Brainstorm

So far, I've had trouble getting into virtual reality. Don't get me wrong, it's kind of cool, but as a substitute for the real thing, it disappoints. Perhaps the technology has significantly advanced in the last 15 years, I haven't checked it out for a long time. But way back when I was highly critical, criticism accepted, I could have have been more open.

I do like watching nature documentaries as a substitute for the real thing, since there are so many places around the world I'll never get to see. I know it's not the same thing, they're not meant to be holistically immersive, but since it's unlikely that I'll ever visit Indonesia or Vietnam 😢, I appreciate being able to watch related wildlife programming.

Brainstorm is some cool old-school sci-fi (1983) that takes an imaginary look at virtual reality, wherein which ingenious scientists actually create realistic virtual experiences.

At first, the genius is rewarded with scientific applause and technological accolades, but soon disreputable agencies seek to weaponize its potential.

It's classic innovative idealistic scientists confronting the corruption of their work, with Christopher Walken erupting in fury near the beginning of his outstanding career.

Fortunately, it predates internet hypotheses so it's still possible to hide the work. It's like they're trying to take out SkyNet before it has the ability to shift and mutate.

If you're fascinated by old school special effects or varying degrees of authentic realism, effects that were made without the total reliance on computers, effects relying on the creative manipulation of the dynamic production qualities of the time, and an erudite knowledge of electronics, Brainstorm's concluding moments are fun to watch, scientific artistry chaotically applied.

Directed by Douglas Trumball, who worked on the special effects for Blade Runner, 2001, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Star Trek: The Motion Picture (it still has cool effects), it's nice to see a tech wiz at the helm, don't recall ever hearing of a similar transition.

I still feel like virtual reality is cheating when it comes to interpersonal experience, I still like talking to people and don't mind getting burned regularly for being honest.

Sometimes I'll ask a question that I know the answer to because I can't think of anything else to say, and then I'll be ridiculed for having asked the question, sigh, it's always the same old story.

Brainstorm isn't Inception but still makes a cool historical impact.

A pioneering look at this type of story.

When special effects were really starting to take off. 

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. 

Sometimes you forget some animals have whiskers.

Captain Marvel

Spoiler Alert.

There was another time, dynamically transisting not long after the synthesized age, during which new technologies arose and alternative art forms flourished, perhaps lacking the clarity of its legendary progenitor, it still effortlessly distinguished itself in unsung awestruck parallel, and racism wasn't tolerated, and collectives were still ontologically featured, working people still telling their tales, which were told with honour and integrity.

Captain Marvel unreels in such a frame, and its characters find sanctuary within.

Although conflict and peril do bellicosely present themselves, and the keys to the past lie dormant in shielded oblivion.

Representatives of a colonialist empire come covetously calling after a pocket of resistance fighters escapes with one of their soldiers.

As resourceful as she is unyielding, Carol Danvers (Brie Larson) sets out upon Earth to discover truths dissimulated.

She is aided in her pursuits by feisty Agent Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), who is still somewhat green, and unaware of extraterrestrial life.

Thus, even though Captain Marvel excels at cultivating the new, it's also an origins story, the tantalizing mélange simultaneously revelatory on at least two distinct temporal levels.

Spatially pontooned.

It starts out slow, not that the action isn't constant, but it takes awhile to find its footing, as Danvers gradually learns more about her former self.

Or at least how to go about learning more about that self.

But it gets better as it proceeds, its overt focus on identity transformation skilfully worked into its cinematic ecology.

It uses comedy but isn't flip, takes things seriously to break them down, works in some Indiana Jones, and creatively plays with cyberspatial time difference.

Time differentials.

It may be my favourite Marvel film, inasmuch as it vigorously stands out on its own.

Great acting all around, but Lashana Lynch (Maria Rambeau) steals several scenes, she totally makes the most of her role, and perhaps delivers the best Marvel supporting performance to date.

Cool soundtrack too.

There's a surprising twist you don't often find in these films as well.

Oddly, even though I don't believe that aliens taught the ancient Egyptians anything, but rather that their geniuses created pyramids etc. while ours built hydrogen fuel cells, and the internet, the genius of a particular time, any given time, even caveperson time, making the most of the materials at her or his disposal, crafting ingenious artifacts/theories/structures/. . .  accordingly, while modifying them at times as he or she sees fit, I still entertained the notion that cats had been brought here by aliens one day, because the ancient Egyptians worshipped them, so I've heard, and, so far, it hasn't been possible to domesticate large raccoon populations, and I was discussing this with a friend one day, and I turned to look and saw his cat staring at me intently, with an otherworldly look on his face.

It's utterly ridiculous of course, but I still appreciate the mystery, and unless Robert E. Kahn and Vint Cerf (the internet guys according to wikipedia) turn out to have really come from space, or to have taken orders from alien rulers, I'll lean heavily towards the terrestrial origins of cats, until substantially proven otherwise.

Those little cuties.

😜

"You know son, in some ways being forgetful ain't all bad.

You're always noticing new things."

Mr. Holmes

Reflections on lives lived and current pastimes, a tripartite treatise, excavated thoughts on loneliness, the life of the mind, a life of service, three families torn by grief, Sherlock Holmes (Ian McKellen), sleuth, benefactor, cause, troubled later in life by hindsight's haze, fortuitous fog cutting, carving out a literary track.

Conducive.

One mother longs for her lost children, another takes care of her son, one son lost his father to empire, families surreally strung.

Bees with their honey, organized, assiduous, living a life of harmony and order, perniciously plagued par les guêpes.

With the aid of his housekeeper's (Laura Linney as Mrs. Munro) clever son Roger (Milo Parker),
Sherlock tends his hives while painfully looking back.

Has he done his best to promote unity?

Or functioned as unwitting predator?

Apicultural endeavours, interrogating the solitary life.

Mr. Holmes couldn't be more different than Guy Ritchie's films.

Or any other manifestation of the iconic detective I've seen.

A pasteurized yet potent clarification of the facts, Sherlock's existential longing, a search for wisdom's tranquility.

For rest.

For satisfaction.

He seems to embrace related impossibilities in the end, while finding what joy he can in thoughts prone to melancholia.

Sherlock the retired country gentleperson.

Taking care of a family.

Keeping his bees.

The Giver

Meticulously manicured impartial immersions, the plan, plans within plans within plans, permeating every existential aspect, monitoring, coordinating, harmonious atonal strategically serviced scripts, requirements, nothing out of the ordinary, pharmaceutical synchrony, burnished, witnessed, tanned, The Giver, kindred subjects of Landru, converses with The Third Man, sonic scientific sterility, empiric equilibrium, disciplined and unified, microscopically maintained.

Everything fits within a cohesive holistic whole.

But there's no longer any joy.

No exceptions to the rules.

History's legends have been assigned to one aged caretaker, who sacrifices his knowledge to uphold the new order.

But a protégé is chosen from the ranks of his culture's youth, to share in his burden, to preserve the memories of lost time.

Emotional bombardments proceed to alienate through shock as questions hitherto beyond reason maddeningly dare to forsake.

Exfoliate.

Threadbare.

A classic examination of totalitarian benevolence.

Maudlin yet sane.

Preferred The Third Man.

Trance

Establishing an historical distinction regarding old and new security precautions taken to protect precious paintings during auctions, right-off-the-bat, thereby foreshadowing both the ways in which Danny Boyle's career has progressed from Shallow Grave to Trance and its contemporary utilitarian utilization of amnesia and hypnosis, narrative tools which frequently showed up in the television shows I watched during my youth, and have possibly been used regularly since then, although I may be blowing the memory out of proportion, Trance has traditional motifs, enticements and motivations (find the painting and cash in) which are thrust into a coherent mesmerizing fugacious distillery, whose economic and romantic film noiresque reversals, complete with critical comments concerning legal structures that prevent female victims of violence from obtaining justice, fitting in relation to the recent horrific suicide of Nova Scotia's beautiful young Rehtaeh Parsons, its diversified ambient tonal modifications, young professional addiction seeks underground remedies for financial miscalculations (gambling debt) which in turn threaten the livelihoods of everyone involved, upend expected outcomes, as if Boyle is precisely aware of what you require him to elucidate, apart from the absent review of Simon's (James McAvoy) extracurricular activities, which I thought would have fit considering that he's responsible for safekeeping 25 million dollar works of art (is that how much it cost to make this film?), most likely because I just saw New World, a review which wouldn't have fit well anyways due to the dense nature of Trance's convolutions (another layer within would have made the brew too lucidly phantasmagorical), destined diagnostic discombobulating detoxification, a less analytical form of Inception, but, if they had found a way, amidst the sex and the greed and the artifice, to stick to the opening sequence more devoutly, while paying the same meticulous attention to unnecessary yet compelling details, I would have perhaps given it a rating of 9.7 instead of 9.4, which really doesn't make much difference.

Stories We Tell

Beguilingly intermingling the dubious and the customary, synthesizing various direct and interpretive recollections while modestly integrating her own position's anti-overarching take, Sarah Polley subtly (and accidentally?) mythologizes an incident from her family's past, to quaintly and indirectly interrogate memory, narrative construction, the facts, and urban legends, in a familial paragenealogical account of the origins of decentralized identity.

It's so 21st century National Film Board of Canada.*

Her investigation leads a principal participant to whimsically actualize that whose literary character was encouraged by his deceased spouse decades previously, this actualization 'stomping' through a gentle creek of sorts from which the additional commentaries reflexively break off and return (the format reminding me of Jacob Richmond's Ride the Cyclone).

(There are various loosely interoperational domains which possess their own consequent features whose rhetorical/technological/meteorological transmissions can coalesce to fabricate distinguished conceptions of value, which, when re/acting with the complementary/contradictory features of their fellow inter/national/regional/local/individual agents, and the constant imposition of random occurrences whose unforeseen interjections conduct concrete theoretical abstractions, before and after the fact, team-up to market sundry identities, who are nonetheless reliant upon historical events, and their consequent/subsequent interactions, themselves).

There's a sly intertextual reversal built into the film's flow as well.

Impressive.

*Kermode hasn't seen enough 21st century National Film Board of Canada films to be able to objectively make this claim, but couldn't resist due to the ways in which Stories We Tell reminded him of the many NFBC films he enjoyed watching during his youth. He also lives within the 21st century.

Bonsái

A bond, an extended period of growth, a felicitous fortuitous frequency, historically resonating.

Julio (Diego Noguera) accidentally finds love in Christián Jiménez's Bonsái and its particularized peculiar panoramic proclivities produce a prepositional poignancy.

Subjective logical adaptations to seemingly immutable biological fascinations harness the everlasting.

The simulation of a tangible incorporeality as well as the fabrication of the authentic necessitate themselves when related artistic proliferations are suddenly materialized, due to the verisimilitude encapsulating a missed opportunity.

Beginnings and canonical literary liaisons foundationally reappear.

Melancholic longing permeates each aspect as Julio's amorous recapitulations attempt to revitalize a long lost cohesive fragility.

Or the reification of a dream.

Didn't even know In Search of Lost Time played a role in this film prior to choosing to see it.

Total Recall

Whether or not the action within the Total Recall remake takes place solely within Douglas Quaid/Hauser's (Colin Farrell) mind or in the film's objective domain is obviously up for debate.

The evidence for both sides is provided within a functional formulaic opposition between two states, one who owns the means of production (The United Federation of Britain/UFB), and another who is forced to work within them (The Colony/Australia).

The rest of the planet is uninhabitable due to prolonged chemical warfare.

In the onset, Quaid/Hauser has become bored with the status quo and decides to check out Rekall, a notorious company who can directly plant living memories within your mind. After arriving, he chooses the secret agent program (with the double agent option) and just as he's about to drift off, seconds after he's intravenously hooked up, security forces rush in.

For the rest of the film he's a pseudo-double agent (Hauser) who has had his memory erased and replaced with the persona Douglas Quaid. He instinctively remembers details of his former life, usually gut reactions which help him escape UFB traps, but cannot reconstruct the big picture.

His situation directly relates to a bewildering recurring dream he's been having, prior to visiting Rekall.

I probably should have paid more attention to the myriad chase sequences and mushy one-liners that predominate afterwards, for it's likely that within their action/delivery lie clues designed to disambiguate Total Recall's 'dreamscape.' But said sequences and one-liners are abundant and I found myself zoning out after a while.

However, before Quaid enters Rekall, the one-liners are delivered with a self-reflexive gritty disengaged realistic dexterity.

After entering Rekall and then travelling to the UFB, Hauser's first olympian flight is characterized by constantly shifting ground and split-second opportune life saving reflexes, in short, the stuff dreams are made of.

Yet, as many people find themselves looking for permanent work, often having to travel and compete to secure it, their terrain constantly shifts, working for a year here, another there, perennially stuck in a probationary period.  

And while searching one must often use brief inter/national/provincial/regional expressions while communicating.

Quaid knows who he is. There's no doubt in his mind as to his identity nor to his historical path.

Hauser has to rely on hidden messages and/or direct support/condemnation, mired in contradiction due to his supposed status as double agent, apart from the messages he's left behind for himself, and his actions, to formulate a stable I, oddly mirroring the establishment of a dream identity, albeit purely rational within the space's systemic parameters.

His sudden epic coercive confusing circumstances require a leap of faith which he makes, choosing to fight for the oppressed (the UFB has run out of land and seeks to invade the Colony to take theirs), which he does with the aid of his stunning versatile partner (Jessica Biel as Melina) while his former wife (Kate Beckingsale as Lori Quaid) does everything she can to stop them.

And an enigmatic individual whose personality reflects the end of history prevents the colonialization while enabling the creation of a social democratic state, amidst cheers and celebrations and a giant advertisement for Rekall.

Is this resolution too good to be true?

Well, in order to openly discuss the legitimate claims of oppressed workers in the post-9/11 age of austerity while working within a domain that regularly produces works designed to infantilize them, it makes sense that such a discussion would have to take place within an ambiguous framework in order for everyone involved to avoid any imperial entanglements.

At the same time, if the narrative does take place solely in Quaid's mind, it's designed to provoke critical discussions of the ways in which the military industrial complex is using pop culture to substitute images for reality in order to disrupt collective left-wing political actions by situating them within the cult of the individual, thereby making them seem unattainable (director Len Wiseman having taken control of the means of production).

Meaning that either way, Quaid is Hauser.

To Rome with Love

For a summer in Rome, an office clerk finds himself thrust into the spotlight, his routine reflections hyperbolically sensationalizing influence, as an architect revisits his youth to bring back to life/cross-examine his most serendipitous subject of desire, a young communist lawyer contends with a retired opera producer when it's discovered that his humble father can sing exceptionally well, and a married couple, in town for a potentially prosperous employment opportunity, find themselves accidentally embracing exotic extramarital affairs.

Felicitously framed by a traffic cop's dissolving point of view.

The conditions of which inculcate calisthenic creativity.

Romantically mingling the celebrated with the starstruck and the ordinary with the hyper-intensive, while evoking the nimble necessity to unearth metaphorical mirth within corresponding pscyhoanalytic observations, Woody Allen's To Rome with Love's palpable playful pluck picturesquely procures impressionable popularizations, and salaciously serenades atemporal condensations.

Fidelity strengthened through chance, temptation tethered to testimony, regret distinguished from revelation, and dreams evanescently alighted.

A virtuosic variation on a theme.

There's a lot more to it than that.

Keyhole

Where to begin.

We've broken into a building that's surrounded. Some of us have passed on. A search must be conducted. The patriarch is in charge. Part of his family is in attendance. Memories are temporally fluctuating.

Clocks ticking, imperious and constant. Joy revels in an immediate departure. What's to be made of these meaningful incursions? Electronic fissures resonating incorporeally.

And there's need of wallpaper.

Guy Maddin harnesses a permanently detached constructive sensibility to his productively ironic surreal cheeky familial incandescent aesthetic in his new film Keyhole, and this time there's no foundation to which one can directly cling, other than Ulysses, or David Lynch's Black Lodge, perhaps.

Few filmmakers can successfully unleash structured serpentine points of disjointed transient distinct significations through the popularized lampooned esoteric intellectual constituency as multidimensionally as Maddin.

We are provided with clues to what in fact might be going on. From these clues, depending upon the ways in which they are strategized, specific arguments (rhetorical facts) can be generated. Supporting evidence can be gathered from interpretations based upon hypotheses framed by logic, inasmuch as they fit into the whole, insofar as they cohesively belong.

To this precise moment.

Ulysses Pick (Jason Patric) is in charge. This much we know. His authority is paramount to Keyhole's flexibly united incongruity as he tries to comprehend the motivations of the other.

He is also invincible.

He is trying to return to his family, some of whom he doesn't recognize. He seeks answers to questions he is in/capable of asking. The high seas have become his house as the internet minimizes geographic exploration. His omniscience is tempered by his forgetfulness as he struggles to determine what has been substantially dematerialized. An idea becomes pragmatic when historical echoes align themselves with its potent focused intent.

For the time being.

Leap frogging from estimation to realization for genuine enigmatic jaunts, from which catalysts instructively and divergently testify, while pliantly managing internal disruptions, his allegiances deteriorate as the hierarchy pulsates, made all the more hauntingly vivid by its enduring staggering lack.

It's about generating inextricable mysteries from which manifold dimensions (jurisprudence, politics, science) can find practical applications after mining their way through the discursive data.

And a good old-fashioned game of catch.

J. Edgar

Clint Eastwood's J. Edgar situates a cunning politico-ethical land mine deep within the socio-American filmic vortex which combusts a manufactured traditional market by highlighting the contribution of gay Americans to the creation of some of their most revered institutions.

According to this film, there is no doubt that J. Edgar Hoover (Leonardo DiCaprio) loved his country (or his conception of his country). His opposition to radical elements and disgust with the ways in which the media glorified gangsters is relentless as he pursues the incarceration of outlaws while demanding nothing but refined conduct from his employees. As director of the FBI, he significantly expands its agency through the acquisition of legal and economic resources while patiently and obsessively focusing on the cultivation of its public reputation. Deeply and resolutely committed to the idea that public figures must comport themselves with the utmost integrity, he sharply manages both the conduct of his agents and the public perceptions of the conduct of his agents while placing himself in the forefront whenever possible. Paranoid and power mad and willing to take down those whose popularity risks rivalling his own, he delicately balances the relationship between democratic efficiency and bureaucratic autocracy throughout the course of his lengthy career, agilely avoiding the sword of Damocles.

But there's one problem.

He has no interest in women and loves Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer) who has been by his side for the majority of his career. His private life has been defined by the politico-ethical foundations of his public pursuits as undesirable, which encourages a significant degree of anxiety. This extra layer of anxiety adds additional pressure to his institutional position which already demands a heightened degree of caution.

Hence, paranoia.

But he still skillfully utilizes his considerable gifts to survive within a heteronormative domain wherein he succeeds in accomplishing remarkable feats, even though his memory of such feats may be somewhat exaggerated.

It can be argued that his achievements were the results of his repression and that he wouldn't have been able to survive in a cutthroat competitive professional climate without having had the added bonus of developing exceptional survival instincts through the art of concealment in his youth.

But who in their right mind wants to nurture a public sphere which necessitates the dissimulation of strengths when their cultivation could increase the intensity of said sphere's productive tendencies by enabling its representatives to energize their freedoms? There's no telling what else J. Edgar could have been able to accomplish had he been nurtured in an environment where sexual difference was respected and he didn't have to consistently expend psychological resources to distract attention away from the most beautiful parts of his personality.

Limitless

A struggling writer (Bradley Cooper as Eddie Mora) discovers he can access nearly 100% of his forgotten memories/observations after accidentally receiving a miracle drug from his ex-brother-in-law, and proceeds to excel. He finishes his novel in 4 days and afterwards sets out to make his fortune. The drug's side-effects are none to pleasant, however, and he soon experiences blackouts and debilitating nausea. But because he's functioning at such a high level, there are basically no professional consequences and he manages to maintain employment while suffering a dangerous breakdown. Thugs to whom he unfortunately gave the drug come calling for more and it soon becomes necessary to hire protection.

Much can be said about Neil Burger's Limitless. I thought it was an entertaining film whose execution lacked appeal yet still established several provocative dimensions which encourage further reflection. The ways in which Eddie handles his drug addiction for instance. It's like tobacco companies using their resources to find a cure for lung cancer or governments investing heavily in land reclamation technologies to make mining more environmentally friendly. Or drug addiction itself. Burger de/reconstructs the pharmaceutical industry throughout, evocatively investigating its extremes. The cult of the individual is presented existentially and communally as Eddie and Carl Van Loon (Robert De Niro) square off, and the ways in which critical synthetic intelligences (and pharmaceuticals) are valued by a knowledge based capitalist economy receives dramatic attention as well. Eddie's rise leaves behind a lot of plot-related baggage which can be justified by the fact that he's continually moving forward, the film moving to fast for its own internal construction, like a drug addict, but it still doesn't spend enough time examining the publication of his novel or the fact that he could have used his abilities to write something comparable to Proust. The film's writing also has a certain flair that disappears after Eddie abandons his writing career, including the introduction of the ex-brother-in-law. The lows Eddie hits and their consequent despair and paranoia are cultivated directly and poetically as he struggles to maintain, and I thought Burger did a good job of filmically distilling a bad hangover. Sort of funny how when he's a broke relatively sober writer everyone treats him like a drug addict but when he starts taking pharmaceuticals and gaining prestige he's revered. One of the morals suggests that beneficial drugs whose side-effects are curtailed can help you become a United States Senator if you hire shrewd lawyers to cover your ass while curtailing said side-effects and can outwit your enemies when they come to kill you. Libya of all countries is mentioned twice. I guess Gadhafi should have invested more in research . . .

127 Hours

I've never really liked survival movies with small casts set in dire circumstances. Cast Away, Open Water, Frozen, none of these films were for me. Hence, I wasn't exactly looking forward to Danny Boyle's 127 Hours even though I've loved most of his films and one day hope to purchase a related box-set. The question is: why was 127 Hours nominated for best picture at this year's Academy Awards when everyone knows precisely what is going to happen before it starts? I think the answer lies somewhere in the following. Boyle is faced with the challenge of remaining loyal to the facts while composing a thoughtful piece of entertainment. Peaks and valleys must be employed subtly to satisfy unconscious expectations and avoid sensational solicitations. This has been done. We have to have a reason to stay awake even though we know what's going to happen, thus, new material must consistently be introduced that not only holds our attention but also produces a minimal degree of curiosity. This has also been done and the scene where James Franco (Aron Ralston) pretends to be on the radio was enough to guarantee that I would watch the entire film. A symbol is also required and Ralston represents the iconic adventurous individual, working in the city throughout the week and benignly conquering nature on weekends, bold and resourceful, cheerful and helpful, working within the system but playing by his own rules whenever provided with the opportunity. What happens when nature refuses to be conquered and decides to introduce a diabolical obstacle of its own, thereby reminding the iconic individual that bold activity can also be considered rash? As time passes, the survivor's psyche must be realistically shown to be duelling with the elements while holding onto enough sanity to continue persevering, and Boyle's camera work and stoic script provocatively insulate such outcomes (script co-written by Simon Beaufoy). As these elements synthesize, we must develop genuine affection for the character to the point where his ingenuity and corresponding _______ produce an unconditioned joyful response, a cathartic release, unalloyed happiness. 127 Hours coaxed such a response from me and I don't even like these kinds of films so I can understand why it was nominated for best picture. Excellent performance from Franco as well and I thought his performances lacked depth in Sam Raimi's Spider Man films.

Dialectical

One moment influences another and as you converse with a friend surrounding objects and landscapes recall memories which juxtapose themselves with your discussion's details as you utilize your metaphorical wit to synthesize the two dimensions in an appealing contemporary witticism.

Notes

Found these notes on my dresser:

Joy leading to melancholy
(love meets the law)

The void of incomparable beauty
(resisting the attack)

Wish I could remember what I meant when I wrote them down before falling asleep thinking that the information in the brackets would clarify things later.

Thank You

If you're tired of people looking at you strangely when you give them a card as a sign of your appreciation, just keep all the cards indicating your appreciation in a pile which will consistently remind you of all the people you appreciated throughout your life.