Lion tenderly applies a limitless open-armed robustly supple characterization to family by plucking two children from a labyrinthine abyss, and gently ensconcing them within the logical wild.
Cohesive collocation.
Improbability abounds at the heart of this familial bloom, which literally represents the realization of a dream, of a belief, of a mother and father seeking to viscerally inscribe a humble message on the optical bedrock of vision, the odds against little Saroo (Dev Patel/Sunny Pawar) ever finding a safe home having been astronomically high, after he fell asleep on a train in rural Northern India, and woke to find himself hundreds of kilometres from home.
Long before the reliability of Google Maps.
Memories of his lost family haunt him in Tasmania, however, and as he seeks not to cause his adoptive mother (Nicole Kidman as Sue Brierley) any distress by keeping his thoughts to himself, he winds up causing her more pain due to his inexplicable self-imposed isolation.
She opens-up to him in an incredible revelation.
What a performance.
Lion excels at internationalizing instincts warm and dear, complicating them through the art of imagining, strengthening them by nurturing responsibilities.
It covers a lot of temporal space which reduces complex relationships to stock familiarizations, apart from Saroo's illuminating conversations with mom, the impact of one scene alone transporting the film to another dimension.
The desperation Saroo feels after finding himself alone in Calcutta is also captured well, perhaps the film could have used another 30 minutes to ensure this refined sensitivity proliferated throughout.
With additional scenes showing the family growing and flourishing dis/harmoniously as one.
Still, a great film with a wonderful ending, beautifully, if not too rapidly, expanding upon convivial conjugal conceptions, thereby globally validating the local, while stabilizing wholesome fantasies in stride.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
The Founder
The idea was to make a lot of money.
A lot of money.
He'd been at it for decades and had secured a modest living but still sought that vast immaculate neverending revenue stream, a potentially permanent enriching strike to help him bask in abundance and stretch-out bemused, selling milkshake machines meanwhile as he drifted thoughtfully from state to state, never ceasing even in decade number 6, nimble and agile, eyes open wide.
Catatonics.
Suddenly it was right there in front of him, the idea, the market, a tantalizing prospect replete with multidimensional opportunities for everyone involved, but his shortsighted eventual partners lacked his commercially expansionist vision, clutching their original take too tightly with static dismissive unshakeable vanilla.
Dubious discrediting.
If Ray Kroc (Michael Keaton) was about to go national and create wealth for sundry individuals seeking greener pastures it made sense that he couldn't be shackled by ideas which crushed his bottom line.
Turmoil.
John Lee Hancock's The Founder asks whether or not he was a warm generous individual intent on seeing others prosper or a cold calculating self-obsessed insatiable prick.
John Lee Hancock's The Founder asks whether or not he was a warm generous individual intent on seeing others prosper or a cold calculating self-obsessed insatiable prick.
I would argue that he tried to work within the codes established by partners Dick (Nick Offerman) and Mac MacDonald (John Carroll Lynch) but as his impact on the business gradually transformed it from burger joint into national sensation, he slowly gained more clout, which enabled him to wisely challenge the principles of his hastily signed contract.
Dick and Mac did nothing to expand the business and consistently blocked reasonable attempts to increase revenues not just for themselves, but for the hundreds of people who worked for Kroc's franchises.
According to the film, Kroc was finding jobs for earnest people looking for a break and as McDonald's expanded from one location to dozens nationwide new ideas were bound to challenge the design of the original concept.
But Dick and Mac didn't support Kroc, at all, they couldn't grasp this aspect of the business, and he in fact chose the good of the many as opposed to the few, and therefore wasn't being monstrous when he hostilely took over.
Still, always take the 1%.
His analysis of the name McDonald's within the film adds a cerebral characteristic to a chain whose intellectual merits are not often highly regarded.
Ensuring that the animals who are eventually sold at McDonald's restaurants live comfortable lives beforehand and that hard-working employees are capable of earning enough income to support themselves does make a big difference to me as an occasional client, however, even if it means less profits.
McDonald's has taken steps to clean-up its supply chain in recent years, a potential reality which is quite impressive.
During a crazy 60 hour work week two years ago, I even stopped in for lunch and spent 20 dollars.
That's a lot of McDonald's.
It may have been awesome.
It may have been awesome.
Apart from all this, the film's good too, an accessible thought-provoking examination of a phenomenon I loved in my youth, which held my attention the whole way through thanks to its strong argumentative character driven paralysis.
McSolid.
Driven, direct, frank, and bold, it never rests on its laurels, cleverly introduces new characters, and breaks things down with energetic distinction.
Make those burgers more healthy.
And it's crazy win win.
Driven, direct, frank, and bold, it never rests on its laurels, cleverly introduces new characters, and breaks things down with energetic distinction.
Make those burgers more healthy.
And it's crazy win win.
Friday, January 27, 2017
Hidden Figures
On occasion, if you're asked to work longer hours for the same amount of money, the company you're working for is trying to ensure their profits increase every month/quarter/etc. and targeting your unpaid overproduction as a source of intangible revenue.
Red flag.
Make sure you're trying to find a new job if stuck in such a situation.
However, if you happen to be working for NASA (or have a stable professional position) and you're immersed in a reasonably wild competition with the Soviet Union to do all kinds of crazy space stuff, suppose that competition would be with China these days, and the Soviets are winning, as they are in Hidden Figures, I suppose spending some extra unpaid time at work wouldn't be that bad, if there are no available public funds to pay for the overtime, and you are capable of taking part in something vital.
In space.
Not necessarily in space, but Hidden Figures uses ye olde space race to cleverly promote congenial race relations as a matter of national integrity.
It's too bad a member from a minority group has to be Einstein-smart to break down racial barriers.
You would think common democratic decency would have done that centuries ago.
The film's solid, a feel good family friendly examination of three highly intelligent African American women that's neither too sentimental, nor too fluffy.
I love Octavia Spencer (Dorothy Vaughan).
The women boldly yet humbly challenge institutional bigotry through hard work and determination as opposed to violence to make changes in their stilted dismissive working environment.
Some cool features.
Rage and passive resistance are matrimonially engendered as Mary (Janelle Monáe) and Levi Jackson (Aldis Hodge) discuss inflammatory political subjects.
She loves expressing herself yet also loves Levi so she intelligently lets him know when her boiling point has been reached before passionately pontificating with resolute clarification.
He works with his hands but is impressed with her desire to become an engineer and buys her some new pencils out of respect for her mind and the difficulties associated with her approaching studies (she becomes the first African American woman to study at a white school in Virginia).
Dorothy creatively borrows a book from the white section of her local library which she uses to remain employed as computers show up on the scene.
She learns so much that she's able to save 30 odd jobs after teaching the people working for her how to adapt, thereby making their contributions operationally essential.
She doesn't just take the money and run.
She gives back to her community.
Katherine G. Johnson (Taraji P. Henson), whose mathematical gifts intergalactically defy limitations, demonstrates why it's so important to never dismiss pieces of information that seem out of date (thereby promoting technical libraries), by using ancient knowledge to solve a contemporary puzzle, proving that sometimes inventing the new means discovering something that was contemplated thousands of years ago.
And Kevin Costner (Al Harrison) kicks ass throughout.
What a great role to play.
I'm going to watch Waterworld again.
I tried that with Alexander last winter (although I had never seen it before).
Double whoops!
I bet Waterworld's better.
Hidden Figures is a wonderful film.
Red flag.
Make sure you're trying to find a new job if stuck in such a situation.
However, if you happen to be working for NASA (or have a stable professional position) and you're immersed in a reasonably wild competition with the Soviet Union to do all kinds of crazy space stuff, suppose that competition would be with China these days, and the Soviets are winning, as they are in Hidden Figures, I suppose spending some extra unpaid time at work wouldn't be that bad, if there are no available public funds to pay for the overtime, and you are capable of taking part in something vital.
In space.
Not necessarily in space, but Hidden Figures uses ye olde space race to cleverly promote congenial race relations as a matter of national integrity.
It's too bad a member from a minority group has to be Einstein-smart to break down racial barriers.
You would think common democratic decency would have done that centuries ago.
The film's solid, a feel good family friendly examination of three highly intelligent African American women that's neither too sentimental, nor too fluffy.
I love Octavia Spencer (Dorothy Vaughan).
The women boldly yet humbly challenge institutional bigotry through hard work and determination as opposed to violence to make changes in their stilted dismissive working environment.
Some cool features.
Rage and passive resistance are matrimonially engendered as Mary (Janelle Monáe) and Levi Jackson (Aldis Hodge) discuss inflammatory political subjects.
She loves expressing herself yet also loves Levi so she intelligently lets him know when her boiling point has been reached before passionately pontificating with resolute clarification.
He works with his hands but is impressed with her desire to become an engineer and buys her some new pencils out of respect for her mind and the difficulties associated with her approaching studies (she becomes the first African American woman to study at a white school in Virginia).
Dorothy creatively borrows a book from the white section of her local library which she uses to remain employed as computers show up on the scene.
She learns so much that she's able to save 30 odd jobs after teaching the people working for her how to adapt, thereby making their contributions operationally essential.
She doesn't just take the money and run.
She gives back to her community.
Katherine G. Johnson (Taraji P. Henson), whose mathematical gifts intergalactically defy limitations, demonstrates why it's so important to never dismiss pieces of information that seem out of date (thereby promoting technical libraries), by using ancient knowledge to solve a contemporary puzzle, proving that sometimes inventing the new means discovering something that was contemplated thousands of years ago.
And Kevin Costner (Al Harrison) kicks ass throughout.
What a great role to play.
I'm going to watch Waterworld again.
I tried that with Alexander last winter (although I had never seen it before).
Double whoops!
I bet Waterworld's better.
Hidden Figures is a wonderful film.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Silence
There's a classic scene in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly that still stands out for me, the one where the bandit Tuco speaks with his brother Pablo the priest and they discuss the different lives they lead after having not seen one another for 9 years.
It doesn't end well.
But during their dialogue, Tuco states that there were only two choices for them when they were young and impoverished, to become a bandit or a priest, and that becoming a bandit was more challenging, harder, fraught with more pain and suffering.
Martin Scorsese's Silence offers Tuco a lengthier response than Pablo's, demonstrating the herculean composure required to work as a missionary under harsh conditions in a hostile land.
Set in the 17th century, fathers Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garupe (Adam Driver) travel to Japan to do what they believe is necessary to actively spread the word, while also searching for a famous fellow priest (Liam Neeson as Father Ferreira) who has supposedly lost his way.
They don't speak Japanese and are guided by a shifty alcoholic fisherperson (Yôsuke Kubozuka as Kichijiro) who leads them to a small coastal village where they begin their work.
Not easy by any means, their path, their calling, and since Japanese authorities are persecuting Christians, especially priests, old school style, because they're worried about the ways in which in a foreign religion is conflicting with their own buddhist traditions, Rodrigues and Garupe employ the utmost stealth to avoid detection.
But they're eventually found in different spots and Rodrigues must then run the gauntlet to prove his faith, to demonstrate his courage.
Intellectually, physically and spiritually.
Scorsese struggles a bit in territory he hasn't explored in a while (time for another viewing of The Last Temptation of Christ methinks), the excruciating isolation and gruesome personal struggle involved demanding a more contemplative ascetic humbling approach than that found in some of his recent films, this aesthetic captured at points but Silence isn't Tarkovsky, and the contrast introduced when the violence begins doesn't captivatingly diverge in a stunning juxtaposition.
He did prove he's quite sensitive with Hugo, but the first half of Silence would have benefitted from a less traditional approach, from longer more destitute not necessarily plot-related scenes skilfully blending hope and sorrow, scenes which would have become more emotionally pronounced as Rodrigues's life descended into chaos.
Into more familiar territory.
Still a thoughtful investigation of faith and the trials that await the spiritually bold.
It doesn't end well.
But during their dialogue, Tuco states that there were only two choices for them when they were young and impoverished, to become a bandit or a priest, and that becoming a bandit was more challenging, harder, fraught with more pain and suffering.
Martin Scorsese's Silence offers Tuco a lengthier response than Pablo's, demonstrating the herculean composure required to work as a missionary under harsh conditions in a hostile land.
Set in the 17th century, fathers Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garupe (Adam Driver) travel to Japan to do what they believe is necessary to actively spread the word, while also searching for a famous fellow priest (Liam Neeson as Father Ferreira) who has supposedly lost his way.
They don't speak Japanese and are guided by a shifty alcoholic fisherperson (Yôsuke Kubozuka as Kichijiro) who leads them to a small coastal village where they begin their work.
Not easy by any means, their path, their calling, and since Japanese authorities are persecuting Christians, especially priests, old school style, because they're worried about the ways in which in a foreign religion is conflicting with their own buddhist traditions, Rodrigues and Garupe employ the utmost stealth to avoid detection.
But they're eventually found in different spots and Rodrigues must then run the gauntlet to prove his faith, to demonstrate his courage.
Intellectually, physically and spiritually.
Scorsese struggles a bit in territory he hasn't explored in a while (time for another viewing of The Last Temptation of Christ methinks), the excruciating isolation and gruesome personal struggle involved demanding a more contemplative ascetic humbling approach than that found in some of his recent films, this aesthetic captured at points but Silence isn't Tarkovsky, and the contrast introduced when the violence begins doesn't captivatingly diverge in a stunning juxtaposition.
He did prove he's quite sensitive with Hugo, but the first half of Silence would have benefitted from a less traditional approach, from longer more destitute not necessarily plot-related scenes skilfully blending hope and sorrow, scenes which would have become more emotionally pronounced as Rodrigues's life descended into chaos.
Into more familiar territory.
Still a thoughtful investigation of faith and the trials that await the spiritually bold.
Friday, January 20, 2017
La La Land
Heartbeats in harmonized constructs and contrasts, patience, impertinence, concessions, gall, twirling unfurling enduring expressionless fancies and flights intertwined with supine toyed devotion, blinding cataracts effervescent turbulence trusted and truly exonerating impressions jocose and dear starstruck fearless appearances awe inspired odysseys, caféd candlelit assuréd indiscretions, caught up in each others arms, candied (torn) in La La Land.
The stubborn and the starboard expressly romanticizing multigeneric medleys, relational urgencies bejewel tranced sashays.
That's me being romantic.
A life, of solitude.
Fluttering jittery animated embraces, what seems eternally inclined must professionally brace itself for itinerant scheduling, Mia (Emma Stone [outstanding]) and Sebastian's (Ryan Gosling) relationship fond of its festive familiarity yet troubled by tangents, sand duned by success.
But there's a classic Hollywood ending that anyone who's ever loved and lost may find sorrowfully endearing, the music and the magic and the mirth meteorically meshing with cosmic interplay.
An excellent beginning too, either I've lived long enough to start liking musicals or Damien Chazelle's La La Land is a notable exception, the film thoughtfully mixing different catchy styles to metaphorically synergize loveable forays, ones which last for a while anyways, the mundane micromovements, passionate parlays, intimate insights, and unique syntheses generated through sustained commitment viscerally subsumed.
The film's full of troubles and tearjerks and hugs, celebrating resiliency as it's dismally challenged, the authority a couple creates enigmatically as their own.
For themselves.
Pour La Strada.
Incrementally partitioned with existentially aligned spice, it swirls as it seasons, dips as it sways.
*Couples can be existential.
Yes they can.
The stubborn and the starboard expressly romanticizing multigeneric medleys, relational urgencies bejewel tranced sashays.
That's me being romantic.
A life, of solitude.
Fluttering jittery animated embraces, what seems eternally inclined must professionally brace itself for itinerant scheduling, Mia (Emma Stone [outstanding]) and Sebastian's (Ryan Gosling) relationship fond of its festive familiarity yet troubled by tangents, sand duned by success.
But there's a classic Hollywood ending that anyone who's ever loved and lost may find sorrowfully endearing, the music and the magic and the mirth meteorically meshing with cosmic interplay.
An excellent beginning too, either I've lived long enough to start liking musicals or Damien Chazelle's La La Land is a notable exception, the film thoughtfully mixing different catchy styles to metaphorically synergize loveable forays, ones which last for a while anyways, the mundane micromovements, passionate parlays, intimate insights, and unique syntheses generated through sustained commitment viscerally subsumed.
The film's full of troubles and tearjerks and hugs, celebrating resiliency as it's dismally challenged, the authority a couple creates enigmatically as their own.
For themselves.
Pour La Strada.
Incrementally partitioned with existentially aligned spice, it swirls as it seasons, dips as it sways.
*Couples can be existential.
Yes they can.
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Collateral Beauty
I suspect there's a prominent subculture that likes Hallmark cards and regularly exchanges them in order to express feelings of enduring love.
Subculture may be the wrong word to be using here.
No no no, they don't take the time to meticulously itemize the sundry ways in which a partner has disappointed them over the course of the last month, year, weekend, Festivus whispering, having realized that many people don't appreciate the comedic value of such clarifications and would rather simply be applauded.
Persona non grata.
Yet it seems that if everyone were to systematically express their mutual contempt ritualistically, disorganization may in fact destabilize the smooth innocuous flow of cultural codes, cultural goods, meaning that perhaps vitriolic proclamations of amour should be sequestered for the intemperate few, as they begrudgingly accept that they do indeed have feelings.
Reprieved.
They likely didn't think highly of Collateral Beauty either, even if it was overflowing with abundant goodwill and wholesome adorable tearjerks.
It does use swearing quite effectively if that counts for anything, situating the profane word within an exasperated exclamation with perfect sober timing, such a stark contrast from the preceding cuddles, repressed helplessness shockingly manifested.
Ah, so, if you're wondering why you don't like Collateral Beauty and its exceptional cast, you can at least think, there's some great swearing.
The ending's quite touching too.
Like cotton candy.
Hallmark cotton candy.
Subculture may be the wrong word to be using here.
No no no, they don't take the time to meticulously itemize the sundry ways in which a partner has disappointed them over the course of the last month, year, weekend, Festivus whispering, having realized that many people don't appreciate the comedic value of such clarifications and would rather simply be applauded.
Persona non grata.
Yet it seems that if everyone were to systematically express their mutual contempt ritualistically, disorganization may in fact destabilize the smooth innocuous flow of cultural codes, cultural goods, meaning that perhaps vitriolic proclamations of amour should be sequestered for the intemperate few, as they begrudgingly accept that they do indeed have feelings.
Reprieved.
They likely didn't think highly of Collateral Beauty either, even if it was overflowing with abundant goodwill and wholesome adorable tearjerks.
It does use swearing quite effectively if that counts for anything, situating the profane word within an exasperated exclamation with perfect sober timing, such a stark contrast from the preceding cuddles, repressed helplessness shockingly manifested.
Ah, so, if you're wondering why you don't like Collateral Beauty and its exceptional cast, you can at least think, there's some great swearing.
The ending's quite touching too.
Like cotton candy.
Hallmark cotton candy.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Jackie
Historically aware conscientious crucible within which responsibilities interdisciplinarily decode.
Crushing enervating profound despondency augustly conciliated with urbane stately poise.
Jackie Kennedy (Natalie Portman) seeks to comfort a nation grieving the loss of her husband while consoling their two young children and arranging funerary dispositions.
Details of which are verbally transmitted to a trusted reporter ensconced in the mournful countryside.
Utterly alone.
Concealment.
Deluge.
Pablo Larraín's Jackie endears to relate a lachrymose tale as a matter of dire consequence, benevolence still abounding within formal restraints as a portrait emerges with metadignified calm.
To be immersed under such scrutiny during such tumultuous transitions, a thunderous inducement having suddenly arrested, while still remaining conscious of steadfast bristling influence, is to augment an orbit's c/rippling individuality, resplendent in its tender, lustrous, febrile, mint.
The film sophisticatedly staggers memories and missives to elegantly charter stilted suffering in swoon, a stunning versatile interred x-ray, quintessentially courting philosophical entailments.
Lost in anodyne ethereal cruise, extraordinarily tight renditions, realistic reveries, antique extant gravity.
So many films keep going and going long after they should have ended, but Jackie packs several startling finales into its cordate nerve, curtained accented asseverations, lives, frolics, longing.
Phenomenal.
Crushing enervating profound despondency augustly conciliated with urbane stately poise.
Jackie Kennedy (Natalie Portman) seeks to comfort a nation grieving the loss of her husband while consoling their two young children and arranging funerary dispositions.
Details of which are verbally transmitted to a trusted reporter ensconced in the mournful countryside.
Utterly alone.
Concealment.
Deluge.
Pablo Larraín's Jackie endears to relate a lachrymose tale as a matter of dire consequence, benevolence still abounding within formal restraints as a portrait emerges with metadignified calm.
To be immersed under such scrutiny during such tumultuous transitions, a thunderous inducement having suddenly arrested, while still remaining conscious of steadfast bristling influence, is to augment an orbit's c/rippling individuality, resplendent in its tender, lustrous, febrile, mint.
The film sophisticatedly staggers memories and missives to elegantly charter stilted suffering in swoon, a stunning versatile interred x-ray, quintessentially courting philosophical entailments.
Lost in anodyne ethereal cruise, extraordinarily tight renditions, realistic reveries, antique extant gravity.
So many films keep going and going long after they should have ended, but Jackie packs several startling finales into its cordate nerve, curtained accented asseverations, lives, frolics, longing.
Phenomenal.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Elle
It doesn't get much darker than Elle.
A great companion piece for The Lobster if you're craving an evening of total anarchy.
This January.
In the film, a highly functioning potentially psychotic successful businessperson conducts her affairs with extreme emotional detachment, unless her ex-husband's involved, she's trying to help her emotionally abused son (a bad relationship with another potential psycho), or hoping her mother won't marry a coddling gigolo.
Even as she's raped at home and then thoroughly humiliated at work, at her own company, which produces sexually explicit video games, she still generally proceeds as if nothing's wrong and manages to accomplish an extraordinarily diverse number of tasks, pure robotic efficiency, as if she's been there and done that for every possible scenario, stoic impeccability existentially exonerated.
Unfortunately, in her youth, she accompanied her father as he proceeded to murder most of their neighbours, the story becoming a nationwide sensation, her life quite strange at all times forever after.
That's not all, it's even more dysfunctional, the eclectic cast of diverse oddballs even congregated for Christmas dinner, a scene that could have transported Elle into unapproachable contemptuous infinities, had it been even more sinister, had it sought after true infamy.
Therein lies a play for someone else to write.
Adam Reed? Mitchell Hurwitz?
Sadomasochistically submerged in ineffable grotesque hypotheticals, Elle's bourgeois community still must interrelate, it can't help it if that was how it was written.
Like pure misogyny masquerading as a caring caricature of feminine strength, Elle is as undefinable as it is cold and direct, its unmuzzled licentious agency, its pristine putrefaction, calculated to deafeningly depreciate, in gross inherent disillusion.
Not to say that it isn't well done.
It's quite well done in fact.
A sensation.
Pathologically speaking.
A great companion piece for The Lobster if you're craving an evening of total anarchy.
This January.
In the film, a highly functioning potentially psychotic successful businessperson conducts her affairs with extreme emotional detachment, unless her ex-husband's involved, she's trying to help her emotionally abused son (a bad relationship with another potential psycho), or hoping her mother won't marry a coddling gigolo.
Even as she's raped at home and then thoroughly humiliated at work, at her own company, which produces sexually explicit video games, she still generally proceeds as if nothing's wrong and manages to accomplish an extraordinarily diverse number of tasks, pure robotic efficiency, as if she's been there and done that for every possible scenario, stoic impeccability existentially exonerated.
Unfortunately, in her youth, she accompanied her father as he proceeded to murder most of their neighbours, the story becoming a nationwide sensation, her life quite strange at all times forever after.
That's not all, it's even more dysfunctional, the eclectic cast of diverse oddballs even congregated for Christmas dinner, a scene that could have transported Elle into unapproachable contemptuous infinities, had it been even more sinister, had it sought after true infamy.
Therein lies a play for someone else to write.
Adam Reed? Mitchell Hurwitz?
Sadomasochistically submerged in ineffable grotesque hypotheticals, Elle's bourgeois community still must interrelate, it can't help it if that was how it was written.
Like pure misogyny masquerading as a caring caricature of feminine strength, Elle is as undefinable as it is cold and direct, its unmuzzled licentious agency, its pristine putrefaction, calculated to deafeningly depreciate, in gross inherent disillusion.
Not to say that it isn't well done.
It's quite well done in fact.
A sensation.
Pathologically speaking.
Friday, January 6, 2017
Christine
Pressurized self-motivation, dedicated drive, ambient adrenaline, Queen of the hive, a game changing carnal recalibration generating sensational scoops frustrates ethically inclined televisual journalist Christine Chubbuck (Rebecca Hall) as she eagerly seeks a new position in Baltimore, but Sarasota, Florida, lacks the raucous remonstrances more rigidly regaled in urban playgrounds, so she must exotically elucidate paltry empirical sums.
Without losing her soul.
But even when attempting to asininely unravel, she still showcases alternative angles, which intelligently promote distinguished depth, yet can't spin and stoke the sought after sleaze.
Interrogatively.
Tragic.
Forlorn and suppressing.
In any decade.
A principled well-rounded bipolar session, Antonio Campos's Christine juxtaposes the innocent with the expedient to maximize discontent.
Patiently waiting for years for the chance to broadcast intellectually, a perfect candidate for 60 Minutes or W5, perhaps, The Nature of Things, Christine can't slow down and has trouble playing ball if she's not constantly making game winning plays while also refereeing stark nubile antics.
More of an author than a reporter, she can't dish out the basest instincts, play on the team, and wants the chance to nationally unwind, but can't sludge her way through the grotesque steamy privilege.
Give a little, get a little, but even when she gives it's not what they've got, not what they want, sincere stupidity, she cannot fake it.
The film's full of strong characters who are each given plenty of screentime to express their opposing viewpoints.
It's not as focused on Christine as the title suggests, her manager Michael (Tracy Letts) clearly sharing his contradictory ideas, occasionally using locker room terms that specialists may find offensive.
You get used to it.
I even listen when people say, "that's sick," these days.
Christine obviously can't work within small boxes and would have excelled if she'd established herself in broadly disseminated artistic journals or art house films.
At the same time, she had an audience, an adoring audience, which unfortunately wasn't enough.
The film's set in the '70s, production design by Scott Kuzio, long before YouTube and the net, and even if the ending should be taken out of context, according to thoughts I've heard shared by prominent journalists recently, it's still a shame she couldn't handle losing, couldn't double down and diversify.
Bluntly speaking.
It drags a bit.
Without losing her soul.
But even when attempting to asininely unravel, she still showcases alternative angles, which intelligently promote distinguished depth, yet can't spin and stoke the sought after sleaze.
Interrogatively.
Tragic.
Forlorn and suppressing.
In any decade.
A principled well-rounded bipolar session, Antonio Campos's Christine juxtaposes the innocent with the expedient to maximize discontent.
Patiently waiting for years for the chance to broadcast intellectually, a perfect candidate for 60 Minutes or W5, perhaps, The Nature of Things, Christine can't slow down and has trouble playing ball if she's not constantly making game winning plays while also refereeing stark nubile antics.
More of an author than a reporter, she can't dish out the basest instincts, play on the team, and wants the chance to nationally unwind, but can't sludge her way through the grotesque steamy privilege.
Give a little, get a little, but even when she gives it's not what they've got, not what they want, sincere stupidity, she cannot fake it.
The film's full of strong characters who are each given plenty of screentime to express their opposing viewpoints.
It's not as focused on Christine as the title suggests, her manager Michael (Tracy Letts) clearly sharing his contradictory ideas, occasionally using locker room terms that specialists may find offensive.
You get used to it.
I even listen when people say, "that's sick," these days.
Christine obviously can't work within small boxes and would have excelled if she'd established herself in broadly disseminated artistic journals or art house films.
At the same time, she had an audience, an adoring audience, which unfortunately wasn't enough.
The film's set in the '70s, production design by Scott Kuzio, long before YouTube and the net, and even if the ending should be taken out of context, according to thoughts I've heard shared by prominent journalists recently, it's still a shame she couldn't handle losing, couldn't double down and diversify.
Bluntly speaking.
It drags a bit.
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
Allied
Fully cloaked undercover, watching every movement, scrutinizing each step, re/actions precisely measured to maximize discretion, on the road scripted codes liaised lessons, eager learner, coy discerner, modicums, romance, drills, an extroverted beauty chively strung singing along in chorus, friends in high places, versatile integration, his partner, his assigned wife, don't let emotions cloud judgments till it's time to gasp, to fire, to strike.
To love.
Precious freedoms, mission prerogatives.
Canadian Max Vatan (Brad Pitt) breaks with tradition and falls for Marianne Beauséjour (Marion Cotillard) in the field.
Less amorously aware than his new partner, the two make a marigold match.
Wed after accomplishing their objectives in Casablanca, they return to London to settle during World War II (Max is an intelligence officer who still actively strategizes while Marianne raises their daughter at home).
But there's a catch.
According to V-section, Marianne is a German spy, a potentiality Max can't face, having fully devoted himself to enabling their prosperity.
Bliss in crisis, Robert Zemeckis's Allied briskly examines conjugal fidelity, the rival in question a bellicose nation intent on grieving, the rewards of domestic security too high to blindly tow the line.
Torn between resistance and reconnaissance, upside down and inside out, the film passionately obscures Max's trusts, while keeping things strictly on the level.
Mythic misfortune presented in gallant 20th century plight, shorn trajectories and burnt down bulwarks critically commandeering catastrophe, appointments are met and duties kept in check, all the while clad in confidence, for remaining unsuspicious, for never having had a jealous mind.
Internal gridiron grind.
International intrigue, clutched all-weather.
Outstanding.
Somewhat, teary-eyed, was I.
To love.
Precious freedoms, mission prerogatives.
Canadian Max Vatan (Brad Pitt) breaks with tradition and falls for Marianne Beauséjour (Marion Cotillard) in the field.
Less amorously aware than his new partner, the two make a marigold match.
Wed after accomplishing their objectives in Casablanca, they return to London to settle during World War II (Max is an intelligence officer who still actively strategizes while Marianne raises their daughter at home).
But there's a catch.
According to V-section, Marianne is a German spy, a potentiality Max can't face, having fully devoted himself to enabling their prosperity.
Bliss in crisis, Robert Zemeckis's Allied briskly examines conjugal fidelity, the rival in question a bellicose nation intent on grieving, the rewards of domestic security too high to blindly tow the line.
Torn between resistance and reconnaissance, upside down and inside out, the film passionately obscures Max's trusts, while keeping things strictly on the level.
Mythic misfortune presented in gallant 20th century plight, shorn trajectories and burnt down bulwarks critically commandeering catastrophe, appointments are met and duties kept in check, all the while clad in confidence, for remaining unsuspicious, for never having had a jealous mind.
Internal gridiron grind.
International intrigue, clutched all-weather.
Outstanding.
Somewhat, teary-eyed, was I.
Friday, December 30, 2016
Aquarius
The daily plunge, nautical navigation, oceanic unknowns obliviously obscuring reverberating traumas in convalescent translucent harmony, beneath the waves, submerged in seclusion, to the left, eastwards, straight ahead, salty ephemeral centripetal wake, free flowing ideas practically pirouetting with piquant poetic resolve, cardiovascular shade, illuminated marrow, infinite variety routinely sweetening the starchy and the stale insofar as histories heuristically heartache, good eye, optical infusions, testimonial treasures, immersed in ontological sheen, insatiably and abstemiously, current.
Subconscious stamina.
Steady as she goes.
Clara (Sonia Braga/Barbara Colen) is as certain as she is stubborn, and outrightly refuses to sell her cherished apartment.
The interested buyers own every other unit in the building and want to tear it down to construct another.
It's her home, her family's oasis, where she's lived for decades and where she raised her children, she can't even consider living anywhere else, and will not sit down to lucratively negotiate.
Her opposition responds with contempt.
Friends and family question her decision.
She notes their views.
Fully aware of what they cannot understand.
In her urban homestead, an artist tenaciously upholds her rights in Kleber Mendonça Filho's Aquarius, never yielding her firm convictions to the prospects of financial gain.
The film examines her plight from multiple angles while slowly descending from sanity to chaos.
It picks up after about an hour and a half when Clara's children confront her about her decision.
What follows is a stunning array of inflammatory sequences that end in a chilling vibrato.
Just make sure you hang around for it.
The first hour and a half, unfortunately, while patiently developing character and plot, is like sitting in the waiting room at a hospital for hours knowing that your minor injury could be healed in under 15 minutes.
I would have cut 45 minutes from this film.
Still, in its present form, the ending is incredible.
Subconscious stamina.
Steady as she goes.
Clara (Sonia Braga/Barbara Colen) is as certain as she is stubborn, and outrightly refuses to sell her cherished apartment.
The interested buyers own every other unit in the building and want to tear it down to construct another.
It's her home, her family's oasis, where she's lived for decades and where she raised her children, she can't even consider living anywhere else, and will not sit down to lucratively negotiate.
Her opposition responds with contempt.
Friends and family question her decision.
She notes their views.
Fully aware of what they cannot understand.
In her urban homestead, an artist tenaciously upholds her rights in Kleber Mendonça Filho's Aquarius, never yielding her firm convictions to the prospects of financial gain.
The film examines her plight from multiple angles while slowly descending from sanity to chaos.
It picks up after about an hour and a half when Clara's children confront her about her decision.
What follows is a stunning array of inflammatory sequences that end in a chilling vibrato.
Just make sure you hang around for it.
The first hour and a half, unfortunately, while patiently developing character and plot, is like sitting in the waiting room at a hospital for hours knowing that your minor injury could be healed in under 15 minutes.
I would have cut 45 minutes from this film.
Still, in its present form, the ending is incredible.
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Humpback Whales
I was lucky enough to go whale watching at a very young age in Massachusetts with my father who seemed just as interested as I was in spotting the giant cetaceans.
By the end of the day, we had fortunately seen 3 North Atlantic Right Whales, one of the rarest species of whale out there, but even more majestic was the emergence of a mother fin and her calf, right beside the boat, just as we were getting ready to turn back; I've still never seen anything so startling, so incredible, even if it only lasted for a mesmerizing matter of seconds.
Enduring evanescence.
Optically outfitted.
I still go whale watching whenever I can, but spend most of my time landlocked, malheureusement. I was hoping Greg MacGillivray's Humpback Whales would deliver a fun cinematic whale watching experience equipped with plenty of whale shenanigans for interested landlubbers, and am glad to report that it doesn't disappoint.
The film follows graceful humpbacks as they frolic, bubble net, breach, and sing, whether living apart as mischievous individuals or gathered together in picturesque pods, convivially capturing their unfathomable social interactions, intently observing their wild wondrous movements.
In-depth and circumspected, Ewan McGregor's narration provides educational commentary for young and old alike, attaching sound qualifications to the accompanying historical narrative while pleasantly advancing contemporary research.
They really are wonderful lifeforms, these whales, these humpback whales, living most of their lives swimming freely underwater, exploring, navigating, contemplating, dining, it would be fascinating to be able to communicate with them, to learn more about what it's like to spend almost an entire life beneath the waves, completely different global perspectives submerged, perhaps as inquisitive as you or I, still getting lost for prolonged periods, in the riveting oceanic orchestrations of their own devices.
Who knows!
I can clearly state, however, that whether you're interested in learning more about whales or simply want to sit back and watch whales being whales for a while, Humpback Whales makes a perfect fit, a first rate IMAX experience, offering brief glimpses into the lives of these agile behemoths, which may be enough to kindle a lifelong interest.
Tadoussac, Québec, is a great place to spot them.
Located a couple of hours north of Québec City.
In a stunning landscape.
That demands you come back once more.
By the end of the day, we had fortunately seen 3 North Atlantic Right Whales, one of the rarest species of whale out there, but even more majestic was the emergence of a mother fin and her calf, right beside the boat, just as we were getting ready to turn back; I've still never seen anything so startling, so incredible, even if it only lasted for a mesmerizing matter of seconds.
Enduring evanescence.
Optically outfitted.
I still go whale watching whenever I can, but spend most of my time landlocked, malheureusement. I was hoping Greg MacGillivray's Humpback Whales would deliver a fun cinematic whale watching experience equipped with plenty of whale shenanigans for interested landlubbers, and am glad to report that it doesn't disappoint.
The film follows graceful humpbacks as they frolic, bubble net, breach, and sing, whether living apart as mischievous individuals or gathered together in picturesque pods, convivially capturing their unfathomable social interactions, intently observing their wild wondrous movements.
In-depth and circumspected, Ewan McGregor's narration provides educational commentary for young and old alike, attaching sound qualifications to the accompanying historical narrative while pleasantly advancing contemporary research.
They really are wonderful lifeforms, these whales, these humpback whales, living most of their lives swimming freely underwater, exploring, navigating, contemplating, dining, it would be fascinating to be able to communicate with them, to learn more about what it's like to spend almost an entire life beneath the waves, completely different global perspectives submerged, perhaps as inquisitive as you or I, still getting lost for prolonged periods, in the riveting oceanic orchestrations of their own devices.
Who knows!
I can clearly state, however, that whether you're interested in learning more about whales or simply want to sit back and watch whales being whales for a while, Humpback Whales makes a perfect fit, a first rate IMAX experience, offering brief glimpses into the lives of these agile behemoths, which may be enough to kindle a lifelong interest.
Tadoussac, Québec, is a great place to spot them.
Located a couple of hours north of Québec City.
In a stunning landscape.
That demands you come back once more.
Friday, December 23, 2016
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story
Perhaps releasing a new Star Wars movie every year is a good idea.
They're incredibly fun to watch even if they're not that great (I loved Rogue One), and, instead of waiting 2 or 3 more years to pull-in a gazillion dollars, you can confidently expect to make such an amount every freakin' year, sums that can efficiently facilitate all kinds of alternative endeavours, perhaps jumpstarting artistic revolts thereby.
Independent sci-fi, independent sci-fi!
Now's the time.
I always imagined that the rebels employed the utmost stealth when stealing the Death Star's secret blueprints, and although that isn't the case in Rogue One, the resultant space and land Jediesque battle does manage to rebelliously compensate.
They're not a rag tag bunch, these rogues, these freedom fighters, more of an eclectic cast of wild yet willing individuals collectively assembled to see what can be accomplished.
I thought Jyn Erso (Felicity Jones/Beau Gadsdon/Dolly Gadsdon), Cassian Andor (Diego Luna), Baze Malbus (Wen Jiang), K-2S0 (Alan Tudyk), and Saw Gerrera (Forest Whitaker) were some of the coolest Star Wars characters I've seen, Malbus redefining the force through sheer devotion, Gerrera exemplifying a less peppy aspect of the oft rather perky rebel alliance, K-2S0 is actually funny (outstanding), Andor makes a gripping speech about his commitment to the rebellion, and Jyn slowly yet boldly steps up and strides.
Have these characters been typecast to fit the Star Wars B realm because they have more personality than those brought to life in The Force Awakens?
I bet they could still be managers in California.
Since Rogue One's outcome is already known to all, discussing its internal dynamics seems fitting, dynamics which generally impressed, the Disneyesque opening moments (Jyn's sort of like Bambi) setting the familial stage, the heart wrenching space drama, the assembling of the crew strikingly youthful in its mouthy composure, so many familiar sights from A New Hope (even Dr. Cornelius Evazan and Ponda Baba[I'm still looking for my Walrusman figure]) perhaps endearingly distracting me, tragedy, brilliance, escape, tragedy, brilliance, escape, battle, it's cheesy at points but I thought the good far far outawayed the bad to create the best Star Wars film since Jedi, please never alter the music in one of these films again, or do so in a way that isn't so mediocre.
One point of interest: in a New Hope, Vader critiques General Motti, stating, "don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the force." If Motti constructed the Death Star, why was he left out of Rogue One?
Also, Grand Moff Tarkin isn't so aggressive in A New Hope. His computer animated replacement isn't quite as withdrawn yet commanding.
'Tis true.
Forest Whitaker delivers one of the best if not the best performance/s I've seen in a Star Wars film.
Some day, I'd like to know how many extra millions this film makes because they gave it the more search engine friendly title add-on, A Star Wars Story.
Just Rogue One is clearly the better title.
I'm betting they make an extra 237 million.
They're incredibly fun to watch even if they're not that great (I loved Rogue One), and, instead of waiting 2 or 3 more years to pull-in a gazillion dollars, you can confidently expect to make such an amount every freakin' year, sums that can efficiently facilitate all kinds of alternative endeavours, perhaps jumpstarting artistic revolts thereby.
Independent sci-fi, independent sci-fi!
Now's the time.
I always imagined that the rebels employed the utmost stealth when stealing the Death Star's secret blueprints, and although that isn't the case in Rogue One, the resultant space and land Jediesque battle does manage to rebelliously compensate.
They're not a rag tag bunch, these rogues, these freedom fighters, more of an eclectic cast of wild yet willing individuals collectively assembled to see what can be accomplished.
I thought Jyn Erso (Felicity Jones/Beau Gadsdon/Dolly Gadsdon), Cassian Andor (Diego Luna), Baze Malbus (Wen Jiang), K-2S0 (Alan Tudyk), and Saw Gerrera (Forest Whitaker) were some of the coolest Star Wars characters I've seen, Malbus redefining the force through sheer devotion, Gerrera exemplifying a less peppy aspect of the oft rather perky rebel alliance, K-2S0 is actually funny (outstanding), Andor makes a gripping speech about his commitment to the rebellion, and Jyn slowly yet boldly steps up and strides.
Have these characters been typecast to fit the Star Wars B realm because they have more personality than those brought to life in The Force Awakens?
I bet they could still be managers in California.
Since Rogue One's outcome is already known to all, discussing its internal dynamics seems fitting, dynamics which generally impressed, the Disneyesque opening moments (Jyn's sort of like Bambi) setting the familial stage, the heart wrenching space drama, the assembling of the crew strikingly youthful in its mouthy composure, so many familiar sights from A New Hope (even Dr. Cornelius Evazan and Ponda Baba[I'm still looking for my Walrusman figure]) perhaps endearingly distracting me, tragedy, brilliance, escape, tragedy, brilliance, escape, battle, it's cheesy at points but I thought the good far far outawayed the bad to create the best Star Wars film since Jedi, please never alter the music in one of these films again, or do so in a way that isn't so mediocre.
One point of interest: in a New Hope, Vader critiques General Motti, stating, "don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the force." If Motti constructed the Death Star, why was he left out of Rogue One?
Also, Grand Moff Tarkin isn't so aggressive in A New Hope. His computer animated replacement isn't quite as withdrawn yet commanding.
'Tis true.
Forest Whitaker delivers one of the best if not the best performance/s I've seen in a Star Wars film.
Some day, I'd like to know how many extra millions this film makes because they gave it the more search engine friendly title add-on, A Star Wars Story.
Just Rogue One is clearly the better title.
I'm betting they make an extra 237 million.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Office Christmas Party
Overwhelming pressures voraciously complicating the everyday affairs of a hardworking bunch at play, it soon becomes apparent that a lucrative deal must be struck in order to keep the sultry spice flowing, the troubling news being delivered in überScroogelike fashion, the high-end players responding with executive precision.
There's no other option.
It's time to party.
Festivities of epic proportions are therefore precipitated, the celebrations, ecstatically fuelled.
But as the good times roll, will Josh Parker (Jason Bateman), Clay Vanstone (T. J. Miller), and Tracey Hughes (Olivia Munn) be able to convince Walter Davis (Courtney B. Vance) that their research and development should move beyond the experimental phase?
Will Clay's uptight sister Carol (Jennifer Aniston) shut them down to right misperceived childhood wrongs?
Will human resources rep Mary (Kate McKinnon) engage in merrymaking regardless of penitent restrictions?
And will the prostitute (Abbey Lee as Savannah) Nate (Karan Soni) hires successfully pass as his supple theoretical girlfriend?
Before her psychotic pimp (Jillian Bell as Trina) shows up to destroy everything?
Wildly engaging in dishevelling shenanigans, Office Christmas Party educates as it embroils.
Through the magic of Christmas, Clay and Carol stop fighting and come together as a family, while several hilarious subordinates find the partner they've been so shyly seeking.
Lumps are taken, yet necessary risks ridiculously refine surefire stabilities, and remarkably steady technologies cyberspatially save the day.
Dionysian balance.
Brainiac mirth.
Certainly an adult themed Christmas film that sets a bizarro example, Office Christmas Party still excels at letting loose just in time for the holiday season.
Some scenes could have been cut, and a bit more time could have been spent editing the script, but the highs olympianly outweigh the lows, and it's definitely worth checking out.
With so many supporting voices delivering strong orations, it must have been tough for Jillian Bell to outshine them all.
But that's exactly what she does.
Second place going to Randall Park (Fred).
Rob Corddry (Jeremy) needs better material!
There's no other option.
It's time to party.
Festivities of epic proportions are therefore precipitated, the celebrations, ecstatically fuelled.
But as the good times roll, will Josh Parker (Jason Bateman), Clay Vanstone (T. J. Miller), and Tracey Hughes (Olivia Munn) be able to convince Walter Davis (Courtney B. Vance) that their research and development should move beyond the experimental phase?
Will Clay's uptight sister Carol (Jennifer Aniston) shut them down to right misperceived childhood wrongs?
Will human resources rep Mary (Kate McKinnon) engage in merrymaking regardless of penitent restrictions?
And will the prostitute (Abbey Lee as Savannah) Nate (Karan Soni) hires successfully pass as his supple theoretical girlfriend?
Before her psychotic pimp (Jillian Bell as Trina) shows up to destroy everything?
Wildly engaging in dishevelling shenanigans, Office Christmas Party educates as it embroils.
Through the magic of Christmas, Clay and Carol stop fighting and come together as a family, while several hilarious subordinates find the partner they've been so shyly seeking.
Lumps are taken, yet necessary risks ridiculously refine surefire stabilities, and remarkably steady technologies cyberspatially save the day.
Dionysian balance.
Brainiac mirth.
Certainly an adult themed Christmas film that sets a bizarro example, Office Christmas Party still excels at letting loose just in time for the holiday season.
Some scenes could have been cut, and a bit more time could have been spent editing the script, but the highs olympianly outweigh the lows, and it's definitely worth checking out.
With so many supporting voices delivering strong orations, it must have been tough for Jillian Bell to outshine them all.
But that's exactly what she does.
Second place going to Randall Park (Fred).
Rob Corddry (Jeremy) needs better material!
Friday, December 16, 2016
El hombre de las mil caras (Smoke and Mirrors)
Cast adrift by the Spanish secret service, disgraced Francisco Paesa (Eduard Fernández) must find other ways to earn a living, his reputation for profound cunning immersed in subterfuge still resonating however, as a crooked formal national police commissioner seeks his admonishing aid.
A plan.
A forecast.
Subordinate reliability a troubling factor, as indelicate months pass and pressures mount, every detail of the plan covertly constructed, contingencies classified with hypothetical clarity.
Interminable patience required by all players, Paesa's foreseen a possible outcome, that leaves him assuredly stacked in the black.
Yet he remains loyal, faithful, truthful, subservient, theoretically, resolute calm submerged and breaching, extrajudicial outcomes speculatively splayed, thatched, patched, acrobatic burlap, either way he's set free, unless he winds up in prison.
For the rest of his life.
Interstitial estuaries.
Comet and cupid.
Compacted nerve.
Expeditiously invigorating cerebral texts and phalanxes, Alberto Rodríguez's El hombre de las mil caras (Smoke and Mirrors) keeps things smooth and steady.
It masterfully pulls you in and then harkingly hails in lockdown.
Penetratingly equipped with pertinent plights enabled, multiple primary and secondary familial and professional plot threads fading then reappearing with expert cinematic timing, thereby effortlessly attaching sub/conscious depth to its politicoethical imbroglio, El hombre de las mil caras is far beyond most of what I've seen this year, another outstanding film from M. Rodríguez.
Immaculately composed.
That's/He's still so much fun to watch.
Verifiable.
*Was into Spanish music last week. Damn it!
A plan.
A forecast.
Subordinate reliability a troubling factor, as indelicate months pass and pressures mount, every detail of the plan covertly constructed, contingencies classified with hypothetical clarity.
Interminable patience required by all players, Paesa's foreseen a possible outcome, that leaves him assuredly stacked in the black.
Yet he remains loyal, faithful, truthful, subservient, theoretically, resolute calm submerged and breaching, extrajudicial outcomes speculatively splayed, thatched, patched, acrobatic burlap, either way he's set free, unless he winds up in prison.
For the rest of his life.
Interstitial estuaries.
Comet and cupid.
Compacted nerve.
Expeditiously invigorating cerebral texts and phalanxes, Alberto Rodríguez's El hombre de las mil caras (Smoke and Mirrors) keeps things smooth and steady.
It masterfully pulls you in and then harkingly hails in lockdown.
Penetratingly equipped with pertinent plights enabled, multiple primary and secondary familial and professional plot threads fading then reappearing with expert cinematic timing, thereby effortlessly attaching sub/conscious depth to its politicoethical imbroglio, El hombre de las mil caras is far beyond most of what I've seen this year, another outstanding film from M. Rodríguez.
Immaculately composed.
That's/He's still so much fun to watch.
Verifiable.
*Was into Spanish music last week. Damn it!
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
The Eagle Huntress
As I've mentioned before, go out and work some brutal unforgiving high-paying do-it-yourself labour job with a bunch of women seeking to prove themselves and you'll surely find they can tough it out hardcore like any man.
And on the coldest harshest direst days you'll find just as many men seeking shelter as women.
I'm not saying the NFL will suddenly be flooded with female athletes or anything, but I'm sure they'd be welcome if they tried to make the cut.
In a different land, across the Pacific in rural Mongolia, a young girl named Aisholpan seeks to follow her family's traditions and hunt fox on horseback in winter with the aid of an eagle.
Her father is a kind man and agrees to train her even if the patriarchal fox hunting by eagle hierarchy is not amused.
What follows is another brilliant exploration of the strength of the feminine spirit, like the formidable Athena of old, of myth, boldly challenging dismissive conceits, narrated by Daisy Ridley.
I suppose if you live in the badlands with neither television nor internet or within a country that suppresses contradictory proofs, it's still possible to believe women aren't capable of succeeding when prohibitively constrained.
But if such conditions qualify or govern your life, and somehow you're still reading this, note that The Eagle Huntress provides exemplary non-fictional evidence of potentially subversive notions which are likely being stubbornly ignored.
It's quite a positive film that generally focuses on determination as opposed to discrimination, an uplifting story that's strict and to the point, doesn't drag, and generates genuine interest.
Worth seeing.
With excellent eagle-related cinematography by Simon Niblett (Director of Photography).
Felt bad for the foxes.
I'm assuming they thrive in abundance?
And on the coldest harshest direst days you'll find just as many men seeking shelter as women.
I'm not saying the NFL will suddenly be flooded with female athletes or anything, but I'm sure they'd be welcome if they tried to make the cut.
In a different land, across the Pacific in rural Mongolia, a young girl named Aisholpan seeks to follow her family's traditions and hunt fox on horseback in winter with the aid of an eagle.
Her father is a kind man and agrees to train her even if the patriarchal fox hunting by eagle hierarchy is not amused.
What follows is another brilliant exploration of the strength of the feminine spirit, like the formidable Athena of old, of myth, boldly challenging dismissive conceits, narrated by Daisy Ridley.
I suppose if you live in the badlands with neither television nor internet or within a country that suppresses contradictory proofs, it's still possible to believe women aren't capable of succeeding when prohibitively constrained.
But if such conditions qualify or govern your life, and somehow you're still reading this, note that The Eagle Huntress provides exemplary non-fictional evidence of potentially subversive notions which are likely being stubbornly ignored.
It's quite a positive film that generally focuses on determination as opposed to discrimination, an uplifting story that's strict and to the point, doesn't drag, and generates genuine interest.
Worth seeing.
With excellent eagle-related cinematography by Simon Niblett (Director of Photography).
Felt bad for the foxes.
I'm assuming they thrive in abundance?
Friday, December 9, 2016
Arrival
Time shifts encoded rifts temporal gifts communication, a brilliant linguist (Amy Adams as Louise Banks) practically applying her knowledge to freelance first contact with an alien race, 12 mysterious ships having suddenly appeared across the globe, but no one knows why they've arrived and even though they haven't attacked or encouraged hostilities many fear the worst, for which they hysterically prepare.
The aliens write using extraordinarily complex symbols the deciphering of which requires the coordinated efforts of worldwide ingenious minds.
But as paranoid tensions continue to increase and the aliens share a sign which appears to mean weapon, the universal olive branch is sensationally shaken.
Fortunately Dr. Banks has the last word, her caring friendly curiosity refusing to abandon peaceful interstellar objectives.
In overdrive.
Another outstanding film from Denis Villeneuve, who's competently directing in different genres, Arrival rationally manages chaotic instincts to surgically fictionalize scientific translation.
Palindromic comprehension.
It flips typical sci-fi by placing understanding in the forefront and violence beneath the surface while still generating an exciting story with multiple ethicopolitical elements.
Bejewelled.
It also questions the nature of time and space to ontologically shiver epistemological certainties.
In relation to origins, to meaning, to the interrelations between the myriad signs presented to a subject every day and their potential interpretations, like an abstract grid infinitely connecting everything within existence with flexible stability, instinct, awareness, knowledge, corrections, detecting harmonies and juxtapositions with piquant patterns or unique exposés, messages, revelations, guides, the artist/mathematician/scientist/politician/welder/ . . . generating imaginative conditionals from such material to cure a disease or make an audience laugh, blending seemingly immiscible particulars to create something uniform, a node, a whorl, a beacon, something distinct, eventually subsiding into overwhelming euphorias fractionally reduced to the pristinely primal, at ease with one's environment, in conflict or judicial correspondence.
I got in trouble when I was young for thinking reincarnation was real, it just seemed obvious to me, which eventually transformed into the idea that perhaps there was no beginning, no ending, there was just being, which doesn't make much sense but there it is, foolishly matriculating.
I also saw the Star Trek: Voyager episode where Q claims the Q have always been years later.
He didn't explain whether or not human consciousness lives after physical death.
I also really loved swamp water when I was young. Once I discovered you were free to mix all the sodas together when fast food restaurants gave you your own cup to fill, it was straight to the swamp water.
Lol.
Sometimes it was rather tasty.
Delicious even.
Exponentially sound.
Like a library.
The aliens write using extraordinarily complex symbols the deciphering of which requires the coordinated efforts of worldwide ingenious minds.
But as paranoid tensions continue to increase and the aliens share a sign which appears to mean weapon, the universal olive branch is sensationally shaken.
Fortunately Dr. Banks has the last word, her caring friendly curiosity refusing to abandon peaceful interstellar objectives.
In overdrive.
Another outstanding film from Denis Villeneuve, who's competently directing in different genres, Arrival rationally manages chaotic instincts to surgically fictionalize scientific translation.
Palindromic comprehension.
It flips typical sci-fi by placing understanding in the forefront and violence beneath the surface while still generating an exciting story with multiple ethicopolitical elements.
Bejewelled.
It also questions the nature of time and space to ontologically shiver epistemological certainties.
In relation to origins, to meaning, to the interrelations between the myriad signs presented to a subject every day and their potential interpretations, like an abstract grid infinitely connecting everything within existence with flexible stability, instinct, awareness, knowledge, corrections, detecting harmonies and juxtapositions with piquant patterns or unique exposés, messages, revelations, guides, the artist/mathematician/scientist/politician/welder/ . . . generating imaginative conditionals from such material to cure a disease or make an audience laugh, blending seemingly immiscible particulars to create something uniform, a node, a whorl, a beacon, something distinct, eventually subsiding into overwhelming euphorias fractionally reduced to the pristinely primal, at ease with one's environment, in conflict or judicial correspondence.
I got in trouble when I was young for thinking reincarnation was real, it just seemed obvious to me, which eventually transformed into the idea that perhaps there was no beginning, no ending, there was just being, which doesn't make much sense but there it is, foolishly matriculating.
I also saw the Star Trek: Voyager episode where Q claims the Q have always been years later.
He didn't explain whether or not human consciousness lives after physical death.
I also really loved swamp water when I was young. Once I discovered you were free to mix all the sodas together when fast food restaurants gave you your own cup to fill, it was straight to the swamp water.
Lol.
Sometimes it was rather tasty.
Delicious even.
Exponentially sound.
Like a library.
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
Rules Don't Apply
Sure and steady representatives of 1960s youth find themselves fetchingly employed in Warren Beatty's Rules Don't Apply, wherein an angelic songwriter with purist heart (Lily Collins as Marla Mabrey) and a loyal driver possessing patient ambition (Alden Ehrenreich as Frank Forbes) are caught between careers and courtships in the employment of Howard Hughes (Warren Beatty).
They're ever so cute.
Yet their employer, however so cunning in the face of adversity, however so adorable in his wild eccentricities, however so unpredictable in his unwavering caprice, however so devoted to reifying his dreams (eccentricity does not imply caprice!), even if he spends every waking nanosecond taking care of his responsibilities (wherein lies the eccentricity [when you work all the time suddenly an undeniable desire hits and you immediately must have that thing /often Denver Broncos related {this works better when you have employees who will bring you that thing |shopping online is changing this|}\]), can't be relied upon to simply do what's right, like a/n h/airline fracture, at critical moments, with destinies in overdrive, with futures notwithstanding.
That doesn't mean he doesn't remain endearing, as he's depicted in the film anyways, since he possesses an inextinguishable fancy free flame, which has come to be idealized in American cinema, with refined audacious tenacity.
Rules Don't Apply.
Young at heart, always.
I'm thinking about renting Cool Hand Luke.
Collins and Forbes romantically drill their way through Rules Don't Apply, frustrated in frenzy, synergistic straight shooters.
I can't say if the film's reminiscent of a cinematic golden age (I'm assuming many people associate such a phrase with the films of their youth and seeing it redefined is a matter of another generation reaching a specific age having made the right arguments), or trying to recapture the magic of watching movies (surprised this wasn't a Disney film), some ethics thrown in, a political struggle, a charismatic tycoon, Matthew Broderick (Levar Mathis), principles plucked im/pertinently, an appreciation for simple pleasures (burgers and fries), a story that could have seemed trite if left in less capable hands, with filmmakers who don't know how to both provoke and entertain, but it pulled me into its dazzling sashay with raw sincere wondrous precision, the split-second editing keeping things lively in the early going (Robin Gonsalves, Leslie Jones, F. Brian Scofield, Billy Weber), and even if it may not be one of my favourite films of the year, it still revitalized my love of going to the movies and writing about them more than any other.
There's a great sequence where the main characters are depicted doing something individually which simultaneously highlights their doubtful loneliness (content) as well as their sense of communal belonging (form), on the job, I suppose I'm a sucker for that kind of thing; poutine once a week you know; and the occasionalroot beer
They're ever so cute.
Yet their employer, however so cunning in the face of adversity, however so adorable in his wild eccentricities, however so unpredictable in his unwavering caprice, however so devoted to reifying his dreams (eccentricity does not imply caprice!), even if he spends every waking nanosecond taking care of his responsibilities (wherein lies the eccentricity [when you work all the time suddenly an undeniable desire hits and you immediately must have that thing /often Denver Broncos related {this works better when you have employees who will bring you that thing |shopping online is changing this|
That doesn't mean he doesn't remain endearing, as he's depicted in the film anyways, since he possesses an inextinguishable fancy free flame, which has come to be idealized in American cinema, with refined audacious tenacity.
Rules Don't Apply.
Young at heart, always.
I'm thinking about renting Cool Hand Luke.
Collins and Forbes romantically drill their way through Rules Don't Apply, frustrated in frenzy, synergistic straight shooters.
I can't say if the film's reminiscent of a cinematic golden age (I'm assuming many people associate such a phrase with the films of their youth and seeing it redefined is a matter of another generation reaching a specific age having made the right arguments), or trying to recapture the magic of watching movies (surprised this wasn't a Disney film), some ethics thrown in, a political struggle, a charismatic tycoon, Matthew Broderick (Levar Mathis), principles plucked im/pertinently, an appreciation for simple pleasures (burgers and fries), a story that could have seemed trite if left in less capable hands, with filmmakers who don't know how to both provoke and entertain, but it pulled me into its dazzling sashay with raw sincere wondrous precision, the split-second editing keeping things lively in the early going (Robin Gonsalves, Leslie Jones, F. Brian Scofield, Billy Weber), and even if it may not be one of my favourite films of the year, it still revitalized my love of going to the movies and writing about them more than any other.
There's a great sequence where the main characters are depicted doing something individually which simultaneously highlights their doubtful loneliness (content) as well as their sense of communal belonging (form), on the job, I suppose I'm a sucker for that kind of thing; poutine once a week you know; and the occasional
Friday, December 2, 2016
Manchester by the Sea
A brother's death brings an uncle home to the small coastal town where he grew up, mournful memories haunting him as he decides whether or not to become his nephew's guardian, and move back to live amongst old friends.
Disaster struck years ago and he's unsure if he can surround himself with sundry signs, sundry signs of his life that once was, sundry signs of his dreadful misfortune.
His 16 year old nephew (Lucas Hedges and Ben O'Brien as Patrick) has an active social life and does not want to move to Boston. He hasn't seen his mother for years. And his other close relatives live in Minnesota.
Lee (Casey Affleck) has trouble relating since he's completely withdrawn from the world and can't find peace in community.
Can't forgive himself.
Guilt-ridden ubiquity.
Immersed in potential salvation.
And loud ramshackle rumours.
A sorrowful well-acted well-written story which attempts to clear the dismal skies punishing a cocky guy's guy, Manchester by the Sea lightly examines psychological torment to baste and barbecue bucolic briskets.
Many scenes are elongated to pull you in, pull you into the narrative, to help Lee inhume the pain, scenes which encourage thoughtful consideration rather than rash judgment, formal composure, a cerebral chill cornerstone.
Loved the random dude with the whistle.
There's a lot of heart in Manchester by the Sea, a lot of caring.
You see it in the body language, the symbolic actions, as males unaccustomed to embracing emotion have to live with strong feelings in tight quarters.
One of the best films I've seen which soberly accounts for unacknowledged masculine emotion in awhile.
The controversial ending should promote debate.
Tough cross to bear.
Bewildering burden.
*Casey Affleck, Michelle Williams (Randi Chandler) and Lucas Hedges impressed. Casting by Douglas Aibel.
Disaster struck years ago and he's unsure if he can surround himself with sundry signs, sundry signs of his life that once was, sundry signs of his dreadful misfortune.
His 16 year old nephew (Lucas Hedges and Ben O'Brien as Patrick) has an active social life and does not want to move to Boston. He hasn't seen his mother for years. And his other close relatives live in Minnesota.
Lee (Casey Affleck) has trouble relating since he's completely withdrawn from the world and can't find peace in community.
Can't forgive himself.
Guilt-ridden ubiquity.
Immersed in potential salvation.
And loud ramshackle rumours.
A sorrowful well-acted well-written story which attempts to clear the dismal skies punishing a cocky guy's guy, Manchester by the Sea lightly examines psychological torment to baste and barbecue bucolic briskets.
Many scenes are elongated to pull you in, pull you into the narrative, to help Lee inhume the pain, scenes which encourage thoughtful consideration rather than rash judgment, formal composure, a cerebral chill cornerstone.
Loved the random dude with the whistle.
There's a lot of heart in Manchester by the Sea, a lot of caring.
You see it in the body language, the symbolic actions, as males unaccustomed to embracing emotion have to live with strong feelings in tight quarters.
One of the best films I've seen which soberly accounts for unacknowledged masculine emotion in awhile.
The controversial ending should promote debate.
Tough cross to bear.
Bewildering burden.
*Casey Affleck, Michelle Williams (Randi Chandler) and Lucas Hedges impressed. Casting by Douglas Aibel.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
The Birth of a Nation
A young African American slave preacher responds biblically to his terrestrial owner's recidivistic change of heart as racial tensions vengefully explode in Nate Parker's Birth of a Nation.
Critical applications of dialectical divination, Nat (Nate Parker) and Samuel Turner (Armie Hammer) grow up playing together as friends, their friendship lasting long into adulthood until Sam begins seeking social prestige.
Alcoholism having clouded his judgment, no doubt the result of possessing a tender heart pounding within unjust lands, Sam reasserts himself as plantation ruler and loses the support of his lifelong pal.
Nat has been fortunate enough to receive a rudimentary education, and picks up on both the oppressive and the emancipatory dimensions of the bible as he applies his knowledge to his vicious surroundings.
His people dehumanized and suffering wherever he goes (he has to preach obedience to various plantations so that Sam can earn extra money), he decides their only recourse is full-on insurrection.
What would you have done?
Enslaved in such a hell.
Taught that it was righteous.
Bewitching carnal spells.
The Birth of a Nation celebrates courageous acts undertaken by voiceless desperate beaten down citizens, most of whom were never given the chance to scholastically or industriously define themselves.
Some of the acting isn't the greatest and like many films depicting slavery there's a gratuitous emphasis on the grotesque, which postmodern racists thoroughly enjoy watching, but it's still a solid début from controversial filmmaker Nate Parker, who skilfully if not sensationally demonstrates he could use more time and money.
Similar predicaments still persist in many nations worldwide, dedicated activists still working to spread the word.
A manageable work/life balance is always something to strive for.
Time worked to help businesses remain profitable.
Profits shared to help employees remain comfortable.
Equitable exchanges.
For international communities.
Critical applications of dialectical divination, Nat (Nate Parker) and Samuel Turner (Armie Hammer) grow up playing together as friends, their friendship lasting long into adulthood until Sam begins seeking social prestige.
Alcoholism having clouded his judgment, no doubt the result of possessing a tender heart pounding within unjust lands, Sam reasserts himself as plantation ruler and loses the support of his lifelong pal.
Nat has been fortunate enough to receive a rudimentary education, and picks up on both the oppressive and the emancipatory dimensions of the bible as he applies his knowledge to his vicious surroundings.
His people dehumanized and suffering wherever he goes (he has to preach obedience to various plantations so that Sam can earn extra money), he decides their only recourse is full-on insurrection.
What would you have done?
Enslaved in such a hell.
Taught that it was righteous.
Bewitching carnal spells.
The Birth of a Nation celebrates courageous acts undertaken by voiceless desperate beaten down citizens, most of whom were never given the chance to scholastically or industriously define themselves.
Some of the acting isn't the greatest and like many films depicting slavery there's a gratuitous emphasis on the grotesque, which postmodern racists thoroughly enjoy watching, but it's still a solid début from controversial filmmaker Nate Parker, who skilfully if not sensationally demonstrates he could use more time and money.
Similar predicaments still persist in many nations worldwide, dedicated activists still working to spread the word.
A manageable work/life balance is always something to strive for.
Time worked to help businesses remain profitable.
Profits shared to help employees remain comfortable.
Equitable exchanges.
For international communities.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Loving
The daily special, a well trodden path, homemade blueberry pie, that stuff you're getting around to.
Almanacs.
Routine creature comforts, familiarity, trust, the Lovings plain and simply love one another, it's not deeper than that, there are no conditions, no excuses, no liaisons, no subterfuge, just a tradition in bloom as dependable as a grilled quarter pounder, step by step by step by step, a clock, outcrops, a home, that's all they truly wanted, ignoring what came to pass.
The law in their jurisdiction didn't take kindly to mixed race marriages at the time, and still held fast to bizarre justifications for its rules, no matter how innocently they happened to be contravened, no matter how strange they must have sounded to others.
You see, if you believe in God, or making laws based upon biblical texts, Adam and Eve were the father and mother of humanity, and, therefore, brought forth all the Asian, European, American, Australian, East-Indian and Island peoples of the world, and didn't establish strict covenants regarding their matrimonial segregation, naively overlooking demonic trajectories.
Not as simple as all that I reckon, once you work in history and economics and land and desire, but these passions didn't interest Mildred (Ruth Negga) and Richard (Joel Edgerton) Loving, they just wanted to work and raise a family, and didn't even attend when their case reached the Supreme Court, just carefully kept keepin' on meanwhile, setting an example, as dedicated civil rights lawyers strove on.
Jeff Nichols's Loving is a beautiful film which straightforwardly examines love, loyalty, kindness, and security.
It never lets things get out of hand.
In its unassuming bold humility.
It's patient, keeps things on the level, doesn't lose its head, a serious film without much drama.
A chill account, a bucolic masterpiece, Loving lovingly latches to assuredly settle, like down home democracy, romantically fused.
Almanacs.
Routine creature comforts, familiarity, trust, the Lovings plain and simply love one another, it's not deeper than that, there are no conditions, no excuses, no liaisons, no subterfuge, just a tradition in bloom as dependable as a grilled quarter pounder, step by step by step by step, a clock, outcrops, a home, that's all they truly wanted, ignoring what came to pass.
The law in their jurisdiction didn't take kindly to mixed race marriages at the time, and still held fast to bizarre justifications for its rules, no matter how innocently they happened to be contravened, no matter how strange they must have sounded to others.
You see, if you believe in God, or making laws based upon biblical texts, Adam and Eve were the father and mother of humanity, and, therefore, brought forth all the Asian, European, American, Australian, East-Indian and Island peoples of the world, and didn't establish strict covenants regarding their matrimonial segregation, naively overlooking demonic trajectories.
Not as simple as all that I reckon, once you work in history and economics and land and desire, but these passions didn't interest Mildred (Ruth Negga) and Richard (Joel Edgerton) Loving, they just wanted to work and raise a family, and didn't even attend when their case reached the Supreme Court, just carefully kept keepin' on meanwhile, setting an example, as dedicated civil rights lawyers strove on.
Jeff Nichols's Loving is a beautiful film which straightforwardly examines love, loyalty, kindness, and security.
It never lets things get out of hand.
In its unassuming bold humility.
It's patient, keeps things on the level, doesn't lose its head, a serious film without much drama.
A chill account, a bucolic masterpiece, Loving lovingly latches to assuredly settle, like down home democracy, romantically fused.
Friday, November 25, 2016
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Seemingly eccentric fey dissimulated nuances underscore the symphonically seminal seductive Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne), his offbeat orchestrations xylophonically zephyring crazed ritzy zigzags, since, you see, he's aware, he's aware, he's aware of woebegone wizarding wilt as stern and dismissive as ridden-stricked guilt, stilted passionless unyielding observant trusts, where difference remains shunned, locked-up in cuffs, hufflepuffed heart a beating in menagerie, secreting repleting so dissidently, to see attitudes change having decoded blunders, a transmuted sideline's reformed as a wonder!
In thunderous.
Zoology.
I doubt Queen Hatshepsut encountered such disdain.
And don't really know if he hopes to start a zoo. Or, a, magizoo.
Sigh.
Nonetheless, globe trotting in search of versed beasties, Scamander lands in New York heading west.
But his briefcase disappears, is accidentally switched with another, some of its residents escaping into feisty urban playgrounds.
He's also arrested by a disgraced auror (Katherine Waterston as Tina) with whom he eventually strikes up a friendship along with her nurturing sister Queenie (Alison Sudol) and a curious flabbergasted muggle (Dan Fogler as Kowalski).
Before he can stun the wizarding world with his dashing discoveries however, he must first find his tacit treasures and prevent a newfound obscurus (Ezra Miller as Credence Barebone)(a destructive force created when a magical child's gifts are violently suppressed) from joining forces with a wicked exclamation (Colin Farrell as Graves).
All the while NewYork's magical community manoeuvres to hide their existence from suspecting No-Mages (American muggles), who are afraid of their tremendous gifts, and hope to see them enervatingly exposed.
A bit of a pickle.
Spiked X-Men style.
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them impresses as it expands Harry Potter lore.
Demonstrating that Rowling and Yates can keep delivering fresh thoughtful and entertaining narratives which provide hungry fans with fertile feasts even if they don't involve Harry Potter, it enticingly develops new characters with innocent depth and capably composes multilevelled meritorious measures (ethics, politics, the individual, the general, the new, the newt . . .).
Apart from the ruminations regarding war between muggles and magicians.
That is way way X-Men and seemed somewhat too grandiose, too tacked-on for a story about Newt Scamander.
These are epic times!
And the collective mindwash is so Jupiter Ascending.
Eddie Redmayne may currently be my favourite actor, his commanding poise and dignity subtly electrifying animated eccentricities.
Undeniably.
Note: I would have added at least 10 minutes to the exploration of Scamander's domain and an additional cheesy scene near the end where he romantically shows Tina his life's work, possibly with Queenie and Kowalski courting within as well.
Probably being saved for a sequel.
I wanted more fantastic beasts, less armageddon!
Can someone cast the independent Newt Scamander American Honeyesque spell?
Quickly, before there are 6 more big budget end-of-the-world blowouts!
Is working at a University really that tumultuous?
For heaven's sake!
In thunderous.
Zoology.
I doubt Queen Hatshepsut encountered such disdain.
And don't really know if he hopes to start a zoo. Or, a, magizoo.
Sigh.
Nonetheless, globe trotting in search of versed beasties, Scamander lands in New York heading west.
But his briefcase disappears, is accidentally switched with another, some of its residents escaping into feisty urban playgrounds.
He's also arrested by a disgraced auror (Katherine Waterston as Tina) with whom he eventually strikes up a friendship along with her nurturing sister Queenie (Alison Sudol) and a curious flabbergasted muggle (Dan Fogler as Kowalski).
Before he can stun the wizarding world with his dashing discoveries however, he must first find his tacit treasures and prevent a newfound obscurus (Ezra Miller as Credence Barebone)(a destructive force created when a magical child's gifts are violently suppressed) from joining forces with a wicked exclamation (Colin Farrell as Graves).
All the while NewYork's magical community manoeuvres to hide their existence from suspecting No-Mages (American muggles), who are afraid of their tremendous gifts, and hope to see them enervatingly exposed.
A bit of a pickle.
Spiked X-Men style.
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them impresses as it expands Harry Potter lore.
Demonstrating that Rowling and Yates can keep delivering fresh thoughtful and entertaining narratives which provide hungry fans with fertile feasts even if they don't involve Harry Potter, it enticingly develops new characters with innocent depth and capably composes multilevelled meritorious measures (ethics, politics, the individual, the general, the new, the newt . . .).
Apart from the ruminations regarding war between muggles and magicians.
That is way way X-Men and seemed somewhat too grandiose, too tacked-on for a story about Newt Scamander.
These are epic times!
And the collective mindwash is so Jupiter Ascending.
Eddie Redmayne may currently be my favourite actor, his commanding poise and dignity subtly electrifying animated eccentricities.
Undeniably.
Note: I would have added at least 10 minutes to the exploration of Scamander's domain and an additional cheesy scene near the end where he romantically shows Tina his life's work, possibly with Queenie and Kowalski courting within as well.
Probably being saved for a sequel.
I wanted more fantastic beasts, less armageddon!
Can someone cast the independent Newt Scamander American Honeyesque spell?
Quickly, before there are 6 more big budget end-of-the-world blowouts!
Is working at a University really that tumultuous?
For heaven's sake!
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Juste la fin du monde (It's Only the End of the World)
A decade's shocks in wandering, discoveries, independence, success engrained skin dove, a career, applause, resentment, forgotten pastures, frigid climes, an author travels home for the first time in more than 10 years to visit his sheltered family, bewilderment and/or jealousy estranging their contentment, mom, sis, bro, conjugal aggression, imaginary constructs resonating with crisp tangible immediacy, actual conversations, evidence based yearning, but when people have been thinking about what to say for years they often do in fact say something, and if you're ill-prepared for their hypotheticals, your silence may seem bitterly bemused, like a question of authenticity, in an hypercritical emotional pound.
Lost at play.
Bullies betwitching.
Reminiscent of Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee but not quite there yet, although Xavier Dolan's touch makes Jean-Luc Lagarce's play (screenplay by Dolan) unreel like a lighter work of a criterion bound European composer, Juste la fin du monde (It's Only the End of the World) distances itself from Mommy et Tom à la ferme insofar as the potential for searing venomous outbursts wantonly branding like vehement scorched earth policies are stoically withheld till the end, as Louis (Gaspard Ulliel/William Boyce Blanchette/Emile Rondeau) theoretically transitions Dolan's texts into less sensational artistic realms.
The characteristic panic brought on by domineering feelings of inadequacy is still present, but rather than consistently disorienting throughout, it's patiently reserved for a wildly stubborn yet subdued expansion.
Each character has a private moment with Louis, loving tender cold reflective curious caustic revelatory pleading confused moments clad in nebulous joyful desperation, moving from obliviousness to uncertainty to understanding to contempt, Louis remaining frustratingly hesitant à la carte, wherein lies the film's brilliant delicacy.
No resolutions, no answers, less comment, not that they weren't there for the asking, there's just no way to get a word in edgewise.
Unfamiliarity.
Nerves.
Like a dishevelling enactment of acquiesced deterministic repression, Juste la fin keeps so much locked inside as its open wound penitently interpolate.
Driven to distraction and daydream.
Otherwise a pleasant afternoon.
Lost at play.
Bullies betwitching.
Reminiscent of Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee but not quite there yet, although Xavier Dolan's touch makes Jean-Luc Lagarce's play (screenplay by Dolan) unreel like a lighter work of a criterion bound European composer, Juste la fin du monde (It's Only the End of the World) distances itself from Mommy et Tom à la ferme insofar as the potential for searing venomous outbursts wantonly branding like vehement scorched earth policies are stoically withheld till the end, as Louis (Gaspard Ulliel/William Boyce Blanchette/Emile Rondeau) theoretically transitions Dolan's texts into less sensational artistic realms.
The characteristic panic brought on by domineering feelings of inadequacy is still present, but rather than consistently disorienting throughout, it's patiently reserved for a wildly stubborn yet subdued expansion.
Each character has a private moment with Louis, loving tender cold reflective curious caustic revelatory pleading confused moments clad in nebulous joyful desperation, moving from obliviousness to uncertainty to understanding to contempt, Louis remaining frustratingly hesitant à la carte, wherein lies the film's brilliant delicacy.
No resolutions, no answers, less comment, not that they weren't there for the asking, there's just no way to get a word in edgewise.
Unfamiliarity.
Nerves.
Like a dishevelling enactment of acquiesced deterministic repression, Juste la fin keeps so much locked inside as its open wound penitently interpolate.
Driven to distraction and daydream.
Otherwise a pleasant afternoon.
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
HAMMER (Versus)
Tragedy strikes as petty jealousies potentially ruin the career of a self-sacrificing international mixed martial arts contender, but the love interest in question and an opportunistic manager make deals with that very same brat to save the career of their honourable true champion.
Yet the date of the sought after fight doesn't give him enough to heal, and one stiff blow could instantly kill him.
He bears this in mind and wilfully responds to the challenge, death in the ring being infinitely preferable than a lifetime passed having disappointed his fans.
His coach, trainer, and lover eventually accept his decision, having expressed their discontent, and realized their aid is paramount.
But the ring doesn't hold the Russian Hammer's (Aleksey Chadov) fiercest foe, as thugs try to force him to disreputably dive.
Egocentric extremities.
Illicit, unsound.
Patriots and psychotics perniciously square off to wield Russia's HAMMER (Versus), honesty and deception contending therewithin.
It's bare bones, built, direct, no pussyfooting around agendas with esoteric mumbo jumbo, just good guys stuck dealin' with wickedness, making the most of it, as a dedicated matter of principle.
It impeccably sticks to its straightforward format and actively achieves its combative goals.
I can't fault it for that.
But if Rocky's in Moscow, this film's still far east of the Urals, not to say writer Oleg Malovichko can't also reach such a goal, but it will take some time, more passion, deeper digging, and a laid-back blizzard stew.
Winter's coming.
Plenty of time to sit back and write.
*Original title, Versus.
Yet the date of the sought after fight doesn't give him enough to heal, and one stiff blow could instantly kill him.
He bears this in mind and wilfully responds to the challenge, death in the ring being infinitely preferable than a lifetime passed having disappointed his fans.
His coach, trainer, and lover eventually accept his decision, having expressed their discontent, and realized their aid is paramount.
But the ring doesn't hold the Russian Hammer's (Aleksey Chadov) fiercest foe, as thugs try to force him to disreputably dive.
Egocentric extremities.
Illicit, unsound.
Patriots and psychotics perniciously square off to wield Russia's HAMMER (Versus), honesty and deception contending therewithin.
It's bare bones, built, direct, no pussyfooting around agendas with esoteric mumbo jumbo, just good guys stuck dealin' with wickedness, making the most of it, as a dedicated matter of principle.
It impeccably sticks to its straightforward format and actively achieves its combative goals.
I can't fault it for that.
But if Rocky's in Moscow, this film's still far east of the Urals, not to say writer Oleg Malovichko can't also reach such a goal, but it will take some time, more passion, deeper digging, and a laid-back blizzard stew.
Winter's coming.
Plenty of time to sit back and write.
*Original title, Versus.
Friday, November 18, 2016
Moonlight
Locked-down in isolation but technically free, young Little (Alex Hibbert/Ashton Sanders/Trevante Rhodes) moves between drug abusing mother (Naomie Harris) and violently dismissive classmates as gracefully as he can, finding refuge with a childless local dealer (Mahershala Ali as Juan) whose guilty conscience and ironical good nature suggest he accommodate the boy.
An oasis helplessly haunted, Little still attends school, and the bullies still bully as he ages, as he grows, as he matures.
One way to stop bullying is to fight back but they travel in packs in Barry Jenkins's Moonlight.
Cowardice.
Little (now Chiron) does bash the most vicious of them in one day with a chair after which the police take him away, suffer in silence or respond and go to prison, not much of a childhood for the peaceful gay fatherless African American kid.
Moonlight is a sad film, a resilient film, a crucial film, a sophisticated film.
A simple story on the surface which fluently presents coy critiques of cultural codes without recourse to sentiment while patiently blending in focus, asking why is difference so frightening?, why do so many instinctively suppress it?
Difference spices things up to add alternative flavours which merge and diverge with eye-opening wonder.
Adventure.
It's as simple as bread.
Different types of bread.
White bread tastes good but one day you might try brown, then rye, then pumpernickel, then multigrain.
Then you have 5 options rather than one for making a sandwich, and can experiment to find out what tastes best, for you, on each different type.
If you have to prove you're tough by forming a group to violently suppress another or an individual, you aren't tough, you're pathetic.
If you're afraid of difference ask yourself why?, and try something new, something startling, like blue cheese or a strawberry shake.
Overcoming fears is what Men and Women do.
Took me a while to start loving olives and hot peppers.
Now I eat them all the time.
A lot of the gay people I've met are chill with a great sense of humour.
It makes for good conversation.
Not many films make as serious an impact as Moonlight while just simply presenting a story.
It's profoundly chill considering the tale it's telling.
The highs and lows.
The emptiness.
Crack ruins communities, ruins lives, makes a sewer of superlatives, which otherwise may thrive.
There's no simple solution.
Besides giving up crack.
And refusing to sell it.
If that's the economy something's seriously wrong.
It does not have to be that way.
And takes courage to turn things around.
Bravery.
Dedication.
Understanding.
Will.
In the great wide open.
Moonlight states this without saying a word.
Blessed.
An oasis helplessly haunted, Little still attends school, and the bullies still bully as he ages, as he grows, as he matures.
One way to stop bullying is to fight back but they travel in packs in Barry Jenkins's Moonlight.
Cowardice.
Little (now Chiron) does bash the most vicious of them in one day with a chair after which the police take him away, suffer in silence or respond and go to prison, not much of a childhood for the peaceful gay fatherless African American kid.
Moonlight is a sad film, a resilient film, a crucial film, a sophisticated film.
A simple story on the surface which fluently presents coy critiques of cultural codes without recourse to sentiment while patiently blending in focus, asking why is difference so frightening?, why do so many instinctively suppress it?
Difference spices things up to add alternative flavours which merge and diverge with eye-opening wonder.
Adventure.
It's as simple as bread.
Different types of bread.
White bread tastes good but one day you might try brown, then rye, then pumpernickel, then multigrain.
Then you have 5 options rather than one for making a sandwich, and can experiment to find out what tastes best, for you, on each different type.
If you have to prove you're tough by forming a group to violently suppress another or an individual, you aren't tough, you're pathetic.
If you're afraid of difference ask yourself why?, and try something new, something startling, like blue cheese or a strawberry shake.
Overcoming fears is what Men and Women do.
Took me a while to start loving olives and hot peppers.
Now I eat them all the time.
A lot of the gay people I've met are chill with a great sense of humour.
It makes for good conversation.
Not many films make as serious an impact as Moonlight while just simply presenting a story.
It's profoundly chill considering the tale it's telling.
The highs and lows.
The emptiness.
Crack ruins communities, ruins lives, makes a sewer of superlatives, which otherwise may thrive.
There's no simple solution.
Besides giving up crack.
And refusing to sell it.
If that's the economy something's seriously wrong.
It does not have to be that way.
And takes courage to turn things around.
Bravery.
Dedication.
Understanding.
Will.
In the great wide open.
Moonlight states this without saying a word.
Blessed.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
The Jungle Book
Deep in the heart of fabled India, drought threatens the health and well-being of a community of beasts, hearty individuals cognizant of the convivial, gathering together to fragilely frisk, like the Whos in Whoville, scarcity doesn't cause them alarm, preoccupations with preponderance secondary to the cultivation of conviction, yet the fiercest of them all, who defines himself through violence, refuses to allow a human child to live amongst them, Shere Khan (Idris Elba) arrogantly proclaiming that he will hunt down and kill young Mowgli (Neel Sethi), who must immediately seek charitable human shelter.
Bagheera (Ben Kingsley) assists, yet Khan swiftly separates them, Mowgli barely able to escape, before eventually finding a friend in Baloo (Bill Murray).
Does Baloo exploit Mowgli's labour?
I suppose he does ask the child to dangerously acquire a gargantuan supply of honey, but Mowgli is also free to indiscriminately gorge himself, and, seeing how he lives in the jungle, far away from the safety of labour codes and stable food supplies, he must fend for himself to survive. If said fending also benefits someone committed to protecting him, who doesn't horde everything, I'd say that doesn't qualify as grossly exploited child labour, rather as a mutually beneficial pact, accompanied by a character building challenge, that mischievously bears fruit.
Loved Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book.
There's nimble minor character development which fluidly moves the narrative along, providing comedic depth to veer and crest and make the film more appealing to family audiences.
Baloo is in fact a sloth bear!
I thought the elephants were used remarkably well. They're given a special role within the jungle's culture which provides their peaceful endeavours with distinction and respect as it should considering their size and intelligence.
Hopefully such a role will help convince people to stop poaching them.
Their slow reproductive tendencies cannot bounce back from the current rates at which they are being cruelly slaughtered.
The climax of the film is well thought out. You have two characters dividing the community, Shere Khan overtly and Mowgli in/directly.
The animals fear humanity's red flower (fire) because when poorly monitored it burns down their forest, their home. Yet Mowgli realizes he can use the red flower to defeat Khan and then challenges him with it. When Mowgli realizes he has alienated his community and proven Khan's anti-humanistic point by accidentally starting a fire with the red flower, he suddenly douses the flame, thereby rejoining his people by sacrificing his advantage.
They then bravely and unsuccessfully attempt to protect him, so he must use his mental agility rather than a weapon to challenge Khan.
Mowgli is like the ultimate environmentalist, constantly finding ways to establish a harmonious balance with nature through the art of lusciously landscaping, symbiotically swashbuckling his natural gifts in the same way that Baloo, Bagheera, and the other denizens use theirs.
I thought Kaa (Scarlett Johansson) would have had more screen time but her cameo does provide crucial insights into Mowgli's past.
I found it odd that Shere Khan stopped hunting Mowgli and decided to terrorize his wolf pack instead, thereby hoping to force him to return.
Why didn't he just keep hunting?
I suppose that may have made the film too dark.
Too dark for young families.
Also loved the Monkey Kingdom.
Need to see this again.
Bagheera (Ben Kingsley) assists, yet Khan swiftly separates them, Mowgli barely able to escape, before eventually finding a friend in Baloo (Bill Murray).
Does Baloo exploit Mowgli's labour?
I suppose he does ask the child to dangerously acquire a gargantuan supply of honey, but Mowgli is also free to indiscriminately gorge himself, and, seeing how he lives in the jungle, far away from the safety of labour codes and stable food supplies, he must fend for himself to survive. If said fending also benefits someone committed to protecting him, who doesn't horde everything, I'd say that doesn't qualify as grossly exploited child labour, rather as a mutually beneficial pact, accompanied by a character building challenge, that mischievously bears fruit.
Loved Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book.
There's nimble minor character development which fluidly moves the narrative along, providing comedic depth to veer and crest and make the film more appealing to family audiences.
Baloo is in fact a sloth bear!
I thought the elephants were used remarkably well. They're given a special role within the jungle's culture which provides their peaceful endeavours with distinction and respect as it should considering their size and intelligence.
Hopefully such a role will help convince people to stop poaching them.
Their slow reproductive tendencies cannot bounce back from the current rates at which they are being cruelly slaughtered.
The climax of the film is well thought out. You have two characters dividing the community, Shere Khan overtly and Mowgli in/directly.
The animals fear humanity's red flower (fire) because when poorly monitored it burns down their forest, their home. Yet Mowgli realizes he can use the red flower to defeat Khan and then challenges him with it. When Mowgli realizes he has alienated his community and proven Khan's anti-humanistic point by accidentally starting a fire with the red flower, he suddenly douses the flame, thereby rejoining his people by sacrificing his advantage.
They then bravely and unsuccessfully attempt to protect him, so he must use his mental agility rather than a weapon to challenge Khan.
Mowgli is like the ultimate environmentalist, constantly finding ways to establish a harmonious balance with nature through the art of lusciously landscaping, symbiotically swashbuckling his natural gifts in the same way that Baloo, Bagheera, and the other denizens use theirs.
I thought Kaa (Scarlett Johansson) would have had more screen time but her cameo does provide crucial insights into Mowgli's past.
I found it odd that Shere Khan stopped hunting Mowgli and decided to terrorize his wolf pack instead, thereby hoping to force him to return.
Why didn't he just keep hunting?
I suppose that may have made the film too dark.
Too dark for young families.
Also loved the Monkey Kingdom.
Need to see this again.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Embrasse-moi comme tu m'aimes (Kiss Me Like You Love It)
Like a warm Summer's eve nestled lakeside in the Laurentians, raccoons preparing to scavenge, beavers swimming by, loved ones relaxing as they digest a hearty meal, a classic novel open to page 1, vinous declarations, campfire considerations, children imaginatively inquiring, the bugs having disappeared in recent weeks, marshmallows bountifully beckoning, caught-up in your partner's loving gaze, loons distantly calling, owls preparing to emphatically hoot, neighbours tossing the frisbee, an ephemeral sense of joyful permanence, André Forcier's Embrasse-moi comme tu m'aimes (Kiss Me Like You Love It), awaiting inside, ready, for comedic consumption.
The film itself may be more dysfunctional than that, somewhat more chaotic, a Québec still governed by religious principles during World War II, as the seeds of the Quiet Revolution were tenaciously sewn.
Lampooning mass marketed attempts to glorify war efforts, happy-go-lucky affairs which grossly dilute apocalyptic inclinations, perhaps designed to critique homegrown racist discourses as well, the pure French race being mentioned several times, or to sweeten the tone of nationalist agendas, as if Québec was fighting two wars concurrently in the 40s, the film wildly habituates to freely state je ne sais quoi, phantasmagorically theorizing with ir/rational repose.
This is buried in a bizarro incestuous love story wherein which twins desperately desire one another yet can't express their forbidden lust.
It's as if the endearing flair for trouble making found in films like Vic + Flo ont vu un ours and 1er Amour found its way into another underground film that boldly reversed the polarities while imploding to create a bumbling campy romp which formally satirizes mass markets while seeming mainstream nevertheless, like you have a bowl of chilli in front of you and every time you eat a spoonful it tastes like something remarkably different, hash browns, apples, kimchee, carrots, whatever.
Perhaps Forcier never thought Embrasse-moi would catch on so he turned it into a mock-American mainstream debacle (complete with an all-star Québecois cast) to diabolically outwit its hypothetical predestination?
If so well done.
Heavy on the sleaze while remaining robustly solemn.
To laugh or cry?
Enigmatic emoting.
Historical mayhem.
The film itself may be more dysfunctional than that, somewhat more chaotic, a Québec still governed by religious principles during World War II, as the seeds of the Quiet Revolution were tenaciously sewn.
Lampooning mass marketed attempts to glorify war efforts, happy-go-lucky affairs which grossly dilute apocalyptic inclinations, perhaps designed to critique homegrown racist discourses as well, the pure French race being mentioned several times, or to sweeten the tone of nationalist agendas, as if Québec was fighting two wars concurrently in the 40s, the film wildly habituates to freely state je ne sais quoi, phantasmagorically theorizing with ir/rational repose.
This is buried in a bizarro incestuous love story wherein which twins desperately desire one another yet can't express their forbidden lust.
It's as if the endearing flair for trouble making found in films like Vic + Flo ont vu un ours and 1er Amour found its way into another underground film that boldly reversed the polarities while imploding to create a bumbling campy romp which formally satirizes mass markets while seeming mainstream nevertheless, like you have a bowl of chilli in front of you and every time you eat a spoonful it tastes like something remarkably different, hash browns, apples, kimchee, carrots, whatever.
Perhaps Forcier never thought Embrasse-moi would catch on so he turned it into a mock-American mainstream debacle (complete with an all-star Québecois cast) to diabolically outwit its hypothetical predestination?
If so well done.
Heavy on the sleaze while remaining robustly solemn.
To laugh or cry?
Enigmatic emoting.
Historical mayhem.
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
Le Pacte des anges
Emancipating encounter, alternative exemplars of cyclically violent circumstances serendipitously clashing in conversations clipped enraged, experiential gruel fuelling uncaged frustrations ala coerced skittish getaway, recklessly bold, blends young, old, unscolded harsh penalties discussed, erupting, penitential precarious predicament, absolving on the run, conscience (quaint) in crucible, materialized beyond the grave, ironic peaceful relations, past lives sunlit shade.
Fates or fortunes fittingly exfoliating to strive lost in longing together for a few.
Mourning steeped in bitters.
Total feminine absence.
Stark cruel loneliness momentarily fades in Richard Angers's Le Pacte des anges, as a man's anger comes back to poetically assault him, surreal justice mischievously at play, a chance for redemption desperately diagnosing rigour, labour, pith, intent, ubiquitous laments, for regenerative heartache.
Grim and bleak origins gradually building towards something beyond destitute survival, materialism buckling under imaginative pressures which environmentally enliven a soul left for dead.
Ungulated indents.
Candlelit coyote.
It's a great film which tenderly examines impoverished spirits to enlighten lively reckonings with fleeting thermal grace.
The accidental and the predestined metaphorically aligning to shelter abstract thought, generations abashed to rebalance conceptions, dialogues taut and trending, traversing wild uncertainties.
Moose really are beautiful when they're dashing through the woods.
It looks like they might collapse with each outstretched hoof, but they know exactly where they're going and precisely where they've been.
I almost fell down the stairs today.
Not really.
Could of though, I suppose.
Smile.
Fates or fortunes fittingly exfoliating to strive lost in longing together for a few.
Mourning steeped in bitters.
Total feminine absence.
Stark cruel loneliness momentarily fades in Richard Angers's Le Pacte des anges, as a man's anger comes back to poetically assault him, surreal justice mischievously at play, a chance for redemption desperately diagnosing rigour, labour, pith, intent, ubiquitous laments, for regenerative heartache.
Grim and bleak origins gradually building towards something beyond destitute survival, materialism buckling under imaginative pressures which environmentally enliven a soul left for dead.
Ungulated indents.
Candlelit coyote.
It's a great film which tenderly examines impoverished spirits to enlighten lively reckonings with fleeting thermal grace.
The accidental and the predestined metaphorically aligning to shelter abstract thought, generations abashed to rebalance conceptions, dialogues taut and trending, traversing wild uncertainties.
Moose really are beautiful when they're dashing through the woods.
It looks like they might collapse with each outstretched hoof, but they know exactly where they're going and precisely where they've been.
I almost fell down the stairs today.
Not really.
Could of though, I suppose.
Smile.
Monday, November 14, 2016
The Nice Guys
I'm thinking there was a time when you wouldn't write a script where teenagers attend parties hosted by the porn industry and wind up having sexually explicit conversations while innocently searching for clues.
It's so daring . . . the novelty . . .
Maybe not.
I've never seen anything like this before anyways, presented like you're ordering a coffee or making a dinner reservation, just kind of chucked in there, like Bukowski got hold of Dora the Explorer and decided to attach mismatched detectives.
A United States Department of Justice official (Kim Basinger as Judith Kutner) wants to cause trouble for the porn industry so her daughter defiantly stars in an adult film.
Mom then hires thugs to kill her.
Prurient pageantry?
Not without my freedom!
I shouldn't critique a film solely because of its inappropriate salacious propensities, I guess, trying to play ball here, but The Nice Guys does flop consistently throughout, beginning slowly, never really generating any momentum, and then falling far short of a thrilling climax.
There's no chemistry between Russell Crowe (Jackson Healy) and Ryan Gosling (Holland March) who struggle to enliven the gravelly script and appear quite awkward in their attempts to do so.
They look for Kutner's daughter (Margaret Qualley as Amelia) and occasionally exploit some insightful sleuthing, but it's blind luck that obliviously moves everything forward and makes the film seem cheap and easy.
Healy's marriage is also introduced as a theme and then forgotten.
No one stands out besides March's daughter (Angourie Rice as Holly) and after seeing how the film uses her character you feel disgusted even mentioning that she's part of the film.
But if you like staggered not-so-well-thought-out jokes and critiques of ethical engagements which champion porno you may like the The Nice Guys notwithstanding.
How did Keith David (Older Guy) end up in this?
Wrenching.
It's so daring . . . the novelty . . .
Maybe not.
I've never seen anything like this before anyways, presented like you're ordering a coffee or making a dinner reservation, just kind of chucked in there, like Bukowski got hold of Dora the Explorer and decided to attach mismatched detectives.
A United States Department of Justice official (Kim Basinger as Judith Kutner) wants to cause trouble for the porn industry so her daughter defiantly stars in an adult film.
Mom then hires thugs to kill her.
Prurient pageantry?
Not without my freedom!
I shouldn't critique a film solely because of its inappropriate salacious propensities, I guess, trying to play ball here, but The Nice Guys does flop consistently throughout, beginning slowly, never really generating any momentum, and then falling far short of a thrilling climax.
There's no chemistry between Russell Crowe (Jackson Healy) and Ryan Gosling (Holland March) who struggle to enliven the gravelly script and appear quite awkward in their attempts to do so.
They look for Kutner's daughter (Margaret Qualley as Amelia) and occasionally exploit some insightful sleuthing, but it's blind luck that obliviously moves everything forward and makes the film seem cheap and easy.
Healy's marriage is also introduced as a theme and then forgotten.
No one stands out besides March's daughter (Angourie Rice as Holly) and after seeing how the film uses her character you feel disgusted even mentioning that she's part of the film.
But if you like staggered not-so-well-thought-out jokes and critiques of ethical engagements which champion porno you may like the The Nice Guys notwithstanding.
How did Keith David (Older Guy) end up in this?
Wrenching.
Friday, November 11, 2016
American Pastoral
There are a lot of businesses out there with a socially constructive conscious, owners and workers labouring together as the decades pass to maintain a comfortable undiscriminatory atmosphere that is profitable for everyone involved.
Stereotyping every business as one which voraciously exploits workers is as shortsighted as dismissing a race or ethnicity based upon ridiculous fears that have no logical foundation.
If your country has a level playing field, equal opportunity for its citizens, available jobs, and workers and employers seeking social justice together, democracy can flourish, and health and well-being can intelligently prosper.
Communal affluence resulting from sure and steady productive will isn't some lofty unattainable goal to be cynically dismissed, American Pastoral familially examining this point to nurture its resiliency, its tenacity, even if it doesn't depict activists in the most flattering way.
I've never met activists like the ones in this film but perhaps they're out there.
Business owner Swede Levov (Ewan McGregor) does have a social conscious, is concerned about his multiracial workforce, and legitimately cares about their continuing prosperity, the kind of manager who constructively listens while making decisions.
His daughter rebels however, taking the side of the impoverished but taking things too far.
There's a stark difference between civil disobedience and terrorism and if your activist group doesn't understand this distinction it's best to forthrightly abandon them.
Merry Levov (Dakota Fanning) doesn't abandon them and her loving supportive network is crushed by her actions, too much emotion without enough thought, she had the opportunity to make the same difference her father had, had she been willing to listen to alternative points of view, rather than violently enraging people who perhaps would have listened.
American Pastoral isn't the greatest film but it does give a voice to the socially constructive aspect of responsible levelheaded capitalistic engagement that is often overlooked in mainstream cinema (with perhaps the worst casting of a domestic couple ever).
Creating a legit business that enables your family and your workforce to live comfortable lives is a beautiful thing, a wonderful thing, a democratic thing.
And who really knows what Trump will do.
He seems unpredictable and wild and vindictive but that could have just been a strategy he used to win votes, an odd strategy but one that worked alongside his hopes to bring prosperity back to America.
A lot of people are worried about how his irritable nature will diplomatically translate but all he really has to do to prove many of his critics wrong is sit back and be statespersonlike, listen to advisers when making decisions, and act prudently without flying off the handle.
That's not that difficult to do.
Especially if he isn't constantly provoked.
On the plus side he doesn't really owe anyone anything besides the people who voted him in. A lot of Republicans seem to hate him as much as the Democrats, he's insulted many, many big players on both sides, and doesn't seem bound by political dogma, at all. He doesn't have to scratch backs with paybacks and bivouacs. He has a blank slate and could really try to improve the lives of many impoverished Americans in a best case scenario.
He's the classic outsider, the stranger, the dark horse.
I don't know how else to look at it.
He may not sign the TPP.
He might genuinely care about finding good jobs for hardworking people.
I don't think stranger things have happened.
But maybe they will.
Into the unknown.
I'm hoping he shocks everyone by being boring.
Could have all been part of his plan.
Craziness.
*Did the Republicans create the anti-Republican Republican candidate to win back the Whitehouse? I wonder.
Stereotyping every business as one which voraciously exploits workers is as shortsighted as dismissing a race or ethnicity based upon ridiculous fears that have no logical foundation.
If your country has a level playing field, equal opportunity for its citizens, available jobs, and workers and employers seeking social justice together, democracy can flourish, and health and well-being can intelligently prosper.
Communal affluence resulting from sure and steady productive will isn't some lofty unattainable goal to be cynically dismissed, American Pastoral familially examining this point to nurture its resiliency, its tenacity, even if it doesn't depict activists in the most flattering way.
I've never met activists like the ones in this film but perhaps they're out there.
Business owner Swede Levov (Ewan McGregor) does have a social conscious, is concerned about his multiracial workforce, and legitimately cares about their continuing prosperity, the kind of manager who constructively listens while making decisions.
His daughter rebels however, taking the side of the impoverished but taking things too far.
There's a stark difference between civil disobedience and terrorism and if your activist group doesn't understand this distinction it's best to forthrightly abandon them.
Merry Levov (Dakota Fanning) doesn't abandon them and her loving supportive network is crushed by her actions, too much emotion without enough thought, she had the opportunity to make the same difference her father had, had she been willing to listen to alternative points of view, rather than violently enraging people who perhaps would have listened.
American Pastoral isn't the greatest film but it does give a voice to the socially constructive aspect of responsible levelheaded capitalistic engagement that is often overlooked in mainstream cinema (with perhaps the worst casting of a domestic couple ever).
Creating a legit business that enables your family and your workforce to live comfortable lives is a beautiful thing, a wonderful thing, a democratic thing.
And who really knows what Trump will do.
He seems unpredictable and wild and vindictive but that could have just been a strategy he used to win votes, an odd strategy but one that worked alongside his hopes to bring prosperity back to America.
A lot of people are worried about how his irritable nature will diplomatically translate but all he really has to do to prove many of his critics wrong is sit back and be statespersonlike, listen to advisers when making decisions, and act prudently without flying off the handle.
That's not that difficult to do.
Especially if he isn't constantly provoked.
On the plus side he doesn't really owe anyone anything besides the people who voted him in. A lot of Republicans seem to hate him as much as the Democrats, he's insulted many, many big players on both sides, and doesn't seem bound by political dogma, at all. He doesn't have to scratch backs with paybacks and bivouacs. He has a blank slate and could really try to improve the lives of many impoverished Americans in a best case scenario.
He's the classic outsider, the stranger, the dark horse.
I don't know how else to look at it.
He may not sign the TPP.
He might genuinely care about finding good jobs for hardworking people.
I don't think stranger things have happened.
But maybe they will.
Into the unknown.
I'm hoping he shocks everyone by being boring.
Could have all been part of his plan.
Craziness.
*Did the Republicans create the anti-Republican Republican candidate to win back the Whitehouse? I wonder.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Doctor Strange
Mind and body.
Interrelations.
Descartes aside, the only real indication that my body has a source code independent of my mind is apparent every time I arrive home and have to use the washroom. I can be out for a while successfully holding back with mind over matter but once my body detects an outlet in close proximity it vehemently takes control of my upcoming accelerated actions.
With sharp immediacy.
And irrepressible distinction.
Turning this peculiar relationship into something spellbinding, into something interdimensional, requires a unique set of skills begrudgingly acquired by one Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), which is more than just a rushed formulaic addition to the Marvel armada, don't get me wrong, I love the formula, it's a fun film to watch but doesn't measure up to Captain America: Civil War (with another 45 minutes it may have [Strange's conversion and training passes by too quickly and the intriguing practical applications of the supernatural are pinned-down by the action {too much brawn, not enough brain}]), it's also a metaphorical guide to the spiritual benefits of rigorously studying a subject or subjects that inspire you, whether they be sporting, artistic, scientific, or rhetorical, game tapes, books, experiments or debates imaginatively generating alternative realities for the eager student/teacher/coach/professional from which they can create agile plays, literary allegories, locked-down lightning strikes, or stunning arguments, synthetically, analytically, fictionally, environmentally, as do the Ancient One's (Tilda Swinton) pupils in Doctor Strange, with intergalactic active primrose.
The film metaimaginatively converses with technology to reflect upon spirit and multidimensionally interpose.
Macrodiscourses of empire and conquest having been thoroughly exhausted and replaced by micropastures of cerebral cyberspatialities, real world style, it seems that these are strange times indeed, which Marvel has entertainingly narrativized ad stock.
With the old school tradition of universal conquest still worked in.
Making millions off an American Honey style blockbuster.
That would be, philosophically humungous.
21st century style.
Loved the library.
*No Big Bang Theory cameos?
Interrelations.
Descartes aside, the only real indication that my body has a source code independent of my mind is apparent every time I arrive home and have to use the washroom. I can be out for a while successfully holding back with mind over matter but once my body detects an outlet in close proximity it vehemently takes control of my upcoming accelerated actions.
With sharp immediacy.
And irrepressible distinction.
Turning this peculiar relationship into something spellbinding, into something interdimensional, requires a unique set of skills begrudgingly acquired by one Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), which is more than just a rushed formulaic addition to the Marvel armada, don't get me wrong, I love the formula, it's a fun film to watch but doesn't measure up to Captain America: Civil War (with another 45 minutes it may have [Strange's conversion and training passes by too quickly and the intriguing practical applications of the supernatural are pinned-down by the action {too much brawn, not enough brain}]), it's also a metaphorical guide to the spiritual benefits of rigorously studying a subject or subjects that inspire you, whether they be sporting, artistic, scientific, or rhetorical, game tapes, books, experiments or debates imaginatively generating alternative realities for the eager student/teacher/coach/professional from which they can create agile plays, literary allegories, locked-down lightning strikes, or stunning arguments, synthetically, analytically, fictionally, environmentally, as do the Ancient One's (Tilda Swinton) pupils in Doctor Strange, with intergalactic active primrose.
The film metaimaginatively converses with technology to reflect upon spirit and multidimensionally interpose.
Macrodiscourses of empire and conquest having been thoroughly exhausted and replaced by micropastures of cerebral cyberspatialities, real world style, it seems that these are strange times indeed, which Marvel has entertainingly narrativized ad stock.
With the old school tradition of universal conquest still worked in.
Making millions off an American Honey style blockbuster.
That would be, philosophically humungous.
21st century style.
Loved the library.
*No Big Bang Theory cameos?
Friday, November 4, 2016
American Honey
Impoverished entrepreneurial acquisitive camaraderie, credulity, ebulliency, buoyantly wavering breezy undulations, leave it behind and quest curtsey Carolina, viscously reacting to consummate best practice, jousting Jack/Jill, expressly un/fulfilled, expedient liaisons assailing partnershipped fluencies like soul crushing levelling enraging surveillance, betrothals, portfolios, necessitous catalysts ephemerally veiling effacements, attainments, relaxing laid-back chill calm and spatial, their environment stoking anthropomorphic sage, beatific verse terrestrially scolded fleece, blanketed flair rustic resonance, periodic pillows of wind, a rest, jests, caressed tranquility, ecstatic existence, wool undershadowed mellow.
Films like this don't come around often.
Devices you'd find in so many just sort of there for the partaking, not concerned with generating a thought or emotion, more like evocative immediacy living day to day, explosive yet stoic, every 24 hour cycle rewriting codes in kinetic cuneiformed western wrestlin' peach, exotic mundane snuggly fitting docs, the natural world in ribbitting gentle whiles firebright.
I love what Shia LaBeouf(Jake) has done with his career.
Sasha Lane(Star) also impresses.
With poetic fever in erratic fathoms, American Honey plucks and pulsates like unpasteurized raw ambrosia, precepts, dusk till dawn.
Moonshine.
Self-perpetuating brisk momentum.
Quintessential cultural fuel.
Favourite film of 2016 so far.
Another gritty romance.
Films like this don't come around often.
Devices you'd find in so many just sort of there for the partaking, not concerned with generating a thought or emotion, more like evocative immediacy living day to day, explosive yet stoic, every 24 hour cycle rewriting codes in kinetic cuneiformed western wrestlin' peach, exotic mundane snuggly fitting docs, the natural world in ribbitting gentle whiles firebright.
I love what Shia LaBeouf(Jake) has done with his career.
Sasha Lane(Star) also impresses.
With poetic fever in erratic fathoms, American Honey plucks and pulsates like unpasteurized raw ambrosia, precepts, dusk till dawn.
Moonshine.
Self-perpetuating brisk momentum.
Quintessential cultural fuel.
Favourite film of 2016 so far.
Another gritty romance.
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden)
Islands of ancient salacious mystique, coveted opulence, irreverent revelations, strategic planning saracen starship, nomadic nomenclature, obsidian overtures spite notwithstanding, lovers leverage contend and lust, tantamount condesa consented trust, delicatessen, octopi, prosciutto, exclusive events held-up hog ties, serendipitous spies, orphans, lives spent in coerced carnal obsession belie wanderlust, trips at sea, unsaddled steeds, a maestro's mercurially manifested misgivings extemporaneously billowing with contemplative vague sorrowful passage, tacit knowledge shimmering in smoke, iridescent stardust stray, fastened.
Sook-Hee's (Kim Tae-ri) innocence ignites plans and projects pristine, poached and sincere passions, cleared tidings focal.
Pinpointed.
Through the breach within reach cloaked and steeped pressures vital.
A plan to steal an old man's fortune multigrainedly awry.
Epic in its orchestrations, Chan-wook Park's Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden) made me think of Davids Lean and Lynch.
Within true love overwhelms calculation to rapturously materialize mint ethereal soul.
Secluded deep in forests green verdant luscious able.
Hauntingly accessible inject garlic gore.
Folklore.
Stationary.
Sook-Hee's (Kim Tae-ri) innocence ignites plans and projects pristine, poached and sincere passions, cleared tidings focal.
Pinpointed.
Through the breach within reach cloaked and steeped pressures vital.
A plan to steal an old man's fortune multigrainedly awry.
Epic in its orchestrations, Chan-wook Park's Ah-ga-ssi (The Handmaiden) made me think of Davids Lean and Lynch.
Within true love overwhelms calculation to rapturously materialize mint ethereal soul.
Secluded deep in forests green verdant luscious able.
Hauntingly accessible inject garlic gore.
Folklore.
Stationary.
Friday, October 28, 2016
Blair Witch
Disbelieving ingenuous pups curiously travel to the woods at play, bark bark, in search of a sister long lost in legend, guided by hoaxes on trial by fire, unaware of omnipresent psychotic denizens, gleefully clattering while setting up camp.
And what to make of the legend, of the menace, the malevolence, terrorizing the Black Hills Forest for centuries, misguided punishments generating extremes eternal, no reasoning, no guilt, just blind infinite pernicious ambition, for anyone who comes near, for everyone entering the forsaken domain?
Be good they say, well-mannered, tip-top.
Criticize they say, contradict, rise up.
Occupy middle ground, regard each encounter as a fresh set of downs, proceed seriously, jovially, mischievously, passively, formidably, keep that yap shut, freely express every thought, beware of unknown exhilarations of maniacal metaphorical interpretations of attired discourse, as you seek that coupling, that panoramic, as punishment after punishment punishes your unwilful disobedience, and the subjects you choose to stitch and braise.
And flay.
The weather.
It was nice today.
Talk more.
Revolting.
Why are you so quiet?
You must be a snob.
I suppose the film's alright.
Not much to it besides what's to be expected and a clash between locals and outsiders.
And drones.
Classic let's do it again and cash-in.
Contextually.
Indubitably.
Happy Halloween!
And what to make of the legend, of the menace, the malevolence, terrorizing the Black Hills Forest for centuries, misguided punishments generating extremes eternal, no reasoning, no guilt, just blind infinite pernicious ambition, for anyone who comes near, for everyone entering the forsaken domain?
Be good they say, well-mannered, tip-top.
Criticize they say, contradict, rise up.
Occupy middle ground, regard each encounter as a fresh set of downs, proceed seriously, jovially, mischievously, passively, formidably, keep that yap shut, freely express every thought, beware of unknown exhilarations of maniacal metaphorical interpretations of attired discourse, as you seek that coupling, that panoramic, as punishment after punishment punishes your unwilful disobedience, and the subjects you choose to stitch and braise.
And flay.
The weather.
It was nice today.
Talk more.
Revolting.
Why are you so quiet?
You must be a snob.
I suppose the film's alright.
Not much to it besides what's to be expected and a clash between locals and outsiders.
And drones.
Classic let's do it again and cash-in.
Contextually.
Indubitably.
Happy Halloween!
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
The Accountant
Uncontrollable utterances, aggressive paternal instruction, autistic militaristic brilliance, humanistically applied, intrepidly cast and driven.
Playing dangerous games with hardboiled foes, Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck) accounts for plutocratic transgressions, willing to humbly assist if lucratively cont(r)acted, able to respond if treacherously played.
The autonomous superlative conscientious individual, codified personal ethics guiding each decision, reified in action, materialized impactions, his giant heart herbaceously beating, his exhaustive knowledge saliently secreting.
He's badass just the facts can chillax everlasting.
Multicaring.
Wizarding throes.
The Accountant enlightens a thoughtful entertaining romantic intellectual thrilling combative gridiron, smoothly intertwining these elements without tritely enumerating sentimental calculi, logically rationalizing while artistically expressing, its quotient quotidianly qualified, with a healthy dose of algebraic leisure.
Guilt or innocence haunts the narrative with critically productive profusion, like an ambiguous circulatory system cloaked in polarized exhaust.
Gradations.
Laconic ledgers, chilling checks and balances.
Sure and steady.
Compacted.
In the black.
Extract.
React.
Counteract.
Subtract.
On track.
Syntax.
Playing dangerous games with hardboiled foes, Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck) accounts for plutocratic transgressions, willing to humbly assist if lucratively cont(r)acted, able to respond if treacherously played.
The autonomous superlative conscientious individual, codified personal ethics guiding each decision, reified in action, materialized impactions, his giant heart herbaceously beating, his exhaustive knowledge saliently secreting.
He's badass just the facts can chillax everlasting.
Multicaring.
Wizarding throes.
The Accountant enlightens a thoughtful entertaining romantic intellectual thrilling combative gridiron, smoothly intertwining these elements without tritely enumerating sentimental calculi, logically rationalizing while artistically expressing, its quotient quotidianly qualified, with a healthy dose of algebraic leisure.
Guilt or innocence haunts the narrative with critically productive profusion, like an ambiguous circulatory system cloaked in polarized exhaust.
Gradations.
Laconic ledgers, chilling checks and balances.
Sure and steady.
Compacted.
In the black.
Extract.
React.
Counteract.
Subtract.
On track.
Syntax.
Friday, October 21, 2016
Two Lovers and a Bear
Isolated Northern ubiquitous unity, tumultuously tethered, erratically inundated, to immerse yourself in wills withstanding galavanting glacial inefficacious lugubrity, viscid amorous personal sacrifices stabilizing paramount im/permanent tidal proclivities, embraces pure and reckless harmonizing disputes like polished flagellated leather, seductively saddling sentimental sensations, buckled broncos buck, minus 30 below.
Inexhaustible lovers suddenly bitterly torn by news that one must head South, Roman (Dan DeHaan) derelict in distress, Lucy (Tatiana Maslany) aware of the agony.
Obscurity.
Frigid lunge frolic.
Kim Nguyen's Two Lovers and a Bear everlastingly exonerates to latch in longing, passionately deconstructing itinerancy, bashfully needleworking flukes.
She understands the terrain and smoothly works in several serious issues facing Northern communities without saccharinely besieging her wild poetic narrative.
Inflammatory psychiatry.
Testaments of true love.
Currently my favourite fictional act of love ever.
The past haunts them both.
Great things happening in English Canadian film.
It doesn't introduce you to the North or acclimatize you piecemeal, rather it farsightedly attunes the flight in distance, freeing the story from hewn explanations thereby.
Interiorized.
I would have handled the bear's introduction differently, his first scene with Roman anyways, a bit more time to groundwork the shock.
The abruptness integrates a cheese factor which fortunately melts as time passes.
Supernatural.
That's two romantic films I've loved this year.
That could be unprecedented.
Hearts hearthbeating.
Inexhaustible lovers suddenly bitterly torn by news that one must head South, Roman (Dan DeHaan) derelict in distress, Lucy (Tatiana Maslany) aware of the agony.
Obscurity.
Frigid lunge frolic.
Kim Nguyen's Two Lovers and a Bear everlastingly exonerates to latch in longing, passionately deconstructing itinerancy, bashfully needleworking flukes.
She understands the terrain and smoothly works in several serious issues facing Northern communities without saccharinely besieging her wild poetic narrative.
Inflammatory psychiatry.
Testaments of true love.
Currently my favourite fictional act of love ever.
The past haunts them both.
Great things happening in English Canadian film.
It doesn't introduce you to the North or acclimatize you piecemeal, rather it farsightedly attunes the flight in distance, freeing the story from hewn explanations thereby.
Interiorized.
I would have handled the bear's introduction differently, his first scene with Roman anyways, a bit more time to groundwork the shock.
The abruptness integrates a cheese factor which fortunately melts as time passes.
Supernatural.
That's two romantic films I've loved this year.
That could be unprecedented.
Hearts hearthbeating.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
The Girl on the Train
Woebegone coy wailing whispers, loves lost unavailing misters, crescents incoherent past, conjuring disclosed the tracks exacting causal punishments, the unignored passions hellbent mystery steeping pains in bellowed seemingly surficial celloed, instinct buried deep beneath each crushing dipsomanic beat, could she clue in expressly solve and vindicate romantic sprawls?
Wherewithal.
Consensual adulterous ramifications haunting Tom (Justin Theroux) and Anna's (Rebecca Ferguson) marriage, his ex-wife Rachel (Emily Blunt) obsessively views the putters of the wealthy suburb where she once happily lived as she passes by on the train every morning, like a saturated classics scholar trying to piece together the activities of an ancient civilization based solely upon tantalizingly loose scattered fragments, it soon becomes apparent that she has seen something, although it will take some fecund fogcutting to find out if she has indeed taken note.
Panoramic puzzling.
Cross worded deluge.
Tate Taylor's The Girl on the Train sounds comedic but is in fact deadly serious.
Tensions gradually increase as the baffled slowly fit the pieces together, jilted jigsawing jousts in stark rendition, autumnal auspicious reminiscence, engendered through firm resolve.
Acrimony.
Tenderness.
The film's well-structured, deftly integrating seemingly innocuous lives to suspensefully prepare you for myopic innocence with scenes that prevaricate in probability.
Multiple characters skilfully intertwined as Rachel's ride proceeds bush tag.
Hokey at points and Rachel's conclusion could have been lengthier.
Traditional comments on marital infidelity chimed.
Infatuated caprice.
Destructive blind ceremony.
Wherewithal.
Consensual adulterous ramifications haunting Tom (Justin Theroux) and Anna's (Rebecca Ferguson) marriage, his ex-wife Rachel (Emily Blunt) obsessively views the putters of the wealthy suburb where she once happily lived as she passes by on the train every morning, like a saturated classics scholar trying to piece together the activities of an ancient civilization based solely upon tantalizingly loose scattered fragments, it soon becomes apparent that she has seen something, although it will take some fecund fogcutting to find out if she has indeed taken note.
Panoramic puzzling.
Cross worded deluge.
Tate Taylor's The Girl on the Train sounds comedic but is in fact deadly serious.
Tensions gradually increase as the baffled slowly fit the pieces together, jilted jigsawing jousts in stark rendition, autumnal auspicious reminiscence, engendered through firm resolve.
Acrimony.
Tenderness.
The film's well-structured, deftly integrating seemingly innocuous lives to suspensefully prepare you for myopic innocence with scenes that prevaricate in probability.
Multiple characters skilfully intertwined as Rachel's ride proceeds bush tag.
Hokey at points and Rachel's conclusion could have been lengthier.
Traditional comments on marital infidelity chimed.
Infatuated caprice.
Destructive blind ceremony.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Snowden
A brilliant patriotic mind finds himself indefatigably immersed within an exponentially expanding parapanopticon, unwarranted global surveillance having become authoritatively sacrosanct, his personal analysis of the phenomenon leading to a subversive conclusion, as he bears in mind the preservation of civil liberties, and takes steps to educate the unsuspecting public.
The clandestine nature of his work up until his point of departure causes problems for his relationship with partner Lindsay Mills (Shailene Woodley [she does good work]), who advocates for social justice and played a constructive role in his sociopolitical transformation.
Edward Snowden, postmodern day Prometheus, his gift of knowledge mythologically cybersecuring distinct praise agon.
If the rule of law inviolably guarantees an individual's right to privacy, which as far as I'm aware it generally does in democratic countries, Snowden hasn't really broken the law but has rather courageously defended it.
His gift shifts paradigms depending upon how seriously people worry about the indents of their online footprints, enlightening awareness as opposed to litigation, inasmuch as no government would ever give up such power.
Best to pretend like you believe them if they ever say they have however.
Good time to start marketing online security packages that block big brother, even if they'll never work!
If ubiquitous international cybersurveillance isn't going anywhere, it seems like a mistake to leave Snowden outside the equation when he could play a leading role in its positive applications.
Whether or not he's broken the law is up for debate, a contention that many have likely made which could controversially generate the trial of the century.
Imagine how annoying it must have been when neighbouring tribes could light fires or only elite members of tribes could light fires and you/rs unfortunately could not?
I doubt tribal times were that exclusive.
The film functions more like an important tool for raising public awareness, for refining critical consciousnesses, than a stunning work of tragic intrigue.
Stock characterizations and sentimental stylizations depreciate its value although such schematics make such a game changing narrative easier to evaluate, lighthearted mass exposure potentially less distasteful than explosive stunts.
Citizenfour's more detailed.
With I could travel to the year 4000 and find out how Snowden's remembered.
Inveterate flame!
Atavistic icon.
*Good subject for the next Presidential debate.
The clandestine nature of his work up until his point of departure causes problems for his relationship with partner Lindsay Mills (Shailene Woodley [she does good work]), who advocates for social justice and played a constructive role in his sociopolitical transformation.
Edward Snowden, postmodern day Prometheus, his gift of knowledge mythologically cybersecuring distinct praise agon.
If the rule of law inviolably guarantees an individual's right to privacy, which as far as I'm aware it generally does in democratic countries, Snowden hasn't really broken the law but has rather courageously defended it.
His gift shifts paradigms depending upon how seriously people worry about the indents of their online footprints, enlightening awareness as opposed to litigation, inasmuch as no government would ever give up such power.
Best to pretend like you believe them if they ever say they have however.
Good time to start marketing online security packages that block big brother, even if they'll never work!
If ubiquitous international cybersurveillance isn't going anywhere, it seems like a mistake to leave Snowden outside the equation when he could play a leading role in its positive applications.
Whether or not he's broken the law is up for debate, a contention that many have likely made which could controversially generate the trial of the century.
Imagine how annoying it must have been when neighbouring tribes could light fires or only elite members of tribes could light fires and you/rs unfortunately could not?
I doubt tribal times were that exclusive.
The film functions more like an important tool for raising public awareness, for refining critical consciousnesses, than a stunning work of tragic intrigue.
Stock characterizations and sentimental stylizations depreciate its value although such schematics make such a game changing narrative easier to evaluate, lighthearted mass exposure potentially less distasteful than explosive stunts.
Citizenfour's more detailed.
With I could travel to the year 4000 and find out how Snowden's remembered.
Inveterate flame!
Atavistic icon.
*Good subject for the next Presidential debate.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Sully
Bring along a hearty appetite and get ready for a film that plummets down to earth, as Clint Eastwood's Sully presents bread and butter filmmaking, toasted with a side of marmalade, that's as straight and narrow as a prairie turnpike and as hard-hitting as a goal line stand.
It humbly elevates the courageous work of brilliant pilot Chesley Sullenberger (Tom Hanks), whose resolute calm under mortal pressure reflexively saved the lives of 155 people by improvisationally landing his plane in the hostile Hudson River below.
But he didn't do it alone, he was eagerly assisted by his capable staff and all the rescue workers who quickly came to their aid.
A real time jazzy impeccable work of practical art, his methods were inevitably questioned then investigated by a legion of computational suspicions.
Bottom lines having been unprofitably effected, Sully has to prove his innocence and thereby revitalize the knowledge of the human factor.
The models his detractors create to analyze his decision lack the input of common sense even though dozens of people likely took part in their creation and execution.
Sully's input wasn't requested, even though he was there, reacting with stoic impeccability.
The film's alright, an accessible well-acted well-written everyperson film that's easy to follow and celebrates a well deserving team.
The reenactment of the plane's descent into the Hudson eats up a lot of screentime though, and, even though Eastwood takes time to briefly introduce some of the passengers, because we know their lives aren't in danger, and the depicted descent is smooth and uneventful, it's more like a textbook display than a mainstream artistic articulation, which, considering the risk factor lying at the heart of Sully's action, doesn't formally give enough credit to the heroic act itself, it's too stale, too abc.
If Sully had began with the passengers entering the airport only to descend into the Hudson shortly thereafter rather than sticking the extended scene in the middle, it would have made more of an impact, according to me, and they could have been seen at other points afterwards throughout as Sully clears his good name.
After the film explains what happened with a brief illustration of Sully's bold decision making and then turns into a cat and mouse insurers and airline reps versus competent workers game, the actual descent into the Hudson seemed unnecessary, and could have been captured instead in chill haunting flashbacks.
Perhaps I'm being too generic.
A competent 21st century David and Goliath tale that picturesquely promotes active rational immediacy, in flight, I sometimes wonder how much money companies lose trying to discredit their employees instead of simply listening to what they actually have to say.
Is there an app for that?
Trusts.
Burdens of proof.
Critical counterstrikes.
Decent filmmaking.
Glad to know pilots like that be surfin' the skies.
One flight at a time.
It humbly elevates the courageous work of brilliant pilot Chesley Sullenberger (Tom Hanks), whose resolute calm under mortal pressure reflexively saved the lives of 155 people by improvisationally landing his plane in the hostile Hudson River below.
But he didn't do it alone, he was eagerly assisted by his capable staff and all the rescue workers who quickly came to their aid.
A real time jazzy impeccable work of practical art, his methods were inevitably questioned then investigated by a legion of computational suspicions.
Bottom lines having been unprofitably effected, Sully has to prove his innocence and thereby revitalize the knowledge of the human factor.
The models his detractors create to analyze his decision lack the input of common sense even though dozens of people likely took part in their creation and execution.
Sully's input wasn't requested, even though he was there, reacting with stoic impeccability.
The film's alright, an accessible well-acted well-written everyperson film that's easy to follow and celebrates a well deserving team.
The reenactment of the plane's descent into the Hudson eats up a lot of screentime though, and, even though Eastwood takes time to briefly introduce some of the passengers, because we know their lives aren't in danger, and the depicted descent is smooth and uneventful, it's more like a textbook display than a mainstream artistic articulation, which, considering the risk factor lying at the heart of Sully's action, doesn't formally give enough credit to the heroic act itself, it's too stale, too abc.
If Sully had began with the passengers entering the airport only to descend into the Hudson shortly thereafter rather than sticking the extended scene in the middle, it would have made more of an impact, according to me, and they could have been seen at other points afterwards throughout as Sully clears his good name.
After the film explains what happened with a brief illustration of Sully's bold decision making and then turns into a cat and mouse insurers and airline reps versus competent workers game, the actual descent into the Hudson seemed unnecessary, and could have been captured instead in chill haunting flashbacks.
Perhaps I'm being too generic.
A competent 21st century David and Goliath tale that picturesquely promotes active rational immediacy, in flight, I sometimes wonder how much money companies lose trying to discredit their employees instead of simply listening to what they actually have to say.
Is there an app for that?
Trusts.
Burdens of proof.
Critical counterstrikes.
Decent filmmaking.
Glad to know pilots like that be surfin' the skies.
One flight at a time.
Friday, October 7, 2016
Les Innocentes
Cut off from secular temptations, living austere lives self-shunned isolation, religiously devout ascetic mothers having peacefully gathered together to worship, suddenly terrorized, in extreme desecration.
A young nurse working in a nearby town agrees to secretly assist, the worldly and corresponding earthen salts bilaterally balmed, rules and regulations complicating their work, chilling aftermaths incrementally materializing.
Patients, healing in harmony.
The practical and the ideological tenderly stride in Anne Fontaine's Les Innocentes, celestially handmade convivial collaboration, democratically uplifting charitable principles, proceeding piecemeal to care for new life.
It's not that the ideological doesn't present rational codes of conduct, different codes clashing depending on the frequency of contemporary rigidities, it's just that the world usually presents sundry contexts many of which are characterized by specific circumstances which don't snuggly fit within dogmatic prescriptions.
Les Innocentes demonstrates how a balanced approach to the application of rules can produce fruitful results without shying away from illustrating the dangers of straying far from the beaten path, which, consequently, justifies the path's well trodden existence.
By breaking down barriers without sentimentally structuring the narrative, the film exemplifies how principled persons can effectively manage competing dedications while maintaining strong identities in self-secured assurance.
Communal constitutions.
A love story's worked in, friendships develop, the clandestine scandalizes itself, Les Innocentes works on multiple levels.
It critiques without castigating, builds-up without beatifying.
Like an exemplar of composure, it handles delicate controversial material with level-headed poise and calm, as Hillary Clinton's been doing for decades debating in the public eye, and Trump can't seem to fake for half an afternoon.
If tragedy descends into comedy he's pure horror.
Selling it like he's a victim.
Making Stephen Harper look like Barbie.
A young nurse working in a nearby town agrees to secretly assist, the worldly and corresponding earthen salts bilaterally balmed, rules and regulations complicating their work, chilling aftermaths incrementally materializing.
Patients, healing in harmony.
The practical and the ideological tenderly stride in Anne Fontaine's Les Innocentes, celestially handmade convivial collaboration, democratically uplifting charitable principles, proceeding piecemeal to care for new life.
It's not that the ideological doesn't present rational codes of conduct, different codes clashing depending on the frequency of contemporary rigidities, it's just that the world usually presents sundry contexts many of which are characterized by specific circumstances which don't snuggly fit within dogmatic prescriptions.
Les Innocentes demonstrates how a balanced approach to the application of rules can produce fruitful results without shying away from illustrating the dangers of straying far from the beaten path, which, consequently, justifies the path's well trodden existence.
By breaking down barriers without sentimentally structuring the narrative, the film exemplifies how principled persons can effectively manage competing dedications while maintaining strong identities in self-secured assurance.
Communal constitutions.
A love story's worked in, friendships develop, the clandestine scandalizes itself, Les Innocentes works on multiple levels.
It critiques without castigating, builds-up without beatifying.
Like an exemplar of composure, it handles delicate controversial material with level-headed poise and calm, as Hillary Clinton's been doing for decades debating in the public eye, and Trump can't seem to fake for half an afternoon.
If tragedy descends into comedy he's pure horror.
Selling it like he's a victim.
Making Stephen Harper look like Barbie.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
The Age of Shadows
A Korean resistance movement viscerally dissimulates to conflagristically adjudicate Imperial Japanese rule, as a conflicted police captain chants out between two antagonistically united worlds, his identity in flux, his loyalties confessing, cyclonically circumnavigating leveraged windswept extractions, comforts and crucibles psychologically contesting dignity, the oppressors intent on trumping, freedom fighters contacting hillside.
Indigo.
The Age of Shadows sticks to the point.
Betrayals and trusts exfoliating allegiances, time generally isn't wasted discussing the sociopolitical.
Rigidly focused on the goals at hand, it pulls you into its sidewinding struggle unfortunately without blending additional layers of historical commentary.
Its explosive immediacy contentiously compensates, although further insights into its temporal dynamics would have levelled the terrain when it hit bumps in the road.
The chaotic action's well-timed and some of its characterizations stylize penchants of the authoritative and/or the emancipatory, but it drags at points which likely held more meaning for domestic audiences (familiarity with the cast etc.).
Was Lee-Jung-Chool (Kang-ho Song) a brilliant strategist or simply someone who could remain calm under excruciatingly stressful circumstances?
Asylum.
Guts react.
Serpentine suspicions.
Active truth.
Proof of tyranny would have built-up the resistance, although its leader Jung Chae-San (Byung-hun Lee) still offers compelling synchronistic insights.
Nothing breaks his spirit.
Warm blooded will.
Sweetly flowing.
Indigo.
The Age of Shadows sticks to the point.
Betrayals and trusts exfoliating allegiances, time generally isn't wasted discussing the sociopolitical.
Rigidly focused on the goals at hand, it pulls you into its sidewinding struggle unfortunately without blending additional layers of historical commentary.
Its explosive immediacy contentiously compensates, although further insights into its temporal dynamics would have levelled the terrain when it hit bumps in the road.
The chaotic action's well-timed and some of its characterizations stylize penchants of the authoritative and/or the emancipatory, but it drags at points which likely held more meaning for domestic audiences (familiarity with the cast etc.).
Was Lee-Jung-Chool (Kang-ho Song) a brilliant strategist or simply someone who could remain calm under excruciatingly stressful circumstances?
Asylum.
Guts react.
Serpentine suspicions.
Active truth.
Proof of tyranny would have built-up the resistance, although its leader Jung Chae-San (Byung-hun Lee) still offers compelling synchronistic insights.
Nothing breaks his spirit.
Warm blooded will.
Sweetly flowing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)