Love Streams

Dashing delirium wurlitzer wishbone Kanata construct generous fusion, nebulous nightlife exotic elegance curious candidate finagled foment.

Bohemian research acute acquisition novel expenditure cozy collective, gossamer gathering improvised quota koala carousel visceral verse.

Ambivalent anchor Cervantes sash maladroit mosey articulate ramble, sugarfree solace direct illusion whippoorwill twirl evocative whirlwind.

Sombre divorce resigned declarations strict conclusion unforeseen outcome, calamitous critique tear-jerking jostle filial exclusion atemperate coda.

Atypical advice convivial counsel popinjay potash refurbished loom, constituent cavalier chortling kombucha salient sojourn vehement vase.

Sudden imposition reified reunion elusive child-rearing Nantucket nurture, inspired fraternal mischievous play intuitive revolt bold indiscretion. 

Occasional warmth paternal cohesion charming invention agile imagination, insouciant bearings rebellious burnish PTA nightmare artistic garb.

Disconsolate accident knick-knock-ninjitsu blatant bamboozle distressing fold, latent aggression habitual angst concrete folly baffled intentions.

Symphonic siblings chaotic orchestration swelling libretto compelling surges, dutiful company familial frittata sincere compassion eloquent strobe.

Distillate jubilee innocent clay unrehearsed remodelling campy admixture, soulfulbright aggregate domestic misfortune damning austerity discerning girth. 

Constructive teamwork contiguous clasp itinerant commune sporadic libra, jungle gymnastics dynamic dogme evergreen forest pyjambalaya. 

Bivouac browse menagerie mending auspicious adorable animal friends, in/variable groupings deciduous drumbeat invaluable semblance kettlecorn clan.

Undaunted optimism hastening grace laidback congregation fortuitous present, affable ancestry tumbledown tangents ludicrous license carnival crescents. 

No sense at all what's going to come next.

What does come encourages anticipation. 

Inherent romance.

Love Streams.  

Three Fugitives

Released from his iron cell and begrudgingly prepared to re-enter society, an emboldened felon embraces reform after having lived the daring high life.

The policeperson who initially caught him dismissively awaits his cantankerous return, even offering him a friendly free ride to the nearest bank as soon as he sees him.

While attempting to solemnly engage in formal quotidian codes of conduct, he must sombrely compute the irony, when someone else tries to rob it.

Not only that, when the police arrive, the new thief takes the ex-con hostage, the cops assuming he's right back at it, the two extemporaneously escape.

Lucas is none too impressed with having been associated with another bank robbery, Ned refusing to clear his cold name since he also fears the prison lockdown.

His daughter hasn't spoken since his wife passed and he needs the money to assist with her future.

Spirited odd couple disputes ensue.

But she takes a shine to the grumpy inquisitor. 

Almost as if to indirectly encourage the discreet cultivation of a family man, ill-amused by hardboiled diplomacy and conditionally suited to conduct upstanding. 

Should the emotional exchange of mutually complementing amorous discourse, nurture bilateral reciprocation, a relationship may one day manifest. 

In the neverending landscapes of Canada and Québec stretching endlessly from coast-coast to coast, the extended winter eventually giving way to abundant playgrounds throughout the countryside.

Many arrive but few choose to stay due to the imposing formidable climate, the lucky travellers who permanently reside thoroughly overwhelmed from season to season.

It's nice to hear the old school '80s soundtrack blessedly showcasing sweet flowing tunes, and to imagine an historical epoch when that fluid style effervescently germinated.

I've spent so much time with English as a Second Language that I was able to confidently detect, that Three Fugitives's volatile script was written by an individual whose first language isn't English (it was Jones's initial lines: English people just don't talk like that).

That isn't a criticism, it's no doubt commendable to courageously write something in your second language.

I just mean I may be able to catch spies.

Although there are likely more qualified candidates.

Fun to watch Martin Short and Nick Nolte interact.

Cool casting. 

With James Earl Jones and Alan Ruck. 

Multiplicity

Work at times prone all-encompassing as pressures and demands exponentially multiply, an occupation blended with leisure and family ubiquitous responsibility pending.

As long as expectations are reasonable and goals practically parlayed, it's manageable long-term through hands-on seasoned sympathetic accords.

But what if you could clone yourself and then send that very same clone to work, thereby allowing yourself more time to spend with family or perhaps relaxing?

And consider a second clone to then take care of your parental duties, leaving you with nothing but free time to galavant and jaunt and sojourn?

Multiplicity explores this possibility with comic slipshod rank effect, one risk-taker finagling flip facsimiles to free-up time in his busy schedule.

Fortunately, the clones don't mind and respond amenably to their roles, and don't question his cherished authority as he creates rules and regulations.

I would imagine a perfect clone would be more independent, and less willing to immediately respond to demanding occupational infrastructure.

The original is rewarded with cloned pertinent traits befitting related corresponding objectives, foreman model rather assertive while stay-at-home-dad flexibly accommodates. 

It's oddly a family film shot in the cuddly mass market style, wherein which endearing conglomerates generally avoid awkward confrontation.

The experiment has consequences but his wife and family persevere none-the-wiser, unaware that good-old-dad effectively abandoned them through surrogate censure.

Could a film this overtly insensitive be made in the 2020s, taking alternative multiplicities into consideration, from a less patriarchal point of view?

It seems that if one were to embrace equality while still endeavouring to cultivate shenanigans, both parties to the conjugal union should have duplicated themselves in secret.

Then perhaps 6-8 echoes would have to furtively avoid one another, while mayhem habitually metastasizes through the art of embellished absurdity.

They could perhaps all wind up living together with a massive feisty family.

That script may be overly complicated.

But still less of an abomination. 

Shaft

Shaft (2019) presents a more traditional depiction of its iconic lead (Samuel L. Jackson), much more bellicose than that envisioned in 2000, perhaps more reminiscent of the original character.

He's moved far beyond rules and regulations, and lives according to his own proper procedure, as he investigates crime with blunt condemnation, making ends meet with radical ease.

But this time the son he left behind comes calling hot on a case (Jessie T. Usher), a daring analyst working for the F.B.I who's mild-mannered, sincerely reserved.

The endearing odd couple scenario is flexibly enhanced by bemused paternalism, as sustained stark and improvised indiscretion wildly mingles with uptight pretension. 

Shaft Jr. is trying to discover who murdered his friend after he returned from Afghanistan, his methods leading to few results while laying the groundwork for inspired investigation.

Paps turns things up a notch while thoroughly shocking his incredulous son, the danger chaotically increasing as they approach concrete definition.

Mom's none too impressed upon hearing about the unexpected rapprochement (Regina Hall as Maya Babanikos), nor by her ex's ensuing repartee on a random evening which swiftly follows.

Reunited as a family they freely dispute while fighting crime.

Even after Jr.'s kicked out of the Bureau.

John Shaft Sr. (Richard Roundtree) happy to oblige.

Shaft boisterously blends distraught anarchy with technological presumption, intergenerationally melding paradigms with impassioned deconstructive pleas.

Much more raw than Shaft (2000), I wondered how thoroughly it impressed, not that its predecessor isn't also complex, it just lacks awkward contentious fidelity.

Are action heroes like Shaft and John McClane fading into the pre-online background, as cyberspatially savvy considerate sleuths prefer brains to brawn in unprecedented shifts?

Or will a new style of clever private eye still duke it out when their favourite apps fail them, the resultant extant absurdity as ahistorically fashionable as gold or astronomy?

It's fun to watch as emergent generations productively mutate traditional varieties. 

The same family achieving similar goals.

Working together, throughout the centuries. 

Written on the Wind

Two friends having grown up together remain collegially close as mature callings beckon.

Romance passionately translates reflections from one to the other, but Kyle (Robert Stack) seeks the damsel more readily, outmaneuvering alternative constructs.

His outlandish sister (Dorothy Malone as Marylee) has been in love with Mitch (Rock Hudson) for as long as she can remember, but he only sees her as family, which encourages rebellion.

They're some of the wealthiest peeps in Texas yet aren't detached or country club, preferring less ornate otherworldly enrichments to pretentious self-aggrandizement.

But young, Kyle seeks to raise young and encounters structural impediments, which leads to an excess o' corn, and generally swished saturation.

Mitch still loves Kyle's formerly blushing bride (Lauren Bacall as Lucy) but would never betray his friend, and even though she's somewhat flattered, she'll stay true to the bitter end.

The assiduous patriarch is none too impressed with the lackadaisical proclivities of his offspring, but he's too busy to run their lives, and they're far too independent.

Principled woe and abandoned happiness stoically blend within, to remain forever youthful, punishment Written on the Wind.

The first twenty minutes or so, the inspired improvised courtship, pull you in with literary enchantments, strictly spellbound as they subside, the austere tooth & nail.

Douglas Sirk holds things together enabling tragic tight-laced wonder, misfortune lamenting dreams, distressed dissolved exaggeration.

A solemn reverence for loyalty doesn't lack charming consistency, desire manifest and consequent yet forbidden barred ill-favoured.

The townsfolk hesitantly assert themselves to add poignant sociocultural depth, as demographics merge collide to interrogate what's left.

Acrimonious acclimations.

Antique shivers cloaked.

To have everything but what you want when it isn't even out of the question.

Friendly fusions immoderate misgivings distant lands picturesque pastures, if more had to be done perhaps everything would have seemed less demanding, like a light bit of sweet shushing distraction, honeysuckled spruce butterscotch haunts.  

A shake.

Camping.

Ye olde Yahtzee or Trivial Pursuit. 

Unconcerned with discourse immutable. 

Take it easy. 

Just the way things go.

Creed II

Strange how seriously people take sports sometimes.

I always thought if you were playing in a big game, a playoff game, a game against a division rival, any game really, you did everything you could to win, training hard, listening to your coaches, sticking to the game plan, improvising if it's not working, supporting your teammates, using all your skill and talent to put up another win, while hoping you were playing against opponents who were genuinely doing the same.

If you didn't let up and did everything you could to win without cheating, then if you unfortunately didn't, it didn't matter so much, even if it still stung, still hurt a bit afterwards.

There was usually another game the following week, night, month, at some point, and winning all the time didn't make much sense, was improbable, even if it would have been nice to pull off a perfect season, or go up by 20 early to take the edge off and settle it down.

In a big game.

Some people aren't like that though, losing against solid competition even though they've trained just as hard drives them a bit mad even after they've done their best competing at a high level.

It doesn't help if their support networks collapse like Ivan Drago's (Dolph Lundgren) did after he lost to Rocky, and they lose a style of life they've grown accustomed to, as well as the contacts who made it so dear.

They came down hard on the Drago.

But he came down equally hard on himself.

I don't see the differences between Rocky (Sylvester Stallone) and Drago's situations in terms of nation, however, but rather in the ways in which they were supported by friends and family after their losses.

Every nation has people who know how to win.

Every nation has people who don't know how to lose.

Every nation has people who are there when you lose.

Every nation has people who freakin' love sports.

I don't see the arts in terms of winning and losing so much, more like a realm where your work's appealing or unappealing, interpreted differently according to individual tastes.

It surprises me when people are upset because I didn't like a film, or confused because I did.

Different people have different tastes and having different tastes in film has nothing to do with being right or wrong.

I don't get why people don't like some movies.

But I'm not insulted if they don't like my favourites.

Creed II lacks subtlety and daring yet still delivers something reliable, something durable.

The situations are familiar and the formula's a bit worn but that doesn't mean I don't like seeing Rocky back at it, or watching as Adonis (Michael B. Jordan) and Bianca's (Tessa Thompson) lives change and grow.

They change and grow in very conventional ways and their struggles don't remind me much of Adrian and Rocky's. 

They're kind of tame in comparison.

Where's Creed's Paulie?

I think their lives need less traditional complications.

Wasn't the first Rocky one of the best American movies ever made though, so many life lessons built into its original script?

Rocky Balboa too?

Creed III's got its work cut out for it if it's goanna make it without Stallone.

In genres where a lot of artists seem similar at times, there's truly no one else like him.

At his best when he lets his heart speak.

I may have an Over the Top postcard stuck to my fridge.

Which no longer works.

There be another fridge though, close at hand.

Stuffed full of cheese.

And a rice/veggie medley.

It's good in soup.

With sour cream and blue cheese.

Yum.

Leave No Trace

A valiant soldier unable to adjust to civilian life.

Versatile and self-sufficient, he (Ben Foster as Will) makes a rustic home for his small family in a National Park.

His daughter (Thomasin McKenzie as Tom) is helpful and reliable and enjoys the alternative lifestyle her and her father are living.

But since their dwelling is technically illegal, after they're eventually discovered they have to abruptly adapt and make peace with the outside world, fortunately continuing to live together as one.

They're treated quite well, even provided with a home in the countryside plus ample work and schooling.

But the adjustment is still too much for Tom's father, and the sleeping and waking nightmares continue to destructively haunt him, and even though Tom likes living with others, one day they suddenly pack everything up and head back to the isolated wild.

A psychological tragedy.

Brought about by a lack of care.

Debra Granik's Leave No Trace presents a loving family striving to independently get by.

Their circumstances would be less extreme had more time and funding been available to assist Will after he returned home.

I find it's the people who promote and agitate wars who should be held to account after they're over, not the soldiers who fight them, many of whom likely believe the lies war mongering politicians tell them, and therefore shouldn't be condescendingly criticized in public themselves.

Unless they treated local populations savagely.

As many other people have written, stated, theorized, noted, the people who start the wars and sell the weapons to keep them going don't fight in them themselves, and take home profits that make Shangri-La look destitute.

Even if their own country's public debt skyrockets meanwhile (since their wealth is accumulated privately it's of no concern to them).

And they ask poor people to fight in their wars and those brave self-sacrificing people do fight in their wars, but after the war is finished and they've suffered extreme trauma that nothing can prepare anyone for, they're left to fend for themselves with a prescription for pills and the odd hour long chat, while the war mongers bank multi-millions, a scant fraction of which they spend helping those who earned them their profits recover.

Fighting in a war isn't a typical job, and those that do after mad fools start them deserve adequate care and compensation upon returning home.

No matter how long it takes.

A retreat in the countryside with no work and ample comfort for years on end perhaps.

Will walking into the forest on his own after leaving his daughter behind in a welcoming community should be a wake-up call for the civilian public service tasked with helping men and women like him rediscover peace of mind.

Or, more suitably, for politicians tasked with supplying such organizations with the necessary funds to do so, enormous amounts of public money spent on starting and fighting ludicrous wars, not enough spent helping honest veterans become contributing citizens after they've made unimaginable sacrifices.

Or, even more suitably, just ending gun violence permanently.

By making it much much much much much much much much harder to access a gun.

As Toronto's mayor John Tory suggested recently.

Or start wars.

A Middle-Eastern EU comes to mind.

That could work.

Boundaries

Entrepreneurial ambitions complicate a straightforward road trip, as a mother (Vera Farmiga as Laura Jaconi) agrees to transport her mischievous father (Christopher Plummer as Jack Jaconi) to a location where his passions will be viewed less dismissively.

The next generation (Lewis MacDougall as Henry), having recently been expelled from school, curiously comes along, sort of eager to spend time with grandpa, unaware they'll be visiting his deadbeat dad (Bobby Cannavale as Leonard).

So many different paths to tread, so many ways in which they intertwine, a crash course in extracurricular enigmatic eccentricity mysteriously thrilling young Henry, as they travel from contact to contact, conjuring spells as pitstops confuse trusting mom.

She's truly wonderful.

Her magnanimous heart endears her to animals and she consistently comes to the aid of the lost and downtrodden.

Unfortunately this leads people to take advantage of her, some harmless, some cruel, all of them blind to the fact that they've encountered a resplendent sun, inside and out, who transforms tumbledown lots into palatial realms, worthy of uncompromised praise and adoration, if the self-obsessed would only think past craven impulse, and consider abundant rays down the road.

Shana Feste's Boundaries presents lighthearted mischief which is intense at times yet still wondrously illuminates candid impropriety.

As the tender loving embraces the devoutly incorrigible, multigenerational muses thoughtfully materialize.

Forbidden portraits.

Conjugal miscommunication.

Evergreen commerce.

Therapeutic theatrics.

If you don't simply fit there's freedom in the labyrinthine.

Constant flux may be tiring, but spontaneous adjustments create grand novelties.

Chaotic logic rationally intensifying.

Kafkaesque at times.

Nice to head out for ice cream.

Accept Boundaries as a clever comedic reflection upon individuals conceiving unique masternarratives, and embrace a steady flow of unexpected conditional ruses.

Full of existential craft.

And love scolding ever after.

Loved it.

The House

An adorable loving cute-and-cuddly family suddenly finds itself violently managing a rowdy small town underground Casino in Andrew Jay Cohen's hit-and-miss The House, awkwardly refining streetwise bourgeois semantics thereby, while teaching their young daughter improvisational economic lessons learned.

Chug-a-lug-lug.

There would have been no need however a corrupt city councilperson embezzles the funds that would have paid young Alex's (Ryan Simpkins) college tuition, the Johansen's (Will Ferrell as Scott and Amy Poehler as Kate) unexpectedly finding themselves 250,000 dollars short afterwards, with no legitimate means to raise the cash required.

Enter their porn-afflicted deadbeat addiction-prone friend (Jason Mantzoukas as Frank) whose wife has just left him, but he's got an idea to win her back, and you've found a trendy sanctified sordid perky do-gooding sleazy debacle, complete with absurdly relevant relatable yet sensational stock (the mismanagement of government funds resulting in heavy taxes for small businesses?), weathering the wherewithal, manifesting latent complexes, hewing the graft, and exercising freewill.

It's a great idea for a comedy, glossing over serious defects in the American dream too lightly perhaps, but not unsympathetically, in its brazen hardy risk management.

How do people pay $50,000 for one year's tuition?

N-n-n-nutso.

That is one big bloody army.

Full-on crazy, this here historical epoch.

A great idea supersaturated with too much improbability that revels in its hypothesis without generating convincing conclusions, The House has its moments but some scenes are total amateur hour, even if they're naively treading the rambunctious deluge.

The script intends to blend the wild with the worldly in a bizarro multicultural cavalcade, but ironically leaves the parenting behind for too long, and focuses too intently on plain old thuggery.

It's true though, the film would have been stronger if they had cut back on the buffoonery a bit, even if Scott's 1970s-90s? cut-off hopeful progressive determined speech near the beginning suggests The House ain't that kind of film.

Butchin' and burnin'.

Is it really a comedic western?

American Pastoral

There are a lot of businesses out there with a socially constructive conscious, owners and workers labouring together as the decades pass to maintain a comfortable undiscriminatory atmosphere that is profitable for everyone involved.

Stereotyping every business as one which voraciously exploits workers is as shortsighted as dismissing a race or ethnicity based upon ridiculous fears that have no logical foundation.

If your country has a level playing field, equal opportunity for its citizens, available jobs, and workers and employers seeking social justice together, democracy can flourish, and health and well-being can intelligently prosper.

Communal affluence resulting from sure and steady productive will isn't some lofty unattainable goal to be cynically dismissed, American Pastoral familially examining this point to nurture its resiliency, its tenacity, even if it doesn't depict activists in the most flattering way.

I've never met activists like the ones in this film but perhaps they're out there.

Business owner Swede Levov (Ewan McGregor) does have a social conscious, is concerned about his multiracial workforce, and legitimately cares about their continuing prosperity, the kind of manager who constructively listens while making decisions.

His daughter rebels however, taking the side of the impoverished but taking things too far.

There's a stark difference between civil disobedience and terrorism and if your activist group doesn't understand this distinction it's best to forthrightly abandon them.

Merry Levov (Dakota Fanning) doesn't abandon them and her loving supportive network is crushed by her actions, too much emotion without enough thought, she had the opportunity to make the same difference her father had, had she been willing to listen to alternative points of view, rather than violently enraging people who perhaps would have listened.

American Pastoral isn't the greatest film but it does give a voice to the socially constructive aspect of responsible levelheaded capitalistic engagement that is often overlooked in mainstream cinema (with perhaps the worst casting of a domestic couple ever).

Creating a legit business that enables your family and your workforce to live comfortable lives is a beautiful thing, a wonderful thing, a democratic thing.

And who really knows what Trump will do.

He seems unpredictable and wild and vindictive but that could have just been a strategy he used to win votes, an odd strategy but one that worked alongside his hopes to bring prosperity back to America.

A lot of people are worried about how his irritable nature will diplomatically translate but all he really has to do to prove many of his critics wrong is sit back and be statespersonlike, listen to advisers when making decisions, and act prudently without flying off the handle.

That's not that difficult to do.

Especially if he isn't constantly provoked.

On the plus side he doesn't really owe anyone anything besides the people who voted him in. A lot of Republicans seem to hate him as much as the Democrats, he's insulted many, many big players on both sides, and doesn't seem bound by political dogma, at all. He doesn't have to scratch backs with paybacks and bivouacs. He has a blank slate and could really try to improve the lives of many impoverished Americans in a best case scenario.

He's the classic outsider, the stranger, the dark horse.

I don't know how else to look at it.

He may not sign the TPP.

He might genuinely care about finding good jobs for hardworking people.

I don't think stranger things have happened.

But maybe they will.

Into the unknown.

I'm hoping he shocks everyone by being boring.

Could have all been part of his plan.

Craziness.

*Did the Republicans create the anti-Republican Republican candidate to win back the Whitehouse? I wonder.

Wiener-Dog

Questions asked.

Questions answered.

Romance blooming.

Pupils of film.

Granddaughter and Grandmother.

United, by wiener-dog.

Excessive sensitivity juxtaposed with sadists sincere, extreme disinterest expositionally generating love, scholastic rigour ridiculed reconstituted rescinded, the torments of a dying elderly woman in exacerbated psychotropical guilt.

Todd Solondz still excels at bluntly employing scatological strategies to sleuth sociological severance with miserable dis/ingenuous poignancy.

Although it's been so long since he released a film I briefly mistook him for Quentin Dupieux.

He hasn't lost his knack for satirizing master narratives which tend to explore similar themes with less oblique testimony, emerging to once again disseminate elite sadomasochistic observations which confess noteworthy cultural concessions that cripple as they catalyze to awkwardly lampoon obliviousness.

Even if Wiener-Dog elevates to disconcert by blending the tender loving with brutal flippancy, I still prefer John Waters.

Simultaneously admit uncontrollable bursts of laughter.

It's consistent the whole way through, although waiting 5 years for something this light as far as Solondz goes puzzles, as if he's disgusted with the possibility that someone may label this a comeback film.

Stronger than Café Society however.

You could say he loses sight of the story at times (little wiener-dog) but Wiener-Dog's more about extracting meaning from pointlessness than focusing on fluff, like engaged entropy that crushes the lives of wholesome loners.

Political correctness has changed so much recently this could be the new PC.

Archimedes.

Maggie's Plan

The spirit of independence, intelligence and confidence, basking in unconscious success, high-level functioning finessed, fabled and fastened, doubts rationally ridiculed, friends casually consulted, expansion, diversity, risk management, decision made, imaginations materialized, nebulous nascent nesting, enlightening epiphany, a child is born.

Yet one marriage dissolves to consolidate her portfolio, her hawkish rival expressing her grievances verbosely, the mutually sought after bad boy wearing on Maggie's (Greta Gerwig) nerves as the years pass, until it becomes plainly apparent, that she'd be better off on her own.

For a time.

In a bit of a pickle.

Maggie's Plan is as clever as it is charming.

Well versed in psychological analysis, manipulative benevolence fetchingly at play, it never loses its sense of cerebral congeniality, fun, it's a lot of fun, fair play you know, in what otherwise could have been tragic and miserable, director Rebecca Miller boldly blends logic and laughter, harmonizing open minds with good intentions, even as chaos clouds over it's smooth, chill, cool, laid-back in full putter, possibly the best romantic comedy I've seen.

There's a great short clip that shows Maggie and Georgette (Julianne Moore) out for a drive that could have easily been cut, but its inclusion hilariously stylizes quaint urban absurdity, thereby lightening the mood with self-deprecating shock, and calling into question its own romantic existence (editing by Sabine Hoffman).

Candlelight.

Gerwig and Moore work exceptionally well together, like Denzel and Mark Wahlberg, casting by Cindy Tolan.

Ethan Hawk (John) also excels, like a mix of Harrison Ford, John Cusack and Harry Dean Stanton, which he makes totally his own.

Watch the English language only Québécois signage. That's technically illegal!

A fun trip to Québec regardless, with good music, lively conversation, tantalizing food and drink, and a bit of snowshoeing adventurously thrown in.

Solid R&D.

No Žižek?

Miller wrote the screenplay as well and handles the brainy dialogue with restrained decorum and explosive observation.

It's like J. M. Coetzee's Foe.

It starts off rushed, in a panic, and then slowly settles down to seductively reflect and ponder, like Maggie's state of mind I suppose.

I'm crying.

The Night Before

3 confidants, and an annual tradition, a' revelling on Christmas Eve to the tune of friendship and jocularity, rekindling the strength of their amicable bonds each and every year to celebrate the intensity of camaraderous humour, age having decreed that due to the build-up of maturing responsibilities this will be their last irreverent outing, itinerary set, rejuvenating synergies pending.

As an added bonus this year, three tickets have been acquired to attend a secretive party, known for its legendary merriment, coveted by young, old and middle-aged alike.

Will the mysterious counsel of a local pot dealer enlighteningly guide their way as they descend into the night and encounter both shenanigans and loves lost?

And will the magic of Christmas single-maltly convince them that the bonds they have forged congenially transcend time?

As a matter introspective.

A fun thought provoking feelings evoking tenderly rowdy illumination of adult aspirations, The Night Before suspends pretensions of the rational to festively define what is sane.

Note that its definition bizarrely blends the buddy comedy and the Christmas classic to hazily establish a disjointed sense of the revelatory.

But when form aptly reflects content, our role models evolving over the course of an evening of regenerative confusion, who I am to argue with logistics merry making?

Jingle, bells.

Miley Cyrus impresses.

Burnt

Excellence.

The pursuit of a constantly revolving evolving aesthetic immediacy cohesively demanding strict attention to every detail.

The tiniest seemingly unnoticeable pittance searing an unforgettable scathing blight on chef Adam Jones's (Bradley Cooper) culinary reputation, as he coordinates his kitchen's impeccable outputs with the assiduous rigour of an omniscient razor sharp extremity.

In real time.

His team responding in turn, observantly and efficiently respecting his knowledge, his hyper-reactive creative discipline, they merit the strength of his sought after 3 star accreditation, lacerating the wake of his stern commanding temper, acerbic accessibility, confident he can help them improve.

Which he does, having reformed his life after recklessly responding to his calling's accompanying stresses with a maddeningly adroit consumption of interrogative intoxicants, his resultant penance exasperatingly tedious, competently undertaken, to the haunting revelatory end.

Convalescence.

Adam Jones, the exceptional, striving for authenticity with every nanopeculiarity, synthesizing tradition with inspiration to practically adjudicate ingenuity.

Thriving under pressure, Burnt celebrates teamwork as opposed to constellation, the imperfections of the subjective idealized thereby, accentuated yet indoctrinated, revealing, one picturesque particle at a time.

Humanistic.

Bridge of Spies

I remember reading a comic about Pink Floyd in my youth to learn more about the band.

It was fun and informative and one of its frames still sticks out in my mind.

It concerned the creation of The Final Cut and depicted David Gilmour exclaiming something like, "most of these songs were cut from The Wall."

Harsh times.

The band only ever reunited for one show.

Steven Spielberg's Bridge of Spies made me think of that moment due to its similarities to Lincoln.

Similar themes, a similar pursuit of justice, of truth, a principled man upholding fundamental rights amidst an onslaught of professional and cultural criticism, doing what's right, consequences notwithstanding.

But it's a pale comparison of Lincoln, whose robust multidimensional political intrigues made me recommend it for best picture in 2013.

To its credit, Bridge of Spies does stick to a particular aesthetic throughout, jurisprudently maintaining constitutional continuity, it's just that this aesthetic, no doubt cherished in my youth, is overflowing with trite sentimentality.

You know exactly what you're supposed to think and feel in every scene.

It's like Lincoln focuses directly on the American community with a large cast and myriad staggering displacements, while Bridge of Spies clandestinely curates a lawyer's objective search for counterintuitive yet ideal vindications of the American individual, in a blunt straightforward concrete crucible.

No bells and whistles here, just a basic introduction to American liberty provokingly stylized for today's film loving youth.

It does advocate for a remarkably logical and upright attitude concerning the sociocultural politics of espionage.

I can't behind this one though.

Way too formulaic.

Delivery Man

If you loved Ken Scott's Starbuck, you may not appreciate his Delivery Man as much (the contents of the films are too similar), although Vince Vaughn (David) reimagines the character well enough, in classic screwing-up while excelling Vince Vaughn fashion, putting in another great performance, confident personality generally unconcerned with consequences, überfatherhood thrust upon him, a life changing salacious shock, a languid lecherous illustrious lighthouse.

(Still prefer Patrick Huard's performance).

Not going to read what I wrote about Starbuck until finishing this review, for curiosity's sake (I did duplicate the tags however since the film's are so similar).

The narrative is a treasure for those adhering to discourses of hereditary multiplicities, even if it's fictional, since David's offspring possess sundry talents and seemingly limitless flexibilities, when considered as a whole.

I'm assuming there's a group who adheres to discourses of hereditary multiplicities.

I mean, what would happen if you had 534 children with 534 different women and then set them loose on the streets of New York or Montréal?

They aren't all going to end up in the same profession.

They aren't all going to look the same.

They will likely react to various stimuli differently.

Some of them, may even listen to, Tigermilk followed If You're Feeling Sinister followed by The Boy with the Arab Strap then Aladdin Sane after their favourite CFL team loses the Grey Cup.

534.

It could happen.

It's tough for me to write that critically about Delivery Man because, as I mentioned earlier, the film's too similar to Starbuck, which is why I didn't want to see it in theatres but I woke up too late that day to see Heli at EXCƎNTRIS.

It was a late night.

Great translation.

Just too familiar with the story so my reactions were always mitigated by encumbering memories which prevented me from being surprised by the sequences.

Surprise is important.

Good surprises.

Screw-off sadists.

Marshmallows.

De rouille et d'os (Rust and Bone)

A principled yet free-spirited man (Matthias Schoenaerts as Alain van Versch), pugnaciously rolling with the punches, salaciously catering to his senses, daunting, brave, unconcerned, and powerful, instinctively yet rationally proceeds within economic and familial domains, until the interventions of both an unexpected expedient consequence and the structural features of the natural world, resolutely challenge.

To break through the ice.

Hedonistic and domestic conceptions of commitment and responsibility transformatively engage in Jacques Audiard's De rouille et d'os (Rust and Bone), as financial arraignments tender psychological grit, and individualistic risk conflicts with collective sustainability.

The crucial component, the displaced modifier, the missing link, is love.

The endurance of emotional pain is maximized in this regard as competing applications of fidelity, flourish.

Through sundry strategic applications.

*Kermode felt the love throughout 2012. Thanks to everyone who enjoys reading this blog. Those who don't too I suppose. All the best in 2013.

**Bears

Argo

It should be noted that Ben Affleck's Argo takes bold steps to attach the responsibility for the hostile anti-American attitudes presented by some Iranian citizens displayed within to the political activities of American and British authorities of the 1950s, and that it is these same authorities who are in/directly responsible for the subsequent rise of madpersons like Ahmadinejad.

It should also be noted that this may not be the wisest time to be releasing a film which displays passionate anti-American feelings amongst those very same citizens, due to the potentially volatile dynamics of our current historical period, although, perhaps my reluctancy to endorse its timing could be a sign of my own hesitancy in regards to taking great risks, which Mr. Affleck, in creating this film at this particular time, has certainly done.

I myself believe that an incredible secret has been kept in Iran based upon my viewings of Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis, Maryam Keshavarz's Circumstance, common sense, and a conversation I had six years ago in passing, that being that many, perhaps even a vast majority of Iranian citizens, don't care whether or not they develop an atomic weapon, have no wish to go to war with Israel, and simply want to peacefully work, live, laugh, love, and travel in a clean environment, like citizens in every other country, without having to be afraid all the time.

Yet I have no idea what you do when a lunatic like Ahmadinejad is in power (or George W. Bush for that matter) or how to go about diffusing the situation.

There are scurrilously ambitious people who seek power and consider everyone else to be like them. They employ reprehensible tactics to achieve this power, and, thinking everyone else to be like them, seek to prevent others who aren't like them from employing the same tactics to usurp them.  This attitude is applied nationally and internationally. Seeing conspiracies everywhere and fearing violent reprisals, they conspire violently, thereby creating that which they feared in the first place, vaingloriously spreading misery.

Argo goes a long way to prevent the spread of misery in its best scene by cleverly intermingling different realities facing American and post-revolutionary Iranian citizens, a scene which shows the Americans laying the rhetorical groundwork to 'make' a fake movie while Iranians try to punish the American and British imposed Shah who butchered them for decades and managed to find sanctuary in the States afterwards, a scene which pulls its American audience into the Iranian situation, its frame reminding them to bear in mind that the events depicted took place in 1979, 33 years ago.

In one of Star Trek the Next Generation's best moments Worf (Michael Dorn) commends his son Alexander (James Sloyan/Brian Bonsall) for choosing the path of peace (Firstborn).

Yes, Worf highly honours the path of peace.

By creating a film which exoterically tackles an extremely important contemporary international political phenomenon with the goal of saving lives or preventing a war, which places the situation within a controversial militaristic, governmental, and individual historical context, Ben Affleck's created quite a film, its exoteric qualities capable of entertainingly reaching a wide audience, and perhaps having a lasting affect.

As if to say, if you thought there was anti-American sentiment flowing through Iran 33 years ago during a volatile time of historic change directly caused by the meddling of American and British authorities, imagine how much there will be if an actual war is started, for decades, centuries, to come.

It doesn't have to be like that.

Not at all.

Real Steel

The latest Rockyesque film to hit the big screen is Shawn Levy's Real Steel, a fun and heartwarming story of how a dead-beat dad (Hugh Jackman as Charlie Kenton) and his feisty son (Dakota Goyo as Max Kenton) forge a strong bond through the power of fighting robots. It isn't the most original narrative although it does creatively work within an established tradition.

And Jackman's love interest Bailey Tallet (Evangeline Lilly) doesn't give up on him even though his reckless ways have proved to be remarkably unprofitable.

Whereas humans were still thought to be at the centre of various cultural dimensions in Rocky's day, in the time of Real Steel technological innovation has usurped their active role. Rather than directly taking part in ridiculous battles which regularly present themselves, proxies abound which can effectively fill in as disaffected combatants. Hence, boxing has been replaced by robot boxing and ex-boxers can continue to make a living boxing if they purchase a robot and expertly learn the subtleties of its dynamic controls.

But can such expertise generate results formidable enough to resiliently defeat the ultimate representative of technological fortitude, Real Steel's Zeus and its mastermind the bumptious Tak Mashido (Karl Yune), without continuing to maintain a multidimensional working person's perspective within the heart of its dynamic cultural trajectory, enhanced by love?

Fortunately it still cannot.

But when robots take over and start making movies for themselves will the human dimension still continue to persevere as the principal factor motivating their legendary decision making?

The answer is potentially fermenting somewhere within communist China.

Starbuck

Donating sperm for cold hard cash.

The thought's likely crossed every man's mind but for Starbuck's David Wozniak (Patrick Huard) it reappeared again and again until he had earned more than $20,000. Never thinking that his donations were particularly fertile and would eventually be used to father over 500 children, he continued to live his carefree life, working for his father's boucherie while racking up $80,000 in debt with a group of thugs.

But his sperm was used to father 533 children and over 100 of them become curious in regards to the identity of their fecund dad and come searching after discovering the fertility clinic's lack of diversity.

David is somewhat taken aback to discover he has over 500 children but can't help but wonder what his legion of offspring are like. He refuses to admit his identity and they decide to try and discover it through recourse to the law, but as the legal proceedings progress, he begins to anonymously search them out one by one thanks to an envelope of corresponding portfolios with which he is provided before the beginning of the trial.

The children are surprised by the pseudo-guardian angel who keeps appearing in times of need yet take a shine to his adolescent enthusiasm.

The group of thugs to which David owes $80,000 are less beaming and decide to make things more difficult for him and his family as time passes.

His strong and determined yet sweet and loving partner Valerie (Julie Le Breton) also does not find his youthful ethos to be picturesquely scintillating after discovering she's pregnant, and proceeds to intensify his real world pressures all the more.

As a matter of consequence.

The film's hilarious and surprisingly light-hearted considering its subject matter. Emphasizing the importance of working for family if things such as following a schedule or pursuing best practices don't come easily to you, Starbuck also accentuates the benefits of family when it comes to discovering innovative solutions for complicated unanticipated problems, while subtly investigating different generational attitudes towards religion, championing a social framework wherein nurturing is directly proportional to responsibility, highlighting the enormous benefits/debilitating pitfalls of constantly embracing spontaneity, and thoroughly cultivating the value of friendship.

Ken Scott's background portrait of Montréal captures the city's intense dynamic cultural mosaic, presenting scene after scene of enlivening multidimensional detail, while riding a bike or taking a stroll through town.

Cinematography by Pierre Gill.