The Fate of the Furious

A mad evil genius, hellbent on disabling geopolitical individuality, captures Dom (Vin Diesel) in The Fate of the Furious, in a loathsome attempt to make his honourable good nature her own.

Having recently proven to the Cuban people that he can indeed be trusted, aligning repute with action in victory aflame, his team can't understand why he's betrayed them, as the clandestine Mr. Nobody (Kurt Russell) greenlights their cold pursuit.

The independence of so many reliable furiousae imminently threatened by sheer nuclear arithmetic, it's imperative that high octane risk potential variably triggers alarm.

The team still excels without its leader, while said maestro recalibrates slipstream, Cipher (Charlize Theron) exposing them to coerced extreme disorder, fraught with maniacal familial leverage.

They must assemble in accordance with the abilities that have enabled them to defy the blasé and the mediocre, a baker's half dozen all-pro renegades, continuously eclipsing radially refined exuberance, caught up in arch-villainous bluster, acrobatically shifting gears thermoclined.

Masterminds.

Bringin' it.

Expounding.

The ill-tempered quickly regain their composure to regally embrace destiny punch maximum overdrive within.

Searching for new ways to exhaustively entertain, they battle a submarine no less, and a legion of remotely controlled ghost cars.

If practically everything is technologically outfitted, in the future, even raking, will every upcoming detective film and television show revolve around how a seemingly secure system was hacked, driverless cars being potentially used to commit murder, every crime solved thereafter by a neuromantic cybersleuth, potentially named, Chevron Wikireseau?

Nanosyntheses.

Enjoyed The Fate of the Furious and definitely preferred it to part 7.

Dom's compelling blend of tenacity and tenderness is reconstituted au début, and the massive accompanying cast has an intricate role to play, minor and major denizens alike, notably the subplot involving Deckard (Jason Statham) and his mom (Helen Mirren)(if Judi Dench can rock Philomena, Helen Mirren bejewels Magdalene Shaw), new fast learning by-the-book toehead (initially) Little Nobody (Scott Eastwood), and a frustrated Roman (Tyrese Gibson) who's been disrespectfully seven/elevened.

There are so many characters to take into consideration when writing these scripts.

Plus an incarcerated Dwayne Johnson (Hobbs) of course.

Tej Parker (Ludacris) could have had a bigger moment.

Risky to play freebird with Interpol?

Fast, furious, frenetic, freewheeling.

If you don't like these films, why do you go see them?

Tough to top the submarine, the torpedo.

Can't wait to see what happens next.

I don't even drive. I ride the bus.

The entire world's after them but they sort of work for the government.

Is that 21st century?

High stakes heuristics.

Barrellin' on down.

Do people who can't make decisions feel irresistibly drawn towards games of chance?

Cultural Appropriation?

I don't know if there should be an award for cultural appropriation, but, I have to admit that I find the phrase far too politicized for my liking.

For instance, if one is to write a multicultural script, they have to place themselves in the position of the other in order to ensure that the characters they create and their corresponding cultures are artistically represented. 

My understanding of the phrase is likely inadequate, and if I were to write a story my protagonist would likely be someone like me.

But if I were to include characters within the story/script who weren't freckly white boys, I wouldn't be trying to appropriate their culture by doing so.

I would just be writing a story with characters from different backgrounds.

If someone writes about a culture without spending time with that culture and is clearly writing about them with the goal of disseminating a negative stereotype, that's clearly loathsome. 

But perhaps the phrase multicultural creation should be substituted for cultural appropriation, some day if the timing's right, after the subject has become less volatile. 

Comedic writing may be a bit of a powder keg in this debate.

Bear Sighting

Another two years of constantly observing dark-areas-of-woods-travelled-through paid off again last Friday, as a Northern Ontarian black bear was sighted, boldly traversing an abandoned parking lot ;), observant yet carefree, in his or her thunderous domain.

Also spotted by Mom.

*Still have yet to see a Québecois bear in the true wild.

The Book of Henry

Analyzing, classifying, observing, planning strategically, effortlessly clarifying complicated commentaries with lucid logistics and rational rummaging, holistically heartstrung self-sacrificing harmonies configuring chisels, conundrums, reimb(o)ursements, just desserts, a boy 11-years-old with genius adult skills contemplating, growing with his community emancipated as one, desiring no exceptions, isolation, esteemed status resolute, living a quiet life with his mother and brother, chill, nonabrasive.

He's born witness to disgusting abuse involving an upstanding high ranking local official, however, and has recorded every detail collected in a condemnatory notebook, complete with pertinent verbal accompaniment.

He's sought to see the beast enchained but his pleas have been ignored by those he's been brought up to trust.

Will the sudden realization that he's seriously ill prevent justice from courageously awakening?

And can Henry's (Jaeden Lieberher) devoted mom (Naomi Watts) aid his covert endeavours, bravely commanding truthful woes compiled?

Recalcitrance.

Shouldn't you help single moms with children below-leave-raking-age rake their leaves if you're able and they clearly aren't doing it?

The Book of Henry tenderly yet incisively enlivens small town life from a caring youthful perspective intent on altruistically discovering.

Capable of multifacetedly adorning seemingly disparate variables with warm cohesive easy to understand expression, Henry immerses to nurture his home town's native strength.

Like Jessica Chastain in The Zookeeper's Wife, Naomi Watts demonstrates her profound versatility by dynamically bringing to life scenes which may have held less impact if they had been crafted with less patient conscience.

Not to say The Book of Henry doesn't present first rate storytelling.

The bright script, scintillating cinematography, sure and steady direction, and serious acting, impressionably blend to provoke both adolescent curiosity and age old thought.

Solid for youths and adults alike.

It portrays the big picture with heavy yet innocent brush strokes which lightly yet solemnly define an inclusive social aesthetic.

Hopeless cynicism fades in the wake of its proactive swathe.

Sleuthing hunches and intuitions, verifiably bold and confident.

Slather

Certified bionic mash
excused witticism surely
shocked shucked scoured

salted cashews
cruise malted
pop shop pillows
exhaust

torchlit trilliums
scorched calico
sweats
perfumed shag

jagged whistle
theremin thistle
cheerio pontiac
chew the fat
bric-a-brac
exactly

thorn rimmed
inquisitive
coaxing parsnip

darling.

Baywatch

The perils and perplexions of illustriously lifeguarding are nautically fathomed in Seth Gordon's Baywatch.

Not only must leader Mitch Buchannon (Dwayne Johnson) ensure that the people frolicking upon his beach feel free to safely splish and splash, but he must also macroscopically contend with submerged monopolistic commerce intent on violently overwhelming the businesses in his local community.

One deep plunge at a time.

But his vigilant altruism is youthfully constrained as cocky new recruit and two time olympic gold medalist Matt Brody (Zac Efron) foolishly contradicts his discerning holistic guidance.

Not even the emotive real-time miniatures commentating within Buchannon's fish tanks can persuade young Brody to cast his cheek aside, and as his misguided undertow seditiously saturates reputations afloat, the rest of the team must unselfishly preserve.

Ronnie (Jon Bass) and CJ (Kelly Rohrbach) tenderly resurface.

While Summer (Alexandra Daddario) and Stephanie (Ilfenesh Hadera) boldly tread to thrive.

Periwinkle processions lathered in baleen, Baywatch cruises through coral to wind sweep serene.

Exalting teamwork thereby in athletic sea beds, marine life sleeps peacefully stretched out and spread.

But that could very same marine life in fact be sleeping more peacefully in an even more oceanic Baywatch 2?

One which takes on the worldwide problem of trolling the ocean with massive nets that wind up catching and killing far more than the sought after fish species?

While relating everything to protecting the beach?

Thousands of unwanted turtles, dolphins, octopi, sharks, and undesirable fish swim into these nets daily, a saddening loss of life that could be lessened by using smaller nets.

Could the Baywatch team arrest these clear-cutters of the sea by boisterously lambasting industrial bycatch?

That would be phenomenal.

With special guest Brigitte Bardot?

And a french lifeguard on exchange from La Rochelle who complicates Ronnie and CJ's relationship?

Plastic in the ocean is wreaking havoc on wildlife as well.

KEDi

Ceyda Torun's KEDi playfully examines Istanbul's resident cat population, flexibly showcasing its rambunctious pluck while interviewing individuals who provide it with comfort and warmth.

Stray cats you see, thousands of stray cats reside in the ancient city, fearlessly revelling in spry independence, boldly invigorating the streets they call home.

Tough to apply The Messenger here.

I admit to having a strong affection for cats. They're often chill, moody, impulsive, distinct, content to sit back and do their own thing, they walk themselves, you don't have to pay attention to them so much, they keep things neat and tidy and excel at being ever so cute, even if they bite and scratch sometimes or wildly fight amongst one another.

That's my generic characterization of cat kind, but KEDi digs much deeper. Through its patient analysis of several Istanbulian felines, we're presented with a multivariable cross-section of pith and personality.

They most certainly are cats, but their differences defy attempts to define essential catness, which makes their sly semantics as purrmeable as they are mewnificent.

Meow meow.

Raccoons are like this too, but they're much more skittish around humans so it's more difficult to notice.

KEDi isn't just a documentary about adorable ingenuitive furballs however.

Its brilliance comes from the ways in which it presents the Arab citizens of Istanbul as well.

It's hard to imagine any of the kind, warmhearted, tender, laid-back cat loving Arabs found within engaging in acts of terror or violently trying to institutionalize something as loathsome as Sharia law.

They're as relaxed as any Joes portrayed in an American sitcom and as thoughtful as any concerned citizen starring in a French romance.

A lot of Arabs living in Europe and North America likely left their countries because they hated the extremist elements who were ruining things back home.

If you think many of them seek to live according to Sharia law in Europe or North America, ask yourself, how many Christians or Jewish people in those regions want to strictly abide by the 10 commandments?

Don't get me wrong.

I hate the terrorists. I want to see them obliterated, to see ISIL crushed, stop them, stop them, please stop them.

Yet if you isolate a group of people, the majority of which are non-violent, and treat them like rats, you risk turning thousands of them, who otherwise would have just gone to work and raised a family, into militarized zombies.

Innocent arabs don't like being depicted as terrorists due to the obvious fact that they, like so many, detest cruelty and tyranny and would rather tell jokes and play games with friends and family.

KEDi gingerly points this out without even trying to do so.

It's a wonderful film.

Full of sympathy, kindness, understanding, and curiosity.

Cinematography by Alp Korfali and Charlie Wuppermann.

Plus, the music is incredible. I admit it, I have a hard time getting into the music of the Middle East, but KEDi's Turkish sounds are so cool that I quickly realized I had been foolishly ignoring a talented region of the globe.

Fantastic.

Huckle

Pumpernickel pastel chomp
pancreatic swish
castellanic carcinogen
rubrict regency
ambiguous excursions
cavalcade
convoy catarackets
impish insulin
furtive frank flustered
amber assonance
diuretic distemper
catamaran crawl
wigglers
woot woot
bitchin'
craft.

Suds.

Wonder Woman

Fearless Diana (Gal Gadot/Lilly Aspell/Emily Carey), inquisitively nestled within her disciplined Amazonian bower, an island apart eternally bound to its rigour, its logic, its tenacity, her information hunger - her desire to learn - overflowing with nimble versatility, her lessons strict and hands-on necessitating stealth until maternal permission is granted, her aptitude ingenious and multivariable like Marie Curie or Meryl Streep, cloistered indefatigable incisive honourable distinction, suddenly combatting the Kaiser's Germany, then slowly falling for a courageous spy.

The fated day when she would leave her home to battle the unsuspecting Ares having arrived, she departs for Allied Territory (London), remarkably smooth and safe sailing accelerating her journey, where she must learn to navigate the world of men, and balance the heroic and the hideous while embracing potent conflict.

An armistice is within reach but a mad officer still seeking German victory (Danny Huston as Ludendorff) facilitates the development of a doomsdayesque gas, the deployment of which could quickly subdue England.

Diana, Steve Trevor (Chris Prine), and their peerless team boldly set out to stop him.

They even schmooze at a decadent Teutonic soirée where the participants oddly converse in English.

But Ares has alternative plans.

And will confront Diana with knowledge dark and incapacitating.

Awaken.

Resiliently awaken doth she.

In one of the cheesiest diabolical clashes I've seen, which goes along well with the equally cheesy extremely reductive inclusion of Greek mythology, the DC films still lacking the provocative yet practical grit that distinguishes their Marvel but not Dark Universe competitors, focus on Christopher Nolan, not on the oft overlooked Darkman.

Diana's forthright innocence could save Wonder Woman from this criticism however, for the most compelling aspect of the film emanates from her agile altruistic vocal integrity, the ways in which she immediately finds real world solutions to devastating problems that have bureaucratically resulted in millions of deaths, as a matter of regal nerve.

Her dynamism is captured by the antics of the eventually faithful team which accompanies her into No Man's Land as well.

If the superhero in question possesses a noble and pure constructive brave simplicity, does it not make sense to surround them with diverse cheeses, their resulting actions producing exceptional melts, healthy sandwiches, and robust salads thereby?

That's not what I mean.

Diana's scenes in London are warm, funny, thoughtful, and assertive, i.e irresistible.

Etta's (Lucy Davis) super cool too.

Question: would the Amazons have chosen to dress like that?

Controversy?

The Mummy

Another supernatural sensation has covetously awoken, the flood, the hurricane, desperately seeking to tyrannically rule a flourishing hyperconnected globe, revelling in metropolitan indignity, suddenly clutched and bare, as unassuming adventurous treasure hunter Nick Morton (Tom Cruise) accidentally reanimates an immortal ancient Egyptian Mummy, whose evil was so vain she was painstakingly entombed a thousand miles away, in what postmodernly became the battlefields of Iraq.

She (Sofia Boutella) calls to him as he rests, claiming he is her "chosen", daring to devotedly adorn his theoretically apocalyptic side, to birth the Egyptian god of death within him (Set), unaware of millennial advances in laissez-faire ambition.

Is he so extraordinarily laid-back and exceptionally unconcerned that he can sublimate omniscience with characteristic North American middle-class composure?

That's so Tom Cruise.

Or will the dark universe univocally assume its rapacious dignity, capriciously toying with a world then driven by its commands?

With reckless authoritarian banality.

That's more of a question for the sequel, I'm jumping ahead a bit, overlooking The Mummy's historical embrace of British and Egyptian antiquity as synthesized and contemporized by the troubled Dr. Jekyll (Russell Crowe), whose jaded yet hopeful thoughts encourage critical extrapolations. 

The film's sort of cool, not a solid competitor for the Iron Man, Captain America, or Avenger series, but still comfortable enough doing its own thing to hold your attention for 107 without blowing your mind.

The classic good-natured blonde versus hellspawn brunette.

A quick look around Dr. Jekyll's laboratory suggests spinoff after spinoff after spinoff.

Adventure to adventure even if you may not like what you find?

The internal struggle which defines or destroys so many conscientious men and women.

Even with the near absurd number of superhero/arch-villain films proliferating at the moment, it would still be nice to see highly dramatic renditions of Dracula and/or Frankenstein released for the Academy's consideration.

Come to think of it, it's the perfect time.

Frankenstein was one of the saddest most touching maddeningly atemporal i.e eternally applicable sociocultural novels I've ever read.

He was a remarkably caring sensitive curious loving soul before his appearance was reviled by others.

Is there a Frankenstein film that has ever brilliantly captured that aspect without simultaneously lusting after monstrous profits?

Fassbender as the doctor?

Eddie Redmayne as Frankenstein?

Gab Paquet

Gab Paquet is clearly awesome.

Is he already starring in any domestic Québecois comedies?

Has he toured France yet?

Has anyone suggested that they would like to shoot a documentary of him touring France?

That's cinematic gold people.

Pasteurized

Churn the esoteric butter
grease linguistic florid flutters
porcupining Ariadne
quilted netherhilted Raleigh

clairvoyant hypnotic yodel
echoing les shifts primordial
centralized yet independent
scribed reputed wigged intendants

tetris set list reeds and brass
acoustic hermeneutic grasp
didactic interactive chello
fugaciously portobello

read a sign written in droll
ambiguous rigamarole
participants so plainly keen
to filibust juridically

unseen.

Bon Cop Bad Cop 2

Bon Cop Bad Cop 2 playfully revels in the aggrandized extravagance to be expected from an over-the-top sequel, the higher stakes like the going rate for energetic extrinsic jukes, personality charismatically fuelling covert operations, with enough clandestine viscosity to effervescently lubricate cool.

David Bouchard (Patrick Huard) and Martin Ward (Colm Feore) accidentally meet once again when Martin shows up one night to obliviously bust Bouchard's cover.

But spur of the moment strategization pugnaciously preserves David's stealth, and he's even able to infiltrate the underground more securely thereafter, or at least in the wild immediate aftermath.

Back at it again.

They're a bit too chummy throughout parts of the film though.

Bouchard's working undercover for Sȗreté du Québec while Ward monitors his activities for the RCMP, a situation that allows them to cleverly comment on Canadian Federal/Provincial relations, but they meet in person so frequently over the course of a few days that at times it seems more like a buddy comedy than serious cloak and dagger artifice.

But I'm missing the point here, for I did want to see these characters constructively and/or contentiously interact throughout, with a latent French/English cross-cultural subtext warmly characterizing their debates, so it was fun if not odd to see them start up new chats so regularly, inasmuch as it delivered what I was after.

A rowdy new character named MC (Mariana Mazza) adds a lot of synergistic technological spunk to their conversations as well.

Intergenerational acuity.

Hyperreactive charm.

Bon Cop Bad Cop 2 not only poses the question, "how can I be bonner and badasser than Bon Cop Bad Cop," but also asks if it can simultaneously lampoon sequels that ostentatiously rely on such a stratagem by incredibly taking things to supreme heroic levels which maximize the immaculacies of coy endearing pith!

Loved it.

I've never seen a Canadian/Québecois film go bigger, and I applaud similar initiatives to come, initiatives that even barely approach that which Bon Cop Bad Cop 2 has achieved, has accomplished, as international ambassadors of campy Northern wit.

Look for Jameson Kraemer (Middle Brook Police Officer 1).

He impressed with his scene on the bridge.

It's hilarious when Bouchard finds himself locked up in a small town American jail, the English/French Canadian fluencies from the first film enlightening Canadian/American diplomatic ties in the second.

Go big.

It would be hard to go much bigger.

But I would love to see them in space!

Trying to take down intergalactic warlords Xavier Dolan and Don McKellar?

Familial dynamics continue to codify a compellingly complicated filmscape.

Whenever I'm lucky enough to go walking in the woods, I never listen to music.

I prefer to listen to natural sounds, birds and red squirrels and leaves rustling.

En ville, I often listen to my ipod while out and about, but last Friday I thought, "why not turn off the old ipod for a stretch and see if you can hear any chill urban birdsong?"

And I did hear birds communicating with one another as I made my way downtown.

Had the best three hours today lying back in the shade in Parc Jeanne-Mance with nothing to do but chill.

Alien: Covenant

An unexpected burst of flame urgently awakes a slumbering crew deep in space as their ship briskly travels towards an unknown far distant range.

Upon beginning their repairs, a beacon is detected on a nearby planet, the tantalizing nature of which leads their new captain to decide to investigate, the sage protests of his first mate notwithstanding.

Almost immediately after their arrival, a deadly spore which transmits a misty biological shiver into unsuspecting individuals (the colonization of the colonizers) infects two oblivious crew members, and as the organism gestates within them, their colleagues withstand plied mortal shocks.

Then as night falls and things seem extraordinarily bleak, a lone warrior appears in the wilderness.

Possessing knowledge, courage, agility, sanctuary, and fire power, he gracefully leads them to his haunting abode.

But does he plan to aid or sabotage their escape, and will his startled reflection acquiesce to his cold independence?

Lost and alone on an ancient world.

Intrinsically dependent.

Savagely skewed.

Alien: Covenant introduces acidic tyranny to the age of the superhero by blending the scientific with the biblical to castigate übermensch.

Taking technological insubordination to extremely sadistic levels, it intellectually yet spine-tinglingly reverberates by harrowingly theorizing creation.

Antiquation.

Devastation.

A solidly monstrous addition to the Alienverse, with an ending as cataclysmic as the direst recalcitrant lamentations, Alien: Covenant questions the elevation of artificial intelligence while agnosticating those who play god.

Attaching characteristic struggle to the exhilaration of adventure, it cynically yet resourcefully challenges to temper omniscient existence.

And dreams.

Donatello

Ambient supine cerveza
mama anodyne untraced
emphonic splice in eastern Spain
where rugged syntax foils extraneous

compiled phrasal maneuvers
luscious slips mercantile soothers
cutoffs spates erstwhile truncated
lexispawned then implicated

reflex whirls throttled suggestions
pieced together splurged inflections
caught up estas tonal slights
sufficed with stitchings erudite

expressions mists convey secreting
ciphers cryptic daily greetings
basic facts just birds and bees
it helps to know your Japanese.

I mean.

I was hoping Trump wouldn't be quite so insane but enough time has passed to compare him, not to the Roman emperor Tiberius, as I thought he would be comparable to in the best case, that would still be bad, but to his successor Caligula, a depressing scenario to be sure, lamented daily by tens of thousands of truthful commentators.

Every country has problems, strengths, weaknesses, obviously, and one of the strengths of the United States during my lifetime, a strength which I've always admired while loosely following American politics, has been its ability to mock it leaders in creative ways while said leaders accept their fate.

There are many countries where you can't call the leader a jackass, or a huge asshole, or a fool, or an idiot, in public, without having to worry about having your head cut off or waking up the next morning in prison awaiting a trial that will never come.

But you can do that in the United States and the leaders generally accept it, as far as I know. It's an American thing to do.  Free speech, freedom of the press. I don't know if posing with the president's decapitated head is a good way to go about it, but the freedom to do such a thing is built into the nation's sincere sense of pride and purpose, and if Trump hadn't been such a huge asshole, the severity of the stunt likely would have been less gruesome.

Griffin would have done something else had she chosen to do anything at all.

Nevertheless, consider Trump's autocratic pretensions and note Griffin's (vulgar) comedic genius.

Trump's quite sensitive for a world leader who acts like a raging bull.

He dishes, constantly, but he can't take. He seems to think he's still on television and trying to increase his audience but he's obviously running a volatile country while consistently making comments that increase tensions rather than build consensus.

That's plain old shitty from so many different perspectives.

Caligula would have just killed the commentators. He liked the arts too and wanted to feel like he was contributing and wow bob wow you had to make him feel like he was if you didn't want to plain and simply die.

Some of Claudius's best lines in the BBC's I, Claudius (yes, that's where I'm getting my source material) come from his desperate attempts to appease the mad emperor, and Trump really seems mad, the criticism is making him crazier and crazier, and everyone in the entire world can bluntly see it.

But George W. Bush took it like a man (can't use person here, sorry, when you're discussing raging bulls, you use raging bull terminology. Or at least I do).

That was THE ONLY thing I liked about Bush. I couldn't believe what people were saying about him when he was president but he took the massive barrage of multitudinous daily insults with dignity and poise that was truly remarkable.

And that's another strange thing about Trump's presidency.

He's making George W., George W. Bush, seem wise and statesmanlike, crafty and resilient.

If Trump has achieved one seemingly impossible unexpected goal, it's that historians, when writing essays about the republican party years from now, won't be vilifying Bush as much as they otherwise likely would have been, Trump has altered Bush's legacy, just as Caligula altered Tiberius's.

The United States isn't Turkmenistan, which seems to annoy Trump, it's a highly advanced conscientious democratic country with a rich history of civil action and a high degree of public scrutiny.

If you express yourself wildly on Twitter while governing the country without ever considering the potential fallout you are going to appear incredibly ridiculous all the time, even if you're a nice guy like Jimmy Carter, or chill and cool like Dwayne Johnson.

If you have trouble taking it, don't get into politics, where no matter what you say you're going to have to take it on a regular basis, and whatever you dish out in your defence only increases the pain.

Still hoping the economy is saved and they stop building the wall, but things are looking big time bleak at the moment and it's frightening, holy crap.

The only solace I can find is in the theory that sometimes people have to take a big step back to take a giant leap forward. That's my interpretation of post-Stephen Harper Canada anyways, even if the Liberals seem more worried about image than integrity sometimes.

I'm hearing horrible things about Theresa May as well.  She wouldn't even take part in televised debates. That's cowardly. Prime Ministers should be able to defend their values in public for at least a sustained 90 minutes.

Love Corbyn.

Cherishing my nightly glass of red wine.

Good books and good film.

Friends and family.

And a late sleep-in tomorrow.

I'm not afraid to read the headlines anymore like I was in January, but with Trump's insanity who knows what the hell tomorrow will bring.

Perhaps he'll just start focusing on governing.

Leave pop culture behind.

And be a president.

Or resign.

Maybe he should resign?

He could resign too.

That's also a possibility.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales has some compelling ideas woven into its text.

There's a strong woman of science boldly using her brain to discover truths unbeknownst as of yet to humankind.

Astronomical insights are cartographically applied to exonerate the supernatural as a matter of practical paternal romance.

A comical misunderstanding of a highly technical term leads to jocular confusion blended with righteous incapacitation.

The mythological and the religious are conjugally contrasted, perhaps to subconsciously juxtapose alternative attitudes acculturatively adopted as one travels through youth to age.

The monkey's back.

So's Mr. Gibbs (Kevin McNally).

But Gibbs doesn't have the striking supportive role he endearingly cultivated in Dead Men's predecessors, as he's shortsightedly reduced to more of a decorative ornament.

It's much more comedic than the other films, the swashbuckling seriousness that held them together sacrificed for generally flat tomfoolery.

Henry Turner (Brenton Thwaites) and Carina Smyth (Kaya Scodelario) replace William Turner and Elizabeth Swann but they're no Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom.

The action's steady and the confusing political threads that abstrusely adorned some of the sequels are absent, but don't let the barrage of buffoonery distract you from the fact that robust characters have transmutated into stock representations.

For instance, Jack's drinking has commandeered his wit and the mesmerizing incomparable lovingly brilliant captain is more like a bewildered wildebeest.

Johnny Depp should have won an oscar for his performance in The Curse of the Black Pearl. The apotheosis of his genius, which has recently fallen upon troubled times.

It may be my favourite performance ever, to appropriately apply an adolescent designation.

Did he ever make a film with Robert Downey Jr.? In a small town? Co-starring Emma Stone, Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Ryan Reynolds?

Plus Mayor Orlando Bloom and Schoolmistress Keira Knightley?

It's actually a great idea, having a washed-up Jack Sparrow circumventing at the helm.

He has aged considerably while drinking recklessly, so toning him down a notch adds an instructive realistic touch.

However, to tone down Jack Sparrow, or to transform his cheeky inspiration into reflexive knee-jerk contractions is to forget why Pirates of the Caribbean films are so appealing, and made me think, this is definitely take 5.

With the classic "everything imaginable is perfect" ending, apart from a significant loss (although I imagine they may resurface for part 6).

Said and done, I almost shed tears to see them back together.

But the significance was still diluted by the humour.

A critique of postmodern sincerity?