Harvested nectars
sprouts bulging
centripetal succulence
ceremonial solemnince
earthen transeloquence
lunar spondiference
imbibed
Friday, May 24, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Torre Bermeja (Tour vermillon), José Sabogal
Oceanic mountains thunder
forbidding skies tempt to asunder
devout courageous supplicants
seeking a convergent spir'tual trance.
forbidding skies tempt to asunder
devout courageous supplicants
seeking a convergent spir'tual trance.
Pastoras (Shepherdesses), Leonor Vinatea Cantuarias
A valley's votive veracity
relieves vivacious viscosities
as if a vital vicissitude
envisions vibrant vestal views.
relieves vivacious viscosities
as if a vital vicissitude
envisions vibrant vestal views.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Star Trek Into Darkness
Star Trek, born again.
Was a bit disappointed that Star Trek was born again with the crew from The Original Series, but it's not like there aren't manifold versions of Hamlet out there, Batman will likely live to see another day, Hawaii Five-O is back (I've never seen either of the series), and Beatles and Rolling Stones cover bands will likely continue to sing for centuries to come.
I was hoping to see the Rolling Stones in Montréal next month but the cheapest seat I could find near the rafters costs over 200 hundred dollars. I paid 34 dollars to see them in 1994.
Bring on the cover bands.
Star Trek Into Darkness confidently gambles that the success of its predecessor paved the way for it to take greater liberties with Star Trek's most sacred moments, and I'm assuming every Trekkie has already seen the film twice, and are already dividing into different fastidious factions, each with their own take on the reintroduction of Khan (Benedict Cumberbatch), and the pastiche of Star Trek II's classic ending, so I'm discussing related plot details.
In my opinion, the new cast and crew of the Starship Enterprise were ill-equipped and unready to incorporate this classic ending, nor the famous Khan scream, and their sophomoric attempts to do so, more concerned with travelling at warp speed than taking the time to generate genuine emotion, even though the trap they fall into justifies this dependence, and within the film the new cast and crew is ill-equipped and unready to confront their adversaries, were, still, disheartening.
The cameo from Leonard Nimoy didn't suck me in.
Giving Chekov (Anton Yelchin) and Sulu (John Cho) expanded responsibilities while leaving them primarily in the background heightened the tension.
The who-should-be-captain dialogue between Kirk (Chris Pine) and Spock (Zachary Quinto) was played out in the last film.
And McCoy's (Karl Urban) all wrong (no offense to Karl Urban, he does his best with the material).
Still though, if they hadn't touched Star Trek II's ending, and classic Khan scream, Into Darkness could have been quite different.
And it's not that I didn't think the fight between Khan and Spock was awesome. It's always awesome when Spock suddenly fights in a Star Trek moment, since you suddenly remember that not only is he one of the phenomenon's smartest humanoid characters, he's also one of the toughest.
Giving Carol Marcus (Alice Eve) a strong supporting hopefully continuous role was a great idea.
Introducing consequential conflict amongst the senior staff, Scotty (Simon Pegg) and Kirk, went beyond the professional dynamics found in the films featuring the cast of The Original Series, and since this consequential conflict sees constructive results, it fits nicely with contemporary conflict management theories, while directly encouraging freewill.
Benedict Cumberbatch impresses as Khan.
Uhura (Zoe Saldana) and Spock's relationship reappears but isn't focused upon, rather, it comically ameliorates an otherwise typical shuttlecraft descension, accentuating the difficulties of sustaining romantic ties to people with whom you work, while giving Spock a memorable opportunity to advance his coherent logic.
Admiral Marcus (Peter Weller) provides a pestiferous dimension rarely seen within the Federation, thereby diversifying Star Trek's internal cohesions, while preempting a sequel, sigh, where there's a war with the Klingons.
This seems more like Picard territory, where there's a possible war, but Picard finds a way to negotiate a peaceful settlement.
Much too early for Picard however.
Perhaps the Borg will attack midway resulting in a sudden pact between Klingons and the Federation.
Kirk never fought the Borg.
Please don't revisit the Nexus.
But a different ending. Something radically different. This would have lessened the cheesy kitsch factor and not caused me to immediately remove my 3D glasses.
The Wrath of Khan is the only Star Trek film that can stand on its own outside the Star Trek parallax.
Discourses of the sacred.
Khan!
Monday, May 20, 2013
Blackbird
Examining the abysmal side of small town teenage individuality, as the newer kid, a goth stranger from the city who can't adjust to hushing up, hunting, and playing hockey, falls for a girl who likes him but also makes sure to attend every game.
Her partner, and the entire hockey team, are none to amused, and regularly threaten and humiliate him physically, thereby intensifying his sense of isolation.
Young Sean Randall (Connor Jessup) tries not to back down.
Having no social outlet for his frustrations besides his leave-things-alone loving yet integrated father, he starts an online journal, venting through revenge fantasies and continues to pursue Deanna Roy (Alexia Fast).
The threats continue, his texts childishly denote violence, the police arrest him, he's locked up, he has to remain for months awaiting trial, he's assaulted and outcasted inside, his lawyer cluelessly recommends a guilty plea to get him out, he's tired of the beatings and the unrelenting anxiety so he agrees even though he's innocent, he's released, now the entire town thinks he's a psycho, he's too in love to follow the restrictions of his restraining order, his mother hardly seems to care, he's locked up again, Blackbird is a worst case scenario.
But it doesn't back away from offering legitimate fictionalized contemporary post-Columbine theorizations.
It takes on difficult sociological subject matter and starkly yet provocatively delivers.
It romantically demonstrates how youthful desire has trouble curtailing its pursuits.
And the ending provides a concrete heartbreaking traumatized apathetic helpless rigid mechanical characterization of strength whose embattled fortitude deromanticizes and cauterizes resistance.
He's just a kid.
You obviously have to worry about kids going Columbine but if you arrested everyone of them who expressed a desire to get back at the bullies who make their lives miserable, you'd have to arrest tens of thousands of people who were likely never going to do anything illegal.
In such instances, I recommend multiple viewings of Revenge of the Nerds.
Disturbing, demented, dissonance.
A chilling look at a non-traditional individual's heartland.
Her partner, and the entire hockey team, are none to amused, and regularly threaten and humiliate him physically, thereby intensifying his sense of isolation.
Young Sean Randall (Connor Jessup) tries not to back down.
Having no social outlet for his frustrations besides his leave-things-alone loving yet integrated father, he starts an online journal, venting through revenge fantasies and continues to pursue Deanna Roy (Alexia Fast).
The threats continue, his texts childishly denote violence, the police arrest him, he's locked up, he has to remain for months awaiting trial, he's assaulted and outcasted inside, his lawyer cluelessly recommends a guilty plea to get him out, he's tired of the beatings and the unrelenting anxiety so he agrees even though he's innocent, he's released, now the entire town thinks he's a psycho, he's too in love to follow the restrictions of his restraining order, his mother hardly seems to care, he's locked up again, Blackbird is a worst case scenario.
But it doesn't back away from offering legitimate fictionalized contemporary post-Columbine theorizations.
It takes on difficult sociological subject matter and starkly yet provocatively delivers.
It romantically demonstrates how youthful desire has trouble curtailing its pursuits.
And the ending provides a concrete heartbreaking traumatized apathetic helpless rigid mechanical characterization of strength whose embattled fortitude deromanticizes and cauterizes resistance.
He's just a kid.
You obviously have to worry about kids going Columbine but if you arrested everyone of them who expressed a desire to get back at the bullies who make their lives miserable, you'd have to arrest tens of thousands of people who were likely never going to do anything illegal.
In such instances, I recommend multiple viewings of Revenge of the Nerds.
Disturbing, demented, dissonance.
A chilling look at a non-traditional individual's heartland.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Stirrup-Spout Bottle Depicting a Dance of the Dead
And for this night
protracted fees
resuscitated
incendies
sullen enraptured
celebrations,
thriving sorrowful
lamentations
Reciting bygone
tranquilizations
chaotic license
station to station
enshrining sundry
historicities
in hedonistic
perpetuity.
*Probably shouldn't use some of these words ever again.
Probably will though.
They're good words.
protracted fees
resuscitated
incendies
sullen enraptured
celebrations,
thriving sorrowful
lamentations
Reciting bygone
tranquilizations
chaotic license
station to station
enshrining sundry
historicities
in hedonistic
perpetuity.
*Probably shouldn't use some of these words ever again.
Probably will though.
They're good words.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Still Mine
Couldn't help but wonder what Michael McGowan's Still Mine would have been like had it been made in the States.
The narrative introduces a stern yet friendly do-it-yourself farmer named Craig Morrison (James Cromwell) and his loving wife Irene (Geneviève Bujold), 2 of their 7 children, and the traditional family structure that intergenerationally holds them together.
Craig is 86 and in incredible shape.
When it becomes apparent that his home can no longer safely accommodate Irene, due to her ailing health, he decides to build a new one, on his own, going so far as to cut down the requisite trees, by himself, this guy's hardcore.
But bureaucratic regulations and an intransigent unsympathetic inspector (Jason X's Jonathan Potts as Rick) go to ridiculously meticulous lengths in their adherence to related laws, even after Mr. Morrison yields to their demands, doing everything he can to uphold them, paying hefty fees along the way.
Craig Morrison is exceptional.
He's 86.
He's in better shape than I will ever be.
He doesn't only know how to build a solidly constructed immaculately modest house, he can do it, he starts doing it, he does it.
Still Mine makes a great case for the fact that some individuals possess the necessary skills and knowledge to develop intricate ideas and see them through, on their own land, even though they may not hold related educational credentials and may be unaware of the legal consequences of doing so at first, yet if they are still willing to abide by said consequences after discovering their existence, they should therefore be given some productive leeway by obnoxious young bucks with nothing better to do but cross every t.
Mr. Morrison yields.
He pays.
He plays ball.
Weapons aren't involved, the film's not called The Grandfather Clause, he has the wherewithal, and doesn't go ape shit.
I didn't like how he cut down old growth spruce but that's another matter.
He makes a funny point about how many of the houses built in St. Martins New Brunswick without a National Building Code 200 years ago are still standing.
Still Mine also romantically nurtures a devoted conception of marriage, which is difficult for me to understand after all that Proust.
Not that everyone isn't devoted to marriage in In Search of Lost Time.
They simply employ a counterintuitive methodology in their application of various codes of conduct.
The narrative introduces a stern yet friendly do-it-yourself farmer named Craig Morrison (James Cromwell) and his loving wife Irene (Geneviève Bujold), 2 of their 7 children, and the traditional family structure that intergenerationally holds them together.
Craig is 86 and in incredible shape.
When it becomes apparent that his home can no longer safely accommodate Irene, due to her ailing health, he decides to build a new one, on his own, going so far as to cut down the requisite trees, by himself, this guy's hardcore.
But bureaucratic regulations and an intransigent unsympathetic inspector (Jason X's Jonathan Potts as Rick) go to ridiculously meticulous lengths in their adherence to related laws, even after Mr. Morrison yields to their demands, doing everything he can to uphold them, paying hefty fees along the way.
Craig Morrison is exceptional.
He's 86.
He's in better shape than I will ever be.
He doesn't only know how to build a solidly constructed immaculately modest house, he can do it, he starts doing it, he does it.
Still Mine makes a great case for the fact that some individuals possess the necessary skills and knowledge to develop intricate ideas and see them through, on their own land, even though they may not hold related educational credentials and may be unaware of the legal consequences of doing so at first, yet if they are still willing to abide by said consequences after discovering their existence, they should therefore be given some productive leeway by obnoxious young bucks with nothing better to do but cross every t.
Mr. Morrison yields.
He pays.
He plays ball.
Weapons aren't involved, the film's not called The Grandfather Clause, he has the wherewithal, and doesn't go ape shit.
I didn't like how he cut down old growth spruce but that's another matter.
He makes a funny point about how many of the houses built in St. Martins New Brunswick without a National Building Code 200 years ago are still standing.
Still Mine also romantically nurtures a devoted conception of marriage, which is difficult for me to understand after all that Proust.
Not that everyone isn't devoted to marriage in In Search of Lost Time.
They simply employ a counterintuitive methodology in their application of various codes of conduct.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Incense Burner in the Shape of an Armadillo, Anonymous, Possibly Altiplano
Vigilant armadillo
with demon on your back
the jewel hanging from your snout
adorns the scents you waft
with silver tongued incensements
musky body plates
its unobtrusive furtive gaze
invites a tactile taste
of hybrid simulations
quests for that which can't exist
while explanatory sentiments
enliven bygone trysts
your balance transmits hyperbole,
facts, non-fiction, myths,
a matter of application to your
ardent positifs.
with demon on your back
the jewel hanging from your snout
adorns the scents you waft
with silver tongued incensements
musky body plates
its unobtrusive furtive gaze
invites a tactile taste
of hybrid simulations
quests for that which can't exist
while explanatory sentiments
enliven bygone trysts
your balance transmits hyperbole,
facts, non-fiction, myths,
a matter of application to your
ardent positifs.
Wrong
Small talk.
Having the time.
Honestly expressing oneself.
A hard day's work.
The first film that I've seen that takes banal quotidian frustrations and places them generally within a framework resembling something like a bourgeois displacement of Twin Peak's Black/White Lodge, wherein neuroses and hyperanalytic tendencies proceed, full-speed-ahead, even as corporeal and material structures inexplicably change shape and regenerate, the insignificant theoretically becomes essential, and declarations of counterproductive antisocial lassitudes bifurcate, with explanations required and clarifications sought after, a face burned by acid, a formula for hard wiring permanent love, detectives hired to figure out what's already known to have taken place, figure 13-d, it (Wrong) could be qualified as Kafkaesque but the transitions, the hilarious transitions, director Quentin Dupieux isn't only a master of framing confused asymmetrical curious yet despondent facial expressions, again and again and again, it keeps working, he does the same thing when transitioning from scene to scene, meaning that something ornery takes place, the mood becomes anxious, and then we're back to a comfortable pastoral cheery suburban image, overflowing with stability and integrity, happiness and relaxation, there's no job but the bills are paid, let's start again fresh, like you're having a picnic in a meadow, lakeside, surrounded by elk wearing glasses, before hero Dolph Springer (Jack Plotnick) must once again attempt to socially interact, and everyone's notable lack of expertise, or bizarre exhaustive supernatural comprehensions, violently yet sweetly cover things up, like a thunder storm bombarding an idyllic mountain stream.
Pets are important.
Routines are important.
It's important to ask questions.
Scientific exploration has no limits.
Caught somewhere between the anal retentive and the blissfully vacant, Wrong appreciates the ways in which the extroverted ideal (see Susan Cain's informative Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking [I love this book!]) has been adopted by oh so many people who were not born to embrace it, but still adamantly attempt to do so.
The key seems to be to buy a pet.
Love it.
End up crushed when it disappears.
And revel in ecstasy when it returns.
Magic: the magic.
Best comedy I've seen in awhile. Stand Up Guys is just as good, but Wrong does it without star power.
Accept for William Fichtner.
Who is now one of my favourite actors.
Almost forgot about the final song.
Still laughing. I'll be thinking about this film and laughing for months.
Dependability.
Wrong defines dependability.
It does.
Having the time.
Honestly expressing oneself.
A hard day's work.
The first film that I've seen that takes banal quotidian frustrations and places them generally within a framework resembling something like a bourgeois displacement of Twin Peak's Black/White Lodge, wherein neuroses and hyperanalytic tendencies proceed, full-speed-ahead, even as corporeal and material structures inexplicably change shape and regenerate, the insignificant theoretically becomes essential, and declarations of counterproductive antisocial lassitudes bifurcate, with explanations required and clarifications sought after, a face burned by acid, a formula for hard wiring permanent love, detectives hired to figure out what's already known to have taken place, figure 13-d, it (Wrong) could be qualified as Kafkaesque but the transitions, the hilarious transitions, director Quentin Dupieux isn't only a master of framing confused asymmetrical curious yet despondent facial expressions, again and again and again, it keeps working, he does the same thing when transitioning from scene to scene, meaning that something ornery takes place, the mood becomes anxious, and then we're back to a comfortable pastoral cheery suburban image, overflowing with stability and integrity, happiness and relaxation, there's no job but the bills are paid, let's start again fresh, like you're having a picnic in a meadow, lakeside, surrounded by elk wearing glasses, before hero Dolph Springer (Jack Plotnick) must once again attempt to socially interact, and everyone's notable lack of expertise, or bizarre exhaustive supernatural comprehensions, violently yet sweetly cover things up, like a thunder storm bombarding an idyllic mountain stream.
Pets are important.
Routines are important.
It's important to ask questions.
Scientific exploration has no limits.
Caught somewhere between the anal retentive and the blissfully vacant, Wrong appreciates the ways in which the extroverted ideal (see Susan Cain's informative Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking [I love this book!]) has been adopted by oh so many people who were not born to embrace it, but still adamantly attempt to do so.
The key seems to be to buy a pet.
Love it.
End up crushed when it disappears.
And revel in ecstasy when it returns.
Magic: the magic.
Best comedy I've seen in awhile. Stand Up Guys is just as good, but Wrong does it without star power.
Accept for William Fichtner.
Who is now one of my favourite actors.
Almost forgot about the final song.
Still laughing. I'll be thinking about this film and laughing for months.
Dependability.
Wrong defines dependability.
It does.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Iron Man 3
Adding a surprisingly human dimension to Tony Stark's (Robert Downey Jr.) Iron Man, through which relatable stresses such as panic attacks are relativistically normalized through recourse to the exceptional, Iron Man 3 finds him suffering from the aftershocks of his debut with the Avengers, aftershocks which force him to begrudgingly confront his mortality.
Kind of.
At first, he compensates by stretching his extroverted insignia to the limits by trash talking a terrorist who then uses his arsenal to obliterate the Stark residence, leaving him theoretically helpless after he barely escapes.
He is exceptional however and thanks to an avenue of inquiry established by his prior research, fortunately lands himself in a crucial situation wherein his gifts are practically vetted.
Screenplay writers Drew Pearce and Shane Black (who also directed) do a great job here of rationally justifying a seemingly highly improbable scenario.
Colonel James Rhodes's (Don Cheadle) dialogue with Stark is used to rationally justify another seemingly highly improbable scenario later on as well.
They also play with the device which sees franchises seeking to extend their limits by introducing youth (something remarkably different more generally) to nurture a newfound pluralization.
Yet shortly after doing this it becomes clear that the Iron Man films will not be (heavily) relying on such devices, as Tony harshly yet avuncularly explains.
Excellent confident synthesis of the particular (the Iron Man films) and the universal (movie trilogies generally).
Some of the minor characters shockingly receive a lot of depth as well as comedic components of Machete's narrative unreel.
The film makes it clear that experimenting on humans is unethical by attaching this component of its narrative to the villains, villains who were created by Stark's callous self-obsession.
In the end, Stark perfects their methods, however, thereby leaving the film in an ambiguous domain wherein which it's difficult to discern what it's clearly stating.
Clarity is important regarding such matters.
The protagonists use technology to differentiate themselves, the villains, experimental performance enhancing pseudodrugs.
These drugs themselves were developed using nefarious methods, and in my opinion, the film would have been stronger if Stark had destroyed everything having to do with them, even though he was indirectly responsible for their creation, in order to find an alternative cure for his condition.
I understand that this is highly improbable, but having an exceptionally gifted iconic individual not use said gifts to actively create an ethically acceptable alternative by overtly employing different tactics while directly acknowledging said differentiation doesn't make sense to me.
Not using research obtained through such means to pursue beneficial ends does make sense to me.
The ending would have been stronger had Iron Man acted accordingly.
Kind of.
At first, he compensates by stretching his extroverted insignia to the limits by trash talking a terrorist who then uses his arsenal to obliterate the Stark residence, leaving him theoretically helpless after he barely escapes.
He is exceptional however and thanks to an avenue of inquiry established by his prior research, fortunately lands himself in a crucial situation wherein his gifts are practically vetted.
Screenplay writers Drew Pearce and Shane Black (who also directed) do a great job here of rationally justifying a seemingly highly improbable scenario.
Colonel James Rhodes's (Don Cheadle) dialogue with Stark is used to rationally justify another seemingly highly improbable scenario later on as well.
They also play with the device which sees franchises seeking to extend their limits by introducing youth (something remarkably different more generally) to nurture a newfound pluralization.
Yet shortly after doing this it becomes clear that the Iron Man films will not be (heavily) relying on such devices, as Tony harshly yet avuncularly explains.
Excellent confident synthesis of the particular (the Iron Man films) and the universal (movie trilogies generally).
Some of the minor characters shockingly receive a lot of depth as well as comedic components of Machete's narrative unreel.
The film makes it clear that experimenting on humans is unethical by attaching this component of its narrative to the villains, villains who were created by Stark's callous self-obsession.
In the end, Stark perfects their methods, however, thereby leaving the film in an ambiguous domain wherein which it's difficult to discern what it's clearly stating.
Clarity is important regarding such matters.
The protagonists use technology to differentiate themselves, the villains, experimental performance enhancing pseudodrugs.
These drugs themselves were developed using nefarious methods, and in my opinion, the film would have been stronger if Stark had destroyed everything having to do with them, even though he was indirectly responsible for their creation, in order to find an alternative cure for his condition.
I understand that this is highly improbable, but having an exceptionally gifted iconic individual not use said gifts to actively create an ethically acceptable alternative by overtly employing different tactics while directly acknowledging said differentiation doesn't make sense to me.
Not using research obtained through such means to pursue beneficial ends does make sense to me.
The ending would have been stronger had Iron Man acted accordingly.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
NFL Kickoff Game: Broncos/Ravens Rematch
Nice to see this year's NFL Kickoff Game is a rematch of last season's Broncos/Ravens Divisional Round playoff extravaganza.
Definitely the most exciting game from last season's playoffs, methinks this time round the Broncos will be victorious, thereby starting the 2013 NFL season second to none.
Broncos by 10.
Definitely the most exciting game from last season's playoffs, methinks this time round the Broncos will be victorious, thereby starting the 2013 NFL season second to none.
Broncos by 10.
Monday, May 6, 2013
The Pharmacist
The Pharmacist's bland yet perky narcoleptic metainsouciance is amphetamanic.
For the first half anyways.
Not that the second half isn't worth sticking around for.
Let me explain.
Writers Christopher Craddock and Indy Randhawa seem well aware of what audiences may be expecting from a typical run-of-the-mill romantic comedy.
The delivery of The Pharmacist's early lines suggest that this awareness is mobilizing a derogatory hyperreflexive irreverent crude yet sympathetic aesthetic, wherein it's difficult to distinguish the zingers from the platitudes, inasmuch as the material presented can potentially appeal to myriad disillusioned tastes, succeeding scenes observe their predecessors with witticisms which motivate the actual plot, the metaplot, and the meta-double-down (the plot which suicidally yet fertilely recognizes how this device has been played as well as the sycophantic yet authoritative intricacies of its institutionalization [I like this form {in films}]), the ways in which the subtitles are showcased will hopefully become an industry norm, while the protagonist, a Franco-Albertan pharmacist suffering from narcolepsy, continuously drifts off, which, during the film's first half, with the help of animation and various changes of setting, genre, etc., metaphorically harnesses multimedial synergies in which a fluctuating banal surreal jaunty consternation unpredictably flourishes.
I was hoping the multimedial influence would sustain the unpredictability, but the film eventually settles on a somewhat glum consistent course, whose insufficiencies are despondently yet quirkily ironed out beforehand, which would have caused me to think its course was tragic if its hyperawareness didn't make me think it was giving me the finger, not that I don't appreciate that, and during the second half I did keep drifting off and then refocusing, as if the film's narcoleptic amplitudes were catching, and the ways in which The Pharmacist gives-'er are commendable, the audaciously meek Mad Dog, pharmaceutically gettin'-'er-done.
What else?
The film feels oppressed by its own design. This is often hilarious.
It would have been nice if there were no reconciliations.
Just brainy underground shape-shifting embers.
No need for generalized coherency in such films.
For the first half anyways.
Not that the second half isn't worth sticking around for.
Let me explain.
Writers Christopher Craddock and Indy Randhawa seem well aware of what audiences may be expecting from a typical run-of-the-mill romantic comedy.
The delivery of The Pharmacist's early lines suggest that this awareness is mobilizing a derogatory hyperreflexive irreverent crude yet sympathetic aesthetic, wherein it's difficult to distinguish the zingers from the platitudes, inasmuch as the material presented can potentially appeal to myriad disillusioned tastes, succeeding scenes observe their predecessors with witticisms which motivate the actual plot, the metaplot, and the meta-double-down (the plot which suicidally yet fertilely recognizes how this device has been played as well as the sycophantic yet authoritative intricacies of its institutionalization [I like this form {in films}]), the ways in which the subtitles are showcased will hopefully become an industry norm, while the protagonist, a Franco-Albertan pharmacist suffering from narcolepsy, continuously drifts off, which, during the film's first half, with the help of animation and various changes of setting, genre, etc., metaphorically harnesses multimedial synergies in which a fluctuating banal surreal jaunty consternation unpredictably flourishes.
I was hoping the multimedial influence would sustain the unpredictability, but the film eventually settles on a somewhat glum consistent course, whose insufficiencies are despondently yet quirkily ironed out beforehand, which would have caused me to think its course was tragic if its hyperawareness didn't make me think it was giving me the finger, not that I don't appreciate that, and during the second half I did keep drifting off and then refocusing, as if the film's narcoleptic amplitudes were catching, and the ways in which The Pharmacist gives-'er are commendable, the audaciously meek Mad Dog, pharmaceutically gettin'-'er-done.
What else?
The film feels oppressed by its own design. This is often hilarious.
It would have been nice if there were no reconciliations.
Just brainy underground shape-shifting embers.
No need for generalized coherency in such films.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Ce qu'il faut pour vivre (The Necessities of Life)
Inuit hunter Tiivii (Natar Ungalaaq) finds himself in a bit of a pickle in Benoît Pilon's Ce qu'il faut pour vivre (The Necessities of Life), after he's transported away from his family on Baffin Island, where he's lived his entire life, by boat, to a sanatorium in Québec City, having been diagnosed with tuberculosis.
That's a serious transition.
Linguistic factors initially accentuate his sense of isolation until he's introduced to a precocious youngster fluent in both languages.
Kaki (Paul-André Brasseur) enables Tiivii to communicate, share his stories, modestly acculturate, and actively interact.
The film innocently blends differing urban and rural dispositions in a wondrous yet suffocating unexpected encounter with seemingly magical technological and naturalistic attributes whose intricate designs and developments stifle while encouraging Tiivii's desire for exploration.
I loved his first sighting of a tree.
Intercultural relations are helplessly, patiently, curiously, humorously, and communally negotiated, as differing aspects of culturo-linguistic adaptations socialize.
Thought the ending was a bit too tragic.
Seemed like a happy ending film to me.
Thought Tiivii's telephone conversation with his wife was cut off too quickly as well.
Excellent expression of an individual's relationship with the land however.
That's a serious transition.
Linguistic factors initially accentuate his sense of isolation until he's introduced to a precocious youngster fluent in both languages.
Kaki (Paul-André Brasseur) enables Tiivii to communicate, share his stories, modestly acculturate, and actively interact.
The film innocently blends differing urban and rural dispositions in a wondrous yet suffocating unexpected encounter with seemingly magical technological and naturalistic attributes whose intricate designs and developments stifle while encouraging Tiivii's desire for exploration.
I loved his first sighting of a tree.
Intercultural relations are helplessly, patiently, curiously, humorously, and communally negotiated, as differing aspects of culturo-linguistic adaptations socialize.
Thought the ending was a bit too tragic.
Seemed like a happy ending film to me.
Thought Tiivii's telephone conversation with his wife was cut off too quickly as well.
Excellent expression of an individual's relationship with the land however.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
42
Humanizing a legend's heroic ability to overcome adversity by continuing to excel at his chosen profession through the suppression of his justified temper, thereby demonstrating how the strength of a ground breaking individual (Jackie Robinson) can benefit his or her collective generally, adopting a subtle resilient egalitarian sense of fair play to tell its tale, egalitarian in the sense of equal opportunity for all, even those whose private indiscretions conflicted with the Brooklyn Dodger's public image, Brian Helgeland's 42 cooperatively merges the particular and the universal by accentuating the economic benefits of their synthesis, without hesitating to showcase the hardships endured.
It's persons like Jackie Robinson who paved the way for a more inclusive society, for something much more openminded.
It's this simple.
I don't care if you're black or white, English or French, female or male, gay or straight, wealthy or homeless, there are members from each of these groups with whom I will get along, others with whom I will not, I'm going to try to get along with everyone and analyze each specific social interaction individually, taking economic, educational, cultural and professional factors into account, while keeping the door open for differing perceptions, a conclusion kept in a state of permanent flux, nurtured by reading Proust, to act ethically, and collectively, in the postmodern world.
I don't think I have the courage or the capabilities of a Jackie Robinson, very few people do.
I can never know what it's like to have to deal with that kind of penetrating pernicious prejudice.
I can act ethically however in order to help others to not have to deal with it either.
It's just good business sense.
It's persons like Jackie Robinson who paved the way for a more inclusive society, for something much more openminded.
It's this simple.
I don't care if you're black or white, English or French, female or male, gay or straight, wealthy or homeless, there are members from each of these groups with whom I will get along, others with whom I will not, I'm going to try to get along with everyone and analyze each specific social interaction individually, taking economic, educational, cultural and professional factors into account, while keeping the door open for differing perceptions, a conclusion kept in a state of permanent flux, nurtured by reading Proust, to act ethically, and collectively, in the postmodern world.
I don't think I have the courage or the capabilities of a Jackie Robinson, very few people do.
I can never know what it's like to have to deal with that kind of penetrating pernicious prejudice.
I can act ethically however in order to help others to not have to deal with it either.
It's just good business sense.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
R/evolution
The evidence seems clear to me.
Even if the earth's oceans are acidifying at a slower pace than that suggested in Rob Stewart's documentary R/evolution, they're still acidifying at an alarming rate, the impacts of which, if ignored, could significantly threaten future generations, and are significantly threatening ours.
The impulse to receive immediate gratification theoretically drives a lot of decision making.
Some of these systemic problems require 400 as opposed to 5 year plans, however.
But if such plans are not universally agreed to, soon, as the vast majority of climate change scientists contend, polar bears aren't the only ones who'll be having trouble surviving the upcoming centuries.
Climate change scientists equal Copernicus.
Big business's voracious desire for continuously increasing profits, not just profits, they have to be continuously increasing, equals the religious pricks who killed Copernicus.
Thankfully there are currently millions of logical Copernicans who have evidence to clearly state their convincing case.
It's not a socialist plot, it's coherent global strategic planning.
Disastrously, influential global warming denying charlatans have deep pockets, well-financed lobbyists, and, perhaps, an obsession with tricking people into believing in nonsense like the rapture.
Taking on the coal industry isn't easy (don't know if the coal industry [or if anyone] has an obsession with tricking people into believing in nonsense like the rapture, but the coal industry and the tar sands are examined in R/evolution).
What happens to all the people it currently employs if coal is eliminated as a source of energy?
Well, if alternatives to coal can be integrated, why not set up industries to replace it in the effected towns and train the employees to work within them.
Everyone keeps their jobs and no one has to move.
R/evolution points out that if we change the way we do business by adopting environmentally friendly models, the resultant decrease in profits will be insignificant and the über-capitalists can continue to make massive profits, which makes this situation all the more exasperating since it's obvious that it's an ideological battle, one side willing to risk existence to prove that the untethered pursuit of wealth is the best possible socioeconomic matrix, the other, armed with close to unanimous erudite scientific evidence-based support, not fantastic castles in the sky, suggesting that a slight decrease in profits will save existence, labelled fools, extremists, and crackpots consequently, because they know God's not going to clean-up this mess.
Science has solutions to these problems.
If God exists, he or she could be counting on us to use science to take care of the planet.
If we can't take care of our planet, how can he or she expect us to manage our environments in the afterlife?
Canada's conservative government won't even let scientists discuss their research in public.
Thomas Mulcair risked everything when he quit Québec's Provincial Liberal Party because of a matter of environmental principle.
Frustrated with politics? Jaded? Unconcerned?
I bet he was too.
But he kept going, kept fighting, and found a New Democratic model.
Which works. Is working. And will continue to work.
For a more just society.
Even if the earth's oceans are acidifying at a slower pace than that suggested in Rob Stewart's documentary R/evolution, they're still acidifying at an alarming rate, the impacts of which, if ignored, could significantly threaten future generations, and are significantly threatening ours.
The impulse to receive immediate gratification theoretically drives a lot of decision making.
Some of these systemic problems require 400 as opposed to 5 year plans, however.
But if such plans are not universally agreed to, soon, as the vast majority of climate change scientists contend, polar bears aren't the only ones who'll be having trouble surviving the upcoming centuries.
Climate change scientists equal Copernicus.
Big business's voracious desire for continuously increasing profits, not just profits, they have to be continuously increasing, equals the religious pricks who killed Copernicus.
Thankfully there are currently millions of logical Copernicans who have evidence to clearly state their convincing case.
It's not a socialist plot, it's coherent global strategic planning.
Disastrously, influential global warming denying charlatans have deep pockets, well-financed lobbyists, and, perhaps, an obsession with tricking people into believing in nonsense like the rapture.
Taking on the coal industry isn't easy (don't know if the coal industry [or if anyone] has an obsession with tricking people into believing in nonsense like the rapture, but the coal industry and the tar sands are examined in R/evolution).
What happens to all the people it currently employs if coal is eliminated as a source of energy?
Well, if alternatives to coal can be integrated, why not set up industries to replace it in the effected towns and train the employees to work within them.
Everyone keeps their jobs and no one has to move.
R/evolution points out that if we change the way we do business by adopting environmentally friendly models, the resultant decrease in profits will be insignificant and the über-capitalists can continue to make massive profits, which makes this situation all the more exasperating since it's obvious that it's an ideological battle, one side willing to risk existence to prove that the untethered pursuit of wealth is the best possible socioeconomic matrix, the other, armed with close to unanimous erudite scientific evidence-based support, not fantastic castles in the sky, suggesting that a slight decrease in profits will save existence, labelled fools, extremists, and crackpots consequently, because they know God's not going to clean-up this mess.
Science has solutions to these problems.
If God exists, he or she could be counting on us to use science to take care of the planet.
If we can't take care of our planet, how can he or she expect us to manage our environments in the afterlife?
Canada's conservative government won't even let scientists discuss their research in public.
Thomas Mulcair risked everything when he quit Québec's Provincial Liberal Party because of a matter of environmental principle.
Frustrated with politics? Jaded? Unconcerned?
I bet he was too.
But he kept going, kept fighting, and found a New Democratic model.
Which works. Is working. And will continue to work.
For a more just society.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
L'homme qui rit
A child is grossly deformed and abandoned.
Chance intervenes, providing shelter, friendship and nourishment.
The passage of congenial times nurtures love and success, swathed within an impoverished yet self-sufficient itinerant tenacity, innocent yet cunning, diligent and stable.
Until historical alignments introduce an aristocratic heritage whose peers and privileges threaten his sense of balance.
But these very same entitlements present means, pretentious and vitriolic though they may be, through which that sense's desire for social justice can institute positive change, in pre-revolutionary France.
L'homme qui rit is more of a kid's film, filled with obvious larger-than-life stereotypical depictions situated within a maudlin yet tear-jerking realistic fairy tale, but it does function as a contemporary allegory for democratic citizens who lack wealth but still wish to use their (available) political channels to influence current affairs, such as the environmental footprint of big business.
It's difficult.
It's daunting.
And seemingly impossible.
Unless you take into consideration the work of organizations like Avaaz and/or what's currently taking place in highly industrialized nations like Germany, whose decision to replace all of its nuclear reactors with environmentally sustainable technologies should be applauded.
It can be done.
It's being done.
Canada can do similar things.
If it's intent on moving forward.
Chance intervenes, providing shelter, friendship and nourishment.
The passage of congenial times nurtures love and success, swathed within an impoverished yet self-sufficient itinerant tenacity, innocent yet cunning, diligent and stable.
Until historical alignments introduce an aristocratic heritage whose peers and privileges threaten his sense of balance.
But these very same entitlements present means, pretentious and vitriolic though they may be, through which that sense's desire for social justice can institute positive change, in pre-revolutionary France.
L'homme qui rit is more of a kid's film, filled with obvious larger-than-life stereotypical depictions situated within a maudlin yet tear-jerking realistic fairy tale, but it does function as a contemporary allegory for democratic citizens who lack wealth but still wish to use their (available) political channels to influence current affairs, such as the environmental footprint of big business.
It's difficult.
It's daunting.
And seemingly impossible.
Unless you take into consideration the work of organizations like Avaaz and/or what's currently taking place in highly industrialized nations like Germany, whose decision to replace all of its nuclear reactors with environmentally sustainable technologies should be applauded.
It can be done.
It's being done.
Canada can do similar things.
If it's intent on moving forward.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Trance
Establishing an historical distinction regarding old and new security precautions taken to protect precious paintings during auctions, right-off-the-bat, thereby foreshadowing both the ways in which Danny Boyle's career has progressed from Shallow Grave to Trance and its contemporary utilitarian utilization of amnesia and hypnosis, narrative tools which frequently showed up in the television shows I watched during my youth, and have possibly been used regularly since then, although I may be blowing the memory out of proportion, Trance has traditional motifs, enticements and motivations (find the painting and cash in) which are thrust into a coherent mesmerizing fugacious distillery, whose economic and romantic film noiresque reversals, complete with critical comments concerning legal structures that prevent female victims of violence from obtaining justice, fitting in relation to the recent horrific suicide of Nova Scotia's beautiful young Rehtaeh Parsons, its diversified ambient tonal modifications, young professional addiction seeks underground remedies for financial miscalculations (gambling debt) which in turn threaten the livelihoods of everyone involved, upend expected outcomes, as if Boyle is precisely aware of what you require him to elucidate, apart from the absent review of Simon's (James McAvoy) extracurricular activities, which I thought would have fit considering that he's responsible for safekeeping 25 million dollar works of art (is that how much it cost to make this film?), most likely because I just saw New World, a review which wouldn't have fit well anyways due to the dense nature of Trance's convolutions (another layer within would have made the brew too lucidly phantasmagorical), destined diagnostic discombobulating detoxification, a less analytical form of Inception, but, if they had found a way, amidst the sex and the greed and the artifice, to stick to the opening sequence more devoutly, while paying the same meticulous attention to unnecessary yet compelling details, I would have perhaps given it a rating of 9.7 instead of 9.4, which really doesn't make much difference.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
The new conservative attack ads directed at Justin Trudeau are as tasteless as always.
Trudeau may be inexperienced and guilty of making ridiculous youthful mistakes, but he's also made many impressive points over the years and seems like an energetic team player.
Thomas Mulair has also made many impressive points and has the experience that young Mr. Trudeau seriously lacks.
If you're thinking of electing a different party to govern Canada in the next federal election, note that the NDP, with Thomas Mulcair at the helm, has the leadership and experience to confidently guide our country, fully equipped with a strong team of caring and dedicated parliamentarians, parliamentarians like Niki Ashton and Nathan Cullen, who are as youthful as Trudeau, but have a wise mentor in Thomas Mulcair to guide them.
The NDP has never had a shot at governing Canada and they finally have the team to get the job done, many of whom are currently working in parliament.
Thomas Mulcair doesn't have the name that Mr. Trudeau does, this is certain.
But he has substance where Justin Trudeau has room for error.
Which is so, so, important.
Trudeau may be inexperienced and guilty of making ridiculous youthful mistakes, but he's also made many impressive points over the years and seems like an energetic team player.
Thomas Mulair has also made many impressive points and has the experience that young Mr. Trudeau seriously lacks.
If you're thinking of electing a different party to govern Canada in the next federal election, note that the NDP, with Thomas Mulcair at the helm, has the leadership and experience to confidently guide our country, fully equipped with a strong team of caring and dedicated parliamentarians, parliamentarians like Niki Ashton and Nathan Cullen, who are as youthful as Trudeau, but have a wise mentor in Thomas Mulcair to guide them.
The NDP has never had a shot at governing Canada and they finally have the team to get the job done, many of whom are currently working in parliament.
Thomas Mulcair doesn't have the name that Mr. Trudeau does, this is certain.
But he has substance where Justin Trudeau has room for error.
Which is so, so, important.
Friday, April 12, 2013
New World
Not sure whether Hoon-jung Park looked to The Godfather when writing and directing New World, but I think the comparison warrants consideration.
I'm not saying the film will have the same impact on South Korean audiences as The Godfather had on North American ones, just mean that elements of its matrix, components of its design, seem to have been intelligently incorporated into New World's script, and the result is a strong examination of an individual's struggle within two worlds, those being an underground criminal organization seeking corporate status and the police who are trying to in/directly influence them.
In Settai the police and the smugglers neutralize each other leaving the protagonists free to explore alternative means of expression.
This is not a comedy, however, it's a voracious rampant demented hypermasculinized scripture, complete with fierce consequences and mortal outcomes, a strict pressurized treacherous contemplation wherein expendable means and sought after ends conspicuously strive for psychological dominion.
Or survival.
Like The Godfather, the violence is omnipresent yet detained, erupting in sophisticatedly timed bursts, unlike what the previews and opening sequence would have you believe.
Both worlds suffer from a lack of abundant institutional active feminine counterbalances whose integral presence would theoretically decrease the violence.
The 50/50 split is best case.
Those fighting to lead aren't from the same family but their characters grow and expand throughout, overcoming stock critiques often easily launched at such personas.
The ending's totally Michael Corleone and less predictable than The Godfather's.
The law enforcement dimension arguably pushes New World past The Godfather, adding an additional layer of consistent threatening complications to the story, well thought out and cripplingly jaded, symbiotically existing with the syndicate which explodes from the inside to the contrary.
I suppose that's the purpose of roughing up the police photographers early on. In The Godfather, that's it, end of scene, in New World, Detective Kang (Min-sik Choi) steps in and asserts New World's respectful intertextual alternative outlet.
While revelling in his unrestrained cheek.
A new Godfather outlet.
Respectful and alternative to The Godfather, not a respectful alternative new outlet.
This outlet's been around forever.
Detective Kang reminded me of Columbo.
A prick Columbo.
A more-of-a-prick Columbo.
Columbo with additional responsibilities.
He's very Columboie.
I'm not saying the film will have the same impact on South Korean audiences as The Godfather had on North American ones, just mean that elements of its matrix, components of its design, seem to have been intelligently incorporated into New World's script, and the result is a strong examination of an individual's struggle within two worlds, those being an underground criminal organization seeking corporate status and the police who are trying to in/directly influence them.
In Settai the police and the smugglers neutralize each other leaving the protagonists free to explore alternative means of expression.
This is not a comedy, however, it's a voracious rampant demented hypermasculinized scripture, complete with fierce consequences and mortal outcomes, a strict pressurized treacherous contemplation wherein expendable means and sought after ends conspicuously strive for psychological dominion.
Or survival.
Like The Godfather, the violence is omnipresent yet detained, erupting in sophisticatedly timed bursts, unlike what the previews and opening sequence would have you believe.
Both worlds suffer from a lack of abundant institutional active feminine counterbalances whose integral presence would theoretically decrease the violence.
The 50/50 split is best case.
Those fighting to lead aren't from the same family but their characters grow and expand throughout, overcoming stock critiques often easily launched at such personas.
The ending's totally Michael Corleone and less predictable than The Godfather's.
The law enforcement dimension arguably pushes New World past The Godfather, adding an additional layer of consistent threatening complications to the story, well thought out and cripplingly jaded, symbiotically existing with the syndicate which explodes from the inside to the contrary.
I suppose that's the purpose of roughing up the police photographers early on. In The Godfather, that's it, end of scene, in New World, Detective Kang (Min-sik Choi) steps in and asserts New World's respectful intertextual alternative outlet.
While revelling in his unrestrained cheek.
A new Godfather outlet.
Respectful and alternative to The Godfather, not a respectful alternative new outlet.
This outlet's been around forever.
Detective Kang reminded me of Columbo.
A prick Columbo.
A more-of-a-prick Columbo.
Columbo with additional responsibilities.
He's very Columboie.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
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.
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.
G.I. Joe: Retaliation
Better than the first G.I. Joe film.
And a good episode of G.I. Joe.
Cobra's back and still tryin' to take over the world.
The Joes are betrayed and have to head to the underground for cover.
They're able to find this cover quite easily and confidently stroll around in broad daylight even though the American government, whom Cobra has infiltrated, is looking for them.
But like I said, it's a good episode of G.I. Joe, following a format which employs improbability as a cogent asset in order to conceal their recruitment tactics.
There is a clever scene which neutralizes attempts to analyze the film following the opening credits, wherein Duke (Channing Tatum) and Roadblock (Dwayne Johnson) are found playing militaristic video games, a scene whose immediacy implies that the film has been made in good fun and shouldn't be taken too seriously.
Message received.
Other highlights include the best poppy condensation of a strategical debate I've seen in a while, which is simultaneously bland, comic, disconcerting and instructive, plus Roadblock and Duke consistently dissect their discussions while conversing.
Agents of Cobra do not.
Cobra's not hip to Web 2.0 applications.
Adam Reed is hands down the master of humorous observational conversational commentary.
Adam Reed did not write G.I. Joe: Retaliation.
And would not have ruined the affect by introducing a remark endemic to the Terminator series in the film's concluding moments.
In such moments, you synthesize your intertextual research into a franchise specific all-encompassing one-liner.
Ad infinitum.
And a good episode of G.I. Joe.
Cobra's back and still tryin' to take over the world.
The Joes are betrayed and have to head to the underground for cover.
They're able to find this cover quite easily and confidently stroll around in broad daylight even though the American government, whom Cobra has infiltrated, is looking for them.
But like I said, it's a good episode of G.I. Joe, following a format which employs improbability as a cogent asset in order to conceal their recruitment tactics.
There is a clever scene which neutralizes attempts to analyze the film following the opening credits, wherein Duke (Channing Tatum) and Roadblock (Dwayne Johnson) are found playing militaristic video games, a scene whose immediacy implies that the film has been made in good fun and shouldn't be taken too seriously.
Message received.
Other highlights include the best poppy condensation of a strategical debate I've seen in a while, which is simultaneously bland, comic, disconcerting and instructive, plus Roadblock and Duke consistently dissect their discussions while conversing.
Agents of Cobra do not.
Cobra's not hip to Web 2.0 applications.
Adam Reed is hands down the master of humorous observational conversational commentary.
Adam Reed did not write G.I. Joe: Retaliation.
And would not have ruined the affect by introducing a remark endemic to the Terminator series in the film's concluding moments.
In such moments, you synthesize your intertextual research into a franchise specific all-encompassing one-liner.
Ad infinitum.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Olympus Has Fallen
An otherwise dismissible action flick makes a good point regarding teamwork that can be transferred to sporting domains, amongst others, at least.
The point under examination concerns the removal of an esteemed member of the President's (Aaron Eckhart) personal security force after exceptional naturalistic circumstances result in the death of his wife.
At Christmas.
The esteemed member's presence serves as a constant reminder of the misfortune and he therefore must find work elsewhere.
When your team loses a big game or your strategic plan fails to generate predicted revenues there seems to be a prominent cultural desire to attach blame to a specific individual and then punish them accordingly.
Obviously when the game is lost or the revenues fall short there's a period where what could have been disrupts the cheery flow of social relations but shortly thereafter things (often) return to normal.
You still have an experienced team, and, obviously again, due to the tenacity of the competition you're up against, can't win all the time.
New deals are made.
Partnerships negotiated.
Adjustments taken into consideration.
And another NFL/CFL season begins.
Or BlackBerry takes back its former share of the market.
In Olympus Has Fallen, a rather downcast despondent far too rigid Mike Banning (Gerard Butler) (he's no John McClane [not that everyone needs to be like John McClane but he's a good model {different from the Kurt Russell model/which I loved in The Thing\}]) loses his job only to discover later on that he's the only shot the United States's got to prevent a terrorist lunatic from starting a war between the Koreas.
If he had still been on the job the terrorists may have never gotten a leg up.
Although if they had never let him go he would not have avoided the initial onslaught after which he (miraculously) finds himself in a position to disintegrate their network.
When the unexpected intervenes those who failed to find an exceptional solution within shocking unpredictable circumstances and were consequentially let go find the opportunity to prove their worth as the natural becomes corporeal and its features pursue mad personal goals whose existence presents the criteria for a successful occupational reintegration.
Perhaps that isn't a good teamwork related point.
Not a very good movie either.
Ugh.
The point under examination concerns the removal of an esteemed member of the President's (Aaron Eckhart) personal security force after exceptional naturalistic circumstances result in the death of his wife.
At Christmas.
The esteemed member's presence serves as a constant reminder of the misfortune and he therefore must find work elsewhere.
When your team loses a big game or your strategic plan fails to generate predicted revenues there seems to be a prominent cultural desire to attach blame to a specific individual and then punish them accordingly.
Obviously when the game is lost or the revenues fall short there's a period where what could have been disrupts the cheery flow of social relations but shortly thereafter things (often) return to normal.
You still have an experienced team, and, obviously again, due to the tenacity of the competition you're up against, can't win all the time.
New deals are made.
Partnerships negotiated.
Adjustments taken into consideration.
And another NFL/CFL season begins.
Or BlackBerry takes back its former share of the market.
In Olympus Has Fallen, a rather downcast despondent far too rigid Mike Banning (Gerard Butler) (he's no John McClane [not that everyone needs to be like John McClane but he's a good model {different from the Kurt Russell model/which I loved in The Thing\}]) loses his job only to discover later on that he's the only shot the United States's got to prevent a terrorist lunatic from starting a war between the Koreas.
If he had still been on the job the terrorists may have never gotten a leg up.
Although if they had never let him go he would not have avoided the initial onslaught after which he (miraculously) finds himself in a position to disintegrate their network.
When the unexpected intervenes those who failed to find an exceptional solution within shocking unpredictable circumstances and were consequentially let go find the opportunity to prove their worth as the natural becomes corporeal and its features pursue mad personal goals whose existence presents the criteria for a successful occupational reintegration.
Perhaps that isn't a good teamwork related point.
Not a very good movie either.
Ugh.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Caesar Must Die
The real's incarcerated dominion finds itself transformed into a Shakespearian atemporal time warp whose interpersonal intertextual transhistorical vertices passionately bridge a parochial rubicon.
The play within the play transports the film into a concrete surreal hyper-reactive microcosmology, crime, punishment, serendipity, urbanity, patiently orchestrated by Paolo and Vittorio Taviani, enacted by denizens of the damned.
As the conception is corporealized manifested methodologies collaboratively clash while their situational subject matter is acutely fumigated.
Artistic adornments and monumental minutiae see their beings metamorphically idealized as the process of creation extends its interdimensional limits.
Memories forge an objective counterbalance.
Brutus and Cassius must flee.
That is how it was written.
More than a thousand years after the fact.
A roguish retinue theatrically matriculates as an artistic presence brings semantics to life.
In/transitively.
The play within the play transports the film into a concrete surreal hyper-reactive microcosmology, crime, punishment, serendipity, urbanity, patiently orchestrated by Paolo and Vittorio Taviani, enacted by denizens of the damned.
As the conception is corporealized manifested methodologies collaboratively clash while their situational subject matter is acutely fumigated.
Artistic adornments and monumental minutiae see their beings metamorphically idealized as the process of creation extends its interdimensional limits.
Memories forge an objective counterbalance.
Brutus and Cassius must flee.
That is how it was written.
More than a thousand years after the fact.
A roguish retinue theatrically matriculates as an artistic presence brings semantics to life.
In/transitively.
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