Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore

The magical world continues to negotiate a menacing combative destructive threat, as Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen) and his fascist minions seek the subjugation of muggles worldwide.

It was thought their bellicose movement would disappear if generally disregarded, but seditious sympathy at the highest levels mournfully led to political profligacy.

Dumbledore (Jude Law) stands against them but can't deliberately enter the fray, extremely powerful amorous magic heartbreakingly preventing him from taking part.

But he assembles a resolute team who synergistically subverts Gellert's monstrous flux, not with enough prowess to halt his ambition, but still with enough daring to make things interesting.

A magical beast takes the ceremonious stage as the magical elite gather in mystical Bhutan, a creature capable of discerning spiritual integrity, a virtuous quality sought by the magical world.

Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne) was able to locate a Qilin mother just as she was about to give birth, but Grindelwald's devout disruptive subjects suddenly emerged and captured the youngling. 

Fortunately, unbeknownst to Grindelwald, the mother gave birth to twins.

While Grindelwald's magic somnambulizes one.

The other awaits felicitous fortunes.

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore makes bold strides in the fantasy realm, with Dumbledore's sexuality directly depicted, a groundbreaking step much like Marvel's Black Panther.

His tragic love maddeningly enduring frenetic devastating bland absolutism, as Grindelwald haunting proclaims, "but who will love you Dumbledore?", before retreating back to his despotic hideaway.

Jacob Kowalski (Dan Fogler) is also back at it with as much audacious reckoning as ever, somewhat hesitant and far out of his comfort zone, but still deftly clad in honourable bearing.

Not as many magical creatures to be found within this instalment, but perhaps a Fantastic Beasts series should be considered, with a dozen or so episodes that feature Newt searching the world for magical beasts like David Attenborough (something calm)?

I have to admit, as a personal addendum, when I'm writing my blogs I truly don't doubt myself, I often like many of the sentences or stanzas I create, and know that if I didn't have to work, they'd be even better.

But the real world is tough to negotiate and I keep expecting to find friends where I only meet adversaries. 

I suppose I'm supposed to get used to it.

But I just simply can't.

It's not a world worth living in. 

Jurassic World Dominion

Back to the old power and megalomania hellbent on global domination, this time having genetically engineered giant locusts which habitually feast on various crops worldwide.

Various crops which happen to have been resolutely cultivated with Biosyn seeds, Biosyn having created a market (like Monsanto?) for its grain, then proceeded to wipe out every form of competition.

Dr. Wu (BD Wong) realizes catastrophe's afoot but can't seek redemption without looking bad, let millions of people starve to death or risk losing face, he wants to make amends but can't think of how to do so.

He's denied by his wicked boss (Campbell Scott as Lewis Dodgson) whose evil intent is rebelliously disputed, as both Jurassic World and Jurassic Park alumni converge on his remote laboratory. 

Doctors Ellie Sattler (Laura Dern) and Alan Grant (Sam Neill) representing scientists generally seeking to promote knowledgeable wonder, like the bourgeoisie they rely on funding to make spiritually prosperous cultural contributions.

Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard) and Mr. Grady (Chris Pratt) are more hands on and take a practical approach to living with dinosaurs, like versatile independent conscientious workers they promote sustainable communal life.

Thus, the mad elitist seeking to monopolize global food production, is courageously challenged by worker and middle-management who daringly obscure his psychotic vision.

But Jurassic World Dominion is also about a world where dinosaurs abound, multiple species fortuitously finding a way to generally adapt to divergent ecosystems.

I suppose it would be a grandiose ecological disaster of intensified colossal invasive magnitude, but thoughts like that kind of spoil the fun, and contemporary and ancient species alike seem to be getting along so well in the film (it's just a movie).

I was almost teary-eyed to see Laura Dern and Sam Neill back at it, after so many intervening years, was but a wee lad when the original came out, I was reading the book at the time, which I thoroughly loved, it's my favourite Michael Crichton.

Apart from the requisite mayhem and the inevitable hoopla of the traditional blockbuster, there are some really cool animal scenes, especially one where Dr. Sattler sees a baby, and says, "you never get used to it".

People who love animals know how true those words are, and that even if you see wild turtles or zebras or water buffalos every day of your life, the experience never gets old or tiresome, it's irrefutably exciting each and every time.

That scene made the film for me and it was also really cool to see the two casts converge.

The likelihood of their plan succeeding: it's up for debate.

Certainly not without the aid of Ms. Watts (DeWanda Wise) and Mr. Cole (Mamoudou Athie).  

Chattahoochee

A veteran from the Korean war who managed to distinguish himself has trouble fitting in back home (Gary Oldman as Emmett Foley), and after having grown tired of picket fence pastimes, tries to get the police to shoot him for the insurance money.

He winds up in a psychiatric institution and finds he's in for the long haul, a distressing situation to say the least since he really isn't that insane.

His coherent reflexes help him observe the unfortunate general corruption, the cruel and unnecessary punishment routinely handed out by the sadistic administration.

He keeps track of the abuse in writing and eventually even studies introductory law, learning enough to air legitimate grievances which are generally ignored by unsympathetic staff.

Meanwhile, as the years pass by, his child ages and his wife (Frances McDormand as Mae Foley) seeks divorce, his sister (Pamela Reed as Earlene) never giving up on him, but somewhat perplexed by the daunting legal fees.

Consistent protest within the facility leads to frequent confrontation, irate guards and frustrated staff with no inclinations to change the management.

It's an old school animate take on social justice and institutional reform, the assertion of rights by those left behind by a system thoroughly unconcerned with how to take care of them.

You get to see Oldman and McDormand in their youth delivering exceptional performances, even if Chattahoochee has issues, you can see why these actors made a go of it (didn't they win best actor and actress in the same year? [2018]).

The thought of being generally sane and finding yourself locked down by bureaucratic codes, is aggravated by the reality that so many others who lack rationality can do exceptionally little to freely defend themselves.

Fortunately, Foley's work prevails and over a hundred reforms are introduced, and he's eventually released a free person to passionately deal with middle-aged life.

I imagine things have remarkably improved since Foucault wrote Madness & Civilization, in some jurisdictions anyways, which hopefully aren't suffering from stringent cutbacks.

It seems that caring for the sick goes without saying and there should be principled professionals who proceed accordingly.

Too bad stories like Chattahoochee still emerge.

Laws should prevent sadistic reckoning.

*There's no secret meaning here, no underlying code. This film was released in 1989 and I'd never heard of it. That's why I chose to watch it.

Minari

The sudden move from California to humble landlocked Arkansas, abundant land awaiting cultivation, intrepid vision, audacious yields. 

Without even a well to speak of they settle in and get down to it, sexing chickens during the day, otherwise pioneering.

Jacob (Steven Yeun) wants to succeed and move beyond habitual happenstance, to have something of their own to fluidly manage, intense labour, fecund independence.

Monica (Han Ye-ri) is less enthusiastic with the abrupt uprooting move, her new house not what she'd expected, their land far away from suburban life.

Their son (Alan Kim as David) has a troubling heart murmur which generates solemn worry, even if childhood proceeds unabashed full of resounding pluck and curiosity. 

A rough and tumble grandma (Yoon Yeo-jeong) comes to stay to help out with the kids and general chores, but David and Anne (Noel Kate Cho) are somewhat perplexed by her vibrant striking unorthodox manners.

Local life flourishes around them as they cautiously reflexively adapt, remarkable difference ample opportunity hauntingly clouded by latent doubt. 

The film endearingly showcases family honestly interacting through uncertain times, making the most of its newfound intricacies while mild-mannered arguments periodically erupt.

The supporting cast introduces enough novelty to poetically distract from quotidian alarm, as granny teaches the kids to play cards, and their helpful farmhand (Will Patton) reacts sans inhibition. 

Minari itself is a compelling crop which robustly fertilizes apt immigration, generally healthy and easy to grow it instinctively blends in manifold surroundings.

Democratically attuned minari elevates the agile passionate immigrant spirit, the vital resilient resonant difference that passively shakes up concrete routines.

The Yis struggle at times as competing dreams manifest in dispute, optimistic overtures and belittling misgivings conjugally clashing with traditional uproar.

But in terms of multidimensionally presenting a well-rounded look at dynamic life, Lee Isaac Chung's Minari impresses on disparate levels without ever seeming holistically fond.

Nice to immerse yourself in a meaningful story cleverly intermingling so many chill aspects. 

A celebration of America's potential.

Along with practical dreams. 

The Presidio

A military policeperson (Jenette Goldstein as Patti Jean Lynch) is shot during a routine call, her death possibly related to another misguided crime.

Her ex-partner is assigned to investigate (Mark Harmon as Jay Austin) but jurisdiction leads to conflict, as he questions army personnel without respect for rank or standing.

Lieutenant Colonel Alan Caldwell (Sean Connery) realizes they'll have to have work together, a joint military/police operation with irate tensions steeping.

Lynch and Austin once arrested Colonel Paul Lawrence (Dana Gladstone) for disgraceful conduct, but when their work was scrutinized, Caldwell didn't support them.

Thus Austin left the army but now finds himself once again, in a position to arrest Mr. Lawrence if the evidence proves compelling.

Caldwell struggles to assist while calling attention to unwritten codes, thereby curtailing cowboy antics liberally applied notwithstanding. 

Austin starts dating his daughter (Meg Ryan as Donna Caldwell) much to his dismay, as the ancient clashes of stubborn cultures take on newfound ballistics.

The Presidio is very direct in search of blunt disgruntling fact, with no concern for feints or subtlety it blatantly marches on.

In a democracy there's room for manifold styles of film, and if one genre eclipses the others it can lead to incestuous deluge.

Thus I've kept an open-mind when freely viewing service films, to strangely embrace agile difference as composed through upheld traditions.

Frank exchanges between honest men often have otherworldly impacts, especially when immersed in rigid strata where trusted honesty is anathema.

It doesn't work so well in The Presidio at least it's not The Rock or Pulp Fiction, it works along the same lines but misses the mark unfortunately.

Still, remember that's just my impression and you shouldn't feel bad if you disagree, like what you like, get into it, artistic criticism isn't objectively orchestrated.

I've met people who had different tastes and at times I was surprised they liked certain films, but I always admired how earnestly they defended them since they weren't trying to impress.

Thus if you happen to love The Presidio I may be somewhat surprised.

Don't be annoyed by my alternative take.

Relativity upholds thriving democracies.  

Sound of Metal

Freely travellin' 'cross the country fluidly movin' from gig to gig, the wild thrilling sustained adrenaline boldly yielding extensive showcase.

Then suddenly the swift withdrawal of an essential sense shocking consternation, distressing requisite adjustments cold uncertainty latent flux.

Fortunately, communities exist to gently facilitate bold transitions, people aware and wholeheartedly concerned with helpful practical communal bulwarks.

A vast undertaking expansive and dear warmly connecting and nurturing individuals, from which new lives energetically emerge compelling unique artistic wonders.

After Ruben Stone (Riz Ahmed) loses his hearing he finds a supportive chill community, which patiently teaches him to adapt in a warm instructive active atmosphere.

He gradually learns sign language while teaching drumming and making friends, the resonant intricate inclusivity producing value added information. 

He's still interested in a procedure which may restore his hearing, however, even if it costs around $40,000 and he doesn't want to sell his ride.

A more robust healthcare system may have easily absorbed the cost, the collective flow of meaningful capital generating universal levity.

Isn't health something to be taken care of regardless of wealth or race or creed, shouldn't everyone have access to the same medicinal opportunities?

Doesn't a healthy population work more effectively on the job, and don't such salubrious dividends lead to systematized prosperity?

Healthy people earning higher incomes have more money to spend, thereby expanding robust economies with various recreational facilities.

I don't know what it's like in the U.S but having access to healthcare in Canada and Québec is great, taxes are somewhat higher, but so far I've never had to worry (there are disturbing stories out there).

Life's different when you don't have to worry about health or prohibitive educational costs. You can spend more time engaged with life and study without having to worry all the time.

Although it looks like the economic shocks of the pandemic are trying to bankrupt the middle-class, there was a chance that debts may have been paid off someday, it even seemed like a working possibility.

Healthy communities. Productive workplaces. Worry free studies. Reliable debt management.

Just takes some higher taxes.

Holistic fair play.

Rhizome ripples.  

Near Dark

The carefree mosey experimental random newfound chill relations, inspire paramount misfortune archaically clad nocturnal vision.

He (Adrian Pasdar as Caleb Colton) must admit he likes her (Jenny Wright as Mae) but is still critical of what he's become, after her loving playful bites lead to vampiric transformation.

The sudden shocking discovery of a mobile team menacingly manifested, leads to trepidatious tumult potential incompatibility. 

He needs to feed to gain their trust but humanistically can't take lives, resultant vehement disputes suggesting alternative pair bondings.

But she wants him to hang around and freely lets him gourmandize, until there's trouble at a round up and he lets a terrified victim flee.

Mistrust immoderately showcased his life in danger Caleb pleas, before a gallant move reinstates fidelity through hearty cursed chagrined hiatus.

Yet his family's on the move engaged in heartfelt search and rescue, they manage to kindly find him, and introduce novel transfusion. 

Back amongst the living regenerated soulful sessions.

The reunion somewhat brief.

Acerbic obfuscation. 

Kathryn Bigelow's chilling Near Dark keeps things focused on the present, haunting vampires there may be, but there's little discussion of origins or community.

It's a visceral macabre romance featuring moribund exclusivity, that keeps things raw refreshed immediate impassioned daring bold l'amour.

Endemic confidence upholds spirits as declarations intertwine, direct unflinching pains existence accredited frank anon disclosure. 

I'd never heard of Near Dark and was eager to watch Bigelow's take on vampires, co-starring so many Aliens alumni, that may be a cool double feature.

It doesn't create a world like Twilight or revel in myth and legend.

But its forlorn ritualistic candour.

Still facilitates crazed verisimilitude.

Bizarro romance.

Passion.

Doraibu mai kâ (Drive My Car)

The active life sustaining supple harmless interactive thought, consoling quirky consternation adept immersive ingenuity.

The calm and patient holistic vision stoic steadfast solemn varsity, pertinent adaptable expansive sizzle earmarked voltaic latent pressure.

But his (Hidetoshi Nishijima as Yûsuke Kafuku) loving partner (Reika Kirishima as Oto) suddenly passes when perhaps he could have intervened, or said something to swiftly alter the dismal moribounding hemorrhage. 

Psychologically deconstructed he gradually jukes and jets and jigsaws, slowly reimagining amenable principle through lighthearted chill experiment.

At one time he reflexively envisioned daunting twists tantalizing turmoil, without pause or critical reflection the plain and simple erudite schism.

But his wife first found the idea, after which he quickly improvised.

The working relationship romantically inclined freeform forgiveness inveterate l'amour, a rare gift celestially insatiable prolonged compression distilled adrenaline.

A common goal remarkably productive intermittent rowdy regenerative horseplay, benefits accrued conducive clutches laidback lax alert consistency.

Not one to overlook novelty, he notices his new driver's (Tôko Miura as Misaki Watari) abounding with pluck, somewhat forlorn yet still observant eager to multidimensionally disperse.

In possession of secrets so much distraction inanimate disconcerting dalliance, inopportune exported rationed irrevocable hardwire harrowing husk.

Kafuku winds up working with a young actor (Masaki Okada as Koji Takatsuki) who had an affair with his wife, the two awkwardly engaged through mutual love lost shin limitless lugubrity.

One young and blunt unwilling to hold back the thoughts which emerge to haunt him, the other sombre and much less eager to discuss such sensitive direct subjects.

Through these discussions a play takes shape as volatility blends with reason.

Only to ceremoniously fade.

Tragic rage.

Resurgent vellum. 

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.