A tortured artist once proud of his talents travels from town to town, awaiting dismissive observations and outright refusals from obtuse officials.
Happiness has been transformed into resigned melancholia, for even though he possesses great talent he's governed by austerity.
Audiences wish to be amused by his tricks as he conjures and casts and calibrates, the integrity of seamless illusion widely sought after from age to age.
Star Trek may have never prospered.
There's no telling what would have become of vampires and werewolves.
The horrors of absolute control.
Far too concerned with practical reason.
It's not that practical reason is in itself a bad thing in fact it's obviously essential to daily life, the smooth flowing of robust commerce dependent upon its logical reckoning.
Practical film and reasonable books also generate compelling ideas, which fruitfully encourage thought and invention leading to progress and even more comfort.
But there's only so much rationality a person can take after working all week and taking care of a family, and if everything has a utilitarian purpose it may seem like work never ends.
Efficacious totalitarianism has no doubt spoiled many a relaxing weekend.
Comedy and the genres presenting absurd breaks.
Which congenially deconstruct obsession.
Best if they don't get the upper hand either of course, surrealism best reserved for relaxed play, after work when there's nothing left to do but chill out sit back and dream.
Albert Emanuel Vogler cheats his haughty oppressors through an exceptional act of improvised dissimulation, their resultant angst increased ten-fold by the sudden news that they've been outdriven.
And a brilliant smile adorns Vogler's face as he prepares to perform once again.
The melancholia temporarily subsiding.
As the middle-class emerges.
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