Sashades

Lithe exercise fluid excursion 

'riching immersive diversions

'calculated inundated

'flexive pumice poem curated 

'steemed mismatch marshmallow thatch

iglooey bold em-haberdash

Lake Eerie dip fold nondescript

stoutwittischism fledgling fit

countreeoutside gossamer glide

the thawing icyclique alight

temperate traction interactions

cozy cuddlin' blind distractions

cheesy melt Gelfling adwelt

conif'rous swathe 'gebraic shelt

incongruous puddling-slish-slush

pole vaulting moulting impetus

fireside serrated blithe elated 

shifting visions coruscated 

sprightly heat gormandized treat

succulent sweltering biscuit

accomp'nying sonata swing

variable foxglobetrotting

birchbarking stove smooth steady flow 

surrounding hermitage' aglow

a pitter-patter playful chatter

mischievous observant clatter 

unbeknownst shy reckoning

instructive 'adverdant glazing

shimmering hazy mesmerized

startled and shocked nay stupefied

conducive randomized eclective

enigmatic stave selective

singsong chirps revitalized 

emergent flocks extemporized 

communal vibrant dispositions

friendship teamwork play indifference

nestled deep within the ground

lay creatures slumbering unbound

unconsciously in time aware

with rhythmic acrobatic flair

awakening slowly and grumpy

hungry hesitance harumphy

rolling over yawing sore

embracing ye olde forest floor

the eggs they crack the butter sizzles

alimentary festive fizzles

curious the contemplation

life in innocent 'carnation

symphony.

Gypsy 83

Bucolic fashions habitually annoy Gypsy Vale as she randomly fluctuates, moving more style to quip to inspiration as concrete dissonance mundanely obscures.

Her friend Clive offers flamboyant accompaniment as they shoot videos and intuitively experiment, their cohesive bond actively facilitating insouciant fun and alternative brokerage. 

One day they learn of an upcoming talent show to be exotically held in New York City, where they've unfortunately never been but would love to energetically check out.

Gypsy's mom couldn't handle the 'burbs and reluctantly moved there years ago, Gypsy hoping to somehow reestablish contact during the voyage although she's still rather angry.

Their road trip adventure spontaneously begins and they soon find themselves travelling state to state, with improvised stops and inconclusive reckonings emergently enabling freeform postures. 

Their keen choice of clothes and elaborate makeup lead to complications as they flourish.

In a world inarticulately composed.

Foolishly observed with dismissive resonance (they run into a lot of flack). 

Good vibes and genuine friendship impressionably motivate in Gypsy 83, as creative sincere individuals find expression through play and fantasy.

Although woe does abound and wherever they go criticisms arise, their inevitable championing of the blasé reverberates dependable amicable rhythms. 

Even amongst their fellow misfits dispiriting vitriol enervatingly erupts, the critical world fraught with intense snobbery which is often more destructive than lowbrow ignorance. 

The Amish hitchhiker adds some flare as they enthusiastically drive along, with complications eventually devastating the inaugural window harmless and playful.

So irritating that so much sadness has to consistently be resiliently overcome, a less vituperative cultural consensus open-mindedly applied leading to less bitterness.

An active life helps the criticisms fade while tenderly engaged in novel exploration.

Tough to believe in a country as dynamic as the U.S.

There aren't more than a handful of chill cities to live in.

Excluding contemporary times. 

*Criterion keyword: lounge.

Midnight Run

A mischievous moneyman suddenly flees with 15 million in cold hard cash, his life in serious objective danger as he's hunted by the mob.

He's also swashbucklingly jumped the generous bail that was put up for him, the furious cash poor unscrupulous bailbondsman hiring a bounty hunter to track him down.

The FBI also need him as a witness to put the ruthless mob boss behind burnished bars, and want the bounty hunter to securely help them in the strident pursuit of the creative malcontent.

The mob offer the sought after bounty hunter an enormous sum to hand him over, but he stubbornly refuses and makes his way risk-fuelled and daring.

The baidbondsman loses faith in his trusted man when he loses contact, and hires another bounty hunter to track him down as he makes his way across the U.S.

As to be unexpected the crafty numbers man turns out to be kind, not an exacting cold hamstrung blank but more of an uncle you see every birthday.

As time passes and the various interests slowly converge with restrained excitement, the somewhat brutal hard-hearted ex-cop has to admit he likes his quarry.

But let him loose and suddenly lose all that sought after quick-easy money?

His conscience battling sundry surmises.

As the journey bivouacs and gesticulates.

Intricate and inherently misleading the expedient Midnight Run diabolically proceeds, to obdurately search for a subjective answer to conflicting dilemmas interminably flounced.

With classic hardboiled streetwise dialogue the gritty script garners grizzly accolades, as the frustrated opponents blindly contend in an opaque contest fading and shifting.

If you were ever curious about Charles Grodin it's one of his more interesting films, he steals scenes and emphatically impresses as the conscientious bold endearing number cruncher.

Robert de Niro impresses as well as the hesitant once highly-decorated cop, who had to reluctantly find alternative employment due to endemic corruption on the force.

The action's constant in consistent flux as the myriad characters awkwardly engage, like a searing rough dishevelled carnival tempestuously twitching and chaotically toned.

With the old school focus on multiple characters conditionally respected within the script, given ample room to bombastically express themselves as the mayhem cacophonously resonates. 

Should it be classified as Film Noir, there's no femme fatale but the bounty hunter's unlucky, and it's certainly grim and lowdown but not without intricate style and dignity. 

High stakes storytelling nevertheless thrillingly occupying dissonant thresholds.

Lugubrious chivalry, delirious flux.

Skilfully shorn.

Not just another cop film.

*Yaphet Kotto's good too. 

Alice in den Städten (Alice in the Cities)

A wandering writer discovers photography while driving around the United States, and takes sundry pictures his editor rejects when he attempts to submit them instead of his article.

He couldn't help not writing it, he was inspired by a different idea, and even though a task had been definitively set, he seductively swerved and creatively reimagined it.

He's out of money nevertheless and his editor won't give him any more, the decision to return to Germany suddenly presenting itself with frank appeal.

While purchasing his ticket he meets a single mom and her curious child, both of whom can't speak English yet also want to return to Northern Europe.

He agrees to awkwardly assist and then finds himself with no place to stay, the mother and daughter agreeing to put him up his habitual thanks most unpresuming. 

The mother is still in touch with her new partner who wants to remain in the United States, and leaves her daughter with the travelling writer and they proceed to sightsee around New York.

They agree to meet at the airport but surprisingly the mother doesn't show up.

But sends word she'll meet them in Europe.

When the next flight arrives, she's not on it.

The child doesn't remember where her grandmother lives and the two have quite the confusing adventure, the writer learning not to be so grumpy as he tries to accommodate youthful maturation.

It's an oddball misfit scenario the oblivious trio not consciously registering, the bohemian lifestyle making bold decisions through spontaneous planning as they make their way home.

As luck would have it, youthful spirit blossoming in friendship unceremoniously wins the day, the artist reluctantly embracing formalities to amusingly calm down the frightened youngster.

She notices his random scribblings and childishly wonders what they might be.

He bashfully plays the absent-minded father.

To improvise with unkempt austerity. 

Over the Top

A father regrets having left his family behind and finally has the chance to make amends, travelling by rig to his son's private school, humbly prepared for probable conflict (Sylvester Stallone as Lincoln Hawk). 

He makes his living trucking on the wide open road, transporting vital goods from one feisty locale to the next, reputedly dependable indeed sure and steady, as he smoothly facilitates commerce across North America.

His son's (David Mendenhall as Michael) not impressed however for it's taken him years to pull things together, and his grandfather's (Robert Loggia) vilified him to the extreme, their voyage commences in heated dispute.

But Lincoln relaxes and goes with the flow aware their disagreements reflect his comeuppance, time passing acclimatization slowly etherealizing paternal reckoning. 

But gramps is madly infuriated and sets out to recover his lost grandchild, determined to see him grow up in the lynchpin of luxury far away from his cheque-to-cheque dad.

But paps excels at the art of arm wrestling, and can earn extra scratch on the side, accepting challenges at various truck stops as he journeys between destinations. 

Michael is taken away and Lincoln responds with tactile fury.

But it seems there's nothing he can do.

Put formidably pursue arm wrestling champion of the world.

The narrative uplifts the hands-on with practical hardboiled uncompromised life lessons, forgiveness sought and willing to be earned should familial recourse prove adaptable. 

It emphasizes responsibility in an honourable testament to tenacious capacity, celebrating confidence within bitter circumstances and integral boisterous reasonable wherewithal. 

Lavish absolutist pretensions encounter audacious freeform contradiction, but as they legalistically reassert themselves, flourishing innocence launches a second wave.

It's direct straightforward durable investigation presented with resolute luminous tact, inherent action spiritually reconciled with compassionate justice and an honest living.

You could argue that it suggests wealth crushes struggling ambition as that ambition earnestly seeks justified rights, leaving it with no alternative but to sell everything and gamble with the resultant proceeds.

But Lincoln's son was on his way back in stern refutation of his arrogant confines, and likely would have established a strong relationship with his father despite the law and his grandfather's wishes.

Perfect to sit back and relax while saluting Stallone's classic lack of pretension.

Not on par with Rocky or First Blood but still another entertaining take on daring will. 

The Wizard

An autistic youth struggling to comprehend the sudden passing of his twin sister, buckles down and heads out on the road (Luke Edwards as Jimmy Woods), both sets of parents rather unsettled by his departure, he's swiftly located, and brought back home.

It's a pattern, so he heads out again this time with the aid of an older brother (Fred Savage as Corey Woods), who doesn't want to see him committed to a psychiatric institution which is where he would have wound up.

The two travel unfettered undisciplined until they reach an accommodating bus station, where they meet Haley (Jenny Lewis) who's on her way home and discover Jimmy has a knack for video games.

Not just a knack, he's exceptionally talented, so much so that Haley suggests they head to Los Angeles, and enter the "Video Armageddon" competition taking place a few days away.

But they're being tracked by two separate sleuths one a father and brother team (Beau Bridges as Sam Woods and Christian Slater as Nick Woods respectively), the other a slimy weaselly reptilian eager to make a quick opportune buck (Will Seltzer as Mr. Putnam). 

Jimmy may have a natural gift for video game playing but he's still unfamiliar with many exemplars, so Corey and Haley take him to "Nintendo School" so he can practice, prepare, and prognosticate. 

Will they reach their sought after destination in time for the vigorous showdown, or will parental responsibility assert immobile lockdown?

Families split on how to proceed.

Competing diagnoses clashing best practices. 

The Wizard imagines adventurous purpose to pursue quizzical unorthodox therapy, ie., rather than place the child who keeps wandering away in therapy, why not try to find out where he's going?

Their trip could have more closely resembled a video game in its resilient collegial questing, insofar as a more calamitous test of endurance would have been more reminiscent of something like Zelda.

But it's lighthearted and free and easy less concerned with hardship or tribulation, not that obstacles don't present themselves, they're just not so intense and at times rather comic.

If you love video games I reckon The Wizard may provide ample lackadaisical endearment, as several characters including Jimmy's father embrace unheralded electronic inspiration.

The games focused upon may perhaps provide historical import as well, an examination of ye olde old school to function as an instructive comparison.

I never made it very far with video games myself, I just didn't see the point after I reached a certain age.

I've missed out on quite a lot of conversation consequently.

And the occasional not-so-subtle reference.

The Ridiculous 6

Is it important to cultivate ethical guidelines within unorthodox narratives ad hoc, even if the scandalous nature of the storytelling may disorient prim propriety?

Does briefly letting go of pressurized stilted robotic mechanisms, foster a carefree liberating meaninglessness not without aesthetic value?

Does randomly subverting poignant perspectives lead to a more robust cosmopolitan criterion, insofar as democracy nourishes abundance, within which impartiality flourishes?

Is there something more to debauched comedies than the preponderant praise of the ludicrous, exceptionally spun and courageously endowed through the cacophonic art of eccentric assertion?

The pandemic has instigated global limbo stentorian stasis assiduous abeyance, and with a generalized inability to generate forward movement, the past resurfaces with interrogative suspension.

Forward momentum peculiar progressions heuristically heal anxieties and doubts, or at least give you something else to focus on as bizarro developments intermittently bewilder.

I've kept things positive during the pandemic to avoid slipping into melancholia, as best I can, which means I've had to cut out many media outlets, which have focused on doom and gloom too intently for some time.

It's of course important to follow what's happening and to be aware of what's going on, but how to avoid sad thoughts while watching these newscasts regularly is a trick I have yet to master?

I would have introduced Frontline Worker Beat and ran multiple interviews with daring workers, to get a more hands-on personalized look at the pandemic, apart from political speeches and updates about rising or decreasing case numbers (from across the country).

Things seem to be so stratified these days.

It's not good for the health of a democracy.

Thus, a return to no-holds-barred comedy to focus on lighthearted yet boisterous bedlam, to celebrate a sense of resounding hope amidst seemingly insurmountable odds.

One feature you often find in these films which I've written about before, is a salient synergistic sense of camaraderie uplifting potentially distraught spirits.

Isolated individuals operating without connections come together to pursue an absurd goal, the pursuit itself invigorating complacency as they diversify their offbeat team.

Thus the pursuit of an unexpected goal provides purpose even if it isn't stately or august or infused, and since many people aren't that concerned with entrenched enterprise, the goals pursued honestly reflect democratic life.

Should diverse democratic life be celebrated?, of course it should, ad infinitum!

The Americans are very good at it.

As is the inexhaustible, Adam Sandler (Tommy). 

It Happened One Night

Surrounded by luxury, everything you desire at hand or accessible, no need to work, struggle, justify, elucidate, toot toot, the gravy train, chugs onwards ever after.

Yet within the boundless infinities of grand ostentatious profound torqued hebetude, the imposition of paradigmatic pressure still traditionally refrains, and blasé prim prognostic propriety banally beckons with callous call, as gender roles crafted by ancient custom reemerge to contend and classify.

Ellie (Claudette Colbert) breaks free casts off the bonds of disquieting matrimony, swimming away from her father's yacht to life on the random exuberant road.

Meanwhile, a freespirited journalist castigates his editor's hackneyed rebuke, standing up for the integrity of free-verse, sweetly flowing unfiltered, unpasteurized (they're old friends) (Clark Gable as Peter Warne).

They wind up on the same lively bus heading south through carnivalesque cascades, an understanding reluctantly reached as lacklustre finances briskly balk.

Her father's enlisted the press and manifold detectives to track her down, fellow travellers on their communal steed eventually figuring their story out.

Escape is necessary to actively deconstruct the limits of their sly emancipation, so they vigorously font du puce and have soon procured their own automobile.

Lost indeterminate flux wildly drives their spontaneous momentum.

It's possible they'll never return.

Unless they fall in love.

It's solid rebellious romance firmly frenetic in loquacious languor, earnestly exercised enigmatic ursine, otherwise known, as begrudged true love.

He's not after wealth or prestige and like Lone Starr, he doesn't take the million, yet a kindred and quaint yet quizzical clutch still clasps in clamorous cuddle.  

Even though I love It's A Wonderful Life and watch it every Holiday Season, it never occurred to me to watch something else by the oft lauded sincere Frank Capra. 

And the genuine concern for chillaxed common dignity found in his yuletide yarn, is intriguingly present in rambunctious rapture disgruntled dispute heartfelt happenstance.

Several scenes don't end quite so quickly, they're much longer than one might expect, the cultivation of clandestine character acclimatized patient demonstrative depth.

It must have been a wondrous time when people still believed in dignity beyond wealth or station, when there was perhaps cultural support for public education and widespread constructive activism.

Otherwise, how do you explain the nimble bus scene where its passengers burst forth in song, unconcerned for rank or nobility, simply laidback, relaxing, resting?

And its focus on spirited improbability rooted in frank materialism?

Where things suddenly work out.

As they often do.

Cold Dog Soup

An uptight sheltered individual (Frank Whaley as Michael Latchmer) unaccustomed to the underground flow finds himself suddenly embracing l'amour in Alan Metter's Cold Dog Soup.

His flirting skills clock timidity and uncertainty regarding self-worth, yet an act of daring assertion generates shocking relational mirth.

He's soon out for dinner at a love interest's (Christine Harnos as Sarah Hughes) with residing inquisitive mom (Sheree North as Mrs. Hughes), but as they begin to pass around victuals the family dog acrobatically passes.

He's tasked with the objective of burial and sets forth to find a chill park, but the cab in which he accelerates suggests alternative dispositions.

It's piloted by affirmation inclusively metering knowledge freewheeling (Randy Quaid as Jack Cloud), the chauffeur believing a commercial exchange may be more apt than confidential interment. 

Latchmer is ill-at-ease with the proposed moribund scenario, yet lacks the backbone required to refuse and soon attempts to fetch a fair price.

He does briefly escape then swiftly return to Sarah's apartment, but Cloud frenetically follows and enthusiastically enlists her.

They travel together far and wide in search of an appealing price, even contacting the frisky afterlife, learning lessons along the way.

Cold Dog Soup presents a voyage of discovery improvisationally attired, pursuing unorthodox financial goals through the heart of robust intrigue.

Worry and courage conflict throughout as it critiques austere pretensions, or vast categorical dismissals in relation to free-flowing life.

(I recommend taking it easy on the free-flowing these days. The virus isn't disappearing. I'm masking up and remaining cautious).

You could easily replace "worry" with "prudence" and "courage" with "recklessness" at times, but to do so would spoil the fun, which celebrates jazzy absurdist meaning.

It does so well, you'll be surprised by the budget, there's so much going on in this film, the trick is to acknowledge the latent realism without being fully subsumed.

It's sort of like The Warriors but instead of a gang fighting its way back to Coney Island throughout the night, you have a trio attempting to conduct business with different clients till the wee hours.

It's much more clever than it initially seems, the overt ridiculousness cloaks sly observation, beyond predictable commercial conceptions, at wild interactive free play.

A must see if you like independent filmmaking and the joys of why-did-they-make-this? cinema.

So many hilarious scenes.

Lampooning traditional discourse.

Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses

The Cowboys have fallen on hard times, down on their luck and stricken, forsaken, filiblustered.

They were once one of Mexico's most exhilarating acts, but after duelling with tequila incontestably, collapsed upon destitute ruin.

The band still exists however even if several of its members did not survive, those remaining somewhat revitalized after an invitation to play in New York.

But they've been tricked, hoodwinked, bamboozled, as they learn shortly after arrival, for Vladimir (Matti Pellonpää) their once loathsome manager turns out to have set up a ruse.

He seeks to once again rule them and lead them back to northern realms, and has awoken as a scandalous prophet who refers to himself as Moses.

The band is weary, downtrodden, aghast, and succumb to his ironclad will, which supplies a rickety motorboat for their journey across the Atlantic.

Meanwhile, he stays behind to chisel off spry Liberty's nose, before hitching a ride clasped and wingéd to the lonesome European coast.

They're reunited without much delay and are even joined by old school band members, and set off merrymaking homeward bound through less inhospitable continental climes.

But Vladimir hasn't failed to make headlines and he's become a wanted man.

And the law avails in hot pursuit as they actively gig hot damn.

Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses adds significant layers and depth, to a narrative eclectically posturing with unyielding jocose inhibition.

A collection of wry self-reliant ideas intermittently staked uniformity notwithstanding, the story appealing to subsequent nodes which elucidate demonstrative beacon.

Sometimes the plot's surely secondary to verbose improvised momentum, providing adhesive broadened outlines which embrace reformed asymmetry.

For 'tis not argument Kaurismäki covets but rather offbeat ironic declension, messages bridled to slam dunk transparency as they softly sway in complement willow.

Enlivening inherent dimension through spatiotemporal interplay, it highlights disembodied ascension with aeronautic grassroots unconveyed.

A break from paramount logic resets and recasts judicious responsibility, inasmuch as too steady a jet stream cloys wise recourse clad indubitably.

Meet Moses takes its time to let loose but then settles to bewilder anew.

The Leningrad Cowboys are a real band apparently.

And still perform to this very day.

Rain Man

Risk-fuelled high-stakes automotive accumulation is temporarily interrupted after the passing of a not-so-loved-one.

Charlie Babbitt (Tom Cruise) flies to Cincinnati to settle accounts without delay only to discover he had a brother whose existence shakes things up.

Babbitt's somewhat of an insensitive callous jerk, and is much less interested in his newfound bro (Dustin Hoffman as Raymond Babbitt) than the cash left in trust for his well-being.

He's been living at a psychiatric facility for almost his entire offbeat life, and has serious issues with communication although he's quite gifted at math.

Charlie decides it's time they get to know one another and kidnaps him from the institution, hoping to take him to L.A in order to strike a lavish deal.

But Raymond refuses to fly so they're forced to hit the road, the backroads 'cross vibrant country, since they're much less bland and noisy.

Partner Susanna (Valeria Golino) can't stand Charlie's motives so she leaves shortly after they depart, and gentle Raymond's left in the hands of someone lacking firm compassion.

But Charlie isn't strictly obtuse and can make sincere adjustments, which their trip demands at times as they travel throughout America.

There's a realistic edge to Rain Man which isn't dulled by hypotheticals, it may seem impractical or otherworldly but it still makes sense as they travel on.

It starts out swift and headstrong full of blind instinctual tenacity, but slowly transforms through the art of play as alternative arrangements challenge preconceptions.

At times you wonder how Charlie could be so thick as proof after proof readily presents itself, but without ever having been trained to care for the differently abled, it's not shocking that his confusion persists.

Raymond doesn't have a say in the matter but makes the most of the sudden change, loudly expressing discontent at times, at others curiously contracting.

They wondrously come together as an off-beat non-traditional team, embracing unexpected roadblocks with surprisingly adept efficiency.

The realism prevents the use of words like "smooth" or "understanding", as Rain Man frenetically flows while life mysteriously presents itself.

I thought the final moments made sense bearing in mind uncertain self-sufficiencies, heartbreaking though they were, the alternative may have been much worse.

Not that Charlie wouldn't have given it a shot, he's not so bad after putting in some effort.

It's nice to see a film that promotes change.

Instead of grim hard-hearted despondency.

Toy Story 4

Toy Story 4 takes a less menacing look at life beyond suburbia, as Woody (Tom Hanks) and the gang make friends with a new toy (Tony Hale as Forky) before heading out on an ill-defined road trip.

The new toy was created by Bonnie (Madeleine McGraw) during kindergarten orientation, and even though he now breathes life, he still seeks wide-eyed independence, with neither code-bound duty nor congregational chore, and one night he escapes, rashly jumping from a speedy camper's window, leaving loyal Woody no choice but to follow, to bring Bonnie back her most beloved possession.

But after locating Forky and encouraging him to return, he notices signs of a lost love in a local shop.

Hopeful to see how she's doing, and overwhelmed with feelings of good luck, he carefreely and quickly enters, only to discover envious misfortune.

For a doll whose voice box has never worked lies covetously waiting within, a doll who's never known the thrill of companionship, nor the love of enraptured being.

Woody's voice box still functions, and it's indeed a miraculous match, altercations maladroitly ensuing, Forky laid-back and none the wiser.

But Toy Story 4 isn't as traditional as its predecessor, there's room for change and compromise.

Bo (Annie Potts) shows Woody that life can flourish in the wild unknown, if one's attuned to wit and invention.

Times are tough for Woody, even if he's turned a blind eye.

He's not as popular as he was once was, and is sometimes left behind in the closet during playtime.

He's still as determined as ever, nevertheless, and does everything he can to delight little Bonnie, honourably exemplifying unyielding fidelity, in the pursuit of irrefutable happiness.

But there's also Bo, with whom he intuitively prospers, with a different kind of love he's never explored, in realms that could nurture alternative thought, where his exceeding talent could find new meaning.

Plus he's been loved throughout his entire existence, he's known the comforts of well-defined responsibility.

And understands that Gabby Gabby (Christina Hendricks) never has, even though she's ever so adorable.

Toy Story 4 considers identity in flux perhaps as its original youthful audience comes of age.

The film's still innocent enough for the next generation of youngsters, but also introduces mature thought for ye olde old school devotees.

I suppose if they saw the first Toy Story when they were 5 they'd be 29 now, so no. 4 may have been released a bit too late.

But so many young adults are living at home for so much longer these days, many who perhaps have never considered moving out.

With rents soaring sky high in many places, I can see why they've chosen to stay.

It's alright living at home a lot of the time too, if your lifestyle isn't too disruptive.

There's no clear path, no precisely defined pattern, just extremely confidant justifications for whatever path you've chosen.

Just gotta choose one and give 'er.

'Til something else comes along down the way.

*Loved Toy Story 4's Canadiana.

**And Buzz Lightyear's (Tim Allen) commanding inner voice.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Ebullient rapscallion itinerantly drawn serenades the horizon with erudite simplicity.

Appearances deceive a would be thief as a sage brush sure thing demonstratively bites back.

Age old sombre reflections resignedly ponder lonesome frontiers, emotion declaratively withdrawn, investment genuinely striking.

Disingenuous prospects confront honest labour as fortunes are struck grasped thrills excavated.

Marriage tempts thoughtful homesteaders as imagination riffs down the line.

A forlorn stagecoach elastic in bitters trudges wearily on towards stoked paradigms.

Nimble eclectic horseplay.

Erratic collected brawn.

Snug fits, misperceptions, testaments, shift and sway, the wild west conceptually exceeded, yet realistic, solemn, grey.

Invincible pretensions fade into soulful longings as diverse embellishments slowly manifest fear.

The writing's exceptional at times and it's a Coen Brothers film so I wondered why The Ballad of Buster Scruggs skipped theatres, and am still glibly wondering why? why? why?

Scruggs does excel when it's wildly boasting or forlornly lamenting or just simply reckoning, but then the lights suddenly dim, unfortunately, after awhile, although 4 out of 6 ain't bad.

That could explain it.

Harry Melling (The Artist) puts in a great performance as a solo act that's as versatile as its narrative's thought provoking.

Tim Blake Nelson (Buster Scruggs) also impresses, with an active style that wildly contrasts Mr. Melling's.

The film slips up when it considers civility, character, domestic matters, as if Western decorum has yet to transcend Hobbes's leviathan.

Not much screentime given to First Nations either, and they're only depicted as a stereotyped nuisance.

Nevertheless, it's still disturbing that a Coen Brothers film wasn't released in theatres, Barton Fink, Buster Scruggs is not, but they're still one of the best creative teams Hollywood's ever taken on.

I've annoyed many over the years and lost contacts and spoiled friendships by pointing out how good the Coen Brothers are, when they confidently state, "Hollywood only makes crap."

The creativity on Netflix is theoretically ideal because I can't think of any deadlines its creators have nor any timelines it'd be best to follow.

Just post it when it's finished.

It's kind of cool when something new shows up.

If it doesn't, I'll watch something else.

Still, a lot of the material I've seen that's been created by and for Netflix lacks the networked touch.

Remember, you're trying to find ways to make me like your show and tune in week after week, even if that logic doesn't apply.

I'm not just going to binge watch anything, even if the idea's really cool and it's starring actors I love (that's happened several times).

There are too many alternatives available.

In way too many other formats.

The Itunes store is incredible for movie renting for instance.

And it's the exception when they don't have what I'm looking for.

Green Book

It's fun when you have a job and you get to work with people from around the world.

You get all these fascinating insights into remarkably diverse cultures many of which are quite similar to your own if you make respectful comparisons.

Try new things.

You grow up eating specific foods for instance, and as you age, because you continue to eat these specific foods, it seems like eating them is natural, inasmuch as habits come to culturally qualify the term.

But when you work with people from different countries and begin to realize that they feel the same way about the food they grew up eating, the term natural becomes less organic, or is at least internationally diversified.

If you begin to try all the delicious foods they grew up eating and learn to appreciate the differences, while still enjoying your favourite local dishes, your options succulently expand tenfold, and your palette becomes much more global.

And you can ask questions like, "how do I turn this into a sandwich?", or, "can you melt cheese on this?", etc.

Plus, you're always eating.

I started cooking rice all the time.

Mixing in green lentils and potato.

In Peter Farrelly's Green Book, a gifted African American musician (Mahershala Ali as Dr. Don Shirley) takes his melodies on the road to the Southern U.S., hoping to build bridges of trust.

He hires a feisty bouncer from the Bronx to drive him (Viggo Mortensen as Tony Lip), and the two productively clash along the way.

As refined ethical viewpoints find themselves immersed in worlds where they don't apply, a more practical approach is begrudgingly sought, which, unfortunately, while necessary at points, does less to change hearts and minds.

And also causes serious problems.

The film cleverly embraces this pact and gradually synthesizes gentle and rough pretensions, Tony learning to react less instinctually, Dr. Shirley learning to take more precautions.

They slowly become friends as the film unreels and learn to appreciate each other precisely because of their differences.

Experience having taught them respect.

Green Book also examines the old "chummy" racial slurs that are often built into social interactions.

Tony makes the point that people "don't worry about" these slurs when they hear them but doesn't realize he's speaking from a position of privilege.

When the slurs are directed at him in the deep South he does worry about it and soon winds up in jail.

Different cultures often have different traditions which when appreciated add so much peaceful character to a neighbourhood/city/nation/world.

The casual slurs can make hard times worse.

And may not be as harmless to the people who let things slide.

As people in positions of privilege think.

Boundaries

Entrepreneurial ambitions complicate a straightforward road trip, as a mother (Vera Farmiga as Laura Jaconi) agrees to transport her mischievous father (Christopher Plummer as Jack Jaconi) to a location where his passions will be viewed less dismissively.

The next generation (Lewis MacDougall as Henry), having recently been expelled from school, curiously comes along, sort of eager to spend time with grandpa, unaware they'll be visiting his deadbeat dad (Bobby Cannavale as Leonard).

So many different paths to tread, so many ways in which they intertwine, a crash course in extracurricular enigmatic eccentricity mysteriously thrilling young Henry, as they travel from contact to contact, conjuring spells as pitstops confuse trusting mom.

She's truly wonderful.

Her magnanimous heart endears her to animals and she consistently comes to the aid of the lost and downtrodden.

Unfortunately this leads people to take advantage of her, some harmless, some cruel, all of them blind to the fact that they've encountered a resplendent sun, inside and out, who transforms tumbledown lots into palatial realms, worthy of uncompromised praise and adoration, if the self-obsessed would only think past craven impulse, and consider abundant rays down the road.

Shana Feste's Boundaries presents lighthearted mischief which is intense at times yet still wondrously illuminates candid impropriety.

As the tender loving embraces the devoutly incorrigible, multigenerational muses thoughtfully materialize.

Forbidden portraits.

Conjugal miscommunication.

Evergreen commerce.

Therapeutic theatrics.

If you don't simply fit there's freedom in the labyrinthine.

Constant flux may be tiring, but spontaneous adjustments create grand novelties.

Chaotic logic rationally intensifying.

Kafkaesque at times.

Nice to head out for ice cream.

Accept Boundaries as a clever comedic reflection upon individuals conceiving unique masternarratives, and embrace a steady flow of unexpected conditional ruses.

Full of existential craft.

And love scolding ever after.

Loved it.

Weirdos

The striking underground comedic Canadian coming of age pseudo-road trip, nestled on cozy Cape Breton Island, with teenage conflicts to settle and communal sympathy to spare, a wide variety of soulful situations stitched together to explore desire, relationships, and family, as a young couple discuss the nature of their bond, both representatives confused and curious, as they head to a beach party revelling off the beaten track.

Weirdos focuses on identity inasmuch as it challenges gender based preconceptions.

Alice (Julia Sarah Stone) wants to be a police officer for instance and Kit (Dylan Authors) wants to move away from his father, who uses homophobic slurs.

They're not particularly weird though.

I didn't think they were that weird anyways.

Perhaps they were in 1973.

There was this dance I saw on Degrassi Junior High when I was a kid that presented a bunch of fellow youngsters from different backgrounds just having a good time dancing together.

It didn't seem weird.

In fact it seemed like a lot of fun.

I figured the title is more of a test, a challenge, do you actually think these characters are strange or are you missing the point if you can't see how normal they are?

If you ask me, there's really just being, living, wanting to do things and doing them.

If jerks won't let you try due to some shortsighted notion based upon a callous stereotype ignorantly generated by fear and hatred (how these rotten individuals are trying to make themselves seem like victims in the Trump era [as they recklessly bully]), screw 'em.

If you really want to do it, find another way, even if it can be incredibly difficult at times.

You may just find a lot of people believe in you.

Weirdos excels.

A light examination of difference that generates contentment and disappointment while gingerly transitioning from one scene to the next.

I didn't understand why Kit's mother (Molly Parker) received such harsh treatment though.

Artists criticizing artists for lacking social graces always confuses me.

She doesn't understand children well nor the impacts of the statements she makes.

But toss her into a mental hospital? Again?

Odd.

There's probably something I'm missing about the character, but I still wonder if the amount of money French cultures spend promoting the arts and artists is directly proportional to that which English cultures spend promoting pharmaceutical drugs and psychiatric hospitals.

I'd like to research that theory.

Going to see a French artist perform on French turf is quite remarkable. They have personality and they're there to entertainingly share that personality while performing to an audience who isn't only there to see them play music.

The audience wants to hear what the artist has to say.

When you hear French people discuss artists in conversation they do so with a degree of respect that I rarely note in conversations regarding the arts with English people.

Not all English people.

Obviously this isn't a critical reflection that exhaustively examines shortcomings etcetera, but these are features I've noticed about French culture in conversation.

A criticism of artists in English realms I've often heard is, "why did they talk so much between songs?"

I never understood that point.

Just experiential observations.

Things I've noticed.

Borealis

Sean Garrity's Borealis hits and misses, struggling to cohesively grind its aesthetic, while occasionally brewing refined diuretics.

Structurally speaking.

It follows Jonah (Jonas Chernick) as he attempts to pay off massive debts through gambling, making one $50,000 bet too many, winding up on the run from a seriously angry old friend.

What takes place in the film functions as a warning to would-be risk takers, although, due to its consistent focus on the regenerative potential of a lucrative lucky streak, it also glamorizes the stakes, albeit in a downtrodden fashion.

Thus it appeals to card players and those who prefer board games alike.

J'aime les deux.

It tries to introduce the bizarre, a quaintly quizzical quandary, as a small vegetarian dog is offered an entire large raw steak on a golf course, logic unfortunately minimizing its impact, since the time it would take to eat the steak would more than likely disrupt the flow of their game.

The script viciously acknowledges this incoherency moments later.

I think a closer study of Twin Peaks is in order.

Jonah's daughter (Joey King as Aurora) is going blind and he convinces her to take a road trip with him (the getaway [she doesn't know she's going blind at this point]) to Churchill, Manitoba, to see the Northern Lights before she loses her sight, and even if arguments abound throughout their journey, their eventual coming together fuels the film's reckless fervour.

It's tough to bond with Jonah.

He is a huge screw-up, and I had trouble generating sympathy.

But the script does excel at slowly delivering personal historical details from his life which do in fact help to eventually generate sympathy, and reminded me not to jump to hasty conclusions.

The ending (spoilers) best describes my thoughts about the film.

After coming to terms with Jonah's creditors, Jonah and Aurora sit on Churchill's rocky shore, relieved about their reversal of fortune.

Jonah must have been freezing since he had recently been tied up and launched into the water, but, whatevs.

The Northern Lights suddenly appear and Jonah points them out.

It's cheesy that they suddenly appear, but then we discover that Aurora has gone blind and can't see them, which grates the maudlin slab.

Highs and lows, sinuous switchboards.

Liked the hitchhiking roadside imbroglio.

And the shots of rural Manitoba.

Almost went to Churchill once you know.

Way back when.

Paper Towns

The studious approach, diligent digests, a plan, a routine, generally adhered to in order to achieve goals later in life, like minded friends similarly striving, the goals they modestly pursue leaving them cast out of their high school's rigid social convective, commentating on the fringe, two-thirds of the trio romantically handicapped, steady textbook longing, The Stars of Track and Field, aloof in their unheralded excellence.

Chaotic casserole.

Quentin (Nat Wolff) has been in love with the free-spirited Margo (Cara Delevingne) since childhood, when they were close, and although their paths no longer frequently cross, she shows up at his window one night enlisting aid, to humiliate those who have unjustly wronged her.

Vengeance.

Competing ontological truths.

She disappears shortly thereafter, leaving behind a set of clues, clues which Quentin and his friends follow, in a salute to surefire Summertime spontaneity.

Can the wild and the timid synthesize their dialectic as one?

Or will alternative pressures crush their holiest of unions?

Paper Towns is alright.

Somewhat tame, but that fits with its bourgeois aesthetic.

But is the pursuit of high grades and professional success indeed tame?

Turning such pursuits into a riveting film is tough to do without seeming tame, but the rigour and dedication one has to apply to their life, the sacrifices they have to make, their tenacious time management, necessitates a factual fortitude, often not possessed by the purely tame.

To pass those tests achieving high scores demands strict obedience, to be sure, but without a resounding will to live, to succeed, predicated upon expansive desire, untethered in its imagination, such goals seem fleeting at best.

The hunger for knowledge.

Information hunger.

Boldness is a must.

The unacknowledged thrust of true stoicism.

Which also reserves time to relax throughout the week.

There's a wedgie coming on.

Tammy

Crushed by the impact of three significant life altering events, young Tammy (Melissa McCarthy) hits the road with Grandma (Susan Sarandon), destination, Niagara Falls, fuel intake, anything containing alcohol, issues, several issues present themselves, confidence, emphatic, invective, and sworn, tested through the pertinence of picturesque pit-stops, cavorted, as night descends, and the juniper flushes its aromatic cones.

Lessons learned.

Hold-ups congenialized.

Hydrosonic viking burials.

The modest and the mouthpiece.

Fashionably fermenting a fetching frisky fawn, mobilizing jail-time while standardizing the getaway, Tammy transitions both its tempers and its testaments, to lampoon highs in earnest, while pinpointing the pressures, of barometric bonds.

Co-written by McCarthy (also written by director Ben Falcone), I think she can do better.

It's alright, but a long way from Anchorman 2. 

I was searching for a feel-good slightly raunchy twirl-a-whirl summertime swing, and Tammy synchronously delivered.

That's what it did.

Was thinking of my favourite films of Summer earlier that day and The Great Outdoors popped into my head, which fit well.

Thought more could have been done with Gary Cole.

Another Brady Bunch sequel?

Written by Ms. McCarthy?

There's got to be a market for another Brady Bunch film.

From the White House, to Alaska.

Or, Kansas.

Down on the farm.

Ida

Diametrically opposed feminine caricatures, each possessing their own semantic strengths, volatile penitence, the vixen's splurge, contextualize their continuum within Ida's scene, after and during their first unexpected meeting.

They're related.

One is about to take her vows.

The other struggles with her political legacy.

The younger seeks to discover the whereabouts of her dead parents, killed during World War II, her aunt is able to assist, they set out to interrogate 20th century Polish history, stylizing their familial cross-section, with upbeat moving jazzy consolidations.

Existentializing the saxophone.

As blunt, bellicose, and bitchin' as it is chaste and resigned, Pawel Pawlikowski's Ida solemnly soars through perceptible heights, contemporary fusions stern and frolicked, olives, rye bread, beemsters, or a fast with a glass of Soplica.

Unassailable friction diffused in check.

Begets temptation.

An hourglass.

For a crucible's chime.

Perfect companion piece for Robert Bresson's Diary of a Country Priest.