Peggy Sue Got Married

 With her high school reunion looming, former Prom Queen Peggy Sue (Kathleen Turner) embraces anxiety, post-graduation having not been ideal, inasmuch as her husband's (Nicolas Cage as Charlie Bodell) a cad.

But she's hoping he won't show up even if he's a local celebrity, who sells various commodities on television, somewhat profitable but also embarrassing. 

She finds a stunning dress and boldly makes a daring entrance, quickly running into cherished old friends, while avoiding questions about married life.

Yet pesky Charlie breaks his promise and suddenly appears with grandiose spectacle, old friends flocking to eagerly greet him, bucolic burnish, sedate success.

Peggy can't handle the pressure and swiftly and awkwardly passes out, only to awaken 25 years younger, having inexplicably travelled through time. 

A second chance having fortunately materialized she goes about making amends, notably with a brilliant overlooked science student (Barry Miller as Richard Norvik), and an articulate passionate artist (Kevin J. O'Connor as Michael Fitzsimmons). 

But she still can't outmaneuver her upcoming future, even if she gives her potential husband the cold shoulder, as she accidentally learns new pieces of information which startlingly tenderize his former life.

Will traditional unalterable patterns conjugally re-emerge with eternal contemporaneity? 

Or will she freely try something new?

Perhaps unprecedented amalgamations! 

Can't say I eruditely comprehend the practical realities of wedded bliss, as actively attained with vehement clarity bewildering intimate conjoined life.

When younger, it seemed like sharing my life with someone was indeed a wise path to follow, but having made it to middle age, I currently find I'm much more interested in steadfast freedoms.

Unfortunately, I was deemed misguided and too carefree for traditional alignments, generally because I wasn't prone to argument or daring extracurricular reckoning.

Thus, I was far too boring at a time when partners didn't seek reliability, but rather preferred prosaic drama and lavish spending and fierce discord.

But fret not if in a similar position of resolute tantamount stoic prudence, a day is coming when desire will wane and it will all seem somewhat ridiculous.

I imagine I'd be out the door by now if I had ever bothered anyhow.

I may have dodged a bullet.

Who knows!

Tomorrow, I'm sleeping in.

West Side Story

Intriguing to consider a massive fertile thriving landscape, where millions of people routinely flocked in search of work and wealth and romance.

If a more respectful and mutually beneficial way had been found to share the land with its Indigenous inhabitants, the situation would be even more compelling, true adventure emboldened quests.

West Side Story passionately chronicles a dispute between two groups who have yet to prosper, who fight each other for turf and are none too hospitable across the board.

The social safety net lacks efficient robust ubiquitous munificent potency, and even when it attempts to assist, its generosity is at times vilified. 

Love remains the key as it always has as it always will, two enthused youths from opposing ethnicities, their inspiring union communally detested. 

Perhaps it was that way when the feisty Irish moved to Québec in the 19th century, initial hostility eventually giving way to amorous endeavours through the passage of time.

There were none such clashes in my youth the different cultures tended to bond, coming together productively for a time ignoring race, religion, and class.

It's a preferable more constructive sociocultural model to craft, communally sound and reciprocally uplifting, generally united with the most predominant language, citizens free to speak how they want in their private lives.

There were jokes about race and ethnicity while I was growing up, but they were so ridiculous not many took them seriously, film and television often fought perverse racism, no one wanted to reignite despotic Naziesque tensions.

Unfortunately, misguided sensationalists overturned hard fought logical accords, instinctual rhythms lacking rational guidelines paving the way for bellicose jingoism. 

There's a fight near the end of West Side Story a wild clash between volatile leaders, followed by death and chaotic discord, desires for vengeance, shattered l'amour.

Steven Spielberg still deserves the nomination, this film is a masterpiece 50 years later.

The amount of planning that must have gone into it.

Incredible genius. 

Intricate fathoms. 

Red Sonja

An ancient stone of unknown origin provides power beyond control, if it's left to freely generate blinding inconsolable carnage.

Humble priestesses and a learnéd warrior (Arnold Schwarzenegger as Kalidor) have been tasked with its secret care, and ensure it's kept in the static darkness which greatly diminishes its strength.

But a mad Queen (Sandahl Bergman as Queen Gedren) hellbent on conquering and ruling new cities without much fuss, decides she needs the Talisman's power to proceed unchallenged and absolutely.

Her habitual wanton cruelty has earned her many impassioned foes, none more volatile nor intense than the potent nimble sword fighting Sonja (Brigitte Nielsen). 

It is true Sonja has no equal although many have sought her ruin, her family indeed murdered by the wicked Queen who left her forlorn and destitute.

Now she pursues this imposing nemesis with impeccable irate vengeful fury, but with the Talisman's energy invincibly conjuring victory seems an impossibility. 

Even though Gedren possesses enormous wealth she still seeks ubiquitous dominion. 

The Talisman destroying everything meanwhile.

As she recklessly engages unhinged infinity.

Fair play imagines a level playing field upon which there's equal opportunity, should participants desire some sort of prize by engaging in bold competition.

Through their active endeavours people learn to both lose and win, winning gracefully just as important as losing with composed dignity. 

In recent years, however, a lack of good sportspersonship has been promoted, at the highest levels imaginable it's most distressing not to mention abusive.

As Gedren seeks absolute power through the aid of forces far beyond her control, the incomprehensible proves much too independent but she still keeps seeking more.

It's like a mental illness inanimate greed seeking vast limitless power and wealth, the world's destruction inevitably resulting from the voracious envious lack of fair play. 

While Red Sonja and versatile Kalidor sternly adjudicate counterpoised rhetoric. 

It was so peaceful for so very long.

Acerbic acrimonious avarice.

Coda

A determined family diligent and vigorous emphatically fishes the unforgiving seas, overflowing with versatile camaraderie they make ends meet with vast productivity. 

But they grow weary of the paltry sums they regularly receive for their agile catch, and worry that perhaps they're being underpaid, as do most of their fellow fisherpeople.

The mother (Marlee Matlin as Jackie Rossi), father (Troy Kotsur as Frank), and son (Daniel Durant as Leo) can't hear, so daughter Ruby (Emilia Jones) takes care of most of the business, which often irritates feisty Leo, who feels he should be playing a senior role.

Governmental oversight suddenly demands they entertain an official intent on monitoring, but Ruby isn't onboard that day, and her family can't hear the coast guard when they come calling.

A hefty fine is administered along with distressing familial reckoning, should Ruby help out her family, first and foremost, or pursue singing at Berklee College of Music?

As the family goes it alone and tries to make more money by selling their own fish, Ruby struggles with her identity, and whether or not she'll always play that role. 

Without her they stand to lose everything.

And they don't have an alternative trade.

I probably wouldn't have left them. Ruby is essential to the business. She was irreplaceable and they can't afford to hire someone. And without her the result is possibly life on disability.

I'm lucky to have attended some good schools and to have received a solid education, but I wonder at times if I would have progressed just as well had I never attended school at all.

Probably not, with education came travel and a wide variety of experiences. Experience broadened my horizons and gave me more to think about.

Plus school challenges you in a way the real world rarely does. It's a unique rush you'll find nowhere else. And the assignments at times are incredible compared to the real world.

But my family wasn't relying on me.

And none of them have a serious disability.

But things work out in the movies (I moved back when I was needed at home during COVID) and there are lots of prominent artists who never went to school, if you can sing well you can sing well, a school can help you progress, but you can also do so on your own.

Coda is hopeful and feel good even at times as it despairs, but I still have to admit I felt bad for her family when she left, as if the film was portraying them like an encumbrance.

Ah well, that's just me, clearly many more people thought otherwise. 

Change is a wonderful thing.

Especially if it works in long held cherished traditions.  

Birdy

I was surprised to discover I had never heard of Alan Parker's Birdy until last weekend, although I may understand why after having viewed it, such a shame it's been widely ignored.

In terms of animal rights, and the presentation of people who like animals, beyond belovéd nature documentaries, it's perhaps pioneering in its narrative.

In Birdy, a friendship develops between a young adult who loves birds (Matthew Modine as Birdy), and another who's more mainstream (Nicolas Cage as Al Columbato), the two interact without trying to change one another, and their reciprocally constructive friendship thrives.

Al may think it's somewhat strange that Birdy dresses up as a bird and pretends to fly, but they also bond through the reconstruction of an old car, and in other creative unique ways.

Unfortunately, they're both sent to fight in Vietnam as the draft cuts short their youth, Mr. Columbato returning with a disfigured face, Birdy having lost his mind.

The chief psychiatrist at the hospital hosting Birdy decides a visit from Al may help, and they meet up in Birdy's cell, while the film showcases moments from their past.

Why have I never heard of this film, why has it been forgotten, should it be a Criterion, it's strange seeing Nicolas Cage play the straight man?

It's possible that Birdy's gay although he never hits on Al, but he certainly has no interest in women, this could explain why the film's somewhat hush hush.

A mainstream relatable cool and comic film with an ambiguously gay lead character who loves animals, makes friends, and critiques the army, a recipe for artistic suppression if I've ever heard of one, what a shame, what a disaster!

It's still out there though available for rent from different places.

It must be one of Cage's first major roles. 

Another reason I'm surprised I've never heard of it.

But in how many films do you find leads who genuinely care about animals, films that don't try to make such lead characters seem nuts, even if having to have had to have fought in a war has driven one of them crazy, while attempting to appeal to a mainstream audience, without being overly sentimental?

Not many, Birdy may be one of a kind although I'm sure there are others I'm just not thinking of.

I loved it when they rescued the dogs.

It's tragic when Birdy can't open the window.

There should be more films about gentle souls.

That don't even have to focus on the horrors of war.

A classic '80s film deserving of more recognition.

Perhaps too many lines were crossed.

But there's nothing quite like shifting boundaries.

Conceptually speaking. 

Nightmare Alley

How far should someone go when seeking abundant easy money, where to clearly draw the line between entertainment and ecstatic despair?

People actively seek to believe in mystic supernatural antics, in worlds beyond the concrete material physically composing so much life.

How much of this is healthy or how much goes much too far, are manifest questions which consistently go unanswered, but if your belief in the afterlife provides you comfort, and doesn't cost you a fortune, and you don't make political decisions because a bee landed on your ice cream, and you don't force other people to believe, and you realize it might all be bullshit, I really don't see much of a problem, comfort's an important aspect of life.

Claudius's relationship with the Oracle of Delphi remains mysterious, but who knows how much was true, and how much conjured for dramatic flair?

I've often thought that renowned "oracles" or "fortune tellers" were students of history from the future, who somehow managed to fit in with the past without being locked up for witchcraft or heresy.

If genuine clairvoyants exist today, why aren't they world renowned?

Perhaps they've been sequestered by the highest bidder.

And are lavishly tucked away.

I play the sign game because that's how my mind's always worked, ever since I was but a wee lad, I remember playing the sign game.

But it's off a lot, it's sometimes correct, but isn't reliable enough to make wagers.

Plus, when people realize you're like this they constantly try to trick you. So it's difficult to detect anything that's genuine. Not that it isn't still fun trying.

Nightmare Alley may be a solid horror film but that doesn't mean it isn't revolting, do we really have to see an unfortunate soul bite the head off a live chicken (with special effects)?

Sick in the head, no holding back.

If you want a celebration of the most miserable aspects of existence, hopelessly wrapped up in abhorrent ethical decay, you may indeed prosper from a viewing of Nightmare Alley, which presents harsh lessons for light of heart ambitions.

Don't try to swindle the rich and famous, the brightest lights, don't take things too far.

Life's too precious and worth much more.

There's more value in a dragonfly's existence than overflowing riches.

Rumble Fish

Consistently struggling tantamount turmoil uncertain identity freewheelin' flux, hardboiled impulsive volatile rep discursively challenged voltaically scarred.

No guidance no mentor no quarter just headstrong courageous cataclysmic shock, hoping to find something to firmly adhere to, without showing signs of genuine interest.

He's never known his unconcerned mother and his father's (Dennis Hopper) gave everything up just to drink, his brother once leader of a neighbourhood gang but since disappeared for life on the road.

He suddenly returns (Mickey Rourke as the Motorcycle Boy) enigmatic and imposing but lacking concrete objective charisma, overflowing with versatile potential yet unwilling to choose one path over another. 

Rusty James (Matt Dillon) tries to relate but finds the mystery too confusing, the resultant vague indeterminate ambivalence too otherworldly for group dynamics. 

Not that the stories and the tales and the testaments don't heartwarmingly make for good conversation, there's just no pattern no general direction that leads to a construct, tradition, balance.

Some people (many people) like that kind of thing and eagerly respond to level-headed practicality. 

Corresponding occupational rhythms. 

Sure and steady indelible facts. 

Could mean a lot more at times if chaotic situations could find rational solutions, ubiquitous dissonance recklessly sustained difficult to patiently and reasonably negotiate. 

How to develop a lucid network of reliable intertwined energetic enterprises, judiciously incorporating rest and relaxation in a federation of craft, procession, and livelihood? 

Not to leave behind able capable citizens transforming angst into raw productivity.

You can clearly cover the basics to provide a general equitable start, with education and healthcare freely available there's much less tension a fairer shake more opportunity.

When you pool resources together to achieve things like safer schools and communities, there may be some people who take advantage, but don't statistics prove the majority act otherwise?

Times change, flux & fashion, independent trends, age old resolve.

The kids in Rumble Fish deserved a better chance.

Not like they ever would have said anything otherwise.

Don't Look Up

Adam McKay's Don't Look Up picks up on a pesky political particular, the unfortunate despotic aspect of truth, as applied to commercial controversy.

As it's become plainly evident during the pandemic, at times truth does enter politics, void of cunning or incisive angles, just raw clear unimaginative data.

For the people willing to accept the truth value of the data, things remain rational and balanced, proceeding with impediments perhaps, but still reasonably and logically composed.

For those who doubt its legitimacy, or the well-meaning intent of the cultural guardians, the truth takes on a tyrannical aspect, however, and can effectively problematize polls and predictions as it honestly reveals frank shocking exposure.

The people in possession of the truth, in Don't Look Up's case two astronomers who discover a massive comet is going to crash into the Earth and destroy everything on the planet (Leonardo DiCaprio as Dr. Randall Mindy and Jennifer Lawrence as Kate Dibiasky), may be somewhat confused when they attempt to share their findings, and discover a virtually impenetrable network of ridiculousness, wholeheartedly designed to fight off tyranny. 

You see, when people attempt to spread mass lies on an enormous scale the system usually works, and generates enough doubt and troubling dismay to prevent rampant mistruth from mendaciously enabling.

But what happens on the other end of the spectrum when something both serious and true genuinely emerges, and has to pass the elusive litmus which initially regards it as obnoxious madness?

The people in possession of the knowledge may not be media savvy, and may have difficulty with their newfound designations, like the scientists in Don't Look Up.

And as the media crushes their dreams and makes them appear like snake oil salespeople, it also crushes blind ambition seeking widespread banal influence.

It makes any effort to sincerely pursue anything seem dispiritingly grim (besides being a part of the media), and it's no wonder alternative websites have im/moderately matriculated. 

But I suppose most stories aren't adamantly concerned with doomsday, it's just a byproduct of the pandemic that can't help but transmit that aspect.

I thought Don't Look Up was a brilliant take on truth in media, or the commercial politics of truth, as applied to the less media savvy.

I'm wondering what people will think of it 50 years from now down the road.

It seems like it has a timeless quality.

Made by Netflix no less. 

The Toy

A struggling writer suddenly finds he needs to come up with 10 grand, and has no job or book to speak of, but he's soon able to land a cleaning position, which he approaches with rowdy gusto, without a worry or care in the world (Richard Pryor as Jack Brown). 

He's somewhat too free-wheeling however, and soon he's reprimanded by his irate boss (Jackie Gleason as U.S. Bates), for disrupting the free-flow of his staff's communal meal, he's swiftly and firmly terminated.

But he doesn't leave he keeps on workin', still finding the time to wildly play, with showcased items in the toy department, while impressionable onlookers beam (Scott Schwartz as Eric Bates).

The curious shocked enthusiastic lead happens to be the boss's son, and he's been told he can have anything he wants, he rapidly chooses Mr. Brown.

Brown is instinctively aghast regarding the spur of the moment proposal, and has no interest in becoming a nanny, especially to a child so full of disrespect. 

But the father offers him ample compensation although it's not enough at first, but there's nothing he can do, the kid genuinely likes him.

His spirit's much more in tune with universal social democratic freedoms, and he's like nothin' Mr. Bates Jr. has seen before, at either the military college he glumly attends, or in his father's department store.

Brown teaches him about constructive criticism and enjoys the vast critical resources at his disposal.

Imagine pulling that off.

Unparalleled extrapolation.

The Toy bluntly examines taboo potentially shocking unsettling subjects, which may explain why it's somewhat hush hush, and might make a solid Criterion. 

It should be widely commended however for its frank condemnation of racism, and the ways in which it creatively vilifies high stakes segregating disparate tension. 

It also takes a heartfelt look at friendship with sincere honest and caring simplicity, an age-old traditional instructive strategy which produces results if not too sentimental.

If friendship did wholeheartedly flourish beyond race and financial divides, I would imagine the world would be much less violent, considering the catastrophic warlike Putin.

If there's too much of an emphasis on individualism teamwork falls by the arrogant wayside, but if the community becomes to one-dimensional alternative expression blandly suffocates.

Look for the historical periods where the golden mean consistently thrived.

Mutual respect incorporated.

Happenstance heartfelt harmonies. 

Licorice Pizza

The motivations behind Paul Thomas Anderson's Licorice Pizza remain somewhat mysterious, and may depend upon whether or not he's friends with Quentin Tarantino. 

Mr. Tarantino is well-known and highly respected for making brainy yet sensual nostalgic metakitsch, that seeks to recapture a raw aesthetic that wildly flourished in yesteryear.

His devotion to the genres is quite commendable, and when it works, a film for the ages, at least I'll keep watching Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Inglourious Basterds throughout my life, and will be up for checking out his other films one if not several more times, it's possible I missed something the first shocking run through.

With Licorice Pizza, Paul Thomas Anderson also seems to be seeking to resuscitate a bygone aesthetic, but it's difficult to determine if his attempt is genuine, in fact at times it seems as if he's subtly lampooning attempts to resuscitate bygone aesthetics themselves, unless I completely missed something, if this film's meant to be taken seriously, my apologies. 

I've missed new music in my life since the pandemic started and cut me off from my favourite festivals, I can always search for new music online, but I'm still kind of old school, I like to head out to find it.

The lack of new or old music I've never heard before in my life has made me highly susceptible to catchy songs I hear on television, even if at a later date I can't believe I was sucked in.

But that didn't happen with Licorice Pizza. It's soundtrack isn't classic Tarantino. I was confused by Bowie's Life on Mars which is an amazing song, but the rest of the music left me unimpressed, even though I'm highly susceptible. 

It made me think Anderson was deliberately choosing lacklustre songs to see if he could disingenuously stultify Tarantino's success, perhaps in relation to some harmless wager between the two, although it could also just be a simple matter of preference, but my sensors were somewhat bewildered, due to my heightened susceptibility. 

Some of the situations weren't particularly captivating as well, like struggling to find gas during a fuel crisis, or trying to sell waterbeds.

Was Anderson subtly lampooning an aesthetic he developed (I'm not that familiar with his films)?

The title also seems like something someone would come up with if they were trying to playfully criticize a technique or style they didn't genuinely respect, like something one of the male co-stars Anderson consistently critiques in the film for having no class would have come up with, and tried to laud as if it was something exceptionally astounding, which it isn't.

The ending's still quite well done, a traditional elevation of newfound love modestly blossoming amidst scandalous tomfoolery.

My apologies again if this was meant to be taken seriously.

Otherwise, a metacritical masterpiece.  

La soupe aux choux (Cabbage Soup)

Two old school disputatious farmers resist postmodern technological developments, and live carefree as they always have down home and grouchy suspicious of change.

They maintain a fertile plot not too far away from the closest town, where they have somewhat of a reputation for bold naturalistic bucolic disarray.

One chill and typical evening they freely exchange rebellious thoughts, delicately guided by flatulent fervour as bold inspiration strikes, when the random generation of lightning suddenly shocks contemporaneously, followed by an alien shortly thereafter, hoping to make first contact.

Communication proves somewhat difficult due to interplanetary divergence, but the exotic scent of M. Ratinier's (Louis de Funès) cabbage soup soon grabs the alien's (Jacques Villeret) rapt attention.

Things return to normal the next day after his swift departure, although the police must patiently entertain many wild stories concerning bright lights.

But the visits continue in search of knowledge and those who cast off every nuance of contemporary life, must come to terms with radical advancements intricately engineered in space itself!

The result is generally heartwarming as absurd independence thrives through reward, and is provided with everything its neighbours seek without having done anything to succeed or prosper.

Although within their scant exaggerations they still comprehend sociocultural rootiments, which progressively facilitate intergalactic uproar, and newfound extraterrestrial resonance.

Who's to say what's to be shared with visiting aliens should they journey to Earth, with millions of potential imaginative cues it's difficult to say what's to be showcased?

I would probably mention craft beer to be appreciatively consumed in moderation, along with nutritious cheese accompanied by fruit and pieces of bread.

I may also recommend literature and film by promoting a well-balanced approach, the perusal of clever dramas and enticing science-fiction at times contradicted by not-so-serious comedies. 

Would my humble and generous gifts perhaps lead them to share the secrets of space travel, provided without much encumbering cost, along with a vast network of inhabited worlds?

I can't say for certain if that would come to pass, but why not dream of sundry potential outcomes?

Like Jean Girault did when he made La soupe aux choux (Cabbage Soup),

A lighthearted piece of endearing diplomacy.  

The Power of the Dog

Inherited prestige respectfully maintained calm settled prudence rambunctious accord, the arduous management of a prosperous ranch producing tensions through divisional labour.

The less gifted compassionate brother humbly seeks the domestic life (Jesse Plemons as George Burbank), and finds himself smitten with a hardworking lass who successfully runs her own popular business (Kirsten Dunst as Rose Gordon).

The other bro is habitually suspicious of any glad-handing enamoured newcomer (Benedict Cumberbatch as Phil Burbank [outstanding performance]), and prefers rough and tumble emphatically coarse hands-on physical quotidian forays.

But marriage soon dawns and with it not only a new likely permanent intelligent influence, but also a shy otherworldly distraction who makes a poor fit with bellicose life.

The productive bower audaciously enlightening belligerent desires for risk and privation, must suddenly accept appeasing elements which may even at times utter contradiction.

But even more, there's a nerve-racking secret that could incite revolt upon their orderly lands.

Or lead to comic disorganization.

Or catastrophic open truths.

It's a haunting solemn new age Western thoughtfully investigating masculine culture, from complementary bucolic perspectives, that have severely re-emerged as of late.

A way of life whose requisite content has not doubt mutated hectically for millennia, still embodies formalities immemorial assertively nuanced in varying degrees.

George takes the logical approach wisely accepting the rigid code, while leaving room for something more that may also integrate feminine cultivation.

Strength is a relative term and has myriad applications beyond what you can lift.

Why embrace strenuous impediments?

When there are so many new developments to ease your burdens!

A way of life I suppose, it's tough to give things up, especially if they're psychologically associated with good times from your youth, and corresponding senses of invincibility. 

Trying new things can help establish new paths to explore and consider, however.

While at times old methods hold true.

Nothing like a bit of old school trial and error.

Blended with postmodern reliability. 

Battle Beyond the Stars

A peaceful world universally renowned for its lighthearted communal levity, is suddenly threatened with total destruction, by a lethal tyrant and his mutant army, who possesses a formidable weapon. 

The planet lacks technological distinction but at one time created a ship, to explore the surrounding stars with inquisitive pluck and attuned recognition. 

In their darkest hour of woe of young adventurer commands this vessel (Richard Thomas as Shad), and sets out in search of mercenaries to defend them from the ruthless Sador (John Saxon). 

His courageous exploration is soon audaciously rewarded, as he's able to find able bodied romantics eager to fight a hopeless battle.

Even though scant retribution can be fortuitously paid, they fight resolutely with stalwart will for resounding intergalactic accolades. 

A curious cast of alien life is correspondingly assembled, from diverse realms with eclectic creeds vigorously applied to the newfound mission.

Not to mention inchoate love hectically maturing in the heat of battle.

For two brave modest souls.

Attuned to devout strife.

Playful sci-fi often flops but you could do worse than Battle Beyond the Stars, whose mischievous investigative libido strives in bold rambunctious posture.

Heavily influenced by Star Wars not to mention Star Trek and Seven Samurai, it still brazenly crafts a randy wide-eyed contumacious original vortex.

It plays clever tricks with expectations at times, notably the potential Cantina-like homage, which turns out to be a generally deserted planet, Jimmy T. Murakami 1, J.J.Abrams, 0.

From ceremonious synthetics to vehement Valkyries, Murakami reconstructs the imagination in space, I applaud his bold respect for Seven Samurai, not easy to pull off forlorn amongst the stars.

I searched to find an article claiming that most of the actors from Battle Beyond had had guest Star Trek appearances. I didn't find one (boring!). Levels of postmodern nerd-dom still haven't reached ecstatic heights! 

Sometimes, every scene within a film takes on a lifeforce of its own, the accumulated resonance of the trails and errors constituently reverberating notwithstanding.

For fans of alternative sci-fi I'd say Battle Beyond the Stars can't be missed.

Awkward. Innocent. Daring. Uncanny.

Why not throw in some mutants?

Can't speak to its lasting influence. 

*Here's a cool list of celebrity guest star appearances on Star Trek.

Belfast

I've always loved the scene in Doctor Zhivago when Yuri Andreyevich is asked how he'll live within the newly formed Soviet Union, and he simply states something like, "[I'll] just live".

You see he isn't seriously interested in politics or religion or ideology or revolution, but rather just in simply living a quiet life with friends and family.

Such peaceful ambitions in volatile times permeate much of Belfast's learning, as it generally focuses on three generations of a loving family from Northern Ireland.

It's sweet and tender, wild and forthright, innocent and wise, confused yet earnest, as its characters attempt to simply live surrounded by shortsighted religious tension.

If you've ever wondered how life persists when dangerous idiocy turns culturally violent, I'd argue Kenneth Branagh's heartfelt Belfast is a superlative exemplar.

Plus, if you happened to have watched Branagh's Henry V when you were in high school, and felt cool when after 15 minutes or so you generally understood the language, and then thought he was one of the coolest directors around, and then waited for years, while generally enjoying his films, for that one that stood out as a genuine artistic masterpiece, unconcerned with status or popularity, just overflowing with artistic soul, look no further than his brilliant Belfast, a potential companion piece for Doctor Zhivago.

I guess I never mentioned that my father was a religious man, who attended mass practically every Sunday of his life. It gave him a general sense of peace and calm and when the pandemic prevented him from going, he lost his life.

My father was a religious man but he wasn't strict or nutty or ridiculous, he still believed in medical science and evolution and even loved great writing and argument (like other friends I've known who are religious).

Unlike austere religious people, he made you feel welcome within the church, and didn't judge or critique or fear you because you were different or strange or inquisitive.

I think about the church at times but apart from dad, there's been a lot of disillusion, and I generally prefer how things are done in Québec, where science actually makes prayers happen.

That's just me though, I'm not here to judge, but I really don't get it when religions start fighting, especially different denominations within the same religion, it seems incredibly foolish, not to mention, totally nuts.

So many productive lives ruined.

In the name of saviours who preached peace.

I'm old enough to accept that it happens but I'll never make peace with such reckless idiocy.

Belfast is a must see film.

The pursuit of life beyond disparate violence. 

Houseguest

A young ideas man diligently dreams about a much larger monthly income (Sinbad as Kevin Franklin), invariably believing he'll find a way to conceptually cash in.

Un/fortunately, this habitually leads to difficulties paying his bills, since the working world consistently eludes him as he haphazardly seeks instantaneous riches. 

Due to his lack of funds, he decides to borrow from alternative sources, who send their goons a' rambunctiously calling after he fails to pay off his debt.

They're also outrageously charging an unattainable extra 45,000$, which leads to an impromptu departure for the nearby local airport.

As fate would have it, a suburban success happens to be awaiting an old friend as he dips and dodges (Phil Hartman as Gary Young), an old friend whom he no longer recognizes after a 25 year interlude before social media.

Kevin claims to be the old school friend and soon he's resting safe in the 'burbs, with his own room and hot meals no less, and the family's unconditional trust.

He presents an alternative disposition on festive occasions and in general conversation, to the one their neighbours are used to, although the shocks are intriguingly harmless.

But he lets a close friend know of his whereabouts with the goons still eagerly searching. 

Will they expose his endearing ruse?

And force him to work for a living.

Had he been less of a romantic his expedient mendacity may have inspired concern, for seeing the heartfelt efforts of the kind and well-meaning taken advantage of can be unnerving.

But he wasn't about to generate offhand long-lasting disingenuous schisms, at least not after hanging out for awhile, and starting to seek genuine friendship.

I imagine if no one wanted to work the maintenance of some infrastructure or other would prove disastrous, and preponderant chaotic uncertainty would wildly reign with emphatic triumph. 

But why should so many spend so much time working while so many others have nothing to do, the latent desire to freely laze about not the exclusive psychology of the rich and famous.

A popular idea espoused by many which still passionately persists this postmodern day (although you rarely hear about it), and brought about constructive socioeconomic developments like the 40 hour work week, sick days, and vacation pay.

It seems like a friendly compromise since there's work but also time for family.

Infrastructures will no doubt endure.

As should the practice of adopting houseguests.

Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas

Two friends choose a different path upon the raging seven seas, one upholding peace and spellbound honour, the other engaged in piracy.

They meet one fateful day when a mythical beast attacks one of their ships, as the other tries to rob it, he's after the seminal Book of Peace.

As is the covetous Goddess of Chaos (Michelle Pfeiffer as Eris) who has to admit she finds Sinbad (Brad Pitt) attractive, so adorable she maddeningly establishes a series of treacherous tests for him and his crew.

But first she disguises herself as Sinbad and lets herself be seen stealing the Book from Syracuse, where nobles have gathered from across the land(?) to take in its ethereal wisdom.

Sinbad swears, "'twas not I", but the royalty stubbornly refuse to believe him, and sentence him to a violent death, from which there's no escape.

Unless his childhood friend (Joseph Fiennes as Proteus) should agree to take his forlorn place, and triumphantly await his valiant return from the Realm of Chaos with the Book.

Accompanying him on the journey is Proteus's illustrious betrothéd (Catherine Zeta-Jones as Marina), whom Sinbad's loved since the moment he first saw her, so many years ago.

Thus should one consider honour he or she will find it on display, in this bold and virtuous undertaking known as Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas.

Purists may critique the interpretive flair presumed to adjust the recourse to legend, but who's to say with authentic pluck what really took place so long ago?

If perhaps concerned with specific volumes canonically upheld as verifiable postage, a difference of opinion may sapiently simmer, but the film was made when the '90s still held sway (2003), and there were so many multitudinous creative ruptures. 

I can't say I kept in touch with currents and trends for the past 20 years, as their vicissitudes mutated into newfound critical and philosophical voyages.

It seems that relativity no longer holds sway however as an advisor may have mentioned, even though ethically and experientially it makes more sense than other less inclusive strategies. 

It was always generally heartwarming to think historical figures were being lightheartedly re-imagined, but it seems like perhaps the purists are still intent on re-establishing a more rigid code.

With Putin on the warpath there's no mistaking absolutist pretensions. 

Trump, the Plague, Putin.

Why ever leave the island of Montréal?

Big Top Pee-wee

Immoderately immersed in mirthful grand performance, Pee-wee (Paul Reubens) sleeps the sleep of angels, peacefully awaiting another day, after having taken up farming.

Things run smoothly throughout the day as he cares for his many animals, who enjoy beneficial loving novel caring warm down home attention. 

Pee-wee also conducts advanced research into curious crop cultivation, having created an experimental formula which smoothly encourages rapt abundance. 

Unfortunately, he's not well-liked by the suspicious surrounding townsfolk, who critique his unorthodox ways and general flip alternative wherewithal.

They're even less impressed when a mighty storm blows a circus to town, which lands on Pee-wee's farm, and decides to put on a striking spectacle. 

Pee-wee makes new human and animal friends as the artists passionately rehearse, and even finds himself enamoured with a newfound trapeze expert (Valeria Golino as Ms. Piccolapupula).

But will Pee-wee's heartfelt accommodation be enough to encourage the distressed townsfolk, to abandon their strict routines for a night out under the nearby big top?

So much time spent trying to logically deal with rational exploits reasonably accrued, that impromptu absurd acrobatics present odd vital sincere parity.

Not just the hotdog tree or the supple pioneering pig (Wayne White as Vance), but the lucid sense of compelling wonder that drives wild ludicrous imagination.

Perhaps they shouldn't be in charge of stern prosaic determinate consistencies, so much requisite quotidian reckoning modestly attuned to predictability. 

But shouldn't such manifest grain not be adorned with counterbalancing nuance, to promote extemporaneous serendipity at times throughout the working day?

Thus as the routine despairing delineations approach concrete banal immutabilities, the bizarre shocks and unsettles somnambulism to sustain lighthearted active metamorphosis.

Just as it's nice to have reliable routines when shocks turn to harrowing frights, responsibilities generating forthright designations seasonally aligned to nurture balance.

Big Top Pee-wee brings these spectrums together in animate judicious active definition, to demonstrate holistic productive health, thoroughly enriched through compassionate understanding.

As unequivocal rewards endearingly impact age old ambivalent inquisitive uncertainties, the wolf howls and the dragonfly zings with erudite sonorous sprightly melody. 

Like Dale Cooper's daily treat it can be something never encountered before.

Beware if it happens to be smoking.

Even 4 months later, it's tough to quit.

L'Atalante

A lonesome ship captain (Jean Dasté as Jean) finds himself a daring bride (Dita Parlo as Juliette), who courageously agrees to move onboard without a confusing hassle. 

Wedded bliss initially abounds as they travel from port to port, stopping in different cities and towns to embrace the local culture.

The first mate's a gentle eccentric who's found a niche to creatively conjure (Michel Simon as Le père Jules), the chill and abiding distracted captain having no problem with all of his cats.

When at sea he playfully finds various ways to amuse and entertain, while instructing the other members of the crew, at times even causing mischief. 

Unless otherwise afflicted he freely engages with wondrous vigour, curious to see what tradespeople showcase in their different shops when browsing ashore.

His carefree life is abruptly unhinged, however, when the captain erupts in a jealous fury, after his wife goes shopping alone without having told him where she's going.

The ship departs without belovéd focus in a callous reckless rage, the bride confused and emphatically crestfallen when unsuspectingly remerging.

It's up to le père Jules to reunite them (and save their jobs) if tidings be.

His merriment thrust afoul.

He departs for search and rescue.

At times your diligence is rewarded with an unexpected brilliant trajectory, overflowing with convivial abundance thoroughly enriched by awestruck tremors.

Le père Jules is one such exemplar and Jean Vigo's L'Atalante one such film, with innate incomparable gravitational intensity delicately nurturing improvisation.

It's always a  mistake to imagine the present as holding an unparalleled take on originality, not that novel films and books don't reside within, but other epochs also flourished creatively.

Perhaps Jules was inspired by one of Dickens's many compelling eccentrics, I really can't say, but he's the earliest example of a virtuous rogue I think I've ever encountered in cinema (1934).

It would be cool to work on a boat but what's even more, a boat full of cats, on top of that, a room full of oddities randomly acquired from around the globe.

Fully capable in times of trouble at others much too agéd to take things seriously, Jules has become one of my favourite fictional characters, in his travelling home upon the sea.

Well deserving of a remake in different languages in different countries, I wholeheartedly recommend the joyous L'Atalante to celebrate chill ideas and endearing personality. 

Across 110th Street

*Warning: this film examines racism from a hardboiled perspective. Be prepared for unsettling language and situations if you happen to view it.

3 bold and foolish citizens decide to rip off the mob, after learning where it meets to count its money, leaving the daring heist with 100,000 apiece, thinking they'll elude detection, staying put in the very same neighbourhood.

The robbery turns into a murder which leads to police interest, thus the rash impromptu entrepreneurs are pursued by more than one well-financed antagonist.

Both groups have grievances to air as they investigate internally and beyond, a steady stream of eager vitriol accompanying conversation after conversation.

With all the conflicting strategical approaches its amazing that group dynamics are able to accomplish anything, aggrieved fluid practicalities confronting active hostile brawn.

What a feast for character development, however, as at least 8 from different walks have their say, as much care and attention adopted to craft the corrupt Captain's lines (Anthony Quinn) as those which define the gravest of suspects.

Many detective films discuss the achievement of results, the pressing desire to move forward with a case as investigators theorize anew.

Their theories at times lacking evidence which they seek by using violence, assuming the resultant coerced information isn't tampered by survival instinct.

Across 110th Street prefers the law and the rights of persons of interest being investigated, as the brilliant Yaphet Kotto defends liberal reforms while critiquing totalitarianism. 

Imagine random conversation, taken as absolute empirical fact, with only a scant cross-section of specific subjects deemed aesthetically appropriate. 

At work perhaps so much concerned intrigue fluently adapts.

But why should one be bound by classification?

Beyond one's working life?

Across 110th Street provocatively pulsates as three interconnected adversaries raise disputatious hell.

Versatile character development recalled the cinema of my youth.

Characters that aren't whitewashed success stories.

Raw determination wildly overflowing.

Young Mr. Lincoln

Like the coziest pillow outfitting a night's rest, or age old family recipes gastronomically ingratiating, Abe Lincoln (Henry Fonda) sincerely assists various members of his community, cultivating a wide spectrum of socioeconomic congress, through well-meaning bright expenditure, and honest caring friendship.

It was a different age perhaps where civil dreams still coaxed companionship, and thoughts of earnest social harmonies still challenged cynical despair.

In the North, in disconnected jurisdictions kept informed by books and newspapers, racism was courageously fought, as it had been institutionalized down below, with callous cruel appalling reckoning.

To this day it still malignantly divides with misguided cacophonous misfortune.

Strange how it could be taken so seriously.

Generation after generation.

It's nice to watch a story less enamoured with all-encompassing ambitions, one that closely examines a thoughtful slice as opposed to the generalized big picture.

Instead of constant change that sees a new character emerge every so often, in the observant Young Mr. Lincoln, a compelling moment playfully sustains.

Not as overflowing with fact and detail as a wide-ranging chronological compass, but still airtight with specific style and in-depth particular emphasis.

So many stories to be freely told about larger than life historical figures. Why consistently focus on their entire lives? When a down to Earth take will also do.

Mr. Lincoln is perhaps too down to Earth at times in John Ford's exploratory film, but his lack of clever worldly artifice doesn't mean he's not always thinking.

His sure and steady composed even-minded patient modest good humoured nature, earns the regard of the respectful town through heartfelt compassion and boundless energy.

Imagine an honest clever statesperson who was largely self-taught and grew up in the woods, developing an appealing universal outlook that found support in the minds of millions.

It sounds like a political impossibility if you don't believe in grassroots democracy. The fact that men and women like this can still rise to become president speaks to genuine robust American democracy.

Imagine a system that substantially promotes integrity of character along with the pursuit of wealth.

Where one can be prominent without being wealthy.

And massive wealth doesn't ensure success. 

It seems like these ideas are at a low ebb and at times it's tough to fight off disillusion. 

But disillusion leads to Putin.

And Biden fits the traditional model I've presented here in many ways.

Running on Empty

A family nurtured on the run from the law, as two aging radicals domestically innovate.

They were both once somewhat younger but not much less idealistic, and they engaged in destructive violence, by blowing up the lab responsible for making Napalm, no was supposed to be there, but an innocent janitor was blinded.

Their network was vast and organized and managed to keep them on the move, to help them avoid incarceration for enough time to raise a family.

Their family's tight and genuinely loving full of creative exploration, the imaginative alternative means cultivated by clandestine life.

It's all the children have ever known and they've matured and adapted well, at least inasmuch as they love each other and are correspondingly respectful.

Mom (Christine Lahti) and dad (Judd Hirsch) feel somewhat guilty but there's little time to wallow, yet when their eldest son (River Phoenix as _______) reaches his late teens he starts to think about University.

He has a musical gift and is earnestly supported by his teacher (Ed Crowley), he even falls for his feisty daughter (Martha Plimpton) and dares to share his courageous plan.

His competing responsibilities are rather solemnly negotiated, as he deals with teenage impulse and unanticipated affection.

It's a bizarro shout out to active engagement generally presented with caring sympathy, I tend to think no one would make a similar contemporary film (in North America), but I'm likely mistaken, you never know what's out there.

I fully support the critique of the manufacture of destructive weapons like Napalm, and the war machine in general, a peaceful world praises productivity, contemplative virtues beyond the utilitarian.

But I can't get behind using violence to putting an end to violence, unless you're forced to do so, as in the case of Ukraine. There are just so many innocent victims. So many people who may have been keen carpenters, teachers, actors, even accountants, if they hadn't got caught up in an ideological conflict. I'd prefer to see concerned citizens capture violent leaders from different sides and force them to fight it out like gladiators on TV. When the people see the hopeless position the gaunt promoters of warlike violence find themselves within, it would no doubt produce a comic effect, which may generate a sustained resonance.

I don't claim to know a universal path forward, there's so much contradiction in an active thoughtful life, so many unforeseen intricate complications that mass cultural endeavour seems foolhardy.

A disposable income seems to help, however, keeping people away from poverty. If they aren't stressed about food and shelter they're more at ease with things in general. 

And businesses flourish and there's less of a need for credit and people can relax and have fun after a busy day's work.

With friends or with their families. 

Disposable incomes.

A huge win win. 

Bergman Island

Dad often liked to talk about how he loved arthouse cinema when he was at University, and the director he remembered watching most frequently was the internationally celebrated Ingmar Bergman.

It was difficult to get dad to watch independent cinema as the years passed by, but he did start to enjoy traditional science-fiction which was a big most welcome surprise.

I admit to never having grown tired of either and to still enjoying the inordinate synthesis, I still find blending the arthouse and the mainstream makes for a more diverse constructive dialogue.

You have the individualistic rebellious insights independently crafted with subjective certainty, mischievously juxtaposed with august objective stately ponderous risk based analysis.

I don't recommend proceeding in this fashion if you want to occasionally communicate with others (about film), my humble experience at least has led me to believe that most people prefer one to the other.

I still find the blend much more intriguing, a wider spectrum, more robust confluence.

I'm too old to worry about categorical superlatives. 

In fact I find them most distasteful.

Ingmar Bergman's films are still fun to watch, as melancholically instructive as they are light and playful, at times showcasing eccentric enigmatic enlightenment somewhat lost with the ways of the world.

Bergman Island is a fascinating treat for curious fans of the prolific director, an extended interview patiently presented at his cherished home on Fårö Island.

His thoughts are still clear and descriptive as he discusses life with vivid detail, courageously holding nothing back, wholeheartedly concerned with unfiltered honesty.

There's a funny moment near the end where he mentions a lie he once made to the press, something spontaneous he said when he had no answer to a question that was suddenly asked and caught him off guard.

He was annoyed because the spur of the moment random response came to be taken as irrefutable fact.

I wonder how often that happens.

A somewhat comic reflection on truth (how often have I thought, "it's just something they said!").

If you're a fan of Bergman or auteurs in general Bergman Island is essential viewing.

Raw insights into sublime genius.

A passionate life.

Not without controversy.

Code inconnu: Récit incomplet de divers voyages (Code Unknown)

Indeterminate reactions sidestepping stimuli, attempts to integrate impressionistic zeal, melded with studied yet experimental role play, opportune emphasis, vernacular vixen.

Pumpernickel panache intuited hesitant precocious pantried parasol protocol, emergent revelation anodyne rubric ecstatic reservation lands unknown.

Subtle or daring cryptic courageous imperative nondescript agile evanescence, manifold merged transformative mysteries maestro a' mewing critically conscious. 

Restive receptive quizzical consommé piecemeal perceptive narrative legend, dwelling itinerant quadrants continuums amorous crooned cartographical quay.

Descriptive departure rhapsodic rapids whippoorwill whirlwind cortical calm, dorsal fin dreamy demonstrative dashing zephyrous zigzag literal lounge.

Nautically nestled lampooned luminescence solemn centripetal sermonized soirée, exotic exodus fermenting fusions coastal consensus taciturn tracts.

Vehement vessels ensconced equilibrium qualms quotients choral affirméd flotilla, doughty destination irrelevant rations unparlayed particulars maritime motion.

Envisioned intricate haphazard hijinks amusingly harmonized holistic surf, assertive rebuffles distraught notwithstanding inquisitive mischievous mirth.

Mundane immersive inevitable unchanging unified concordant prediction, intermittently erupting through humdrum monotonous atonal routine seas.

Variety unsurpassed inexplicably tactile imaginative gripping re-emergence, delicately embraces expansionist curious interactive proclivities. 

Patterns cherished patterns critiqued patterns belovéd patterns disdained, corresponding cohesions upheavals erratically nuanced through mood in flux.

Ever onwards agendas uncharted heuristic random anticipated happenstance, at times successful at others disheartening fluid trajectories fun intercessions. 

The pressing break of day landlubbing routine discordant seclusion.

Tasty latté ready to go.

Subconscious synergies.

Active stasis.

*That's my take on Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir's first date. If they ever really went out.

Die Brücke (The Bridge)

During World War II, as Allied forces cross into Germany, the Nazis refuse to surrender, preferring to enlist children and the elderly to fight against astronomical odds.

Men of conscious attempt to intervene but their humanistic pleas are stubbornly ignored, order and duty cold calculation overriding instincts for self-preservation.

The remnants of a revolting ideology still absolutely hold sway, the fascist Nazi imperialists still clinging to toxic masculinity.

Thus, a group of school children is enthusiastic when suddenly drafted, and given one day of uninspired training before being sent off to the field.

They've grown up together during the war and most unfortunately know little else, and they're very brave intent on self-sacrifice if it means defending their native soil.

The officer in charge decides to desert leaving the kids alone to defend a bridge, he's shot while trying to outwit the authorities codes and classification above all else.

Shortly thereafter, the very next morning, the kids find themselves ferociously tested, as three American tanks attempt to burst through their dedicated defiant deft defences.

What follows is an utterly loathsome grotesque pungent tragic lament, bold innocent lives needlessly lost which were harmlessly playing a short time ago.

Die Brücke (The Bridge) is rather graphic as it presents the fight like a typical war film, to bluntly accentuate the ghastly carnage with lethal despondent absurdist reckoning (the horror maniacally awaiting in the realistic absurdism).

Made in post-World War II Germany (1959) to assist with what must have been an abysmal spiritual reconstruction, I'm not sure how it was received, but it still makes a shocking impact.

I'd argue it's an essential war film which makes an impact like no other, the sight of innocent children enlisted to fight as thoroughly repugnant as it is catastrophic.

Earlier in the film, some of them are so carefree and playful they have yet to form dreams for the future, preferring to play tricks with mice or critique or boast as the endless day passes by like any other.

There were many films in my youth which sought to make war seem unappealing (Jacob's Ladder, The Thin Red Line, Apocalypse Now, Platoon), as artists set about creating a peaceful aesthetic designed to stifle cultural belligerence.

Peaceful egalitarian unions backed them up while fighting racism.

Too bad they lost their hold in Russia (and elsewhere).

And gave way to vicious nationalism.

Planet of the Apes

Explorers sleep quietly slumber for millennia while swiftly passing through space, bravely uncertain as to where they might eventually end up, adventurous and daring, expeditionary finesse, they dream civilization incarnate, and sedately persevere. 

Crashing suddenly in a lake roughly 2,000 years after their departure, they have just enough time to escape, boldly paddling unencumbered to the surrounding desert shores, with enough food and water to last three days, and the pioneering spirit to endure and then some.

They trek for quite some time until enthusiastically finding life, a single plant unassumingly declaring the probability of others.

Vegetation is soon abundant and fresh water readily available, they soon jump in to freely bathe, before encountering a disturbance.

Their clothes are gone they wildly dash to catch the entities who stole them, only to discover a race of humans rather primitive and mute.

The humans are raiding crops but from whom remains undetermined, until furious apes lithely riding horseback appear with nets and horns and rifles.

Suddenly shocked and separated the startled travellers quickly flee, one shot in the neck with a non-life threatening wound then brought to a nearby village. 

He can't talk and he swiftly learns that on his newfound world people surge and struggle.

But there are other forms of communication.

To employ before regaining speech.

I can't discuss how this film ends because I'd rather not spoil the fun, it was one of my favourite cinematic surprises in my youth, and I'd hate to spoil the ending for others.

Not that hundreds of people will be madly rushing to see a Planet of the Apes film from 1968 anytime soon, when several new ones have recently been released, nevertheless, it's worth checking out if you haven't seen it (and somehow never heard what happens in the end).

Simultaneously, the film's far off agrarian inhospitable planet includes parts that been devastated by war, and as I've mentioned before,  after choosing this film at random one evening when I was perhaps 10, it seemed like nuclear war would no doubt be an impossibility on our world, if wiser heads historically prevailed.

Which is another reason this war in Ukraine is so horrifically devastating.

If a country's leader is threatening to use nuclear weapons, how does that leader still have a country to lead?, why hasn't he been arrested?, and why is that country still a member of the United Nations?

Baffling.

Perhaps stranger things have happened.

But certainly not within my lifetime. 

Newsfront

Post-World War II Australia, urges to diversify held within restraints, some see labour and the left as an influential leap forward, others worry about the Stalinist labour camps.

Productive hardworking journalists diligently capture the news within, changes in political culture the business itself energetically presented in periodic vignettes. 

You get to meet reporters and camerapersons plus narrators and overarching executives, and see how their active interpersonal relationships mutate and shift with multitudinous accord.

It's well done, a compelling slice of raw kinetic dis/proportionate compulsion, intricately endeavouring to freely showcase a vast unparalleled nation changing.

How do you monitor the changes. what paradigms to pinpoint, spices to sojourn?, with the massive amounts of incoming data how do you choose which stories to circulate?

Do you want to be known for something in particular or to brandish and broadcast wide-ranging spectrums, is there a timeless quality to certain narratives or do waves a' wingéd work it unbound?

It's been sad to see labour's role in the forecast sharply decline in recent decades, perhaps as the internet expanded alternative sources practically emerged (animated comedy?). 

And as those sources practically emerged traditional news outlets had to cater to a different audience, one with much more elitist pretensions that abruptly abandoned labour in Anglo/American markets.

A long time since I was in school, but even at that time interest in blending social strata had waned, except amongst the French Canadians living in Québec I met in grad school, of whom an enormously high percentage still cared about people.

The percentage was so high and at such a high level that Québec seemed like the best place to be, so even if my French wasn't that great I moved to Montréal to look for work.

I started reading a lot about Québec's history around that time as well, and enjoyed several engaging texts chronicling different periods of French Canadian culture.

I decided I didn't want to live in Toronto or Vancouver and read those books in isolation, or study Québec from afar if I had the chance to live there.

I cared about work and finances too but living somewhere I wanted to be meant much more. So much of life takes place outside of work it's better to live somewhere you love than grow weary with ennui.

Back to journalism, I imagined it would take longer for war to break out after major Anglo/American news sources abandoned the left, and the unhindered pursuit of either wealth or elitist standing once again imperialistically took centre stage.

It's happened nonetheless and will likely continue to happen for decades, if peaceful inclinations don't again take centre stage or at least form part of the master narrative's bedrock.

The jingoistic warlike right will tell you that it's natural just as they did before both World Wars, and it won't care while millions die as it coldly makes astronomical profits.

But just as many others are saying today and have been for previous millennia.

There's nothing natural about these conflicts.

In fact they're a grandiose perversion. 

What Happened Was . . .

A date.

A get together.

Both parties unsure what to do.

It's their first romantic conversation in a while.

Good impressions sought.

Along with good food.

They both work at a law firm but aren't in possession of law degrees, their crafty assistance still essential no doubt to the smooth flowing distilled jurisprudence. 

Jackie (Karen Sillas) likes Michael's (Tom Noonan) sense of humour and the way he proceeds with a lighthearted touch, no stilted airs or predetermined fussiness generally complicating his reliable work.

She's straight up and borderline daring as she honestly shares pastimes and preferences, with little interest in codes or concealments she genuinely delivers the dependable goods.

But she simultaneously doesn't disseminate emphatic criticisms and dissonant avowals, perhaps not wishing to spoil the evening with ornery uptight imperious outbursts.

Perhaps also she's just sincerely curious and realizes you learn more by embracing interest, or at least may generate something prolonged or won't have to keep meeting new people quite so often.

He's uncertain as to how to proceed since he's suddenly encountered direct honest innocence, and isn't used to unceremoniously sharing honest thoughts and open revelations.

The suppressed yet cognizant snob deep within is overwhelmed by the freeflowing gratitude, and he begins to feel somewhat humble and suddenly re-evaluates his bold declarations.

He also starts telling the truth and feels rather embarrassed as he awkwardly does so, but she's worried she's somehow upset him, he's somewhat blind to the catch he's found.

What Happened Was . . . thoughtfully examines insecurity as it engages in unscripted exploration, suddenly abounding with practical material to realistically characterize imaginative fluctuations.

They're both unprepared for reality but she's a little more willing to experiment.

A perfect film if you're worried about dating.

Or would perhaps rather never abandon the single life. 

Le Plaisir

 An agéd sophisticated debonair imbroglio, still likes to go out dancing, and equipped with mask and trendy attire he freely joins in at a local club.

But there's a collapse an unfortunate sudden enervating brisk inopportune muddle, and soon he's once again back at his apartment quietly recovering from sporadic plays.

His devoted wife who refused to leave after so many ceremonious years, explains how she came to yield when faced with so many imprecise delineations.

Star-crossed solipsistic synergies familial fetching fervent fermentation, a look at the oft unmentioned social graces as they've matured after so much time.

A small town business stays open late and is generally frequented by the well-to-do, who enjoy alternative flair and characteristic distraction on many an otherwise mundane night.

But on the Saturday evening in question the curious cast is nowhere to be found, which leads to an improvised assemblage of minds eventually provoking headstrong altercation.

Fantasy has set out indeed has gathered in an even smaller town, to celebrate a relative's coming of age without ornate robust discountenance. 

It's thoroughly agreed within the picturesque pastoral pastime, that they add modest cosmopolitan flavour to the reservéd village life.

Soon back across the way and once again settled into the imagination, local animosities swiftly disperse with neither grudge nor recollection.

Peculiar habitual practice efficaciously engendered.

Another time, bewitched bewilder, fancy fortune expression mused.

An upcoming artist finds himself bedazzled by a striking model upon his canvas, so much so he seeks her hand and takes up residence outside the city.

But fleeting passion disrupts his airs and soon he derides domestic life, his young wife driven to mortal explicit moribund feats of declamation.

His arrogance astounds as he responds with dismissal as she attempts to take her own life, yet survives the disparaging doctrine with animate versatile proactive buds.

A happy couple, perhaps, thereafter, as inspiration jukes and jounces.

Age old conceptual reckoning.

The joys of youth.

Venerable wear.

*Written by men. 

Inside Man

A detective gets his shot since he's the only one around when the call comes in (Denzel Washington), his captain less willing to throw work his way after a recent erroneous routine rupture.

But a bank's being robbed and they want to negotiate the robbers taking their forbidden time, many hostages struggling nerve-wracked within, a smooth flowing exchange stretched out stressed suspicion.

Meanwhile, the bank's agéd owner (Christopher Plummer) hires an alternative negotiating team (Jodie Foster), to recover an ancient safety deposit box he's worried the thieves have set in their sights.

She exists in the theoretical ether wherein which higher-ups employ extreme discretion, to tidy up raunchy embarrassing mishaps, or in this lofty case, World War II profiteering.

The detective doesn't like it when she shows up with answers to questions he wasn't considering, but the communicative green light is still freely given and soon it seems the bank owner's fears weren't that off base.

Afterwards, chaos ensues, with emboldened predicaments furtively enabling, the concealment of the hypothetical thieves whose plutocratic endeavours indeed prove fruitful. 

The detective still needs to piece things together with precocious puzzling and reasonable riffs.

Interviews discourse entanglements hyperbole.

Thoroughly reckoned with guttural instinct.

A cool suave exoteric rigamarole effortlessly enriches voltaic vehemence, as the opposite ends of Inside Man's investigative continuums cohort and calumnize courtly contusions.

Critically clasped clandestine camaraderie sincerely conversing cross calculi composites, war profiteering is reckless abuse of a world controlled by volatile wickedness. 

I haven't seen any recent related articles covering political condemnations of war profiteering in Ukraine, but you would think some bureaucrat would have thought up something to passionately critique it in the last couple of weeks. 

Many business have pulled out of Russia and I imagine sanctions are making routine life difficult in the massive country, but weeks into the brutal conflict and it's still raging with destructive frenzy.

If businesses and individuals are profiting from Russia's continued vicious bombardment, it would be nice to know they'll be held accountable with sincere constricting jurisprudent venom.

How to monitor myriad factors multidimensionally mired in mad malfeasance, is hopefully being taken care of at the maniacal moment with exceptional haste and sentient synergies. 

Ride in the Whirlwind

Ye olde bucolic misunderstanding matriculates maniacal madness, as 3 travellers find themselves caught up in volatile jurisprudent pursuits.

A gang of outlaws led by one Blind (Harry Dean Stanton) has just finished robbing a pugnacious coach, only to return to their secluded cabin without much to do but sit back and drink whiskey.

The three travellers are on their way to Waco and happen to pass by 'fore the oncoming night, and manage to negotiate free and safe passage plus a hot meal and ground for the evening.

But soon after sunup a group of armed citizens comes to express their sincere disapproval, and the 3 have no way to innocently distinguish themselves, and are unfortunately assumed to be bloodthirsty bandits.

Ceremonious discussion is not in the cards so they have to slowly try to escape, one of them quickly cut down shortly thereafter, the others too frightened to make their case.

They escape to a local squatter's homestead where they find food and fresh horses and whiskey, but the vigilantes come quickly a' callin' and soon they're terrified back on the trail.

I thought it was clever or at least somewhat different a cool hectic twist on the straightforward Western, while watching I imagined how strange it must have been when they abounded partout, to show up at the cinema and see three or four playing.

Perhaps that number's too high or perhaps there were even times when it was far too low, I grew up watching them with papa in rerun, what I assume was decades after their genuine heyday (when Unforgiven came out critics made a big deal about the return of the Western).

I suppose there's still fertile ground within the Western's well-trodden cinematic soil, but to imagine hundreds if not thousands of Westerns dagnabit just seems like vast frontier overload.

Clearly you should have an endless stream of spaceships visiting new planets in space, however, perhaps at times cultivating amicable relations, at others engaged in intergalactic disputes.

Still kind of cool to see a clever twist in a Western, nevertheless, even if others in the audience asked, why is no one thinking?, it must have been crazy packing up and headin' west back before there were highways or cities or motor cars.

It's still kind of cool to be sure and I happily recommend it even if just for a spell.

Lots of opportunity and different things to do.

Not to mention the wildlife.

Mountainous ranges.   

Ofelaš (Pathfinder)

A tale told for at least a thousand years, composed in the isolated Scandinavian countryside, during winter but past the blinding darkness, domestic peoples meet wild barbarians.

There's nothing romantic about these rogues as they travel the land murdering free people for plunder, with no regard for tradition or livelihood, they make war on those living peacefully.

A gifted young hunter (Mikkel Gaup as Aigin) arrives back at home after they've arrived in gluttonous mass, and is barely able to free himself but still leaves a trail for them to follow.

He quickly makes it to the next village where they agree to pack up and leave, swiftly moving to the mountainous coast, some preferring to stay behind and fight.

But the maniacs prove too much for them and they're struck down with vicious precision, except for the young gifted hunter who reluctantly agrees to function as guide.

At the new sheltered encampment the free people settle in with harmonious accord, anxiously awaiting the return of their kinsfolk in gregarious revel and hesitant longing.

They're theoretically safe because there's only one path that can be followed to find them, through the treacherous unforgiving cliffs, and none of the barbarians knows it.

But unfortunately the young hunter does and one night they suddenly look up in horror.

The covetous belligerents having fiercely appeared.

With little time for them to escape.

You would think we had universally moved past the counterproductive desire for war, from systematically bombarding a free people with missiles for some unknown insane imperial purpose. 

Isn't it enough to simply have your domain and then try your best to flourish within it, celebrating old traditions while developing new ones, polymorphous regenerative imagination.

Imperial aggression means constant worry ubiquitous vigilance inanimate strife, since those your army repugnantly attacked will never stop fighting 'til they see you removed.

How does Russia hope to hold Ukraine for decade after oppressive decade, will Ukrainians not consistently engage in bellicose insurgency every single day of the illegal occupation?

Russians could be sitting at work conducting trade with Ukraine and heading home at the end of the day, to their family and friends a chill film some conversation the laidback curious creative life.

That's what a successful man does he doesn't violently invade another country. And force people to unilaterally listen to him. That's the way of the violent coward.

And as long as Russia occupies Ukraine Russian cowards will have to fear insurgency.

When they could simply be peacefully living at home.

Hopefully it never comes to that.

All Good Things

Traumatized in his youth after witnessing a parent commit suicide, David Marks (Ryan Gosling) struggles to live up to expectations, his family excessively wealthy in possession of sought after prized real estate in Manhattan, he can't make the corporate adjustments, to productive managerial life.

But in his youth he's less concerned with high-end sustainability, and is even somewhat chill as depicted in the film, so much so that he wins the hand of lighthearted freespirited lass (Kirsten Dunst as _____ Marks), the two forging a constructive team, at home in the remote countryside.

At his best he still remains quiet and hesitates to add much to any conversation, but he's still loving and kind and supportive as his marriage passively progresses.

If only the film had ended there, and they'd simply flourished low key down home, but his father (______ Langella) lures him back to the city and packs on tons of stressful responsibility.

He can't deal he flounders can't float and takes his frustrations out on his wife, refusing to agree to raise his own family, eventually turning to violence.

She comes from a much less reserved family and isn't accustomed to resonant gloom, she still applies herself vigorously to education and boldly hopes to one day attend med school.

But her dreams are cut short one evening indeed she suddenly hauntingly disappears.

Her husband likely having played a hand.

In curtailing her resilient progression.

The Fredo factor in lavish expenditure morosely embracing inanimate doom, feeling compelled to richly role play executive constructs for which he's ill-suited.

He clearly needed to do his own thing but his severe father couldn't accept that, and bluntly pushed him into a mindset to which he could not adapt applicably.

But others could and resounding jealousies destructively emerged in sheer despondency, there's no failure if you can't adapt to stilted stratagems that don't fit your personality.

You need to forget the lofty expectations and ignore ill-conceived hypothetical criticisms of your reputation, and find something that suits your mind, North America's great for supplying diversity.

Take Sherlock Homes as a working example as he's imagined on the brilliant Elementary, he falls into a destructive spiral of drug addiction but bounces back with perceptive resiliency.

His father is also well-off and sternly resents his eccentric son.

But Sherlock emphatically defies him.

And leads a strong independent life of his own.

Daylight

Always loved driving through tunnels as a child, and I have to admit, I still do, they're remarkable feats of submerged engineering, and it's fun to drive through them because you're travelling underwater.

But of course, at times, while leisurely passing through them, I consider the possibility of collapse, along with grim forecasts regarding lacking potential escape routes, accompanied by variable prognostications, predicting cumbersome water flows.

Just how my brain works, as I've mentioned before, I'm single for life, it's okay though, so much time has passed and I've yet to hear of a tunnel collapsing, apart from the frenzied fictional fetters, fantasized in Rob Cohen's chaotic Daylight.

Within, a variety of families and individuals suddenly find themselves trapped beneath the Hudson River, with little hope of ever escaping, to the multidimensional world above.

A high-speed chase encouraging an explosion led to their exasperated incarceration, city officials unsure how to pristinely proceed, amidst the conflicting demands of the impetuous rush hour. 

But one person keeps a level-head and refuses to let the survivors drown, taking great risks just to reach their location, where he encounters vehement criticism (Sylvester Stallone as Kit Latura).

For he was once in charge of New York's rescue efforts until one day a unique situation overwhelmed him, after which he was relieved of his command, the story hitting the local newspapers.

But having learned of the enormous disaster while driving around in his daring cab, he heard the call and showed up immediately, like so many brave Ukrainians. 

Given the go ahead rapidly proceeding he strives to save the isolated crew.

They eventually forge a united team.

In the heart of the 1990s.

I imagine improvised united teams are being forged by the resistance across Ukraine, in defiance of fascist imperialism, to save both a country and a way of life.

Hopefully the sanctions the West is imposing make a difference sooner than later.

Although I imagine Putin's hellbent on victory. And won't hesitate to starve and bankrupt his own people to achieve it.

If things had proceeded differently, if Russia hadn't chosen an autocratic path, it might be currently up for admission to the European Union, and enjoying various cultural exchanges with friends in North America.

Too late to focus on conditionals, but not too late to stifle despotism at home.

Do you see what happens when you ignore democracy, and place too much power in individual hands?

When you take complex decision-making procedures away from groups seeking to productively participate? 

Man in the Saddle

Reared in the fledgling West, when cattlepeople came to parlay, begrudging neighbours were taken to task, sometimes deadly, sometimes shortsighted, at times rambunctious, on occasion, rather uptight, making one wonder why anyone ever came to town, if not for supplies, or distraught exposure.

People have gathered once again nevertheless on the day of the wedding of a wealthy rancher (______ Knox as Will Isham), whose bride (Joan ______ as Laurie Bidwell) once loved a less-well-off co-inhabitant (Randolph Scott as Owen Merritt), a man she refuses to ever forget.

The wealthy rancher's no awestruck fool unfortunately he's much too stern and practical, to ever generate genuine feeling from a sensitive creative soul.

And his jealousy slowly boils over with each mechanical passionless exchange, even if it's all he's used to, he can't accept that someone else had something more.

Merritt's ranch is much smaller than Isham's who seeks to monopolize the region, using the only tactics he's ever understood, coldhearted stubborn textbook belligerence.

But even if Mr. Merritt stressfully lacks a gang of rowdy uncouth hired guns, he still has many friends close by, many of whom come quickly a' callin'.

Soon romantic zeal's unwillingly duelling with inanimate calculation.

Ms. Bidwell unsure where she stands.

Neighbouring Ms. Melotte (Ellen Drew) aware trouble's a' brewin'.

Celebrating the raw unbridled frontier spirit with independent imaginative gusto, Man in the Saddle dares drift debonair with honest profound heartfelt discrepancy.

The odds are overwhelming yet the resolve exceptional enough not to doubt precise reliable markspersonship, the classic American home ranging heartache hassled harangued with bellicose brawn.

Trying to sincerely match adoring love with cold stubborn opportunism, may not work out so well if you're looking for content to match the formality. 

Nevertheless, a lot of people seem to make it work in relation to traditional old school arranged marriages, where I imagine resignéd familiarity eventually equates love with solemn observance. 

In my case, can't say I ever did meet a freespirit who would keep busy while I wrote in the park. 😜

So many films, the search for meaning.

Who could have ever have partnered up otherwise? 

The Misfits

Oddly enough, last week I was listening to the Beatles and my mind once again turned to Ringo, who I still think gets a bad rap when you think about the solid backbone he provided the band.

He also cleverly worked his funny personality into the media sensation being built at the time, and refined unique adorable pop character as a matter of reflexive intuitive fact.

Not to mention Octopus's Garden which I was yelled at for liking as a kid (no joke). Love that song to this day (I don't understand the yelling, it made 1967-1970). I'm not saying this blog is like an octopus's garden. I just wish I'd never been yelled at for liking the song.

I mention this because Ringo's legend is brought to life in Renny Harlin's The Misfits with dazzling flair, as the principal Robin Hoodesque phenom assembles a daring altruistic team (Nick Cannon as Ringo).

The intricate individuals started out do-gooding on their own without project or inquiry, yet found things much easier to accomplish when rambunctiously gathered as a stalwart team.

Plus, they could purse loftier objectives like freedom fighting or in this case a prison full of gold, used to buy weapons and finance autocracy around the globe without catch or hindrance.

The prison was built by a man (Tim Roth as Schultz) prone to catching a remarkable thief, who in turn escapes from prison after prison much to his shocked astonishment (Pierce Brosnan as _______ Pace). 

The do-gooding band seeks the escape artist's help to steal the gold from his latest prison.

But they're not sure if he'll freely accommodate. 

So they come up with a multi-point plan.

It's first rate low budget action comedically generating thoughtful ambition, as an agile acrobatic team tumultuously agrees to search and discover.

I've got a lot of respect for low or lower budget action films because it's so hard to take on the behemoths. Not to mention how difficult it is to make a convincing action film to begin with. I appreciate the resonant daring.

I like how The Misfits doesn't blow as much stuff up, it's better for the environment not to destroy so many things.

Computer graphics come pretty close to reality.

Save money, protect the environment.

I've come to terms with my own misfit status although for a while I thought I'd fit in, I thought there must be somewhere I didn't feel odd but it never worked out, plenty of books and films in the meantime.

If you feel like a misfit however swiftly note most assurédly so do I.

Although it generally seems like so many others are strange.

It can make for quite the afternoon outing.