Onibaba

The miseries of civil war afflict a nation with desolate abstemious dereliction, crops having failed people starving while the thund'rous death machine brings moribund destruction. 

An older woman awaits the return of her conscripted son with increasing desperation, as does her daughter-in-law their resolute team struggling to survive the scurrilous agency. 

To find food and maintain their health they murder stray samurai who show up in their swamp, and sell their armour and swords and trinkets to a dissolute profiteer flush with millet. 

One day the son/husband's friend whom he left with long ago appears, with a sad tale denoting the end of their imagined saviour heads hang low.

But he takes a shine to the widowed maiden who is far too destitute to deny her will, their resultant coupling enraging the elder who sees starvation as her only future. 

She pleads with the worldly opportunist to let her partner in crime live free.

He loves her far too much however.

To deny his innocent jouissance. 

A sordid examination of despondency as dismally applied to wanton logic, people struggling to find food while others flee through reckless innovation. 

Grim realities to thoughtfully consider the frugal basics embracing thrift, if you value your life it's best not to join although there's no telling what desertion may aggregate. 

The atheist basks in comfort after escaping the feckless bloodshed, living day to day even hour to hour but remaining certain of his scorned trajectory. 

The elder employing supernatural tricks to convince her compatriot not to leave, the eventual extensive forlorn irony as unexpected as it is deceiving. 

Lost in the luscious swamps of medieval Japan driven mad by hunger.

Enabling strategies accidentally emergent.

Ethereal endowments.

Spiritually embalmed.  

Lion of the Desert

An extended war horrifically lasts decade after interminable decade, the invading army becoming more and more brutal as the efficient guerrillas ferociously defy them. 

Best not to invade someone's homeland I'd holistically reckon, the resultant passions and incensed spirits of the local population vigorously magnified.

In Lion of the Desert, Omar Mukhtar instructively leads his Libyan people against fascist Italy, which seeks to claim his lands for its own, thereby competing with French and British Empires. 

Mussolini grows more and more angry as the conflict goes on and on and on, and posts a new General to the land who hopes to begin a long career.

He uses the knowledge he's obtained at elite first rate enviable military academies, to fight Mukhtar's formidable insurgence with textbook strategy and traditional know-how.

But Mukhtar's a teacher himself and consistently reacts through improvisation, and through the application of situational logic constantly defeats him with outdated technology. 

General Graziani burns crops and executes innocents and prisoners of war alike, while using gas and walls of barbed-wire, thereby infuriating his honourable opposition. 

The fascist machinery is much more advanced but the invading army can't comprehend the desert, and suffers embarrassing defeats again and again as the cumbersome years lugubriously accumulate. 

Mukhtar functions so reliably and unpredictably that he even earns the awkward respect, of the flabbergasted General who almost weeps when he faces dire execution. 

His resolute character and noble self-sacrifice live long beyond his mortal wounds however, as he emphatically promises that his local people will keep up the fight ad infinitum.

Libya eventually achieving territorial independence. 

The recovery of its lands.

Invaluable to its people.  

Why embrace such outdated antiquated logic?  

Wizards

Hellbent on absolutist discernment a mad wizard launches a war, his blind and terrorizing frenetic frenzy abolishing play and trust and dignity.

The hedonistic free and agile people dig in deep to wildly respond, exorcizing wave after demonic wave with unheralded self-sacrifice and bitter reckoning.

Another wizard heads into the fray and boldly sets out with determined accompaniment, of a joyful laidback disposition he'd much rather experiment or garden. 

The outer reaches of the post-apocalyptic struggling world as of yet unaffected, distinct realms and brave communities sternly await combative discipline. 

Humanistically inspiring for many long decades of settled reasonable cultivation, the Berlin Wall suddenly torn down, the neverending Cold War seemingly at an end.

The chillaxed Avatar a guiding focus exhaustively compelled to fight for good, even if he occasionally overlooks the antipathies unless directly tasked to acknowledge them. 

Why the obsession with power the stilted desire to manage and control, a bunch of people who aren't listening anyway and prefer simple pleasures to grandiose conjecture?

Is it really that much more exciting to follow a madman off a cliff, than to accept innate multiplicities which spice and flavour peaceful wanderings?

Is your town not all the better off for the different restaurants found within, the Indian and Chinese outlets which succulently lead to sushi and phở and baklava?

Do you know how healthy it is for your mind when you start to learn a second language, and how alert and active it keeps you like brainiac caffeine culturally brewed?

These different groups that make up a community don't lead to chaos and division, they motivate change through curiosity as artistic works and athletics disseminate!

Immigration is the foundation of North America and will always be a dependable resource. 

Without modest change there's no stability. 

No reward or sacrifice.

It's fundamental. 

Jiang Ziya

The realm of the demon scurrilously oppresses the unsuspecting people with wicked cunning, until the gods take fluent cardigan mercy and affably supply a kind-hearted champion.

The foes clash and battle and destroy until beauty and wonder fade from the Earth, and all that's left are wanton reflexes bombastically seeking mortal ruin.

Eventually, the fighting stops and the kind-hearted warrior is tasked once again, to see if he is ready to rule the gods with bold decision and incarnate reckoning. 

Banished to a frozen wasteland with many others whom he once fought, he can't sit still and humbly contemplate while tempting questions lithely fluster.

He sets out in search of answers sympathetically unable to obey commands, the compelling drive to aid his new friend in resolute question upheld unbidden.

Yet a higher level of executive functioning officiously scrutinizes his acts meanwhile. 

Attempting to cataclysmically transform.

Kind-hearted reason into absolutist sufferance. 

Does leadership command the unprincipled devotion of warlike jaded contradictory cynicism, or do compassionate alternatives modestly contend with thoughtful levity and playful understanding?

The bellicose leader will no doubt attempt to sincerely seem laidback and humorous, while the decent individual will at times employ strength and discipline to get things done.

But at the end of the day the kind-hearted leader facilitates consistency and open-minded trust (Augustus Caesar/Claudius), while the self-obsessed demagogue extracts envy from decay in a constantly shifting foundationless masquerade (Tiberius/Caligula). 

If you study your nation's leadership going back for hundreds of years, if democratically affiliated, you'll find multivariability. 

Thus Clement Attlee defeated Winston Churchill - how did that happen? - in 1945.

And Biden defeated Trump.

Only to be thrown under the bus for his troubles. 

Mulan

Way back in the 1980s and ye olde '90s it seemed inevitable, that people would be chosen to play active roles based on their abilities as opposed to race or gender.

The continuous dissemination of progressive narratives interactively found in books, TV and film, encouraged the equitable development of equal opportunity across the land.

The absolute was definitively critiqued and humorously lampooned in multifarious flux, thousands upon thousands of alternative viewpoints productively shared with evocative gusto.

The open-minded ethos and shifting conclusions weren't wholeheartedly adapted by many, however, the subconscious desire for lucid answers effectively delivered much more enticing.

Not just for mathematical problems but for sociocultural and political dilemmas, their inherent fluctuating resilience and inconclusive nature somewhat frustrating. 

In mathematics class, it's often enjoyable to find the right answer, indeed to know there's an actual answer that can be resolutely considered correct.

In language studies, it can be just as fulfilling to find multiple theses and reasonable alternatives, since concrete responses ne'er suffice due to multilateral layers of ambivalence. 

Applying multiple layers of ambivalence to the exacting study of mathematics, systematically seems rather comical when effectively challenged by harnessed answers.

Just as the manageable adherence to absolute answers seems somewhat ludicrous from linguistic perspectives, as culturally broadcast again and again by various sitcoms in the United States.

But as the '90s faded, and new technologies become more prominent, the old school ambiguous linguistic efficiencies began to lose ground to mathematical absolutes.

And Trump found himself elected again by a people seeking political absolutism.

The spirit of the '80s and '90s is still out there no freakin' doubt, but it's not as widespread as it used to be in many regions across the U.S.

But where it still resides equal opportunity likely also exists, and should young Mulans vigorously seek non-traditional roles they will hopefully find them. 

It's so distressing to see such incredible intellects like Kamala Harris or Hillary Clinton defeated by a guy like Trump (it's not just that they lost, it's that they lost to a guy like that).

Who seems like he would have failed kindergarten.

Because he never learned to share. 

Andrei Rublev

An alternative cultural construction with manifest differences delineating structure, long before the global economy had secured widespread sustenance and reasonable lodging.

The Medieval world as intricately depicted sees religious endeavour faithfully grounded, at animate odds with pagans and artists who stray from the obedient path.

Without a market to sell his work and talent too imposing for traditional canvases, Andrei Rublev is avidly tasked with painting houses of religious worship.

Difficult to gain his trust or even convince him to take the commission, the fear of failure much too threatening in a climate of ruthless disciplinary punishment. 

So exacting so austere that even the most gifted refute prestige, and desperately fear their inspiration will fail to placate despotic envy. 

More difficult to meticulously nurture the aesthetic glory of a large cathedral, where your complex loyal design will be swiftly scrutinized by so many.

Individual texts may pass unnoticed or only interest a select few, but a public building will indeed be visited by a vast a/critical audience.

Where the devout artist's loyalty and faith will also be self-critically disposed.

Innocently answering their unique calling.

While conflict annihilates soulful reckoning.

It would be intriguing to learn more about the production and reception of Andrei Rublev, which bravely challenged the Soviet people not to overlook their religious heritage.

At a time when censorship was keen although not as orthodox as Stalin's tenure, the release of a 3 hour tome that lives up to its image and reveres religion suggests wild daring.

It's original monumental filmmaking that gathers thousands to collectively recreate, complex varied compelling shots of industrious impeti boldly undertaken.

To directly challenge a hostile regime with such innate overwhelming brilliance, no doubt recasts artistic conceptions through previously unimagined codes of conduct.

I even searched to see if they had actually cast the bell.

So realistic. So sincere. So inherently dangerous. So artistic. 

The apotheosis of religious filmmaking, crafted in communist Russia.

Enemy Mine

Intergalactic war brings devastation as bellicose covetous cultures clash, the freeform colonization of space demanding macroscopic invention. 

They're both after the same fertile regions and generally ill-suited to interplanetary diplomacy, consistently engaging in heated space battles to indelicately bridge the chaotic gap.

A spirited soldier from Earth is passionately incensed after his friend is obliterated, and skilfully tracks the offending aggressor into the atmosphere of a barren planet.

A sudden wayward miscalculation and both pilots soon find themselves lost and stranded, still at disputatious odds but willing to work together to facilitate survival. 

Thus, as happens so often, when the grandiose flare for jingoism fades, the courageous troops who do most of the fighting habitually find they have lots in common.

Without the speeches and the advertising and the rhetoric the manufactured hatred gives way to reason, and rival soldiers find common ground from which to build a working conzensus.

Communication remains difficult as the brave warriors seek stable shelter and food, both languages sharing no logical links they're starting from scratch with sounds and visuals.

They aren't that gifted linguistically but they quickly make up for it with determined gusto, and since they have a lot of time on their hands they're able to learn to efficiently speak.

Learning a new language in the beginning can be disheartening because there are so many new words, not a hundred or five-hundred or a thousand but several thousand to be effectively mastered.

Many of these words often have different forms so learning one is like learning two or three, and one word often has more than one meaning so you have to learn different definitions for different contexts.

Remain calm.

Don't let it get to you.

Be patient and kind.

People will help you.

And take note of your surroundings, you may encounter many people who don't read Dickens, but they can still speak solid working English and reasonably discuss multiple subjects.

Remember, if they can do so in English eventually you should be able to do the same in their language.

Rome wasn't built in a day.

Acquire new vocabulary.

Use it in conversation. 

Come and See

One of the most blunt traumatic films to ever illustrate Nazi World War II horrors, Elem Klimov's Come and See cacophonously presents sheer total war.

Seen through the eyes of a child who dreams of heroically saving his country, the horrifying effects of what he encounters enough to debilitate the strongest man (or woman).

He's left behind after being recruited since his boots fit an older soldier, so he makes the trip back home only to find his family has been slaughtered.

With another orphan he gradually makes the awkward journey to a secret hideaway, where they team up with humble survivors who are desperately struggling to find food.

He then heads out with some brave citizens to find supplies to ease their hunger, but the older individuals are soon shot down and he's eventually captured by the Nazis.

Who then take the citizens of another town and cruelly lock them in a barn.

Which they proceed to light on fire.

The boy narrowly escaping.

There's a visceral haunting grotesque evil effectively showcased in Come and See, which doesn't shy away from directly depicting the inherent terror of unleashed fascism.

As the monsters who wickedly believe they're the master race destroy and devastate, their sick malevolent point of view is thoroughly disputed and castrated.

The film isn't an exaggeration they murdered and butchered unarmed civilians like this, and sent many of the survivors to death camps where they fruitlessly laboured without end.

Such an ideology motivates psychotics who want to viciously and dismally demonstrate, that the openminded collective free world was unfortunately unable to vanquish hatred (it seemed so plausible before the internet).

And just as the Nazis terrorized the Soviet Union Russia currently attacks Ukraine, the victim so obsessed with its once hopeless position that it despicably embraces the oppressor's logic. 

If you want to see the fascist end game watch Come and See in stoic shock, and look on as people who could have been friends are wildly reduced to pestiferous ruin.

It angers up the blood and leaves one more determined than ever.

To embrace the olive branch. 

And stop such things from happening.

Ashes & Diamonds

With the joyous end of World War II comes further political conflict to Poland, as opposing ideological viewpoints daringly clash in the chaotic foreground. 

The communist regiments seem poised to take power after having gallantly helped dispose of Hitler, the surviving citizens reminding the elite that they've already seen far too much dismal bloodshed.

But the traditional league of orthodox clemency bellicosely seeks to thwart their ambitions, and hires assassins to grimly dispose of a high ranking Secretary poised to take power.

The courageous target hasn't been sighted due to anything specific regarding his character, but rather because his dead wife's sister has fascist pretensions and simply can't stand him.

With him gone, she can raise his son however she sees fit at the end of the war, the spiral of violence and subjective intrigue awkwardly infiltrating domestic reserves. 

As the man hired to kill him finds himself enamoured with a stunning luxurious barmaiden.

And begins to consider the married life.

Forbidden for so many years.

The tragic irony accompanying the victory so widely celebrated around the world, of the further continuation of hardhearted violence emphatically leading to civil conflicts.

Rather than festively enjoying the victory and considering alternatives to gruelling strife, the carnal urge to interminably fight recklessly drives so many soldiers.

Ashes & Diamonds brilliantly covers the provocative feisty post-war ground, with internal struggles and diabolical hypocrisy seamlessly co-existing through determinate grit. 

Multiple characters and distinct scenarios effervescently mingle with manifold whimsy, with more resonance than even Doctor Zhivago as it convincingly humanizes intriguing dysfunction. 

The old school duke, the whelp climbing the ladder, the drunken attendant, the maître'd, the inaugurated minister, the jaded cleaning lady, the tragic victims, the belligerent son, so many substantial and spirited characters imaginatively populating a volatile world, none less intriguing indeed than the would be couple who meet mid-conspiracy.

Domestic bliss presenting itself as an option.

As world weary indelicate tensions flare.

Decisions made, consequences reckon. 

On the eve of the postmodern dawn.

*Excellent film.

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

The recreational impulse to tell lively tales improvisationally immersed in exotic wonder, effectively drives so much interactivity as days slowly pass and nights stall and linger.

There are so many rules to strictly follow that sensational stories encourage emancipation, being able to fly or breathe under water miraculously motivating agile daydreams.

For children ensconced in unknown consistently reimagined otherworldly lessons, many of which wildly champion imagination the fledgling instincts to revel cathartic. 

Yet balanced with practical reasoning the traditional realities corresponding to our species, birds fly and fish breathe under water while chipmunks and squirrels don't want to be pets.

Distressing unsettling to be sure as one soulfully seeks corporeal independence, to leave the confines of the body behind and transform into pure energy like they do on Star Trek.

Evolution acclimatizing piecemeal as centuries pass and eons articulate, the gradual biological attunements so subtle and microscopic they matriculate unnoticed.

Atemporally speaking still like fresh miracles the remarkable adaptations made to environments over time, many of which seem to have been accompanied by desires to collectively transform and easily acquire nutrients.

The slow passage of time ingenious in its bearings logically enables evolutionary traction, diverse environments habitually gathering sly multivariable communal constructs.

It's not to say to let dreams slowly fade and stoically embrace painstaking millennia, at night and on weekends the transmission of narratives creatively subsists to generate pause.

To fruitfully exercise unorthodox peculiarities through artistic invention and ludic lullaby, makes for less dull invigorating pastimes as things progress, revert or stagnate.

To recklessly play with constructed reality with poorly thought out alternative designs, if in a position of power and gaudy influence has destructive abrasive effects.

The disastrous ways in which the Second World War cacophonously devastated so much of the world, effortlessly critiques ambitious yearnings which ruthlessly seek what isn't for sale.

To remember the difference between fantasy and reality upon embarking on mature expeditions, doesn't mean the former can't be referenced but also encourages logic and reason.

Logic and reason are much more preferable day in and day out as the seasons pass by.

And cooler heads manage things through fact and instruction.

Without worrying about comment and headlines. 

Henry V

Was curious to see more of Laurence Olivier's celebrated work, and realized I had perhaps been somewhat hasty by overlooking his Shakespearian cult. 

Thus to return to the elegant bard whose gift for language surpasses so many, to once again bask in ingenious horseplay distilling eloquent novel reckonings.

I was impressed by Mr. Olivier in Henry V but not as blown away as I thought I would be, even if I struggled to think of who could best him, and only came up with a very short list.

The lack of mind-numbing esteem which I was unable to share with Olivier to be certain, is an unfortunate byproduct of his heroic method which he generously shares through rich humility.

That is, his Henry is modest and sincere much different from the vain boasting oft encountered these days, and although he still shines through with resonant fortitude, some of his genius may have been held back.

Not that I would have wanted him to brag or gloat or bluntly engage in übermasculinity, but had he found himself in Branagh's more hardboiled film he may have had more time for intrigue and mischief (not that Branagh wasn't impressive himself, I haven't seen the film for 30 years but loved it in my youth [his Frankenstein wasn't very good though]).

I did wonder considering the times if Marlon Brando had ever tried the role, having recently watched The Godfather again and been genuinely blown away by his performance.

My mind switched to Brando and Shakespeare and I have to admit I couldn't come up with anything, until Google reminded me he had played Mark Antony long ago in Julius Caesar.

But he shockingly turned down Hamlet which if I'm not mistaken is a sought after role, it could very well have been that he preferred America and wasn't as enamoured with the best of Britain.

Olivier took on the role however I haven't seen it yet but will watch it soon, is there more bravery for embracing theatrical superlatives or mesmerizingly inventing fresh characters anew?

To see them both at odds on the stage may have seemed incredible no doubt way back when, but Britain often steers clear of the Americas, unless they're reunited in fantasy and science-fiction.

To dream humbly nevertheless of a stately dialectic theatrically apotheosized. 

Yet the giants often respect each other's talent.

And professionally leave so much up to the imagination. 

The Alamo

The classic three colonel quandary this time defending ye olde Alamo, where a lot of good people lost their valiant lives courageously fighting reckless tyranny.

Plato's Republic can lend a hand giving a coherent account of their personalities, as convincingly theorized by James Edward Grant likely after having embraced agile study.

In The Republic there are 3 classes of people chillin' out then gettin' er' done, those known as producers providing goods and services, at times irrationally or superstitiously expressing themselves.

The second is labelled the auxiliaries and it defends the city from agression, its bravery valued and at times commended when they're promoted to the rank of guardian.

The guardians or philosopher kings are a strictly rational lot, driven by temperance, courage, wisdom, and emergent justice, they uniformly focus on reasonable good governance and can be prickly pears when encountering tomfoolery.

In The Alamo, Colonel William Barret Travis corresponds to such a character, in charge of defences and unwilling to leave or surrender even though the situation seems hopeless. Driven by principle and ideal he's quite severe in his language and commentaries, not many men willing to fight for him, although those that do admire his courage.

Jim Bowie is a classic producer he's rough and tumble and lacks regal eloquence, drinking too much at times - even far too often, his questionable discipline endearing to his men.

These two colonels wield lucid rancour and almost kill each other more than once, Bowie furious he wasn't given the command even if his chaotic conduct should have convinced him otherwise.

The third colonel is Davy Crockett played by John Wayne who also directed, his spirit wise his loyalty abounding his men thoroughly devoted to his command.

He admires Travis's wisdom even if he thinks he's a haughty stuffed shirt, who's difficult to get along with and too overbearing yet still a great soldier at the end of the day.

He likes the other's pluck and resilience but soon realizes he lacks knowledge and insight, building a bridge between them through friendship which makes for a somewhat rowdy yet fastidious accordance.

It's certainly entertaining at times and even gives the peaceful characters noble voices. 

Such voices prominently revelling at times.

Peaceful times.

With Kamala's grace.

Westfront 1918

I often read about the terrors of the First World War while still at school, of the maniacal desperation consistently felt by its brave and valiant soldiers.

New advances in military technology had devised so many cunning new ways to kill, that the omnipresent despotic brutality was enough to drive the most courageous mad.

There is a romantic conception of warfare kept alive through faux medieval battles, where you defend your family with a sword not gas or a submachine gun.

Theoretically, way back when, you could defend innocent lives if you had the nerve or know-how, without having to worry about being cut down by a crafty sniper, mine or bomb (arrows perhaps).

That was a dominant theme in the books and essays read so long ago, that there was nothing romantic about the new style of fighting it was just cold calculated destruction.

It levelled the playing field.

Before, if you were strong and athletically gifted you had an advantage when engaged in sword-fighting, but with the advances in modern weapons technology natural gifts meant next to nothing.

Communication was unclear and patchy and uncertain objectives were awkwardly obtained.

Until hundreds of thousands of recruits mournfully charged machine gun nests.

When the Germans eventually ran out of bullets.

Victory was obtained.

That's not how lives should be lived and it's certainly not how they should be sacrificed, it's odd that people thought things were progressing when they horrifyingly ended up that way.

The romantic lure of the chivalric codes that killed so many millions in World Wars I and II, mistakenly applied, may have taken sociocultural root again, the potential resurrection much more disturbing.

Like crocodiles Dylan's Masters of War hid in crevices and caves for more than a half-century, until the internet had broken down the peaceful net gallantly established by postmodern artists and teachers.

Westfront 1918 hoped not to revisit the devastation of War, released in Germany in 1930 it went so far as to champion camaraderie.

How do you convince incredible people not to throw their lives away attacking other nations living in peace, who have done them no violent harm?

While trying to convince others that those same people living in peace need help to defend their country?

Proceed one step at a time.

Know that you're part of a team much larger than yourself. 

Know that politicians like Kamala Harris stand for you.

And give you a legitimate voice in Congress/Parliament.

Criterion keyword: visceral.

Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind)

My thoughts regarding the resilience of nature as pertaining to a post-pandemic environment, find rational contradiction within Ghibli's Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind).

Within a toxic environment has pesitferously emerged after an apocalypse, most forests having become so polluted that they can no longer sustain human life.

Human life as we know it the forests and the giant insects who reside within them, have no tolerance for extant humanity, being fully aware that we destroyed the planet.

Thus, rather than habitual resiliency which sees the abundant return of cherished plants and animals, the forests still grow but have become infected with inherent anatomies hostile to humans.

Such a development corresponds to the theory that microplastics herald our doom, and will perhaps one day make food sources unsustainable as our population expands.

The literary irony within the minuscule components which once ruled the land with colossal magnitude, as fitting as the end of a Victorian novel as applied to the fossil fuel age.

You would think we would simply take steps to gradually transition away from fossil fuels, but that doesn't seem to be happening anywhere, this film was made in 1984.

You would think the consistent stewardship of a robust environment hospitable to our needs, would indeed be of the utmost importance considering the maintenance of posterity. 

It really isn't though, rather the chaotic clash of market based dogma rules the millennia, and should prudent planning screw up a sale fury will vociferously tantrum incarnate.

Such facts aren't lost on Kaze no tani no Naushika which sees the world still fighting suicidal wars, hellbent on annihilating our species 1,000 years later, ignoring science and ecologial rhythms. 

Nausicaä herself reveals the value of study and the just rewards of patient duty, as her innate wonder and curiosity find working solutions to age old problems.

Don't we have working solutions now to fossil fuel issues and environmental bedlam?

Isn't it best to employ them through a gradual transition?

Like sustainable economics.

Just a little less so. 

Im Westen nichts Neues (All Quiet on the Western Front)

Ideological exuberance devastatingly clashes with abysmal import, as new recruits head to the trenches mind-bogglingly eager to do their part.

The crushing realities having been kept generally tight-lipped amongst the influential, the daily terror and the resounding menace not quite as romantic as old school sword-fighting (see MacBeth).

But the adoring dreams jingoistically cultivated with envious furor and imperial venom, have concretely created joyous optimism overwhelmingly destined for chaotic discord.

How could those responsible continue the campaign, when only children were left to call up to refill the ranks that were clearly suffering?

How could monotonous ideals still stubbornly endure amidst the reckless bombardment, of mechanized condemnatory contradiction uniformly proving just recalcitrance?

But they do, they still do today, and they've once again become widespread and persuasive, notably within the war in Ukraine where Russia has clearly been deluded.

With a widespread dismissal of alternatives and a unilateral focus on master and slave, the fascists cruelly and abominably wage woebegone destruction with merciless rancour.

Fortunately, the free people of Ukraine are capable of multilateral thought, which inevitably outwits absolutism with inherent character and formidable verve.

People will argue that a cultural focus on the needs of the many is yet another form of absolutism, but how does food to eat and multivariable pastimes lead to a singular demarcation?

If manifold businesses with corresponding counterparts judiciously compete within a regulated sphere, antitrusts eventually level the field to promote newfound trajectories while nurturing tradition.

Thus, there is no absolutism, the absolute cannot coercively materialize, the checks and balances ensure constructive fluid motion and the liquidation of totalitarian trusts.

Do you really want only one store to buy clothes in, and only two or three restaurants where you can eat, and to accept what they provide with neither question nor critical infrastructure designed to inspect them?

Do you not want the liberating option to try new things regardless of race or income?

Do you want to transform a brilliant world full of life?

Into dull autocratic inertia?

Loin du Vietnam (Far from Vietnam)

You wonder why or how it ever seemed so significant, how a tiny jungle country in southeast Asia could have warranted a prolonged bloodthirsty conflict.

With thousands dying in a hostile land uniformly united to defend their realm, ideology butchered with extreme malignancy to attempt to settle a political rampage.

Loin du Vietnam (Far from Vietnam) packs a ferocious punch as it analyzes the Vietnam War, presenting multiple viewpoints from opposing sides furiously hellbent on polemical destruction.

But I don't see a synthesis here it seems plain and clear the resistance was right, or that those challenging the bellicose authorities were in virtuous possession of infallible conviction.

How could you ever convince someone of ideological agency by aggressively bombing them day and night?, the documentary capturing the ruthless madness that viciously encouraged rampant death and devastation.

Violently disseminating your message pestiferously begets similar responses, an eye for an eye the message still the same, many people will fight if you use violence to persuade them.

And what do you win if you radically subdue them, besides ubiquitous engrained somnambulism, the remarkable thrill of having thoroughly convinced someone worth billions more and much less expensive.

If you proceed with friendship or genuine curiosity to lay the foundations for lucrative trade, diplomatically distilling mutually beneficial matrices things generally improve while many prosper.

Peaceful relations hopefully nurture networks which convivially matriculate as goals are met, infrastructure enabled with longitudinal lattice to efficiently enliven fortuitous fable.

People do often seem to be at odds or indeed rather grumpy from time to time, but cultures which embrace feminine counsel seem to succeed with more byzantine balance.

Like I've said before, a solid mix of the genders has led to fun working experiences, the desire to productively intermingle while taking account of multifaceted interrelations, resonantly producing cohesive outputs, negotiating novelty and tradition.

I was sad to hear Jean-Luc Godard passed this year, he's most certainly one of my favourite directors (he's one of 7 directors who made Loin du Vietnam).

I enjoyed so many of his unique films in my youth.

I'm curious to know where he ended up?! 🤔

*Note: some monogender environments can be fun too, but they're definitely more well-rounded or versatile if there's a mix. 

The Raggedy Rawney

The Raggedy Rawney ruggedly critiques übermasculinst initiatives, inasmuch as it directly presents agile characters with no interest in fighting.

It seems straightforward enough that you don't force people to fight in wars, wouldn't they be useless in the lines anyway and prone to brutal discipline?

There are plenty of people ready to fight or at least ready to present themselves as battle worthy, does it not make sense to leave pacifists behind and let them constructively work on negotiating an armistice?

It actually seemed for awhile that the equation of manhood with military service was a formula fading into the past, and that the public sphere was productively expanding to include myriad alternative masculinist conceptions.

Isn't the cultivation of a world wherein which these conceptions flourish alongside traditional depictions of manhood, not worth tenaciously fighting for with the spirit of the emboldened Ukraine?

Does it have to be a rough juxtaposition of brain and brawn till the end of time, wherein which the athletically gifted furiously contend with well-read snobs?

Does the well-read snob have to continuously push books and learning upon active peeps who have no interest, do the active peeps have to advocate combat with ruthless resolve? 

Both groups secretly long to be genuinely accepted by the other, should they doubt the innocent choices that led them upon their steady trajectory.

Boredom often materializes even within an active routine, a theoretical solution imaginatively presenting itself as a romantic elevation of alternative lifestyles.

I was fortunately saved because I never really cared much about what others were doing (I could also do both), I really tried to seem interested for awhile, but people were often annoyed by my feigned enthusiasm (is there any other way?).

I tried to point out that most of the world inevitably has to feign enthusiasm, through much of their adult lives in order to ironically avoid malaise.

But you can't say that it's rather awkward they just keep presenting the same dull questions, and you keep delivering the same peppy response while wondering if you've gotten it right this time.

It can be rather amusing although you have to keep it to yourself, an honest description delivered with sincere integrity generally anathema and leading nowhere.

I didn't mean for this to be so tiresome perhaps it's not I really can't say.

Cheers to a world without military combat however!

Along with whoever engages in defensive warfare. 

Kurenai no buta (Porco Rosso)

An aging pilot hiding away on a remote exotic island, with some wine, a tent, a plane, and a radio, the hours slowly pass by, until called upon yet again (Shûichirô Moriyama as Porco Rosso).

He's somewhat of a virtuoso and was feared during World War I, his daring exploits exceedingly agile mechanistic maestro intuitive ignition.

He works as a bounty hunter recovering loot obtained by pirates, who grow weary of his nimble meddling, and hire a challenger to face him (Akio Ôtsuka as Donald Curtis).

His plane stalls, he's suddenly shot down, after just having made his last payment, the government changing and promoting fascism, which doesn't jive with his democratic sympathies.

Fortunately, friends have been made, one who'll set about rebuilding his plane (Bunshi Katsura VI as Mr. Piccolo), his granddaughter's brilliance seeking distinguished prominence (Akemi Okamura as Fio Piccolo), if she can stop love from fouling things up.

She designs his new wondrous jet stream just before the secret police arrive, the two escaping to Porco's secret hideout, which the pirates have meanwhile discovered.

The challenger arrives and is jealous of how much a maiden thrice widowed loves freewheeling Porco (Tokiko Katô as Gina), and defies him to fight once again, enough money to cover his costs versus Fio's begrudged hand. 

L'amour's injudicious vicissitudes bewilder nimble Porco's individualism, the intensity swiftly increasing the more he denies them, the more he attempts to reconstitute anew.

Transformed into a pig who some quietly say can only have his curse lifted by heartfelt innocence, he worries intently about age and probability, still with no interest in settling.

Definitely the strangest Ghibli I've encountered (it's rather literal) yet still abounding in feminine strength, as it creatively contends with a bellicose world so often composed by combative men.

Versatile lyrics enlighten the madness yet inspire more danger as they're sought after, equanimous tandemed quaint domesticity reservedly tempting romantic plots.

A film certainly like none other this airborne Kurenai no buta (Porco Rosso) imaginatively glides.

What's love like if uncertainty abounds.

And you consistently take to the skies?

Birdy

I was surprised to discover I had never heard of Alan Parker's Birdy until last weekend, although I may understand why after having viewed it, such a shame it's been widely ignored.

In terms of animal rights, and the presentation of people who like animals, beyond belovéd nature documentaries, it's perhaps pioneering in its narrative.

In Birdy, a friendship develops between a young adult who loves birds (Matthew Modine as Birdy), and another who's more mainstream (Nicolas Cage as Al Columbato), the two interact without trying to change one another, and their reciprocally constructive friendship thrives.

Al may think it's somewhat strange that Birdy dresses up as a bird and pretends to fly, but they also bond through the reconstruction of an old car, and in other creative unique ways.

Unfortunately, they're both sent to fight in Vietnam as the draft cuts short their youth, Mr. Columbato returning with a disfigured face, Birdy having lost his mind.

The chief psychiatrist at the hospital hosting Birdy decides a visit from Al may help, and they meet up in Birdy's cell, while the film showcases moments from their past.

Why have I never heard of this film, why has it been forgotten, should it be a Criterion, it's strange seeing Nicolas Cage play the straight man?

It's possible that Birdy's gay although he never hits on Al, but he certainly has no interest in women, this could explain why the film's somewhat hush hush.

A mainstream relatable cool and comic film with an ambiguously gay lead character who loves animals, makes friends, and critiques the army, a recipe for artistic suppression if I've ever heard of one, what a shame, what a disaster!

It's still out there though available for rent from different places.

It must be one of Cage's first major roles. 

Another reason I'm surprised I've never heard of it.

But in how many films do you find leads who genuinely care about animals, films that don't try to make such lead characters seem nuts, even if having to have had to have fought in a war has driven one of them crazy, while attempting to appeal to a mainstream audience, without being overly sentimental?

Not many, Birdy may be one of a kind although I'm sure there are others I'm just not thinking of.

I loved it when they rescued the dogs.

It's tragic when Birdy can't open the window.

There should be more films about gentle souls.

That don't even have to focus on the horrors of war.

A classic '80s film deserving of more recognition.

Perhaps too many lines were crossed.

But there's nothing quite like shifting boundaries.

Conceptually speaking. 

Die Brücke (The Bridge)

During World War II, as Allied forces cross into Germany, the Nazis refuse to surrender, preferring to enlist children and the elderly to fight against astronomical odds.

Men of conscious attempt to intervene but their humanistic pleas are stubbornly ignored, order and duty cold calculation overriding instincts for self-preservation.

The remnants of a revolting ideology still absolutely hold sway, the fascist Nazi imperialists still clinging to toxic masculinity.

Thus, a group of school children is enthusiastic when suddenly drafted, and given one day of uninspired training before being sent off to the field.

They've grown up together during the war and most unfortunately know little else, and they're very brave intent on self-sacrifice if it means defending their native soil.

The officer in charge decides to desert leaving the kids alone to defend a bridge, he's shot while trying to outwit the authorities codes and classification above all else.

Shortly thereafter, the very next morning, the kids find themselves ferociously tested, as three American tanks attempt to burst through their dedicated defiant deft defences.

What follows is an utterly loathsome grotesque pungent tragic lament, bold innocent lives needlessly lost which were harmlessly playing a short time ago.

Die Brücke (The Bridge) is rather graphic as it presents the fight like a typical war film, to bluntly accentuate the ghastly carnage with lethal despondent absurdist reckoning (the horror maniacally awaiting in the realistic absurdism).

Made in post-World War II Germany (1959) to assist with what must have been an abysmal spiritual reconstruction, I'm not sure how it was received, but it still makes a shocking impact.

I'd argue it's an essential war film which makes an impact like no other, the sight of innocent children enlisted to fight as thoroughly repugnant as it is catastrophic.

Earlier in the film, some of them are so carefree and playful they have yet to form dreams for the future, preferring to play tricks with mice or critique or boast as the endless day passes by like any other.

There were many films in my youth which sought to make war seem unappealing (Jacob's Ladder, The Thin Red Line, Apocalypse Now, Platoon), as artists set about creating a peaceful aesthetic designed to stifle cultural belligerence.

Peaceful egalitarian unions backed them up while fighting racism.

Too bad they lost their hold in Russia (and elsewhere).

And gave way to vicious nationalism.