Just watched The Last Jedi again.

Loved it.

Discrepancy

Imposition shoaled and shirked
consolidated latent quirks
ineffable hyper-reactions
inexplicably impacting

riddles chant loquaciously
inoculating fancy free
dependable obscure convention
psychoanalytic tension

breezy patient rhythm plucked
the frigid air affably tucked
beneath emergent cozy layers
inarticulate translators

trading quaint long lost impressions
hieroglyphic intercessions
juxtaposed ambient rhymes
so slowly synthesize the climes

climates.

Five Feet Apart

Cloistered away in diagnostic retention, family and friends stopping by at times, the caring staff warmly dedicated to promoting cheer, the world wide web providing paramount community.

Emotions locked-down as intimate contact is forbidden, the sublimation of imaginative desires creates fantastic legend.

Fortunately she's no Obscurus, the desires unattainable but not maligned, and she responds with sprightly do-gooding, which acutely marks chill observation.

Others similarly afflicted become reliable confidants, their convivial theses and humorous charm laying the congenial groundwork for inclusive mischief.

But as fate would have it, or perhaps, lo and behold, one day the enigmatic emerges and cannot be idiosyncratically arrayed.

This bad boy of intensive care (Cole Sprouse as Will) ruffles feathers in strict amorous revel, and even though she's highly critical, Stella (Haley Lu Richardson) can't tear herself away.

The two forging a palliative dynamic.

That's as convalescent as it is ecstatic.

Hearts strung out like time-lapsed supernovas, they must remain Five Feet Apart at all times, a romantic interpretation of the convention, their budding awe saturated with robust feeling, their hesitation, as adorable as panda cupcakes.

The film isn't so bad.

It looked after-school-specially in the previews but I swear it's cinematically legit.

Perhaps they do break the rules somewhat foolishly, but they rarely do so while going too far.

With one ridiculous situation near the end, it would have been stronger with a less melodramatic climax.

Something less mortal.

More genuine.

Poe's (Moises Arias) character could have been treated differently too, for wouldn't it have been ironic to not focus on death in a film about young adults striving to live, wouldn't it have been fortuitous to celebrate joy without consequence in a film latently flush with sanguine grief?

It still celebrates joy nevertheless, and that's why it's so worth seeing, even if it slips up a bit, even if it could have been less dependent.

As Stella and Will fall in love at the hospital, slowly coming to terms with their eccentricities, it's as timid as it is unorthodox, like trying something new when you don't know what you're doing.

As tenderhearted as a mama bear, and as loving as ballroom impertinence, Five Feet Apart keeps the melodrama at bay, while crafting something coy and wonderful.

Death-defying romance.

Out of this world.

Is the country really moving from Chrétien governing through Trudeau to Harper governing through Scheer?

So blasé.

It'd be cool to have Vulcan day at work some day.

Or Klingon day.

Or Romulan day.

Captive State

Chaos descends as aliens invade and overwhelm Earth's defences.

Possessing unassailable strength and intergalactically advanced technology, the planet succumbs to their rule, and must dismally embrace monstrous will.

Only a scant few escape extreme poverty, and they're self-destructively tasked with brainstorming their own ruin.

The aliens seek to extract everything the Earth has to offer, every last microbe they can voraciously steal, and what happens to its inhabitants in the meantime, is indeed of little concern.

In the opening moments, a family seeks escape, but is cut down immediately after breaking through local improvised defences.

Captive State unreels years later, the children having grown up meanwhile, each day a struggle to survive, every moment despairing combat.

The police manage relations between organic and extraterrestrial life and find themselves in a miserable position.

But William Mulligan (John Goodman) does his best to look out for troubled Gabriel (Ashton Sanders), whose father was once his partner, before everything drastically changed.

The result is first rate sci-fi, with an ending that brought me to tears.

How do you make cutting edge realistic science-fiction that doesn't heavily rely on special effects?

You contact Rupert Wyatt and his crew after synthesizing Captive State's distillations.

There are no moments in its present where you feel at ease, where there's a break from the rotting tension.

And without the visual effects, the aesthetic acrimony, knowledge of interstellar hubris, a focus on messianic maestros, the film tills biodiverse grassroots, and produces authentic desperation.

Not without hope.

Nothing utopian or grotesque or supernatural, just hope that the aliens can be defeated, or at least held in check or at bay.

Strictly confined.

It's unclear what happens in the end.

Even without the special effects, the budget's bigger than a lot of independent sci-fi, but the money was well spent on realistic settings, which augment the film's resourceless ambience.

The ending's brilliant and heartbreaking, a masterstroke of revelatory storytelling.

Takes Cloverfield up a notch.

A couple of notches.

A bunch of notches.

With Vera Farmiga (Jane Doe).

And Mr. Alan Ruck (Charles Rittenhouse).

Where do teachers etc. draw the line between creating something new and proceeding in error?

It's not as silly as it sounds.

Secular biology.

Mocha

Candelabric inhibition
evanescent erudition
logical in renaissance
convictions respirate parlance

decoded hesitance at play
relaxed and unconcerned carré
a lesson in/expertly given
almost overlooked the hidden

in/articulate indice
allotted cortical caprice
illuminated variation
hailing sprite emancipation

spry extracurricular
convivial entrepreneurs
the vital recommissioned space
acknowledged thus without a trace.

Todos lo saben

A wedding brings a family together to exalt in celebration, the festivities overflowing with spirit, inhibitions let loose to praise.

But as guards are let down and passions erupt, covetous malfeasance clandestinely violates.

Soon it is known that kidnapping is afoot, and the identity of the perpetrator remains a bitter mystery.

Old school social relations call motives into question, as despondent candour joylessly obscures lucid trust.

Financial responsibility dismally beckons, a lifetime of hard work hauntingly underlying stoic sacrifice.

The past interrogatively echoes.

As the present crumbles astray.

Emergent futures contend in Todos lo saben indeed, as disturbing essentials anxiously prognosticate.

Hives of activity maddeningly posture before settling down with forlorn resignation.

Its characters are strong, compassionate, resilient, loving.

They don't only care for their immediate family, but seek the prosperity of their workforce as well.

Like a versatile community.

The film excels at presenting passionate logic, the overwhelming emotions that characterize sincere distress rationally generated with sober feeling.

Everything's understood with astute enough composure.

It matures like the vines its reels cultivate, coming of age in the mid-afternoon sun.

Storms may disrupt its smooth delicate maturation, but not without augmenting rough unique compelling flavour.

It examines religion without preaching, infidelities without scorn, science without authentication, loyalty forbidding dependence.

Even though characters seek just outcomes, it doesn't mean it's easy, and even though they have resources they can access, it doesn't mean alternative solutions are shelved.

Suspicions bluntly arise.

Level heads contemplatively acquiesce.

Like culture under seige.

Todos lo saben peacefully reckons.

Passionate logic.

Elasticity in jitters.

Werk ohne Autor (Never Look Away)

An artist creates to define then reimagine himself in post-war Germany, extremist ideology having devastated his country.

His countries.

But it's not a psychological film, it doesn't examine Kurt Barnert's (Tom Schilling/Oskar Müller/Cai Cohrs) sadness in agonizing detail, preferring to focus on his development as an artist, and his relationship with Ellie Seeband (Paula Beer).

Differing post-war socioeconomic and sociopolitical realities which each require flexible attitudes regarding the ways in which a jurisdiction manages its resources comment within, as the two make their way, their world more of a complex fluid multifaceted mixture of traditional and unorthodox realizations, the application of such terms depending on one's point of view, than that which proliferates in East Germany after the end of the Second World War.

They're certainly full of life, of spirit, of vigour, of adventure, as Werk ohne Autor (Never Look Away) celebrates creation.

If someone chooses to make art that corresponds to a specific philosophy, and that choice corresponds to his or her creative gifts, I see nothing wrong with that, as long as they don't try to make everyone else do the same thing.

That's how I understand social democracy.

It creates an open space wherein everyone can create whatever they want, as long as they don't force others to create what they prefer in their own free time.

Who would want to see reality reflected everywhere?

It's a compelling vital crucial discipline to be sure, but so are fantasy and science-fiction, romantic comedy and fictional drama.

If one art form is given leverage over all the others, it does the arts themselves a great disservice, and the solemnity of its ethos risks transforming into farce, if not chaos, or oblivion.

I think Netflix gets this.

I hope so, anyways.

There's so much more to be written about this film than what I've shared here.

It presents its demons without dwelling on them, belittling tyranny in the face of inspiration.

Isn't it so much easier to love?

And isn't life more worth living if so much of it remains unpredictable?

Carefree.

Outside of work.

Beyond race or creed or ethnicity?

Beyond violence?

*I've written about the affirmation of life in this review. This does not mean that I am supporting the pro-life movement. I support a woman's right to choose and should she choose to have an abortion I support her decision. However, when a child is born I support her or his right to grow up in safety in a culture where equal opportunity exists. And for them to enjoy the lives they live. Free from war and tyranny.

What happened to vampire movies all the time?

I was searching for Spanish folk music this afternoon and I discovered The Spanish Cloak: The Best of the Fureys.

It couldn't be more St. Patrick's Day!

Cool coincidence.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Jitters

Transformative in miniature
slight variations faune et fleurs
the expedited scrolled confounded
insulated solemn bounded

levitating woebegone
dregs of Winter hanging on
the slow and steady seasoned thaw
in time lapsed incremental shawl

if only microscopic magic
could accelerate each static
patient relaxed gentle drip
their currents agile rocket ships

but not too quick now don't you know
hold back ye olde torrential flow
materialized consolidated
sweetly laidback swift yet sated

streams.

Captain Marvel

Spoiler Alert.

There was another time, dynamically transisting not long after the synthesized age, during which new technologies arose and alternative art forms flourished, perhaps lacking the clarity of its legendary progenitor, it still effortlessly distinguished itself in unsung awestruck parallel, and racism wasn't tolerated, and collectives were still ontologically featured, working people still telling their tales, which were told with honour and integrity.

Captain Marvel unreels in such a frame, and its characters find sanctuary within.

Although conflict and peril do bellicosely present themselves, and the keys to the past lie dormant in shielded oblivion.

Representatives of a colonialist empire come covetously calling after a pocket of resistance fighters escapes with one of their soldiers.

As resourceful as she is unyielding, Carol Danvers (Brie Larson) sets out upon Earth to discover truths dissimulated.

She is aided in her pursuits by feisty Agent Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), who is still somewhat green, and unaware of extraterrestrial life.

Thus, even though Captain Marvel excels at cultivating the new, it's also an origins story, the tantalizing mélange simultaneously revelatory on at least two distinct temporal levels.

Spatially pontooned.

It starts out slow, not that the action isn't constant, but it takes awhile to find its footing, as Danvers gradually learns more about her former self.

Or at least how to go about learning more about that self.

But it gets better as it proceeds, its overt focus on identity transformation skilfully worked into its cinematic ecology.

It uses comedy but isn't flip, takes things seriously to break them down, works in some Indiana Jones, and creatively plays with cyberspatial time difference.

Time differentials.

It may be my favourite Marvel film, inasmuch as it vigorously stands out on its own.

Great acting all around, but Lashana Lynch (Maria Rambeau) steals several scenes, she totally makes the most of her role, and perhaps delivers the best Marvel supporting performance to date.

Cool soundtrack too.

There's a surprising twist you don't often find in these films as well.

Oddly, even though I don't believe that aliens taught the ancient Egyptians anything, but rather that their geniuses created pyramids etc. while ours built hydrogen fuel cells, and the internet, the genius of a particular time, any given time, even caveperson time, making the most of the materials at her or his disposal, crafting ingenious artifacts/theories/structures/. . .  accordingly, while modifying them at times as he or she sees fit, I still entertained the notion that cats had been brought here by aliens one day, because the ancient Egyptians worshipped them, so I've heard, and, so far, it hasn't been possible to domesticate large raccoon populations, and I was discussing this with a friend one day, and I turned to look and saw his cat staring at me intently, with an otherworldly look on his face.

It's utterly ridiculous of course, but I still appreciate the mystery, and unless Robert E. Kahn and Vint Cerf (the internet guys according to wikipedia) turn out to have really come from space, or to have taken orders from alien rulers, I'll lean heavily towards the terrestrial origins of cats, until substantially proven otherwise.

Those little cuties.

😜

Do English Canadians in fact make the best ESL teachers?

They certainly have access to a solid variety of British and American texts while growing up. 

Indeed, if you grow up watching a lot of television and movies in Canada, you'll likely become enamoured with many an American tale, while falling for several British narratives along the way. 

The same logic applies if you search out different American and British books simultaneously.

You'll have to in school.

By the age of 20, if you've been avidly consuming British and American literature, television, film, and music, you may then possess an instinctual understanding of British and American English, which can help you answer many an international question, regarding all things ESL Anglo.

I don't know if Australian, New Zealand, South African, East Indian, American, British, or Irish culture are as inundated with American media as Canadian culture is, and if Anglos hailing from those realms have access to the limitless wealth of American wit Canadians consume on a daily basis. 

But don't let the onslaught of American media distract you. 

Remember to consume as much Canadian media as you can as well. 

I taught myself when I was very young to give Canadian television and film a chance, thanks to a massive onslaught of SCTV reruns, and Kids in the Hall, but if you take the time to search for it, I guarantee Anglo-Canadian art doesn't disappoint. 

The Beaverton is quite good for instance. 

Australia and the other Anglo realms, good too.

Unparalleled access that helps you prepare for international and Québecois media later in life.

Which can start many a conversation in class.

Perhaps by making a poetic comparison.

Don't forget Rush.

Or Picnicface.

Boom.

Escape Room

Love the new escape room phenom.

Not the sadistic life or death adrenaline pumping puzzles presented in Adam Robitel's film so much, not that they aren't thoughtfully crafted, but I imagine their less punishing brainiac counterparts would make for some practical team based orchestrations, with incumbent inclusive broadly themed variable melodies perhaps juking catchy lyrics downsized?

As provocative as they are tantalizing, do professional sports teams and debating clubs use them to build trust amongst team members, in order to make dependency upon one another seem less forbidding, more fancy free, even if trivial minutiae may indeed be universal or paramount?

The defence could study an opposing team's strikers and then try to break free from several related escape rooms every Wednesday night before upcoming games.

Wide receivers could outmanoeuvre secondary hypotheses.

Pitchers and catchers could set up a semiotic home base.

Third and fourth lines could grind their way out of the box.

A versatile bench could adjudicate appellate courts.

Improvised polemics could disputatiously prorogue.

Perfect for the offseason.

Or for offices where no one plays sports.

If escape room team building exercises haven't already become blasé, there are still at least 18 months before they fade into commercial oblivion.

Even though they seem theoretically sound.

Proof.

What a job for arts majors.

Eat your heart out crossword puzzles.

Nevertheless, Escape Room, apart from its clever escape rooms themselves, provides a pretty standard entertaining distraction.

It was easy to guess who would bite it first, highly probable who the first three to die would be, somewhat tricky to discern which of the final two males would be first to go, until hindsight provided a populist frame within which it came down to the less imposing.

Bad attitude.

At the same time, to its credit, Escape Room doesn't feature jaw dropping aesthetics, relying more on brains than sensual embellishments, a cool aspect materially conceptualized.

Perhaps, as ______ (______ _______) and ______ (______ ______) discuss their plans in the end, populism takes on more scholarly responsibilities, in preparation for the upcoming sequel.

I never saw any of the Saw films so I don't know if Escape Room is the new Saw.

If you ever find yourself thinking the word "quintessential" is supercilious, Escape Room might fundamentally challenge your point of view.

Or not.

Popcorn is essential.

But is butter quintessential?

Real butter?

Think about it.

😧

I like how Wild Australia on Netflix starts with an episode featuring wombats.

Not koalas, not kangaroos.

Not even crocodiles.

Wombats!

Not bad.

Skedaddle

Environmental enterprising
shoaled concerted mesmerizing
flipper carefully extended
moonlit mellow cryptic pensive

slide beneath the frigid waves
imaginative symphonic shades
unheard of unexplored osmotic
submarine immersions floated

currents drifting by and by
the depths resisting scold confide
each movement unanticipated
scrabbled scripted syncopated

bubbles curiously made
so effervescently escape
transmitting spry inchoate wonder
like enlightening votive thunder

cavalcade.

Ramen Teh

A young man, longing to prove himself, sets off from Japan to visit his mother's family in Singapore.

His father was a celebrated chef who settled in a small town to the delight of its local residents.

Widely renowned he may have been, but easy going (like my dad) he was not, and although he sought to diversify fundamentals, he never shared his knowledge with his respectful son (Takumi Saito as Masato).

After his passing, his son Masato discovers a suitcase full of memorabilia which poses a treasure trove of questions he's ill-equipped to answer.

Yet they lead him to Singapore and its own tempting culinary traditions.

Sleuthing in a foreign country, and overflowing with purposeful examination, his friendly uncle lends a hand, although he can't appease his hostile grandmother.

For his parents married against her will in the aftermath of World War II, their budding love and youthful devotion then overlooked forever after.

She can't forgive.

Even after all this time.

But Masato's full of endearing pluck.

And won't yield to the hardhearted flutter.

Dramatic family drama.

Soothed by gastronomic arts.

Ramen Teh takes one part stubborn and another openminded, blends them intergenerationally, then prepares a multifaceted feast.

The narrative generally follows a linear recipe, but there's enough scenic spice to atemporally tantalize.

It wouldn't have been easy to forgive after the war, and I can understand if some people simply won't/wouldn't.

Watch the videos, the documentaries, Schindler's List, teach yourself about how cruel and horrifying World War II really was.

It's not a humorous subject, not something to be taken lightly, not something to be romanticized, it was systematic abject terror.

Tenderly, in the war's long reaching wake, Ramen Teh uses food to harmonize different peoples.

I'd wager it's impossible to emerge from watching it without a new found respect for Asian cooking, and a strong desire to head out and try something new posthaste.

Ramen noodles for me.

Sitting back and enjoying a meal is something peoples everywhere love to do, and the simple act of enjoying food with friends and/or loved ones unconsciously unites the globe in wonder.

Ramen Teh excels at bringing people together without sermon or sentiment, through the simple act of modestly preparing something.

Compromise leads to reconciliation.

Listening promotes curiosity.

Some of the time anyways.

Some of the best of times.

Isn't it time for the first really high quality blob movie?

Rather than one gluttonous mass slowly expanding on its own, multiple masses could simultaneously develop in different parts of the United States, and they could all slowly start moving towards one another, coming close to creating a colossal amorphous mass in the final moments thereby.

It could be about global warming and its relationship to fast food.

😌

Edmond

The thrill of having nothing prepared as a deadline beckons.

The improvised full-throttle immediate fledgling flight spontaneously soaring 'cross luscious intuitive biodiverse leafy greens, sporadically to avoid reckless comment, sardonically to uplift brave spirit.

Randomly plucked floral variability instinctually sewn in fecund pulpy reverie, overflowing verbose unedited botanicals regally inspiring embowered substance.

Fertilized on the go.

Specific social serene bewilderments forging intricate romantic unconscious endowments, as accidental liaisons and inarticulate flourishes beget ill-disposed classifications, tradition and novelty subterraneanly disputing henceforth and ever after, flush comedic unresolved discombobulated tension, bubbling up, frothing forth, with vigorous effervescent itinerant dis/simulation.

The budding lifeforce.

Hearty pulsation.

Worked up worked through worked out, discredited on the fly, aggrandized parched momentum.

This Edmond.

Based on Edmond Rostand (Thomas Solivérès).

As he wrote Cyrano de Bergerac.

And didn't finish 'til opening night.

I'd say the film's somewhat too sheepish if it didn't revel in risk-fuelled agglomeration.

I'd say it lacks delicate nuance if that wasn't beside the point.

I'd say it's far too sure of itself, indeed, if it didn't extol extemporaneity.

I'd say it's just far too dreamy if it didn't relish in hands on burden.

It's quite mainstream, a studio celebration of independence, which doesn't shy away from romanticizing hardship, or embellishing means with exceptional ends.

I like hope though, and Edmond abounds with that innocent hope which has told so many inspiring stories without focusing too intently on catastrophe.

There are catastrophes of course, setbacks, misfortunes, banishments, but they're all caught up in a Disneyesque current that makes them seem less cumbersome than they indubitably must have been.

Perpetual motion.

Ceaseless activity.

I got caught up in Edmond's hope-fuelled excitement.

It was a million to one shot.

That still hits the mark to this day.

So I've heard.

Trying to match misunderstood general points of comprehension with subtle counterintuitive points of distinction may lead to yet another socially awkward exchange.

Watching another episode of Vera.

Love British crime drama.

Endeavour’s great too.

Nothing like it in Canada or the U.S.

The seasons are shorter, but the quality is outstanding.

Fog

Flapjacked frittered frosty 'paya
roasted veggie jambalaya
viscid alkaline excused
sea salted caramel diffuse

embattering friteuséd pickle
well beyond a Graceland trickle
not enough I'd still daresay
to change the guard not fade away

so many points lollapaloozing
as the pundits keep a' grooving
ev'ry outcome's wildly shucked
unless newcomers singe the crux

the sands they chuckle unassuming
time and tide sedately musing
glaciers rapidly recede
means so much more under the sea

discourse.

Arctic

Lost in a frozen wilderness, textbook survival skills sustainably applied.

Waiting patiently at his fortunate crash site, there's little to do but sit back and be rescued.

Well-attuned to nature and the forbidding crux of its bounty, he agilely lives off fish calmly hooked in a lake nearby.

He's been there some time, although we're not sure how long, when a helicopter appears with ample room for one more.

But the winds are treacherous and they fiercely express themselves, the helicopter soon blindly forsaken upon the cold disingenuous unforgiving snow below.

There's one survivor (Maria Thelma Smáradóttir as The Survivor).

And her health's declining.

A trusty map leads the way to a destination.

Not too far away.

Alternative logic computes.

And they set out to make direct contact.

Spring is readily approaching in Joe Penna's wild Arctic, as defiance rigorously scorns stark obstinacy.

The rules are followed, Overgård (Mads Mikkelsen) has strictly abided by tried and true methods, yet he still must embrace calculated risk, eventually, to save a life almost lost saving his.

Trying to save his.

It makes for a less reckless survival film, or one that first demonstrates what you should do if you've come to be lost, before finding a compelling reason to justify cinematic extravagance.

Extravagance is an unfair word.

Arctic is much more clever.

Since Spring is approaching, it makes sense that the snow isn't reliable, and that polar bears are foraging inland.

It can be dangerous to take refuge in a cave in such regions, I imagine, so the bear's appearance isn't as melodramatic as it sounds.

Plus the bear's been hanging around for a while.

When a storm sets in, Overgård builds a snow fort, or shelter, which is exactly what you should do, as far as I know.

You should never leave the crash sight, but if there is a potential refuge not that far away, and you have a map, and one of your party is dying, it makes sense to break with tradition, and head out into the bleak unknown.

And while the existence of maps that specify details of highly remote regions is a triumph of cartographical craftspersonship, whether or not every single detail has been meticulously recorded is a matter for geographical dispute.

Plus we don't know anything about Overgård, not even his name really, the film doesn't waste time introducing him and the meeting he's theoretically late for and the family he hypothetically misses, we just meet him after he's crash landed in the arctic, and has engaged in blunt death-defying survival.

Penna clearly asked himself, "how do I make a survival film that has cinematic appeal but isn't fantastic or maudlin or cheesy or sensational?", and the result is the best winter survival film I've seen.

Clear headed rational excitement.

Literary in a way.

Breathtaking.