Bandit

A criminal breaks free from an American minimum security prison (Josh Duhamel as Robert), and crosses the border into Canada, soon looking for work and lodging as the police search frustrated in vain, the 1980s much less suspicious and routinely hysterical, he doesn't blend, without standing out much either.

He still lacks identity cards and cash so he needs to creatively conjure convincingly, fortunately securing a place to stay, without much luck finding steady employment.

Not really cut out for the workforce, indeed brave but also quite lazy, he soon takes to robbing banks for small sums, and proceeds to do so across the country.

At the same time, his parter matter-of-factly announces she's about to bear young (Elisha Cuthbert as Andrea), filling him with enlivening ecstasy since he's always wanted to have a family.

His lifestyle rather ill-suited to traditional bourgeois relational trajectories, he feels somewhat isolated however, yet rather than attempt to learn a trade and embrace regal commerce and industry, he seeks the backing of a local gangster (Mel Gibson as Tommy), and malfeasantly reengages. 

Things proceed quite successfully for awhile before a local task force takes note.

His wife also figuring things out.

Accompanying him thereafter, from time to time. 

I know the pandemic was a difficult time during which it was particularly hard to make movies, and film studios had to green light questionable scripts and move forward with rash decisions, the period we're in now perhaps one of the worst in cinematic history, does that still excuse Bandit's lacklustre writing, lack of conscience, homophobia and general malaise?, no, I'm afraid it doesn't, this film's a directionless amateur train wreck.

People with no artistic skill and a lot of money still attempt to make commercial movies, and they think it's remarkably easy, and proceed with undaunted confidence in a pleasant atmosphere lacking critical aplomb (Mel Gibson most likely rewriting his lines), no stirring voice providing comment and criticism, good god, was this script even edited?

Bandit falls into the new filmmaking category which functions like grassroots bludgeoned briars, Ronald Reagan is therefore celebrated, and work and a steady job for chumps and fools, anyone limiting the fun a homosexual (the police for instance), they appeal to Robin Hood, but this guy's just a piece of shit.

The major transition hasn't taken place but hopefully things improve since restrictions have been lifted.

Some pandemic films were pretty amazing (Babysitter, Viking).

At least a couple of standouts slipped through. 

Gone Girl

Just what goes into sustaining a successful marriage, what is that secret critical ingredient for ensuring the preeminence of your conjugal bliss?

Mad blind overwhelming desire may wear off, especially if the couple in question doesn't role play or at least dress-up from time to time, possibly as their favourite Star Trek character, and if the initial hard-pounding insatiable craze dissipates, the arduous work necessary to recapture its incandescence sets in, both participants required to reimagine its stringency, dedication and commitment, adhered to as pluralizing factors.

In David Fincher's Gone Girl, Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) refuses to abide by such an adherence, succumbing to adulterous lechery, slowly destroying the love of his spirited partner.

Mistake.

Or mistakes, seeing how he's been ignoring her for years while living a life of sloth off her trust fund, after having moved from New York City (where he worked as a writer) to Missouri, much to wife Amy's (Rosamund Pike) dismay.

He's a jerk, he blames it on her, total jackass.

But he has no idea that Amy's pure psycho.

The film's divided into two halves, one focusing on Nick as he comes to terms with his inextricable predicament, the other which brings Amy into the mix, focusing on her troubles on the road, until a crucial accidental resurgence, of the romantic love which at one point defined her.

Kierkegaard style.

At first I thought the introduction of Amy was an unfortunate twist.

I figured the film would slowly continue to suffocate lacklustre Nick, his tension inimically increasing, a high-wired harrowing stench, accentuating paranoid asphyxia.

Amy's introduction eliminates this tension, replacing it with alternative constraints which infernalize her psychotic scenario, which is rather excessive, considering that she could have just left him.

But her passion demands vengeance, vengeance which she seeks eruditely, revelling in the media's saccharine sensationalization, before rediscovering that lost kernel of youth.

There's a great sequence where she's robbed after letting her guard down, the sequence diversifying the film's wedded hysteria by injecting minor seemingly ineffectual characters, who become common denominators in the subsequent action.

Gone Girl has plenty of variability, strong major and minor characters, ridiculous yet plausible logistics, competing disastrous degenerations, polarities within polarities, a sympathetic coach, an amorphous yet easy-to-follow blend of media, family, legality, and law enforcement, Proust is mentioned twice (in uncomplimentary fashions however), desperate strategic planning, and a non-traditional take on victimization.

The ending's solid, a bizarre reversal of what's-to-be-expected, the film's myriad depressions, sentimentally sanctified.

Quite dark.

Quite good.

Not my favourite David Fincher film, but you still see why he's one of America's best.

Starsky & Hutch

Starsky and Hutch.

Back at it again.

Although, this film was released 8 years ago so perhaps 'again' isn't the correct word to be using here, but, since I'm viewing it according to the dynamics of the ways in which the second decade of the 21st century is influencing my writing, the term 'again' can therefore be thought of as being applied appropriately, give or take that there's still a lot more I need to learn about globalization.

Much much more.

That being said, I still don't have much to say about Starsky & Hutch.

To literally break it down, it takes two psychological law enforcement extremes, one which is so anal retentive that it alienates everyone and is consequently regularly forced to find new partners, another with an approach that is so laissez-faire that it can smoothly make contacts and move about suavely but can't effectively get any work done, and slowly synthesizes them throughout as they grow and come to function like a strong resilient team.

Alternatively, in regards to its comedic aspects, I didn't find it as funny as I probably would have in 2004 but I may not have found it that funny back then either.

Cool car though.

Alright, I'm really not that into motorized vehicles.

Just trying to sound cool.

Fun to ride around in sometimes though.

I'm not cool.

The Raven

A mildly entertaining inconsistent romantic horror, James McTeigue's The Raven situates Edgar Allan Poe (John Cusack) within a demented psychotic murderous tribute to his work and demands that he creates within. As a madperson kidnaps his love interest (Alice Eve as Emily Hamilton) and uses materials from his texts in a homicidal homage, Poe assists Detective Fields (Luke Evans) in his desperate corresponding investigation.  Anticipation leads to discovery but they vexingly remain one step behind the sought after killer and his or her realistic portrait of the literary dead. The time required to psychologically digest the enormity of its impact is vindictively denied as the narrative quickly shuffles from one grizzly chapter to the next.

And the unacknowledged trauma sinks in.  

Lying within this structure lies a hidden master/slave dichotomy. If you find yourself working within a environment in which your labour is continuous, giving you little time to think about anything else, and your efforts fail to result in better working conditions, as this pattern is reproduced, and your debt load continues to climb and your forbidden subject of desire becomes increasingly unattainable, an underlying current of motivated pointlessness emerges when the shape-shifting face of capital presents itself, exalting a moribund elixir.

This could explain why The Raven's dialogue possesses a timeless quality which utilizes both 19th and 21st century forms of expression.  By quasi-atemporally refusing to abide by a linear conception of verbal predictability, it subtly manifests this motivated pointlessness while elevating an unconscious ethos which revels in the disruption of contemplative leisure (the 60 hour work week).

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

A murderer has avoided detection for decades. A journalist's reputation has been publicly ridiculed. A brilliant young researcher's incredible talent flourishes. A family's dark secrets seek revelation.

Patterns lie hidden within eclectic sources. Technological expertise facilitates their synthesization. The resultant thesis can be investigated with meticulous precision. Alternatives and subterfuges staggeringly structure the aggregate.

David Fincher's version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a sombre subterranean endeavour. Deeply digging into clandestine contrivances frenetically attempting to function without restraint, it descends into the feverish dementia affluently prospering beyond the restrictions of amicability.

And exorcises demons.

Ostracized individuals use their resourcefulness to disentangle an established privileged network from within and bring its mastermind to justice.

Having recreated a foothold within their culture's social fabric, divisions remain which prevent them from socializing on their gains.

Animal Kingdom

Dialectically delineating the thin line separating criminals from officers of the law, David Michôd's Animal Kingdom introduces us to a family of professional malefactors as they tempestuously coexist with their surrounding community. The Cody family is fucked, although their commitment to one another, idealized by their cheerful and sweet mother (Jackie Weaver), is unwavering, assuming you don't mess with the cops. Josh Cody's (James Frecheville) mother wanted him to have nothing to do with her explosive family and remained distant from their activities for many years. But after she dies of a heroin overdose, Josh is thrust into their entropic den of depravity. Michôd's depiction of the police isn't any more uplifting as they shoot unarmed citizens merely suspected of crimes and make a profit off the fruits of their narcotics operations. The inhabitants of Animal Kingdom starkly develop intriguing personalities, Michôd's hard-boiled script and astute direction giving everyone involved the chance to distinctly stake their artistic territory. The atmosphere of psychological terror affectively cultivated by Ben Mendelsohn's psychotic portrait of Andrew 'Pope' Cody integrally structures the film's ambience. Animal Kingdom maintains a bizarre relationship with right-wing politics insofar as the Cody's are destined for prison while functioning as an iconic, albeit troubled, loving family. At the same time, while individual cops seek communal justice (Guy Pearce as Officer Leckie), the legal system presented is thoroughly corrupt. Josh must decide how to roll with the punches if he's to symbolically represent Australia's political future. A coming of age tale cloaked in a paranoid blanket of fear and tension, Animal Kingdom boldly interrogates the 'underworld' while offering a solution which does what it must to survive.