Avatar

James Cameron's Avatar is a science fiction treat for both environmentalists and epic film lovers alike. On the far off planet of Pandora, a greedy corporation is mining a precious mineral known as unobtainium, many deposits of which lie beneath sacred portions of the planet's lush forest. The indigenous Na'vi take none to kindly to the intrusion but have learned to live somewhat peacefully with their militaristic human neighbours. Until those neighbours decide it's time to destroy their revered Hometree, a scurrilous act which unites the Na'vi tribes for a final showdown around their venerated Tree of Souls. Leading them is Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a paraplegic marine who, thanks to a remarkable scientific development, is able to inhabit and navigate a Na'vi body while sleeping in a special tank. Is his leadership divine? Has he been chosen by Eywa, the Na'vi's most prominent deity, to restore balance to the planet? Will his relationship with Na'vi beauty Neytiri (Zoe Saldana) bear forbidden fruit? Or will Parker Selfridge (Giovanni Ribisi) and his bombastic military commando sidekick Colonel Miles Quaritch (Stephan Lang) wipe out the Na'vi and have their way with Pandora's plunder?

The ending appealed to me although it's somewhat frustrating insofar as it's only a movie. It's a lot of fun and I probably would have rated it much higher if I was still fourteen. Nothing really that new presented and honestly, I preferred Avatar's prototype, Dune. Solid reimagining of Herbert's classic novel, nonetheless, which should find a massive, enthusiastic audience.

The Cove

Evidence within Louie Psihoyo's The Cove proves that dolphins are being slaughtered by the thousands in Taijii, Japan, each year. Beginning in September and lasting until March, fisherpeople within Taijii coral herds of dolphins in an isolated cove in order to sell them to the dolphin entertainment industry. But the leftover dolphins aren't released, they're killed for their highly toxic meat which is then sold to the Japanese population, often labelled as something different. In The Cove, a group of environmentalists, many associated with the Oceanic Preservation and Sea Shepherd Conservation Societies, resolutely fight to find a way to photograph the killing, risking imprisonment, and, according to dolphin rights activist Ric O'Barry, death, to obtain their footage. While the dolphin industry in Taijii is the principal focus of the film, other subjects include the problems associated with the International Whaling Commission, the reasons why many feel justified in hunting whales and dolphins, the ways in which the Japanese whaling lobby is buying support for their cause, and the general characteristics of dolphins themselves. As a meat eater, I feel that if I generally condemn those concerned with this business I'll come off sounding like a hypocrite, so I'll qualify my condemnation by saying that I generally support the eating of farmed meat, because farmers are usually concerned with maintaining healthy marketable populations of their commodities, not slaughtering wild populations that will have difficulty maintaining their present numbers. At the same time, I find the idea of dolphin farms to be incredibly cruel, almost as cruel as the bear farms which suck bile from a bear's gall bladder periodically throughout the day (or the ways in which chicken wings are produced, or . . . ). But I'm sure the cattle industry looks pretty horrible to the majority of Hindus so I can't judge their cultural traits seriously without first turning that lens inwards. The film explores Japan's relationship with whaling from a predominantly critical angle, which seems justified considering that populations take long periods of time to reestablish themselves. Hunting whales and dolphins because they eat fish is somewhat ridiculous, as is selling their mercury laden meat to consumers (imagine eating the belugas out of the St. Lawrence). All in all, I highly commend the courage and tenacity maintained by those responsible for creating The Cove, for their commitment demonstrates that it is possible to affect social change and constructively challenge the powers that be.

Patches

Jump, look from side to side,
yawn, yawn again, jump up,
inspect, meow, jump down,
jump back up, lay precisely
where I'm trying to write
because I'm not paying
attention to you, cat,
knowledgeable, eerie,
not looking for petting,
just to be observed, off
you go leaving a fine
quantity of hair behind,
chillin'.

Tulpan

Set in the wild and barren steppes of Kazakhstan, Sergei Dvortsevoy's Tulpan chronicles the hard times facing romantic Asa (Tolepbergen Baisakalov) and his sister Samal (Samal Esljamova). Asa served as a sailor before moving to his sister's yurt in order to learn the ins and outs of sheep herding and go into business for himself. But Samal's husband Ondas (Ondas Besikbasov) won't give him any land until he's found a bride, and, unfortunately, the only girl fit for marriage in the region, Tulpan, wants nothing to do with him. Tulpan's intransigence combines with the belittling treatment 'city-boy' Asa receives from his in-laws to cause him to consider abandoning the pastoral life. But a miraculous birth and the strength of his family ties may just be enough to let him hold on to his dreams.

Jolanta Dylewska's cinematography is mesmerizing as is the introduction to Kazakhstanian culture. While the problems faced are somewhat universal, the particular contours of each situation are informed by local custom. Definitely bucolic and definitely remote, Asa's frustrations, foibles, and fantasies are delicately displayed amidst the unforgiving landscape, the vast plains reflecting his adventurous spirit, the isolated intimacy of farm life his sense of helplessness. There's also a quirky veterinarian who arguably steals the show (with Lynchian reverberations) and a pesky goat who clandestinely complicates things.

O'Horten

Bent Hamer's O'Horten examines the life and times of the shy and modest Odd Horten (Bård Owe) as he retires after 40 odd years of driving a train. The tale is pleasantly offbeat and pastorally piquant, quaintly following Horten's adventures throughout urban and rural Norway. His routine is solid and his disaffected and curious demeanour allows him to make new friends while maintaining old relationships as well. Sauntering along at a seductively subdued pace, the bizarre situations and precise improvisations bear a detached realistic resonance that haplessly disseminates charm. Bit slow at points and remarkably awkward (yet familiar), O'Horten's fugitively quotidian individualism will still likely produce two to three comfortable shakes of the head as viewers sit back and absorb the characterization.

If you're cooking skills aren't that great and you've decided to bring beverages to a non-alcoholic potluck, note that chocolate milk is often a huge hit.

Shockwave

Expanded empty temptation leading to the purchase of nothing.

Bad Pickup Line

So, do you come here often or are you just an alcoholic?

Oddly, whenever I'm presented with numerical data I tend to immediately trim one third of the value, although, whenever I present quantitative figures, I always do my best to provide extremely precise information.

So sick of picking people's recycling out of the garbage. It's not funny people!

Bus Prairie Snow Storm

Specks and sticks and frozen
pictures, 9 cars ditched,
erosion, scripture, 16 hours
we calmly waited, bus station
blues, dilapidated, coffee tastes
well just like cream, off that music
before I scream, Bubble Bobble,
Donkey Kong, that last egg sandwich's
holding on, and yes! she's picked up her
guitar and that guy there he run's a bar,
we got free breakfast and raced to taste
a plump Mae Wested brownie plate;
one smoke, two smokes, three smokes,
four, we broke the automatic door;
from New Brunswick, Windsor, Kitchener,
Yellowknife and Vancouver, crossing frozen
fields of wheat, the tired transmission stiff
with heat, out on these farms I'd assume cold
from which great hockey finds its mold; Red
Deer's not that far away, then onwards North
to rest and play.

Look at the size of that fucking raven.

And there was cat hair all over everything while the laundry kept spinning and the light was on. I couldn't really think of anything but the sound of pencil striking parchment. My bed was made. Nonsense, thought about abstract advice concerning taboo subjects inappropriately appropriate; my hand is balancing my head and it is falling asleep. He stared back at us and said "hope you don't mind if I kill you all" and I felt safe. Found myself stuck with a stranger on a dock at 3 am and had an awkward conversation about life in your thirties. Always wanted to buy freshly baked bread but could never finish it all. Saw a girl peeing in the middle of the road yelling at people. Karl Urban shows a lot of depth I didn't know he had in the new Star Trek film. Sometimes it's tough to play for an audience.

The cat I live with is named Patches. She meows from time to time. We can't let her go outside at night because then coyotes might eat her.

Streets

Filtered, frequent docile drips
packed and placed along my hips
wait anxiously my eager lips
each cup resembling furry mitts

It tastes like ass but still I drink
and I cannot just sit and think
yes that, yes this, yes that one too,
it's sticky messed-up hyper gue

but generous in its regard
for tranquil trances beats a bar,
paddling, shuffling, scenting, snipe,
frosted leg work tangents night

time caught within its bolder hues,
caressed and crested bebop blues,
that's a lion, phew, a clue
sprinting steamy pungent fumes

which smell quite nice from time to time
a catered well-wished splintered clime
splayed and seasoned ripe with thyme
purchased nourished flourish fine

lee lounging Mrs. Montague,
your cup's half-full plus one times two,
and all day long I sit and brew
and steep their rambling broadcasts through.

Faron Hall's pretty cool.

If the word "teacher" is being replaced by the phrase "facilitators of learning" I think the word "judge" should be replaced by the phrase "facilitators of punishment and discipline."

Sort of like it was kinda something neat that I liked.

Before Tomorrow (Le jour avant le lendemain)

Marie-Hélène Cousineau and Madeline Ivalu's Before Tomorrow (Le jour avant le lendemain) (a product of the Arnait Video Collective) presents some picturesque pastoral panoramas in a subdued and solitary (pseudo) soliloquy. An inuit tribe celebrates the joys of life and lives somewhat harmoniously together until strangers come with guns, germs, and steel which kill everyone but a young boy (Paul-Dylan Ivalu) and his resilient grandmother (Madeline Ivalu). They struggle throughout the winter, secluded in a cave with a only a tiny fire, traditional stories, seal meat, their companionship, and thoughts of a better life further south to sustain them. Similar to other survival tales such as Cast Away and Alien, Cousineau and Ivalu pull us into their protagonist's isolation, slowly forcing us to live and breathe their loneliness while also exposing us to the strength of their resolve. The narrative does unreel very slowly at times which has a somewhat soporific affect, but sitting back and watching its forlorn form mimic its sequestered content still produces heightened periods of awareness. An intricate examination of the traditional ways of Inuit peoples, Before Tomorrow exposes us to the harsh conditions they have faced throughout the centuries while aptly celebrating their vivacious spirit.

Motor

Watermarks and silly tarts
recycled days and snowy phrases
lounging sitting focused framed
a little piece of puzzled painful
last resorts impassioned torts
frenetic stays and sheepish sways,
electronic sweeps and swipes
detrimental crazes, likes.

Star Trek

Was pretty disappointed with how much I enjoyed the new Star Trek film. Was upset when I originally heard about the idea because it seems so unoriginal, bringing back Kirk (Chris Pine), Spock (Leonard Nimoy and Zachary Quinto), and McCoy (Karl Urban) when so many new characters could have been created, forged, manufactured. Doesn't really seem like they're going where no one has gone before anyway; kind of seems like a number of Trekkian franchises went belly-up and in order not to lose sight of the genus, they returned to that genus's very genus, decadently exploding their genesis device, kind of a like a lazy, mundane cash grab. But at least the cash grab is thoroughly entertaining: wait 'till you see how Captain James T. Kirk was born. They certainly didn't slack on the script and characters like Sulu (John Cho), Chekov (Anton Yelchin), and Uhura (Zoe Saldana) are reborn with much more depth than they ever had in the original series (they actually have personalities [or are at least intellectually gifted] and at one point Sulu even saves Kirk's life). I'm growing rather tired of how many times time travel is used as the plot device upon which the narrative twirls in Star Trek films but it's used again and wow are all things Star Trek ever turned upside down (we are seriously starting over again from ground zero). The script goes a bit haywire with Spock's emotions: this version of Spock is much easier to upset than his predecessor which is somewhat terrific. Romulan villain Nero (Eric Bana) could have been more dastardly although script writers probably didn't want to make him too dynamic due to his working class origins. A lot of the film is downright implausible: impossible situation after impossible situation finds a split second solution that saves the day and sets up the next set of sensational circumstances. And the whole 'born leader' thing is kind of annoying. But like I said, I enjoyed it, it's fun to watch fantastic science fiction, a solid reworking of the franchise, nice.

The Class (Entre les murs)

Really liked Laurent Cantet's The Class (Entre les murs). It follows the life and times of a Parisian high school over the course of a year, focusing specifically upon Mr. Marin's (François Bégaudeau) multicultural French class. The realism is solid. The scenes within Mr. Marin's classroom are generally quite lengthy, demanding an extraordinary amount of discipline from their adolescent actors, reminding me of the long, patient shots found in Elephant, The Player, Touch of Evil, and Day for Night, albeit with a relatively stationary camera. And the teens never lose character, always seeming like rambunctious, asinine, aloof, acerbic, occasionally enthusiastic, rebellious teenagers, as Mr. Marin does his best to teach them the intricacies of French. Bégaudeau's performance is exceptional, the intelligent hip pseudo-snob employing a watered down version of the socratic method while suffering the consequences of its design, treading the fine line between friendship and discipline. Unfortunately, a troubled student lashes out during one of his uncharacteristic bursts of vitriol and Marin's then forced to deal with the personal and administrative consequences of his somewhat lackadaisical style.

Definitely complex.

There's a bit of sensationalism during a scene where Marin confronts two students in the playground for ratting him out, but this superrealism can be forgiven inasmuch as you can expect teachers to forget their role from time to time as their daily grind's routine wears on. The difficulties associated with trying to find educational solutions to extraordinarily complex pedagogical problems receive serious attention within, begging the question hyperactive hypocrisy or subdued solidarity? Can you find a way to teach the majority of your students how to teach themselves? Does enabling their critical insights invigorate their wit at the expense of their learning? Can constructive enmity be used as a didactic tool? What if your subjective approach begins to threaten your professional objectivity, progressive though it may be?

The Class examines these questions and thankfully doesn't provide any answers because there definitely aren't any (although many exist from time to time) which only ennobles their pursuit. Students are definitely a handful, so are teachers. So keep teaching. And learning. And causing trouble.

Arrangement

We tried so hard to pretend.
Then we didn't.
Things changed.
Bought a new tie, a wavy one.
She whistled from time to time.
The refrigerator became more bountiful.
I rediscovered Lavender Diamond.
Several different kinds of gourds.
Aren't you supposed to be more epic?
More serious, seriouser?
Winter tires remained expensive.
Twice a month for caramel macchiatos.
Benches are for sitting.
I loved watching her smoke.
Tougher to make snowballs out West.
Is that a magpie?
We only made the bed before sleeping
and kept sleeping together for fun.

Let's reread the entire thing and obsess about it.

Apparently, nerds have sex too.

Riding Bike to Work on Cold Day

The air was pretty thick on my way to work this morning and the wind was omnipresent. So cold and dense I could barely breath while I rode my bike to work.

Vertigo

Was surprised how afraid I was when I hiked half way up the mountain. There was no protective railing, just a perilous drop from which their could definitely be no survival. I initially faced the ground, too frightened to check out the view, worried that an earthquake was going to dislodge the setting or that if I got up I would slip and fall to my death. But then I told myself to face my fears and stared out at the mountain opposite and the trees and creek so very very far below, got used to it, somewhat, but still gripped the ground tightly with both hands.

Knocked Up

Knocking nibs,
nibs knocking.
Nibs are there.
That is what they
are doing.
Knocking that is.
I like that because
I personally like
knocking although
it's been quite some
time since I've
knocked anything,
really,
especially a nib,
considering cheese
and cream and a lightbulb
shining above a river,
I like that, no,
those, things,
those are things that I
like, cheese, cream, rivers,
nibs knocking,
knocking nibs.

One Week

Michael McGowan's One Week chronicles the impromptu road trip of recently diagnosed cancer patient Ben (Joshua Jackson). Upon hearing that he may only have 2 years to live and that only 10% of those suffering from his particular variety of cancer survive, Ben decides to hit the road motorcycle style and travel from Toronto to Tofino to figure shit out. His fiancée (Samantha Pierce played by Liane Balaban) and family are notably distressed and continually try to convince him to return home while Ben reflects upon the status of his relationship and whether or not he's truly in love. The narrator (Campbell Scott) supplies us with a constant stream of secondary information regarding the positive effects of Ben's trip (the good things that happen to those he meets because he met them) and we're treated to shots of several of small town Canada's giant tourist attractions including Wawa's Canada Goose and Port Carling's picturesque Segwun photo collage (not to mention Lord Stanley's Cup).

The shots of Ben's road trip don't unreel chronologically so don't be surprised if he's shown riding through British Columbia while still in Banff, but the scenes themselves prominently display so much of Western and Central Canada's rustic beauty that they're well worth the rental price. The cameo's from Gordon Downie and Joel Plaskett are a nice touch as well. Jackson sort of fluffs the one scene where he has to display some emotional depth but Balaban confidently backs him up and it almost passes unnoticed. A romantic look at the benefits of following your dreams and an exciting examination of one man's self-exploration, One Week's well worth the trip, especially if you've already travelled from Ontario to B.C. 3 or 4 times and want to reacquaint yourself with forgotten details of the road.

Sharpen

Mistaken moping
misguided clue
swings out and in
wards 'twards a view.

Place secured
romantic greens
drawn up plans
vivacious scene.

More certainty
is not required,
the moment's crisp
the thought hardwired.

Snap your fingers,
light it up,
forget what lingers
inside the muck.

Whatever Works

Never thought I'd live to see Woody Allen and Larry David team up together but that's what they've done in Whatever Works, another tale of a neurotic sexually repressed manic depressive doing his best to get by. Within, Allen recycles a number of the themes that have successfully worked for him in the past but this time rather than star in the film himself his (alter?) ego has been replaced by Larry David (as Boris Yellnikoff) (whose resemblance to Allen is remarkable). Boris speaks to the screen and is aware he's being filmed even though his fellow cast members have no idea which simultaneously accentuates and deconstructs his mania. A disgruntled genius, Boris cast off the trappings of the ivory tower in order to teach chess, scraping by a meagre living as he presents his antagonistic reflections to anyone stuck listening to him. Enter Melodie St. Ann Celestine (Evan Rachel Wood), a troubled Southerner homeless and destitute in the streets of New York. Boris takes her in, grows fond of her, and the rest of the film unreels in response to their off-beat odd coupling.

It's definitely a Woody Allen film and will most likely appeal to most of his fans. Seeing Larry David play a hapless genius as opposed to the hapless Larry David is fun, as is seeing what happens to Melodie's parents when they arrive in New York City. There are times when it's impossible to separate Larry David from Boris Yellnikoff which decreases the dramatic affects of the characterization, but I don't think this is a problem. Nothing really that new, but so much fun all the same.

Insistence

The blood came in spurts and the protest continued. A length of rope tethered underneath clung to the body as it shifted in and out of focus. Princing on the prowl, devastating debutante, my heart hungered for the heat, the pace, the moisture.

I stepped up to the stage and slipped into security. The time was ripe, the moment, crisp. We heard the vibration beneath and subsumed its intransigence. Lighting up cigarettes, neurotic debts, for the best in the meantime.

Manga novels are literature's extremely fun to drive unabashed low-mileage vehicle.

When you reach a certain age, you just can't talk about how you really want to see the new Imax: Beavers movie.

The indoctrinated capitalist cares about everyone by only caring about him or herself.

The indoctrinated socialist cares about themself by caring for everyone else.

Pretty sure I prefer kit-kat to mars bars.

Some pretty cool videos can be found here.

Fairmount's hot springs are pretty relaxing. And hot.

I've noticed that a lot of people watch CSI.

Recycling

The following are some pretty cool Canadian recycling developments:

Montréal based Matt Canada recycles mattresses (and has some pretty cool tunage built into their website).

Peinture Récupérées du Québec recycles and resells paint known as Boomerang.

And Enerkem is turning garbage into ethanol.

Pretty cool.

Like how Les Respectables's "Sweet Mama" fits snuggly into playlists on so many classic rock stations. That's tough to successfully do (not to many bands that I'm familiar with are writing strong rock tunes these days). Can't wait to hear the harmonica riffs replaced by a saxophone.

Wish I learned a marital art as a kid. Then I'd be more tough now.

Where the Wild Things Are

Where the Wilds Things Are is a fun-filled adventure for kids and adults alike. Young Max (Max Records) has a fight with his mom (Catherine Keener) and takes off to a mysterious island where he encounters several of Maurice Sendak's fabled creations. Cooly enough, Max soon finds himself elected King after befriending and destroying several dwellings with rage filled Carol (James Gandolfini). As time passes, Max and the beasties socialize, have a dirt fight, explore the mysterious island, philosophize about life, and build a new home (while Max comes to realize that being supreme ruler has its fair share of pitfalls). The subject matter's tame, the resolution picturesque, the narrative complex in its simplicity, and the characters overflowing with childishly provocative wisdom.

The friendly monsters each represent a different component of the troubled childhood psyche, generally united in their desire to remain somewhat aloof. Their observations are modestly delivered in a bewildered yet confident fashion that adds a significant degree of magical charisma to the film. Director Spike Jonze consistently displays his offbeat comic charm as educational systems and grown-up situations are subtly satirized. And every shot of the Wild Things gazing peculiarly into the camera produces youthful feelings of unrestrained happiness.

Pretty wild.

Responding in a conversation to what you wish had been said as opposed to what was actually said can be a source of confusion.

It's often important to explain what you meant by a joke although such explanations often make said joke less funny.

Life

It's more of a harmony that my shallow brain is incapable of synthesizing at the moment than a contradiction.

Certainly

Place centered
down in a town
upside around
found a stationary
spot revitalized
resurfaced transient
sponsor announcing
bids for a track
of spicy signifiers
signaling significant
settlements.

Funny People

Funny People's pretty funny but the last third of the movie tanks. Extremely successful comedian George Simmons (Adam Sandler) gives down on his luck funny man Ira Wright (Seth Rogan) the opportunity to write jokes for him after he discovers he has a terminal illness. The two develop an odd sort of acquaintanceship, Wright's fortunes improve, and Simmons is miraculously cured. Afterwards, George decides to make amends for his lecherous youth and make it up with one time girlfriend Laura (Leslie Mann), at which point the film takes a disastrous turn, with even the fight between George, Ira, and Laura's husband Clarke (Eric Bana) falling flat. Which is unfortunate since so many films end when their cantankerous antihero awakens moralized (As Good as it Gets for instance), and director/writer Judd Apatow decided not to follow this trend.

There are more problems: in Funny People's last act, we lose supporting characters Leo Koenig (Jonah Hill) and Mark Taylor Jackson (Jason Schwartzman) whose offbeat temperaments helped carry the opening moments. There's a terrible musical interlude where George sings a maudlin song whose only saving grace is that it must have been ironic (it attempts to generate sympathy for Simmons but we haven't known the character for long enough to grow attached, so Apatow circumvents our expectations by making the song terrible, although, perhaps the irony is absent insofar as we should have been expecting something terrible). And unfortunately, the dramatic aspects of the script require a little bit more depth than either Rogan or Sandler provide, which, to their credit, only increases the value of their comedy, for you have to be really funny to find yourself playing dramatic roles which are somewhat out of your league.

But Funny People has many positive features as well. James Taylor, Norm MacDonald, and Eminem have hilarious cameos within, as do many others. Throughout, we consistently catch glimpses of the extremely cheesy films Simmons has starred in during his career, an example of Sandler humbly making fun of his earlier work. And George and Ira positively change and grow throughout as a result of their constructive enmity, Ira falling for complicated love interest Daisy (Aubrey Plaza), George learning how to not be such a dickhole.

Not bad.

Inglourious Basterds

Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds is an exceptional film. It's a tribute to film, a film fanatic's crowning achievement, a celluloidic lapis lazuli heuristically annihilating the Third Reich. Strong performances all around, Christoph Waltz (Col. Hans Landa) trying to steal the show ala Frank Booth unsuccessfully due to Brad Pitt's (Lt. Aldo Raine) non-Jeffrey Beaumontesque counterpoint. Aren't these names simply outstanding: Lt. Aldo Raine, Col. Hans Landa, Sgt. Donny Donowitz (Eli Roth), Shosanna Dreyfus (Mélanie Laurent), Marcel (Jacky Ido). Set up and executed like a post-modern fairy tale, Basterds unreels like a quaintly distinct incandescent extremity, bluntly interdicting fictional necessities in a multicultural absurdist panorama. Every introduced character is compelling; every scene an odd mixture of frank subtlety; the pipe, how about that pipe!; and I really don't know what else to say. Don't want to go into too much detail and ruin it (especially considering that I'm reviewing it six weeks later) and know that I won't have enough time to analyze it until at least mid-December. So I'll just say that, those things, and hope you like it, or don't.

Trailer Park Boys: Countdown to Liquor Day

Am not the biggest fan of Trailer Park Boys: Countdown to Liquor Day. Mike Clattenburg's characteristic trashy charm is certainly present but the film itself simply isn't that funny. Don't get me wrong, it's great seeing Ricky (Rob Wells) gain the confidence to finally start bossing around Julian (John Paul Tremblay) and what fan of the series could avoid feeling stricken as Bubbles (Mike Smith) falls in love? But too many of the jokes are recycled, seeing Ricky try and graduate high school simply isn't as funny as when he went after his grade 10 (probably the funniest plot twist of the series), and J-Roc (Jonathon Torrens) and Tyrone (Tyrone Parsons) don't make solid substitutes for the hapless Cory (Cory Bowles) and Trevor (Michael Jackson). Additionally, too much of the focus is on Randy (Patrick Roach) and Lahey (John Dunsworth) and Lahey's insane ramblings simply went to far (although I did appreciate their ridiculous depths). Countdown to Liquor Day is definitely on a grander scale: Lahey's opened a new trailer park and everyone has the option to settle down and fly right if they can only read the writing on the wall and stop fucking around. But they can't, which is good, and they won't, which is also good, but there's got to be another way to hilariously keep doing the same thing over and over again if The Trailer Park Boys are to survive as a credible film franchise.

(500) Days of Summer

Marc Webb's (500) Days of Summer playfully illustrates the pain associated with falling for the wrong person in a style that reflects its protagonist's neurosis. Just forget about her, get over it, move on, times change; unfortunately for Tom Hansen (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), this is easier said than done because he's fallen for Summer Finn (Zooey Deschanel), a fickle, mercurial, beauty, whose catlike credence has designated Tom as plaything (although she feels bad about it). The film jumps back and forth between different days in Tom's infatuation as he suffers through his enjoyment of suffering. It's pretty funny and functions as a warning for those in similar situations: bail, get out, forget about it, it won't work, even if you secretly don't want it to work, even if you like suffering, even if suffering is all you have. Having Tom work for a company that creates greeting cards was a great idea. Good flick.

Gamer

Brian Taylor and Mark Neveldine's Gamer synthesizes reality television and online gaming in a sadistic salute to mendicant masochism. Computer genius Ken Castle (Michael C. Hall [Six Feet under]) has created two billion dollar programs: Society and Slayers. Prime time participants have had nanites inserted into their brains in order to enable a third party to control their actions with hypersensitive virtual controllers. In Society, such participants live out the carnal fantasies of their masters for the benefit of their adoring public. In Slayers, death row inmates are given the chance to avoid the electric chair/ if they can survive 30 rounds of a bellicose bloodbath orchestrated within a simulated war zone. Running man Kable's (Gerard Butler) almost free, his controller Simon (Logan Lerman) a world renowned celebrity. But has Kable been framed by Castle for a crime he didn't commit and will an underground band of hackers be able to reunite him with his wife (and Society star) Angie (Amber Valletta), just in time for them to rescue their daughter?

It's all just a matter of time, depending on the ratings.

Gamer's a bit cheesily melodramatic and predictable but it's also entertaining and well executed (including a cameo from Star Trek's John De Lancie). It competently examines the age-old appetites versus intellect dynamic by creating a world where people ravenously devour realistic fantasies at the expense of the impoverished individuals forced to willingly yield their pride, while simultaneously championing methods of destabilizing this dominant discourse. There's also a scene which is so revolting that it ruined waffles for me (a sign of great directing). Taylor and Neveldine painstakingly point out that there are things that remain popular even though they're humiliating and that working class dignity is something for which people must fight. Their portrayal of the future resonates in the present and stands as a prominent warning against fascist social slayers.

I've noticed that girls are often interested in getting married.

If you're looking to create a new advertisement, try doing something with cats.

Dinner tonight: sardines in soya oil with whole wheat nachos and medium salsa followed by goat's yogurt mixed with maple syrup, strawberries, and Irish essiac, and then a slice of pumpkin pie. Nice way to celebrate the Broncos third victory of the season (can't believe they're winning on defence).

All of these Canadian elections are getting to be pretty lame. Something tells me, generally speaking, that Western Canada will vote for the Conservatives, Ontario and the Maritimes for the Liberals, and Québec for the Bloc, again. When will either the Conservatives or the Liberals realize that the Bloc holds the balance of power and cut a deal with them? Or just start trying to make minority politics work.

Until a true leader emerges.

Not being able to distinguish between encouragement and sarcasm is a problem.

Rode my bike through a herd of elk the other day. Never seen elk before. They are as beautiful to watch as they are delicious to eat.

Trying to come up with the most awkwardly acceptable new age aphorism when meeting new people may not be the best way of introducing yourself.

Wardrobe

I am wearing an emerald shirt.
The grass has recently been mown.
3 large coffees in the afternoon.
A car that is yellow.

G. I. Joe: the Rise of Cobra

Can't say much about Stephen Sommer's G. I. Joe: the Rise of Cobra. Probably shouldn't have gone to see it but was a fan of the cartoon growing up, and, consequently, nothing could stop me from viewing it, not well reasoned arguments articulating that I generally dislike this kind of movie, or the unfortunate reality that while these nostalgic flicks are supposed to reassert some long lost kernel of youth, they don't, and probably never will, because, they're lame, period.

But oh well.

The Joe's are no longer super tough icons of natural militaristic bravado inasmuch as they now require extraodrinarily complex machines to perform their monumentous tasks (a reflection upon how much more technologically dependent we are now than we were in the 80's), but, while engaging in battle, battles which require an exceptional degree of split-second extremely athletic mental and physcial ability, instant decision making and what have you, they still stop to taunt, encourage, or hit on one another, ridiculously relevant content reminiscent of its cartoon form. Where the film really fails is the ending. Screenwriters Stuart Beattie, David Elliot, and Paul Lovett obviously sincerely disliked Superman I's closing moments, for in Joe Ripcord (Marlon Wayans) has a jet fast enough to track down and destroy two deadly missals fired at targets on either side of the globe, lickedy split. Terrible, but, like I said, I probably shouldn't have gone to see this, although, unfortunately, nothing in this world could have stopped me.

Tourist

Nothin' comin.'
Beautiful view though.
Plains, buildings, the Bow River.
Bought a new shirt today
and some socks.
Mountains in the distance with Bears.

Always thought I preferred landscape paintings and objective pictoral representations to modernist art but this isn't the case.

Coy

Don't know what's worse, not knowing anyone or having to meet new people.

The last thing you should do when writing a poem is try and describe something.

I mean you.

Joel Plaskett's Three is pretty frickin' cool.

Ostrich tastes like beef and huckleberries are not worth the additional expense.

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen

Michael Bay's Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen picks up with the Autobots and the American military chasing down villainous Decepticons throughout planet Earth. Humanoid hero Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf) is preparing for both college and a long term relationship with love interest Mikaela Banes (Megan Fox) before discovering that his previous encounter with the Allspark has given him exceptional scientific and linguistic abilities. And Starscream (Charlie Adler) has rallied the troops with the assistance of The Fallen (Tony Todd) and is preparing to resurrect Megatron (Hugo Weaving) so that he can lead an invasion force to use an ancient device buried within a pyramid to harvest the energon lying within our Sun.

But he didn't count on contending against the power of love.

With nearly two and a half hours of footage, the film covers a tremendous amount of ground planted with the same silly comedic distractions and fast-paced shallow dialogue that dominated its predecessor. At the same time, with so many characters demanding their voice be heard, and so many plot threads requiring a cinematic stitch, I suppose terse dialogue is necessary if not disappointing. John Turtorro (Agent Simmons) steals the show once again and revitalizes the second act with an energetically offbeat and charismatic transformation. And there were a number of points after the second hour where I thought Revenge of the Fallen was going to end in an Empire Strikes Back like fashion (without a carbonite parallel) and leave us eagerly anticipating the next installment. But it kept going and the audience kept cheering and I couldn't help feeling old for searching for something more than explosive battles, competent clichés (Turtorro stating "not on my watch" for instance), and frustrating familial filibusters.

One Transformer did stand out for me however because his presence attached a bit of ambiguity to the either/or dynamic lying at the heart of the Autobot/Decepticon feud. Jetfire (Mark Ryan) was once a Decepticon but decided to join the Autobots after centuries of fighting. True, there are still only two choices, Autobots or Decepticons, but it's nice to see a freethinking character who was able to change his allegiances based upon his subjective interpretation of his historical circumstances.

Met a cat whose meows sound like the baby from Eraserhead the other night. Woke me up like six times.

"However, as Lacan has taught us, when we are confronted with an apparently clear choice, sometimes the correct thing to do is choose the worst option"(viii). - Slavoj Žižek, The Sublime Object of Ideology, New York, Verso, 2008.

Really like both Amélie Lefebvre and Little Miss Higgins.

Economics

Cursed be thee rationality.

Brüno

I'm afraid Brüno simply isn't gay enough.

Flex

Managed to find a muscle.
Organized a flight.
Tempered daydreams
stitched and churned,
emphasized and tight.

View

Must choose some
thing across that line,
break, onwards,
look there,
reflect,
steady, simple, strung,
don't know,
to the left, it'll be
certain, certainly,
something.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

David Yates's adaptation of J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince brings the novel to life in a maturely adolescent fashion. Harry's (Daniel Radcliffe) back for his sixth year at Hogwarts and Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters are unleashing carnage and destruction in their wake. Professor Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) teaches Harry about Voldemort's past by means of a number of catalogued memories while Hermione (Emma Watson) and Ron (Rupert Grint) struggle with the complicated realities of their mutual attraction. The film sparingly presents a number of the novel's notable novelties such as the underground trade in love potions which keeps the narrative firmly rooted in Potter lore while also highlighting its youthful candour. When juxtaposed with its darkened domain, wherein the heroes must deal with confrontational pressures of position, age, and responsibility, the result is an entertaining synthesis of mirth and menace, well worth the 150 odd minutes.

That's the last time I head out after work with garbage juice on my pants. Talk about bad idea jeans.

Symptom

Friction, diction,
nails and nights,
rising tides negated
tightly torn and worn
on weathered statures,
incandescent bombast,
rapture, look down
in that burrow there,
lounging, bounding, focused,
fair, a pattern plucked in sharp
relief, constitutive,
bold, and brief.

Xavier

Mellow, laid back
peaceful beat,
supple melodic
sound.
Freely bracing
gentle feets,
sweetly flowing sound.
Together, unity in time
with 6 strings keeping pace.
You make me wish that I could
dance with jaunty ludic grace.

Thanks for the Juniper.

I like it when a mouthful of hot banana pepper rings makes me belch.

Jerichow

Christian Petzold's Jerichow cultivates the convoluted hardline between economics and ethics by establishing a complicated love triangle hewn according to jealous guidelines. Thomas (Benno Fürmann) finds work as a cucumber harvester after losing everything only to one day be granted an exceptional opportunity to work as the full-time driver for Ali Ŏzkan (Hilmi Sözer), alcoholic owner of a variety of snack stands. Ali's wife Laura (Nina Hoss) has little love for her abusive husband and quickly falls for quiet Thomas after said husband has to many drinks one sunny afternoon. Thomas plays by his own rules in a resignedly loyal fashion and while wishing to remain fidel can't overcome the immediate demands of his attraction. Laura's dark past keeps her committed to Ali while yearning for something more and the two lovers create a plot whose exposition results in an intrepidly ironic resolution.

Jerichow competently explores a hopeless and foolishly profound situation wherein which three individuals attempt to do what is right while consistently colliding with what is present. Plans, projections, and unforeseen disruptions tie together their various schemes while simultaneously unravelling the knot. There's a choice, a result, a consequence, each of which could have been mitigated if it wasn't for the unfathomable dictates of 'required.' Solace in circumstance, predictability in numbers, regrets amidst happenstance.

Hell no.

Australia

Baz Luhrmann's Australia is a sincerely grand spectacle shot in the Gone with the Wind epic style minus about an hour and one intermission. Lady Sarah Ashley (Nicole Kidman) moves from Britain to Australia's Northern Territory with the intent of selling her husband's ranch, known as Faraway Downs. But upon her arrival she discovers he's dead and that there's been some seriously underhanded wheeling and dealing taking place on their land. Hence, she decides to drove (move cattle across a distance) her husband's cattle to Darwin in order to prevent his rival King Carney (Bryan Brown) from monopolizing the business. To drove she must find a drover and a tough-as-nails-plays-by-his-own-rules-no-one-hires-me-no-one-fires-me Drover (Hugh Jackman) surfaces and reluctantly agrees to assist. To stop them, Carney requires a villain, and weaselly-dead-beat-dad-environmentally-abusive Neil Fletcher (David Wenham) agrees to arrest their stride. Tying together and narrating the different multilayered threads is an Aboriginal child named Nullah (Brandon Walters) who desperately wants to avoid being taken away from his home and sent to a mission. And in the second half Japan invades, disrupting their insatiable antagonisms and turning both old and new worlds upside down.

A lot of what takes place in Australia is sappy, predictable, and highly melodramatic: but it's the best damned melodrama I've seen in years and every time I knew what was going to happen I happily sat back and soaked up the sentiments. Lady Ashley is one brazen, solid, tenacious, heroine who lives by a strict and passionate code which occasionally yields unfortunate yet necessary results. The Drover droves dynamically and thanks to Lady Ashley's inspiration overcomes many of his social phobias eventually maintaining that certain things simply shouldn't be. And it's simply great to watch them ferociously fall in love even though snobby socialites turn up their noses and utter banal witticisms at their expense. An epic tale complete with heartfelt harmonies and progressive social symphonies, Australia may be a bit hard to take at times, but the overall product is downright resilient, all down the line.

Highlands Cinema

The Highlands Cinema and Movie Museum is a definite must see for film fanatics. Located in scenic Kinmount, Ontario, this diamond in the rough is the coolest place I've ever seen a film. Make sure you arrive at least a half hour early to view the Movie Museum including The Way We Were. Damned impressive.

Tether

Foraging freely
fortunate dance
bear claw barriers
bench by the seaway
Clyde's misty makeup
trotting on trails
vintage experience
mottled infrequent
down the lane
Queen of Spades.

Iris

Bottled water tramcar
prismic black leather
tight focused rims shielding
instigated vigils
on the ridge.

Waltz with Bashir (Vals Im Bashir)

Ari Folman's Waltz with Bashir's jam packed with divergent expressions of militaristic bravado condensed into an animated arsenal whose ending champions peace. Film director Ari Folman can't remember the details of his war experience and begins trying to unravel them through a series of conversations with old wartime associates. The frame becomes less opaque but he still can't remember the details of a Palestinian massacre that took place in Lebanon during the early 1980s. Searching and seeking and sleuthing and suffering. Roll away the stone, deal with it on your own. And that stone is brilliantly rolled away no doubt explaining why Waltz received so much praise last year in various film circuits. The ending's as powerful as that from Neil LaBute's In the Company of Men, a stark realistic extended yet minimalist encounter with death, serpentinely subverting the previous material's form, highlighting the necessity of peace (in Company the encounter's with life). The score contains jingoist jargon, retro rhythms, symphonic stitches, and electronic nuts. A multidimensional collapse built into an unforgettable relapse.

The Examined Life

Astra Taylor's The Examined Life presents intimate encounters with 9 feisty thinkers as they move about pondering the world around them. Daily life's complexities examined through particularly constructive multidimensional lenses, Cornel West, Avital Ronnell, Peter Singer, Slavoj Žižek, Martha Nussbaum, Michael Hardt, Kwame Anthony Appiah, Judith Butler, and Sunaura Taylor offer insights into God, death, responsibility, politics, and prada within. Can poetry and spirituality be found in a dimension of pure mathematical abstraction? Are expensive clothes worth their ethical price tag? How does one transfer Central American revolutionary political ideas to the landscape of the United States? What are the benefits of a road leading nowhere? How do we deal with grandiose philosophical treatises which leave out substantially significant details yet find themselves culturally reified? How do we progressively utilize an anxiety disorder's strength? Have you ever been so wrapped up in a book you've had to stop reading to prevent the ecstasy from becoming overbearing? Melancholia, failure, rebuilding, commitment, starvation, the Blues. And I've finally heard someone else say they've been nervous ordering coffee! A profound treat for the intellectual senses, Taylor's The Examined Life offers poignant insights in explosively lucid bits and bites and shouldn't be missed if you're even remotely interested in viewing philosophy in motion.

I'm pretty sure that cougars who aren't divorced are officially known as bobcats.

Met a girl the other night at a bar. After 15 minutes of getting to know each other I asked her her name at which point she threatened to leave. This was definitely the first girl whom I've ever met who became upset when I attempted to discover her name.

Never learned her name but she is bilingual.

Mixed-Grill of wild boar, quail, and pheasant sausage covered in a Saskatoon berry reduction and layered on a bed of cheddar mashed potatoes: not bad.

The Saskatoon berry's sort of like a blueberry-raspberry-raisin. I'd love to spend an afternoon pickin' and eatin' them in a field with a French girl and a picnic basket containing a nicoise salad and a bottle of red wine, bears grazing in the distance.

Make that three bottles of red wine.

Went out for ice cream the other day after doing laundry with a friend and ordered Gold Ripple in order to finish in first place. Afterwards, upon returning home, she asked whether or not it would be prudent to bring her cone down the road to her boyfriend's worksite in order to see if he would like to enjoy some ice cream as well. I immediately responded that if I had a partner who unexpectedly brought me something as tasty as ice cream while I was diligently working I would consequently consider them to be marriage material. Off she went and her partner was indeed quite happy with the treat.

Partners who provide their partners with delicious food items on a consistent basis: A plus.

Doubt

John Patrick Shanley's Doubt presents a simple story layered with political complexities in a straightforward manner. Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep) austerely respects the rules and regulations of her church's code but nevertheless her shrewd devotion challenges its gender based hierarchy when a Priest's conduct seems to be crossing the line. Father Brendan Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) delivers heartfelt homilies and appears to be genuinely caring for his flock but his methods become suspect and Beauvier launches an unrelenting underground crusade to have them rigorously reprimanded. But Sister James (Amy Adams) disagrees with her verdict and demonstrates a sincere degree of courage herself as suspicion and rumour threaten the integrity of their congregation. And Mrs. Miller illustrates how hard it can be being the loving mother of a child who receives contempt from both his classmates and his abusive father, Viola Davis providing a profound cameo whose impact is strong enough to momentarily distract the audience from the rest of the cast's assiduous acting.

Shanley's screenplay provides Doubt's principal characters with a stark cinescape within which to display their raw talents and they succeed in infusing potentially stale caricatures with a sincere degree of dynamically subdued emotion. With difficult subject matter displayed in a directly ambiguous fashion, Doubt deftly demonstrates the refined results of one woman's committed, determined resolve, while simultaneously pointing out how seriously problematic the maintenance of such a disposition can be.

Sawdust and Tinsel (Gycklarnas afton)

It's difficult to discuss Ingmar Bergman's Sawdust and Tinsel without describing exactly what happens so lets just say it's a hard-boiled bucolic tale of a traveling circus's harrowing hardships. The principle theme is fidelity and how love transforms and evolves according to the designs of each distinct challenge it faces. Time, the grind, the future in mind. Bergman uses his profound sensitivity (in the form of a lurid tale of temptation and trust) to lure us into his narrative and adjust to its particular pace. Within, we live and breathe the trials and tribulations of the Alberti Circus as they try their best to make a buck. The politics of the performing arts are displayed as Albert Johansson (Åke Grönberg) must borrow costumes from a local theatre, and insights into an aging traveling artist's psyche are provided as Albert explains to his ex-wife (Annika Tretow) why he's never been able to settle down.

There's also a bear.

If looking for a glimpse of Bergman's early work or an examination of the realities interrogating a manner of life that often isn't the focus of a feature film, Sawdust and Tinsel is worth checking out. Playful and poignant, tragic and lucid, all the while reminding one of the importance of not taking their selves to seriously, it instills a romantic and dedicated cantoring caravan with a profound degree of vivacious sentiment, dealing with that which must be dealt, rolling on down the road.

Board

Spirited structure
congressional clout
tangential fence surely
cloisters the doubt.

Star

Stylized secrets
reflecting rhythms
relinquished.

Enjoyed a tasty mixed-grill of veal, elk, and pheasant sausage at work the other night (I'm able to eat these delicious beasts because I work in a casual fine dining restaurant and receive half-priced meals).

Gran Torino

Clint Eastwood's back at it again playing and directing the lovably cantankerous and bitter hero of Gran Torino. Walt Kowalski tells it like he sees it, holding back nothing, ever, period. Does he want to confess his sins to an overeducated virgin straight out of the seminary (Christopher Carley): no he does not. Does he want to have a potentially soul searching conversation with his acquisitive granddaughter (Dreama Walker): once again, no. Does he want to do anything that doesn't fit his perfectly prescribed and particular way of doing things: shit no. There's a routine, he knows it well, he follows it, that's it, end of story.

Until he catches pesky Thao Vang Lor (Bee Vang) trying to steal his prized Gran Torino from his garage one night. At first, his response is predictable: stay the hell off my lawn I should have shot you yap yip. But his wife has died and he has nothing to do so he begins to take an interest in his shy sensitive neighbour, especially after a local gang tries to unconditionally recruit him. Walt sticks up for young Thao but the gangland politics prove to be pernicious, leaving him stuck between his rock and their hard place, searching for a strict solution to a grizzly state of affairs. Basically, he's lived his whole life quietly suffering from his war wounds and now has a chance to vindicate himself for his crimes. So he digs in his heels and responds with his gut, eventually providing a shattered family with a sincere degree of holistic satisfaction.

It's Clint Eastwood at his best, delivering another strong performance in a downtrodden caustic tragedy stripped straight from the hood. Can one curmudgeony man's dying attempt to befriend a neighbour make up for a lifetime of familial and communal neglect? Why yes, yes it can, and Gran Torino illustrates how seriously affective one man's commitment to solidarity can be, this is a bar padre, you'll have a drink, she likes you, go with it, yeah.

Revolutionary Road

Sam Mendes's Revolutionary Road spikes a solid conjugal punch with a healthy dose of conflicting viewpoints regarding the process of prioritization. What comes first, your heart or your responsibilities?, your dreams or your obligations? Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) and April (Kate Winslet) Wheeler's marriage convolutes the aforementioned polarities leaving them stark yet twisted, barren yet novel. The Wheelers meet fall in love at a party then find themselves married. Frank has a hard time clueing in and April doesn't take to being a housewife. They come up with an ingenious plan to break from the suburbs and escape to Paris much to the confusion of the neighbouring Campbells (Kathyrn Hahn and David Harbour) and the delight of local lunatic John Givings (Michael Shannon). But promotion, pregnancy, and adultery complicate their departure, leaving room for many a heart breaking fight and several despotic discussions.

It's a good look at the darker side of marriage, commitment, fidelity, routine. I mean, neither of them even speak French (although no one mentions this [a sly take on how to socially deal with spur of the moment surprise situations]). Frank's a dick and to caught up in the ways of the world to seriously listen to his beautiful wife, thereby breaking her romantic heart and rupturing his own. And only Mr. Givings shares in their dreams, eventually unleashing a monstrous onslaught of vituperative contempt after discovering there may be a change of plan.

Strong emotional impact, neither kitschy nor melodramatic, heartfelt, conditioned, real; a solid American movie. There should be some serious debate regarding whether or not this is a feminist or a masculinist film, meaning that's its packed with critical controversy. Love, loyalty, leisure, loss, I don't know anything about being married but understand that it lasts for a long time and some people have trouble adjusting to the status quo, no matter what the price tag. Could save your marriage or break it apart if you happened to love movies as much as I do and were married to me. Reason number 723 . . .

Smells like cordite.

Rain Clouds

So we wanted to go for a walk, right, so we got in the car. On our way to the trail it started raining so we turned around. After turning around we saw a beautiful postcardy cloud formation which we briefly checked out. Then, the rain having stopped, we decided to drive to another trail only to have our second destination curtailed by another burst of rain which caused us to return home while viewing another stunning cloud formation. Upon our return home, it was raining yet again which resulted in a decision to go swimming in order to embrace the environmental stimuli. And after that swim was finished, a third resplendent cloud formation was viewed. Pretty cool.

Breathless (À bout de souffle)

Jean-Luc Godard's Breathless begins with car thief Michel Poiccard (Jean-Paul Belmondo) declaring that he is no good, which he most certainly is. And it's fun to watch him go about the days events after he rashly commits an act of murder. It's only a film and Poiccard is nothing more than he says that he is.

With no attachments, no responsibilities, no knowledge of cause or effect, Poiccard dipsy-doodles throughout Paris and hooks up with aspiring young writer Patricia Franchini (Jean Seberg). They enjoy each other's company and their innocent sprightly spur of the moment mischievous and for the most part mendacious dialogue consummately untethers a convivial non-committal conversation (between friends of would be lovers). His father was a genius on the clarinet, you can always tell someone's afraid if they fail to light their cigarette, do you prefer my eyes, my lips, or my shoulders?, we're like elephants hiding (not exact quotes). During their dialogue it's tough to imagine Poiccard as a murderer and the ways in which Godard desensationalizes both the act and the criminal accrues myriad deconstructionist dividends. It's obvious Poiccard's time's running out and it's obvious he's oblivious to everything that didn't happen three hours ago. It's not that he can't feel remorse, it's that he can't feel anything that isn't capriciously linked to his existentially disaffected manner. Hence, he's intriguing, for a bit of light-hearted distraction, while the authorities close in, just lean, mean, and on the screen. Faulkner and Dylan Thomas are mentioned. Can't tell if she's a Femme Fatale (it's ironic). And there's an interview with an author who provides perspicacious insights into open-ended culturally popular questions.

This evening I was told that I have "hangover hair." I've never heard that expression before.

Drunken Angel (Yoidore Tenshi)

Akira Kurosawa's Drunken Angel examines the life and times of a frank doctor whose passionate commitment to rationality leads to a puzzling confrontation with a neighbourhood syndicate. Alcoholic Dr. Sanada (Takashi Shimura) tells it like it is and doesn't hold back his professional opinion when confronted with the violent and feudal aggression of criminal thugs. His practice is located by a swampy chemical bath that his unchecked drinking has forced him to reside beside. Enter Matsunaga (Toshirô Mifune), territorial chief and reluctant sufferer of tuberculosis. His underground lifestyle has trouble adjusting to Sanada's problematic prescriptions notably due to rival chief Okada's (Reisaburo Yamamoto) reappearance on his hard fought for turf. Okada's prominence soon seeks Matsunaga's love interest as well, and as he's overtly pushed out of the gang, tempers flair and tensions despair.

Dr. Sanada forms an awkward friendship with Matsunaga for he recognizes within the young hood a semblance of his own brazen youth and wants to help him transcend his life of crime. Sanada also boldly defends the rights of women when Okada comes seeking the attention of Nurse Miyo (Chieko Nakakita) (his former partner). But as Sanada fades from the narrative the film's temperamentally upbeat focus dissipates as well and Matsunaga is left alone to confront the heartless confines of his changing world. Princes among paupers, heroes amidst happenstance, in Drunken Angel Kurosawa deftly displays one man's brave attempts to save a lost soul, all the while offering progressive social commentary that highlights how he's saved his own.

The best thing about dating someone shorter than you is that no matter what you do they're always looking up to you.

JCVD

One of the most playfully poignant and unexpectedly self-reflexive films I've seen in awhile is Mabrouk El Mechri's JCVD. The film is downright fantastic. Within, the narrative unravels in the present but frequently cuts back to the past in order to focus its "answer before the question" frame, a frame which postures the problems Jean-Claude Van Damme's been having finding roles outside of the kitschy films in which he has been generally cast. His fans greet him with enthusiastic applause and he responds by willingly having his picture taken with them and signing autographs. They love him because of the ways in which he fought to become a star, the hardships he dealt with in order to craft his own sacred place within the world of action films (all the while remaining a regular guy). Unfortunately, that place was rigidly hewn and Van Damme's attempts to break free from its caricatures (in both his professional and personal lives) have proven to be an even tougher battle (which JCVD resolutely wages). An ambiguously and seriously comedic film noiresque aesthetic is cultivated throughout and it's pleasantly impossible to determine what precisely is going on, the sentimentally offbeat and bang on content carving a multidimensional portrait which deconstructs Van Damme's popularized aura. Take the scene where the bank robbers argue over what course they should take and one of them shoots the other in the head and the bullet refuses to pass through his skull (is this an example of realism and do my expectations regarding the bullet's impact ironically highlight the ways in which I've been misled by the fantastic elements of action films?); or the soliloquy Van Damme is suddenly presented with before the dénouement, wherein he brilliantly outlines his troubles, shedding maudlin perfectly placed tears in order to ambivalently mitigate their impact (the film concerns a bank robbery wherein the robbers hold Van Damme hostage and he has to use his brains rather than his brawn to save lives). The foils are doubled and even tripled throughout as Van Damme takes advantage of the situation to pay off his legal bills in an attempt to mollify his captors and secure custody of his daughter which only backfires in the end, landing him in prison for extortion at the exact moment he has ironically freed himself from his type casted chains.

Much to the dismay of his confused parents.

This is definitely my favourite Van Damme film (although I also love Bloodsport) and it's great to see him provided with the opportunity to rigorously refine a role (no doubt he is able to display a broader range of emotion due to the fact that it's shot in his native French [while also leaving him room to showcase his hard fought mastery of the English language!]). Deconstructing what it means to be a Van Damme film while simultaneously reestablishing their iconic images, Mechri's JCVD is an intellectual treat for the popularized senses, a crowning achievement within the action film genre, and reminiscent of the French New Wave.

Occasionally, something surprising happens which expertly aligns itself with that which you were hoping to expect. These moments are good.

Biking 6 km's through the rain during a thunderstorm to get to work blows yet is fun.

Defiance

Edward Zwick's Defiance chronicles the harrowing and heroic plight of a group of valiant Jewish villagers as they hold out in the forest against Nazi oppression. As World War II rages on, the inhabitants of Belarussia fall prey to fascist aggression and must find a way to survive against seemingly insurmountable odds. Brothers Tuvia (Daniel Craig), Zus (Liev Schreiber) and Asael Bielski (Jamie Bell) lead the group and struggle to maintain both a sense of community and fraternal unity. As their time in the woods wears on, the pressures associated with conducting frequent midnight raids, occasional acts of retribution, and administering a starving populace, test their resilient characters, presenting them with unanticipated complications that only their continuing resistance can overcome.

Each brother finds their own path throughout Defiance's narrative. Tuvia is the head of the group and must make tough decisions to maintain a semblance of order. He butts heads with younger brother Zus who wants to fight more aggressively and consequently departs to join a group of Soviet militants. And youngest brother Asael contends with his timid character, rising above its natural inclinations to frequently engage in acts of heartfelt and painstaking heroism.

Their community grows and thrives throughout with intellectuals and a commitment to equality rounding out its social contours. Fighting against all odds, they dig in their heels and refuse to yield, all the while displaying the qualities of both consummate courage and gregarious, magnanimous, humanity.

Bear Trouble

Looks like the trusty garbage bin my family bought 7 years ago to keep our refuse safe from bear related mischief has finally been overturned. Yes, upon returning home this evening, our waste receptacle was upside down and located three feet away from its traditional perch, a bear having attacked it in its pursuit of nourishment. I hope this fucking bear realizes who he or she's dealing with, because I don't take lightly to my garbage being devoured recklessly by scurrilous beasts, even if they happen to be my favourite animal.

Bears.

Finally finished In Search of Lost Time. Took quite some time. Looking forward to reading it again.

To celebrate I ate a 10 oz rare elk chop covered in truffle foie gras butter.

Friday the 13th

I am of the opinion that the new Friday the 13th flick Friday the 13th doesn't count. Marcus Nispel's film is a worthy addition to the franchise and Jason's (Derek Mears) unleashed fury is adorned with several new characteristics (marijuana growing?, kidnapping) (although the opening sequence drags on for far to long). But he's officially in space and overlooking this fact (and the great additions to the franchise it encourages) is not overcome by once again situating the narrative back at Crystal Lake Camp, planet Earth. They also don't explain why Trent (Travis Van Winkle) has been permitted to cottage next door to Jason's layer for his entire life without ever suffering any adverse affects. Back to space with Friday the 13th, back to space.

[True, Jason X doesn't really count either, but it gave the series a fresh scientific edge that refueled and reignited its mayhem, thereby enabling those dismissive of its non-linear content to provide it with the designation of counting. Jason is in space!]

Work was pretty slow tonight and we were searching for things to talk about and then Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett died.

The Wrestler

Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler poignantly and poetically presents a multidimensional portrait of a professional wrestler's undesired retirement. Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Mickey Rourke) lives life the hard way and when things come crashing down does his best to reign in that which he unfortunately let go during the more belligerent days of his career. Dashing dancer Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) and estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood) do their best to help piece together the puzzle, but it's a heartbreakingly byzantine panorama requiring a sincerely dedicated degree of patience to comprehend.

The film's strong and Rourke's performance is my pick for Oscar's best actor of the year. The grainy shots and promotional poster credits establish a prominent yet passionately melancholic aesthetic that aptly reflects The Ram's troubles. And it hurts to see him go through it, a spur of the moment man crippled by the financial and humanistic consequences of responsibility. Things happen, not everyone can deal, and not everyone chooses a comfortable career with a pension, regular pay, and wide ranging benefits. The Ram's predicament generally functions as a representative of the aging economic other, the dedicated destitute artist doing what she or he can with what little he or she possesses to bring a bit more cheer to the members of her or his community. And each particular performance electrifies and holistically humanizes what it means to live according to your own individual rules with their own attendant predilections.

There are feelings and points of view that get lost in the rush as you travel from one dimension to another in order to reconstruct daily routines, get by, important pieces of your personal constitution that lie dormant in the unconscious waiting for a specific smell/game winning touchdown pass/deal breaking decision/surprise dinner/work of art to bring them back to life. And The Wrestler really made me feel a lot of the convictions that I had been simply thinking for who knows how long (providing them with an outlet to be revitalized) and that's just one of the reasons why I found it to be such an exceptional film.

Rourke's powerful portrayal of a dislodged, dominant demon, stalwart yet dainty, determined yet spellbound, vigorously demonstrates what it means to succeed while simultaneously pointing out the lesions of loss. Aronofsky once again provocatively illustrates his evocative chops, presenting another infinite requiem for a courageously clandestine character.

Felt pretty cool scorin' a model auxiliary verb in Facebook Scrabble tonight.

Whatever.

Think Will Smith would make a great Borg. The people at Star Trek should take this into consideration.

Always loathe the pretentious commentary until confronted with the irony after which I enjoy being irritated.

Frost/Nixon

Ron Howard's Frost/Nixon closely follows the footsteps of Robert Altman's Secret Honor insofar as it presents a puzzlingly polite picture of the dastardly Richard Nixon (Frank Langella). Set up in a centrist style (whose mitigating factor is represented by the naive, dedicated and opportunistic David Frost [Michael Sheen]), Frost/Nixon chronicles a series of interviews conducted by Frost in the wake of Richard Nixon's unprecedented Presidential resignation. Sensationalized for sentiments sake, the right is represented by Nixon acolyte and Vietnam Vet Jack Brennan (Kevin Bacon) and the left by a solid team of researchers including James Reston Jr. (Sam Rockwell) and Bob Zelnick (Oliver Platt). Shot linearly but intercut with reality t.v. style reflections upon the events as they unravel, the film kaleidoscopically presents a variety of passionately opposing viewpoints regarding commitment, exposition, desire, and dogma, all the way to an intoxicating interrogation of one Richard Nixon.

Each performer is given their chance to shine: Platt humoursly delivers an intricate Nixon impersonation, Rockwell zealously critiques Frost for not leveling the same degree of ideological rigour, Bacon demonstrates unyielding support for his mentor, and Sheen gesticulates and genuflects his way through several different frenetic facial expressions. But they're all left in Langella's domineering dust as he stoically commands his realization of the role. The performance is strong, potentially best actor strong (although the competition's stellar). While he generally steals each scene, at one point, after delivering a semi-commercial speech at a relatively unimportant function, he particularly lets go of his characteristic resolve and enthusiastically laments his post-Presidential predicament, thereby unleashing a substantial degree of split-second emotion that elevates his performance to another level.

There's a lot more to Frost/Nixon than an interview between a struggling talk show host and an ex-President. It complicates and coruscates the Nixon phenomenon in a wizened well-rounded manner, all the while demonstrating the cultural pressures competently pursuing each combatant. The subtly ambiguous ending supports its centrist technique as well inasmuch as Frost clearly wins, thereby saluting the left, but his victory is set up in a black or white either/or opposition, thereby clearly saluting the right. Does this ending represent Howard's elevation of clandestine contradictions and the ways in which they convolute any attempts to uniformly delineate a point of view, and, by doing so, does the ending, like Nixon's thoughts regarding the responsibilities of the President, situate the film beyond good and evil?

I really don't know.

The Reader

Throughout the first half of Stephan Daldry's The Reader, I couldn't figure why it's up for best picture until it hit me: it innocently and delicately establishes Hanna Schmitz's (Kate Winslet) and Michael Berg's (Ralph Fiennes, David Kross) affair before calmly and laconically bringing it to an end, all the while demonstrating the everlasting impression it's left on the elder Berg (who remembers the film in a series of extended flashbacks). Eventually, Schmitz is brought to trial for war crimes and Berg's law class must attend. As he watches her take the stand, his tender heart, full of pleasant and prominent memories of their fruitful time together, slowly and desperately bursts, as the extremely complicated nature of her trial's ethical/political dimension prevents him from presenting exonerating evidence. Afterwards, his guilt is extreme, and he expends an enormous amount of time doing what little he can to ease her life sentence.

The emotional impact is profound, suddenly pounding the audience with the affects of Berg's maturity and the crystallizing consequences of his insurmountable youthful passion, a recurrent moment of change, of becoming, solidified (thereby filmically capturing the passage from adolescence to adulthood, afterwards, the synchronous affects of an Event). He cannot overcome the lasting impression Hanna's ingenuous (yet naively brutal considering) soul has left upon his own and struggles with its agonizing influence for the rest of his days, love's torrentially tenacious (and eternal) nascence and mortality continually haunting his soul, a robust gentle diamond, shattered, constantly attempting its reconstitution. Nothing else really stood out from the film for me, similar to both The Deer Hunter and A Woman Under the Influence in form, a possible challenge to Slumdog Millionaire for best picture, unforgivably unforgettable.

Am eating four to five spoonfuls of yogurt, a banana, a carrot, an apple, and a cookie each day in the interests of becoming healthy. Don't really feel that much better. Still have yet to send a text message.

There's nothing more socially problematic than being responsible.

Rare Meat

Might not have a house, or any savings, or a car, or a partner, but I did manage to consume 36 oz's of rare meat in the last 72 hours. A monstrous 24 oz porterhouse steak cooked in a whiskey peppercorn sauce and a delicious piece of 12 oz elk covered in a Saskatoon berry reduction. Seriously yummy.

Milk

Gus Van Sant's Milk presents a beautiful biographical portrait of an extremely brave human being, Harvey Milk. Dynamically portrayed by Sean Penn, Milk overcomes his generally timorous disposition and navigates his way up an extremely steep political hill to become the United States's first openly gay politician. Then, possessing a resolve which never lets up and quickly learns the ins and outs of being a San Francisco City Supervisor, he fights against a movement to have homosexual teachers removed from public schools as well as a homophobic campaign led by singer Anita Bryant (archival footage). His character is molded by an unyielding desire to face his fears head on, keeping physical reminders of their content posted upon his fridge, refusing to move his camera shop from a neighbourhood that is initially hostile, and continuing to seek election after being defeated several times. However, his success incites the hatred of fellow City Supervisor Dan White (Josh Brolin), who murders both Milk and Mayor George Moscone (Victor Garber) after hastily resigning from public office. There's an exceptional shot that may win Van Sant the oscar for director of the year as well, that being a whistle lying on the ground upon which Milk can be seen conversing with a police officer. Whistles were used by members of the gay community to sound an alarm if they were being attacked. During the 70s in the Castro district of San Francisco, it didn't always work.

Bear in the Woods

Tonight I received a ride home from work to my country lodge and was let out at the road two minutes away from my destination. As soon as I popped out of the back of the pickup (after having drank 3 tasty Muskoka Cream Ales) I heard a sincere rustling in the woods directly in front of me. The pickup had sped away and I was left alone to determine what beast lie in wait in the surrounding forest. And it must have been either a deer or a bear: there's no way a frickin' raccoon can make that much noise (and they usually run up trees anyways). I had to decide whether or not to walk home or take the safest route and proceed to my friend's in case the potential bear proved to be vicious. But bear's are usually pretty cool (eating vegetarian related items primarily) so I waited for the noise to disappear before taking a shortcut home.

Bears.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

David Fincher's adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button chronicles the life of its title's hero (Brad Pitt), born an old man who grows younger as he ages. Throughout his travels, he meets many a quirky character with an idiosyncratic tale to tell, including an artist (who dies with cigar in mouth [Captain Mike played by Jared Harris]) and a sirenic swimmer who tenaciously challenges the English Channel (Elizabeth Abbot played by Tilda Swinton). These minor characters leave major impressions on both the film's and Benjamin's personality ("it's funny how sometimes the people we remember the least make the greatest impression"), placing this curious case in the realm of other magically realistic narratives such as Forrest Gump, Big Fish, and The Princess Bride. Benjamin's innocent love for childhood sweetheart Daisy (Cate Blanchett) parallels that cultivated by the heroes of these films as well, and as their roundabout romance ties together each successive movement, we're left to examine the alimentary affects which valedictory events have on the development of an individual.

Benjamin doesn't spend much time moralizing about right and wrong or the difference between the correct way and the highway. Instead, it elevates happenstance and making the most of what you have, much to its credit. One theme which reverberates throughout emphasizes that it's "not about how well you play, it's about how you feel about what you play," a theme which encourages and applauds disenfranchised forms of artistic expression, while coincidentally displaying them all the while. It also provides several neat little particular tidbits of avuncular advice for puzzling situations that arise throughout life, such as the three rules for Benjamin's first love affair (never look at me during the day, always part before sunrise, and never say I love you) amongst others.

While I found The Curious Case to follow Forrest Gump's heels far to closely, providing a sedately sensational story that left little room for outstanding acting, it's certainly multidimensional enough to inspire myriad interpretations depending upon the disposition of the viewer in question. And it's romantic and fun. Probably not Oscar's choice for best picture of the year, but it's worth checking out if you like films that present profiles of charismatic offbeat people in a fantastically realistic fashion. In tune, in touch, quite different from the other Fincher films I've seen, Benjamin's buttons are sewn on tight with a sentimental style that's laid out just right.

Zelig

Zelig, Zelig, Zelig: just who the hell is Woody Allen's Zelig? In every situation he physically, mentally, and spiritually adjusts to become one with his interlocutors, and there's nothing he can't learn, stomach, or do. His story inspires songs, advertisements, sensations, newsreels, critical and commercial interpretations, parades, biographical imitations. There's a wealth of tightly edited picturesquely paced material reminiscent of Citizen Kane and formically linked to any Wes Anderson film. His doctor does her best to establish an I but as he moves from congenial agreement to aggressive confrontation similar situations and age-old psychological adversaries arise. Playing baseball, writing academic essays, acting, golf, Zelig moves and grooves with the rest of the 'em all the way to an hilariously restructured resolution, creatively and comedically cast with the most intertextual of designs in mind.

To be really successful in business you can't spend all your time worrying about money.

New Favourite Songs

Delta Lady: Joe Cocker

Ma vie à l'heure: Les Respectables

As an artist, you need to be ready to take absurd risks, full of potentially disastrous consequences, in order to cultivate your mischievous craft as you proudly and miserably suffer in their convoluted aftermaths (depending upon how much you've been drinking), the greatest risk being to take no risk at all.

Shock

Whenever I hear what President Obama's up to I keep thinking damn they need to elect him to the office of President of the United States.

Mind boggling.

Slumdog Millionaire

Trainspotting's Danny Boyle's at his best in Slumdog Millionaire, a romantic tale of a virtuous individual's shot at the big time. Jamal Malik (Dev Patel, Tanah Chheda, Ayush Mahesh Khedekar) grew up in the slums where he learned the hard way how to cope with life's injustices. Full of working class grit and tenacity, Malik boldly navigates his culture's rigid social rapids and hard-boiled ethical hardships, taking lumps and lashes all the way to a miraculous appearance on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" His success leads to accusations of foul play and the film unreels in a series of flashbacks as the authorities harshly interrogate the legitimacy of his answers (the present requires the past to have a chance for the future). But for each and every question posed there's a personal anecdote that upholds both the veracity of his choices and the integrity of his disenfranchised education.

Malik's set up in opposition to his older brother Salim (Madhur Mittal, Ashutosh Lobo Gajiwala, Azharuddin Mohammed Ismail) who makes his way with a gun rather than his mind. In the film's ending, as Malik searches for the answer to the 20 million rupee question, Salim is shot in a bathtub full of cash, Boyle's narrative championing the individual who chose life as opposed to death to earn his living (the resolution's a little too melodramatic but whatever). However, in the end this dimension is ambiguously challenged by the unveiling of the correct answer to the question posed at the film's beginning, a challenge which problematizes his victory while simultaneously making it all the more emphatic (time, space, and the ideological chase).

Slumdog's pacing reflects the different stages of Malik's development insofar as his youth is filled with quickly moving scenes which capture life's enraptured rush and things begin to slow down as he gradually matures. An early scene poignantly points out precisely how resolute Malik is when it comes to achieving his goals as well as the enormous obstacles standing in his way. It's fun to sit back and watch as he heroically hustles and shuffles his way through life, constantly contending and coordinating with foes and friends respectively, his spirit always aware of each situation's final answer.

Here's a pretty cool blog: Idiot Box Artwork

Showcase Cinema 6 Closes Down

Sadly, Burlington's Showcase Cinema 6 has shut down. Throughout the winter, I found that they played the best selection of films in the Greater Hamilton Region and it's a shame they will no longer continue to do so.

Twilight

Catherine Hardwicke's new teenybopper flick Twilight explores the hearty hardline separating vampires and their human counterparts. Human Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart) moves from Phoenix to the small town of Forks, Washington, to live with her father (Billy Burke as Charlie Swan) and resume her studies. But Bella wasn't counting on meeting Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson), a member of a local family of vampires who denies their natural thirst for human blood and feast upon animals instead (and also enjoy playing baseball). Their ferociously subdued romance turns heads and homesteads as members of the Native community (descended from wolves according to legend and wary of the Cullens) keep a sharp watch on Edward (whose family is supportively patronizing). Their foes are many and their attachment precarious but these streams still cross affectively, aptly demonstrating the illustrious intrigue engendered by a star-crossed couple unafraid to unleash their picturesque passion.

Thereby defeating Gozer.

Definitely the most romantic vampire film I've seen, Twilight's easy going slow moving pacing is problematically perforated by the introduction of villains. S'pose some kind of overt conflict's to be expected in a vampire flick, and it was made for a younger audience, but removing the formulaic evil presence (clearly included for the males of the species) and investigating the covert cultural pressures more sanguinely would have enhanced Twilight's clandestine charm, thereby structurally reflecting the sun's scintillating effects upon the Cullen's skin. Rich in bucolic beauty, drenched in kitschy sophomoric artistry, Twilight magnifies the lengthy measures a coruscating couple must resiliently recite, while wisely suggesting that it's worth it.

Two friends agree that being devoured by wild beasts is preferable to being embalmed unless it instills within said beasts an insatiable appetite for human flesh.

I admit that I don't trust a mug of coffee that isn't stained.

Actually falling in and out of love can assist one in understanding popular music.

Coalition to Keep Canadian Heritage Support for Literary and Arts Magazines

Below is the description of a Facebook group I just joined called Coalition to Keep Canadian Heritage Support for Literary and Arts Magazines. Worth checking out (contact info: art.lit.coalition@gmail.com).

Canadian literary and arts magazines publishing in either English and French are in danger of losing a key federal funding source.

On February 17, 2009, Canadian Heritage Minister James Moore announced in a speech he made in Montreal that the Canada Magazine Fund and Publishing Assistance Program will be merged to create the Canada Periodical Fund. Initiatives from this new body will come on stream in 2010.

Departing from his prepared remarks, James Moore indicated that eligibility for funding could potentially be restricted to those magazines with an annual circulation above 5000. With notable exceptions, the circulation of virtually every Canadian literary and arts magazine, large and small, is below 5000.

We have to make sure this possibility does not become an actuality, for if it does, as April 1, 2010, these important and praiseworthy magazines will no longer qualify for funding that they have been receiving for years from the CMF and PAP despite the excellent work that they undertake for the readers and writers across Canada (and around the world)!

The Coalition to Keep Canadian Heritage Support for Literary and Arts Magazine feels strongly that to render these magazines ineligible for this support would be unjust. To quote Andris Taskans, editor of Prairie Fire, to do so would be "a slap in the face"---not only to the magazines themselves but to the many writers that they publish, many of whom began illustrious, international careers in these seminal if modest publcations. To do so would also be a "slap in the face" to the ordinary (and extraordinary) Canadians who read them.

By joining the Coalition, readers and writers everywhere send a strong message to the Honorable James Moore, the Department of Canadian Heritage, and the Canada Periodical Fund that we believe in our literary and arts magazines and feel that they should continue to do so by supporting them through well-deserved and sustained financial support.

To do so, would be the cheapest economic stimulus package the Government of Canada could initiate. Every single dollar granted to us or paid to us by a subscriber or a newsstand buyer goes back into the economy.

Put it this way, when Canadians get into their Chrysler and GM cars, they have to drive somewhere. A lot of them drive to their newsstands and bookstores to buy a literary or arts magazine.

Say yes to continued Canadian Heritage funding through the Canada Periodical Fund for Canada's arts and literary magazines!

Say yes to the writers and readers of Canada!

For more details about these potential funding cuts, read coverage that appeared on the Quill & Quire website on February 20 and 24, 2009 (scroll through the news section to read both stories):

Quill and Quire

Seven Pounds

Seven Pounds is a touching examination of the human condition. Gabriele Muccino's text speeds things up and then flattens them out in order to capture the tenderly mysterious movements of a couple falling in love. It's a film about loss as much as it is about sacrifice and Ben Thomas (Will Smith) does his best to make the most of a dire situation. Both tragic and romantic (with Woody Harrelson demonstrating unprecedented emotional depth), Seven Pounds isolates an excruciatingly painful kernel of life and gently transmits it from dimension to another.

As I congratulated myself for not throwing the end of the milk bag I had just cut onto the floor or into the sink, gently placing it within the trash receptacle, I realized that I was noticing something that probably shouldn't warrant conscious thought or awareness, and wished that the floor or sink options would suddenly disappear, although, I recycle everything I can (including empty match books), meaning that perhaps such careless ends represent a docile distraction, the excessive runoff from my generally neat and tidy ways, demanding itself be heard, noticed, delineated.

There was a motion leading up to a point qualified by a statement wrapped up in a rhetorical bouquet. I feverishly sipped my coffee. A rebuttal announced, predicated upon an insightful indictment of a redolent clause whose fragrance was weeping. Too much cream, not enough sugar. They eventually congratulated each other on their mutual and successful investments although the decor contradicted their resolution (it was far to pretentious). Wound up, nowhere to go, fueled, no work. In one week I would do something possibly, get up and go begotten secured sedated. To break, to find work that actually corresponded to my education, on the bus for a trip, to a plane to look out the window and there's the sun above the clouds shining forth its rays. The wheels going round the wings whipped and weathered. For less cream, more sugar I waited for something less melodramatic, for a plume and a slice of pineapple, written upside down on the ceiling, revved up and ready. Should the legislature stop working for the banking industry itself? Is this salmon organic? How far could I travel down the St. Lawrence on an inner-tube? What would Proust have done?

Proust would have been writing exceptional prose, building a literary legion of liaisons into a lavender scented locket locked tight; that's what he would have done but better than that, in medium and super, they're reading it and you've told no one and have nothing to say. Just pointing out on Steph's behalf that people have been murdered for less. Find the stream, pick it up again, wine and dine, wag your tongue, blow them kisses. It's like a nap, one piece at a time, moving on, moving on, moving. Towards something leisurely and light, stamped, approved, positioned. For dessert there's chocolate mousse. Predictable, pocketed, pristine. The artistic pickpocket steals your wallet and then finds a way to return it cashless by the end of the hour. Don't know why she or he does this. Can't figure it out.