Testudinosaur

A young foolish eager adult who enjoys walking through the woods, notes the changes in the forest as the vigilant years distend.

His mother wonders why he's so obsessed with taking photos in the woods, but kindly notes the intuitive goodwill curiously in touch with his endeavours.

He's able to find work which often keeps him strictly occupied, the crafting of exceptional texts first and foremost on his mind.

Unconcerned with traditional appearances or the usual ways in which people act, he compiles a vast collection of eclectic novel bric-a-brac.

As time passes, the resident animals become more accustomed to his presence, and stop worrying when he shows up at the local marsh to take his pictures.

In tune with local wilderness rhythms, he begins to notice turtles on the tracks, engaged in humble exploratory actions as they carelessly observe and note and wander.

As trains often use the very same routes to conduct their commercial affairs, the artist becomes alert and watchful in his cataloguing of the turtles. 

Then one day, a train approaching, he sees a turtle on the tracks, and moves quickly to swiftly move him/her to a safe location in the forest.

His timing is somewhat off and he arrives too late however.

Only to miraculously emerge.

In the supernatural land of turtles. 

With a larger budget the land of the turtle may have seemed more convincing, not that it doesn't have its unique features which encourage light compelling applause.

I liked how the turtles he moved off the tracks were pissed when they saw him in their land, and vented their sublime frustration with grizzled undisciplined nonchalance. 

Using real turtles in the crafting of the intricate scenes may have been frustrating, if they weren't incredibly adorable and innately attuned to all things cinema.

Theresa Montesque naturally shines as the helpful mom, who takes a modest interest in her son's work while trying not to be overbearing.

Who knew that turtles were using the tracks to secretly travel between dimensions?

As the sun beats down with wild intensity.

Throughout the typical working day.

*The voyage back to the forest is cool as well. 

**Never play around train tracks. You never know when the train might show up.

Zeus & Roxanne

A family's adventurous dog boldly sets out to discover the neighbourhood, spending time at the calm peaceful beach and chasing cats should they manifest themselves.

His owners take the arts seriously and spend most of their free time engaged, dad writing songs for commercial media while his son photographs whatever he can.

They're vacationing in a rented house across the laidback street from a marine biologist, who's trying to encourage a domesticated dolphin to cohesively rejoin a wild pod at sea.

The dog mischievously follows her one day and even boards her seafaring vessel, where that very same convalescing dolphin serendipitously takes a shine to his daring.

They become friends and their innocent curiosity freely demonstrates interspecies communication, the marine biologist's related grant proposal hoping to study the compelling phenomenon. 

But will dolphin and dog also lay the foundation for a long-lasting humanoid relationship?

Arts & Science zoologically orchestrating.

The chillaxed romantic life.

Animals clearly have built in recognition and know when they're interacting with other members of the same species, and they do so without mirrors or schools it's fruitfully learned in the forest or valley.

They also largely stick to themselves although you see modest interspecies contact at times, notably when food is abundant and everyone's relaxed and less stressed accordingly. 

On the African savannah wildebeest, zebras, water buffalo and gazelles, broadly mingle and affably interact as the seasons change and the migration flows for instance.

I firmly believe interspecies communication is possible under the right accommodating conditions, if the animals are brought up together as babies in a loving environment with lots of food.

Even cats and dogs perhaps seals and penguins can learn to trust one another under such circumstances, as my pet bunny and his friend the guinea pig learned to do so many years ago.

This strategy will likely work more effectively when less testosterone is worked into the mix.

Wild bulls so likely to struggle and fight.

Like the rabbit my dad threw over the fence when I was a child (he was a really mean bunny). 

Gezora, Ganime, Kameba: Kessen! Nankai no daikaijû (Space Amoeba)

An unmanned vessel is sent into space with the inquisitive ambitions of studying Jupiter, alone and courageous it magnetically travels in resourceful steady industrious wavelengths. 

But as fate would have it, a discourteous entity serendipitously commandeers its research & development, and immediately sets course for the unsuspecting Earth where it inauspiciously lands in the Pacific Ocean.

The craft is reported as missing and daily routines mysteriously sublimate, the enervating misfortunes scientifically smothered by polemical disputes concerning the galaxy. 

Nevertheless, an observant photographer saw it awkwardly land while travelling by plane, and even though no one authenticates the sighting, he vigorously maintains his fortunate vision. 

At the same time, he's reliably hired to diligently photograph an island in the Pacific, which happens to be situated around the same place where he accidentally saw the spaceship descend.

Gregariously accompanied by an amicable team they bravely head out to the isolated wilderness, curious to meet the local inhabitants who have imaginatively lived there since the dawn of time.

They superstitiously fear a giant sea demon by the name of Gezora who lives in the depths. 

The alien entity having unwittingly assumed.

The ancient enigmatic uncompromising deity. 

Not the most well-thought out of the captivating freeform creative monster movies, Gezora, Ganime, Kameba: Kessen! Nankai no daikaijû (Space Amoeba) still startles and accentuates otherworldly absurd and ludicrous pretensions. 

A more sincere critique of the commercial desires to turn the island into a resort, would have materialized virtuous acclamations ethically attuned to Indigenous agency.

Yet perhaps it indirectly critiques commercial endeavours through its bizarre depiction of the covetous alien, who is rather diminutive globally speaking yet still seeks to effectively conquer the world.

Is that not the initial hubris of so many adventurous businesspeople, who hope their products will establish footholds in worldwide markets internationally speaking?

Starting out from humble origins they create commercials to advertise their wares, which are somewhat like the creature in Space Amoeba who effectively irritates the tenacious locals.

Ridiculous to see interplanetary ambitions maladroitly unleashed in animate obscurity. 

Endemic wildlife saving the day.

As it has throughout the millennia. 

*Criterion keyword: turtle.

Alice in den Städten (Alice in the Cities)

A wandering writer discovers photography while driving around the United States, and takes sundry pictures his editor rejects when he attempts to submit them instead of his article.

He couldn't help not writing it, he was inspired by a different idea, and even though a task had been definitively set, he seductively swerved and creatively reimagined it.

He's out of money nevertheless and his editor won't give him any more, the decision to return to Germany suddenly presenting itself with frank appeal.

While purchasing his ticket he meets a single mom and her curious child, both of whom can't speak English yet also want to return to Northern Europe.

He agrees to awkwardly assist and then finds himself with no place to stay, the mother and daughter agreeing to put him up his habitual thanks most unpresuming. 

The mother is still in touch with her new partner who wants to remain in the United States, and leaves her daughter with the travelling writer and they proceed to sightsee around New York.

They agree to meet at the airport but surprisingly the mother doesn't show up.

But sends word she'll meet them in Europe.

When the next flight arrives, she's not on it.

The child doesn't remember where her grandmother lives and the two have quite the confusing adventure, the writer learning not to be so grumpy as he tries to accommodate youthful maturation.

It's an oddball misfit scenario the oblivious trio not consciously registering, the bohemian lifestyle making bold decisions through spontaneous planning as they make their way home.

As luck would have it, youthful spirit blossoming in friendship unceremoniously wins the day, the artist reluctantly embracing formalities to amusingly calm down the frightened youngster.

She notices his random scribblings and childishly wonders what they might be.

He bashfully plays the absent-minded father.

To improvise with unkempt austerity. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when Godzilla drifts off into monstrous slumber.

It comes a' creepily crawling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have advanced considerably.

But the forecast still lacks precision. 

The Holiday Calendar

A creative photographer does the legwork for an unimaginative yet reliable small business, earning enough scrilla to keep up her apartment while her well-meaning family asks tough questions (Kat Graham).

Her best friend is keen and sympathetic and returns one Christmas from his travels abroad, eager to pick up where they left off as habitual merrymaking yearns and flourishes (Quincy Brown).

Meanwhile, her enigmatic grandfather (Ron Cephas Jones) shares one of her recently deceased grandma's treasures, a giant old school European advent calendar that fluidly winds up and shares daily presents.

Things routinely proceed as the photographic enterprise heads outside, to take pictures of youngsters with Santa as he meticulously notes their gift ideas.

But soon strange coincidences take place which only have one spirited explanation, that the gifted intricate advent calendar is mysteriously forecasting fate!

Every day unexpected events find symbolic representation numerically adjudicated, as the innocent shutterbug wondrously believes and sincerely follows the magical path.

But it becomes apparent that the picture perfect beau the calendar has showcased lacks eccentric merit.

Her closest friend making it known he's upset.

Will the spirit of Christmas heal their friendship?

I thought this was a really cool idea for a Christmas film that cleverly reimagines Holiday Season essentials, the old school advent calendar clairvoyantly presenting cryptic yet definitive structure.

A bigger budget with more time spent and perhaps with a major studio reworking the story, not that the original lacks seasonal merriment, I just thought it could be even more epic. 

Imagine living the ahistorical dream with an emancipatory place for a nimble eclective, while securing amorous accolades and the heartfelt devotion of a trusted friend.

Who knows where the regenerative magic of the clandestine Season holistically resides, perhaps it's rather like the Force and is infinitesimally everywhere all at once? 

Notably in eggnog and gingerbread it must enliven these treats every December.

Not to mention random gift ideas.

Hot cocoa.

Hibernating dreams.  

The Interpreter

So tragic there's such a huge gulf between critiquing power and possessing it, between imagination and practicality, competing bright responsibilities. 

What would have happened if Che Guevara had formed a well-meaning headstrong government, would it have been universally praised, or severely vilified like Castro's?

Would he have taken the time to build strong institutions with rational checks and balances, to prevent the rise of absolutism while maintaining socioeconomic consistency?

It's much easier said than done even if that goes without saying, European political institutions somewhat of a miracle when compared to alternatives around the globe.

But somehow through sustained mutation they've been peaceful and prosperous for quite some time, level-heads seeking reasonable consensus from non-extremist points of view.

If this tradition doesn't exist historically and there's no popular will to develop such institutions, how do you move from engrained despotism to sustainably developed reliable democracy?

Such a convergence of logical goodwill formidably depended on with dextrous vigour, somehow did emerge slowly over time, and despotism was overthrown however. 

But the absolute has come again become popular along with a shocking lack of tolerance, opposing viewpoints seeming to prefer rash brinkspersonship to clever rational debate.

The absolutists claim tolerance and personal liberty is another form of stern absolutism, even as it guarantees they aren't arrested within certain limitations.

Tolerance and personal liberty may not appeal to people far too prone to despotically upholding regulations, for whom deviations from a strict code of manufactured conduct results in diabolical shame.

But so many much less serious people don't see the extremist point, don't understand why they should never have any fun and live as if they're a frigid textbook.

It's not that they don't follow the rules, they just often see them like ethical guidelines, making sense within many situations, while at times lacking practical accord.

Thus, taught to generally think critically with an aversion to violence outside of pragmatic games (outlets for pent up emotions), they tend to promote fun and thought provoking amusement to make life much more thrilling outside of work.

If that's an absolutist viewpoint it's more universally liberating than strict extremes, which impose absolutist regulations and ruthlessly punish those who critique them.

How to slowly move towards a more tolerant society if government after government tyrannically disappoints?

There are too many factors that come into play.

But I'd start with independent education. 

Friday Foster

A curious improvisational photojournalist (Pam Grier as Friday Foster) has to fill in for a co-worker on New Years Eve, the assignment leading to a chaotic shootout involving a celebrated billionaire (Thalmus Rasulala as Blake Tarr).

She snaps several incriminating photos and shares them with her managing editor (Julius Harris as Monk Riley), he's glad to see so many integral shots but is still worried she'll get in over her head.

She isn't one to sit around when diabolical intrigue castigates justice, and when she spots one of the hitpeople responsible (Carl Weathers as Yarbro) at a funeral she quickly borrows a hearse to follow him. 

He's lucky to narrowly escape and soon comes calling with murderous intent, valiantly thwarted through swift ingenuity courageously applied with athletic flexibility.

She meets a well-meaning private detective (Yaphet Kotto as Colt Hawkins) who assists her as she investigates, the two forging a tenacious team whom nimble good fortune recklessly guides.

Friday's able to meet politicians and even romantically interrogates Mr. Tarr, her spellbinding inquisitive yet declarative characteristics winning hearts and minds as she cleverly strides. 

Follow the lead, decode the clue, analyze the scenario, scrutinize the schematic, Friday embraces interconnected details assembled at random while travelling about.

In an age that emphasized intuitive wit and multidimensional applications of practical knowledge, Friday Foster creatively zithered the zeitgeist with exuberant nurturing superconduction. 

From humble beginnings the daring exploration leads to macrocosmic superstructural sentiments, the film suddenly abounding with lavish sensation critically assailed by white supremacy. 

Yaphet Kotto (recently celebrated by the Criterion Collection!) synergistically shines with his trusted smile and lighthearted laugh, at times following a moment of sincere reflection embracing natural democratic freeflow.

And Pam Grier effortlessly authenticates sapient soulful sultry sleuthing, taking it easy or proceeding in earnest the case delineates chill factotums.

The plot may seem somewhat farfetched but it's not too far off the mark if patiently considered, the damned fluidity of socioevolution problematically cutting through seemingly established cultural bedrock.

Calamitous collusion, requisite reckoning, baffling balustrade, seductive sensation.

Worth checking out at some point.

Perhaps while reading ye olde Chester Himes.  

C.H.U.D.

A young couple frolics in frenzy within the heart of New York City, blissfully composed and amorously endowed throughout the harmonious effervescent day (John Heard and Kim Greist). 

A sympathetic individual graciously cares for the forgotten homeless, freely supplying them with soup as they embrace impoverished emancipation (Daniel Stern).

A police officer desperately struggles with the sudden disappearance of his loving wife, who went out to walk the dog one evening and was never heard from again (Christopher Curry and Laure Mattos).

In fact, almost a dozen homeless people have gone missing in recent weeks as well, who spend most of their time underground, their disappearance a heartfelt conundrum.

Upon closer inspection, and in consultation with tight-lipped executives, it becomes apparent that below the streets, toxic waste has been recklessly disposed of.

And that very same toxic waste has unfortunately turned homeless people into monsters, cannibalistic monsters no less, who have been terrorizing the city.

Perhaps somewhat farfetched, yet after watching Todd Hayne's Dark Waters it's not as ludicrous as it sounds, if people are tricking rural property owners into burying toxic chemicals on their land, who knows what other locations they're searching for?

It used to seem bizarre to take something so strange so seriously, but if fewer and fewer people are reading books, doesn't the pedagogical import of nutso films become more profound?

Take anti-vaxxing. 

For some crazy reason an irresponsible movement has arisen which emphatically criticizes mass immunization, perhaps with the alternative goal of reanimating different plagues, or some other diabolical means of population control.

It's clear that the anti-vaxxers don't listen well in school, or for some reason thoroughly mistrust the narrative independently constructed by teachers and scientists.

But perhaps they'll listen to seemingly slapdash cinema which doesn't seem like it's trying to educate, which seems critical of clever book learning and anything which might try to instruct.

With such an impetus in place monster movies take on a much more serious role, and their construction becomes more indubitably paramount in the oddball cultivation of the public sphere.

An amazing book lies in wait within or more suitably a documentary film, or a film which educates by critiquing education, for those opposed to traditional coursework.

The internet has changed things and new solutions must be found.

Who's to say where indeed to find them?

Why not start with cannibalistic mutants?! 😎

Between the Lines

Isn't journalism healthier if it's crafted by a multiplicity of voices, taking local, regional, national and international scoops into account, as myriad stories suddenly present themselves throughout the feisty day, millions of people, multiple interests, a wide variety attempting to take them into account, don't people from Denver want to know what's happening in Denver, don't people from any town or city care about what's happening in their own backyard, doesn't a wide variety of editors ensure more fact checking and less uniformity, an informative multilateral public sphere where subjective outlooks can't be monopolized?

Isn't it a dangerous thing to have only a handful of newspapers for a country with around 350 million people, where every region promotes diversity and particular concurrence is tough to come by?

If there are only a handful of newspapers running the same stories and not bothering to compete with one another, can you trust that they're providing objective accounts of whatever they happen to be disseminating?

Couldn't the various senior editors simply get together for the weekend and come up with a specific focus that their employees would then have to concentrate on in order to present a particularized slice of subjective dubious truth?

If there are only a handful of news outlets and tens of thousands of people want the extremely limited positions, doesn't conformity override independence after an initial dazzling display?

And don't journalists desperate to hold on to their jobs feel more willing to abide by the dictates of a tiny cadre of editors, if there are no other jobs available and independence is judged anathema?

Isn't that totalitarianism cloaked in objective truth, with a monopoly on public opinion that's generally left unchecked?

Doesn't bold risk taking and daring investigative journalism suffer within such an unchallenged hegemonic filtered narrow environment?

Isn't it more likely that the best journalists won't find jobs since they're more likely to possess a dynamic independent spirit?

Won't they be more likely to start thousands of independent websites across the country multivariably focused on examining local daily news?

And won't their voices seem more authentic than a unilateral team which can't question its own institution without risking ostracization?

Won't both sides call each other fake and won't everything seem preposterous as they clash to the point where nonsense starts to seem meaningful?

Has this already happened?

Am I way off here?

The Photograph

Nice to see a film that leaves you so relaxed and calm, afterwards, like life's serious yet still filled with wonder as thoughtful people seek a bit more spice.

No explosions, no bitterness, no grudges, no animosity, just moderately successful energetic joie de vivre experimentin' out and about without specific ends.

Potential though, the film contemplates potential, as if director Stella Meghie decided to concentrate more on possibility than proclamation to embrace how cool things can actually be.

As they develop.

Imagine a present wherein which innocence still hesitantly thrives, not that the professionals aren't struggling, bored, or challenged, they're just so active they don't focus on the negative, and harvest amicable yields accordingly.

There's the thrill of getting to know someone.

The enlivening sweet unknown.

That isn't trashy, jaded, or cynical.

But not cheesy or cookie cut either.

As if level-heads are still curiously engaged in soulful honest investigation, unconcerned with pasts or scores, or vainly trying to gain the upper hand.

Like the moment's just as invigorating as past endeavours or variable futures, because you like what you're doing and you're doing it, and there's no end to the novelty in sight (Place des Arts).

Perhaps Meghie asked herself if active spirits remain constantly refreshed, revitalized through curious engagement, because they're always seeking something new, even if they embrace steadfast traditions?

And decided to bring that idea to life through the art of romantic conversation?

There are so many cool scenes in The Photograph that celebrate the act of living, like learning about a partner's past relationships through an accidental conversation with his nieces, getting to know each other by discussing music, lighthearted pints to accompany different time zones, or mature agile professional understanding, contemplating difference, lamenting loss while generating renewal.

In a world often characterized through gloom and confrontation, The Photograph pushes it all aside to reimagine constructive life.

Productive R&D.

It's feel good but isn't ridiculous so the reasonability doesn't seem absurd, and the characters are making things work without grim ulterior motives.

A jewel of a romance that sharply contrasts so much that's out there, by introducing a bit of positivity, no expectations, no regrets.

Flowin' and growin'.

Perfect for mid-February.

Or any time of the year really.

It's like violence is completely absent from this film.

It'd be amazing if more filmmakers thought this way.

Through Black Spruce

A family grieves the disappearance of a loved one, as a distraught daring twin sister (Tanaya Beatty as Annie) heads to Toronto in search of answers.

Uncertain if she'll find anything, and proceeding without much to go on, she follows her only leads, and soon meets her sister's last contacts.

Last known contacts.

Back home her caring uncle (Brandon Oakes as Will) has problems, for he's angered a group of thugs who tend to express themselves viciously.

He's trying to unobtrusively get by, but finds himself branded a person of interest.

He's soon hiding out on a remote island, while his niece runs into troubles of her own.

Rough, gruelling, dire anxious realities, jurisprudently stitched, in tragic combative song.

The characters in Don McKellar's Through Black Spruce find themselves living in contrasting environments, one chill and peaceful, the other harsh and violent.

Living within them tragically bewilders, as conflicts which they had nothing to do with assault wholesome fun initiatives.

An act of healing, a gentle harmless letter sent off to put minds at ease, provokes extreme tension, and disrupts otherwise blooming friendships.

And a career.

The film athletically unreels with hard-edged sophistication, presenting diverse accessible scenes with a tough gritty concerned sensibility.

A fireside chat in Toronto, hunting together in James Bay, introductions to the art world, with specific takes on the discipline of photography.

For instance.

The blend of the two storylines could have been smoother though, as extended time intervals separate the tales from one another.

But since one storyline's urban and the other's set far away, the different paces, the different immersions, may have produced unsought after shocks, had they been edited and merged more consistently.

The lengthy immersions do creatively pull you into different aspects of Indigenous life, notably the non-toxic bug spray, and the extended time gives each of them their own lifeforce, lifeforces which may not have blossomed had they been cut more regularly.

It's nice to see long patient scenes.

And stories about First Nations people that aren't filled with violence.

What happened to Annie's twin remains a mystery, another sad story in an extreme crisis that effects all of Canada and elsewhere.

If the same percentage of woman of European descent disappeared or were murdered as often as their First Nations Canadian sisters, I imagine governments would enlist armies to find a solution to the problem.

To the extreme crisis.

This is no exaggeration.

The statistics are plain as day.

There needs to be a strong will to make Canada safe for these women.

The racist realities of which should be considered.

Good film.

Love Brandon Oakes.

Wolfe

Summations surmised in shock smothered sick suffering scorn.

Pronounced pertinent enriched bewilderment interrogative analytics revelations inconclusive.

Serial addendums.

Emotions recollected quixotic exhilaration scarlet iris peerless pathways authentic articles embraced innate pandemonium.

Mutual affection tempestuously tantalized whispers whirlwinds bliss.

Substitutions recitals realignments electrolysis solutes snickers flow, spastic momentum definitive increments narratively isolating cloyed vignettes.

Fortunes resentments antecedents exclamations.

An artist observing amongst them.

Discerning apt poetic reflections in pitched photogenic verse.

Much younger ignored pushed aside.

Still generating pith, catharsis.

Still secreting verdant environs.

Friends struggle to understand why a confidant takes her own life as an outsider questions them in Francis Bordeleau's Wolfe.

It unreels like less of a search for meaning than an attempt to obscure guilt.

It's like there was significance but they couldn't comprehend it and in a tragic attempt to provoke lucidity everything became much less clear.

Until an individual possessing true feeling honestly presented unabashed sincerity.

Wolfe subtly criticizes instinctual unreflective existence through experimental elucidation.

Unable to find resolutions, it suggests a lack of purpose can be overcome through artistic witness.

The violence the artist faces in the beginning fades as he befriends the two spirits also affected by its presumption.

A less depressing film might have solely focused on the good times, celebrating carefree creative progression as opposed to stark misfortune.

Presenting sundry outputs from local artists within.

Like a xylophone.

A soundboard.

A rainforest.

A café.

You can't worry about being stung when taking pictures of bees.

Or, all the people close by in the park wondering what the hell you're doing.

The Mountain Between Us

A sudden crash upon a remote mountain top shockingly affects three airborne strangers, plummeting just before achieving thunderous summit, no cellphone service available, no flight plan having been filed, destitute, forlorn, aerodynely abandoned, they classify, catalogue, conjure, and code, embracing logical risk to command desperate passion, blindly preparing for enigmatic descent, wounded yet versatile, adventurously impacting.

Seductive scorned survival.

One traveller planned to be wed the next day, an innovative photographer working for The Guardian on her way to Denver, she refuses to sit still and wait, thereby prompting diminutive exodus.

Another must follow, himself quietly suffering after having lost a loved one, the two slowly traversing frozen inhospitable lands together as one, struggling to limitlessly strive on, with the hopes of rediscovering civilization.

A persevering dog tenaciously accompanies them, spiritually guiding them along the way, enabling them to grasp, grip, and grind, well-placed throughout the film to devoutly distract and domestically foreshadow, his improvised excursions adamantly nestling, the parental and the preconditioned, precociously implied.

Roughing it stark and wayward, lost in the wilderness in the dead of Winter with neither supplies nor sustenance to trek their way through.

Can they endure like inexhaustible inclement feline prognosticators?

While exponentially cultivating, what is known as true love?

The Mountain Between Us metaphorically ices the unforgiving terrain the everlasting requires to harmoniously resound.

Amidst the jaded chaos of hopelessness and the disabling cynicism of despair, a would be couple sustainably compensates.

Cinematographically lacking considering their environment, and much more rich in woodland symbolism than death-defying dialogue, it still presents a tumultuously touching vision, unobscured by constant slights.

Imperative integrity.

Substantiated romance.

Le sel de la terre (The Salt of the Earth)

The cultivation of astonishment, the realization of a vision, concerned dedicated multifaceted compassion takes on the most heartbreaking commitments with a tender immediacy humanistically begetting loyalty and awe, Sebastião Salgado, born on a farm in Brazil, spending his life directly embracing the tumultuous and the taciturn, having given up a prosperous career as an economist to do so, in isolated forgotten lands, to create the most stunning collection of photographs I've ever seen.

Famine, war, genocide, helplessness, poignantly captured to reveal true horror, life still attempting to flourish amidst the carnage, herculean patience, aphroditic ascendency.

Taking great personal risks and sacrificing familial leisure and comfort to dodge helicopter gunfire and shed humanitarian light, offering a voice to the downtrodden and the dispossessed, celebrating their courage and resiliency, their unshaken resolute cries, as a matter of conscience, a pact with will, he modestly proceeds, and fascinatingly portrays.

While also visiting remote geographical locations to illuminate unmitigated terrains.

Innocence.

Passion.

Regrowing a forest, battling wits with a polar bear, suffering as his subjects suffer, living, growing, evolving, Sebastião inspires through his erudite humility, naturalistic charm, incomparable humanity, and consummate sagacity.

Transcendency.

Wim Wenders makes the perfect directorial companion to Sebastião's son Juliano.

Le sel de la terre (The Salt of the Earth) is a must see for aspiring artists, for students, for anyone.

To see again and again.

Life force.

Genesis would make an excellent wedding gift.

Salaud, on t'aime (We Love You, Bastard)

The loveable bastard.

Gifted beyond reason, in touch with his emotions, loving, caring, accomplished.

But a total and complete cad when it comes to his dealings with the opposite sex.

Apart from his daughters.

4 with 4 different partners.

Whom he devotedly loves.

Salaud, on t'aime (We Love You, Bastard) is like going to a gift-shop in a bustling small mountain town.

Naturalistic beauty fastens its frames to adorable pristine picturesque attunements, romantically stressed, to vivify anew.

It does come across as somewhat too neat and tidy however, too picture perfect, all of the typical methods of gradually building tension remaining largely absent, all saved-up, for one startling traumatic release.

Stunning photography.

Loved the eagle. Would love to have a pet eagle. The eagle is awesome. But Claude Lelouch overdoes it a bit with the eagle.

Legitimate grievances.

Legitimate love.

Love spending time in the mountains.

The Ghosts in Our Machine

Liz Marshall's new documentary The Ghosts in Our Machine follows the beneficial risks taken by photographer and animal rights activist Jo-Anne McArthur as she snaps heartbreaking shots of the animals enslaved in various industries.

Grim statistics numerically accompany her outputs, providing troubling realities with cold hard facts.

The fur industry's profits are increasing, for instance.

Scientific laboratories have actually bred a beagle to maximize its docility.

Dairy cows generally give milk for three to four years before they're butchered, even though they could have lived a much longer life, their utters no longer being profitable.

Facilities like those chronicled in Gabriela Cowperthwaite's Blackfish are sprouting up all over the world.

And the practices adopted by many organic farmers aren't that different from their large-scale competitors.

Animal rights are the focus and discourses which justify animal abuses are contradicted through a wide range of compelling photographic and cinematic images.

The film is informative without being preachy, evocative but not sickly sentimental.

It's not sensational, relying more on the integrity of its illustrations than the volatility of its message.

When they visit the Farm Sanctuary in upstate New York and show close-ups of their resident cows, pigs, sheep, etc., intricately capturing their emotions and personalities, it's truly moving.

The film should be airing on the CBC's documentary channel on Sunday, November 24th.

Finding funding to support your work, an artist's dedication, and historical revelations are featured as well.

Here's an article about animal rights in Switzerland.

This is what I think Ms. McArthur is referring to when she mentions bears.

Farm Sanctuary's catalogue and its value added information are remarkable.

Living an ethical life.

During question period after the film, an audience member asked how Ms. Marshall and Ms. McArthur manage to continue pursuing their goals in the face of so much suffering (paraphrasing), and Jo-Anne recommended Aftershock: Confronting Trauma in a Violent World as an aid.

Sounds like a good read.

Settai

Writer John Mahendran has packed a plethora of modest jocose sensationalizations into Settai's script, subtly and frankly working within while deconstructing what I'm assuming are Bollywood tropes, the singing and the dancing, always with the singing and the dancing, while intricately laying the foundations for an alternative journalistic cultural outlet, practically yet scatologically introducing capitalistic sentiments (the scoundrel of the film's triumvirate of struggling unmarried young male professionals knows how to find money but suffers from recurring bowel disruptions throughout), as well as a host of additional interconnected motivations.

The film is deep.

Fidelity, friendship, professional integrity, authenticity, keeping up with the Joneses, love, economics, other things, all of these concurrent psychological influences are mischievously intertwined, made to seem ridiculous yet pertinent, in an attempt to encourage change from within.

I think.

For instance, one of the first scenes shows a song about to be sung by gaudy performers equipped with robotic tigers but we then discover that it's just being played on a television screen in an airport and has nothing directly to do with the film.

Hence, I thought there would be less singing and dancing.

There is still a lot of singing and dancing but one number does include flaming sitars.

They're not really flaming, it's more like gigantic electric sparks are shooting forth from their instrumental breadth, but still, a nice touch.

The distinction between quality and quantity appears again and again as mistakes introduce obstacles the surmounting of which proves empowering.

Reminded me of my idea to start a new National monthly periodical, 25% First Nations, 25% Francophone, 25% Anglophone, 25% Allophone.

Something like Multicultural Mayhem.

Not really the title I'm thinking of.

I don't have a title.

Just need some capital.

And some contacts.

And some colleagues.

And a market.

And a title.

Looks like I may have to learn to sing and dance.

Cool flick.

L'Incrédule (The Skeptic)

Two couples forge a spur-of-the-moment friendship in Federico Hidalgo's L'Incrédule (The Skeptic), after which a small business is inaugurated whose indeterminate outputs whimsically delineate the ambiguous.

The service they provide is known as the Charuflauta, which, from what I gathered, is a cure for loneliness.

None of the characters are able to definitively describe it, however, or figure out whether or not they should seek payment for their efforts.

When their first clients require a practical application of their abstraction, the comedic results lampoon the melancholic while stultifying the hyper-analytical.

Great film, mischievously mixing a broad array of sociological, personal, financial, artistic, and conjugal intersections, loosely framed within a recurring photographic motif, which establishes a reverberating ontological/epistemological dialectic, in order to clarify a sense of belonging.

Cheeky, uplifting, indecisive, self-assured.

In regards to the encapsulations of the concretely abstract.