Big Trouble in Little China

Ageless limitless magical constellations symphonically scintillating voltaic vibes, unleashed sorcery conjured warlockdown inherent conflict improvised strategy.

Delivery scheduled, an outspoken trucker makes his way across North America, treating those listening to random outbursts of concrete wisdom and tough-talking jive.

Exoterically sermonizing on diverse subjects with bold declarations and happenstance harkening, he makes his way to San Francisco where he joins some friends in a night of gambling.

It's a special day for his closest bro since his innocent betrothed is arriving from China, whom he needs to meet at the nearby airport later that morning without further delay.

They make their way to the arrival zone but aren't the only ones awaiting her presence, a troubling group of angry ne'er-do-wells hoping to swiftly steal her away.

They succeed and bring her to Chinatown where she's recruited by a local business.

Avidly sought after by our heroes.

Who courageously seek bold conjugal virtue. 

Big Trouble in Little China is a hardboiled cult classic from a different age, when special effects were becoming less hokey and everyday people where cinematically kind.

We therefore find a compelling example of laidback wit and charming candour, making quick decisions with inspiring bravery even if he lacks esoteric wherewithal. 

It's the kind of campy industrious fortitude classically interwoven into action-packed chaos, that strikes an eternal bedlambience which constructively nurtures wilderness whimsy. 

If the filmmakers involved hadn't sincerely given 'er with monumental gusto the results may have been less memorable. 

John Carpenter habitually excels at encouraging strong performances. 

With exceptional line after exceptional line.

Unabashed and confident.

On down the road. 

The Lonely Wife

Nestled in an imposing residence quietly adrift along literary shores, a humble wife beseechingly awaits the anxious return of her daring husband.

He's exceedingly disposed to constant work and distracted attention, his habitual return inexhaustibly encouraging thoughts of duty and custom and privilege. 

A life of the mind imaginatively begets a fluid multifaceted dynamism, gently overflowing with tempestuous whimsy adamantly delineating mutated reverie.

A playful cousin less prone to diligence mischievously arrives to help run the paper, and is soon secretively and aloofly tasked with finding ways to eclipse the tedium.

Epic discussions temperately clad munificently hale cerebral senses, uncertain abilities actively invested with novel synergy and declaration. 

Both interlocutors timidly convinced they could one day publish their bold material, creative acts of embowered fertility interactively sew once barren plains.

The compelling dialogues swiftly improvised offer more than comments on l'écriture, the unforeseen discovery of a kindred spirit mellifluously manifesting infatuation.

Her sure and steady distant husband unaware of the nimble blossom.

Which emerges unrequited. 

For the bland despondent eternal dawn.

Exciting to see a thoughtful film which eagerly concerns itself with writing, from conception to publication to reception various stages un/resolved.

Rare to see universal expenditure vehemently crafting books and poems, extended insights into vast repositories of distinct discerning alternative accents.

Wholeheartedly enriched much more encompassing than a brief and limited character count, less enamoured with glib encapsulation and more akin to multilayered exhibition.

The liberal editor is distressingly bewildered when his trusted assistant suddenly robs him, and he discovers his wife's shocking desire for someone else who leaves for another.

For the new country, the post-colonial birth, which he has tirelessly been cultivating, he soldiers on with open-minded comprehension of stoic trust and humanistic confidence.

A feverish account of idle dreams.

Lost and scouring the refined wilderness.

Emboldened feeling exotically dismayed.

Sly temptation lithe and blaring. 

Young Guns

Serendipitous saddling fomenting fortunes crackerjack kindness reverent rustlin', stampeding torrents literate loci instructive succour obliged education.

Haberdash hogshead tenacious teamwork Rubiconstructive retained regulators, truculent taunting subsiding swagger intellect jambience burgeoning blossoms. 

Collusive commerce nefarious networks jingoist junction Tatooine tirades, secretive sinuous stealthy swashbuckle malicious murder curmudgeon cabal. 

Renegade retinue leaderless posse passionate penchants kinetic collective, diatribe deputies laconic lawmen nebulous neophytes seditious swerve.

Mad uncharacteristic unruly Blitzkrieg undisciplined dagwooden undaunted dragoonies, occultist oddballroomatadorabble incensed discipupils adherent litter.

Internal combustion unsettling disputes cardionysus fraternal fissures, exacting ill-favoured rogue smallpox impression newfound internecine audacious comport.

Poetic proclivities amorous auction studious studebake uncertain unction, indiscreet bold nimble enamoured sojourn conjugal cosign vigorous reach. 

Bellicose business exceptional tenure unwavering purpose conspicuous focus, shock instigation lawless calibration embellished belief conceptual savvy. 

Indelicate danger insurmountable agency doughty nuthatch infinite conflict, rigorous tumbledown improvised fortitude carnivalesque formidable foes. 

Survivalist synergies wilderness verve exceeding temerity ambitious being, Old Mexico-sponsored galvanized gumption offhand industrious bushwhacking beatitudes. 

Unforgotten friendship disheartening news sinistorytime sequential stark staggered symmetry, foolhardy reckoning brave composition inexhaustible mantra cataclysmic mavericks. 

Innovative illogic western wimbledowntown youthful yippee-ki-yay exotic entertainment, perennial favourites ricardiocast enticing implausibility unkempt exaggeration.

Love Terence Stamp's role in this film.

Innate improbability. 

The best Billy-the-Kid movie I've seen.

Followed the cast in different films for years.  

The Milagro Beanfield War

Competing interests divergently envision the possible future of a rural town, one striving to see the local populace flourish, the other secretly leaving them behind.

A family man hardworking and fed up decides to irrigate his land with forbidden water, suddenly changing the fortunes of the town as the impoverished people line up behind him.

The water had been reallocated for the lavish construction of a new land development, many residents having already sold out to the vested interests and swiftly left.

So many people don't want to leave though and dig in deep to defend their rights, seeking employment and inclusive strategies which sincerely enable lifelong habitation. 

They're old friends and newfound companions who have already found where they want to live, there's no desire to pick up and go to a different town and then start over.

Why not find steady jobs for them and dynamically include them in strategic plans, finding a place for schools and hospitals the next generation of crafty citizens?

Those kinds of leaders deserve respect the ones who genuinely care for the people of their town, and holistically look far ahead to a future that substantially includes them and their families.

The Milagro Beanfield War offers a crash course in multilateral civil conflict (there's even a sociologist), when the interests of struggling people are smugly dismissed with hard-hearted unconcern.

A former lawyer who became a journalist attempts to lead them even though he's jaded, a determined feisty knowledgeable mechanic consistently encouraging his strict resolve.

Imagine cutting off the water supply from impoverished farmers trying to feed their families, it's a bona fide human rights disaster so often ignored with lofty disgrace.

The well-financed powers-that-be are hoping they'll ignore the distressing changes, and won't exercise their democratic rights to firmly hold onto their courageous town.

Mutual respect for the townspeople and the developers can lead to sustainable economic interests, if people aren't trying to cheat one another and honestly agree to progressively work together.

Too bad so much of everything is inefficiently structured along distrustful lines, conversation, books, the cinema, religious differences, shopping, the news. 

There are times when things are less bitter and collective involvement leads to great change.

Like public schools and universal healthcare.

Democratic governments. 

Universal dynamism. 

Kaijûtô no kessen: Gojira no musuko (Son of Godzilla)

A forgotten island off the beaten track hosts grand monumental experiments, as revered scientists seek to increase the expanding world's food supply.

Indeed it is speculatively thought that the vital crops sustaining humanity, will fall short of the requisite yields in little more than a 100 years.

Thus, using silver iodide, an ingenious solution is hypothetically put forth, to produce vast weather altering scenarios which create forbidden extreme temperatures.

How the cultivation of extreme cold will help generate abundant crops, isn't provocatively explained although it's assumed there is an answer.

Meanwhile, the scientific equipment periodically detects confusing anomalies, which startle the dedicated technicians who remain uncertain as to their origins.

Until after their first experiment generates hostile colossal preying mantises, who in turn destroy a barrier of rock, within which lies a massive egg.

Before they can devour what lies within the young one's father fortuitously arrives, the ensuing battle borderline epic as Godzilla Jr. watches in breathless shock.

Soon noble Papa Godzilla is eagerly instructing his newborn lad, in the titanic arts of aggrieved distemper, the two blossoming in flower. 

But Kumonga, the local giant spider, has had enough of their tender bonding.  

And when Godzilla drifts off into monstrous slumber.

It comes a' creepily crawling.

The sensational details of the riveting romance which brought about Godzilla's curious offspring, are unfortunately missing from this lively film, perhaps waiting to be found in another instalment.

Yet a newborn Godzilla indeed exists and once inquisitively enacted engrained mischief, however unaware of his gigantic rivals he aloofly appeared to be.

Thanks to his father's teachings he learns to fight back nevertheless, and even saves good old dad from Kumonga in an epic battle near the film's end.

As to altering the weather, hasn't that tended to be considered a disastrous calamitous mistake, the potential room for catastrophic error and international bedlam maladroitly pending.

There are just two many variables to holistically account for when creating such devices, many of which remain beyond our comprehension and also likely beyond that of A.I.

At least it was generally thought to be an incredibly bad idea long ago. 

We have advanced considerably.

But the forecast still lacks precision. 

The Ploughman's Lunch

Difficult to say if anything you consider will ever lithely generate a relevant buzz, something that fits with trendy conceptualizations regarding spectacular events or age old pastimes.

So many fashions just seem so blasé still visually appealing but dull to write about, is it worth the time to conjure something else about the Suez Crisis or World War I?

There's a philosopher named Derrida who was famous when I was attending university, for so many things I never came to know but also for writing lengthy pieces about random ephemera. 

Not to suggest that a pair of shoes isn't substantial you need to wear them each and every day, but it was so impressive to read lengthy texts about random objects that otherwise seemed meaningless.

He would diversify the specific construct with verbose multidimensional correspondence, eventually proving through elaborate orchestration the meaningful vitality of the mundane item.

Therefore it's possible I never stopped instinctually preferring random offhand knick-knacks to prominent events, which still seem manufactured at times to generate markets for theoretical discourse.

At the same time, the oppression of a people holistically holds my distressed attention, I would rather support intellectual markets cultivating peace and understanding than always write about rocks and squirrels.

But, if I'm not mistaken, and I'm by no means a Derrida or Deleuze expert, in fact if I had read Deleuze in my youth I may have never bothered to write anything afterwards, the point was that elevating everyday objects like shoes or necklaces and indirectly equating them with jewels or crowns, would level the playing field and promote equality that would in turn subliminally contradict warlike pretensions.

Thus, even though one person possessed a radiant tiara decked out with emeralds, they would still respect the creative decisions made by inventive clients of local thrift shops.

And those very same clients meanwhile would apply their wit to the cultivation of creative fashions, without dismissing the bejewelled elegance of hypothetically luxurious esoteric customs. 

I still meet people who respect such insights although so many of them are older than me.

I'll still always love baguettes and cheese (and Ne'Qwa).

Saw a turtle today.

A fox and a rainbow.

Mothra vs. Godzilla

A mysterious giant egg suddenly appears off the Japanese Coast, its contents baffling yet still intriguing, as diverse interests eclectically gather.

Unfortunately, environmental initiatives fail to posture before the egg is (absurdly) sold, by local entrepreneurial opportunists hoping to monumentally prosper.

A more ambitious wealthy exhibitionist hopes to create a theme park through Happy Enterprises, and entertainingly showcase the egg while also selling treats and delicious refreshments.

Concerned journalists soon learn of the plot and set about cultivating public opinion, hoping to create a massive uproar which may encourage government intervention.

They lament that there's no legal recourse to directly challenge the developers in court, especially after two miniature citizens suddenly arrive from Mothra's island.

Apparently, the typhoon sent Mothra's egg on a disquieting maiden voyage, and they've come to argue for its return especially since noble Mothra is dying.

The adventurists care not for her plight and refuse to give up their lucrative treasure.

Just as Godzilla comes a' callin'.

Hellbent on countercultural carnage.

A crash course in socioeconomics instructively awaits in Mothra vs. Godzilla, perfectly laid out with accessible language which any curious audience member would easily comprehend (with English or French subtitles 🤷).

Mothra vs. Godzilla may even indeed be a solid didactic tool to be used in classrooms across the land, schools effectively saving resources and time by simply showing this ridiculous film.

Perhaps that's what happened, there's no equivocal doubt that environmental regulations in some jurisdictions are much stronger, and that if you want to develop land like Ontario's Greenbelt, you first have to acknowledge local regulations.

Thus, the public outrage the journalists seek to nurture in ye olde Mothra vs. Godzilla (Mothra shows up in spellcheck but Godzilla doesn't), would likely also be backed up by laws progressively created over the course of the last century.

Hence, instead of bravely spending the last moments of her life epically battling the formidable Godzilla, Mothra could have cared for her fledgling young and perhaps even named or taken them for their first flight.

Perhaps Godzilla disputatiously emerged to figuratively encourage the creation of such laws, I've seen several nature shows about Japan, and it seems as if their wildlife is flourishing (except for whales 😢😭😿🐋).

Sad that Mothra had to physically give her life for such a turn of events to jurisprudently take hold.

Her larvae born argumentatively composed.

Their perspicacity irritating the aggrieved Godzilla!

Person to Person

Hyper-obsessions with the omnipresent, the characteristic need to express thoughts and emotions, the honesty clarity genuinely beaming, the established difficulties perpetually stoking.

The potential scoop inertly resting within unconcerned inanimate shade, wholeheartedly uninterested in asking questions of an inconsiderate aggressive nature.

Trying to learn a new skill indubitably applicable to arts and crafts, yet unaccustomed to the invasive practices at times associated with acquiring information.

The incipient stages acrobatically wherein which versatile material may flexibly emerge, counterbalanced with awkward politesse and innate feelings of communal well-being.

The joy of life sincerely illuminating multifaceted random cause, as someone who vividly cares goes frolicking about with cheerful genuine stalwart integrity.

A scrutinizing look at urban communities interactively drawn towards communicative life, without much of a focus on automobiles or ye olde home ownership or raising a family.

The unmarried masses productively relating inhibitions cast off and merriment proclaimed, within a volatile spectrum reciprocally radiating instantaneous clash.

So much happening within the city so much free time to extract and chirp, who knows indeed what to imaginatively make of it, fun to lose yourself within the immersion.

I did have problems with observant delineations vocally defining social miscues, which unfortunately turned me into that guy even long after I had learned not to generally share them.

I eventually adapted and grew and slowly mutated into a traditional mode, but I was still prone to humorous outbursts which could at times lead to passionate scorn.

Nice to see the people in this film constructively givin' 'er nevertheless, a cool cast with creative narratives offering thoughtful insights into variable phenomena. 

Books and film and music and poetry there's ample room for a life of the mind.

It certainly never grows boring.

Especially with wildlife sightings. 

Kokuriko-zaka kara (From Up on Poppy Hill)

The intense painful longing for an adored absent loved one, objectively expressed through ritualistic candour, every morning by the vibrant sea the message sent unseen unanswered, a family waiting observant on shore, yet still caught up in the world around them.

Umi's mother is off to study in the unfamiliar metropoli of North America, leaving her alone to manage their business, a task she accomplishes with inherent skill.

Meanwhile, Shun grows increasingly frustrated as it becomes apparent his clubhouse will be shut down, many of the other studious individuals in agreement, yet at a loss as to how to proceed.

As fate would have it, he's noticed Umi's signals and written a poem about them in his newsletter, which she notices one startling morning, before venturing forth to discover its author.

The two strike up a friendship although working relationship may be more apt, male and female soon gathered together to renovate the clubhouse for the first time in years.

But there may be even more to it after they learn they both have copies . . .

. . . of the same mysterious photo!

Taken of their fathers ages ago.

Toil and hard work and prudent planning industriously drives Kokuriko-zaka kara (From Up on Poppy Hill), which diligently enlivens through microcosm to innovatively excel and creatively encapsulate.

Japan having struggled in recent times through disastrous wars for which they can't be forgiven, the youth who grew up in the aftermath nevertheless, provided with the choice to make amends.

They have their traditions and customs which they resolutely honour through resilient sacrifice, taking care of their responsibilities with adamant gusto, while persevering through hearty resolve.

But a brilliant survivor of the ruthless war who recognizes that it's time to change the old ways, presents a newfound contemporary alternative which follows a reconciliatory postmodern path.

Imagine a world where people really were chill and there was no need for consistent higher-up apologies, where sustained evolving international endeavours led to food to eat and employment for billions.

Why are goodwill and camaraderie so counterintuitively maligned?

Exacting standards.

Commensurate will.

So many variables.  

Aces high.

Brewster's Millions

Stipulations.

Conditions which must be reached for an unorthodox goal to be achieved.

At times simply nominal, at others quite the pain, Brewster's Millions embraces the latter, with munificent refrain.

Thus one Montgomery Brewster (Richard Pryor) discovers he's the only living relative of an eccentric recently passed multimillionaire (Hume Cronyn as Rupert Horn), and that he will inherit quite the sum, but only if can first spend 30 million in a month, without acquiring any assets, giving it to charity, or letting anyone else know why he's doing it.

There's the option for a single million no-holds-barred no rules and regulations, but he's a classic gamer and readily accepts the incredible challenge.

It's fun to watch while he lavishly embraces extreme generosity with his friends and staff, and goes about spreading sweetly flowing largesse wherever he happens to fortuitously be.

Notably with his old minor league baseball team with whom he sets up a 3-inning game versus the Yankees, and even pitches for awhile himself in front of the adoring Hackensack crowd.

The ways in which he daringly shares his newfound riches make sundry headlines, but no one can know why he's doing it, not even his closest friend (John Candy as Spike Nolan). 

But those who would inherit the 300 million should Mr. Brewster's efforts fail, diabolically engage in malfeasance designed to ensure their probable success.

Rather unsuspectingly Mr. Brewster proceeds with intuitive freewheelin' dignity.

That would have been quite the month.

Gratuities notwithstanding.

In terms of fun, the lucrative Brewster's Millions emphatically excels from different perspectives, kaleidoscopically coalesced in crafty inspirational song.

Politics takes a swift jab as the most prominent mayoral candidates are feverishly lambasted, Brewster deciding to run himself with no intentions of holding office.

Certainly a film that encourages dreaming or the age old what would I have done?, there's abundant remake opportunity here, just find a 21st-century angle.

I guess a sequel wasn't in the cards but I would have liked to have seen the story continue, nowadays there's no doubt there would have been at least a comic trilogy. 

A chill film if you're looking to relax and watch some craziness for 102 minutes.

Classic old school 1980s.

Co-starring Jerry Orbach (Charley Pegler), Pat Hingle (Edward Roundfield), Peter Jason (Chuck Fleming), Rick Moranis (Morty King), Yakov Smirnoff (Vladimir), and Joe Grifasi (J.B. Donaldo).  

The Hudsucker Proxy

Difficult to say what leads to success in business, if you've never really read anything about it or worked in the industry, although sundry films and series suggest cut-throat dispositions are indeed paramount, is there something to be said for such conceit?, I have to admit, it's far beyond me.

In The Hudsucker Proxy the opposite rings true as a mild-mannered mailroom dreamer moves up, to lead a million dollar company no less, with only a peculiar idea to back him (Tim Robbins as Norville Barnes). 

The company was doing well at the affluent time of its founder's tragic parting, but due to a willful irregularity, comes up for sale at the start of the next year.

Its shares are to be made public thereby preventing the Board of Directors from cashing in, unless they can diabolically decrease their value and then snatch them up before anyone else does.

Thus they hire Mr. Norville with the malevolent hope that he begets ruin, he does have unorthodox methods but his initial idea proves rather lucrative.

The Hula-Hoop in fact captures the fascination of an adoring public, and leads to acrimonious accolades from the foiled and irate distraught conspirators.

As time passes and opinions fluctuate will he be able to stay afloat?

Tumultuous tides trepidatious tenacity.

Inherent preposterous production.

What to do if harnessing miracles through spontaneous agile eclectic blunder, through the art of tantamount translation elucidating chill commercial thought?

It seems clear in Norville's case since his idea is direct and practical, but I imagine things could be much more abstruse if you require televisual or filmic structure.

It does seem somewhat odd that so much wealth can be gargantuanly generated, from such a simple idea even if adage and aphorism extol them.

You see the argument played out every day in democratic political venues across the land, study and learning consistently duelling with worldly knowledge upon the stage.

So many people work within the world that their crafty leadership no doubt feels, as if they deserve a certain percentage of the inspired decision making financed by government.

Their intellectual counterparts at times find it odd having to share the coveted spotlight, as they diversify through complication inevitably leading to brilliant foresight.

But democracy guarantees their privilege just as it lauds equal upstanding opportunity, who's to say who should hold the reins?, I myself prefer books and learning. 

Books and learning with practical knowledge gregariously bulwarked through realistic expenditure.

Sounds kind of like one Joe Biden.

Who seems to genuinely care. 

Border Radio

A rock journalist and a musician engage in staple domestic tomfoolery, perhaps committed to sustaining the vital should meticulous mayhem materialize. 

In the meantime, for the husband, it's off down south after an act of theft, where he celebrates his unabashed freedom with expert chillin' and self-absorbed calm.

His wife's none too impressed but still must admit she wants to find him, steadily sleuthing viaduct volatility with mutual friends intuitive scorn.

Assistance is readily provided although outcome perusal remains rather suspect, socializing having-something-to-do spontaneously lithe indelible induction.

Like a lovelorn lullaby relapse cervezatude cut economic nausea, an uncertain arrhythmic frequency effervescently tempers said grizzly innocence. 

Pervasive contemporary impenitent prognosis picturesquely pioneering meaningless mercy, a sense of indisposed primordial justice lacking formal judicial concern.

Prevalent protruding prolonged distractions sporadically instigate tranquil harmonies, like you're young with nothing to do and it's the summer and warm outside.

Disjointed realities then suddenly reasserted with a dutiful sense of improvised propriety, as if they're finally gettin' 'round to it as the lickspittle lackadaisically loiters.

With instances of distressed imposition diversifying resonant mischievous solace, at times the discontinuous gravity hauntingly strives to riff somnambulized. 

But holistic freedom's afoot, the cast permitted to add waylaid surety, a randomized reclusive carnivalesque germination engendering manifest familiar disarray. 

From 1987, an early progenitor of the mockumentary style more profuse in later years, still a wonderful way to tell a story, I'll certainly never grow tired of it.

Border Radio doesn't pose any questions anyone's been meaning to ask.

To develop an authentic visceral perspective.

Extemporaneously its own. 

The Glass Key

The Glass Key examines dependability from a grizzled volatile perspective, honest integrity effortlessly emerging through the proliferation of kindred spirits. 

Indeed, with praiseworthy pertinence it paradigmatically hails consistency, with foundations respectfully laid, long-lasting purpose integral commitment. 

Mr. Madvig (Brian Donlevy) has reached inspired heights and from his summit makes stern decisions, which at times irritate other higher-ups who have no wish to entertain options.

Correspondingly, a well-heeled challenger (Joesph Calleia as Mr. Varna) proceeds to kidnap his most trusted man (Alan Ladd as Mr. Beaumont), and offer him a lucrative deal that doesn't demand much extra work.

But loyal Ed unconditionally refuses and retains his credibility, friendship and values, virtue, integrity, much more important to his sense of self.

He's ruthlessly punished for his denial yet eventually rewarded for remaining true, the kind of generous modest confidante you don't often see adamantly succeeding.

But people used to dream of a world wherein which safe communities would flourish and prosper. 

Solid work their vital backbone.

As businesses excelled in sociosublimity. 

It's too bad the economy remains mysterious and whatever happens produces lateral results, wouldn't it be nice if prosperous good times could last much longer for more and more people.

Is the enigma that utterly baffling that little can be done to create lasting solutions, which produce exceptional value through the vigorous application of industrious labour?

But don't idyllic dreams of ubiquitous prosperity lead to chaos when things go sour, and the joyful robust euphoria suddenly transforms into bitter discomfiture?

But don't others resiliently prosper no matter what the 5-year plan, having resigned themselves to modest mobility through the artful cultivation of resonant spirit?

Aren't others miserable throughout the mutations and can't ever clearly detect varying degrees, their general dismissal of every manifestation a blind dismal crude animate forfeiture? 

These categories pervasively persist and still remain applicable this postmodern day.

Cool to view how often they materialize with rugged elegance and futile skepticism. 

Green Grow the Rushes

And a country persisted for centuries and its history expanded tenfold, gradually transforming from a feudal to an industrial society, incrementally balanced by royals and parliament.

But the impetus to transform various codes lacked immutable ubiquity, and while some regions emphatically adapted, others simply couldn't be bothered. 

At one time such regions perhaps adapted a more nationalistic ceremonious fervour, calling about grand chivalric dignity to unquestionably praise exalted decorum.

But as time passed, the inherent labour became too strenuous for many inhabitants, and the uproar which once fiercely extolled farming gave way to a somewhat less traditional occupation.

Less traditional?, who's to say?, some jurisdictions were settled millennia ago, and perhaps still unconsciously embrace the same engrained habits as their resourceful forefathers.

Thus, who's to say when Anderida started bootlegging and generally relying on the bounty of the sea, it seems that at one time they at least thought of farming, although over the years it lost local prominence.

Outlaw liquor from the forbidden continent steadily arrives on the shore meanwhile, which is brought throughout the region then perhaps transported all over England. 

A trio of government reps come preaching duty and responsibility, reminding the townsfolk that land must be cultivated according to 20th century guidelines.

But they've had their own laws in the region for many an indifferent decade, enjoying unconcerned jocose seclusion along with its incumbent grey lackadaisics. 

They try to be as hospitable as they can but find the outsiders most invasive, fortunately thanks to tradition and law they have alternative means at their public disposal.

But when a wild storm suddenly lands a large trusted ship in someone's backyard, their ability to jurisprudently deal is somewhat landlubbed by grandiose conspicuity. 

Trusted figures swiftly move into action and soon the 3 customs agents are locked down in court, while local legions dispose of the booty imaginatively inclined with Dionysian wherewithal. 

Just one scant example amongst thousands quietly delineating a nation each day, as its ancient interconnected paths see the onset of newfound desires and traditions.

Caught within a propitious vortex eschewing embracing various codes of conduct, individualistic poised prompt personality instigating schema forthright characteristic.

Why bother seeking downcast monotony, as long as there's inherent equal opportunity?

Uniformity lays bare extremes.

Amidst such litigious frolic. 

The Toy

A struggling writer suddenly finds he needs to come up with 10 grand, and has no job or book to speak of, but he's soon able to land a cleaning position, which he approaches with rowdy gusto, without a worry or care in the world (Richard Pryor as Jack Brown). 

He's somewhat too free-wheeling however, and soon he's reprimanded by his irate boss (Jackie Gleason as U.S. Bates), for disrupting the free-flow of his staff's communal meal, he's swiftly and firmly terminated.

But he doesn't leave he keeps on workin', still finding the time to wildly play, with showcased items in the toy department, while impressionable onlookers beam (Scott Schwartz as Eric Bates).

The curious shocked enthusiastic lead happens to be the boss's son, and he's been told he can have anything he wants, he rapidly chooses Mr. Brown.

Brown is instinctively aghast regarding the spur of the moment proposal, and has no interest in becoming a nanny, especially to a child so full of disrespect. 

But the father offers him ample compensation although it's not enough at first, but there's nothing he can do, the kid genuinely likes him.

His spirit's much more in tune with universal social democratic freedoms, and he's like nothin' Mr. Bates Jr. has seen before, at either the military college he glumly attends, or in his father's department store.

Brown teaches him about constructive criticism and enjoys the vast critical resources at his disposal.

Imagine pulling that off.

Unparalleled extrapolation.

The Toy bluntly examines taboo potentially shocking unsettling subjects, which may explain why it's somewhat hush hush, and might make a solid Criterion. 

It should be widely commended however for its frank condemnation of racism, and the ways in which it creatively vilifies high stakes segregating disparate tension. 

It also takes a heartfelt look at friendship with sincere honest and caring simplicity, an age-old traditional instructive strategy which produces results if not too sentimental.

If friendship did wholeheartedly flourish beyond race and financial divides, I would imagine the world would be much less violent, considering the catastrophic warlike Putin.

If there's too much of an emphasis on individualism teamwork falls by the arrogant wayside, but if the community becomes to one-dimensional alternative expression blandly suffocates.

Look for the historical periods where the golden mean consistently thrived.

Mutual respect incorporated.

Happenstance heartfelt harmonies. 

Newsfront

Post-World War II Australia, urges to diversify held within restraints, some see labour and the left as an influential leap forward, others worry about the Stalinist labour camps.

Productive hardworking journalists diligently capture the news within, changes in political culture the business itself energetically presented in periodic vignettes. 

You get to meet reporters and camerapersons plus narrators and overarching executives, and see how their active interpersonal relationships mutate and shift with multitudinous accord.

It's well done, a compelling slice of raw kinetic dis/proportionate compulsion, intricately endeavouring to freely showcase a vast unparalleled nation changing.

How do you monitor the changes. what paradigms to pinpoint, spices to sojourn?, with the massive amounts of incoming data how do you choose which stories to circulate?

Do you want to be known for something in particular or to brandish and broadcast wide-ranging spectrums, is there a timeless quality to certain narratives or do waves a' wingéd work it unbound?

It's been sad to see labour's role in the forecast sharply decline in recent decades, perhaps as the internet expanded alternative sources practically emerged (animated comedy?). 

And as those sources practically emerged traditional news outlets had to cater to a different audience, one with much more elitist pretensions that abruptly abandoned labour in Anglo/American markets.

A long time since I was in school, but even at that time interest in blending social strata had waned, except amongst the French Canadians living in Québec I met in grad school, of whom an enormously high percentage still cared about people.

The percentage was so high and at such a high level that Québec seemed like the best place to be, so even if my French wasn't that great I moved to Montréal to look for work.

I started reading a lot about Québec's history around that time as well, and enjoyed several engaging texts chronicling different periods of French Canadian culture.

I decided I didn't want to live in Toronto or Vancouver and read those books in isolation, or study Québec from afar if I had the chance to live there.

I cared about work and finances too but living somewhere I wanted to be meant much more. So much of life takes place outside of work it's better to live somewhere you love than grow weary with ennui.

Back to journalism, I imagined it would take longer for war to break out after major Anglo/American news sources abandoned the left, and the unhindered pursuit of either wealth or elitist standing once again imperialistically took centre stage.

It's happened nonetheless and will likely continue to happen for decades, if peaceful inclinations don't again take centre stage or at least form part of the master narrative's bedrock.

The jingoistic warlike right will tell you that it's natural just as they did before both World Wars, and it won't care while millions die as it coldly makes astronomical profits.

But just as many others are saying today and have been for previous millennia.

There's nothing natural about these conflicts.

In fact they're a grandiose perversion. 

Elliot the Littlest Reindeer

After Blitzen relocates to Jamaica, Santa (George Buza) needs to find a new reindeer, the resulting tryouts to be held posthaste, with many contenders from across the globe.

A feisty horse, who considers the matter imaginatively, thinks he's well-suited for the position (Josh Hutcherson as Elliot), and stows away upon his owner's (Rob Tinkler as Walter) airborne ride, hoping to sneak his way into the competition. 

His owner's facing tough times and may have to sell off his beloved animals, but little does he unsuspectingly know, the potential buyer (Martin Short as Ms. Ludzinka [and Lemondrop and Blitzen]) wishes them harm.

Things are lively at the distant North Pole as the reindeer gather to formidably articulate, old school rivalries and current disputes freeflowingly spiced with a dash of merriment.

Elliot's offbeat goat friend (Samantha Bee as Hazel) works her magic to see he's admitted, his training having roughly prepared him, for the fortuitous aerodyne heights.

But something's not quite right with the haughty general proceedings, as nimble Hazel accidentally detects, she sees extra cookies being given to DJ (Christopher Jacot) (the cookies give animals the power of flight), just before the first aeronautic stage.

After the resulting mayhem, which sees Santa cancel the events, she teams up with a clever journalist (Morena Baccarin as Corkie), to find the source of the flighty contraband. 

A haunting trajectory of historical intrigue clad in deception harrowingly awaits them.

As their human/animal alliance.

Sees the harmonious convergence of species.

Elliot the Littlest Reindeer traditionally celebrates unorthodox thinking, as 'lil Elliot asserts his independence in the hopes of joining Santa's team.

But many other staple traditions are creatively reconceptualized throughout, as Santa's workshop and associated legends take on the vice of the world at large.

Accordingly, Santa isn't lighthearted and jolly but instead rather stern and imposing, as he objectively oversees operations, in order to facilitate Christmas.

The reindeer are generally critiqued for being self-obsessed and somewhat dismissive, as opposed to simply dutifully managing the smooth flow of Santa's sleigh.

And the elves don't only make toys, and don't just work in a merrymaking shop, indeed discipline and order and inviolable hierarchy are much more prominent than Christmas cookies.

It's a solid alternative Christmas film that breaks new ground with festive flair (I'll likely watch this one again).

Even if I prefer a jolly Santa.

And elves encouraging laugh and play.

*With John Cleese (Donner).

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire - Part 2)

It's not for me to say how influential Welt am Draht was, but it came out in 1973 with ideas that seem like they were ahead of their time.

Although I don't have an exhaustive knowledge of '60s and '70s sci-fi, I wasn't expecting the film to be in line with late 20th and 21st century shenanigans (it's the earliest example I can think of which showcased such ideas).

It concerns virtual environments within virtual environments with some characters aware of their electronic anatomies, eventually responding with paranoid pride, in relation to fractious fundamentals.

The parallels with Star Trek: The Next Generation's Moriarty holodeck character are striking and it may have been where STNG originally found the idea.

Although contemporaneity suggests that different writers were likely thinking about the same ideas simultaneously, if I understand the concept correctly, finding alternative modes for similar hypotheses which various people were considering at the time.

With Welt am Draht's different virtual environments there's a set up similar to Total Recall as well, where people can virtually live someone else's life to gain surrogate sensation. 

Thus, once again, Philip K. Dick may have provided the framework which another artist then expanded upon in his or her work, his story We Can Dream it for You Wholesale (Total Recall) having appeared in 1966.

Thus, Star Trek's holodeck and Total Recall combine as characters within the dreamscapes become aware of their existence, and then seek knowledge of the world beyond while trying to avoid distressing authorities. 

Where does the dreamscape begin, without origins is there organic life?

Multiple dimensions existing in exponential parallel ethereally linked through electronic spirit?

Conscious and substantially determinate yet existentially star-crossed in manifold chrysalis.

Like on Star Trek: The Next Generation I suppose, in episodes which play with space and time, notably Parallels which sees Worf disrupt the universe on his way home from a bat'leth tournament.

Who's to say who's taken different manifestations of these ideas to their most compelling extremes, but The Matrix did an excellent job, and it looks like they're making another sequel.

The first part of Welt am Draht pulls you in with cryptic offbeat uncanny rhythms, it's cool to watch as Fred Stiller (Klaus Löwitsch) slowly discovers the blueprints of his reality.

The second part doesn't add much but it's a cool drawn out conclusion.

It's fun to watch sci-fi sans special effects.

Love it when technological constraints don't spoil good storytelling.

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire - Part 1)

The real world composed of constituent parts practically indicating material projections, consistent tradition reliably upheld as concrete forms refrain from transfiguration.

Fortunately, as time passes and resonant patterns are detected, one is able to generally predict what will physically emerge, structural dependability routinely reckoning as if coherence were indeed endemic, the same buildings appearing on the same streets, libraries convergent, impeccable sandwiches.

The sure and steady can lack variety so spice is eagerly sought like in Plato's Republic, and tempting alternatives emphatically compete to provide soulful sustenance exotic flavour.

Thus the arts envision trajectories upon which to reimagine certified certainty, various in/distinct bold metamorphoses cleverly conjuring kaleidoscopic craving.

Sentiment and novelty oscillate within as abstract patterns extract newfound tradition, but with less elementary toned durability than a street or a house one might expect to see.

Gregarious garnishes astounding adornments laidback lynchpins sombre tomes, remonstrance rhetoric polarities syntheses multiform blends unilateral conceit.

Proceeding with an open-mind may lead to fulfilling multilateral abundance, with intuitive hierarchies inevitably developing, kept in check through reflexive consumption.

Are you too specialized too arcane too generic, too lacking in practical sense?, such questions can lead to a more diverse palette if one can be bothered to consider them effortlessly.

Aren't buffets the best a feed at the trough when they're well-prepared, plate after plate of sumptuous treats judiciously accompanied with varied desserts?

It seems like the will of the pandemic is to encourage lush virtual environments, but after spending so much time indoors it'd be nice to pitch a tent in Parc Jeanne-Mance. 

Welt am Draht (World on a Wire) examines virtual realities as artificial intelligence emerges within them, layers upon layers of structural mimesis provocatively contemplating organic life.

Who's to say if this world we live in isn't a computer program ingeniously manufactured?

I used to think that until I broke my finger.

Related ephemera notwithstanding. 

Tango & Cash

Two exceptional cops pursuing justice in L.A, the press following their daring exploits, local ne'er do wells unimpressed.

They usually get-'er-done without relying on standard procedure, their results curtailing grand transgressions, their methods critiqued with aggrieved resolve.

They wind up causing so much commotion that they're targeted with cunning foresight, a crime boss thinking it foolish to murder them, preferring to see them locked up instead.

Tango (Sylvester Stallone) is prim and polished if not somewhat bold and reckless, employing formal codes of conduct in both random discussions and choice of attire.

Cash (Kurt Russell) pursues law and order with more passionate critical zeal, unconcerned with upper crust etiquette while expressing himself with enthused vitriol.

A disputatious team polemically and audaciously emerges, as they're both sent to a rowdy prison where they've crossed paths with many an inmate.

Unfortunately for them, the prison guards and much of the administration have been bought by the very same adversary, who was responsible for framing them beforehand, and even stops by to see them electrocuted (Jack Palance as Yves Perret).

Their only chance is escape back at it within the world at large. 

The force reluctant to rearrest them.

At least for 48 hours.

Stallone and Russell actively deliver a fast paced energetic vortex, like a hyperreactive embargo fluidly reverberating high stakes stasis.

From the way it's presented you'd think it's as lucid as hands-on practical exoteric reckoning, if something crazy didn't happen every five minutes to keep the wild plot counterpoising on.

Indeed I wondered if they were characters from a comic book I'd never heard of at times, the entertaining over-the-top scenarios innately fantastic phenomenonally spawned.

If it had been made in the 21st century it likely would have had multiple sequels, it's hard to imagine they didn't make another one, but it was released before the internet and Netflix.

Perhaps that's for the best since it does go way too far, in terms of cowboy cops using brazen violence to achieve jurisprudent ends.

At times anti-immigrant sentiment also bursts forth, and rehabilitative prison goals are directly scrutinized.

I'm afraid I'll have to argue that this one's too prone to discipline and punishment, take a couple of lines out and it's much improved, too sensational for its feigned reasonability.

Daring cop drama tainted by excessive force, lockdowns, and xenophobia, still cool to see Russell and Stallone at odds, they've made many chill films, this one's just too outrageous.