Whoa.
Hold on a second.
What the hell just happened?
Trauma, maximized.
Traditional everything, capsized.
An idyllic summer of youthful exploration, satirized.
Desire and the literary imagination, terrorized.
Or distilled, depending on whether or not young Antoine (Loïc Esteves) and Anna (Marianne Fortier) can poetically compute.
The setting is idyllic. Traditional notions of marriage are elevated. The pivotal moment synthesizes far too many constitutional traumatic clefts for Guillaume Sylvestre's 1er amour not to be considered satirical.
While trying to write a breakthrough novel.
Classical music, cicading un/aware.
The shots of the insects etc. innocently foreshadow.
Is M. Sylvestre trying to classically pinpoint a salacious oxymoronic yet foundational postmodern quintessence or simply diagnosing a psychiatrist's dream?
The final image of the boat speeding away, the family unit confined yet in constant motion, offers little guidance.
But that look on his face.
The risk factor, Lothario, focus on the risk factor.
I might have released this in November.
Solid satire.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Okay, this is worth instablogging.
I see this poet perform last summer.
She's good.
I don't see her again until a couple of weeks ago while waiting for the métro.
I don't say anything, figure she doesn't recognize me, why would she, I spoke to her briefly at a poetry reading last summer, why would she remember me, I have a hard enough time figuring out things to say to girls who know who I am, let alone those whom I don't know.
But then I see her on the bus last weekend.
This is odd because I was supposed to catch an earlier bus but it was full so I couldn't get on.
I had to wait for the next bus and then there she was.
Then tonight, I get on the métro, the doors shut, I'm waiting for it to depart, but it doesn't depart, the doors open again, and then there she is again, briskly stepping aboard.
What are the odds of that?
What are the odds of two events like that happening in a city as big as Montréal in a little over a week?
Astronomically high.
Lottery winning high.
Hope she's doing alright.
I see this poet perform last summer.
She's good.
I don't see her again until a couple of weeks ago while waiting for the métro.
I don't say anything, figure she doesn't recognize me, why would she, I spoke to her briefly at a poetry reading last summer, why would she remember me, I have a hard enough time figuring out things to say to girls who know who I am, let alone those whom I don't know.
But then I see her on the bus last weekend.
This is odd because I was supposed to catch an earlier bus but it was full so I couldn't get on.
I had to wait for the next bus and then there she was.
Then tonight, I get on the métro, the doors shut, I'm waiting for it to depart, but it doesn't depart, the doors open again, and then there she is again, briskly stepping aboard.
What are the odds of that?
What are the odds of two events like that happening in a city as big as Montréal in a little over a week?
Astronomically high.
Lottery winning high.
Hope she's doing alright.
Today I was faced with a tough decision.
Having given blood early on, I then proceeded to JazzFest. Gauze and tape were applied to my arm at the point from which the blood was extracted. I removed the gauze and tape two hours later only to find my arm stuck to my shirt one hour hence, stuck because that very same arm was bleeding.
Having no alternative shirt within my backpack, I had to decide whether or not to keep wearing the blood stained shirt or put on the jacket which I did have in my backpack and deal with the resulting discomfort.
The bleeding had stopped (and thankfully didn't start up again).
After 20 minutes of deliberation I went with the jacket.
This proved comfortable after the sun went down.
Yet for a solid 4 hours there was a minor degree of discomfort.
Having given blood early on, I then proceeded to JazzFest. Gauze and tape were applied to my arm at the point from which the blood was extracted. I removed the gauze and tape two hours later only to find my arm stuck to my shirt one hour hence, stuck because that very same arm was bleeding.
Having no alternative shirt within my backpack, I had to decide whether or not to keep wearing the blood stained shirt or put on the jacket which I did have in my backpack and deal with the resulting discomfort.
The bleeding had stopped (and thankfully didn't start up again).
After 20 minutes of deliberation I went with the jacket.
This proved comfortable after the sun went down.
Yet for a solid 4 hours there was a minor degree of discomfort.
The key is to catch the moment without getting caught up in it.
Has anyone written that cheesy line before?
I don't recall every having read or heard it.
It's better to get caught up in it anyways.
What?
(In the film, the elder figure begrudgingly mentions that line to a youth with talent whom he or she's trying to steer clear from hard times. The youth ignores him or her and succeeds. Yay!).
Has anyone written that cheesy line before?
I don't recall every having read or heard it.
It's better to get caught up in it anyways.
What?
(In the film, the elder figure begrudgingly mentions that line to a youth with talent whom he or she's trying to steer clear from hard times. The youth ignores him or her and succeeds. Yay!).
Thursday, June 27, 2013
The East
Professional integrity lands itself a high-level covert assignment, full of danger and risk, wherein it must clandestinely adjudicate its broad range of astute sociological reflexes to infiltrate a stealth pack of humanistic hyperreactivists and expose their audacious whereabouts.
She finds them far too easily, but after coyly yet adhesively nestling, finds herself inductively considering their proactive cause, which seeks stricter much more effective regulations regarding the ways in which big business generates profit.
She works for a rather big business herself and must come to terms with its motives as she becomes increasingly integrated in both domains.
Her partner is frustrated.
Her conscience is bifurcated.
Friendships coalesce.
She is neither arrogant nor weak.
The East melodramatically yet crucially materializes the dissonant underground social dynamics of altruistically pursuing game changing objectives (the comments made by the underground collective occasionally seem at odds with their ethical ideals), bringing some of Terry Eagleton's arguments to life, without shying away from juxtaposing economic with ethical impoverishment.
The scene where Izzy's (Ellen Page) estranged parent jumps in the toxic sludge works well.
Laws can be made to correspond to the goals fought for in this film.
Made and enforced.
Check out Vincent Lam's Tommy Douglas, part of Penguin's Extraordinary Canadians series, and find out what the CCF party did for ordinary hard working citizens of Saskatchewan in a relatively short period of time, when a lot of people thought nothing could be done.
They enacted social democratic change while balancing the budget.
They proceeded cautiously and soundly to legitimize their movement's thrust.
Not that easy to do of course, but there are people all over the world who become rather upset when their water supply turns carcinogenic.
It's just common sense.
She finds them far too easily, but after coyly yet adhesively nestling, finds herself inductively considering their proactive cause, which seeks stricter much more effective regulations regarding the ways in which big business generates profit.
She works for a rather big business herself and must come to terms with its motives as she becomes increasingly integrated in both domains.
Her partner is frustrated.
Her conscience is bifurcated.
Friendships coalesce.
She is neither arrogant nor weak.
The East melodramatically yet crucially materializes the dissonant underground social dynamics of altruistically pursuing game changing objectives (the comments made by the underground collective occasionally seem at odds with their ethical ideals), bringing some of Terry Eagleton's arguments to life, without shying away from juxtaposing economic with ethical impoverishment.
The scene where Izzy's (Ellen Page) estranged parent jumps in the toxic sludge works well.
Laws can be made to correspond to the goals fought for in this film.
Made and enforced.
Check out Vincent Lam's Tommy Douglas, part of Penguin's Extraordinary Canadians series, and find out what the CCF party did for ordinary hard working citizens of Saskatchewan in a relatively short period of time, when a lot of people thought nothing could be done.
They enacted social democratic change while balancing the budget.
They proceeded cautiously and soundly to legitimize their movement's thrust.
Not that easy to do of course, but there are people all over the world who become rather upset when their water supply turns carcinogenic.
It's just common sense.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
The Kings of Summer
United off-kilter offspring.
Clinical bourgeois dexterity.
Juvenile introspective applicatory superciliousness.
Plunging right in.
Two friends and an accompanying oddball run away to the woods for the summer, and, since no one thinks to check for them there, their wilderness survival antics wantonly dipsy-doodle.
Perhaps not wantonly.
The Kings of Summer could have been more wanton.
Wanton at times however, as the daydreamy trouble making instigator must realize that he lacks the instincts of the hunter possessed by his lifelong associate who can't figure out what his problem is after the introduction of a feminine element.
Biaggio (Moises Arias) etherealizes a somewhat useless hands-on constructivism with a pertinent decorative unassuming acumen, best captured by the interpretive dance he releases to the beat of his rhythmic companions's drumming.
They interact as would young idealistic ill-prepared yet stubborn teens who find themselves inhabiting a nimble hardy brash funny neurotic filmic reverie.
The other main feature is Joe's (Nick Robinson) sarcastic jaded controlling super strict live-in family member whose prick of a temperament endears him to none.
Although he does steal a couple of scenes with his complete lack of sensitivity.
Suppose the scenes were meant for him.
He doesn't steal them.
These kids aren't that concerned with electronic devices.
They are able to competently manage a budget for awhile anyways however.
When Joe actually does hunt The Kings of Summer reaches a higher level.
Fun film.
Clinical bourgeois dexterity.
Juvenile introspective applicatory superciliousness.
Plunging right in.
Two friends and an accompanying oddball run away to the woods for the summer, and, since no one thinks to check for them there, their wilderness survival antics wantonly dipsy-doodle.
Perhaps not wantonly.
The Kings of Summer could have been more wanton.
Wanton at times however, as the daydreamy trouble making instigator must realize that he lacks the instincts of the hunter possessed by his lifelong associate who can't figure out what his problem is after the introduction of a feminine element.
Biaggio (Moises Arias) etherealizes a somewhat useless hands-on constructivism with a pertinent decorative unassuming acumen, best captured by the interpretive dance he releases to the beat of his rhythmic companions's drumming.
They interact as would young idealistic ill-prepared yet stubborn teens who find themselves inhabiting a nimble hardy brash funny neurotic filmic reverie.
The other main feature is Joe's (Nick Robinson) sarcastic jaded controlling super strict live-in family member whose prick of a temperament endears him to none.
Although he does steal a couple of scenes with his complete lack of sensitivity.
Suppose the scenes were meant for him.
He doesn't steal them.
These kids aren't that concerned with electronic devices.
They are able to competently manage a budget for awhile anyways however.
When Joe actually does hunt The Kings of Summer reaches a higher level.
Fun film.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Man of Steel
The Man of Steel.
Itinerant and contemplative.
Modest and self-sacrificing.
Sculptor of the spectacularly withdrawn.
Called to action.
Zack Snyder's Man of Steel seeks to altruistically benefit humankind while remaining practically skeptical of their leader's self-serving pretensions.
A 21st century Superman, different from Richard Donner's incarnation, the past continuously and instructively resurfacing, as opposed to being left behind at a certain age.
Like Superman on Facebook.
Prominent features of Superman lore, even his title, are humbly introduced, a sign mentioning Smallville here, an advertisement for LexCorp there, as the film's quasi-historical background subtly reflects Kent's (Henry Cavill) psyche.
Although there's no Jimmy Olsen.
The film confrontationally yet reticently undulates surreal mnemonic passages with sensational graphic carnage, Superman style, as the effected take the time to lend a helping hand, the innocent are humanely taken into consideration, methods of disseminating information multiply, and the ego is intransigently mollified.
The environmental movement finds support as Krypton explodes à cause de rampant resource extraction and later on we find a sole polar bear exploring beside the vestiges of his or her once dependable pack ice.
Jor-El (Russell Crowe) rides a wicked cool H'Raka too.
Solid blend of Superman (1978) and Superman II (1980), paying homage to its most convincing predecessors while leaving the door open for more adventurous avenues of inquiry.
General Zod's (Michael Shannon) still a bit of a dickhole.
Wasn't impressed with the new Ursa (Antje Traue as Faora-Ul).
Some of the supporting cast had more depth in the earlier films.
It's not just that I was 7 years old when I first saw them.
It's not.
Itinerant and contemplative.
Modest and self-sacrificing.
Sculptor of the spectacularly withdrawn.
Called to action.
Zack Snyder's Man of Steel seeks to altruistically benefit humankind while remaining practically skeptical of their leader's self-serving pretensions.
A 21st century Superman, different from Richard Donner's incarnation, the past continuously and instructively resurfacing, as opposed to being left behind at a certain age.
Like Superman on Facebook.
Prominent features of Superman lore, even his title, are humbly introduced, a sign mentioning Smallville here, an advertisement for LexCorp there, as the film's quasi-historical background subtly reflects Kent's (Henry Cavill) psyche.
Although there's no Jimmy Olsen.
The film confrontationally yet reticently undulates surreal mnemonic passages with sensational graphic carnage, Superman style, as the effected take the time to lend a helping hand, the innocent are humanely taken into consideration, methods of disseminating information multiply, and the ego is intransigently mollified.
The environmental movement finds support as Krypton explodes à cause de rampant resource extraction and later on we find a sole polar bear exploring beside the vestiges of his or her once dependable pack ice.
Jor-El (Russell Crowe) rides a wicked cool H'Raka too.
Solid blend of Superman (1978) and Superman II (1980), paying homage to its most convincing predecessors while leaving the door open for more adventurous avenues of inquiry.
General Zod's (Michael Shannon) still a bit of a dickhole.
Wasn't impressed with the new Ursa (Antje Traue as Faora-Ul).
Some of the supporting cast had more depth in the earlier films.
It's not just that I was 7 years old when I first saw them.
It's not.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Epic
The people of the forest, immersed in regenerative evergreen trash talk, immune from the industry of the Stompers, yet still perceptive of their high-flying subterfrugal ways, promoting defensive broad-leaf deciduous synergies, with a staunch sustainable virtuous verdure, to cultivate alimentary symbiotics, and an everlasting intergenerational presence.
The Boggans seek to steal Queen Tara's (Beyoncé Knowles) special pod and awaken it in darkness, thereby sentencing their domain to a putrid epoch of unprecedented decay, during which their malodorous minions will leave the environment in ruin.
A distrusting Stomper's diminutive descension unfurls a wild card in full bloom.
Her realistic encounter with what she considered to be her father's crackpot theories forges deep resplendent rudimentary roots, as well as a cornucopia of friendships.
The profession of safeguarding information is integral to the action.
A living, breathing, biodiverse ecotopia of enchantment and wonder, Epic fumigates unfettered industrial predilections to nurture an arboreal florescence.
Bats get a bad rap though.
Bats are necessary components of a thriving ecosystem and would likely gluttonously feast on Boggans.
I've seen countless bats flying around at dusk and have never had one crash into me.
Mischievous asymmetrical mosquito munchers.
Bats!
The Boggans seek to steal Queen Tara's (Beyoncé Knowles) special pod and awaken it in darkness, thereby sentencing their domain to a putrid epoch of unprecedented decay, during which their malodorous minions will leave the environment in ruin.
A distrusting Stomper's diminutive descension unfurls a wild card in full bloom.
Her realistic encounter with what she considered to be her father's crackpot theories forges deep resplendent rudimentary roots, as well as a cornucopia of friendships.
The profession of safeguarding information is integral to the action.
A living, breathing, biodiverse ecotopia of enchantment and wonder, Epic fumigates unfettered industrial predilections to nurture an arboreal florescence.
Bats get a bad rap though.
Bats are necessary components of a thriving ecosystem and would likely gluttonously feast on Boggans.
I've seen countless bats flying around at dusk and have never had one crash into me.
Mischievous asymmetrical mosquito munchers.
Bats!
Thursday, June 13, 2013
The Lesser Blessed
An isolated inflammatory incident weighs heavy on an Aboriginal teen's conscience while his introverted tendencies and disinterest in his small Northern town's sporty proclivities hinder the smooth development of institutional friendships.
A rough-and-tumble ruffian knows his dark secret and holds it over his head like a combustible cataclysmic rendition.
A practical mistrust of adult male role models heightens the chill pervasive tension while his step-father's commanding yet non-confrontational manner patiently proves that his care is genuine.
There are a couple of great coming-of-age scenes, one, where the youngster in question, Larry Sole (Joel Evans), asks step-father Jed (Benjamin Bratt) for an explanation, which he hesitates to provide due to its grizzly subject matter, but then does, thereby treating Larry with hard-edged respect, and another, where, because of The Lesser Blessed's focus on fighting, drug abuse, hooliganism, and sexual desire, it seems as if the interactive outcome will at least be verbally violent, but when sympathetic reason melts the polarization, a prominent role model begins to take shape.
Jed is contrasted with Larry's teacher who seems like he comes from the South and is ill-prepared for the pressurized seclusion of the Northwest Territories.
Jaded yet convivial crafty confrontations liaise with remote yet age-old ceremonious socializations to foster The Lesser Blessed's adolescent acuity, while incubating an atemporal independent compassion.
With smooth contemporary revitalizations of oral traditions.
Bonding by the campfire.
A rough-and-tumble ruffian knows his dark secret and holds it over his head like a combustible cataclysmic rendition.
A practical mistrust of adult male role models heightens the chill pervasive tension while his step-father's commanding yet non-confrontational manner patiently proves that his care is genuine.
There are a couple of great coming-of-age scenes, one, where the youngster in question, Larry Sole (Joel Evans), asks step-father Jed (Benjamin Bratt) for an explanation, which he hesitates to provide due to its grizzly subject matter, but then does, thereby treating Larry with hard-edged respect, and another, where, because of The Lesser Blessed's focus on fighting, drug abuse, hooliganism, and sexual desire, it seems as if the interactive outcome will at least be verbally violent, but when sympathetic reason melts the polarization, a prominent role model begins to take shape.
Jed is contrasted with Larry's teacher who seems like he comes from the South and is ill-prepared for the pressurized seclusion of the Northwest Territories.
Jaded yet convivial crafty confrontations liaise with remote yet age-old ceremonious socializations to foster The Lesser Blessed's adolescent acuity, while incubating an atemporal independent compassion.
With smooth contemporary revitalizations of oral traditions.
Bonding by the campfire.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
After Earth
Professional militaristic familial dynamics unexpectedly find themselves stranded within a forbidding ravenous planetary panopticon, whose evolutionary criteria must be subsumed then surmounted, as predatory predicaments transform snacks into sentiments, in M. Night Shyamalan's After Earth.
The film's more straightforward.
Establishing a basic super-easy-to-follow far too predictable framework, whose truculent dimensions highlight the potential social impacts of an exhausted environment, it focuses intently on a fearless father (Will Smith) and his spirited son, the only survivors of a craft which crash lands on Earth centuries after humans were forced to flee.
The frame isn't necessarily a problem since After Earth's obviously made for a generalized teenage audience, and I liked the fear speech, but, apart from one scene which indicates that enormous buffaloesque herds have returned, I thought the futuristic depiction of Earth could have used more flora and fauna.
Perhaps due to Epic's contemporaneous release this feature was deliberately limited.
Epic for girls, After Earth for boys?
No comment.
The film's more straightforward.
Establishing a basic super-easy-to-follow far too predictable framework, whose truculent dimensions highlight the potential social impacts of an exhausted environment, it focuses intently on a fearless father (Will Smith) and his spirited son, the only survivors of a craft which crash lands on Earth centuries after humans were forced to flee.
The frame isn't necessarily a problem since After Earth's obviously made for a generalized teenage audience, and I liked the fear speech, but, apart from one scene which indicates that enormous buffaloesque herds have returned, I thought the futuristic depiction of Earth could have used more flora and fauna.
Perhaps due to Epic's contemporaneous release this feature was deliberately limited.
Epic for girls, After Earth for boys?
No comment.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Jagten (The Hunt)
An asphyxiating altercating articulation of innocence incrementally fuels fratricidal flames until an upright loving gregarious educator's life lies holistically in ruin.
Thomas Vinterberg patiently and poignantly crafts a traumatic testament of angelic ostracization as a joyful lifelong friend slowly idealizes the abject.
The childlike recreational pursuits of a supportive communal cohesivity introduced at Jagten's (The Hunt's) outset haunts its terrorized reels in an acerbic antiseptic embodiment of consternated dramatic horror.
Nowhere to go.
No reason to run.
The truth's condemnatory instinct is diatonically disreputed as media sensations are pastorally localized.
Difficult and controversial subject matter.
A didactic tool designed to encourage pause and reflection in order to accentuate the right that one is innocent until proven guilty.
And what can happen if that guilt is assumed inveterately beforehand.
Thomas Vinterberg patiently and poignantly crafts a traumatic testament of angelic ostracization as a joyful lifelong friend slowly idealizes the abject.
The childlike recreational pursuits of a supportive communal cohesivity introduced at Jagten's (The Hunt's) outset haunts its terrorized reels in an acerbic antiseptic embodiment of consternated dramatic horror.
Nowhere to go.
No reason to run.
The truth's condemnatory instinct is diatonically disreputed as media sensations are pastorally localized.
Difficult and controversial subject matter.
A didactic tool designed to encourage pause and reflection in order to accentuate the right that one is innocent until proven guilty.
And what can happen if that guilt is assumed inveterately beforehand.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Mud
Innocent pluck tenderly, loyally, and brazenly clashes with his ideals as their real world applications resoundingly prove despairing.
Not that they aren't still omnipresent, as vital to those whose desires and incomes problematize their sustainability as to those whose iron will does not, uncompromised dedication liaising with starvation and prevarication to slowly devastate an unyielding devotion, destructive acts of retributive jealousy increasing in proportion with their subject's maniacal progressions, with no recourse to substantial alternative educational or economic detachments, to productively cover things up.
Mud's (Matthew McConaughey) love for Juniper (Reese Witherspoon) defines his sense of purpose as a career or a pastime might define another, and only after seeing his self naively rematerialized in the form of a 14-year-old risking everything to help him, does difference dawn.
Jeff Nichol's Mud ruggedly evaporates an accidental transient symbiotic bilateral pact, having uplifted both partners in its unwritten momentary apotheosis.
Seen through a child's eyes, many of the film's sequences are oversimplified.
Strength of character compensates.
Mandatory for lovers of romantic impoverished hard-hitting innovative coming of age bucolics.
Not that they aren't still omnipresent, as vital to those whose desires and incomes problematize their sustainability as to those whose iron will does not, uncompromised dedication liaising with starvation and prevarication to slowly devastate an unyielding devotion, destructive acts of retributive jealousy increasing in proportion with their subject's maniacal progressions, with no recourse to substantial alternative educational or economic detachments, to productively cover things up.
Mud's (Matthew McConaughey) love for Juniper (Reese Witherspoon) defines his sense of purpose as a career or a pastime might define another, and only after seeing his self naively rematerialized in the form of a 14-year-old risking everything to help him, does difference dawn.
Jeff Nichol's Mud ruggedly evaporates an accidental transient symbiotic bilateral pact, having uplifted both partners in its unwritten momentary apotheosis.
Seen through a child's eyes, many of the film's sequences are oversimplified.
Strength of character compensates.
Mandatory for lovers of romantic impoverished hard-hitting innovative coming of age bucolics.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Kon-Tiki
Since a young age I've preserved a healthy skepticism regarding whether or not Columbus discovered America.
As I'm sure many others have as well.
Noting that many of my interlocutors have always maintained a healthy degree of mistrust regarding anything people other than themselves happen to mention, and figuring that this is nothing new, that people have always cultivated such suspicions, it seems hard for me to believe that everyone agreed that the Earth was flat way back when, and that a bunch of disenfranchised trouble makers never simply jumped on a boat to sail the open unrecorded seas, forbidding prohibitions be damned.
I know there are continents on the other side of whatever ocean.
But if I didn't, yet I knew there were islands in the middle of mainland lakes, I could easily hypothesize that similar landmasses existed offshore, and confidently set out in search of their voluptuous bounties.
Thinking ancient cultures didn't travel open waters trading and communicating with each other ir/regularly is too Eurocentric a viewpoint for my tastes, too reliant on the written word, as it was for Thor Heyerdahl (Pål Sverre Hagen) in Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg's Kon-Tiki, who sets out to prove that Indigenous Polynesians already knew, thanks to their reliable oral traditions, that some of their islands were settled from the East as opposed to the West, by ancient Peruvians bravely crossing the Pacific.
Thor boldly proceeds with a crew of 5 adventurers, on a raft, across the Pacific, with no support from the scientific communities of his day, risking everything to expand certain understandings.
Kon-Tiki congenially presents a family friendly bit too comfortable narrative considering wherein hope, faith, inspiration, and truth miraculously guide a stalwart team, with endless shots of their leader (Norway's Peter O'Toole?), and the crabby sentiments of a pesky stowaway.
Its best sequence shows how broken attachments lead to immediate retributions whose consequences, instigated after a confrontational organizational challenge, pits trust against doubt, the same doubt that Heyerdahl represents regarding established truths of his time, said trust triumphing, and said consequences, the situation demanding an immediate life saving response, prove remarkable fortuitous, if not generally foolhardy.
It also productively examines group dynamics for although Herman Watzinger's (Anders Baasmo Christiansen) doubt threatens his group's cohesiveness at times, his continuing presence provides them with the information they need to avoid disaster as they approach their destination, thereby elevating the film's conception of a critical yet devout unified team.
A contemporary established theory that I often hear referenced that seems suspect to me suggests that North and South America were populated by peoples walking across the Bering Land Bridge from Asia.
I've also heard other people suspect this theory and am drawing on such conversations (and writings) in presenting this idea.
And I mean, seriously, enough people crossed this bridge to cultivate multidimensional populations from Tuktoyaktuk to Patagonia, walking all the way, only crossing a land bridge between East Asia and Alaska?
Makes more sense to me that there were already peoples inhabiting North and South America and some eventually walked over the bridge to join them.
Does anyone dispute that Australia's Indigenous population lived there for millennia before first European contact?
Worth investigating anyways.
As I'm sure many others have as well.
Noting that many of my interlocutors have always maintained a healthy degree of mistrust regarding anything people other than themselves happen to mention, and figuring that this is nothing new, that people have always cultivated such suspicions, it seems hard for me to believe that everyone agreed that the Earth was flat way back when, and that a bunch of disenfranchised trouble makers never simply jumped on a boat to sail the open unrecorded seas, forbidding prohibitions be damned.
I know there are continents on the other side of whatever ocean.
But if I didn't, yet I knew there were islands in the middle of mainland lakes, I could easily hypothesize that similar landmasses existed offshore, and confidently set out in search of their voluptuous bounties.
Thinking ancient cultures didn't travel open waters trading and communicating with each other ir/regularly is too Eurocentric a viewpoint for my tastes, too reliant on the written word, as it was for Thor Heyerdahl (Pål Sverre Hagen) in Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg's Kon-Tiki, who sets out to prove that Indigenous Polynesians already knew, thanks to their reliable oral traditions, that some of their islands were settled from the East as opposed to the West, by ancient Peruvians bravely crossing the Pacific.
Thor boldly proceeds with a crew of 5 adventurers, on a raft, across the Pacific, with no support from the scientific communities of his day, risking everything to expand certain understandings.
Kon-Tiki congenially presents a family friendly bit too comfortable narrative considering wherein hope, faith, inspiration, and truth miraculously guide a stalwart team, with endless shots of their leader (Norway's Peter O'Toole?), and the crabby sentiments of a pesky stowaway.
Its best sequence shows how broken attachments lead to immediate retributions whose consequences, instigated after a confrontational organizational challenge, pits trust against doubt, the same doubt that Heyerdahl represents regarding established truths of his time, said trust triumphing, and said consequences, the situation demanding an immediate life saving response, prove remarkable fortuitous, if not generally foolhardy.
It also productively examines group dynamics for although Herman Watzinger's (Anders Baasmo Christiansen) doubt threatens his group's cohesiveness at times, his continuing presence provides them with the information they need to avoid disaster as they approach their destination, thereby elevating the film's conception of a critical yet devout unified team.
A contemporary established theory that I often hear referenced that seems suspect to me suggests that North and South America were populated by peoples walking across the Bering Land Bridge from Asia.
I've also heard other people suspect this theory and am drawing on such conversations (and writings) in presenting this idea.
And I mean, seriously, enough people crossed this bridge to cultivate multidimensional populations from Tuktoyaktuk to Patagonia, walking all the way, only crossing a land bridge between East Asia and Alaska?
Makes more sense to me that there were already peoples inhabiting North and South America and some eventually walked over the bridge to join them.
Does anyone dispute that Australia's Indigenous population lived there for millennia before first European contact?
Worth investigating anyways.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Cholita Ayacuchana (Young Girl from Ayacucho), José Sabogal
Fiercely intelligent confident vixen,
desirous of contentious staple afflictions,
an assertive drive vouchsafing her role,
voluble counterpoints, formidable goals.
desirous of contentious staple afflictions,
an assertive drive vouchsafing her role,
voluble counterpoints, formidable goals.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
El recluta (The Recruit), José Sabogal
A modest attire with a recoiling flourish,
skeptical fortunes yearn faithful ensurists,
strong patient caring daring intact at attention,
mysterious mark of immeasur'ble tensions.
skeptical fortunes yearn faithful ensurists,
strong patient caring daring intact at attention,
mysterious mark of immeasur'ble tensions.
The Great Gatsby
Extravagant timidity humbly refrains an opulent recourse to true's love sustain.
Spare no expense, attract the best and the brightest, the emotion's too deep, the goal of the tightest.
Business contacts whose illicit elixirs submerge their protractive congenial mixtures.
Sponsor time honoured traditions of courtship, implying ambitious circuitous quartets.
As fate's lavish weave blends with chance's reprieve, the noblest of dreams hail permanency.
For people, and Queens, and the prettiest things.
Preferred Australia and Moulin Rouge!
Spare no expense, attract the best and the brightest, the emotion's too deep, the goal of the tightest.
Business contacts whose illicit elixirs submerge their protractive congenial mixtures.
Sponsor time honoured traditions of courtship, implying ambitious circuitous quartets.
As fate's lavish weave blends with chance's reprieve, the noblest of dreams hail permanency.
For people, and Queens, and the prettiest things.
Preferred Australia and Moulin Rouge!
Friday, May 24, 2013
Stirrup-Spout Bottle in the Shape of an Anthropomorphized Potato
Harvested nectars
sprouts bulging
centripetal succulence
ceremonial solemnince
earthen transeloquence
lunar spondiference
imbibed
sprouts bulging
centripetal succulence
ceremonial solemnince
earthen transeloquence
lunar spondiference
imbibed
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.
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