Chronicle of a Summer

Happiness can be difficult to find if you spend your time consistently looking for it, questions seeking to discover if you're happy often encouraging disgruntled malaise. 

A blissful state of visceral integration can immersively flourish if unacknowledged, the conscious interrogation of the waking dream potentially producing unsettling affects. 

In the final episode of the original Twin Peaks series Marcus Aurelius is quoted, Waste no time arguing what a good man should be, be one, so the saying goes, the meticulous depth into which ethical discussions sink often generating misery, if you're not interminably disposed they can go on ad infinitum. 

Attempting to apply the morose despondency to the lighthearted nonchalance often found when working, while attempting to inspire a higher state of awareness, often gets bogged down in manifold detail, and leads to greater confusion as opposed to widespread lucidity.

Simple solutions sweetly flowing with unobtrusive easy-to-follow-messages, can lead to more lasting results as melodramatically demonstrated by advertising. 

For the people who see through the ads and constantly feel aloof and cynical, a comprehensive literary bearing with lengthier more convincing arguments may help.

If they seek the dynamic realization of their arguments in a mass restructuring of postmodern society, they may find frustration routinely abounds as they spearhead colossal change.

If they can settle for elaborate books which imaginatively delineate alternative reconstructions, without radically attempting to implement their designs, if such designs demand shocking changes to the smoothly flowing status quo, and discuss things amongst themselves, they may find peace for a time, if they aren't just indefinitely accustomed to doom and gloom.

If they attempt to implement abstract theories that even they have trouble understanding, without thinking through the startling consequences the intense remodelling is bound to have, woe may be widely disseminated as we see happening in the United States these days, where stubborn idealistic governmental impositions are obstinately ruining a once robust economy.

If only things were certain like they seemed to be earlier on in life.

The more media you consume, the more jaded.

While happiness can't be found without consuming more media.

Unless you stop thinking about it.

Go with that flow. 

The Boy and the Heron

Tumultuous tragedy bellicose bombardment inhospitable hegemony disconsolate disaster, wartime waspish wincing saturnine dismal devastation laconic lockdown.

A spirited move out of harm's way felicitous fortunes august acculturation, incumbent sadness besought fatigue synchronized siesta voltaic vroom.

Resilient retinue gregarious gatherings sycamore sympathy symphonic stack, unhindered wanderings atavistic adventures non-sequitarzany clandestine quests. 

Distressing disappearance worrisome whittling Sombretown searching hearty solemnity, immersive quandary querulous kibble flexible physics asymmetric stone.

Intangible tinsel impalpable pulp amorphous dimension sibilant sorcery, spiritual succotash insouciant sushi transformative quadrant juxtaposition. 

Whambient wavelengths fantastic frequencies imaginative hyper-reactive illusion, bewildernestled oblique immaterial shapeshifting quagmiracult-de-saquesters.

Archaic sentiment serpentine simplicity quaker o'tantamount reanimation, consistent regroupings chrysalid coordinates oblong addresses arhythmic artistry. 

Aquadrilatticeworkinder'eggstatic palimperception existentorian, quintessenshisha hurrisugarcandolittle exubearingstraitjacket willowridesharangue. 

Sublimerickshawshankbernard encompassing subterranean nexus, dreamlichintegritty gruel mossemboss'kosh granknitty slimpickety bandanana. 

Subconscious sandmanic slumberton reverie quixoticambridge i'deal'emblematic, elephanatic rhinosirriustic wildebeesturnstyle crocodilettantics.

Vacancy velvet caroussel candleliturgy seasaunter Mirvishlistless incredulity, acceleration inquisitive maven curious exquisite tournyquil'bation.

Accented effervest hogtirade levity interlude schism cosmicrobull mist, courageous acoustics tumbledown tweedle discursive reunion familial galaxy. 

Saw a heron the day after I watched this.

In an uncharacteristic spot.

It didn't fly away either, like they usually do when you're up close.

Neat.

I've seen every Ghibli. 

Grave of the Fireflies

Soulful siblings emphatic play youthful deliberations innocent slumbers, confused comprehension sabbatical sedge tragic ubiquity wartime horrors.

Bedevilled bombardment continuous clawbacks inherent disaster allied alacrity, weary world warriors destitute dogma dissident delineation fascist fetters.

Lugubrious license paternal pandora receptive relatives unsought isolation, codes unfamiliar stilted routine acute misunderstanding strict dismissal. 

On their own lacking knowledge and networks improvised desperate sincere initiative, what more could kids be expected to do?, expedient acclimation enigmatic envelopment. 

Initial hopeful exotic ingenuity amicable innovation friendly festivities, bullfrog bullion firefly fortitude exceptional courage elusive symbiosis. 

Severe surroundings draconian doppelgäng stubborn psychosis obdurate angst, pervasive paucities widespread famine stoic starvation communal clashes.

Delirious dolomite contagious collocations unconscious impertinence illicit logic, ventriloquist vestige woebegone withering incredulous sacrilege misanthropic morosity.

A beautiful child anxiously awaits newfound necessities enriching food, her not-that-much-older brother passionately engaged in reasonable acquisitions stealthy sacrifice.

What war creates, the miserable endgame the impoverished hopeless collective terror, inconsolable cadence excessive despondency inexhaustible dolorous interminable distress.

Living off wallpaper dismal demarcations wholesale obfuscations stagnant rejuvenation, static progress apocalyptic nadir limitless abeyance inert productivity.

Undisciplined demagogues illustrious rogues hysterical sedition belligerent aggression, decadent dustbowls ritzy aggregate determinant detritus infertile soil.

Grave of the Fireflies presents life and beauty unfortunately mired in incomprehensible visions.

Painstakingly highlighting the miseries of war.

With nature and storytelling.

And blunt discretion. 

*Kids may be too young for this film's hard-hitting message (don't start wars). It's the saddest children's film I've ever seen.

Yearning

 *Spolier Alert

A dedicated daughter-in-law spends her life managing her new family's business, her intricate savvy and reflexive know-how having saved it from ruin during World War II.

Her husband passed in the war though and she sadly never married again, although she honourably cherishes his memory with devout respect and wholesome dignity. 

A new supermarket opens in town and starts undercutting their trusted prices, leaving her in-laws in a difficult spot which they need to manage with nimble moxy. 

It's decided to expand the business and boldly open a much larger store, but the loyal intuitive multifaceted manager is initially denied a leading role. 

It's thought that she should remarry and a suitable candidate is wisely chosen, 17.5 years having gone by since her husband passed, the idea perhaps not that socially awkward.

But she refuses out of heartfelt devotion and eventually decides to return to her home.

But not before she distressingly discovers.

That her deceased husband's younger brother is madly in love with her.

The ending's a brilliant illustration of the conflicting post-war attitudes in volatile Japan, the younger less rigid experimental viewpoints and the older more orthodox sociocultural rules. 

Reiko has to admit that she has feelings for Koji and that she's felt amazing since she learned of his passion, yet still feels determinably duty bound to her old husband's stately ultimate sacrifice. 

She's also much older than Koji and it's a bit weird marrying two brothers from the same family, but that doesn't mean she isn't tempted to continue living in the world she's created.

Unfortunately, while travelling home Koji follows her upon the train, and in their confusion they depart somewhat early and get a hotel just to think for the night.

Koji goes for a walk after another heated argument morosely breaks down, and gets too close to a haunting cliff's edge and earth-shatteringly falls to his unrequited end.

But is the film condemning Koji for having tried to break with the old conservative ways?

Or modest Reiko for not having embraced the newfound less severe liberal ideology?

It's classic obscured ambiguity which likely still generates debate amongst film fans.

A genuine tragedy embroiled in conflict.

Much too serious or excessively light. 

Jacquot de Nantes

A young experimental film enthusiast concentrates on vivid storytelling, having instantaneously been mesmerized by the first live puppet show he went to see.

Growing up in Nantes in France with loving parents in a lively neighbourhood, his imagination roamed far and wide while often focused on the cinema.

Family life embraced the trades since his father owned a bustling garage, and wanted his son to become a mechanic and learn his catechism and keep things real.

Little Jacquot hesitantly obliged since he wasn't as rebellious as some, but still worked on creative independent films alone at night in their humble attic.

His mother and father had to admit that he had real talent when he showcased his films, every meticulous minuscule detail having been delicately crafted.

World War II breaks out and the family is briefly torn apart, dad working in a shell-factory by day, the children moving to the countryside at times.

But Jacquot never stops creating nor watching films with heartfelt awe.

Eventually directing agile tales. 

As part of the French New Wave.

Jacquot de Nantes proceeds with loving candour as it romantically illustrates its subject, dynamically directed by Jacque's wife the incredibly talented Agnès Varda.

She carefully links his active childhood with laidback material from his films, first imagining how the moments might have taken place before showing them depicted on the silver screen. 

Jacques Démy himself also comments to add more depth to the bold filmography, his poignant insights generating layers of intricate exuberant narrative detail.

Captivating to see a sincere exhibition of a thoughtful artist and his breathtaking work, lovingly shot by another auteur who genuinely loved him with innocent tenderness.

I've never seen one of his films which is a shortcoming I'll have to remedy. 

Such knowledge.

Such wild inspiration. 

Peacefully blossoming.

Limitless and free.

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.

Pokolenie (A Generation)

In occupied Poland in 1942, a group of courageous citizens unite, and bravely fight back against Nazi oppression, while looking towards a much brighter future.

Youthful Stach has never worked before and spends his time stealing from trains as they pass, but after his friend is shot by a lone watchful guard he hesitantly decides to try something new.

He's fortunately introduced to strong nimble workers serendipitously in search of a bold new apprentice, who take him in and teach him the basics through focused yet awkward diligent trial and error.

A conversation with one of the older hardworking determined reliable journeypeople, leads to a meeting of likeminded souls unilaterally eager to end Nazi rule.

In their company, he fortuitously finds he has requisite skills he never knew he possessed, his innate resiliency of substantial benefit as he recruits and carries out missions for the resistance.

He's able to assemble a discreet active unite who efficiently engages in covert operations. 

Their latent daring and inherent resolve dynamically leading to lauded camaraderie. 

Difficult days, inordinately tempered by effective spirited active teamwork, smoothly co-ordinated by conscientious compassionate caring ethical individuals.

The overwhelming authority the imposing restrictions far far far too much for any citizen to bear, especially while living within your homeland beneath the hardhearted heals of another nation.

I've often wondered how they organized different resistance movements in Europe during World War II, and how they ran with such fluid dependability and consistently thwarted Nazi ambitions. 

Multilateral interpretive skills imaginatively create multivariable conditions. 

Thrilling to plan something concrete and definitive. 

While constantly engaged in fluctuating experiment. 

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.

Yoyo

A gifted entertainer exactingly resides in opulent isolation within his castle, every second of every day meticulously corresponding to specified curriculum. 

He dreams of the girl he once fell in love with who still routinely travels and brilliantly performs, their improvised union having spiritedly crafted a darling youngster raised in the circus.

The Great Depression miserably emerges and millions of people find themselves out of work, the idle artist losing his staff then rejoining his family on the staggering road.

His son grows up immersed in lively spectacular entertaining multivariable humours, wholesomely ensconced within random variation he gradually becomes a celebrated clown.

World War II despotically interrupts and lighthearted sentiments are cast aside, the mad dissemination of militaristic bravado autocratically obscuring the chill and genuine.

After the war, the invention of television once again problematizes circus life, as more people find immediate entertainment laidback and tranquil with the fam at home.

Yet little Yoyo reinvents himself once more and becomes even more famous within the medium.

Hosting lavish galas back at his father's castle.

With storytelling, everlastingly at home.

I would argue that gifted storytellers never lose their love of animals, and sincerely respond to their adorable genius no matter how austere their lives become.

The just and the wicked, there's a remarkable difference between world-weary desert-of-the-real morbid tales, and blossoming effervescent dynamic lifeforces ethereally etched with generous compassion.

Thus we see in Pierre Étaix's Yoyo a friendly elephant at different times, who genuinely loves the wee mischievous lad at the auspicious outset and at the conclusion.

Yoyo never really feels quite right when requisitely hobnobbing within the superstructure, and is greatly relieved indeed more down-to-earth when that same caring elephant interrupts his ball.

You see the details of his innocent world magnanimously shared throughout the film, as scene after scene showcases warm unpredictable spontaneous carefree pleasant wonder.

Never lose that love of animals and there's no doubt you'll continue to enjoy this film.

Which inherently investigates artistic re/invention.

From the Silent Film Era to the Age of Television.

*Interesting sounds too.

Yoyo doesn't rely on the stock film sounds you often hear.

Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah

Unlike any Godzilla film I've seen before, Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah (1991) unreels as special effects were improving in Japan. They're still a long ways off from where they are now and a bit behind films like Star Wars or Aliens, but that doesn't mean the production team didn't use them as frequently and conspicuously as possible.

Plus, instead of using model vehicles real world tanks etc. were employed, more money spent on this instalment which radiates novel curiosity like none other.

Things are relatively peaceful in Japan as sundry professionals go about their business, a young writer tired of covering the supernatural hopes to break into the nonfiction market.

He hears a tale of an extant dinosaur who saved a battalion during World War II, and wonders if it was indeed the very lifeform whom nuclear experiments transformed into Godzilla.

Meanwhile, ambassadors from the future suddenly arrive with mischievous intent, claiming that Godzilla is such a pest in the future that he threatens the very existence of atemporal Japan.

They have a copy of the writer's book and hope to use it to find the dinosaur, whom they will then transport to another location so he never absorbs the transformative radiation. 

But it soon becomes apparent that contemporary politicians have been duped, as three cute bat-like genetically altered animals are transformed into King Ghidorah!

As Ghidorah levels Japan people realize once again that they need Godzilla; will approximate manifested manipulations exotically enable further monstrous malevolence!

It's actually a lot more complicated than that director/writer Kazuki Ômori went all out on the script, perhaps too much for one single Godzilla film but no doubt a feast for the over-the-top senses.

My theory that some dinosaurs lived for a great deal of time after their mass "extinction", seems to have been shared by inquisitive others actually brought up with ancient oral traditions.

Perhaps there's too much taking place in the inventive comprehensive macromanic King Ghidorah, but if you like consistent twists and unexpected developments legitimately hatched it's a frenetic frenzy.

Complete with a futuristic scenario where Japanese corporations control the world, it leaves no exuberant stone unturned as it ludicrously theorizes things yet to come.

Likely generating controversy in Godzilla circles around the experimental world, due to its incredibly ambitious undaunted seemingly limitless narrative daring, there's no doubt it's a fluidic must see in a league of its own crafting kernels incarnate, tantalizing transmutating treatises, disputatiously reverberating confounding as one.  

The Philadelphia Experiment

Probably best not to sign up when the army asks if you'd like to take part in a secret experiment, where they mention there may be potential side effects, and they aren't even offering that great a sum.

Jacob's Ladder and The X-Files make compelling cases for avoiding such initiatives anyways, the enthusiastic recruits permanently damaged after their courageous embrace of enigmatic science was forgotten.

The Philadelphia Experiment doesn't examine trial and error as it relates to medical research however, it's initially concerned with cloaking ships so the Axis can't detect them during World War II.

It's quite an elaborate set up the production impressive from a laboratory standpoint, so many lightbulbs and wires and connections that it seemed like a bona fide realistic test tube.

The special effects are classic '80s too indubitably impressive if you like that kind of thing, the transitionary phase from pioneering early sci-fi to the technological wonders we have today.

The experiment goes awry or the cloaking works too well you might say, the ship itself lost in temporal recesses two confused servicepersons transported to the '80s.

It's cool to imagine the electronic innovations of the early '80s as the height of technoendeavour, or to have been part of the audience intuitively revelling in the bewildered shock of the time displacement.

We still use one of the microwaves we bought at that time it's still in working order, although it takes awhile, knock on wood, hopefully it isn't slowly radioactively poisoning us as time goes by even if we rarely use it.

I don't know if I'm as blown away by time travel films that take place in the present, even if it happens to be around 40 years later, isn't the point to contemporize historical difference?

The Experiment still contains the classic startling moments when the different characters come to terms with their ahistorical authenticity, through the eyes of the time travellers and those they encounter alike, I'm a huge sucker for this kind of storyline.

Perhaps those old school computer graphics look as antiquated to today's youth as the monsters of '50s and '60s sci-fi did to me when I was younger, although some of those yesteryear vampire and Frankenstein films still seriously impress in this cynical day and age (horror not sci-fi I suppose).

Things are so tense politically at the moment, is it far too risky to make films where people travel to the future?

Will it seem like the ancient past?

AI ironically introducing the solution environmentalists seek.

Bedknobs & Broomsticks

If the world somehow is an elaborate computer program far too intricate and complex to be deciphered, enticing clues bewilderingly illuminating ephemeral features from time to time, then perhaps such a program indeed scrutably encourages the experimental study of magic, peculiar words and nonsensical sayings at times im/materializing the byzantine matrix.

With no television or lively books to asymmetrically animate for thousands of years, creative peeps were left to improvisationally conjure with inspired wordplay to pass the millennia.

The matrix no doubt multivariably arrayed with extraordinarily advanced multilayered codes (prone to mutation), random thoughts and stray meanderings no doubt appearing like miraculous magic.

If someone was somehow born with a heightened degree of latent microcomputational moxie, gregariously gifted or hypertextually attuned, they could perhaps intuit manifold enchanting mélanges which in turn would seem like bewitching spells.

But such knowledge, atypically obtained, may lead to periodic problematized predicaments, when unheralded random unexpected individuals effectively emerged with historic independence. 

Sensing a challenge to orthodox hegemonies these sorcerers were traditionally met with rancour, the sure and steady domesticization of sensation much more reliable and routinely applauded.

Eventually science and medicine found clever ways to outwit them however, and emboldened unsung wizards and witches began sharing their experimental work.

Through the creation of accessible journals they could work together as an international eclective, and gradually build upon one another's work to eventually create the postmodern world.

As science became more bold and the international network more habitually astounding, the computational framework of the natural environment began to present itself with enlightened dignity. 

Still far too advanced to suddenly unravel with universal elasticity, the meticulous stewardship of the magical journals discovering different aspects piece by piece.

Perhaps far too complex for even a dependable millennia of journalling to understand, the knowledge and hypotheses still collectively remain to encourage growth and metaphysical realism.

Loved Bedknobs & Broomsticks in my youth and it suddenly popped into my head during the winter, the classic blend of live action and animation brought to life with a wholesome macabre touch.

Within the magic of knights and animals contends with brutal mechanized efficiency. 

With the help of intuitive wonder.

Probably still a cool film for young families. 

*Written on eclipse day. 

Oppenheimer

Nuclear weapons are a horrible thing.

They're easily the most reckless anything anyone has ever created, and it's an international miracle the secrets of their creation have been kept under lock and key to this present day.

For a while it seemed like their manufacture would become a thing of the past, as Russia and the United States struck accord after accord, and seemed ready to cultivate lasting peace throughout a united interactive world, wherein which difference wasn't something to be feared, and absolutes were nothing more than sewage.

But this historical epoch is partially defining itself in opposition to the last 30 years, as Trump has arisen to challenge them, so instead of a brilliant film like Planet of the Apes (1968), which effectively obliterated arguments in their defence, we have Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer, which revels and glorifies in their creation, overlooking the ill-fated Planet of the Apes sequel, Beneath the Planet of the Apes. 

Paying disingenuous lip service to the ways in which madmen can use them to coordinate mass destruction on a planetary scale, it instead introduces several powerful independent scientists, and examines various controversies as they jockey for position.

Thus, two prominent individuals see their reputations slowly ruined as the film bureaucratically concerns itself with bilateral character assassination, without really generating much character along the way, besides that associated with blind innocence and petty grievances. 

It's more like an academic paper with no sense of objectivity than a convincing film.

Prometheus taught the people to make fire so they could cook their own food and have warmth and entertainment.

Anyone who would have denied them such knowledge is certainly not worthy of divinity. 

Oppenheimer coordinated a team that built a nuclear weapon with the power to kill hundreds of thousands that select military officials can use hopefully only as a deterrent. 

Do you see how Prometheus is not like Oppenheimer? How the comparison is ridiculous?

It does seem more and more like Christopher Nolan is the military industrial complex's darling, as they note in Barbie, the patriarchy just hides its hegemony more effectively these days, and whereas Oliver Stone actually made an incredible film looking at the ways in which JFK's murder was covered up, Nolan's Oppenheimer creates a Republican rib roast to be saluted for years to come, while presumably catering to democratic sympathies (JFK didn't win best picture when it should have [Oliver Stone also made a film that lauded Edward Snowden, it didn't make the case for the mass institutional invasion of privacy through cellphones like Nolan did at the end of The Dark Knight]).

I used to have a friend who was nice to talk to but sometimes didn't take her meds, and thought she heard voices in the walls of people discussing this and that.

I tried to ease her mind when these thoughts would overwhelm her late at night, and even though nothing could convince her that the voices weren't real, the conversation helped lighten the anxious mood.

In turn, it was nice to have someone to talk to, to know someone who didn't quickly change their tune, to have a sympathetic yet mischievous outlook to clarify trajectories and nothing in particular.

She tolerated my French too and even taught me a couple of words. 

I like being nobody in Québec.

And I'll always love working and living there. 

Démanty noci (Diamonds of the Night)

The blunt tiresome imposition of exacting extremist cacophonous doctrine, inflexible coercive stone totalitarian limited unimaginative codes.

With everything narrowly prescribed with short-sighted grim oppressive tidings, the threat of harsh dismissive punishment leads to absent playful recalcitrance. 

With people fearing for their lives the tension palpably pervades, otherwise constructive interactive harmonious multidimensional communal initiatives. 

It's difficult to courageously refuse when facing tenacious organized opposition, even if that's what must be done to preserve inherent lithe vitality. 

Two characters in Démanty noci (Diamonds of the Night) see an opportunity to break free, from a train taking them to a concentration camp during the carnage of World War II.

Youthful and free of guilt and alertly aware of their people's innocence, they flee through a nearby wood with the hope of finding food and warmth.

Director Jan Nemec captures their frightened thoughts as they beg at rural lodgings, deprivation producing uncharacteristic distracting wild unwholesome rumination.

They hold it together however and don't act on their destructive impulses, making their way through the inclement climes while others gather to track and hunt them.

The desperation is manifested through shocking visceral lamentation, as others seeking to maintain their freedoms incoherently give chase.

Divided the country's people do the work of their oppressors for them, everything they're forced to do against their will an abomination.

What country understood Nazi oppression more than the routinely terrorized Soviet Union, who lost millions of its own citizens before it outmatched Hitler's armies?

Who was more deserving of a hero's welcome in contemporary legend and heraldic song, after the war came to an abrupt end and Nazi Germany was reduced to ruin?

Yet who now uses the same brutal tactics to subdue a country against its will, to force the peaceful democratic Ukraine to abandon nation, hope, and freedom?

Historical street cred valiantly gained as Russia fought off Berlin, now lost to their embrace of fascism and imperious monstrous violent aggression.

Who would have ever thought it would come to this twenty odd years ago when amicable thoughts, were disseminated far and wide as the world sought widespread peaceful accords?

It has though nevertheless and the people of Ukraine bravely fight on.

Unwilling to yield once more.

United together as one.

*Written last winter.

Le vent souffle où il veut (A Man Escaped)

A French resistance fighter is woefully captured during World War II, and sent to a brutal prison from which escape is notoriously challenging.

Not one to give up hope he correspondingly applies himself nevertheless, and goes about acquiring tools to help him furtively break free.

The rules within are rather strict so conversation remains quite limited, but he's still able to learn requisite facts from his locked down brethren through stealth and cunning.

Warnings abound regarding improbabilities and potential stool pigeons messing things up, most residents resigned to their fate yet still encouraged by the lieutenant's (François Leterrier) bravery.

His neighbour timorously worries that his escape plans will be detected, and the entire block punished for such ambitions, his fears brought upon by age.

Another prisoner attempts to escape but is unfortunately caught while attempting to do so, his maladroit efforts still supplying the officer with helpful intel regarding necessities.

There are still Nazis to fight and France needs him to secure liberation.

He continues to gradually progress.

Increasing his speed, when he's sentenced to death.

Patiently awaiting the miraculous day when he constructively frees himself from his prison, director Robert Bresson slowly builds up the tension as he meticulously choreographs each struggle.

The palpable concrete uncertainty drives the resonating raw desperation, as hope and logic still efficiently marshal remarkably high spirits considering the circumstances.

The painstaking steps the laborious plan effectively contravenes instantaneous postures, while the cold calculating inhuman pressures chaotically motivate exacting rigour.

Mixed with brief candid exchanges lies irrepressible undaunted light, resplendently illuminating inherent audacity through exoteric recourse to fathomless plight.

Attempts are made to rob prisoners of war of any desire to do anything but, simply follow a severe routine absolutely obscuring identity and purpose.

But the enlivening knowledge of the pervasive injustice recalibrates ethical strides and intuitively guides them.

A prison break film which follows a plan and authentically labours from dusk 'til dawn.

Memorable scenes clandestinely crafted.

Distinct deliberation.

Ecstatic pause.  

The Great Dictator

I find the introduction of disclaimers (although at times necessary) provides an unfortunate layer of stress to an otherwise upbeat festivity, but nevertheless, please note that when I write about abounding mesmerizing life, I'm doing so to celebrate the fleeting natural world and critique flagitious warmongers. As humans encroach further and further into natural realms they become more and more precious, as does celebrating their vivid wonders with elastic readiness and proactive verve. Simultaneously, as a new generation far removed from the horrors of World War II ignorantly and childishly plays with the world like the Dictator of Tomania (Charlie Chaplin), with no regard for human frailty, the celebration of life becomes inclusively paramount especially concerning the bombarded Ukraine.  I'm not trying to secretly make an argument that is pro-life in regards to abortion, since I believe it is a woman's right to choose and that men have no say in the unfortunate scheme of things. The argument laid-out in (the now unfortunately titled) Freakonomics makes a strong practical case for the sociocultural benefits of permitting abortion within reason, and the ways in which poverty and starvation significantly decrease in jurisdictions where it's allowed.

But it's still an untoward topic when lauding the return of ebullient spring, as the animals wake up from their slumbers and venture forth to see the world again.

I sometimes wonder what their dreams are like while they efficiently sleep throughout the winter, and if they're indeed more inclined to hibernate than they are to reemerge.

There's even an animal dream sequence in Jean-Jacques Annaud's sympathetic The Bear, the idea perhaps deserving of longer treatment within feature length animated films.

It's wonderful to see different life forms the shapes and sizes the species and families, each one of them a thoughtful miracle effervescently composing holistic community.

Although there are many beautiful things various people have crafted throughout the centuries, they'll never be more radiant than a dragonfly, or more worthy of respect than a resilient wombat (as others have noted).

But the cultivation of brilliance at times leads to the dismissal of other life forms, since they struggle with advanced calculus and have never constructed an ornate palace.

As Chaplin relates in The Great Dictator's climax as he presents his bold attempt to end World War II, while intelligence is indeed a remarkable gift, it still shouldn't lead to widespread cynicism. 

I always thought it was the duty of the naturally gifted to nurture the flock and wholeheartedly care for them, notably taking into consideration the lessons they've learned through practical experience. 

It wasn't just to sit in an empty room and listen to fawning praise lacking constructive nerve.

Lost in self-obsessed blunder. 

Lacking animate resonant vitality.

Green for Danger

Pejorative pressure, incredulous and puzzling, weighs heavy or a war torn team, tasked with stitching the sick and injured back together, while sublimating the anxiety and at times encouraging mischief, above and beyond heroic duty, panegyrical par for the caustic course.

Strong wilful personalities playfully contend with objective whimsy, habitual fatigue and interminable destruction rambunctiously relaying unjust brawl.

One slips is pushed too far their transgressions passing unnoticed at first, before bold proclamation startlingly upends the otherwise fanciful well-earned night off.

It turns out the inexplicable amplifications which disastrously brought about dire moribund reckonings, were not incidental to the regenerative cause, but in fact produced through murderous provocation.

Who has indeed perpetrated with primordial perfidy remains a compelling inconclusive mind-boggle?, which none other than Alastair Sim (Inspector Cockrill) himself has been tasked with definitively elucidating.

He's rather bumbly and indelicate as if crime-solving required smooth parlay, and irritates several members of the staff simply because he's undeniably enjoying himself.

His eccentric methods conceivably convince the doctors and nurses that he's quite mad.

But logical liaison is litigiously immersent. 

With modest mischievous disconsolate fun.

A rather odd setting for an offbeat comedy which efficaciously blends the austere and the radical, entirely dependent on your love of Sim and his personable vivacious uncanny rhythms. 

Perhaps somewhat like a theoretical blend of Robert Downey, Jr.'s Sherlock Holmes and Peter Sellers's Inspector Clouseau, even if it's easier to say "like none other", it's worth checking out what he brings to the role.

Stress and lassitude bilaterally converging to unhinge otherwise tranquil minds, there's no telling what such circumstances would engender, one is therefore duty bound to help prevent them.

Such a treasure trove of great detectives thoughtfully awaiting inquisitive minds, within the clever British cinema no doubt first cultivated by wide-reaching books.

I imagine at least that since Sherlock's origins are indeed British, he drives contemporary denizens in whatever age to write intricate spellbound murder mysteries.

Do cultural origins truly play such a role within national literary traditions, with international multivariability available if elastically eager and diplomatically drawn?

I know I certainly love animals and it's possible that comes from Canadian and Québecois orthodoxy.

Would I have loved them as much if I'd been born elsewhere?

I'd wager probably (they cute!).

Impossible to know! 

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.

Inside Man

A detective gets his shot since he's the only one around when the call comes in (Denzel Washington), his captain less willing to throw work his way after a recent erroneous routine rupture.

But a bank's being robbed and they want to negotiate the robbers taking their forbidden time, many hostages struggling nerve-wracked within, a smooth flowing exchange stretched out stressed suspicion.

Meanwhile, the bank's agéd owner (Christopher Plummer) hires an alternative negotiating team (Jodie Foster), to recover an ancient safety deposit box he's worried the thieves have set in their sights.

She exists in the theoretical ether wherein which higher-ups employ extreme discretion, to tidy up raunchy embarrassing mishaps, or in this lofty case, World War II profiteering.

The detective doesn't like it when she shows up with answers to questions he wasn't considering, but the communicative green light is still freely given and soon it seems the bank owner's fears weren't that off base.

Afterwards, chaos ensues, with emboldened predicaments furtively enabling, the concealment of the hypothetical thieves whose plutocratic endeavours indeed prove fruitful. 

The detective still needs to piece things together with precocious puzzling and reasonable riffs.

Interviews discourse entanglements hyperbole.

Thoroughly reckoned with guttural instinct.

A cool suave exoteric rigamarole effortlessly enriches voltaic vehemence, as the opposite ends of Inside Man's investigative continuums cohort and calumnize courtly contusions.

Critically clasped clandestine camaraderie sincerely conversing cross calculi composites, war profiteering is reckless abuse of a world controlled by volatile wickedness. 

I haven't seen any recent related articles covering political condemnations of war profiteering in Ukraine, but you would think some bureaucrat would have thought up something to passionately critique it in the last couple of weeks. 

Many business have pulled out of Russia and I imagine sanctions are making routine life difficult in the massive country, but weeks into the brutal conflict and it's still raging with destructive frenzy.

If businesses and individuals are profiting from Russia's continued vicious bombardment, it would be nice to know they'll be held accountable with sincere constricting jurisprudent venom.

How to monitor myriad factors multidimensionally mired in mad malfeasance, is hopefully being taken care of at the maniacal moment with exceptional haste and sentient synergies.