Great Bear Rainforest

British Columbia's ancient coastal biodiversity, realm of the Great Bear Rainforest, home to wondrous species and the humans who study them, overflowing with composite symbiotic life, a treasure trove of enchanting dense resiliency, where the freshwater of B.C.'s interior blends with oceanic rhythms.

Incredibly.

A very rare type of temperate rainforest found in few locations around the globe, it nourishes unique lifeforms, its currents spiritual fuel.

Not this blog peeps, the forest, I'm writing about the Great Bear Rainforest here, I don't see why I have to explain this, again, but some people just don't get it.

Although this blog does have its charms.

Ian McAllister's Great Bear Rainforest highlights significant features of its bounteous titular domain.

The graceful sea otter, who has flourished since being extirpated from the region, insatiable fashionable greed voraciously hunting it to extinction, its reintroduction coinciding with less rapacious commercial stratagems, as if people suddenly realized they're ever so cute, and left them alone to flourish in wonder.

The majestic humpback whale, who returns every year to dine on herring, its numbers also bouncing back from voracious hunting, although ever so slowly due to low reproductive rates.

Slippery seals, accustomed to gliding through enriching submerged jurisdictions, as focused as they are elastic, in search of scaling symphonic synergies.

Grizzly, black, and spirit bears, the latter in fact a subspecies of the black bear, disharmoniously cohabitating at times, yet still sharing good fortune as they see fit.

I was hoping to see what animals benefit from the ways in which bears alter their landscapes as they dig for food, detecting this and that with their great sense of smell, depending on what nature's currently providing, as they cover vast distances à la carte.

Another time perhaps.

It's cool to see the healthy relationships local First Nations people still cultivate with their environment within, going on 14,000 years, why is sustainable harvesting such a difficult concept to grasp?, fish sustainably and keep fishing forever, overfish, and the resource disappears.

Great Bear Rainforest emphasizes that salmon leaping up waterfalls is the equivalent of humans jumping over four-story buildings (narration by Ryan Reynolds), and then proceeds to share some of the best shots of salmon jumping I've seen.

Bears perched to catch them.

Cinematography by Andy Maser, Ian McAllister, Jeff Turner, and Darren West.

It's a cool introduction to B.C.'s Great Bear Rainforest that depicts nature overflowing with life.

Along with the occasional hardships.

And the robust dynamics of adorable bear families.

Perhaps it's late, and you have yet to start your Christmas shopping, and the crowds are multiplying, and you're not sure how to proceed.

Let the NFL nurture and guide you.

Imagine you're like Drew Brees or John Elway and choosing the right gift is like completing a touchdown pass, the crowds your opposing defence.

Then smoothly work your way through the crowds, keeping alert with steady vision, searching for those perfect gifts with astute focused eagle eyes, as Brees did last Monday versus Indianapolis, and Elway did throughout his vast career.

See what no one else can see.

Spot the wide open receivers.

The fam will be even more impressed come Christmas morn.

And doin' that shoppin' may be a little bit more agreeable.

If you're working the no-huddle.

Yet again, yet again, yet again.

Reversal of Fortune

Snap judgments based upon agitated reckonings lead to pejorative sensationalized repute in Barbet Schroeder's Reversal of Fortune.

How to make someone appear guilty without making it look like you're attempting to make someone appear guilty, if they are in fact not guilty?

If they are in fact not guilty, how do you convincingly make it look like someone has attempted to make them look guilty without looking as if they were attempting to make them look guilty, before cold judicial verdicts descend?

It's basic Columbo, the televisual and cinematic world worse off without a regular dose of Columbo, and its freewheeling composed articulate dishevelled discourse, perhaps channeled by Professor Alan Dershowitz (Ron Silver) and his team in this inclusion, which asks if maligned bourgeois sentiment has predetermined an aesthete's obituary?

It's certainly quite the team.

It's incredible how many people can come together to defend or prosecute, many of them working pro bono, out of devoted respect for the law.

Engrained malfeasance.

People in positions of power exploit that power since no one holds them to account, but then someone does, it seems obvious that they're guilty, and justice adjudicates, condemning the reckless individual.

But it's still quite the task, the required reading voluminously dissonant, to transform every link into a succinct gripping narrative no small feat albeit thrilling for a motivated legal team, in possession of the facts, and interpretive plausibility, expert testimony, meticulous mechanics, it must be like playing a stable integral role in a constantly shifting production, not improvised, still rehearsed, but unaware of specific counterarguments, the speculation part of the fun, bold jurisprudent research and development.

Reversal of Fortune takes place in such a frame as Claus von Bulow (Jeremy Irons) seeks legal counsel, he's been convicted once already, and his lawyer's none too sympathetic.

He takes the case though, assembles his team, and finds evidence which contradicts his assumptions.

Upon appeal, another round of judicial observation considers the alternative facts, and the second reading makes Claus seem as innocent as he was once thought definitively guilty, differing detailed composite accounts, instructive rhetorical consommé.

People observe thousands of minute details distilled into an accessible format that leads them to make claims which back up narrative threads.

Hoping there isn't some technical distortion.

While theatrically duelling in shades.

Waves

As much as you may want to debate it, it's her choice, her decision.

Not an easy decision to make if you haven't prepared for it, and support is key to easing the pressure if uncertainty's fogging things up.

There's no easy way to discuss these things, if you don't like discussing them, but if you are sexually active you should be prepared for the possibility of childbirth, and there are steps you can take to make sure pregnancy's highly unlikely, if you're not ready to have a child and are hoping to finish school or get a promotion, beforehand.

I'd use condoms even if my partner was on the pill to ensure a double line of defence, until such a time as we were both ready to child rear; it's probably the most serious responsibility there is.

But if I didn't want to have a child and she did, I would respect her decision. If she asked for my counsel, I would present my arguments, but it's her decision in the end, either way, and certainly not mine. Upon hearing her decision, I would do my best to prepare for fatherhood (nothing can prepare you for it) should she have chosen to have the child, and accept my nascent responsibilities. You may find as you grow older that you like having the little ones around. I certainly didn't way back when, as I was studying and working while travelling.

It's important to respect her decision.

That's the price for all the carefree fun.

Sincerest woe descends in Trey Edward Shults's Waves after confrontation leads to animosity, as two high school seniors discuss unplanned parenthood and can't come close to seeing eye to eye.

Opioid addiction clouds Tyler Williams's (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) judgment as he struggles to comprehend, an unfortunate injury jeopardizing his wrestling career too, he can't deal, even as people try to help him.

The film's quite well done, with the best cinematography I've seen in a while (Drew Daniels), the camerawork delicately louring you in to its breezy narrative flow, the current heaving as it helplessly adjusts to wayward distraught cataclysm, so felicitous early on, heartfelt ebb and flow.

Waves.

It spends one act presenting a golden road that's fraught with peril and distraction, the other romanticizing first love as a family comes to terms with its grief.

The father's (Sterling K. Brown as Ronald Williams) a good provider but also super, "this is my house!", which frustrates his teenage son who's constantly under his watchful eye.

It's a shame it takes extreme hardship for him to learn to apply the messages he absorbs without thinking, habitually.

But as he lets go of himself and stops trying to control things, as he waits for solutions to be organically presented instead of trying to generate them through authority, his family begins to heal through logical/emotional balance, and he starts to listen to what others have to say instead of just telling them what to do.

Family isn't the army or work.

I've always thought family was a safe haven beyond strict codes of conduct.

Where you learn responsibility at play.

Without having to worry about being fired.

Brought to light at special times of the year.

Sweet lattes.

Eggnog shakes.

One tradition I like to keep going every Holiday Season is to find a nice ornament to pick up and add to my family's collection. It doesn't have to be a specific something, or anything at all really, just a whatchamacallit that catches your eye and looks cool as you're out taking in the season.

If you keep adding one special item every year, and your collection keeps growing accordingly, think how memorable it'll be 40 years from now, as you take time to sit back, relax, and reflect!

Make sense from meaningless, rationalize the absurd (not politically). Where would fantasy be without it? Too much realism's too freakin' cold. Even in the dead of Winter.

Magic Feed Corn

Figgy liverpudlians
the candy candelabric binge
chestnutty almond roasts conspire
their stockinged glazed riposte haywire

a' merrily a' merchantin'
shop windows stitched like seraphim
a dash of spirited appraise
to match joy's sentiments in craze

guards down the hearty windswept spree
heartbeats announcing trust carefree
impartial generous impacts
surmounting Grinchy foils aghast

in pastures grazing waits their kin
as jolly old St. Nick digs in
his satchel overflowing tight
to serenade in starlit flight

merrymakin'

Yuletides.

Dark Waters

It seems to me like if you're generating a billion dollars in profit every year just from one product in your vast catalogue, and you don't pay your workforce that much comparatively, as they loyally manifest that revenue, and you know that product is making them sick because you've done the research and it's raised multiple red flags, you should tell them they'll likely become seriously ill if they work for you, so they know what they're signing up for, and pay for their medical bills if they eventually do breakdown as well.

A scant fraction of the profits.

It seems to me like if you know the product you're creating is an environmental disaster that doesn't decompose and will make anything that encounters it seriously ill, possibly forever, that you should take steps to dispose of it properly (a scant fraction of the profits), if that's even possible, or perhaps abandon your plans to market it to the public entirely.

Lifeforms who became extinct prior to our experimentations with fossil fuels could at least blame environmental factors for their disappearance, post-existence.

They didn't or don't have to say, well, we knew we were creating lethal substances that were making people who used them sick, and that they wouldn't breakdown in the environment, ever, but we kept making them anyways because we were raking it in, and were highly unlikely to ever suffer from the ground level consequences ourselves.

Could you imagine we went out not because a meteor struck or a virulent plague emerged, but because we wanted to use frying pans that nothing stuck to and eat cheap food at fast food restaurants?

If there is an afterlife for extinct species we'd be a laughing stock for all eternity.

If we're to become extinct some day, let it happen another way.

The current path that we're on's so shortsighted.

Even though the available research is 20/20.

If you think the companies responsible for creating this mess are unstoppable, your thoughts are by no means misguided, but take note that they can indeed be held to account, and be made to address their actions.

As Todd Haynes's Dark Waters demonstrates.

The film presents dedicated lawyer Robert Bilott (Mark Ruffalo) and his fight against DuPont, who knowingly poisoned their Parkersburg West Virginia workforce and environment, for decades, and were none too pleased when they were taken to court.

Bilott took them to court though and didn't let up even as things became more and more challenging.

He sacrificed a lot to stand up for people's rights and kept on 'till he won a settlement that cultivated fertile grassroots.

His family stood by him throughout and dealt with the despondent gloom, unyielding support and commitment, intense cohesive telemetry.

Dark Waters isn't about ideologically or politically motivated avengers, it's about a god-fearing straight edge family who took plutocrats to court to help a struggling farmer (Bill Camp as Wilbur Tennant).

It calls into question categorial delineations.

While harvesting democratic crops.

Beyond popularity.

More films like this please.

I didn't have dipping sauce for my pizza the other day, so I decided to use mayonnaise instead, and then thought, wouldn't a pizza that uses mayonnaise instead of tomato sauce be delicious? And if mayonnaise pizza is delicious, wouldn't being able to order pizza made with your favourite dipping sauce instead of tomato sauce be a cool option, if not much much more expensive?

Frozen II

The difficulties of mastering flawless positive speech that outmanoeuvres misinterpretation, finds itself humorously depicted in Frozen II, as an enamoured lad seeks conjugal union, and a mysterious voice beckons far away.

It can be a delicate art requiring stealth and foresight, the rewards of which may be as enduring as the punishments severe.

Best to accustom today's youth with non-threatening exemplars of the phenomenon, to instruct them in courtship ritual without disparaging l'amour.

Preparation can no doubt come in handy but the challenge thinks for itself and analyzes, while in sport there's often subsequent opportunities that are much more grave and emotionless.

Fortunately, as time passes, and expectations lower through habitual frustration, disbelief may transform into cheek, which can be more pleasant in conversation.

Nevertheless, the pleasant and playful nature of the cheek can cut deep if lines are crossed, and discovering the character of such lines can be baffling, if you proceed in sarcastic error.

Blunt hopelessness can also generate fervour thanks to the preponderance of alluring sitcoms, but your inner caveperson can't be too savage if it's to feast 'pon nimble nuptials, not that it still can't wax blunt and beastly while applying scandalous enchantments, just a matter of discovering that line, and its various malleable preferences.

If the beast doth find itself wed, said enchantments may slowly lose their lustre, at which point a more robust appeal to enthused gentility, approaching but never realizing neutrality, may encourage less animated hostilities, or perhaps even reincarnate charm.

Of course it can help if your partner once indeed found you fascinating, and isn't interested in shaking things up, going through the whole process again a tedious bother, if you can't simply forgive and take.

I admit that without the fascination it can be bewildering as to how to proceed, and perhaps not worth the effort, if it must be relied upon in perpetuity.

But arranged marriages do seem to flourish at times as the couple engenders divine trial and error, although so many stunning passionate texts have been crafted as they fray.

Best not to think about it perhaps, natural blundering oft preferred to rehearsed theatrics, are they jazzy or strictly classical?, or a bountiful counterpoised mix of the two?

Changing as the years pass.

Clues help.

Decipherable clues.

Correct assumption besting bewildered resonance.

I suppose it's fun, it's supposed to be fun.

Keep that in mind, remain light of heart.

Frozen II! 

*I've been single most of my life.

The Rock

Decided to revisit The Rock last Summer after stopping by a local thrift store, and impressed was I as it chaotically unreeled.

It reminded me of a time when I still considered blockbusters to represent the best of what cinema had to offer, long before I discovered non-British European movies (I already knew about British films), Québec's vital film industry, Takashi Miike, Kurosawa, or Criterions.

Blockbusters are still kind of fun, especially when they're deep, the big picture critiqued in miniature, striking slices of stark sensation.

After the insane number of sequels released last Summer I even found myself wishing another Skyscraper was in the works, not a Skyscraper sequel, to be precise, but something sort of different that at least attempted to start something new.

Even if it channelled Die Hard.

I've mentioned this before.

Stuber filled the gap meanwhile.

The Rock never had any sequels and if it had they likely would have seemed preposterous, or at least too logically improbable, if they had sought to reunite Cage (Stanley Goodspeed) and Connery (John Patrick Mason).

The film's actual plot still likely seems preposterous if you read or talk to people about it, or see it I suppose, even if it rationalizes insanity well.

If you don't like action films or sports I imagine watching The Rock would be excruciating, 20 plus years later no less, some of its best lines as ra ra as they are hyper-reactively appropriate, like watching solid Monday Night Football, a Raptors/Clippers showdown, the Leafs facing off in Montréal, or Hamilton taking on the Argos.

As far as I remember, it was released before globalization took off, or just as it was taking off, when America was examining itself critically, even from militaristic perspectives.

And the hero's a green nerd (Cage) who'll pay $600 for one of the Beatles's worst albums (old vinyl though), his partner a dangerous Brit who's been locked up for at least 30 years, like Michael Bay of all directors was deeply concerned with creating something memorable, something that had never been seen before, in sharp contrast to so many new action films.

Take some of these scenes.

After some tourists find themselves locked up on the Rock, there's a really short moment that lasts long enough for one of them to say, "what kind of fucked up tour is this?"

It's funny, and could have easily been left out, but Bay realized how cool it was, and kept it in to generate humour and tension.

I've never seen anything like it in a Marvel film, even if they excel at multidimensionally entertaining.

There's also a high speed chase through San Francisco that revels in cinematic mayhem, that introduces a tour of the city, on a trolly, as everything goes to hell.

Then, as an elite group of Navy SEALs prepares to take on well-heeled Marines on Alcatraz, and Mr. Goodspeed seeks a breakdown of what's going on, one of the SEALS (Danny Nucci as Lieutenant Shepard), a relatively unknown actor at the time who had yet to say anything in the film, delivers an extremely precise borderline passionate synopsis, that startles as it summarizes, and shocks with exhilarating brevity.

What an opportunity for a young actor.

Nucci totally nails it.

There's nothing like that scene, that moment, in current action films, like the lines were created to give someone the opportunity to build a career, instead of all the roles going to world cinema's best and brightest.

It's like the actors in The Rock are fighting to build or sustain a career, from Vanessa Marcil (Carla Pestalozzi) to Tony Todd (Captain Darrow) to David Morse (Major Tom Baxter) to John C. McGinley (Captain Hendrix), no one holding back or resting on old school precedent, just givin' 'er hardcore with ample opportunity to do so.

There are at least 17 actors who stand out in this film.

That's a script that cultivates 1990s diversity (written by David Weisberg, Douglas Cook and Mark Rosner).

Cage and Connery work well together, the former frenetically perspiring athleticism, as he's suddenly thrust into the frenzied fray, replete with doubt, inexperience, and a pregnant partner, Michael Biehn (Commander Anderson), Ed Harris (General Francis X. Hummel), and William Forsythe (Ernest Paxton) givin' 'er too, the film's just so damned professional.

With a ne'er-do-well landing on a spike near the end.

This is what blockbusters could be like before pirating.

Greater risks.

Greater reward.

I'm recommending The Rock.

And watching it again this Winter.

I’m lovin’ all the octopi love surging forth at the moment.

Even octopus stuffed-ups.

Not bad.

Tailwind

Scrivener ascribed me scrumpet
scrutable protracted bumptious
disinclined compact allayed
incarcerated ready made

didactic intimated quivers
soporific seaside shivers
gales adjustin' quake embrace
impassioned shorn tsunami shakes

a dustin' heralds tender blizzards
razzmatazzed adorned in dither
all wrapped up nowhere to go
familial incandescent snow

the temperature consoled in quizzin'
spirited pastures arisen
decorations soothe the quell
the rapturous Joyeux Noel!

swaddled.

Antigone

Tragedy strikes an immigrant family as their eldest son (Hakim Brahimi as Étéocle) is shot down while protesting his brother's arrest.

His brother (Rawad El-Zein as Polynice) sees what has taken place and responds with violence, adding assaulting a police officer to his crimes, which may lead to his deportation.

Their family bonds are tight and strong, and his sister Antigone (Nahéma Ricci) has a plan, to secure his dauntless release, even if it means she'll have to do time.

Her plan's a success, he escapes, she's arrested, and she settles in at the juvenile detention centre.

Where her brave actions are swiftly called out, in consideration of her brother's transgressions.

She's determined, dedicated, feisty, immutable, her conscience uprightly resolved.

Her partner (Antoine Desrochers as Hémon) fights for her integral freedom.

Stirring up quite the intense media frenzy.

No easy answers in this one.

The classic compelling mind*&%#.

Ethical issues abound as hearts clash in Sophie Deraspe's Antigone, a brilliant reimagining of the play, creatively and controversially brought to life, through the art of aggrieved contemplation.

Antigone's somewhat well-integrated.

She even won a scholarly prize.

She's by the book, constructive, rational, no-nonsense, the film critically absolved by her defiant reserve.

It's puzzling that she takes such risks for a career ne'er-do-well, yet provocative inasmuch as she avails.

The film intermittently interrupts the action with clever feverish pop-cultural analyzes, energetically presenting high octane observations, situating the narrative in the world at large, a broader multicultural context, that expands as the trial gets underway.

It's a convincing drama that excels at realistically depicting youthful and aged antagonisms, clearly in touch with the alternative views, and the ways in which peeps struggle to understand them.

Although Antigone's youthful rebellion ironically upholds old patriarchal schools, a cunning syntheses on behalf of Deraspe, who boldly articulates so many sharp distinctions, without seeming sentimental or preachy.

I'd argue Antigone upholds a great Québecois tradition of crafting rebellious films which make you think, like Mommy, Vic + Flo ont vu un ours, Quand l'amour se creuse un trou, or 1er amour, a unique style that's totally its own, that asks hard questions that have no answer.

But it's in trying to answer them that these films imaginatively assert themselves, as life presents impenetrable codes, as disconcerting as they are enlivening, basking in comprehensive intrigue.

There's no frosty sugar coating.

Just reality, action, dilemmas, mistakes.

Life.

Active living.

Insert The Matrix.

Bewilder.

Could go for some pancakes.

The Good Liar

A reptilian overture preys on aged innocence, moving from one lonely widow to the next, as he amasses prim misfortune, too incorrigible to ever give it up (Ian McKellen as Roy Courtnay).

Lifelong aggressive tremens, no friend to terms or tact, slipped through the cracks for many a year, avoided wayward trim detection.

He's quite hawkish, rather diligent, a partner lending a helping hand (Jim Carter as Vincent), watching out for eager fools all too willing to softly land.

Romance by night, fraternizing by day, not one to take time off, he's insatiably disposed, as voracious as they come, an emotionless career psycho.

He meets another unsuspecting victim (Helen Mirren as Betty McLeish) all too happy to make a new friend, she's so overcome with infatuation it's not long 'til he's movin' in.

Her grandson's (Russell Tovey as Stephen) more suspicious and proceeds to make historical inquiries, uncovering a gruesome awkward scandal dating back to World War II.

But explanations are forthcoming and life's less bitter if you can forgive, the two making it up on the shifty spot, and carrying on as if nothing's unhinged.

But if the title's none the wiser, there may be more surprises in store, The Good Liar as composed as its enmity, begetting bitter strikes richly scored.

It's straightforward yet tough from the get-go, but neither textbook nor boring, a brisk pace highlighting the novelty, of high stakes octogenarian high-jinx.

The couple's half bourgeois, half streetwise, at times they pleasantly blend, Betty's sympathy keeping things afloat, providing excuses for Roy's demeanour.

I think a particularly vile realm in hell should be reserved for those who prey on the elderly, if such a place exists, and it's odd to see the elderly preying upon each other in this one, sheer proof of the ageless psychopath.

Certainly a good idea for a film and I can't think of anything else like it, although if it had been shot like a creepy indie, it likely would have made more of an impact.

It's a bit farfetched that Roy is still at large at his age, can you always work in a British detective?

Still enjoyed it, a bit of irreverent controversy, nice to see Helen Mirren and Ian McKellen in something dramatic, without fast cars or apocalyptic agendas.

Some unexpected twists keep it moving along as their coupling becomes more intense, neither too poised nor that full-on thug, without ever displaying much feeling.

Is this a date movie?

Knives Out

The details of a significant literary fortune gravely concern a renowned P.I., after its author passes away.

For multiple motivations could have driven his children to murder, although things seem quite prim and proper during preliminary investigations.

But bold personalities have lied about particulars to appear both innocent and ready to please, their uncoordinated individualized tales melodramatically unwinding under further examination.

Classic lackadaisical mischief improvisationally askew, a bit of lacklustre stiff-lipped cerveza effervescent undrafted clues.

An ingenue accompanies Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) as hypotheticals brashly accumulate, her involvement hushed up meanwhile while others clash and conciliate.

Unnerved as if something's counterpoised, or shifty, ill-gotten, extraneous, her own misdeeds wouldn't be so incriminating, if they weren't so exceedingly awkward.

Disbelief as inherently relied upon as stealth or disingenuous inquisition, what's to be said is difficult to say, if everything isn't just brought right back up.

Veracity assuming verisimilitude.

Awaiting redoubtable spectre.

A murder mystery not as stealthy as I had expected, still induces endearing alarm, more commercial than Frost, Morse, or Vera, its lighthearted humour in sharp cheeky contrast.

Almost as if writer/director Rian Johnson is aware of the appeal of astute British sleuths, yet sought something less traditional for his star-studded Knives Out, then hired Daniel Craig (James Bond) to detect with a Southern accent, to craft something much more American.

It's first rate unperturbed spice mélange, unconcerned yet still strict and serious, bashful yet residually haunting, determined to make things up as it goes along.

It generates enough interest early on to still entice as it gives itself away, cleverly concealing less evident alternatives, to sustain reanimating perspectives.

If there ever was an old world its conception disputes the new, as the media picks up the scoop, and youth habitually makes the right moves.

It's cool to see a film that finds a physical image to sum up its form in the end, although I can't mention what it is, although from what I've said it should be somewhat obvious.

Neither too light nor too dark and damning, another creative film from the versatile Rian Johnson.

Not as edgy or grim as Looper.

But certainly a lot more fun.

If you’re hoping to get customers to tip 18 or even 21% on their purchases, try showing them how much they’ll be charged if they pay the extra amount.

For instance, on a purchase of $20, display that 15% = $3, 18% = $3.60, and 21% = $4.20.

When I saw how similar the amount tipped at the rate of 15% would be to that of tipping at the rate of 18%, the annoyance of tipping more than 15% quickly faded.

Worth a shot.

If you can make it so that people who don’t want to be there don’t mind showing up, you’re doing something right.

Chapter & Verse

Luminescent lispy zounds
reflective introspecs unbound
their shimmer steeped in iridescent
aerodyne autosuggestion

bookmark burnished brookside bastion
annotated interactive
deep within each portly page
a labyrinthine cavalcade

dependent thus indeed upon
historical perspectives fond
contemporary splices spins
psychology then blended in

communal aspects tributaries
protoplasmic solitary
dreamlike agile revelations
vigilant accommodation

sway.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

True kindness and understanding, humbly presented with compassionate care, eager to learn new things and listen, according to the preferences of his friends and colleagues, willing to encourage an idea within reason, or curiously lend a helping hand, accustomed to supporting friends in startled need, or sitting back to shoot the breeze, perhaps ready to share a contradiction, but not with offensive intent, offered without seeking to contest or duel, but to passively suggest an alternative option, full of thanks and amicable reward, he frankly yet pleasantly proceeds, truly interested in what you have to say, unconcerned with rank or bias, sincere sympathy reflexively conveyed, clear positive energy, an anti-sophist, a remarkably thoughtful and genuine teacher, a good neighbor, one Mr. Fred Rogers (Tom Hanks).

Meets Mr. Angry (Matthew Rhys as Lloyd Vogel), a grown-up devoid of youth, consumed by hopeless cynicism, blind to lighthearts and forgiveness.

It's sad because Angry's in a position to spread hope and good cheer, not simply for merriment's sake, but to encourage less hostile relations, since if the people who are concerned with spreading the truth only see greed and envy, and emphasize the preponderance of these vices in everything they write, even though they have influence, they'll create communities void of trust, especially if they always focus on people like Trump, who bring it on themselves, and don't showcase less grotesque alternatives, Trump's world is certainly violent, and needs to be forthrightly exposed, but if nothing is offered as a less corrupt alternative, because he's selling all the papers, and the news still shapes people's worldview, then there's nothing but individualized angst to rely on, and the world becomes Trump's forbidding place.

I suppose stories about philanthropists and less controversial figures don't sell as many papers, but if the news is entirely focused on death and destruction, and people learn how to behave in response, is it not more ethical to risk less revenue, and share more stories about warmth and compassion?

If the news is saying it's wrong to live within an expedient void wherein which there are no principles or standards, and it shies away from sharing stories which reflect goodwill and sympathy, sharing them along with those it disseminates to expose political corruption, because they want to earn higher profits, does it not also exist in an expedient void where there's nothing but disgrace and corruption?

If they're to be relied upon as the promoters of a better world, should they not also do something to promote that world?

As did Mr. Rogers?

I understand this point in time is particularly bleak, but there must still be noteworthy stories out there about people spreading the light, and your first instinct shouldn't be to denounce them as hypocrites because of something they did 20 years ago, but to perhaps build them up as champions of peace fighting blatant corruption.

If there are no leaders who are worthy of respect what's the point in respecting anything?

Isn't that what Trump wants? Doesn't he suggest there's no point in respecting anyone so you may as well follow him?

I understand life isn't a box of chocolates, but it's not a razor's edge either. There's room for light as well as dark. And people like stories about honest folks.

I'm not looking for a share of the spotlight, I'm just thinking about these kinds of things.

The news often seems so grim.

Other people have messages besides Trump.

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

Do the spaces found within seemingly docile solid materials in fact house inordinate extraterrestrials imprisoned forlorn and ever after?

And have they been transported there by advanced alien beings who curiously monitor life on Earth to ensure the galaxy is not imperilled?

The answers to these questions, like so many others, remain uncertain, for who's to say what inhabits the imperceptible if it indeed cannot be perceived?

Yet science, perennially sleuthing, is undaunted by such perplexities, bold Buckaroo Banzai (Peter Weller) deciphering clues to what may in fact lathe mathematical convention, as he applies piquant planetary particulars to unheard of galactic synergies, his momentum unconsciously driven, by repute, cogito ergo sum.

In so doing he travels across the 8th dimension, within which evil restrictively resides, returning with proof of biological protocol, and visual records of alternative life.

He still makes it to a gig with his supporting band later that evening, where a despondent lovelorn fan (Ellen Barkin as Penny Priddy) makes known her sincere distress.

As rival Emilio Lizardo (John Lithgow) madly reemerges, to join forces with despotic largesse, another group of aliens who seek to free their incarcerated brethren, who lack the knowledge to penetrate the realm themselves, who desperately covet Buckaroo's secret formula, not to mention his chill sporty ride.

But if they get the formula, the friendly aliens will destroy planet Earth to prevent the forces of tyranny from escaping, a high price to pay for unbound innovation, as unsettling as it is battle-scarred.

1984 was a different time, and I can't speak to how well Buckaroo was received then, if it was known for bold hilarity or hapless head shakes, if it prospered, or just slipped aside.

It has a great cast including Weller, Lithgow, Barkin, Christopher Lloyd (John Bigbooté), Jeff Goldblum (New Jersey), Dan Hedaya (John Gomez), Vincent Schiavelli (John O'Connor), Clancy Brown (Rawhide), Matt Clark (The Secretary of Defense), and Jonathan Banks (Lizardo Hospital Guard), but it doesn't do much with their chaotic expertise.

It spoofs how seriously sci-fi takes itself at times and the ludicrous plot is wildly nuanced with brains, but there's too much thought worked into the interstellar shenanigans to let the laughs lackadaisically let loose.

It's like Buckaroo spent more time calculating what it means to be funny rather than just simply telling jokes or presenting foolish situations.

New Jersey is a good example of what I mean here, the cowboy's totally out of place and seems like he should be funny, but he really isn't at all because he doesn't have solid material to work with.

Buckaroo makes science-fiction seem ridiculous, its succeeds at achieving this goal, but it forgets to do so with disarming levity, as Spaceballs did so remarkably well.

But I may be missing comedic points that were more versatile at the time, and I imagine what I didn't find funny was once well-received.

Sometimes cool casts like this wind up in a stinker too.

That still happens.

Not all the time though.

Dead Ringers

Symbiotically existing in enriched systemic ecology, unwavering strict calisthenic sophistication, enraptured cozy charismatic extroversion, hesitant timid imaginative reserve, it's nice to share things, to openly bond with your closest friends, to have someone who listens intently, no matter what, with supportive perceptive inquisitive professionalism, inflating recourse to the sensual, with compelling jocose trust.

But from a rigid analysis of the potent data provided, it's clear they've never fallen in love, nor entertained the influence of an other, nor experimented outside of work.

Fraternal camaraderie bromantically heeled and coalesced, a love interest offers escape, from nothing other than endemic exclusion.

And as one twin rises, the other falls apart, the two still irrevocably united, as jealousy struts and strays.

Dark reckonings hark the one, as wild recreation threatens everything he's worked for, the other firmly relying on his research, and their unyielding warm fidelity.

If only he hadn't introduced temptation.

If only they'd persisted in nascent womb.

Dead Ringers bluntly interrogates duality, as purest electrosynthesis meets dialectical destruction.

Infusing interstellar heights with nebulous oblivion, it diagnostically conceives a tragic provocation.

The blend of successful starstruck elegance and distraught candid mayhem produces an unsettling effect, purest material Cronenberg, even as he approaches the lofty mainstream.

I actually skipped this one years ago when I was eagerly renting his early films, because I was worried it'd be too bourgeois, like he'd done something John Waters or John Carpenter would never do, for which I could find no categorical compulsion.

I remained deathly afraid.

But the result's nothing too scary, although it's quite different from Scanners or Videodrome, it's like Cronenberg's trying to do something more traditional (a drama) but still can't restrain himself, so it unreels like a high brow slightly grotesque farce, that's descended into chaos by the end.

Would have been cool if they had found partners at the same time, or had pursued l'amour less sophomorically.

Cohesive reflexive unity.

Extensively engrained.

Socioculturally cocooned.

Still not enough Jeremy Irons (Beverly and Elliot Mantle).

Don't wait an extra 15 years.

Gisaengchung (Parasite)

A family lost, distraught, unmotivated, confined, still amicably blossoms with felicitous good cheer, unconcerned with the burdens of routine or responsibility, they wondrously extrapolate 'bout nothin' that serious, getting by on part-time work that greases the wheel but not the spoon, things would seem quaint and cozy if it wasn't for the bugs, doctrineless discernment gregarious fouls, bewitching internment impressionable scowls, a tip immersively emerges like fledgling novel suspicion, and soon a family member's bringing home thatched coconut bacon, the fluidic tease of his newfound earnings concocting pastime, project, and plan, soon they've all worked their way in, and embraced lucrative unsought transition.

A wealthy family hiring help unaccustomed to astute deception, broadening horizons through pitched endeavour, providing purpose and steady employ is tricked, sophisticatedly hoodwinked, yet finds no reason to rigorously question, comedic outputs mutually prescribed.

But an historical hitch lies in soul stricken wait, and others have taken advantage of their amassed well-worn fortune.

And as the dust seems to settle and libations accrue, an unanticipated factor problematizes anew.

I thought it'd be something different, thought the wealthy family was indeed aware, ready to propose alternative arrangements, composed with sardonic flair.

It's not like that, not like that at all, it's rather a morbidly humorous take on labour relations, and non-unionized strategic conflict.

Gisaengchung (Parasite) excels at revelling in shock, like bourgeois dispossessed Takashi Miike, still not as haunting as I had come to expect, although its climax seduces fear.

It's far too cheery to impact like Old Boy, and retributive to placate the real, a tale of morals meteorologically harmonized, the violence doesn't really fit.

The family was happy on its own and seemed lighthearted and innocent.

There isn't much logic to Mr. Ki-taek's (Kang-ho Song) act of rage.

Besides the sudden eruption of blind envy.

Or having to listen in his laidback old age.

Absurdist pretensions cloaked in divine judgment, there's no telling whether or not you should take it seriously, for it seems like it's trying to convince until you analyze its bizarre shortcomings.

Labour relations at an all time low, but the employers haven't done anything wrong, besides exist as they instinctively see fit, they're quite generous in fact, quite concerned.

Of course you don't have to sign too many petitions or read the news for very long before you come across stories of abused domestics, Gisaengchung overlooking this grim reality as its lucky help asserts itself vengefully (ala Lars von Trier).

A distressing narrative that assails wild envy, or people unwilling to correct errors, for rather than accepting they had lied to begin with, they respond with ironic terror.

But the scenario's indeed absurd, and perhaps meant to be thoughtfully dismissed.

Although it's also quite real as if it's meant to be taken to heart.

It presents characters lavishly sharing their wealth without asking much in return (there are many great people like this), who are mortally wounded as a result, even though their servants lied to get their jobs.

If it's not meant to be dismissed, it's something much more grim.

More of a condemnation of hired help.

Resolute mendacity.

Begrudged disfavour.

Kick the field goal.

It builds momentum and gives your defence more confidence.

Field goals.

Kick 'em!