Wednesday, December 2, 2020

Project Power

The Marvel instinct is pejoratively packaged and illicitly cast for chaotic distribution, those taking the metamorphic drug unleashing wanton blind destruction.

It enables superpowers derived from beastly DNA, an individual's latent spirit animal emerging in death defying rampage. 

A policeperson (Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Frank) keeps close contact with a dealer with the hopes of busting the network, but bribes and high level corruption make his duties grim untenable.

An ex-soldier (Jamie Foxx as Art) seeks the dealers who have kidnapped his only daughter, her unique multivariable metabolism having been used to create the drug.

They find themselves forging a team dedicated to preventing its sale.

Without that much to go on. 

Trepidatious flounce and flail.

Project Power takes übermanche obsessions and distills them within a pill, the resulting crazed despotic X-Men committing brazen crimes at will.

It's not the deepest film but it makes the most of its barebones script, not many characters or deceptive scenarios but what persists isn't strained or dull.

A byproduct of preponderant superheroics is the desire to court invincibility, and people taking illegal drugs may express themselves accordingly

The difficulties the police have engaging the users are pronounced but the side-effects are largely ignored, there's no trip to the hospital like that in The Third Man, or a descent into madness like that found in Trainspotting

Scholastic endeavour is directly criticized, the film seems to be saying there's no point. The film indeed criticizes the teacher more severely for seeking student engagement than the specific student for selling drugs.

School's a remarkable tool that can help you genuinely engage your mind.

Sometimes you have to make it more interesting (I believe Eminem's expression is, own it) rather than just critiquing education in general.

I've found the scholastic world's much more open, less rigid than worldly practice.

If it doesn't help you make millions, it can still help you develop your mind.

Unlock scholastic superpowers, give it a shot, directly apply yourself.

There's no shame in cultivating imagination.

Brilliant raps in Project Power

Tuesday, December 1, 2020

Les Créatures

Secluded cerebral calisthenic splotched stratagem, a married writer intuitively interacts, unfamiliar with the customs of his new home, curious yet shy emboldened substantiated combustion.

He can speak with animals and on occasion visits the forest, his accent often positively received, through rampant scamper and modest scuttle, the conversation like plush evergreen.

Intrigue abounds within the village as a doctor seeks extramarital counsel, his advisor's sister stopping by for a rest, falling for a spry electrician. 

Yet something sinister abides shut in having created a grotesque machine, which can manipulate latent emotion and compromise intransigent will.

Citizens bustle converse galavant unaware of diabolical schemes, the transformation of hesitant trusts into quizzical plights unforeseen. 

The writer confronts him and finds himself challenged to a binding preponderant duel, the outcome of which could disrupt his smooth flowing consummate conjugal cool.

Thus impulses cynical and communal dreamily contract bewitched altercation, lighthearted delegates blind unsuspecting of desire lacking canned sublimation.

One of the strangest films I've seen or at least one whose climax I didn't see coming, its origins rather traditional apart from introductory jocose accelerations. 

Burgeoning sci-fi ambiently acquired through greenhouse craft embowering predicaments, as if the emergence of tactile technologies would wildly disturb inveterate calm.

Unless alternative goals could be applied to their grand distribution, less shocking age old applications of wholesome bittersweet drowsy hitched life.

Agnès Varda seems to have been wary of advancing technologies, as suggested by motorboats introduced at La Pointe-Courte's end, and the imposing machine haunting Les Créatures

She clearly loves the environment as demonstrated by multiple shots in both films, crabs freely represented, interspecies communication romanticized in the latter.

From a contemporary perspective, the machine could represent The Social Dilemma's criticisms of social media, something emphatically required to reinvest it with progress, to reimagine a less hostile life.

A wonderful film literary imagination enriched through uncanny romance.

Essential pioneering sci-fi.

One heck-of-a clever bucolic.  

Friday, November 27, 2020

Adventures of a Dentist

A mild-mannered unassuming young professional finds he has a gift on his nervous first day, he can pull teeth without causing pain to the delight of his anxious patients, his popularity soaring with each extracted tooth, his modesty unaware of his colleague's envy, exuberant dispatch cajoled disseminated, he does one heck of a job.

He proceeds unabashed, unerring, everyone seeking out his aid alone, but since no one wants to see the other doctors, they target his effortless skill.

When he simply works without psychological constraints he cheerfully nurtures perfection, but he's too timid to dismiss potent jealousy, and it soon effects his miraculous work.

He makes a mistake which is soon discovered and unfortunately it's rather serious, his nerve collapsing in the critical aftermath, he can no longer assist those in pain.

His family attempts to soothe him but his depression overwhelms his pride, leaving him inert, distracted, unable to advance his career.

Perhaps he should have been cloistered far away from angst and bitterness, for he can't accept that his prospects were ruined precisely because he was doing so well.

Adventures of a Dentist satirically chides the status quo while immersing competence in tragedy, to critique conformist pretensions, and age old incumbent rivalry. 

Chesnokov (Andrey Myagkov) isn't subversive, he's likely not even familiar with the concept, he just simply can't underachieve, and this threatens his professional prospects.

I'm not saying I'm particularly gifted although I think I craft a cool sentence at times, and I like some of the rhymes I come up with, but I'm not that concerned with superlatives.

I never understood wanting to be the best or manipulating circumstances to appear as if you're the best, I just understood trying to do your best as I learned from Captain Picard.

Adventures of a Dentist isn't all gloom and doom it's just absurd uncanny bizarro, as Chesnokov follows a distressed coworker attempting to appease her, for instance, and they wind up on a carousel, or his singer songwriter love interest bursts forth in song, while her father cautiously narrates.

She can impersonate any animal.

And writes with soulful prescription.

It's a shame how professional jealousies disrupt the provision of resolute service, or desires to control or be recognized disillusion blossoming talent.

You would hope that in dentistry and medicine the best possible service would be readily provided, that patients would receive the best possible care, since it's their well being that's literally paramount.

Not rank or position or influence, nor internal esoteric power struggles, but the health of manifold patients, peeps hoping to swiftly recover. 

Thursday, November 26, 2020

Q Planes

The writing in Q Planes is exceptional (Brock Williams, Jack Whittingham, Arthur Wimperis, Ian Dalrymple) and it's so much fun to watch, the cast revelling in the opportunity to deliver fast-paced vigorous dialogue.

Brought to life by Laurence Olivier (Tony McVane) and Ralph Richardson (Charles Hammond), it freely showcases animate brilliance, without fretting about miscommunication, or pretentious elevations of the monosyllabic.

I think there was a time when films had to compete with books more strenuously, in Britain anyways, in order to justify the aesthetic integrity of the medium, and screenwriters were therefore more willing to prove their genius as it applied to sundry films.

It's just a theory, crafted from watching multiple Criterions during the pandemic, and perhaps books are still as popular today, even if film seems to no longer be competing with them, but if there was a time when British screenwriters freely shared their ingenious commentaries, to generate literary merit for an art form oft dismissed, and film eventually became more popular than books and left literary ambitions behind, I'm worried that as Twitter becomes more popular along with Facebook and Instagram etc., that the quality of language as it applies to future films will be even less cerebrally compelling.

If film stopped competing with books after establishing itself as a respected art form, will the resultant dull conformity be devalued further by the rise of social media?

It's not that contemporary film writing is particularly bad, it's just so rare when you see a film whose writing is exceptionally good (Wes Anderson), they still have to give out awards every year, but I certainly haven't seen a Q Planes in recent memory.

I do remember emerging from University to be critiqued in the working world, for possessing an advanced vocabulary and writing with alternative flair.

I also remember being critiqued as a child for possessing an advanced vocabulary, which didn't seem that impressive at the time, but words just came naturally to me in my own little way and I found it offputting to have to search for generalized vocabularies, rather than speaking freely, it's so much less work to simply state what you're thinking.

I adapted, but it still made much more sense to move away from the English world, and try to learn a new language, even if I was starting much too late, and had moved past chilling out and about.

The constant thrill of unfamiliar communication is a wondrous motivating factor, that enlivens so many situations that would otherwise seem dull.

General comprehension is certainly laudable but there's so much rudimentary expression these days.

A democracy should also cater to literary flair.

As it once did.

In sundry films.

Wednesday, November 25, 2020

Primal

Unable to abide by the rules and structures of traditional zookeeping, an independent spirit strikes out on his own, in the ironic pursuit of free ranging wildlife, whom he captures to earn his living.

Meanwhile a resourceful assassin has been caught by the American government, which plans to transport him back to the States, for having committed brutal crimes.

Frustratingly, he can't travel by plane, due to a physiological peculiarity, and must therefore be securely shipped, on the very same boat upon which Frank Walsh (Nicolas Cage) is voyaging, to facilitate the sale of his animals.

Elite military personnel vigilantly guard their prisoner, expecting everything to go as planned, but a not-so-subtle animate seizure brings about harrowing unforeseen circumstances.

Soon they're back on the hunt in an enclosed cryptic junk yard jungle, Frank's animals having been set free, to add wild beastly fierce complication, to a rather sensational schematic.

Venomous snakes, birds, tapirs, monkeys, and a ghost-jaguar enjoy unexpected freedom, locked down encaged no longer, curious to learn more about their new environment.

Will they accidentally assist in the improvised plans to recapture a crazed escape artist, or further annoy the troops as they search, while sincerity tracks them down?

Primal proceeds with raw carnal instinct intending to generally avoid incarceration, those who persist intuitively enacting intense entrepreneurial codes.

Its narrative logistics aren't far off course considering its limited budget, although I can't help but wonder how shocking it may have been had it possessed more bountiful resources.

It steers clear of Snakes on a Plane which I initially thought may have provided inspiration, preferring to stick to infused human conflict instead of concentrating on the ghost-cat.

Actors are given the chance to emit passionate refinements of character, and with less material to go on than enigmatic drama they still establish volatile identities.

Can't say I'm the biggest fan of capturing animals to sell them to the highest bidder. Especially the rarest inhabitants of the jungle. It's much more fun to think they roam free.

Life of Pi does make a strong argument in favour of zoos, but I think the larger animals still definitively abhor them (unless they're lazy).

I was mistaken in my initial hypothesis regarding Primal's concluding moments, but I can't say much more than that without giving too much away.

It's a cool film if you like this kind of story.

Would have been cooler with African American survivors.

And reforms leading to the release of the animals in the end. 

Has Nicolas Cage ever been in a film with Gary Oldman?

They're both best actor winners who never lost their cool.

As far as I know.  

Directed by Robert Rodriguez? 

. . . 

Tuesday, November 24, 2020

Ace in the Hole

A versatile reporter, who's worked for the biggest papers in the U.S., finds himself writing in Albuquerque, New Mexico, after having burned too many bridges.

He's still accustomed to glitz and glamour and has trouble settling into small town life, unimpressed with natural phenomena, he works hard but can't get used to it.

Sent out one day to cover a far off rattlesnake hunt, he picks up a scoop while attempting to gas up, which leads to a man immobilized deep within a mountain, and the human interest story he's been longing for.

Realizing what he's got and ready to milk it for all it's worth, he convinces the local sheriff that he can get him re-elected if he helps push the story just a little bit further.

So rather than rescuing the chap in 12 to 16 hours, an elaborate drill is employed with a 6 day timeline, and as the story blows up across America, concerned citizens flock to their locale.

But as Chuck Tatum (Kirk Douglas) continues to write copy he finds himself starting to care for Leo Minosa (Richard Benedict), as he suffers locked down below, and has harsh interactions with his wife (Jan Sterling as Lorraine) who wants to move back East as well.

New York comes calling and soon he's back up to a $1000 a week, but it becomes apparent that Leo's dying and he's the man directly responsible.

Conflicting attitudes polarizing soul and sensation dig contentious woebegone roots, as grim mortal reckonings shock aggrandizements, and Tatum suddenly considers morality.

The ensuing spectacle gaudily encourages accusations of the exaggerated, but seeing how ubiquitously Trump used to dominate headlines makes me question assumed hyperbole. 

Contemporary news certainly is rather drastic and seems catastrophically disposed, not that there isn't quite a lot to worry about or take note of or dismiss or applaud.

Years ago I had a thoughtful boss who told me he didn't watch or read the news, and I wondered if they were missing out by deciding to not stay in touch.

But as I age and the world becomes more volatile, sometimes it seems like their approach has merit, inasmuch as peace of mind is something to be desired, and more easily attained by ignoring revelation (there are so many disasters right now, including environmental, economic, and social/racial varieties, not to mention the plague [it's insane how depressing the news is]).

Ace in the Hole is a fascinating film whose message is enduring, reliable.

Where should the ethical line be drawn?

What happens to a world where there no longer is one?

Wrote this long before Biden won the election, around when the first wave hit in fact (edited today).

Hopefully a willingness to at least try and forge a consensus emerges. 

It's gotten so far out of hand.

*Point of clarification: I mean that a significant percentage of Americans seem to love sensation, and sensation was Trump's bread and butter. Therefore, it's not surprising that Chuck Tatum's able to generate sensation regarding his scoop in Ace in the Hole, even though at first it seems unrealistic.

Friday, November 20, 2020

David and Lisa

Sequestered far off in sympathetic regalia a gifted adolescent gradually makes friends, his highly strung opinionated disposition leading to conflict after first moving in.

If anyone harmlessly touches him or even suggests shaking hands, he erupts in crise de colère believing illness or malady will soon emerge.

None too amused with the psychiatric practice he defies his doctors as they present questions, quick to diagnose what's latently presumed in whatever is lightheartedly discussed.

Extremely defensive and generally combative an otherworldly fellow student puts him at ease, as she innocently communicates with rhymes and freely expresses herself through drawing.

Her carefree influence institutes calm and he starts agreeably listening to others, and taking part in various activities without introducing bitter criticisms.

But his parents aren't so sure he requires consistent supervision, and decide to bring him home long before he's contentedly transformed.

They try to help him comprehend what they consider to be sound.

But he misses his newfound friends.

And their free-flowing unorthodox collective.

David and Lisa is a touching must-see for anyone who's ever felt like somewhat of a misfit, for within irreverent rascality finds cohesive charmed community.

The affected or grouchy or compulsive or blunt find a safe place unobstructed by conformity, and eclectically assert multivariable dissonance in sweetly flowing uncanny favour.

Fortunately the doctors aren't motivated by strict pretensions, and by listening while freely conversing they remodel overbearing instruction.

There's no specific time limit and even less of an agenda and by no means a strategic plan, the students are rather given free time to matriculate beyond firmly structured commands.

Since there is something they just don't quite get in relation to generalized sociocultural temporality, it's wonderful to see them given the space to cultivate something random and specialized.

Through mutual acceptance and compassionate tolerance healing ascends with concordant eccentricity, and hang-ups and grudges and chips slowly fade since there's much less demand for routine predictability. 

Grievances persist but they're much less intense and friendship sees that they're readily forgiven.

An outstanding heartfelt film.

That's as sharp as it is mellifluous. 

Thursday, November 19, 2020

Shampoo

Freewheelin' exploits extemporaneously philandering seek abundant finances to facilitate commerce.

He's a local success and highly sought after, the rich and famous attuned to his ingenious hairstyling, he hopes to open his own salon, his skill set lacking desired vocabularies (not writing about myself).

Alternative dialects suit him well as he wanders to and fro, and his natural way with words leads to manifold indiscretions

His partner has no idea and neither do the love interests of his contacts, who happen to be the jealous type, even if they applaud sportspersonship.

He's reached an age however that culturally suggests he settle down, and a choice must therefore be made in accordance with upheld tradition.

Yet even though he's established he does lack ze boundless wealth, which leads to sophisticated complications, that can't be put back on the shelf.

I thought things would be rather simple in my youth, you find someone then you marry them, and then focus on work afterwards, never having to worry about your relationship's status, both partners committed to conjugal ideals.

But sundry exceptions open up while aging which are by no means crystal clear, and relationships seem inordinately complicated and confusing and rather laborious.

George (Warren Beatty) flies far and wide in a sphere unaccustomed to stock impulse, and does well or at least never lands and generally avoids shocking turbulence.

Many of the peeps he encounters are happy to actively engage, and see no point in pursuing repercussions since they dismally spoil the fun.

As long as everyone doesn't see the harm in carefree amusement, it seems like a joyous state, in which one could passionately succeed, perhaps even levitate.

Perhaps at times it works and there's no need for grim presumption.

Before the embrace of traditional ideals, the characters within seem quite well off. 

Wednesday, November 18, 2020

Make Way for Tomorrow

A couple who has aged ensemble suddenly finds themselves torn apart, none of their children willing to take them both in, a dispiriting haunting rupture.

Yet since they have grown accustomed to fortitude they accept the news with unflinching resolve, physically separate yet spiritually stoic as they embrace disengaged psychologies.

The children whom they raised aren't as accommodating as one might expect, and abound with petty grievances rashly derived from a lack of sympathy.

Ma (Beulah Bondi) tries to make herself useful but is critiqued for having cared, and Pa's (Victor Moore) friends are strictly scrutinized should they stop by if he falls ill.

They dream of once again living together and send letters to that effect, age old romance blossoming invariably as they exceed from post to post.

But as time passes the lack of compassion ignominiously increases with discourteous candour, and related verbal and formal encumbrances make a tough situation grim.

Fortunately, just before Pa sets out to move to far off California, he meets up once again with his cynosure and they proceed to head out about town.

They're treated to a magnanimous evening at the hotel where they once honeymooned. 

As their children furiously wait across town. 

They call to announce they're not coming.

So important to make people feel useful no matter how young or how old, to make an effort to be somewhat agreeable and cater to difference as it quizzically thrives.

As long as the peeps aren't belligerent or obtusely jettisoning snarky vitriol, it's easy and fun to embrace alternatives as they curiously and thoughtfully arise.

Sometimes you notice efficiencies that have been overlooked or perhaps forgotten, but the headstrong valuation of their time saving reckonings may cause distress if abruptly disseminated. 

Sometimes the logic of a course of events may seem expeditiously unsound, but by proceeding through resonant jazz you find rich novelties unconsidered unwound.

Sometimes the delegation of duty should be enlivened through imagination, a recasting of mundane responsibilities invigorating quotidian echoes.

Just listening is paramount indubitably when negotiating interpersonal interactions, empathy and compassion resilient allies as you strive to nurture camaraderie. 

Self-sacrifice and sincere understanding make way for soulful synergies. 

No one wants to wind up in longterm care.

The related realities exposed are horrifying. 

Tuesday, November 17, 2020

H😻lidate

Ne'er hath there been a more potent elevation of the single life, or the need to exonerate wisdom as it applies to relationships postmodern.

Sloane (Emma Roberts) can't find a compelling reason to once again seek a significant other, so she's consistently critiqued and patronized by her verbose bewildered family.

"There must be something wrong, you don't look happy, mistakes have been made," there's no end to the traditional censure of her freeform alternative lifestyle.

She grows weary of the pervasive counsel and decides to make a compromise, and searches for someone to date on social festive celebratory holidays.

She finds another who's none too fond of strict definitive attachments, and they begin dating on special days when families expect bilateral union (Luke Bracey as Jackson). 

It seems they have both had their hopes crippled by brash arrogance, while attempting to cohesively bond, the results combative, stern, lugubrious.

They've both been concretely crushed. 

And trust romantic means no longer.

Thus, they get to know each other slowly, one raunchy holiday after another, until they finally agree they've found something worth pursing at other times throughout the year.

A chance to vindicate the single life was lost in desire ensuing, a daring independent serenade left hollow and unrequited.

A series of films could have been made indeed wherein which neither Sloane nor Jackson found love, growing more and more unique as each narrative concluded in flux.

And friendship could have been upheld with sober carry-on longevity, a professional intermittent liaison boldly crafting mature respite.

As it stands, I think people will like it, it's full of sentiment I just don't get, not that the characters aren't amusing, nor the idea somewhat cool.

Perhaps longing for something less superficial prevented me from appreciating H😻lidate, for it briefly seemed debonair eccentric at the irritated outset.

A series about single professionals could work as well most certainly, one which discovers long-lasting meaning through endearing humorous friendship.

Different characters in every episode, different countries and walks of life.

Netflix is super international.

Testing limits across the globe.

Monday, November 16, 2020

Written on the Wind

Two friends having grown up together remain collegially close as mature callings beckon.

Romance passionately translates reflections from one to the other, but Kyle (Robert Stack) seeks the damsel more readily, outmaneuvering alternative constructs.

His outlandish sister (Dorothy Malone as Marylee) has been in love with Mitch (Rock Hudson) for as long as she can remember, but he only sees her as family, which encourages rebellion.

They're some of the wealthiest peeps in Texas yet aren't detached or country club, preferring less ornate otherworldly enrichments to pretentious self-aggrandizement.

But young, Kyle seeks to raise young and encounters structural impediments, which leads to an excess o' corn, and generally swished saturation.

Mitch still loves Kyle's formerly blushing bride (Lauren Bacall as Lucy) but would never betray his friend, and even though she's somewhat flattered, she'll stay true to the bitter end.

The assiduous patriarch is none too impressed with the lackadaisical proclivities of his offspring, but he's too busy to run their lives, and they're far too independent.

Principled woe and abandoned happiness stoically blend within, to remain forever youthful, punishment Written on the Wind.

The first twenty minutes or so, the inspired improvised courtship, pull you in with literary enchantments, strictly spellbound as they subside, the austere tooth & nail.

Douglas Sirk holds things together enabling tragic tight-laced wonder, misfortune lamenting dreams, distressed dissolved exaggeration.

A solemn reverence for loyalty doesn't lack charming consistency, desire manifest and consequent yet forbidden barred ill-favoured.

The townsfolk hesitantly assert themselves to add poignant sociocultural depth, as demographics merge collide to interrogate what's left.

Acrimonious acclimations.

Antique shivers cloaked.

To have everything but what you want when it isn't even out of the question.

Friendly fusions immoderate misgivings distant lands picturesque pastures, if more had to be done perhaps everything would have seemed less demanding, like a light bit of sweet shushing distraction, honeysuckled spruce butterscotch haunts.  

A shake.

Camping.

Ye olde Yahtzee or Trivial Pursuit. 

Unconcerned with discourse immutable. 

Take it easy. 

Just the way things go.

Friday, November 13, 2020

The Verdict

A troubled lawyer stricken and saturated is handed a routine straightforward gift, just show up and take the money ($70,000) and the controversial case is closed.

That's a lot of dough for maybe 20 hours spent meeting clients and doing a bit of research, show up, converse, agree, sign, and it's 6 more months living free and easy.

But there was a time when justice and reason inspirationally dawned and motivated, their ethical objective illuminations stoically crafting truthful light.

He doesn't plea he takes the case re-emerging from heartfelt pitfalls, an old colleague from back in the day providing ample inclusive support.

But the judge is resignedly stubborn and ornately impressed by antecedent repute, prone to belittling and austere exaltations of the concrete master narrative.

The opposition is equally dismissive of his regenerative resolve, and has lofty resources and a dedicated team at its institutional disposal. 

A star witness suddenly disappears, leaving him without that much of a case.

But he digs deep and perseveres as jurisprudence comes 'a calling.

It's classic David & Goliath emitting resonant influential social justice, the honest driven innate perspicacity as level-headed as it is hardworking.

Truth indeed equanimically supports him as he clashes with litigious artifice, protocol and proper procedure favouring blunt ostentatious deception.

Theoretically the law persists beyond specific ideological constructs, each case consisting of unique arguments to be meritoriously considered.

Objective discerning judgment may lack attuned collegiality, but inasmuch as it upholds the truth it represents an unbiased ideal.

It's an ideal which cultivates fair play and resounding equality before the law, and is therefore fundamental to democracy insofar as it's apolitical.

The independence of a country's judiciary is constitutionally vital, and keeps impulse and ploys and caprice from wildly reckoning with fads unprecedented.

The Verdict seeks mercy and clemency far beyond authoritarian influence.

Legal objectivity favours both sides.

Through tried and true uncontested resiliency. 

Tuesday, November 10, 2020

Tôkyô no yado (An Inn in Tokyo)

A single dad wanders from town to town in search of work with his two sons, with no place to stay and little money for food, he struggles as he searches for assured circumstances.

He's a tender man who's upset but not bitter, and still finds ways to imaginatively play with his children, they go with the flow and keep things light encountering another family who can't find work either.

Catching stray dogs can earn them something, even if flashy clothes are more appealing than food, and one night as it looks like they'll sleep outside, an old friend appears and offers them shelter.

A job is found shortly thereafter and things slowly and surely stabilize, but fortunate Kihachi (Takeshi Sakamoto) loves his sake, and from time to time drinks way too much.

As his life improves the other family's takes a turn for the superlative worse, and Kihachi feels he must do something to hold back the ferocious abyss.

Tôkyô no yado (An Inn in Tokyo) compassionately examines difficult times, the hardships confronting a kind man of conscience, who fights back against impoverished misfortune.

He accepts his fate and loves his children and never weeps or blows his top, finding solace in simple pleasures, in harvests and yields and crops.

Agency exists partout in mutating differing degrees, and it isn't only the affluent who can facilitate change, it's just a matter of persevering to the best of your abilities, resilient recourse diverse refrains.

A lot of the time chill solutions fluidly present themselves with communal care, whether it's a meal or shelter or a job, a placement, perhaps fixing something.

Kihachi's sacrifice achieves sublime ends even if it's tragic in its composure, a refusal to be bound by material reality in the pursuit of piecemeal justice.

Rare to come across films that are so patient and caring, that slow things down to enact cinematic resolve, to showcase emboldened endearing good spirits, humanistic agency beyond wealth or income.

Even though the situation is grim and reprieves seem like remote impossibilities, rich imagination still naturally flourishes, through age old non-violent customs.

It's a triumph of spirit immersed in contemplation, considering outcomes beyond individualistic concerns, even if you lack wealth you can still do something, invigorate animate turns.

Perfect for a light Spring evening where you want to embrace a less rapid pace.

Some bread, some cheese, some spirits.

Enjoyed with thought and emotion.  

Friday, November 6, 2020

The Big Heat

After a police officer's apparent suicide is determined to be suspicious, an honest detective sergeant uncompromisingly takes the case.

The clues point to a stern crime syndicate which is well entrenched within the town, but making arrests or acquiring evidence proves inextricably drawn and complicated.

Bannion (Glenn Ford) proceeds regardless with noble intent exceeding righteousness, directly to the established regime who's none too impressed with the inspired intrusion.

Soon his legitimate motives are questioned as he becomes a target for enraged thuggery, possessing commensurate headstrong wherewithal, things are bleak and rugged and ruthless. 

It's not inquisitive parlay, he's taken things right to the nerve stricken centre, without much forethought or investigation, like Kurtz he just thought it up and did it.

The repercussions are harsh, his resolve fierce and sympathetic, as he refuses to simply back down, attuned to paramount sublime ideals, and a bit of stubborn insanity.

But the world's by no means idyllic even if virtue is highly regarded.

In such a situation how does one proceed?

How do they induce potent logic?

Helps if you're not on your own and others appear offering tough helping hands, and the script's written to firmly uphold as you freely and nimbly engage.

It's perhaps too bluntly composed as Bannion boldly contends and interacts, too direct, to too the point, without moderate intervening placations. 

The Big Heat's stark contention examines polarized jurisprudence, but doesn't focus on the intermittent stages with much multifaceted concentration.

It's sort of like a football game where good and evil are the opposing teams, and while such a strategy works in sporty realms, it's somewhat disappointing when applied to film.

Realistic film anyways, or films that don't experiment with reality. You expect that kind of thing from superheroes but not from real world crime drama. You could argue that therefore The Big Heat presents the unexpected, which can be a positive thing, since it's important to tear down boundaries when considering alternatives.  Sometimes constabulary candour works well in less grandiose environs, but not when the situation requires depth to convincingly deconstruct the big picture.

Still, for a shout out to doing the right thing within the exceptional bounds of the superheroic, The Big Heat and Glenn Ford deliver.

Not without their share of sacrifice.

Not sure if it qualifies as film noir.   

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

Fisherman's Friends

Daily life twists and turns much as it always has in a small Cornish town, the local inhabitants full of stern comment bluntly mixed with jocose observation.

Not much has changed in recent centuries concerning work and the steadfast tide, the sea continuing to provide spry livelihoods for those rich in oceanic endeavour.

Record industry reps show up for a jaunt in the afternoon one sunshiny day, their activities irritating the townsfolk after they necessitate search and rescue.

But true to form they keep an ear open and discover an old school sound, fisherpeeps revitalizing age old melodies in newfound vibrant distinct bounds.

One remains after the lads depart to see if they're interested in a record deal, the singers responding with cheeky discord as he makes his lively pitch.

They're not to be won over swiftly so he must prove himself at sea, departing with them shortly thereafter bona fide recruitment pleas.

But his friends are having a laugh and don't intend to sign the band, which ruffles his feisty feathers since they've agreed to chant offhand.

He decides to go it alone and find another label who might like their sound.

Falling for village life. 

And a suspicious homegrown belle (Tuppence Middleton as Alwyn).

Fisherman's Friends celebrates traditional valour with bucolic pluck and sombre tenacity, the unwritten integrity of the spoken word as dearly vital as brave responsibility.

As brave as voting for Biden in Texas.

It's clear what will happen from the outset but that's entirely keeping with form, since a degree of predictability is to be expected from ancient scores.

A strong filmscape doesn't only include the wondrous novelties of the avant-garde, since democracy takes into account multivariable vast divergence.

It's not up to one or the other to uniformly evoke taste or style, since democracy is inherently diverse and such diversity upholds tradition.

Tradition itself isn't always as concrete as proponents would have you believe, libraries home to exceptional repositories of historical change and off-kilter mutation.

I imagine many people have traditions which they hold dear, and would change others posthaste if given the chance, the corresponding multifaceted dialectic robust with intrigue and grave indignation.

Ye olde tradition was once likely novel or as innovative as Zoom or the Dodo.

Biden himself is rich in tradition.

And clearly innovates with old school integrity.  

Friday, October 30, 2020

Hubie Halloween

As Halloween ascends, devout Hubie (Adam Sandler) prepares to celebrate, decorating his yard with festive rigour, taking the time to trust and care.

He also instructs local children at the high school he once attended, and even if they respond critically to his counsel, he still persists with animate declamation.

He still longs for his childhood crush whom he still has difficulty approaching (Julie Bowen as Violet Valentine), although he can string verbal loci together, when tasked with delicate comment.

His mom (June Squibb) does her best to encourage his loyal safety-oriented verbose reckonings, even if the rest of the town has taken to responding with varied projectiles.

But a new neighbour has recently moved in who's unfamiliar with traditional testaments (Steve Buscemi as Walter Lambert), and advises against disturbing him even if noise proves dire and irksome.

Local police are well-versed in Hubie as he consistently warns them of danger, and have developed related protocols designed to rapidly appease his qualms.

But on the particular Halloween in question Hubie's unease is more on the ball.

As people begin to disappear around town.

People known to lambaste his self-sacrifice.

It's been a long time since I've seen an Adam Sandler film, and I was wholeheartedly impressed, the old school magic still playfully enchanting as the ridiculousness flows unhinged.

Well-attuned to the rowdy shenanigans freely generated by social interactions, Hubie Halloween proceeds unabashed for another round of Sandlerian mischief.

A narrative such as this could have shifted and swerved into harrowing hysterical heartache, but it was hewn by less psychotic impulses to emerge imaginatively constructive.

As is often the case, the do-gooding lack versatile camaraderie, and struggle to cohesively integrate as they pursue less raunchy endeavours.

But Hubie's actions do not pass unnoticed as he employs freeform unsupervised tutelage, for members of the community do respond to his altruistic forgiving theatrics.

Hubie Halloween transported me back to a time less schizoid and volatile, when statespeople seemed to care more about governance than likes and shares on Twitter and Instagram.

When things seemed like they were moving forward far beyond O'Doyle's rules, consistent current manifestations mind-boggling grim unfathomable reversals. 

I'd say Sandler's still got it, can still teach while having some fun.

The urine stained sheet, the would be werewolf.

Nice to see a Halloween film that's a bit more lighthearted.  

*Buscemi doesn't show up in spellcheck. 😎

Tuesday, October 27, 2020

The Prestige

Professional rivalry, two up and coming magicians, each determined to present the most striking spectacle, imaginable, yet one is careless, and the other's cherished love interest passes, things taking a vicious turn in the aftermath, as they both refuse to back down.

One believes in dangerous risk taking while the other is more reserved, although the intensity of their grim competition provokes grand transformations forthcoming.

One visits the coveted Tesla (David Bowie) at his residence in the wilds of Colorado, and requests the creation of a machine that can transport matter from one location to another.

He believes such a sensation has already been acquired by his adversary, and spends a fortune to flagrantly duel, his nemesis not in possession of exhaustive funds, yet more innovative counterintuitively speaking.

I've never understood compulsive obsession and the personal desire to win at all costs. Sportspersonship is too valuable a concept to be obscured by personal ambition.

It's preferable to lose having played by the rules than to succeed through nefarious means, as long as you give your best effort and suppress destructive envious tendencies.

I pay too much attention to sports to proceed otherwise, not that I'm by any means a great athlete, but so many great athletes compete year after year without ever winning anything.

This doesn't prevent them from competing or trying to win one more time, they're great role models for the active spirit who never grows weary of enriching fair play.

Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) and Robert Angier (Hugh Jackman) take things to levels I can't comprehend, to resort to sabotage or deliberate vengeance insults the art they're skilfully crafting.

I thought the arts would be much more friendly in my youth since so many of the artistic people I knew were often kind, the realities of the art world somewhat disconcerting as people critically jockey for position.

I suppose there are fewer opportunities to succeed as an artist than there are for sporty peeps, and the lack of engaging opportunity drives ambition to psychotic levels.

But it seems better to chill on the fringe than embrace destructive psychologies.

If you want the world to be a better place and you adopt ruthless means how will anything ever change?

Beyond what's written.

More respect for aging artists in the Anglo-American sphere may lead to less intense conflict, I'm by no means an expert on French culture, but it's clear they hold the arts in much higher esteem.

In general, not in relation to me, French culture seems to cultivate a much more level playing field for the arts and sports, which could explain why they're so successful at both, why they keep generating such incredible outputs.

The Prestige is an excellent film that showcases unsettling realities. 

There's so little to soulfully gain.

Through bland underhanded corruption. 

Friday, October 23, 2020

My Octopus Teacher

In keeping with the fame of YouTube's adorable octopus video(s), Netflix has released My Octopus Teacher, a stunning documentary that follows an octopus, shifting from one aqueous locale to the next.

It's a nature documentary like no other, focused on one flexible beastie in particular, not a seal or a dolphin or a whale, but a camouflaged octopus, hiding away.

Undaunted by the challenge of locating the same octopus every day for months in chilly water, Craig Foster proceeds like a diligent inspector, and learns to find clues in the imposing seabed, until enough knowledge is acquired for routine confidence.

He's inspired by African tribespeople who can track wildlife in manifold forms, because they read their environment like a book that's as logical as it is multifaceted.

I encourage pursuing higher learning at length or at least for as long as it compels you, but that doesn't mean people who don't acquire a formal education simply sit back and shut off their brains.

They just apply their intelligence to alternative variables just as rich with imaginative wonder, never tiring of intellectual endeavour, as it relates to non-scholastic rhythms. 

Thus, you find ingenious indigenous peeps who can't read or write or use a computer, who still understand their natural landscapes like surgeons preparing for open-heart surgery.

Hence, Foster doesn't give up, as he slowly teaches himself to track octopi, his troubles compounded by a lack of oxygen, or having to constantly resurface.

Total respect for such aquatic ambition, tracking earthbound wildlife seems much lighter in comparison, tack on the cold and the fluctuating visibility, and you've got wondrous herculean composure.

Planet Earth 2 seems like the apotheosis of nature documentaries, with countless shots of remote terrains, terrains that are incredibly difficult to access, its material presented with vigorous narrative.

But nature documentaries are vast and consistently mutating, finding new ways to resiliently captivate, My Octopus Teacher a remarkable feat of filmmaking ingenuity.

Plus Foster is interviewed throughout and provides thoughtful commentaries about his labours, which capture the stages he patiently went through as he learned more and more about his shifty subject.

The octopus isn't exactly chillin', indeed things are rather intense when sharks come a' callin'.

But he eludes them as best he can.

A must see examination of a fascinating creature.    

Tuesday, October 20, 2020

THX 1138

A totalitarian society, all-encompassed inanimate below ground, every aspect of daily life accounted for, no slip-ups, no love, no quarter.

Drugs are used to manage every aspect of existence, each with its own specific function, ubiquitous relentless mind-control, from the unsuspecting cradle to the strung out grave.

Physical love is anathema, forbidden, and theoretically resigned to the past, those who find themselves amorously stricken assigned chemical recalibration.

Computers monitor everything and not even the most ingenious citizens can outwit them, but there's nothing else to do so they try, the consequences at least a novel distraction.

Leisure time consists of televisual depictions of those punished for immoderate transgressions, all sense of individuality or uniqueness having been thematically sterilized.

A woman and a man living together find themselves caught in the grips of illicit passion, their newfound wanton recklessness quickly detected and sternly dealt with.

But THX 1138 (Robert Duvall) is able to miraculously escape, robot police following in hot pursuit, as he seeks his domain's outer limits.

But this film was made in the '70s, so there are less guards to flexibly elude, the budget generated to ensure his capture, swiftly spiralling exponentially ascending.

A chilling take on a panoptic alliance between religion and the sciences, binding psychiatric liturgies coldly blended with ascetic computation.

It often seems that if science and religion could simply try harder to collectively resonate, the world would be less fanatically divided, and balance and order would felicitously reign.

It also seemed like the cyberspatial genesis wouldn't be transformed into a hotbed of lies, that truth and reason would inevitably flourish, harnessing foresight and benevolent judgment. 

I suppose Animal Farm comes into play, the founders of a new scientific-religious equanimity reasoning with resplendent illumination, before the next generation realizes less cohesive principles, and the balance of power is transformed anew.

It doesn't have to be that way of course, Scandinavia has seemed sure and steady for decades, with a strong commitment to responsible schools, intently focused on cultivating respect.

If there could only be more profit in respectable truths and less of a willingness to cash in on crazy, more opportunities for people left behind in an affluent system, paving the way to act constructively.

As generations raised by the internet mature then lead and govern, it will be interesting to see what happens, if political discourse changes profoundly.

Still a decade or so to go.

Endless narratives could be written meanwhile.

If Animal Farm is taken for granted, doesn't utopia have novel appeal?

Even if it only emerges for mandates.

Isn't that still something to strive for?

Friday, October 16, 2020

Midnight Special

With manifold signals being transmitted ubiquitously throughout the air, who knows what mental or physical transformations are in store for forthcoming cyberspatial generations?

If physiological indiscretions are emerging nonchalantly, they're passing by generally unobserved, or at least I've never heard them commented upon, in my active yet limited experience.

If there are any pathological side-effects of widespread wi-fi whispers, I imagine they would be carcinogenic in nature, but those immune to such theoretical maladies may still develop previously unheard of synthetic adaptations.

I don't deny the oft maligned potential for supernatural emergence, I just approach it scientifically, the classic unique characteristics that mystifyingly seem divine, the product of uncategorized mutations challenging established truths.

You need established truths to consistently function, but taking them too seriously leads to error, especially when they don't apply to a political context that emerges as variable forces interact.

The emergence of unpredictable situations tests political wills with animate rigour, and responses motivated by ideology may fall short if adjustments aren't flexibly adopted.

But without an ideology how do you ever inspire or drive or motivate, without some goal that's always out of reach why would you ever bother trying to do anything?

Alton (Jaeden Martell) just tries to exist but his gifts generate spiritual passion, in a strict localized religious cult devoted to translating his peculiar reckonings.

His unique abilities lead to prophetical acclamations as the status quo seeks to readily adapt, but it's no life for a confused young child, so his father (Michael Shannon as Roy) helps him break free of the compound.

His devotees are ill-amused and set off to track him down (as does the F.B.I), endemic clashes inevitably ensuing, in a traditionally focused sci-fi drama.

Classifying what he can do in general is beyond my limited comprehension, but it's like his mind is an organic computer that blindly communicates with various satellites.

Midnight Special's focus on the supernaturally down-to-earth offers a humbler vision than many Übermensch testimonials, the larger-than-life phenom immersed in environments more akin to the X-Men than the Avengers.

It's somewhat straightforward yet still exciting, I freely admit that I love this kind of narrative, with a surprising ending and calm and collected characters instinctually reacting to volatile circumstances.

Perhaps they are really are out there.

But without more evidence, who's really to say?

I like Joe Biden's down-to-earth progressions.

He seems like a really cool guy.

Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Fotbal Infinit (Infinite Football)

Sometimes you savour the sweet conversation effortlessly generated by bizarro dreams. 

The improbability encourages rash exploration the ridiculousness of which augments middle-age.

Or any free-spirited time period wherein which dreams distract distinctly, and sweet nothings or crafty fantasies conjure wayward cogent reckonings.

Everything'd be too serious otherwise, there would be no compassionate touch, assuming the difference between reason and absurdity still maintained a coherent balance.

An unacknowledged coherent balance, the irregularities of sincerest trust, cultivated through fleeting foundations, or mutually presumed ill-favour.

In conversation.

There's an art to this kind of conversation which preserves imaginative youth, and myriad compelling narratives have theoretically been spawned thereafter (Ferris Bueller'sStrange Brew . . . ).

Fotbal Infinit (Infinite Football) examines a champion who's taken things way too far, so caught up in his gripping imagination that he's lost sight of the inherent humour.

It seems like he's taking his idea seriously, far beyond rational realistic applications, but he may just be humorously distressed, and there doesn't seem to be much else to talk about.

An injury suffered in his youth led him to stop playing soccer/football, and his dreams of moving to the U.S. were forgotten after his country joined the EU.

Expecting to find excitement in the years following, he instead wound up in a permanent position lacking bureaucratic fluidity.

As the years past his thrilling fantasy became much more appealing than his daily routine, and began to permeate every discussion integrated into his private life.

Does he take things too far in his reckonings and turn every conversation into an awkward exchange, or is there just nothing else left to talk about, and has he found expeditious refrain?

He finds ways to apply his dream to each and every social interaction, it's a remarkable feat of maladroit dynamism, that revels in novel disjunction. 

I'm not sure if he notices the difference between dream and reality any longer, but he's found a way to spice up his life that's at least individualistically invigorating.

What reality's in fact the most ludicrous is perhaps a pertinent question?

Beyond the public sphere.

Quizzical misgivings.

Discursive implosion. 

Friday, October 9, 2020

All About Eve

A celebrated actress at home on the stage, routinely delivering multifaceted exonerations, of unspoken thoughts and dreams, desires, ambitions, theories, a daring picturesque virtuoso, caught up with rhythmic sage.

Involved with a significant other, in a situation lacking scandal, discursive variation tact frivolity, consistent thoughtful bustling capers.

An idea forged through shades transformative delicately shared to invoke dispute, enlivening playful courageous wagers, and joyful crazed repute.

The introduction of another, obsequious and bashful, offering her services for little in return, as the weeks pass she slowly accumulates subtle regard for performance earned.

Her name emerges in conversation with consistent animate praise, remarkable piecemeal code conversion sundry trades professed liaised.

Enriched through understudy awaiting fortune shifts stage lights, the occasion swiftly surging with a levity airtight.

As newfound inspiration reimagines ways and means, novelty or contagion flows sustains the evergreen.

Bit of a downer for the resourceful Margo (Bette Davis) who didn't see it comin'. Fame persisting less assured now that Eve (Anne Baxter) is in the running.

A traditional take on awestruck rivalry that extols acting, reflective fervour, All About Eve introduces a competitive element that transfigures as it stupefies.

I imagine its age old subject matter still resonates today, not only in terms of acting, but Netflix etc. and countless ads prove there's neverending commercial work for any actor.

I even saw David Spade starring in a recent Netflix film (it was terrible) and it looks like a new Bill & Ted film has been released (not on Netflix), plus famous directors like Martin Scorsese, Michael Bay, and the Coen Brothers have released films on Netflix, which I never thought I'd see happen, it's like the medium's extending careers indefinitely while still forging opportunities for younger talents, the game has seriously changed, and it's fun to view the superstructural transformations.

For advertisements, when I was growing up, if you ever saw famous actors at the height of their careers in ads it was surprising, I don't recall it ever happening, but from time to time you see it nowadays, meaning there's less work to go around (love the A & W guy!).

It's like there used to be a code of sorts where film actors never did television/series or commercials, and television/series or commercial actors wanted to be film actors, perhaps that's slipped away into the past, along with reputation and prestige.

Margo takes a break in All About Eve and perhaps will work no more, which would have been a shame, considering the incredible work Nicole Kidman's doing, not to mention Jeff Bridges or Tom Cruise. 

Adversarial competitions aside, All About Eve's concern with acting as opposed to writing or directing reminded me of my youth, when it was important to see everything an actor had made, before I became familiar with auteurs. 

And I doubt that will ever go away, the public love of actors is something timeless. 

I'll still go see a film if it's starring one of my favourites.

Even if I'm supposed to know better.

😉

Tuesday, October 6, 2020

Clue

It seems that at one time the Clue board game was so popular that a feature film was compacted to playfully stipulate in tandem.

Murder/mystery perennially brooding shocks cross-stitched semantics airtight, it makes sense to periodically lampoon them with irreverent slipshod proclivities.

I enjoy watching detective drama as inspectors set about a' sleuthing, so why not blend such solemn preferences with carefree yet stilted amusement?

Clue's cheeky insincerity spryly lauds its commercial underpinnings, its lucid recognition of its charter slyly cast consoled ridiculous.

Yet it doesn't shy away from embracing traditional logic, as characters hectically discuss the morbid outcomes of their tether.

While I do enjoy detective fiction, the genre's obsession with vilifying do-gooding, is manifestly disconcerting, I'd argue its narratively pandemic.

Well-meaning communally focused characters are often hypocritically portrayed, or found guilty of improprieties they've kept hidden in the shade.

If you think American film and television is guilty of racist bias, let me introduce you to British crime drama where minorities are so often corrupt.

Courageous women are bound for trouble as are gay people and the otherworldly, let alone anyone introducing something new which conflicts with age old tradition.

I cheer for the do-gooders as I watch but the outcomes are so often grim. The world could use a new Columbo. A self-made lieutenant unconcerned with privilege.

Clue presents a group of strangers being blackmailed by the same man, for social misdemeanours coldly reckoned fibbed offhand.

They come together as a group to delineate strict character, but get along like woebegone curmudgeons none the merrier.

Tricked they've been wry Grenadine their startling frayed pronouncements, ill-considered spoiled and quivered distillates accounted.

Could a feature length film be made based upon a less scandalous game such as trivial pursuit?

It's really quite elementary.

You just answer a random question which then provides direction for the plot and then each subsequent question answered serendipitously transforms it.

The transformations could be genre-based as well in order to inspire homemade postmodernism.

Sports. Literature. Politics. Drama. 

Kitschy campy gold.

At integral multigeneric play.

Indubitably trivial. 

Friday, October 2, 2020

The Social Dilemma

From time to time, I've written about how much I love my cellphone, and that's certainly the case, it's a remarkable tool that simplifies so many things and makes life so much much easier.

For social media, I like to play games and post the odd article or picture on Facebook (or Twitter or Instagram). I post articles from reputable sources that abide by codes of conduct to share information I find relevant to the outside world. I don't update my profile status too often because my daily life's just not that interesting, or perhaps it's because I tend to annoy people, or don't have much to say.

Social media apps seemed like wonderful tools when I started using them, they facilitate the sharing of information and let you see what your friends are interested in. They let you express yourself creatively in a variety of different ways that make for a robust compelling caricature that celebrates the active life. Further, the tools are available to everyone so elites don't have a monopoly on shaping public opinion. If used in accordance with ethical guidelines the situation seems rather chill and democratic. But as Jeff Orlowski's The Social Dilemma suggests, the pursuit of logic and reason is seriously off course.

The documentary presents individuals who worked for companies like Google or Facebook and asks them to share their thoughts about their legacies, or the impact their tools have had upon the world at large. And according to the statistics they present, things have taken a turn for the worse.

For instance, they claim that fake news spreads 6 times as fast as news shared from legitimate sources, or that fake news reaches a much wider audience than that crafted by professionals adhering to ethical standards.

The line between comic criticisms of daily newscasts (The Onion) and flagrant disingenuous lies seems to have disappeared entirely as people vainly seek popularity.

If fake news spreads at a much faster pace it makes less sense to tell the truth if you want to be popular, and millions of people are aware of this, and expressing themselves thusly.

Considering that billions of people use social media, it's like the telephone game's gone galactic, as has an unsettling mistrust of professionals who separate fact from fiction.

I think it's important to speculate or theorize or comment or observe, but you need to present your ideas as possibilities, not facts, as you democratically engage with the outside world.

A lot of people don't seem to be able to tell the difference or would simply prefer to bask in sensation, and with the billions of people who access social media every day, the situation's potentially catastrophic.

Suicide rates have simultaneously expanded at an alarming speed and people are spending much less time socializing offline.

Hate is spreading as well and little is being done about it.

I was surprised recently when I attended a campfire at a cousin's where a number of youths showed up. And didn't sit around chatting with one another, but rather spent the entire evening on their phones (I figured cyberspatial obsessions would have less sway in the country).

The doc paints a grim picture of how polarized things are becoming and how the willingness to find consensus is rapidly fading. I suppose building bridges is at a low ebb. But I can't help it, that's what I do.

Even if the stories I share don't spread as quickly as lies, I'll still continue to share them. People need to fight rampant misinformation. And embrace holistic hug power.

As they suggest in The Social Dilemma, it's clear that there has to be some kind of change. There's no going back to the '80s, but there needs to be some sense of social media responsibility.

I don't know if there's much of a difference, democratically speaking, between someone without much education sharing a theory, or an academic publishing an argument, but the academic usually indicates that they may be incorrect, or at least suggests they're engaging in high end speculation. 

It's a compelling continuum where no one's correct but peeps aren't necessarily mistaken either. 

Social media is similar.

But it needs to highlight it's engaging in speculation, or find reputable sources to back up its claims.

If millions of people just make stuff up and then cite each other regularly without proof or argument as if they aren't engaging in speculation, then the world suffers from excessive stupidity.

Enter conscious free-flowing surrealism. 

The doc shares much more information than that (available on Netflix).

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

The Windermere Children

When I was growing up, the horrors of World War II and Nazi oppression still weighed heavily on hearts and minds, and cultures went to great soulful lengths to instructively ensure they wouldn't be forgotten. 

You didn't have to search for very long to find outlets condemning the racist violence, and politicians who condoned hatred had very short-lived careers.

The state of the public sphere today is a reckless mess. There's no general emphasis on consensus or teamwork or collegiality or reconciliation, just a mad reactionary groundless onslaught of grotesque irresponsibility. 

Even something as consensus building as a plague has been divisively politicized, and official acts of incredible stupidity abound with gleeful unconcern.

But if I remember correctly, sowing deep rooted contempt for government by promoting bureaucratic chaos (the government appears to be dysfunctional all the time so people lose faith in politics) is a far right strategy, which is being employed ad infinitum to champion sheer catastrophe (see Chomsky).

The Nazis took power in such a climate in hopeless post-War Germany, and unleashed an unprecedented deluge of hate that crippled Europe for decades.

The holocaust was the most revolting undertaking ever unleashed on unsuspecting peoples, and the racist ideologies that encouraged it are once more circulating in the public sphere.

The Windermere Children presents survivors of that unimaginable horror, that extreme repugnant terror that claimed millions of innocent lives.

To see what the kids have been reduced to near the beginning of the film, is to witness utter despondency pure and ghastly total war.

But thanks to the caring endeavours of a British philanthropist and a group of teachers, they were delicately nursed back to health as the film wondrously demonstrates.

There are politicians like Biden who truly care about humanistic enterprise, and have no interest in dividing a nation into disparate unintegrated groups.

They seek non-violent productive community, not the profits of war.

The world can be more peaceful, it's just a matter of respect and productivity.

A focus on international community.

That doesn't leave behind individualistic ambition. 

Friday, September 25, 2020

The Island

Every day like every other, a clone colony habitually persisting, keeping productive, following the rules, maintaining social distance, no need for further questions.

They believe they've survived a plague that has destroyed all life above ground, and that they're lucky to have escaped civilization's wanton biological destruction.

They have friends and abundant contacts but everything's been accounted for, there isn't the slightest most minuscule deviation from their overlord's strategic plan.

Traditionally this passes unnoticed, like routine shifts undiversified ubiquitous, until one clone (Ewan McGregor as Lincoln Six Echo) starts to question his existence, thereby challenging the consummate order.

There's one way to overcome confinement, they must be chosen to move to the island, the last vestige of sustainable life, still enriching upon the surface.

A glorious day if they win the lottery, full of felicity and jaunty applause, vigorous opportunities surely awaiting, joyous pastimes inveterate pause.

But while sleuthing Six Echo discovers an unspoken terrifying master narrative, which he must share with his blind compatriots, if they're ever to know robust justice.

He breaks free with his frightened love interest (Scarlett Johansson as Jordan Two Delta) to the unforgiving world beyond, mercenaries intent on tracking them down, as they flee for the wilds of Los Angeles. 

Perhaps not the best time to be reviewing The Island, considering its metaphorical import, but it is just a film after all, and COVID-19's a viral reality.

Frustrating to see the spread of fake news which refuses to believe COVID-19 exists, which doesn't take the pandemic seriously, such narratives will only ensure the plague intensifies.

You can also see The Island as a metaphorical critique of working in unregulated industry, without safety procedures or sick days, or pension or difference or critique.

You can work for months for years without incident, but to last decades without sustaining injury is against the imposing odds.

Thus you live in relative comfort with everything provided for year after year, but eventually you have to make sacrifices which seriously endanger your health.

Critiques of the situation aren't tolerated, and accessible knowledge only relates to your job, you can get to know people but not seriously, and you're stuck eating what a computer suggests.

The ending's like the emergence of self-employment, or paid sick leave, higher wages, and an ombudsperson, plus the ability to live somewhere else besides work, and spend your income on manifold goods and services.

If I remember correctly The Island wasn't well received but I'd argue it's one of Michael Bay's best. 

I've never seen him so concerned with social justice.

It's solid thought provoking sci-fi.

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

6 Underground

A self-made billionaire well-versed in hardboiled expression embraces volatile altruism after having been reanimated (Ryan Reynolds as One).

Having given up on the political process (not me), and assembled an eclectic mulitdimensional team, he proceeds to take on a cruel haughty despot, who bombs schools and gasses his own people.

His brother's the exact opposite and would rule by upstanding means, if he wasn't locked down in a lavish penthouse under cloistered lock and key.

The mission: take out the despot's generals to destabilize the military, then free the forlorn bro from ostentatious disenchantment. Afterwards head to the nation in question to launch a coup and inaugurate political reform. Try not to make friends along the way. And engage in optic dissimilitude.

The team is ready and willing to achieve herculean ascension.

It's full-on cloak and dagger.

With sensationalist logistics.

I don't mean to critique their ambition nor mitigate their heroic impact. Despots who tyrannize their own people when they could be educating them or encouraging communal development are certainly disheartening. 

6 Underground's still somewhat basic, however, with sharp divisions, like a Western for kids, morals fitting snuggly within a domain that overlooks contradictory realities, not that the domain doesn't appease widespread outrage, or challenge ennui claiming nothing can be done.

In this instance, sending in an elite independent group to bring about political reform within a repressed nation seems apt, and there's even a plan to smoothly transition from one political platform to another. No decades of fighting afterwards by warring factions with no interest in harmony. No general hunger or unrest or unemployment while the country tries to figure out what to do.

Haven't both left and right wing proponents encouraged clandestine coups around the globe to disastrous effect, though, isn't political change more substantial if it's self-generated, as seems to have been the case in many currently peaceful countries?

It would be nice if things were as simple as 6 Underground makes them out to be, but simple solutions for problems this complex are often sought for nefarious means.

The film resolutely approaches the fight against tyranny with rapid fire multidisciplinary dialogue, but it's also abounding with gratuitous violence, prostitution, and characters lacking identity.

If you're critiquing a despot for using poisonous gas on his own people, you shouldn't have your heroes use gas to attain their goals later on, even if their gas is harmless.

I know the characters aren't supposed to know each other due to mission parameters, but this film would have been stronger with much more character depth.

Depth of action excels in the opening moments, however, with the best car chase I've ever seen.  

It's a solid action film.

That loses something in its naive oversimplification.

Friday, September 18, 2020

Flash Gordon

Here's a film that's much better the second time round.

During my first viewing, a logical bias prevented me from appreciating the freeform glib absurdity, as I engaged in rational calculation rather than unlocking wondrous intuition.

True, the script provides scant detail as it embraces grand complication, a motivating reason consistently postulated, without much time added for thought or pause.

And these reasons conjure unerring as Flash (Sam J. Jones) confronts intergalactic authority, in a complex web of political fascination, stitched together with impacting law.

Studied skilfully nurtured pretensions led to accusations of the ridiculous, of disenchanted criticism unilaterally applied.

But when I laid down to watch it again I couldn't wait to bask in frenzy, in chaotic disproportion altruistically askew.

Characters once dismissed as empty took on vibrant intense substance, and a plot thought to be immersed in dispatch emerged with complementary cohesion.

There's something to be said for fun, for lightheartedly revelling on set, Gordon's jocose mischievous nonchalance concerned with neither plight nor threat.

And after anticipated reasonability gives way to cultivated implausibility, the joy of filmmaking viscerally shines through, as it jumps from scene to scene.

It's not that the film's irrational, in fact with multiple short and sweet scenes moving the action along, it abounds with agile meaning, multifacetedly composed.

But considering what needs to happen and the likelihood of even considering such an unorthodox plan, the constant eruptions of clever catalysts seem too radical before amazement's factored in.

True to form, Flash Gordon never forgets that it is based upon a comic book, and I'm uncertain if ever I've seen another comic book film so admirably respect its illustrious origins.

In comparison to contemporary Marvel and DC films they're certainly less controversial, less likely to lose large swaths of their target audiences due to impulse, inspiration, or feeling.

But I'll watch Flash Gordon again anytime, perhaps because they had no clue what they were doing, yet still strung something together that's exceptional, not to mention epically imbued (production design by Danilo Donati).

I'm not saying Marvel and DC should stray from what works for them.

But Flash Gordon's spirit's no doubt electrifying.

Like wild influential discontinuum.

*Once again, it's cool to see works of art that seem as if they're uncertain as to how to proceed. This doesn't work so well in sports or politics. Where such an aspect is foolish or frightening.   

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Neko to Shôzô to futari no onna (Shozo, A Cat and Two Women)

Lazy Shôzô (Hisaya Morishige) catches a break when his lacklustre relationship suddenly dissolves, much to his mother's (Yuko Minami) delight, and perhaps also that of his cat.

He's seeing someone else who's not adverse to domestic subversion, but she's somewhat younger than he is, and prone to fits of righteous outrage (Kyôko Kagawa).

She's quite rich however so Shôzô's mom adores the match, and counsels thoughtful feeling as opposed to obtuse thatch.

But Shôzô's wife (Isuzu Yamada) soon strives aggrieved to reverse the situation, for her sister isn't too enthused with providing accommodation. 

Another seeks to rent the room and will pay three times as much, so she needs swift clever calculation manipulatively clutched.

She knows of one thing Shôzô loves more than anything at that, his distant furtive purcolating agile nimble cat.

Even more than escapading, even more than sleeping in, he loves his tactile independent erudite unhinged.

Cat. 

He loves his cat and his ex-wife knows it and wants to live somewhere less packed, so she tempts her newfound rival to consider devote paths.

She declares to lazy Shôzô that he must freely chose, betwixt his age old loving feline and his cherished muse.

Mother pleads and even begs he listen to her sweetly, the rent is due their business through she explains quite discreetly.

But he's determined unabashed to abide by no one's will, other than that which surmises lackadaisic chill.

It's an odd sort of comedy that boldly theorizes what life would be like for someone who's never sought to do anything at all, whom the opposite sex still finds irresistible.

His shop doesn't make money, he doesn't even know what to charge for the items he sells, he sleeps half the day and loves to spend time at the beach, and his mother's stuck coming up with the rent, yet he's still sought after and even fought for due perhaps to bucolic notoriety. 

Shôzô, even though he has lived as an adult for quite some time, still knows nothing of worldly affairs that don't facilitate relaxation.

Yet he still loves, he loves spending time with his cat: should this loyal devotion be criticized?

Should he be reprimanded or even assailed for living an honest life?

Never feeling lash nor censure?

Boldly sought after.

Loved?

Saturday, September 12, 2020

The Cat's-Paw

A man raised in China by missionaries suddenly finds himself in New York, his first trip back home to the States since he was but the weest lad.

Unaccustomed to anything besides a life of study in rural environs, he accidentally finds himself running to become mayor of the bustling city.

The party he represents is controlled by their opposition, and was instructed to find a candidate who would without a doubt most certainly lose.

But as fate would have it through blind dumb luck he aptly wins race, and proceeds to set the highest bar altruistically apace.

He's also searching for a wife to one day bring back to Asia, and meets a streetwise countergirl breathtaking poised regalia.

Having no knowledge of worldly affairs and even less of bureaucratic intrigue, he governs according to the philosophy of Ling Po, a Chinese sage he's studied exhaustively. 

His alternative methods disgruntle his adversaries who are used to the status quo, and unfamiliar with philosophy, and none too pleased with all the extra work.

They take advantage of Ezekiel's (Harold Lloyd) innocence and soon he's the victim of a scandal.

To which he fluidly responds with an ancient epic gamble.

The Cat's-Paw's wondrous naive enthusiasm generates holistic applause, as working solutions combat corruption in a metamorphic state of bureaucratic nature.

Ezekiel applies his knowledge with well-meaning bold intent, and finds effective cost cutting measures that encourage less dependent fiscal enterprise.

It's fun to watch as a sheltered intellectual governs with no strings attached, his worldly shocked advisors in a constant state of panic.

A sense of calm restorative ease ascends as he honestly settles the score, like deficits and graft and cons will fade forevermore.

But for every wide-eyed dreamer who ably governs through ancient texts, a hundred more and then some keep them historically in check.

Certainly old school writings can influence the present, but when they outstrip their mortal bonds things become rather unpleasant.

That is, new sets of circumstances inevitably emerge (an overpopulated planet, extremely stressed environmental resources) to which the antiquated writings cannot be applied, and if cultures need new strategies to solve the unprecedented problems, a reliance upon ancient texts can be problematic.

You would think they would simply adapt to reasonable scientific observation.

But that doesn't seem to happen.

Perennially at odds, no progress, no quarter. 

Tuesday, September 8, 2020

The Highwaymen

Two old school lawpersons are tasked with tracking Bonnie & Clyde, who have unleashed a rampant crime spree on unsuspecting middle-America.

They've been on the road for most their lives but had recently been enjoying retirement, until the stakes became too high and Ma Ferguson (Kathy Bates) came a' callin'.

Their knowledge gives them a shrewd leg up as they set out in search of madness, the couple already having shot 6 professionals, and evaded capture amidst spurned ubiquity.

The outlaws are loved and cherished which makes acquiring information difficult, and they're familiar with multiple jurisdictions and have widespread contacts along the way.

But Frank Hamer (Kevin Costner) and Maney Gault (Woody Harrelson) are familiar with drastic protocol, and confident in their sleuthing, even if they've aged since yesteryear.

They vigorously hit the road in search of moribund crisis.

Casting roll call aside.

The limits of their territory presenting non-negotiable constraints, they engage like wild frontierpersons, inviolable stalwart contingencies. 

Difficult to say if it's a matter of luck or swift determination that lithely guides them. 

But they do proceed unerring.

Omniscient, as it's written.

Perhaps written a bit too directly, as if Frank and Maney possessed divine instinct, and were therefore justified in taking reckless steps, to put an end to the wanton bloodshed.

I suppose Bonnie & Clyde were exceptional inasmuch as they gunned down so many policepersons, and seemed like they were getting away with it, across so many state lines.

But so many others are shot down by the police in routine circumstances having done no wrong (so many of them African Americans), The Highwaymen's more of a character study of grim fatalistic rangers, than a multidimensional perplexity replete with cultural intrigue.

It's cool to see so much Costner and Harrison, but a closer examination of the abstruse terrain would have been clever.

Not that the film isn't intelligent it just employs a less intricate style, like the honest controversial scenarios you find in a derelict western.

It's not that it isn't well done with several thoughtful memorable scenes, it's just so bluntly good vs. evil that so much is lost in between.

If it's remembered that the circumstances are exceptional and Bonnie & Clyde need to be hunted down that's one thing, but its one-dimensional promotion of the evil criminal implicitly suggests so many are absolutely guilty.

And that's simply not the case, circumstance and upbringing should be considered, prejudicial shackles and hopeless impoverishment often resulting in misguided crime.

Not that people should get away with it or victims shouldn't have their say, but the reasons explaining why someone chooses a life of crime go far beyond cookie cut polarities.

Good jobs, a foreseeable future, can lead to much less poverty.

An emphasis on racial equality can fight against internalized prejudice. 

Friday, September 4, 2020

Nakitai watashi wa neko wo kaburu (A Whisker Away)

First love strikes an eccentric youth and harrowingly passes unnoticed, the would be love interest concerned with other things, and rather embarrassed by her written declaration.

Fortunately she's accidentally met a cat spirit who facilitates transformation, who provides her with an enchanted mask which gives her the power to frisk and frolic.

With the opportunity to become a cat, Miyo (Cherami Leigh) visits Kento (Johnny Yong Bosch) in disguise, and learns of his intimate secrets, while thoroughly enjoying the rapt attention.

But as time passes she learns that the deal has spiritual reciprocations ethereally attached, and that just as she can take on cat form, cats can become human if they're granted a mask.

Cat form begins to seem preferable and soon Miyo's lost the ability to change back, and will soon transform irrevocably if he she can't retrieve her hominid craft.

But her old cat has stolen her identity and seeks to remain supported upright, human lifespan's lasting much longer than animate feline respites. 

The cat spirit will obtain Miyo's lifespan if she's unable to switch back in time.

Her prospects become more and more unappealing.

Even after discovering a secret cat sanctuary.

Nakitai watashi wa neko wo kaburu (A Whisker Away) criticizes rash passion as it proceeds without forethought or consideration, anxieties generated by discourse immutable, by sincere feeling somewhat overdrawn.

I suppose in terms of genuine emotion lacking precedent it honestly depicts incipient l'amour, and therefore doesn't have to be thought of as reckless, as it's freely and honestly presented.

The idea's a good one I agree, transformative comprehensive adventure, with chillaxed elements quizzically diversifying, like the magical realm only cats can see.

I thought it could have provided more detail, more elaborate interdimensional parlay, we're introduced to an intriguing world of cats but don't learn that much about it.

A comical exploration of the trials of first love or bewildering newfound infatuation, how to go about expressing the irrational as it pertains to another, amicably, perhaps is one way to describe it.

Familial bonds and sympathetic friendship offer counsel throughout the transition, although there's not much they can do as she becomes more and more anthropomorphic.

It's fun to watch as the cat becomes human and embraces her expanded capabilities, I'd wager animals transforming into humans hasn't been explored enough in the history of cinema.

Perhaps I'm too old for this one but having read the synopsis I couldn't resist. 

Life can be so serious at times. 

It's cool that Netflix is making cat movies. 

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

Wonder

A child who looks different anxiously prepares for the fifth grade, having been homeschooled up to this point by his mom (Julia Roberts), having made little contact with the outside world (Jacob Tremblay as Auggie), now ready to thoughtfully engage.

His mother and father (Owen Wilson) are more nervous than he is, as he courageously departs, sincerely worried about their son, whom they've diligently help to prepare.

His sister (Izabela Vidovic as Via) provides prudent counsel and lays down the skeletal score, a brief barebones adolescent treatise, on inherent enervating distress.

But he's a gamer, he doesn't back down, although he's faced with acerbic prejudice, he hangs in there and academically excels, making some chill real friends along the way.

Wonder isn't just focused on him though, the trials of several young people are explored, their struggles compassionately and intricately blended, as they deal with scholastic realities.

The result's a well-rounded take offering diverse perspectives on the challenges youth face, while trying to carve out an identity, and freely fit in at school.

Parents too, the shocks of child rearing, the difficulties of trying to let go, to be there whenever and wherever, without smothering the affable flow.

It's great to see such honest loving parents who abound with enriching guidance, who don't shy away from the hardboiled vortex, but don't dwell or fixate on it either.

The troubles are there, they haven't been whitewashed, but Wonder still presents lighthearted community, or instances where peeps don't have to defend themselves, since they've found rewarding playful friendship.

Difference is a wonderful thing and adds so much spice to cultural life. Just think of a hot pot of chilli with the more ingredients the merrier.

Taking the time to consider what people are going through instead of bluntly embracing base instinct, can lead to enlivening gatherings overflowing with laidback novelty (post-COVID).

There's so much of an emphasis on power and control these days that it's easy to forget some people just want to talk, without enacting the "holier-than-thou", or resorting to blunt fatalism.

Just because someone has more money it doesn't mean that they're a jerk, just because someone's speech isn't prim and polished it doesn't mean they have nothing to say.

You may find people who comprehend subjects that don't lead to the acquisition of wealth, radiate creative synergies regenerating soulful stealth.

It seems like it'd be easier if youthful discourse permeated the working world, but Wonder demonstrates how difficult it is for youngsters themselves to generate chillaxed disclosure.

It's an excellent film promoting understanding that's neither too harsh nor sentimental.

Rich with compelling observation.

Cheeky poignant and studious kindness.