Top Ten Films of 2014

The following presents my favourite 10 films plus honourable mentions of films that I saw in theatres during 2014 that weren't considered for oscar nominations.

I had trouble deciding which was 4th, 5th, etc., but I was able to choose the top 3, in no particular order.

Top Ten Films of 2014

Top 3

Birdman: Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (Alejandro González Iñárritu)
Mommy (Xavier Dolan)
Citizenfour (Laura Poitras)

4-10

Noruwei no mori (Norwegian Wood) (Tran Anh Hung)
The Grand Budapest Hotel (Wes Anderson)
Boyhood (Richard Linklater)
Ida (Pawel Pawlikowski)
Tom à la ferme (Tom at the Farm) (Xavier Dolan)
Finsterworld (Frauke Finsterwalder)
La Vénus à la fourrure (Venus in Fur) (Roman Polanski)

Honourable Mentions

Bird People (Pascale Ferran)
Gone Girl (David Fincher)
St. Vincent (Theodore Melfi)
Interstellar (Christopher Nolan)
Hundraåringen som klev ut genom fönstret och försvann (The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared) (Felix Herngren)
The Drop (Michaël R. Roskam)
Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer)
Jodorowsky's Dune (Frank Pavich)
Rhymes for Young Ghouls (Jeff Barnaby)
A Most Wanted Man (Anton Corbijn)
Bears (Keith Scholey and Alastair Fothergill)

Unbroken

Opposites react in Angelina Jolie's Unbroken, as true strength resiliently responds to the abject whims of contemptuous jealousy, the byproduct of feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing, a modest olympic runner's withdrawn yet irrepressible spirit unwillingly begetting torture, as a lowly pathetic subordinate seeks to cowardly assert himself.

The film's straightforward, a solid accessible account of wartime atrocities unpretentiously layered with both camaraderie amidst suffering and religious sentiment to feature forgiving frequencies while vilifying the wicked.

I find thinking about forgiveness as opposed to revenge leads to peace of mind, you just have to watch out for people who exploit the forgiving for their own ends, and approach each situation on a case by case basis.

I thought the film progressed well, smoothly using the flashback to build character in the beginning, finding ways to keep the narrative flowing while plane wreck survivors are lost at sea, accentuating the terrors of war, lauding independence in the face of brutality.

It's perhaps 15 minutes too long, perhaps because they were truthfully following the actual events of the story, the best scene still coming near the end, stronger minor character development in the last 45 minutes would have worked to its advantage.

That seems to be the way many films are set up, the hero, the villain, no devil in the details, centralized contained conflict.

Information networks have already been established within the POW camp when Louis Zamperini (Jack O'Connell), the Torrance Tornado, arrives, and the film doesn't focus on escape.

They are located near Tokyo which would have made escape somewhat futile.

If not commanding in its absurdity.

Foxcatcher

The regalia of dedication and commitment, the steps to take, one by one, routines, platforms, workouts, sparring, success breeding opportunity introducing patronage, competing forms of professional logistics, an olympic gold medal winner is given the chance to train with one of the wealthiest men in America, as opposed to his fellow olympic gold winning average joe heart-of-gold brother, difference embraced, independence, appreciated, yet the accompanying affluence and opulent caprice problematize traditional approaches, leading to profound psychological disturbances, as he is disciplined and punished, for adopting the regimen foolishly implemented by his surrogate father.

Who loves wrestling, but, unlike Mark Schultz's (Channing Tatum) brother, knows little about the art of coaching.

Balance, order, masters, servants.

His brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) is confident and rational, aware of his exceptional strengths, and not willing to be toyed with.

The frustrated worker who moves up too quickly, the successful middle-class force, and the spoiled oligarch then proceed to battle wits in a repressive atmosphere which Dave doesn't fully comprehend as he follows the strategy that has lead to his extraordinary accomplishments.

Form and content unite in Bennett Miller's Foxcatcher to restrainedly grapple with differing varieties of freedom.

Psychologies of the gods.

Lamenting luxurious liabilities.

Casting by Jeanne McCarthy.

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

They squeezed many a film out of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit, and I loved going to see them all, none of them blowing me away like Star Wars or that cartoon I happened to see on television during a blizzard when I was like 6, but I am much older now, and tend to be blown away by different types of narratives.

Greed is the sin dominating The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, as Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) succumbs to dragon sickness and refuses to share his gold with others.

Others who sheltered him.

Others who protected him.

A delirious dream sequence brings him back to his senses and team Thorin joins the battle, the battle that dominates most of the film, it's a cool battle I guess, the fifth army still indisputably my favourite, as it was watching the cartoon as a child, this time with werebear accompaniment, brilliant move, even if Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt) didn't figure prominently in the action.

The film also productively deals with the unfortunate hardships facing the people of Esgaroth, as they struggle with their new situation, food, organization, lodging, required and sought after, possessing few if any possessions, a leader emerges amongst them.

Other strong features include Tauriel's (Evangeline Lilly) multiple appearances, Bilbo (Martin Freeman), feisty as ever, the focus on teamwork, albeit begrudging teamwork, and concepts like loyalty and honour, mischievously played with as egos clash and contend, which seems to always happen in these films.

But really, why did we have to see so much Alfrid Lickspittle (Ryan Gage)? He's like the worst character.

In battle, why doesn't Gandalf (Ian McKellen) cast more spells? Wouldn't that ease up the pressure a bit?

Who let Lee Pace (Thranduil) get away with that performance?

So much drama, so much pettiness, so much angst, so much fighting.

Quinctilius Varus, where are my eagles!?

Loved the Bard (Luke Evans).

Star Wars starts up again next Holiday Season.

Stables, Franz Marc

Blinding bright evolving dawn
asymmetrically responds
like guilded orchards swift the sight
illuminates azure delights

who patiently await to bound
across the countryside's unwound
furred forests bursting forth in song
while critters briskly trail along

the raccoons curiously swaying
moose upright politely braying
porcupines enshrine their quills
in evergreen persisting wills

they leave their lodge to sprightly gallop
riders galvanized enveloped
within nature's urbane breast
feathers fetchingly attest

to light attentive in the glades
the bower's bounty ricochets
from branch to stone to shade to ripple
omnifloric fertile tickles

plunge through fathoms jive in jest
sustainably imbibe invest
bequest resounding intimates,
reverberate, the wilderness.

Rueil près de Paris, Maurice de Vlaminck

Peaking through the forest's gates
at this strange forbidden place
senses overwhelmed prohibited
renowned refinements hid

beneath such odd fey cavelike structures
behind each wall delicious scents sure
fired seductive cakes and rolls
cheeses, plums, and puddings sole

admirer taught to remain hidden
stories of rejections smitten
sit back think observe and stare
honey combed pure Frankenbear

off to the sly blueberry patch
the bees be stinging surly wrapped
up in their bustling haughty hive,
the forest's introspective stride.

La Plage à Nidden, Max Pechstein

Flushed ecstatic twinned arrivals
exploration's trim archival
greetings curious and sane
intercultural exclaimed

expressions new found interplays
from dawn 'til dusk uncertain phrases
qualifying unbeknownst
emerging intellects in hosts

caught up with questions, certitude's
didactic reveries, the clues,
at first to bridge the conversation
proceeds hence sans hesitation

lightning lips eccentric lotions
balms facilitate the motions
who can say just what was said?,
communication's nascent thread.

Congcong Nanian (Back in Time)

Hard luck high school communist romance takes centre stage in Yibai Zhang's Congcong Nanian (Back in Time), five friends, hormonal hearts throbbing, social revelations pressurizing, a tender look back at innocent desires, the magnification of seemingly insignificant events not so insignificant in terms of personal depth and growth, their affects shockingly uplifting and bewilderingly entertained, courage forging a psychological frame of reference within the young psyches, its creation confusing in its definition and covetous of supplementary material, subsequent dreamlike narratives searching for these definitive moments, their emotional mechanics insulating the eternal in a resounding depiction of bliss, youthfully sustained, through the passing of the years.

I think the trick is not to think, "oh, it was so much better back then," but to think, "that was amazing, what I'm doing now is alright too, and the future looks good as well."

The friends have to learn to cope with unfortunate disruptions in their unpredictable routines as they leave high school to pursue different goals, and the world opens up with unforeseen temptations.

The film's a fun exploration of relationships and love, maddeningly elevating foundational convivialities, naivety descending into revenge and horror, with a celebration of the good old days, and redemption in the end.

I kept wondering about restrictions on filmmaking in China while watching as government propaganda repeatedly and hilariously popped-up throughout.

There are a bunch of great communal shots, visually emphasizing the benefits of teamwork.

But I was wondering if government film making restrictions were too harsh to nurture the development of a young Chinese Jean-Luc Godard, which would be a shame, considering how much Godard has done for France.

Basketball has the green light.

I have faith that these restrictions may loosen up a bit, as the middle class continues to prosper, because after I had these thoughts, characters from the film wound up in Paris, a good sign for me anyways, and perhaps, for the future of Chinese filmmaking.

I did like Congcong Nanian, I'm just thinking, there are 1.? billion people in China, and the economy is rapidly expanding, the potential for previously unconsidered revolutionary developments in filmmaking are limitless, especially if the censors become hip to alternative forms of expression.

Not simply who can make the most explosive violent films.

But who can make the most thought provoking intellectually accessible poetic reflections on issues of universal humanistic resiliencies, poignant in their multilayered insights, developing an exceptional Chinese filmic frame of reference, to grow and develop over time.

Perhaps it's already there, I don't see many films from China.

If it's not, trying studying what they've done in Québec.

They are making it working here.

Exodus: Gods and Kings

There are so many problems with this movie.

Huge, huge big budget screw up.

It's crafted like you're supposed to like it, like its implausible encounters, flat conversations, mediocre foreshadowings, and tawdry special effects are so infallible that you'll love them because they're attached to a well known biblical story, and not to love them, is to critique that story itself.

The bible deserves better than this.

Scientists are directly critiqued as are advocates of global warming as scientific explanations are delivered for a series of God's plagues, which continue to harass the Egyptians because they obviously can't stop them because in the context of the film they're caused by God.

Homosexuals are treated disgustingly and violently, undoubtably to fuel anti-Gay marriage initiatives, but also to congratulate homophobic bullies, as if segregating and victimizing a group of people is okay, in a film about freeing the oppressed, thoroughly and disgracefully revolting.

Of course the gay character occupies a position of power which he exploits for personal gain, making it difficult to critique what happens to him.

But it's odd that apart from Nun (Ben Kingsley) he's the only minor character to have multiple one-dimensional lines stretching across the film, drawing attention to him throughout, so that we can be sure it's him when death comes calling.

There's no character development in Exodus: Gods and Kings apart from Moses (Christian Bale) and Ramses (Joel Edgerton) who bromantically duel par excellence as fate divides them from their fraternal longings.

It's far too focused on the central characters, I don't care if one of them is Moses, you need secondary levels of strong character development to support primary exchanges, not just the odd subservient line thrown in here and there.

This also creates deep complementary layers of productively dialectic action.

Too top heavy.

Oddly, an Egyptian tells a prophecy and it comes true, thereby validating pagan practices which if I'm not mistaken are unjustifiable if there is only one true God.

Moses is a reasonable man and I would have liked his character if every scene he was in wasn't short and to the point, Ridley Scott even just tacks on the ten commandments like they're a box to check on a spiritual grocer's list, the short perfunctory scene disrespectful of their monumental importance, to be sure.

Doing too much in too short a period of time, and the film's 150 minutes long, an agonizing 2.5 hours, constantly moving forward while cumbersomely dragging its ostentatious feet.

In a film about freeing slaves the only characters they develop, and it's not like they're developed that well, are individual rulers with dictatorial powers.

This is okay in the context of the film for Moses, for he is just, but bad for Ramses, because he is not.

Ramses even survives when the Red Sea drowns his army, standing alone on the opposite shore to Moses, like they're trying to set up a sequel.

Give me The Ten Commandments over this film any day.

The Exodus action film; I'm surprised Ramses and Moses didn't start fighting with the Red Sea closing in.

It's like they're indirectly critiquing Gods and Kings by spending so much money on such a piece of crap.

For shame.

Belle & Sebastian

I had trouble growing up finding bands that I really liked during the '90s. I liked Blind Melon, Radiohead, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Tragically Hip, Beck and Ween, but none of them ever made an impact like the Beatles, Stones, Pink Floyd, Zeppelin or David Bowie. They wrote cool music, but never stunned me with albums like Rubber Soul, Exile on Main St., Animals, Led Zeppelin or Ziggy Stardust, albums that I listened to over and over again, and still love listening to, they're simply outstanding.

I figured I was being unfair because '90s bands were new, meaning I couldn't pick and choose amongst multiple albums, many of which had been lauded for decades.

Still, none of the aforementioned '90s bands were releasing albums like the ones I've mentioned which led to disappoint if not boredom, a sense of feeling disconnected from the times, not really much of a concern, but I couldn't really talk about music without boring people and often didn't know what people were talking about when they talked about music, which was isolating, when circumstances weren't lighthearted.

People would recommend things, I didn't like their recommendations, and so on.

Then one day I came back from working in the bush two hours north of Cochrane, Ontario, to bush camp, and I heard some co-workers listening to this band I had never heard before. While I listened, I had a Twin Peaks moment, a moment of instant overwhelming fascination, a moment where I realized I had to figure out who this artist was and then listen to/watch/view/read as much of their material as possible, the same thing happened while reading my first paragraph of In Search of Lost Time, and while I watched John Elway lead The Drive; I asked them who the band was and they snottily replied, Belle & Sebastian.  

After the contract was finished and I returned home, I went and picked up a copy of Tigermilk and was completely blown away. Here was an album that was on par with my favourite material from the '60s and '70s yet different enough to forge its own unique identity. Songs about misfits who didn't fit in yet still longed for friendship or companionship, I listened to it over and over again, still listen to it, I tried to quit smoking once and listened to it 7 times in a row, I had found a '90s band that really worked for me, and it was amazing.

None of my friends liked them.

Until years later.

But their lyrics, Stuart Murdoch's lyrics, and some of Stevie Jackson's, Belle & Sebastian's George Harrison, stuck with me, I mean, he worked the word melancholy into a song and it didn't sound pretentious, it was like bliss, if their characters were sporty they were stars of track and field, so many wonderful songs about people who didn't fit in, I absolutely loved them, still love them, still love listening to them regularly, you can compare them to people, but I think Murdoch's lyrics defy direct comparisons, they're that original.

I never tried to write like him, I always write like my myself, I have plenty of influences, and Murdoch's definitely one of them, and I let what I listen to/watch/view/read percolate in my subconscious and it undoubtably formally surfaces while I'm writing my own material, but if it hadn't have been for that sense of, "we're isolated weirdos and that's awesome" that I got from listening to Belle & Sebastian, I probably never would have had the confidence to keep going for so many years.

It was like I was part of a community.

In my head anyways.

They also use strings, horns and keyboards regularly which all usually fit into the music I love. I can never understand why bands don't incorporate strings, horns and keyboards into their music if they can; all they do is enhance the music.

Nicky Hopkins.

Who's a contemporary Nicky Hopkins?

Tigermilk, If You're Feeling Sinister, and The Boy with the Arab Strap rival Zeppelin 1-3, Let it Bleed-Sticky Fingers-Exile on Main St., and Hunky Dory-Ziggy-Stardust-Aladdin Sane in terms of back-to-back-to-back mind blowing consistency.

I already love Nobody's Empire.

Can't wait to hear all of Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance.

Cindy Lou

Insufficient data hyped
glacial shackles harnessed ice
piecemeal pungent pawned progressions
settling in like convalescent

crises cast divisive shallow
struggles shocking stiffed as callow
sympathetic cries profusive
shell shocked solemnized inducive

critiques gradually contest
envisioned sorrows for the rest
the bottom line Scrooge unrepentant
walk free changes openly contend

for rights for freedoms merry
points of view blissful contrary
seasoned spirited and bright
their light illuminates the night.

Jingling.

The Homesman

The callous and the cavalier, upstanding non-traditional direct and driven, courage, at home, with faith in the Lord, Mary Bee Cuddy (Hilary Swank) accepts a challenge, a calling, to save the souls of three hopeless wives, whom stark privation has psychologically deranged, longing for bygone days, the future, The Homesman's depiction of frontier life generally lacks the overdone resilience of pioneering spirits, brutal realities aggregating impoverished still born dreams like despondent cynical destitute waves of bustling bitter contempt, Cuddy stands out, having endured and overcome social and natural hardships, strength, vision, fortitude, the product of her religious necessity, assignments, iron clad dues.

She seeks a man.

And discovers one.

He tragically arrives, windswept and woebegone, worldly and weathered thick and thin wits having left him in need of assistance, yet capable of repaying a debt, still too in/transigent to lay back and cuddle, too independent, too mad.

A team.

They forge a team and set out across the prairie to do the Lord's work, his knowledge pertinent and bound, still too mired in misfortune, to recognize eternal signs of beauty.

It's a lesson in harsh patriarchal limits ignoring sound opportunities based on preconditioned ideas the absurdities of which are sorrowfully conceptualized.

No matter what the age, no matter what the station.

Sadness.

Loneliness.

There is redemption in excess which only exacerbates the age.

Time is built into the script like cold hearted bone.

Bleak but well done accept for the editing at points and the occasional scene which could have used a few more takes.

Nice to see Barry Corbin (Buster Shaver).

Bird People

This one's sneaky.

About halfway through, as Gary (Josh Charles) decides to abandon his responsibilities, I was thinking, "okay, this would make a much better novel, I need to know what this character is thinking, why is he acting this way, apart from the panic attack, more detail, more psychology, without said value-added information, this film's becoming desolate, I have no reason to sympathize with him, no reason, to care."

I thought the film was awful but there were signs that director Pascale Ferran wanted me to think this, a number of shots, including one of Audrey (Anaïs Demoustier) standing by a window, which seemed like extraordinarily well captured moments of unconcerned bubble-gum bliss, like ads for soap or candy bars but exceptionally well done, bearing artistic imprints, working with the content, their exceptional qualities tenderly embracing the beautiful, finding art in lives where banalities pervade, revelations, serendipities, flowing with the material while subtly standing out, making a statement without suggesting anything, banality dematerialized, the life hidden within surfacing, rejoicing.

Then there's this, what?, are writers Ferran and Guillaume Bréaud on acid?, switch, which seems ridiculous and totally out of place at first, but then, as the subsequent action progresses, it's like this is incredibly beautiful, so much fun to watch, to take part in, logic and preparation be damned this is one of the coolest surprises I've seen in a film in years, joyous while remaining vigilant (there's a cat), so glad I didn't walk out, you can see why it's playing at Cinéma EXCƎNTRIS.

Patient, delicate, exploratory, curious, a continuation of the voyeuristic theme that doesn't seem intrusive or flighty.

It's a very cheeky film yet illuminatingly subtle, Ferran playing with her audience, setting it free from predictable preconditioned patterns of observation, tempting it to embrace something new, a soothing transformative catalystic swoon, the art of mesmerizing, discourses of the beautiful.

Intérieur d'atelier, Henri Matisse

The benefits of contemplation
pluralized alive gestations
resting, hidden, rarely seen
in backrooms lying in between

resounding triumphs torn apart
like pyrotechnic cuisinarts
false start their dusty residues
wholeheart tangential subterfuges

syphoned shorned supracompacted
youthful mature geriatrics
stacked and stocked to circaswarm
a feeling tense quaintly forlorn

adorned Herr cries emphatic symbols
chiming synchronistic tingles,
chance, it beckons from within,
what's waiting there in terms of kin.

Portrait du violoniste Emil Wittwer-Gelpke, Cuno Amiet

fingerling frosh fickle callowing highs
hindered pristine purchased serialized
elements flushed flummoxed interspersing
yearnin' mistrust comma Madame Za-Zing

jollyranched stoked burnin' quizzical clue
fire swept hearth coax the didgeridoo
elongate parched feigning microbes impart
simple swift strings spurning grouchy cold starts

fiddle me flights soaring through the azure
rumbled respites whirlwinds gingerly skewered
sleuths suckling truths induced badgering time
burrowed within shrewd perpetual minds

not really quite sure what I should do
candlelit nights or Duluth's point of view
showmanship plights Shamans turnin' it round
halogen heights sprinkled seminal sounds

The House of Pan-Du, Paul Gauguin

To shift, reflect, upon the shore
vibrations stitched together, sworn,
penultimate surreal expanse
awaiting thunderstruck romancing

storms confiding synergies
waves alarmed yet still at ease
Sirens coasting through surfeits
treasures lying 'neath the breach

albeit swimming through the depths
with whales the guiding counselled vets
caressed like Mile-End's intertidal
sing song reticent revivals,

spiralling circumlocution
hallowed man's curated cruisin'
wherefore art thou?, minke, fin,
deliberate, contexted spins.

Citizenfour

I always found it odd that suddenly there was this relatively free electronic network that I could use to communicate with others, read the news, shop, bank, play games, book tickets, do practically anything I wanted to do, sitting at home, using my computer.

I understand next to nothing about how it was constructed yet eventually started using it so much that I found it was an integrated inextricable part of my life, an unprecedented development, I started to think we were living in the luckiest moment in human history, and still sometimes can't believe our good fortune, although reservations began to settle in a while back.

With most of my life up online, it began to occur to me that this information could be manipulated in the wrong hands, and used for some bizarre counterproductive purpose, the likes of which never really occurs to me, I don't see why that would happen, I do watch a lot of movies though, the possibility of which still subconsciously disturbs me, however, in the background, at times.

But I figured, whatevs, I live in North America.

I'm Canadian, we have rights, a Charter of Rights and Freedoms, guarantees that you can speak freely, discuss things rationally, irrationally, criticize things as you see fit, without having to worry about being watched or going to prison.

Freedom of movement, equal opportunity, public libraries, freedoms to gather, all of these things that we didn't have hundreds of years ago but have now because previous generations fought for and created them so that our lives could be somewhat more free.

Citizenfour chronicles how the American government has access to all kinds of private information shared between electronic devices and how it can illegally use that information to potentially imprison you for speaking freely about some kind of oppressive instance which at one time would have been the subject of a riveting public debate.

There's no escaping it.

I don't see how you can stop this.

Law enforcement officials are supposed to need warrants to search your private information.

It shouldn't be available to them 24/7 because some lunatics launched the 9/11 attacks.

But it seems like that was the reason why the internet was suddenly available for free for everyone, or at least part of the explanation, giving law enforcement agencies the power to bypass constitutional rights to privacy, on Obama's watch, so that they can access a fluid, hip, integrated police state, your entire life available to the authorities, shimmering in the ether, billowing in the cloud.

Snowden's account of what can be known about someone based upon their online footprint is astounding.

Movements predicted, potential conversations held at specific points, expected patterns of behaviour, etc., I got used to the potential for this a long time ago, figuring it was a possible hazard for anyone who writes about politics, but still wish it weren't so, not an easy thing to get used to.

Snowden risked everything to expose abuses of power by the American authorities which bypass constitutional rights to privacy so that everything Americans do can be monitored and scrutinized.

He didn't just suddenly make the information available online, but worked with reporters like Glenn Greenwald to slowly reveal the truth about the illegal activities that have been sanctioned for years.

He should be welcomed back to the United States as a champion of individual and collective rights and freedoms, and we shouldn't have to wait 30 years to see this happen.

A truly exceptional individual.

What an American.

The Theory of Everything

I think Stephen Hawking deserves better than this film.

Providing someone who made a unique globally recognized contribution to the study of physics with something as obvious as this, is unfortunate, in my opinion.

Hawking (Eddie Redmayne) meets his future wife Jane (Felicity Jones) in the opening scene, there's no build up or potentially disrupting frenzy induced courtship kerfuffles, it's just, oh, they meet in the opening scene, and it's obvious they're going to get married, and other obvious things keep happening, like 2+2=4, more obvious than that even.

There is the illness.

Hawking struggles with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis throughout, but in terms of dissertation production or locking-down his true love, or having an illustrious career, there's no struggle, the best possible things keep happening, and it's like he never had to make any effort; there must have been effort; there must have been sacrifice.

A struggle, something to break up this crystal clear laundry list of exceptional and deserved preeminence, the film's like hugging your favourite teddy bear, Hawking isn't a teddy bear, he's bad ass, as he's demonstrated over the years with appearances on shows such as The Simpsons, Star Trek: The Next Generation, and The Big Bang Theory, indubitably.

Okay, there's a bit of a bad ass dimension in The Theory of Everything, and this is a feel good tribute to a remarkable person, whose comic spirit and extraordinary tact created ground breaking works, which, I'm assuming revolutionized the study of black holes.

It's not a cheeky mouthy neat unconcerned flip take on the life of a brilliant physicist.

But you can still express both bad assness and wholesome amicability without being cheek or flip, a shot of Hawking watching Black Belt Jones for instance, mixed in with a discussion with a student about Žižek, substituting actual moments from his life for these examples, and keeping them coming throughout the entire duration of the film.

Perhaps he loves bears, who knows, you don't get the details in this script, it's too general, too focused on achievements, and marital milestones, the big picture, lacking the subtle intricate fragments that hold that big picture together.

I don't really think there's some kind of unifying equation out there that can define and delineate everything, but I do think the potential for limitless expansion exists as time progresses.

I used to wonder about the Metrons on Star Trek: The Original Series (honestly, Star Trek isn't in this movie?) and how they managed to reach a higher plane of existence than the crew of the Starship Enterprise.

I theorized that reaching that plane required a universal understanding of a single idea, I've probably mentioned this before, consciously, whereby everyone on the planet thinks the same thing at the same time, at random, something beautiful, like bear cubs playing or homemade blueberry pie, thereby unlocking the door to an expanded collective Metronesque consciousness, everyone transforming into a spiritualized immaterial consciousness at once, like particles of light, or reticent radiation.

Not really the kind of idea you want to put into practice due to associated expenses built in to its potential quackery.

How can humanity become more like the Metrons though?, that is a compelling question.

Where's the Star Trek?

Some sort of whacky black hole discussion in relation to underground science-fiction agendas.

Marriage, marriage, marriage.

Boring.