Blood Simple

Ligament liturgy ecstatic entropy impassioned unleashed covert clandestine captions, fledgling fervour innocuous oater newfound necessities cradle crunch.

Resigned shamanatee hesitant harbinger grotesque gumption supine shutterbug, despotic disclosure tragic forbearance reluctant ransom accurséd accounts.

Vigorous fury toxic engagement outcomes unexpected incipient fugue, disgruntled affection fusillade photoshop disclaimed deceptions demonstrative nerve.

Serendipitous enterprise curmudgeon cashew expedient itinerary audacious embrasure, scurrilous sand-wedge lugubrious sigma gossamer getaway gallantine grief.

Accidental discovery mynock misfortune despondent discomfiture hyena hysterics, improvised onrush maladroit excavation environs entombed disconsolate guava.

Awkward ubiquity psychotic stern renegade reanimation potentate pulse, egregious centigrade uncharacteristic bellicose burmeasles inspired feeling.

Reticent explanation hardboiled anxiety encrypted confusion illiterate torque, bewildered bombastic diagnostic distress unwitting algorhythmic detrital spunk. 

Spontaneous chase forensic foreknowledge oblique discretion carcinogen clambake, ambivalent aloha nebulous necromancy beguiling glenigma otiose oblivion.

Gruesome unsettling ominous scenarios borderline barking mendacious maestros, frigid and frozen fugacious fumigation albeit squishy traumatic high tide.

To stay so dismally determined calabrese calculation pervasive ghouls, hemorrhaged matrimony unyielding formulae enervating exotic tollgate truncheon.

To go so wild and spirited jocose rejuvenation on the road, rekindled rebirth exuberant partner uncertain finances chillaxed extolled. 

Obsessive disabled bleak bland envy power-mad meticulous critical observation, lascivious lifestyle no curious family routine remonstrance dull disquietude. 

Darkly comic embalmed compulsion exhaled disillusion cadaverous consignments, concrete contusions objective misalignments worthwhile macabre mordant malaise.

Inchoate gambit excessively beloved calibrated careers acclaimed and distinguished, varicose variety perpetual motion delirious decades homegrown Americana.

*This is the Coen Brothers's first film.

**Noiresque. Worth checking out. 

The Fog

The bounteous coast rests undisturbed as a sleepy town's one-hundredth anniversary approaches, with celebrations planned and local dignitaries convivially extolling its historic virtues. 

Village life exuberantly proclaims distracting designations with robust levity, the festivities raising ebullient concerns regarding flights of furtive fancy.

Nevertheless, on the exultant eve a local priest embraces spirited whimsy, when a sudden shocking burst reveals a diary hidden within his walls.

The tale told within its pages describes scandal and betrayal, in terms of lucrative auriferous booty disillusionally constrained.

Best laid plans were thrown aside as a leprous colony was cruelly cheated, indeed instead of finding themselves a home their boat was led to crash upon the shore.

But the rocks didn't eternally tear the trusting ship forevermore asunder, its reconstitution phantominiously conveyed from the afterlife back to the ocean.

And on the very same date the town was founded it bitterly returns under cover of fog.

Contemporary inhabitants blissfully unaware.

A local DJ keeping them up to precarious speed.

Kind of nice when fog descends assuming you aren't travelling or working outside, the meteorological difference eccentrically billowing throughout the quizzical byzantine landscape.

Imagine the chaos if the definitive border dividing spiritual realms enigmatically decayed, and aggrieved spirits from far and wide universally re-materialized across the land.

Like the ending of Ghostbusters I suppose but trepidatiously globalized for postmodern import, the eclectic confusion and ahistorical equivalencies generating confounding limitless grievance.

It could be like a labyrinthine colossus of atemporal bewildered feuding, the manifold steps in the gothic epic as mesmerizing as any R.E.M spectacle. 

If there was time to chronicle the disputes the resultant absurdity may manifest calm.

A quiet regenerative cross-cultural splurge.

A lot of reading.

For something so dream-like.

*I've almost seen every John Carpenter movie.

Zatôichi rôyaburi (Zatoichi the Outlaw)

Supernaturally gifted with impeccable swordpersonship, a humble sightless outlaw wanders the volatile countryside, in search of incarnate justice virtuously beheld with moral reckoning, convinced of honest trust, and willing to lend a hand.

The ambitious in the village he frequents own a lucrative gambling den, which attracts the hopeful farmers who till the nearby fertile soil.

A bold person of the people peacefully warns them of their folly, once a valiant samurai himself now having embraced age-old non-violence.

Zatôichi (Shintarô Katsu) hears his amicable words freely delivered amidst hardboiled controversy, the local chieftains rather inhospitable regarding farsighted cultural counsel.

Much more sustainable for them to see hard earned wages carefreely lost, in a game they always win, as long as their clients suspect nothing. 

Zatôichi heeds the words of a rival boss who claims respectability, then eliminates his rivals, before heading off to a new town.

Until word reaches his modest ears that his friend's greed outweighs even that of his predecessors. 

The village folk on the brink of losing everything.

Virtue requisite animate sprawl.

The enduring everlasting narrative wherein which the modest thrive, with hopes of less stern reprisals for simply longing for fiscal fortune.

The powers-that-be vouchsafe possibility only at rare evocative intervals, to generate irrepressible interest in interminable decorum.

Yet the ethical still widely promulgate resounding wisdom begetting verve, their sure and steady dependable advice eventually leading to civility.

The desire to gamble remains strong and can't be vanquished with heartfelt speeches, opposing narratives cultivating instinct insisting they represent spiritual clemency.

The women of the village clearly understand the proactive message, and quietly long for zealous endurance and brave determinate consistent yields.

Zatôichi upholds aggrievéd rights and swiftly defends them with holistic levity.

Unsatisfied with inherent vice.

He upstandingly quells unhinged dishonour.  

Nightmare Alley

How far should someone go when seeking abundant easy money, where to clearly draw the line between entertainment and ecstatic despair?

People actively seek to believe in mystic supernatural antics, in worlds beyond the concrete material physically composing so much life.

How much of this is healthy or how much goes much too far, are manifest questions which consistently go unanswered, but if your belief in the afterlife provides you comfort, and doesn't cost you a fortune, and you don't make political decisions because a bee landed on your ice cream, and you don't force other people to believe, and you realize it might all be bullshit, I really don't see much of a problem, comfort's an important aspect of life.

Claudius's relationship with the Oracle of Delphi remains mysterious, but who knows how much was true, and how much conjured for dramatic flair?

I've often thought that renowned "oracles" or "fortune tellers" were students of history from the future, who somehow managed to fit in with the past without being locked up for witchcraft or heresy.

If genuine clairvoyants exist today, why aren't they world renowned?

Perhaps they've been sequestered by the highest bidder.

And are lavishly tucked away.

I play the sign game because that's how my mind's always worked, ever since I was but a wee lad, I remember playing the sign game.

But it's off a lot, it's sometimes correct, but isn't reliable enough to make wagers.

Plus, when people realize you're like this they constantly try to trick you. So it's difficult to detect anything that's genuine. Not that it isn't still fun trying.

Nightmare Alley may be a solid horror film but that doesn't mean it isn't revolting, do we really have to see an unfortunate soul bite the head off a live chicken (with special effects)?

Sick in the head, no holding back.

If you want a celebration of the most miserable aspects of existence, hopelessly wrapped up in abhorrent ethical decay, you may indeed prosper from a viewing of Nightmare Alley, which presents harsh lessons for light of heart ambitions.

Don't try to swindle the rich and famous, the brightest lights, don't take things too far.

Life's too precious and worth much more.

There's more value in a dragonfly's existence than overflowing riches.

Puppy Star Christmas

An adorable dog couple welcomes some new pups to their family, while enjoying celebrity in the public eye, and wondering if they'll make good parents.

It's the Holiday Season once again and they're preparing to host a Christmas Special, and it's rumoured that Santa himself may attend, if not advertised with festive vigour.

But a rogue rival self-obsessed canine has grown tired of making an honest buck (George Newbern as Bark), and decides to enlist contacts from his villainous network in an attempt to take down the North Pole.

Since the elves are generally concerned with do-gooding they're ill-prepared for Bark's sneak attack, and his team quickly infiltrates Santa's workshop and soon locks down Mr. and Mrs. Claus!

They proceed to convert that very same workshop into a commercial purveyor of sought after goods, transforming the free toys Santa generously provides into lucrative commodities indeed for sale.

Such wickedness is shortly followed by an appearance on Tiny (Kaitlyn Maher) and P.U.P's (Mackenzie Sol) Special, where they advertise their soul crushing debauchery with outrageous voracious mad ill-gotten song.

Fortunately for Christmas, the aforementioned pups stow away on Santa's sled (it was borrowed by Bark's minions to fly to the Special), and soon find themselves at the North Pole, nervously determined to rescue Saint Nick.

But Bark's carnal influence and unwitting publicity has seen ye olde naughty list expand exponentially.

Are they too late to save Christmas?

Or is it serendipitous impeccable timing?

Only Christmas will tell, or a keen viewing of this here Puppy Star Christmas, I admit I hadn't seen a dog movie in some time (except for Plague Dogs which wasn't a family film [or wasn't a cutesy sentimental family film]), and wasn't prepared for the cuddliness initially.

But it was kind of cool to briefly immerse myself in a non-cartoon world where dogs can speak, and have their own shows and homes and families and are on an equal footing with adoring humanity.  

Strict logicians may find fault with Puppy Star's inspired non-traditional reasonability, even if it augments the wonders of Santa and his benevolent impetus this time of year.

Puppy Star's blunt depiction of super-greed wholesomely castigates avarice unbound, thereby celebrating altruistic endeavours without leaving joyous reckoning behind.

If you're still in touch with inner absurdity or things that seem nuts you may like this film.

It's fun to think about afterwards.

Perfect for the Holiday Season. 

Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer)

Two brothers work their hearty ancestral farm, gathering nutritious wholesome food from their abundant fertile land.

But they live close to a feisty village and have many trusted neighbours, who rely on their generous spring to kindly irrigate their crops.

One day the older brother decides to dam their fluid fountainhead, and keep all the water for themselves until they've saturated their bounty.

The younger senses danger and knows the villagers will be furious, especially since there's been no rain and none is forecast on the horizon.

Meanwhile, he's fallen in love, and soon he's wed to a carefree lass, their innocent sweetly flowing union effortlessly nurturing the countryside.

But the villagers have responded in fact retaliated with blunt antagonism, the older brother choosing to fight rather than share their rich good fortune.

Soon he's committed murder and is worried about prison life, so he convinces the younger to claim wrongdoing, by tricking him into believing he won't serve much time.

With his younger brother sentenced to 8 years he turns his sights on his distressed bride, who has thoroughly misjudged the man, and virtuously suspects nothing.

Soon he's told her husband's passed alone and forgotten within the prison.

And it seems as if purest malevolence.

Will prosper through disillusion.

The potential for collegial congruity is bellicosely menaced in Erksan's Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer), as greed disproportionately decides to simply take care of its own.

Sharing no doubt would have created interactive social prosperity, not to mention a wide range of goods and services respectfully provided free of charge.

Lazy laidback Summer evenings flush with wine and delicious food, convivially relaxing with friends and acquaintances while the copious harvest manifests.

Instead there's violent disparity and habitual conflict and confrontation.

The loss of a loved one, no time for sleep.

Constant vigilance, prescribed paranoia.

I'm no expert in running a farm but you can't starve everyone else, and refuse to share the Earth's lifeblood as has freely been done for communal millennia. 

Excessive pride and limitless avarice have been condemned throughout the ages.

Susuz Yaz brings them to light.

With toxic mad solipsistic atrophy.

The Good Liar

A reptilian overture preys on aged innocence, moving from one lonely widow to the next, as he amasses prim misfortune, too incorrigible to ever give it up (Ian McKellen as Roy Courtnay).

Lifelong aggressive tremens, no friend to terms or tact, slipped through the cracks for many a year, avoided wayward trim detection.

He's quite hawkish, rather diligent, a partner lending a helping hand (Jim Carter as Vincent), watching out for eager fools all too willing to softly land.

Romance by night, fraternizing by day, not one to take time off, he's insatiably disposed, as voracious as they come, an emotionless career psycho.

He meets another unsuspecting victim (Helen Mirren as Betty McLeish) all too happy to make a new friend, she's so overcome with infatuation it's not long 'til he's movin' in.

Her grandson's (Russell Tovey as Stephen) more suspicious and proceeds to make historical inquiries, uncovering a gruesome awkward scandal dating back to World War II.

But explanations are forthcoming and life's less bitter if you can forgive, the two making it up on the shifty spot, and carrying on as if nothing's unhinged.

But if the title's none the wiser, there may be more surprises in store, The Good Liar as composed as its enmity, begetting bitter strikes richly scored.

It's straightforward yet tough from the get-go, but neither textbook nor boring, a brisk pace highlighting the novelty, of high stakes octogenarian high-jinx.

The couple's half bourgeois, half streetwise, at times they pleasantly blend, Betty's sympathy keeping things afloat, providing excuses for Roy's demeanour.

I think a particularly vile realm in hell should be reserved for those who prey on the elderly, if such a place exists, and it's odd to see the elderly preying upon each other in this one, sheer proof of the ageless psychopath.

Certainly a good idea for a film and I can't think of anything else like it, although if it had been shot like a creepy indie, it likely would have made more of an impact.

It's a bit farfetched that Roy is still at large at his age, can you always work in a British detective?

Still enjoyed it, a bit of irreverent controversy, nice to see Helen Mirren and Ian McKellen in something dramatic, without fast cars or apocalyptic agendas.

Some unexpected twists keep it moving along as their coupling becomes more intense, neither too poised nor that full-on thug, without ever displaying much feeling.

Is this a date movie?

Knives Out

The details of a significant literary fortune gravely concern a renowned P.I., after its author passes away.

For multiple motivations could have driven his children to murder, although things seem quite prim and proper during preliminary investigations.

But bold personalities have lied about particulars to appear both innocent and ready to please, their uncoordinated individualized tales melodramatically unwinding under further examination.

Classic lackadaisical mischief improvisationally askew, a bit of lacklustre stiff-lipped cerveza effervescent undrafted clues.

An ingenue accompanies Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) as hypotheticals brashly accumulate, her involvement hushed up meanwhile while others clash and conciliate.

Unnerved as if something's counterpoised, or shifty, ill-gotten, extraneous, her own misdeeds wouldn't be so incriminating, if they weren't so exceedingly awkward.

Disbelief as inherently relied upon as stealth or disingenuous inquisition, what's to be said is difficult to say, if everything isn't just brought right back up.

Veracity assuming verisimilitude.

Awaiting redoubtable spectre.

A murder mystery not as stealthy as I had expected, still induces endearing alarm, more commercial than Frost, Morse, or Vera, its lighthearted humour in sharp cheeky contrast.

Almost as if writer/director Rian Johnson is aware of the appeal of astute British sleuths, yet sought something less traditional for his star-studded Knives Out, then hired Daniel Craig (James Bond) to detect with a Southern accent, to craft something much more American.

It's first rate unperturbed spice mélange, unconcerned yet still strict and serious, bashful yet residually haunting, determined to make things up as it goes along.

It generates enough interest early on to still entice as it gives itself away, cleverly concealing less evident alternatives, to sustain reanimating perspectives.

If there ever was an old world its conception disputes the new, as the media picks up the scoop, and youth habitually makes the right moves.

It's cool to see a film that finds a physical image to sum up its form in the end, although I can't mention what it is, although from what I've said it should be somewhat obvious.

Neither too light nor too dark and damning, another creative film from the versatile Rian Johnson.

Not as edgy or grim as Looper.

But certainly a lot more fun.

Laissez bronzer les cadavres

Auriferously enveloped in taut supernatural ubiquity suddenly thrust into periscopical freelance tight-knit plans crisply cropped chaos inveterate beam brightly brandished ancient shivers.

Plot embryonically subsumed ambient malcontenants gargoylically grouped in febrile homely ruins spacious interiors accents flush endemic verisimilitude hearty chipped consummates.

Exacting detail poised petulance amassed misfortune spastic swathe.

Grim spirit haunted hospice brisk hashtag extrinsic vessel.

No escape alternative thought quotidian distraction nostalgic reminiscence, ambient gravity supersaturated magnetism cartesian lockdown enraptured immobility.

Beyond the interrogative enriching strict declaration I've never been here before exalted purest articulate perfidy, sensual stream insouciant sultry sunbathed nomenclature, emotive instinct lucrative goals breathless contempt perpetual motion perspicaciously exhaled saturated elevations arterial wavelength transisting thatch.

Velveteen.

Freedoms frenetically composed casked and coaxed immersion purloined Serengeti paradisaical taunts surveyed disemboweled allegiance.

Primordial improvisations midnight magnates circumstantially asphyxiating engrained accords, bleak prospects menacingly heckle options baleful non-negotiable arrest.

Brilliance generously applied atypically tailored to a weathered realm, its incumbent creative frenzies extracting copious iron clad ligaments.

You couldn't create something this tight without meticulous drive, but inasmuch as the mad notoriously evades reasonable discourse, Laissez bronzer les cadavres outwits generic overtures.

Refreshing.

What Free Fire could have been without the humour and more style.

Much more style.

It would be oppressively immersive if it wasn't so laissez-faire, bold unique cinematic reckoning polished and selective like precious blackmarket diamonds.

Maltese falcons.

Soaring through unparalleled wilds.

Ravenous and sheer.

Disillusioned incarnate yields.

A must see.

*Happy Halloween!

Molly's Game

What a sensation.

Nefariously betrayed by a player in L.A, she picks up and moves to New York, cleverly managing its most lucrative poker game soon after, a table upon which it only cost $250,000 to play.

To buy in.

Exceedingly bright yet mysterious and chill, she lavishly executes with modest reticent conviviality, eloquently ensuring a good time while building her mystique, seducing excessive wealth because she remains unavailable, her clients finding themselves basking in wondrous extremes, vivaciously sustained, through feverish risk embellishment.

Just sitting at the table must have made them feel legendary.

While her exotic enabling and untouchable allure generated complimentary resilient reveries that made losing millions seem like fun.

Elegance.

Jurisprudently classified.

Quite a sporty film, Molly's Game.

The dialogue rapidly disseminates emblazoned information with fervid freeflowing evangelical equanimity.

With innocence.

She's not necessarily free of guilt, but like Columbo in For Your Eyes Only, her crimes amount to nothing when compared to those of Kristatos.

Molly's (Jessica Chastain) lawyer sees it that way too (Idris Elba as Charlie Jaffey), making an impassioned plea for the prosecution's sympathy in one of the film's best scenes.

If you like psychology, Molly has an honest contentious conversation with her father (Kevin Costner) near the end, that argumentatively condenses priceless age-old imbroglios.

It's well-timed.

She was one of the best downhill skiers in the U.S at one point, specializing in moguls, and she matched her athleticism with a sharp intellect that was confident and capable enough to construct palaces out of incredible risks undertaken, while never opportunistically overlooking client confidentiality.

Even when offered millions.

Self-reliant sacrifice.

Supreme integrity.

Good film, fast-paced-high-stakes worked into a narrative that's direct yet still more intelligent than most.

There must be big games in Denver.

Every night of the year.

All the Money in the World

What would you do if you were the richest person in the world, if you had more money than anyone else, if you made the other plutocrats look like paupers in comparison, if you could turn the Cleveland Browns into a Super Bowl contender?

I suppose I would travel a lot. Buy some nice things. A lot of Ne'Qwa. Donate heavily to schools. Open a bakery and a vegetarian fast food chain and a restaurant that sells its own craft beer. Make a film, tip lavishly, give tens of millions away, support athletes and artists, and vigilantly fight the poaching of endangered species.

A lot of good could be done with the world's largest fortune, a lot of positive changes could be made, poverty could be reduced for millions, a little bit more camaraderie, a little bit less sarcastic fatalism.

Incredible Christmases/Holiday Seasons.

Ridley Scott's All the Money in the World takes a look at J. Paul Getty (Christopher Plummer), who was the richest man in the world yet still never felt comfortable or secure.

A miser in the purest sense, even with all that money he never made much of an effort to get to know his family, his offspring, let alone learn to love them, preferring to acquire esteemed physical objects instead, because they wouldn't change their minds or disagree with him, he even let his grandson be terrorized by kidnappers for months rather than pay his ransom, even after they cut off his ear, even after they threatened to kill him.

Monstrous avarice.

That's what the film's about, the kidnapping of Getty's grandson (Charlie Plummer as John Paul Getty III), the dire straits of his desperate mother (Michelle Williams), the transformation of stern Ex-CIA Agent Fletcher Chase (Mark Wahlberg), and a growing friendship forged between kidnapped and kidnapper (Romain Duris as Cinquanta).

Costume design by Janty Yates.

Michelle Williams keeps getting better. She's capably transitioning from ingenue to matron with remarkable ambivalence.

Duris caught my attention too.

Solid film, well-constructed, super direct but perhaps not the place for metaphorical innovation, a critical examination of wealth backed up by believable characters and situations which energetically, controversially, argumentatively, speculatively, and empathetically move the plot along, sure and steady confident competent filmmaking, emotionally telling a story without histrionically agitating.

In these bizarro political times, I imagine some groups are commending the elder Getty on his moribund intractability.

While mad people argue about whose nuclear missile launch button is bigger.

Sometimes I think they're friends and they just like globally stirrin' the pot.

Such thoughts are dangerous.

*I'm so boycotting Tim Hortons.

The Nut Job 2: Nutty by Nature

Gluttony and greed contend with sustainability and prudence as a group of mischievous animals from a local park run afoul of a corrupt disingenuous mayor, in The Nut Job 2: Nutty by Nature.

As overflowing with contempt for anything that doesn't immediately enrich his vast fortunes, as he is unable to prevent himself from gorging upon snacks encumbered by a cardiac degree of immobilizing trans fat, Mayor Muldoon (Bobby Moynihan) decides to turn public land into an amusement park without seeking the guidance of council beforehand.

It is cheaply constructed for the bare minimum with concern for neither structural integrity nor public safety, a ghastly house of carnivalesque cards ready to crumble at any given moment.

The animals protest.

The public land is their home, the ground upon and within which they rear and nurture their young, without it they'll have to move to the surrounding unforgiving concrete wastelands, wherein which they'll likely be divided, and forced to live unscrupulously alone.

They are also guilty of flagrant distraction.

Spoiled after having fortunately gathered extreme wealth, they squandered their resources with reckless unconcern, consumed by ravenous appetites, their carefree excess foolishly cost them their homegrown instincts.

But one squirrel kept her head, Andie (Katherine Heigl), thorny love interest of leader, Surly (Will Arnett).

Together they begin to rebuild, encouraging each individual member to share their ideas, demonstrate their competencies, synergize their strategies, and mobilize their momentum.

With the sole goal in mind, of taking Muldoon the fuck down.

It's an energetic children's film that environmentally examines contemporary obsessions with grotesque profits by juxtaposing plutocrats with the penniless, the nimble, with the immutable.

The Mayor consults no one, cares nothing for his clients, it's pure unregulated capitalism, sacrificing sanctuary for psychotropics, and solace for crime and hunger.

Communal ghettoization.

Globalization is metaphorically presented as different animal groups share their mutually hopeless predicaments.

One hell of a squirrel.

One hell of a mouse.

An incredible synthesis.

Problems in one region of the globe/town, problems in another.

Symbiotic stitches, cooperative communications.

Pursuant, indicative.

Of global citizenry.

It seems like the lost city of El Dorado was more of a trick that betrayed avarice than a legend bearing auriferous yields.

If conquistadors were terrorizing South America, and the South Americans realized they lusted for gold, it makes sense that they would lure them with fantastic tales deep into the heart of the unforgiving jungle, where they would find naught but suffering and ruin.

Although there may have been an ancient city of fabulous wealth that had once existed, and still persisted in oral tradition, indigenous South Americans still may have failed to mention to the bloodthirsty conquistadors that the city's legend was as ancient as it was ineffable, as they tried to rid their countryside of the invincible threat.

Idea aided by The Lost City of Z.

Love & Mercy

Bill Pohlad's Love & Mercy takes a touching look at gentle brilliance and the jealousy it unwittingly incites, the vindictive and the voracious perched to pounce, asserting themselves through dismissive abrasive cynicism.

Preying on the gifted.

The film romanticizes Brian Wilson's (John Cusack/Paul Dano) stealth, his steady patient creative orchestrations, the insights, the voices, the exacting yet understanding care playfully attached to his work, the fun humble spontaneous personality that nurtured love in those that could see his beauty, childlike wonder and awe maturely mastered to crystallize ecstatic movements, multifaceted maestro, coy imaginative visionary.

He faces three main challenges in his personal life, one that isn't too serious, another Beach Boy trying to (boringly) keep things simple, to move away from the experimental yet relatable path his force was cultivating (Brian writes everything so it's easy for him to ignore him although he becomes increasingly hostile), his father, who can't accept his exceptional success, who goes out of his way to brutally put him down, thinking he's regained control of the family by doing so, he can't let go, and a psychiatrist who traps him in a hellhole, controlling every aspect of his life, treating him like a spoiled two-year-old child, as opposed to a musical manifest.

There's a lot of pressure when it comes time for him to write.

A loving woman, Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), then enters his life and seeks to turn things around.

The legalities are daunting.

But she's full of angelic zeal.

It's a solid film, entertainingly profound, smoothly mixing the provocative and the popular, paying tribute to Wilson's legend in both form and content.

Examining his trials, his genius, his humanity, elevating the individual, critiquing the callous and the cumbersome.

He wrote everything.

He added layers upon layers of complementary sounds.

His genius still shines like seductive sweltering serenity.

And he was rewarded with contempt and isolation because of a mental illness.

That makes no sense.

None at all.

*I'm no genius, but I always did well in school when I applied myself and like what I come up with a lot of the time.

Although there's always room for improvement.

It's cheesy, but the trick to avoiding the destructive influences of jealousy is to love what you have, what you're doing, while still looking to change and grow, at different speeds, governed by circumstance, and be happy when you see that your friends like what they're doing too.

Works for me most of the time anyways.

Popsicles.

Big Eyes

Isolated freedom, revelling in its independence yet struggling with domestic determinants, a husband left behind, another guaranteeing affluence, the domain of patriarchy, one gender controlling, uplifting as it suffocates, a deal is begrudgingly struck, the wife possessing talent, the husband seductive salespersonship, his greed stretching beyond the limits of the financial, his oppression, firm and resolute.

Lies.

Nothing but lies.

Desperate for the prestige yet unable to qualify its conviction.

In terms of actually creating his own texts.

Margaret Keane (Amy Adams) produces them regularly, changing and growing over time, a specific insight blossoming in the bower, dedicated, talented, active.

Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz) sells them as his own.

The critical art versus kitsch continuum actualizes the scene as recognition leads to expansion, as opportunity pluralizes the popular.

Do what you do well I say.

If Margaret had wanted to stay in the background, the situation would have been perfect, a fortune made, the strengths of both partners flourishing, a pool, a house, mutual agreement, not bad, if it's agreed upon beforehand, and artfully managed with subtle praiseworthy comments here and there, in various conversations, socially constructing a contradictory narrative, intriguing in its gentile playfulness, if time changes the nature of the agreement, and credit need be applied where credit's due.

No such agreements.

No such amendments.

Don't freak when the critics don't like you.

There are myriad critics, myriad points of view, myriad methodologies, myriad revelations, extract relevant insights that can help you grow from those who aren't malicious, pretend like it's all nonsense, onwards.

This is where liking sports comes in handy.

In the NFL, you can be one of the greatest players of all time, but you'll still be torn up if you have a bad game, you can't let it get to you, the opposition's fierce, prepare for the next game, let it go, let it go.

Walter turns out to be incorrigible, trying to take all the credit for his wife's work, but she embodies true integrity, leaves the luxury behind, and starts from scratch again.

I liked the film and was impressed that Tim Burton wasn't directing another remake.

I think he still has another Beetlejuice within, I watched it again recently, I love that film.

Like Margaret's work, Big Eyes is accessible and witty, charmingly plucking its heartstrings, multidimensionally navigating cultural tributaries.

Nice to see Jon Polito (Enrico Banducci).

And Mr. Terence Stamp (John Canaday).

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

They squeezed many a film out of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit, and I loved going to see them all, none of them blowing me away like Star Wars or that cartoon I happened to see on television during a blizzard when I was like 6, but I am much older now, and tend to be blown away by different types of narratives.

Greed is the sin dominating The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, as Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) succumbs to dragon sickness and refuses to share his gold with others.

Others who sheltered him.

Others who protected him.

A delirious dream sequence brings him back to his senses and team Thorin joins the battle, the battle that dominates most of the film, it's a cool battle I guess, the fifth army still indisputably my favourite, as it was watching the cartoon as a child, this time with werebear accompaniment, brilliant move, even if Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt) didn't figure prominently in the action.

The film also productively deals with the unfortunate hardships facing the people of Esgaroth, as they struggle with their new situation, food, organization, lodging, required and sought after, possessing few if any possessions, a leader emerges amongst them.

Other strong features include Tauriel's (Evangeline Lilly) multiple appearances, Bilbo (Martin Freeman), feisty as ever, the focus on teamwork, albeit begrudging teamwork, and concepts like loyalty and honour, mischievously played with as egos clash and contend, which seems to always happen in these films.

But really, why did we have to see so much Alfrid Lickspittle (Ryan Gage)? He's like the worst character.

In battle, why doesn't Gandalf (Ian McKellen) cast more spells? Wouldn't that ease up the pressure a bit?

Who let Lee Pace (Thranduil) get away with that performance?

So much drama, so much pettiness, so much angst, so much fighting.

Quinctilius Varus, where are my eagles!?

Loved the Bard (Luke Evans).

Star Wars starts up again next Holiday Season.

Maleficent

Two kingdoms bordering one another, although kingdoms is the wrong choice of word, for although one is certainly the domain of a king, the other has no definitive ruler.

The other's strongest is respected, however, due to her extraordinary abilities, and her application of them, to the art of realm protection.

An act of charity sparks a romantic flame between occupants of the divergent lands, but whereas a magical aura of egalitarian majesty permeates the one, greed and covetousness rule the other, the relationship's male component residing in the later, not that such couples need be composed of both males and females, a fact the filmmakers use to circuitously cultivate their filmscape.

He craves more power.

And ignominiously betrays.

His betrayal has consequences for both the victim and the beast, as darkness reluctantly descends, to clarify his inestimable wickedness.

The couple comes of age.

And a child is born.

Regally recalling and extending Snow White and the Huntsman's proverbial special effects, comically synthesizing the free and the dependent, ravenously adjudicating a curse's immutability, while cloistering the innocent in an ominous crown of thorns, Maleficent tacitly tracks the course of the fairy tale, abiding by while transgressing, its traditional fantastic forms.

Beautifully stipulated and tragically adorned, it presents insights and prohibitions regarding love's cautious stealth, preferring loyalty to might, the incandescent, to the miser.

Nebraska

Stark patient self-sacrificing unconditional love idealizes David Grant's (Will Forte) compassion in Alexander Payne's laid-back Nebraska.

A road trip.

Family bonding.

Grievances aired.

Irrationality, coddled.

The film contrasts sympathetic understanding with grotesque blatant greed to generate a gentle hardboiled eccentric microbrew whose earthy hops boisterously blend with its down-home sense of whispered wonder.

Drenched reprieved latent reactive emotion.

It takes a good look at honesty as several close family members state that Woody Grant's (Bruce Dern) misguided claims lack sanity, yet due to their enriched aggrandizing interests they're treated as cold hard facts regardless nonetheless.

These interrelations produce a series of depressingly comic wisps.

The aesthetic modestly criticizes while humbly elevating aspects of rural life and formulates a fecund quaint sterility which gymnastically disables pretentious categorical judgments.

The film seems laid-back and calm even while characters express themselves aggressively but you don't achieve this kind of distinct reflective vacant simplicity without meticulously focusing upon its underlying romance.

Great ending.

Great film.

Iron Man

Pretty surprised by Jon Favreau's new flick Iron Man. I was expecting another boring hyped-up piece of sensationalized gobblygook and was pleased to view an entertaining, multidimensional narrative, packed with an explosive punch.

The buzz surrounding Robert Downey Jr.'s performance is bang on: he really is exceptional. The supporting cast is solid as well but it's hard to imagine what this film would have been without Downey's charisma holding it together. In many ways, the plot is quite formulaic with the usual touch of frustrating militaristic bravado. But Favreau skillfully and subtly plays with the ideological conventions built into this formula, delivering a profound critique of its conventions, while reasserting them as well. The four conventions I'd like to examine here are misogyny, the military, individuality, and fantasy, critically cast in a mold of socialist iron.

Note that I've never read the comic book and don't plan on drawing a comparison between the two.

Within action movies, female characters tend to be both beautiful and promiscuous (Bad Bond Girls), or beautiful and somewhat chaste (Miss Moneypenny and Good Bond Girls). Rarely does a female lead who isn't uber-attractive score one of these parts (accept perhaps for Grace Jones), and if they find their way into the film they usually have backup roles (note the woman who looks like a man in Iron Man's opening moments). The male lead sleeps with the bad girl who is aggressive and daring (and consequently evil within the eyes of the patriarchy) in the opening moments and saves his hot feisty encounter with the good-domestic girl until the end of the film (she takes care of the hero and keeps him safe and only receives his affections after he has returned from work [wherein we discover the brilliance underlying the plot of Martin Campbell's Casino Royale]). Within Iron Man, Pepper Pots (Gwyneth Paltrow) keeps Tony Stark's life together while he is busy applying his genius to the production of weapons, and has scruples when it comes to dating her boss. Christine Everhart (Leslie Bibb) critiques Stark's way of life but instantly swoons when propositioned (she was only propositioned because of her looks). Hence, within Iron Man we have traditional eye-dropping superbabes playing stereotypical roles patriarchically carved out for them centuries ago, and the hero manipulates them (sexually with the bad girl, domestically with the good one) while manufacturing weapons to ensure America's global predominance. Simultaneously, however, without the assistance and persistence of these women, Tony Stark's turnaround would not have been possible. Moreover, when he begins to consider that being a Master of War is somewhat scurrilous (I love how the military always takes credit for medical advances, as if there wouldn't be advances in medical technology without war, and as if it doesn't create situations that demand medical advances based upon the catastrophic effects of its designs), it's the 'bad girl' (the independent lefty) who causes him to change his ways and the 'good girl' who has trouble accepting the change (Favreau pointing out the paradox within which the stereotypical good ‘bond-girl’ functions: she feels good serving her Master as long as he's a promiscuous monster and can't deal with the reality brought about by his reversal of fortune [note that his point would have been stronger if both these girls weren't drop-dead gorgeous]).

Manifest Destiny (the world has become the west coast) finds its stripes in the sale of weapons. Tony Stark is appalled to discover that his weapons are being sold to other countries and supporting the terrorist networks he designed them to thwart (how could a genius be that naïve?). He is captured by Afghani rebels, one who saves his life with an ingenious device that hooks his heart up to a car battery. In order to help Tony escape his saviour must die, allegorically pointing out that many foreigners will die in the pursuit of the American dream, even one's who support their interests. Jim Rhodes (Terrence Howard) stands for the military and his character is used to point out how socialist politics have been transferred to it, the united military standing as one, i.e., don't stand as one to receive universal health care, higher wages, and cheaper education, stand as one within the army. Favreau demonstrates how the sale of American weapons throughout the globe supports the terroristic infrastructure they have set out to destroy, while using Tony Stark as a symbol of change, i.e., we need to stop supporting an aggressive military, treating it as if its motives embody a divine altruistic panacea. In order to destroy the weapons he has manufactured, Tony Stark builds another weapon, and his nemesis/quasi-Oedipal foe (Jeff Bridges) points out the irony of his situation during their final battle (by pointing out this irony, Favreau skillfully critiques ideologues who find progressive outcomes through the manufacture of bigger and better weapons [eventually no one will go to war because everyone will have the atomic bomb!]). Within this battle, we have a young, new vision for the military symbolically represented by Tony Stark (the son) fighting against the patriarchal father figure (Obadiah Stane). In the film's concluding moments, the military asks Tony to simply read from a script and not reveal his identity as Iron Man. Instead, he ignores the script and tells the press that he is Iron Man, a bold move, for within comic book fantasies it's usually essential that the hero maintain his or her secret identity. By doing this, Stark deconstructs the fantastic elements of his lifestyle by actually telling the truth to the people, thereby symbolically representing a new, young American political ethos that isn't afraid to acknowledge the brutal contradictions of its imperialist legacy, Favreau championing a future where American political ideals match American political practices. Stark plays by his own rules and doesn't follow the script that has been traditionally cast for him. The main problem with his role is that he is only one man, and in order for universal social programs to be created within the United States the many must align as one in order to demand access to health care, higher wages, and a decrease in their military spending. Stark's character demonstrates the power of American individuality and the progress that can be achieved by individuals willing to stand up to the administration (Martin Luther King, Jr. for instance). Unfortunately, the film ends before we can see whether or not anyone is willing to join him.

Iron Man's central symbol is Tony Stark's heart, a technological circular wonder with a luminescent glow. This heart can be thought of as representing the circular nature of political dynamics, or, the fact that governments throughout the ages have continued to reassert and revitalize peace through military conflict. By including this symbol (and focusing upon it so intently), does Favreau mean that the American political landscape can be revitalized by innovative individuals who no longer support the military, and that if these individuals find their way into the political spectrum, perhaps the circular nature of its imperialist center can in fact begin to embody a glowing peaceful spirit? Or is he just playing with the old stereotypes and trying to make his traditional vision seem innovative by not killing the promiscuous woman and showcasing a hero who isn't afraid of coming out of the closet, in Walter Benjamin's terms, rendering a political situation where the individual can experience their own destruction as a pleasure of the first order? I really don't know, and don't have the time or the money to figure it out, but he has created a multi-layered film that doesn't offer any easy answers and is open to polemical interpretations, made, elfishly, for swingers.