When it emerged I cannot say
but it resides within.
Pensive crinkling passing sways,
a reflective focused cringe.
A reason can be rationed, clipped,
and kept for fortune's sake.
Resting, stripped of context, bare,
it strictly motivates.
Decisions made and plans for things
fall back on trusted methods.
Keeping track of posturings
secures a place contested.
This time, that time, cycling thoughts
reveal a line of sight.
Its corresponding choices based
on instinct, chance, and slight.
Residing winds they dedicate
their whispers cloaked internal.
Based upon these predicates
polemics duel diurnal.
The wizard says "you shall not pass,"
this or some such thing.
With breaths of fire the unleashed beast
will lunge, retreat, and sting.
A sentence brings to life a voice
with forces bearing witness.
Traditions, time and space, a lark,
a retinue linguistic.
Held back he casts compelling spells,
his nostrils flame and flutter.
Her wisdom crafts a sublime shell,
she breaks through, laughs, and putters.
Obscene cretaceous grotesque hollow,
ham on rye conjunctions.
Pitch-forks lashes legions swallow
instigate assumptions.
Reinforcements shielded metal
shocking brilliant rays.
Snarling drooling frantic nettles
incandescent brays.
You will recall a motion passed
prior to your convalescence.
The regulations firmly cast
in distinct formal lessons.
Why yes, oh my, I can't forget
that reason pacifies.
So many alternate responses
quixotically collide.
Certain arguments remain
the product of cohesion.
You must remain astute and guard
them from a vengeful lesion.
My heart goes out to those in pain,
my sympathy as well.
And negotiating blunt disdain
is virulent pray tell.
The years will pass in time you'll come
to settle into age.
Watch as the tears go slowly by,
forget about the stage.
But this can't be these ways and means
they use to structure being.
To turn and look the other way
'gainst all the flanks reseeding.
A faucet drips and drips and drips
into a pool of water.
The tides roll out, roll in, roll out,
an ocean's distinct fodder.
Recall recast and reconsider
thoughts sundry and prolific.
Unify, detach, belie,
coordinate specifics.
Invested docile relegated
ignoring the absurd.
Blankets, chimneys, slippers, stated,
ripples rippling cured.
But that's not up to me they say
as Foucault turns and stuns.
Without him we'll never seize the day
nor know truly who has won.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Picturing the Yukon
Providing a malleable definition for Yukon, visually encapsulating general and particular points of view representing myriad themes and subjective panoramas, Picturing the Yukon juxtaposes the traditional with the contemporary, the timeless with the ephemeral, introducing mythical reminiscences which qualify practical responses, historical reflections which quantify meteorological exceptions, lush narratives which highlight the fragility of fertile soundscapes, unacceptable solutions for problematic predicaments, whimsical takes on issues of race, an introductory tour of an iconic Canadian town, haunting conclusions gathered from plasticine neuroses, acute warm and friendly manifestations concerning sombre subliminal demarcations, coalesced environmental inspirations, and accidental transformational investigations.
A spur of the moment idea can forge something everlasting. Pervasive themes can particularize fluctuating universal sentiments. A myth within a myth within a myth.
9 short films presented in one disc by the Yukon Film Society, Picturing the Yukon stretches beyond the elastic boundaries harnessed within and without each of its individual visions.
A mosaic from which distinct observations clarifying or obscuring resonant attempts at delineating a multidimensional cultural wilderness can be detached, categorized, and rematerialized. From such detached categorical rematerializations a governing conception can be mercurially entrusted to provide a practical ideological motivation for a moment of general reflection.
A spur of the moment idea can forge something everlasting. Pervasive themes can particularize fluctuating universal sentiments. A myth within a myth within a myth.
9 short films presented in one disc by the Yukon Film Society, Picturing the Yukon stretches beyond the elastic boundaries harnessed within and without each of its individual visions.
A mosaic from which distinct observations clarifying or obscuring resonant attempts at delineating a multidimensional cultural wilderness can be detached, categorized, and rematerialized. From such detached categorical rematerializations a governing conception can be mercurially entrusted to provide a practical ideological motivation for a moment of general reflection.
Mr. Popper's Penguins
As I suspected, the penguins in Mark Waters's Mr. Popper's Penguins are very cute as they mischievously frolic and mingle. But the film itself leaves little to the imagination as it slips and slides from one happy-go-lucky scene to another.
As if they made this film for children.
Mr. Popper (Jim Carrey) makes his living acquiring real estate and in order to become a full-fledged partner must convince Mrs. Van Gundy (Angela Lansbury) to sell her Tavern on the Green, a family run restaurant and the only piece of privately held property in Central Park. Mrs. Van Gundy will only sell to someone possessing personal and familial integrity, however, and balks at his initial proposal.
Mr. Popper has not been very successful at raising his family and is currently divorced and none to popular with his two children. But as fate would have it, his deceased father has left him 6 penguins which are a huge hit with his disgruntled kids. As the film reels on, the penguins bring Popper and his family closer together as he learns to genuinely care for them. Yet how will these penguins effect his professional development as they wear down the hardboiled edge responsible for nurturing his commercial acumen?
The penguins themselves are somewhat magical, possessing intuitive humanistic gifts that accentuate their cuddliness.
Unfortunately the writing surrounding their shenanigans, apart from the opening scene and those involving Pippi (Ophelia Lovibond), fails to impress, and although there are a couple of moments within which Carrey displays his considerable talents, many of the lines with which he is supplied freeze his gravitational intensity.
For someone who makes a living convincing people to let go of their most cherished possessions, throughout the film it doesn't take much for him to be outwitted. It's fun to watch while someone who possesses considerable talents in one domain can't find an outlet for them in another, but you would expect him to be somewhat more aggressive in his personal life considering that such tendencies are responsible for his financial security.
Perhaps Mr. Popper's Penguins is saying that you don't have to be a sharp ruthless cutthroat to be successful in business, and that one's modest clever creativity is enough to enable their career related acceleration?
Perhaps it is also saying that the introduction of something absurd into a predictable yet successful routine can recalibrate one's traditional approach in such a way that they discover that for which they have always been searching yet never consciously realized they desired?
Perhaps it is also saying that when one's personality alone is not enough to garner the support of their loved ones, special commodities are required in order to speak to that which they have been indoctrinated to love more than anything else, capitalism?
Whatever the case, the film doesn't flow well and where you would expect there to be cohesive links fluidly encouraging a congenially frosty dynamic, its Antarctic pitfalls breaks up the progress, and only a cheerful, bright, occasionally endearing narrative remains.
I would have rather seen a film entitled Mr. Smithers and his Little Dogs, starring John Waters, where the hero and his 6 little dogs reunite a recovering morphine addict with a former prostitute through the power of puppy love.
It's only a matter of time.
As if they made this film for children.
Mr. Popper (Jim Carrey) makes his living acquiring real estate and in order to become a full-fledged partner must convince Mrs. Van Gundy (Angela Lansbury) to sell her Tavern on the Green, a family run restaurant and the only piece of privately held property in Central Park. Mrs. Van Gundy will only sell to someone possessing personal and familial integrity, however, and balks at his initial proposal.
Mr. Popper has not been very successful at raising his family and is currently divorced and none to popular with his two children. But as fate would have it, his deceased father has left him 6 penguins which are a huge hit with his disgruntled kids. As the film reels on, the penguins bring Popper and his family closer together as he learns to genuinely care for them. Yet how will these penguins effect his professional development as they wear down the hardboiled edge responsible for nurturing his commercial acumen?
The penguins themselves are somewhat magical, possessing intuitive humanistic gifts that accentuate their cuddliness.
Unfortunately the writing surrounding their shenanigans, apart from the opening scene and those involving Pippi (Ophelia Lovibond), fails to impress, and although there are a couple of moments within which Carrey displays his considerable talents, many of the lines with which he is supplied freeze his gravitational intensity.
For someone who makes a living convincing people to let go of their most cherished possessions, throughout the film it doesn't take much for him to be outwitted. It's fun to watch while someone who possesses considerable talents in one domain can't find an outlet for them in another, but you would expect him to be somewhat more aggressive in his personal life considering that such tendencies are responsible for his financial security.
Perhaps Mr. Popper's Penguins is saying that you don't have to be a sharp ruthless cutthroat to be successful in business, and that one's modest clever creativity is enough to enable their career related acceleration?
Perhaps it is also saying that the introduction of something absurd into a predictable yet successful routine can recalibrate one's traditional approach in such a way that they discover that for which they have always been searching yet never consciously realized they desired?
Perhaps it is also saying that when one's personality alone is not enough to garner the support of their loved ones, special commodities are required in order to speak to that which they have been indoctrinated to love more than anything else, capitalism?
Whatever the case, the film doesn't flow well and where you would expect there to be cohesive links fluidly encouraging a congenially frosty dynamic, its Antarctic pitfalls breaks up the progress, and only a cheerful, bright, occasionally endearing narrative remains.
I would have rather seen a film entitled Mr. Smithers and his Little Dogs, starring John Waters, where the hero and his 6 little dogs reunite a recovering morphine addict with a former prostitute through the power of puppy love.
It's only a matter of time.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Sans toit ni loi (Vagabond)
Drifting through the French countryside, Mona Bergeron (Sandrine Bonnaire) moves from place to place in search of a comfortable semantic translation. Unhappy working as a secretary, she sets out in search of a boss or a situation to whom/which she can easily relate. Refusing to accept anything else, dire circumstances occasionally present themselves to which she must spontaneously adjust. The acceptance of such adjustments produces a feisty tranquillity as she discovers sundry existential qualifiers from which she creates an ontological work in progress.
Agnès Varda presents Mona's story through a series of flashbacks from the final days of her life. She encounters a colourful cast of characters who offer advice and opportunities while reflecting on that/those presented by her bohemian lifestyle. A random cross-section of French culture is thereby curiously and interrogatively investigated as particularized observations are freely illuminated. Sans toit ni loi (Vagabond) lets its narrative subjectively moralize from multidimensional points of view without offering direct overarching evaluations.
The highs and lows of a transient lifestyle are mediated within as Mona consistently transforms from subject to object while remaining committed to her chosen path.
The film itself is in constant motion as ideas, constructs, and conceptions are tethered, liberated, confined, and released.
Agnès Varda presents Mona's story through a series of flashbacks from the final days of her life. She encounters a colourful cast of characters who offer advice and opportunities while reflecting on that/those presented by her bohemian lifestyle. A random cross-section of French culture is thereby curiously and interrogatively investigated as particularized observations are freely illuminated. Sans toit ni loi (Vagabond) lets its narrative subjectively moralize from multidimensional points of view without offering direct overarching evaluations.
The highs and lows of a transient lifestyle are mediated within as Mona consistently transforms from subject to object while remaining committed to her chosen path.
The film itself is in constant motion as ideas, constructs, and conceptions are tethered, liberated, confined, and released.
Super 8
An exploratory mission crash lands in hostile territory. Detained then imprisoned, an adventurer is ruthlessly analyzed. One dissident voice seeks his or her freedom. Aided by a group of film making youths after sacrificing his life for socialized synchronies, his mission miraculously proceeds as they do everything within their power to combat their imperialist foes.
J.J. Abrams's Super 8 fictionalizes xenophobic agendas in order to symbolically expose their misguided agencies. Within, the exclusive factor seeks to know the other in order to capitalize on its difference through recourse to carcinogenic means. Secrets which likely would have been eagerly shared if a framework had been in place to encourage their dissemination are therefore resolutely withheld, and a progressive exchange of ideas is transformed into a bloodthirsty polemic.
The resistance proceeds unabated, breaking through manufactured manifests to pursue a personalized mission which becomes cultural after previously classified information materializes.
Friendships are tested as unforeseen circumstances and desires challenge their historical order of things.
The pursuit of love accidentally precipitates justice as modesty, courage, and wisdom are enlisted.
J.J. Abrams's Super 8 fictionalizes xenophobic agendas in order to symbolically expose their misguided agencies. Within, the exclusive factor seeks to know the other in order to capitalize on its difference through recourse to carcinogenic means. Secrets which likely would have been eagerly shared if a framework had been in place to encourage their dissemination are therefore resolutely withheld, and a progressive exchange of ideas is transformed into a bloodthirsty polemic.
The resistance proceeds unabated, breaking through manufactured manifests to pursue a personalized mission which becomes cultural after previously classified information materializes.
Friendships are tested as unforeseen circumstances and desires challenge their historical order of things.
The pursuit of love accidentally precipitates justice as modesty, courage, and wisdom are enlisted.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Couch Trip
Some solid ideas are in place.
John W. Burns, Jr. (Dan Aykroyd) is causing trouble for his lacklustre psychiatrist, Lawrence Baird (David Clennon). But just as he is about to be transferred back to prison, he intercepts a phone call offering Baird a position as a psychological radio host in Los Angeles, sitting in for one George Maitlin (Charles Grodin), which he promptly accepts. All he needs to do is escape from the ward, fly to LA, convince a shrewd lawyer that he is a trained professional, and dispense beneficial practical wisdom live with the electric confidence of a warm and friendly person of the people. But before he can get his act in place, another individual with a somewhat skewed relationship with 1980s socio-cultural sublimations catches instinctual wind of his former identity (Walter Matthau as Donald Becker), and decides that it's time to cash in on his disenfranchised observations as well.
The Couch Trip's form is well thought out. If I was in charge of deciding which pitches receive the opportunity to be fleshed out whimsically I definitely would have given that for the The Couch Trip the green light. But unfortunately, while gathering critical creative support, unable to sustain the potential of its expectations, it ironically suffers a nervous breakdown, from which it rarely recovers.
When you have an over-the-top idea which requires a sharp degree of energetic immediacy, one impossible situation to overcome after another, the ways in which that energetic immediacy is galvanized must be sensationally plausible while seeming run of the mill. And The Couch Trip's script, boldly defended by Dan Aykroyd, lacks the wherewithal needed to project even a paltry degree of plausibility, and therefore only transmits a mediocre current.
Walter Matthau does save the day from time to time, and the script is deep, establishing multiple subplots and providing several characters with room to flow. But the material with which said characters are provided falls consistently flat, and although the idea of John W. Burns, Jr. works for me on every level, the predicates and commentaries used to build up his rhetorical flexibility do not, at least in terms of making a film entertaining.
John W. Burns, Jr. (Dan Aykroyd) is causing trouble for his lacklustre psychiatrist, Lawrence Baird (David Clennon). But just as he is about to be transferred back to prison, he intercepts a phone call offering Baird a position as a psychological radio host in Los Angeles, sitting in for one George Maitlin (Charles Grodin), which he promptly accepts. All he needs to do is escape from the ward, fly to LA, convince a shrewd lawyer that he is a trained professional, and dispense beneficial practical wisdom live with the electric confidence of a warm and friendly person of the people. But before he can get his act in place, another individual with a somewhat skewed relationship with 1980s socio-cultural sublimations catches instinctual wind of his former identity (Walter Matthau as Donald Becker), and decides that it's time to cash in on his disenfranchised observations as well.
The Couch Trip's form is well thought out. If I was in charge of deciding which pitches receive the opportunity to be fleshed out whimsically I definitely would have given that for the The Couch Trip the green light. But unfortunately, while gathering critical creative support, unable to sustain the potential of its expectations, it ironically suffers a nervous breakdown, from which it rarely recovers.
When you have an over-the-top idea which requires a sharp degree of energetic immediacy, one impossible situation to overcome after another, the ways in which that energetic immediacy is galvanized must be sensationally plausible while seeming run of the mill. And The Couch Trip's script, boldly defended by Dan Aykroyd, lacks the wherewithal needed to project even a paltry degree of plausibility, and therefore only transmits a mediocre current.
Walter Matthau does save the day from time to time, and the script is deep, establishing multiple subplots and providing several characters with room to flow. But the material with which said characters are provided falls consistently flat, and although the idea of John W. Burns, Jr. works for me on every level, the predicates and commentaries used to build up his rhetorical flexibility do not, at least in terms of making a film entertaining.
Death at a Funeral
Everything that possibly can go wrong will go wrong.
Bring on the airing of grievances.
Take a walk in the park, take a Valium pill.
Nothing brings a family closer together than a little blackmail.
A father has died and a funeral has been arranged. Friends and family are scheduled to arrive. Personal motivations have piqued ambitious interests. The reverend hopes to depart at 3 o'clock sharp.
Hallucinogenic drugs have accidentally been introduced. An affair has been brought to light. An appropriate time to express one's romantic longings is passing by. Solutions are expediently distilled.
Frank Oz's Death at a Funeral lightly presents intergenerational tensions, sibling rivalries, progressive structures, and scatological sentiments. Historical details are used sparingly to support present actions. The principle subject lies motionless and rarely becomes the object of analysis. Anxiety and awkwardness brazenly duel as an afternoon's solemnity is feverishly deconstructed.
Indirectly suggesting that without the influence of one man's protective guise a family's prosperity is in pedantic jeopardy, thereby functioning as a formulaic exemplar of transition, Death at a Funeral symbolically externalizes emotions such as grief and gives them plenty of room to transmute. Consistently juxtaposing the petty and the poignant while delegating comedic insight with a sober intensity, it will certainly cause you to shake your head more than once as you helplessly and cheerfully ask the question, "why?"
Bring on the airing of grievances.
Take a walk in the park, take a Valium pill.
Nothing brings a family closer together than a little blackmail.
A father has died and a funeral has been arranged. Friends and family are scheduled to arrive. Personal motivations have piqued ambitious interests. The reverend hopes to depart at 3 o'clock sharp.
Hallucinogenic drugs have accidentally been introduced. An affair has been brought to light. An appropriate time to express one's romantic longings is passing by. Solutions are expediently distilled.
Frank Oz's Death at a Funeral lightly presents intergenerational tensions, sibling rivalries, progressive structures, and scatological sentiments. Historical details are used sparingly to support present actions. The principle subject lies motionless and rarely becomes the object of analysis. Anxiety and awkwardness brazenly duel as an afternoon's solemnity is feverishly deconstructed.
Indirectly suggesting that without the influence of one man's protective guise a family's prosperity is in pedantic jeopardy, thereby functioning as a formulaic exemplar of transition, Death at a Funeral symbolically externalizes emotions such as grief and gives them plenty of room to transmute. Consistently juxtaposing the petty and the poignant while delegating comedic insight with a sober intensity, it will certainly cause you to shake your head more than once as you helplessly and cheerfully ask the question, "why?"
Bear and Porcupine Sightings
Was lucky enough to see 7 bears and 3 porcupines yesterday while driving through Alaska. One bear cub took the time to try and climb a tree. First bear sighting since the Summer of 2008.
Monday, June 6, 2011
I really dislike communication's metaphorical dimension sometimes. Today I presented an observation with the best of intentions, commending a friend for a brilliant piece of comedy he had written, without thinking about the implications of commending that specific comedic piece, which is my favourite part of his show.
Obviously if you have a number of emails to write each night and comments to make you can't analyze everything punctiliously, but taking the time to add that extra layer of metaphorical analysis before posting/emailing can save the best of intentions from turning sour.
It really is well-written comedy and I hope my comment was taken literally.
Presenting things with the best of intentions and having them turn sour is a curse.
Obviously if you have a number of emails to write each night and comments to make you can't analyze everything punctiliously, but taking the time to add that extra layer of metaphorical analysis before posting/emailing can save the best of intentions from turning sour.
It really is well-written comedy and I hope my comment was taken literally.
Presenting things with the best of intentions and having them turn sour is a curse.
And a voice called out from the past, as I nursed my beer and prepared to light another cigarette, surprising and friendly, welcome and curious, as I made a correlation based upon a belief for which I would never receive a direct evaluation, overcome with emotion, prostrate and staggered, I trusted my instinct, embraced the moment, remembered all the times which, in there own way, had produced a particularized ethos, motivational and compelling, distracting, intense, balancing a distinct voice whose echo reverberates ebulliently, across borders, chillin' downtown, in the midst of observations, notions, revelations, embarkations, and I took another sip, put down my lighter, reread the message, embraced the correlation, and prepared for the week of work ahead, shedding tears of joy.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
X-Men: First Class
As different childhoods produce distinct ethical engagements, those possessing unique abilities for which they have been ostracized come together to form a team. Revelling in the emancipatory liveliness forged by the inclusive environment which provides them with the opportunity to openly nurture their gifts, a strong sense of self evolves which is nourished by the art of friend making. But opposing philosophies regarding how they should respond to the circumstances which stifled their progress introduce a spirited variable which constructs an internal polarity. Friends must decide where their allegiances lie if they are to be true to their feelings as they construct dreams for the future.
But it's really not that dramatic. True, Charles Xavier (James McAvoy, Laurence Belcher) and Erik Lehnsherr (Michael Fassbender, Bill Milner) represent opposing politico-ethical stances in regards to sociological group dynamics, but even when said stances are materialized, through the act of a decision necessitated by ego (or a lack there of), they still remain friends as they attempt to thwart each others efforts.
Most of the thwarting takes place in X-Men: First Class's predecessors.
It's fun to watch as Professor X and Magneto youthfully engage in various extraordinary activities, but the film isn't the greatest. There are many, many, terrible lines that seem to be relying on the franchise's built in audience for cheerful support. Many of the scenes where characters meet one another or assume their future identities are as predictable and maudlin as they come, and it's sort of like they've just remade the original X-Men film and substituted a number of new characters and an unconvincing cold war scenario for its content. One major difference is that the writers seem to be favouring Magneto's outlook as evidenced by the sympathy generated for his character, the fact that he is given the last scene, the death midway of the only African American character, and the constant objectification of women. A forgettable instalment in the X-Men saga, First Class is still required viewing for fans nonetheless.
But it's really not that dramatic. True, Charles Xavier (James McAvoy, Laurence Belcher) and Erik Lehnsherr (Michael Fassbender, Bill Milner) represent opposing politico-ethical stances in regards to sociological group dynamics, but even when said stances are materialized, through the act of a decision necessitated by ego (or a lack there of), they still remain friends as they attempt to thwart each others efforts.
Most of the thwarting takes place in X-Men: First Class's predecessors.
It's fun to watch as Professor X and Magneto youthfully engage in various extraordinary activities, but the film isn't the greatest. There are many, many, terrible lines that seem to be relying on the franchise's built in audience for cheerful support. Many of the scenes where characters meet one another or assume their future identities are as predictable and maudlin as they come, and it's sort of like they've just remade the original X-Men film and substituted a number of new characters and an unconvincing cold war scenario for its content. One major difference is that the writers seem to be favouring Magneto's outlook as evidenced by the sympathy generated for his character, the fact that he is given the last scene, the death midway of the only African American character, and the constant objectification of women. A forgettable instalment in the X-Men saga, First Class is still required viewing for fans nonetheless.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)