Sambizanga

When extremist politicians start routinely flouting and ignoring the law, the haunting spectre of the secret police gothically looms in the grim imagination.

A stand out feature universally despised of the Eastern Bloc in old school Europe, the hated and ruthless clandestine cops belligerently sought ideological adherence. 

Extremist right wing governments in Spain and Germany used similar tactics which were also condemned, the ubiquitous totalitarian panopticon stifling not only dissent but also freeflowing conversation. 

Extremist governments brutalize their people until they're so beat down they no longer resist, and attempt to abide by the imposing dictates of stubborn and obstinate draconian laws.

They even meticulously monitor what people say which effectively prohibits irony and role play, you can't pretend or hypothesize or joke without having to worry about being arrested. 

Such governments employ people in the community often extremist zealots whom nobody likes, to listen to what people are saying and then inform the police about 'unsettling' developments.

They don't have to tell the truth and can effectively lie about what's been said, the resultant network of miserable mendacity cacophonously stifling honest public discourse. 

As the years wearily drudge by and the widespread injustice is routinely compounded, people long for alternative means to legitimately fight for social freedoms.

In Sambizanga, a resistance forms in the heart of bitter Angola, to protest colonial rule and furtively take back their Native country.

A bold member of a resistance network is viciously taken one dismal morning, his wife and child left to desperately find where he's suddenly been brought without any warning.

He's questioned within the prison and cruelly beaten with abysmal tactics, his body unable to withstand the punishment eventually suffering an unnatural death.

Seeing a country as free and proud of its traditions as the celebrated United States of America, sheepishly succumb to such a state under Trump is reminiscent of revolutionary times. 

Did Washington, Jefferson, and Adams not lead their people away from despotism?

To create a free and democratic nation.

Once the envy of the Western World.

*Is Jared Polis (Governor of Colorado) a candidate for the Democratic Nomination? 

Unarmed Man

Harold Jackson III's independent Unarmed Man presents an impassioned interview taking place after a man was killed.

Shot dead even though he was unarmed by a trigger happy policeperson, all too willing to shoot first, none too prone to asking questions.

At least not to African Americans.

He has to give a statement, provide routine answers, in the fatal aftermath, and he's sincerely eager to participate, as long as the script is strictly followed.

But his interrogator's in search of truth, and doesn't play things by the book, asking tough questions that need to be asked, even after he's sharply reprimanded.

The film's fictional content is saturated with verisimilitude, its situations and legal ease striking chords all too familiar.

When does it end?

It happens so often.

Why are unarmed African Americans shot multiple times so often, even though they've done nothing wrong?

And why are the offending policepersons soon back to work without consequence or repercussion, how can they possibly be protecting and serving the black citizens upon their beat?

The racist system's as revolting as the answers to those questions, so many innocent lives cut short, so much potential recklessly shot down.

But Jackson's film doesn't simply preach, it provides a well-rounded argument. Its strength lies in its investigation of alternatives, the policeperson's point of view, which is refuted with upstanding logic.

Unarmed Man lays it out, explains why some policepeople are trigger happy, the stresses associated with their jobs, the fears such stresses naturally produce.

I've often thought about what it must be like to work full-time as a policeperson in a neighbourhood overwhelmed with crime, whether it's white, black, asian, or first nation, and it must be extremely difficult to do so day-in and day-out, especially when your colleagues lose their lives, having made the greatest sacrifice in the line of duty.

But policepersons still need to be trained to distinguish between different scenarios, one obviously threatening (a robbery, a drug bust, domestic violence, gang conflicts), another relatively textbook (pulling cars over for no reason).

If they can't distinguish between these scenarios they should be transferred to less demanding jurisdictions, or perhaps find work elsewhere.

Black people shouldn't have to put their hands on the steering wheel and make painfully slow movements if asked to show something every time they're pulled over.

But it seems like that's what they have to do to objectively avoid being shot.

Since it's clear that policepersons target black Americans.

Time and time again.

Unarmed Man's argument is well worth seeing and passionately brought to life by Shaun Woodland (Aaron Williamson) and Danny Gavigan (Greg Yelich).

Definitely tough subject matter.

Which will hopefully seem antiquated one day.

Blindspotting

Was really impressed with Blindspotting.

It's a tight hard-edged compassionate hands-on free-flowing intense look at strong characters making up for a lack of economic resources with innovative creative reflexive awe-inspiring initiative, their social capital worth millions in transferable commentaries, their general sobriety critically emancipating soul.

Daveed Diggs (Collin) and Rafael Casal (Miles) work exceptionally well together. They don't seem like actors, they seem like they are Collin and Miles and they're shooting a fictional documentary about their lives, so familiar with each other that they generate ultrareal cascading warp-driven synergies, which disperse practical blueprints for coping with traumatic situations.

Without being preachy.

Collin shouldn't have gone to prison but he did. He has three days of probation left when he witnesses a police officer shoot an unarmed African American multiple times.

If he says anything he may jeopardize his parole or just be chucked back in the slammer for an indefinite period of time.

Injustice haunts him as he jogs every morning yet he's composed enough to keep things calm, cool, and collected, most of the time, which reminded me of RBG.

Miles is more chaotic, a gifted salesperson who can't control his temper, gentrification unconsciously fuelling his rage. Collin looks out for him even though he causes trouble, their friendship enduring in spite of argumentative setbacks and controversial outbursts, the women in their lives doing what they can to cultivate a stable non-violent future (Janina Gavankar as Val and Jasmine Cephas Jones as Ashley).

They're clever.

The film's clever.

Practically every scene has relevant commentary that makes a thoughtful positive impact.

And it's not full of pity or sorrow.

It's rough at points, sensitive at others, a hardboiled blend of raw emotion and logical analysis skilfully woven into the script with expert timing that resonantly bleeds passion.

Making impacts on several fronts, from healthy living to reducing gun violence to making relationships work to listening to and challenging alternative points of view, it scorchingly boils international issues down to the local level, celebrating and criticizing Oakland to advocate change without ignoring how difficult change can be.

Unpasteurized sharp streetwise poetic honesty.

One of the best films I've seen this year.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Martin McDonagh cranks up Sympathy for the Devil and holds nothing back in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, as an abusive bigoted homophobic policeperson does the right thing for once after a lifetime of gross civil indecency.

The schematics.

A grieving mother (Frances McDormand as Mildred), whose daughter was brutally murdered, rents three billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri, to boldly call out the local police chief (Woody Harrelson as Chief Willoughby) for having made no progress on the case months later.

Her fury is justified and her disobedience sincere, even if members of the local constabulary don't see it that way, members who no longer take the case seriously.

An individual's reasonable observations therefore conflict with statistics and precedents, the police having handled similar cases before, and done relatively little after their initial investigation led nowhere.

Did complacency brought about by years of cold routine cause them to simply ignore the case?

Possibly.

Spoiler.

The police chief, who is dying of cancer, does commit suicide not long after the billboards go up.

This isn't Mississippi Burning.

Even if Ebbing's blunt righteous inspirational indignation generates hardboiled perdition, wherein which everyone is scorched in the flames, including James (Peter Dinklage), unwittingly, who's introduced to critique Mildred, or to reflect upon a culture so saturated with stereotypical thinking that no one's done anything genuine for decades, until the three billboards go up, after which people who don't have much experience feeling suddenly find themselves culturally enraged, unprecedented emotions wildly seeking semantic clarification, it's no Mississippi Burning, a film that doesn't present the racist pretensions of the local police force so lightly.

But the Feds aren't called in in this one, and even though I'm a forgiving man, and love a story that sees the hardboiled ethical transformation of a character like Dixon (Sam Rockwell), a grizzly tale that doesn't shy away from gruesome cultural codes, he still brutally assaults people and the law doesn't hold him to account, apart from taking his badge away, and I don't see why the metamorphosis of the brutally violent police officer is being celebrated with awards, when Wind River, another dark film that examines stark polarized realities, which is also well-written and compelling, was released in 2017, and ignored by the Golden Globes.

That's called white privilege, I believe.

Was The Revenant too soon?

Detroit

Kathryn Bigelow's Detroit examines a horrific event from America's past that took place during the explosive Detroit riots.

As the twitterverse and the video technology built into postmodern cellphones vigilantly documents contemporary life, providing unburnished blueprints of power being abused, the prolonged illustration of police brutality found in the film seems shocking yet all too familiar.

How do you bring these two groups together, African American communities targeted by the police and the trustworthy police officers committed to treating them fairly?

If one group targets another for decades and becomes more like a bully than a protector, it's difficult for the victims to trust that group or assist them when their help is needed.

That targeted community deserves the same protection other communities enjoy and it would be terrifying to think that the very people hired to ensure public safety were in fact hostile and unwilling to assist.

The positive forces of progressive change are often overlooked within a sensationalized frame that predominantly focuses on violence.

They must be working together behind the scenes to fight both crime and police brutality, with stricter penalties for police officers who shoot first and ask questions later.

It must be difficult to trust if you see innocent members of your community killed by the police, and then the offending officer is set free with a slap on the wrist.

It must be difficult to trust if the authorities generally think you're troublemaking.

Decade after decade, no respite in sight.

Despair contending with animosity, historically nuanced to permeate strategic plans.

The African Americans I've worked with were first rate, working hard throughout the day while relaxing and having thoughtful and fun conversations during lunch and breaks, like the other people I've worked with over the years.

There's no difference unless you ignorantly approach the situation with destructive preconceived notions that turn a typical interaction into an eggshell extravaganza.

Detroit realistically and bluntly presents a racist tragedy perpetrated by those who blindly consider violence to be an effective tool.

Hemorrhaging and monstrous, it openly investigates that which remains unimagined, hopefully teaching confused individuals and communities just how horrendous miscommunication can be.

I suggest never pulling a prank on the police, rather, it's best practice to listen and do what they say.

Even if it makes no difference when they do that in Detroit.

There are thousands of police officers out there who care and are there to protect and serve.

Hopefully they can surely remove the racist motivations from the force, which encourage unrelenting tension, and replace trust and friendship with contempt and conflict.