Hud

Three generations of a ranching family actively live together in the American mid-west, father and son at ethical odds while the observant grandson comes of age.

Gramps (Melvyn Douglas) is an honourable man who takes responsibility for his actions. When it becomes apparent that his herd of cattle might have foot and mouth disease, he doesn't try to sell them for scandalous profits. 

His son Hud (Paul Newman) on the other hand only sees an enormous loss, and would have sold the cattle to his neighbours and spread the problem across the land.

He also cavorts around town with other men's wives out in the open, and routinely gets into fights and drinks too much and has a furious temper.

Thus, two visions of America irascibly compete home on the range, one steady and trusted and true the other only seeking crass self-fulfillment. 

They're consistently at venomous odds and don't freely beat around the bush, it's plenty awkward intergenerationally so, how do you progress in such heated circumstances?

The grandson (Brandon de Wilde) isn't sure what to do both the adults offering disputatious alternatives. 

The next generation of an adventurous country caught between competing undefined dreams. 

I reckon it's generally like this from one unique epoch to the original other, integral factors and intermediary zones cultivating community while self-obsessed visions tar with the same brush.

There isn't much ambiguity here it's clear to me Hud's quite the rapscallion, and there's nothing sublime or misunderstood about his way of life, he's just a first rate self-centred jerk.

There's something to be said for community building for playing a role big or small in such construction, perhaps not requiring mandatory parades or laudatory ubiquity, but still with a general sense of collective well-being (like you find in Québec).

There are thousands of chill roles to play and many aren't that bad if you show up and work, although things can be tricky from time to time, I try to keep quiet, unless my silence offends.

In one scene from Hud grandpappy relates how the munificent cow built so much of their culture, providing material for clothes and other things while also encouraging nourishment.

I immediately thought of the millions of bison who had historically resided on the plains. 

There was a built in network of ranching way back.

What a tragedy, how things unfolded.

*Not the Broncos win on Monday night versus Buffalo. That was amazing. 🏈

Good Morning, Miss Dove

The age old fascination with dependability and routine, as applied to flourishing bucolic life, through tranquil age and consistency, intergenerationally sustained. 

A clever recent University graduate travels home to see her Dad, who brags about her success and dreams of lucrative dividends. 

But he suddenly passes on and she soon soon finds he's been embezzling funds, and in order to avoid shock and scandal, agrees to gradually pay back the debt.

Thus, she refuses to marry a reliable brilliant eager suitor, and takes a job teaching geography at the local primary school, where she remains throughout her life.

It's the old world stiff-upper-lip resigned to duty and objective sacrifice, without flinching or even the  consideration of much more personally enriching paths.

She doesn't entertain regret or destructive bitterness or disastrous envy, and settles into a steady job she devotedly keeps for years to come.

As time passes, many local students must deal with her requisite tests, her level-headed impartiality encouraging widespread lifelong respect.

When she unexpectedly falls ill several ex-students visit her in the hospital. 

The dedication of an honourable lifetime abounding with reticent heartfelt allegiance. 

It's nice to see that dismal alternatives aren't generally focused on in Good Morning, Miss Dove, that the rewards of service and fidelity are angelically uplifted with enchanting charm.

Also nice to see the profession of teaching narratively celebrated and highly regarded, with the advent of new technologies breaking down timeless methods of instruction.

Do people dislike their fellow citizens so much is there that much social tension promoting A.I?, I honestly doubt it would ever replace teachers, but if I'm not mistaken, others disagree.

Then again the sale of CDs and cassette tapes has greatly decreased in recent memory, I hope artists still make comparable amounts from Apple Music etc. but I'm afraid I rather doubt it.

Professional movie making has been significantly challenged by online streaming and Netflix etc as well, my new remote even came with a Netflix button, I've never seen the like for CBC or CNN.

How else did artists used to make money and encourage independent thought, oh yes books!, is the younger generation reading? It's amazing how much you can learn from reading if you just put in a little time and effort.

Has the internet taken billions away from artistic endeavour as part of a plan to promote obedience, or was it just an unfortunate byproduct skilfully envisioned by pent up grouches?

At least schools are still prominently functioning and pandemic experiments proved infertile.

Doesn't mean they won't try again.

Working on my vinyl collection. 

The Horse's Mouth

I imagine The Horse's Mouth has been inspiring cheek for generations, as it magnanimously schemes through stray ludicrous accord.

Hark then, take offhand note, an imaginative artist is released from prison, immediately resuming the stress thereafter which initially led to his foul distemper.

Thus, with no income at hand and no commission retroactively forthcoming, a theoretical deal which may have merit seductively swelters in sordid cynosure.

Strange how someone so sought after just wildly wanders half-starved and disputative, you would think there'd be some kind of role for him to adequately play with solemn disinterest?

But wandering salubriously suits him with soliloquized synergies short and syncopated, the odd connoisseur taking distracted note, random deals struck fugaciously unaltered.

Inspiration indeed surely struts and mischievously materializes maelström and mayhem, as it does within The Horse's Mouth when idyllic lustre illustriously liaises. 

Indubitably, a frenzied subaltern is even enlisted with aggrieved bravado, the lack of orthodox laborious blueprints producing reluctant starstruck nebulae. 

No doubt encouraging flagrant entropy resiliently mutating into adamant verse. 

At times some things go amiss.

Textiles tantamount cantankered probity.

You wonder where he's headed in the auspicious final moments, imagine having a boat fortuitously buoyant and inquisitively seafaring.

I suppose if you can catch your dinner with moderate success there's no horizon, puzzling predicaments at times bemoaning yet still loose and lithe and limber.

With abundant material work may flourish beyond reckless trope and placated gale, regenerative lapse demonstrative brine lopsided latitude elegant shades.

Romance wasn't once so dangerous although tremulous realism distorts as well, without hope how do you ever achieve assuming a hearty practical frailty? 

Sometimes things relax and tactile comforts efficiently abound.

Soak it in, time for a breather.

It may even last.

'About on the seas.

*Essential viewing for Alec Guinness fans. It's like Obi-Wan Kenobi if he'd never had Jedi training. 

Quartet

The Facts of Life

The free sharing of age old wisdom oft accrues psychological check, as mantra and adage delicately condition economic tumult and ethical expenditure.

But with myriad personality distinctions effervescently flourishing with multifaceted largesse, the germane likelihood of symbiotic sanction may prove disheartening or indeed quite fun.

A father shares his paternal advice only to find every moral qualm deconstructed. 

His son winds up with a new car. 

Who's to say what's to be done?

The Alien Corn 

Theoretically in possession of everything one might hope to desire, yet longing to achieve the ultimate incomparable brilliant maddening incandescence.

Friends and family generally confused as to why the goal's so profoundly meaningful, considering how many other professions remain available, and he doesn't even have to work.

He's crushed by a virtuoso who didn't mean to hurt his feelings, and even though he's still quite talented, can't find the will to go on.

You can write Bazooka Joe comics or even Shakespearian sonnets, it makes no freakin' difference.

As long as you love what you do.

Beware destructive prejudice.

The Kite

Perhaps at times the parental bond is somewhat too tight, and the desire to be appreciated commensurately by others too unreasonable, so that when an imperious grown-up dispute arises, there's no applicable stratagem to discursively relay.

Sometimes incumbent smothering and a voluminous intent to orchestrate obsessively, may stifle the productivity you rely on, and leave a gaping void where you once harvested.

But in theory at times they say mental health professionals can attain results. 

As in the case of this marriage in question.

With Mervyn Johns (Samuel Sunbury), Hermione Baddeley (Beatrice Sunbury), and George Cole (Herbert Sunbury).

The Colonel's Lady

Worst case for an austere admirer of poignant pomp and reservéd circumstance, the unexpected emergence of imaginative scandal ceremoniously upsetting his stilted life.

No doubt many would remain uncertain if such a surprise suddenly diversified, especially if a tried and true dependable routine had gregariously governed for ages past.

Yet the truth residing in fiction can fortuitously lead to regeneration.

With newfound amenities previously unexpected.

Bit of a shocker, still, no doubt. 

Rambling Rose

A traditional bourgeois family reservédly ensconced in solemn routine, welcomes a new less particular nanny who emphatically declares with upbeat candour.

Indeed Rose (Laura Dern) lives in the moment and hasn't been raised to sidestep and sublimate, preferring a much more animate approach to life's chill steady wondrous stream.

The children don't know what to expect as they innocently regard and evaluate difference, Rose's behaviour much more lively than others, but mom (Diane Ladd) and dad (Robert Duvall) aren't noticeably upset.

Dad must even tame his boisterous unassuming bold habitual proclivities, while mom honestly proclaims forgiveness and showcases genuine compassionate forbearing. 

The men keep on arriving however, seemingly to test the young family's mettle, a cavalcade of imaginative dreamers thoroughly pursuing amorous soirées. 

Young Buddy (Lukas Haas) isn't objectively immune as fledgling contemplation ruminates attentively, a unique otherwise forbidden friendship delicately blossoming wholesome anew.

Such versatile carefree freedom suddenly emerging with urgent radiance, characteristically challenging pride and propriety through natural honest intuitive acclimation.

It's as if spellbinding concepts like orthodox mutual attachment, hold no sway in its wild articulate whirlwind romantic resounding arbour.

I've noted that many proceed this way and that there's an intricate network of corresponding customs, with which many people are generally familiar and even quite distinguished in erudite variety.

The difference in Rambling Rose seems to be a matter of frank exposure, the modest community in manifest shock yet still generally appreciative of the exotic literature.

Ships are launched and daydreams delineated as spirited love socioculturally embarks, as to the resulting societal effects I'm afraid I can't lucidly elevate or denounce them.

Is it supposed to be lighthearted and playful or quizzically uncanny or simply absurd, or is there a sincere yet humorous investment on potentially game changing display?

It's a fun if not controversial illustration of enamoured import indubitably worth noting, with fluid debate perhaps freely generated after the first mesmerizing viewing.

Patience and charity, ethical endeavour, concepts defined in so many ways. 

Itinerant artistic accolades. 

Would likely also make a good read. 

Notting Hill

Relaxed and calm a modest income something to do throughout the day, friends and family puttering close by refined chillaxed communal orchestration.

An amazing guy so easygoing so generally tolerant of diverse personality, capable of providing well-reasoned advice or simply listening with enthused sympathy.

No partner to speak of unfortunately his passivity perhaps sounding alarms, elaborate dreaming jocose imagination unaccustomed to the practical life.

But Notting Hill isn't actively critical of well-meaning culture and sublime compassion, William Thacker (Hugh Grant) isn't hiding a body in his basement nor is he consumed by some monstrous fetish.

In fact he's a genuine nice guy inhabiting a world that doesn't find this frightening, such an odd state of mature affairs wherein which the lighthearted aren't considered maniacal. 

How it goes at times, however, look for the signs, be prepared to move on, and if time passes and the familiar patterns don't reemerge, you know you've found something solid, durable.

William is surprised one afternoon when a startling lass takes a shine to his bookshop, they find themselves out on what is known as a date, and even seem to be enjoying each other's company (Julia Roberts as Anna Scott).

But she's a film star, a rather famous one at that, who's managed to avoid the paparazzi in London, as they amicably mosey throughout Notting Hill congenially disposed to romantic endeavours. 

Nevertheless, after Mr. Thacker's less discreet flatmate (Rhys Ifans as Spike) discovers _______ happens to be spending the night, he has something to discuss at the pub and the press come hounding the very next morn.

Uncertain as to why they've appeared Anna instinctually senses ambitious wrongdoing.

She's also rather shocked and embarrassed. 

World's collide, what can he do?

It's a light thought provoking illustration of convivial paradigmatic in/compatibility, practical realities spoiling the fun while patiently building rapports unprecedented. 

So long since I've seen Julia Roberts laugh universally celebrating something quirky (prefer it to Streep or Hepburn).

I loved Hugh Grant's line, "this is a very strange reality to be faced with".

The classic Anglo/American synthesis. 

Such interrelations are underexplored. 

Madeleine

A flexible titled dreamer finds a new home in Scotland (Ivan Desny as Emile L'Angelier), equipped with the devoted awestruck l'amour of a reputable fervent lass (Ann Todd as Madeleine Smith). 

She's from a stilted family which discourages intrigue however, her love flourishing incognito, concealed in furtive full-on trust.

Her father (Leslie Banks) hopes she'll accept the courting of a well-to-do local lad (Norman Wooland as Minnoch), who's settled within high society and conjugally keen.

He rules their lavish abode with patriarchal austerity, abiding by strict codes of conduct the subversion of which may lead to ruin.

Or the sanitarium or some such place she has absolutely no desire go, the resultant pestiferous pressure overwhelming her romantic longing.

You would hope there would be more opportunity, other options besides a propitious marriage, but these were different times indeed with fewer outlets for spry prosperity.

Her nerve implodes forlorn and lost she breaks off her clandestine betrothal. 

Her lover notably distraught.

And in possession of secret letters.

David Lean's Madeleine interrogates scandal as a matter of propriety, etched deep with the upper echelons indelicately diagnosing disquiet.

Odd to consider that one so well off would be so strictly bound, not with the desire to promote debauchery, but rather without independent means at her disposal.

It's a shame that tabloid fascination reconstitutes festive fetters, the skeptical gaze of the cynical eye necessitating stealth and cumbersome zeal. 

Madeleine does have deceptive means to be elaborately employed, yet her exceptional liberating scheming fails to pass without further comment.

What risk to take the one which leads to less disputatious uproar, or perhaps to nothing at all, perhaps void of thrill or consequence?

Certainly not a romantic take on lauded cherished flush true love, nevertheless unique in its remonstrations in its unorthodox blinding outrage.

Understanding is of critical import from disconsolate passionate perspectives, commiserating comprehensions deconstructed invariability. 

The inviolable traditionalist may regard Madeleine with horror, as endearing sought after outcomes languish in bitter virulence.

But the novelty remains somewhat comic from alternative dispositions.

By no means grand or exemplary. 

But still encouraging greater freedom.