A Castle for Christmas

A successful writer takes a risk in her most recent romance novel (Brooke Shields as Sophie), her adoring fans rather unamused, yet instead of taking their boisterous criticisms to supple caring heart, she openly defies them on daytime television, before taking off to Scotland.

Fortunately for her, at times different cultures see things differently, her latest book well received across the pond, she even joins a knitting group.

But first she explores the castle where she's suddenly taken roost, its lengthy history of literary interest along with its agile duke (Cary Elwes as Duke Myles).

Unfortunately for him, his debts are forcing him to sell, even though he could hold on to the castle, if he parted ways with its coveted farmland.

But then his tenants would have to move and he's an exemplary aristocrat, caring deeply for his people indeed for whom he feels responsible.

Sophie's headstrong ways produce unexpected uncertain affects, especially after she makes an offer, he has to admit, he likes it.

But it's still his cherished castle and it's been in his family for generations, he can't be expected to passively yield when a well-meaning upstart makes suggestions.

They passionately air grievances with increasingly affectionate disputatious praise.

As the Holiday Season takes hold.

And l'amour seems most inviting.

Perhaps it's too much to take in too much cute and cuddly grouchy romance, daunting challenges inspirational miracles haughty hesitation communal resolve.

Fervent fetching fortuitous fairytale or amorous callings too sweet and saccharine, I can't find fault with its grand magnanimity, nor its jolly merrymaking supporting cast.

'Tis true that there are many a miser who disputes the free-flow of capital, as it's applied to the needs of the many who would rather not live from paycheque to paycheque.

With disposable incomes do realms not flourish with ample sustenance and much less crime?

But there are also many rich folk who genuinely care for underprivileged plights, who are still trying to overcome encumbrances which dissuade the cultivation of relative prosperity.

A Castle for Christmas presents such examples and festively celebrates their strong self-sacrifice, showcasing sincere conscientious goodwill fumbling its way through traditional romance.

As pride adheres to the virtues of compromise age old traditions see communal rebirth.

I don't think I'll watch it every year.

Still enjoyed it this Holiday Season.

Can You Ever Forgive Me?

A struggling writer (Melissa McCarthy) finds herself burdened with debt and stuck in the unmarketable fringe.

The rent's three months overdue, her cat's sick, her agent insults her, and she's just lost her job.

Somewhat of a recluse, a misfit, a misanthrope, a prickly pear, she sticks to her preferred hard liquor and settles down to stiffly agitate.

When suddenly an old acquaintance emerges (Richard E. Grant), a holds-nothing-back consume-whatever rough-and-tumble maelstrom, the two cultivating hospitable least resistance as they begin revelling in blunt parched mischief, a literary filmic modus operandi insouciantly scarifying thereafter, like a perky hangover maladroitly banished, or a banana split covered in red wine gravy.

Boldly.

She begins forging letters from deceased prominent authors and he helps her sell them after the FBI catches wind.

She likely would have written something noteworthy of her own beforehand had she just sat back and written something.

Setting her own limits then challenging them.

Like Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

Read other books though, enjoy them, devour them, don't worry if people criticize you.

Proust even wrote, "mediocre people generally believe that to let oneself be guided by books one admires takes away some of one's independence of judgment, [whereas the best people] feel that their power to understand and feel is infinitely increased [by contact with greatness]"(from "On Reading" as quoted in Benjamin Taylor's Proust: The Search).

Proust has an ingenious quote for so many demotivating doubts artists face.

And the judgments they encounter.

Peppered throughout his writings like garlic infused bannock.

Impoverished enrichment.

Incandescent flow.

Marielle Heller's Can You Ever Forgive Me? comedically enriches sloth to parasitically bewilder recrudescence.

Its poetic good times inflate the freewheeling to emancipate hope and thwart desperation.

Melissa McCarthy finally has a companion piece for Bridesmaids and Richard E. Grant keeps things spry.

I disagree with Lee's methods but can't deny her talent, a lazy way to imaginatively conjure, which revitalized dull conversations nonetheless, even if their contents were strictly anathema.

Worth seeing.

Colette

Lavish living, routinely enjoying the most sumptuous victuals to play the role your standing traditionally authenticates, variable inspired expenses infusing a literary aura with the carefree bravado of limitless production, malleability, ceremonial constants, presumed ostentation auriferously manifesting guilds, assumed impeccability unerringly suspecting intrigue, lashed foibles pronounced yet overlooked inasmuch as they characterize, at home amidst scandal and rumour, brash confidence supposed, instinctually attuned to grasped levitational predicament, brazen yet steadfast, polished yoke adjourned.

Suddenly married.

To a partner less docile than anticipated.

Eventually comprehending her worth, her value to the Parisian imagination, she challenges her freewheeling worldly spouse, who's become dependent on her novel individualism.

Wondering if the art's progress solely by chance or accident?

It seems that many well read erudite professionals reasonably publish that which they believe will profitably sustain them, their understanding of the arts being generally more reliable than a gambler's knowledge of cards or horse racing, and by reading public tastes or those of private audiences thereby, a cultural continuum emerges within which it's possible to earn a living.

Thus Willy (Dominic West) initially dismisses Colette's (Keira Knightley) first novel, thinking it won't tastefully fit the literate French spirit as he distills it, but as bills pile up and nothing appealing conveniently presents itself, he eventually pursues its publication, and it's an immediate success.

Who knows really?

J. K. Rowling, rejected.

Proust, rejected.

You can't assume novelty and experimentation will cultivate financial freedoms without worry, perhaps there are publishing houses who can with whom I'm unfamiliar, but regardless every so often that magical narrative seductively hits the shelves and its unique unbridled perfectly fitting plots, ideas, characters, and settings, impassion stoic readers who have otherwise succumbed to the piquant yet predictable.

Colette's novels sell with the unmitigated fury of an exclamatory tempest, generating revenues most sound for her foolish spendthrift husband.

She puts up with it for quite some time before finally bidding adieu and heading out on her own.

The film critiques M. Gauthier-Villars but not too severely, preferring to dis/harmoniously celebrate the times during which they excelled together to dwelling upon their inevitable break.

How could you go that far?

Such betrayal.

For a miserly pittance.

A lively entertaining clever examination of a voice which slowly learns to independently express itself, complete with a critical yet unpretentious account of conjugal versatility, straddling the upper stratosphere, agitating deals, drafts, dogmas.

Indoctrinations.

Mischievous celebratory circumnavigation afloat.

Disenchanting yet enticing.

Love Keira Knightley's outrage.

The Seagull

I've never given much thought to creating new dramatic forms.

I figured I'd just keep going and if something remarkably different popped into my head one day I'd share it and see what happens.

The Seagull examines an eager son's desire to impress his dismissive mother whose highly regarded literary partner has fallen for a would-be ingenue.

Her son loves her as well but the world is set to injure.

He writes an innocent play involving animals and the devil and boasts of having created a revolutionary form which is ridiculed thereafter.

The daughter of the family who manages their farm loves him, although he never notices, and an enthusiastic yet dull schoolmaster loves her, and she could sincerely care less.

An admirable doctor and a wise aged uncle (Brian Dennehy as Sorin) provide colourful commentaries throughout the film, which is based on the play by Chekhov, and contains characters who are generally engaging even if they're somewhat hedged-in.

He's a cad, she's a diva, he's seen better days, she's a dreamer, he's optimistic, etc.

But most (or all) plays lack the thousands of pages Proust had to consider his characters as they grew over the course of a lifetime, so I can't categorically fault an artist for introducing individuals prone to one trait or another, especially when they have so many clever and passionate things to say during so many meaningful exchanges.

Imagine no one ever spoke their mind or shared their point of view, their silence an attempt to preserve a sense of authoritative detachment when observing a discussion held between friends and relatives (they aren't bored), which often expresses either a lack of courage or adventure, if they truly have something valuable to say.

Someone could write a play where a modest youth consistently presents novel insights and ideas while surrounded by established personalities who refute everything he or she says through recourse to stereotyped vitriol and name it after The Logical Song.

Or call it Canonized.

The Seagull tragically blends innocence and maturity to warn artistic youths to beware of popularity and its influence as it unconsciously recasts everything it can control in its own marketable image.

It promotes novelty and difference but situates them within a covetous frame that scathingly materializes naive spirited dreams.

To mock itself, perhaps.

Perhaps not.

A Walk in the Woods

Resonant revitalization, on the Appalachian Trail, two older mismatched friends braving the wild to reaccess their incontrovertibility, their lives having followed different paths, one ensconced in yet troubled with bourgeois accomplishments, the other on the run from the law, the trail acting like a synergizing synthesis, adventurously stylizing nostalgic grievances, a larger than life extremity, harmonizing any ontological playing field.

Tomfoolery and mischief blend with reflections on life and living to nurture the wilful and the woebegone as they interact with experts and randomly improvise along the way.

I found myself indirectly identifying with Bill Bryson (Robert Redford).

I suffered with him during his Fox Newsesque interview, as he said the wrong thing at the funeral, mentioned 2 ways that writers often matriculate, had trouble understanding the allure of video games, was frustrated when Stephen Katz (Nick Nolte) brought up embarrassing old stories at the dinner table, and took his first step on the Appalachian.

Although I wouldn't have commented about it.

A Walk in the Woods is a fun family film, like Planes, Trains & Automobiles meets Tracks, although not as strong as either of those films, comfortably offering im/mature commentaries, sentimentalized by 2 actors whom I've loved over the years.

With some cool contemporary and old school cameos as well.

It's also a bit rushed, it flies through a bunch of scenes which I thought could have been explored with more depth, and you often know exactly what's going to happen.

I'm sure two black bears rummaged through Bryson and Katz's campsite in the book, but I've never read about adult black bears foraging together, unless they're salmon bears, or two amorous bears who sometimes spend a week or more together in an affectionate courtship ritual.

They still could have been adult bears foraging together, it may happen, but I think it's more likely that they were cubs who had just left their mother, and the bears featured in A Walk in the Woods are massive imposing beasts.

It's still a funny scene.

Actually saw my first black bear in Shenandoah National Park. I'll always remember how incredible that was. I suddenly look up in the field my father and I were hiking through to see a bear 15 feet away. We backed off at a moderate pace just to be safe and then watched him or her from a distance for over an hour. It was one of the best wildlife experiences of my life.

Oh, and it's really obvious that some of the nature scenes in A Walk in the Woods were shot in a studio.

Bummer.

Finding Farley

Leanne Allison's latest documentary Finding Farley provides brief glimpses into an epic journey across Canada, as Allison, life partner Karsten Heuer, two-year-old son Zev, and adventurous dog Willow travel from Canmore, Alberta, to Cape Breton. Their purpose is to meet Farley Mowat who has invited them to visit his summer home. Little did he know that after sending the invitation, they would canoe from Canmore to Hudson's Bay, travelling many of the same routes chronicled in People of the Deer and Never Cry Wolf, before taking a train to Québec and then sailing the rest of the way. They exchange letters via snail mail throughout within which Heuer oddly brings up the critical controversies surrounding Mowat's work while highlighting the ways in which they relive his colourful tales. It's fun watching the family interact with one another as pesky Zev spots beavers and owls and the voyage's physical demands test their will power. If Heuer (Being Caribou, Walking the Big Wild) is indeed inheriting Mowat's legacy, he's definitely proving his mettle, and it's a shame Allison didn't include more footage of the time her family spends with the Mowats during Finding Farley's final moments. A simultaneous homage to Mowat's work and forecast of Heuer and Allison's future, Finding Farley presents a filmic family friendly adventure deep into Canada's literary wilderness, pastorally illuminating a symbolic changing of the guard.