Hudutlarin Kanunu (Law of the Border)

The sociocultural clash between education and enterprise, meritorious machinations grandiosely fluctuating.

Things have persisted as they've always been "for quite some time" along the border, smugglers arriving with goods to sell to business peeps offering assistance.

The military resolutely guards the frontier in a valiant effort to intercept the contraband, but resident experts keep track of their movements to scout the best location to break on through. 

Well-respected within the village for consistently engaging in ardent daring, they formidably co-exist at ease, unless bitter conniving and envious collusion furtively challenge their courageous resolve. 

A less volatile competitor is introduced through the wisdom of altruistic daring, civil-minded citizens hoping to open a school, while encouraging the bandits to freely farm.

Education and farming may not lead to lucrative windfalls, but the inherent dangers are much less severe barring the influence of despotic drones. 

Through the gradual cultivation of reason their lands could reap imaginative harvests, peaceful traditions concordantly emerging through the rational yields of prosperous contemplation.

Naturally, the application of intellect to industry constructs productive opportunity, versatile able communal ends abounding with work and relaxation.

The work may be much more steady and the relaxation somewhat less encompassing, but the hopes of earning a peaceful living engender calm and earnest reckoning.

Strange how it plays out at times how people who have earned a fortune selling subs or fries, have more political influence than learnéd peeps genuinely devoted to study.

The learnéd peeps unfortunately often having no idea what it's like to have a job, the hard-working peeps at times remaining unfamiliar with advanced concepts acquired through idle study.

They're at loggerheads at the moment even if Trudeau and Biden seem fair, if Trudeau's coming across as a jerk he's been pushed, I love watching Trudeau the warrior.

Law of the Border bleakly presents a world with no local schools, to point out how much worse things are without the potential for education.

Critiquing the educational system is a natural by-product of having received first rate instruction. 

Imagine the arguments you'd have if you hadn't.

If the only way to advance was through agile reading?

Green Grow the Rushes

And a country persisted for centuries and its history expanded tenfold, gradually transforming from a feudal to an industrial society, incrementally balanced by royals and parliament.

But the impetus to transform various codes lacked immutable ubiquity, and while some regions emphatically adapted, others simply couldn't be bothered. 

At one time such regions perhaps adapted a more nationalistic ceremonious fervour, calling about grand chivalric dignity to unquestionably praise exalted decorum.

But as time passed, the inherent labour became too strenuous for many inhabitants, and the uproar which once fiercely extolled farming gave way to a somewhat less traditional occupation.

Less traditional?, who's to say?, some jurisdictions were settled millennia ago, and perhaps still unconsciously embrace the same engrained habits as their resourceful forefathers.

Thus, who's to say when Anderida started bootlegging and generally relying on the bounty of the sea, it seems that at one time they at least thought of farming, although over the years it lost local prominence.

Outlaw liquor from the forbidden continent steadily arrives on the shore meanwhile, which is brought throughout the region then perhaps transported all over England. 

A trio of government reps come preaching duty and responsibility, reminding the townsfolk that land must be cultivated according to 20th century guidelines.

But they've had their own laws in the region for many an indifferent decade, enjoying unconcerned jocose seclusion along with its incumbent grey lackadaisics. 

They try to be as hospitable as they can but find the outsiders most invasive, fortunately thanks to tradition and law they have alternative means at their public disposal.

But when a wild storm suddenly lands a large trusted ship in someone's backyard, their ability to jurisprudently deal is somewhat landlubbed by grandiose conspicuity. 

Trusted figures swiftly move into action and soon the 3 customs agents are locked down in court, while local legions dispose of the booty imaginatively inclined with Dionysian wherewithal. 

Just one scant example amongst thousands quietly delineating a nation each day, as its ancient interconnected paths see the onset of newfound desires and traditions.

Caught within a propitious vortex eschewing embracing various codes of conduct, individualistic poised prompt personality instigating schema forthright characteristic.

Why bother seeking downcast monotony, as long as there's inherent equal opportunity?

Uniformity lays bare extremes.

Amidst such litigious frolic. 

The Presidio

A military policeperson (Jenette Goldstein as Patti Jean Lynch) is shot during a routine call, her death possibly related to another misguided crime.

Her ex-partner is assigned to investigate (Mark Harmon as Jay Austin) but jurisdiction leads to conflict, as he questions army personnel without respect for rank or standing.

Lieutenant Colonel Alan Caldwell (Sean Connery) realizes they'll have to have work together, a joint military/police operation with irate tensions steeping.

Lynch and Austin once arrested Colonel Paul Lawrence (Dana Gladstone) for disgraceful conduct, but when their work was scrutinized, Caldwell didn't support them.

Thus Austin left the army but now finds himself once again, in a position to arrest Mr. Lawrence if the evidence proves compelling.

Caldwell struggles to assist while calling attention to unwritten codes, thereby curtailing cowboy antics liberally applied notwithstanding. 

Austin starts dating his daughter (Meg Ryan as Donna Caldwell) much to his dismay, as the ancient clashes of stubborn cultures take on newfound ballistics.

The Presidio is very direct in search of blunt disgruntling fact, with no concern for feints or subtlety it blatantly marches on.

In a democracy there's room for manifold styles of film, and if one genre eclipses the others it can lead to incestuous deluge.

Thus I've kept an open-mind when freely viewing service films, to strangely embrace agile difference as composed through upheld traditions.

Frank exchanges between honest men often have otherworldly impacts, especially when immersed in rigid strata where trusted honesty is anathema.

It doesn't work so well in The Presidio at least it's not The Rock or Pulp Fiction, it works along the same lines but misses the mark unfortunately.

Still, remember that's just my impression and you shouldn't feel bad if you disagree, like what you like, get into it, artistic criticism isn't objectively orchestrated.

I've met people who had different tastes and at times I was surprised they liked certain films, but I always admired how earnestly they defended them since they weren't trying to impress.

Thus if you happen to love The Presidio I may be somewhat surprised.

Don't be annoyed by my alternative take.

Relativity upholds thriving democracies.  

Solo: A Star Wars Story

There's a lot to love about Solo: A Star Wars Story.

True love drives a cocky youth to make bold romantic decisions which aeronautically diversify his portfolio even if she's regrettably moved on.

A sassy droid (Phoebe Waller-Bridge as L3-37) that takes Dot Matrix up a notch adds homely elfish character that ruggedly protests as it swiftly confides.

The quotidian nuances outlandish improvised decisions with real world grit that's intergalactically localized.

The dangers as well as the thrills of risking everything for a cut make wild endeavours seem appealing yet threatening inasmuch as improbability mortally beckons.

41/38 years later fans finally get to see Han (Alden Ehrenreich) meet Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo) then Lando (Donald Glover).

It's co-starring Woody Harrelson (Beckett).

The kessel run is both defined and showcased.

Emilia Clarke impresses as Qi'ra.

And audacious reckoning munificently makes for a gripping spine-tingling finale.

Non-stop action, exuberant spirits, phenomenal fusions, surefire soul.

If only it had been a little less hokey.

A little more dreadful.

A lot more Chewbacca.

It's missing the bone-chilling malicious sense of resilient desperation that realistically held The Last Jedi, Rogue One, Avengers: Infinity War, Captain America: Civil War, A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, Aliens, and The Wrath of Khan together.

The characters are desperate, and undeniably resilient, but the film's still so confidently assured that nothing could go wrong that I never truly felt worried or fearful or oppressed.

It's like Solo was written for young kids and the aged simultaneously, those who were around 20 when A New Hope was released now being around 61 years of age.

Thus there are myriad sequences that demand your full attention, but it's so formulaic that it seems like nothing could possibly go wrong.

I may have cut the opening 10-15 minutes.

Turned them into a series of flashbacks.

Han and Qi'ra's love story isn't even featured throughout the film.

It never feels like they'll eventually get together.

It doesn't matter that fans know they don't get together.

When it wasn't released at Christmas I figured something was up.

I still confuse Thandie Newton (Val) and Zoe Saldana.

Miraculum

Flight plans, guilt-ridden, felicitous, miserable, and emancipating flight plans, desperately intermingle differing degrees of shock, immersed in Daniel Grou's Miraculum, as risks deteriorate familial stabilities, and the concept of vice, is multifariously de/moralized.

Synoptic suffering.

A weary outcast attempts to make amends through profits earned from drug smuggling.

An affair crushes and/or enlivens the members of two elderly couples.

Distant addictive empty partners seek to rejuvenate their marriage.

A struggling Jehovah's Witness is tempted by secular advancements (blood transfusions).

The four stories downtroddenly unfurl within and without (like Babel or Tian zhu ding), lucidly pinpointing vectorized vertices, occasionally peaking ensemble, dedicating a despondent deconstructive density to open-minded conscientious plights, which resists clear and distinct binding generalizations, to materially matriculate the mundanely divine.

Although communal belonging is fluidly challenged as unforgiving bulwarks fortify their positions.

Wherein resistance is rather futile.

Miraculum isn't like pastis, milk, and honey, more like a caressing melancholic ideological tempest, compelling in its whirlwinds, tight, multifaceted, challenging.

Editing by Valérie Héroux.

Written by Gabriel Sabourin (Valérie Beaugrand-Champagne consulting).

It breathes difficult distinct tetralectics into profound ethical quotients, corrugating crisp conceptions of the beautiful, rationally masterminded, exacting, composed.

Keeping you focused at full attention.

Built to multilaterally stimulate.

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.