Finding 'Ohana

A trip to Hawaii, to settle in with the fam, who's been sorely missed for the past decade, yet is still just as feisty as ever.

Leilani (Kelly Hu) moved away to New York shortly after her second child was born, embracing hectic traversed transformation, and acculturated distinct juxtaposition. 

Not that bad of a situation albeit fraught with geographical discord, the best of both worlds occasionally accessible, even if her children have trouble adjusting.

They're used to an accelerated pace innately attuned to unexpected variability, and although the countryside offers accredited novelty, Pili (Kea Peahu) and Ioane (Alex Aiono) still crave extrapolation. 

Fortunately, Pili discovers an old journal chronicling the history of legendary treasure, and after effortlessly making a new friend (Owen Vaccaro as Casper), has soon borrowed a vehicle in headstrong pursuit.

Her brother soon learns of their plan and after acquiring the aid of a new acquaintance (Lindsay Watson as Hana), proceeds to follow them with grouchy intent, eventually finding them in the depths of a cave.

They must sleuth and search synergistically if they're to locate the vast booty however, while bearing in mind additional myths which may complicate tonal procedures.

Gramps (Branscombe Richmond) and mom worry at a bright local hospital after the children cannot be found.

As New York and Hawaii unite.

Adventurous forays unbound.

Energetically disseminating bold exposition and grievous error, Finding 'Ohana ebullionly excavates inquisitive confident reverent equipoise. 

Character intergenerationally flourishes upon ancestral lands, disputes familially interlocking ignored free-spirited commands.

The family within is a striking example of innovative postmodern Indigenous peoples, many of whom work within the dominant discourse without having sacrificed code or tradition.

The film's generally light of heart even if its subject matter could have been much more solemn, several disheartening economic and spiritual realities endemically generating enlivened enterprise.

The voyage interrogates ecstatic endeavour in order to emphasize austere imposition, without losing sight of the playful innocence naturally embraced by active minds.

A campy blend of enlightened spirits temporally tempered and passionately gaged, Finding 'Ohana revels in multidisciplinary archaeologies at wondrous impacting play.

Genealogical. 

______ wishes.  

Penguin Bloom

Tragedy strikes a loving family on an adventurous trip to foreign lands, as a wooden railing suddenly breaks and then leads to partial paralysis.

Mrs. Bloom (Naomi Watts) is none too impressed and struggles to adjust to immobile life, her husband and children also uncertain as to how to convalescently proceed.

One day at a time piecemeal slowly developing compensating characteristics, the shocking disheartening unknown tumultuously traversed resiliently reconciled.

But there's a long natural stasis throughout which catalyzed incentives fail to materialize, ineffable qualms maddening frustrations routine resignation nihilistic necessity.

Until one day little Noah (Griffin Murray-Johnston/Essi Murray-Johnston) brings home an injured bird, who was in the sights of a hungry lizard before he was miraculously saved.

The magpie is criticized at first due to its wild habitual shenanigans, but as time passes his industrious resonance endearingly charters soulful serenity.

Mrs. Bloom grows less weary and even takes on kayaking, and as her children joyously revel in her recrudescence, the magpie gradually learns to take flight.

It's a charming heartfelt enlightened illustration of resurgent life, a family coming to terms with calamity as newfound hope rapturously reckons.

It doesn't whitewash the depression nor overlook the corresponding despondency, the resultant gritty reanimate life all the more compelling in its vital complexity.

The fam is patient and understanding and they progress as a supportive team, friends stopping by to altruistically aid through the art of cohesive community.

Penguin Bloom also excels at heuristically highlighting the tender benefits of resplendent pets, who spiritually heal downtrodden fortunes as they effortlessly bark, mew, and wag.

Or chirp in this airborne instance in Penguin's caring awkward stride, how did they accumulate so many cute scenes?, at times I thought Penguin was a robot (say "no" to pet robots!).

Cool to see Naomi Watts back at it she shows up in so many cool films, an impressive diverse array of characters snuggly embowered in eclectic environs. 

I think she deserves more recognition, she's performed so well in so many films, unless she's happy doing the independent thing, throw in Hawke and Dern imagine the Criterion!

Penguin Bloom's pretty cool too, Netflix is rockin' it, so good to see.

Nice to see hopeful family films sometimes, especially when they integrate animal friends. 

My Brilliant Career

Ill-equipped for traditional confined pastoral life, an independent headstrong maiden habitually engenders conflict, composed in daydream resilient reverie off-kilter audacious autumnal resolve, she challenges presumed propriety through bold recourse to undaunted vigour (Judy Davis as Sybylla Melvyn).

Warning signs abound and she's critiqued with chagrined austerity, the counsel sympathetic yet hardhearted clad in strict coattail admonishment. 

She listens with feisty disbelief somewhat respectful, rather dismissive, her determined insurmountable spirit soulful sprightly stern and striking.

Ill-amused with worldly prejudice concerning sedate superficial aesthetics, she excites through rapt improvisation and presents provocative enticing gambits.

Two men fall for her inspired enchantments even though she's aloof, uninterested, radiating tantalizing unconcern with natural grace and uncanny dignity. 

She likes one of them, however (Sam Neill as Harry Beecham), yet still can't respond to his sincere affection, her dreams far too intense and enlivening to settle for domestic rations.

Yet frontier economics destabilize her multifaceted salient repose, and unfortunate concrete necessity leads to unexpected unnerving circumstances.

The dream perseveres throughout, as she adjusts to working life.

Her awestruck suitor doesn't forget her.

As she contends in the startling Outback.

Who's to say what path to follow how things will end up what will pass along the way?, Sybylla finds literary success as do many others the world loves good books.

If you aren't that concerned with recognition it's easy not to be disappointed, if you're happy with the material you come up with and aren't consumed by envy, you should be fine.

In Search of Lost Time offers ample support for any artist who likes doing their own thing, manifold praise for uncelebrated artistic endeavour can be found peppered throughout the different volumes.

I diligently tried to follow the conflicting advice I was presented with in my youth, but could never really make sense of it, always knew I didn't posses the right psychology.

Perhaps it's better if you aren't consistently bombarded with different compelling visions, Sybylla doesn't have online access, she just has books to read in the country.

I've always liked the chaos though, the general wide-eyed spontaneous diversity.

Frenetic flux frenzied fixation.

A wonderful film.

An animate must see.

Long Weekend

Throughout my life, my family has encouraged a healthy love of nature, whether it be a walk through the woods or intensive birdwatching, a love of heartfelt naturalistic programming, or even camping whenever visiting large cities in Canada and Québec or the U.S (you save a fortune); there's always been an environmental edge to our various activities that's cultivated a robust admiration for the great outdoors, with which I've tried to interact to the best of my abilities, by writing hundreds of films reviews and poems in parks and forests.

Montréal's parks are great for nature lovers and give residents ample opportunity to briefly forget the city (Jeanne-Mance, Jarry, La Fontaine, Jean-Drapeau . . .), or easily recapture that emancipating feeling one often gets laidback in the woods.

Plus you can head out for lunch shortly afterwards or just wander around at random. Can't wait til this pandemic's over. I hear they've already vaccinated more than 40 million people in the United States. 

In most parts of Canada and Québec you have to put up with a long winter, but this keeps the population small, and ensures abundant space for the lazy days of Summer.

Plus, venomous snakes and spiders seem to generally dislike the cold, so our forests aren't as dangerous, although you have to watch out for ticks and bears.

Apart from polar bears, however, bears are generally harmless, predominantly omnivorous in fact, although you should still always keep your distance, since you never really know what they'll do.

I've read several books about bears anyways (The Sacred Paw, Bears: An Altitude SuperGuide, The Blue Bear: A True Story of Friendship and Discovery in the Alaskan Wild, Grizzlyville, Shadow of the Bear: Travels in Vanishing Wilderness . . . ), and they all highlight the generally peaceful nature of bears, but they still do attack at times, so it's best to always keep your distance.

I wonder what the island of Montréal was like on first contact and how many bears used to live there. There must be old studies from the 18th or 19th centuries at the BAnQ. Someday I'll have the time. 

Long Weekend takes place in Australia and sees a married couple head off to the woods, disputes regarding their destination abounding even though it's clearly incredible once they get there.

Unfortunately for them, however, nature is rather irritated by their recreational presence, and assails them throughout their visit, more intensely after they start to fight back.

It's somewhat ridiculous to curiously watch as opossums bite and birds swoop with ill-intent, special effects would have greatly enhanced Long Weekend's trepidation, although I imagine it was cutting edge at the time.

It's not meant to be a comedy but may have benefitted through recourse to the ludicrous, there's a little bit too much sincere improbability to take without a grain of disingenuous salt.

Worth watching for a taste of the bizarro, nevertheless, wildly crafted with frights Down Under.

I wonder what Australia was like on first contact.

So many new species unlike anything Europeans had ever seen.  

Amistad

The 19th century.

A group of slaves being transported at sea courageously revolts and takes control of the vessel.

Unfamiliar with nautical logistics, they rely on two former captors to sycophantically steer, but weeks later provisions grow slim, and they're forced to gather fresh supplies on land.

They weren't being led back to Africa as promised, and are soon detected by the American navy, who imprisons them as runaway slaves, thinking their bondage was secured legally.

At the time, Britain has nobly outlawed slavery but Spain still permits human trafficking, the Spanish crown seeking to reobtain what it claims is its property, the Americans confused by conflicting demands.

If the individuals whose freedom has been denied turn out to have been born in a Spanish country, they then belong to the Spanish crown, or the scoundrels who acquired them on its behalf, and, unfortunately, there's little the abolitionists can do.

But since they were illegally obtained in Africa their rights to freedom have been scurrilously denied.

But their lawyer needs to prove they came from Africa.

And he can't speak their language.

It takes quite some time in fact before they find someone who can, and even with the reliable African testimony, the Africans still have to prove their innocence three times.

Amistad covers a lot of ground as it champions liberty and freedom, intertwining multiple diverse threads as it weaves a compelling plot.

The independence of the American courts is analyzed through political intrigue, since the freedom of the wrongfully enslaved Africans will enrage the American South.

President Van Buren (Nigel Hawthorne) is worried about losing the next election, but also about starting a civil war, so he interferes behind the scenes, although he thankfully can't guarantee specific outcomes.

The abolitionists approach Christianity with open-minded considerate impacts, religion at times an instrument of persecution, here it pursues social justice.

Amistad is at its best as lawyer Roger Sherman Baldwin (Matthew McConaughey) gets to know his clients, notably the feisty Cinque (Djimon Hounsou), who led the sublime revolt in question.

As they slowly learn to communicate a world of enriching ideas opens up, Baldwin interested in learning about African customs, Cinque generally frustrated by appellate courts.

Kindness and understanding guide Amistad's resiliency, as it concentrates on compassionate endeavours, interwoven into a practical dynamic.

Its graphic depiction of slavery's innate horrors encourage impassioned just pursuits.

Difficult to imagine anyone could have ever treated people that way.

Amistad successfully assails such injustice.

*Billions of animals still suffer from much worse circumstances around the world. The abuse inflicted is horrifying. I'm glad so many people are trying to change things.

In the Heat of the Night

An honest cop, possessing advanced skills sought after expertise, awaits a train in the middle of the night, unaware a murder has been committed. 

He's been visiting family in the area, and is hoping to travel north, but the local police are searching for culprits, and the colour of his skin makes him a prime suspect.

Difficult to imagine how something as harmless as the colour of someone's skin, could result in so much injustice, so much fear, so much confusion.

Can you remember when you were really young and there were just assortments of different people, and the colour of their skin meant nothing, as it hopefully still does, they were just people, some dark, some light?

Long before disreputable influences tried to ignorantly promote racist ideologies, that have no basis in fact, and encourage violent rather than peaceful communities, wasn't it just cool that some people were black, some white, some brown, some Asian?

And so on.

There were babysitters, classmates, local shopkeepers, friends, nothing mattered but what they had to say, or didn't if they were quiet and thoughtful, a world free from distressing prejudice.

Doesn't the breaking down of barriers encourage more productive collegial thought, as a wide spectrum of compelling ideas resultantly considers and complements diversity?

Isn't it fascinating to learn new things and don't racist ideologies prevent the flourishing of ideas, the development of new technologies, the cultivation of art and sport?

Isn't it preferable to visit every neighbourhood in a community without the fear of confrontation, isn't it preferable to feel safe wherever you go wherever you happen to live?

That's been my general experience in Canada and Québec and I imagine it's the same in large swathes of continental Europe. It's tough to imagine cities with neighbourhoods you simply don't visit, because segregation has become cultural.

Biden and Harris are fighting it anyways and millions of other constructive Americans, as Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier) does in In the Heat of the Night, with assuréd courageous confidence.

He's taken into the local police station where they're surprised to find out he's a cop, who specializes in homicide, and can help them find the killer.

He ignores the racial tension and rigorously applies himself, with such tenacious freedom that Chief Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger) fears for his life.

Gillespie adds a lot as someone who would likely push for reform, if he wasn't alone and isolated, if he had a network, friends, community.

He recognizes how essential Tibbs is even if he fears the repercussions, and that it's not the colour of one's skin which determines competence, but the ways in which people proactively apply themselves.

Racism was fought so actively in my youth In the Heat of the Night became a TV show, it's been incredibly depressing for the last 5 years to see racism reemerge with political support.

In the U.S.

It's simply never made sense to me, why would people brazenly ignore fact and science?

Doesn't every religion support peaceful communal development?

Regardless of ethnicity or race?

It's one of the most old school ideas.

Generally free of charge.

Hospitable and chill, calm, constructive.

Open-minded.

Edifying.

The Last Unicorn

A lone unicorn forages in her forest (Mia Farrow), rather peaceful and unaware, as two hunters ride by attentively, distraught yet boastful as they search in vain.

But they converse as they critique their fortunes and unicorn listens closely, only to discover she's the last of her kind, should their bold declarations prove to be true.

Then accidentally, shortly thereafter, a boisterous butterfly stops by to say, "hello"(Robert Klein), full of song, rhyme, lyric, and flutter, composed through verbose disorientation.

Unicorn expresses her discontent with butterfly but still asks if she's the last of her kind, and he eventually presents a statement that's less befuddling if not still indirect.

Consequently, equipped with legendary knowledge and the passion to expedite change, she ventures forth in search of the Red Bull who has cruelly cloistered her fellow immortals.

Unaccustomed to questing or the world beyond her forested domain, she soon finds herself trapped by a witch and suddenly showcased in a travelling sideshow (Angela Lansbury). 

But also within the witch's employ is Schmendrick the Magician who's grown rather frustrated (Alan Arkin), not only with his position but with his fickle powers as well.

He's able to see the unicorn, her innate magic isn't hidden from view, he feels sad, he helps her escape, they move forward together, with undaunted high hopes.

A world of riddles and cryptic bemusement playfully yet hauntingly awaits, as a decrepit castle and its melancholic ruler guard a wicked age old secret (Christopher Lee). 

In terms of magic, The Last Unicorn bedazzles through charming character enchantingly invested, the narrative's music, romance, and import conjuring eloquent rhythms eclectic.

If legendary genesis never seems quite so lofty at the time of its humble début, its cheeky contemporaries full of suspicion, its requisite quest somewhat less mesmerizing, then any legend can take on the visions of a disgruntled merrymaking present, and a timeless quality effortlessly emerges, as ahistorical, as it is wise.

Thus, The Last Unicorn, while cultivating agéd times and lands, still resonates with postmodern fortitude, with ancient concurrent melodies.

Is "postmodern" still a synonym for "contemporary", insofar as this has been claimed to be the postmodern age, for some time, an incredibly diverse inclusive metaimpetus 😌, with loopholes outrageously exploited through aggrieved populism?

Nevertheless, I'm resoundingly hopeful that Rankin & Bass's Last Unicorn will endure, I never saw it in my youth, and have watched it twice in recent memory.

The butterfly scene more than that, what a beautiful idea, butterfly and unicorn.

I have seen their Hobbit cartoon several times. But alas. I can no longer find it. 😔  

The Dig

A forthright curious widow seeks to investigate ancient mounds, their presence a striking imaginative catalyst radiating mystery and fascination (Carey Mulligan as Edith Pretty).

A sturdy local excavator well-versed in trowel and spade, is eagerly sought after to conduct the dig personally (Ralph Fiennes as Basil Brown). 

He's archaeologically acclimatized and has learned his trade at home in the field, years of thoughtful constructive labour cultivating multivariable know-how.

He patiently sets to work unaware of what he'll find, it must be exciting to take part in such projects, blind trust generating vision.

He finds something.

It's big. It attracts the attention of the British Museum. Soon his modest dig is a going concern fraught with picturesque potential and rapscallion regard.

Interpersonal dynamics hedge various particular outcomes, love and romance intermingling, along with questions of birth and status.

World War II looms on the horizon with haunting chaotic disregard, members of the dig to be called up, others embracing resignéd sorrow.

It was Basil's work that discovered the treasure yet the upper echelons do not approve, since he's self-taught and lacks social standing, that hasn't been passed down through the haughty ages. 

A solemn film intriguingly attired humble examinations of quote and culture, feminine strength and adroit awareness revealing august historical resolve.

The entrepreneur can attain recognition as his or her sales demonstratively increase, even if they built their business from nothing and had no contacts moving things along (many thanks to the people who like reading me blogs).

Perhaps after they've become established and their determined workforce starts creating new ideas, the CEO or the president may take credit for their marketability.

But in Basil's case (not mine, I'm not playing some metaphorical game, perhaps there are some people who like my writing, that's cool, I'll continue doin' my best within a limited time frame), he was often associated with an institution, who at the time, from what I gather from the film, gave credit for discoveries to whomever was responsible for leading or financing the dig.

It's a simple matter of just creating a list of individuals involved and showcasing it as well in the museum, like film credits. It makes culture much more social. Much less feudally disposed.

But Basil's discovery in The Dig is made while leading his own private excavation, and the higher-ups still refuse to acknowledge him, likely calling him proud for hoping for recognition. 

It's an excellent film first rate drama I was beginning to forget what they're like 😜, I love action-adventure and sci-fi, but they still lack dramatic prestige.

There's nothing quite like sustained stoic resonance sombrely deconstructing perplexing absolutes.

Focused upon will front and centre.

Netflix continues to expand and impress.

*Great performances.

Holiday

Independent unsettled magnetic jocose daring finds itself spontaneously infatuated with amorous resolve.

Unsure as to how to proceed yet abounding with assuréd confidence, he pays a call on his bride to be at her lavish pad in New York City (Cary Grant as Johnny Case).

Where he meets her eccentric family as they prepare to briskly depart, well heeled established variability wry, eclectic, thoughtful, smart.

I suppose the word is dashing he makes a grandiose impression, but he lacks stratospheric censure and old school entrenched connections. 

Pas de problème, paps is unconcerned, assuming he seeks to work, a job readily available should he freely jive besmirched (Henry Kolker as Edward Seton).

But he's more interested in travel, can't engrain the 9 to 5, his fiancé hopes to see him efficaciously prescribed (Doris Nolan as Julia Seton).

Her brother sees things differently even though he lives the life, yet still productively pursues his music every night (Lew Ayres as Ned Seton).

Her sister lives according to a different sketch however, laidback in tune forthrightly groomed for imaginative endeavour (Katharine Hepburn as Linda Seton). 

He can't see straight the bride's irate commitment who's to say?, he plans a trip the jazzy script uncertain rhythmic brave.

It's a light examination of differing industrious proposals, one tied down to a strict routine the other randomly articulated.

Many scenes are spacious sparse straightforward directly focused on something particular, yet still slightly odd and otherworldly subconsciously strewn critically conjured.

Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn take the uncanny blend, and add spirited bold conjecture that creates playful dividends. 

Different backgrounds respectfully exploring mutually constructive staunch alternatives, snobbery generally left behind as curiosity prevails.

A life of unassuming wild free-spirited fun discovery, is cherished courted championed without blinds or cold obstructions.

Money isn't an issue although things are so much more interesting if it never is, no matter how much you have or hope for if you keep things active seraphim.

It's nice to see chill characters in fiction who are so well-suited for one another, overcome learnéd inhibitions and set off for destinations unknown.

If you're searching for a lack of cynicism for something hopeful, joyous, romantic, Holiday genuinely delivers the heartfelt trusting vivacious goods.

I can't recommend a specific path, it depends on what's right for you.

It's still nice to have a multivariable spectrum with so much random conflicting advice. 

Detour

Nestled in an imaginative enclave, precociously performing with enigmatic adrenaline, an artistic couple contemplates progression, alternative gigs, perhaps a move. 

The piano player entertains wedlock and dreams of resonant conjugal consummation, but the singer sets her sights on Hollywood and soon she's hit the road for L.A.

Inclined to romantically subsist on un/conscious conceptions of loyalty and devotion, her distraught beau haplessly hangs on until his presence is one day requested.

But he can't afford a bus ticket so it's time to hitchhike west, a crash course in random interpersonal attentive discourse phased ensuing.

But one of his jaded interlocutors passes away in the forlorn night, and Mr. Roberts (Tom Neal) doesn't know what to do, so he ditches the body, and keeps on drivin'.

He makes it through a routine scan before patiently stopping to shyly gas up, when he notices a wayward belle seeking passage off to the side (Ann Savage as Vera).

Their discussions are initially glib before she ferociously lays it on 'im, she's had a ride in this car before only with a different lonesome driver.

He emphatically insists that he is not a murderous criminal, yet she isn't the trusting kind, even if she doesn't fear for her life.

She's more interested in selling the car and using the money to go shopping, again, and won't let Mr. Roberts slip away or disappear without dire reckoning.

He's as unlucky as they come, prone to grand idealistic reveries, on his own without a network or an institution to back him up.

She swoops in on his fecund fervour and has soon assumed imperial prominence, the two forging an antithetical derelict dismal gender bias.

His hopes to one day wed and settle down and banally intrigue, mutated into anxious suspicions hysterically clad in verbose irritability. 

If looking for rarefied woe lugubriously distilled through befuddled dis/enchantment,  Detour strays from the master narrative to embalm disgruntled folds.

No chummy freewheeling joyrides or clever concise improvised amelioration, just a steady increasingly angst ridden rollout despondently trekked and touring. 

Not sure if you're really that into old school woebegone film noir, but Detour's a crushing exemplar of the disputed genre's disillusioned tropes.

A good book, canned soup, a recital, a walk through the park, a beanbag chair.

Detour revels in maligned microcosm.

Misguided mischief.

Visceral atrophy.

*I don't mean to be so glum, I just like film noir. And Dostoevsky. But I'm also loving Dickens more and more these days. Plus, Biden's administration seems tip top, and mass vaccinations are on the way. It's still the month of February, but positive things are on the horizon. 

The Cobweb

A secluded institution abounding with practical reforms, struggles with its newfound freedoms as competing visions clash.

Responsibility has been encouraged and decision making facilitated, for one learns to productively cooperate by showing respect for individuality.

Two psychiatrists collegially compete to constructively promote level-headed convalescence, their authority granted by a distant board who casually observes on infrequent occasion.

The daily operations are overseen by a self-assured resilient administrator, who's worked there for quite some some time and prefers how things used to be.

At one time management unilaterally decided how to manage and decorate, and freely pursued grand interior design with neither coax nor consultation.

But as democratic reforms have been progressively accepted, patient committees have gained cultural influence, their tastes attempting to diversify integral home decor.

Ms. Inch (Lillian Gish) is restrained yet furious and wishes they could quickly chose then buy new drapes, instead of waiting for collective reckoning to agree upon a course of action.

She also thinks new age liberalities are glibly obstructing bureaucratic efficiencies, and collusively sets about introducing conflict to egalitarian cohesivities uprightly sought.

Thus, as the residents wholesomely discuss the merits of different fashions, the superstructure begins to break down as it tries to coldly reassert itself.

The new age doctor (Richard Widmark as Dr. McIver) stands his ground having devoted his life to his inclusive vision.

Be he spends little time with his family.

And his wife's (Gloria Grahame as Karen) grown rather irritated.

It's a brilliant unaffected microcosm cleverly enacting universal criticism, each character motivated by personal ambition yet frustrated by general resolve.

It's not about making correct decisions although every character maintains unabashed omniscience, but more of an insightful fluid investigation of ideology in political action.

Strengths and weaknesses a chaotic case comedically nurtured and tragically obscured, the perils of professional isolation tasked with self-centred piqued initiative.

The point perhaps may be that if you seek definitive clarification, you'll be frustrated by interpersonal practicality as the level of your commitment increases.

To function you have to go with the flow but to change things you have to innovate, and engrained historical preference will likely resist ethical reforms (even if juxtaposed historical preferences duel in time, as they do in politics).

But if competing ethical intensities become so specified they lose sight of the overarching picture.

People lose faith in the resultant confusion. 

Best to keep general health in mind.

Spock's needs of the many, conversation and dialogue.

*Perfect for political science students. What an animate illustration of work/life balance. 

It Happened One Night

Surrounded by luxury, everything you desire at hand or accessible, no need to work, struggle, justify, elucidate, toot toot, the gravy train, chugs onwards ever after.

Yet within the boundless infinities of grand ostentatious profound torqued hebetude, the imposition of paradigmatic pressure still traditionally refrains, and blasé prim prognostic propriety banally beckons with callous call, as gender roles crafted by ancient custom reemerge to contend and classify.

Ellie (Claudette Colbert) breaks free casts off the bonds of disquieting matrimony, swimming away from her father's yacht to life on the random exuberant road.

Meanwhile, a freespirited journalist castigates his editor's hackneyed rebuke, standing up for the integrity of free-verse, sweetly flowing unfiltered, unpasteurized (they're old friends) (Clark Gable as Peter Warne).

They wind up on the same lively bus heading south through carnivalesque cascades, an understanding reluctantly reached as lacklustre finances briskly balk.

Her father's enlisted the press and manifold detectives to track her down, fellow travellers on their communal steed eventually figuring their story out.

Escape is necessary to actively deconstruct the limits of their sly emancipation, so they vigorously font du puce and have soon procured their own automobile.

Lost indeterminate flux wildly drives their spontaneous momentum.

It's possible they'll never return.

Unless they fall in love.

It's solid rebellious romance firmly frenetic in loquacious languor, earnestly exercised enigmatic ursine, otherwise known, as begrudged true love.

He's not after wealth or prestige and like Lone Starr, he doesn't take the million, yet a kindred and quaint yet quizzical clutch still clasps in clamorous cuddle.  

Even though I love It's A Wonderful Life and watch it every Holiday Season, it never occurred to me to watch something else by the oft lauded sincere Frank Capra. 

And the genuine concern for chillaxed common dignity found in his yuletide yarn, is intriguingly present in rambunctious rapture disgruntled dispute heartfelt happenstance.

Several scenes don't end quite so quickly, they're much longer than one might expect, the cultivation of clandestine character acclimatized patient demonstrative depth.

It must have been a wondrous time when people still believed in dignity beyond wealth or station, when there was perhaps cultural support for public education and widespread constructive activism.

Otherwise, how do you explain the nimble bus scene where its passengers burst forth in song, unconcerned for rank or nobility, simply laidback, relaxing, resting?

And its focus on spirited improbability rooted in frank materialism?

Where things suddenly work out.

As they often do.

Barefoot in the Park

A newlywed couple moves into their first apartment, freely intent on necessitously nest(l)ing.

Their dynamic is somewhat old school inasmuch as Corie (Jane Fonda) doesn't work, yet applies her industrious inclinations to recreation and home decor.

She excels at entertaining and embracing newfound pastimes, her open-minded inquisitive temperament wondrously courting jazzy vigour.

Mr. Bratter (Robert Redford) is a bit more cautious, much less improvisationally disposed, feeling safe within a steady paradigm wherein which everything fits trusted custom and precedent.

He's trying to advance his career or at least make a productive start of it, so he gets used to lively nights intermingling work and conjugal creation.

They live in a provocative building abounding with random curious character, one eccentric neighbour in particular full of vivacious lofty spirit (Charles Boyer as Victor Velasco). 

He invites them out on the town and Corie thinks he may make a good match for her mom (Mildred Natwick), the four of them heading out to a playful restaurant to sample tantalizing ethnic cuisine.

But Mr. Bratter proves less experimental than his enthusiastic wife anticipated, somewhat too sheltered by codes of conduct which don't permit enigmatic alternatives.

A dispute resultantly erupts back at home later on in the evening, which leads to passionate calls for divorce and general flustered mayhem.

It's an endearing amorous investigation of well-matched compassionate opposites, the congenial juxtaposition coaxing clash and conviviality. 

I usually love trying new things especially food from other countries, but I've found this can be just as off-putting as obstinate full-on unbridled dismissals.

I think it's because my traditional embrace of difference conflicts with gender based preconceptions equipped with historical complaint.

That is, it's more endearing to engage in standard arguments derived from habitual expectations, than to wholeheartedly agree on a course of action that doesn't involve varying degrees of intrigue.

I haven't had many relationships, but I've noticed that most people have been having them consistently throughout their lives, and that typical discussions regarding potential actions, are actually rooted in decades worth of stereotypical role play.

When Mr. Batter tries to move beyond his traditional role in Barefoot in the Park, the results are catastrophic, and since he lacks extemporaneous composure, distressing calamity sets in.

But they work things out and forge a consensus as rich with discord as it is cohesive.

A mischievous examination of married life.

Overflowing with constructive wherewithal. 

Cat Ballou

A promising recent graduate heads home to teach school, instructed to read the classics, even if she prefers trendy westerns.

Prone to seek justice yet mischievously enthused, she accidentally aids two ne'er-do-wells in their pursuit of reckless freedom.

Back home on the range her kind-hearted father (John Marley as Frankie Ballou) has enraged his covetous neighbours, who have corruptly engaged a cruel hired gun to dispose of his innate virtue.

She immediately responds in kind after having learned of the disgraceful deception, and hires a renowned gunperson of her own who turns out to lack reliability.

Soon woe melancholically descends with no recourse to lauded panaceas, and her gang of unorthodox misfits has relocated to a forlorn corral.

Yet Cat Ballou (Jane Fonda) is well versed in storied ethically clad adventurous pastimes, and refuses to let impregnability coldly prevent her from reacting non-traditionally.

Her newfound friends see sudden success after embracing strategically sound comeuppance, sincerely kerfuffling entrenched trajectories which presumed to cajole discordance. 

It's blunt and brandished bounteous barm proceeding in sultry sing song, the underprivileged thoughtlessly dismissed as they reimagine communal identities. 

Integrity harnesses spirit and exuberantly coaxes conundrums, which bewilder through sacrificed innocence impenitently reified. 

It's light of heart and rather merry as it confidently elucidates, upholding honest feminine strength through tribulation and testy temperance.

With insightful thoughts about marriage or relationships or plain old courtship or perhaps a fling, Cat deconstructs hardboiled gender bias yet still finds herself falling in love.

The musical accompaniment playfully enlivens crafty clemency cascading, direct yet quaintly coated in enchanted new age charm.

The traditions of the western see lay radical reversal, those oft dismissed their cares remiss enlightened brave dispersals.

Perhaps an oddball comedy like Cat Ballou would make more of an impact than serious drama, as it reaches a wider audience less immutably disposed.

A lot of people prefer absurdity since it more accurately reflects prim daily life, wherein which the application of reasonability sometimes leads to bumptious bedlam.

The immersion of absurdity in the arts anyways, not politics, reliable political leadership is preferable to instinctual madness.

Political leaders who don't toy with global tensions.

Because they respect their power and influence.  

Wander

Like an episode of The X-Files reconstructed through hungover flashbacks, Wander frenetically examines zealous bright shocking psychosis. 

The subject under examination lacks traditional plausibility, and therefore struggles to nurture reason as it's typically pontificated. 

A detective remains obscurely aware of conspiratorial potential, but lacks the reliable focused balance to rationally share his distraught ideas.

Through recourse to the non-linear he follows leads and gathers evidence, disjointed points of clarification eclectically construed.

The circumstances are theoretically sound inasmuch as they construct a translucent narrative, lacking substantiated coherence yet still argumentatively profound.

He has a partner who trusts his instincts and inquisitively tags along, the two attempting to lucidly gather plotted disconcerting memorabilia. 

Wander proceeds through amorphous haze to medicinally materialize malcontent mayhem, the inordinate structure like a swelling head-wound pulsating disproportionately. 

The resultant opaque confused malady grimly transmits wild hypotheses, as a bewildering uncanny impetus interrogates mild obsession.

Validity esoterically stultifies as improbability brazenly baffles, the unpronounced dismayed mélange characteristically scaling scowl.

A private investigator unlike any other detects with comatose import, resultant maligned chaotic diagnoses discombobulating dissonance.

Perhaps Fox Mulder would have ended up like this if he hadn't been supported by the F.B.I, and The X-Files would have seduced in cryptic innocent conjured stupor.

If you're looking for dependable trajectories oft elucidated in detective fiction, you may be somewhat disenchanted with the unorthodox dazed Wander.

A sure and steady sense of sentience has been feverishly forsaken, like you're randomly bushwhacking unhinged through verdant jungle in ancient ruins.

Wander stands out as it employs obfuscation to generate unsettling purpose, if a situation like this indeed existed its revelation would invoke peril.

If you're in the mood for otherworldly exposition crafted through borderline realistic sci-fi, Wander may harrowingly enthuse in seeming barmy batshit blunder.

If you're looking for something more sober you may find it somewhat vague.

I like to promote variety.

Great for a late Saturday evening.

Mank

Coincidentally, I had no idea this film (Mank) existed when I started writing about movies from a different age during the pandemic (different ages), that seemed to me much more daring and literary than 21st century outputs, as the idea applies to mass markets and their obsession with sequels, and not the less commercially oriented laissez-faire narrative scene.

It's difficult to situate Mank within a specific scene since it was released by Netflix (without being too obvious), whose matrices cover a wide divergent spectrum, and often impress when they aren't bewildering.

I would argue that the room for creative endeavour (and have previously) within Netflix (and other online streaming sources) is vast and modestly expanding, it's a different business model less dependent on advertising (as far as I know) and perhaps therefore retaining more vital independence (flush with cash).

I don't see many films like Mank or The Irishman or Marriage Story or Roma on Netflix (that's quite a few good ones come to think of it), but to have thought I would have seen such films on their site 10 years ago would have seemed utterly preposterous.

I shouldn't be too hard on contemporary cinema for lacking my oddball literary qualifications either, its current strengths are fantasy and adventure, not that it's impossible to blend the two (see William Gibson).

Besides I forget ye olde mutations as they apply to unexpected epochs, when suddenly there's a tangible utopian surge that hasn't been calculated through strategic planning (Aliens).

Who knows when it's bound to erupt but I think it's best not to search for it or attempt to cultivate it.

Just hopefully become viscerally aware when it happens (different styles, different tastes, relativity).

While keenly focusing on independent cinema.

Mank heads back to the '30s and '40s to recapture a waylaid aesthetic, eventually abandoned as tastes transformed and the unforeseen reimagined cinematic life.

It follows prominent screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) as he writes Citizen Kane in alcoholic dismay, and reflects upon the just calamitous social confrontations that motivated bygone days.

A series of flashbacks leading to conflicts with a daring ambitious headstrong Orson Welles (Tom Burke), loves lost and uncompromised confidence spearheading bold mischievous caricatures.

Just think something up and pitch it if you have to come up with something.

In flux to subtly entertain.

People who are tired of boredom.

*Just to be clear, I find strategically planning in the arts to be somewhat dull, or to lack the excitement oft generated by spontaneous endeavours. Not that planning something isn't important, it's just that if the plan is too strict, it may miss out on many thrilling accidental opportunities. I suppose not planning something leads to mistakes, but playful mistakes are so much more fun than preplanned pretensions.

**I do think strategic planning is very important when combatting a pandemic. I'm glad I don't have to make such decisions. Hospitals are being overrun and frontline workers must be extremely stressed. I've never seen a more serious no-win situation. Eventually, a vaccine will be available. Patience and prudence.

Deepwater Horizon

You'd think that if you were about to engage in dangerous intricate underwater oil extraction, you would want to make sure your equipment was running smoothly before enabling workplace operations.

You would just have to run some tests to ensure technological sustainability, to reasonably assess your endeavour's viability in terms of probable dependable reliance.

You've invested hundreds of millions, the project will make billions, it's just a matter of time before the cash starts rolling in.

Why wouldn't you take steps to maximize workplace health & safety simply by testing your multi-million dollar equipment?

It's not just the integrity of your mechanical infrastructure that's at stake, but, much more importantly, the lives of your vital workforce would be imperilled if something went wrong.

Then you lose versatile hands-on resolute practical know-how, knowledge possessed by resilient workers who have actually worked in the productive field.

Life is more important than fluctuating budgets or financial forecasts, more integral than the projected bottom line.

I've never worked in an environment where people didn't take their jobs seriously.

But if you work somewhere where you feel your health is at risk, perhaps it's time to consider forming a union.

In Deepwater Horizon, a worst case scenario chaotically and volcanically presents itself, as managers overly concerned with budgetary delays neglect workplace health & safety.

Other managers contradict them and attempt to proceed according to safety guidelines, but they're unfortunately overruled and extreme disaster strikes.

A true story, it really happened, and many integral lives were lost, their names chronicled at the end of the film, so they'll never be forgotten.

Not to mention the environmental chaos that consequently ensued (and is likely still polluting delicate ecosystems to this day).

Catastrophic coastal confines.

What happened to all that oil?

It's obviously not simply offshore oil rigs that need to manage resilient efficiencies, if you casually apply economic relativity manifold applications effortlessly emerge.

If the company in Deepwater Horizon (BP) had tested their equipment, they would have hopefully found the problem, and many lives would have been saved and their rig wouldn't have been destroyed.

The profits may have started rolling in at a frustrating much later date.

But they would have kept rolling in after that.

And their workforce would have been safe.

The Midnight Sky

What to make of the future?

Some forecasts are incredibly grim.

They've been made by the brightest minds in the business, however, and predict an increasing preponderance of natural disasters.

Judging by the ways in which natural disasters have harrowingly increased in recent decades, and how the planet continues to rapidly warm, it seems likely that they're correct, even if it's rather depressing to consistently think about it.

Steps clearly need to be taken to halt the increasing preponderance of natural disasters (and save koalas), and the last I heard Canada was on track to meet its Paris Accord targets, but what else needs to be done beyond international treaties, and how do we save the planet while keeping people working?

That seems to be the most serious question facing responsible politicians these days, to me anyways, how do we save the planet while keeping people working?, I resolutely want to see the effects of global warming rapidly decrease, but it would also be nice to avoid mass unemployment at the same time.

I don't want to live under totalitarian lockdown conditions until the Earth cools either. I've never experienced anything worse than this necessary lockdown. The sooner vaccinations bring it to an end the better.

Another serious problem we face regards how reliant contemporary infrastructure is on oil. So much of the economy is dependent on oil; how do you suddenly redesign everything?

Factories, cars, toys, houses, industrial equipment, oil, it's mind-boggling how much plastic you take home sometimes when you order takeout, and if you don't like cooking, the problem intensifies.

I personally think industry needs to find a way to transition to an environmentally friendly economy, it has the resources and the means to make such a transition, but seems to uniformly lack the will.

I suppose that will never happen but if it did there would be so much less conflict. And so many people could continue to keep productively working, managing the tectonic shift.

Governments can legislate transitions but it's only a matter of time before the Republicans are elected again. If they miraculously started taking global warming seriously, cultivated hope would significantly increase.

But this is so grim and serious, people still have to go about living and working, and there's a great scene in The Midnight Sky where that's precisely what astronauts do (cool Netflix film).

On one of the coolest spaceships I've ever seen, three astronauts head out into space to fix something, and suddenly find themselves listening to music, to none other than the lively Sweet Caroline. 

At first I was confused by the scene, it seemed bizarre to suddenly take 10 minutes to focus on fixing something, when so many other things were happening, I admit, I was initially skeptical. 

But then I realized it patiently captured the fluid vivacious nature of teamwork, how wonderful it is to work while listening to music, you don't see that focused on too often in film.

Wouldn't industry still own practically everything if it transitioned to a green economy? Is it worried about losing power and influence? Even with all those trillions?

It'll be interesting to see what happens regardless, glad things seem on track in most of Canada anyways.

Even if the vaccinations are taking a while to roll out.

Remember, many countries aren't much bigger than New Brunswick (I imagine).

And how much easier it would be to vaccinate 30-60 million people if they lived together tightly packed into New Brunswick. 

Body & Soul

I wonder what it was like during the early days of cinema, without sound or elaborate effects, just a narrative and intense emotion, gripping unheard of fascination.

Strange to witness the birth of a new art form, the emergence of such grand distinction, whose origins were much less self-evident, much more dependant on study and technology.

The phonograph still amazes me, how did anyone ever figure that out!, to apply sound to a text of vinyl and then play it with an intricate machine.

Camera and film similarly fascinating, abounding with mysterious alternative applications, the resounding capture of jocose fluid movement, exotic presentations of vivacious life.

The captivating leaps and bounds still a matter of clairvoyant conjecture, perhaps these early films generated equivalent degrees of imaginative wonder, even without the brilliant sets and enormous budgets, with much more streamlined visceral accounts.

It must have been fun to provide musical accompaniment, to orchestrate dynamic soundtracks in real time, so much work for versatile musicians (jobs), so much complementary impacting exegesis. 

Films still struggle to depict the multivariable syntheses of books, with much more freedom to postulate the impossible, novels conjure with infinite reckoning, currents taking on lives of their own.

But film brings together so many diverse elements as it symphonically structures less complex ideas, communal abundance ample work mesmerizing texture creative constellations.

It would have been cool I imagine to have been there during film's silent heuristic genesis, as artists sought to inform and entertain while driven by consistent progress.

Was there an emphasis on sequels in the early moments?, series flowing freely unbound, there would have been so much less precedent to work with, futures motivating enthralling pronounced.

It's amazing to see how much sci-fi and fantasy films have progressed in recent decades, special effects having expanded exponentially, it's still mind-boggling what they can currently do.

But the idea of an adventure film made once again with puppets and physical sets, is one that I find quite intriguing which computational scores can't offset.

Perhaps it could also be silent or presented like old school silent film, with modest musical accompaniment, a rather long length, bears, Mark Hamill. 

Body & Soul brings to life silent film with animate spry invention, transformations testaments tracks tribulations, the tantalizing history of film.

There's so much out there beyond the present, so much lying in curious catalyst.

Conflicting epochs, peaks and valleys.

Awaiting reimagined interpretation. 

Jigureul jikyeora! (Save the Green Planet!)

A reclusive individual soaks up the sci-fi with eccentric compulsive obsession, his immersive interactive interpretations inspiring conspiratorial hypotheses. 

Much more than that, indeed, an intricate historico-political narrative emerges, theorizing intergalactic genealogies as applied to entrepreneurial life.

The line between fact and fiction slowly fades as interpersonal calamity strikes, his creative in-depth provocative nativity explaining the consistent misfortune.

He concludes it's time to act and then kidnaps a wealthy businessperson, whom he believes is in fact an alien, part of a network controlling the planet.

His partner is rather worried when he returns home with his irate captive, and then proceeds to conduct experiments in order to validate his theory.

His subject refuses to adapt to his newfound interrogative paradigm, and verbally assails his psychotic jailor with cacophonies of sheer defiance.

A famous detective is hot on the trail employing the art of incisive conception, but working alone may prove hazardous as active suspicion buzzes in.

Oddball otherworldly yet realistic mayhem ensues, as a clever yet mad conspiracy theory exacts critical constructs construed.

Is it somewhat irresponsible to create narratives wherein which wild conspiracy theories prove to be true, considering the vast abundance of such unsubstantiated ideas (presented as genuine not speculative) circulating within cyberspatial domains?

In Jigureul jikyeora! (Save the Green Planet!)'s case macromischief irremediably results, the final moments so catastrophic that it becomes clear the film's starkly farcical. 

And where would cinema and literature be if it wasn't for enticing larger-than-life fantasy, that sees mundane routine circumstances transformed into something influential?

The trick is to teach people at a young age to see through conspiracy theories, or at least apply logic to their strange arguments, I don't really follow them myself but I hope such theorists are at least creating partial arguments.

If people see them as comic fantasy creatively generating harmless controversy, then there isn't much difference in either following them or watching The X-Files (great show).

But if people take them seriously, if they become popular and people actually think they're true, it can become rather dangerous for the people targeted who have no knowledge of the jealous conceit. 

The subject's much more vast than what I've written here but a good book could examine these observations more closely (if one hasn't already).

What's the difference between critical and conspiracy theory?

Democratically speaking.

No harm in transforming such ideas into pulp fiction (is that a chicken and the egg scenario?). 

The Christmas Chronicles: Part Two

Kate Pierce's (Darby Camp) Mom (Kimberly Williams-Paisley) has found a new partner (Tyrese Gibson as Bob) and she can't conceal her rage, the fury festively augmented by a Christmas spent far away in the tropics.

She wishes for freshly fallen snow and sees her mom's new love as an act of betrayal, these feelings spoiling the relaxed mood that otherwise creates free-flowing happiness.

She remains a true believer whose confidence in Santa (Kurt Russell) can't be shaken, but her angst is swiftly noticed by one mischievous rogue elf (Julian Dennison as Belsnickel).

He's left the North Pole after taking things way too far, Santa still hoping to come to terms, if he'll stop messing with his workshop.

He needs a true believer if he's to infiltrate Santa's hood, and steal the source of his power, which comes from the Star of Bethlehem.

He uses trickery to suddenly transport Kate to the inhospitable arctic, along with her Mom's new partner's curious yet timid son (Jahzir Bruno as Jack).

Santa comes to the rescue and soon hot cocoa is being served, remembrances of things past producing wondrous mirthful awestruck playful reckonings.

But Belsnickel has found a way in and soon he's stolen the cherished source.

Santa setting off in hot pursuit.

Back to his humble origins.

Another endearing portrayal of Santa can be found in The Christmas Chronicles: Part Two, and this time he's aided by Mrs. Claus (Goldie Hawn), not to mention time travel, too .

He responds to Belsnickel's foul play with animate vigour and robust determination, never faltering in his jocose resolve, to ensure the integrity of Christmas.

Even as things seem bleak beyond recuperation, he applies a sprightly chuckle clearly clasping resuscitation. 

There's nothing grim about him no misgivings or balks or anger, and no matter what Belsnickel does, he'll still dismiss the dismal danger.

He even appreciates Belsnickel's ingenuity as they engage in epic conflict, he isn't jealous or even upset, it's pure goodwill immaculate charm.

It's cool to see a Christmas film that still upholds spirited goodwill.

There's plenty of Mrs. Claus too.

And a focus on challenging gender bias.

Legend

A maiden heads out, in search of her trusted love interest, who lives alone in the forest, anxiously awaiting her return.

They nimbly frolic and amorously explore the nature of his verdant domain, so caught up with love's magnanimity, that he decides to share a secret.

For he knows the location of unicorns whom she is eager to graciously meet, yet such knowledge is strictly forbidden to those who have not grown up in the woods.

Little do they know they've been followed by dastardly goblins seeking malice, who've been tasked to take out the unicorns for an envious Lord of Darkness.

Unicorns maintain metaphysical splendour within their lighthearted realm, their habitual laughter and innate innocence required to nurture time itself.

A forbidden act having been facilitated, a glorious unicorn falls, the other captured and brought back to answer for cherished wondrous humanistic enlightenment.

Along with the crestfallen maiden.

But her suitor is suddenly entrusted with mythical elven aid, after time stops and winter descends, and they realize they need a champion. 

So it's off to the fiery depths to save the universe from eternal darkness.

Guided by valour and instinct.

And perhaps, the power of Christmas.

Not technically a Christmas film, although unicorns no doubt emit the wisdom of Christmas, and have for munificent millennia, through the enchanting art of mysticism.

Their narwhal kin perhaps act as go-betweens with Santa as he makes toys far off at the North Pole, their scintillating seafaring network rich with endemic interactive fluencies.

Perhaps every creature found on Earth is part of this biodiverse switchboard, Santa and unicorns coordinating initiatives throughout the embowered globe.

For some reason I never saw Legend while still a wee ginger lad, plus I also missed Labyrinth and Dragonslayer until reaching the age of adulthood.

Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoy watching old school fantasy that isn't reliant on technical know how, when they still built sets from the ground up, and creative costumes generated adventure.

It'd be cool to see a contemporary filmmaker make a new fantasy film with muppets and physical sets.

Sort of like filming in black & white.

I bet they'd make something awesome.

That would never rival Jim Henson.

20 Million Miles to Earth

Sometimes the art of decision making puzzles keen observers, as they wonder why a specific course was taken, when so many others could have been adopted.

At others the decisions seem apt, well-attuned to the unexpected circumstances, perhaps lacking in thrilling variety, but still well-suited to the agenda at hand.

Politically speaking, I suppose every decision undergoes polarization, livelihoods earned through creative dissonance, the maintenance of strict partisan argument, stirring the pot, as the saying goes.

But regardless of the critical impact, decisions must be made every day, decision makers confident in their reliability, critics happy to point out their errors.

Blindly following decisions is rather undemocratic, insofar as an inclusive politic innately encourages lively debate, but partisan instincts complicate this principle with redeemable awe, culture flourishing somewhere in between, as artistic analysis entails balance.

In the film under examination, a Terran spaceship returns from Venus, carrying wild extraterrestrial cargo, crash landing in the Mediterranean. 

Local fisherpeeps witness the crash and venture forth to lend a hand, managing to rescue two crew members, before the ship plummets to the bottom of the sea.

International relations swiftly invigorate a quizzical yet receptive dialogue, as the United States explains to the Italian government that one of their crafts has returned from Space.

The coveted alien specimen miraculously washes ashore, and is found shortly thereafter by a village boy, who quickly sells it to a visiting zoologist.

Earth's environment proves hearty for the specimen who expands at a remarkable rate, soon rivalling the size of an elephant, once no bigger than a sprightly squirrel.

After it escapes decisions must be made regarding its potential capture, and what to do with it if it can be held, prevented from inquisitively exploring.

The surviving colonel knows that it's generally harmless within its diminutive form, but it's grown to such a large size, that the local police have become quite worried.

Fortunately, the colonel knows it can be restrained by electrified nets, and is able to nimbly catch it, before the realization of bland destruction.

But where should they take the shackled beastie?, that question remains unanswered.

Until it's decided to bring him or her to Rome.

Locked down for close observation.

Rampaging potential pending.

Why it wasn't left to roam the countryside while feasting on sulphur deposits isn't explained.

The alien's changing proportions reflect conflicting accounts of its natural physiology. 

It's in fact a peaceful beast.

Unaccustomed to grand incarceration. 

Klaus

A new recruit to the national postal service lounges in august pamper, unconcerned with military discipline since he's related to the big kahuna.

Yet his antics have inspired contempt within the stilted command structure, which decides to test his mettle through expeditious transfer.

His assignment's the worst available far off and inhospitable, the townsfolk feuding in bleak decay and none too fond of light or merriment.

His initial attempts to establish a post office are theatrically rebuffed, the inhabitants more concerned with enraging representatives of opposing clans.

The teacher's given up and transformed her school into a fish market, and what used to pass for casual conversation is now infused with bland mistrust.

The children are quite downcast with grim ill-will stunting their growth, animosity they fail to comprehend since its plain and simply much too childish.

But the new mailperson discovers an address remotely situated within the forest, and decides to venture forth to nurture friendly relations.

At first the man seems grumpy disinclined to welcome guests, but as time passes a soft heart emerges once attuned to jokes and jests.

It turns out he's a skilled toymaker who's never found a clientele, to thoroughly enjoy his effervescent nifty swell.

A team is forged through bright goodwill endemic conflict notwithstanding, to joyously illuminate mirth laughter playful planning.

Something much less supernatural yet adventurously fated, to bring about consoling clout luminosity backdated.

Well put together patient strands unified with daring poise, to storytell through quench and quell enduring corduroy.

A turn around fulfillment found the sprightly communal favour, year after year enriching cheer this Klaus emits sun savour.

More for kids yet still unbid still cordially composed, its depths dispersed its clefts expertly animating growth.

Who knows perhaps through spits and spats this film could bring together, antipodes wildly opposed destructive feudal feathers.

At least at Christmas there's no need for postures left or right, non-denominational goodwill persisting light.

Could be that way no need to bray the future's neverending.

Old school lame polemics tamed diplomacy a' trending.  

Holiday in the Wild

A daring mom (Kristin Davis as Kate) is happy to see her only son (John Owen Lowe as Luke) head off to college, no doubt somewhat sad to see him go, but still abounding with hope, goodwill.

She's planned a second honeymoon in the wilds of feisty Zambia, and hopes her husband will be surprised by the sudden festive calling.

There's just one problem, he's decided to leave her, no debate, no negotiation, he just ends their marriage lickety-split, and leaves her confused and rather frustrated.

So it's off for a jaunt on her own to give herself time to think, why not still take the vacation?, better than moping about it back home.

Shortly thereafter, while sitting back to dine, she meets a stranger who seems like he's up to no good, drinking alone and preparing for a night of gambling, she still answers all his questions truthfully.

And the next morning she swiftly discovers that he's her aeronautic guide, as she sets out in search of wildlife focused ready for wild adventure.

Unfortunately, a tragic sight is soon to dampen her lively spirits, as a baby elephant is found, his mother having been shot by poachers.

But she trained to be a vet before marriage and family lead her down a different path, and she's soon moved into an elephant sanctuary, to keep track of baby elie.

Rugged Derek (Rob Lowe) lives there too, in fact he pops up everywhere she goes, the two playfully hitting it off, as she joins the dedicated team.

It's a cheerful lighthearted romance that proceeds at an athletic pace, hectic motion moving things along from bewildered state to state.

It isn't overflowing with detail or reflection or questions or alternatives, but its surface level concentration still lightly generates frisky fervour.

I loved Holiday in the Wild's sincere concern for the plight of elephants, whose numbers have plummeted in recent decades, a consequence of thoughtless poaching.

Elephants are wonderful creatures who add so much distinction to our biodiverse planet, loved by children around the world, and most adults too I'd reckon.

Isn't the world a more wondrous and thrilling place with an abundance of carefree elephants, don't they add so much distinction to a vibrant planet on which they too have freely evolved?

Every animal adds global distinction, it's not a matter of rank and file, but some animal populations bounce back much more quickly if they're hunted from time to time (deer for instance).

Bears, whales, lions, rhinos, tigers, leopards, and elephants (and others), take a long time to reestablish their numbers if they're hunted without concern.

I recommend they be left alone, they offer us so much more if they live, they enrich countless imaginations as they curiously exist.

We've evolved along side them and shouldn't leave them behind simply because we're more advanced.

What does it mean to be more advanced anyways?

If you're so often reckless and cruel?

Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

*Not really a Christmas film.

World War II, in Java, British soldiers languish in a POW camp, their captors unaccustomed to European sensibilities, alternative discipline drilling irate tact.

Secluded from the war, or at least not engaging in direct combat, acquaintances develop through mutual boredom, the cultural clash as fascinating as it is disruptive, provocative argument begetting grand decorum.

The British Colonel's (Jack Thompson as Hicksley) generally stubborn and resentful of his inert command, ill-attuned to sycophantic flexibility, and the disrespect it entails.

But Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence (Tom Conti) appeals to humanistic reason and attempts to ease their deprivations, engaging the curiosity of the opposing side, who even consults him at times.

A new prisoner is sent to camp who's much more contentious than the Colonel or his Lieutenant, perhaps they fought like him when they arrived, yet eventually lost their bold ambition (David Bowie as Major Celliers). 

He introduces flowers and jaunty disarray.

Having barely escaped a firing squad.

Lt. Colonel Lawrence loves him. 

The result's somewhat discontinuous as the narrative ebbs and flows, grim dastardly acculturation diplomatically strung through patchwork. 

Such content aptly asserts earnest independence struggling and stifled, neither side able to generate consistency, hence disgruntled cropped themes.

It's like peace trying to break through during cataclysmic epochs, at times making genuine progress, at others lost and lounging.

As Lawrence converses with jailers and guards thoughtful cultural exchanges take place, conflicting political viewpoints accentuating alternatives, while generating oddball friendship.

The film's grim, lighthearted, revolting, evocative, collegial, heroic, and pressing, poetic I suppose in a nutshell, wave upon wave of distressful import. 

More people like Lawrence would be a good thing with a move away from the coercive absolute.

The spirit of giving and sympathy.

Mutually constructive pause. 

Jingle Jangle

A brilliant inventor modestly celebrates his most recent creation's genesis, a free-thinking figure that consciously reckons with independent advancing foresight. 

But as he sets off to rest, his apprentice walks in to tidy his animate workshop, and he encounters the enlivened toy who turns out to champion corrupt self-interest.

The toy passionately convinces him to dishonourably steal their benefactor's book of ideas, and create a toy shop of his own to slyly compete and wickedly conjure.

The inventor is thoroughly devastated upon discovering his sudden misfortune, and loses the ability to create, his mind stricken with disbelief.

His business slowly fades and his wife and daughter grow more estranged with each and every glum passing day, 30 years pass in fact in total depression borderline madness crippled ambition.

His former apprentice has gaudily emerged as their realm's dazzling preeminent toymaker, furtively driven by the conniving contraption who never relents lets go subsides.

But so much time has woefully passed that another generation has nimbly ballooned, and Jeronicus's (Forest Whitaker) granddaughter soon comes curiously and cleverly and ebullient and pensively calling (Madalen Mills as Journey). 

Has she arrived in time to help grandfather realize his last vital dream?, before the bank reluctantly forecloses, on Christmas day, the timeline's obscene.

Fortunately, she's incredibly gifted, and at a young age rivals gramp's brilliance, and is therefore able to adroitly assist even if her ideas are initially unwelcome.

The most important thing he's lost is the belief he once had in himself, which is why his latest idea won't jive, won't exceedingly generate awestruck wondrous je ne sais pas uncontrived.

It's more like a film that takes place at Christmas than a supple salute to the season, although traditional spiritual surges assuredly sanctify seasonal synergies.

I suppose it's a sign of the times, that an ingenious toy would be full of deception, as opposed to lighthearted wonder, it's certainly not Cabbage Patch or My Buddy. 

Too much of an emphasis on immoral resolve in recent years to be shocked by a malicious toy, it's like themes oft reserved for horror have been whitewashed to critique widespread greed.

The new toy in question resembles E.T so perhaps it represents a manifest willingness to move past blunt impulses, and return to the less self-obsessed guidance of the 1980s, Foucauldian investigation pending.

Does Jingle Jangle's playful synthesis of machine and spirit foreshadow upcoming advances in artificial intelligence?

The rise of robotic humanism?

Computationally coaxing.

Hopefully not, hopefully hearts and hearths continue to flourish organic. 

There's nothing quite like biodiversity.

Born of ancient mutation.

Sedmikrásky (Daisies)

Unconcerned with the traditional role patriarchically assigned their gender, two non-conformists set out to cause trouble, creatively disposed and mischievously compelled, they chaotically deconstruct with poetic candour.

Inclined to enjoy gastronomical exuberance, yet lacking jobs or a stable income, one sister convinces older business peeps to take her out, the other crashing the dinner midway.

They then eclectically gorge while irritating the debauched magnate, who is eventually tricked into boarding a train, with the sis who initially seduced him, who then swiftly leaves undetected.

Thus, an age old paradigm is youthfully usurped, feminist union daringly asserting vowed honourable ironic rectitude. 

They eat quite well throughout the film as the ruse is employed again and again, also bathing in milk, heading out to the country, trashing their apartment, finding something to do.

They eventually discover a banquet hall elaborately adorned for a wedding feast, the staff nowhere in sight, they then engage in freeform indiscretion, their shenanigans crisp, airtight.

But they've gone too far alternatively speaking and the chandelier comes crashing down.

If they had had a specific reason, they could have perhaps scandalized unbound.

Whereas deceiving the older pervs upheld the dignity of loyal wives, some women do find themselves marrying devout men, the institution of marriage therefore not to be generally dismissed, that's one interpretation anyways.

A more severe interpretation may resignedly acknowledge the lack of opportunity for unmarried women at the time (1966), and that by recklessly subverting the institution, the two sisters ruined their fortunes.

More of a realistic application of an unfortunate custom than an elevation of conjugal orthodoxy, a tragic desire for sociocultural diversity, limited by strict definition.

Nevertheless, Sedmikrásky (Daisies) is an incomparable film that rambunctiously revels in wild emancipation, its celebratory improvisations as empowering as they are brave.

Nice that there's more opportunities these days for those who aren't conjugally endowed, depending on where you live, Foucauldian investigation pending.

Sedmikrásky is also stylistically brilliant and a must see for people interested in artistic mayhem (innovative but not esoteric), its collages and animations surpassing anything I've seen from Truffaut or Godard. 

Marriage can be a wonderful thing but it's not necessarily a snug fit for everyone.

Although it's a box successful people often check.

Making the most of it thereafter. 

The Heiress

An innocent artist, unconcerned with the world at large, is encouraged to take an active role, in environs she's ill-equipped to comprehend, but still willing to cautiously explore (Olivia de Havilland as Ms. Sloper).

Her mother was a dazzling sight, in possession of coveted social perspicuity, akin to Oriane de Guermantes, in terms of wit and incisive observation.

Her husband genuinely admired her, and was crushed by her untimely passing, resigned in the following years to focus intently on the practice of medicine.

Unfortunately, he's quite the snob, and even applies his pretensions to his family, so weighed down by the maintenance of ideals, that he dismisses everything that doesn't add up (Ralph Richardson as Dr. Austin Sloper).

His daughter's fascinated by embroidery and has developed enviable skill, and wants to make her father happy, but lacks multilateral bearing.

Nevertheless, she sets out one evening to attend a social gathering, wherein she's courted by a brazen upstart, who's familiar with what she stands to inherit, his candour as fluent as his resolve (Montgomery Clift as Morris Townsend).

Shortly thereafter he's asked her to marry and she's gleefully and passionately accepted, in the belief that she'll make her father happy, and perhaps find some joy of her own. 

But her father is rather suspicious of her fiancé's amorous feeling, and poses unsettling questions to ascertain its authenticity. 

The result is the tragic transformation of well-preserved sequestered peculiarity, which attempts to suddenly adjust to age old rapacious cunning.

She comprehends with the resplendent grace casually borne by the unsuspecting, and perhaps would have been content if she had met an honest person.

Neither heartfelt nor harlequin, The Heiress proceeds to interrogate innocence, its manifestation of purest true love, tragically destined to swoon unrequited.

The results much more traditional than the romantic setting suggests.

Traditional in the withdrawn sense. 

Calculated hesitant gravity.

La Pointe-Courte

The opening image suggests mystery as the camera cryptically focuses on a piece of wood, whose grains resemble an ancient desert or plump and nimble whale baleen.

Setting the stage for stark alternatives non-traditional narrative endeavour, unique insights into a livelihood rarely examined with cinematic depth.

A rural village roughly perseveres along France's Atlantic coast, inhabitants making their living from age old oceanic abundance.

But pollution endangers their catch as prohibitions prove prescriptive, and regulations delineate boundaries less expansive than haughty seas.

A nostalgic husband fervently awaits the return of his cherished wife, who's never visited his wild hometown, far away from the streets of Paris.

An older generation contemplates youth with resigned historical parallels, assertive in its grand paternalism yet sympathetic to romantic sage.

Everyone knows each other and even the police cut friends some slack, the maintenance of local economies upheld with mischievous tradition.

It's rare to come across a film that regards impoverished struggles with such poetic enriched decency. 

There's love, romance, imagination, a feisty collective willing resolve, with strength and dignity obstructing forlorn incapacitating distraught helplessness.

When you see the impacts pollution can have on the health of vital resources, it's surprising climate change isn't severely critiqued by effected local populations. 

Things can change so slowly that it seems like everything's always been the same, but the scientific forecast is most distressing as it applies to besieged nature.

Some areas are hit worse than others but there's no doubt everything's connected, and careful prudent planning nurtures paramount resiliency.

Nice to see such an honest couple freely sharing thoughts and feelings, through the art of amorous persuasion delicately timed revealed conceding.

It's like Agnès Varda understood her community from a humanistic stance, and sought to share its visceral daring through undulating vicissitudes.

She clearly loves the environment as La Pointe-Courte's cinematography illustrates (Louis Soulanes, Paul Soulignac, Louis Stein), the patient caring reticent transitions evocative timeless echoes. 

When things seem somewhat downcast the town erupts in celebration.

Much more gentle than Truffaut or Godard.

Still abounding with novel wonder.  

O necem jiném (Something Different)

A housewife struggles with a dull routine fully equipped with ceaseless labour, her husband lacking natural empathy as he plays a traditional role.

Her son's a handful and makes things worse as he tries to assist throughout the day, his habitual playful headstrong mischief encouraging disillusion.

Another woman constantly trains to remain the world's preeminent gymnast, her resilient daring in/flexibility haughtily admired by her earnest trainer.

Her life is sheltered and strictly focused driven by determined excellence, lacking holistic variety yet irrefutably established. 

Director Vera Chytilová juxtaposes their lives to examine distraught vigour, each path overflowing with poise but only one rich in reward.

The husband's a piece of work who stubbornly applies unimaginative blueprints, which structure everything to his advantage as he consistently ignores her.

He's having an affair but so is she, she breaks free from the callous bondage.

Her lover rather frustrated.

As she thoroughly disregards him.

Different extremes converge and complement as feminine strength consults, contends, no rest and relaxation, no sympathetic trends.

It seems to me that if you're lucky enough to have someone who supplies you with meals and a tidy pad, you should at least listen and pay attention to them at the end of the working day.

They rigorously do the work for you out of love and devout commitment, is it that hard to engage in conversation or acknowledge the heartfelt effort?

Isn't it important to get to know someone you're spending that much time with, to develop multiple open-ended narratives that creatively transform throughout your life?

They probably love you too which makes conversation so much easier, something that doesn't require earnest effort or careful planning or years of study.

Love isn't something to be dismissed or ignored or taken for granted, shouldn't it be evocatively cultivated through wondrous warmth and passion?

It isn't in O necem jiném (Something Different) and the results are generally bland (not the film itself), a life devoid of pith or colour controversial blasé strands.

Make life a beach just by caring and perhaps something epic will emerge.

Throw on the gear for a feisty dip.

BBQ.

Frolic.

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. 

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.