Marvin & Tige

A young kid with no known family blindly struggles to get by, after his mother suddenly passes one forlorn and sombre evening. 

Adapt at finding food yet still suffering from malnutrition, the enticing canned goods he regularly consumes lacking all-encompassing vitamins and nutrients. 

Good fortune serendipitously emerges after a borderline homeless widower takes note, and invites him to stay with him until members of his family can be located.

He's worried since the youngster's on his own and has a bad attitude and can't read or write, his inner-avuncular instructive instincts attempting to find ways to teach and educate.

He's not so great at it though he'll admit his personality lacking warm-hearted discourse, he's blunt and direct and ye olde hard-knocksy which even the child awkwardly observes. 

Nevertheless, his intentions are honourable and he tries his best to give the lad a home.

The makeshift family embracing improvisation.

Abundant arguments. 

Resolute care.

Old school stories flush with sympathy encouraging less severe social structures, wherein which compassionate dynamics overtly showcase heartwarming alternatives. 

There must be no cultural shortage of kind and friendly tales circulating, where people finding themselves down and out are tenderly uplifted with heartfelt sympathy.

Is it foolish to wonder why impoverished circumstances distressingly abound, alongside so much wealth within so many countries where riches proliferate? 

Doesn't a more level playing field lead to more innovation and greater diversity, compelling ideas and irresistible inventions accompanying arts and crafts and newfound technologies?

Supplying millions of impoverished people with food and shelter and healthcare and education, doesn't just lead to healthier communities, it also cultivates a more gifted culture.

It's working all across Europe and also in Australia, New Zealand, Canada & Québec. 

It doesn't even cost that much considering.

And you don't need a massive army. 

Pather Panchali

A loving mother wants the best for her children but is desperately obsessed with her remorseless poverty, her dreamer husband slow to provide or clearly understand her protracted woe.

There's no thought of her working herself or finding a way to help make ends meet, the ancient code governing village life definitively maintaining strict gender roles.

Her children enjoy playing in the countryside and modestly excel through recourse to laughter, education not prominent in that part of the country, the children relying on friends and family.

But they're also jealous of their friend's possessions especially when the sweet purveyor walks by, at times leading to their mother's embarrassment as they naturally seek the good things in life.

I really felt for their mom as she despondently waits for her husband to get paid, and he dreams and he dreams and he dreams while his house falls apart and there's nothing to eat.

It's ok to sit back and dream but it's much more convenient when your wife also works, and isn't stuck sitting at home all day with nothing to do while her neighbours deride her.

Could you imagine having no recourse and having to wait months to have money to spend, while your children ran wild in the jungle and the neighbourhood lampooned your lack of wealth?

Open up the inclusive workforce and maximize opportunity for everyone willing.

Her husband's no doubt a cool guy.

But fails to empathize with her situation.

Pather Panchali isn't all doom and gloom it's also full of innocent pluck and tenacity, complete with multiple extended scenes celebrating the joys of childhood and playtime.

I would recommend leaving Disney behind for a weekend and giving this film a try, along with El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive), El Sur, and E.T, that would make for an exceptional film day.

Dickens also seems to be creatively influencing the compassionate film and perhaps Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay's novel, the close focus on delicious food for instance (it's fun to pig out after he describes food), or the inclusion of chill and offbeat characters like Auntie (who reminded me of Mr. Dick in David Copperfield).

Its moderate pace also captures village life as it gradually progresses from season to season.

Moments like how cool it is when you see your first train.

An intense sudden rainfall. 

An improvised chase.

*Criterion keyword - resplendent. 

Mansfield Park

I imagine Mansfield Park was written when the 19th century's abolitionist movement was rapidly advancing, and the cruel and ruthless practice of slavery was soon to fade into oblivion.

But it hadn't yet as this narrative took shape so some of its characters seem rather outdated, as they lavishly live off the profits of enslavement in luxurious temper and ornate fashion.

Even if the story and its situations seem somewhat ghastly from current perspectives, it's strange to see characters genuinely presented outrageously profiting from the slave trade, I imagine it was daring and even groundbreaking at the revolutionary time, as it ethically shocked the established practice, and brought fresh perspectives to politically bear.

Thus, with the abolitionist movement passionately sermonizing in the background, Jane Austen theorizes Victorian realism, and creates a hypothetical yet possible set of circumstances, wherein which Society struggles with change.

The father, one Thomas Bertram (Harold Pinter), isn't squeamish about his distant holdings, and indeed brutishly profits from their labours, with no qualms or concerns regarding worker well-being.

His oldest son of the same name (James Purefoy) even captures his wickedness in a series of vivid disturbing drawings, which lead to his grand disillusionment, and general disregard for family life.

His younger brother Edmund (Johnny Lee Miller) has never visited their land or enterprises oversees, and has matured in the finest ethical tradition, even if he can't settle upon an occupation.

He grows up with one Fanny Price (France O'Connor) and the two fall in love through books and imagination, but they're both rather unacquainted with their own interests, and eventually find themselves about to marry others.

Even though they live with everything at their fingertips, and want for nothing material throughout their days, Tom and Edmund still detest their father's practices and express their criticisms with virtuous outrage.

It's unsettling to see people living so ostentatiously considering, but within the novel's historical context, perhaps it helped encourage the end of slavery.

Thomas has switched his interests to tobacco in the end and seems to have abandoned profiting from extremist tension, the counsel of a younger generation definitively having influenced his ridged composure.

I was surprised to see a Jane Austen narrative so sophisticatedly concerned with social justice, I had always presumed most of her books concerned marriage, and had no idea they examined broader issues.

Marriage is also of the utmost concern within the farsighted Mansfield Park, but it's regarded as another form of human entrapment, as Edmund and Fanny seek to fall in love.

The story's quite robust however and even though borderline romantic, still undercuts its amorous zeal with cold calculated depictions of poverty.

Still should people like Edmund and Fanny find each other love may flourish boundless and eternal.

I'm not sure how many liberties the filmmakers took with the plot.

But I'd very much like to read Mansfield Park. 

Plácido

A bustling bright town nimbly nestled in the Spanish countryside, hectically prepares for an unusual Christmas Eve, the local council having coordinated an imaginative spiritual initiative, wherein which the wealthy and impoverished dine together, to celebrate the season.

Other higher-ups have taken note of the concordant equanimity, and sent movie stars to take part, with an adoring crew to film and frolic.

Industrious Plácido (Cassen) has been tasked to drive a ceremonious auto, but he's rather worried throughout the day since the next payment's almost due.

He's trying to acquire enough to deal and encounters set back after set back, rhyme and reason no doubt merciless since he thinks they'll repossess on Christmas.

Within his determined struggle lies inherent ingenuity, clashing with authoritative conceit, which requires absurd motivation.

As you watch what he goes through the impossibility of attaining wealth, satirizes the festivities with uptight stultifying flair.

The cameras on, the vedettes beaming, so many hoping they won't miss church.

While age old prejudice obscures the message: it shouldn't be an imposition.

Plácido presents perpetual motion with innovative active meticulous style, it's rare to see such a fast paced film preponderantly overflowing with vital detail.

Form capturing Plácido's struggles along with his family's and those of the village, you can't help but feel latently disillusioned yet manifestly glib and chipper.

Through the abandonment of discretion he's able to attain his reasonable goal, to be repeated ad infinitum, resolute rigorous particulars.

Few complaints throughout the film it alertly instructs through grand immersion, interpretive duels intently following no doubt lively and everlasting.

With Christmas on the horizon director Luis García Berlanga points out, that the genuine communal message is unfortunately overlooked at times.

The resplendent spirit which ubiquitously unites the adoring Whos in tranquil Whoville, is ostentatiously dismissed as irony deconstructs munificence.

No doubt duties are performed and responsibilities met sans tension.

But would there be less of a need for distinct strata?

Through democratic invention?

Remarkable difference multiplied by millions exceptional mirth expressive volubility. 

Livelier communities, resonant pastimes.

The sprightly flow of offbeat goods. 

West Side Story

Intriguing to consider a massive fertile thriving landscape, where millions of people routinely flocked in search of work and wealth and romance.

If a more respectful and mutually beneficial way had been found to share the land with its Indigenous inhabitants, the situation would be even more compelling, true adventure emboldened quests.

West Side Story passionately chronicles a dispute between two groups who have yet to prosper, who fight each other for turf and are none too hospitable across the board.

The social safety net lacks efficient robust ubiquitous munificent potency, and even when it attempts to assist, its generosity is at times vilified. 

Love remains the key as it always has as it always will, two enthused youths from opposing ethnicities, their inspiring union communally detested. 

Perhaps it was that way when the feisty Irish moved to Québec in the 19th century, initial hostility eventually giving way to amorous endeavours through the passage of time.

There were none such clashes in my youth the different cultures tended to bond, coming together productively for a time ignoring race, religion, and class.

It's a preferable more constructive sociocultural model to craft, communally sound and reciprocally uplifting, generally united with the most predominant language, citizens free to speak how they want in their private lives.

There were jokes about race and ethnicity while I was growing up, but they were so ridiculous not many took them seriously, film and television often fought perverse racism, no one wanted to reignite despotic Naziesque tensions.

Unfortunately, misguided sensationalists overturned hard fought logical accords, instinctual rhythms lacking rational guidelines paving the way for bellicose jingoism. 

There's a fight near the end of West Side Story a wild clash between volatile leaders, followed by death and chaotic discord, desires for vengeance, shattered l'amour.

Steven Spielberg still deserves the nomination, this film is a masterpiece 50 years later.

The amount of planning that must have gone into it.

Incredible genius. 

Intricate fathoms. 

The Blot

A professor patiently educates for a small salary which hardly provides, his envious wife tired of their grim necessities as she yearns for her neighbour's abundance.

The neighbour knows how to make elegant shoes for trendy jet-setters with finicky flair, his seemingly flippant fashionable know-how much more highly valued than painstaking learning.

Well-off students within the Professor's class engage in shenanigans to pass the time, their disruptive behaviour resignédly noticed, appeals are made which esteem respect.

One of them can't help but take note for he's wholeheartedly fallen for the Professor's daughter, and stops by the library where she works every day for bursts of inspired well-meaning conversation.

She is also desired by a reverend whose monthly pay also lacks modest agency, and the son of the fortunate cobbler who would like to meet her as soon as he can.

But social prestige and occupational pride prevent the free movement of their innocent offspring, who struggle to comprehend their rather disheartening sociocultural stratification.

But The Blot was made when reform was afoot and sought to envisage less rigid realities. 

As to how they've played out a hundred years later, it's difficult to gauge within micro parameters, although The Spirit Level: Why Equality is Better for Everyone provides insights, which critique Anglo-American pedagogy.

There's certainly a steady stream of progressive ideas presented in film, books, music, and television, but alternative absolutist pretensions have bleakly arisen in recent years to contest them.

Rather disillusioning to see the autocratic leverage swiftly take animate hold, it seemed so irrefutably farcical and grotesque that it was shocking to see it transform the public sphere.

It's like there used to be distance between comedic reflection and its general applicability to cultural life, as if comedians knew what they were saying was ridiculous and never thought they'd gain prominent influence.

Although I'm being somewhat unfair since so many comedians do make funny applicable comments, but so much of it became violent and bigoted in recent years while disparaging so much constructive endeavour.

Another compelling exploratory book to be written if it hasn't been already who has the time?

Comedy is an essential democratic tool since it provides a voice to so many who disregard pretension and fight lofty totalitarianism. 

But if it becomes resoundingly violent and then develops pretensions of its own, it can become sincerely distressing if you disagree with its disengaged reflections.

Tôkyô no yado (An Inn in Tokyo)

A single dad wanders from town to town in search of work with his two sons, with no place to stay and little money for food, he struggles as he searches for assured circumstances.

He's a tender man who's upset but not bitter, and still finds ways to imaginatively play with his children, they go with the flow and keep things light encountering another family who can't find work either.

Catching stray dogs can earn them something, even if flashy clothes are more appealing than food, and one night as it looks like they'll sleep outside, an old friend appears and offers them shelter.

A job is found shortly thereafter and things slowly and surely stabilize, but fortunate Kihachi (Takeshi Sakamoto) loves his sake, and from time to time drinks way too much.

As his life improves the other family's takes a turn for the superlative worse, and Kihachi feels he must do something to hold back the ferocious abyss.

Tôkyô no yado (An Inn in Tokyo) compassionately examines difficult times, the hardships confronting a kind man of conscience, who fights back against impoverished misfortune.

He accepts his fate and loves his children and never weeps or blows his top, finding solace in simple pleasures, in harvests and yields and crops.

Agency exists partout in mutating differing degrees, and it isn't only the affluent who can facilitate change, it's just a matter of persevering to the best of your abilities, resilient recourse diverse refrains.

A lot of the time chill solutions fluidly present themselves with communal care, whether it's a meal or shelter or a job, a placement, perhaps fixing something.

Kihachi's sacrifice achieves sublime ends even if it's tragic in its composure, a refusal to be bound by material reality in the pursuit of piecemeal justice.

Rare to come across films that are so patient and caring, that slow things down to enact cinematic resolve, to showcase emboldened endearing good spirits, humanistic agency beyond wealth or income.

Even though the situation is grim and reprieves seem like remote impossibilities, rich imagination still naturally flourishes, through age old non-violent customs.

It's a triumph of spirit immersed in contemplation, considering outcomes beyond individualistic concerns, even if you lack wealth you can still do something, invigorate animate turns.

Perfect for a light Spring evening where you want to embrace a less rapid pace.

Some bread, some cheese, some spirits.

Enjoyed with thought and emotion.  

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind

A small village in rural Malawi struggles to make ends meet, farmers reliant on the yearly harvest to generate vital income.

The Kamkwambas have been working hard with the hopes of sending their son to school, they've even paid his initial deposit and purchased the requisite uniform.

William's (Maxwell Simba) eager to learn, to excel, but needs time to sit back and study, competing demands ensuring time management's a full-time strict priority.

As school progresses and routines conflict drought descends with stifling severity, and his family can't pay his remaining tuition and must subsist on meagre preserves. 

But his sister's dating his teacher so he thinks of a crafty plan, and gains access to his school's modest library keeping instructive books on hand.

He's quite adept at finding solutions for quizzical electronic conundrums, his practical fluency highly valued by friends and neighbours and family.

He finds books that teach him new things and give him ideas he never thought possible, including a way to irrigate crops during the lengthy hot dry season.

With this method his family and others can plan to grow crops throughout the year, the extra harvest a bountiful godsend scientifically engineered. 

But book learning's still highly suspect and his idea simply seems too radical, his father (Chiwetel Ejiofor) fearful of making things worse should it fail to produce as planned.

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind celebrates bold dynamic learning, in an environment suffering from extreme hardship, without staples or resource to spare.

It's a shame the library within wasn't public and required so much wealth just to access it.

Creating public libraries can be rather difficult if there's little to tax, but communal initiative can spearhead exuberance to keep infrastructure intact.

The sharing of ideas the transmission of knowledge the transformative vast applications, await people seeking solutions to questions they may never have known how to ask.

Myriad subjects augment traditions with novel imaginative spice, skies opening up within reason as ingenuity serves to entice.

You can learn a lot through chill conversation while working on various projects, but sometimes the right book will present years worth of discussion in less than 200 pages.

William reads such a book and makes an incredible difference in his community.

Resiliently daring to dream.

Cultivating robust yields. 

With Joseph Marcell (Chief Wembe).

*Also, a great film directed by an actor (Chiwetel Ejiofor).

Joker

A confused man who struggles to fit in suddenly responds with unhinged fury, to those who snidely provoke him.

He tries to socialize at work, to enjoy the friendly influence of camaraderie, but is attuned to a different wavelength that pushes others swiftly away.

He sees a psychiatrist on a regular basis to air grievances and seek shelter, but she's ill-equipped to deal with his issues and their encounters increase his frustration.

Before budget cuts bring them to an abrupt end.

He goes off his meds and starts researching his past after reading a letter written by his mother (Frances Conroy as Penny Fleck) to Bruce Wayne's father (Brett Cullen).

And as the woe disparagingly intensifies, he embraces reckless spleen, proceeding wild-eyed and menacing, with neither recourse nor path nor guilt.

Gotham's elite have developed an unsympathetic attitude regarding its impoverished citizens, who find solace in the Joker's (Joaquin Phoenix) rampage.

The result is incredibly bleak.

As despondent as it is abandoned.

A dangerous film, this Joker, released at the worst of times.

Characters like the Joker are often exceptions are they not?, but in recent decades the U.S has seen so much distressing carnage.

Joker could easily be dismissed if it wasn't so well done, and didn't reach such a wild wide audience.

Compassion abounds for the Joker within.

And Batman's father's a condescending jerk.

From the perspective of film, it's easily the best comic book movie, like mainstream tragic arthouse psychological horror abounding with sensitive emotion.

Not just sensational superheroes predictably poised and pouncing, Joker leaves behind both razzle and dazzle to distill nocturnal desperation.

You feel for him as he daydreams, as his explanations are dismissed at work, as he makes friends with a neighbour down the hall, as he traces the roots of his identity.

Perhaps nothing will come of it.

Perhaps people harbouring dark thoughts will see the horrifying nature of their outcomes and be emphatically deterred, like parents who teach children to respect alcohol by getting them drunk, school of hard knocksy pedagogical bedlam.

But hopefully people like Bruce Wayne or his father, people occupying positions of power in the U.S, will consider a more equitable distribution of wealth, and uphold institutions which aid the unfortunate.

It's not perfect in Canada and Québec, Britain, France or Ireland, but there is much less violence, according to Michael Moore's films.

Because these countries have elites who care about the unfortunate, like Bernie Sanders.

And encourage them to be productive team members.

Much harder to own your own weapons too.

Less idealistic.

Much more practical.

Capharnaüm

An angry mature child boldly fights against Lebanese injustice, his sharp shrewd awareness driving his impoverished family mad.

Their poverty is severe and opportunity is non-existent.

Without public education, healthcare, a social safety net, or any knowledge of birth control, they rely solely on religious teachings for strength, while others take advantage of their suffering.

Yet public institutions, collective means through which to sustain a community, don't necessarily exist in opposition to religious practices.

If I'm not mistaken, they're in fact the product of such practices, religious practices secularly upheld.

People in Europe and elsewhere came together some time ago and forged resilient groups that recognized they were stronger united as one, had more bargaining power, more clout, that recognized that every child could have access to education and healthcare if democratically elected political representatives sought to dynamically change socioeconomic conditions which promoted a neverending cycle of poverty, and they then elected political reps who did indeed make such changes.

The changes were by no means perfect, are not perfect, although they seek perfection, but they did lift millions of people out of poverty and at least taught them to read and write while promoting healthy productive and contraceptive lifestyles.

This isn't a Western thing, a European thing, it's a humanistic sociopolitical development that was rationally created by a sociocultural adherence to a respected scientific method.

Take an illness like measles.

Measles used to detrimentally effect millions of children in Europe and elsewhere but scientists studied the disease and found a cure and now it only rarely emerges when people don't vaccinate their children.

The anti-vac movement is one of the most shortsighted cultural developments on record, and would see millions of children suffering from diseases brilliant women and men more or less eradicated if it was ever taken seriously.

I ask you, would God not promote science? Would God not promote a world where we teach ourselves to humanistically take care of people rather than relying on his or her benevolence?

I imagine millions of people prayed that their children wouldn't get measles, but still millions and millions of children got measles, and then scientists found a cure, a cure for measles, thereby answering the prayers of millions of parents and enabling a world where parents didn't have to pray their children wouldn't get it.

Capharnaüm isn't about measles.

It's about poverty and lack of opportunity.

The situation's bleak and the non-existent opportunities heartbreakingly chronicle millions of prayers left unanswered.

Non-violent collective action in many countries led to situations where opportunity was at least possible and education was indeed probable.

It wasn't easy.

But the results are somewhat miraculous.

It's not about one child getting an identity card because he tenaciously fights powers that be.

It's about that child forming groups that promote public education and healthcare and the creation of a social safety net which effectively fights poverty.

That scientifically and secularly applies age old religious principles.

With actual concrete results.

That dynamically challenge and change things.

Like the horrendous happenings in this film.

It's not for the lighthearted.

But tells a tale you'll find nowhere else.

Powerful filmmaking.

Gifted storytelling.

A light.

A crucible.

Widows

Left behind after a job gone wrong, a widow (Viola Davis as Veronica) weighs her unsettling options.

She's not alone, her husband's (Liam Neeson as Harry) entire crew having perished under hot pursuit, although she's a little more willing to embrace unorthodox ideas than her fellow despondent sisters (Michelle Rodriguez as Linda and Elizabeth Debicki as Alice).

After she finds plans for another heist.

And is coercively emboldened.

It's election time in her riding as well, the heir to its political dynasty (Colin Farrell as Jack Mulligan) not as ruthless as his jaded father (Robert Duvall as Tom Mulligan).

Realigned boundaries have cost him thousands of relied upon votes, however, and his strategy must broaden homegrown horizons.

His opponent's (Brian Tyree Henry as Jamal Manning) more familiar with his constituency's grievances, but runs into financial difficulties after his nest egg's ripped off.

Uncertainty ubiquitously abounds.

While goodwill beckons, lightly.

Multiple pieces composing a high stakes puzzle lacking definitive images agitate throughout Steve McQueen's Widows.

Roles, objectives, risk, and betrayal, highlight disingenuous motivations as tempting freedoms advocate.

It's as if those who were stealing everything assumed the people they were stealing from were stealing it from them anyway and therefore had no misgivings.

Serendipitous strategies aligned.

Suspended cause.

Expediency permeates Widows's calling with robust grim integrity.

As long as you only seek change for those who are only helping you, millions of supporters who don't know how or are unable to assist are left assuming everything's vague.

That no one cares.

Widows's ethics may be bleak but its script's still profound and it demands your strict attention.

Left in such situations it's difficult to imagine what one might do, but McQueen crafts several striking hypotheses which provocatively grill emulsion.

Grizzled and real.

Multilayered and invested.

We the Animals

A creative child, impoverished and sensitive, hesitant and withdrawn, immersed in domestic violence explosive tempers rigid flair, bipolar ontologies practically conditioning tempestuous mindsets artistically grained and fractured, love amorously swathing, freedom recklessly improvising, a lack of consultation disputatiously igniting frayed conscience, with striking elementary animosity, fell off the deep end, woe heartaches disbelief, still anchored constitutionally, to sights sounds preached ruptures too familiar.

Tough life for the little guy.

The love's there, no question, but paps doesn't get that he's just not the type of kid who learns to swim if you unexpectedly let go.

A budding young illustrator, painter, designer, architect, explicitly classifying the chaos as unconfrontationally as he can, attaching meaning to the inexplicable with tactile ambassadorial artifice, a collection accrued amassed, grotesquely misinterpreted upon discovery.

He finds it thrown away.

Learns to keep his head above water.

There's no support network overflowing with concerned expertise.

Just actions, reactions, patterns, nature.

A lack of understanding.

Existence.

We the Animals relies more on emotion than rational discourse as it presents itself, a stunning array of carefully selected snapshots delicately scolding in volatile willow.

There's nothing easy about this film, the characters patiently move from hardship to hardship supporting themselves as they frenetically endure, or become accustomed to livid passionate embraces, some people learn to thrive on conflict, a strange inhospitable disposition divisively characterizing sullen negotiation.

Odd habitual inadmissibilities.

An excellent film regardless which pulls you in with unassuming composure, not to be taken lightly even if endearment shines through, not to be bluntly dismissed even if scenes are strictly brutal.

When you see her sleeping on the couch one morning surrounded by mischief you think that must be something exceptionally adorable to wake up to.

But a lack of both resources and community services, and a strong desire to make their own way, lead to violent emotional outbursts which make their situation haunting and desperate.

Lean on Pete

A first job suddenly presents itself after a regenerative run through town, good fortune having granted knowledge and opportunity to a curious unconnected youth, his eagerness to impress well-suited to his employer's bustle, a crash course in low-end horse racing following, with long days and nights spent learning the ropes on the road.

His grizzled boss (Steve Buscemi as Del) still knows a few tricks that keep him one step ahead.

But he misjudges Charley's (Charlie Plummer) love for old school grinder Lean on Pete, and doesn't realize how far he'll go to boldly prevent him coming unglued.

Soon the two are headed North through lands unknown in search of Charley's only remaining relative, an aunt whom his father (Travis Fimmel) lost touch with years ago.

A kind-hearted waitress, some vets, and a troubled homeless trickster await, off the beaten track trudged with neither supplies nor know-how, random commentaries on hardboiled living manifested, improvised action, spontaneously guiding the way.

Lean on Pete bluntly juxtaposes innocent open-minds with worldly calculation then roughly blends them just before the mild homestretch.

Like a fledgling existentialist learning to take flight, different gusts intensifying principled individualistic spirits, experientially gliding, diving, riding, swooping, the new flexibly adjusts with crafty aeronautical awareness, balancing ethics and expediency on the fly, before lightly merging with the breeze.

Harrowingly examining lawlessness while considering when to forgive, Charley maximizes his advantage in every situation, having been extemporaneously confronted with stricken mortality, having lost the foothold that taught him to love.

Thereby functioning like a classic Western.

Will Charley age to become like the man who murdered his father?

Does the elevation of tax-free individualism create a world within which ethics are solely applied to different personal conflicts composed of duelling participants each trying to instinctually endure, like self-preservation in the state of nature, or is there a cultural rule of objective law which socially coincides?

Like Candide crowned Leviathan, Charley outwits responsibility.

A patient thought provoking solemn coming of age tale, complete with mischievous characterizations diversifying hardboiled scenes, Andrew Haigh's Lean on Pete philosophically ponders life unbound, through an unexpected impulsive trek into the heart of wild humanistic existence.

Ready Player One

Ready Player One takes Game Night to the next level by presenting a world within which every waking moment characterizes free play.

Arguments lauding the values of physical existence having been virtually refuted, the Oasis intergenerationally supplies invigorating imaginary agency to anyone curious enough to enroll.

It's the ultimate online experience, manifold worlds within worlds abounding with purpose and challenge and leisure and romance, astounding variability thematically applied with visionary intertextual synergies slash infinite individual accommodations, instantaneously accessible, intravenously mounted.

Created by James Halliday (Mark Rylance/Isaac Andrews), a brilliant pop culture enthusiast with a propensity to articulate architecturally, its ownership enters a period of flux after he passes, only those clever and skilful enough to find the 4 keys he's hidden within having the chance to become its new guardians, and since it's valued at half-a-trillion, and its riddles are next to impossible to solve, only a select few possess the talent required, although all and sundry compete by all means.

And then it happens, after years of clueless endeavour, two diametrically opposed groups seemed poised for victory.

One, an accumulation of indentured gamers coerced into working for colossal douche Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn), sheer numbers intended to overwhelm the opposition even if they instinctually lack any genuine personal revelation.

They invade the Oasis en masse, intimidating everyone they can to cheat their way to the finals.

Reminding me of ye olde deflategate thereby.

The other, a bucking homegrown organic dedicated team in the process of formation, possibly lead by a modest competitive young superfan who also possesses innovative interpretive intuition.

Will the 5 of them combine their strengths to outperform the corporate world, thereby preventing it from transforming the Oasis into a heartless tiered unimaginative conglomerate, as if both B.C's coastline and its interior were contaminated by millions of gallons of oil, or the internet itself, was regulated like cable television?

The odds would be stacked highly against them.

If they weren't so exceptionally gifted.

Like indomitable lamda kitshatz haderached omega particles, never pausing to adjust for wind resistance, near wild heaven trucking through the danger zone, they keep goin' mobile as the labyrinthine adventure begins.

Ready Player One playfully unites myriad awe inspiring protocultural constellations like an enigmatic enlightenment transisting renaissance.

Spielberg still possesses the youthful wonder that has helped him to create stunning films for decades, Ready Player One clearly proving that he hasn't lost touch with his incomparable artistic genius, nor his undeniable love of cinema.

I'm betting that whatever decade you grew up in, this film will help you feel like you're back at home in your youth.

A remarkable cohesion of multigenerational inter and independence, it reifies the North American cultural spirit, without losing sight of its cool.

Why wasn't it released in July?

The Glass Castle

Lifelong freespirited learning clashes with a daughter's less romantic pending nuptials as social interaction is inquisitively utilized to vindicate love in Destin Daniel Cretton's The Glass Castle.

Jeannette's (Brie Larson) wild unpredictable upbringing inculcated desires to seek out stability.

But schmoozing high and dry has its manicured blemishes, and a life spent precisely calculating the whimsical and/or incisive and/or apt and/or deconstructive impact of every austerely crafted glance, blush, and/or statement, and/or, sterilely severs her invaluable absurd attachments.

Through an intermittent series of sustained past life remembrances we're feverishly introduced to a lovingly versatile chaotically constructive family, complete with self-destructive alcoholic husband, and tender angelic supportive wife.

Their interactions bluntly interweave the traumatic and the endearing to intergenerationally spread a gritty multiphasic aggregate across recent genealogical landscapes, in order to strengthen psychological shielding which counters antiseptic evaluations.

It's well done, joyously celebrating unrestrained freedom while heartbreakingly illustrating potential related consequences, the bohemians and the bourgeois culturally busking and(/or) burnishing, as a family unconditionally demonstrates what it means to love.

Unfortunately, Captain Fantastic was released not too long ago, and while The Glass Castle makes more of a polished mainstream fit, Captain is the more exciting film.

A new subgenre?

Watch the booze peeps!

I love having a drink when the working day is done, a couple more on the weekend, and having learned to drink moderately, I find I now enjoy a glass of red wine or a pint much more.

I believe I learned to do this through cultural osmosis, my definition of the phrase being "learning and/or adopting features of the new culture you find yourself living within without socially interacting with it that often."

I should have posted that phrase when it popped into my head years ago.

It's probably from the 19th century.

Bah!

I, Daniel Blake

Like Going in Style's much grittier independent cousin, Ken Loach's I, Daniel Blake sympathetically examines poverty in Britain to find working solutions to bureaucratic prerogatives.

Daniel (Dave Johns) is a respectful hardworking individual who lives within his means and has never had to learn how to use computers.

He meets Katie (Hayley Squires) and her children one day at social services and responds reasonably to her criticisms of its harsh procedural dictates.

She's a young struggling single mother of two who wants to go back to school but can't afford to take care of her family at the same time.

Daniel helps out as much as he can, but has to spend 35 hours a week looking for a job that he has to refuse, should it be offered, because he can't physically return to work due to a recent heart attack.

He tried to tell this to a social services rep but potential heart failure wasn't an option on the questionnaire, which deemed him fit to return to work since he answered it truthfully.

He appealed but still had to abide by the initial ruling meanwhile.

A lot of time and planning goes into providing people living through hard times with financial assistance, but if there are no alternative options in place for the exceptions to the rules, as I, Daniel Blake sharply points out, the safety net needs to be adjusted in order to considerately accommodate.

For instance, as previously mentioned, Daniel can't use a computer, it's probable that other applicants can't use computers, it makes sense that a workshop should be created to help these individuals collectively learn computer basics, so that they can then access the services which can correspondingly assist them.

It's often just a matter of adding another question to a form, but it's surprising how hard it can be to change a form or how long it can take for the changes to be implemented after it's been approved by committee.

Daniel's feisty.

He gets along well with his neighbours but doesn't shy away from airing grievances.

It's a great film examining honest attempts to live honestly within a mistrustful situation.

Neither preachy nor sentimental, it's more like a realistic hypothetical investigation of unfortunate sets of circumstances, which for austere reasons can't be rationally resolved, than a poppy good natured heist.

Decent jobs with decent pay make a nation's reliance on social services much less taxing.

There's an interesting sidebar that examines how the internet can theoretically aid underemployed earnest entrepreneurs, who have physical jobs but lack full-time hours.

Strong performances, heartwarming community, heartbreaking realities, tenacious script, Ken Loach conscientiously examines postmodern day British poverty through a contemporary Dickensian lens to shed light on dark issues.

Do people still read him in Britain?

Seriously, it's worth building up the vocabulary.

I suppose the word grit may come from integrity.

Jeremy Corbyn.

In possession of both I imagine.

Ego Trip

Riches and success have spoiled a maturing talk show host to the point where his livelihood is threatened.

He built his career by connecting with people, and relied heavily on personal experience to humorously grind his convictions.

But since his experiences have become posh and lavish, his jokes have lost their charm, sowing contempt where once there was laughter, derision calibrated to applaud.

Yet hypothetical redemption presents itself in the form of a trip to Haiti, an engagement with humanitarian aid, a battle for surefire sanctity.

Age then counters youth, as his psychological economics, his current and past selves, egotistically contend, a confrontation worthy of Scrooge, a curriculum ripe with iridescence.

And errors.

Ego Trip's last half hour or so excels at delivering a finely tuned transformation, but its build-up is lacking in finesse.

I don't think the film's form was deliberately sabotaged to reflect Marc Morin's (Patrick Huard) temperament, I think there were too many people calling the shots behind the scenes, the result, messy and conspicuous.

You sort of know exactly what's going to happen, and this isn't necessarily a bad thing, but as critical moments capable of developing character are cut short again and again, and subplots are introduced to struggle aimlessly or far too briefly, you kind of wish an additional 18 minutes weren't cut out, that they had taken more time to adhesively bind.

A lot of the scenes don't seem to fit as part of a whole, they're lacking in rhythmic sustainability, like a series of misplaced staccatos, rushing by far too quickly, at too choppy a pace.

Morin's life is choppy but Ego Trip's form could have found other ways to express this, potentially through a subtle infusion of self-awareness to metamalign his misplacements.

Much more could have been done with Sammy's (Gardy Fury) character.

Note: I didn't take to the urine jokes, but they did make me almost throw up, that type of humour often intended to generate such a response, good work.

Kiş Uykusu (Winter Sleep)

Prolonged drowsy interminable winter, dilemmas and debts and rigid bitter realism, frozen immovable remote reverberations soundlessly echoing through time like omnipresent gallows for some, casual laissez-faire cocktails for others, a small town in Anatolia, a consciousness of place, order, balance, predictability, the insertion of divergence, glacially counterbalanced, from whichever side, whatever predicament, interred for the ages, contradiction's fertile sum, punishment to reward, thoughts eloquently marooned, the snow is falling, confiscated tempests, every point will be made, an old man wandering blindly, his dominion staggeringly glazed, fissured, crumply.

When challenged he preaches.

He has done no wrong.

According to his will, which vainly asserts his blights.

Proven through the narrative's conception.

Of unyielding irrational control.

The darkness of men's souls.

To say, "Be a man at all costs. In a domain ruled by men."

There's a powerful scene, epic in its isolated rustic nocturnal candour, which expresses the rationalities of these mad oppressive entitlements.

Wait for it.

Viewing, it's like you're in the village, present at these conversations, living these lives, freezing, because of their patient plodding conversions.

Thinking.

Finding things to do.

Violette

The drive for publication, honest controversial fearless prose, risks taken, contacts established, unerring syntactic strides, desires unfulfilled, sacrifices, tormenting, longitudinal allusive reins, interactive bucolic strains, prohibited friendships lamented, unsettled confrontational muse, pluralizing her stricken sentence, substantive, and disobeyed.

Didn't think Simone de Beauvoir (Sandrine Kiberlain) would like Proust.

Perhaps she did momentarily.

Making the short-film in the middle broke up the traditional chronological categorizing well, hilariously lightening while intensifying the sombre desperate elegance.

Tough life decisions.

Rewarded.

The countryside provides a nourishing wellspring of seductive solitude whose tranquil rhythms encourage profuse flourishes.

Difficulties associated with maintaining prolonged professional literary acquaintances are amorously and quasi-hierarchically socialized.

She just does what comes naturally, boldly sharing her relevant thoughts which create intellectually diverse yet accessible cultural markets for millions who were otherwise forced to unconsciously contemplate the patriarchal.

Violette Leduc (Emmanuelle Devos).

Groundbreaker.

Innovator.

Writer.

Elysium

Universal healthcare, workplace health and safety initiatives, and true love are spatially vindicated in Neill Blomkamp's Elysium, wherein the unsympathetic inprickacies of a totalitarian state create an orderly robotic despotic exactitude whose overbearing calculations encourage widespread temporal discontent.

A colony for the wealthiest has been created in space on a station known as Elysium, whose cloistered citizens enjoy incomparable privilege and general legal impunity.

On Elysium, everything is relatively perfect, advanced technologies guaranteeing ideal health and well-being, pools, mansions, extravagance, for all.

For the 99.9% still living on an overpopulated underfunded desolate and impoverished planet Earth, in the year 2154, the law is applied authoritatively and immediately, statistical automatons having replaced the potentially understanding, the struggling worker left with no harmless option but to silently obey.

But even though Elysium possesses enormous technological and financial superiority, Earth's population is too large to ubiquitously suppress, and a group of freedom fighters, whose poverty and encumbering lack of resources necessitates a frugal expedient expensive quid pro quo, covertly flourish in the rubble, using their brilliant hands-on luminosities, to keep a faint degree of hope alive.

Extremes abound.

With characterless villains.

Their attempts to degrade the system even further accidentally nourish an individualistic inductively altruistic messianic thrust, whose attempts to reform were systematically rebuked.

Emphasizing an egalitarian redistribution of resources, and citizenship and advanced healthcare options, for all, Elysium is quite the blockbuster, medically administering a sensationally practical ethical solvency.

Myriad sociopolitical dynamics are built into the script.

Which welds the human factor to the heart of structural change.