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. 

A Simple Favor

Goodwill and zealous care giving fashionably articulate elementary communal grammar, A Simple Favor's domestic athleticism convivially contending in audacious absence, a mystery hauntingly captivating studious literature under composite examination, latent auspices duely animated, ambiflextrously endeavoured embroiled.

Beyond implicity.

Suspects torn.

Prudent assumption underestimates meticulous resolve as clandestine excursions regenerate volumes.

A writer (Henry Golding as Sean Townsend) caught between opposing factions caresses seductive leaves.

Mercies meddling concoctions settling dreams incarnate dispute.

Someone is guilty of murder.

Others vent droll miscues.

A film cleverly mixing the brave and the rash while tempting exclaimed propriety, delicately nuancing characteristics blandly dismissed for upholding traditions, alternative fascinations as experimental as they are devout, imaginative tremors subtly bracing reasonability, untamed emergence grasping shocks with steady calm, conceptions oft overlooked or undervalued diversified, to vindicate bourgeois innocence, and celebrate tact defused.

A proactive film capable of appealing to a wide audience, it's also so much more, like a rarefied precious eccentricity concealed yet scintillating in traction, mischievously whispering je suis essentiel, before phasing out of time with reticent cheeky indifference.

If films were still rented in physical stores and viewed with less distraction it may have been a vital exception for film lovers still immersed in the mainstream.

Boredom and desire play definitive roles which pose disquieting ethical questions while sorting through phenomenal intrigue.

I love Theodore Shapiro's soundtracks and have for quite some time, but I wonder why the music not written by Shapiro for the film isn't also available on a downloadable disc in the Itunes store, as compelling as it is with so many bright compositions.

Sandra Kendrick (Stephanie Smothers) is perfectly cast for the role (casting by Allison Jones).

I've noticed her over the years but have never seen her in something where she's clearly stood out.

Historical form and content.

Blake Lively (Emily Nelson), also good.

Comedic observations are worked in well and I loved it every time Sona (Aparna Nancherla), Stacy (Kelly McCormack), and Darren (Andrew Rannells) popped up, especially at the end.

The Vlogging's cool too.

Although the film shouldn't be thought of as educational, Paul Feig still brilliantly demonstrates how young directors can authentically work within Hollywood and still earn a respectable buck or two, throughout.

Loved it.

Costume design by Renee Ehrlich Kalfus.

Teströl és lélekröl (On Body and Soul)

You've seen practically everything.

Life is now void of excitement, and surprise has been replaced with disappointment.

Occupying a leadership role, many feel compelled to seek your advice, and since it is difficult to find people to work in your industry, you won't humiliate them for sharing their thoughts, and they therefore feel safe discussing things with you, as they would a psychiatrist if their wages were much higher.

Everything has been accounted for.

Accept a stunning new inspector, with a photographic memory.

Much too serious, she has never taken the time to develop social skills, or, listen to music, and she still sees her childhood therapist regularly, to discuss the ways in which other individuals interact with one another.

A strict unaltered routine dating from a precise moment recalled unaccustomed to feeling romantic desire, suddenly, tempted.

And after a depressed co-worker steals the mating powder their slaughterhouse uses to encourage timid cattle to procreate, and the detectives leading the investigation demand a psychiatrist be brought in to evaluate all and sundry, the two lovelorn brainiacs discover they've been meeting nightly in dreams, one a fearsome buck, the other, a curious doe, the novelty of the revelation encouraging them to start dating, even if, he's left all that behind him.

And she's never had a boyfriend.

Or anyone else to talk to.

It may sound absurd, but Ildikó Enyedi's Teströl és lélekröl (On Body and Soul) rationally disbelieves to its advantage, cultivating trusting yet hesitant sociopathic romance, as austerity calculates, and flexibility assumes.

How to take a cold industrial setting, one prone to driving even its most brutal employees to despair, and transform it into a cascading tantalizing mystery, restrained yet overflowing with life, may have been the question Enyedi asked himself before creating this brilliant synthesis of comedy, romance, and horror.

Search in the isolated shops of forgotten small towns and you might just find that priceless knick-knack you didn't know you had been looking for for the majority of your strategically planned life.

Teströl és lélekröl is a masterpiece of anesthetized shock, as awkward as it is enlightening, as unconcerned as it is revealing.

With bountiful tips on how to successfully manage a business, Endre (Géza Morcsányi) functioning like the cool level-headed supervisor risk based capitalism left behind, fired, demoted, shipped overseas.

As fun to think about afterwards as it is to simply sit back and watch, the cattle fortunately not focusing too directly in the narrative, it generates ineffable emotion, the clarification of which still leaves you confused.

A grotesquely beautiful mind fuck.

A bucolic must see.

A romantic comedic triumph.

Frolicking away.

Four Minutes

People born with gifts often don't have an easy time with them, and Chris Kraus's Four Minutes (Vier Minuten) expressly explores the dark side of disenfranchised genius.

Jenny von Loeben (Hannah Herzprung) is a piano prodigy suffering in a women's prison after taking the murder wrap for her deadbeat boyfriend. Traude Krüger (Monica Bleibtreu) is her temporally paralyzed coach, having spent her life teaching piano to incarcerated women in memory of her lesbian lover, who was hung by a piano wire because of her ethnicity during the final days of World War II. Mütze (Sven Pippig) is the iconic lagging student, devoted to his patronage but unable to accept Jenny's privilege, especially after she sends him to the hospital for reconstructive surgery. Revenge, jealousy, cruelty, and loss loom large in this hard-boiled script, where no one is spared from Jenny's wanton precision. Her rage is poignantly juxtaposed with Krüger's crystallized loneliness and Kraus soothes the overt mania by interweaving tender moments from Krüger's youthful affair. Every character executes their designs to the best of their abilities in a convoluted deconstruction of what it means to forgive. Imprisoned lives and disadvantaged dreams attempting to stoically adjust to political postures that consistently crush them, where love is fleetingly permanent and trust a compromised conception. Four Minutes lays on the extremes and some of the situations are slightly far fetched, but within the evocative melodrama Herzprung and Bleibtrau provide powerful portrayals of the brutally alacric midpoint where devotion and corruption collide.

Jenny is given her chance, four minutes for fame, praised by the bourgeoise, arrested through the tradition. The dénouement presents a powerful critique of systematic condemnation while inherent within Jenny's rhythm lies a passionate orchestration of derelict cultural prodigy.