DragonHeart

The legendary influence of brave King Arthur still honourably remembered throughout the land, a formidable knight (Dennis Quaid as Sir Bowen) rationally instructs a young prince (David Thewlis/Lee Oakes as King/Prince Einon) in the art of cultural governance.

But his teachings are rebelliously ignored as the arrogant Prince comes of age, even after he promised a dragon he would rule wisely, in exchange for the gift of reanimation.

Thus, he becomes cruel and wicked and the people live in disquieting fear, hoping to generally avoid his lavish caprice as they seek sustenance, friendship, and shelter.

The knight falls upon hard times and spends his days pursuing dragons, whom he blames for corrupting his pupil with zealous malevolent menacing magic.

He's incorrect, however, it wasn't the dragon's heart which inspired his tyranny, he was just none too fond of brotherhood and was rather upset when the villagers killed his father.

One dragon outwits noble Bowen and convinces him to embrace bold trickery, to put on a show where he pretends to save a village from the dragon's wrath, and then pockets the coveted reward money.

While engaged in these fraudulent shenanigans a spirited damsel calls out their ruse (Dina Meyer as Kara), a damsel who's just escaped from the King, and is encouraging audacious insurrection. 

They're rather embarrassed and ashamed yet she also reminds them of Arthur's code, after which they forge a loyal alliance earnestly determined to challenge the King.

The King believes himself to be safe and capable of outmaneuvering a band of rebels.

But they're much more organized than he thinks.

Passionate conflict irascibly ensues. 

It's not as intense as it sounds in fact it's quite lighthearted and foolhardy throughout, as Bowen and the last of the dragons creatively argue and discuss history.

Indeed, the lighthearted nature of DragonHeart made me think the comedic potential of dragons has yet to be convincingly explored, a foul-mouthed cheeky ironic lazy dragon perhaps to emerge in the 21st century.

Rather than aiding a distraught hero as he or she engages in epic discord, or simply guarding treasure and punishing those hoping to steal it, he or she could find work in a disingenuous small village, and wholeheartedly take part in wisecracking thereafter.

Perhaps something out of the ordinary would emerge by the film's playful abashed final moments.

Or it would just embrace jaded mischief throughout.

For a solid hour and forty-five minutes. 

*With Pete Postlethwaite (Gilbert) and Jason Isaacs (Felton).

O necem jiném (Something Different)

A housewife struggles with a dull routine fully equipped with ceaseless labour, her husband lacking natural empathy as he plays a traditional role.

Her son's a handful and makes things worse as he tries to assist throughout the day, his habitual playful headstrong mischief encouraging disillusion.

Another woman constantly trains to remain the world's preeminent gymnast, her resilient daring in/flexibility haughtily admired by her earnest trainer.

Her life is sheltered and strictly focused driven by determined excellence, lacking holistic variety yet irrefutably established. 

Director Vera Chytilová juxtaposes their lives to examine distraught vigour, each path overflowing with poise but only one rich in reward.

The husband's a piece of work who stubbornly applies unimaginative blueprints, which structure everything to his advantage as he consistently ignores her.

He's having an affair but so is she, she breaks free from the callous bondage.

Her lover rather frustrated.

As she thoroughly disregards him.

Different extremes converge and complement as feminine strength consults, contends, no rest and relaxation, no sympathetic trends.

It seems to me that if you're lucky enough to have someone who supplies you with meals and a tidy pad, you should at least listen and pay attention to them at the end of the working day.

They rigorously do the work for you out of love and devout commitment, is it that hard to engage in conversation or acknowledge the heartfelt effort?

Isn't it important to get to know someone you're spending that much time with, to develop multiple open-ended narratives that creatively transform throughout your life?

They probably love you too which makes conversation so much easier, something that doesn't require earnest effort or careful planning or years of study.

Love isn't something to be dismissed or ignored or taken for granted, shouldn't it be evocatively cultivated through wondrous warmth and passion?

It isn't in O necem jiném (Something Different) and the results are generally bland (not the film itself), a life devoid of pith or colour controversial blasé strands.

Make life a beach just by caring and perhaps something epic will emerge.

Throw on the gear for a feisty dip.

BBQ.

Frolic.

David and Lisa

Sequestered far off in sympathetic regalia a gifted adolescent gradually makes friends, his highly strung opinionated disposition leading to conflict after first moving in.

If anyone harmlessly touches him or even suggests shaking hands, he erupts in crise de colère believing illness or malady will soon emerge.

None too amused with the psychiatric practice he defies his doctors as they present questions, quick to diagnose what's latently presumed in whatever is lightheartedly discussed.

Extremely defensive and generally combative an otherworldly fellow student puts him at ease, as she innocently communicates with rhymes and freely expresses herself through drawing.

Her carefree influence institutes calm and he starts agreeably listening to others, and taking part in various activities without introducing bitter criticisms.

But his parents aren't so sure he requires consistent supervision, and decide to bring him home long before he's contentedly transformed.

They try to help him comprehend what they consider to be sound.

But he misses his newfound friends.

And their free-flowing unorthodox collective.

David and Lisa is a touching must-see for anyone who's ever felt like somewhat of a misfit, for within irreverent rascality finds cohesive charmed community.

The affected or grouchy or compulsive or blunt find a safe place unobstructed by conformity, and eclectically assert multivariable dissonance in sweetly flowing uncanny favour.

Fortunately the doctors aren't motivated by strict pretensions, and by listening while freely conversing they remodel overbearing instruction.

There's no specific time limit and even less of an agenda and by no means a strategic plan, the students are rather given free time to matriculate beyond firmly structured commands.

Since there is something they just don't quite get in relation to generalized sociocultural temporality, it's wonderful to see them given the space to cultivate something random and specialized.

Through mutual acceptance and compassionate tolerance healing ascends with concordant eccentricity, and hang-ups and grudges and chips slowly fade since there's much less demand for routine predictability. 

Grievances persist but they're much less intense and friendship sees that they're readily forgiven.

An outstanding heartfelt film.

That's as sharp as it is mellifluous. 

Hubie Halloween

As Halloween ascends, devout Hubie (Adam Sandler) prepares to celebrate, decorating his yard with festive rigour, taking the time to trust and care.

He also instructs local children at the high school he once attended, and even if they respond critically to his counsel, he still persists with animate declamation.

He still longs for his childhood crush whom he still has difficulty approaching (Julie Bowen as Violet Valentine), although he can string verbal loci together, when tasked with delicate comment.

His mom (June Squibb) does her best to encourage his loyal safety-oriented verbose reckonings, even if the rest of the town has taken to responding with varied projectiles.

But a new neighbour has recently moved in who's unfamiliar with traditional testaments (Steve Buscemi as Walter Lambert), and advises against disturbing him even if noise proves dire and irksome.

Local police are well-versed in Hubie as he consistently warns them of danger, and have developed related protocols designed to rapidly appease his qualms.

But on the particular Halloween in question Hubie's unease is more on the ball.

As people begin to disappear around town.

People known to lambaste his self-sacrifice.

It's been a long time since I've seen an Adam Sandler film, and I was wholeheartedly impressed, the old school magic still playfully enchanting as the ridiculousness flows unhinged.

Well-attuned to the rowdy shenanigans freely generated by social interactions, Hubie Halloween proceeds unabashed for another round of Sandlerian mischief.

A narrative such as this could have shifted and swerved into harrowing hysterical heartache, but it was hewn by less psychotic impulses to emerge imaginatively constructive.

As is often the case, the do-gooding lack versatile camaraderie, and struggle to cohesively integrate as they pursue less raunchy endeavours.

But Hubie's actions do not pass unnoticed as he employs freeform unsupervised tutelage, for members of the community do respond to his altruistic forgiving theatrics.

Hubie Halloween transported me back to a time less schizoid and volatile, when statespeople seemed to care more about governance than likes and shares on Twitter and Instagram.

When things seemed like they were moving forward far beyond O'Doyle's rules, consistent current manifestations mind-boggling grim unfathomable reversals. 

I'd say Sandler's still got it, can still teach while having some fun.

The urine stained sheet, the would be werewolf.

Nice to see a Halloween film that's a bit more lighthearted.  

*Buscemi doesn't show up in spellcheck. 😎

Midnight Special

With manifold signals being transmitted ubiquitously throughout the air, who knows what mental or physical transformations are in store for forthcoming cyberspatial generations?

If physiological indiscretions are emerging nonchalantly, they're passing by generally unobserved, or at least I've never heard them commented upon, in my active yet limited experience.

If there are any pathological side-effects of widespread wi-fi whispers, I imagine they would be carcinogenic in nature, but those immune to such theoretical maladies may still develop previously unheard of synthetic adaptations.

I don't deny the oft maligned potential for supernatural emergence, I just approach it scientifically, the classic unique characteristics that mystifyingly seem divine, the product of uncategorized mutations challenging established truths.

You need established truths to consistently function, but taking them too seriously leads to error, especially when they don't apply to a political context that emerges as variable forces interact.

The emergence of unpredictable situations tests political wills with animate rigour, and responses motivated by ideology may fall short if adjustments aren't flexibly adopted.

But without an ideology how do you ever inspire or drive or motivate, without some goal that's always out of reach why would you ever bother trying to do anything?

Alton (Jaeden Martell) just tries to exist but his gifts generate spiritual passion, in a strict localized religious cult devoted to translating his peculiar reckonings.

His unique abilities lead to prophetical acclamations as the status quo seeks to readily adapt, but it's no life for a confused young child, so his father (Michael Shannon as Roy) helps him break free of the compound.

His devotees are ill-amused and set off to track him down (as does the F.B.I), endemic clashes inevitably ensuing, in a traditionally focused sci-fi drama.

Classifying what he can do in general is beyond my limited comprehension, but it's like his mind is an organic computer that blindly communicates with various satellites.

Midnight Special's focus on the supernaturally down-to-earth offers a humbler vision than many Übermensch testimonials, the larger-than-life phenom immersed in environments more akin to the X-Men than the Avengers.

It's somewhat straightforward yet still exciting, I freely admit that I love this kind of narrative, with a surprising ending and calm and collected characters instinctually reacting to volatile circumstances.

Perhaps they are really are out there.

But without more evidence, who's really to say?

I like Joe Biden's down-to-earth progressions.

He seems like a really cool guy.

Neko to Shôzô to futari no onna (Shozo, A Cat and Two Women)

Lazy Shôzô (Hisaya Morishige) catches a break when his lacklustre relationship suddenly dissolves, much to his mother's (Yuko Minami) delight, and perhaps also that of his cat.

He's seeing someone else who's not adverse to domestic subversion, but she's somewhat younger than he is, and prone to fits of righteous outrage (Kyôko Kagawa).

She's quite rich however so Shôzô's mom adores the match, and counsels thoughtful feeling as opposed to obtuse thatch.

But Shôzô's wife (Isuzu Yamada) soon strives aggrieved to reverse the situation, for her sister isn't too enthused with providing accommodation. 

Another seeks to rent the room and will pay three times as much, so she needs swift clever calculation manipulatively clutched.

She knows of one thing Shôzô loves more than anything at that, his distant furtive purcolating agile nimble cat.

Even more than escapading, even more than sleeping in, he loves his tactile independent erudite unhinged.

Cat. 

He loves his cat and his ex-wife knows it and wants to live somewhere less packed, so she tempts her newfound rival to consider devote paths.

She declares to lazy Shôzô that he must freely chose, betwixt his age old loving feline and his cherished muse.

Mother pleads and even begs he listen to her sweetly, the rent is due their business through she explains quite discreetly.

But he's determined unabashed to abide by no one's will, other than that which surmises lackadaisic chill.

It's an odd sort of comedy that boldly theorizes what life would be like for someone who's never sought to do anything at all, whom the opposite sex still finds irresistible.

His shop doesn't make money, he doesn't even know what to charge for the items he sells, he sleeps half the day and loves to spend time at the beach, and his mother's stuck coming up with the rent, yet he's still sought after and even fought for due perhaps to bucolic notoriety. 

Shôzô, even though he has lived as an adult for quite some time, still knows nothing of worldly affairs that don't facilitate relaxation.

Yet he still loves, he loves spending time with his cat: should this loyal devotion be criticized?

Should he be reprimanded or even assailed for living an honest life?

Never feeling lash nor censure?

Boldly sought after.

Loved?

License to Drive

The unyielding desire to get out and drive, to head out on the road, to deck out your ride.

It motivates Les Anderson (Corey Haim) in Greg Beeman's License to Drive, who has yet to obtain his driver's license, yet boldly seeks to apply himself vehicularly, and then drive his eager friends around town.

A car is available should he pass the crucial test, and Mercedes Lane (Heather Graham) has agreed to date him, having just broken up with her conceited boyfriend (M.A Nickles as Paolo), whose chauvinism was rather enraging.

There's just one problem.

Perhaps several problems.

Les falls asleep during driver's ed class and fails to acquire vital tidbits of information, which leads to him failing the written portion of his exam, since he's unable to guess the right answers.

But as fate would have it, the computers suddenly break down, his results remaining unknown, and since his twin sister (Nina Siemaszko as Natalie Anderson) passed beforehand, he's given encouraging motivation.

He passes the in-car portion of the exam under unorthodox forbidding circumstances, and returns to the examination centre full of upbeat pluck and resolve.

But his written results have been retrieved, his newfound prosperity instantly nullified.

Yet he still has a date that evening.

And friends who rely upon him.

Trouble abounds after he steals his grandfather's (Parley Baer) Caddy and Mercedes drinks way too much.

But Corey Feldman and Charles (Michael Manasseri) show no hesitation: they're still up for a bombastic drive.

Ah well.

I was hoping for so much more from License to Drive. It didn't have much of a buzz when I was growing up, but there's so much from way back when that I'm sure I must have missed out on.

It's cool to see Corey Haim and Corey Feldman engaged in shenanigans again, and Heather Graham, Carol Kane (Mrs. Anderson), Richard Masur (Mr. Anderson), and James Avery (Les's DMV Examiner) make the most of it; there's no slouching in the face of spasticity.

It promotes driving and the urge to drive with driven adolescent wonder, and sets up a variety of traditional incidents which perhaps still widely resonate.

But protestors and activists are vilified, as are the minority boyfriends of its lasses, and drinking and driving is whitewashed, and I couldn't find a classic '80s moment.

Too high of an elevation of slacking, not enough respect for book smarts, it tries to take things to uninhibited extremes, without ever really kicking into gear.

Tuff Turf

Imagine COVID-19 as a partner who refuses to let go, even though they still have plenty of options, and their love interest's already found someone new.

Difficulties arise, and a family decides to move, leaving Connecticut with bold momentum, to resettle in California.

Youngest son and borderline ne'er-do-well Mr. Hiller (James Spader) struggles to adjust, for even if he shies away from academics, he still has zero tolerance for blatant thuggery.

Soon he's after the underachieving love interest (Kim Richards as Frankie Croyden) of his new high school's most prominent goon (Paul Mones as Nick Hauser), who takes none too kindly to the intrusion, and responds with blunt distaste.

Warnings are given, followed by the infliction of punishment, but Hiller will not yield, the conflict becoming uncharacteristically intense, for the '80s films I'm familiar with, must have been too young for this one, Tuff Turf's rather super-violent, quite brutal, by no means prim or whitewashed, Hiller takes on a volatile gang, and deals with the harsh repercussions.

The film seems less threatening early on, as if the happy-go-lucky will prevail, but Hiller's not Chris Knight or Ferris Bueller, and he takes full-on shocking beatings.

Yet at other times Tuff Turf's so light of heart, like when Hiller's successful brother comes to visit, or he playfully crashes a country club buffet, plus the cool emphasis on all things bike.

Half the film's like a wild music video that's primarily concerned with advertising bands, the plot secondary to the electronic beats, the horn section, the bass, the guitar.

At times you wonder if they're even going to try to develop a plot, or just revel in melodious bedlam.

Then they do sort of develop a story which becomes incredibly dark and grim, like Pretty in Pink meets Scorsese, with a gashed and gripping head wound.

The principal is introduced to warn rebellious Hiller, but he never shows up again, school's practically left behind, less scholastic endeavour than even Twin Peaks.

Hiller is now in public school after having been thrown out of an elite prep college, but since his father (Matt Clark) lost his business, he wouldn't have been able to attend another one anyways.

The awkward. It's like someone who doesn't fit in keeps generating awkward tension throughout the entire film which becomes increasingly crazed and combative until it erupts in full-fledged frenzy.

With bands rockin' out and tacked on family values.

It's like director Fritz Kiersch didn't like '80s films and sought to release something countercultural, which couldn't have possibly been appealing, but seems to be focused on generating esteem.

There could be a sick sense of humour here that I'm glad I'm not getting.

Enter Seinfeld's bizarro world.

Kitschy immiscibility.

Onward

I hope everyone's safe during these stressful times. I'll probably be focusing on movie rentals for the next couple of weeks but I did see a couple of films before things intensified.

Pixar's Onward presents a world wherein which fantasy has been replaced by modern convenience, elves and unicorns and cyclopses living suburban domestic lives, the thrill of questing overwhelmed by scientific adaptation, latent strengths subconsciously shimmering, unplanned adventure accounted for otherwise.

Two brothers playfully reckon within the alternative conception, one shy and focused on school, the other wild and reckless and daring.

Their mom (Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Laurel Lightfoot) has boldly raised them alone, since shortly after the birth of her second son, but she's found a new partner who helps out (Mel Rodriguez as Colt Bronco), the two forging a caretaking fluency.

Which is suddenly tested and challenged on Ian Lightfoot's (Tom Holland) 16th birthday, after he receives a gift left to him by his generous dad, a staff no less of wizarding renown, complete with a spell channelling reincarnation.

The elder Barley (Chris Pratt) seeks to wield its resiliency, for he's in touch with bygone days of yore, but he lacks verified authenticity, his spirit still ye olde die hard.

He's impressed when Ian the younger accidentally generates vision, but his sights fall short of reanimate goals, a quest necessitated sparked thereafter, the two departing with accents fateful.

And to hasten their destined good fortune, old school clues still commercially abound, a path purposefully and piquantly pinpointed, through cloaked coaxing postmodern realms.

Not this blog.

A puzzle at a Manticore's (Octavia Spencer) family restaurant.

The Manticore soon following in hot pursuit.

Accompanied by one concerned mom.

An imaginative synthesis of disparate epochs awaits in Onward's fraternal reels, as uncertain raw ambitions clash with preplanned determinate yields.

Reminiscent of long lost considerations concerning the cost of extant classics, their prices incongruously reflecting their contents, their value oft overlooked, disregarded.

Yet these classics still hold precious astral ascensions beheld by generations long passed, their texts emitting contemporary resonance distilled like essential tranquility.

Onward perhaps doesn't reach such a level but it still reverberates with atemporal antiquity, focused on vigorous concentrate, bizarro bewitching indiscretions.

Perhaps something's been lost in recent centuries as technology's progressed exponentially, as appliances ease once ubiquitous burdens, as knowledge globally and internationally expands.

But you can still find that primordial spirit should you have the will to seek it, as simple as a trip to Parc Jean-Drapeau, or restaurants chosen at random.

There are many ways to fill your life with unfiltered excitement, classic art, walks in the woods, and good food just the tip of the iceberg.

But we've more or less lost some ways that used to be quite destructive too, such as global conflict and fast spreading diseases.

So remember to proceed with caution.

In case you don't like what you find.

I'm looking at you coronavirus.

I support strong measures to prevent it from spreading.

The medical personnel who have to fight it are risking their lives.

Marriage Story

The slow patient cultivation of specific general roles, patterns emerging as time passes becoming more rigid while still considered ill-defined, dynamic environs creatively encouraging unpredictable professional growth, but within their fluid energetic exciting jazzy continuums lies one person directing, and another following established codes, their lives constantly shifting reimagined as inspiration strikes, but the thought of doing something else never so much as remotely materializes, even though passive hints are presented until years have past and it seems like every decision's made without sincere consultation, even though he thinks he's listening and they're making joint discoveries, as fluctuating intensities eagerly fascinate, and everything's cast anew.

Perhaps a stunning aid for couples who have been married for quite some time, inasmuch as Marriage Story makes so much lucid sense, yet Nicole (Scarlett Johansson) and Charlie (Adam Driver) still can't understand one another.

Noting the errors Charlie makes may save similar marriages, I've always thought working together (jobs) is a bad idea, although some couples do seem to work well together (at jobs).

Case by case.

But it's perhaps more probable that in Marriage Story nothing can be done, since one partner's too caught up with too invested in a particular way of life, which can't suddenly change to fit new circumstances, circumstances which demand he abandon everything altogether.

Nicole no longer wishes to live in New York, which leaves Charlie without much room to work with, in a bit of a pickle as divorce proceedings commence, and he has to prove he resides in L.A.

While directing a play in New York.

He was just too immersed in the limelight to notice that something was going wrong, or that the passive suggestions were actually serious, and required full-on responsive note.

I don't know how to sift through the suggestions myself, I've never really had a deep relationship, but in theory I'd try to sift through them by listening for those that were presented more than two or three times, if my partner was passive. If a suggestion popped up that many times I would take note that it was indeed much more than a suggestion, and would adjust my busy schedule accordingly, if forgiven for having taken my sweet time.

Charlie and Nicole get along so maturely you wonder why they're getting a divorce?, until it becomes clear Nicole needs something less ubiquitous, and doesn't like the constant direction.

Even if her husband's brilliant and nice.

I think she grows tired of him always finding a solution.

And perhaps finds her life's become a novel case study.

I'm probably incorrect, as Marriage Story points out in passionate detail with great supporting performances from Laura Dern (Nora Fanshaw), Alan Alda (Bert Spitz), and Ray Liotta (Jay Marotta) (loved the Julie Hagerty [Sandra] and Wallace Shawn [Frank] too!), women really understand what women are going through, and men generally understand all things bro.

It's a wonderful film examining a complicated multivariable couple trying to keep a hectic life simple as things unravel at their marriage's end.

It begins with touching characterizations they've both written about each other (a ruse) that provide in-depth accounts of the time they've spent together, with literal poetic resplendency.

Reasons.

Multiple compelling reasons.

The caring insights written into every observation prepare you for clever thoughtful storytelling that keeps it real the whole way through.

It isn't particularly light nor overwhelmingly dark, but chillin' and anger both expound within, each scene enacting free flowing difference sustained within a modest versatile frame (except for divorce court), as if the characters may actually exist, and have something irresistible to say.

Nice intelligent successful people who for some reason find themselves married, clashing with cold cruel realities with which they'd both rather not contend.

Artists hiring lawyers.

There's so much thought in this film it's like reading a good book, you wait for years to see dramas as good as this one.

The scenes last for much longer than 30 seconds.

Multiple reasons are provided to explain something neither partner wishes to fully comprehend.

Nice to see Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson in something without intergalactic conflict.

Noah Baumbach's made so many great films.

This is his first masterpiece (I never saw The Squid and the Whale).

Even when it slips up it just seems like it's his youthful innocence shining through, like an historical trope, like he hasn't forgotten a randier style, here transformed into something more aged, the present and the past blended like well crafted gritty red wine, that's been maturing for fruitful decades, and's finally ready for bold presentation.

Wish I'd seen it in theatres.

Netflix can no longer be denied (by me).

Witness

A young Amish child (Lukas Haas as Samuel) on his first trip to the big city, finds himself immersed in high level corruption, after witnessing a brutal murder, while waiting for his train to depart.

As unaware of the repercussions as the honest cop who takes his statement (Harrison Ford as John Book), he's soon revealed the identity of the killer, and it's indeed one of New York's finest (Danny Glover as McFee).

Book soon transfers the knowledge to his supervisor, but he's placed his trust in the wrong elite cop, shots fired shortly thereafter, moments later he's on the crazed run.

To Amish country.

Where no one will find him.

If he can keep that yap shut.

And refrain from scandalous endeavours.

Work abounds in the old school surroundings, as does temptation, and orthodox rules.

Surveillance haunts disputed emotion.

There's no quarter, no frank ergo sum.

Long before cellphones guaranteed law enforcement could ubiquitously monitor the population, public movements were still often scrutinized, private pastimes uprightly presumed.

In tight-knit communities anyways, and at work, and at home, the concept of privacy still had much more meaning, and could at least be theoretically conceived.

Without vast resources.

Headstrong individualism meets its panoptic particulars in Peter Weir's forbidding Witness, as a trustworthy by the book policeperson closely follows established rules.

Having once taken procedure for granted, he struggles to meticulously adjust, his genuine goodness guiding the way, his bold temper begetting comeuppance.

A sympathetic depiction of the Amish unreels within, beyond sociopolitical constructs, a simple existence with nothing to hide, harmless living for strict rule followers.

The disruption may indeed be controversial, but it's integrated without fuss or alarm, peaceful ways still cognizant of justice, willing to aid distraught virtue in peril.

L'amour.

Restraint.

Confinements of the hypothetical.

Urban tempers so feisty condoned.

An odd mix that could have been more controversial.

Matthias & Maxime

Friends gather to celebrate life within secluded surroundings, artistic expression boldly reconstituting unspoken sublimated desire, an accord harmlessly struck, a shock recomposed endeavours, worst case in light of expectations, shy protests crafting haunts.

A return to urban routines, mild vast driven stoked responsibilities, one friend making ends meet in a bar, another focused on strict legalese.

Not that simple, neither cradled nor binary, distinct multiple clasped characterizations, intermingling nuanced intermediaries, conscious delegates a crew a neighbourhood.

Young adult cultural instinct, twenty something perspicacious reflexivity, not the fight like I've come to understand it, less jagged, less aggressive, less blunt.

A son struggles to take care of a parent who's recovering from drug addiction.

Lofty heights beckon as a visitor hails difference.

Lighthearted yet solemn and serious.

Exploration, presumption, discovery.

Matthias & Maxime, Xavier Dolan's latest, more in touch with something real, less volatile than Mommy or Tom à la ferme, but more impacting than Fin du monde or John F. Donovan.

I was hoping he'd make a film like this, a transition to something new, not that similar themes don't abound, it's just less wild, less chaotic, less psycho.

He does psycho well, but it started to seem like most of his films were going to be about nutters expressing themselves violently, so it's nice to see something laidback and chill, something relatable, something frisky, something calm.

It's not bourgeois by any means, although it has sure and steady elements, his characters still struggling to define themselves even if they aren't concerned with identity politics.

Exist is perhaps a better word, the film's concerned with thoughtful experimental existence, as threadbare as it is brisk and versatile, quite practical for something so imaginative.

I mean there aren't many bells and whistles, its sets more quotidian, less ornately endowed, characters spiritually composed and thriving in clever situations that don't overtly display intellect, don't draw attention to their value-added observations, just converse like they aren't trying to say something, the western character for example.

Matthias & Maxime (don't like the title) opens up fertile narrative ground that no other filmmaker is traversing, that can't be as easily criticized for being over the top, and requires more hands-on subtle innovations.

Still bet he could make one hell of a horror film.

Note: Québec could use more sci-fi.

It's great to watch films made by directors who care about their characters.

And work sympathy into their stories.

Introducing unexpected impulse.

Solid grizzled and gritty romanticism.

The Death and Life of John F. Donovan

A child reaches out to his favourite television star, and as fate would have it, he amicably responds.

Years later, transformed into an assertive young man, the fan discusses their correspondence with a none-too-keen reporter.

For something as innocent as a literary exchange, frail controversy abounds, the boy's life at school assailed, the star denying any involvement.

He was transitioning at the time to augmented cultured renown, replete with haywire strained theatrics, and their accompanying dis/enchantments.

As isolated feelings shocked and enervated, he became increasingly fraught and torn.

Both troubled penpals engage in heated exchanges with their mothers, youthful angst exploding, less dramatic knots unnerving.

Neither quite at home yet settled.

Pronounced and blunt misgivings.

The Death and Life of John F. Donovan tills new mainstream ground, its innovative form both strength and weakness, as thought duels with emotive viscerals.

Impassioned feeling erupts at times, defined by aggrieved adolescence, and it makes an impact inasmuch as it startles, and critiques with unhinged fury.

These scenes aptly reflect wild destructive rage, and they make dismal embittered sense, and they're rarely encountered with such derisive vehemence, like sure sighted succinct storms.

When I think about the scenes, their style indeed seems quite well-chosen, especially if you've ever lost or seen someone lose your/their temper, and let loose vitriolic condemnation.

But they're a classic example of honest hands-on realism clashing with deceptive fantasy, insofar as the raw echoing sincerity doesn't fit the upscale production.

I can't criticize them for being histrionic because the situations they dispute are akin to exaggeration, but it's still discomforting to watch as they shriek and tantrum, and the poor mother looks on despondent.

Dolan's arguably a master of such scenes and it's nice to see they weren't held back, to see him workin' his style pseudo-studio, and I'm wondering if a rushed schedule left him directing in haste, because his more independent features capture such frenzies with ironic delicacy, and leave you overwhelmed with comatose disbelief.

A learning experience.

A stepping stone.

Who knows what happened here?

It's a cool enough story that's super melodramatic.

But the abrupt pace lacks the composure of his earlier work.

So it depends on how you like your melodrama.

I like refined melodramatic ridiculousness.

Missed the boat on John F. Donovan I'm afraid.

Joker

A confused man who struggles to fit in suddenly responds with unhinged fury, to those who snidely provoke him.

He tries to socialize at work, to enjoy the friendly influence of camaraderie, but is attuned to a different wavelength that pushes others swiftly away.

He sees a psychiatrist on a regular basis to air grievances and seek shelter, but she's ill-equipped to deal with his issues and their encounters increase his frustration.

Before budget cuts bring them to an abrupt end.

He goes off his meds and starts researching his past after reading a letter written by his mother (Frances Conroy as Penny Fleck) to Bruce Wayne's father (Brett Cullen).

And as the woe disparagingly intensifies, he embraces reckless spleen, proceeding wild-eyed and menacing, with neither recourse nor path nor guilt.

Gotham's elite have developed an unsympathetic attitude regarding its impoverished citizens, who find solace in the Joker's (Joaquin Phoenix) rampage.

The result is incredibly bleak.

As despondent as it is abandoned.

A dangerous film, this Joker, released at the worst of times.

Characters like the Joker are often exceptions are they not?, but in recent decades the U.S has seen so much distressing carnage.

Joker could easily be dismissed if it wasn't so well done, and didn't reach such a wild wide audience.

Compassion abounds for the Joker within.

And Batman's father's a condescending jerk.

From the perspective of film, it's easily the best comic book movie, like mainstream tragic arthouse psychological horror abounding with sensitive emotion.

Not just sensational superheroes predictably poised and pouncing, Joker leaves behind both razzle and dazzle to distill nocturnal desperation.

You feel for him as he daydreams, as his explanations are dismissed at work, as he makes friends with a neighbour down the hall, as he traces the roots of his identity.

Perhaps nothing will come of it.

Perhaps people harbouring dark thoughts will see the horrifying nature of their outcomes and be emphatically deterred, like parents who teach children to respect alcohol by getting them drunk, school of hard knocksy pedagogical bedlam.

But hopefully people like Bruce Wayne or his father, people occupying positions of power in the U.S, will consider a more equitable distribution of wealth, and uphold institutions which aid the unfortunate.

It's not perfect in Canada and Québec, Britain, France or Ireland, but there is much less violence, according to Michael Moore's films.

Because these countries have elites who care about the unfortunate, like Bernie Sanders.

And encourage them to be productive team members.

Much harder to own your own weapons too.

Less idealistic.

Much more practical.

Nezha zhi motong jiangshi (Ne Zha)

A couple committed to protecting their realm from demons who maladroitly arise, jests with the birth of a magical newborn, who's an ill-tempered god hellbent on partaking in routine village life, annoyed that his powers are quotidianly ill-favoured, too young to hold back when hospitably disposed.

He seeks friendship yet is prone to mischief and can't comprehend why he's consistently rebuked, which leads to volatile discontent declarations, and generalized feelings of mutual disaffection.

His parents are uncertain of how to raise their malcontent offspring, and trust a hedonistic immortal to both guide and provide active care.

But he responds too precociously to his loosely structured lessons, and the results are both disconcerting and counterproductive, things becoming much worse when he learns he'll live only three short years, and is indeed frenetically fated, to unleash wanton reviled ill-repute.

He meets his counterpart one day, who is destined for greener pastures, seaside pastures, a god of water secretly raised by dragons, who's also inquisitive and young, and seeking to make trusted oddball friends.

The divine proclamations which indisputably govern their predetermined constitutions have been cast in immaterial chrome, yet they're determined to follow different paths, to make their own fates, randomly preconditioned.

Listen for The Terminator theme music.

It's super deep, this Nezha zhi motong jiangshi (Ne Zha), with its lone bemused disposition, abounding with intricate detail, as it contemplates counterintuition.

In action, while it calisthenically unreels, as hyper-reactive as its nimble namesake, as unrestrictive as leaps and bounds.

Part tragedy as it generates sympathy for a youngster who can't help but cause destruction, yet longs for someone to play with, who isn't afraid of him, or easily duped.

Part comedy as symbiotic shenanigans cerebrally startle and delicately sway.

It's as if predictability were vehemently critiqued by innocent gifted youth, aware of their otherworldly powers and dismissive of fate and forecast.

As if it's comic that ties bind no matter how much agency's secured, and tragic that you exist apart especially if you're born romantic.

To be fated for mystic fortunes adds pressure to attempts to chill, as youth imagines the outer world while taxing mundane rhapsodics.

Nezha (Lü Yanting) gives 'er despite scorn and protest, as misinterpretation confounds.

The film's must-see animation for lovers of fantasy and robust storytelling.

Extraordinarily complex and profound.

Still innocent enough for younger audiences.

Downright quizzical.

Epically nuanced.

Diane

Guilt haunts a reliable community volunteer as her grown son's drug addiction becomes increasingly distressing.

She's sure and steady, well-oiled, remarkable, overflowing with humble self-sacrifice, always willing to lend helping hands.

She serves food to the down and out, finds time to visit sick friends, takes care of the elderly, and loves sitting back to discuss bygone days.

Except for one moment in particular, one extravagance that led to grief.

It's unknown if it brought on Brian's (Jake Lacy) troubles, but she unfortunately acts as if it was the root cause.

But she won't give up on him.

Stops by almost every day, brings him food, is critical but not overbearing, sympathizes unless he's reckless.

He responds. Seeks help. Sort of recovers. Becomes overbearing.

Their relationship's somewhat dysfunctional, Brian either wallowing in despair, or seeking to hoist the upper hand when he's sober.

Diane (Mary Kay Place) patiently deals, showcasing the unsung grace of spry active virtue.

Unassured yet sheltered.

Remorseful yet feisty.

She isn't a saint, I don't mean to suggest she's saintly, but her indiscretions are by no means scandalous, in the present moment, long after an impassioned youth.

Or young adulthood.

The time frame isn't specified but you can guess from the relative age of the characters.

A strange film nevertheless, one which possibly makes more sense if you've ever done good deeds, or been weighed down by guilt for things you haven't done, or simply like chillin' with family.

Why the film explicitly presents Diane engaged in hard drug use is a point of confusion, but notwithstanding a bizarre dream sequence, it does resonate with communal optimism, and establish a strong group of friends.

Who argue, reminisce, listen, tease, protest, are there for each other like a sponge or a duster, understand one another, facilitate, appease.

With that familiar kind of camaraderie that presumes but doesn't judge, that predicts but doesn't wager.

Diane and Brian forge a troubled symbiotic nomenclature nestled within discursive drives.

Actively administering.

Flexible choice composure.

Most of the time.

Mirai no Mirai

An imaginative cloister at rest or at play sharply asserts itself in aggrieved upright tantrum.

For the solitary world within which he was ensconced has been definitively altered by the presence of another.

Attention that was once solely centred on him must now be shared with a sister, and even if she's somewhat adorable, he still can't fraternally conduct.

Strange forces align within his domestic playground to provide him with familial aid, and soon, through recourse to animated historical visuals, he's swathed in verbose fluent didact.

But he still may be too young to absorb his interactive lessons, and whether or not he can accept little Mirai (Victoria Grace) remains truly and innocently uncertain.

As dad (John Cho) learns the domestic arts.

And mom (Rebecca Hall) settles back in at work.

The child (Jaden Waldman) creatively explores pasts and presents to embrace Mirai no Mirai, the film excelling at presenting tactile evidence while he struggles to grasp and comprehend.

A wonderful film, rich with effervescent showcase, abounding with nimble tutelage, proceeds to generously foil and viscerally cascade, like windswept rains intermittently drenching the tropics in inclusive instructive echo, it proceeds with a friendly light heart playfully immersed in soothing reprimand.

Revelations must be hidden in order to avoid conflict as mom and dad wonder what's happening in their unassuming nondescript back garden.

As Kun embarks on journey after journey, it's as if luminescence has been seamlessly disseminated, the film's insouciance mysteriously matriculating, in nurtured inculcated frisk.

Deconstructing disillusions of age.

Enveloping unpasteurized wonder.

The scenes aren't boring or risk-fuelled or death-defying or controversial, they're way more chill, like they aren't working within a systematic production slyly cultivating grass-is-greener ideologies.

Thus, with intergenerational independence and particularized unique charm, they offer alternatives overflowing with paradigmatic initiative, laidback, like childhood storytime.

Categorically unconcerned.

You try to keep your eyes open as you age so you don't miss life passing by, like Ferris Bueller, and from time to time you still notice something novel for which you're totally unprepared.

It's like Mirai no Mirai harnesses this outlook in narrativized jazzy melody, which it thoughtfully focuses on itself, to compose something calm and collective.

A must see.

Ramen Teh

A young man, longing to prove himself, sets off from Japan to visit his mother's family in Singapore.

His father was a celebrated chef who settled in a small town to the delight of its local residents.

Widely renowned he may have been, but easy going (like my dad) he was not, and although he sought to diversify fundamentals, he never shared his knowledge with his respectful son (Takumi Saito as Masato).

After his passing, his son Masato discovers a suitcase full of memorabilia which poses a treasure trove of questions he's ill-equipped to answer.

Yet they lead him to Singapore and its own tempting culinary traditions.

Sleuthing in a foreign country, and overflowing with purposeful examination, his friendly uncle lends a hand, although he can't appease his hostile grandmother.

For his parents married against her will in the aftermath of World War II, their budding love and youthful devotion then overlooked forever after.

She can't forgive.

Even after all this time.

But Masato's full of endearing pluck.

And won't yield to the hardhearted flutter.

Dramatic family drama.

Soothed by gastronomic arts.

Ramen Teh takes one part stubborn and another openminded, blends them intergenerationally, then prepares a multifaceted feast.

The narrative generally follows a linear recipe, but there's enough scenic spice to atemporally tantalize.

It wouldn't have been easy to forgive after the war, and I can understand if some people simply won't/wouldn't.

Watch the videos, the documentaries, Schindler's List, teach yourself about how cruel and horrifying World War II really was.

It's not a humorous subject, not something to be taken lightly, not something to be romanticized, it was systematic abject terror.

Tenderly, in the war's long reaching wake, Ramen Teh uses food to harmonize different peoples.

I'd wager it's impossible to emerge from watching it without a new found respect for Asian cooking, and a strong desire to head out and try something new posthaste.

Ramen noodles for me.

Sitting back and enjoying a meal is something peoples everywhere love to do, and the simple act of enjoying food with friends and/or loved ones unconsciously unites the globe in wonder.

Ramen Teh excels at bringing people together without sermon or sentiment, through the simple act of modestly preparing something.

Compromise leads to reconciliation.

Listening promotes curiosity.

Some of the time anyways.

Some of the best of times.

Capharnaüm

An angry mature child boldly fights against Lebanese injustice, his sharp shrewd awareness driving his impoverished family mad.

Their poverty is severe and opportunity is non-existent.

Without public education, healthcare, a social safety net, or any knowledge of birth control, they rely solely on religious teachings for strength, while others take advantage of their suffering.

Yet public institutions, collective means through which to sustain a community, don't necessarily exist in opposition to religious practices.

If I'm not mistaken, they're in fact the product of such practices, religious practices secularly upheld.

People in Europe and elsewhere came together some time ago and forged resilient groups that recognized they were stronger united as one, had more bargaining power, more clout, that recognized that every child could have access to education and healthcare if democratically elected political representatives sought to dynamically change socioeconomic conditions which promoted a neverending cycle of poverty, and they then elected political reps who did indeed make such changes.

The changes were by no means perfect, are not perfect, although they seek perfection, but they did lift millions of people out of poverty and at least taught them to read and write while promoting healthy productive and contraceptive lifestyles.

This isn't a Western thing, a European thing, it's a humanistic sociopolitical development that was rationally created by a sociocultural adherence to a respected scientific method.

Take an illness like measles.

Measles used to detrimentally effect millions of children in Europe and elsewhere but scientists studied the disease and found a cure and now it only rarely emerges when people don't vaccinate their children.

The anti-vac movement is one of the most shortsighted cultural developments on record, and would see millions of children suffering from diseases brilliant women and men more or less eradicated if it was ever taken seriously.

I ask you, would God not promote science? Would God not promote a world where we teach ourselves to humanistically take care of people rather than relying on his or her benevolence?

I imagine millions of people prayed that their children wouldn't get measles, but still millions and millions of children got measles, and then scientists found a cure, a cure for measles, thereby answering the prayers of millions of parents and enabling a world where parents didn't have to pray their children wouldn't get it.

Capharnaüm isn't about measles.

It's about poverty and lack of opportunity.

The situation's bleak and the non-existent opportunities heartbreakingly chronicle millions of prayers left unanswered.

Non-violent collective action in many countries led to situations where opportunity was at least possible and education was indeed probable.

It wasn't easy.

But the results are somewhat miraculous.

It's not about one child getting an identity card because he tenaciously fights powers that be.

It's about that child forming groups that promote public education and healthcare and the creation of a social safety net which effectively fights poverty.

That scientifically and secularly applies age old religious principles.

With actual concrete results.

That dynamically challenge and change things.

Like the horrendous happenings in this film.

It's not for the lighthearted.

But tells a tale you'll find nowhere else.

Powerful filmmaking.

Gifted storytelling.

A light.

A crucible.

On the Basis of Sex

The law is so diverse and complex that it's almost like an inorganic cerebral ecosystem of sorts, wherein which manifold species symbiotically seek food, shelter, warmth.

Taken as a whole it's rather labyrinthine, like trying to clarify all the species in an unknown jungle, at first. You study taxonomic reasoning for years and then one day set foot in the jungle, pitch a tent, set up camp, begin recording the flora and fauna as well as their relationships with one another. As the sun slowly fades and night descends you observe different botanical phenomena displaying alternative characteristics until your research can definitively suggest they possess specific behavioural traits, thereby setting precedents of sorts which promote further discovery.

But you can only do so much research in a jungle and most research is somewhat specialized (philosophically undertaken according to specific criteria) and eventually you depart, coming back at another time perhaps to advance your research further.

Meanwhile other scientists investigate the same region to verify or contradict your findings while making several new ones of their own.

Rational observations upheld by the reasonable discourse of the day slowly create a world of precedents delineating a civil code unto themselves.

But the code itself is so vast and delicately nuanced and the amount of time spent studying it so slim that the overarching exhaustive narrative remains tantalizing out of touch, always encouraging further study.

If the lawyers, judges, and legal aids who make up a judicial framework are closely studied you find patterns upon which you can base predictions regarding the outcomes of specific cases and the individuals responsible for making them, judging them, commentating upon them, facilitating them.

You would think they wouldn't be determinate inasmuch as different facts and alternative circumstances make each case unique, and that the outcome of one extortion trial should be different from another, but the patterns do persist with a remarkable lack of variation, which is perhaps an unfortunate byproduct of undisclosed political motives.

But variability persists as well and honest judges and lawyers can be swayed by exceptional arguments crafted by reasonable individuals cutting their way through the maze.

As they are by Ruth Bader Ginsburg (Felicity Jones) in Mimi Leder's On the Basis of Sex.

Unlike the instinctual nature of the jungle, which is instinctive inasmuch as we can't communicate with it, logically, in spite of visceral fluencies, the imaginative nature of the law, the application of abstract thought, no matter how practical it might be, cleverly cultivates alternative paths by introducing new classifications, new precedents, disciplines, many of which have little to do with people wandering around aimlessly thousands of years ago, and scientifically reflect the evolutionary nature of communal intellect.

Like the second or third or fourth or fifth scientist who visits the previously undiscovered jungle and discovers new facts that contradict the findings of his or her predecessors, new law branches emerge which develop their own previously uncategorized traditions themselves equally rich in judicial diversity.

As alternative traditions make their claims based upon different precedents the undeniable sure thing becomes much less invariable.

But the patterns still persist and the political motivations that define them persistently seek to elucidate a manufactured master narrative, regardless of facts presented, in attempts to make the world reflect a theoretical natural conception.

The jungle itself without the ability to analyze itself is natural, and rational attempts to define its nature definitively through the application of self-aware reflection based upon observed conditionals which change according to the narratives established by their observers, different conclusions reached, competing rationalities cohabiting, reflects the nature of thought or imagination, a nature which is in/organic if you will.

On the Basis of Sex operates within an in/organic labyrinth and follows the brilliant Ruth Bader Ginsburg as she begins to shine a light through.

Ignorantly dismissed at first and later on because of her gender, even though she graduated with exceptional grades, she finally gets a chance and rationally makes the most of it.

In feisty Denver.

Precedents and patterns and preconceptions and prejudice confront her all the way, but her loving husband (Armie Hammer) and children (Cailee Spaeny, Callum Shoniker) back her up, and support her with the utmost respect (within teenaged reason).

The film's an engaging accessible account of a remarkable individual's first trek through the wilderness, and the path she cultivated along the way.

Through foresight, pluck, logic, and determination, she helped heal aspects of a system that unfortunately is neither broken nor fixed.

If you think the system's broken, if you give up and stop fighting, then a system that has never been and never will be perfect falls into a blind state of disarray.

Remember people like Ruth Bader Ginsburg and the light they've helped shine throughout their lives if you find yourself thinking everything's hopeless.

Because there are millions if not billions of people out there just like her, who care, and are making a difference.

Fighting for true democracy.

Or at least a fair shake most of the time.