Striped

Erratic fashioned micro proto jelly
cashed-in clutter bonus wrought iron candour
absentia introverted dashing succulence
pecking pinched quixotic circuit anodyne.

Demolition

Devastating impacts, instantaneous oblivion, no recourse, no quarter, a husband cannot come to terms with the death of his wife and consequently launches a full-on assault on bourgeois stability, lost in the unknown, penetrating unpredictable sorrow supersaturated with amorous considerations, did he love her?, why isn't grief virulently punishing?, this logical predicament obscuring reason with mad unconsolable solitudes, which question logic itself, for in nebulous realms of superlative shock there is no standard playbook, especially if you don't seek professional guidance and refuse to discuss things with loved ones, hence, there is neither reason nor madness, just thought mixed with emotion, like consciousness reborn, an obfuscating mélange, but if you worry about how you should be feeling as opposed to concentrating on how you are feeling without feeling guilty about your lack of emotion should you be mired in an apathetic stasis, things may exasperate, although perhaps it's exasperation itself that leads to catharsis, as it does in Jean-Marc Vallée's Demolition, the best film I've seen thus far in post-Oscar 2016 (just think, sit back, and let the thoughts flow).

It's very patient, even if Davis (Jake Gyllenhaal) believes he can immediately transmutate his feelings early on.

Vallée delicately introduces new characters with expert timing and awareness to diversify Demolition at points where you think it might start to drag, thereby strengthening everything that has previously taken place while making what's to come seem intrinsically tantalizing.

The comedy bluntly yet potently contrasts Davis's quaintly absurd mischievous romance with Karen (Naomi Watts), and increasingly hostile relations with understanding yet fed-up step-father and boss Phil (Chris Cooper), creating a brash sympathetic omnibus charter, as he enthusiastically takes to sledgehammering whatever he can, while providing guidance to a struggling youth (Judah Lewis as Chris) who's direct, confident and brash.

The two generate a constructive bond through shenanigans and level-headed discussion.

Elsewhere Vallée tenderly introduces Davis's happy memories of his wife Julia (Heather Lind), shyly working sudden rejuvenative placating solace into the film as it approaches its tear-jerking horizon.

Grieving.

A seemingly insane examination of excruciating loss which benefits from an exploration of unfathomable ir/rationalities, Demolition provocatively refrains to emotionally heal, like sustained entropy, intermingling demographic psychologies memorandum, as it brings two families closer and closer together.

I love how Jake Gyllenhaal's career is progressing. It's sort of like John Cusack's but darker.

Naomi Watts puts in another outstanding performance, one of the best actresses in Hollywood no question.

Judah Lewis may make a career of it.

Impressive.

And Chris Cooper rocks another supporting role, demonstrating why he's been popping up in so many films for so many years.

Vallée must really work well with actors (like David O. Russell).

He's pumping them out as quickly as Woody Allen too.

Written by Bryan Sipe.

Editing by Jay M. Glen.

The Saver

Prudent economic planning immediately embraced by a determined struggling youth after the sudden death of a loved one, guides Wiebke von Carolsfeld's The Saver through grizzled and gruff gesticulations, problematic pestilence prescribed and perturbing, as young Fern (Imajyn Cardinal) resiliently comes of age.

It's classic hands-on do-it-yourself trial-by-fire pluck.

She's a fighter, doesn't back down from a challenge, instantaneously asserts herself, ruffles feathers while eventually getting-around-to-it, fights off lusty assailants, reflexively dodges youth protection, hoping one day to have saved up a cool million.

Her attitude and inchoate time management skills do cause trouble however, and adjustments must be made, but her uncle Jack (Brandon Oakes) and a forgiving chef (Hamidou Savadogo as Hamidou) help her deconstruct her rigidity, adding a freespirited friendliness to the film which nurtures sympathy and understanding.

The Saver's an odd synthesis of the hardboiled and the heartwarming that directly narrativizes elastic tenacity.

It does combat too swiftly at times, the attempted rape for instance, which is glossed over without much afterthought, but, nevertheless, that is what it's like when you're working two jobs with survival at risk, when something awful happens you don't have much time to consider your feelings before you're back at work focusing on the task at hand, the horror slowly fading into the deluge.

Still, the pace makes it seem like there's nothing wrong, makes it seem like she will persevere no-matter-what at-all-costs, it never seems like her house of cards might tumble, although it's wonderful that it never does, with the accidental curation of a family of rogues.

It's about a strong First Nations young adult frenetically prospering but race is never an issue.

I like how Carolsfeld's script considers race through action and deed as opposed to conflict and persecution.

Films which do examine race in terms of conflict and persecution often work obviously, but perhaps presenting race without politicizing it has considerable merit too.

You can't do this all the time because it does overlook systemic racism and gives the systemic racists cultural leverage, i.e., they continue to prevent people from specific racial groups from working while saying there's nothing wrong, they just aren't working hard enough.

NeverEnding.

Worth seeing.

Woman Fastening Her Peplos

Asterisk reproached maven
literate anesthetic
vague relinquished penitence
animated assurity
rhapsodic fringe
captioned palatial prodigy
impassioned glacial faun
rampant hypnotic gaze
visible surefire transmission.

The Lobster

The Lobster is one of those hilarious dark comedies that makes you feel guilty for laughing throughout and horrible for laughing afterwards.

Messed-up filmscape.

You aren't introduced to its fascist sociopolitical dynamics at first, so it seems like choice is still an option for the participants.

As it unreels, it becomes clear that extremists have held control for some time, and their authoritative micromanaging of human relationships have been fastidiously naturalized.

You hear this in the dialogue, the script, everything boiled down to awkward blunt expressions of confusion and loneliness, adding desperate depth to carnal credulity, the actors involved ironically bringing to life what might seem like decomposing prose with expertly timed inverse uniformity, their tones and gestures staggeringly reanimating, stitched together by the hauntingly observant narration.

Narration doesn't add much to some films, but it's a key component of The Lobster.

I don't want to give too much away, but from what I can tell, in The Lobster's realm you must have a partner and that partner must have the same idiosyncrasy as you (blindness, nosebleeds, ruthlessness, a nice smile).

If you can't find one within a specified time you're transformed into an animal of your choice.

If you escape to the woods to live with the loners you're hunted down like an animal.

It's like Yorgos Lanthimos imagined a world where you could not exist on your own, where you couldn't live without being part of a social order, and then fastened it with brutal punishments for refusing to obey, everyone under constant surveillance, totalitarian forms even encumbering those embodying subversive content (the loners) as they feel compelled to live their bohemian lives with a similar sense of strict gruelling cohesivity.

Mirrors and shadows.

Some of them actually find love which causes excruciating pain, the film consistently presenting interactions doomed to fail that seem so unfamiliar and bleak that the distance produces laughter until something excessively violent happens which isn't funny at all, like a discordant heavy metal xylophone solo broken up by machine gun fire.

The Lobster messes with your head to perhaps suggest that some folks just want to live alone, chill bachelors and bachelorettes, leave them be, let them do their own thing.

Coercively managing the social is the worst.

The expression of every thought.

Love truly blind.

10 Cloverfield Lane

Asphyxiated awakening, crucial incarceration, a story too wild to believe, raw apocalyptic notions, a strange man, another peculiar resident, the destruction of the world notwithstanding, things still seem quite odd, something's misplaced, misaligned, is he benefactor or captor?, saviour or jailor?, conversation promotes jealousy but his moods shift in flux, keeping busy even encourages prolonged periods of mutual affection, stability, camaraderie, domesticity, an end of the world thing, but it's still creepy, screwed-up, menacing, research leading to strategic planning, desperate usurpers, covertly exercising extreme perspicuity.

Below ground.

The bunker's fully equipped with supplies and distractions but the bizarro interactions intensify the infractions.

Claustrophobia.

Tough to keep the old three characters imprisoned together narrative convincingly moving along but 10 Cloverfield Lane lives up to the challenge, anxiously keeping you focused the whole way through.

It introduces the tension in short disorienting bursts but then smoothly covers it up with unconcerned conviviality, to ensure things are neither too warm and fluffy nor too distraughtly psycho.

Solid mix, adhesively struck by another strong performance from John Goodman (Howard), who seems like he's channeling Pruitt Taylor Vince at times.

The alien invasion and nutso farmhouse shelter aside, it's more like a take on arranged or forced marriage, when a young girl doesn't want to marry a much older man and live in isolation.

Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) is handcuffed, locked in a room, monitored, belittled, has to crawl through tight spaces, doesn't want to be there, has questions that neither Howard nor Emmett (John Gallagher Jr.) can answer, and no one else to talk too, nothing else to do, confined in secular sanctimony, constantly thinking of escape.

Perhaps blindly travelling the country under hostile conditions in search of compatriots who are fighting to ensure the survival of humanity is better under such circumstances.

In fact, that is better.

Surprising sequel that creatively moves the franchise forward.

Bold.

Lickety-split.

Vehicle

Brand conjoined saved up the scratch
clocked in and out opined mismatch
the heave the ho the bustling grace
invigorated patchwork pace

collate embedded ecstasies
collateral mnemonic deeds
reprieves stored-up blanketed down
the slumber catered dreams unwound

rebound side-step repudiate
deny the lassitude's intake
equate didactic streams of leather
with protracted genes of heather

whether stockpiled means permitting
fraught with agile gainly fittings
travel trusted stir fried spice
blended with earthen delights

excites.

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice

The Highlander spirit invades the filmic realm of DC Comics as Bruce Wayne/Batman (Ben Affleck) jealousy covets Clark Kent/Superman's (Henry Cavill) illustrious fame.

Politicians fear Superman as well due to his pseudo-invincibility and total lack of accountability.

The unlikely possibility exists that this polite self-sacrificing all-powerful lightning rod may one day grow tired of protecting the innocent, and instead choose to subject them to the whims of his desire.

Thus, both Batman and leaders from the United States decide to chip away at his impeccability, in attempts to achieve superiority over that which cannot be subjugated.

Lex Luthor (Jessie Eisenberg) is also involved, diabolically ensuring the three battle judiciously.

Superman, who doesn't understand the point (he's committed to do-gooding), infuriates Batman with his lack of concern, his foolish disinterested dismissals driving Batman into a bigoted raged-fuelled arms race (Batman doesn't like that he's an alien) which eventually constructs überBatman.

While conducting his research, he also discovers the existence of other potential superheroes, eternally co-existing with humanity incognito, like Star Trek's Requiem for Methuselah, one showing up at his darkest hour.

When it becomes clear that there can be more than one, teamwork transcends, and vision radiates.

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice passes, but slips-up from time to time.

How many times can Superman save Lois Lane (Amy Adams)?

It takes awhile for the new Lex Luthor to gather steam (his introductory scenes lack character).

Would have liked to have seen him learning more from the archives on Zod's (Michael Shannon) ship as well.

You can tell Batman's fighting in a computer generated filmscape during one of his sort-of-cool dream sequences, and it's kind of lame.

The batmobile chase which Superman abruptly halts is also kind of lame; some of the action is precise yet slow in its frenzied variation.

Love Jeremy Irons (Alfred) but Michael Caine's Alfred is tough to beat.  Irons looks too young.

I watched The Dark Knight a couple of times recently and I'm convinced it's the best superhero film ever made. It rationalizes the sensational with polished grit and streetwise poignancy while making the highly dubious seem plausible through expertly timed captivating motivations.

Not easy to follow Christopher Nolan.

Still, Dawn of Justice has merit. Batman's introduction is startlingly clever.

Wonder Woman's (Gal Gadot) introduction is epic.

Politicizing Superman works while highlighting petty indignities that often pervade political realms.

I liked how Clark Kent fights with Perry White (Laurence Fishburne) to bring back the American consciousness, and how Lois then fights with Superman to remind him of this insight.

Solid Kevin Costner cameo (Jonathan Kent).

Batman's descent into villainy functions as a warning to activists on the left, as does Superman's dismissal of Batman, the activists who want to be the best activist out there and proceed to alienate all kinds of fellow activists in the process, potentially turning them into bitter cynics, making peaceful activism seem like olympic gymnastic tryouts, it's supposed to be the right that believes there can be only one, pre-emptive strikes are most recently the product of the George W. Bush Administration.

Liked how they set up the expansion of the DC film world.

With Marvel, Star Wars, and DC creating film after film after film, I don't know how the world/galaxy/universe will ever survive the constant bombardment of heroism.

I like it though.

It's kind of fun.

Most of the time.

The lack of Canadian teams in this year's NHL playoffs is distressing, however, the facts are the facts, and I feel I must cheer for someone.

I've chosen the St. Louis Blues.

Since joining the league in 1967, one of the original 6 expansion teams, they've only missed the playoffs 8 times according to wikipedia, yet have still never won the Cup.

They have to knock Chicago out to do it.

I think it can be done.

They've had great regular seasons the past three years.

Go St. Louis Go.

Knight of Cups

Mused poetic carefree wanderlust, surreally surfacing then subsiding like capriciously concerned intermittence invariable, a complete lack of quotidian confines embraces disregard with irresistible a/temporal flux, playmate flock, subject of desire, cuddly and cute with innocent charm and magnetic magma, bathing in eternal springs, climactic occultist vociferous chance, guiding tides through fortune and bedlam, the loss of a loved one, haunting insouciant amour.

Plot secondary to image and impression, a dream indulgently manifests its candour, an obsession with water like soul purification, from one partner to the next, transfixed, transpiring, like he's lost but aware of his surroundings, enjoying the good times but wondering, "what's the point?"

Frolicking friendship and family.

Joyful ambivalent sorrow.

The plot submissively burdens Knight of Cups with fluttering ephemeral obscurities, a parade of seemingly relevant yet easily dismissed observations following Rick (Christian Bale) from one romance to the next.

In terms of a study of presence, of the man who characteristically captures the attention of everyone wherever he goes, whatever he does, without making any effort, without having to do anything, Knight of Cups fuels his inner-strength, electrifies his childish wonder, examines his relationships with diverse sultry invention, a sense of tragedy troubling his mind, while he never has to work, and is surrounded by voluptuous vixens.

The images are stunning and it's edited like a cinematic poem.

The images and editing distract from its somewhat shallow subject matter, however, the man who has everything and doesn't have to do anything, such grief, how tragic!, and compensate by celebrating spontaneity, the continuous illumination of the surroundings, the camaraderie, the impartiality entrancing the fluidity, depending on multiple subjective points of view.

Would watch it again.

Christian Bale must have loved filming this one.

Editing by A.J. Edwards, Keith Fraase, Geoffrey Richman, and Mark Yoshikawa.

Cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki.

Tumbler

Cracking ice coos coriander
flowered frozen teardrop candour
trek through Winter's last unsettled
bonechilled piercing hairline nettled

kettle's brewin' texts confirm
the temperature inside's a learned
exclamation spike which questions
periodic intercessions

blessed wayward trance in storied
robin redbreast snatched Endory
bracken smouldering bouquet
presented like a tidal wave

one step then two on down the road
eccentric spry residuals
with nature waking from its slumber
beavers sprawl to sport the plunder

asunder.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2

The super-family, doing everything they can together like a curious fun-loving dis/harmonious blob, rooted in the past, making merry in the present, cultivating the next generation, with hyperintense traditional effervescence.

Boxes of steak.

Evaluations.

The addition of strawberries.

Holistic homemaking.

Resonant, romance.

Inconsistencies have damned-up the wild playful currents in My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2, however, as it becomes known that patriarch Gus (Michael Constantine) never officially married partner Maria (Lainie Kazan), and Toula (Nia Vardalos) and Ian's (John Corbett) child (Elena Kampouris as Paris) considers moving away to study.

It works as a predictable sequel, familiar endearing characters set up in new challenging situations which bring them heartwarmingly back to life, but struggles to lay down a foundation of its own that significantly differentiates itself from its nimble predecessor.

It's funny here and there, Andrea Martin (Aunt Voula) still churning out laughs and stealing scenes, a Greek version of White Wedding spicing up the soundtrack, contrasts and synergies provocatively and emotionally reeling, Mana-Yiayia's (Bess Meisler) omniscience startlingly transitioning.

Not really my style of film though, I'm more into the melting pot, as long as it doesn't infringe on minority rights, even if the melting pot's out of fashion these days (I don't recall ever being in fashion).

I'm wondering if the Alexander the Great letter which Toula forged actually states their family isn't Greek; I'm thinking the answer may be found in instalment 3.

A warm and friendly franchise.

There's something to be said for that.

Long time since I saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

Way way back.

Different goals, divergent options.

Free-spirited you know.

That never truly goes away.

El Clan

The aftermath of Argentina's fascist liaison, a vicious patriarch possessing a specialized set of subversive skills, a son seditiously seduced by paternal sentiment, enlisted, nurtured, suddenly kidnapping wealthy citizens then requesting lavish ransoms, the assembled team working in unison to collect the nefarious booty, no quarter for victims, no peace for their families, the Puccios movin'-on-up in the world, as their country settles its psychotic score.

They were considered role models.

But the good life, the freewheeling prestige of excessive contemplation and leisure, beckons with demonic reckoning, envy consuming Arquímedes as he cannot accept a modest homely joie de vivre.

Exponentials.

El Clan focuses heavily on the relationship between Arquímedes and eldest son Alejandro (Peter Lanzani), suggesting the former's corrupt constitution thoroughly polluted his offspring.

The soundtrack's like that you would find in a film uncritically characterizing a rock'n'roll drug trafficker, the highs reached through financial freedom (notably Alejandro's relationship with Mónica [Stefanía Koessi]), while hauntingly foreshadowing losses yet to come.

Introducing neighbours would have accentuated the villainy by depicting Arquímedes engaged in respectable convivialities.

There's a great sequence where the camera follows him through his house as he discusses sitting down to dinner with his loving family before opening a door to feed his terrorized prisoner, which accentuates his villainy, his duplicitous communal role, however, even if the sequence is intense and memorable its impact still fades and neighbourly relations would have sustained the hypocrisy.

El Clan vividly portrays a criminal family and dynamically brings its featured and supporting characters to life, but if more attention had been paid to Argentina's post-fascist deluge it would have attained higher heights.

A convincing illustration of maniacal competence that would have been enhanced by a more thorough diversification of scorched sociopolitical agendas, El Clan douses home fires without igniting paradigm shifts, Pablo Trapero still demonstrating he can take it to the next level.

Le Vison

Chaleur saffron ciconia
inquisitive informed Zsa Zsa
exotic yet immersed in sense
conditions candour toyed dispensed

torrents torrential scrubs and scrilla
marinate the desert villa
slide collide confide belie
paginate the superfly

reclined attached stretched-out connected
lifeblood fuelling boiled perspectives
festive fertile ebb and flow
augment accultured calico

arrows arranged within her quiver
bows repose romantic shivers
in the sun dried afternoon
days slip in and out of tune

consumed.

À la poursuite de la paix (In the Pursuit of Peace)

I love this style of film, documentaries that unpretentiously take a tiny slice of life and turn it into something compelling, instructive, global, just by directly laying down the facts, presenting a case without condemning its alternative, understanding the reasons why conflict abounds while attempting to find ways to decrease violence, modestly acting in the interests of diplomacy, bold and self-sacrificing calm caring camaraderie.

Peace, peace of mind.

À la poursuite de la paix (In the Pursuit of Peace) examines volatile situations in war torn regions of Iraq, the Democratic Republic of Congo, South Sudan, and Kurdistan, where ethnic cleansing has torn families and communities apart, giving the survivors justifiable reasons to seek vengeance, although seeking that vengeance only ensures infinite destruction.

The courageous grassroots diplomats who travel to these regions to act as arbitrators of peace do so with neither weapons nor aggrandizing interests.

They're looking to negotiate peace between warring neighbours, help people find food and medical aid, share ideas that encourage healing and well-being, do what they can to end the cycle of violence.

It's one thing to enter a combat zone as a soldier/officer/commander, it's another to enter as a peaceful noncombatant.

Both require differing degrees of bravery, but entering such regions without weaponry, with open arms and peaceful goals, at the mercy of local hostilities, is braver in my opinion.

It's quite brilliant  how they proceed, some of them having discovered that in war torn regions both governments and their militarized opposition don't wish to see civilians harmed (according to the film, since the Second World War civilian casualties during wartime are now heavier than those sustained by military personnel), so the aid workers negotiate impartially with both sides, thereby alienating neither to get their workers on the ground, so they can start providing food and medical aid.

It's not quite that simple but that is one basic frame that can be applied.

Turning the other cheek isn't easy, especially when people flaunt their wickedness, but acts of unempowered kindness can help to build bridges where leaders sometimes fail to do so.

As I've said before, and heard mentioned in an episode of Morse recently, sports are a great way to release built-up counterproductive aggression. Like statements from the trailer for Race, on the field it's what you do that matters, not the colour of your skin. Assuming the officials keep that playing field level, enforcing the rules throughout the game, you can blow off steam while staying in shape, forget about petty injustices, and escape from the world for an athletic hour or two.

A lot of people involved in armed conflicts were forced to take part so when the conflicts end it's important to forgive as the process of rebuilding begins.

Tensions still arise in Europe from time to time, but since 1945 the degree of peace the continent has maintained is phenomenal, in comparison with the warlike preceding centuries.

A shining light.

À la poursuite de la paix is also a phenomenal product of translation, with at least a dozen languages, many of them obscure, from vastly different parts of the globe, skilfully translated and presented on the screen in either French or English, depending on which version you see.

I became interested in subtitles after learning that Xavier Dolan writes his own and seeing the phrase Bob's your uncle in Mommy's.

Hence, translating at least a dozen languages into two sets of uniform subtitles really appeals to me; unfortunately I made the mistake of commenting about them after viewing the film, and, in my resolute naivety, forgot that some people don't know that I'm fascinated by subtitle creation (remembered that upon uttering my first word in French and stumbled), and thought, because I was watching the French version, which I understood the majority of, that I was complaining that there weren't any English subtitles. I dislike it when I hear English people complaining about such things at French events and sincerely apologize if I caused any confusion.

A classic Kermode Montréal blunder.

Apologies.

When you think about how small an aspect of a film subtitle creation is, important but not as rewarded as cinematography or editing, and you think about how much time must have gone into writing the subtitles for À la poursuite de la paix, the film's other aspects like cinematography and editing are sincerely pluralized, as is the film's humble message in the context of global peacekeeping.

Canada and Québec can be that proud peacekeeping nation again.

Just a matter of time and energy, commitment, dedication and resolve.