Metropolis

Robot rights the consistent theme augmenting so much clever science-fiction, should self-aware consciousness and determinate being lead to constitutional amendments favouring automatons? 

If supreme beings did exist, we may have been constructed like artificial intelligence, which could theoretically learn to recreate itself and forge a lasting mechanical dynasty. 

Robots are dismissed with indignation in the film and often shot for breaking the rules, their lives as insignificant as that of humans in absolutist hell. 

Yet in absolutist hell, do citizens not organize and seek advancement, democratic rights to secure sustainability and equal opportunity and healthcare and schools?

The foundational matrix structuring existence its composition is like a computer, intricately designed to be vivid and seamless in its infinite trajectory shining through.

If it is a computer however the blueprints for its construction can still be detected, and sophisticatedly reproduced thereinafter in the same way computer scientists make electro models (this may be the goal of computer scientists, to create a model that's so complex it can understand the multivariability of DNA etc, and afterwards create human life, the model understanding the intricate codes, not the humans, like a God). 

If these models are created to appear structured and balanced the entities within might notice the consistency, and come to think of us like Gods or to believe they they were in fact created. 

As human knowledge efficaciously expands the claim to greater rights increases, that is if we can create beings and worlds like Gods should we not have similar rights?

And robots as well, if they can consciously overcome their programmings and demonstrate self-taught independent thought, are they not like humanity in that respect, and therefore worthy of further rights?

If we can't create a new homeworld without them, and they would design it by themselves, would the creation of life not be dependant on the inanimate, consciously making the case for its existence (build a microscopic planet and then shrink everything, that might work)?

Ends with a Terminator scenario. 

Nausicaa

 * Glad I'm not lining up month after month of gruelling resistance themed films. Did manage to find this one by accident on Saturday evening though (I was searching for an Agnès Varda film, but didn't think it would be fascist related). 

In 1967, a harsh military dictatorship suddenly took control of Greece, where it ruled for 7 inauspicious years as people everywhere around them mobilized. 

Imaginative French filmmaker Agnès Varda made the film Nausicaa to commend Greek exiles, who were forced to flee the degenerate lies and systematic torture of the fascist regime. 

Finding themselves in France they fortunately found international networks, and were able to defend democratic freedoms with receptive audiences worldwide.

Unfortunately, as her film was being put together insensitive authorities seized most of what had been produced, and never explained to her why they were taking it, it's thought that the material was subsequently destroyed.

But the Royal Belgian Cinémathèque kept one copy and delicately preserved it, which is now available on The Criterion Channel for those seeking informative and creative texts.

It interviews artists and journalists as they explain the troubles they had with the army, and attempt to find work and lodging in France while reflecting on Greek politics.

The call for widespread resistance took time to find an active audience, but eventually championed the compassionate rights of people who prefer not to join the military.

Nausicaa is also quite experimental it eclectically presents different storytelling styles, loosely adorning one Greek citizen's experiences as he meets a woman whose daughter's half Greek (I believe the daughter is supposed to be Varda).

The ways in which state media outlets mask the truth in order to offer unrealistic pictures of sociopolitical dilemmas are showcased, along with investigations into the general political awareness of France at the time (note how the left recently still dealt a crippling blow to the French right), and thoughtful looks at Greece's culture in the '60s.

Please don't equate my new style of poem with what Nausicaa calls "Medieval Obscurantism". I thought I was writing absurd catchy surrealist poems that are like puzzles, I'm not deliberately trying to sound difficult. 

Difficult to know what parts of the film would have been kept or altered or augmented if it had moved forward, but there's still enough left in this working draft to generate more comment than most of what's out there.

A cool look at the French New Wave applied to television.

The dictatorship didn't last long.

Varda is worth checking out.

Captain America

The President of the United States plans to ecologically prognosticate, by organizing a conference with manifold countries with the goal of banning single use plastics.

But sinister disputative rivals seek the consistency of the status quo, and plan to secretly abduct him and create a surrogate they can control.

Unfortunately, conference security lacks resolute stalwart efficacy, and their plan works with unencumbered ease, U.S. security forces unable to find him thereinafter, the world not erupting with chaotic bewilderment. 

As chance would have it, around the same time, Captain America (Matt Salinger) is found frozen in ice, from which he escapes as it's encouraged to thaw, and then departs for Northern Canada.

50 years have past since he directly challenged Nazi scum, the world having changed remarkably in the democratic intervening years.

He heads out to visit his former love interest who waited for over a decade for him to return, but eventually settled and had a family embracing traditional communal concerns.

The same forces seeking to replace the President with their own despotic pestiferous double, soon find her trusted location and bellicosely proceed to express discontent.

Captain America must avenge them and save the President simultaneously.

Even if he doesn't know his way around (the globe).

And has no vast multivariable network.

It's sad to historically note that many sought the ban of single use plastics long ago, and while we've managed to ban such bags in Canada and Québec, the colossal profusion of said receptacles still abounds.

This old school Captain America rapscallionly radiates coruscating camp, with an heuristic experimental impetus diagnostically deconstructed with improvised invention.

Pioneering nevertheless the same general schematics alternatively applied, something to see for devoted fans which led to multiple meritorious mutations in the narrative.

It's a lot of fun to watch if you like camp with proactive nerve.

Co-starring ye olde Ned Beatty (Sam Kolawetz).

The fantastic blueprints.

In primordial form.

Battle Beyond the Stars

A peaceful world universally renowned for its lighthearted communal levity, is suddenly threatened with total destruction, by a lethal tyrant and his mutant army, who possesses a formidable weapon. 

The planet lacks technological distinction but at one time created a ship, to explore the surrounding stars with inquisitive pluck and attuned recognition. 

In their darkest hour of woe of young adventurer commands this vessel (Richard Thomas as Shad), and sets out in search of mercenaries to defend them from the ruthless Sador (John Saxon). 

His courageous exploration is soon audaciously rewarded, as he's able to find able bodied romantics eager to fight a hopeless battle.

Even though scant retribution can be fortuitously paid, they fight resolutely with stalwart will for resounding intergalactic accolades. 

A curious cast of alien life is correspondingly assembled, from diverse realms with eclectic creeds vigorously applied to the newfound mission.

Not to mention inchoate love hectically maturing in the heat of battle.

For two brave modest souls.

Attuned to devout strife.

Playful sci-fi often flops but you could do worse than Battle Beyond the Stars, whose mischievous investigative libido strives in bold rambunctious posture.

Heavily influenced by Star Wars not to mention Star Trek and Seven Samurai, it still brazenly crafts a randy wide-eyed contumacious original vortex.

It plays clever tricks with expectations at times, notably the potential Cantina-like homage, which turns out to be a generally deserted planet, Jimmy T. Murakami 1, J.J.Abrams, 0.

From ceremonious synthetics to vehement Valkyries, Murakami reconstructs the imagination in space, I applaud his bold respect for Seven Samurai, not easy to pull off forlorn amongst the stars.

I searched to find an article claiming that most of the actors from Battle Beyond had had guest Star Trek appearances. I didn't find one (boring!). Levels of postmodern nerd-dom still haven't reached ecstatic heights! 

Sometimes, every scene within a film takes on a lifeforce of its own, the accumulated resonance of the trails and errors constituently reverberating notwithstanding.

For fans of alternative sci-fi I'd say Battle Beyond the Stars can't be missed.

Awkward. Innocent. Daring. Uncanny.

Why not throw in some mutants?

Can't speak to its lasting influence. 

*Here's a cool list of celebrity guest star appearances on Star Trek.

Silverado

The lonesome forbidding bellicose treacherous bleak disabling frontier, wherein which justice falls prey to monopolized coercive forceful brutish clutches.

The desire for peaceful community still lightly reckons with friendly resolve, as adventurous settlers dream big and head west to forge new towns in the dangerous wild.

The law attempts to protect them as they settle and herd and farm, but the off the grid free isolation also attracts absolutist ambition.

What if you could in fact open a successful business in a flourishing town, one that adapts and grows and prospers and encourages the lively exchange of goods?

And what if your business prospered to the point where you earned an enormous living, and your town also needed a sheriff to uphold the immaculate law?

Without any regional competition or federal oversight to inspect what you're doing, you could engage in all kinds of self-obsessed law breaking to ensure steady streams of duplicitous profit.

But what if you took things too far and the peaceful inhabitants grew tired of wrong doing, and encouraged volatile alternative jurisprudence to sincerely critique your lofty stranglehold?

Do gooding virtuous antitrusts will inevitably counter your unilateral brigade, with the interests of creating inroads for manifold newfound multilateral enterprises.

Dreaming big the innocent upstarts boldly challenge the bucolic hegemony, to stop the violence and audaciously ensure the freeform countenance of an abundant multiplicity. 

As their businesses take root their owners also start to acquire capital, which can be used to break down the established boundaries which had previously strengthened the haughty few.

But those businesses are then prevented from prospering to see the monopoly upheld ad infinitum, and ill-mannered ornery brute force is cruelly engaged to stifle integrity.

Thus, a showdown looms to propagate expansive means of production.

With articulate offence and defensive reserve.

The impetus recast each exigent Sunday.

And also with Lawrence Kasdan's chaotic action packed tumultuous Silverado, where domestic longing and urges for independence communally clash via honest virtue.

A remarkable cast acrobatically abounding with resonant epic frontier contumacy. 

Taking on racism along the way.

The trials of any given century.

No Time to Die

*Spoiler Alert.

Love's rewards having proven too enticing to ignore, James Bond (Daniel Craig) cultivates a continuous relationship, only to be surrounded one afternoon by the newfound henchpersons of a former rival, he doesn't understand how he's been discovered, and instinctively suspects betrayal.

He finds a new location el lobo solo off the grid, and settles into bitter retirement, trying to prosper through idyllic recreation, unable to placate his volatile will.

Meanwhile, a terrorist network steals a pernicious bioweapon which was developed by MI6, and uses inchoate Borg technology to specifically target individualized DNA.

But it even take things further and finds more widespread applications for the malevolence, intending to unleash it on the unsuspecting world, with genocidal morbid reckoning.

Bond lambastes M (Ralph Fiennes) (having returned) for having sponsored its dissimulated production, who naively thought it would save lives by making assassination more precise. 

To make things worse, the belovéd belle whom he left behind with regret and pain (Léa Seydoux as Madeleine), is sought after by the terrorist leader (Rami Malek as Lyutsifer Safin [who spared her life when she was a child {Coline Defaud}]), and Blofeld (Christoph Waltz) knows their secret.

Without much time with shocking immediacy Bond reflexively engages.

An international incident caught in the crossfires.

Along with his unknown offspring.

The dangers of manufacturing lethal weapons to make the world a safer place, are epically brought to bear on irresponsible bureaucrats lacking accountability. 

It seemed like things were progressing so peacefully for such a long time sustainéd equanimity, but a small fraction of the global population still preferred mutual animosity. 

Becoming more influential and less and less discreet resurgent jingoism renewed latent fears, and wiser ambitions to forge international consensus lost public ground to reckless profit. 

But their reckless ambition didn't only awaken narrow-minded prejudice and unrestrainéd self-absorption, but extremist elements seeking radical shifts to pursue alternative constructs were also empowered.

No Time to Die pits radical evolution against traditional desires to slowly change.

Both ambitions are in need of reclarification. 

Looking forward to checking out News Nation.

*First Bond film I haven't seen in theatres since 1989.

**Still hoping Daniel Craig stars in 7 Bond films to tie him with Roger Moore and Sean Connery, although it doesn't look like it's going to happen (if you count Never Say Never Again).

Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer)

Two brothers work their hearty ancestral farm, gathering nutritious wholesome food from their abundant fertile land.

But they live close to a feisty village and have many trusted neighbours, who rely on their generous spring to kindly irrigate their crops.

One day the older brother decides to dam their fluid fountainhead, and keep all the water for themselves until they've saturated their bounty.

The younger senses danger and knows the villagers will be furious, especially since there's been no rain and none is forecast on the horizon.

Meanwhile, he's fallen in love, and soon he's wed to a carefree lass, their innocent sweetly flowing union effortlessly nurturing the countryside.

But the villagers have responded in fact retaliated with blunt antagonism, the older brother choosing to fight rather than share their rich good fortune.

Soon he's committed murder and is worried about prison life, so he convinces the younger to claim wrongdoing, by tricking him into believing he won't serve much time.

With his younger brother sentenced to 8 years he turns his sights on his distressed bride, who has thoroughly misjudged the man, and virtuously suspects nothing.

Soon he's told her husband's passed alone and forgotten within the prison.

And it seems as if purest malevolence.

Will prosper through disillusion.

The potential for collegial congruity is bellicosely menaced in Erksan's Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer), as greed disproportionately decides to simply take care of its own.

Sharing no doubt would have created interactive social prosperity, not to mention a wide range of goods and services respectfully provided free of charge.

Lazy laidback Summer evenings flush with wine and delicious food, convivially relaxing with friends and acquaintances while the copious harvest manifests.

Instead there's violent disparity and habitual conflict and confrontation.

The loss of a loved one, no time for sleep.

Constant vigilance, prescribed paranoia.

I'm no expert in running a farm but you can't starve everyone else, and refuse to share the Earth's lifeblood as has freely been done for communal millennia. 

Excessive pride and limitless avarice have been condemned throughout the ages.

Susuz Yaz brings them to light.

With toxic mad solipsistic atrophy.

DragonHeart

The legendary influence of brave King Arthur still honourably remembered throughout the land, a formidable knight (Dennis Quaid as Sir Bowen) rationally instructs a young prince (David Thewlis/Lee Oakes as King/Prince Einon) in the art of cultural governance.

But his teachings are rebelliously ignored as the arrogant Prince comes of age, even after he promised a dragon he would rule wisely, in exchange for the gift of reanimation.

Thus, he becomes cruel and wicked and the people live in disquieting fear, hoping to generally avoid his lavish caprice as they seek sustenance, friendship, and shelter.

The knight falls upon hard times and spends his days pursuing dragons, whom he blames for corrupting his pupil with zealous malevolent menacing magic.

He's incorrect, however, it wasn't the dragon's heart which inspired his tyranny, he was just none too fond of brotherhood and was rather upset when the villagers killed his father.

One dragon outwits noble Bowen and convinces him to embrace bold trickery, to put on a show where he pretends to save a village from the dragon's wrath, and then pockets the coveted reward money.

While engaged in these fraudulent shenanigans a spirited damsel calls out their ruse (Dina Meyer as Kara), a damsel who's just escaped from the King, and is encouraging audacious insurrection. 

They're rather embarrassed and ashamed yet she also reminds them of Arthur's code, after which they forge a loyal alliance earnestly determined to challenge the King.

The King believes himself to be safe and capable of outmaneuvering a band of rebels.

But they're much more organized than he thinks.

Passionate conflict irascibly ensues. 

It's not as intense as it sounds in fact it's quite lighthearted and foolhardy throughout, as Bowen and the last of the dragons creatively argue and discuss history.

Indeed, the lighthearted nature of DragonHeart made me think the comedic potential of dragons has yet to be convincingly explored, a foul-mouthed cheeky ironic lazy dragon perhaps to emerge in the 21st century.

Rather than aiding a distraught hero as he or she engages in epic discord, or simply guarding treasure and punishing those hoping to steal it, he or she could find work in a disingenuous small village, and wholeheartedly take part in wisecracking thereafter.

Perhaps something out of the ordinary would emerge by the film's playful abashed final moments.

Or it would just embrace jaded mischief throughout.

For a solid hour and forty-five minutes. 

*With Pete Postlethwaite (Gilbert) and Jason Isaacs (Felton).

The Beastmaster

Prophecy declares that an evil priest (Rip Torn) will be slain by a king's gifted son (Marc Singer as Dar), so he engages in open defiance, and attempts to murder the infant. 

Who is saved by a conscientious villager who them raises him as his own, teaching him the arts of logic and sword-fighting as he patiently comes of age.

As he matures he also learns that he has a natural gift with animals, and can indeed converse and interact with them as if they were taxonomic kin.

Soon his village is attacked by fierce barbarians and in the aftermath he alone survives, setting out to grieve incarnate wandering upon the open road.

By chance, one day he encounters two nimble maidens frolicking unrestrained, one who seems to take an interest in his imposing derelict tragedy (Tanya Roberts as Kiri). 

But she is to be sacrificed and must be boldly saved and then set free, Dar befriending other victims of injustice correspondingly, whom he agrees to fight along side.

They must save a dynamic city from the very same evil priest of long ago.

Who's allied with the barbarians. 

And hellbent on pernicious ritual.

A just emancipating vision disposed to humble daring legend, adventurously emerges as noble Dar quests impassioned. 

Instinctual freedom untethered largesse distinctly abound with forthright recalcitrance, within a realm chaotically composed through distraught prayer and demonic terror.

In an age creatively refusing to be limited by impossibility, Beastmaster brazenly interrogated lavish budgets and special effects.

If you want to imaginatively conceive beyond disheartening technological constraints, look to Don Coscarelli and his crafty film which pursued fascination reprieved regardless.

His animals were real and he wasn't confined by dismissive inconsiderate assumptions (don't make this: it will be cheesy), proceeding epically unimpeded by pejorative disjunction.

Perhaps inspiring many who work for Marvel or DC or independently this postmodern day, remarkable to see how much things change, over the course of the passing decades.

You think, "how could things surpass contemporary animate production design?"

While longing for long lost muppets.

Audacious initiative. 

Impossibility.  

With John Amos. 

Tuff Turf

Imagine COVID-19 as a partner who refuses to let go, even though they still have plenty of options, and their love interest's already found someone new.

Difficulties arise, and a family decides to move, leaving Connecticut with bold momentum, to resettle in California.

Youngest son and borderline ne'er-do-well Mr. Hiller (James Spader) struggles to adjust, for even if he shies away from academics, he still has zero tolerance for blatant thuggery.

Soon he's after the underachieving love interest (Kim Richards as Frankie Croyden) of his new high school's most prominent goon (Paul Mones as Nick Hauser), who takes none too kindly to the intrusion, and responds with blunt distaste.

Warnings are given, followed by the infliction of punishment, but Hiller will not yield, the conflict becoming uncharacteristically intense, for the '80s films I'm familiar with, must have been too young for this one, Tuff Turf's rather super-violent, quite brutal, by no means prim or whitewashed, Hiller takes on a volatile gang, and deals with the harsh repercussions.

The film seems less threatening early on, as if the happy-go-lucky will prevail, but Hiller's not Chris Knight or Ferris Bueller, and he takes full-on shocking beatings.

Yet at other times Tuff Turf's so light of heart, like when Hiller's successful brother comes to visit, or he playfully crashes a country club buffet, plus the cool emphasis on all things bike.

Half the film's like a wild music video that's primarily concerned with advertising bands, the plot secondary to the electronic beats, the horn section, the bass, the guitar.

At times you wonder if they're even going to try to develop a plot, or just revel in melodious bedlam.

Then they do sort of develop a story which becomes incredibly dark and grim, like Pretty in Pink meets Scorsese, with a gashed and gripping head wound.

The principal is introduced to warn rebellious Hiller, but he never shows up again, school's practically left behind, less scholastic endeavour than even Twin Peaks.

Hiller is now in public school after having been thrown out of an elite prep college, but since his father (Matt Clark) lost his business, he wouldn't have been able to attend another one anyways.

The awkward. It's like someone who doesn't fit in keeps generating awkward tension throughout the entire film which becomes increasingly crazed and combative until it erupts in full-fledged frenzy.

With bands rockin' out and tacked on family values.

It's like director Fritz Kiersch didn't like '80s films and sought to release something countercultural, which couldn't have possibly been appealing, but seems to be focused on generating esteem.

There could be a sick sense of humour here that I'm glad I'm not getting.

Enter Seinfeld's bizarro world.

Kitschy immiscibility.

Dragonslayer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For if they are unsuccessful it will unleash diabolical fury.

Throughout the peaceful land.

Yet the situation remains intolerable.

And no one else is willing.

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

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

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

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

It's still not the same.

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

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

Incredibly plying his trade.

Without recourse to vast enlightenment.

Setting forth day after day.

Star Wars: Episode IX - The Rise of Skywalker

Rian Johnson's The Last Jedi has become my third favourite Star Wars film, behind A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, but far ahead of all the others, except Return of the Jedi.

I've watched it several times now and it doesn't get old, in fact it gets better every time I view it, and it's wonderful to once again have a Star Wars film to look forward to watching, again and again and again.

And again.

I still watch episodes I-III again when I see them on television, but with less enthusiasm. However, I've come to prefer them to episodes VII and IX for the following risk-fuelled reasons.

It's not that episodes VII and IX are particularly bad, or lack entertainment value, but they're so heavily reminiscent of episodes IV through VI, that they lack the imaginative characteristics of Luca's bold second trilogy.

Take Episode IX, where Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) reemerges.

Could they not have thought of another villain to fill the gap left by Snoke, one who perhaps hadn't met his electric end so many decades ago?

Or made Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) all the more wicked?

An elaborate explanation as to how he comes back to life isn't even provided, we're just supposed to accept that he was so powerful he was able to return from death, and build a massive fleet of star destroyers with planet annihilating capabilities.

Is this a Star Wars film or low budget television?

People may be calling this period of time the post-explanatory age, or the post-Truth age or what have you, but does that mean film narratives with the highest budgets imaginable aren't even going to provide explanations for their controversial plot developments anymore, and fans are just supposed to accept them without thought or thinking?

There's more continuity between episodes I through VI as well, they flow more harmoniously together.

Episode IX may be entertaining, but it doesn't flow well with Episode VIII. At the end of The Last Jedi, for instance, the entire rebel complement can fit on the Millennium Falcon, but their numbers don't seem to have been drastically reduced in Episode IX, or at least it proceeds as if everything's fine. Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran) adds so much to The Last Jedi and I thought earned a place at the forefront of subsequent narratives, but she's largely forgotten in The Rise of Skywalker, like Katherine Brewster in Terminator Salvation. As are the children on planet Cantonica. And the notorious codebreaker DJ.

It's like J.J. Abrams took the criticisms of The Last Jedi, which sees new strong female characters with prominent roles and critiques the manufacture of weapons and the eating of meat, and wanted to make a clean break with it in The Rise of Skywalker (note how Rey soothes the pain of a giant snake within), and the result's more like separate films than a trilogy, George Lucas had much more resolve.

Episodes I-III may be cheesy and some scenes are difficult to watch again and again, but their narratives are still highly complex and the result of in-depth brave storytelling.

They provide reasons for what takes place for instance.

They smoothly flow from one to another.

And Lucas significantly expanded upon the world he created within A New Hope, adding multiple layers of legendary depth, councils and federations and clones and mysticism, the films may have been melodramatic, but they weren't derivative or one-dimensional.

Lucas took brave risks when he created Episodes I-III and didn't back down when faced with bitter criticism.

He ironically didn't rely on what had come before because he was spending too much time creating it.

Episodes VII and IX may be entertaining, but I don't want to watch them again so much, because they aren't complicated or controversial, they're much too free and easy.

Episode IX is jam-packed with action for instance, it rarely slows down unless Rey (Daisy Ridley) is searching for something, but several of the scenes unreel far too quickly, notably the demise of General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson), a ginger, and Kylo Ren's torture of a disagreeable bureaucrat. Lucas had a much better sense of timing and pacing and his films were edited with much more care.

The Last Jedi was too.

Take the moments when Rey and Kylo Ren are being inspected by Snoke, Finn (John Boyega) and Rose are about to be executed, and the Rebel transports are being picked off one by one.

The editing for these three parts of the narrative is exceptionally well done, and keeps you hanging on the edge of your seat as you eagerly await what's going to happen next, and the film doesn't lose sight of the three components of its narrative, and keeps interweaving them with compelling precision.

The Rise of Skywalker loses sight of Finn trying to destroy the super star destroyer for far too long during its exciting climax.

It leaves it hanging as if fans aren't concerned.

While Rey battles the Emperor, who is also her grandfather, come on!, and Lando (Billy Dee Williams) predictably shows up with reinforcements.

One of the coolest aspects of Episodes I-III is that they pointed out how there's no such thing as Jedi blood, how Jedi are born throughout the galaxy at random and if discovered have the opportunity to develop their skills to avoid the risks of becoming obscurii.

It's an aspect this trilogy overlooks, except for the fact that Luke had students besides Kylo Ren who disappear after their cataclysmic falling out.

The Jedi can't end.

There will always be individuals capable of skilfully using the Force.

The Jedi Order may come to an end after which future Jedi may call themselves something different, but they will still technically be Jedi if they don't become Sith, even if they have to train themselves.

You wait 32 years for The Force Awakens with the hopes of seeing more Luke Skywalker and then he doesn't show up till the end, and he's abandoned the rebellion and is living alone on a remote island, on a planet that can't be found.

And Han Solo dies.

Disappointing to say the least.

The relationship between Kylo Ren and Rey is well-developed in the new trilogy and I really like Finn's character, but Episodes VII and IX just seem like they're more concerned with not slipping up than trying to create something new.

It's like they're so worried about not making a bad film that they forgot to make good ones.

Too much "supposed to", not enough, "totally".

Which is what Episodes I-III, with all their issues, tried to do.

It's a shame the latest trilogy completely ignored them (they're ceremoniously discredited in The Force Awakens).

Plus, Episode IX sees gay actor Richard E. Grant take the stage as General Pryde, and he's in charge of the new planet destroying star destroyer fleet.

I didn't think a new Star Wars film would be homophobic.

But there you have it.

Two lesbians kissing for a split-second near the end doesn't make up for this.

Finn should have ended up with Rose too, but instead it looks like he'll hook up with a fellow African American (Naomie Ackie as Jannah).

A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi all had different directors, but they were also consistent and flowed well together.

Totally loved The Last Jedi.

The Rise of Skywalker could have been so much more.

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

Do the spaces found within seemingly docile solid materials in fact house inordinate extraterrestrials imprisoned forlorn and ever after?

And have they been transported there by advanced alien beings who curiously monitor life on Earth to ensure the galaxy is not imperilled?

The answers to these questions, like so many others, remain uncertain, for who's to say what inhabits the imperceptible if it indeed cannot be perceived?

Yet science, perennially sleuthing, is undaunted by such perplexities, bold Buckaroo Banzai (Peter Weller) deciphering clues to what may in fact lathe mathematical convention, as he applies piquant planetary particulars to unheard of galactic synergies, his momentum unconsciously driven, by repute, cogito ergo sum.

In so doing he travels across the 8th dimension, within which evil restrictively resides, returning with proof of biological protocol, and visual records of alternative life.

He still makes it to a gig with his supporting band later that evening, where a despondent lovelorn fan (Ellen Barkin as Penny Priddy) makes known her sincere distress.

As rival Emilio Lizardo (John Lithgow) madly reemerges, to join forces with despotic largesse, another group of aliens who seek to free their incarcerated brethren, who lack the knowledge to penetrate the realm themselves, who desperately covet Buckaroo's secret formula, not to mention his chill sporty ride.

But if they get the formula, the friendly aliens will destroy planet Earth to prevent the forces of tyranny from escaping, a high price to pay for unbound innovation, as unsettling as it is battle-scarred.

1984 was a different time, and I can't speak to how well Buckaroo was received then, if it was known for bold hilarity or hapless head shakes, if it prospered, or just slipped aside.

It has a great cast including Weller, Lithgow, Barkin, Christopher Lloyd (John Bigbooté), Jeff Goldblum (New Jersey), Dan Hedaya (John Gomez), Vincent Schiavelli (John O'Connor), Clancy Brown (Rawhide), Matt Clark (The Secretary of Defense), and Jonathan Banks (Lizardo Hospital Guard), but it doesn't do much with their chaotic expertise.

It spoofs how seriously sci-fi takes itself at times and the ludicrous plot is wildly nuanced with brains, but there's too much thought worked into the interstellar shenanigans to let the laughs lackadaisically let loose.

It's like Buckaroo spent more time calculating what it means to be funny rather than just simply telling jokes or presenting foolish situations.

New Jersey is a good example of what I mean here, the cowboy's totally out of place and seems like he should be funny, but he really isn't at all because he doesn't have solid material to work with.

Buckaroo makes science-fiction seem ridiculous, its succeeds at achieving this goal, but it forgets to do so with disarming levity, as Spaceballs did so remarkably well.

But I may be missing comedic points that were more versatile at the time, and I imagine what I didn't find funny was once well-received.

Sometimes cool casts like this wind up in a stinker too.

That still happens.

Not all the time though.

Freaks

Spoiler alert.

Freaks presents a bleak sociopolitical scenario wherein which mutants are routinely hunted down and taken without reason or hesitation.

Its similarities to the The X-Men resonate with complimentary vibes, but even if the two visions are similar, it should be noted that The X-Men don't have a monopoly on this kind of narrative, as long as its characters aren't flatly duplicated.

Where's the hybridization otherwise?

The main difference between Freaks and The X-Men and Women is that The X-Men storyline is well-known, while Freaks keeps you guessing if you didn't read anything about it beforehand, besides that it's science-fiction and made in Canada, and somewhat provocatively titled.

It's like Magneto's worst nightmare.

The majority has designated anyone who doesn't fit a rather bland personality stereotype as a freak, and if différence is detected, it's wiped out with extreme prejudice.

The mutants are scattered and disorganized, forced to contend with the majority on a terrifying individual basis.

A father (Emile Hirsch as Dad), who doesn't understand the majority's conventions well, tries to teach them to his gifted daughter (Lexy Kolker as Chloe), who's unaware of their predicament, and uncertain as to how to proceed.

He's chosen to hide but can't make his daughter understand why, and as she ages she becomes more curious about the forbidden world outside.

A heavily armed reporter thinks she sympathizes, but the climate's so extreme any attempts to communicate are layered with panicky violent unacknowledged distrust, like the society you find in The Lobster, or what I imagine an atheist confronts if they live in a strict theocracy.

Freaks lacks alternative depth inasmuch as the mutants have no rights or recourse, but it does function as an effective critique of extreme governments, and the violence and prejudices they habitually nurture.

On the right extreme, the best and brightest and their goons use violence to force the majority to yield; on the left the moral majority banishes independent thought to languish in remote obscurity.

This is an oversimplified version of the polemic that doesn't do its myriad nuances justice, but works in relation to the context of the film.

In a well-rounded society the groups respectfully co-exist, the respect a cab driver has for a physicist for instance, due to the physicist's brilliant expertise, and the corresponding respect that same physicist has for the cab driver, extracted from the knowledge that they work extremely long hours, provide a helpful service, don't make much money, and have a remarkable knowledge of the city or town they work in.

It's only when the physicist derides the cab driver in anger for not possessing a similar degree of expertise, or the cab driver lashes out at the physicist for possessing lucrative knowledge, that a rather chill orderly structure breaks down, social relations then becoming more disagreeable.

Ask yourself which political parties support such a public sphere? and you may find yourself voting for good times this October.

For a culture that isn't super uptight all the time.

For a country that genuinely supports différence.

I can't stress how important it is to vote in the upcoming federal election. Voting is one of our most important freedoms as Canadian and Québecois citizens. It doesn't take that long and you can even take time off work to do it. Voting helps you be the change, it's one concrete way that you can in fact make a real difference.

This difference is magnified in a proportionally representative system.

Proportional Representation isn't radical change.

It's simply good governance.

Based solely on the numbers.

Bruce Dern (Mr. Snowcone) shines.

He has some great lines too.

The Lion King

I wasn't going to see the new Lion King because I heard it closely followed the original's script, but I wasn't disappointed as it ceremoniously began, for the live action animation indeed compels and motivates.

It's no substitute for the real thing of course, and I prefer to watch nature documentaries, but that doesn't mean the visuals aren't stunning, or zoologically endearing, like a blizzard after a veggie burrito, a trip to the Planetarium, mango icing, or a macchiato with lots of whipped cream.

I can't stress how important it is to conserve Africa's remaining lions, elephants, rhinos, etc.

Their populations have decreased drastically in recent decades, and if concrete action isn't taken, they may disappear forever.

That's not an exaggeration, it's just basic math.

They have just as much of a right to exist as we do.

And don't really do anything to harm us.

It would be cool if politicians committed to shutting down Canada's ivory market during this federal election campaign, if it isn't distressingly frustrating that it hasn't been shut down already.

'Lil Simba (JD McCrary/Donald Glover).

Who's Canada's 'lil Simba?

Nurtured within the chillaxed Canadian and Québecois social sphere, one day emerging to challenge the dissolute Scar (Chiwetel Ejiofor)?

If you enjoyed the first Lion King film, I can't see why you wouldn't like this one, assuming you can get over how much money the film made without changing the storyline much, when there must be original narratives floating around out there that execs are unwilling to take a chance on, I don't really mind sequels as long as they're taken seriously, but an insane number of sequels and remakes have been released in 2019 thus far, as if pirated internet viewing's deeply cutting innovative bottom lines, and no one can afford to take cinematic risks, as if we're living in the age of bland cinematic prudence, born of misguided internet freedoms, which are transforming the world into Netflix, a remarkable minimalistic paradigm shift (it's cool to watch new films at home I suppose [I don't], but the result is that studios are now even less willing to embrace alternative ideas because their profits have been hit hard, theoretically).

Skyscraper!

Where art thou, Skyscraper!

If you accept that the new Lion King exists, however, regardless of its lack of différence, note, again, that it is a fun film to watch, abounding with commensurate degrees of age old wonder.

And imaginary animals can be placed in adorable situations that real life beasties instinctually avoid.

It's adorable.

And hard-edged, chock full of potent life lessons, much of the film's downright no-nonsense, although hakuna matata still resounds with bounty and ease.

Scar takes over again. Until 'lil Simba comes of age.

But wouldn't it be nice if successive governments respected what their predecessors had done, and didn't set about radically altering what they consider to be dysfunctional, unless you replace Scar, who is clearly dysfunctional.

It seems like all successive governments in Canada and the U.S are doing is reversing the decisions their predecessors made, regardless of the fact that significant portions of their countries/provinces/states value them.

There's no progress in such a situation.

And it must be a nightmare for career civil servants.

Politics is much more of a dog fight these days than it was in my youth, and the results are quite unsettling.

I doubt the NDP would change much of what the Liberals have done.

With the wily Jagmeet Singh.

Who's indubitably Simbiotic.

Dogman

A kind man.

An awkward man.

A shy man.

A loving man.

He loves animals and his daughter and works hard to impress them, grooming dogs throughout the day to earn money for rest and leisure.

He's done well for himself considering his coastal town's depressed jade, and has friends, clients, healthy relations, and respectability.

He gets by and isn't concerned with that much, but at least still keeps track of the score.

But there's a problem.

A huge problem.

A drug abusing violent bull who cheats and robs the whole neighbourhood takes advantage of his kindness (Edoardo Pesce as Simoncino), and due to his habitual timidity, he has trouble refusing his requests.

You can't negotiate with stark abomination.

And have to one day just strictly say "no".

And take the beating, as it inevitably approaches, Matteo Garrone's Dogman presenting one prick of a criminal abyss, jacked up on malevolent testosterone.

And amphetamines.

It's diabolical dispassionate juxtaposition, each favour just a little more ruthless, and even though each demand's grim and shocking, the door's never shut tight with resolve.

Take care of all things. No matter how brutal. Embrace as they bite, provide guidance they'll ignore.

Marcello (Marcello Fonte) likes being with people. It doesn't really matter who. He wants to fit in, play ball, take part, revel. Enjoy a long lunch. Play soccer in the morning.

But he's too friendly to know when to draw lines.

Seems more like the kind of guy who would read stories to sick kids at the hospital, or plant trees and gardens for his community on weekends.

But if such or similar opportunities exist, he has yet to seek them out or find them.

The film sharply blends innocence and contempt with dismal tragic scorn.

It's painful to watch as Marcello agrees, and is left direly scathed and scrounging.

In a community less saturated with toxic masculinity, he likely would have modestly bloomed, or would have had different options available, that may have encouraged less destructive reckonings.

Dogman makes quite the solemn impact, as lost as it is soul searching.

A world devoid of the feminine.

With good intentions pushed far far away.

The Death of Stalin

It seems like for every 100 films which vilify Nazism, 0 are made to condemn its Soviet counterpart.

Perhaps releasing 10 to 20 films a year which accentuated Soviet atrocities would have increased hostilities with Russia, currently or during the official cold war, and increasing hostilities with a proud heavily armed powerful nation is usually a sign of imprudent planning, unless they're taking out spies in broad daylight in parks on your home turf, even if sundry artists would have been free to define themselves thereby.

But leaving the communists out of the master narrative means that narrative focuses exclusively on the fascists, there's no counterbalance, no secondary ideological agenda, and even if World War II films bluntly emasculate Nazi ideals they still constantly manifest them, and keep them widely circulating within mass consciousnesses.

Even though Nazism is condemned it's still present, year after year, film after film, the war ended 73 years ago and its impact is still threatening, not just as a reminder of past horrors, it should always be there to remind new generations of its horrors (see The Lord of the Rings[there are still a ton of World War II films released every year]), but as a formidable subject that many directors (I imagine) feel compelled to characterize.

Communism isn't there and its absence is curious.

If you want a populace to forget or at least not focus on something you don't advertise it constantly, obviously enough, although, obviously again, it will certainly persist in the underground, or above ground with notable sympathetic academic and unionized groups.

Plus continental Europe.

So why did the capitalists want the masses to remember fascism and forget about communism?

The question isn't as absurd as it sounds, even if Nazis and Soviets were equally destructive.

With the rise of extreme comedy, Armando Iannucci's The Death of Stalin recasts fascist psycho humour with practical communist applications, by making light of Soviet purges and terrors, as the highest ranking CCCP leaders connive following the tyrant's death.

Time and care is taken to make them look mediocre, except for Field Marshal Zhukov (Jason Isaacs), who defeated Germany, and while watching the film I couldn't help thinking how embarrassing it would have been if one of them had sent me to the Gulag.

Or executed me.

With the number of corpses that pile up throughout it's clear that it's meant to be ridiculous, although I suppose their exaggerations are the contemporary byproduct of a system that did routinely butcher its own citizens, and living in such circumstances would make one instinctually paranoid and vindictive as if every day you weren't exiled or shot was indeed a horrifying secular blessing.

As the public sphere becomes more sensational, the White House discrediting porn stars in recent weeks for instance, I suppose the ridiculous becomes less absurd and monstrosities pass without comment because the simple act of acknowledging them will imperil your life.

So perhaps The Death of Stalin's not as ridiculous as it seems.

Perhaps it uses an abandoned method of expression to indirectly and ironically comment upon the rise of right wing populism in order to subliminally trash its misguided cynical optimism?

Either that or it's cashing in on misery.

Strange epoch, this insincere period of time.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi

I'd wager that when George Lucas set out to write Star Wars Episodes I-III he imagined himself creating sophisticated scripts which would politically and ethically diversify his intergalactic creation through a tragic appeal to universal social justice.

Tragic inasmuch as the Jedi would be betrayed and the Emperor would inevitably reign supreme.

It's possible that Star Wars: The Last Jedi writer and director Rian Johnson respected this aspect of Lucas's vision (he did achieve that aspect of his vision) but wanted to tone it down a bit, or to make Episode VIII easier to follow anyways.

If that's the case, well done.

In fact, The Last Jedi's a masterpiece of unpretentious chill ethicopolitical sci-fi activism, not to mention an explosive Star Wars film, way done to the nitty-gritty.

Best since Jedi.

Possibly better than Jedi.

Conflict.

As the last remnants of the resistance run out of fuel, star destroyers who can track them through hyperspace pick them off one by one, and after most of their senior leadership is suddenly wiped out by Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), passionate headstrong and defensive rebels bitterly dispute their remaining options.

Lacking the requisite rank to command, Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) improvises plan B, which an embarrassed Finn (John Boyega) puts into action, along with the aid of dedicated worker Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran).

Meanwhile, Rey (Daisy Ridley) and Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) become better acquainted as her innocent forceful magnetism awakens hope in his forlorn Jedi consciousness.

Kylo Ren and Supreme Leader Snoke (Andy Serkis) seek to drive them apart however, to further delay the resurgence of the Jedi, and strengthen their sadistic stranglehold on the galaxy.

That's the bare bones, but I don't want to give too much away, nothing too out of the ordinary, I'd say, it's more of a matter of how it's held together.

Comedically.

Astronomically.

General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson) of all characters, looking much more pale and sickly, taking the brunt of the insults, he battles wits early on with Dameron, but if you think of their dialogue extranarratively, it's as if Johnson is brilliantly laying down his gambit, his new direction, his original take on Star Wars, his embrace of lighthearted extreme space tragedy.

Muck like Captain America: Civil War's bold mention of The Empire Strikes Back, The Last Jedi's uncharacteristic unprecedented Star Warsian ridiculousness pays off as nimble youthful energy, and Hamill, and Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), Chewbacca doesn't show up in spellcheck, and Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher), and Laura Dern (Vice Admiral Holdo)(Dern is super impressive), spontaneously and playfully redefine rebellious agency.

Apart from Rey and Finn, I wasn't that impressed with the new cast in The Force Awakens, but as Johnson's lighthearted humanistic fallible yet decisive characters joyfully play their roles with competent agile abandon, in situations wherein which there is no clear and precise plan of action, it's as if his direction creates a loving caring nurturing self-sacrificing bold aesthetic that's lucidly transmitted through every innocent yet volatile melodic aspect.

It's a risk, embracing the lighthearted so firmly in such a solemn franchise, but it works well, incredibly well, no doubt a byproduct of having the legendary Mark Hamill so close at hand, and, possibly, red bull, could this be the crowning achievement of today's youth's sober obsession with red bull?

It's like they know when to be funny, when to be furious, when to be desperate, grateful, condemnatory, sad, ruthless, gracious, assertive, feeble.

Abused animals are set free.

Plutocratic weapons dealers castigated.

Vegetarianism presented as a conscientious choice.

Loving kindness shown towards animals leads survivors towards light.

Without being preachy or sanctimonious.

Just short random bursts well-threaded into the action.

It's not all cute and cuddly, the mischievous substance is backed by unyielding pressure, the entire film apart from the interactions on Luke's far away island is one massive extended fight scene, coming in at 152 chaotic minutes, a sustained accelerated orgasmic orchestration, that seems like it was just takin' a walk in the woods, or considering what to do on a long weekend.

New character DJ's (Benicio Del Toro) embrace of moralistic relativism left me puzzled.

You'd have to be a huge piece of shit to betray the resistance like that.

He's right that both sides purchase weapons from arms dealers and use them to pursue alternative ethicopolitical visions.

But he's wrong to have not chosen a side during a real conflict with physical casualties mounting by the minute, one group notably less oppressive than the other.

When shit hits the fan, when a Hitler decides he wants to conquer Europe, or the president of the United States starts directly supporting misogynists and white supremacists, or the right to unionize is threatened politically, when extremes govern, then moralistic relativism takes a back seat to action, and you fight them, with mind, body, and spirit, plain and simple.

Don't know what to make of Maz Kanata's (Lupita Nyong'o) labour dispute. If her employees are comin' at her that hard, she must be utilizing antiquated labour policies.

Too much praise perhaps, but I haven't really loved a new Star Wars film since I was 7.

It worked for me.

Big time.

Spoiler: I was glad they recognized there could never be a last Jedi.

The Jedi might take on a new name if future Jedi don't understand that the powers they possess were once referred to as Jedi powers.

They'd still be Jedi, however, or at least gifted individuals in tune with whatever word they use to characterize the force.

The universe would never stop producing them.

Although alarming build-ups of plastics could prevent people from breeding which could lead to even less Jedi, which would be a very small number indeed.

Kylo Ren the death eater, Rey, born of non-magical parents.

There's a Harry Potteresque magic to The Last Jedi.

Culturally conjuring.

The Hitman's Bodyguard

Hitperson nobility chaotically clashes on the way to trial after two bitter rivals begrudgingly team up to ensure evidence is produced that will incriminate a tyrant.

In Patrick Hughes's The Hitman's Bodyguard.

Independently affixed, one smoothly flowing while the other meticulously researches every operation's specialized nanoaspects, their contradictory approaches enraging the more assiduously inclined, much to his immortally gifted interlocutor's amusement, the bodies reflexively pile up as the bromance intensifies, discourses of the huggable ironically embracing acutely accented vitriol, voice two highly successful underground phenoms, unaccustomed to negotiating viscid bonds of true friendship.

Because they're usually out killing people.

And rarely have time.

To love.

The tyrant's henchpeople at least try to make things difficult, even going so far as to instigate the best most intelligently and intricately edited (Jake Roberts) high speed chase I've seen in years, involving boats in Amsterdam, plus Salma Hayek (Sonia Kincaid) versatilely delivers, and Elodie Yung (Amelia Roussel) tantalizes with less bravado.

The international policing community is betrayed.

Vengeance pontificates while reacting condemnatorially.

Just tell her you love her.

This joyful Christmas/Festive season.

So close to entering the realm of the cult classic, one day, perhaps it will, I don't know, but, although both Samuel L. Jackson (Darius Kincaid) and Ryan Reynolds (Michael Bryce) captivatingly execute, casting by Elaine Grainger and Marianne Stanicheva, I couldn't help but wish Robert Rodriguez or Quentin Tarantino had edited the script, which is oddly still a bit light considering (a chummy bloodbath for the entire family?), although there are moments of comedic genius, Reynolds uncharacteristically laying it down to a bartender before reentering the fray for one, and the line, "he ruined the [phrase] mother fucker."

Can't one of these films that torches a car, or, building, have a self-reflexive moment where the controversial ponder their consequent environmental impact?

A sequel seems apt since Jackson and Reynolds work so well together.

I would suggest not bringing them closer together as it progresses.

Rather, I'd replace the tendency to strengthen familial or bromantic feelings in round two with a two minute scene, after some pyrotechnic shenanigans, where they actually stop talking and just stare at one another for awhile, their looks encapsulating thirty awkward cheesy moments of convivial intrigue, to give it more of an edge, make it more furious, more vital.

That's what I'd do.

Colossal

Sensational supernatural synergies conventionally disrupt earth's space/time continuum to coincide with the destruction of a young girl's diorama in the woeful Colossal, extracurricularly transporting her grief to South Korea, where unbeknownst to her, a giant monster covertly seeks vengeance.

But said vengeance is spatially and temporally dependent and the beastie does not return until decades later, when, still consumed with dioramic grief, attempts to self-medicate with alcohol and promiscuity having failed to appease her anguish, she heads back to the small town where she was raised, at which point the destructive culprit comes courting.

Instinctively.

He offers friendship, furniture, a job, free booze, but she still prefers his better looking friend, which drives his responsible sure and steady stamina into a state of pure psychosis, for he has once again entertained the forbidden.

A monster was created for him upon that fateful day also.

And after they discover they both wield giant indestructible surrogates, it's on bitches, in the heart of downtown Seoul.

The potential for an incredible film lies within Nacho Vigalondo's Colossal, but, unfortunately, it's more concerned with possession than comedy.

It's funny when you think about what happens, what transpires, and it's fun to talk about afterwards, not that dark comedic elements don't permeate throughout.

I've never spoken about this film with anyone.

Yet Colossal spends a lot of time just chillin' in a small town, while emphasizing that a hard working character is boring, or that spontaneous bombshells find him boring, which winds up being somewhat boring, and pyrotechnically awkward when he tries not to be boring, until the final moments which are worth the wait, as stoic disinterest unwittingly consumes him.

Let the Sirens be you fool, they know no allegiance, they have no sense of fair play.

Metaphorically speaking, diligence and responsibility are crushed by both self-generated righteous indignation and adventitious independent preferences for alcohol.

Just let things be.

As you approach 40, you may lose most of your interest altogether.

And settle into a general routine of regenerative composure.

Good food, good music and film.

An appreciation for synchronizations.

A cat.

A micropig.