Wizards

Hellbent on absolutist discernment a mad wizard launches a war, his blind and terrorizing frenetic frenzy abolishing play and trust and dignity.

The hedonistic free and agile people dig in deep to wildly respond, exorcizing wave after demonic wave with unheralded self-sacrifice and bitter reckoning.

Another wizard heads into the fray and boldly sets out with determined accompaniment, of a joyful laidback disposition he'd much rather experiment or garden. 

The outer reaches of the post-apocalyptic struggling world as of yet unaffected, distinct realms and brave communities sternly await combative discipline. 

Humanistically inspiring for many long decades of settled reasonable cultivation, the Berlin Wall suddenly torn down, the neverending Cold War seemingly at an end.

The chillaxed Avatar a guiding focus exhaustively compelled to fight for good, even if he occasionally overlooks the antipathies unless directly tasked to acknowledge them. 

Why the obsession with power the stilted desire to manage and control, a bunch of people who aren't listening anyway and prefer simple pleasures to grandiose conjecture?

Is it really that much more exciting to follow a madman off a cliff, than to accept innate multiplicities which spice and flavour peaceful wanderings?

Is your town not all the better off for the different restaurants found within, the Indian and Chinese outlets which succulently lead to sushi and phở and baklava?

Do you know how healthy it is for your mind when you start to learn a second language, and how alert and active it keeps you like brainiac caffeine culturally brewed?

These different groups that make up a community don't lead to chaos and division, they motivate change through curiosity as artistic works and athletics disseminate!

Immigration is the foundation of North America and will always be a dependable resource. 

Without modest change there's no stability. 

No reward or sacrifice.

It's fundamental. 

Gandahar

Lost in the peaceful elegant simplicity of humble distinct village life, the people have neither want nor vehement complaint as the carefree millennia fruitfully merge. 

Living harmoniously with nature they have all they need to frolic and gambol, the matriarchal realm organically constructed in heartfelt sonorous temperate melody. 

Yet strange occurrences begin to take place as villagers on the outskirts are found turned to stone, with no indications as to what's going on the mystery confounding the Council of Elders.

The leading matriarch's impetuous son is reluctantly chosen to swiftly investigate, quickly heading out on a winged steed to the unknown reaches of illustrious Gandahar.

After being attacked in the sky, he is sympathetically taken in by Dickensian outcasts, sublime survivors of a different regime which embraced fascist experiment to achieve mad objectives. 

Longing to return to their former city they use special powers to aid the warrior, who continues on his industrious journey with resolute courage and resourceful knowhow.

Only to discover a villainous plot whereby an army of hostile robots.

Is being lead by a murderous brain. 

With the hopes of condemning his people to oblivion. 

If industrial and technological revolutions hadn't utterly transformed existence, would the mellifluous state of organic nature not be more reliable still?

Life may be shorter with less creature comforts and useful medicines may be hard to come by, but would there be as much of a need for them if disease itself hadn't critically evolved?

We did live this way for thousands of years and even if people did fight amongst themselves, was the health of the planet still largely unaffected and were many animal species not driven to extinction?

If oil runs out, the consistency of the future will no doubt be mired in fluctuating uncertainty, will organic technologies emerge to sustain the infrastructure, or will the advanced lock the remnants of civilization down in gated communities? 

So many forecasts, potential disillusion, so much to learn, variants and mutations. 

More chill to settle into the Holiday Season. 

Friends and family, warmth and magic. 

Jiang Ziya

The realm of the demon scurrilously oppresses the unsuspecting people with wicked cunning, until the gods take fluent cardigan mercy and affably supply a kind-hearted champion.

The foes clash and battle and destroy until beauty and wonder fade from the Earth, and all that's left are wanton reflexes bombastically seeking mortal ruin.

Eventually, the fighting stops and the kind-hearted warrior is tasked once again, to see if he is ready to rule the gods with bold decision and incarnate reckoning. 

Banished to a frozen wasteland with many others whom he once fought, he can't sit still and humbly contemplate while tempting questions lithely fluster.

He sets out in search of answers sympathetically unable to obey commands, the compelling drive to aid his new friend in resolute question upheld unbidden.

Yet a higher level of executive functioning officiously scrutinizes his acts meanwhile. 

Attempting to cataclysmically transform.

Kind-hearted reason into absolutist sufferance. 

Does leadership command the unprincipled devotion of warlike jaded contradictory cynicism, or do compassionate alternatives modestly contend with thoughtful levity and playful understanding?

The bellicose leader will no doubt attempt to sincerely seem laidback and humorous, while the decent individual will at times employ strength and discipline to get things done.

But at the end of the day the kind-hearted leader facilitates consistency and open-minded trust (Augustus Caesar/Claudius), while the self-obsessed demagogue extracts envy from decay in a constantly shifting foundationless masquerade (Tiberius/Caligula). 

If you study your nation's leadership going back for hundreds of years, if democratically affiliated, you'll find multivariability. 

Thus Clement Attlee defeated Winston Churchill - how did that happen? - in 1945.

And Biden defeated Trump.

Only to be thrown under the bus for his troubles. 

The Green Knight

Born of lofty rank yet lacking bold chivalric industry, King Arthur's nephew lounges and carouses as the dolorous days pass by in Camelot.

Age has greeted the King with kind and pleasant noteworthy grace, his deeds admired and celebrated his rule enduring just unchallenged. 

His days of colloquially questing have fondly passed into history however, yet he still considers ornate pageantry when congenially conversing with younger generations. 

His nephew's mother grows weary of the reckless ill-composed dissolute inconsiderate debauchery, and embraces witchcraft to conjure a trial which may bring honour and widespread renown. 

The King recognizes the stately spirit of bygone days in the cynosure sorcery, and grants his nephew torrential tidings illustriously reckoned with regal resonance. 

Thus, when an agéd knight of ancient legend arrives in court on Christmas day, and courageously challenges the solemn round table to a mystic exchange of bombastic blows, Arthur tasks his unproven nephew with urgently responding to the murky mischief, and uncertain of his honourable objective, he proceeds to cut off the Green Knight's head. 

But the challenge indeed firmly stated that that very same blow would be returned the next year.

At which point Gawain must head to the countryside.

And seek the Green Knight alone.

It's classic mismatching temperaments resoundingly radiating obscure elasticity, as a profound misjudgment unwittingly leads to upright disillusion and serpentine sentiment. 

Bravely challenged in front of the council whose habitual deeds had been highly praised, Gawain thought it wise to respond in epic fashion and diabolical display.

Nervous regarding his status and intuitively seeking his uncle's regard, he reacts with far too much ferocity to awkwardly fit in with ill-suited surroundings. 

Had he wisely announced that he had no quarrel with the mischievous knight, and refused to thrash him or exchange blows his humble recognition may been rewarded, he would have risked the gawking discredit of the emboldened nobles within the room, but many others would have noted how brave it indubitably was to refuse the challenge.

That wouldn't have been much of a film nevertheless I sedately and sensationally suppose, although it would have snuggly fit his reliable personality as it had been cast.

A maladroit meander through the surreal bewildering lands of legendary England therefore awaits, the knight becoming more and more distressingly confused with each passing unassuming spirited day. 

Pay close attention and make sure to catch the extant grizzly amidst the whale bones.

Mirthful macabre mayhem. 

A comedic foil in the superhero age. 

Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom

Cool takeaways from Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom:

The story takes Global Heating seriously with the hopes of convincing nations around the world to do the same. It actually employs an even more destructive way to heat up the planet, in order to remind us that our current industrial endeavours lack sustainable foresight, the reckless burning of an ancient ore which is extremely toxic and highly volatile, it's actually burned to speed up Global Heating, and melt Antarctica to free an ancient king (it's Antarctica week!).

Cool to see action/adventure films taking environmental issues seriously. I think we can clean up contemporary industry. Not overnight but in the foreseeable future.

Interesting to see ye olde Antarctica feature heavily in another narrative. It would be so much fun to explore. The ancient secrets of an archaeological lifetime (I don't want the planet to heat to the point where it melts, but it will probably melt naturally someday, perhaps millions of years from now, and it would be cool to be there then).

The Sahara is also featured near the beginning when Aquaman has to break his brother out of prison, the jail residing beneath the enormous desert, a forbidding place for people of the sea.

Reminding us that it used to once be an imposing ocean, it collegially harmonizes with atemporal infinities, thereby highlighting the present's transitory nature, which makes it all the more enticing.

I've heard that in many countries around the world people like to eat bugs, and it's something I'd like to try, even though my initial reaction may be somewhat shocking, assuming they're healthy, hey, why not? Aquaman takes a comic look at the phenomenon perhaps to usher in new culinary trends. They do seem like a limitless food source. But how do they work with vegetarianism? 

Aquaman loves his family which I thought was cool to see, he isn't too busy running his kingdom to spend time with his newborn child. He wants to be there and genuinely cares which made me think of dad when I was growing up. Things don't always work out but it's no doubt cool when they effectively do.

At one point flares are shot into the air to light up the sombre surroundings, and they almost look like constellations when they explode. I thought it would have been cool if they had been Australasian constellations indeed to pyrotechnically salute Antarctica etc., that would be cool if artists could do that with actual fireworks as well.

I understand Aquaman's frustrations with just trying to quickly get 'er done. It's so much easier to work on your own and make your own decisions as they suit your circumstances. But councils and parliaments do provide lucid oversight that prevents tyrants from recklessly governing. One emperor may be wise and just like Augustus Caesar/Aquaman. But who knows when you'll wind up with Caligula/Orm?

And I was worried that dynamic whale-kind had been overlooked in the versatile script, since they didn't show up for freakin' ever and much of the story takes place underwater. Just wait for it, even if you don't like fantasy films, if you like whales I'm sure you'll love the scene. It actually relates to the ways in which the noise from human technology is disturbing marine life around the globe. Giving such life an opportunity to fight back!

Solid whale representation!

Plus, amazing octopus representation (ban octopus farming!).

A fun film to watch. 

Jason Momoa puts on a good show.

The Lost City

A famous adventure/romance novelist (Sandra Bullock as Loretta Sage) begins to question her professional identity, when the launch of her latest book fails to inspire commercial motivation.

She's done it so many times that the book tour and associated hoopla, seem too superficial to sincerely entertain even though her adoring fans can't wait.

She's jealous of the easy going male model (Channing Tatum as Alan) who adorns the covers of her texts as well, he loves the media sensation, this doesn't evince discerning pageantry.

After she turns the anticipated launch into a dire ill-fated farce, she seeks in vain for heartfelt felicity, before a covetous mean-spirited billionaire (Daniel Radcliffe as Abigail Fairfax) suddenly has her kidnapped. 

She's flown to a tropical island and tasked with locating enticing treasure, local Natives imploring them to leave it alone, the alarming obsession metastasizing madness.

Alan soon follows along with an Indiana Jones/James Bond type rescuer (Brad Pitt as Jack Trainer). 

Ill-prepared for the ensuing task force.

Still improvising with resonant throng. 

The Lost City embraces traditional stately oft criticized tropes and accessories, yet effectively makes the age old adventurous point, that its principal goal is to just entertain. 

Therefore, I had to ask myself, am I genuinely enjoying this film?, beyond multivariable criteria, and I had to admit, I was.

I was lightheartedly reminded that novel bizarre stylistic independence, and counterintuitive literary jigsaw, don't imaginatively motivate some, who are more concerned with intuitive fun.

I suppose a lot of the time it isn't the mischievous wordplay, but just hot bods and romantic adventure that make people interested in watching films.

I also suppose it isn't the goal of many to only enhance the authentic aura, of low-budget brainiac films perhaps one day destined for whimsical cult status (it doesn't make any sense!).

The pandemic's cut me off from theatres and my lifestyle changed as time moved on, and I found for the first time in over a decade I had what is known as free time.

I love the free time I have to just to sit back and listen to music.

But movies are meant to be seen on screen.

The direct experience deconstructing cynicism.  

*Loved the Raiders/Terminator pastiche near the end.

Tenkû no shiro Rapyuta (Castle in the Sky)

A largely unknown mythical heritage gracefully envelopes young aloof Sheeta, who would rather just be left alone than frenetically chased by an irate military.

Pazu has found work and community when he suddenly finds her one fortuitous day, and helps her feverishly escape when her former captors defiantly threaten.

Pirates also emerge in search of legendary boundless treasure, to which they believe Sheeta holds the key unlocking mad abundant riches.

They search for an ancient legend solemnly floating in the sky, where once a race of international influencers secretly advanced global sociocultural reckoning.

They also hypothetically accumulated mass resourceful mineral commodities, how to infiltrate and escape with such embroidered booty remaining a compelling infinite challenge.

The military naturally thinks the fortress could be used as an invincible weapon, and seeks to somehow control it with no prior knowledge of the structure whatsoever. 

A descendent of the race who once dwelt there seeks the same thing but possesses access codes, and could theoretically wield its power should he acquire Sheeta's magic talisman.

She's much more modern however and adamantly agrees with her mystical forebears.

Isn't it more exciting to live on the surface?

Away from lofty sequestered disparities.

I imagine it's fun to live everywhere perhaps even under the ocean in a secret sea fortress, which could furtively move undetected alongside pods of whales and ebullient dolphins (wrote this before I saw Ponyo). 

The tale still presents a classic narrative style congenially bent on less stratified collectives, wherein which mutual prosperity guides communal initiatives with fluent understanding.

I'm surprised a live action version of this story has yet to be made, it's the best fantasy film I've seen in years and has so many thrilling adventurous elements. 

The magical ties to ancient ways still potentially producing postmodern peculiarities. 

Is this just something people have always assumed?

Still fun to have (harmless) origin myths at times. 

Mononoke-hime (Princess Mononoke)

A young prince must fight a demon who threatens the prosperity of his humble village (Yôji Matsuda as Ashitaka), his people forced to flee long ago after infuriating the emperor. 

He successfully slays the intruder but touches its infected tentacles too, a curse then emerging within his arm which the village elders cannot cure.

Not willing to sit back while it spreads he boldly departs in search of medicine, making his way to a rowdy village engaged in the act of making iron.

He's welcomed for having rescued some of its menfolk from irate wolves, the village leader (Yûko Tanaka as Eboshi-gozen) eagerly entertaining and letting him get to know her people.

But as it dishearteningly turns out, their ironworks is destroying the local wilderness, where a resident forest god has lived forever, in quiet peace and regal seclusion. 

The animals are loosely united and intent on fighting the destructive town, arguments erupting amongst them, at other times, cohesive calm.

A young maiden lives with the wolves and is just as fierce in her condemnation, known as Princess Mononoke (Yuriko Ishida), she denies fear and exhales resolve.

Prince Ashitaka soon finds he's in love with her as all hell emphatically breaks loose.

Eboshi-gozen wants the god's head to grant immortality. 

But is unsure if the legend's true. 

Princess Mononoke and Prince Ashitaka find comfort in their mutual adoring amicability, the ideal unification of masculine and feminine harmoniously embracing age old enlightened daring.

It's more difficult to figure out the role matronistically played by Eboshi-gozen within, for on the one hand she supplies freedom and community, on the other, environmental devastation.

Not only the naturalistic bedlam to be expected by efficient mining, but she also pursues the forest god itself, intent on despairing ancient resiliency. 

She frees many from vile servitude and supplies honest work for her surrounding cast, while promoting the development of Mordor, it's a difficult contradiction to balance.

Environmentally friendly mining practices at peace with resident animals, certainly would have been less burdensome, and providing a heightened degree of friendly interdependency.

Love still innocently flourishes beyond problems associated with industrialization.

A narrative like none other.

Forest mystics, spellbound exhilaration. 

*Note: Ghibli doesn't show up in spellcheck!

The Knight Before Christmas

A bold knight (Josh Whitehouse as Sir Cole) honourably avails emphatically attuned to the 14th century, warmly accustomed to duty and responsibility as he bravely embraces work and play.

But he has yet to fulfill a quest and thereby improve his chivalric standing, the lack of enchanted adventurous reckoning causing him sincere subconscious dismay.

Until one day alone in the woods what's referred to as "an old crone" mysteriously appears, and tells him of "steel dragons" and "magic boxes" far off in the distant future.

Soon he's transported to the present day without much information to clarify his purpose, when a weary damsel comes to his aid and provides food and shelter for the upcoming holidays (Vanessa Hudgens as Brooke).

She's depressed after having recently lost one whom she loved who treated her crudely, casting her off for the attentions of another who remains uncritical of his unjust behaviour.

As a result, an honest and trusting heartfelt lass has lost faith in true love, and even shares her woebegone misgivings with her confused students as they seek her counsel.

The knight proves a novel distraction as he reacts to the ways of the present, marvelling at the bounty to be found at the supermarket, chasing skunks, and learning to drive.

But he can't figure out his quest and its imposing deadline looms.

Will he find the solution in time?

Or will blasé cynicism ignite disdain!?

Amorously blending cultural codes from disparate centuries united by romance, The Knight Before Christmas exuberantly chronicles timeless star-crossed endearing affection.

Also rewarding charity and self-sacrifice it doesn't shy away from constructive do-gooding, and doesn't present scandalous ulterior motives for age old cohesive communal camaraderie. 

Certainly one must remain vigilant to counter stratagems which prey on trust, but you also can't become so cold and isolated that you no longer recognize genuine honesty.

It's a fine balance that's continuously shifting as new developments strikingly emerge, patterns adapting to unprecedented reactions to newfound endeavours reverberating wonder.

Brooke's strong heart is rewarded by supernatural witchcraft concerned with well-being, the knight also learning to extend himself beyond traditional yearnings for legendary renown.

Within postmodern domesticity he finds grand adventure facilitated.

As so many often do.

Even if you rarely hear about it. 

*Shot in brilliant locations.

Love & Monsters

As a giant asteroid heads towards Earth, international consensus launches a strike, of hundreds of volatile nuclear missals, which mange to chaotically get 'er done.

But unfortunately the fallout from the explosions leads to extreme environmental disaster, as tiny insects see exponential growth, and proceed to take out most of humanity.

The survivors live in isolated communities kept in close contact through radio, able to survive and gather food on the surface as long as they can avoid the inveterate beasties.

Joel Dawson (Dylan O'Brien) lives with a tight-knit community resiliently composed through extracurricular agency, but he's generally critiqued by his fellow survivalists for lacking determined battle hardened wherewithal.

But he still adventurously dreams of love lost in the bitter apocalypse, and is able to contact his cherished love interest through old school tenderized trusted technologies. 

Tired of having no opportunity to prove himself, he decides to head out to meet her (Jessica Henwick as Aimee), the distance daunting the quest calamitous, resources scanty, awareness, lacking.

But to dream is to resonate spirit ethereally expanding through limitless boundaries, and Joel possesses indomitable daring romantically synergizing illustrious l'amour.

Naturally, she's moved on when he reaches her but it was still worth the herculean effort.

Which taught him to cultivate courage.

And randomly reflex and improvise.

A dramatic tale comedically denoting sci-fi love in a time a horror, Love & Monsters champions reveries within localized epic congress.

The foolish flourish, ferment, and flounder, yet still matriculate through honest endeavour, trials tantalizing friendship impressed with neither recollection nor spastic endurance.

I suppose if at one time you have billions of insects and then perhaps millions of them mutate to gigantic proportions, their numbers may drastically decrease in the aftermath, if they also take on the reproductive rates of lions or tigers.

But would reproductive rates have been effected, wouldn't the abundant gigantic insects reproduce at such a rate that the Earth's bountiful resources would be consumed in less than a fortnight?

Perhaps not, there's not much data to go on, but fortunately forests remain in tact, and even if humanity's scattered and demoralized, there's still communication and interactive hope.

Joel's an understanding protagonist who can go with or direct the flow.

Encouraged by trial and error.

Seeds of resolute calm. 

The Last Unicorn

A lone unicorn forages in her forest (Mia Farrow), rather peaceful and unaware, as two hunters ride by attentively, distraught yet boastful as they search in vain.

But they converse as they critique their fortunes and unicorn listens closely, only to discover she's the last of her kind, should their bold declarations prove to be true.

Then accidentally, shortly thereafter, a boisterous butterfly stops by to say, "hello"(Robert Klein), full of song, rhyme, lyric, and flutter, composed through verbose disorientation.

Unicorn expresses her discontent with butterfly but still asks if she's the last of her kind, and he eventually presents a statement that's less befuddling if not still indirect.

Consequently, equipped with legendary knowledge and the passion to expedite change, she ventures forth in search of the Red Bull who has cruelly cloistered her fellow immortals.

Unaccustomed to questing or the world beyond her forested domain, she soon finds herself trapped by a witch and suddenly showcased in a travelling sideshow (Angela Lansbury). 

But also within the witch's employ is Schmendrick the Magician who's grown rather frustrated (Alan Arkin), not only with his position but with his fickle powers as well.

He's able to see the unicorn, her innate magic isn't hidden from view, he feels sad, he helps her escape, they move forward together, with undaunted high hopes.

A world of riddles and cryptic bemusement playfully yet hauntingly awaits, as a decrepit castle and its melancholic ruler guard a wicked age old secret (Christopher Lee). 

In terms of magic, The Last Unicorn bedazzles through charming character enchantingly invested, the narrative's music, romance, and import conjuring eloquent rhythms eclectic.

If legendary genesis never seems quite so lofty at the time of its humble début, its cheeky contemporaries full of suspicion, its requisite quest somewhat less mesmerizing, then any legend can take on the visions of a disgruntled merrymaking present, and a timeless quality effortlessly emerges, as ahistorical, as it is wise.

Thus, The Last Unicorn, while cultivating agéd times and lands, still resonates with postmodern fortitude, with ancient concurrent melodies.

Is "postmodern" still a synonym for "contemporary", insofar as this has been claimed to be the postmodern age, for some time, an incredibly diverse inclusive metaimpetus 😌, with loopholes outrageously exploited through aggrieved populism?

Nevertheless, I'm resoundingly hopeful that Rankin & Bass's Last Unicorn will endure, I never saw it in my youth, and have watched it twice in recent memory.

The butterfly scene more than that, what a beautiful idea, butterfly and unicorn.

I have seen their Hobbit cartoon several times. But alas. I can no longer find it. 😔  

Dragonslayer

Perhaps imagine COVID-19 as a monstrous dragon, and the heroic medical staff battling it adventurers of old, their quest having been thrust upon them, inspirational responses extolled and trending.

An aged wizard's sage awareness awaits a quest forthcoming (Ralph Richardson as Ulrich), his bold apprentice bemused and fitful (Peter MacNicol as Galen), the faithful announce they have arrived.

They believe only he can vanquish a dragon who constantly threatens to terrorize their lands, its will merciless and unrelenting, yet appeased through maiden sacrifice.

Ulrich humbly grants them audience then agrees to forthrightly aid, setting forth that very same day, unconcerned yet frail and weary.

But a representative of the King (Peter Eyre) has followed them (John Hallam as Tyrian), and he does not believe in magic, requiring proof of Ulirch's prowess, a test which he's unfortunately doomed to fail.

His apprentice grieves undaunted, and clutches a spellbound amulet, which increases his powers tenfold, and provides him with spirited courage.

They depart to face the dragon and end his covetous tyrannical reign, but their goal is fraught with peril, and disastrous crypt uncertainty.

For if they are unsuccessful it will unleash diabolical fury.

Throughout the peaceful land.

Yet the situation remains intolerable.

And no one else is willing.

In an age when magic is fading from the world, having been supplanted by alternative spirituality, extant practitioners still heroically clash, to salute reckonings paradigmatic.

Royalty is not excluded, for the King's daughter (Chloe Salaman as Princess Elspeth) seeks not elite preference, a time when barriers between classes were being challenged, when the concept of fair play was something honourable.

While I believe Marvel Studios seeks to perfect age old narrative questing, and often does a remarkable job, its workforce perhaps raised on Superman and Dragonslayer, which urged them to vigorously diversify adventure, criticisms of their success akin to sour grapes, the opportunity to craft realistic drama pending, sometimes its heroes lack the unsung common touch, they're too ingenious and augustly endowed.

Although perhaps I'm being unfair, for we're introduced to Hawkeye's family, and Spider-Man's a kid from New York, and Star-Lord's a bit of a screw up (who still has his own ship).

It's still not the same.

It's almost cooler to see foolish Galen battle a dragon in the ramshackle Dragonslayer, making it up as he audaciously goes along, with neither team nor retinue, his friends helping him prepare and train.

He lacks wealth and cultural distinction yet still fights with transcendent courage.

Incredibly plying his trade.

Without recourse to vast enlightenment.

Setting forth day after day.

Onward

I hope everyone's safe during these stressful times. I'll probably be focusing on movie rentals for the next couple of weeks but I did see a couple of films before things intensified.

Pixar's Onward presents a world wherein which fantasy has been replaced by modern convenience, elves and unicorns and cyclopses living suburban domestic lives, the thrill of questing overwhelmed by scientific adaptation, latent strengths subconsciously shimmering, unplanned adventure accounted for otherwise.

Two brothers playfully reckon within the alternative conception, one shy and focused on school, the other wild and reckless and daring.

Their mom (Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Laurel Lightfoot) has boldly raised them alone, since shortly after the birth of her second son, but she's found a new partner who helps out (Mel Rodriguez as Colt Bronco), the two forging a caretaking fluency.

Which is suddenly tested and challenged on Ian Lightfoot's (Tom Holland) 16th birthday, after he receives a gift left to him by his generous dad, a staff no less of wizarding renown, complete with a spell channelling reincarnation.

The elder Barley (Chris Pratt) seeks to wield its resiliency, for he's in touch with bygone days of yore, but he lacks verified authenticity, his spirit still ye olde die hard.

He's impressed when Ian the younger accidentally generates vision, but his sights fall short of reanimate goals, a quest necessitated sparked thereafter, the two departing with accents fateful.

And to hasten their destined good fortune, old school clues still commercially abound, a path purposefully and piquantly pinpointed, through cloaked coaxing postmodern realms.

Not this blog.

A puzzle at a Manticore's (Octavia Spencer) family restaurant.

The Manticore soon following in hot pursuit.

Accompanied by one concerned mom.

An imaginative synthesis of disparate epochs awaits in Onward's fraternal reels, as uncertain raw ambitions clash with preplanned determinate yields.

Reminiscent of long lost considerations concerning the cost of extant classics, their prices incongruously reflecting their contents, their value oft overlooked, disregarded.

Yet these classics still hold precious astral ascensions beheld by generations long passed, their texts emitting contemporary resonance distilled like essential tranquility.

Onward perhaps doesn't reach such a level but it still reverberates with atemporal antiquity, focused on vigorous concentrate, bizarro bewitching indiscretions.

Perhaps something's been lost in recent centuries as technology's progressed exponentially, as appliances ease once ubiquitous burdens, as knowledge globally and internationally expands.

But you can still find that primordial spirit should you have the will to seek it, as simple as a trip to Parc Jean-Drapeau, or restaurants chosen at random.

There are many ways to fill your life with unfiltered excitement, classic art, walks in the woods, and good food just the tip of the iceberg.

But we've more or less lost some ways that used to be quite destructive too, such as global conflict and fast spreading diseases.

So remember to proceed with caution.

In case you don't like what you find.

I'm looking at you coronavirus.

I support strong measures to prevent it from spreading.

The medical personnel who have to fight it are risking their lives.

Dolittle

An eccentric doctor imprisoned by grief makes the most of his settled routine, taking care of an eclectic menagerie while managing a cloistered estate.

But his seclusion is to be interrupted as a royal patron beckons, she's fallen ill and can't find a cure and knows Dolittle's (Robert Downey Jr.) honest and true.

He's a gifted polyglot as it were who can speak with each and every animal, applying his unique talents to the inviolable veterinary, unravelling inextricable enlivening Beatrix.

Diplomatically assuaging instinct.

To facilitate communal fluencies.

Those who would dispose of the Queen (Jessie Buckley) are none too keen to see him enlisted, even if his quest is against all odds. It's been years since he's left his domain. But he proceeds with animate rigour.

They follow him anyway with villainous intent well-endowed with extraordinary resources, but he possesses adaptive extemporaneous finesse, and can make adjustments which variably avail.

Aided by another who also loves animal kind, they set forth with noble purpose, to break free from slack despondency, and seek robust unheralded virtues.

Clues have they which may lead to nimble fortune.

In defiance of time and tide.

As raccoons shift and sway.

Their voyage symbiotically commences.

The film excels at employing whale kind to assist with bold navigation, briefly granting services submerged to accelerate adventurous import.

Ravages wrought on fierce independence aren't overlooked or casually conveyed, for a tiger has been driven mad by his confinement, incarcerated in vengeful chains.

A cohesive group, gregarious gallantry, enables velveteen execution, a binding adherence to mutual respect reifying the superlative laissez-faire.

In surest action.

Melodiously disposed.

Avidly progressing from trial to predicament, the film perhaps revels in augmented haste, rarely pausing to rear and reflect, instantaneous unimpaired impacts.

Its target audience unperturbed by the steady alert quickening, direct meaning addressing identity, reactions brisk to untold considerations, Dolittle's less concerned with mature obfuscations, immersed in innocent wondrous candour.

Assured unbeknownst lackadaisical ingenuity, it may be easy to find faults, but would a 5-year-old care?

Cool animals.

Spirited goodwill.

Frozen II

The difficulties of mastering flawless positive speech that outmanoeuvres misinterpretation, finds itself humorously depicted in Frozen II, as an enamoured lad seeks conjugal union, and a mysterious voice beckons far away.

It can be a delicate art requiring stealth and foresight, the rewards of which may be as enduring as the punishments severe.

Best to accustom today's youth with non-threatening exemplars of the phenomenon, to instruct them in courtship ritual without disparaging l'amour.

Preparation can no doubt come in handy but the challenge thinks for itself and analyzes, while in sport there's often subsequent opportunities that are much more grave and emotionless.

Fortunately, as time passes, and expectations lower through habitual frustration, disbelief may transform into cheek, which can be more pleasant in conversation.

Nevertheless, the pleasant and playful nature of the cheek can cut deep if lines are crossed, and discovering the character of such lines can be baffling, if you proceed in sarcastic error.

Blunt hopelessness can also generate fervour thanks to the preponderance of alluring sitcoms, but your inner caveperson can't be too savage if it's to feast 'pon nimble nuptials, not that it still can't wax blunt and beastly while applying scandalous enchantments, just a matter of discovering that line, and its various malleable preferences.

If the beast doth find itself wed, said enchantments may slowly lose their lustre, at which point a more robust appeal to enthused gentility, approaching but never realizing neutrality, may encourage less animated hostilities, or perhaps even reincarnate charm.

Of course it can help if your partner once indeed found you fascinating, and isn't interested in shaking things up, going through the whole process again a tedious bother, if you can't simply forgive and take.

I admit that without the fascination it can be bewildering as to how to proceed, and perhaps not worth the effort, if it must be relied upon in perpetuity.

But arranged marriages do seem to flourish at times as the couple engenders divine trial and error, although so many stunning passionate texts have been crafted as they fray.

Best not to think about it perhaps, natural blundering oft preferred to rehearsed theatrics, are they jazzy or strictly classical?, or a bountiful counterpoised mix of the two?

Changing as the years pass.

Clues help.

Decipherable clues.

Correct assumption besting bewildered resonance.

I suppose it's fun, it's supposed to be fun.

Keep that in mind, remain light of heart.

Frozen II! 

*I've been single most of my life.

Diqiu zuihou de yewan (Long Day's Journey into Night)

Anxieties of the inconsequential reimagine derelict desires, as guilt and a lack of purpose approach disdained oblivion.

Time to recollect, take stock, rediscover, make amends, recapture to crisply qualify, invigorate verbose loose ends.

Down the line, burlap breadcrumbs, wayward whispers coaxed, reclassified, far more questions than awkward answers, far more mystery than concrete clues, a fountainhead dissembling rations, the tracks followed arresting news.

What things were like when it seemed invincible, when life thrilled with chaotic refrain, as if freedom were nimbly tangible, disseminating secreted exclaim.

Ironclad substantial remonstrance disrupting carefree joys, bittersweet and bumptious longing, thick glacial abeyance.

Luo Hongwu (Jue Huang) navigates vague memories to adjust and define a feeling he can't recall, as if there's something ecstatically slumbering within exhaled mnemonic mists.

But the path isn't viscid or binding, there's still room for alternative flair, perhaps since the shoreline's receding, he's finally found something there.

Labyrinthine waking dream.

Not as unconscious as Bergman or Lynch, but still more surreal than shocked or cerebral, Gan Bi's Diqiu zuihou de yewan (Long Day's Journey into Night) reminisces to invoke cheer, without revealing aims or objectives.

There's a narrative, a story, but it's broken up like a cryptic jigsaw, with striking flashbacks that emerge unbidden, which winds clarify with mortal gravity.

Like a series of vignettes prevailingly bizarre, you can agilely pick and choose your favourites, then comatosely piece them together, with variable enlightening savour.

It approaches the macabre but never loses sight of the real, or at least what I've come to associate with logic, keeping rooted yet ready to blast off, like scaled traditional tracks mutating.

Search for the lost kernel.

Diversify breadth lengthwise.

Keep your mind active and open.

Feel free to lose sight of your goal.

*Not if you're playing professional sports.

There are shades of Inception artistically interwoven within, to keep you dislodged and uncertain, without structured definitive gains.

Have to start somewhere though, it's verifiable, at some point you have to write those first words, phrases, sentences, with some sort of goal in mind perhaps, that's bound to conjure innumerable alternatives.

Endemically.

Good companion film for Inception or Lost Highway.

I stand by my use of the word "cheer".

Ad Astra

Resolute calm enabling worn compact endurance, as split-second horizons galactically persevere.

Haunting commissions convivially prorated invoke distraught conjecture, amidst flossed commanding tremens, a firm shake, hardboiled rations.

Isolated escorts contract both fact and prayer to brave conflicted laments in disputed lunar wastes.

Provoked inherent danger characteristically anointing fury, as reckless impacting recourse gravitationally upends.

Heralds of the absurd embrace age old discretion to definitively proceed and spite incumbent salience.

Prerogative alternatives attuned to crisp latitude, wherewithal in bold defiance, the need-to-know forlorn, askew.

Comma weightlessness, resounding brace, emphatic nebulous accompaniments, maddeningly strained.

A destination charted, strictly relative, the loyal man pursues, a rewarding rash reunion, punchy portents, presence, portals.

Preservation.

In search of awestruck epic, Ad Astra evokes the severe, a textbook sequent caustic quest, a minimalistic slight solemnity.

The action disrupts the logic.

The thought disturbs the action.

It can't decide if it's cerebral psycho-sci-fi or reticent adventure, and the mix is disconcerting if not resignedly underscored.

Take the scenes where they drive across the moon's surface to reach a distant launchpad. There's plenty of opportunity to develop character through dialogue as they cross the inhospitable terrain, while intercutting shots of the heavens to add interstellar savour, but instead they're hounded by bandits shortly after they depart, of course barely making it after sustaining heavy casualties.

Before this scene the film seems serious, like it wouldn't rely on something so obvious, like it's more concerned with brains than brawn, like it has true epic potential.

It's very similar to Apocalypse Now, inasmuch as they both concern young capable determined officers given assignments which demand stealth and sacrifice, which demand they navigate extreme hardships to confront heroes who have lost their minds in remote locations.

There isn't much dialogue in Apocalypse Now either, but it's also an innovative groundbreaking visceral risk-fuelled narrative shot on site in the Philippines, where the actors had to dig deep just to deal with production demands.

Several of its scenes stick with you afterwards due to their enigmatic depth and Captain Willard's odd relationship with his crew. Ruth Negga's scenes (Helen Lantos) stand out in Ad Astra, but without a consistent supporting cast, or much dialogue to work with, and a tiresome psychological test Roy McBride (Brad Pitt) has to take regularly, Ad Astra doesn't measure up, and leaves you wishing it had drawn parallels more precisely.

Apocalypse Now's rich with the spirit of independence that's difficult to create in a studio.

Ad Astra's alright, it's entertaining, I was disappointed but wasn't bored, but from the way it begins and its cast and its premise I thought it would be so much more.

Perhaps a good companion film for Apocalypse Now on a double-bill though.

Make sure to show it first.

Save Brando till the bitter end.

Aquaman

Unbeknownst to surface dwellers who recklessly pollute its august fathoms, deep within the ocean reside 7 ancient civilizations.

Swathed in utmost secrecy, they flourish in blissful dissimulation.

Yet one king (Patrick Wilson as King Orm) has grown weary of land lubbing largesse, and madly seeks to start a war with the peoples above.

He requires the loyalty of 3 free realms to bellicosely embark, however, realms which have little interest in non-aquatic regal affairs.

But not all of his subjects believe his plan is conceptually sound, two of them hoping to challenge his legitimacy within reasonable lawful bounds (Amber Heard as Princess Mera and Willem Dafoe as Vulko), for a brother has he who was raised on land yet still commands creatures of the deep, and even though Aquaman (Jason Momoa) has never embraced his submerged heritage, they feel that he may, if he learns of its dire ambitions.

And that only he can thwart them.

His lighthouse keeping father (Temuera Morrison as Tom Curry) still awaits the return of his beloved Queen Atlanna (Nicole Kidman), each and every evening, and has since the day she was taken from him, and forced to marry against her will.

Aquaman can't remember her.

Although he's heard of her brilliant legend.

But his customs are not those of the aristocracy, in fact Aquaman playfully intertwines old and new world pretensions as it supernaturally decodes the throne.

With wild self-sacrificing purpose.

The seven realms could have each represented different philosophies more astutely had their lore been given more detailed narrativizations.

But Aquaman resists the urge to become overly complicated like Dune, even if it's still quite complex, its protagonist like a Paul Atreides who was raised amongst the Fremen, his charming rough adventurous spirit boldly holding the film together.

You don't have to suspend your disbelief to love Aquaman, you simply have to imagine you've never believed in anything before.

And let yourself be immersed in a chaotic world overflowing with innocence and curiosity.

The underwater worlds are incredible and it was soothing to imagine myself within them.

Swimming away.

Aspects of Aquaman may be so improbable that a degree of cynicism may surface.

But it's also saturated with ingenuous goodwill, reluctance and cheek diversifying its depths, uncertain outcomes delineating its contrariety, with objectives as lofty as they are foretold.

A choral cascade.

A mirthful maelstrom.

Transformers: The Last Knight

Can science, myth, religion, history, the aristocracy, the people, the British, Americans, the privileged, the self-made, the men, the women, humankind, and Autobots, be chaotically yet adventurously, ideologically yet practically, intergalactically yet locally, or quite simply extracurricularly brought together in a wild brainiacally styled jewelled Nile Summertime extravaganza, complete with a spellbinding mix of the brash and the delicate which epically unites risk, love, service and dedication, to thoroughly entertain while multilaterally seeking knowledge, like a trip to New York, or a voyage down under?

Yes.

I would say, "yes, yes they can."

"Affirmative" even.

A constructive ebb and flow.

It's always fun when the new Transformers films are released but I'll admit I've never enjoyed one as much as The Last Knight.

I mean, I'll actually watch this one again.

It's number 5 too.

So many metamorphic developments.

Plucky little Izabella (Isabela Moner), resiliently in search of friends and family.

The hyperreactive robotic butler (Jim Carter as Cogman), who flamboyantly yet earnestly adds neurotic inspirational spice.

Agent Simmons (Jon Turturro) is back, theorizing and analyzing his way to the heart of the narrative's conceit.

Sir Edmund Burton (Anthony Hopkins), youthfully and mischievously contemporizing more than a millennia of British legend.

England and the United States romantically come to terms?, the couple in question perhaps creating an invincible universal super being?

Plus secret entrances, spontaneous sushi, cheeky self-reflexive criticisms of blockbuster music, Cuba once again warmly featured in a 2017 American mainstream release, prophetic books preserved, getting-away-with-it explanations, scenarios, Bumblebee (Erik Aadahl), First Nations fluidity, Tony Hale (JPL Engineer), whales.

The wild script energetically shifts from sentiment to shock to certitude to sensation, manifold short scenes eclectically yet straightforwardly stitched together with (en)lightninglike speed and ornate dishevelled awareness.

Fascinated, 'twas I.

I've often thought these films don't focus enough on Transformers, but Last Knight presents a solid shapeshifting/organic blend, its biological proclivities overwhelming desires to see Transformers discursively deliberating, relevant contributing human factors, caught up in the thick of it, creating solutions intuitively their own.

In fact, the subplot involving Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen) was my least favourite part of the film.

The extraordinary examination of British History and its relationship to transforming-lifeforms-from-space easily made up for it though.

I'd love to see Stonehenge on the Summer Solstice during the witching hour.

How did they move those rocks?

They be pretty freakin' huge.

El abrazo de la serpiente (Embrace of the Serpent)

Serpentine seductions, recoiled recollections, imposed civilization, the Amazon, stratus immemorial.

A German ethnologist (Jan Bijvoet as as Theodor Koch-Grunberg) falls ill in the jungle and only one man knows the plant that can cure him.

He's reluctant to help however due to the ways in which Europeans have invaded and ravaged his lands.

Indigenous knowledge, they hadn't created firearms or printing presses, but their wisest knew everything about the land, the creatures and plants and seasonal harmonies, symbiotic symmetries, psychoencyclopedic utility, what to use and what not to use, how to co-exist for millennia, neither stewards nor supplicants, living with nature as one.

From their point of view, European culture may have resembled a serpent, a massive anaconda, sanctimoniously suffocating their people, with intent monstrous gluttony.

From that of the European, the serpent may have been symbolized by the Amazon river itself, terrifyingly labyrinthine, spiritual yet unaware of the Christian God.

These inadequate reflections haunt Theodor and Karamakate's (Nilbio Torres and Antonio Bolivar) hostile interactions as a Christianized Indigenous person (Yauenkü Migue as Manduca) mediates, fully aware of rubber plantation horrors, with the scars on his back to prove it.

There's a powerful scene where a crippled Indigenous rubber labourer begs to die after he's discovered alone by them, their dialogue affecting divergent moralities, as acculturation marches on.

The three travel through the jungle in search of a sacred plant (yakruna) and Karamakate's lost people whom he thought were dead, encountering the destructive path of progress along the way.

Old and new worlds clash as they struggle to forge an understanding, another plot following their path decades later, as a young admirer of Koch-Grunberg's work enlists Karamakate's aid to find yakruna after having read Theodor's diaries.

Throughout this plot thread, Karamakate worries that he's become a chullachaqui, an empty shell, a void, as his memories slowly start to return.

El abrazo de la serpiente (Embrace of the Serpent) values environmental wisdom, culture, immersion, gradually heightening colonialist tensions, as they move closer and closer toward medicinal convalescence.

Progress itself is Ciro Guerra's unwilling target, as the dark side of rapid commercial expansion clashes with the remnants of holistic worlds.

A cautious pace lures you into the narrative and lets its unveilings speak for themselves, while mesmerizingly intuiting dreamlike fascination and cultivated dread, a wild consciousness, harnessed, revitalized, exclaimed.

What a world it must have been.

The moon and the sun coaxed interactive eternity.

Blessed embowered succulence.

Transcendent joyful sorrow.