The Rainmaker

Struggling to find anything amidst multitudinous mechanized mayhem, a would-be lawyer strives for steady employment, having already diligently found two potential cases to call his own, he needs a flexible support network, a trusted home away from home (Matt Damon as Rudy Baylor). 

He doesn't have an apartment either but in conversation with a client, secures room and board in her backyard a rather nice place off the beaten track.

He fortunately finds someone to work for but soon a lawsuit comes a' callin', and he's forced to abandon the practise and create a new one of his own.

A resilient legal aid resourcefully assists his fledgling endeavours (Danny DeVito as Deck Shifflet), the two forging a dynamic team harnessing practical and constructive knowledge.

Medical insurance fraud indeed becomes their driving ethical focus, while an extremely distressing spousal abuse case takes up most of Baylor's free time.

They're up against a corporate team who offers them a settlement at the outset, but daring Baylor digs in deep and decides to challenge them in court.

Meanwhile, he's visiting Ms. Riker (Claire Danes) to offer counsel when her husband returns. 

Literally in the fight of his life.

He responds with reciprocal reckoning. 

The direct just how things go realistic hands-on overt narrative, leaving nothing to chance or whimsy everything presented as plain as day.

The latent dream overwhelming at times to simply tell it like it is, with lucid manifest striking composure bravely detailing complex dissonance.

I'd argue you'd have more success with this style or perhaps find a much larger audience, incumbent mystery and bewildering bantha not as appealing from time to time.

With relativity applied however there are manifold layers of concrete communication, one startling stark steady statement taking on several alternative significations.

Thus Dickens or Proust may seem out of touch if you focus intently on John Grisham (which I did in high school [even visiting Oxford, Mississippi {dad wanted to see Faulkner's homestead which was in the area}]), but if you train and practise and up your game you'll learn to harmonize the three.

The Rainmaker presents potential realities with appealing incandescent virtue. 

I loved reading John Grisham in my youth.

Along with ye olde Anne Rice.  

*Also love reading Faulkner.

**Co-starring Mickey Rourke (Bruiser Stone), Danny Glover (Judge Tyrone Kipler), Jon Voight (Leo F. Drummond), Mary Kay Place (Dot Black), Dean Stockwell (Judge Hale), Virginia Madsen (Jackie Lemancyzk), and Roy Scheider (Wilfred). 

Bagdad Café

A marriage suddenly breaks up while the couple travels through the Mojave Desert, the wife taking a suitcase and venturing forth to the closest accommodating hotel (Marianne Sägebrecht as Jasmin Münchgstettner). 

The hotel's seen better days and lacks commercial intuition, a delirious rut having settled in which drives away most potential customers.

But Jasmin sees lucrative possibility virtually isolated in the Mojave, and whereas the owners (CCH Pounder as Brenda) have abandoned ship, she strives to keep the craft afloat.

Fortunately, her versatile industry and its accompanying foresight and vision, aren't lost on the cafe's staff, and soon metamorphoses materialize to bring paying clients back again. 

Further, sloth and anger slowly fade into bitter oblivion, gradually replaced by ingenuity not to mention bold showpersonship.

Ms. Münchgstettner isn't a demanding taskmaster sternly managing the forlorn crew, she rather leads by efficient example to avoid unproductive arguments with her co-workers.

Her example proves effective and her lack of ego inspires change.

But she doesn't have the necessary documents. 

To hold off deportation. 

Having spent some time North of 60 I have a latent fascination with the desert, from alternative meteorological extremes, regarding the perseverance of active life.

If people and animals can find a way to live in distressing ubiquitous cold, why not the heat as well, swelteringly abounding with solar energy?

I'd have to keep sunscreen close at hand and resourcefully find shade wherever possible, my myriad freckles indubitably intensifying within the unforgiving heat!

With shade acquired and a general lack of alarming nauseating sunstroke however, it would be fun to work somewhere like the Bagdad Café for an indeterminate period of time.

If you ever visit the countryside and go with the flow at work and play, you may discover a world of wonder at novel peace home on the range.

It's not always like that of course but I was lucky in my youth.

I don't regret having had to leave.

But sometimes I wish I'd stayed. 

Multiplicity

Work at times prone all-encompassing as pressures and demands exponentially multiply, an occupation blended with leisure and family ubiquitous responsibility pending.

As long as expectations are reasonable and goals practically parlayed, it's manageable long-term through hands-on seasoned sympathetic accords.

But what if you could clone yourself and then send that very same clone to work, thereby allowing yourself more time to spend with family or perhaps relaxing?

And consider a second clone to then take care of your parental duties, leaving you with nothing but free time to galavant and jaunt and sojourn?

Multiplicity explores this possibility with comic slipshod rank effect, one risk-taker finagling flip facsimiles to free-up time in his busy schedule.

Fortunately, the clones don't mind and respond amenably to their roles, and don't question his cherished authority as he creates rules and regulations.

I would imagine a perfect clone would be more independent, and less willing to immediately respond to demanding occupational infrastructure.

The original is rewarded with cloned pertinent traits befitting related corresponding objectives, foreman model rather assertive while stay-at-home-dad flexibly accommodates. 

It's oddly a family film shot in the cuddly mass market style, wherein which endearing conglomerates generally avoid awkward confrontation.

The experiment has consequences but his wife and family persevere none-the-wiser, unaware that good-old-dad effectively abandoned them through surrogate censure.

Could a film this overtly insensitive be made in the 2020s, taking alternative multiplicities into consideration, from a less patriarchal point of view?

It seems that if one were to embrace equality while still endeavouring to cultivate shenanigans, both parties to the conjugal union should have duplicated themselves in secret.

Then perhaps 6-8 echoes would have to furtively avoid one another, while mayhem habitually metastasizes through the art of embellished absurdity.

They could perhaps all wind up living together with a massive feisty family.

That script may be overly complicated.

But still less of an abomination. 

Gung Ho

The straightforward practical approach distilling facts and unembellished know-how, freely shared at an international meeting delicately held to bring work back to town.

The people of Hadleyville, Pennsylvania, want to reopen the plant where they've built many automobiles, its jobs the driving force in the local economy, which heavily relies on their enriching abundance.

To make things work Japanese and American cultural preferences must coalesce, the management team promoting trusted principles that often lead to success in Japan.

They're much more intense than many are used to, the search for perfection ideally orchestrated, friction develops between workers and management as different work-life balances awkwardly clash.

I find the desire for perfection motivates many in North America, but if it isn't achieved the related penalties aren't quite as strict as presented in Gung Ho.

Fortunately, humour is appreciated and Hunt's (Michael Keaton) honest style intuitively builds bridges.

Desperately trying to hold his regenerated town together, he strives to bring mutually beneficial cultural accords to life.

Does the spirit of the 1980s still culturally flourish across the land, with individual critiques democratically striving to ensure multilateral communal parlay?

After having seen the documentary American Factory (2019) I'd say there's no doubt they're alive and well, a film that examines contemporary Chinese and American relations at a refurbished plant in nimble Moraine, Ohio. 

The two films go hand-in-hand and would fluidly make an instructive double-feature, as I mentioned in my Far & Away review, there was once a thriving impetus to keep things realistic (Gung Ho also directed by Ron Howard).

A more comprehensive investigation into how labour-relations have changed over the past 40 years, would indeed make a compelling read, and would in fact be fun to research.

Gung Ho's style of storytelling was quite prominent in my curious youth, a hard-working day complemented by study and time well-spent with friends and family.

Millions fought for centuries to bring the balanced state of affairs about.

Why is a healthy work-life balance controversial?

Co-starring George Wendt (Buster), Mimi Rogers (Audrey), John Turturro (Willie), Clint Howard (Paul), and Gedde Watanabe (Oishi Kazihiro).  

Sense and Sensibility

Sufficient evidence gathered hereinafter cordially suggests a blesséd state, was indeed embraced by Mr. Ferrars (Hugh Grant) and Ms. Elinor Dashwood (Emma Thompson) vigorously engaged in holy matrimony. 

Misfortune and finicky finances egregiously attempted to discourteously repudiate, but chance attuned to ethereal endeavour providentially bequeathed ecstatic union.

Regarding Ms. Marianne Dashwood (Kate Winslet), who had been laid low due to flagrant ignominy, and left to harken despondent despair after having shockingly admitted scandal, her path gregariously recultivated through less self-centred earthen pertinence, has been noted as indirectly ebullient at festive times courting celebration.

Somewhat odd to see such import indubitably attached to conjugal digression, the tragic dialectic intermediately adjoining romantic longing and practical accords, the vicious reprobation denying their freeform mutually beneficial cathartic synthesis, morosely encouraging robotic remonstrance as opposed to nuptial nadir. 

Proust had alternative thoughts altogether and dramatically critiqued his sibling's marital fancies, somewhat less enamoured with Victorian reverie even if it ironically permeates his alternative narrative.

Uncanny to envision a stately world wherein which no one works or toils, where the infringing struggles and herculean cynosure are strictly levelled through estate and income.

Not that other social strata don't freely admit grey bumptious bias, perhaps humorous pretensions synthetically compared enigmatically emitting concentric harmonies.

How to delicately enliven such incommensurable audiences without rashly contradicting audacious accords, a close study of one Jack Layton perhaps amenable to a discussion of Foucauldian power relations. 

I must admit, I'm more accustomed to less superstructural arrangements, wherein which a noteworthy cast from sundry domiciles fluently agitate and preposterously proclaim, although I have in fact read this book and clearly understand why so many still read Ms. Austen, there's no doubt she's atemporally gifted, not my style really, but better than most. 

Certainly a world in which the Dashwoods find their Ferrars and Colonels doesn't intuitively provoke inclement entropy, or cosmically upset reverential taste, I wonder what's happening in contemporary literature, as the counter-postmodern reformation blindly struggles. 

I just made that up, I assume that's what's happening anyways.

Focusing on Wabi Sabi myself. 

And the upcoming adventurous summer.

Co-starring Imelda Staunton (Charlotte Palmer), Alan Rickman (The Colonel), and Tom Wilkinson (Mr. Dashwood).

Brewster's Millions

Stipulations.

Conditions which must be reached for an unorthodox goal to be achieved.

At times simply nominal, at others quite the pain, Brewster's Millions embraces the latter, with munificent refrain.

Thus one Montgomery Brewster (Richard Pryor) discovers he's the only living relative of an eccentric recently passed multimillionaire (Hume Cronyn as Rupert Horn), and that he will inherit quite the sum, but only if can first spend 30 million in a month, without acquiring any assets, giving it to charity, or letting anyone else know why he's doing it.

There's the option for a single million no-holds-barred no rules and regulations, but he's a classic gamer and readily accepts the incredible challenge.

It's fun to watch while he lavishly embraces extreme generosity with his friends and staff, and goes about spreading sweetly flowing largesse wherever he happens to fortuitously be.

Notably with his old minor league baseball team with whom he sets up a 3-inning game versus the Yankees, and even pitches for awhile himself in front of the adoring Hackensack crowd.

The ways in which he daringly shares his newfound riches make sundry headlines, but no one can know why he's doing it, not even his closest friend (John Candy as Spike Nolan). 

But those who would inherit the 300 million should Mr. Brewster's efforts fail, diabolically engage in malfeasance designed to ensure their probable success.

Rather unsuspectingly Mr. Brewster proceeds with intuitive freewheelin' dignity.

That would have been quite the month.

Gratuities notwithstanding.

In terms of fun, the lucrative Brewster's Millions emphatically excels from different perspectives, kaleidoscopically coalesced in crafty inspirational song.

Politics takes a swift jab as the most prominent mayoral candidates are feverishly lambasted, Brewster deciding to run himself with no intentions of holding office.

Certainly a film that encourages dreaming or the age old what would I have done?, there's abundant remake opportunity here, just find a 21st-century angle.

I guess a sequel wasn't in the cards but I would have liked to have seen the story continue, nowadays there's no doubt there would have been at least a comic trilogy. 

A chill film if you're looking to relax and watch some craziness for 102 minutes.

Classic old school 1980s.

Co-starring Jerry Orbach (Charley Pegler), Pat Hingle (Edward Roundfield), Peter Jason (Chuck Fleming), Rick Moranis (Morty King), Yakov Smirnoff (Vladimir), and Joe Grifasi (J.B. Donaldo).  

The Hudsucker Proxy

Difficult to say what leads to success in business, if you've never really read anything about it or worked in the industry, although sundry films and series suggest cut-throat dispositions are indeed paramount, is there something to be said for such conceit?, I have to admit, it's far beyond me.

In The Hudsucker Proxy the opposite rings true as a mild-mannered mailroom dreamer moves up, to lead a million dollar company no less, with only a peculiar idea to back him (Tim Robbins as Norville Barnes). 

The company was doing well at the affluent time of its founder's tragic parting, but due to a willful irregularity, comes up for sale at the start of the next year.

Its shares are to be made public thereby preventing the Board of Directors from cashing in, unless they can diabolically decrease their value and then snatch them up before anyone else does.

Thus they hire Mr. Norville with the malevolent hope that he begets ruin, he does have unorthodox methods but his initial idea proves rather lucrative.

The Hula-Hoop in fact captures the fascination of an adoring public, and leads to acrimonious accolades from the foiled and irate distraught conspirators.

As time passes and opinions fluctuate will he be able to stay afloat?

Tumultuous tides trepidatious tenacity.

Inherent preposterous production.

What to do if harnessing miracles through spontaneous agile eclectic blunder, through the art of tantamount translation elucidating chill commercial thought?

It seems clear in Norville's case since his idea is direct and practical, but I imagine things could be much more abstruse if you require televisual or filmic structure.

It does seem somewhat odd that so much wealth can be gargantuanly generated, from such a simple idea even if adage and aphorism extol them.

You see the argument played out every day in democratic political venues across the land, study and learning consistently duelling with worldly knowledge upon the stage.

So many people work within the world that their crafty leadership no doubt feels, as if they deserve a certain percentage of the inspired decision making financed by government.

Their intellectual counterparts at times find it odd having to share the coveted spotlight, as they diversify through complication inevitably leading to brilliant foresight.

But democracy guarantees their privilege just as it lauds equal upstanding opportunity, who's to say who should hold the reins?, I myself prefer books and learning. 

Books and learning with practical knowledge gregariously bulwarked through realistic expenditure.

Sounds kind of like one Joe Biden.

Who seems to genuinely care. 

City Heat

Old friends convivially concerned with awkward jurisprudent balance, searching for ways to creatively uphold loyal dis/continuous partnership.

They started out on the force together courageously seeking intuitive accolades, in possession of tenacious temperaments objectively nuanced with novel bravado.

One eventually couldn't cope with the structure the preponderant rules and regulations however, and sought to manage his own private business investigating peculiarities for discreet clients (Burt Reynolds as Mike Murphy). 

The other remained with the force and reached the rank of lieutenant through toil and sacrifice, preferring to work alone on his cases, flying into a rage if you knock over his coffee (Clint Eastwood as Lt. Speer). 

Murphy's new partner one Dehl Swift (Richard Roundtree) suddenly finds himself provocatively endowed, when the ledger of a prominent crook finds its way into his audacious hands.

It's a serious gamble to brashly infuriate such an unpredictable extreme personage, without much planning or an intricate network through which to find quarter should things go awry.

Things quickly do go awry and the confused Murphy is left to pick up the pieces. 

Worried about his friend, Lt. Speer closely monitors.

As things descend into embittered entropy.

Putting the squeeze on anger-prone higher-ups always seemed rather inconvenient to me, not worth the potential fall out should inherent irascibility hit the fan.

You'd have to move fast with no trail regardless and leave behind your old life forever, and make sure not to spend the entire payload since finding a new job may encourage shocking questions.

You'd have to keep your stories straight with multiple strangers for many a year, I suppose a lot of people don't really care, but some keep pressing for coherent detail.

I imagine City Heat was widely anticipated by sundry Eastwood, Reynolds and Roundtree fans, and at the time was like a prize fight between Ali and Foreman sponsored by King. 

The music's a lot of fun and the atmosphere captures the noir aesthetic, some of the lines are really cool too and delivered with classic sarcastic wherewithal. 

I imagine excitement got the better of them, with a bit more time and care this may have been classic.

Still definitely worth checking out for curious fans and noir devotees. 

*Co-starring Jack Nance (Aram Strossell), Robert Davi (Nino), William Sanderson (Lonnie Ash), and Rip Torn (Primo Pitt). 

Mrs. Doubtfire

Over the years times tragically change and stilted realities resonate objective, inspired spontaneity less pressingly urgent as prudent planning meticulously sways.

One dad isn't caught up with the firm glad handing notwithstanding, and routinely goes too far with a lack of understanding for conjugal limits (Robin Williams as Daniel Hillard).

Thus, one exuberant birthday kinetically overflowing with freeform merrymaking, Miranda Hillard (Sally Field) is furious when she returns home to find their house in borderline ruin.

It would have been an amazing time but perhaps was too unrestrained and shocking, the middle-ground isn't that schoolmarmish, just don't wreck the freakin' house!

Divorce soon looms lugubrious and the custody battle proves rather unfair, Mr. Hillard may be too freely accommodating, but there's no doubt he's an upstanding dad.

He would never hurt his kids or not be there for them if they needed help, he doesn't drink and wants to work, he just applies ethics to his lasting calling.

But the application of ethics begets realities the court can't comprehend, why he quit his job doing voices for cartoons doesn't factor in to his unemployment.

He has a gift for acting nevertheless and soon responds with stealth and cunning.

By applying for his ex-wife's housekeeping job.

As a British nanny named Mrs. Doubtfire.

Some say a gift for acting or that of taking on different personas, betrays fugacious foundations lacking lone substantial balance.

Although I find people that say that often aren't the greatest actors, and acting's one of those jobs so many people want, that if it doesn't work 'cadabra: envy.

It seems like if you were living with someone who could consistently shift personalities to suit the occasion, soirées would no doubt remain lively in consistent multivariable mettle.

I'm kind of habitually introverted so the desire to constantly engage eventually drives me nuts, but if I'm given time to relax in isolation I tend to bounce back far eager for more.

Mrs. Doubtfire's a tender film actively embracing pervasive creativity, as applied to youthful and mature perspectives, with no concern for gender bias.

How to sort through the different expectations various folk so readily apply?

I find it helps if they work to live.

And respect the arts post-27. 

Tender Mercies

A famous country & western singer who's been idle for several years, finds himself broke in an unknown hotel one sobering scant perplexing morning (Robert Duvall as Mr. Sledge).

Fortunately goodwill blossoms and he's offered a job taking care of the property, food and lodging worked into his cheque, it's not the greatest but it seems trusted stable.

As things become familiar, the owner takes a shine to his polite down home reckoning, and he responds with amorous accommodation the two soon marrying each for the second time.

Mr. Sledge has trouble with alcohol and solemnly recognizes he needs to steer clear, but sometimes it isn't as easy as just watching TV off the beaten track night after routine night.

He may have given it up but he once travelled from town to town, and had a solid reputation for endearing songwriting which earned quite the living far and wide.

A young group of struggling musicians discover his whereabouts and come a' callin', he's certainly not interested at first but slowly relaxes and responds obligingly. 

Will he be able to reforge a bond with the estranged daughter he hasn't seen in years (Ellen Barkin as Sue Anne)?

While learning to write songs once again?

And settling in with his new family?

Mild-mannered tame observation calmly generating commitment age old, convalescence coordinating calibrations reanimated rutabaga rapture.

The perfect recipe to get-back-at-it no immediate pressure no media exposure, just tranquil peace at play within inquisitive familial fulcrums.

The glitz and glamour while lucrative and shocking perhaps abounding with eclectic reliability, may detach creative peeps at times, from the habitual contemplation that led to so many of their hits.

With so many different people creating in different ways it's by no means a rule, but I love how The Rolling Stones created their best stuff on the run from the law in the French countryside.

Cities are fun since there's so much variability dependably mutating and chaotically harmonizing.

But there's still novelty in the countryside deep down, if you sit back and listen to the offbeat proclamations.

Not the ones that cross the line but that hasn't happened much in my experience.

It's a unique world abounding with novelty.

What's available, not what you can't buy. 

Far & Away

An industrious lad mourns the passing of his father only to have insult added to injury (Tom Cruise as Joseph Donnelly), as the landowner's bellicose representatives proceed to appropriate his property.

Unaccustomed to blunt disparity he takes the law into his own hands, and sets forth in perilous search of the oblivious aristocrat in question (Robert Prosky as Daniel Christie). 

Yet he's discovered asleep in the barn one scandalous inopportune strict morning, the estate owner's daughter having cleverly detected and proceeded to relieve him of his balance (Nicole Kidman as Shannon Christie). 

Nevertheless, he's soon challenged to duel where that very same lass comes uproariously rising, and leads him away in fact to a ship bound for North America.

The two make an awkward glib pairing as the fashionable lady must learn to work, while Joseph excels in the world of prize fighting and graciously teaches her how to make an honest living.

Pride diabolically emerges however and the honourable Donnelly soon loses his head.

Banned from ever boxing again within Boston.

They struggle to find food and shelter.

While watching Ron Howard's Far & Away I was reminded of realist ambitions, and the ways in which many artists in my youth delicately strove for historical accuracy.

Thus we see actual clothes being washed long before washing machines were invented, and near the end sundry wagons and horses vigorously line up to compete for Oklahoman land.

Class and privilege also haughtily fade as the levelling tides of prosperity mingle, the old world manifesting itself anew, while raw opportunity seeks its annulment. 

In terms of lending old and new world preponderances in a thrilling narrative equipped with romantic candour, Far & Away imaginatively and mischievously excels and makes me wonder why more hasn't been made of it.

Even before the Mission Impossible days Tom Cruise still cut his teeth as a prominent boxer, in conscientious drama wherein elfin which age old pluck and tenacity applauded.

Nicole Kidman also prospers as the stern maiden creatively and reflectively improvising, learning to follow her thoughtful instinct in a land much less prone to ancient pride.

Imagine Jane Austen was more of a rebel and took to the seas with Ernest Hemingway. 

Classic integral Ron Howard. 

Co-starring the daring Colm Meaney (Mr. Kelly).

Enigma

You wonder how many billions are wasted every year spying on other countries, without producing many results, imagine there was more of a consensus to productively get along, and those billions could be spent on jazz music and preponderant culture.

Were things much more worse off during the obsessed and stealthy brutal Cold War?

Or is there even more multilateral distrust cloaking international relations these days?

Hopefully not, a rather distressing subject such a shame it still persists, banal compulsions to preen and promulgate through listless superlative desire.

Enigma takes place during the Cold War in ye olde locked down strict East Germany, wherein which a covert operative seeks a coveted code scrambler.

The scrambler will theoretically give the West unlimited access to Soviet communications, and help them foil a pressing plot to murder 5 outspoken troublesome dissidents. 

Alex Holbeck (Martin Sheen) can hide in plain sight and has the luxury of remaining anonymous, even as his radio show consistently lambasted censure within the Iron Curtain, agents were never able to identify him, which left him somewhat of a free hand.

He has several contacts in East Germany to provide aid during his hour of need, but Russia has learned of his infiltration and sent their best man to intercept him (Sam Neill as Dimitri Vasilikov). 

A clever clandestine tale multilaterally results, resolute bravery and headstrong conviction guiding initiatives on either side.

Does the cultivation of novelty continuously have to adapt to fads and forums, do goodwill and peace not ethically transcend the cheeky impetus to shake things up?

Shouldn't resource provision and modest comfort not lead the way, with quality goods at affordable prices reasonably presented with dignified poise?

I suppose if trillions weren't spent every year on spying and the military you'd have to find something else for those people to do, notably the ones who weren't good enough to play football yet still sought volatile means at their disposal.

In the interests of taste, it would likely be a disaster if millions of them started to play the guitar, and endless songs about discipline and loyalty interminably bombarded television and the internet.

But I can sacrifice good taste if it means the curation of world peace.

What a strange world in which we live.

The animals couldn't think less of us. 

Threshold

Sure and steady patience and vigilance delicately guide a medical research team, as the leading American Heart Surgeon (Donald Sutherland as Dr. Thomas Vrain) searches for ways to save essential lives.

Not just in the United States but research teams engage proactively worldwide, and freely share their incredible findings with the goal of encouraging international comprehension.

It's cool to remember the public impetus to forge consensus in complex situations, and look for solutions to intricate problems far beyond one's trusted jurisdiction.

The ways in which scientists and various researchers constructively collaborate to solve compelling mysteries, in the interest of humanity gathered from Buenos Aires to Addis Ababa to Perth, Australia. 

Collective goals peacefully coinciding with affordable applications of the ingenious discoveries, so if someone gets sick they don't break the bank trying to recover from their pressing illness.

Such a blueprint seemed progressively paramount in the hopeful spirit of the '80s and '90s, and no doubt still efficiently elucidates, I just don't hear about it as often.

In Threshold (1981) it efficiently functions as Dr. Vrain attempts to save patients with troubling heart defects, heart transplants still in incipient stages, dedicated teams working on artificial alternatives.

He hires the romantic Dr. Aldo Gehring (Jeff Goldblum) to join his understaffed yet versatile team, and they create a brilliant short-term replacement for the old tactile ticker that keeps brazenly beating.

It must have seemed like an impossibility it still does to this day how is such a thing possible?, but then again how is the natural version capable of prolonged existence as it persistently pulsates every second of every day?

With all the talk about artificial intelligence and the theoretical worlds where cyborgs flourish (The Matrix etc.), it makes me wary that horrifying experiments will be secretly conducted to create cyborg brains.

The brain is indubitably organic, computers exalting metallic technology, how can they seamlessly function in unison, especially when so little is known about the brain, and its extraordinarily complex intricacies?

Beware enticing lucrative cash payouts which promise enormous sums if you participate in a study, hopefully the more scrupulous scientists remain vigilant and don't asks tens of thousands to give up their lives for cyborg research which may lead to nothing.

The body may be more robotic but how do we organically catalogue the mind?

The price is too high in my opinion.

The ends do not justify the means. 

Oliver & Company

Suddenly left on the side of the road in a box with several brothers and sisters, a young kitten struggles to comprehend the pressing misfortune closing in all around him (Joey Lawrence as Oliver). 

As fate would have it, he's left on his own, to swiftly intuit sundry sights and sounds, a lone dog taking note of his predicament, then enlisting his aid in an inspired heist.

Said heist proves rather successful but the trusting kitting is denied his fair share, the happenstance hound heading back to his troop to generously provide them with nutritious booty.

The kitty follows at dangerous speeds through perilous traffic and irate exclamations, fortunately locating the harangue hideaway before awkwardly crash-landing in the midst of the feast.

The startled pack isn't intently critical and in fact takes a shine to the curious kitten, freely rewarding his innate courage and granting him space to relax and unwind.

Everything isn't as harmless as it seems there's indeed diabolical parlay outstanding, their owner Fagin (Dom DeLuise) heavily indebted to one Mr. Sykes (Robert Loggia) who calls in the loan.

Desperate to pay back the money with no tactile means at his hapless disposal, volatile elaborate reckoning soon wildly instigates beguiling fathoms. 

Still inherently cute and cuddly even if mature themes at times disgruntle, the latent injustice picturesquely pronounced by the undeniably acute adorability.

Age old class tension gives way to reason as unintentional cruelty morosely erupts, the tender heart naturally accommodating free-flowing wonder and innocent guild. 

Fagin's somewhat different in this version which loosely sticks to the lithe Dickens classic, even though he's overtly destitute his homegrown caring spirit still radiates wealth.

I don't know much about money and I'm certainly no financial advisor, I do know that people who spend more than I do tend to seem like they're having more fun.

I've often felt like I've missed out because I never took a trip to Paris on Visa, I'm glad I don't have the debt, but still wish I had the eclectic memories. 

I'd advise caution when borrowing money and doing the math before taking a loan, if math's not your thing ask someone you trust for help, interest adds up quickly in lopsided circumstances.

Disney takes a hard look at urban life in this one as animation captures fast paced discretion, friendship and upstanding dependable camaraderie agilely lighting the industrious fore.

Be careful when taking on debt but make sure not to ignore the versatile human factor.

How many ways has it been said?

Some day I'm going to the SPCA.

Science is Fiction: 23 Films by Jean Painlevé

Long before David Attenborough started creating amazing nature documentaries, other visionary pioneering filmmakers set the cerebral stage, some not as fascinated by the more famous untamed beasties, like Jean Painlevé and Geneviève Hamon, who explored unheralded marine life for years.

They set their sights on the limitless sea and created a series of awe-inspiring films, creatively conjured and imaginatively nuanced in this chill and humorous compilation.

Instinctively driven by the unknown creatures whose otherworldly existence salutes biodiversity, they follow the lives of some of the most unique wild animals I've ever seen.

With instructive goals in mind and a desire to encourage aquatic acclimatization, to make one think of the billions of lives which exist beneath the waves while gazing outwards.

Indeed, parts of the ocean are rather similar to the sprawling concrete labyrinths we've come to know as cities, their complex interactive interconnected citizens having steadily evolved for resonant ages. 

I don't know what the turnover rate is for squirrel families on land in local forests, but the coolest thought is that the same squirrel fams have scamperingly existed in the same local woodland for thousands of generations (especially in areas with little to no human contact). 

That's why threats to endangered species acts are so shockingly foolish and cruel, the ways in which they ignore the millions of years these creatures have matured and developed alongside us.

They deserve to be left some space to roam as they freely have since they took formal shape, who are we to mess with the existence of outstanding miracles and flourishing distinction?

Painlevé and Hamon capture such life in its multivariable enriching abundance, and like poets unconcerned with fads they tenderly present the enticing unexpected.

I find with the plethora of contemporary nature documentaries illustriously abounding with fluent synergies, many of them don't lose sight of this focus and still present newfound insects etc.

Thus, in a program at times fiercely focused on lions and cheetahs, there's a pause in the imposing narrative to examine a bug or a bird or a rodent.

Like science-fiction and fantasy nature documentaries have changed remarkably since I was a wee lad.

With thanks to filmmakers like Painlevé and Hamon.

Who thought no doubt this is cool?

Ban octopus farms! 

🐙

Metropolitan

The allures of cerebral sophistication uncertainly engaged in gallant experiment, solemn yet tenderly familiar rhapsodic intrigue unembellished rapport.

Consistency generating parlay through meaningful harmonized inquisitive exchanges, perhaps forgotten perhaps foundational as various participants focus on detail.

An intricate eclectic forage producing novelty then kink then narrative, divergent degrees multivariably matriculating then suddenly retreating at times leaping forward.

The curious arrive impeccably intent on trying not to make too much of a mess of things, previous encounters traditionally manifesting subjective synergies objective illusion, new data eagerly incorporated to encourage sprightly dis/proportionate parentheses, emergent chronicles timidly testifying frenetic friendship ergo allegiance.

Provocative inklings invoking pause juxtaposed itinerancy serenading scandal, delicate proclivities enriching formulae ephemerally proclaimed with eternal fidelity.

The whirlwind continuously transforming ruminative stimuli with verbatim velocity, guests wildly windsurfing various trajectories with implicit inspired levity.

Be careful, that's a little bit country it may not fit with the paramount clout, no matter in due consideration to random versatile inclusive diversity.

Too many limits at times callously decomposing spontaneous free agile thought, not to embrace an abeyance of filters but neither to laud categorical dismissal.

It's like potential devotees of Proust who have in fact never even considered reading him, instinctually attempted to develop a salon in their quizzical youth with literary bearing.

What blossoms in In Search of Lost Time can be found germinating in Metropolitan, as several young adults gather in Manhattan to stylistically temper strike and ceremony.

Thoughts inevitably stray to the future wherein which imaginative blooms poll and posture.

Statistical reckoning fouling things up.

Best of friends.

Abstract associations. 

Captain America

The President of the United States plans to ecologically prognosticate, by organizing a conference with manifold countries with the goal of banning single use plastics.

But sinister disputative rivals seek the consistency of the status quo, and plan to secretly abduct him and create a surrogate they can control.

Unfortunately, conference security lacks resolute stalwart efficacy, and their plan works with unencumbered ease, U.S. security forces unable to find him thereinafter, the world not erupting with chaotic bewilderment. 

As chance would have it, around the same time, Captain America (Matt Salinger) is found frozen in ice, from which he escapes as it's encouraged to thaw, and then departs for Northern Canada.

50 years have past since he directly challenged Nazi scum, the world having changed remarkably in the democratic intervening years.

He heads out to visit his former love interest who waited for over a decade for him to return, but eventually settled and had a family embracing traditional communal concerns.

The same forces seeking to replace the President with their own despotic pestiferous double, soon find her trusted location and bellicosely proceed to express discontent.

Captain America must avenge them and save the President simultaneously.

Even if he doesn't know his way around (the globe).

And has no vast multivariable network.

It's sad to historically note that many sought the ban of single use plastics long ago, and while we've managed to ban such bags in Canada and Québec, the colossal profusion of said receptacles still abounds.

This old school Captain America rapscallionly radiates coruscating camp, with an heuristic experimental impetus diagnostically deconstructed with improvised invention.

Pioneering nevertheless the same general schematics alternatively applied, something to see for devoted fans which led to multiple meritorious mutations in the narrative.

It's a lot of fun to watch if you like camp with proactive nerve.

Co-starring ye olde Ned Beatty (Sam Kolawetz).

The fantastic blueprints.

In primordial form.

Melvin and Howard

Bewildering serendipitous authenticity remains a curious cultural phenomenon, as applied to stratified stereoscopic intersections which theoretically shouldn't muck everything up.

The level-playing field aside, I suppose if an important highly coveted legal document appears out of the blue, and the individual in related question hardly knew its eccentric author, whether or not it is indeed genuine becomes a pressing question, certainly if one man was worth hundreds of millions and the other struggling to get by.

But could it not be more sincerely American that a billionaire would leave millions to someone he hardly knew, due to the poetic nature of the declaration of independence in which every man (and woman) is created equal?

Thus, is that one random encounter which seems to have been divinely orchestrated, wherein which ignorance leads to conviviality and a general lack of uptight pretension, more valuable than a lifetime of stilted sycophancy as applied to thriving life, the retiring uncanny person in question desperately in search of lauded novelty?

Sounds classically American to me at least according to the films and television shows I used to watch, which seemed to cohesively suggest brother and sisterhood were warmly welcome.

When you consider that if Melvin (Paul Le Mat) had received such news in Britain he would have been swiftly and shockingly shot down, for having had the nerve to claim vigorous industry even though he lacked tact or title, it makes his lack of success in the states all the more depressing even if his attitude is honest and realistic, who knows, perhaps I'm way off base and such a development would have found more support 'cross the pond.

I suppose it depends on how various forces are aligned and how those alignments mutate as the phenomenon progresses, various alternative symphonic synergies culturally clashing ethically and politically. 

Consistent outcomes at times disillusioning still outmanoeuvred by integral hope.

Fatalistic reasoning's rather off-putting.

And generally contradicted through proactive study.

La Bête Humaine

At times I imagine the cultivation of intimacy within a constructive working relationship produces festivity, the successive manifestation of wholesome merriment gradually narrativized through song, as the years pass and traditions mutate inherent variability naturally acquiesces, interactive quid pro quos lightheartedly diversifying, through manifold variations on trusted themes.

Work and family, old friends and new, congenial shopkeeps and studious professionals, ebb and flow within the matrimonial history, with varying degrees of effervescence stipulated.

The sharing of enriching meals elaborately composed through reverential daring, infinitely attuned to proportional abundance as innate novelty bipartisanly radiates.

The local galleries continuously revitalized through seemingly miraculous unique invention, the vivacious versatile vicissitudes curiously curated through inspired enchantment.

Games of chance and athletic expenditure effectively galvanizing intrepid spirits, endearingly awaiting that incredible moment when victorious accolades impeccably echo.

Sure and steady determined endeavour consistently transformed into chill alternatives, mutual accommodation and reliable perseverance subliminally suturing communal resolve.

Latent improvisation ensuring progressive unexpected ameliorations, efficiently subduing excessive routine with exotic cultured unpredictable largesse. 

The natural world dynamically rambunctiously enlivening hearts and minds throughout the land, as different species modestly excel within alternative complex environments.

Classical music still respectfully played hundreds of years later by compelling symphonies, the musical genius indubitably reverberating within contemporary interpretive zounds.

But why not Lionel Hampton and Benny Goodman, should these great jazz musicians not also enigmatically regenerate, is their music not on par with Mozart and Beethoven and not also worthy of historical chronicle?

I would argue it's in fact preferable but that's accounting for particular taste.

Incrementally adjusted, interwoven.

Much more work.

Not to mention relaxed venues.

Our Hospitality

Age old insuperable intransigence malignantly motivates unforgiving distemper, a feud established so long ago no one knows why it began in the first place.

Over the years, as stubbornness seethed, convivial enterprise vigorously adapted, and widespread prosperity and temperate goodwill socioculturally spread across the fruitful land.

But not before two inconsolable brouhahas inscrupulously dealt each other fatal blows, their families left to struggle without fathers at a time when few theoretically remarried.

The one child is sent far away to be industriously raised in an oblivious city, wherein which the disillusioning feud no longer holds insalubrious sway.

He learns the subtle and occasionally rambunctious urbane arts of metropolitan life, blissfully unaware of the agéd imbroglio still unctuously upheld by brooding strangers.

It's really just one person cantankerously clinging to tradition best forgotten, the world having changed and diversified everywhere else leaving the children he cares for judiciously unconcerned.

They still want to please their family and abide by old school oligarchic orthodoxies, but they're close to asking themselves why bother? when we can take the train to Cleveland!

After learning of his enticing inheritance Willie McKay (Buster Keaton) returns to his family's domain, completely unaware of the histrionics that once cruelly governed their active degeneration. 

Unfortunately, his malcontent rivals still hold fast to the disenchanting dispute.

Even though their sister's invited him to dinner.

And he soon comes calling inquisitive resolute.

Honesty and integrity must still reverberate within consistently shifting sociopolitical sentiments, as if tawdry banal disingenuous cynicism has yet to overwhelm pleasant endeavour worldwide.

Why hold on to the carnal irreconcilability as it lays waste to generous collective innocence, cultivating a nation of vicious wolves with nothing to feed on but each other?

Note the habitual contentment of endemic zebree and industrious thriving aloof water buffalo, who agreeably eat various plants and efficiently prosper with genuine bemused sincerity. 

The animals who prey upon them strike primarily at the young and old as well as the weak and the infirm, why is such behaviour honourably regarded, is it not intensely revolting?

In a complex film still remarkably relevant Buster Keaton challenges grievous prejudice, and finds an hospitable amorous alternative upon metamorphosing Victorian currents.

Incredible how well each intricate scene is multidimensionally and playfully constructed.

Still an effective way to tell stories.

Such a shame, the warlike reemergence. 

Criss Cross

Incumbent misfortune maladroitly radiates as a good natured local lad returns home from distant travels.

He's aware he shouldn't be visiting whom he can't help but want to see, his innate warm and friendly curiosity reimagining things as they've been.

But his love interest has tied the knot with a local entrepreneur who's none too impressed, as they still meet to catch up indiscreetly as if nothing's changed the palimpsest. 

Fortunately, he's found a way to cool things off before they get out of hand, for he works in an armoured car and is well aware of its routine.

With his knowledge of the vehicle's route he can plan a heist with his ex-partner's new husband, and they can all escape with plenty of dough to newfound lands malfeasant munchies. 

The plan is made even though stately trust still evades congenial understanding, the prosperous possibilities too tantalizing to ignore due to amorous prorated grievance.

But as the job is being pulled something's not quite right with the prized predicament.

Amicable relations remain unrestored.

Hospitalized convalescence pending. 

I suppose when you're writing a script like this you have to pile on the inherent should nots, character A should not have considered even more outcomes than character B or C and their devout minions.

The more radically preposterous and inimitably out of whack, the more likely the lugubrious outcome may surely seem like disastrous fact.

Imagine films like the disillusioning Criss Cross released in abundance each fiscal year, challenging sundry reliable westerns for box office cred impeccable sheer.

Makes you want to smoke cigars/cigarillos and drink whiskey/margaritas afield in the wilderness, perhaps cooking your meals on a campfire randomly fuelled by obstinate strain.

Has film noir ever taken off within space for an intergalactic aerodynamic decade, embracing comedy, tragedy, romance, beyond interplanetary conflict?

It is the age of globalization and it's taken on a disenchanting hue.

But rational applicability isn't so easily mis/construed. 

🔍 😜

Mandabi

The potential acquisition of a significant sum encourages excitement within a devout family, wives eager to eat rather well, a husband thinking about making loans to his friends. 

A grievous problem distresses nevertheless since he has no identification to speak of, and needs a birth certificate to cash the money order, and has no experience with bureaucracy.

It's awkward to watch as a predatory legion of pouncing perpetrators cheat and swindle him, his innate good nature abounding with trust yet rather unaccustomed to banks and business.

His heart's a good one and he encourages charity and likes to help out whenever he can, the arguments he makes to justify his largesse soundly structured and honestly thriven. 

But his country has yet to introduce public education and many are unfamiliar with dissolute tricks, remaining faithful and full of goodwill yet at times oblivious to the wolves surrounding.

Even with sound education the situation mutates and new issues develop, imagine how much simpler and more enjoyable things would be if you didn't have to take so many possibilities into consideration.

It's baffling to see so many of the same issues still manifesting within the news, as thoughts of progression from one's memorable childhood tempt thoughts of sociocultural disillusionment.

Teachers often genuinely care for the cultural well-being of their students, and provide relevant applicable advice that can be of great benefit in the world at large.

They can teach you a lot about advertising and how various schemes are trying to cheat you, if you learn how to spot them you may save a great deal and not look foolish from time to time.

Unfortunately, the world of commerce is intently aware of the challenge of teachers, and the ways in which such challenges decrease their profits and make it harder for them to trick you.

I often imagine that's why teaching is so severely criticized in the U.S and not as well-paid in some jurisdictions as it is in continental Europe.

As teachers try to help people learn how to avoid being cheated, the people cheating them accuse them of treachery and decrease their wages and credibility in turn.

Does a trusty glass of red wine every evening attempt to cheat you within such a scenario, or does it deconstruct the inconsistency with relevant ethereal coherent reckoning?  

Good music aligned with your tastes makes a strong complement harmoniously speaking. 

A figure eight, another Jets playoff win.

A walk down the boulevard.

The most recent exhibit. 

The Great Dictator

I find the introduction of disclaimers (although at times necessary) provides an unfortunate layer of stress to an otherwise upbeat festivity, but nevertheless, please note that when I write about abounding mesmerizing life, I'm doing so to celebrate the fleeting natural world and critique flagitious warmongers. As humans encroach further and further into natural realms they become more and more precious, as does celebrating their vivid wonders with elastic readiness and proactive verve. Simultaneously, as a new generation far removed from the horrors of World War II ignorantly and childishly plays with the world like the Dictator of Tomania (Charlie Chaplin), with no regard for human frailty, the celebration of life becomes inclusively paramount especially concerning the bombarded Ukraine.  I'm not trying to secretly make an argument that is pro-life in regards to abortion, since I believe it is a woman's right to choose and that men have no say in the unfortunate scheme of things. The argument laid-out in (the now unfortunately titled) Freakonomics makes a strong practical case for the sociocultural benefits of permitting abortion within reason, and the ways in which poverty and starvation significantly decrease in jurisdictions where it's allowed.

But it's still an untoward topic when lauding the return of ebullient spring, as the animals wake up from their slumbers and venture forth to see the world again.

I sometimes wonder what their dreams are like while they efficiently sleep throughout the winter, and if they're indeed more inclined to hibernate than they are to reemerge.

There's even an animal dream sequence in Jean-Jacques Annaud's sympathetic The Bear, the idea perhaps deserving of longer treatment within feature length animated films.

It's wonderful to see different life forms the shapes and sizes the species and families, each one of them a thoughtful miracle effervescently composing holistic community.

Although there are many beautiful things various people have crafted throughout the centuries, they'll never be more radiant than a dragonfly, or more worthy of respect than a resilient wombat (as others have noted).

But the cultivation of brilliance at times leads to the dismissal of other life forms, since they struggle with advanced calculus and have never constructed an ornate palace.

As Chaplin relates in The Great Dictator's climax as he presents his bold attempt to end World War II, while intelligence is indeed a remarkable gift, it still shouldn't lead to widespread cynicism. 

I always thought it was the duty of the naturally gifted to nurture the flock and wholeheartedly care for them, notably taking into consideration the lessons they've learned through practical experience. 

It wasn't just to sit in an empty room and listen to fawning praise lacking constructive nerve.

Lost in self-obsessed blunder. 

Lacking animate resonant vitality.

A King in New York

The freedom to think whatever remains universally appealing, assuming you aren't infringing upon the rights of others to freely work and actively play.

It makes for a robust globe overflowing with novel ideas, abounding with compelling variety as productively showcased at bookstores and libraries.

It's the inherent multivariability that makes democracies so enriching, eclectically attuned to collective vigour through individualistic endeavour.

The groups demographically ebb and flow as constructive fluidity naturally composes, stability and routine still widely cherished the reliable economic expenditures.

It's easy to write about the benefits of inclusive sociocultural initiatives, you just have to entertain heartfelt vitality as judiciously applied to peaceful life.

It's a shame such tolerant impulses have lost public ground in recent years, as childish imprudent brash extremists have refused to embrace versatile community.

Or even frustratingly bewildered it with sundry ineffective rules, stilting suffocating melodious free verse by rashly promoting social regulation.

I'm not as familiar with the era as I should be, but from what I've heard Chaplin once ruled incarnate, artistically evidencing his cultivated resonance with practical imaginative enticing foresight. 

But as times changed and new trends and fashions provocatively prospered in old school cinema, a revolution rigorously challenged his exceptionality with fluent discord.

Thus, in the opening moments of A King in New York the King of Estonia (Charlie Chaplin) is forced to flee, and take up residence in the Big Apple where he eventually has to work in advertising.

After having been banned himself from the United States where he had entertained millions for decades, extremist thugs having coercively arisen to stifle the chill cooperative left.

To think that someone so genuinely concerned with innocent goodwill and characteristic savvy, couldn't return to the American heartland fills one with loathing for McCarthyism. 

Chaplin got them back in this film with a funny scene near the lively end, where he douses the brigands down with extensive literal saturated import.

He was just exercising his rights to pursue non-violent modes of communication.

A bold statement by cinematic royalty.

No doubt a friend.

To athletic accords.

The Circus

Jedi training indeed paramount for sundry peeps across the land, prosperous schooling discovering brilliant intrepid bold corresponding padawans. 

But at times the educational system loses track of its young Jedi, and while their powers continue to develop, they have no mentor to lend a hand (see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them). 

They remain remarkably powerful but have no definitive direction, and while attempting to culturally acclimatize can wind up engaged with routine farce.

Take the Little Tramp's (Charlie Chaplin) brief flirtation with improvised ragtag dissolution, which leads to imperial entanglements throughout his otherwise carefree days.

While trying to escape, he makes his way to the local circus, and accidentally proves miraculous, his raw unfiltered Jedi talent naturally sensational.

He has inherent multivariability which flexibly thrives and athletically entices, the resulting versatile wondrous artistry as mesmerizing as any virtuoso. 

Awareness remains a problem as he consciously realizes his strength, and must apply thought to consistently supply what he never meant to deliver in the first place.

He must intuit the way of the Jedi in front of a live audience no less, and habitually manifest the rowdy chaos instinctually engendered with his waking mind.

How many times when you didn't realize you were good at something did it become difficult to reproduce when animately expected, what was perceived to be nothing more than natural blundering instantly upheld as cultural craft?

To learn to continuously supply captivating comedy without any training, to consciously mimic accidental innovation, can take time and practice at that.

For Charlie Chaplin's The Circus the oblivious Jedi struggles upon the stage, after a period of incomparable productivity widely acclaimed by diverse audiences.

He was doing incredibly well until eavesdropping upon his love interest, and assuming the worst for his amorous ambitions lost that salient carefree initiative.

Having never learned to corral his freeform wild imaginative entertaining thoughts, within an expedient objective enclosure, his performance reflexively struggles.

The frustrating endemic throes of people with talent as they learn to develop, doesn't love always seem unattainable and then supernatural if suddenly requited. 

Fret not, a day will dawn when romantic dreams no longer complicate things.

And you can concentrate solely on your work.

It's not nearly as bad as it sounds. 

*In Chaplin's case, it's like he instinctually wrote the sacred Jedi texts during filmmaking's early days. Texts that were in fact page turners. Still to this postmodern age. 

A Woman of Paris

A curious belle habitually considers the manifold opportunities awaiting in Paris, should she be able to cleverly break free from the dismal prison her father's constructed.

A local lad to whom she's betrothed ventures forth one evening in aid, and after her father discovers she's fallen in love he locks his door to her forever.

The lad's own father is also unimpressed and refuses to provide his heartfelt blessing, but as she buys their dependable train tickets, he suffers a fatal collapse.

She doesn't wait around however and years later she's settled à Paris, dating the richest man in town and rather taken with the luxury.

He's quite the cad notwithstanding and even though he does enjoy her company, he's too much of a carefree schmoozer to seek her hand in objective commitment.

Her former belovéd arrives in town and hasn't forgotten how things once were, hoping to secure a rapprochement yet somewhat crestfallen by how much things have changed.

The plutocrat finds it rather comic until he discovers he's quite distraught.

Tragedy awkwardly ensuing.

Remarkably different how things might have been.

I suppose if you're born into a family that takes particular guidelines seriously, and you mature respecting various categories that may have been established regarding oblivion, the earliest ones encountered being somewhat less scandalous, that when you consider historical narrative conventions, one naturally concludes that in the past they must have been stricter.

Since the past indeed took place at an earlier stage and your earliest stages were indeed quite wholesome, the emergence of contemporary scandal a hundred years ago seems out of touch with spiritual computation.

I've heard from time to time that comedic actors hope for dramatic roles, and want to break through in serious films from a desire to develop increasing clout.

But should contemporary comedians consider Charlie Chaplin's genius, what a great thought I had the other day, just watch Chaplin's films for weeks, and the ways in which his comedic films far outweigh his dramatic endeavours, and, to add further emphasis, remain more appealing than so many contemporary dramas, perhaps such comedians shouldn't feel quite so downtrodden, should they rarely abandon humour.

Although comedy has changed remarkably what would Chaplin be creating this postmodern day?

That's a question that should be asked.

I enjoy his dramatic films, but his comedies usurp reason. 

City Lights

Wandering laidback spontaneously cherished ephemeral awakenings, sundry mysteries modestly revealing the innocent nature of unconcerned life.

An ice cream cone there, a pigeon in a puddle, fresh bread at the bakery, a curious spirit squirrel, exuberant sights wondrously manifesting everlasting charm and atemporal enchantment. 

Through serendipitous accident randomly regenerating ruminative imaginative carefree spawn, convivial soirées lacking animate precedent distractingly emerge with ceremonious flair.

Intoxicating friendship somewhat slipshod yet pleasant on flippant occasion, the generous reward for a gracious good deed effortlessly envisaged with exoteric emphasis.

Eccentric shifts the Jekyll & Hideaway happenstanced heartfelt humanistic harkenings, reified revelling rhapsodic restorative multivariable unattached festive extravagance. 

Prone to dream and accustomed to ponder encompassing romantic tales of yore, not without disconsolate modernist reckoning the expedient means the intrepid underscore.

Genuine affection modestly blooming with characteristically enthused comportment, financial strains calamitously composing exacting employment through requisite stress.

The spirited caricature at times less attuned to definitive structure and integral schedule, opportunities imbued come and fervently go as fortune is sought through frenetic finesse.

Even through pugilistic disorder tantamount temptation courageously met, rambunctious refinement preponderant puma elastic engagement unhesitant concord.

If only cerebral stability assurédly sanctified affable orbit, and night and day enrichingly endowed the Little Tramp (Charlie Chaplin) with communal consistency.

Effort engrained not adamantly enraptured with his less hostile personalized approach, a tarnished cosm abounding with resonance leading to quizzical peculiar dispatch.

Not without their fair share of ingenuity trial and error consortiums inclined appreciated, yet not so overwhelmingly invigorating as to usurp inherent inhibitions. 

But life bewitches corresponding mutually conducive alert resilient storytelling, warm and friendly habitual interaction rather agreeable tractable lively.

You don't have to be born rather rich to spiritually divine wealth from the inside.

Productive piecemeal pairings.

Untold aloft melodious blooms. 

Night after Night

Having achieved everything he could have hoped for from his prestigious local nightclub, a determined renaissance gangster seeks to improve his diction and grammar (George Raft as Joe Anton).

He's had enough of the high-life and wants to sell and settle-down, while perhaps impressing an elegant socialite who frequents his club from time to time (Constance Cummings as Miss Jerry Healy). 

His headstrong critical MC presents well-reasoned practical counterpoints (Roscoe Karns as Leo), with ambitious crafty reckoning which seeks not to retire.

He's rather down to earth and not inclined to embrace change, unless it corresponds to how he's been duly raised.

Trouble comes a' brewin' a potential clash with a rival gang, if they decide to stay in business they'll have to find ways to paunch and placate.

While light of heart romantic daydreaming keeps the mood upbeat and comic, as if nothing could ever go wrong while everything crashes down around them.

The fair-minded touch and ironic innocence distinguishes Night after Night from Godfather III, and many other gangster films which recklessly embrace chaotic pedagogy.

Perhaps love can win out in the end as competing interests jive and juke, the daring couple courageously coaxing wholesome pasteurized down home subsistence.

It's easy to suddenly give up what you never had in the first place, but how do you switch from constant activity to a much more sedate way of life?

In your athletic prime at the communal heights of your insurgence, how do you leave everything behind to emphatically embrace holistic chillin'?

The pandemic gave a crash course in blatant dull nerve-racking meaninglessness, where the majority of the world had to embrace stasis like a misanthropic maelstrom.

Day after day distressing thoughts intensifying this could go on forever, bleak things were as they found a way to mischievously finagle mass conjecture.

Hopefully, while embracing lockdown many people adopted Mr. Raft's approach, and took the time to learn new things while creating song and tech and recipes.

Perhaps he was able to change and learn the rudiments of discursive intrigue, he certainly would have had a tale to tell ala Dashiell Hammett or even Joseph Conrad.

Perhaps she would have eased him through the difficult humbling light transition, with patience and resilient accord free-flowing effervescent livelihood.

The secret's to have animal sightings and to never indeed grow tired of them (I never will).

Perhaps even buying a dog or cat.

If possible, heading out on safari.

If I Had a Million

What would you determinately do if your health was failing and you possessed millions, and didn't want to pass them down the age old trusted family line?

A tycoon in a fit of rage suddenly decides to give his wealth to strangers, and writes cheques for a million apiece for names he chooses at random from a phonebook.

What follows is an ethical imbroglio passionately and humorously miraculously cast, which perhaps influenced the creation of Les nouveaux sauvages (Wild Tales) even if the films are remarkably different.

An eccentric somewhat clumsy dependable husband finds himself working in a china shop, but he's docked large sums each cheque for every delicate dish he's broken.

After receiving the unexpected payday he rambunctiously reckons with his unsettled fortunes, with over-the-top zealous improvised reasoning, intentions clear, message shockingly sent.

It looks as if traffic regulations and unwritten rules had yet to codify the road (1932), for within the imaginative film many a road hog sees disastrous comeuppance.

In fact a couple take their lucrative gains and buy several new automobiles, and then deliberately curtail the rides of unsuspecting self-centred motorists.

To give millions aways to strangers a thoughtful idea abounding with zeal, I'm surprised it's never been remade new predicaments and trends new peculiar outcomes.

Perhaps judiciously setting about to write epic poems about nothing in particular, slowly immersing oneself in the zone with full-time fortuitous finicky fitness.

Perhaps writing something indeed applicable to contemporary distressing disputatious globalization, factoring the rise of social media in, and the mad obsessions of emergent despots.

Perhaps heading out for lunch every day assuming the restaurant had daily specials, with many a nightly meal at Végo extravagantly sampling the multifaceted delights. 

Perhaps just giving everything away to save African wildlife endangered rhinos and elephants etc., spending your remaining decades helping out on a reserve taking care of various beasties.

Perhaps investing learning how to trade stocks and turning one-million into ten or twenty, never spending any of the original amount, leaving behind a preponderant nest egg.

Thought provoking film with a massive potential audience this kind of idea no doubt still compelling.

Who would the eight 21st century directors be?

Perhaps residing in different countries worldwide.

JFK

The level-playing field, inherent sportspersonship, in a democracy is change not necessitated by the inquisitive will of honest people?

When someone is elected whose outlook contradicts entrenched lacklustre routine, such contradiction embodies the emboldened principles upon which the nation was founded.

I'm not referring to a situation when someone seeks to rearrange the constitution itself, and make monumental adjustments which indubitably favour absolute power.

Democratic governments persevere because they aren't despotic.

If you think the suppression of despotism is in fact despotic, you need to reevaluate your political outlook, and perhaps study historical examples of various monstrous mechanistic despots.

It was indeed an unsympathetic government astutely equipped with monarchical pretensions, that led to general dismay within the American colonies, and the creation of a country unconcerned with kings.

The political system contains remarkable checks and balances designed to prevent the reassertion of autocratic discord.

But they rely on a sense of fair play.

Which the founding fathers took for granted.

According to Oliver Stone's JFK, President Kennedy wasn't interested in war with Vietnam, and was taking steps to move the country in a different direction, which likely led to his assassination.

He genuinely cared about and forthrightly sought a more peaceful world without violent conflict, a world less lucrative for the sale of weapons, as Jim Garrison (Kevin Costner) resolutely points out.

I often call Biden Michael Moore's president when I listen to him speak at length, he's a genuine person of the people and obviously cares deeply about general fair play.

From a distance, it seems like the only way to get ahead in the U.S if you're not well off is to join the army, and hope you never have to fight somewhere without a legitimate ethical reason (fighting Nazis).

When confronting the startling statistics regarding gun violence in the U.S, I'm clearly surprised it's still so easy to buy a gun, so I asked myself, what kind of country do the people who sell all these weapons to their own people want to maintain?, and the answer is most disturbing, and passionately supported in many circles.

Weapons and violence, the assassination of presidents because they uphold alternative points of view, unravels the fair-minded fabric the founding fathers holistically created.

Is it that hard to work together to achieve productive common goals?

It works so well in so many countries. 

And has often worked in North America too.

Thunder on the Hill

A dire entrenching flood encompasses an unsuspecting village, and desperate peeps must swiftly find improvised accommodation at a local convent.

The industrious nuns run a spirited ship as they facilitate and extemporize, fortunately without interminable impositions grandiosely disrupting their heartfelt efforts.

Although a woman condemned for murder and about to be executed does arrive, notoriously regarded and somewhat embarrassed to be awkwardly engaged in social confines (Ann Blyth as Valerie Carns). 

Yet her aggrieved conversations bear exculpatory fruit, as a sympathetic nun believes her protests of innocence (Claudette Colbert as Sister Mary), and soon sets about finding her distraught betrothed and bringing him back to the nunnery by boat (Philip Friend as Sidney Kingham).

Soon the oddest detective film to ever be potentially considered film noir, spiritually emerges in the austere heights of a religious order dedicated to service.

The true identity of the guilty murderer having yet to be determined, serendipitous sleuthing and dogmatic deduction must altruistically absolve.

Fortunately, most of the town is expediently residing within the walls, so interviews can be conducted even though the weather is quite inclement.

And clues indeed materialize which fortuitously aid their compassionate endeavours, although rank and disbelief antiseptically quell the shamanistic tide.

I suppose on the one hand we find an age old symbol of old world dichotomies, wherein which traditional representations of gender discrimination uptightly abound.

'Tis true that at one alternative time there were less doors to freely walk through, and many institutions were therefore more robust due to a lack of external competition.

Yet within Sister Mary not so discreetly aids a countercultural phenomenon, a woman scandalously disregarded and about to be executed by the State.

She emphatically moves holistic heaven and high water through a genuine desire to see justice done, and thereby emancipates a forlorn soul judiciously condemned to prematurely pass.

Was director Sirk in fact intending to structurally distend sociocultural upheaval, through surreal suggestion subconsciously synergizing film noir with locally ascribed progressive inclinations?

I can't answer that question but as far as novelty is uniquely concerned, Thunder on the Hill presents convoluted cheek within the disputed conventions of film noir.

A lot of fun regardless if you're looking for something unlike anything else.

A critical reflection from a different time.

Bizarro upbeat romantic resonance. 

🍀

Hudutlarin Kanunu (Law of the Border)

The sociocultural clash between education and enterprise, meritorious machinations grandiosely fluctuating.

Things have persisted as they've always been "for quite some time" along the border, smugglers arriving with goods to sell to business peeps offering assistance.

The military resolutely guards the frontier in a valiant effort to intercept the contraband, but resident experts keep track of their movements to scout the best location to break on through. 

Well-respected within the village for consistently engaging in ardent daring, they formidably co-exist at ease, unless bitter conniving and envious collusion furtively challenge their courageous resolve. 

A less volatile competitor is introduced through the wisdom of altruistic daring, civil-minded citizens hoping to open a school, while encouraging the bandits to freely farm.

Education and farming may not lead to lucrative windfalls, but the inherent dangers are much less severe barring the influence of despotic drones. 

Through the gradual cultivation of reason their lands could reap imaginative harvests, peaceful traditions concordantly emerging through the rational yields of prosperous contemplation.

Naturally, the application of intellect to industry constructs productive opportunity, versatile able communal ends abounding with work and relaxation.

The work may be much more steady and the relaxation somewhat less encompassing, but the hopes of earning a peaceful living engender calm and earnest reckoning.

Strange how it plays out at times how people who have earned a fortune selling subs or fries, have more political influence than learnéd peeps genuinely devoted to study.

The learnéd peeps unfortunately often having no idea what it's like to have a job, the hard-working peeps at times remaining unfamiliar with advanced concepts acquired through idle study.

They're at loggerheads at the moment even if Trudeau and Biden seem fair, if Trudeau's coming across as a jerk he's been pushed, I love watching Trudeau the warrior.

Law of the Border bleakly presents a world with no local schools, to point out how much worse things are without the potential for education.

Critiquing the educational system is a natural by-product of having received first rate instruction. 

Imagine the arguments you'd have if you hadn't.

If the only way to advance was through agile reading?

Zatôichi rôyaburi (Zatoichi the Outlaw)

Supernaturally gifted with impeccable swordpersonship, a humble sightless outlaw wanders the volatile countryside, in search of incarnate justice virtuously beheld with moral reckoning, convinced of honest trust, and willing to lend a hand.

The ambitious in the village he frequents own a lucrative gambling den, which attracts the hopeful farmers who till the nearby fertile soil.

A bold person of the people peacefully warns them of their folly, once a valiant samurai himself now having embraced age-old non-violence.

Zatôichi (Shintarô Katsu) hears his amicable words freely delivered amidst hardboiled controversy, the local chieftains rather inhospitable regarding farsighted cultural counsel.

Much more sustainable for them to see hard earned wages carefreely lost, in a game they always win, as long as their clients suspect nothing. 

Zatôichi heeds the words of a rival boss who claims respectability, then eliminates his rivals, before heading off to a new town.

Until word reaches his modest ears that his friend's greed outweighs even that of his predecessors. 

The village folk on the brink of losing everything.

Virtue requisite animate sprawl.

The enduring everlasting narrative wherein which the modest thrive, with hopes of less stern reprisals for simply longing for fiscal fortune.

The powers-that-be vouchsafe possibility only at rare evocative intervals, to generate irrepressible interest in interminable decorum.

Yet the ethical still widely promulgate resounding wisdom begetting verve, their sure and steady dependable advice eventually leading to civility.

The desire to gamble remains strong and can't be vanquished with heartfelt speeches, opposing narratives cultivating instinct insisting they represent spiritual clemency.

The women of the village clearly understand the proactive message, and quietly long for zealous endurance and brave determinate consistent yields.

Zatôichi upholds aggrievéd rights and swiftly defends them with holistic levity.

Unsatisfied with inherent vice.

He upstandingly quells unhinged dishonour.  

The Fabelmans

Complications emerge as a young filmmaker comes of age (Gabriel LaBelle/Mateo Zoryan as Sammy Fabelman), traditional paths proving rather unorthodox, natural rhythms and dynamic imagination vigorously challenging habitual routine, bewilderingly misunderstood at times, what can you do, but keep moving forwards?

His father's (Paul Dano as Burt Fabelman) gifted with electronics and keeps finding new jobs in different cities, his career idyllically advancing, his family life somewhat haywire.

His oldest son for instance finds constructive camaraderie in Phoenix, and as his filmmaking aspirations develop, a curious legion facilitate his dreams.

Questions of race or ethnicity don't become confusing until they move later on, and non-sensical religious tensions frustratingly divide what should have been non-violent friendships.

Whatever happens he keeps creating never shying away from visionary responsibilities, sexuality a bemusing mistress, elaborately examined through multivariable storytelling. 

It's fun to watch as his narratives come to life and his ideas bedazzle and entertain, I'd argue it's essential viewing for any youngster hoping to one day make films.

The way he intuitively learns to encourage performance and produce special effects without any training, skilfully blended in far reaching scenes abounding with props and a large cast in motion.

I started writing poems in the woods as a lad and kept it up throughout my adult life, I never really wanted to coordinate people though, I generally preferred being alone.

It would have been cool to actively take part but everything was always quite serious, and creativity flourishes at play, when y'all ain't mad about somethin'.

Sam does extraordinarily well when directly engaged with others, however, and builds up what appears to be a genuine rapport in enthused environs.

I sort of wish I'd had an odd experience with an eccentric uncle like his in the film (Judd Hirsch as Uncle Boris) in my youth, I always thought the arts would be like a friendly union, remarkably incorrect was I.

But at times if I read the signs correctly there are definitely prolonged periods of fascination, and I'm very grateful to the people who support me, and put up with my variable moods.

Perhaps I should steer clear of the middle as is also advised in They Live, but I usually don't proceed with a plan, I just sit down and see what I come up with.

I suppose to be honest I'm guided by how I was taught to behave in my youth, in school, on TV, with family, and at church, the pedagogical strategies often at odds.

I imagine everyone's like that while trying to negotiate mutating stimuli.

If I don't say it often enough, I'm thankful.

Spazz may just be my best.

*I was really impressed that the mom in Everything Everywhere All at Once never abandons her daughter, not even with the universe at stake, she still believes in her troubled child. In The Fabelmans, Mitzi (Michelle Williams) leaves her husband for another man (Seth Rogan as Bennie Loewy), but it isn't a spur of the moment decision, and she struggles to hold on to her marriage for years before leaving. It must have been an incredibly difficult decision to make and I don't blame her for making it. I think people should try to make it work. But if it doesn't and you're miserable, there's no harm in leaving. She still looks after her kids and they continue to forge loving bonds. I always wanted things to work out as a kid. But so many things change with the passage of time.

Everything Everywhere All at Once

Multivariable universes loosely interconnected through tenuous familiarity, simultaneously emergent disproportionately taxing impeccably embellished latent hyper-reactivity. 

Perhaps every decision made unleashes alternative inconclusive realities, wherein which parallel characteristics authenticate ill-considered plans.

For each life, millions of distinct worlds invariably populate unique dimensions, which themselves continuously generate immutable mutations in a subjective infinity.

Perhaps it isn't a matter of corporeal space that the physical itself is in fact limitless, like compiling date online, how many electrons in a verbose atom?

Things take shape and manifest consistency during waking hours relatively structured, but just as the rotation of the Earth is imperceptible, perhaps sundry interdimensional interstices flourish undetected.

A brilliant way to travel between them is poetically realized in Everything Everywhere All at Once (apart from dreams), as an active mind abounding with creativity embraces overbearing disillusion.

As family pressures and economic doldrums reach discombobulating heights, escape can no longer be sublimated if it isn't the right thing to do.

She's (Michelle Yeoh as Evelyn Wang) done the right thing in many respects and has never abandoned her responsibilities, even as her father (James Hong as Gong Gong) consistently belittles her, and her wayward daughter (Stephanie Hsu as Joy Wang) refuses to help.

She's kept everything held together with infinite patience and herculean resolve, but one day it all breaks down as she embraces grave ontological flux.

That dangerous question - to be scrupulously avoided, "what if I'd done that instead?", is intensely multiplied ad infinitum, as she encounters representatives from manifold worlds, disparate lives she may have lived.

She has an active imagination so the alternative potential is tremendously profound, comic book confounding and consternating quandaries suddenly disintegrating routine life.

It's one part exceptional nervous breakdown curiously bewildering material reality, and a brilliant synthesis of fantasy and reality somewhat like magical scientific realism. 

I wonder what people who don't like comic books will think of Kwan and Scheinert's conundrum, the ways in which obsessive practicality is suddenly fantastically disposed?

Or how the comic book aficionados will inquisitively consider the realistic intrusion, the reification of their abstract dreams perhaps passionately unappreciated?

I like this kind of thing and the poetic transdimensional drive (you can jump between worlds if you figure out the improbable poetic thing to say or do in any situation), who didn't spend hours imagining such things in their youth, perhaps not with so much detail?

A mother's strength radiates incarnate.

Thankfully not in a world without feeling. 

Classic postmodern impetus.

My favourite Oscar nominee this year (it's super zeitgeisty, if you believe in that sort of thing).

Co-starring Raccoonie.