Serpentine seductions, recoiled recollections, imposed civilization, the Amazon, stratus immemorial.
A German ethnologist (Jan Bijvoet as as Theodor Koch-Grunberg) falls ill in the jungle and only one man knows the plant that can cure him.
He's reluctant to help however due to the ways in which Europeans have invaded and ravaged his lands.
Indigenous knowledge, they hadn't created firearms or printing presses, but their wisest knew everything about the land, the creatures and plants and seasonal harmonies, symbiotic symmetries, psychoencyclopedic utility, what to use and what not to use, how to co-exist for millennia, neither stewards nor supplicants, living with nature as one.
From their point of view, European culture may have resembled a serpent, a massive anaconda, sanctimoniously suffocating their people, with intent monstrous gluttony.
From that of the European, the serpent may have been symbolized by the Amazon river itself, terrifyingly labyrinthine, spiritual yet unaware of the Christian God.
These inadequate reflections haunt Theodor and Karamakate's (Nilbio Torres and Antonio Bolivar) hostile interactions as a Christianized Indigenous person (Yauenkü Migue as Manduca) mediates, fully aware of rubber plantation horrors, with the scars on his back to prove it.
There's a powerful scene where a crippled Indigenous rubber labourer begs to die after he's discovered alone by them, their dialogue affecting divergent moralities, as acculturation marches on.
The three travel through the jungle in search of a sacred plant (yakruna) and Karamakate's lost people whom he thought were dead, encountering the destructive path of progress along the way.
Old and new worlds clash as they struggle to forge an understanding, another plot following their path decades later, as a young admirer of Koch-Grunberg's work enlists Karamakate's aid to find yakruna after having read Theodor's diaries.
Throughout this plot thread, Karamakate worries that he's become a chullachaqui, an empty shell, a void, as his memories slowly start to return.
El abrazo de la serpiente (Embrace of the Serpent) values environmental wisdom, culture, immersion, gradually heightening colonialist tensions, as they move closer and closer toward medicinal convalescence.
Progress itself is Ciro Guerra's unwilling target, as the dark side of rapid commercial expansion clashes with the remnants of holistic worlds.
A cautious pace lures you into the narrative and lets its unveilings speak for themselves, while mesmerizingly intuiting dreamlike fascination and cultivated dread, a wild consciousness, harnessed, revitalized, exclaimed.
What a world it must have been.
The moon and the sun coaxed interactive eternity.
Blessed embowered succulence.
Transcendent joyful sorrow.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Concussion
Knowledge can be dangerous.
Scientific truths can shatter cultural conceptions with unpalatable clarity, the digestibility of which can be shockingly disorienting, necessities altruistically spiced to inaugurate alternative conventions, innocently diagnosing with undeniable evidence based cohesion.
The relationship between such truths and the world of commerce is often fraught with antagonism, bees dying, artificial dyes triggering hyperactivity, polarized further by differing religious convictions, journalists debating pros and cons, politicians commentating and legislating, the propriety of the popular, late breaking news.
There's nothing like NFL Football.
There's no other league that compares in terms of ambitious astonishment and electric excitement, of epic contrasts, of sheer will and impeccability.
Dr. Bennet Omalu (Will Smith), an exceptionally educated man, was born in Nigeria, and didn't know that the NFL was the vigorous pulse of the sporting United States after moving there.
Even if he had known, it wouldn't have stopped him from discovering chronic traumatic encephalopathy, a condition acquired from severe head trauma that chokes the brain and leaves its victims incapacitated for life.
A brilliant man, he published his results hoping to change the NFL for the better, to provide players with more knowledge so that they could be more aware of the game's dangers, and encourage the league to conduct further research to find ways to take better care of its athletes.
The league responded oddly, worried that knowledge would harm future prospects, and I say oddly because they must have been aware that they were the most popular sport nationwide, the toughest and most dynamic, and could therefore take a slight hit to their image to support player safety.
But even the seemingly invincible worry about their mortality, and don't always make the decisions you would expect them to given their unprecedented success.
Concussion rationally presents Dr. Omalu's case and coherently proceeds to validate his work.
It celebrates the NFL and its players, recognizing its achievements while striving to help them achieve more. It's neither too sentimental nor too self-righteous and uses a trio of strong individuals (Omalu, Alec Baldwin as Dr. Julian Bailes, Albert Brooks as Dr. Cyril Wecht) who took serious risks to convincingly tell its story.
Smith delivers an outstanding performance, as do Brooks and Baldwin. I've never seen this character from Smith before and it's nice to see him diversifying his tenacity.
I don't see how you take big hits out of the game. If someone has the ball and they're trying to score and you don't hit them hard enough they will score and your team might lose.
There are only 16 games in an NFL season and each one is critical.
The ways in which the defensive and offensive lines interact can't change much either.
Penalties and fines for unnecessary or flagrantly violent excesses could perhaps be tougher, especially for repeat offenders.
The NFL is the toughest sport out there, although the NHL is also quite tough and has an 82 game season, with the strongest athletes who endure the most significant punishments.
If a player thinks that his future may be in jeopardy because he has received repeated blows to the head, it's a tough decision to retire when he could possibly play for 5 or 6 more multi-million dollar years.
There shouldn't be a stigma attached to choosing to retire should such a player choose to do so due to multiple head injuries.
That's one way perhaps to prevent some of the tragedies revealed in Concussion, recognizing that not only do you have to be extremely tough to play in the NFL, but that you also have to be extremely tough to walk away from the game.
A community of athletes that respects such a point prospers inasmuch as it upholds tough decisions made by its members while remembering the contributions they emphatically made to their teams.
Enduring the pain.
Any given Sunday.
Scientific truths can shatter cultural conceptions with unpalatable clarity, the digestibility of which can be shockingly disorienting, necessities altruistically spiced to inaugurate alternative conventions, innocently diagnosing with undeniable evidence based cohesion.
The relationship between such truths and the world of commerce is often fraught with antagonism, bees dying, artificial dyes triggering hyperactivity, polarized further by differing religious convictions, journalists debating pros and cons, politicians commentating and legislating, the propriety of the popular, late breaking news.
There's nothing like NFL Football.
There's no other league that compares in terms of ambitious astonishment and electric excitement, of epic contrasts, of sheer will and impeccability.
Dr. Bennet Omalu (Will Smith), an exceptionally educated man, was born in Nigeria, and didn't know that the NFL was the vigorous pulse of the sporting United States after moving there.
Even if he had known, it wouldn't have stopped him from discovering chronic traumatic encephalopathy, a condition acquired from severe head trauma that chokes the brain and leaves its victims incapacitated for life.
A brilliant man, he published his results hoping to change the NFL for the better, to provide players with more knowledge so that they could be more aware of the game's dangers, and encourage the league to conduct further research to find ways to take better care of its athletes.
The league responded oddly, worried that knowledge would harm future prospects, and I say oddly because they must have been aware that they were the most popular sport nationwide, the toughest and most dynamic, and could therefore take a slight hit to their image to support player safety.
But even the seemingly invincible worry about their mortality, and don't always make the decisions you would expect them to given their unprecedented success.
Concussion rationally presents Dr. Omalu's case and coherently proceeds to validate his work.
It celebrates the NFL and its players, recognizing its achievements while striving to help them achieve more. It's neither too sentimental nor too self-righteous and uses a trio of strong individuals (Omalu, Alec Baldwin as Dr. Julian Bailes, Albert Brooks as Dr. Cyril Wecht) who took serious risks to convincingly tell its story.
Smith delivers an outstanding performance, as do Brooks and Baldwin. I've never seen this character from Smith before and it's nice to see him diversifying his tenacity.
I don't see how you take big hits out of the game. If someone has the ball and they're trying to score and you don't hit them hard enough they will score and your team might lose.
There are only 16 games in an NFL season and each one is critical.
The ways in which the defensive and offensive lines interact can't change much either.
Penalties and fines for unnecessary or flagrantly violent excesses could perhaps be tougher, especially for repeat offenders.
The NFL is the toughest sport out there, although the NHL is also quite tough and has an 82 game season, with the strongest athletes who endure the most significant punishments.
If a player thinks that his future may be in jeopardy because he has received repeated blows to the head, it's a tough decision to retire when he could possibly play for 5 or 6 more multi-million dollar years.
There shouldn't be a stigma attached to choosing to retire should such a player choose to do so due to multiple head injuries.
That's one way perhaps to prevent some of the tragedies revealed in Concussion, recognizing that not only do you have to be extremely tough to play in the NFL, but that you also have to be extremely tough to walk away from the game.
A community of athletes that respects such a point prospers inasmuch as it upholds tough decisions made by its members while remembering the contributions they emphatically made to their teams.
Enduring the pain.
Any given Sunday.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Triple 9
A system established to maintain law and order unable to fascinate despondent impoverished crime, unemployment and ethnocentricity leaving generations mired in conflict, comatose, incendiary lesions, verbosely segregating consensus.
Violence and combat, strict hierarchical discipline, the police and the gangs aware of respective rubrics, alcohol and drugs lubricating the malaise.
A darkness, the light shining through with jaded poignancy, a vague uncompromising chaotic fluency masterfully stylizing Triple 9's streetwise ambivalence, audience and characters alike captivatingly lost in the foundationless congestion, wherein knowledge contends with principle, loyalty confides through betrayal, a job well done receives no recompense, longings to escape clash with professional competencies, the coerced crushed and pessimistic, the dedicated withdrawn yet conscientious, financial versus spiritual freedom, skilfully blended in enticing multidimensional haze.
One last job.
A covert team including law enforcement personnel forced to take it.
Triple 9's diverse, its complicated script examining international and local crime with members of the aforementioned team playing different roles for opposing sides.
Multiple plot threads with minor characters make lasting impressions thanks to the clever yet chill synthesis of performance, script, editing and direction.
It doesn't have to make statements about why a less violent sociopolitical climate would be more beneficial, it lets its hardboiled yet relatable characters and situations speak ethical volumes, progression in presentation, dynamic sociocultural c(l)ues.
Like Mad Max: Fury Road, there's no centre of attention, no leading role(s), instead it capably assembles more than a dozen strong actors and gives them room to construct a team, thereby formally advocating for inclusivity by demonstrating how reliable a group of self-sacrificing multiracial teammates can be.
Neither sentimental nor sensational.
Love the John Hillcoat.
Violence and combat, strict hierarchical discipline, the police and the gangs aware of respective rubrics, alcohol and drugs lubricating the malaise.
A darkness, the light shining through with jaded poignancy, a vague uncompromising chaotic fluency masterfully stylizing Triple 9's streetwise ambivalence, audience and characters alike captivatingly lost in the foundationless congestion, wherein knowledge contends with principle, loyalty confides through betrayal, a job well done receives no recompense, longings to escape clash with professional competencies, the coerced crushed and pessimistic, the dedicated withdrawn yet conscientious, financial versus spiritual freedom, skilfully blended in enticing multidimensional haze.
One last job.
A covert team including law enforcement personnel forced to take it.
Triple 9's diverse, its complicated script examining international and local crime with members of the aforementioned team playing different roles for opposing sides.
Multiple plot threads with minor characters make lasting impressions thanks to the clever yet chill synthesis of performance, script, editing and direction.
It doesn't have to make statements about why a less violent sociopolitical climate would be more beneficial, it lets its hardboiled yet relatable characters and situations speak ethical volumes, progression in presentation, dynamic sociocultural c(l)ues.
Like Mad Max: Fury Road, there's no centre of attention, no leading role(s), instead it capably assembles more than a dozen strong actors and gives them room to construct a team, thereby formally advocating for inclusivity by demonstrating how reliable a group of self-sacrificing multiracial teammates can be.
Neither sentimental nor sensational.
Love the John Hillcoat.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Mei rén yú (The Mermaid)
A trillion dollar corporation has purchased land off China's coast and placed invasive devices within the surrounding oceanic depths to dissuade dolphins from congregating at play.
However, unbeknownst to them, mermaids and an octopus-person also called said shores home, and have somehow found a way to locate the offending plutocrat.
Having infiltrated one of his exclusive soirées, the unimaginable hybridly heartbeats, as the plutocrat in question is starstruckly enamoured with his would-be mermaid assassin.
Both octopus-person and a wealthy covetous bombshell are none too happy with the ensuing romance, and do everything they can, to hasten its bitter ruin.
Riddle me tryst.
If the mermaids are thought of as representing elephants or lions or the mighty panda, then proactive progressions can be initiated utilizing the mischievously ludicrous reels of Stephen Chow's bizarro Mei rén yú (The Mermaid).
For in its final moments, scientists rush in, armed to the teeth, to brutally force the ancient luminaries to heel (see Farley Mowat's Sea of Slaughter).
To, fluke.
Barraging them with machine gun fire, many of the endangered clan are lost, the others forced to flee to more hospitable domains.
From time to time, I read about the markets established within China for things like bear paw soup and tiger bone wine, and that China's bourgeoise, with their corresponding disposable incomes, is now roughly the size of the United States.
Europe and North America made significant efforts (while coming up short) to stop the rapacious killing of rhinos, lions, elephants, and endangered bears when scientific research demonstrated that their populations could not bounce back from continued sustained ravenous hunting.
Such populations remain low but could also remain stable if steps are taken to crush the markets facilitating their extinctions.
I plead with the people of China, stop the systematic slaughter of exotic animal populations. They deserve to live and thrive upon this planet just as much as we do, and if we can take steps to ensure their continuing survival we should take them immediately.
With a population as large as China's with vast economic resources at its disposal and cultural traditions that encourage the killing of elephants and rhinos etc., beings such as these don't stand a chance, unless powerful concerned movements are created or enhanced to save them.
I'm hoping these animals will always continue to exist, that the world will always be populated by these majestic incomparable crucial wild beasts.
As do millions of people in China I imagine.
Make it happen!
There are plenty of other ways to earn a living.
However, unbeknownst to them, mermaids and an octopus-person also called said shores home, and have somehow found a way to locate the offending plutocrat.
Having infiltrated one of his exclusive soirées, the unimaginable hybridly heartbeats, as the plutocrat in question is starstruckly enamoured with his would-be mermaid assassin.
Both octopus-person and a wealthy covetous bombshell are none too happy with the ensuing romance, and do everything they can, to hasten its bitter ruin.
Riddle me tryst.
If the mermaids are thought of as representing elephants or lions or the mighty panda, then proactive progressions can be initiated utilizing the mischievously ludicrous reels of Stephen Chow's bizarro Mei rén yú (The Mermaid).
For in its final moments, scientists rush in, armed to the teeth, to brutally force the ancient luminaries to heel (see Farley Mowat's Sea of Slaughter).
To, fluke.
Barraging them with machine gun fire, many of the endangered clan are lost, the others forced to flee to more hospitable domains.
From time to time, I read about the markets established within China for things like bear paw soup and tiger bone wine, and that China's bourgeoise, with their corresponding disposable incomes, is now roughly the size of the United States.
Europe and North America made significant efforts (while coming up short) to stop the rapacious killing of rhinos, lions, elephants, and endangered bears when scientific research demonstrated that their populations could not bounce back from continued sustained ravenous hunting.
Such populations remain low but could also remain stable if steps are taken to crush the markets facilitating their extinctions.
I plead with the people of China, stop the systematic slaughter of exotic animal populations. They deserve to live and thrive upon this planet just as much as we do, and if we can take steps to ensure their continuing survival we should take them immediately.
With a population as large as China's with vast economic resources at its disposal and cultural traditions that encourage the killing of elephants and rhinos etc., beings such as these don't stand a chance, unless powerful concerned movements are created or enhanced to save them.
I'm hoping these animals will always continue to exist, that the world will always be populated by these majestic incomparable crucial wild beasts.
As do millions of people in China I imagine.
Make it happen!
There are plenty of other ways to earn a living.
Friday, March 11, 2016
The Lady in the Van
Lickety-script, parlourized parlay, respective reflections respondents embrayed, a guest, a neighbour, interrupting the labour, coaching a fabler, ultrasounding enabler.
The savour.
A lady moves in in her van, parking on the street then in the driveway, a compassionate suburb, she becomes a distinct curiosity, troubled yet pluminescent, in her wayward harmless upbraid.
Alright, there's this writer who talks to himself, splits it between literary and day-to-day preoccupations, the imaginative side earning the scratch, the other forced to handle bills, conversation, too sympathetic to turn the lady away, too conflicted to stop thinking he should, writing the story as it unreels, thought unified in action.
It works, fussy yet comfortable comedic communal kerfuffles, both characters lost in transition diversifying their conditions to mutually suspend, mystery driving Alex Jennings (Alan Bennett) to understand Miss Shepherd's (Maggie Smith) past, tragedy romantically polishing its unveiling.
Warmhearted comedy you know, strong communities, not so obsessed with sleaze, such obsessions perhaps indicating decadence, yet still, often, hilarious.
I like these stories that write themselves without trumping everything up to exercise extreme bravado.
It does drag for 15 minutes or so but then picks up and limberly compensates.
Heart, it's great to see films with heart that aren't tearjerkingly sentimental, or, if they are like that, say in the final moments, they at least recognize such indulgences with ecstatic free-spirited self-deprecating smarm.
Gradually revealing Shepherd's past while contrasting it with current circumstances generally keeps the pace moving at a productive contemplative putter.
Assembling this and that.
Rascals.
A film that's being written while it unreels that can't get past the first 5 minutes due to all the conflicting voices might work.
It's probably been done.
The savour.
A lady moves in in her van, parking on the street then in the driveway, a compassionate suburb, she becomes a distinct curiosity, troubled yet pluminescent, in her wayward harmless upbraid.
Alright, there's this writer who talks to himself, splits it between literary and day-to-day preoccupations, the imaginative side earning the scratch, the other forced to handle bills, conversation, too sympathetic to turn the lady away, too conflicted to stop thinking he should, writing the story as it unreels, thought unified in action.
It works, fussy yet comfortable comedic communal kerfuffles, both characters lost in transition diversifying their conditions to mutually suspend, mystery driving Alex Jennings (Alan Bennett) to understand Miss Shepherd's (Maggie Smith) past, tragedy romantically polishing its unveiling.
Warmhearted comedy you know, strong communities, not so obsessed with sleaze, such obsessions perhaps indicating decadence, yet still, often, hilarious.
I like these stories that write themselves without trumping everything up to exercise extreme bravado.
It does drag for 15 minutes or so but then picks up and limberly compensates.
Heart, it's great to see films with heart that aren't tearjerkingly sentimental, or, if they are like that, say in the final moments, they at least recognize such indulgences with ecstatic free-spirited self-deprecating smarm.
Gradually revealing Shepherd's past while contrasting it with current circumstances generally keeps the pace moving at a productive contemplative putter.
Assembling this and that.
Rascals.
A film that's being written while it unreels that can't get past the first 5 minutes due to all the conflicting voices might work.
It's probably been done.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
A Perfect Day
The wild, the unknown, a war torn zone suffering the ravages of ethnocentric sterility walking the line between recovery and recidivism as peace talks rapidly progress.
A simple plan to find some rope and remove a dead body from a well, thereby providing the thirsty local populace with a free water supply, is bogged down in bureaucratic constipation while an independent team asserts their variability.
Mines, prejudices, flags, haunting uncertainties destabilizing the region.
But some citizens still know how to laugh.
Which influences A Perfect Day too seriously, as it comes across more like a buddy comedy than an illustration of bitter violence, like an episode from the 10th season of M*A*S*H, or friends sitting around a campfire having happy-go-lucky conversations while war pejoratively rages.
I like the characters, the situations, notably the cows who know how to navigate around land mines, but the hokey dialogue and purposive posturing (there's always a point someone's trying to make) wears thin after 15 minutes, or seconds, depending on your capacity to forgive.
It does stick it to overarching pretensions and legalistic technicalities that prevent people from doing simple things to achieve important goals, too many by-the-book applications occasionally hindering generally progressive initiatives.
But it's too much like The Monuments Men or what I imagine Whiskey Tango Foxtrot will be like (best title I've seen in years), local horrors eclipsed by cute and cuddly outsider shenanigans insufficiently solemnizing the inherent gravity of conflict, like showing up to play in the NFL without wearing pads, a warm fuzzy giraffe, not an omnivorous black bear.
A simple plan to find some rope and remove a dead body from a well, thereby providing the thirsty local populace with a free water supply, is bogged down in bureaucratic constipation while an independent team asserts their variability.
Mines, prejudices, flags, haunting uncertainties destabilizing the region.
But some citizens still know how to laugh.
Which influences A Perfect Day too seriously, as it comes across more like a buddy comedy than an illustration of bitter violence, like an episode from the 10th season of M*A*S*H, or friends sitting around a campfire having happy-go-lucky conversations while war pejoratively rages.
I like the characters, the situations, notably the cows who know how to navigate around land mines, but the hokey dialogue and purposive posturing (there's always a point someone's trying to make) wears thin after 15 minutes, or seconds, depending on your capacity to forgive.
It does stick it to overarching pretensions and legalistic technicalities that prevent people from doing simple things to achieve important goals, too many by-the-book applications occasionally hindering generally progressive initiatives.
But it's too much like The Monuments Men or what I imagine Whiskey Tango Foxtrot will be like (best title I've seen in years), local horrors eclipsed by cute and cuddly outsider shenanigans insufficiently solemnizing the inherent gravity of conflict, like showing up to play in the NFL without wearing pads, a warm fuzzy giraffe, not an omnivorous black bear.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Hail, Caesar!
Film production, the magnification of dreams and ambitions, pluralizing heroism and gallantry with clear and precise occasionally ambiguous envisioned dexterity, precipices and pageants promulgating objectivity and sentiment with equally concise provocations, the contemporary and the historical rivetingly aligned, mischievously extracting, the im/pertinence of our times.
A film set.
A star.
A gathering of observers.
Identity in flux.
Hail, Caesar! converses with Trumbo, a comedic counterpoint to its tragic pen, wherein communists have infiltrated Hollywood and are engaged in criminal activities directly undertaken to support the Soviet Union, only a hardboiled behind-the-scenes gruff steady executive and his up-and-coming Western foil standing in their way, laughs consistently produced amidst the touching absurdity, which seriously suggests it's inherently ridiculous, without failing to shrewdly present itself as a matter of unconcerned dazzle, denoted connotations covertly overted, not the Coen Brothers best comic material but it passes, Burt Gurney (Channing Tatum) and his little dog, Baird Whitlock (George Clooney), defender of the dialectic.
It's a compelling tool, this, dialectic, oppositions and syntheses you know, but using it to predict the future with dispassionate inevitability is where it errs, the end of history functioning like a religious utopia (a 19th century form fused with secular content) which foolishly casts out history and religion, people are never going to stop remembering the past or believing in the fantastic, and attempts to laud a future which does so is a naive waste of critical resources.
Although, I suppose, in my mediocre understanding of the concept, in an egalitarian society things are, oddly enough, much more equal, and due to the equality of opportunity and resources people would be less willing to bear grudges, and less concerned with what happened hundreds of years ago, because they aren't labouring at all times for peanuts, make things more equal, more comfortable, and such grudges could decrease in severity because it's easier to let go of a grudge when you have free time and a disposable income, things to do, goods to acquire.
It's kind of like a generational thing though, if that theory is still taken seriously (it should be), new generations rebelliously critiquing whatever happens to be the norm, movements generated by boredom, generations growing up in a culture based on equality still seeking to define themselves by rallying against the system, even if it was that system that gave them the opportunity to rally against it, its opposite having no such recourse, taking it apart so their grandchildren can rebuild it.
I don't think you can eliminate the desire to change things and stand out through change no matter how perfect a system you create unless you can somehow materialize the affects of the adversarial without promoting stagnation and decay.
Sports do this well.
But the dialectic in terms of momentary observation, observances of historical mutations, brief narrative evaluations rather than definitive prognostications, is a constructive tool, fun to play with, there are plenty of oppositions out there to note, many of which haven't been thought up to strategically condition the future.
Maybe they should have been, maybe not, doesn't change my thoughts that Hail, Caesar! is funny and worth seeing, a lighthearted yet brash take on life, a minor film in the Coen Brothers's oeuvre.
With Clancy Brown (Gracchus), Robert Picardo (Rabbi), Wayne Knight (Lurking Extra #1), Dolph Lundgren (Submarine Commander), Patrick Fischler (Communist Writer #2), and Christopher Lambert (Arne Seslum).
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Where to Invade Next
Not as hard-hitting as some of Michael Moore's other documentaries, Where to Invade Next still reverberates with conscientious humble social democratic charm, as he invades Europe and Tunisia in search of reforms to bring back home.
He makes it clear early on that he's looking for flowers, not weeds, so the film generally overlooks postmodern day European civil unrest, to its advantage, its progressive assemblage of socioeconomic, sociopolitical, and sociocultural innovations blossoming within the cheeky comedic collage, modest comparisons with corresponding realities in the U.S understated in their unsettling disparities.
Some of the bewildering institutional civilities he shares include the lunch breaks and vacation times enjoyed by many Italian workers, the healthy options available daily at an average school cafeteria in France, conversations with the thrivingly productive German middle-class, interviews with facilitators of learning in Finland who have managed to create the world's no.1 educational system by eliminating homework, the accessibility of Slovenian higher education, differing attitudes regarding the treatment of convicts in Norway, the decriminalization of marijuana in Portugal, and the ways in which women are making significant and progressive impacts in Iceland and Tunisia.
He points out how Iceland prosecuted members of its financial sector after the 2008 crisis.
How the elimination of private schools brings people together throughout life by encouraging the growth of friendships between persons from different economic backgrounds by having them attend school with one another where they playfully learn that they're really not that different from an early age.
How the only financial institution in Iceland to survive the economic crisis was run by women.
How Italian managers and owners don't mind paying their workers more because they care about the health and quality of their lives.
How German workers often make up significant portions of German boards of directors because their culture recognizes the impacts workers make and genuinely respects them as a humanistic economic competence.
How Norway took the punishment out of its rehabilitation centres (prisons) to teach its inmates how to live a respectable life rather than resolutely humiliating them for living a problematic one.
After viewing a film about rehabilitative techniques years ago, and trying to understand why a culture wouldn't punish violent criminals severely, it occurred to me that if you live a desperate life, surrounded by desperate people who can't find good jobs and have been scraping by living meagre paycheque to paycheque for years, pissed-off because they never get anywhere, filled with anger, while watching images of how wonderful it is to be wealthy on television and in films regularly, that violence becomes normal, that if you've never known calm or respect of friendship and you have to push back all the time to avoid being abused, then a criminal justice system that serves to punish you severely if your actions become criminal only serves to replicate the miserable situation you were pushing back against to begin with, replaying the role of the oppressor, and one which suddenly treats you with respect, teaches you to be calm, respectful, and to make friends, does a better job at preparing you to be civil, a break from the ubiquitous bedlam, especially if society doesn't dismissively exclude you after your release.
And takes steps to reduce the poverty that creates such desperation by sincerely caring for its fellow citizens as part of its civil responsibilities.
One of my favourite features from Where to Invade Next is Moore's interview style, his questions, where he warmly asks various people from different countries where their cultures came up with the ideas for their reforms and they continuously answer, the United States of America.
The United States is therefore making Europe and Tunisia much nicer places to live, where people aren't excluded for having a conscience and can enjoy a productive work/life balance.
Perhaps it's time, as Moore consistently suggests, to bring some of these ideas back home?
Donald Trump will not bring these ideas home; it's superhighly doubtful anyways.
His public persona has been crafted by firing people, he's openly racist, has no political experience, and reacts abrasively to criticism.
Is this the person you want controlling the world's largest military?
No, no it is not.
Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders will also fight ISIL and make terrorists pay.
They'll also likely take steps to truly make the United States the greatest country in the world again, the country Michael Moore hopes it can be, a great country for someone from any cultural background, a great country, for everyone.
You shouldn't have to be excessively wealthy to have a voice, to take a vacation, to speak freely, if you live in a democratic country that values human rights.
Thinking as in individual is important. It's important to develop your own specific way of living to gain inner-strength and learn to confidently express yourself.
But thinking as a member of a group is important as well. If you truly want reform, if you want to bring the things Michael Moore presents in Where to Invade Next back home to the United States, you need to think collectively and take collective action.
A collective composed of strong individuals can achieve great things with someone like Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders at the helm.
High-paying jobs and 40 hour work weeks are not bad things. Having more time to spend with your family is not a bad thing. Vacation time to relax during the Summer is wonderful. Atmospheres of mutual respect promote well-being.
In the greatest country in the world, these things should be omnipresent, these things, should be everywhere, not simply reserved for an exclusive elite, some of whom oddly don't care about the plight of their fellow citizens, but readily available for each and every American.
Why not seek to enjoy your life outside of work, even at work, when a working day isn't that serious?
Why be at each other's throats constantly?
That's no way to individually live.
That's no way to collectively progress.
You do have to work hard at work, your company has to turn a profit.
But when 95% of that profit is shared with 4% of the workforce, that's odd.
Especially as the cost of living increases.
Love Michael Moore's films; hope we don't have to wait 6 years for the next one.
He really does care you know.
As do Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.
He makes it clear early on that he's looking for flowers, not weeds, so the film generally overlooks postmodern day European civil unrest, to its advantage, its progressive assemblage of socioeconomic, sociopolitical, and sociocultural innovations blossoming within the cheeky comedic collage, modest comparisons with corresponding realities in the U.S understated in their unsettling disparities.
Some of the bewildering institutional civilities he shares include the lunch breaks and vacation times enjoyed by many Italian workers, the healthy options available daily at an average school cafeteria in France, conversations with the thrivingly productive German middle-class, interviews with facilitators of learning in Finland who have managed to create the world's no.1 educational system by eliminating homework, the accessibility of Slovenian higher education, differing attitudes regarding the treatment of convicts in Norway, the decriminalization of marijuana in Portugal, and the ways in which women are making significant and progressive impacts in Iceland and Tunisia.
He points out how Iceland prosecuted members of its financial sector after the 2008 crisis.
How the elimination of private schools brings people together throughout life by encouraging the growth of friendships between persons from different economic backgrounds by having them attend school with one another where they playfully learn that they're really not that different from an early age.
How the only financial institution in Iceland to survive the economic crisis was run by women.
How Italian managers and owners don't mind paying their workers more because they care about the health and quality of their lives.
How German workers often make up significant portions of German boards of directors because their culture recognizes the impacts workers make and genuinely respects them as a humanistic economic competence.
How Norway took the punishment out of its rehabilitation centres (prisons) to teach its inmates how to live a respectable life rather than resolutely humiliating them for living a problematic one.
After viewing a film about rehabilitative techniques years ago, and trying to understand why a culture wouldn't punish violent criminals severely, it occurred to me that if you live a desperate life, surrounded by desperate people who can't find good jobs and have been scraping by living meagre paycheque to paycheque for years, pissed-off because they never get anywhere, filled with anger, while watching images of how wonderful it is to be wealthy on television and in films regularly, that violence becomes normal, that if you've never known calm or respect of friendship and you have to push back all the time to avoid being abused, then a criminal justice system that serves to punish you severely if your actions become criminal only serves to replicate the miserable situation you were pushing back against to begin with, replaying the role of the oppressor, and one which suddenly treats you with respect, teaches you to be calm, respectful, and to make friends, does a better job at preparing you to be civil, a break from the ubiquitous bedlam, especially if society doesn't dismissively exclude you after your release.
And takes steps to reduce the poverty that creates such desperation by sincerely caring for its fellow citizens as part of its civil responsibilities.
One of my favourite features from Where to Invade Next is Moore's interview style, his questions, where he warmly asks various people from different countries where their cultures came up with the ideas for their reforms and they continuously answer, the United States of America.
The United States is therefore making Europe and Tunisia much nicer places to live, where people aren't excluded for having a conscience and can enjoy a productive work/life balance.
Perhaps it's time, as Moore consistently suggests, to bring some of these ideas back home?
Donald Trump will not bring these ideas home; it's superhighly doubtful anyways.
His public persona has been crafted by firing people, he's openly racist, has no political experience, and reacts abrasively to criticism.
Is this the person you want controlling the world's largest military?
No, no it is not.
Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders will also fight ISIL and make terrorists pay.
They'll also likely take steps to truly make the United States the greatest country in the world again, the country Michael Moore hopes it can be, a great country for someone from any cultural background, a great country, for everyone.
You shouldn't have to be excessively wealthy to have a voice, to take a vacation, to speak freely, if you live in a democratic country that values human rights.
Thinking as in individual is important. It's important to develop your own specific way of living to gain inner-strength and learn to confidently express yourself.
But thinking as a member of a group is important as well. If you truly want reform, if you want to bring the things Michael Moore presents in Where to Invade Next back home to the United States, you need to think collectively and take collective action.
A collective composed of strong individuals can achieve great things with someone like Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders at the helm.
High-paying jobs and 40 hour work weeks are not bad things. Having more time to spend with your family is not a bad thing. Vacation time to relax during the Summer is wonderful. Atmospheres of mutual respect promote well-being.
In the greatest country in the world, these things should be omnipresent, these things, should be everywhere, not simply reserved for an exclusive elite, some of whom oddly don't care about the plight of their fellow citizens, but readily available for each and every American.
Why not seek to enjoy your life outside of work, even at work, when a working day isn't that serious?
Why be at each other's throats constantly?
That's no way to individually live.
That's no way to collectively progress.
You do have to work hard at work, your company has to turn a profit.
But when 95% of that profit is shared with 4% of the workforce, that's odd.
Especially as the cost of living increases.
Love Michael Moore's films; hope we don't have to wait 6 years for the next one.
He really does care you know.
As do Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.
Friday, February 26, 2016
Dheepan
Homeless, landless, adrift, isolated, three Sri Lankan compatriots must take on roles to which they are unaccustomed and pretend to be a loving family while acculturating within a French ghetto.
Fortunate to have the jobs they do, ubiquitous crime and angst-ridden violence reminds them of the civil war they fled, as they take things one day at a time and do their best to productively integrate.
Husband, mother, child.
Suddenly existing as a distraughtly supportive family, trials test their ability to exemplify while Dheepan (Jesuthasan Antonythasan) remembers the leader he once was.
Forced to adapt while remaining conscientious, submission conflicts with engrained volatility, peace of mind seemingly unattainable, grating and rasping, exasperatingly askew.
Jacques Audiard's Dheepan presents a desperate situation replete with complicated necessities which solemnly challenge the will to live.
A supreme exercise in extreme sublimation, appearing calm to reflect the nascence, impossibility contends with the imaginative as competing visions of the sure and steady clash effecting labour, language, schooling and family.
Race isn't really an issue in the film, but it reminded me of an idea I had a while back.
It has to do with racist horrors and the problems minority groups face when trying to integrate within the dominant culture at large.
Whether you're from Asia, Africa, Europe, or the Americas, people share common characteristics differentiated by culture yet unified through struggle, through the struggle to obtain work, food and lodging.
If a group whose skin colour or ethnicity is different from another group's systematically prevents that group from being able to access meaningful employment, nutritious food, and spacious lodging, simply because they don't possess a specific skin colour or ethnicity, the oppressed group isn't going to accept such a state of affairs and will continue to want meaningful employment, nutritious food, and spacious lodging.
Films often tragically examine the plight of ethnic minorities as they attempt to assert themselves in the face of overwhelmingly dismissive racist cultural attitudes.
Dheepan showcases members of an ethnic minority group struggling to better their lives in order to live without the constant threat of violence, good people fed up with having to live in fear, capable of taking the risks required to change things for the better.
It uses members of a minority group to combat racist attitudes by demonstrating their desire for peace, for a good life, universal human desires, without focusing on race.
By taking race out of the equation it skilfully finds common ground for every race and ethnicity without sensationalizing its subject matter.
Thought provoking, well done.
A family blossoming in the unconscious.
Fortunate to have the jobs they do, ubiquitous crime and angst-ridden violence reminds them of the civil war they fled, as they take things one day at a time and do their best to productively integrate.
Husband, mother, child.
Suddenly existing as a distraughtly supportive family, trials test their ability to exemplify while Dheepan (Jesuthasan Antonythasan) remembers the leader he once was.
Forced to adapt while remaining conscientious, submission conflicts with engrained volatility, peace of mind seemingly unattainable, grating and rasping, exasperatingly askew.
Jacques Audiard's Dheepan presents a desperate situation replete with complicated necessities which solemnly challenge the will to live.
A supreme exercise in extreme sublimation, appearing calm to reflect the nascence, impossibility contends with the imaginative as competing visions of the sure and steady clash effecting labour, language, schooling and family.
Race isn't really an issue in the film, but it reminded me of an idea I had a while back.
It has to do with racist horrors and the problems minority groups face when trying to integrate within the dominant culture at large.
Whether you're from Asia, Africa, Europe, or the Americas, people share common characteristics differentiated by culture yet unified through struggle, through the struggle to obtain work, food and lodging.
If a group whose skin colour or ethnicity is different from another group's systematically prevents that group from being able to access meaningful employment, nutritious food, and spacious lodging, simply because they don't possess a specific skin colour or ethnicity, the oppressed group isn't going to accept such a state of affairs and will continue to want meaningful employment, nutritious food, and spacious lodging.
Films often tragically examine the plight of ethnic minorities as they attempt to assert themselves in the face of overwhelmingly dismissive racist cultural attitudes.
Dheepan showcases members of an ethnic minority group struggling to better their lives in order to live without the constant threat of violence, good people fed up with having to live in fear, capable of taking the risks required to change things for the better.
It uses members of a minority group to combat racist attitudes by demonstrating their desire for peace, for a good life, universal human desires, without focusing on race.
By taking race out of the equation it skilfully finds common ground for every race and ethnicity without sensationalizing its subject matter.
Thought provoking, well done.
A family blossoming in the unconscious.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Deadpool
Hardboiled athletic inviolable calamity constantly exercising rapid-fire witticisms with endearingly abrasive inextinguishable charm, living by the sword sin substantia erratum, he lives, he fights, he finds loves, and pain, yet his terminal illness miraculously finds a cure which leaves him scarred yet invincible, still unable to overcome humbling squeamish demobilizing conjecture, he leaves his love behind, to vainly hunt down his creator.
Appearances, cultivated but not necessary if a relationship is anchored in golden tangible incontrovertible truth, true love elevating Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) and Vanessa (Morena Baccarin), Deadpool and Zoolander 2 playfully released the same weekend.
Both of them led hard lives prior to the activation of Deadpool's mutant genes, expediently wielding their constituent strengths with irascible conviction, defiantly defending alternative virtuous conceptions, fortune having brought them together only to precipitously tear them apart.
It really is as tragic as all that if you feel, if you love.
With the best opening credits I've seen since The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Deadpool presents the cockiest brazen celebratory elevation of trash talk possibly ever written, I can't think of another film where the überconfident insults cacklingly flow with such explicit potency, anyways, with very few misses, undeniable irreverent spirituality.
Written by Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick.
The rest of it's solid as well, a strong love story, variable minor characters skilfully moving the plot in different directions, or just hilariously commenting, convincing villains, unexpected captivating situations, a dialogue with the audience that takes the edge off while matriculating the absurdity, Ryan Reynolds doing what he does best with impeccably grizzled exuberant confidence.
With necessitated risk at heart.
Fiesty stability.
Forgot to mention that all the Marvel films aren't made by the same studio.
Whatevs.
The precision of the action scenes is on par with the best hyperkinetic films released in recent years.
May prefer Deadpool to Guardians of the Galaxy.
So romantic.
Appearances, cultivated but not necessary if a relationship is anchored in golden tangible incontrovertible truth, true love elevating Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) and Vanessa (Morena Baccarin), Deadpool and Zoolander 2 playfully released the same weekend.
Both of them led hard lives prior to the activation of Deadpool's mutant genes, expediently wielding their constituent strengths with irascible conviction, defiantly defending alternative virtuous conceptions, fortune having brought them together only to precipitously tear them apart.
It really is as tragic as all that if you feel, if you love.
With the best opening credits I've seen since The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Deadpool presents the cockiest brazen celebratory elevation of trash talk possibly ever written, I can't think of another film where the überconfident insults cacklingly flow with such explicit potency, anyways, with very few misses, undeniable irreverent spirituality.
Written by Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick.
The rest of it's solid as well, a strong love story, variable minor characters skilfully moving the plot in different directions, or just hilariously commenting, convincing villains, unexpected captivating situations, a dialogue with the audience that takes the edge off while matriculating the absurdity, Ryan Reynolds doing what he does best with impeccably grizzled exuberant confidence.
With necessitated risk at heart.
Fiesty stability.
Forgot to mention that all the Marvel films aren't made by the same studio.
Whatevs.
The precision of the action scenes is on par with the best hyperkinetic films released in recent years.
May prefer Deadpool to Guardians of the Galaxy.
So romantic.
Friday, February 19, 2016
Zoolander 2
Lost in the wilderness, hard-earned accomplishments reduced to ash, ever evolving fashionable escapades firmly embedding debilitating doubts, two men once experimentalizing their flair with unconcerned immaculate retention cast out to cower shamefully in oblivion, suddenly once again required to indubitably vanquish the wicked, a sultry almost swimsuit model guiding their investigations, into the deaths of the innocently unfathomable, extracurricular intricacies, defiantly orchestrated by a fragile bested foe.
Derek Zoolander (Ben Stiller) and Hansel (Owen Wilson) must return to the limelight to reassert their exploratory finesse, for a criminal mastermind has targeted the world's most good looking people to fulfill a prophecy contraceptional in its cunning.
Shenanigans and blundering complicate their inquiries yet naivety and credulity reward their perseverance.
Derek's son Derek Jr. (Cyrus Arnold) must play a primary role, as it becomes apparent, that he may be the chosen one.
Exglamatory.
Providing laughs and hilarious situations with endearing supporting characters and a profound respect for its origins, Zoolander 2 succeeds at extending the franchise, but doesn't eclipse its starlit predecessor.
It terms of ridiculousness, it does surpass the original with ludicrous lubricants and transitional rebounds, but, even though it's a lot of fun to see the old characters back at it once again, mixing with new additions who socialistically and religiously spice things up, I wasn't as captivated as I was with Dumb and Dumber To, Anchorman 2, or 22 Jump Street, although I did prefer it to Hot Tub Time Machine 2, Airplane II, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, The Hangover Part II, and Ghostbusters II.
I loved how it validated Hansel and Derek's professional competencies and juxtaposed them with the errors they sometimes make taking care of real world demands, like cloistered vestals suddenly fending for themselves.
Hansel and Derek's dynamic reminded me of that cultivated between Ricky and Julian in Trailer Park Boys.
Could there possibly be a Trailer Park Boys/Zoolander crossover shot in Montréal, one of North America's most beautiful cities, with Mugatu (Will Ferrell) teaming up with the one and only Xavier Dolan to kidnap Céline Dion and antiquate Cirque du Soleil?
I'm thinking, best idea, in the history of ever.
Ever.
Ever . . .
Derek Zoolander (Ben Stiller) and Hansel (Owen Wilson) must return to the limelight to reassert their exploratory finesse, for a criminal mastermind has targeted the world's most good looking people to fulfill a prophecy contraceptional in its cunning.
Shenanigans and blundering complicate their inquiries yet naivety and credulity reward their perseverance.
Derek's son Derek Jr. (Cyrus Arnold) must play a primary role, as it becomes apparent, that he may be the chosen one.
Exglamatory.
Providing laughs and hilarious situations with endearing supporting characters and a profound respect for its origins, Zoolander 2 succeeds at extending the franchise, but doesn't eclipse its starlit predecessor.
It terms of ridiculousness, it does surpass the original with ludicrous lubricants and transitional rebounds, but, even though it's a lot of fun to see the old characters back at it once again, mixing with new additions who socialistically and religiously spice things up, I wasn't as captivated as I was with Dumb and Dumber To, Anchorman 2, or 22 Jump Street, although I did prefer it to Hot Tub Time Machine 2, Airplane II, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, The Hangover Part II, and Ghostbusters II.
I loved how it validated Hansel and Derek's professional competencies and juxtaposed them with the errors they sometimes make taking care of real world demands, like cloistered vestals suddenly fending for themselves.
Hansel and Derek's dynamic reminded me of that cultivated between Ricky and Julian in Trailer Park Boys.
Could there possibly be a Trailer Park Boys/Zoolander crossover shot in Montréal, one of North America's most beautiful cities, with Mugatu (Will Ferrell) teaming up with the one and only Xavier Dolan to kidnap Céline Dion and antiquate Cirque du Soleil?
I'm thinking, best idea, in the history of ever.
Ever.
Ever . . .
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
Mustang
Children at play, happenstance and hijinks emboldening hilarity, the joys of youth spontaneously free-flowing, the unexpected and the ahistorical flourishing as they bumble, the beach magnetically galvanizing the zeal, time to excel at discovery and exploration, embrace what's new through awe and fascination, dive in and test the waters, let the ultrabliss cascade.
But the elders, the patriarchs and those who fear them, find such joyous acts of emancipated abandon troublesome and unproductive, the youths described previously being 5 young girls, young sisters, one perhaps with brilliant, laughing eyes and plump, matt cheeks (Albertine), their village obsessed with strict definitions of the ladylike, coldhearted calculated restrictions which severely limit astronomical potentialities.
Soon they're being taught to be domestic servants while being married-off, one by one, the crime, exceedingly enjoying life, the punishment, squabbling in the shadows forever after.
Sure, it's nice when food is prepared for you, but if you're not prepared to cook the same, there isn't much point in benefitting from the enriching nutrient intake.
Sure, sometimes conversations with opposite genders seem bizarre and incomprehensible, but a collage of masculine and feminine ideas blended within a cultural and political fabric makes life dynamic and unpredictable, makes beautiful cities like Montréal, and is an integral component of vibrant contagious cohesivity.
Gender balance you know, it's not such a bad thing, you can refine some remarkable synergies, it works both ways.
Mustang examines sheer patriarchal oppression and the ways in which obsessions with ruthlessly employed conceptions of virtue and purity, even respect, can asininely suffocate blossoming imaginations.
Its fictional portrayal of incarcerated curiosity juxtaposes the harsh and the tender with disparate shocking alarm.
It's not that concepts like virtue and morality are necessarily threatening, it's only when a specific virtuous concept is enforced dogmatically, obstinately applied to each and every situation, like residential schools or Nazi Germany, that it dissolves its links with the good, and malevolently functions as condemnation incarnate.
You need rules in order to succeed in many domains, and if everyone is constantly subverting everything management decides it's difficult to accomplish anything.
But if management decides something and a situation arises which organically challenges that decision and they sharply suppress the challenge similar problems can arise.
You can be disciplined and successful while remaining young at heart.
Hopefully that's the life awaiting Lale (Günes Sensoy) as she leaves for Istanbul, taking a mature risk to thwart imposed maturity, relaxed in her liberation, ready to take on the new.
But the elders, the patriarchs and those who fear them, find such joyous acts of emancipated abandon troublesome and unproductive, the youths described previously being 5 young girls, young sisters, one perhaps with brilliant, laughing eyes and plump, matt cheeks (Albertine), their village obsessed with strict definitions of the ladylike, coldhearted calculated restrictions which severely limit astronomical potentialities.
Soon they're being taught to be domestic servants while being married-off, one by one, the crime, exceedingly enjoying life, the punishment, squabbling in the shadows forever after.
Sure, it's nice when food is prepared for you, but if you're not prepared to cook the same, there isn't much point in benefitting from the enriching nutrient intake.
Sure, sometimes conversations with opposite genders seem bizarre and incomprehensible, but a collage of masculine and feminine ideas blended within a cultural and political fabric makes life dynamic and unpredictable, makes beautiful cities like Montréal, and is an integral component of vibrant contagious cohesivity.
Gender balance you know, it's not such a bad thing, you can refine some remarkable synergies, it works both ways.
Mustang examines sheer patriarchal oppression and the ways in which obsessions with ruthlessly employed conceptions of virtue and purity, even respect, can asininely suffocate blossoming imaginations.
Its fictional portrayal of incarcerated curiosity juxtaposes the harsh and the tender with disparate shocking alarm.
It's not that concepts like virtue and morality are necessarily threatening, it's only when a specific virtuous concept is enforced dogmatically, obstinately applied to each and every situation, like residential schools or Nazi Germany, that it dissolves its links with the good, and malevolently functions as condemnation incarnate.
You need rules in order to succeed in many domains, and if everyone is constantly subverting everything management decides it's difficult to accomplish anything.
But if management decides something and a situation arises which organically challenges that decision and they sharply suppress the challenge similar problems can arise.
You can be disciplined and successful while remaining young at heart.
Hopefully that's the life awaiting Lale (Günes Sensoy) as she leaves for Istanbul, taking a mature risk to thwart imposed maturity, relaxed in her liberation, ready to take on the new.
Friday, February 12, 2016
Son of Saul
World War II, a war machine ensuring mechanized misery malevolently eviscerates, its inherent cruelty viciously forcing its prisoners to meticulously accelerate their own demise, treachery and suicide integral components of its abysmal order, survive through brutality before being brutally discarded, act, don't think, remain unobservant, no future, no past, all-encompassing immediate degeneracy, malicious hellspawn, total, craven, chaos.
One man suddenly opens his eyes, has a thought, abstracts himself from the horror, existentializing the spiritual in a momentary revelation, taking matters into his own hands, boldly asserting dignity.
His individualistic search for last rights causes problems for his collective as his pursuit of a proper burial for his son complicates their plans to escape.
But his steady committed unyielding focus also exemplifies what it means to be human, to uphold peaceful virtues, to have respect for both the living and the dead, to majestically sabotage the ruthless ethics of the oppressor, with wild moral implications, an aesthetic point of view.
Son of Saul's immediacy pulls you into death's grip with unrelenting intensity as fascist logic refuses to let go, desperate resiliencies thwarting its banality with resolute transcendent grace.
The unexpected, the unpredictable, the exceptional, the sane, Saul's (Géza Röhrig) actions serve as a reminder to the conscientious that strength of will can reflex irrepressibly, spontaneous means, keeping goals in mind.
One man suddenly opens his eyes, has a thought, abstracts himself from the horror, existentializing the spiritual in a momentary revelation, taking matters into his own hands, boldly asserting dignity.
His individualistic search for last rights causes problems for his collective as his pursuit of a proper burial for his son complicates their plans to escape.
But his steady committed unyielding focus also exemplifies what it means to be human, to uphold peaceful virtues, to have respect for both the living and the dead, to majestically sabotage the ruthless ethics of the oppressor, with wild moral implications, an aesthetic point of view.
Son of Saul's immediacy pulls you into death's grip with unrelenting intensity as fascist logic refuses to let go, desperate resiliencies thwarting its banality with resolute transcendent grace.
The unexpected, the unpredictable, the exceptional, the sane, Saul's (Géza Röhrig) actions serve as a reminder to the conscientious that strength of will can reflex irrepressibly, spontaneous means, keeping goals in mind.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
The Revenant
Insolence, disrespect, dishonour, carnal craven incredulous antagonist refusing to make the bold sacrifices required to encourage the convalescence of a helpless colleague, the barren logic of the unimaginative stagnating guilded contentment like lifeless inert gruelling cowardice, sublimity cast adrift, motionless, immobile, utterly dependent upon charitable goodwill, his son, vigilant, his strength, returning.
A mighty hunter, a conscientious man, able to see beyond the colour of one's skin or the pretensions of one's culture, intelligent and fierce yet cognizant of august lighthearted wonder, aware that he must live within the world but ready to embrace the bizarre and the peculiar, revel in family life, catch a snowflake on his tongue.
But the wilderness, the wild, where his exhaustive knowledge exhales survival, remains wild, unpredictable, with others seeking to survive as well, competing proficiencies contracting in the shadows, inspecting, subverting, challenging, strike and you will be struck, a mother bruin raising young attacks as Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio) hunts, he's almost dead by the end of the struggle, the mother resting docile and breathless on high.
He's left for dead by a treacherous goon after the goon kills his son (Forrest Goodluck as Hawk) but the power of the bear focuses his recovery and he's able to improbably begin crawling back home.
Hostile territory adds to his burdens as a First Nations Chief (Duane Howard as Elk Dog) seeks his kidnapped daughter (Melaw Nakehk'o as Powaqa), infuriated by both the insult and the treatment of his people, he attacks first and asks no questions.
Glass makes his way one excruciatingly painful movement at a time, enduring extreme punishment while witnessing naturalistic vivacity, breathtaking harmonies further motivating his resolve.
The Revenant is an incredible film, surpassing Fitzcarraldo in terms of herculean elasticity, each second dependent upon threateningly complex environmental courtesies, iconic patience unfurling in its reels like dedicated enriched spirituality, the production's staggering accomplishments complementing Glass's will, his superhuman endurance, in agile exoteric splendour, delivering a simple tale, with extraordinarily sophisticated refinement.
There's one scene that subtly introduces calm, the resonant flux having suddenly subsided, and just as I was thinking, "this makes an odd fit," Glass wakes up and has to frantically ride his horse off a cliff, brilliant editorial awareness rarely so strikingly realized (editing by Stephen Mirrione).
And the final confrontation takes place as the sun gradually illuminates a valley's mountainous terrain, as glass firmly integrates the wisdom of lessons learned (cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki).
Outstanding. Needs to be seen in theatres.
Captain Henry (Domhnall Gleeson) skilfully balances the differences between Glass and Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), Glass, the man of communal knowledge, the spirit, spending his free time in search of game to eat in a land of plenty, in touch with his surroundings, able to instantaneously decide, Fitzgerald, the appetites, thinking only of his own personal prejudices and the wealth he hopes to obtain thereby.
Henry is in charge and must make the tough calls but possesses a conscience of his own that enables Glass to live even if it imperialistically blinds him to Fitzgerald's ambition.
A platonic helmsperson, with some unfortunate ideas about how to facilitate relations with Aboriginal peoples.
Would Glass have killed him in another life, the memories of his peaceful frontier existence haunting him with ageless sorrow?
He nevertheless remains a man of principle.
Not an ideological zealot.
But a practical human being.
Living in the world.
Co-existing.
A mighty hunter, a conscientious man, able to see beyond the colour of one's skin or the pretensions of one's culture, intelligent and fierce yet cognizant of august lighthearted wonder, aware that he must live within the world but ready to embrace the bizarre and the peculiar, revel in family life, catch a snowflake on his tongue.
But the wilderness, the wild, where his exhaustive knowledge exhales survival, remains wild, unpredictable, with others seeking to survive as well, competing proficiencies contracting in the shadows, inspecting, subverting, challenging, strike and you will be struck, a mother bruin raising young attacks as Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio) hunts, he's almost dead by the end of the struggle, the mother resting docile and breathless on high.
He's left for dead by a treacherous goon after the goon kills his son (Forrest Goodluck as Hawk) but the power of the bear focuses his recovery and he's able to improbably begin crawling back home.
Hostile territory adds to his burdens as a First Nations Chief (Duane Howard as Elk Dog) seeks his kidnapped daughter (Melaw Nakehk'o as Powaqa), infuriated by both the insult and the treatment of his people, he attacks first and asks no questions.
Glass makes his way one excruciatingly painful movement at a time, enduring extreme punishment while witnessing naturalistic vivacity, breathtaking harmonies further motivating his resolve.
The Revenant is an incredible film, surpassing Fitzcarraldo in terms of herculean elasticity, each second dependent upon threateningly complex environmental courtesies, iconic patience unfurling in its reels like dedicated enriched spirituality, the production's staggering accomplishments complementing Glass's will, his superhuman endurance, in agile exoteric splendour, delivering a simple tale, with extraordinarily sophisticated refinement.
There's one scene that subtly introduces calm, the resonant flux having suddenly subsided, and just as I was thinking, "this makes an odd fit," Glass wakes up and has to frantically ride his horse off a cliff, brilliant editorial awareness rarely so strikingly realized (editing by Stephen Mirrione).
And the final confrontation takes place as the sun gradually illuminates a valley's mountainous terrain, as glass firmly integrates the wisdom of lessons learned (cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki).
Outstanding. Needs to be seen in theatres.
Captain Henry (Domhnall Gleeson) skilfully balances the differences between Glass and Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), Glass, the man of communal knowledge, the spirit, spending his free time in search of game to eat in a land of plenty, in touch with his surroundings, able to instantaneously decide, Fitzgerald, the appetites, thinking only of his own personal prejudices and the wealth he hopes to obtain thereby.
Henry is in charge and must make the tough calls but possesses a conscience of his own that enables Glass to live even if it imperialistically blinds him to Fitzgerald's ambition.
A platonic helmsperson, with some unfortunate ideas about how to facilitate relations with Aboriginal peoples.
Would Glass have killed him in another life, the memories of his peaceful frontier existence haunting him with ageless sorrow?
He nevertheless remains a man of principle.
Not an ideological zealot.
But a practical human being.
Living in the world.
Co-existing.
Friday, February 5, 2016
The Finest Hours
Risk.
Integrity.
Astronomical odds.
Will.
Bernie Webber (Chris Pine), bold self-sacrificing Coast Guard fundamental, exemplifying hardcore durability in his attempts to rescue a beleaguered crew, resiliently flexible, combative oceanic sizzle.
The conditions are fierce and his compass is missing but due to his exhaustive knowledge he's still able to strive on through.
Ability, conviction, experience, defence, extreme drive exercising resolute caution.
The Finest Hours, a bare-bones resurgency airtight and hunkered down.
The best scenes showcase Webber steering directly into massive oncoming waves, manning his vessel, incredible feats of nautical navigation, necessary to overcome jagged displacements.
Robust in their sentiments, humble teamwork, no time to consider alternative options, saturated condensed immediacy.
With a bit of luck.
Just another day.
Integrity.
Astronomical odds.
Will.
Bernie Webber (Chris Pine), bold self-sacrificing Coast Guard fundamental, exemplifying hardcore durability in his attempts to rescue a beleaguered crew, resiliently flexible, combative oceanic sizzle.
The conditions are fierce and his compass is missing but due to his exhaustive knowledge he's still able to strive on through.
Ability, conviction, experience, defence, extreme drive exercising resolute caution.
The Finest Hours, a bare-bones resurgency airtight and hunkered down.
The best scenes showcase Webber steering directly into massive oncoming waves, manning his vessel, incredible feats of nautical navigation, necessary to overcome jagged displacements.
Robust in their sentiments, humble teamwork, no time to consider alternative options, saturated condensed immediacy.
With a bit of luck.
Just another day.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
45 Years
It all seemed so simple, growing up, you know.
Married couples loved each other. That's why they were married. Their vows functioned like impenetrable devout amorous stainless steel domestically upholding both excellence and virtue as a matter of enviable endurance over the years, level-heads making conscientious decisions to sublimely support one another, dignity through sacrifice, enriching everlasting love.
Due to the sacred nature of the bonds, it never occurred to me that jealousy could dishevel their peaceful harmonies by introducing unforeseen frenetics, tumultuous temptations, to ensure conflict degeneratively materialized, and invasively persisted evermore.
Odd how it's used like a regenerative distraction sometimes, rather than strolls along the beach or a weekend in the Laurentians, bizarre these frenzied fluctuations, confusingly chaotic resuscitative respirations.
Yet Mr. and Mrs. Mercer (Tom Courtenay and Charlotte Rampling) seem to have found a way to amicably co-exist old-school-style for close to a half-century in Andrew Haigh's 45 Years, subtly embracing different modest themes to maturely promote conjugal longevity, striving ever onwards on a path of cherished illuminated merriment, feisty yet docile, an eternal fountain of youth.
But even their upright stability is viscerally challenged after 45 years of sure and steady elasticity, 45 Years calmly and patiently injecting a jealous element and then slowly yet persistently intensifying its disillusionment.
Enough time has passed to theoretically compensate for wild romantic passions that lasciviously took hold 50 years ago, before Kate and Geoff ever met.
The film hauntingly rationalizes these sober emotions to strengthen their consistencies with delicate poignant gravity, the final scene ambiguously clad in brilliance, as you wonder if the moment is ecstatic and/or derelict, a reverberating disorienting dispute.
Married couples loved each other. That's why they were married. Their vows functioned like impenetrable devout amorous stainless steel domestically upholding both excellence and virtue as a matter of enviable endurance over the years, level-heads making conscientious decisions to sublimely support one another, dignity through sacrifice, enriching everlasting love.
Due to the sacred nature of the bonds, it never occurred to me that jealousy could dishevel their peaceful harmonies by introducing unforeseen frenetics, tumultuous temptations, to ensure conflict degeneratively materialized, and invasively persisted evermore.
Odd how it's used like a regenerative distraction sometimes, rather than strolls along the beach or a weekend in the Laurentians, bizarre these frenzied fluctuations, confusingly chaotic resuscitative respirations.
Yet Mr. and Mrs. Mercer (Tom Courtenay and Charlotte Rampling) seem to have found a way to amicably co-exist old-school-style for close to a half-century in Andrew Haigh's 45 Years, subtly embracing different modest themes to maturely promote conjugal longevity, striving ever onwards on a path of cherished illuminated merriment, feisty yet docile, an eternal fountain of youth.
But even their upright stability is viscerally challenged after 45 years of sure and steady elasticity, 45 Years calmly and patiently injecting a jealous element and then slowly yet persistently intensifying its disillusionment.
Enough time has passed to theoretically compensate for wild romantic passions that lasciviously took hold 50 years ago, before Kate and Geoff ever met.
The film hauntingly rationalizes these sober emotions to strengthen their consistencies with delicate poignant gravity, the final scene ambiguously clad in brilliance, as you wonder if the moment is ecstatic and/or derelict, a reverberating disorienting dispute.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Daddy's Home
The other guy, better looking and stronger than you, father of the two children you are rearing, covetous of your stable ambient domesticity, questioning your every decision, flouting the love his children exhilarate, doing everything you can't do, outperforming you at work, giving advice that contradicts your tutelage, suddenly living in your once cozy home, awake bright and early, to reclaim that which he discarded.
Carelessly.
Since the time of cave people rivalries such as these have endured, but in the contemporary absence of sabre-toothed tigers and woolly mammoths, the biggest challenge for the reckless alpha, is patiently following smoothly polished bourgeois rules.
Being polite.
Complimenting others.
Nurturing through support.
Restraining violent impulses.
Never thinking, "this sucks."
Dusty Mayron's (Mark Wahlberg) suburban shadow Brad Whitaker (Will Ferrell) must also exercise caution by not attempting to court the exceptional, which he no doubt nevertheless tries to do, kneading knee-jerks as his outputs flounce and flail.
The A+ wild man versus A+ dependability, the disharmonious blend struggling within the uncertainty, great ideas not producing the laughs one might expect, although the virile exchanges offer constructive lessons learned.
Sara (Linda Cardellini) caught in-between.
Panda Smooth Jazz.
Griff (Hannibal Buress) adds solid ridiculous structure as his character functions as unnecessary referee, but Leo Holt (Thomas Haden Church) could have been more inappropriate in his consul.
Consul such as his could have provided even more completely unnecessary distractions from the narrative and refined raunchy and/or gluttonously verbose observations.
The kids are funny and cute, used to exaggerate the conflict as much as possible, the best part of the film.
Which struggles.
Carelessly.
Since the time of cave people rivalries such as these have endured, but in the contemporary absence of sabre-toothed tigers and woolly mammoths, the biggest challenge for the reckless alpha, is patiently following smoothly polished bourgeois rules.
Being polite.
Complimenting others.
Nurturing through support.
Restraining violent impulses.
Never thinking, "this sucks."
Dusty Mayron's (Mark Wahlberg) suburban shadow Brad Whitaker (Will Ferrell) must also exercise caution by not attempting to court the exceptional, which he no doubt nevertheless tries to do, kneading knee-jerks as his outputs flounce and flail.
The A+ wild man versus A+ dependability, the disharmonious blend struggling within the uncertainty, great ideas not producing the laughs one might expect, although the virile exchanges offer constructive lessons learned.
Sara (Linda Cardellini) caught in-between.
Panda Smooth Jazz.
Griff (Hannibal Buress) adds solid ridiculous structure as his character functions as unnecessary referee, but Leo Holt (Thomas Haden Church) could have been more inappropriate in his consul.
Consul such as his could have provided even more completely unnecessary distractions from the narrative and refined raunchy and/or gluttonously verbose observations.
The kids are funny and cute, used to exaggerate the conflict as much as possible, the best part of the film.
Which struggles.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Anomalisa
Animated like fluffy warmhearted cheer, hummingbird hugs, biscuity blankets, fireside chats while reading pulpy novels, luminescently gliding through the snow with delicate ease and relaxed disregard, a friendly shake, inchoate snuggles, a drive through the country, constitutionally clasped in balm.
Animation at odds with its subject matter, for discontent haunts motivational speaker Michael Stone (David Thewlis), his aged soul overcome by excessive mundanity, plagued by routine doubts, wondering how to reclaim stark serenity.
On a trip to Cincinnati, where an old flame inextinguishably radiates.
But he's lost touch with the other, with politesse, decorum, and doesn't know he's become a full-on perv.
Yet fate still forgives his aggressive libido, and uniquely introduces unexpected novelty.
Manticore.
The result, Anomalisa, a masterful display of understated comedy.
You don't know if you should be supportive, outraged, condescending, repulsed, nimble, sick, saddened, morose.
Such an odd collection of random interactions, ambiguity pruriently stabilized, imaginative independence locked-down and slung, as the borders separating freedom and responsibility slowly and spontaneously fade.
Fun.
There's only one thing Michael finds fun anymore and its ephemeral foundations interject disingenuous ennui.
Jaded conflict.
Obsessive ebb and flow.
Unction.
No way out.
More more more.
Animation at odds with its subject matter, for discontent haunts motivational speaker Michael Stone (David Thewlis), his aged soul overcome by excessive mundanity, plagued by routine doubts, wondering how to reclaim stark serenity.
On a trip to Cincinnati, where an old flame inextinguishably radiates.
But he's lost touch with the other, with politesse, decorum, and doesn't know he's become a full-on perv.
Yet fate still forgives his aggressive libido, and uniquely introduces unexpected novelty.
Manticore.
The result, Anomalisa, a masterful display of understated comedy.
You don't know if you should be supportive, outraged, condescending, repulsed, nimble, sick, saddened, morose.
Such an odd collection of random interactions, ambiguity pruriently stabilized, imaginative independence locked-down and slung, as the borders separating freedom and responsibility slowly and spontaneously fade.
Fun.
There's only one thing Michael finds fun anymore and its ephemeral foundations interject disingenuous ennui.
Jaded conflict.
Obsessive ebb and flow.
Unction.
No way out.
More more more.
Friday, January 22, 2016
The Big Short
You wonder how much some of these characters really cared about the fate of the American masses during the 2008 economic crisis.
It's plausible that those who did care did in fact care.
Without them caring however, The Big Short does turn into a celebration of sorts of the lucky 0.00000000000001% who prospered excessively while the unknowing majority was ruined.
Conscience or convenience?
Without them the film definitely would have been tough to take.
Perhaps not.
It's really well written, constant motion following multiple characters who analyze their subject matter and conduct their research from varied perspectives, these perspectives vivaciously instructing audiences in paradigmatic peculiarities which crippled the global economy, while introducing several tertiary adjuncts who often make more than one appearance (editing by Hank Corwin) and diversify its critique of unsustainable capitalist expansion by illustrating both the reckless joys and famished dreams of the lenders and borrowers caught up in early 21st century frenzied financing.
Writers Charles Randolph (screenplay), Adam McKay (screenplay), and Michael Lewis (Book) may have been able to extract the ethical from this frame without stalling its momentum although the ethical focus does transport its erudite pedestrianism to the realm of the imaginative flâneur.
Holy crap The Big Short takes a lot of shots at the chaotic mechanics which oddly upheld American markets for a significant chunk of time and the people who profited from the resultant unrestrained disillusioning economic creativity.
It's a shame because the rampant charlatanism had given people earning modest livings the chance to live the American dream, houses, cars, microbrewed beer, poutine, it was just totally foundationless and eventually crashed unrepentantly, with basically no penalties, and according to The Big Short and recent forecasts by a Scottish bank, is ready to start frothingly socioproselytizing once more.
What do you do, do you live within your means without accumulating much debt or mortgage your life away and enjoy whatever you can get your hands on?
Can't answer that question, but sustainable development seems more profitable to me in the long run, conserving immaculate environmental and technological wonders in turn while eagerly seeking out sources of cultural and scientific mutation.
I did leave the theatre wondering if I had just seen one of the best films of the year or an exceptional Pop-Up Video collage.
But upon further reflection, I do think The Big Short is a contender, even if it's kind of raw-raw.
Thought-provoking conscientious unnerving entertainment.
Worth subsequent viewings, strong cast, well put together.
It's plausible that those who did care did in fact care.
Without them caring however, The Big Short does turn into a celebration of sorts of the lucky 0.00000000000001% who prospered excessively while the unknowing majority was ruined.
Conscience or convenience?
Without them the film definitely would have been tough to take.
Perhaps not.
It's really well written, constant motion following multiple characters who analyze their subject matter and conduct their research from varied perspectives, these perspectives vivaciously instructing audiences in paradigmatic peculiarities which crippled the global economy, while introducing several tertiary adjuncts who often make more than one appearance (editing by Hank Corwin) and diversify its critique of unsustainable capitalist expansion by illustrating both the reckless joys and famished dreams of the lenders and borrowers caught up in early 21st century frenzied financing.
Writers Charles Randolph (screenplay), Adam McKay (screenplay), and Michael Lewis (Book) may have been able to extract the ethical from this frame without stalling its momentum although the ethical focus does transport its erudite pedestrianism to the realm of the imaginative flâneur.
Holy crap The Big Short takes a lot of shots at the chaotic mechanics which oddly upheld American markets for a significant chunk of time and the people who profited from the resultant unrestrained disillusioning economic creativity.
It's a shame because the rampant charlatanism had given people earning modest livings the chance to live the American dream, houses, cars, microbrewed beer, poutine, it was just totally foundationless and eventually crashed unrepentantly, with basically no penalties, and according to The Big Short and recent forecasts by a Scottish bank, is ready to start frothingly socioproselytizing once more.
What do you do, do you live within your means without accumulating much debt or mortgage your life away and enjoy whatever you can get your hands on?
Can't answer that question, but sustainable development seems more profitable to me in the long run, conserving immaculate environmental and technological wonders in turn while eagerly seeking out sources of cultural and scientific mutation.
I did leave the theatre wondering if I had just seen one of the best films of the year or an exceptional Pop-Up Video collage.
But upon further reflection, I do think The Big Short is a contender, even if it's kind of raw-raw.
Thought-provoking conscientious unnerving entertainment.
Worth subsequent viewings, strong cast, well put together.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
The Hateful Eight
*This one's kind of gross. The rules. A different set of rules.
It's difficult to take an exacting intellect capable of exotically yet haphazardly envisioning distinct pulsating shocks and successfully apply it to situations which often import stark congenital gravity.
You have to seem bright without seeming intelligent, unconcerned while meticulously managing the minutia.
In an enlightened stupor.
If you seem too intelligent it's too intelligent; if it's too bland, it's too bland.
You see Tarantino trying to intelligently craft visceral mundane irresistibly kitschy constellations throughout The Hateful Eight but the result is more like a blunt racist ultraviolent unappealing dust bowl.
That's not what you're supposed to do!
It's not that he doesn't have his own thing happenin'.
It's quirky and bizarre enough to make you want to see what's going to happen next, and his confident grizzly backwoods characters hold your attention with outrageously dispassionate abrasive machismo, bullshit, bullshit, more bullshit, mendaciously striking with cold hard-hearted disparity.
It's just, you keep seeing what happens next and it isn't that great, some of it's kind of cool, but there's an extended back-in-time sequence that serves little purpose but to depict a lively happy frontier family being slaughtered, there's torture and rape, the main female character's face is regularly covered in blood because her captor keeps punching her in the mouth, and the races are irrepressibly at odds as the hatred viciously intensifies.
I suppose if you want to indulge in gratuitous gratuity, sleaze for sleaze's sake, that's okay, I guess, I don't know why you would want to do that but it's done all the time, I don't want to be too politically correct here, The Hateful Eight firmly giving the finger to pc everything and it should be examined on its own terms judiciously.
Like, scatological synergies.
Claustrophobic acrimony.
Renegade nausea.
Hemorrhoid puke stink.
One of the first things I thought when I saw the trailer for The Revenant was, "this is what Quentin Tarantino could be doing, he could be making films like this."
But then I thought, it's annoying when people are like, you should be doing this, so I was like, I'm not going to be like that.
Inglourious Basterds is an incredible film that I love watching again and again. It succeeds on so many levels and even has valuable life lessons to learn worked into its frames.
I'm not getting that from Django or The Hateful Eight and think Tarantino should move away from exploiting race relations.
He could give the serious yet comedic unconsciously pliable western one more try, but like I think I've said before, it's extremely difficult to do.
In danger of being eclipsed by Robert Rodriguez.
Troublemaker studios.
Heuristic halcyon.
It's difficult to take an exacting intellect capable of exotically yet haphazardly envisioning distinct pulsating shocks and successfully apply it to situations which often import stark congenital gravity.
You have to seem bright without seeming intelligent, unconcerned while meticulously managing the minutia.
In an enlightened stupor.
If you seem too intelligent it's too intelligent; if it's too bland, it's too bland.
You see Tarantino trying to intelligently craft visceral mundane irresistibly kitschy constellations throughout The Hateful Eight but the result is more like a blunt racist ultraviolent unappealing dust bowl.
That's not what you're supposed to do!
It's not that he doesn't have his own thing happenin'.
It's quirky and bizarre enough to make you want to see what's going to happen next, and his confident grizzly backwoods characters hold your attention with outrageously dispassionate abrasive machismo, bullshit, bullshit, more bullshit, mendaciously striking with cold hard-hearted disparity.
It's just, you keep seeing what happens next and it isn't that great, some of it's kind of cool, but there's an extended back-in-time sequence that serves little purpose but to depict a lively happy frontier family being slaughtered, there's torture and rape, the main female character's face is regularly covered in blood because her captor keeps punching her in the mouth, and the races are irrepressibly at odds as the hatred viciously intensifies.
I suppose if you want to indulge in gratuitous gratuity, sleaze for sleaze's sake, that's okay, I guess, I don't know why you would want to do that but it's done all the time, I don't want to be too politically correct here, The Hateful Eight firmly giving the finger to pc everything and it should be examined on its own terms judiciously.
Like, scatological synergies.
Claustrophobic acrimony.
Renegade nausea.
Hemorrhoid puke stink.
One of the first things I thought when I saw the trailer for The Revenant was, "this is what Quentin Tarantino could be doing, he could be making films like this."
But then I thought, it's annoying when people are like, you should be doing this, so I was like, I'm not going to be like that.
Inglourious Basterds is an incredible film that I love watching again and again. It succeeds on so many levels and even has valuable life lessons to learn worked into its frames.
I'm not getting that from Django or The Hateful Eight and think Tarantino should move away from exploiting race relations.
He could give the serious yet comedic unconsciously pliable western one more try, but like I think I've said before, it's extremely difficult to do.
In danger of being eclipsed by Robert Rodriguez.
Troublemaker studios.
Heuristic halcyon.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Joy
Discipline.
Punishment.
The hurricane, crushing, displacing, infuriating, exasperating, draining her reserves with unsettling elasticity, voracious steady plutocratic hunger, petty indignant somnambulistic plunder, she coasts astride, reacting, strategizing, acclimatizing, placating, diplomatically attuned to brokering consensus, to enabling equanimity, fomented franticon, whirlwinds harnessed agon, risking everything she has while enriching her familial bower, through the art of sympathetically nurturing comprehensible inclusive trusts.
She leaves no one behind, her spirit breeding virtue in resplendent fertile abundance, someone you can count on, entrenched hardwired reliability, David O. Russell's Joy (Jennifer Lawrence), an odd synthesis of the exceptional and the mundane.
It's almost there.
The film wavers between the plucky and the humdrum with casual indiscreet dexterity, never seeming too shocking or distant, while enlivening situations you would think might not be so.
In conversation.
By cautiously yet cleverly elevating the tedious, Joy coaxes the extraordinary with undeniable hokey charm, notably when Trudy (Isabella Rossellini) asks her 4 questions.
Still missing something however, its aesthetic resonance asymptotically flirting with the quaintly ethereal, girls on farms, caressing and tantalizing with each exhaled breath, otherwise fun and endearing, well-acted convincing versatility.
Punishment.
The hurricane, crushing, displacing, infuriating, exasperating, draining her reserves with unsettling elasticity, voracious steady plutocratic hunger, petty indignant somnambulistic plunder, she coasts astride, reacting, strategizing, acclimatizing, placating, diplomatically attuned to brokering consensus, to enabling equanimity, fomented franticon, whirlwinds harnessed agon, risking everything she has while enriching her familial bower, through the art of sympathetically nurturing comprehensible inclusive trusts.
She leaves no one behind, her spirit breeding virtue in resplendent fertile abundance, someone you can count on, entrenched hardwired reliability, David O. Russell's Joy (Jennifer Lawrence), an odd synthesis of the exceptional and the mundane.
It's almost there.
The film wavers between the plucky and the humdrum with casual indiscreet dexterity, never seeming too shocking or distant, while enlivening situations you would think might not be so.
In conversation.
By cautiously yet cleverly elevating the tedious, Joy coaxes the extraordinary with undeniable hokey charm, notably when Trudy (Isabella Rossellini) asks her 4 questions.
Still missing something however, its aesthetic resonance asymptotically flirting with the quaintly ethereal, girls on farms, caressing and tantalizing with each exhaled breath, otherwise fun and endearing, well-acted convincing versatility.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
The Danish Girl
For a terse, inadequate, understated, rushed synopsis of Foucault's Madness & Civilization, one might write that qualitative evaluations, at any given moment, have specific psychological preferences, stereotypically spiritualized in what they consider to be rational, enticing, praiseworthy, while alternative dispositions which don't snuggly fit the definitions must still attempt to forthrightly applaud them, or fall prey to a legion of mental health authorities who make a living cultivating them, using various methods to diagnose and cure the afflicted who can't help but stand out in sharp contrast.
These definitions change, In Search of Lost Time's examination of the Dreyfus Affair highlighting malleable pretensions to culture, the Affair not relating to definitive mindsets particularly, but Proust's compellingly interminable investigation of its protagonists and arch-villains, themselves changing their positions depending on their analysis of the popular, thereby behaving politically, to parlour, antiquate, and esteem, demonstrates how madness and civilization dialectically contend, embrace, synthesize, in rhetorical applications of epistemological virtue.
There are people who seem to be lacking in reason, people who adamantly believe their pet guinea pigs are reincarnated Julio-Claudians for example, but The Danish Girl's Einar Wegener/Lili Elbe (Eddie Redmayne) is clearly sane, kind, gentle, yet has no means through which to access inadmissible components of his personality, and is therefore labelled undesirable.
He escapes curative clutches however, enduring minor experimental encumbrances but still maintaining his freedom, and, with the aid of his idyllic wife Gerda (Alicia Vikander), eventually finds a doctor who recognizes his sanity and wholeheartedly assists.
Before discovering this doctor you seem him struggling to animate, as he seeks out the compassion of the civil who misguidedly think him mad.
The film is a quiet timid exploratory illustration of gender identification which focuses more on Lili/Einar and Gerda's brilliant relationship, effervescently brought to life by Redmayne and Vikander, true compassion and understanding, than the horrors Einar/Lili faces as he transforms.
Illumination.
Trying to find markets for art complements Lili/Einar's discoveries, selling paintings like trying to invigorate public opinion, open up new worlds, and encourage sociocultural inclusivity.
Gerda's paintings are quite beautiful.
As is a world where difference is an integral strength.
Intimately unrecognized.
These definitions change, In Search of Lost Time's examination of the Dreyfus Affair highlighting malleable pretensions to culture, the Affair not relating to definitive mindsets particularly, but Proust's compellingly interminable investigation of its protagonists and arch-villains, themselves changing their positions depending on their analysis of the popular, thereby behaving politically, to parlour, antiquate, and esteem, demonstrates how madness and civilization dialectically contend, embrace, synthesize, in rhetorical applications of epistemological virtue.
There are people who seem to be lacking in reason, people who adamantly believe their pet guinea pigs are reincarnated Julio-Claudians for example, but The Danish Girl's Einar Wegener/Lili Elbe (Eddie Redmayne) is clearly sane, kind, gentle, yet has no means through which to access inadmissible components of his personality, and is therefore labelled undesirable.
He escapes curative clutches however, enduring minor experimental encumbrances but still maintaining his freedom, and, with the aid of his idyllic wife Gerda (Alicia Vikander), eventually finds a doctor who recognizes his sanity and wholeheartedly assists.
Before discovering this doctor you seem him struggling to animate, as he seeks out the compassion of the civil who misguidedly think him mad.
The film is a quiet timid exploratory illustration of gender identification which focuses more on Lili/Einar and Gerda's brilliant relationship, effervescently brought to life by Redmayne and Vikander, true compassion and understanding, than the horrors Einar/Lili faces as he transforms.
Illumination.
Trying to find markets for art complements Lili/Einar's discoveries, selling paintings like trying to invigorate public opinion, open up new worlds, and encourage sociocultural inclusivity.
Gerda's paintings are quite beautiful.
As is a world where difference is an integral strength.
Intimately unrecognized.
Friday, January 8, 2016
Star Wars: The Force Awakens
*I've waited weeks to post this. There aren't any huge spoilers but don't read it if you haven't seen the film.
A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back really are exceptional films. They created a universe and captivatingly pulled you in, refusing to let go, commanding your strict attention for every volatile nanosecond then leaving you wiped from hyperintense emotional exposure. They were dark. They were pressurized. They didn't seem like lighthearted whimsical checks and balances. They built the foundations for worlds within worlds and boldly cultivated a clear spiritual vision, tantalizingly navigating a polarized political spectrum. I watched them again recently, watched all the Star Wars films again recently, and they still hold up, still captivatingly pressurize. They must have had a long lasting effect on the Force Awakens team too, because Star Wars VII borrows heavily from their scripts. I enjoyed watching it, and even preferred it the second time, but it was still somewhat frustrating to see the agile new cast back on a remote desert planet, with a droid containing secret information, off to a new cantina bar, before having to assault a new super-Death Star wherein an Empire like confrontation takes place. The film holds together and is fun to watch, but the script is lacking in vision.
They likely didn't want to try anything too experimental because that was precisely what Lucas did in episodes I-III and they didn't turn out that well. It's a shame because he attempted to multidimensionally diversify the world he created by crafting complex scripts with multiple storylines. It's too bad he didn't get someone else to write the dialogue or rework each script into something less convoluted, something more like episodes IV through VI.
Which is what The Force Awakens team has done, taking the easy route but workin' it intergalactically. I was hoping it would be something exceptional, you come to expect the exceptional from Star Wars films because A New Hope and Empire were so good, and they had a long time to work on this one; you're happy when a Marvel film is exceptional but you don't expect them to be exceptional in the same way that you expect a Star Wars film to be exceptional, so that when it's just solid entertainment, a fun couple of hours revisiting a phenomenal contemplation, it's a bit of a let down, which is easy to get over.
The film's too light.
General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson) is like a child in comparison to Grand Moff Tarkin (Peter Cushing) and Kylo Ren is light years less menacing than Darth Vader (David Prowse/James Earl Jones).
First rate pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) crash lands on Jakku and then disappears until heroically returning to save the day, having managed to escape from a barren isolated planet being monitored by a Star Destroyer-like ship which is searching for him specifically.
How did he get off the planet!
Because it's so similar to episode IV you know precisely what is going to happen and this takes the edge off considerably even if it's kind of neat to see it all happening again.
With some new twists thrown in.
The text from the opening moments seems more like a bubblegum comic than an invitation to interstellar tragedy.
Was infiltrating the First Order's secret base and shutting down its force field far too easy?
Before Alderaan is destroyed there's a brilliant exchange between Leia (Carrie Fisher) and Tarkin which accentuates the severity of what's about to happen. In The Force Awakens they just fire the new weapon to sever any connection episode VII has to episodes I-III.
Rey (Daisy Ridley) is a saving grace, and her character continuously steals scenes, a cross between Han Solo and Luke Skywalker, she should be able to hold the next couple films together.
With Finn's (John Boyega) help; I loved it when he picked up the lightsaber to take on Ren.
I suppose I shouldn't be advocating for darker Star Wars films if I prefer the ways of the Jedi, but it's the competent resilient fierce desperation of the rebellion that made those films stand out, like the Rebels were up against overwhelmingly austere villains whose maturity was viscerally diabolical, the goodness of the Rebels standing out in sharp contrast.
Perhaps George Miller or Christopher Nolan should direct episode VIII. Perhaps they weren't crazy fans of the original trilogy when it came out. That may give them an advantage.
May the force be with you.
*Forgot to mention how cute BB-8 is. Like a well-groomed feisty Bichon.
A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back really are exceptional films. They created a universe and captivatingly pulled you in, refusing to let go, commanding your strict attention for every volatile nanosecond then leaving you wiped from hyperintense emotional exposure. They were dark. They were pressurized. They didn't seem like lighthearted whimsical checks and balances. They built the foundations for worlds within worlds and boldly cultivated a clear spiritual vision, tantalizingly navigating a polarized political spectrum. I watched them again recently, watched all the Star Wars films again recently, and they still hold up, still captivatingly pressurize. They must have had a long lasting effect on the Force Awakens team too, because Star Wars VII borrows heavily from their scripts. I enjoyed watching it, and even preferred it the second time, but it was still somewhat frustrating to see the agile new cast back on a remote desert planet, with a droid containing secret information, off to a new cantina bar, before having to assault a new super-Death Star wherein an Empire like confrontation takes place. The film holds together and is fun to watch, but the script is lacking in vision.
They likely didn't want to try anything too experimental because that was precisely what Lucas did in episodes I-III and they didn't turn out that well. It's a shame because he attempted to multidimensionally diversify the world he created by crafting complex scripts with multiple storylines. It's too bad he didn't get someone else to write the dialogue or rework each script into something less convoluted, something more like episodes IV through VI.
Which is what The Force Awakens team has done, taking the easy route but workin' it intergalactically. I was hoping it would be something exceptional, you come to expect the exceptional from Star Wars films because A New Hope and Empire were so good, and they had a long time to work on this one; you're happy when a Marvel film is exceptional but you don't expect them to be exceptional in the same way that you expect a Star Wars film to be exceptional, so that when it's just solid entertainment, a fun couple of hours revisiting a phenomenal contemplation, it's a bit of a let down, which is easy to get over.
The film's too light.
General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson) is like a child in comparison to Grand Moff Tarkin (Peter Cushing) and Kylo Ren is light years less menacing than Darth Vader (David Prowse/James Earl Jones).
First rate pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) crash lands on Jakku and then disappears until heroically returning to save the day, having managed to escape from a barren isolated planet being monitored by a Star Destroyer-like ship which is searching for him specifically.
How did he get off the planet!
Because it's so similar to episode IV you know precisely what is going to happen and this takes the edge off considerably even if it's kind of neat to see it all happening again.
With some new twists thrown in.
The text from the opening moments seems more like a bubblegum comic than an invitation to interstellar tragedy.
Was infiltrating the First Order's secret base and shutting down its force field far too easy?
Before Alderaan is destroyed there's a brilliant exchange between Leia (Carrie Fisher) and Tarkin which accentuates the severity of what's about to happen. In The Force Awakens they just fire the new weapon to sever any connection episode VII has to episodes I-III.
Rey (Daisy Ridley) is a saving grace, and her character continuously steals scenes, a cross between Han Solo and Luke Skywalker, she should be able to hold the next couple films together.
With Finn's (John Boyega) help; I loved it when he picked up the lightsaber to take on Ren.
I suppose I shouldn't be advocating for darker Star Wars films if I prefer the ways of the Jedi, but it's the competent resilient fierce desperation of the rebellion that made those films stand out, like the Rebels were up against overwhelmingly austere villains whose maturity was viscerally diabolical, the goodness of the Rebels standing out in sharp contrast.
Perhaps George Miller or Christopher Nolan should direct episode VIII. Perhaps they weren't crazy fans of the original trilogy when it came out. That may give them an advantage.
May the force be with you.
*Forgot to mention how cute BB-8 is. Like a well-groomed feisty Bichon.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Spotlight
A community, bound together by traditional bonds stretching back for tightly knit centuries, growing and changing over time yet remaining loyal to specific ways of life, to institutions, whose reputation for kindness and charity has lovingly guided initiatives structured by compassion and understanding which encourage warm hearted gatherings in order to anchor humanistic trusts throughout, within and beyond the great city of Boston, which is under fire this year in American cinema.
But it's not as fuzzy as all that, as Tom McCarthy's Spotlight points out, a filmic examination of the Boston Globe reporters who brought to light monstrous religious failings, abysmal breaches of trust, and an entrenched sociopolitical culture devoted to covering it up, to overlooking its monumental shortcomings, its violence, its subversion of its fundamental principles.
True believers who attempt to tenderly encourage inclusive communal growth are exceptional people, it's only when they either exclude large portions of the population who believe in something else or commit acts of terror that serious problems arise, augmented by parts of the population who try to exclude them for believing what they do.
But for true believers, the bonds they cultivate between themselves and religious authorities are truly sacred, and if such authorities take for granted the sacred nature of these bonds and viciously exploit them to corruptly satisfy perverted desires, relying on their image and authority to prevent people from coming forward with shocking contradictory truths, they shatter their aura of integrity and obscure their charitable foundations.
Spotlight examines the tough decisions Boston Globe reporters, themselves Christian and citizens of Boston, had to make in order to bring the truth to light, the idyllic patience they required to expose corrupt religious and civic bureaucracies as they furtively waited until they had enough evidence to comment.
A passion for justice challenges the team's resolve at one memorable point, Mike Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo) demanding action, Spotlight team leader Walter Robinson (Michael Keaton) logically refusing, the film having carefully crafted a number of corresponding interviews and investigations the revelations of which frustratingly challenge the cohesivity of their discipline, not to mention that it's their community they're shocking, their heritage they're disillusioning.
It's not like someone took office supplies home here, government information was misplaced, high ranking officials from different cultural institutions attempted to block them, the law prevented truths from being discussed, testimony from scared impoverished victims was difficult to obtain, assistance from like-minded jaded professionals difficult to coax, trust, trust had to be relied upon but the issue they were investigating had resoundingly destroyed the bedrock of trust their contemporaries and interviewees had sought to preserve, making the situation highly volatile, its outputs, highly devastating.
Yet invaluable.
A tough film examining tough issues from tough perspectives with a tenacious resolve.
In search of true justice.
True reform.
For true believers.
But it's not as fuzzy as all that, as Tom McCarthy's Spotlight points out, a filmic examination of the Boston Globe reporters who brought to light monstrous religious failings, abysmal breaches of trust, and an entrenched sociopolitical culture devoted to covering it up, to overlooking its monumental shortcomings, its violence, its subversion of its fundamental principles.
True believers who attempt to tenderly encourage inclusive communal growth are exceptional people, it's only when they either exclude large portions of the population who believe in something else or commit acts of terror that serious problems arise, augmented by parts of the population who try to exclude them for believing what they do.
But for true believers, the bonds they cultivate between themselves and religious authorities are truly sacred, and if such authorities take for granted the sacred nature of these bonds and viciously exploit them to corruptly satisfy perverted desires, relying on their image and authority to prevent people from coming forward with shocking contradictory truths, they shatter their aura of integrity and obscure their charitable foundations.
Spotlight examines the tough decisions Boston Globe reporters, themselves Christian and citizens of Boston, had to make in order to bring the truth to light, the idyllic patience they required to expose corrupt religious and civic bureaucracies as they furtively waited until they had enough evidence to comment.
A passion for justice challenges the team's resolve at one memorable point, Mike Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo) demanding action, Spotlight team leader Walter Robinson (Michael Keaton) logically refusing, the film having carefully crafted a number of corresponding interviews and investigations the revelations of which frustratingly challenge the cohesivity of their discipline, not to mention that it's their community they're shocking, their heritage they're disillusioning.
It's not like someone took office supplies home here, government information was misplaced, high ranking officials from different cultural institutions attempted to block them, the law prevented truths from being discussed, testimony from scared impoverished victims was difficult to obtain, assistance from like-minded jaded professionals difficult to coax, trust, trust had to be relied upon but the issue they were investigating had resoundingly destroyed the bedrock of trust their contemporaries and interviewees had sought to preserve, making the situation highly volatile, its outputs, highly devastating.
Yet invaluable.
A tough film examining tough issues from tough perspectives with a tenacious resolve.
In search of true justice.
True reform.
For true believers.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Macbeth
A loyal man, a bold man, his mettle proven in battle like explicit prosperous ironclad invincibility, his enemies, the enemies of his King, thoroughly ruined, honesty guiding his sword's righteous judgments with dignity and will beknownst to the clairvoyant, who follow his progress with vision, with awe, with inveterate claws, clawing at his conscience to ensure it withdraws, it, submits, submits to the darkness consuming his integrity as ambition commands he ignominiously strike, strike at he who loved him, who cherished and honoured his fierce fidelity, madness the harvest of such grievous misdeeds, in allegiance with infamy, a prophecy fulfilled.
Would it be fulfilled either way, even if he had done nothing, would he still have been proclaimed King?
Encouraged in the act by his restless wife, they plot to ponder virtue askew.
Ravaged.
Betrayed.
In the Scottish Highlands, a tale peculiar to the realm yet pervasive in its cinematography takes shape once again, all power flagitiously corrupting, shallowly reaching out to its vengeful doom.
Focused primarily on primary characters, as opposed to other investments which would have broadened the spectrum, Fassbender, Cotillard, and Harris enrich their acts with multidimensional perplexities, yet Banquo (Paddy Considine), Rosse (Ross Anderson) and Malcolm (Jack Reynor) are sewn into the background like unacknowledged afterthoughts, to digest a pretence to royalty.
The outdoors, the wilderness, the sense of suffocating desolation, how did these people feed themselves?, how did they carry on?, haunts the film with supernatural astonishment, the absurdity of power, fickle and disobedient, revolving extolled gradations.
Justin Kurzel's Macbeth acclimatizes its audiences to considerations of the play's rough isolation, its principal inhabitants becoming pointless as they pointlessly seek out pointlessness, creating that which would have been created had they rested abreast, harbingers of decay, impatience fraught with void.
Cinematography by Adam Arkapaw.
Would it be fulfilled either way, even if he had done nothing, would he still have been proclaimed King?
Encouraged in the act by his restless wife, they plot to ponder virtue askew.
Ravaged.
Betrayed.
In the Scottish Highlands, a tale peculiar to the realm yet pervasive in its cinematography takes shape once again, all power flagitiously corrupting, shallowly reaching out to its vengeful doom.
Focused primarily on primary characters, as opposed to other investments which would have broadened the spectrum, Fassbender, Cotillard, and Harris enrich their acts with multidimensional perplexities, yet Banquo (Paddy Considine), Rosse (Ross Anderson) and Malcolm (Jack Reynor) are sewn into the background like unacknowledged afterthoughts, to digest a pretence to royalty.
The outdoors, the wilderness, the sense of suffocating desolation, how did these people feed themselves?, how did they carry on?, haunts the film with supernatural astonishment, the absurdity of power, fickle and disobedient, revolving extolled gradations.
Justin Kurzel's Macbeth acclimatizes its audiences to considerations of the play's rough isolation, its principal inhabitants becoming pointless as they pointlessly seek out pointlessness, creating that which would have been created had they rested abreast, harbingers of decay, impatience fraught with void.
Cinematography by Adam Arkapaw.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Suffragette
A family.
A job.
A resolute drive to maintain the status quo and make ends meet within de/mobilizing socioeconomic circumstances.
Early twentieth century Britain.
Miserable times for female labourers. They work longer days than men for less money, have to put up with the sexual advances of their bosses to keep their positions, the law favours their husbands who have total control over their households and children, they don't have the right to vote, and can rarely enter male dominated professions; thus, they can't either elect representatives who sympathize with their plights, or provide upstanding examples of competent professional clarity.
The suffragette movement developed in response and the curious young previously unaware Maud Watts (Carey Mulligan) soon finds herself caught up in its momentum.
Suffragette uses her husband Sonny (Ben Whishaw) to accentuate the obstinate ironclad stereotypical dogma categorically dismissing women's rights, as he never even considers trying to understand suffragette outrage, and locks Maud out of their house, preventing her from seeing her son, after her civil disobedience is noted in the unforgiving press.
The authoritative policeperson (Brendan Gleeson as Inspector Arthur Steed) violently suppressing their movement which becomes more volatile after their right to vote is denied, does begin to consider the logic of their cause, during a powerful scene where Maud, having been thoroughly beaten down for her actions, still argumentatively upholds the rationality of universal suffrage, eyes almost glazing over with despondency, as she boldly reminds him that women make up 50% of the population.
He doesn't suddenly start supporting them, but the change in his demeanour suggests he may have been part of the establishment that eventually granted women freedoms similar to those enjoyed by British men.
Suffragette's about power, and the ways in which an unquestioning adherence to cultural codes of conduct can negatively minimize freedoms for large groups, those benefiting from the composition of the codes not willing to see them modified, those oppressed by them too frightened to speak out, some of them revelling in their advantages, to the point where they'll utilize brutal methods to ensure their authority endures.
It uses the example of a naive heartbreaking beautiful trapped reluctant ingénue and the group she befriends to emphasize their abuses.
It isn't the strongest film I've seen championing the rights of oppressed groups, because it focuses too intently on a small cross-section, and doesn't multidimensionally stratify its intense historical homage.
Nevertheless, by focusing intently on a small cross-section, it does tenderly yet intransigently present the need for gender balance, as well as rights within the workplace, in any time period, by not shying away from and humanizing specific harsh realities, which condescendingly define/d many prolonged historical epochs.
Worth checking out.
A job.
A resolute drive to maintain the status quo and make ends meet within de/mobilizing socioeconomic circumstances.
Early twentieth century Britain.
Miserable times for female labourers. They work longer days than men for less money, have to put up with the sexual advances of their bosses to keep their positions, the law favours their husbands who have total control over their households and children, they don't have the right to vote, and can rarely enter male dominated professions; thus, they can't either elect representatives who sympathize with their plights, or provide upstanding examples of competent professional clarity.
The suffragette movement developed in response and the curious young previously unaware Maud Watts (Carey Mulligan) soon finds herself caught up in its momentum.
Suffragette uses her husband Sonny (Ben Whishaw) to accentuate the obstinate ironclad stereotypical dogma categorically dismissing women's rights, as he never even considers trying to understand suffragette outrage, and locks Maud out of their house, preventing her from seeing her son, after her civil disobedience is noted in the unforgiving press.
The authoritative policeperson (Brendan Gleeson as Inspector Arthur Steed) violently suppressing their movement which becomes more volatile after their right to vote is denied, does begin to consider the logic of their cause, during a powerful scene where Maud, having been thoroughly beaten down for her actions, still argumentatively upholds the rationality of universal suffrage, eyes almost glazing over with despondency, as she boldly reminds him that women make up 50% of the population.
He doesn't suddenly start supporting them, but the change in his demeanour suggests he may have been part of the establishment that eventually granted women freedoms similar to those enjoyed by British men.
Suffragette's about power, and the ways in which an unquestioning adherence to cultural codes of conduct can negatively minimize freedoms for large groups, those benefiting from the composition of the codes not willing to see them modified, those oppressed by them too frightened to speak out, some of them revelling in their advantages, to the point where they'll utilize brutal methods to ensure their authority endures.
It uses the example of a naive heartbreaking beautiful trapped reluctant ingénue and the group she befriends to emphasize their abuses.
It isn't the strongest film I've seen championing the rights of oppressed groups, because it focuses too intently on a small cross-section, and doesn't multidimensionally stratify its intense historical homage.
Nevertheless, by focusing intently on a small cross-section, it does tenderly yet intransigently present the need for gender balance, as well as rights within the workplace, in any time period, by not shying away from and humanizing specific harsh realities, which condescendingly define/d many prolonged historical epochs.
Worth checking out.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
The Martian
Accidentally left behind and isolated on planet Mars, Mark Watney (Matt Damon) digs in deep in order to robustly flourish against overwhelming interplanetary odds, his team rapidly travelling back to Earth, unaware, that he still lives.
Contact is soon made with NASA headquarters yet bureaucratic dillydallying prevents him from communicating with his unsuspecting teammates.
Forced to survive, he employs his botanical ingenuity to boldly cultivate nutritious potato crops, while strategic planning contemplates his rescue back home.
The odds are grim that he'll ever return alive.
Yet trash talk and contentious humour ensure his independence is universally dispersed.
Spatial tenacity.
Temporal quid pro quo.
The Martian, juxtaposing the intense public relations of executive decision making with the humble orchestrations of an astronaut tilling barren countryside, indoors, mathematical inclusivity, scientific parchment, necessitated artistic leisure, perplexing public speaking, it strictly operates within established timelines to generate a complicated sense of extraordinary repartee by directly laying it down without overlooking conflict or relaxation.
Within this dynamic frame collegiality heartwarms and action accelerates whether it be physical exclamations or tense cerebral intersects.
Shaking hands and deliberating, the script's tight and the direction excites, from multiple starstrikes, with collective and individual decision making, infinitesimally precise calculations, and plenty, plenty, of disco.
Not bad.
Contact is soon made with NASA headquarters yet bureaucratic dillydallying prevents him from communicating with his unsuspecting teammates.
Forced to survive, he employs his botanical ingenuity to boldly cultivate nutritious potato crops, while strategic planning contemplates his rescue back home.
The odds are grim that he'll ever return alive.
Yet trash talk and contentious humour ensure his independence is universally dispersed.
Spatial tenacity.
Temporal quid pro quo.
The Martian, juxtaposing the intense public relations of executive decision making with the humble orchestrations of an astronaut tilling barren countryside, indoors, mathematical inclusivity, scientific parchment, necessitated artistic leisure, perplexing public speaking, it strictly operates within established timelines to generate a complicated sense of extraordinary repartee by directly laying it down without overlooking conflict or relaxation.
Within this dynamic frame collegiality heartwarms and action accelerates whether it be physical exclamations or tense cerebral intersects.
Shaking hands and deliberating, the script's tight and the direction excites, from multiple starstrikes, with collective and individual decision making, infinitesimally precise calculations, and plenty, plenty, of disco.
Not bad.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Brooklyn
The down home, the perspicacious, the loving, the transformative, a new life in Brooklyn awaits modest Eilis (Saoirse Ronan) as she leaves her hometown in Ireland in search of difference abroad, job prospects and alternative acquaintances expanding her conscientious integrity, homesickness and tedium challenging her burgeoning resolve.
It's a feel good tale, moving along at a brisk pace, Eilis's self-sacrifices endearing her to those she meets, who respond by opening doors which she resoundingly walks through.
There's character development but it's sparse and fixated, every aspect of the script calculated to polish stock responses, the polish heartwarmingly uplifting and consistent nevertheless, as every chance interaction collocates constitutional blooms.
A straight shooter, consummately conflicted when she returns home for a funeral, an idyllic pastoral future suddenly materializing, chanting out between worlds, delicately torn asunder.
If Brooklyn's momentum had occasionally paused, swayed, reflected, something more profound could have perhaps been stated, a visceral dimension arising from the resultant contemplations, a judicious milky way transcendentalizing urban and rural.
It's not concerned with such interstellar abstractions however, and competently accomplishes what it sets out to do, a straightforward yet enticing examination of goodwill, restricted yet nimble, acquiesced to trouble making.
This style of filmmaking makes the accomplishment of hard fought goals seem far too easy by reducing devastating complexities to a collection of brief highly saturated moonbeams.
Still, it's nice to see positive films that mildly if not naively celebrate change in flux.
Like roses or a box of chocolates.
Maple syrup.
Caramel.
It's a feel good tale, moving along at a brisk pace, Eilis's self-sacrifices endearing her to those she meets, who respond by opening doors which she resoundingly walks through.
There's character development but it's sparse and fixated, every aspect of the script calculated to polish stock responses, the polish heartwarmingly uplifting and consistent nevertheless, as every chance interaction collocates constitutional blooms.
A straight shooter, consummately conflicted when she returns home for a funeral, an idyllic pastoral future suddenly materializing, chanting out between worlds, delicately torn asunder.
If Brooklyn's momentum had occasionally paused, swayed, reflected, something more profound could have perhaps been stated, a visceral dimension arising from the resultant contemplations, a judicious milky way transcendentalizing urban and rural.
It's not concerned with such interstellar abstractions however, and competently accomplishes what it sets out to do, a straightforward yet enticing examination of goodwill, restricted yet nimble, acquiesced to trouble making.
This style of filmmaking makes the accomplishment of hard fought goals seem far too easy by reducing devastating complexities to a collection of brief highly saturated moonbeams.
Still, it's nice to see positive films that mildly if not naively celebrate change in flux.
Like roses or a box of chocolates.
Maple syrup.
Caramel.
Friday, December 18, 2015
Carol
Longevity, expectations, accepting who people are as opposed to who you want them to be, appreciating it as they change independently, organically, rather than as a result of the imposition of deductive logic, stereotypes, roles, baby dolls, damsels in distress, it works for some I suppose, for intervals, at times, blunt force and supple misgivings, dialogues constructed, abbreviated, expanded upon, which examine how the masculine robotically initiates, how the feminine submissively emerges, I don't know many couples like this but I see them in movies and read about them in books, often, the man not in love with the woman herself but how she looks believing it's his duty to dogmatically define her, to make her his radiant reflection, consumed by his strength, obsessed with his aura, vice versa, which may work for a time, inspiring passion and humour fuelled by traditional adherences, admittances, basic conceptions of the natural, the good, the permanent, until predictability sets in, not many able to exist for another exclusively, whether husband, wife, servant, manager, or concubine, and as time shifts and moments fade the desire for individuality, for organizational renaissance, eclipses established power dynamics, and authoritative constructs engender prolonged disputes if love can't compensate, can't cooperate, endure.
Carol Aird's (Cate Blanchett) husband can't accept who she is, and, thoroughly versed in chivalry, can only truly love her if she innocently obeys.
Yields to his will.
About to travel down the same path, Therese Belivet (Rooney Mara) meets Carol one day at a department store, an electric fascination etherealizing their conversation, gloves forgotten encouraging future meetings, trips to the country, unheralded destinations.
Free love.
Carol gently explores and patiently navigates disparate domains to timidly yet vividly explore ecstasy in bloom, critiquing those who too rigidly seek consensus, while celebrating the joys inherent in true romance.
Refreshingly unobtrusive, it modestly presents the facts and gracefully frees from guilt the tender.
Without seeming like it's trying to do anything at all.
Sensitive sweetly flowing wisdom.
I usually don't take note of costume design, but there's a cool scene where Abby Gerhard's (Sarah Paulson) dress suavely matches the chair she's sitting on.
Struck me anyways.
Costume design by Sandy Powell.
Art decoration by Jesse Rosenthal.
I think you're supposed to revel in the power struggle.
I always thought that path led to the dark side.
In love, anyways.
Carol Aird's (Cate Blanchett) husband can't accept who she is, and, thoroughly versed in chivalry, can only truly love her if she innocently obeys.
Yields to his will.
About to travel down the same path, Therese Belivet (Rooney Mara) meets Carol one day at a department store, an electric fascination etherealizing their conversation, gloves forgotten encouraging future meetings, trips to the country, unheralded destinations.
Free love.
Carol gently explores and patiently navigates disparate domains to timidly yet vividly explore ecstasy in bloom, critiquing those who too rigidly seek consensus, while celebrating the joys inherent in true romance.
Refreshingly unobtrusive, it modestly presents the facts and gracefully frees from guilt the tender.
Without seeming like it's trying to do anything at all.
Sensitive sweetly flowing wisdom.
I usually don't take note of costume design, but there's a cool scene where Abby Gerhard's (Sarah Paulson) dress suavely matches the chair she's sitting on.
Struck me anyways.
Costume design by Sandy Powell.
Art decoration by Jesse Rosenthal.
I think you're supposed to revel in the power struggle.
I always thought that path led to the dark side.
In love, anyways.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Legend
Underground prestige, the lure of the incorrigibly irascible, sophisticated in its blunt obstinacy, thrilling in its inexhaustible excess, a young girl, fascinated by the criminal underworld, scooped up by a smooth talking gangster, lives the life of an espoused sensation, freed from her drab impoverished prospects, shackled by overwhelming instabilities.
Fears.
The Kray twins (Tom Hardy) dialectically indoctrinate with either a suave well-groomed authenticity or an insatiably psychotic rage, depending on which one is in prison or who commands more clout, Leslie Payne (David Thewlis) efficiently bookkeeping as Ronald's hatred for him slowly grows.
Ronald's indiscretions multiply erratically as time passes and his violent caprice threatens their organization's fundamentals.
Frances Shea (Emily Browning) marries Reggie who has the restrained brains to keep afloat but can't shyly tread while Ronald is intent on drowning.
Active invincibility mortally wounded.
Frances suffocated by the madness.
The Legend, boldly applying a feminine conscience through narration to a gangster film in order to examine chaotic crime through the oft overlooked perspective of an observant non-combatant.
It doesn't work very well, the film struggling to assert itself as either a corrupt frenzy or a righteous indignation, the polarized dialogue thereby generated between both the Krays themselves and the Krays and Frances resultantly muddled and incoherent.
It's possible to successfully pull something like that off but I would argue it requires a less straightforward approach, one which utilizes formal cerebral charm to artistically blend fraternal factions.
Legend's so focused on differentiating the Krays (which it does well) that the secondary material, that which would have transported it to another level, staggers in stagnant inadmissibility.
There are several minor characters of note and the script is quite diverse but hardly any of them develop much personality as the Krays engage in reckless gangstering.
Still, there's a great line equating the underworld and the aristocracy.
A strong effort from the filmmaking team, flush with future potential.
Fears.
The Kray twins (Tom Hardy) dialectically indoctrinate with either a suave well-groomed authenticity or an insatiably psychotic rage, depending on which one is in prison or who commands more clout, Leslie Payne (David Thewlis) efficiently bookkeeping as Ronald's hatred for him slowly grows.
Ronald's indiscretions multiply erratically as time passes and his violent caprice threatens their organization's fundamentals.
Frances Shea (Emily Browning) marries Reggie who has the restrained brains to keep afloat but can't shyly tread while Ronald is intent on drowning.
Active invincibility mortally wounded.
Frances suffocated by the madness.
The Legend, boldly applying a feminine conscience through narration to a gangster film in order to examine chaotic crime through the oft overlooked perspective of an observant non-combatant.
It doesn't work very well, the film struggling to assert itself as either a corrupt frenzy or a righteous indignation, the polarized dialogue thereby generated between both the Krays themselves and the Krays and Frances resultantly muddled and incoherent.
It's possible to successfully pull something like that off but I would argue it requires a less straightforward approach, one which utilizes formal cerebral charm to artistically blend fraternal factions.
Legend's so focused on differentiating the Krays (which it does well) that the secondary material, that which would have transported it to another level, staggers in stagnant inadmissibility.
There are several minor characters of note and the script is quite diverse but hardly any of them develop much personality as the Krays engage in reckless gangstering.
Still, there's a great line equating the underworld and the aristocracy.
A strong effort from the filmmaking team, flush with future potential.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Krampus
Take heed for the information contained herewith concerns spirits of a different kind, whose purpose in regards to Christmas is to malevolently punish and ruin those who disrespect its sincere generosity, arising from the fiery depths of ancient lore to assert his rank as naughtiest, Krampus the unforgiving unleashes his supernatural wrath, the postmodern world unaware of his vengeful agenda and Saint Nicholas unable to counter his chaotic disdain, a heartfelt letter warmly written with tender loving care representative of the true spirit of Christmas is torn to pieces after its author is ritualistically humiliated, said humiliation having cauterized the mutual contempt two related families hold for one another as they attempt to bond over the holidays, in a searing transcendent sweltering condemnation, the wealthier family unimpressed with the gruff pretensions of their less affluent cousins, the less affluent cousins none to subservient to the airs of their relatives, common decency misplaced as they assemble to dine, discourses of purity belittling the times, the letter is torn and they must maintain a united front to defend their families against Krampus's rancour, Omi (Krista Stadler) having met him before, inasmuch as her warnings demand that they exercise extreme caution, lassitude sets in and Krampus's minions infiltrate freely, the Christmas spirit revitalizing their familial fervency as they boldly defend their own, but Krampus is not prone to listen once he has risen, a desperate confrontation ensuing with the festively spiritual maladroitly abandoned, as Krampus reminds them that Christmas requires thanksgiving through his harsh and gratuitous penalties, necrobatically assigned by harbingers of the ungrateful, the absurdity of it all oddly upholding pleasantries like amazement and wonder, the gross infernal exaggerations, the total and complete lack of goodwill, grotesquely generating feelings to the contrary, to the contemporary, insensitively and unconsciously underscoring virtuous contemplations of both bounty and cheer, the beautiful communal ties of the season, rejoicing through the act of gift giving, celebrating life with family and friends, to renew a sense of endearing well being, a mirthful maturation, amusing in solace and laughter.
Friday, December 11, 2015
Trumbo
They actually did it, Hollywood actually made a mainstream film that rationally discusses an individual's right to be politically active on the left, even if you're a communist, the communists are heroes in Trumbo, and those who blacklisted them during the McCarthy era, even John Wayne (David James Elliot), undeniable villains, using their power and influence to prevent hard working Americans from working because they held alternative political views, even going so far as to send them to prison for accessing fundamental American freedoms, while living fundamentally American lives.
Positive things are said about communism within. Trumbo uses the word communist. It's about a bunch of vilified commie writers. The plight of the worker isn't lampooned or infantilized.
I don't believe in communism, or at least am quite skeptical in regards to its practical application or ideas like the permanent surplus, but it is still remarkable to see its proponents championed in a film made in the United States (said proponents weren't as familiar with forced labour during Trumbo's time I'm assuming[the forced labour is supposed to disappear because communism is supposed to arise out of the bounty of hyper-capitalism but history seems to have proven that if you try to adopt communism without the bounty of hyper-capitalism forced labour and limited freedoms abound{unless you're one of the elite few/it's possible that China is trying to create hyper-capitalist conditions to achieve communistic goals but I think it's dangerous to think that way\}]).
I've been wondering how Trumbo managed to see the light of day and it reminded me of some ideas from Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett's more social democratic The Spirit Level: Why Equality is Better for Everyone, which is a level-headed comparison of statistical data sets from the world's richest countries that suggests inequality is detrimentally effecting the free world's health and well-being, nations like Sweden and Japan scoring high points, countries such as the U.S and Britain not faring so well.
This isn't a book review although I do highly recommend reading the book, but Wilkinson and Pickett do examine the relationship between popularity and governmental initiatives, rationally proving how initiatives which promote a higher degree of equality have brought about monumental changes in various societies when they have been accompanied by popular support, or a logical need to effectively implement them.
One way of looking at this in the anglosphere is to ask the question, "how can we make a more equal society by cashing in on equality?", although that probably isn't how Wilkinson and Pickett would have phrased it. It depends on what you mean by "cash in."
Japan and Sweden apparently have adopted completely different approaches to "cashing in" and both nations enjoy a high degree of prosperous equality, Sweden preferring a system with high taxes which level out the playing field through the provision of governmental social services etc., Japan preferring to ensure that wages are more equal so that more people take home more money and therefore have more money to spend on services that the government would otherwise provide through taxation.
In regards to Trumbo, I'm wondering if its availability is the product of the movements I've been reading about in the U.S at the Huffington Post, American movements which seek a higher degree of social equality, presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders recognized as their feisty factotum.
It's not that I don't think there are plenty of socially responsible films being made in Hollywood, I think I've proven that Hollywood definitely still has (and always has had) a strong socially constructive urge.
It's more that Trumbo doesn't demonize those who in the past advocated for communism specifically, that it in fact celebrates them, while actually discussing communism, in a gentle somewhat naive way, that heartwarmingly surprised me.
There are too many examples of corrupt communistic bureaucracies for me to think positively about its results in the field, but its goals can influence other discourses on the left who take a less radical approach to fighting poverty and improving standards of living.
It shouldn't be categorically dismissed.
Trumbo boldly presents a life of dedicated action and incredible resolve blended with exceptional ability and tender humanity.
Dalton Trumbo (Bryan Cranston) even falls into the trap of taking himself too seriously and managing his labour force too demandingly, which is a trap that scant resources often creates, which is why the right profits from inequality, such psychological profits earned by first not allowing its opposition to financially tread water and then humiliating it afterwards as a lack of resources challenges the practical application of its ideas.
Japan has low taxes but generally high incomes, that's why Japan is excelling according to The Spirit Level.
If you don't have a disposable income, it's harder to donate to political parties that want to help you acquire a disposable income for instance.
Trumbo's the real deal however, and adjusts his approach as it becomes too overbearing, listening to and understanding his wife's (Diane Lane as Cleo Trumbo) reasonably worried critique.
There's a tendency in some films which examine the past, great men of the past, to focus most of their energy on the husband, their wives often complacently managing the home in the background.
Bridge of Spies does this anyways.
Perhaps this is just the result of specific historical relationships, but it's also a way to normalize stereotypical gender relations without seeming culturally insensitive.
Trumbo is somewhat light for a film that looks at many lives that were ruined by a zealous adherence to a specific point of view.
But it does warmly present the commie point of view while pointing out that it was an American point of view at one time, and that Americans shouldn't be sent to prison for exercising their fundamental freedoms, at any time, that line of thinking corresponding directly to Stalinist or Naziesque approaches (why am I suddenly thinking of the ways in which Donald Trump uses his freedoms?).
It's unfortunate that in the free world people accept unjust methods such as the ones depicted in Trumbo to starve and assault their political adversaries; I'm reminded of the ways in which the Harper government recently vilified environmentalists as an example.
In Trumbo, they illegally take everything away from the opposition and then call the resultant protesters whiners or babies when they legitimately complain, the culprits revelling in their corruption thereafter.
Dalton Trumbo never stopped protesting, and picked his battles wisely. It had a harsh affect on his family for a time, but he recognized his errors and became the person he wanted to be.
A role model for conscientious film writing.
With another outstanding performance by John Goodman (Frank King). There's a hilarious discussion of advocating for working class rights in B movies.
Hey, maybe they just decided to make a film celebrating great writers of the past who happened to be communists. You're free to do that in a free country. Regardless of the political climate.
Positive things are said about communism within. Trumbo uses the word communist. It's about a bunch of vilified commie writers. The plight of the worker isn't lampooned or infantilized.
I don't believe in communism, or at least am quite skeptical in regards to its practical application or ideas like the permanent surplus, but it is still remarkable to see its proponents championed in a film made in the United States (said proponents weren't as familiar with forced labour during Trumbo's time I'm assuming[the forced labour is supposed to disappear because communism is supposed to arise out of the bounty of hyper-capitalism but history seems to have proven that if you try to adopt communism without the bounty of hyper-capitalism forced labour and limited freedoms abound{unless you're one of the elite few/it's possible that China is trying to create hyper-capitalist conditions to achieve communistic goals but I think it's dangerous to think that way\
I've been wondering how Trumbo managed to see the light of day and it reminded me of some ideas from Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett's more social democratic The Spirit Level: Why Equality is Better for Everyone, which is a level-headed comparison of statistical data sets from the world's richest countries that suggests inequality is detrimentally effecting the free world's health and well-being, nations like Sweden and Japan scoring high points, countries such as the U.S and Britain not faring so well.
This isn't a book review although I do highly recommend reading the book, but Wilkinson and Pickett do examine the relationship between popularity and governmental initiatives, rationally proving how initiatives which promote a higher degree of equality have brought about monumental changes in various societies when they have been accompanied by popular support, or a logical need to effectively implement them.
One way of looking at this in the anglosphere is to ask the question, "how can we make a more equal society by cashing in on equality?", although that probably isn't how Wilkinson and Pickett would have phrased it. It depends on what you mean by "cash in."
Japan and Sweden apparently have adopted completely different approaches to "cashing in" and both nations enjoy a high degree of prosperous equality, Sweden preferring a system with high taxes which level out the playing field through the provision of governmental social services etc., Japan preferring to ensure that wages are more equal so that more people take home more money and therefore have more money to spend on services that the government would otherwise provide through taxation.
In regards to Trumbo, I'm wondering if its availability is the product of the movements I've been reading about in the U.S at the Huffington Post, American movements which seek a higher degree of social equality, presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders recognized as their feisty factotum.
It's not that I don't think there are plenty of socially responsible films being made in Hollywood, I think I've proven that Hollywood definitely still has (and always has had) a strong socially constructive urge.
It's more that Trumbo doesn't demonize those who in the past advocated for communism specifically, that it in fact celebrates them, while actually discussing communism, in a gentle somewhat naive way, that heartwarmingly surprised me.
There are too many examples of corrupt communistic bureaucracies for me to think positively about its results in the field, but its goals can influence other discourses on the left who take a less radical approach to fighting poverty and improving standards of living.
It shouldn't be categorically dismissed.
Trumbo boldly presents a life of dedicated action and incredible resolve blended with exceptional ability and tender humanity.
Dalton Trumbo (Bryan Cranston) even falls into the trap of taking himself too seriously and managing his labour force too demandingly, which is a trap that scant resources often creates, which is why the right profits from inequality, such psychological profits earned by first not allowing its opposition to financially tread water and then humiliating it afterwards as a lack of resources challenges the practical application of its ideas.
Japan has low taxes but generally high incomes, that's why Japan is excelling according to The Spirit Level.
If you don't have a disposable income, it's harder to donate to political parties that want to help you acquire a disposable income for instance.
Trumbo's the real deal however, and adjusts his approach as it becomes too overbearing, listening to and understanding his wife's (Diane Lane as Cleo Trumbo) reasonably worried critique.
There's a tendency in some films which examine the past, great men of the past, to focus most of their energy on the husband, their wives often complacently managing the home in the background.
Bridge of Spies does this anyways.
Perhaps this is just the result of specific historical relationships, but it's also a way to normalize stereotypical gender relations without seeming culturally insensitive.
Trumbo is somewhat light for a film that looks at many lives that were ruined by a zealous adherence to a specific point of view.
But it does warmly present the commie point of view while pointing out that it was an American point of view at one time, and that Americans shouldn't be sent to prison for exercising their fundamental freedoms, at any time, that line of thinking corresponding directly to Stalinist or Naziesque approaches (why am I suddenly thinking of the ways in which Donald Trump uses his freedoms?).
It's unfortunate that in the free world people accept unjust methods such as the ones depicted in Trumbo to starve and assault their political adversaries; I'm reminded of the ways in which the Harper government recently vilified environmentalists as an example.
In Trumbo, they illegally take everything away from the opposition and then call the resultant protesters whiners or babies when they legitimately complain, the culprits revelling in their corruption thereafter.
Dalton Trumbo never stopped protesting, and picked his battles wisely. It had a harsh affect on his family for a time, but he recognized his errors and became the person he wanted to be.
A role model for conscientious film writing.
With another outstanding performance by John Goodman (Frank King). There's a hilarious discussion of advocating for working class rights in B movies.
Hey, maybe they just decided to make a film celebrating great writers of the past who happened to be communists. You're free to do that in a free country. Regardless of the political climate.
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Secret in their Eyes
Crushing unconscionable all-consuming guilt frenetically drives Ray Kasten (Chiwetel Ejiofor) to hunt down a vicious killer, his life having been rigidly repressed ever since he missed an appointment 13 years ago.
Defined by this moment, and the professional relationships he developed therein, he will not yield in his pursuit, and after years of struggling to surface, has finally found a constructive lead.
She still loves him.
And he still loves her, codes of conduct having sublimated their longing for unity, the flame still burns, impassioned by the meaninglessness of time.
What awaits them is what they least suspected, nocturnal netherwhirls soiled and crested, reciprocal tortuous incarcerated plumes, valiantly embittered, confiscated in ruin.
A loving team, a gregarious group, punctually paralyzed through unremitting strife.
Secret in their Eyes.
The film blends the past with the present to accentuate an atemporal thrust for resolution, and although this creates a dismal opaque omnibus, it still aptly reflects a desperate psychological sterility.
It also asks tough questions regarding the war on terror, nationally juxtaposing the private with the cultural, to add a chilling layer of vengeful domestic inquiry.
The darkness is counterbalanced by the mainstream cast whose subdued supplementary teamwork collegially cultivates the light.
Well done but missing something, Secret in their Eyes punishes to persevere, ethics timelessly emboldened, obsessive displaced haunts, enervating in its resolve.
Defined by this moment, and the professional relationships he developed therein, he will not yield in his pursuit, and after years of struggling to surface, has finally found a constructive lead.
She still loves him.
And he still loves her, codes of conduct having sublimated their longing for unity, the flame still burns, impassioned by the meaninglessness of time.
What awaits them is what they least suspected, nocturnal netherwhirls soiled and crested, reciprocal tortuous incarcerated plumes, valiantly embittered, confiscated in ruin.
A loving team, a gregarious group, punctually paralyzed through unremitting strife.
Secret in their Eyes.
The film blends the past with the present to accentuate an atemporal thrust for resolution, and although this creates a dismal opaque omnibus, it still aptly reflects a desperate psychological sterility.
It also asks tough questions regarding the war on terror, nationally juxtaposing the private with the cultural, to add a chilling layer of vengeful domestic inquiry.
The darkness is counterbalanced by the mainstream cast whose subdued supplementary teamwork collegially cultivates the light.
Well done but missing something, Secret in their Eyes punishes to persevere, ethics timelessly emboldened, obsessive displaced haunts, enervating in its resolve.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
The Night Before
3 confidants, and an annual tradition, a' revelling on Christmas Eve to the tune of friendship and jocularity, rekindling the strength of their amicable bonds each and every year to celebrate the intensity of camaraderous humour, age having decreed that due to the build-up of maturing responsibilities this will be their last irreverent outing, itinerary set, rejuvenating synergies pending.
As an added bonus this year, three tickets have been acquired to attend a secretive party, known for its legendary merriment, coveted by young, old and middle-aged alike.
Will the mysterious counsel of a local pot dealer enlighteningly guide their way as they descend into the night and encounter both shenanigans and loves lost?
And will the magic of Christmas single-maltly convince them that the bonds they have forged congenially transcend time?
As a matter introspective.
A fun thought provoking feelings evoking tenderly rowdy illumination of adult aspirations, The Night Before suspends pretensions of the rational to festively define what is sane.
Note that its definition bizarrely blends the buddy comedy and the Christmas classic to hazily establish a disjointed sense of the revelatory.
But when form aptly reflects content, our role models evolving over the course of an evening of regenerative confusion, who I am to argue with logistics merry making?
Jingle, bells.
Miley Cyrus impresses.
As an added bonus this year, three tickets have been acquired to attend a secretive party, known for its legendary merriment, coveted by young, old and middle-aged alike.
Will the mysterious counsel of a local pot dealer enlighteningly guide their way as they descend into the night and encounter both shenanigans and loves lost?
And will the magic of Christmas single-maltly convince them that the bonds they have forged congenially transcend time?
As a matter introspective.
A fun thought provoking feelings evoking tenderly rowdy illumination of adult aspirations, The Night Before suspends pretensions of the rational to festively define what is sane.
Note that its definition bizarrely blends the buddy comedy and the Christmas classic to hazily establish a disjointed sense of the revelatory.
But when form aptly reflects content, our role models evolving over the course of an evening of regenerative confusion, who I am to argue with logistics merry making?
Jingle, bells.
Miley Cyrus impresses.
Friday, December 4, 2015
Creed
Driven by an intense desire to prove himself in the ring, Apollo Creed's son Adonis (Michael B. Jordan) quits his steady job and embarks in search of training.
His privileged upbringing and headstrong individualistic nature don't smoothly fit in the grizzled pugilistic realms in which he must flourish however.
Unable to find a trainer in L.A, he soon flies to Philadelphia to court a legend who may be willing to take him on.
But Rocky's (Sylvester Stallone) been retired for many a year, and doesn't take to Adonis's ultraconfident approach, until he remembers the chance Apollo Creed once gave him, and decides to once again professionally serve.
The talented intent savvy well educated rich young upstart must acclimatize himself to Rocky's strict streetwise regimen in order to become a contender.
Rocky has the knowledge he requires.
And is willing to keep his identity secret, to respect his desire to make a name of his own.
Creed struggles with one of its most difficult inherent weaknesses well; it was easy to generate sympathy for Rocky, even in Rocky IV, but not so easy to sympathize with Adonis.
Not that it isn't easy to sympathize with his desire to succeed, it's just that when you see him trying to control things with attitudes his humbler less affluent competitors rarely adopt, it is somewhat grinding.
His desire to make a name for himself and the respect he shows Rocky spar with this point of irritation however, and at least establish that he wants to be humbler, he wants to integrate, it's just quite difficult for him to do so due to his enriched psychology.
It's still his dream and it's inspiring as he follows it regardless, making sacrifices in its pursuit, even if he always has the silver spoon sustaining him.
The finished product may be frustrating for Michael B. Jordan though, Stallone having stolen so many scenes that you leave the theatre thinking more about how his character progressed than how Adonis's was crafted.
Younger generations might not care about Rocky so much.
Best Supporting Actor nomination?
At the same time the script seems to be self-reflexively chiding the franchise as Rocky trains Adonis while undergoing chemotherapy, the balance between rejuvenation and tradition simultaneously excelling while convalescing.
Things are too easy for Adonis in Creed, trainer, beautiful partner, and title fight all falling into his lap without a back breaking struggle sincerely belittling him.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed Creed as it followed Adonis on his journey of self-discovery, even if it's not as heartwarming as Rocky, he still dedicatedly perseveres and does his best to cultivate his gifts.
If the film had focused on his Mexican fights and he had not met Rocky until the end, it may have been stronger.
His privileged upbringing and headstrong individualistic nature don't smoothly fit in the grizzled pugilistic realms in which he must flourish however.
Unable to find a trainer in L.A, he soon flies to Philadelphia to court a legend who may be willing to take him on.
But Rocky's (Sylvester Stallone) been retired for many a year, and doesn't take to Adonis's ultraconfident approach, until he remembers the chance Apollo Creed once gave him, and decides to once again professionally serve.
The talented intent savvy well educated rich young upstart must acclimatize himself to Rocky's strict streetwise regimen in order to become a contender.
Rocky has the knowledge he requires.
And is willing to keep his identity secret, to respect his desire to make a name of his own.
Creed struggles with one of its most difficult inherent weaknesses well; it was easy to generate sympathy for Rocky, even in Rocky IV, but not so easy to sympathize with Adonis.
Not that it isn't easy to sympathize with his desire to succeed, it's just that when you see him trying to control things with attitudes his humbler less affluent competitors rarely adopt, it is somewhat grinding.
His desire to make a name for himself and the respect he shows Rocky spar with this point of irritation however, and at least establish that he wants to be humbler, he wants to integrate, it's just quite difficult for him to do so due to his enriched psychology.
It's still his dream and it's inspiring as he follows it regardless, making sacrifices in its pursuit, even if he always has the silver spoon sustaining him.
The finished product may be frustrating for Michael B. Jordan though, Stallone having stolen so many scenes that you leave the theatre thinking more about how his character progressed than how Adonis's was crafted.
Younger generations might not care about Rocky so much.
Best Supporting Actor nomination?
At the same time the script seems to be self-reflexively chiding the franchise as Rocky trains Adonis while undergoing chemotherapy, the balance between rejuvenation and tradition simultaneously excelling while convalescing.
Things are too easy for Adonis in Creed, trainer, beautiful partner, and title fight all falling into his lap without a back breaking struggle sincerely belittling him.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed Creed as it followed Adonis on his journey of self-discovery, even if it's not as heartwarming as Rocky, he still dedicatedly perseveres and does his best to cultivate his gifts.
If the film had focused on his Mexican fights and he had not met Rocky until the end, it may have been stronger.
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Room
A different kind of malevolence, like a sick experiment a demented philosopher would subject his or her family to in order to study the isolated innocence of the nascent imagination.
Solitary semantics.
Ontological incarceration.
A mother and son locked away for years in a shed, never leaving, never seeing the outside world.
The child, Jack (Jacob Tremblay), having spent his entire life in the shed, imaginatively tries to make sense of existence, while his Ma (Brie Larson) attempts to define the outside world.
It's difficult for him to comprehend, and his creative energies, as applied to his confined explorations, idealize the passionate curiosity of youth, his desire to learn more stifled by a lack of resources.
Escape cunningly presents itself and the real world suddenly emerges, but emerging into a hyper-reactive media sensation contrasts monstrous plans with excessive exposure.
It's too much for his overwhelmed mom, as it would be for anyone, but familial strength steps up as required, to cuddle in consultation, and placate emotionally complex obsessions.
Tough film, Lenny Abrahamson's Room, juxtaposing different pressurized extremes and their belittling affects on a severely traumatized family.
Those are the tough questions you don't ask.
Jack's lack of knowledge saves him from the psychological torments disintegrating his mother, his attempts to simply be profound in their hesitant wonder, the compassionate easing the transition for both of them, trust contra control, revelations of an inchoate spirituality.
Solitary semantics.
Ontological incarceration.
A mother and son locked away for years in a shed, never leaving, never seeing the outside world.
The child, Jack (Jacob Tremblay), having spent his entire life in the shed, imaginatively tries to make sense of existence, while his Ma (Brie Larson) attempts to define the outside world.
It's difficult for him to comprehend, and his creative energies, as applied to his confined explorations, idealize the passionate curiosity of youth, his desire to learn more stifled by a lack of resources.
Escape cunningly presents itself and the real world suddenly emerges, but emerging into a hyper-reactive media sensation contrasts monstrous plans with excessive exposure.
It's too much for his overwhelmed mom, as it would be for anyone, but familial strength steps up as required, to cuddle in consultation, and placate emotionally complex obsessions.
Tough film, Lenny Abrahamson's Room, juxtaposing different pressurized extremes and their belittling affects on a severely traumatized family.
Those are the tough questions you don't ask.
Jack's lack of knowledge saves him from the psychological torments disintegrating his mother, his attempts to simply be profound in their hesitant wonder, the compassionate easing the transition for both of them, trust contra control, revelations of an inchoate spirituality.
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