowboys salute to their careers. I was glad to see Brian Cox included in the cast. Even though his career hasn't had as many leading roles, he's definitely demonstrated a robust dynamic multidimensional integrity over the years (as if casting personnel Deborah Aquila and Mary Tricia Wood are saying "you, Brian Cox, are the ultimate mainstream supporting actor"). The next generation is represented by Karl Urban who has demonstrated his abilities in films such as The Chronicles of Riddick, Star Trek, and Pathfinder, and he resignedly holds his own throughout. The film vilifies American atrocities committed in Central America during the 1980s and while this is good it's as if its structure is saying that it's to bad it took the American mainstream 25 years to catch up. The internal dynamics point out how hard it is to prevent such things from happening if you're solely concerned with advancing your own personal agenda, unless that agenda is designed to prevent such things from happening.

Cube

Vincenzo Natali's Cube presents a group of strangers who wake up within a byzantine death trap with no choice but to work together to gain their freedom. Their prison is a giant cube in which some rooms are safe and others contain malicious contraptions designed to quickly end their lives. Enigmatic clues are provided the deciphering of which will enable them to pass through unscathed. As the trapped individuals begin to solve the puzzle, it quickly becomes apparent that a particular form of human nature is their own worst enemy.

The characters are divided into two camps, one nihilistic, the other content with the order of things. Paranoid anxious dialogue delivers extreme points from both ideological stances as their confines suffocate their more polite characteristics. One character decides that they must take control and takes it upon themself to lead. Believing in a strict, necessary, veracious, immutable relationship between things and the ways in which a particular school of thought has defined them, they consider themself to be a representative of austerity and therefore the purist candidate for leadership. Trying to apply the guidelines of a master-narrative to their random circumstances rather than negotiating and aligning themself with the organized structural ambiguity leads to violence and madness, and the laissez-faire nihilists must cope with this determined beast. But passively accepting their situation and progressing patiently and calmly does not guarantee them success, for the designs of the cube cater to both reason and madness alike where only the innocent can survive. According to the ridiculous ending anyways. The logic built into this ending works with Cube's structure however, Natali positioning himself within the very same technosocial-predicament he examines, like Rousseau in a pernicious futuristic state of nature, and delivering the predictable stereotypical solution (the fact that the villain somehow returns) that so often is designated "correct" by its designer's dementia.