Deep Freeze

A loving family says farewell to its honoured grandpa one sad day, who had spent his life in traditional service to that same unit et au travail.

Hoping to one day meet again, they hire a new service to preserve his body, in new age cryogenic slumber until such a time as he can be reanimated. 

Things go well at the farsighted business as hundreds of wealthy people eagerly seek, newfound life in another epoch on down the road with their illness cured.

Family life returns to normal the humble father still working at the library, the mother making ends meritoriously meet, as a Grade 5 teacher, the children getting along.

Just as a brilliant yet mad disciplined scientist sets out to create an undead army, of somnambulistic unfrozen supermen steadfast and loyal to his every word.

He's developed a universal preservative which athletically reanimates frozen tissue, while making it susceptible to suggestion such as let's rule the entire world.

Working as a modest janitor he infiltrates the cryogenic facility, and continuously waits with diligent patience for the right moment to create his army.

As luck would have it, one carefree evening his fellow workers sit down to play, a heated game of Texas Hold 'Em with humble stakes and heartfelt empathy.

He makes sure to go all in early on so he'll get knocked out.

The slumbering automatons unconsciously awaiting.

His insane authoritative commands. 

*What would you do if you had your own army of reanimated Übermensch, son?

**First, I'd see if they could play hockey. Then, if they were athletically gifted, I'd make my own team and compete in the playoffs.

*What if they weren't that athletic?

**I might establish my own business. If they were skilled negotiators, we could make some serious money.

*Do you think harnessing the power of the undead would give you an unfair commercial advantage?

**Are you being facetious?

*Not intentionally. I suppose it's taken for granted that you wouldn't try to conquer the known universe?

**Why would I? It's already been done in the film!

*Crazy family reunion I'd say.

**That was an awkward Thanksgiving. 

The Borg

They were faced with the frustrating problem of seamlessly blending the organic with the technological, through the use of invasive brain implants designed to hardwire collective life.

They asked themselves the question is the organic itself technological?, is there an artificial component of the living, and if there indeed is so, why can't the technobiological function?

Ghastly experiments took place.

Thousands butchered in the name of science.

Before enough was learned about the brain to create synthetic computer models with which to experiment, the painstakingly acquired computational data eventually field tested with live specimens. 

The remodelling and recalibrations were just as horrifying as before, the experimental surgeries leaving thousands with untreatable enigmatic brain trauma.

There were mass protests critiquing the phenomenon but the technocratic state dismissed them, and preferred to believe they were definitively facilitating the evolution of their species. 

Many people followed them and as their research progressed they approved, they began to have more success which led to conflicting visions of the future.

Thought or spirit however was most indefinitely troubling, direct connections between thinking minds so thoughts could be shared without limits or boundaries.

The mechanical nature of the organic synthetically suggested there was a way, that remote psychological manifestations could be biologically linked through technoinnovations. 

Rather than continuing to experiment on live people, it was soon collectively decided, to use their research to precisely craft working individualistic models.

Finding the exacting blueprints the computer program delineating life itself, wherein which thought also existed alongside atemporal animal being, produced thousands of random creatures before they finally got it right, and the production of animate life softened the need for experimentation. 

Having succumbed to idealistic preaching the few inevitably chosen to link their minds, accepted their duty with resignation after seeing so much loss of life.

But as their minds were linked they omnisciently felt like they embodied absolutism. 

And called themselves the Borg.

Their mission intensifying ever after. 

Terror of Mechagodzilla

Robotic remnants sensationally scattered seabed sentiment covertly collected, awestruck absence belittled jaunting seductive salvage automaton rancour.

Dilettante dinosaur secluded submersion indelicate mind coercive concept, malignant control symbiotic surrogate submaritime sawdust cantankerous clippings.

Stealthy environs determinate strategy hamstrung hijacking tantalizing salience, interplanetary postures ambient armageddon abhorrent apocalypse enigmatic experiment. 

Familial felicity parental pondering dogmatic child filial fidelity, cloistered core values innocent isolation dutiful dagnabbit sequestered solace. 

Indisposed resurrection mechanized reanimation Domtar domination Mechagodzilla, disputatious temperaments argumentative outbursts insouciant ardour eclectic acrimony.

Finagled friendship tantamount teamwork tumultuous talents solemn smithereens, colossal candidature misaligned militants monstrous agglomeration global annexation.

Clandestine infiltration insatiable station erratic complacence dissident contemplation, eminent embarkation exotic distillation yabba-dabba nascence Doonesbury cadence.

Conscientious reluctance harbinger hesitance awkward immersion frenetic fervour, disciplined dalliance rebellious remonstrance Ringwaldo whereabouts lumberfreejacoby's.

Damselznick infatuation co-opted cohesion nefarious negligence neolithic hide, discursive disruptor alien agonzo meticulous Malachi Mt. Rushmoroeuvre. 

Canteborn conducive Caladan candlelight amorustik-tok acoustic ambrosia, agonized decomposed sullen altercation romantic maladroit dissonent engagement. 

Truculent emergence legionnaire lizardoz counterintuitive calicode succour, impassioned battle gargantuan Grenoble despondent destruction gainsay Godzilla.

Epoch endurance silicon studios eccentric enchantments mayhem metamorphoses, consistent concomitant delirious dramaturge ferocious febrile bewildering frequencies.

Endemic change multivariable matadors exuberant bastions abbreviated dispatch, agile acclimations bizarro adaptations extemporaneous interludes geologic sashay.

I wish I could get the sound Godzilla makes on my keyboard.

Audible discernment.

Wavelength latitude. 

Chikyû Bôeigun (The Mysterians)

A quiet town mellifluously enamoured energetically engages in festive rituals, communal friendship collectively augmenting spirited endeavours and cultivated mischief.

The lighthearted mild-mannered individuals curiously converse and dine at play, before a startling blaze is suddenly detected not far off in a nearby wood.

The radioactive nature of the fire chemically defies known scientific understanding, inherently baffling brave local residents who risk their lives to douse the flames.

But before such an occurrence can come to pass, a giant robot emerges from the Earth, and sets about destroying the town with awkward movements and delirious gusto.

The military is eventually able to thwart its destructive malevolent intent, just before its colonialist authorship tyrannically proclaims its wicked objectives.

Relying on their superior technology which destroyed their home world so long ago, they seek to establish a new base on Earth from which to spread their invasive fury.

Internationally disposed, the people of Earth courageously respond with bitter defiance.

Bombastic composure inevitably maneuvering. 

As mutually disabling conflict obliterates.

Strange how the art of diplomacy lacks effective resolve every 4 to 8 years, and bizarre developments maladroitly alter reliable seamless networks and agencies.

In The Mysterians, a constructive dialogue would have gone a long way to cultivate peace, and ensured potential harmony between the species as it was initially considered.

Would it have been that disillusioning to simply approach our planet in good faith, and congenially present their novel ideas with warm and friendly interplanetary mojo?

Alas, their characteristic machismo and absurd extremist irrational demands, lead the entire world to internationally unite and find innovative ways to outgun their technology.

Friendship could have gregariously reigned and affably brought forth mutual accommodations, as it has in most ages of prosperity as closely chronicled by observant scribes.

The Mysterians refuse to lighten up however and are therefore doomed to travel longingly through space.

Forever in search of a chaotic homeland.

Consistently silencing peaceful initiatives.  

Gojira (Godzilla)

In the original demonstroustive lobotomy, Godzilla haunts the forbidding seas, nuclear testing having enabled his reemergence, with fabled bellicose unfiltered brawn.

Ships begin to disappear and the mainland must take observant action, and indeed scientifically investigate the forlorn embattled terrified region.

Island legend warns of a giant-dinosaur-like-creature who once roamed the surrounding waters, in excruciating flagrant frenzy from time to time or epoch to epoch.

Upon arrival, noted scientists bask in prehistoric awe, as the colossal-beastie revels chaotically throughout the aggrieved distant locus.

ReBorn of nuclear experiment which greatly enhanced his body armour, invoking proclamations of invincibility throughout the industrious domain. 

Yet another disastrous weapon may be able to resoundingly sting however.

Its creator hesitant to deploy its hubris.

In light of fervent fee-fi-fo-fum.

Making much more of a tantalizing attempt to bombastically craft a compelling narrative, the first enraged Godzilla feature proceeds rather like a serious film.

Complete with a definitive way to radically save their island home, as opposed to the habitual acquiescence to Godzilla's unhinged distraught fury.

Reminding me at poignant points of ye olde Frankenstein or even Dracula,  there's much much more of a diabolical urge to effervescently ferment a legitimate film here.

With the incumbent scientist battling his will to painstakingly study the ancient beast, as it recklessly employs surreal embittered conspicuous contumacious brevity.

If only Godzilla had peacefully remained inattentively submerged below, and refused to unleash devastation at random upon the unsuspecting surface.

Nuclear experiment having audaciously mutated his once sedate and aloof spirit.

Grandiose ambition, ominous relief.

Fortuitous fuel. 

For so many sequels. 

Kaijûtô no kessen: Gojira no musuko (Son of Godzilla)

A forgotten island off the beaten track hosts grand monumental experiments, as revered scientists seek to increase the expanding world's food supply.

Indeed it is speculatively thought that the vital crops sustaining humanity, will fall short of the requisite yields in little more than a 100 years.

Thus, using silver iodide, an ingenious solution is hypothetically put forth, to produce vast weather altering scenarios which create forbidden extreme temperatures.

How the cultivation of extreme cold will help generate abundant crops, isn't provocatively explained although it's assumed there is an answer.

Meanwhile, the scientific equipment periodically detects confusing anomalies, which startle the dedicated technicians who remain uncertain as to their origins.

Until after their first experiment generates hostile colossal preying mantises, who in turn destroy a barrier of rock, within which lies a massive egg.

Before they can devour what lies within the young one's father fortuitously arrives, the ensuing battle borderline epic as Godzilla Jr. watches in breathless shock.

Soon noble Papa Godzilla is eagerly instructing his newborn lad, in the titanic arts of aggrieved distemper, the two blossoming in flower. 

But Kumonga, the local giant spider, has had enough of their tender bonding.  

And when Godzilla drifts off into monstrous slumber.

It comes a' creepily crawling.

The sensational details of the riveting romance which brought about Godzilla's curious offspring, are unfortunately missing from this lively film, perhaps waiting to be found in another instalment.

Yet a newborn Godzilla indeed exists and once inquisitively enacted engrained mischief, however unaware of his gigantic rivals he aloofly appeared to be.

Thanks to his father's teachings he learns to fight back nevertheless, and even saves good old dad from Kumonga in an epic battle near the film's end.

As to altering the weather, hasn't that tended to be considered a disastrous calamitous mistake, the potential room for catastrophic error and international bedlam maladroitly pending.

There are just two many variables to holistically account for when creating such devices, many of which remain beyond our comprehension and also likely beyond that of A.I.

At least it was generally thought to be an incredibly bad idea long ago. 

We have advanced considerably.

But the forecast still lacks precision. 

King Kong Lives

At the beginning of this instalment, King Kong finds himself near death, having survived an extended assault, but unable to move and awkwardly unconscious. 

He's kept alive for 10 years by a team of researchers who ingeniously construct him a new artificial heart, but they lack the requisite abundance of giant gorilla blood to delicately perform the incredible operation. 

Fortunately, at the same time, a bold adventurer is visiting Borneo, where an animate beastie takes note of his daring, and tries to catch him after falling forsooth.

He's able to outmaneuver and eventually capture her in record time, the scientists agreeing to pay his lofty fee if they can have access to her gorilla kinship.

Soon Kong's new brilliant heart efficiently pumps his apex consanguinity, and he's ready to once again embark upon unheralded journeys throughout the wilderness. 

But he detects that very same individual who serendipitously saved his exuberant life.

And the authorities refuse to just let them be.

After they escape to the nearby mountains.

The Kongs seem well-disposed to amorous union and heartfelt happenstance, as they freely explore the depths of their longing with timid yet curious affected insistence.

Certainly a rare species indeed it's no doubt fortuitous that they find one another, the academics and adventurers working posthaste to altruistically secure parkland in that very same Borneo.

Alas, before that parkland can be secured the military and paramilitary move in, and another unique and precious animal species is bombastically threatened through misguided hostility. 

It doesn't have to be that way, as previously mentioned the army could excel at protecting endangered species, and use its vast lands and resources within the United States and elsewhere to bravely care for courageous rhinos and elephants.

After the herds reach 50 to 100,000 the animals could be shipped back to fertile Africa, the U.N perhaps making an agreement with concerned national militaries to secure protection for the animals in the wild.

Kong and his mate likely would have just chilled far off in the mountains away from the 'burbs, and never would have disturbed idle civilization as it technologically diversified through electronic verve.

Left alone in their verdant woodland they could have built a civilization of their own, to be studied and researched and elucidated over the course of the compelling centuries.

Fortunately, there is another, as Kong's species conquers ignorance and disdain.

To be left alone in the jungle to flourish.

Emboldened, enriched, elongated. 

Bicentennial Man

The assembly line theoretically creates identical items, the reliability of its methods widely considered strictly uniform.

Is it possible that genuine difference can still emerge within however?

And introduce novel variability?

As it does in Bicentennial Man?

The film follows the path of a remarkably gifted automaton, who loyally interacts with a curious family for a friendly century or two.

As fate would have it, his initial owner isn't driven by obsessed possession, and lets him grow and explore his interests as his personality blossoms and thrives.

He isn't taken back to the shop his unique intelligence is highly valued, and quite lucrative as well as he creatively endeavours.

He's able to set out on his own eventually and builds a nice house next to the ocean, his genius multivariably expanding as the decades constructively pass.

The film was made before the internet took hold and social media changed communication, the story proceeding without speculative hypotheses regarding the nascent online world.

It certainly promotes A.I however and sees romantic value in the creation of robots, even if the amorous subplot doesn't work, this is The Terminator's antithesis.

It seems to have been technologically hewn to familially nurture a robotic future, wherein which fanciful automatons collegially co-exist with their biological counterparts. 

Like the community oriented Automata androids are not presented as something to be feared, or at least are shown to possess humanistic characteristics that generate consequent feelings of sympathy.

In Automata the superbrilliance of the uncanny droids ruffles a few feathers however, since their genius goes far beyond even the brightest human intelligence.

Cultivating compassion within the superbrilliant works rather well for communal construction.

The cultural maintenance of multivariable elements.

I'm still not sold on robots. 

The Island of Dr. Moreau

Lost, adrift, on the vast imposing interminable Pacific, rage erupting, thirst infuriating, until rescue emerges, with aloof repose. 

Douglas is taken to an isolated island where he's given time to rest and recuperate, still taken aback when he distressingly notices, that his room's been tightly locked down.

Not one to embrace incoherency, he soon picks the inordinate lock, and begins spying on the strange inhabitants as they experimentally express themselves. 

But lo and cross-breedingly behold, he's rather shocked to invariably find, that the secluded scientists working on the island, have created a colony of industrious mutants.

He tries to expediently escape but finds himself cut off from aquatic crafts, then chaotically immersed in a self-contained world presided over by a distant demagogue. 

It turns out he's applied his genius to the novel creation of a forbidden realm, wherein which beasts must cast off their ways and politely live like civilized humans. 

Unfortunately, order is upheld through the authoritarian dissemination of pain, each hybrid animal arrhythmically attached to a remote control which punishes disobedience. 

For most of the modest citizens the rules aren't particularly hard to follow.

But some question Moreau's civility.

And covet his daunting absolute impetus. 

Ah the perfect world idealistically enrapturing innate truth and justice, perhaps even flourishing here and there at times before newfound tensions and jealousies disrupt things. 

A logical world delectably defining codes of conduct and cerebral sentiments, through which harmony and balance are perennially restored through the judicious elevation of enlivening discipline. 

Alas, illustrious logic and reified reasonability don't prosper unchallenged, and the people lacking control of the spirited unity seek the recodification of the rules and regulations. 

Often trying to make a complicated system too simple (politics), or a simple system too complicated (commerce), while prohibiting the attainment of bountiful resources, the accumulation of which would pacify many.

But not all, the desire for power madly drives the overly ambitious to fits of frenzy.

Moreau's island destroyed and reconstructed every day.

Ingenious creation.

Dispersed manifold.

Old

Engaging thrilling prospects.

Resortful relaxation.

Pack up the fam, head down south.

Fare thee well road weary travellers.

The Cappa(bara) family takes such a spirited initiative, and soon arrives at a stunning locale, where others await and luxury accommodates, the stay promising to be uneventful. 

Briefly after settling in, a special opportunity is secretly presented, a coveted invitation to lounge for a day, reputedly favoured spry striking resiliency. 

Soon they're off with a gourmet spread stretched out and chillin' at the isolated beach, the families engaged in freeform conversation when it becomes apparent that many of them are sick.

Even worse, after an even shorter time it appears as if the young ones have suddenly sprouted, and that everyone is aging indeed, at a rapid unusual alarming pace!

Different methods of desperate escape naturally present themselves without much thinking, each of them as treacherous as the last as the woebegone venturers routinely phase.

And just as Horror Beach or Death Beach seems about to claim its final victims. 

Escape ideogrammatically matures. 

Having been nurtured throughout the ages.

Star Trek themes and plots terrestrially abound in the seductive Old, as rapid aging and medical malfeasance malpractically matricurate along the coast. 

Certainly a creepy caper reminding visitors never to leave the boat, for they may find a pandemic peculiarity contraceptively constructed with scampy decorum. 

Nazi scum experimented on humans as do the fascist Cardassian monsters, such a practice to be met with sincerest defiance, through the aggrievéd art of humanistic condemnation. 

Had the beach's unique capabilities been made strictly known to concerned public agencies, there's no doubt reasonable decorum would have efficiently encouraged effective recon.

It would have made a cool nature documentary since as far as I know nothing quite like it exists.

Just to learn about, like bears or wolverines. 

To remain aware, never to be forsaken. 

*The idea may have come from reckless government initiatives hoping to store toxic waste near vital aquatic resources. 

Oppenheimer

Nuclear weapons are a horrible thing.

They're easily the most reckless anything anyone has ever created, and it's an international miracle the secrets of their creation have been kept under lock and key to this present day.

For a while it seemed like their manufacture would become a thing of the past, as Russia and the United States struck accord after accord, and seemed ready to cultivate lasting peace throughout a united interactive world, wherein which difference wasn't something to be feared, and absolutes were nothing more than sewage.

But this historical epoch is partially defining itself in opposition to the last 30 years, as Trump has arisen to challenge them, so instead of a brilliant film like Planet of the Apes (1968), which effectively obliterated arguments in their defence, we have Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer, which revels and glorifies in their creation, overlooking the ill-fated Planet of the Apes sequel, Beneath the Planet of the Apes. 

Paying disingenuous lip service to the ways in which madmen can use them to coordinate mass destruction on a planetary scale, it instead introduces several powerful independent scientists, and examines various controversies as they jockey for position.

Thus, two prominent individuals see their reputations slowly ruined as the film bureaucratically concerns itself with bilateral character assassination, without really generating much character along the way, besides that associated with blind innocence and petty grievances. 

It's more like an academic paper with no sense of objectivity than a convincing film.

Prometheus taught the people to make fire so they could cook their own food and have warmth and entertainment.

Anyone who would have denied them such knowledge is certainly not worthy of divinity. 

Oppenheimer coordinated a team that built a nuclear weapon with the power to kill hundreds of thousands that select military officials can use hopefully only as a deterrent. 

Do you see how Prometheus is not like Oppenheimer? How the comparison is ridiculous?

It does seem more and more like Christopher Nolan is the military industrial complex's darling, as they note in Barbie, the patriarchy just hides its hegemony more effectively these days, and whereas Oliver Stone actually made an incredible film looking at the ways in which JFK's murder was covered up, Nolan's Oppenheimer creates a Republican rib roast to be saluted for years to come, while presumably catering to democratic sympathies (JFK didn't win best picture when it should have [Oliver Stone also made a film that lauded Edward Snowden, it didn't make the case for the mass institutional invasion of privacy through cellphones like Nolan did at the end of The Dark Knight]).

I used to have a friend who was nice to talk to but sometimes didn't take her meds, and thought she heard voices in the walls of people discussing this and that.

I tried to ease her mind when these thoughts would overwhelm her late at night, and even though nothing could convince her that the voices weren't real, the conversation helped lighten the anxious mood.

In turn, it was nice to have someone to talk to, to know someone who didn't quickly change their tune, to have a sympathetic yet mischievous outlook to clarify trajectories and nothing in particular.

She tolerated my French too and even taught me a couple of words. 

I like being nobody in Québec.

And I'll always love working and living there. 

New Rose Hotel

I've never really understood the allure of pursuing high stakes crime. Most related films make it clear that should you reach 50 having embraced such a life, you're remarkably fortunate if you're not locked up and still have a small army of troops protecting you. It's not passing before reaching old age that's disconcerting it's living while constantly worrying about outwitting your adversaries. That must grow tiresome after awhile. But I suppose the work may be more exciting.

In Abel Ferrara's New Rose Hotel, Fox/Christopher Walken celebrates the risk-fuelled life, and living without fear or limits, it's one of his best performances.

Perhaps there's something of the actor's lifestyle caught up with imaginative redefinition, the lucrative transference of artistic synergies inherently illuminating his authenticity. 

The film's well-cast, he's amicably joined by a less animated yet lithe Willem Dafoe (X), who works as his trusted partner engaging in lucrative industrial espionage.

Asia Argento (Sandii) luxuriously complements his smitten improvised amorous calling, the hopeless romantic having found yet another seemingly impressionable curious enthusiast.

But she may have more than one identity and may not seek the cloistered path.

So distressing these inspired freedoms.

Ethereal interconnected independence.

It's kind of like sci-fi noir although the detectives aren't what you'd expect, they're more like spies helping a science-genius move from one covetous corporation to the next.

The ominous sense of impending doom delicately blended with ebullient hope, shockingly seduces and destructively serenades as the jocose trio travels the globe.

Ah well, it doesn't seem like they're hiring poets although in the '90s we really believed, or I did anyways, that the old world stereotypes prejudicially preventing misfits from finding alternative trade routes would fade away.

Into banal feudal oblivion along with war and irritable class-bias.

Since Trump things have changed dramatically.

Not to mention the woeful pandemic.

Nevertheless, I imagined the poems I've been writing recently for several years as time progressed. 

When new rhymes seemed improbable, I rewrote the language.

For better or worse, I don't really know. 

I am still having as much fun, although I need to start transforming my film reviews too.

The future radiating indeterminate.

Just picked up some more horseradish. 

Spider-Man: No Way Home

 Note: a few years ago, after hearing that another company had purchased the rights to make the next Spider-Man film, I wrote a post expressing perplexed doubts, but I'm wondering if the reasons behind my initial misgivings were misinterpreted, and figured I would supply a more detailed explanation.  I didn't mean to suggest that previous Spider-Man franchises didn't add up, in fact I rather enjoyed the Sam Raimi trilogy way back when, but unfortunately never saw Andrew Garfield's films, for the following reasons. Spider-Man films were just coming out too often (like Batman films). There was Raimi's trilogy. It was great. 5 years elapsed between his trilogy and the first Amazing Spider-Man film. It wasn't enough time in my opinion. I wasn't ready to invest myself in another incarnation of the story, and thought it was more about cashing in, than presenting good storytelling. I may have been incorrect to think that and I never saw the films so I can't describe them, but I certainly wasn't ready for another Spider-Man franchise, hey, it's probably good, I probably missed out. Now Marvel has been making high quality action films for years and the universe they've created is colossal. I figure that if you were 7 years old when the first Iron Man film came out, the cinema of your youth was incredible, if you liked action films. Marvel didn't start out with a Spider-Man film, it introduced Spider-Man during Captain America: Civil War, just kind of snuck ye olde Spider-Man in there, without making much of a fuss. Taking the pressure off the new Spider-Man character made his first film much less of a spectacle, and then it turned out to be really well done, as have its successors, Marvel's youth contingent. Spider-Man: Far From Home ended on a thrilling cliffhanger and had been so well done that the thought of just ending it there and starting up again fresh with a new franchise seemed like such a bad idea, something that wouldn't sit right with millions of fans. The thought of having no closure with that narrative and suddenly having a new franchise with a new origins story and different actors 2 or 3 years later was too much, hence I thought Marvel should continue making new Spider-Man films (they had been doing such a great job). It's not that I thought the new production team would do a particularly bad job, if anything Marvel's excellence has had an auriferous effect across the action/fantasy film spectrum, DC is currently making much craftier films, not to mention the mad craze of independents. But it was possible the new franchise may have been less compelling, and no doubt would have been vehemently criticized regardless, due to the lack of closure. Spider-Man: No Way Home plays with franchise particularities, and brilliantly synthesizes the three latest franchises, in a tender and caring homage to constructive sympathy. Rather than try to defeat the 5 villains who appear after one of Dr. Strange's spells goes awry, with the help of fan favourites from the last 20 years (like living history), this youthful Spider-Man tries to find a way to cure (with help) them from the nutso accidents that led them astray. Meanwhile, he also wants to get into college while dealing with high school and a lack of anonymity. I thought it was a great idea.  An atemporal blend of different creative conceptions. Not sure where it will head next. But in terms of actions films thinking about the dynamics of action films, Spider-Man: No Way Home does an amazing job, without seeming like it's making much of an effort. Not bad. 

Big Top Pee-wee

Immoderately immersed in mirthful grand performance, Pee-wee (Paul Reubens) sleeps the sleep of angels, peacefully awaiting another day, after having taken up farming.

Things run smoothly throughout the day as he cares for his many animals, who enjoy beneficial loving novel caring warm down home attention. 

Pee-wee also conducts advanced research into curious crop cultivation, having created an experimental formula which smoothly encourages rapt abundance. 

Unfortunately, he's not well-liked by the suspicious surrounding townsfolk, who critique his unorthodox ways and general flip alternative wherewithal.

They're even less impressed when a mighty storm blows a circus to town, which lands on Pee-wee's farm, and decides to put on a striking spectacle. 

Pee-wee makes new human and animal friends as the artists passionately rehearse, and even finds himself enamoured with a newfound trapeze expert (Valeria Golino as Ms. Piccolapupula).

But will Pee-wee's heartfelt accommodation be enough to encourage the distressed townsfolk, to abandon their strict routines for a night out under the nearby big top?

So much time spent trying to logically deal with rational exploits reasonably accrued, that impromptu absurd acrobatics present odd vital sincere parity.

Not just the hotdog tree or the supple pioneering pig (Wayne White as Vance), but the lucid sense of compelling wonder that drives wild ludicrous imagination.

Perhaps they shouldn't be in charge of stern prosaic determinate consistencies, so much requisite quotidian reckoning modestly attuned to predictability. 

But shouldn't such manifest grain not be adorned with counterbalancing nuance, to promote extemporaneous serendipity at times throughout the working day?

Thus as the routine despairing delineations approach concrete banal immutabilities, the bizarre shocks and unsettles somnambulism to sustain lighthearted active metamorphosis.

Just as it's nice to have reliable routines when shocks turn to harrowing frights, responsibilities generating forthright designations seasonally aligned to nurture balance.

Big Top Pee-wee brings these spectrums together in animate judicious active definition, to demonstrate holistic productive health, thoroughly enriched through compassionate understanding.

As unequivocal rewards endearingly impact age old ambivalent inquisitive uncertainties, the wolf howls and the dragonfly zings with erudite sonorous sprightly melody. 

Like Dale Cooper's daily treat it can be something never encountered before.

Beware if it happens to be smoking.

Even 4 months later, it's tough to quit.

Il gatto a nove code (The Cat o' Nine Tails)

To me, genetics always seemed like thought provoking science that could easily be exploited by wicked politicians, since in fiction it often seems to be seeking the essential roots of mutating identity, as if it could be used to irrefutably predict potential behaviours, without ever having given individuals time to mature.

If you remove the word "potential" and consider wicked political goals politicians could claim that specific genetic codes will lead to definite behaviours, and then banish the people possessing those specific codes who likely would have happened to be critiquing their most recent agenda.

Correspondingly, if there were a lack of potent public institutions and independent observers, they could disseminate discourses of impeccability, associated with their own DNA.

You wouldn't have to observe empirical evidence for long to realize the theory's rubbish, as people have been doing for decades and decades, but it seems to be returning with malignant rigour, cloaked under the guise of newfound novelty. 

There's a scene from I, Claudius that directly relates, if you have to go further than Claudius's own striking differences from his family, where Claudius discusses parenting with his son Britannicus, and claims he thinks his real father was Caligula. 

Britannicus is notably disturbed because Claudius has been treating him rather poorly, and mentions that he can't help how he happened to be born, and that regardless he only has one father.

The point is that Claudius eases his mind by explaining that he doesn't have Caligula's nature, pointing out how offspring can differ remarkably from what's to be genetically expected.

To me it seems as if there are thousands of variables to be familially facilitated, and children synthesize them with thousands more as they interact with friends and media.

As these thousands of variables blend and crack critique and mingle, unique personalities are forged bearing familial characteristics or not.

I'm proud of the ways I resemble my parents and proud of my own unique perspectives, proud of the mutating mélange that remains open to modest transition.

Dario Argento's Il gatto a nove code (The Cat o' Nine Tails) explore the downside of genetic research, and the potential paranoia that can develop if it's regarded as predetermined fact.

It's a cool film albeit macabre Argento clearly loved filmmaking.

And went the extra mile to add texture and nuance. 

While demonstrating the pitfalls of genetic discourses.  

Tampopo

A daring trucker, hungry after a long day on the road (Tsutomu Yamazaki as Gorô), stops in at a local ramen shop, where the other customers are somewhat hostile.

He refuses to observe their bad behaviour and soon an unfair fight begins, Gorô's courage reacting with bellicose vigour, but there are are too many determined opponents. 

But the owner takes pity on him afterwards and they soon find themselves amicably disposed, Gorô noting that her restaurant lacks appeal (Nobuko Miyamoto as Tampopo), and deciding to chill 'til he can help improve things.

They begin rigorously researching the competition to incisively scrutinize strengths and weaknesses, Gorô proving to be a good teacher, thoughtful Tampopo eager to learn.

After having focused upon various aspects of the divergent ways different people serve ramen, it's time to concentrate on the dish itself, to make something coveted, lauded, irresistible.

Fresh insights are eagerly sought and soon they've forged a constructively critical retinue, devoutly seeking sumptuous irrefutability, with avid pluck and gastronomic reserve.

Meanwhile, the world at large engages in random culinary acts.

Uncanny scenes adding cosmopolitan flavour. 

To Tampopo's free-flowing itinerant broth.

Effervescent peculiar poignancy rambunctiously distilling airtight emancipation, Tampopo proceeds according to guidelines unaffiliated with external gravity.

A world particular and personalized caught up with jocose mesmerizing self-indulgence, like so many of my favourite artistic works, it's structurally chaotic, yet imaginatively sound.

Praise for unorthodox individuals having forged convivial eclectives, well-versed in variable revelations, beyond financial or economic rubrics. 

Praise for concerned acts of kindness delicately encouraging slow and steady development, conflict erupting through holistic expansion, thereafter appeased through tact and forgiveness.

Praise for proceeding according to mood whether it be compassionate or volatile, praise for non-sequential spicy abbreviations piquantly presented in poetic overflow.

I thought the killing of a live animal went way too far and I was thoroughly disturbed afterwards.

Otherwise a unique unpredictable tale.

Abounding with full-on whatever.

*With Ken Watanabe. 

Blithe Spirit

A pleasant writer eager to diversify festively flirts with paranormal benediction (Rex Harrison as Charles Condomine), inviting a celebrated medium to his estate to engage in freelance séance (Margaret Rutherford as Madame Arcati).

Scientific objectivity and spiritual curiosity conversationally mingle meanwhile, as his second wife prepares for potential skepticism (Constance Cummings as Ruth Condomine), from the close friends they're sincerely hosting. 

The séance begins and things seem a bit odd as they often do when undertakings lack precedent, and when it suddenly ends humdrum happenstance seems to have been reconstituted. 

But Charles is hearing voices that no one else perceives, his first wife having accidentally etherealized (Kay Hammond as Elvira Condomine), and since he's the only one who can indubitably see her, doting Ruth erupts in fury at the loss of his creative mind.

But even if Elvira can't be seen she can still move objects with physical impertinence, and soon Ruth can't deny her presence, or the resultant distraught envy.

Charles is clever and easy going and does his best to hospitably accommodate, although his diplomatic discernment is cajolingly critiqued as both wives crave attention.

Mortality is habitually embittered as Elvira seeks a self-indulged conclusion.

But Ruth falls into the trap.

Eventually returning to assert predominance. 

The intangible substantially elucidates in David Lean's enigmatic Blithe Spirit, wherein which supernatural composure acculturates through mystical reflection.

The urge to forge consensus irascibly flounders as stalwarts inveigh, monogamy championed in the distracted afterlife, expediency heartily obstructed.

The script's a resounding brain feast for film lovers contesting somnambulistic oblivion, Noël Coward delivering literary liaisons conjugally cultivated through cerebral import.

A comic situation which has likely occurred to some erratically estimating generalized quintessentials, as logical improbability reasonably articulates through grand realistic fiction.

Whether or not there's anything to it I admit to keeping an open mind, as long as it doesn't cost more than 5 or 6 bucks, and an elaborate plot can't be detected. 

I was born predisposed to the otherworldly until science started to make much more sense.

Of course there are so many things it still can't explain.

Yet likely will.

Through the passage of time.

Thunder Force

The preponderance of superheroic heuristics imaginatively captivating multigenerational audiences, has perhaps left the less scholastically oriented behind in its cultivation of characteristic exception, not to critique the academically inclined, such ambitions are no doubt admirable and praiseworthy, and they'd just cause an uproar every day if there weren't brainy jobs out there awaiting them (love my jobs!), driving people crazy at Wendy's or the Gap, as they struggle within practical boundaries, but a democracy is not solely inhabited by studious ambitions alone, and hands-on tacticians deserve more representation in intergalactic narratives, like representatives from the workforce sitting on executive boards, in order to avoid a surfeit of theoretical impracticality (I am not indirectly critiquing the Liberal's most recent generous beneficial budget which I imagine they made in consultation with their grassroots). 

Captain America has played such a role well in many a Marvel film, his humble origins a sharp contrast to Thor or Tony Stark's, but he still lacks the contentious unconcern humorously invigorated by Thunder Force's Lydia Berman (Melissa McCarthy), who's nimble burger & fries lack of pretension leads to endearing syntheses of experimental know-how.

She's teamed up with a brilliant researcher whose parents were murdered by miscreants, the immodest destructive sociopaths who were mutated and given superpowers by cosmic radiation. 

Emily Stanton (Octavia Spencer) has devoted her life to stopping them by trying to find a way to give superpowers to anyone, through experimental research, childhood friend Lydia accidentally interrupting her experiment on the eve of their high school reunion, taking the transformative medication herself.

Once started the process can't be halted without ruining years of dedicated research, a lengthy arduous treatment program ensuing complete with intricate training exercises. 

Lydia is given super strength while Ms. Stanton uploads invisibility, the two eventually heading to the streets to fight crime, where they swiftly encounter the Crab (Jason Bateman). 

He works for the would be mayor who's currently running a duplicitous campaign (Bobby Cannavale), an authoritative miscreant himself who's promising to emphatically thwart them.

Melissa McCarthy brings raw uncompromised grit and tenacity to the superheroic domain, providing wild unscripted alternative impulse to prescribed elitist reckoning.

Like freelance writers doing their own thing or independent filmmakers authentically crafting, Lydia pursues justice with democratic intrigue while coming to terms with her unexpected powers.

There are a lot of funny moments and a memorable date night with McCarthy and Bateman, an extended scene that goes beyond so many neat and tidy encounters ("This is a trigger environment for me" 😂).

As for creating super soldiers I'll never forget Jacob's Ladder, or that episode of The X-Files, or pesky Khan or steroids in general.

Isn't eliminating poverty preferable to creating genetically enhanced warriors?

Doesn't a multidisciplinary sustainable economy also fight poverty and boredom?