Heart Beat

The classic romantic examination of wild alternative domestic scenarios, as an impulsive inspiring non-traditionalist car thief and a hopeful writer fall in love. 

Competing post-War visions of America are materialistically and spiritually emerging, one carefree and lighthearted and bold the other calm and strategic and disciplined.

The tupperware/Maytag/Jetset had to responsibly deal with latent extemporaneity, the opposing star-crossed antithetical ontologies awkwardly mingling ad infinitum.

Heart Beat's music harnesses this momentum with explosive untamed incredible jazz, musicians exploring improvisational tempos and sly unique tonic upbeat blends. 

Simultaneously, the ambient sounds accompanying transitions and less amusing anecdotes, are reminiscent of 80's James Bond themes with inherent schmaltz and maudlin synergies. 

Gallant attempts to embrace a lifestyle are often fraught with bland disparagements, and tried and true sincere beaming methods at times lose their shimmering shine. 

If two men love the same woman why not live together in the 'burbs?, the dynamic unorthodox affable grouping flexibly raising an engaged family. 

At times they get along remarkably well since they ambitiously love the same freestyle life, the boys satisfying each other's need for friendship, the girl abounding with play and reasonability. 

Is this anything new?, was it aesthetically shocking at the time?, is it just as startling today as it was then?, will it always be cynically rebuked? 

Hedonists and stoics and cynics were also around in the ancient world, no doubt contending with as much pith as impassioned contemporaries are today.

Stoicism always seemed like the wisest choice not too wild and crazy but still experimental, also not so sarcastically disagreeable and full of lethal sociocultural venom.

Experiment endeavour enjoy without giving into temptation.

If that makes any sense.

In uncertain times I guess it does. 

Folionnaise

Synchronous lushkie limestone lickspittle

ornery altitude cranked discretion,

churning melodious rhythmic medley 

chimphonic chirp lithobandana. 

Sufferance slather almond risotto 

indelicate flock temperance twaddle,

buglengarry freeform expeditious sway

eiderdown nambul cloaken outspoken.

Wheedle conceital fiesta tweedle 

sourdough snuggles vellum parlay,

beaconflict sprout lateral pulse

throbbing distinction gongdola soir.

Riveting yield compendium strike

stave conglameration opalescent stream,

callous chiavelli earthling industry

extraterrestrial finesse fervour. 

Moonstruck abacus-cous signature slam

interplanetary verbose vacuum, 

saturnine willow mercurial convention

venestle vortex martians askew.

Aesthetic balance gritty endeavour 

invariable forecast sultry stew,

everlasting impression instantaneous substance

evanescent grain voluptuous vibe.

Rocky terrain indefinite vestige 

credential crunch ornate circuitry,

wavelength wafflin' transister truffle

modibreadcrumbdrum harried hyasynthesized.

Liver & onions gammon & spinach

chapter & verse flesh & bone,

inordinatortue souris sonata

clavier coagulate écran sorbet.

Irksome impediment smug reliance

perplexing convexling concavernous cues,

tiptop adoring tailspinpointsetter

cloyed ambassador bon vivanguardian.

Tipolitesse-chest beaver slumber-some

beach ball piazza cahoots calzoot-hoot,

fledgling flotilla asynchronous Borg

individualistic elusive aloha.

Nebulous narcolept segmentary sedge

woolen exponent felicitous flub,

Serengeti cycle salubrious glen

orbital awning stratocastrophere.

Carriage disparaged riverbed rummage

disorientation fragmentary flummox,

equestrian stride synergy strewn

salicin syndicate rosemary, thyme. 

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.  

You need to be careful not to exaggerate the historical significance of what you're doing.

That's what Trump constantly does.

If you do so as well, you're doing the same thing Trump does, meaning you're not presenting alternative forms of expression that lead to different ways of thinking. 

You're letting Trump control the game.

Small town mayors may not make great presidents, but writing a film script where a local guy or gal suddenly find themselves managing a big business can be huge at the box office. 

It could be a comedy where someone learns to work with a situation that's over their head, or it could present a big business working within bucolic means (the film showcases a big business with worldly issues but everything is boiled down to a less intricate level [why the Die Hard films are so successful]). 

Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World)

Fluidly transmitting interactive hybrid tender phenomena, Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World) randomly travels around the world.

I can't imagine what it must have been like to exotically film in so many countries, at an accelerated intricate pace kinetically connected universally lithe.

I couldn't watch the entire film in one extended sitting so I divided it into 3 parts, the first two hours, the second two hours, and the last 47 odd minutes.

While I was watching I admired its freedom as it temperamentally trotted the globe, while casually presenting endemic technologies along with brief interrogative artifacts. 

The 4 hour and 47 minute film leaves the viewer full of lighthearted enriching anticipation, comfortably rewarded for investing their time while convivially considering the mischievous details.

Part 1 as accidentally compartmentalized offers a chase as previously mentioned around the world, as a romantic artful passionate soul sets out in search of a would-be lover.

He's stolen some money from her which she borrowed from thieves who stole it from Nice, and as she keeps finding him and he keeps escaping dynamic love blossoms with fugacious flurries.

The second act is much more settled as the lively couple finds rest in Australia, several characters who came along for the ride jocosely joining them then forming a band.

The destruction of a nuclear satellite has knocked out communications around the world, with practically no machines in working order it's time to jam sit back and enjoy life.

The last act sees the principal characters become addicted to an ingenious device (global power restored), which records your dreams and plays them back for you to freely watch throughout your day.

Unfortunately, the dreams become reality and those taking part refuse to do anything else but watch them.

Drifting into cerebral psychosis. 

Like turtles all the way down. 🐢

If searching for an offbeat romance that celebrates active unorthodox lives, improvisationally following their own distinct paths, Bis ans Ende der Welt is worth seeing for sure.

My favourite scenario was the chillaxed jam where music reimagines being and nothingness.

Reminded me of old times in the countryside.

Laidback livin'.

Kitchen jams.

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. 

The Ploughman's Lunch

Difficult to say if anything you consider will ever lithely generate a relevant buzz, something that fits with trendy conceptualizations regarding spectacular events or age old pastimes.

So many fashions just seem so blasé still visually appealing but dull to write about, is it worth the time to conjure something else about the Suez Crisis or World War I?

There's a philosopher named Derrida who was famous when I was attending university, for so many things I never came to know but also for writing lengthy pieces about random ephemera. 

Not to suggest that a pair of shoes isn't substantial you need to wear them each and every day, but it was so impressive to read lengthy texts about random objects that otherwise seemed meaningless.

He would diversify the specific construct with verbose multidimensional correspondence, eventually proving through elaborate orchestration the meaningful vitality of the mundane item.

Therefore it's possible I never stopped instinctually preferring random offhand knick-knacks to prominent events, which still seem manufactured at times to generate markets for theoretical discourse.

At the same time, the oppression of a people holistically holds my distressed attention, I would rather support intellectual markets cultivating peace and understanding than always write about rocks and squirrels.

But, if I'm not mistaken, and I'm by no means a Derrida or Deleuze expert, in fact if I had read Deleuze in my youth I may have never bothered to write anything afterwards, the point was that elevating everyday objects like shoes or necklaces and indirectly equating them with jewels or crowns, would level the playing field and promote equality that would in turn subliminally contradict warlike pretensions.

Thus, even though one person possessed a radiant tiara decked out with emeralds, they would still respect the creative decisions made by inventive clients of local thrift shops.

And those very same clients meanwhile would apply their wit to the cultivation of creative fashions, without dismissing the bejewelled elegance of hypothetically luxurious esoteric customs. 

I still meet people who respect such insights although so many of them are older than me.

I'll still always love baguettes and cheese (and Ne'Qwa).

Saw a turtle today.

A fox and a rainbow.

The Adventures of Mark Twain

Mark Twain elaborately concocts a unique imaginative flying machine, upon which he chases Halley's Comet with three fortunate literary stowaways. 

Tom, Huck and Becky are unsure as to how to proceed, and never really settle into the versatile invention, inquisitively searching for structure and meaning while instinctually absorbing the bountiful narratives.

Stories within yarns within tales within legends creatively emerge with theoretical whimsy, presented through curious lighthearted exploration as the kids heuristically investigate away.

A ship much more like a mind its multivariable elements cascading, through trial and error and riveting hypotheses its temporal comportment ahistorical.

Perhaps part of the paradigm shift which led to much less severe religious interpretations, wherein which the literal executions lost their prominent cultural influence.

A move away from exacting obsessions with extremely precise uptight rules and regulations, to a more open-hearted freeform compendium liberally composed through manifold alternatives.

Twain himself struggles with the dutiful recognition of a regenerative constituent bipolar renaissance, within which his psyche proactively duels while realistically resonating rationales less ideological.

Difficult to suppress the reflections at times while ethically composed and poignantly accentuated, the active latent indissoluble antipodes habitually insistent with reckless remonstrance.

Thus, the importance of laidback comedy from pent-up time to pent-up time, not the new obsessive violent variety but the less destructive impulses of Twain and Chaplin. 

Twain's ideas and clever witticisms are seductively sprinkled throughout the script, his observant well-timed well-crafted comments judiciously diversifying tact and treatise.

Not often a public figure is so universally commended without crude accompaniment, when do you ever here anything negative critically mentioned about the old school phenom?

The Adventures of Mark Twain may have passed under the radar way back in my youth I admit I had never heard of it, at least until around this time last week when it suddenly seemed like a cool film to see.

Definitely a chill film for children interested in reading and bizarro imagination, a claymation gateway to a world of books poetically awaiting at the local library. 

Twain's insights make the film fun for grouchy adults who might not want to watch another kids film at the same time.

Perhaps overlooked due to its harmless unorthodox reflections on religion.

Which I thought were charmingly displayed.  

The Lost City

A famous adventure/romance novelist (Sandra Bullock as Loretta Sage) begins to question her professional identity, when the launch of her latest book fails to inspire commercial motivation.

She's done it so many times that the book tour and associated hoopla, seem too superficial to sincerely entertain even though her adoring fans can't wait.

She's jealous of the easy going male model (Channing Tatum as Alan) who adorns the covers of her texts as well, he loves the media sensation, this doesn't evince discerning pageantry.

After she turns the anticipated launch into a dire ill-fated farce, she seeks in vain for heartfelt felicity, before a covetous mean-spirited billionaire (Daniel Radcliffe as Abigail Fairfax) suddenly has her kidnapped. 

She's flown to a tropical island and tasked with locating enticing treasure, local Natives imploring them to leave it alone, the alarming obsession metastasizing madness.

Alan soon follows along with an Indiana Jones/James Bond type rescuer (Brad Pitt as Jack Trainer). 

Ill-prepared for the ensuing task force.

Still improvising with resonant throng. 

The Lost City embraces traditional stately oft criticized tropes and accessories, yet effectively makes the age old adventurous point, that its principal goal is to just entertain. 

Therefore, I had to ask myself, am I genuinely enjoying this film?, beyond multivariable criteria, and I had to admit, I was.

I was lightheartedly reminded that novel bizarre stylistic independence, and counterintuitive literary jigsaw, don't imaginatively motivate some, who are more concerned with intuitive fun.

I suppose a lot of the time it isn't the mischievous wordplay, but just hot bods and romantic adventure that make people interested in watching films.

I also suppose it isn't the goal of many to only enhance the authentic aura, of low-budget brainiac films perhaps one day destined for whimsical cult status (it doesn't make any sense!).

The pandemic's cut me off from theatres and my lifestyle changed as time moved on, and I found for the first time in over a decade I had what is known as free time.

I love the free time I have to just to sit back and listen to music.

But movies are meant to be seen on screen.

The direct experience deconstructing cynicism.  

*Loved the Raiders/Terminator pastiche near the end.

Peter Rabbit 2: The Runaway

While wildly profiting off the old Beatrix Potter tales, Peter Rabbit 2 takes shots at the publishing industry, as it innocently explores the urban/rural divide, and wholesomely promotes ye olde school traditional family. 

The dynamic book is selling and a large publishing firm takes note, and lays out the royal red with the hopes of expanding its global markets.

Bea's (Rose Byrne) impressed by the upscale adornments and quickly takes to the commercial schemes, even considering Peter Rabbit in Space along with many other atypical sequels.

Meanwhile, Peter and his bunny friends find themselves hip-hoppitting in the nearby village, Peter (James Corden) accidentally bumping into someone who claims to have known his dad (Lennie James as Barnabas).

They hit it off and scheme themselves soon intending to pull off a gigantic heist, of coveted sought after dry fruit at the chillin' freeform farmers' market.

Red flags inquisitively eschew but both Peter and Thomas McGregor (Domhnall Gleeson) ignore the danger.

Until the local pet shop captures their friends.

And the executive board attempts a hostile takeover.

Peter Rabbit 2 scores points for the countryside and the the humble laid-back agrarian life, as the sinister ways of the nearby town threaten to dilute its bucolic purity. 

The city's not technically like that although you have to be careful not to lose your head, country markets aren't really like that either, they can be pricey, but the artists sell cool things.

It would seem strange to see Petter Rabbit suddenly taking off into space, or surfing or browsing at the mall, but the same author could explore these locales with different characters.

There are always comedic applications which thrive through sheer incomparable inexhaustibility, the best ones leaving you evocatively abashed, the worst threatening the integrity or your immortal soul.

Ideas just come naturally to many after having spent so much time consuming media, it's a consistent mélange of mulltivariable impulses im/precisely interwoven with sub/conscious thread.

There are just so many of them they consistently bombard every constructive day while actively producing, I never really considered what it would be like to have just one and to spend the majority of your time focused upon it.

Sigh. It depends on how you view it but it can be argued that Peter Rabbit 2 is racist, like I said before, I don't think the anti-racism in film and television movements that hit the U.S ever influenced that many in England, but The Runaway lauds bucolic pastures and lambastes its only live-action black character (David Oyelowo as Nigel Basil-Jones) (Barnabas is also voiced by an African American and he's up to no good too).

As the patriarchs come to terms and settle down far away from the hustle and bustle.

Finding it in their hearts to disagree once more.

Peter Rabbit shouldn't be so political. 

Babysitter

If you're conservatively religious or not into gender-bending, I don't recommend this film. 

Even if it's one of the best films I've ever seen.

Too much inhibition and a freeform embrace of reckless honest indiscretion, lead to sociopolitical complications after a rowdy husband kisses a reporter.

The news spreads swiftly far and wide and reputation and occupation are soon jeopardized, the foolish manifestation of an adolescent prank thoroughly enveloped in critical ubiquity. 

He attempts to make amends by writing a book to wholeheartedly apologize, but still fails to understand the issue with passionate sincere conscious remorse. 

I don't know if it's supposed to be funny as he haplessly attempts to make things right, and struggles to understand what he's done wrong through the sudden immersion in advanced semantics.

Brilliant director Monia Chokri seems to be humorously illustrating the enormous gulf, between the rambunctious contemporary caveman and new developments in feminist theory.

His well-meaning brother makes things even worse as his good intentions are led astray, by improvised overwhelming waking dreams wherein which he reifies chivalric reconnaissance. 

Unfortunately, he's been somewhat unsuccessful regarding his relations with sustained pair-bonding, and his lack of traditional mutually concordant harmonies have transformed his hypotheses into nightmares.

They hire a babysitter to take care of the child while coming to terms with the media sensation. 

The wife so jaded every practical utterance suggestively radiating bitter irony.

It may be the most hilarious film I've ever seen made on Québecois soil, I haven't laughed this hard since I was a child, the intricate detail indubitably mesmerizing.

It's like every second was delicately crafted by a supportive team each sharing their gifts, a perfect synthesis of dialogue and sound productively edited with astounding precision. 

It's not just that she's taking on Xavier Dolan this film is better than so much of Godard and Truffaut, an incredible mélange of domestic politics internationally applicable to worldwide genius.

It made me think of ye olde Sedmikrásky (Daisies) or Le Tigre or Masseduction or Antisocialites, like an immaculate conglomerate of essences multilaterally matriculated matronly maelströms.

Sad the materialistic lack of voluble longlasting progressive initiatives, frustrating to see the march of history beguilingly devastating incumbent resonance. 

Perhaps a costume is appropriate something out of the ordinary beyond infatuation, dressing up and solemnizing oblivion like thoughtful exercise for terminal distress.

Babysitter still makes a play to significantly change the masculine world.

They say fortune favours the bold.

Who's bold enough for this masterpiece?

Au revoir le bonheur (Goodbye Happiness)

What to make of this film.

It concerns a well-to-do family whose father unfortunately passes, leaving his 4 sons to squabble in grief at their cherished home on the Magdalen Islands (which I'd like to visit). 

They own a rather large business which one of them manages somewhat ruthlessly, and even though they earn plenty of scrilla, he's still tightfisted regarding start-ups.

Another brother is a talented artist as regards brilliant culinary manifestation, yet he's somewhat hopeless in tune with everything else to do with commercial affairs.

I suppose it's a heartfelt look at a grieving disputatious family, but it has elements I just can't let slide, I'm not really that familiar with relationships or dating, but I believe Au revoir le bonheur (Goodbye Happiness) goes way over the top.

I don't think having children with 4 separate women all of whom were left for one reason or another (who all still secretly love him), while not paying child support even though your family's loaded, and eventually impregnating a 5th much younger girl by the end of the film, is a humorous subject, that goes way too far.

It's the kind of idea that occurs to you and you dismiss for being far too insensitive (there's a dark side to creativity), I'm not sure how this film was received in Québec, but it seems to have overlooked La révolution tranquille. 

I'm not exactly in touch with prevalent trends and cultural narratives (although I love wildlife and football), but this may be the most tone deaf film that's ever been presented as a merry bellwether. 

In the 1950s, or long ago when westerns dominated the market, in film and television and novel alike, perhaps Au revoir le bonheur would have been well-received.

When men and only men decided everything and the patriarchy adjudicated with irate prejudice. 

I know there are other things happening in the film, but trying to create a loveable endearing cad with absolutely no awareness of consequence or responsibility (even if such things are annoying), even after it's happened twice, three times, four times, who can't even remember his children's names and loses track of them when he's in charge, is a blind horrendous nauseous infantilism that isn't even fit for the worst trash comedy.

I liked Starbuck like many others but that wasn't nearly as definitively offensive. 

It's presented like a Disney movie with challenges and endemic daring.

I like a lot of oddball stuff.

Assuming there's still conscious sympathy. 

*The pandemic's produced worse. 

The Accidental Tourist

How can the sure and steady traditional orthodox commercial life, be indefinitely extended everywhere, as you travel across the globe?

Would it be prudent to ubiquitously apply local standards irreducibly, regarding low key American cuisine, in Paris, London or Amsterdam?

That's precisely what Macon Leary (William Hurt) sets out to do as he travels the globe, writing helpful guide books for queasy tourists who'd rather not try international food.

He arrives in a select location and seeks out uniform Americana, and transmits the wholesome data back to his audience in waiting.

He's somewhat reserved and shy and never really has much to say, his comfortable life rarely ever changing from ye olde cradle to uptight grave.

But his son meant everything in the world to him and after he passed definitive woe emerged, his wife (Kathleen Turner as Sarah Leary) unable to endure the silence, their once practical marriage ending. 

At a new neighbourhood dog shelter a talkative maiden asserts herself thereafter (Geena Davis as Muriel Pritchett).

Presenting newfound romantic possibility.

And sundry improvised alternatives. 

I wonder what the stats say about travelling abroad, do most tourists want to try French food from France or would they stick to homegrown favourites across the pond?

My main reason for wanting to travel is to try local food from other countries, to just feast in Mexico for a week or indeed in France, Japan, or China.

Leary's books are mainly for business peeps who would rather not be travelling to begin with, so perhaps several of them wouldn't be definitively experimental, but I still wonder what the stats would be would they really still go to McDonald's while visiting Berlin?, certainly mind-blowing that people have such options, even if they seem somewhat monotonous.

People are defensive about their tastes and don't respond well to critical prodding, a lot of the inquisitive time, I gave it up long ago.

In my youth I didn't like to try new things but then found myself working in restaurants, and through habitual freeform snacking found I loved so many different things.

Unfortunately, people are often quite fussy about how they eat and want to prove they've precisely adapted to local custom, and attach corresponding snotty rules to dinner which generally makes things rather awkward.

Imagine turning something as cool as going out to eat into a stilted textbook pretentious reckoning.

I had a friend kind of like Ms. Pritchett long ago.

Those were enticing experiments. 

El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive)

There was once what was known as censorship, so that impressionable youths could avoid narrative trauma, accompanied by bad dreams and apprehension, throughout the course of the traditionally peaceful day.

Thus, categories such as General Audience, Parental Guidance, PG-13, Adult Accompaniment, and Restricted, kept psychological maturity in check, and prevented the development of madness and paranoia within the investigative general public.

But with the advent of online movie watching these stalwart categories have become less applicable, and younger generations have been unsuspectingly bombarded with material ill-suited to their corresponding age-level.

Not that it didn't happen in the past, in El espíritu de la colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive) local enthusiasts bring the cinema to a small town, a wide variety of pictures featured, one week none other than Boris Karloff's Frankenstein.

Two young sisters (Ana Torrent as Ana and Isabel Tellería as Isabel) eagerly take in the age old tale of artificial authenticity, with its accompanying inherent lugubrity, its ill-fated misunderstandings.

The older soon swiftly realizes that the younger has been affected, and takes to morbidly teasing her with sadistic sordid sorority. 

The younger isn't ready for the antics since she can't make sense of the haunting tale, her vivid imagination set to haywire through the horrific happenstance.

They live on a vast estate sedately situated in the Spanish countryside, their father (Fernando Fernán Gómez as Fernando) dreaming of becoming a writer, their mother (Teresa Gimpera as Teresa) keenly focused on the past.

General guidance periodically emerges but ample free time encourages imagination. 

But is Frankenstein coming to get them?

Ill-conjured consumed contingencies.

The film brilliantly depicts thoughtful youth with jocose harrowing perplexed curiosity, a patient heartfelt delicate examination of distressing ill-computed dissonance. 

Why would someone create that?, they've found a niche through gross indecency, the dissemination of random ideas as incredibly eclectic as a national library.

I never watched much horror in my youth but later watched many of the films I'd ignored in my early twenties, occasionally encountering an impressive force but still often wondering why so grotesque?

But lives aren't only orchestrated through the coherent mechanics of the master narrative.

Ill-fated wayward comprehension.

Experimental novelty. 

Doraibu mai kâ (Drive My Car)

The active life sustaining supple harmless interactive thought, consoling quirky consternation adept immersive ingenuity.

The calm and patient holistic vision stoic steadfast solemn varsity, pertinent adaptable expansive sizzle earmarked voltaic latent pressure.

But his (Hidetoshi Nishijima as Yûsuke Kafuku) loving partner (Reika Kirishima as Oto) suddenly passes when perhaps he could have intervened, or said something to swiftly alter the dismal moribounding hemorrhage. 

Psychologically deconstructed he gradually jukes and jets and jigsaws, slowly reimagining amenable principle through lighthearted chill experiment.

At one time he reflexively envisioned daunting twists tantalizing turmoil, without pause or critical reflection the plain and simple erudite schism.

But his wife first found the idea, after which he quickly improvised.

The working relationship romantically inclined freeform forgiveness inveterate l'amour, a rare gift celestially insatiable prolonged compression distilled adrenaline.

A common goal remarkably productive intermittent rowdy regenerative horseplay, benefits accrued conducive clutches laidback lax alert consistency.

Not one to overlook novelty, he notices his new driver's (Tôko Miura as Misaki Watari) abounding with pluck, somewhat forlorn yet still observant eager to multidimensionally disperse.

In possession of secrets so much distraction inanimate disconcerting dalliance, inopportune exported rationed irrevocable hardwire harrowing husk.

Kafuku winds up working with a young actor (Masaki Okada as Koji Takatsuki) who had an affair with his wife, the two awkwardly engaged through mutual love lost shin limitless lugubrity.

One young and blunt unwilling to hold back the thoughts which emerge to haunt him, the other sombre and much less eager to discuss such sensitive direct subjects.

Through these discussions a play takes shape as volatility blends with reason.

Only to ceremoniously fade.

Tragic rage.

Resurgent vellum. 

What Happened Was . . .

A date.

A get together.

Both parties unsure what to do.

It's their first romantic conversation in a while.

Good impressions sought.

Along with good food.

They both work at a law firm but aren't in possession of law degrees, their crafty assistance still essential no doubt to the smooth flowing distilled jurisprudence. 

Jackie (Karen Sillas) likes Michael's (Tom Noonan) sense of humour and the way he proceeds with a lighthearted touch, no stilted airs or predetermined fussiness generally complicating his reliable work.

She's straight up and borderline daring as she honestly shares pastimes and preferences, with little interest in codes or concealments she genuinely delivers the dependable goods.

But she simultaneously doesn't disseminate emphatic criticisms and dissonant avowals, perhaps not wishing to spoil the evening with ornery uptight imperious outbursts.

Perhaps also she's just sincerely curious and realizes you learn more by embracing interest, or at least may generate something prolonged or won't have to keep meeting new people quite so often.

He's uncertain as to how to proceed since he's suddenly encountered direct honest innocence, and isn't used to unceremoniously sharing honest thoughts and open revelations.

The suppressed yet cognizant snob deep within is overwhelmed by the freeflowing gratitude, and he begins to feel somewhat humble and suddenly re-evaluates his bold declarations.

He also starts telling the truth and feels rather embarrassed as he awkwardly does so, but she's worried she's somehow upset him, he's somewhat blind to the catch he's found.

What Happened Was . . . thoughtfully examines insecurity as it engages in unscripted exploration, suddenly abounding with practical material to realistically characterize imaginative fluctuations.

They're both unprepared for reality but she's a little more willing to experiment.

A perfect film if you're worried about dating.

Or would perhaps rather never abandon the single life. 

A Castle for Christmas

A successful writer takes a risk in her most recent romance novel (Brooke Shields as Sophie), her adoring fans rather unamused, yet instead of taking their boisterous criticisms to supple caring heart, she openly defies them on daytime television, before taking off to Scotland.

Fortunately for her, at times different cultures see things differently, her latest book well received across the pond, she even joins a knitting group.

But first she explores the castle where she's suddenly taken roost, its lengthy history of literary interest along with its agile duke (Cary Elwes as Duke Myles).

Unfortunately for him, his debts are forcing him to sell, even though he could hold on to the castle, if he parted ways with its coveted farmland.

But then his tenants would have to move and he's an exemplary aristocrat, caring deeply for his people indeed for whom he feels responsible.

Sophie's headstrong ways produce unexpected uncertain affects, especially after she makes an offer, he has to admit, he likes it.

But it's still his cherished castle and it's been in his family for generations, he can't be expected to passively yield when a well-meaning upstart makes suggestions.

They passionately air grievances with increasingly affectionate disputatious praise.

As the Holiday Season takes hold.

And l'amour seems most inviting.

Perhaps it's too much to take in too much cute and cuddly grouchy romance, daunting challenges inspirational miracles haughty hesitation communal resolve.

Fervent fetching fortuitous fairytale or amorous callings too sweet and saccharine, I can't find fault with its grand magnanimity, nor its jolly merrymaking supporting cast.

'Tis true that there are many a miser who disputes the free-flow of capital, as it's applied to the needs of the many who would rather not live from paycheque to paycheque.

With disposable incomes do realms not flourish with ample sustenance and much less crime?

But there are also many rich folk who genuinely care for underprivileged plights, who are still trying to overcome encumbrances which dissuade the cultivation of relative prosperity.

A Castle for Christmas presents such examples and festively celebrates their strong self-sacrifice, showcasing sincere conscientious goodwill fumbling its way through traditional romance.

As pride adheres to the virtues of compromise age old traditions see communal rebirth.

I don't think I'll watch it every year.

Still enjoyed it this Holiday Season.

Nightbooks

A thoughtful youth likes to write stories that are somewhat frightening if not supernatural (Winslow Fegley as Alex), his nascent creative literary endeavours misunderstood by his strait-laced classmates.

Unfortunately, on the night of his birthday party, no ones shows up to indulge and celebrate, his parents having gone to great lengths to materialize, a fitting festive otherworldly soirée.

They begin to doubt their motivations and callously vocalize their frustrated misgivings, Alex listening closely in the next room, he suddenly decides to run away.

Yet even more disastrous, he decides to burn his cherished books, a haughty witch intercepting him as he proceeds down (Krysten Ritter as Natacha), to his apartment's scalding incinerator. 

The witch is none too accommodating however and traps him inside her magical abode, demanding a new story each and every evening, happy endings strictly forbidden.

Due to his absolutist circumstances, he readily seeks wholehearted escape, with the aid of another resident child (Lidya Jewett as Yasmin), who had been hopeless for quite some time.

But a furless invisible cat watches their movements throughout the day.

And doesn't understand when they find: a spell encouraging slumbrous oblivion.

Nightbooks applauds the grim and macabre with sincere devout unlimited reckoning, securing spellbound enriched daunting fantasies for multivariable epochs to come. 

Firmly resolved to withstand criticism of the artistic desire to explore spooky realms, it champions bold incarnate conjuring perhaps with multidisciplinary respite.

If you're ever mundanely thinking that related genres are lacking forward momentum, I suggest checking out Montréal's Fantasia festival as well, where you'll find innovative stories from around the globe.

I have no idea at what age to start consuming frets and frights, they freaked me out when I was really young, but I was really into them throughout my teens and twenties.

Harry Potter offers fascinating insights into freedom of expression, within a robust world equipped with intricate complex plots and characterizations (what happened to J.K. Rowling?).

Nightbooks too, I really liked Nightbooks, and its stressful examination of writing.

If you're thinking of stories write them down.

Social prestige and criticism be damned. 

*The Dream Warriors was my favourite Nightmare on Elm Street film. I never saw numbers 2 or 5 however.

**Can't believe there's a Child's Play tv show/series coming out. That's mind-boggling considering how strict censors were way back when.

Mimi wo sumaseba (Whisper of the Heart)

Inquisitive fascination drives a young student to actively read (Yoko Honna as Shizuku Tsukishima), her love of fiction borderline exhaustive as she eagerly embraces diverse narratives.

While vigorously engaged one day with the investigative art of literary exploration, she happens to notice upon the cards in her texts that someone else is reading the very same books!

Who could this mysterious kindred spirit be and do they have many things in common?, these questions worth at least an intermediary degree of alert practical heuristic sleuthing.

She finds herself on the métro curiously travelling to the library one afternoon, when she notices a grouchy cat onerously lounging with their fellow passengers. 

The cat reaches his or her trusty stop and abruptly departs with agile obfuscation, Shizuku still following him or her upon their route, until they reach an otherworldly destination.

The antique shop incontrovertibly proves to be a thought provoking creative catalyst. 

Whose revelations interfere with Shizuku's school work. 

After she's encouraged to write her first novel.

A peaceful celebration of the reflexive life patiently resides within Ghibli's Mimi wo sumaseba (Whisper of the Heart), routine developments ecstatically yielding to sudden opportune enigmatic spells.

Enchanting elevations of wondrous observations cleverly crafted through innocent insights, blend with sincere and caring tutelage to foster lively enthused animation.

Of course dispiriting misgivings honestly arise throughout the engagement, to provide a prudent indeterminate perplexity which must be challenged with genuine daring.

As artistic expression seeks cheerful endearment romance awkwardly bewilders simultaneously, love's flourishing wild uncertainties evoking earnest productive confusion.

Through which the narrative emanates cherished lucidity as it casually and freely progresses, the tragic clock the emergent blimp violin construction impromptu jammin'.

Not often one encounters cinema generously presented with so much levity.

Concrete complications questioned concordance. 

Mesmerized on the thoughtful horizon.