Arizona Dream

Reliable independence eccentrically maneuvering from one spirited random job to the next, compelling experience artistically dispersing enigmatic vehicular labyrinthine waves. 

Freely lost in the intriguing maze with neither career-oriented objective nor financial goals motivating, the integral wonder of consistent experiment continuously riveting incremental strides. 

Until you're tricked into one day returning for an old school function off in the void, and your childhood hero emphatically tasks you with regular employment definitively supplied. 

Unobservant and oblique the following days psychologically distressing, until a suicidal heiress and her flamboyant step-mom suddenly stop by to purchase a Cadillac. 

Invited back to their oddball stronghold to mix and match variable witticisms, he of the mercurial artistic temperament viscerally seduces the uncanny widow.

Why not make a flying machine that aerodynely searches the skies, for no particular reason whatsoever but to lovingly embrace aeronautic freedom?

The moribund millionaire also falls for his otherworldly irresistible authenticity. 

His companion floundering in the flotsam. 

As exotic reveries concretely jettison. 

*Do you think dreams are sending us secret messages dad, that relate to everyday life?

**It's difficult to say, son, and it's different for different people. You can write down what happens in your dreams though, and then see if it becomes a reality. After a while a lot of people realize it doesn't, although, there's always the possibility they're misreading the signs.

*Who can read the signs accurately, dad? Do experts in the interpretation of signs exist?

**There are doctors who know something about it although they constantly bicker amongst themselves, and so many alternative theories exist that at the end of the day it comes down to faith.

*Like trust in the doctor?

**That's right, you see, they may be incorrect, but they know more about it than you, so their mistakes are likely more advanced than yours, and therefore to potentially be taken into consideration.

*What about popularity? Does popularity influence interpretation? 

**Well, the brightest of the doctors sometimes becomes the most popular, and since his or her mistakes are likely closer to being correct than his or her counterparts, they become what's known as, en vogue.

*So many people listen to others even though they're also incorrect?

**That's right son, that's correct.

*Strange, this world of dreams.

**Have a good sleep, son.

*Will do.   

Denouemental

The sensational appeal of easy money can't be ignored by local entertainers, hellbent on avoiding the grind through clever artifice and dissimulation.

A kind-hearted businessperson distantly known to them suddenly has need of traditional labour, steady jobs which the artists know and are capable of doing if thereby tasked.

Several of them find work in the lavish gardens and fertile fields, intuitively observing the distinguished peace of agile mind accompanying the demands.

Yet performance is their goal the sly creation of a play, to be effectively executed with awkward timing and hapless yet industrious wherewithal.

 

They hope to secure a healthy income through enticing advertising and swift delivery, and hope to convince the commercial architect to wholeheartedly fund their lithe endeavours. 

They put on the show.

He takes it in.

And unfortunately notices that it's terrible.

The resigned actors and actresses noticing the same thing.

The group nevertheless applauding.

The actors continue to sincerely pretend that they've created an unmatched masterpiece, the captivating humour all-encompassing as rehearsals eclectically facilitate. 

The kind-hearted patron sees no need to deconstruct their false impression, and rather enjoys the creative novelty and its distinct lack of flowing melody.

The question remains, will the public like it?, as opening night quickly descends.

Mutual appreciation shortly giving way.

To critical notice and descriptive admiration. 

*Is this how films really get made dad?

**I'm afraid so son, I'm afraid so.

*Do any adults doing anything actually know what they're doing?

**If people like what they do, yes, otherwise, I'm afraid not.

*Sounds like growing up's just a huge waste of time dad.

**Many would agree with you son, although others may contradict you.

*Can we go out for ice cream?

**Yes, son, three scoops each. 

Love Streams

Dashing delirium wurlitzer wishbone Kanata construct generous fusion, nebulous nightlife exotic elegance curious candidate finagled foment.

Bohemian research acute acquisition novel expenditure cozy collective, gossamer gathering improvised quota koala carousel visceral verse.

Ambivalent anchor Cervantes sash maladroit mosey articulate ramble, sugarfree solace direct illusion whippoorwill twirl evocative whirlwind.

Sombre divorce resigned declarations strict conclusion unforeseen outcome, calamitous critique tear-jerking jostle filial exclusion atemperate coda.

Atypical advice convivial counsel popinjay potash refurbished loom, constituent cavalier chortling kombucha salient sojourn vehement vase.

Sudden imposition reified reunion elusive child-rearing Nantucket nurture, inspired fraternal mischievous play intuitive revolt bold indiscretion. 

Occasional warmth paternal cohesion charming invention agile imagination, insouciant bearings rebellious burnish PTA nightmare artistic garb.

Disconsolate accident knick-knock-ninjitsu blatant bamboozle distressing fold, latent aggression habitual angst concrete folly baffled intentions.

Symphonic siblings chaotic orchestration swelling libretto compelling surges, dutiful company familial frittata sincere compassion eloquent strobe.

Distillate jubilee innocent clay unrehearsed remodelling campy admixture, soulfulbright aggregate domestic misfortune damning austerity discerning girth. 

Constructive teamwork contiguous clasp itinerant commune sporadic libra, jungle gymnastics dynamic dogme evergreen forest pyjambalaya. 

Bivouac browse menagerie mending auspicious adorable animal friends, in/variable groupings deciduous drumbeat invaluable semblance kettlecorn clan.

Undaunted optimism hastening grace laidback congregation fortuitous present, affable ancestry tumbledown tangents ludicrous license carnival crescents. 

No sense at all what's going to come next.

What does come encourages anticipation. 

Inherent romance.

Love Streams.  

A Tale of Summer

A trip to the beach a nice seaside locale enrichingly equipped with chillaxed amenities, the undulant waves and spirited climate effortlessly producing rhythmic sessions.

Waiting for his partner to eventually show up, Gaspard makes another clever acquaintance, who fluidly abounds with interest and insight and has ample time to relax and ponder.

They hit up clubs and hike and wander discussing various random topics, l'amour intently and curiously considered as inquisitive inquiries bear luscious fruit.

His girlfriend takes her time arriving and another woman makes her interest known, one to whom he gives a newly written sea chanty which she helps perform laidback at her uncle's.

He keeps writing and focusing on music while the girls intriguingly present new questions, neither committing nor rejecting nor preferring as summer breezes tranquilly flow.

When his partner finally shows there's a lot already happening in his life.

As pressure mounts to make a decision.

He plays it cool and functions on instinct.

A much less volatile account of people in the act of falling in love, almost without fits and explosions like the mutual infatuations enamour affectionately. 

Without concentrating on love and relationships the continuous dialogue is diverse and thoughtful, examining books and songwriting and individuality it honestly showcases cerebral discourse.

Can he help not being able to make a definitive decision when reasonably tasked, with so many options suddenly available which he didn't initiate or request or engender?

Word choice becomes more and more important as time progresses and feelings intensify, recourse to multifaceted poetic displacements swiftly losing ground to logical accuracy. 

What a summer to exactingly spend overwhelmed with desire and heartwarming expenditure, no doubt conducive to vigorous shanties intuitively written in heart-throbbing throes. 

Life steps in in the end and gives him a way out of the binding dilemma.

Longing and daydream thereby contracted.

Creative efficiency consummately obscured.

Black Orpheus

Rio de Janeiro festively prepares for the upcoming enigmatic illusory Carnaval, floats decorated and costumes tailored an immersive atmosphere of harmless mischief.

Nimble Orpheus chauffeurs his trolly through the busy streets with reservéd gusto, thoroughly at ease with lithe maximum occupancy as it swiftly travels throughout the city.

Young Eurydice arrives from the countryside to stay with her invigorating distant relatives, having been chased by a masked quasi-demon rigorously hellbent on her destruction.

Orpheus's fiancé habitually erupts with romantic exposition when they're together, and definitively craves his ubiquitous attention each and every day exceedingly composed.

They even spiritedly head out to meaningfully procure a marriage license, Mira focused and passionately determined to resonantly claim the celebrated singer.

But later in the day as time slowly passes beautiful Eurydice also catches his eye.

The dynamic artist following instinctual elements. 

As everyone embraces ye olde Carnaval.

A lively retelling of an ancient myth energetically situated within modern cities, with creative new features and an inspiring setting transformatively exclaiming romantic awe.

It's not even Orpheus/Breno Mello or Eurydice/Marpessa Dawn who steal the show they're somewhat subdued when objectively compared, to sprightly Mira/Lourdes de Oliveira and vehement Serafina/Léa Garcia who add so much in the brief time they're allotted.

Serafina could have been left out entirely her tempting character by no means essential, but Garcia took the less prominent role and seductively etherealized cinematic history.

It's not just the imaginative retelling of the ancient myth that generates so much credit, its compelling presentation of the market and Carnaval bring its animate emergence to acrobatic life.

Gymnastically adorning so many precious scenes with blithe orchestration and reverberating pith, it fluidly exemplifies perpetual motion with lighthearted irresistible ebullient spirits.

Indeed relationships problematize so much harmless fun when ownership's claimed.

A sincere tragedy no matter the epoch.

Carefree endeavours.

Limitless fun.

Nausicaa

* Glad I'm not lining up month after month of gruelling resistance themed films. Did manage to find this one by accident on Saturday evening though (I was searching for an Agnès Varda film, but didn't think it would be fascist related). 

In 1967, a harsh military dictatorship suddenly took control of Greece, where it ruled for 7 inauspicious years as people everywhere around them mobilized. 

Imaginative French filmmaker Agnès Varda made the film Nausicaa to commend Greek exiles, who were forced to flee the degenerate lies and systematic torture of the fascist regime. 

Finding themselves in France they fortunately found international networks, and were able to defend democratic freedoms with receptive audiences worldwide.

Unfortunately, as her film was being put together insensitive authorities seized most of what had been produced, and never explained to her why they were taking it, it's thought that the material was subsequently destroyed.

But the Royal Belgian Cinémathèque kept one copy and delicately preserved it, which is now available on The Criterion Channel for those seeking informative and creative texts.

It interviews artists and journalists as they explain the troubles they had with the army, and attempt to find work and lodging in France while reflecting on Greek politics.

The call for widespread resistance took time to find an active audience, but eventually championed the compassionate rights of people who prefer not to join the military.

Nausicaa is also quite experimental it eclectically presents different storytelling styles, loosely adorning one Greek citizen's experiences as he meets a woman whose daughter's half Greek (I believe the daughter is supposed to be Varda).

The ways in which state media outlets mask the truth in order to offer unrealistic pictures of sociopolitical dilemmas are showcased, along with investigations into the general political awareness of France at the time (note how the left recently still dealt a crippling blow to the French right), and thoughtful looks at Greece's culture in the '60s.

Please don't equate my new style of poem with what Nausicaa calls "Medieval Obscurantism". I thought I was writing absurd catchy surrealist poems that are like puzzles, I'm not deliberately trying to sound difficult. 

Difficult to know what parts of the film would have been kept or altered or augmented if it had moved forward, but there's still enough left in this working draft to generate more comment than most of what's out there.

A cool look at the French New Wave applied to television.

The dictatorship didn't last long.

Varda is worth checking out.

Crimes of the Future

As the ubiquitous commodified presence of pepped-up plastics and frenetic fossil fuels, begin to osmotically transform incumbent biological organisms, mutations matriculately metastasize and preponderantly promulgate across the land, the macabre growth of peculiar novelties transitionally emergent through stressed out synthesis.

Is it as farfetched as it sounds could we gradually adapt to consume plastic, to find sustaining fulfilling nourishment within the manifold products created thus?

I figured we wouldn't adapt and microplastics and forever chemicals would produce widespread woe, the former too tiny and omnipresent the latter too eternally carcinogenic. 

But life is consistently resilient as trees growing on outcrops reliably demonstrate, or the ways in which South American jungles have consumed ancient towns, the fact that fish continuously evolve. 

When I was young, and I considered pollution it seemed like waterways were under serious threat, especially considering how much sewage winds-up in rivers and oceans, it's a big time issue, sustainably speaking.

But even in those polluted waters we still find many resident fish, who somehow still live immersed in destructive chemicals, how do they do that?, how do they survive?

The perseverance of these fish lends credence to Crimes of the Future, and its endemic evolutionary theory that we'll one day live off plastic.

As we slowly mutate, new organs will spontaneously develop within our virulent bodies, to be registered by a curious government meticulously concerned with classified engagement.

Perhaps performance artists would indeed show off their newfound growths, in enigmatic underground showcases composédly cataloguing piecemeal evolution.

It's classic Cronenberg the reemergence of the Master still proving he can convincingly perplex 50 years later, many horror films have a short shelf life but his work from the '70s and '80s still seriously impresses.

Fittingly, it's difficult to know if the film's intended to be taken seriously, or exists solely to kerfuffle while provoking opaque comic registry.

Classic ambiguity conglomerately clasped in distinct dialogues convolutedly conversing, the characters consistently lying to one another, lucidly opposed unconcerned cross-purposes. 

Of course animosity manifests between old school humans and the emergent mutants, which makes for startling solemnities through eclectic interactive discomfort.

Kristan Stewart really impresses I had no idea she could perform that well, Cronenberg really brings out the best in her, the acting's good all around but she stands out.

Irrelevantly, I'll bear in mind this scenario as long as fish continue to swim.

Hope future generations don't adapt to eat plastic.

That sounds much worse than bugs.  

Burden of Dreams

If you're ever under a lot of pressure to achieve a difficult goal, which seems beyond accomplishing too impossible to ever attain, perhaps watch Les Blank's Burden of Dreams as it films the making of Fitzcarraldo, and Werner Herzog's Herculean labours trying to finish the chaotic anti-epic.

Then watch Fitzcarraldo itself and consider that he actually did finish it. With setbacks that would have sent Olympic athletes home in exasperation. No matter what he got 'er done.

I don't know if these films are part of a master class in improvisational independent filmmaking, where the students study Herzog's endeavours and reach conclusions as to his methods.

Or arduously research grand ambition as applied to making international films, where extremely complicated and delicate agreements must be reached with critical Natives.

Or practically study the provision of supplies to an isolated camp deep in the jungle, where hundreds of extras and film personnel had to be well-fed to fend off the boredom.

With the deep pockets of a Hollywood studio it would have perhaps been a different story, although I imagine they would have backed out after the setbacks became too outrageous (punitive raids etc.).

Credit to Herzog for never backing down and to every cast and crew member who stuck it out till the end. 

Hyperintense ominous immersion. 

Ineffable formidable frustration. 

Heart of Darkness comes to mind and Apocalypse Now as well no doubt, as if Herzog was somewhat like Kurtz madly delegating lost in the jungle.

Interviews capture distinct moments alternative viewpoints his different moods, many of them courageous and vigorously defiant while some give way to augmented misery. 

The diaries of Les Blank and Maureen Gosling excerpts of which come with the Criterion edition of Burden of Dreams (they used to anyway, I bought my copy 20 years ago), offer disenchanting insights into the chaos and some of the decisions that had to be made.

Still to make them to be so artistically obsessed the bona-fide-mad-genius expediently concocting, reflexively adjusting to constant insane pressure, with everyone confused seeking guidance and instruction.

While Kinski erupts in fury (Blank doesn't focus much on Kinski but you can see it in Herzog's My Best Fiend) and the threat of mutiny ubiquitously languishes. 

The absolute pursuit of compulsive artistry. 

People actually risking their lives.

I don't know if there ever was what could be considered a plan.

If there was and it was written down it should be in a museum.

Copies available for study.

With mind-bogglingly resilient discipline. 

*Cool shots of jungle animals at times. 

Alice in den Städten (Alice in the Cities)

A wandering writer discovers photography while driving around the United States, and takes sundry pictures his editor rejects when he attempts to submit them instead of his article.

He couldn't help not writing it, he was inspired by a different idea, and even though a task had been definitively set, he seductively swerved and creatively reimagined it.

He's out of money nevertheless and his editor won't give him any more, the decision to return to Germany suddenly presenting itself with frank appeal.

While purchasing his ticket he meets a single mom and her curious child, both of whom can't speak English yet also want to return to Northern Europe.

He agrees to awkwardly assist and then finds himself with no place to stay, the mother and daughter agreeing to put him up his habitual thanks most unpresuming. 

The mother is still in touch with her new partner who wants to remain in the United States, and leaves her daughter with the travelling writer and they proceed to sightsee around New York.

They agree to meet at the airport but surprisingly the mother doesn't show up.

But sends word she'll meet them in Europe.

When the next flight arrives, she's not on it.

The child doesn't remember where her grandmother lives and the two have quite the confusing adventure, the writer learning not to be so grumpy as he tries to accommodate youthful maturation.

It's an oddball misfit scenario the oblivious trio not consciously registering, the bohemian lifestyle making bold decisions through spontaneous planning as they make their way home.

As luck would have it, youthful spirit blossoming in friendship unceremoniously wins the day, the artist reluctantly embracing formalities to amusingly calm down the frightened youngster.

She notices his random scribblings and childishly wonders what they might be.

He bashfully plays the absent-minded father.

To improvise with unkempt austerity. 

Grace of My Heart

After winning a local singing competition, a young woman heads to New York, running into paradigmatic dilemmas afterwards, since at that specific time female vocalists weren't selling.

Distraught and frustrated she still soldiers on until one day a producer takes note, he doesn't ask her to sing her own songs however, but rather hopes that she'll write them for other people.

She's initially dismissive and critical but eventually sees that it's a great opportunity, and even though singing her own songs was no doubt preferable, writing them for other people still equals = career. 

She's quite talented too she comes up with several catchy wide-reaching hit singles, others noting her compositional brilliance as she boldly fights to freely express herself.

Marriage and family don't wholesomely spoil things she keeps writing songs in the conjugal aftermath, although the strain on her time is rather cumbersome she's a total gamer and goes with the flow.

Not that she doesn't have limits she won't put up with the brazen uninspiring cheating.

Falling for quite the eclective of men.

Never losing sight of her talent.

That was what really struck me about the film, Edna/Denise keeps creating no matter what, even when her less talented husband is bringing her down, even after she has to bring her baby to work.

She has an understanding producer who cares and looks out for her like an adoring sibling, and he usually has compelling advice professionally attuned to advancement and progress.

She uses her life's controversies to continuously write new appealing songs, otherwise I would have recommended avoiding relationships altogether and ubiquitously focusing on nothing but music.

That would be an interesting study: do artists who co-habitate with others and have families produce more consistent results than those who go it alone, does the constant emergence of unexpected relational events outweigh the creative freedom of idyllic independence?

Always seemed like experimenting forever and ever with meaning and relevance and sport and nonsense, would perhaps one day lead to Borg perfection, and devise sustainable omega molecules. 

But if you want to write irresistible pop songs constant experiment may lead to issues.

It certainly doesn't for Edna/Denise however.

She never stops givin' 'er.

Keeps writing hit songs.

*Based on Carole King so the online sources say.

Peter Rabbit 2: The Runaway

While wildly profiting off the old Beatrix Potter tales, Peter Rabbit 2 takes shots at the publishing industry, as it innocently explores the urban/rural divide, and wholesomely promotes ye olde school traditional family. 

The dynamic book is selling and a large publishing firm takes note, and lays out the royal red with the hopes of expanding its global markets.

Bea's (Rose Byrne) impressed by the upscale adornments and quickly takes to the commercial schemes, even considering Peter Rabbit in Space along with many other atypical sequels.

Meanwhile, Peter and his bunny friends find themselves hip-hoppitting in the nearby village, Peter (James Corden) accidentally bumping into someone who claims to have known his dad (Lennie James as Barnabas).

They hit it off and scheme themselves soon intending to pull off a gigantic heist, of coveted sought after dry fruit at the chillin' freeform farmers' market.

Red flags inquisitively eschew but both Peter and Thomas McGregor (Domhnall Gleeson) ignore the danger.

Until the local pet shop captures their friends.

And the executive board attempts a hostile takeover.

Peter Rabbit 2 scores points for the countryside and the the humble laid-back agrarian life, as the sinister ways of the nearby town threaten to dilute its bucolic purity. 

The city's not technically like that although you have to be careful not to lose your head, country markets aren't really like that either, they can be pricey, but the artists sell cool things.

It would seem strange to see Petter Rabbit suddenly taking off into space, or surfing or browsing at the mall, but the same author could explore these locales with different characters.

There are always comedic applications which thrive through sheer incomparable inexhaustibility, the best ones leaving you evocatively abashed, the worst threatening the integrity or your immortal soul.

Ideas just come naturally to many after having spent so much time consuming media, it's a consistent mélange of mulltivariable impulses im/precisely interwoven with sub/conscious thread.

There are just so many of them they consistently bombard every constructive day while actively producing, I never really considered what it would be like to have just one and to spend the majority of your time focused upon it.

Sigh. It depends on how you view it but it can be argued that Peter Rabbit 2 is racist, like I said before, I don't think the anti-racism in film and television movements that hit the U.S ever influenced that many in England, but The Runaway lauds bucolic pastures and lambastes its only live-action black character (David Oyelowo as Nigel Basil-Jones) (Barnabas is also voiced by an African American and he's up to no good too).

As the patriarchs come to terms and settle down far away from the hustle and bustle.

Finding it in their hearts to disagree once more.

Peter Rabbit shouldn't be so political. 

The Holiday Calendar

A creative photographer does the legwork for an unimaginative yet reliable small business, earning enough scrilla to keep up her apartment while her well-meaning family asks tough questions (Kat Graham).

Her best friend is keen and sympathetic and returns one Christmas from his travels abroad, eager to pick up where they left off as habitual merrymaking yearns and flourishes (Quincy Brown).

Meanwhile, her enigmatic grandfather (Ron Cephas Jones) shares one of her recently deceased grandma's treasures, a giant old school European advent calendar that fluidly winds up and shares daily presents.

Things routinely proceed as the photographic enterprise heads outside, to take pictures of youngsters with Santa as he meticulously notes their gift ideas.

But soon strange coincidences take place which only have one spirited explanation, that the gifted intricate advent calendar is mysteriously forecasting fate!

Every day unexpected events find symbolic representation numerically adjudicated, as the innocent shutterbug wondrously believes and sincerely follows the magical path.

But it becomes apparent that the picture perfect beau the calendar has showcased lacks eccentric merit.

Her closest friend making it known he's upset.

Will the spirit of Christmas heal their friendship?

I thought this was a really cool idea for a Christmas film that cleverly reimagines Holiday Season essentials, the old school advent calendar clairvoyantly presenting cryptic yet definitive structure.

A bigger budget with more time spent and perhaps with a major studio reworking the story, not that the original lacks seasonal merriment, I just thought it could be even more epic. 

Imagine living the ahistorical dream with an emancipatory place for a nimble eclective, while securing amorous accolades and the heartfelt devotion of a trusted friend.

Who knows where the regenerative magic of the clandestine Season holistically resides, perhaps it's rather like the Force and is infinitesimally everywhere all at once? 

Notably in eggnog and gingerbread it must enliven these treats every December.

Not to mention random gift ideas.

Hot cocoa.

Hibernating dreams.  

Wavelength

An artist facing the void seeks reanimate resuscitation, and discovers a curious lass seeking to hold back observant recon.

The two enjoy spirited fledgling manoeuvres while invoking inquisitive complimentary frolic, before an eerie mystery bewilderingly emerges which leads to experimental enthused investigation.

Voices-in-trouble are being transmitted telepathically from a secret location, the sleuthing of which leads to uncouth jail-time at the hands of the unamused military.

Who have encountered an alien craft and clandestinely moved its survivors accordingly, unable to communicate with the touristic humanoids who've been placed in pandemic style lockdown.

It becomes apparent that whoever contacts them soon suffers biological entropy, their bodies radiating inhospitibility, although they are able to cure corresponding ailments.

The couple desperately seeks their freedom just as the operation is sternly locked down.

But not without having provided emancipatory leeway.

For those involved to romantically break free.

It's classic low-budget sci-fi complete with narration and a romantic hermit, the hidden base in Los Angeles no less, having striven for ironic concealment. 

Perhaps the less prominent filmmakers were indirectly drawing attention, to a movie-making militaristic plot to control hearts and minds through mass produced film.

What percentage indeed of the various budgets of the diverse film companies a' reckoning over yonder, are factually spent on valourizing conflict with sincere hardboiled exceeding lament?

The novel imaginative aliens therefore generate unheralded song, the orthodox clique ensuring rehabilitation with no choice but to dynastically schism. 

Alas look to the ingenious French and other robust agile continental visionaries, who celebrate the diversity of their tribes with harmonious distinct eclectic inclusion.

Continuing to accelerate and zag they seek cultivation of genius as well, to salute nothing universally in particular, at times without resolute agenda.

The telepathic artists within ye olde Wavelength help the aliens escape beyond categorical compunction.

Hewn so long ago.

Manifold viewpoints, multilateral trajectories. 

Au revoir le bonheur (Goodbye Happiness)

What to make of this film.

It concerns a well-to-do family whose father unfortunately passes, leaving his 4 sons to squabble in grief at their cherished home on the Magdalen Islands (which I'd like to visit). 

They own a rather large business which one of them manages somewhat ruthlessly, and even though they earn plenty of scrilla, he's still tightfisted regarding start-ups.

Another brother is a talented artist as regards brilliant culinary manifestation, yet he's somewhat hopeless in tune with everything else to do with commercial affairs.

I suppose it's a heartfelt look at a grieving disputatious family, but it has elements I just can't let slide, I'm not really that familiar with relationships or dating, but I believe Au revoir le bonheur (Goodbye Happiness) goes way over the top.

I don't think having children with 4 separate women all of whom were left for one reason or another (who all still secretly love him), while not paying child support even though your family's loaded, and eventually impregnating a 5th much younger girl by the end of the film, is a humorous subject, that goes way too far.

It's the kind of idea that occurs to you and you dismiss for being far too insensitive (there's a dark side to creativity), I'm not sure how this film was received in Québec, but it seems to have overlooked La révolution tranquille. 

I'm not exactly in touch with prevalent trends and cultural narratives (although I love wildlife and football), but this may be the most tone deaf film that's ever been presented as a merry bellwether. 

In the 1950s, or long ago when westerns dominated the market, in film and television and novel alike, perhaps Au revoir le bonheur would have been well-received.

When men and only men decided everything and the patriarchy adjudicated with irate prejudice. 

I know there are other things happening in the film, but trying to create a loveable endearing cad with absolutely no awareness of consequence or responsibility (even if such things are annoying), even after it's happened twice, three times, four times, who can't even remember his children's names and loses track of them when he's in charge, is a blind horrendous nauseous infantilism that isn't even fit for the worst trash comedy.

I liked Starbuck like many others but that wasn't nearly as definitively offensive. 

It's presented like a Disney movie with challenges and endemic daring.

I like a lot of oddball stuff.

Assuming there's still conscious sympathy. 

*The pandemic's produced worse. 

Sweetie

Another imaginative exploration of creative random unhinged expenditure, wherein which therapeutic regimens lack generalized familial accord.

Thus two sisters unaccustomed to objectivity attempt to congenially cohabitate, with respective partners and alternate routines disputatiously abounding with cacophonous resonance. 

It's a cool look at regenerative eccentricity vividly applying itself to adulthood, there's no nightly newspaper anywhere to be found nor 9-5 signifiers reupholstered on television.

The one sister clandestinely gets what she wants and instinctively believes in reflexive fortune telling (Karen Colston as Kay), her adoring husband does his best to entertain and admits at times to incredulous longing (Tom Lycos as Louis [he's like the Australian Fred Ward]).

The other habitually chillaxes with neither plan nor propitious pattern, yet consistently amuses with innocent endeavour as she vigorously experiments with tactile temperaments (Geneviève Lemon as "Sweetie").

Her father is sincerely adoring and doesn't understand Joy's sincere criticism (Jon Darling as Gordon), a classic compassionate and understanding citizen perhaps a product of the Australian New Wave.

Yet even if I contend that said New Wave humanistically diversified the land down under, with a versatile continental spirit effervescently blooming with cascading retention, there's still somewhat of a stiff upper lip that prevents ye olde Sweetie from cohesively acculturating. 

Likely uninterested in running the gauntlet as a newfound immigrant where her unorthodox spirit may have met with less vitriol, while unsuccessfully living a non-traditional life (within reason), she succumbs to the pressures of bitter castigation and loses sociocultural mobility.

I suppose I don't know if I'm correct or if it's just a byproduct of cultural osmosis, but living beyond Anglo-American borders seemed to generate peace and tranquility.

After running the gauntlet I found people weren't that concerned with commercial life emphatically immured, there were still intensities but applied to different things, I certainly never would have cooked dinner for anyone.

As long as I kept things chill things proactively progressed and life was moderately rewarding.

Seemed like the way things were progressing in the '90s. 

Which I would have understood through alternative perspectives had I grown up there. 

Elvis

It's surprising more films haven't been made about Elvis (Austin Butler), and that it took so long for this one to come out, but I suppose rock bioflicks aren't really that common, or that I don't recall one having been made about the Beatles or Rolling Stones.

A big one anyways.

You'd think there'd be a huge market for stylistic glimpses into chaotic yesteryear, but perhaps said fans no longer care much for movies, and multigenerational appeal remains too risky (The Doors was cool in my youth).

Elvis's influence was waning when I was younger but he was still widely regarded as The King, and no other musical performer ever rivalled his incredible American popularity, there were certainly dozens of potential candidates, but no one else commensurately captured that sensational spotlight so smoothly.

So pervasively.

I liked many of his songs and even enjoyed playing them on the piano, but I wasn't that interested in the phenomenon, I was way more into Brit pop.

He had kind of been identified with the more straight and narrow path, and I often associated his music with study, which made it less appealing.

Baz Luhrmann is no doubt aware of this crisp commercial characterization, his film focusing on controversies from Elvis's life, where he spoke out against the grain.

Like a passionate devoted fan, he chronicles the less wholesome aspects of the King, and serializes his sultry swagger in contumacious cordial conflict.

Although I really don't know how seriously a non-traditional Christmas special challenged Woodstock, but it seemed to work according to the film, and helped him regain the centre stage, I wholeheartedly feel no shame for my love of Christmas specials.

The film focuses much of its attention on Elvis's relationship with his manager (Tom Hanks as Colonel Tom Parker), who took advantage of the singer's naivety to earn an astronomical income.

Everything starts off well but things become tricky when it comes to international travel, since the Colonel has no legal identity and can't leave America, he consistently tricks Elvis into remaining stateside.

Such a shame the managerial aspects the real-world greed that complicates art.

Elvis still never stopped givin' 'er.

Even when he was forced to do so practically every night.

Some of his songs seem truly timeless and I'll still stop and listen like that guy on Seinfeld. 

Staple tradition. Consistent change. 

Shouldn't lyrics have been used in the title?

The Horse's Mouth

I imagine The Horse's Mouth has been inspiring cheek for generations, as it magnanimously schemes through stray ludicrous accord.

Hark then, take offhand note, an imaginative artist is released from prison, immediately resuming the stress thereafter which initially led to his foul distemper.

Thus, with no income at hand and no commission retroactively forthcoming, a theoretical deal which may have merit seductively swelters in sordid cynosure.

Strange how someone so sought after just wildly wanders half-starved and disputative, you would think there'd be some kind of role for him to adequately play with solemn disinterest?

But wandering salubriously suits him with soliloquized synergies short and syncopated, the odd connoisseur taking distracted note, random deals struck fugaciously unaltered.

Inspiration indeed surely struts and mischievously materializes maelström and mayhem, as it does within The Horse's Mouth when idyllic lustre illustriously liaises. 

Indubitably, a frenzied subaltern is even enlisted with aggrieved bravado, the lack of orthodox laborious blueprints producing reluctant starstruck nebulae. 

No doubt encouraging flagrant entropy resiliently mutating into adamant verse. 

At times some things go amiss.

Textiles tantamount cantankered probity.

You wonder where he's headed in the auspicious final moments, imagine having a boat fortuitously buoyant and inquisitively seafaring.

I suppose if you can catch your dinner with moderate success there's no horizon, puzzling predicaments at times bemoaning yet still loose and lithe and limber.

With abundant material work may flourish beyond reckless trope and placated gale, regenerative lapse demonstrative brine lopsided latitude elegant shades.

Romance wasn't once so dangerous although tremulous realism distorts as well, without hope how do you ever achieve assuming a hearty practical frailty? 

Sometimes things relax and tactile comforts efficiently abound.

Soak it in, time for a breather.

It may even last.

'About on the seas.

*Essential viewing for Alec Guinness fans. It's like Obi-Wan Kenobi if he'd never had Jedi training. 

Jenseits des Sichtbaren - Hilma af Klint (Beyond the Visible - Helma af Klint)

Jenseits des Sichtbaren - Hilma af Klint (Beyond the Visible - Helma af Klint) examines prolific artist Helma af Klint, whose pioneering abstractions remain relatively unknown according to the documentary. 

She lived and worked in Sweden in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and spent her life cultivating an uncanny aesthetic that unfortunately never received much attention.

I don't know if she wanted attention but audience or not she persevered, and her family wisely kept her paintings delicately preserved then tucked away.

If someone was hoping to construct a history of abstract painting, it would be surprising if they overlooked Klint (her paintings look cool), which is what art critics in the film suggest happened to the disillusioning misfortune of narrative consistency.

If you have 250 odd pages at your disposal, at least, there's no excuse for omitting a paragraph, or a footnote or page or chapter if you're attempting to present the entire picture (competing narratives within narratives [so blasé]).

I was taught to investigate narrative from multidisciplinary perspectives, and that there was such a wealth of material available that it would be foolish to believe in absolute superlatives (I always thought this seemed natural to most people but I guess so many never bother to listen to works that actually win or are nominated for awards).

Of course I still had favourites which I liked to promote and was surprised when they were overlooked, but a quick application of democratic variability helped me entertain multilateral ethics.

Of course the real world outside of Québec was much different than what I imagined in school, it was rather disputatiously composed of people who actively dealt in superlatives (ironically so much of the best stuff is Québecois! [eat it Lord Durham]).

Multilateral ethics were rather ineffectual and much less exciting than passionate tomfoolery, or sarcastic dismissals of complex thoughts that preferred foolish stereotypes to communal reason.

Nevertheless, I never lost sight of my reliable preferences even if they morphed and shifted over time, and it never mattered to me who or what group was creating, as long as they weren't cultivating a violent racist aesthetic.

It's sad how in the world at large you often have to identify with fads if you want to make money, rather than randomly choosing various texts and judging them based on your own peculiar artistic preferences. 

I still recognize that my conception of artistic may seem like nonsense to others.

Wherein which lies the fun.

If you steer clear of the belligerents. 

Junebug

A couple basks in enriching romance their union potentially a success, effervescent wondrous innocence characterizing their lithe shenanigans. 

The wife (Embeth Davidtz as Madeleine) runs a caring gallery which genuinely looks after its unsung artists, discovering unknown local talent then helping to find an adoring audience.

Her work takes her to the down-home town where her agile husband (Alessandro Nivola as George) was curiously raised, which means it's time to meet the fam while engaging in bucolic expenditure.

George's brother's (Ben McKenzie as Johnny) become somewhat nasty having grown tired of his steady routine, even though his chill wife's (Amy Adams as Ashley) pregnant and looking forward to starting a family.

He has no time to reminisce but his better half's still warm and friendly, Madeleine sincerely responding to her lack of conceit and freeform enthusiastic reckoning.

There could be more cutting tension arising from prejudicial misconceptions, but thankfully observations aren't frequently shared within the offbeat household's public sphere.

In fact Junebug creatively presents endearing heartfelt loving characters, thoroughly interested in the lives of others as they go about their interactive quibbling.

The arts devoid of stout pretension and destructive distasteful foul snobbery, search freely far and wide for newfound novel uncanny yens.

At the same time homegrown peeps hold back none of their natural spirits, a husband certainly most distressing, his wife like an ebullient summer's bloom.

The buzz around Amy Adams's performance is bang on like nothing else I've seen, her facial movements and inherent fascination far beyond what's oft described as memorable.

It's like there's a range of depth within which multidimension nimbly materializes, and her zags and cascading zigs ethereally flow towards its striking zenith.

Davidtz shouldn't be overlooked either I hope her character has persuasive fluency.

They're an incredible combination.

In a film that promotes compassion and understanding.

Doraibu mai kâ (Drive My Car)

The active life sustaining supple harmless interactive thought, consoling quirky consternation adept immersive ingenuity.

The calm and patient holistic vision stoic steadfast solemn varsity, pertinent adaptable expansive sizzle earmarked voltaic latent pressure.

But his (Hidetoshi Nishijima as Yûsuke Kafuku) loving partner (Reika Kirishima as Oto) suddenly passes when perhaps he could have intervened, or said something to swiftly alter the dismal moribounding hemorrhage. 

Psychologically deconstructed he gradually jukes and jets and jigsaws, slowly reimagining amenable principle through lighthearted chill experiment.

At one time he reflexively envisioned daunting twists tantalizing turmoil, without pause or critical reflection the plain and simple erudite schism.

But his wife first found the idea, after which he quickly improvised.

The working relationship romantically inclined freeform forgiveness inveterate l'amour, a rare gift celestially insatiable prolonged compression distilled adrenaline.

A common goal remarkably productive intermittent rowdy regenerative horseplay, benefits accrued conducive clutches laidback lax alert consistency.

Not one to overlook novelty, he notices his new driver's (Tôko Miura as Misaki Watari) abounding with pluck, somewhat forlorn yet still observant eager to multidimensionally disperse.

In possession of secrets so much distraction inanimate disconcerting dalliance, inopportune exported rationed irrevocable hardwire harrowing husk.

Kafuku winds up working with a young actor (Masaki Okada as Koji Takatsuki) who had an affair with his wife, the two awkwardly engaged through mutual love lost shin limitless lugubrity.

One young and blunt unwilling to hold back the thoughts which emerge to haunt him, the other sombre and much less eager to discuss such sensitive direct subjects.

Through these discussions a play takes shape as volatility blends with reason.

Only to ceremoniously fade.

Tragic rage.

Resurgent vellum.