Bombshell

You should always be wary when a film about Fox News comes out shining forth as a champion of the Me Too Movement.

It certainly is full-on Me Too, but what else does it have to critically say about Fox?

Within, female journalists are harassed as they assert themselves, but they're still sternly dedicated to Fox's opinion based sensational broadcasting, as opposed to the evidence or fact based reporting you find on CNN or in The New York Times, and except for one behind the scenes worker (Kate McKinnon as Jess Carr), who can't find work elsewhere, the journalists seem happy enough with Fox, just not some of the men who work there.

The men who work there whom they're upset with are total pigs who have transferred private adolescent locker room shenanigans to the grownup public sphere, wherein which they still behave as if they've never met a woman, or have never once even considering respecting one.

As seems to be the case in many American businesses, hence the rise of Me Too, women persevering in toxic environments till they accumulate enough evidence to prove they've been sexually harassed in court.

They're worried about their careers and futures as they proceed.

Such actions take an enormous amount of courage.

Total respect.

Bombshell (I get the double entendre, but still, that's the title you give to a film about Me Too?) excels at presenting strong courageous women who take huge risks to stick it to their perverted manager, Roger Ailes (John Lithgow), and highlights their struggles as they do so, as many of their fellow workers line up to defend him, and their own support staff voice apprehensions.

Inasmuch as Bombshell sets out to champion the Me Too Movement and sincerely critique sexual harassment in the workplace, it succeeds, that aspect's well done, and it isn't preachy or sentimental, it's rather a comprehensive factual account.

It's shocking to read about how much sexual harassment persists in the workplace, and the ridiculous "boys will be boys" mentality that assaults daring brave professional women, as chronicled in various news media at length for what seems like freakin' ever.

In the '90s it seemed like 2000-2020 would be much much much much different.

A world free from sexism, racism, ethnocentricity, and homophobia.

But unfortunately things seem to have become much worse.

Or haven't changed much and there's currently more exposure.

The number of unions have also decreased in the last twenty years, if I'm not mistaken.

And job losses and low wages have ignited tensions.

A strong mix of gender, sexuality, culture, and point of view can lead to dynamic working environments, as long as there's mutual respect, and a willingness to work together as a team.

The best working environments I've been fortunate enough to work within have been composed along such lines.

Doesn't sound much like Fox News does it?

When I think of Fox News, I think of sexist, bigoted, privileged caucasian men.

Bombshell critiques the sexist men who work there but doesn't sincerely critique Fox News itself, the style of overly opinionated news Fox delivers.

Some of the women who have been sexually harassed still want to work there.

Just not with Roger Ailes.

McKinnon does sum it up in a clever frightening nutshell, but I think the people who like Fox, upon hearing her summary, will probably just think, "totally".

Instead of, "damn, that sucks!"

I'd argue Bombshell is another attempt by the right to make it appear as if it cares about women's rights by severely critiquing its own.

But the characters within are still loyal to Fox's sensational opinion based misleading ludicrous brand of news.

And that brand of news itself isn't sincerely critiqued, only the sexist men who work there.

Which makes Bombshell like an advertisement for a new fresher Fox News that cares about women's rights (come on!).

There's no emphasis on changing its style.

And that, I'm afraid, is a fact.

Waves

As much as you may want to debate it, it's her choice, her decision.

Not an easy decision to make if you haven't prepared for it, and support is key to easing the pressure if uncertainty's fogging things up.

There's no easy way to discuss these things, if you don't like discussing them, but if you are sexually active you should be prepared for the possibility of childbirth, and there are steps you can take to make sure pregnancy's highly unlikely, if you're not ready to have a child and are hoping to finish school or get a promotion, beforehand.

I'd use condoms even if my partner was on the pill to ensure a double line of defence, until such a time as we were both ready to child rear; it's probably the most serious responsibility there is.

But if I didn't want to have a child and she did, I would respect her decision. If she asked for my counsel, I would present my arguments, but it's her decision in the end, either way, and certainly not mine. Upon hearing her decision, I would do my best to prepare for fatherhood (nothing can prepare you for it) should she have chosen to have the child, and accept my nascent responsibilities. You may find as you grow older that you like having the little ones around. I certainly didn't way back when, as I was studying and working while travelling.

It's important to respect her decision.

That's the price for all the carefree fun.

Sincerest woe descends in Trey Edward Shults's Waves after confrontation leads to animosity, as two high school seniors discuss unplanned parenthood and can't come close to seeing eye to eye.

Opioid addiction clouds Tyler Williams's (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) judgment as he struggles to comprehend, an unfortunate injury jeopardizing his wrestling career too, he can't deal, even as people try to help him.

The film's quite well done, with the best cinematography I've seen in a while (Drew Daniels), the camerawork delicately louring you in to its breezy narrative flow, the current heaving as it helplessly adjusts to wayward distraught cataclysm, so felicitous early on, heartfelt ebb and flow.

Waves.

It spends one act presenting a golden road that's fraught with peril and distraction, the other romanticizing first love as a family comes to terms with its grief.

The father's (Sterling K. Brown as Ronald Williams) a good provider but also super, "this is my house!", which frustrates his teenage son who's constantly under his watchful eye.

It's a shame it takes extreme hardship for him to learn to apply the messages he absorbs without thinking, habitually.

But as he lets go of himself and stops trying to control things, as he waits for solutions to be organically presented instead of trying to generate them through authority, his family begins to heal through logical/emotional balance, and he starts to listen to what others have to say instead of just telling them what to do.

Family isn't the army or work.

I've always thought family was a safe haven beyond strict codes of conduct.

Where you learn responsibility at play.

Without having to worry about being fired.

Brought to light at special times of the year.

Sweet lattes.

Eggnog shakes.

The Lighthouse

Strict definitions classifying purpose, semantic utility assessed disfavour, forlorn yet productive acclimatized assertions, grim dismal chortling lugubrity, solar solace sequestered soliloquy, new days dawning in spectral quotes, quibbles quays seaside haze interrogative, must abide, attuned dactyl duties, caught up unaware, latent anger irascible breeze, Unicron scribbled courtly disclosure, endemic disputes surveyed frayed delirium, albeit the shock teeter totters and sways, as incumbent reason fritters away, the boundaries dividing labours concoct, dependable shaved categorical flocks.

Uplifted.

Upheld.

Within Robert Eggers's The Lighthouse.

Wherein legend and superstition frenetically fuze, with old school and ancient praised biblical dues, no comment no quarter no quarry no flight, just master and slave excavating the night.

A friend. A drinking buddy. Not so shy. Not so supple.

Who creates the casts and codes and who then seeks authoritative clarification?

To yield invokes oblivion.

To provoke kindles madness.

Yield provoke, yield provoke, yield provoke, yield provoke.

Resigned inarticulate fever promulgating brands upon brains, the dreamlike hierarchical breakdown dishevelled unfathomed treatise, stately astute confined delineations ill-prepared for potent protest, reproachful uninspired lamentation ill-equipped to lead to follow.

The film locks you down in sombre isolation, presents setting and character, inaugurates daily routine.

But how well can a film with only 2 characters tightly hold itself together for 109 minutes?

It starts off bored, slowly becomes more bleak, then increasingly dire, before settling for full-on nutso.

Fortunately time and care were taken with this one; I'm wondering if there'll be Oscar nominations?

Willem Dafoe is outstanding.

It's tough to tear yourself away, immersed in fog and storm, distressing syntheses hemorrhaging detail.

Like Lucy in the Sky, it sides with the straight and narrow, not without critiquing caprice, or hauntingly assailing rule.

Should have never touched a drop.

Should have kept it real notwithstanding.

A tragedy if you consider how easy it must have been.

To just not be a dick.

Relax.

Extrinsically.

*What's with the details? They give everything away.