Cradling incalculable creative mismatched fluencies, irregularly dispatched as an artist comes into being, Richard Linklater's Boyhood follows a struggling family's progressive course for more than a decade, intermingling climactic catalysts and laid-back observations to serialize the traumatic and the beautiful, the courageous and the chill, helpless free-flowing resilient tenacity, a pervasive sense of wonder, enlightened, eiderdown.
Nice to see an asshole who isn't loveable.
What a strong mother (Patricia Arquette).
Responsibility and teaching are major factors, the children living with their mother, spending weekends with their father, encountering caring facilitators of learning along the way.
Dad (Ethan Hawke) steals a lot of scenes because he has less responsibility and can therefore spend more time being cool, but mom commands more respect, having to make extremely difficult choices as her stable partners turn into beasts.
I liked how the film's divided into different sections as the children age without seeming like it's divided at all; Boyhood has a seamless continuous flow which maturely reflects the passing of the years by not choosing to focus too intently on significant events, while still unreeling cogently enough to recognize their developmental importance.
This style also allows Linklater's characters to smoothly change and grow without constant reminders that they are changing and growing, which may have become tiresome.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Chef
Don't know what to make of Jon Favreau's Chef.
It has all the ingredients to be a great film, strong cast, relatable situation, strong characters, heartwarming familial pains, a professional individual's difficulties maintaining a sane work/life balance, artistic expression versus profit-based-strategies, cool tattoo, emphasis on resiliency, neat way to move forward, chill sophisticated artistry sustaining a team, acclimatizations to contemporary phenomenons (social networking issues), crisis, tenacity, rebirth, economic realities respected in terms of friendship, change, coming together, growth, it inspires its audience to diversify their outputs, family friendly yet not picture perfect, imbroglios, composure.
I like all of these things.
But Chef just wasn't my style.
Ah well.
It has all the ingredients to be a great film, strong cast, relatable situation, strong characters, heartwarming familial pains, a professional individual's difficulties maintaining a sane work/life balance, artistic expression versus profit-based-strategies, cool tattoo, emphasis on resiliency, neat way to move forward, chill sophisticated artistry sustaining a team, acclimatizations to contemporary phenomenons (social networking issues), crisis, tenacity, rebirth, economic realities respected in terms of friendship, change, coming together, growth, it inspires its audience to diversify their outputs, family friendly yet not picture perfect, imbroglios, composure.
I like all of these things.
But Chef just wasn't my style.
Ah well.
Friday, July 25, 2014
Snowpiercer
The ravages of global warming have accidentally imprisoned the last surviving members of humanity on an invincible super train, Sheldon Cooper's purist blast of ecstasy, which travels the entire globe over the span of a year, codifying condensed calisthenics, perpetual in its autarkic motions.
Built to function as an enviropolitical scientist's incendiary trench-line, if they like quenching sensationally instructive transistors, a fierce class struggle has erupted within, its boiling point having been reactively reached, crisis, calamity, infraction, the oppressed rebelliously coming into being, extinction, be concisely damned.
It comes down to the food supply.
Mixed in with spatial limitations.
Unprepared perplexing stamina.
Jackass authoritative guidelines.
Why the train's supreme ruler chose to employ an oppressive model to govern his domain after the potential for continuous expansion was obliterated, speaks to the ridiculousness of his model itself, as well as the preponderance of its all-encompassing indoctrinations.
The price of a ticket bears consequences eternal.
The population would have to be controlled, but why one section lives in luxury while the other has to resort to cannibalism makes no sense.
The torches made me think of Plato's cave.
The key is solutions precipitated by a lack of preparation.
John Hurt (Gilliam) is showing up in everything cool these days.
Sheldon Cooper would probably have serious issues with the train.
It would be a great lecture.
At least one other species survives.
Built to function as an enviropolitical scientist's incendiary trench-line, if they like quenching sensationally instructive transistors, a fierce class struggle has erupted within, its boiling point having been reactively reached, crisis, calamity, infraction, the oppressed rebelliously coming into being, extinction, be concisely damned.
It comes down to the food supply.
Mixed in with spatial limitations.
Unprepared perplexing stamina.
Jackass authoritative guidelines.
Why the train's supreme ruler chose to employ an oppressive model to govern his domain after the potential for continuous expansion was obliterated, speaks to the ridiculousness of his model itself, as well as the preponderance of its all-encompassing indoctrinations.
The price of a ticket bears consequences eternal.
The population would have to be controlled, but why one section lives in luxury while the other has to resort to cannibalism makes no sense.
The torches made me think of Plato's cave.
The key is solutions precipitated by a lack of preparation.
John Hurt (Gilliam) is showing up in everything cool these days.
Sheldon Cooper would probably have serious issues with the train.
It would be a great lecture.
At least one other species survives.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
My Sweet Pepper Land
In a remote section of the land of the Kurds, in a remote section, of, Kurdistan, a raw independent audacious subject, committed above all else to upholding law and order, a hero to his people, fearless of the unknown, begins to confront village crime, directly, stubbornly, and effectively, dedicated instinctual calculated improvisation, challenge discovered, in the interests of nation building.
Also living in the village, attempting to teach its uneducated school children, is a feisty strong-willed educator, who also has trouble handling entrenched corruption, refusing to marry at the request of her brothers (who live elsewhere), subverting what they consider to be their lawful authority, majestically playing the hang drum.
Discovered the name of her instrument from Jordan Hoffman's research.
I think of the film as having two main thrusts, Baran's (Korkmaz Arslan) attempts to install a sense of justice in the region, and the coming together of Baran and Govend (Golshifteh Farahani).
It has elements of the classic American Western but its budget prevents it from convincingly executing in this domain.
However, Baran and Govend's relationship forges a very convincing kinetic bond, reminding me more of Bollywood than Hollywood, tumultuously holding the film together.
Hiner Saleem's My Sweet Pepper Land is no minor film in terms of what he sets out to do (have to discuss the ending here).
With the fall of Saddam Hussein, the Kurds have achieved a degree of independence.
My Sweet Pepper Land asks what can be done with this newfound independence, how should our nation be built?
Patriarchal authority is strong in the film, counterbalanced, however, by both Govend and a group of female guerrilla fighters.
Both Baran and Govend are interested in nation building, through governance and education respectively, yet resist familial pressures to marry someone for whom they have no feelings.
It's more of a Western model.
It seemed like Saleem was saying that if Kurdistan is to come into being, it should be guided by a strong sense of morality (Baran's law upholding), yet, Govend and Baran's union indicates that he believes that that strong sense of morality should be influenced by substantial individual freedoms.
My Sweet Pepper Land's brilliant move comes near the end when Govend firmly resists the demands of her brothers.
I was expecting Baran to show up to assist, but he doesn't, she resists on her own.
The ending sees them calling out to one another in the wilderness, searching for the other's embrace. The credits role before they find one another, thereby suggesting that the possibility for substantial individual freedoms as well as equal opportunity regardless of gender exist within Kurdistan's developing autonomy, and it's up to progressively minded Kurdish people, to bring Govend and Baran together.
Hoping the soundtrack becomes available.
Saleem does make the most of his budget, peppering his filmscape with nature's beauty, capturing a hawk in flight (think it's a hawk), or the moon and the mountains in the background as Govend approaches the camera's eye.
Also living in the village, attempting to teach its uneducated school children, is a feisty strong-willed educator, who also has trouble handling entrenched corruption, refusing to marry at the request of her brothers (who live elsewhere), subverting what they consider to be their lawful authority, majestically playing the hang drum.
Discovered the name of her instrument from Jordan Hoffman's research.
I think of the film as having two main thrusts, Baran's (Korkmaz Arslan) attempts to install a sense of justice in the region, and the coming together of Baran and Govend (Golshifteh Farahani).
It has elements of the classic American Western but its budget prevents it from convincingly executing in this domain.
However, Baran and Govend's relationship forges a very convincing kinetic bond, reminding me more of Bollywood than Hollywood, tumultuously holding the film together.
Hiner Saleem's My Sweet Pepper Land is no minor film in terms of what he sets out to do (have to discuss the ending here).
With the fall of Saddam Hussein, the Kurds have achieved a degree of independence.
My Sweet Pepper Land asks what can be done with this newfound independence, how should our nation be built?
Patriarchal authority is strong in the film, counterbalanced, however, by both Govend and a group of female guerrilla fighters.
Both Baran and Govend are interested in nation building, through governance and education respectively, yet resist familial pressures to marry someone for whom they have no feelings.
It's more of a Western model.
It seemed like Saleem was saying that if Kurdistan is to come into being, it should be guided by a strong sense of morality (Baran's law upholding), yet, Govend and Baran's union indicates that he believes that that strong sense of morality should be influenced by substantial individual freedoms.
My Sweet Pepper Land's brilliant move comes near the end when Govend firmly resists the demands of her brothers.
I was expecting Baran to show up to assist, but he doesn't, she resists on her own.
The ending sees them calling out to one another in the wilderness, searching for the other's embrace. The credits role before they find one another, thereby suggesting that the possibility for substantial individual freedoms as well as equal opportunity regardless of gender exist within Kurdistan's developing autonomy, and it's up to progressively minded Kurdish people, to bring Govend and Baran together.
Hoping the soundtrack becomes available.
Saleem does make the most of his budget, peppering his filmscape with nature's beauty, capturing a hawk in flight (think it's a hawk), or the moon and the mountains in the background as Govend approaches the camera's eye.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
New Twin Peaks Series?
If the new Twin Peaks footage David Lynch has hopefully shot leads to the creation of a new series, here's a potential list of guest directors for select episodes: Xavier Dolan (Tom à la ferme), Alex van Warmerdam (Borgman), Denis Côté (Vic + Flo ont vu un ours), Guillaume Sylvestre (1er amour), Pawel Pawlikowski (Ida), Denis Villeneuve (Enemy), and Jon Favreau.
Potential actors: Tilda Swinton, Mads Mikkelsen, Robin Aubert, Shia LaBeouf, Molly Parker.
Co-ordinated by Lynch and Mark Frost of course.
Potential actors: Tilda Swinton, Mads Mikkelsen, Robin Aubert, Shia LaBeouf, Molly Parker.
Co-ordinated by Lynch and Mark Frost of course.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Tammy
Crushed by the impact of three significant life altering events, young Tammy (Melissa McCarthy) hits the road with Grandma (Susan Sarandon), destination, Niagara Falls, fuel intake, anything containing alcohol, issues, several issues present themselves, confidence, emphatic, invective, and sworn, tested through the pertinence of picturesque pit-stops, cavorted, as night descends, and the juniper flushes its aromatic cones.
Lessons learned.
Hold-ups congenialized.
Hydrosonic viking burials.
The modest and the mouthpiece.
Fashionably fermenting a fetching frisky fawn, mobilizing jail-time while standardizing the getaway, Tammy transitions both its tempers and its testaments, to lampoon highs in earnest, while pinpointing the pressures, of barometric bonds.
Co-written by McCarthy (also written by director Ben Falcone), I think she can do better.
It's alright, but a long way from Anchorman 2.
I was searching for a feel-good slightly raunchy twirl-a-whirl summertime swing, and Tammy synchronously delivered.
That's what it did.
Was thinking of my favourite films of Summer earlier that day and The Great Outdoors popped into my head, which fit well.
Thought more could have been done with Gary Cole.
Another Brady Bunch sequel?
Written by Ms. McCarthy?
There's got to be a market for another Brady Bunch film.
From the White House, to Alaska.
Or, Kansas.
Down on the farm.
Lessons learned.
Hold-ups congenialized.
Hydrosonic viking burials.
The modest and the mouthpiece.
Fashionably fermenting a fetching frisky fawn, mobilizing jail-time while standardizing the getaway, Tammy transitions both its tempers and its testaments, to lampoon highs in earnest, while pinpointing the pressures, of barometric bonds.
Co-written by McCarthy (also written by director Ben Falcone), I think she can do better.
It's alright, but a long way from Anchorman 2.
I was searching for a feel-good slightly raunchy twirl-a-whirl summertime swing, and Tammy synchronously delivered.
That's what it did.
Was thinking of my favourite films of Summer earlier that day and The Great Outdoors popped into my head, which fit well.
Thought more could have been done with Gary Cole.
Another Brady Bunch sequel?
Written by Ms. McCarthy?
There's got to be a market for another Brady Bunch film.
From the White House, to Alaska.
Or, Kansas.
Down on the farm.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Ida
Diametrically opposed feminine caricatures, each possessing their own semantic strengths, volatile penitence, the vixen's splurge, contextualize their continuum within Ida's scene, after and during their first unexpected meeting.
They're related.
One is about to take her vows.
The other struggles with her political legacy.
The younger seeks to discover the whereabouts of her dead parents, killed during World War II, her aunt is able to assist, they set out to interrogate 20th century Polish history, stylizing their familial cross-section, with upbeat moving jazzy consolidations.
Existentializing the saxophone.
As blunt, bellicose, and bitchin' as it is chaste and resigned, Pawel Pawlikowski's Ida solemnly soars through perceptible heights, contemporary fusions stern and frolicked, olives, rye bread, beemsters, or a fast with a glass of Soplica.
Unassailable friction diffused in check.
Begets temptation.
An hourglass.
For a crucible's chime.
Perfect companion piece for Robert Bresson's Diary of a Country Priest.
They're related.
One is about to take her vows.
The other struggles with her political legacy.
The younger seeks to discover the whereabouts of her dead parents, killed during World War II, her aunt is able to assist, they set out to interrogate 20th century Polish history, stylizing their familial cross-section, with upbeat moving jazzy consolidations.
Existentializing the saxophone.
As blunt, bellicose, and bitchin' as it is chaste and resigned, Pawel Pawlikowski's Ida solemnly soars through perceptible heights, contemporary fusions stern and frolicked, olives, rye bread, beemsters, or a fast with a glass of Soplica.
Unassailable friction diffused in check.
Begets temptation.
An hourglass.
For a crucible's chime.
Perfect companion piece for Robert Bresson's Diary of a Country Priest.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Borgman
The bourgeois patriarchy finds unconditional support in Alex van Warmerdam's Borgman, a poignantly pointless florescent canker, rifle at the ready, red alert middle-class aesthetics.
While viewing, you may find yourself considering at least two questions, the first, why in hell would anyone make something like this?, the second, is this the pinnacle of paranoid stereotyped fabled uncensored grit, the beast aimlessly targeting the beauty, the arrogance of a stifled hypodermic, unreeling like a Criterion in the making?
The only film to ever remind me of Jerzy Skolimowski's The Shout.
It could have been an after school special direly warning teens not to hitchhike.
Or a film where a plane crashes in Alaska and wolves communally hunt down the survivors.
Instead, suburban peace and tranquility is infiltrated by a troupe of travelling possibly demonic psychopaths, who, in this instance, seek employment in order to use the tools at their disposal to create a platform upon which they intend to put on a show, the couple's wife residing in their grip, the husband, completely oblivious.
Discontent is sewn.
I'm assuming Warmerdam has worked a Dutch fairy tale or legend of some kind into his script, the film seeming as if it's a crisp contemporary take on a medieval horror, with cars and cellphones, although the fact that it seemed that way to me is based on my assumption.
Off they go, into the forest.
If there were still bears in the Netherlands, keeping with the fairy tale hypothesis, they would be on the lookout.
Bears were obviously guardians of the forest in Dutch fairy tales/legends.
I know nothing about the Netherlands.
While viewing, you may find yourself considering at least two questions, the first, why in hell would anyone make something like this?, the second, is this the pinnacle of paranoid stereotyped fabled uncensored grit, the beast aimlessly targeting the beauty, the arrogance of a stifled hypodermic, unreeling like a Criterion in the making?
The only film to ever remind me of Jerzy Skolimowski's The Shout.
It could have been an after school special direly warning teens not to hitchhike.
Or a film where a plane crashes in Alaska and wolves communally hunt down the survivors.
Instead, suburban peace and tranquility is infiltrated by a troupe of travelling possibly demonic psychopaths, who, in this instance, seek employment in order to use the tools at their disposal to create a platform upon which they intend to put on a show, the couple's wife residing in their grip, the husband, completely oblivious.
Discontent is sewn.
I'm assuming Warmerdam has worked a Dutch fairy tale or legend of some kind into his script, the film seeming as if it's a crisp contemporary take on a medieval horror, with cars and cellphones, although the fact that it seemed that way to me is based on my assumption.
Off they go, into the forest.
If there were still bears in the Netherlands, keeping with the fairy tale hypothesis, they would be on the lookout.
Bears were obviously guardians of the forest in Dutch fairy tales/legends.
I know nothing about the Netherlands.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
La Vénus à la fourrure (Venus in Fur)
Ceremoniously shifting from breaking wave to breaking wave, cast adrift to buoyantly submerge, the surf submissively dominating, an exacting cyclical shock, one young playwright, fascinated by insubordination, jostling the erotically profane, is interrupted, is, slowly, commodified, undeniably secure in his misplacements, subdued emphatic gusts, assured of their tidal pertinence, to enact the derailment of triumph.
On its own terms.
Ambiguity/ambivalence beguilingly solemnizes the dialectic, the exchange, a protracted piecemeal purge, sensuously persuasive, overpoweringly contained.
As the page turns.
A reading.
Precision.
Opportunity.
Mesmerizing mythical lambasted seduction generously vouchsafes its domineering obsequiousness, in Roman Polanski's crippling La Vénus à la fourrure (Venus in Furs), existentialism be damned, fiesta.
My favourite filmic adaptation of a play with a small cast and minimal setting is Sidney Lumet's Long Day's Journey into Night, but La Vénus à la fourrure now firmly occupies second place in my thoughts, due to Emmanuelle Seigner and Mathieu Amalric's powerful performances.
Opulently humble.
The ending was a surprise since it makes a definitive suggestion, although ambiguity remains, only a vestige however.
I would have faded with him tied to the cactus.
There must have been passionate arguments here.
Perhaps the definitive suggestion makes for a stronger ending.
I admit to being a sucker for critical controversy.
Not that there isn't plenty of critical controversy in the film.
You could argue that it's about the aesthetics of critical controversies themselves.
The whole night through.
On its own terms.
Ambiguity/ambivalence beguilingly solemnizes the dialectic, the exchange, a protracted piecemeal purge, sensuously persuasive, overpoweringly contained.
As the page turns.
A reading.
Precision.
Opportunity.
Mesmerizing mythical lambasted seduction generously vouchsafes its domineering obsequiousness, in Roman Polanski's crippling La Vénus à la fourrure (Venus in Furs), existentialism be damned, fiesta.
My favourite filmic adaptation of a play with a small cast and minimal setting is Sidney Lumet's Long Day's Journey into Night, but La Vénus à la fourrure now firmly occupies second place in my thoughts, due to Emmanuelle Seigner and Mathieu Amalric's powerful performances.
Opulently humble.
The ending was a surprise since it makes a definitive suggestion, although ambiguity remains, only a vestige however.
I would have faded with him tied to the cactus.
There must have been passionate arguments here.
Perhaps the definitive suggestion makes for a stronger ending.
I admit to being a sucker for critical controversy.
Not that there isn't plenty of critical controversy in the film.
You could argue that it's about the aesthetics of critical controversies themselves.
The whole night through.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
The Green Line
Waverly reticent concise parlay,
mercurial famished enticement;
retreating approaches, stitched torn and flayed,
conditional sandstone revisements;
tempt for an on-sight resonant rush,
hesitating enveloped credentials;
sporadic flighty sing-song-stencilled thrush,
precisely protracted potential.
One-two hush attendant rehearsals,
three-four slides the opening door;
descend shift uplift twist precursial,
introductions/farewells coyly stored.
This stop suggests craze carnival;
this one a drowsy enthrall;
off to the next destination,
mobile mischievous shawls.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Transformers: Age of Extinction
Humanity has forsaken and betrayed the Autobots in the latest Transformers sequel, forcing them to strategically dissimulate in order to avoid detection.
An intergalactic jailer by the name of Lockdown (Mark Ryan) seeks to imprison Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen), punishing him for disobeying his creators, uniformly inhibiting his hard-fought freedom fighting.
Megatron's brain has been harvested and the technological secrets residing within have led brilliant scientist Joshua Joyce (Stanley Tucci) to believe that the power of the Transformer can be governed by Homo sapiens.
A new generation of Transformer is therefore created, to be used as military drones, the Autobots having become obsolete.
Fortunately a feisty independent struggling inventor has discovered the whereabouts of Mr. Prime, and he remembers the sacrifices he made, improvisationally fighting by his side.
Scolding his young daughter all the while.
The resulting combat, wherein the American individual boldly teams up with the abandoned to challenge the forces of oppression, is ingeniously summed up in the film's best scene, which sees Mr. Joyce cowering in a Hong Kong elevator, a momentary respite, from the cataclysmic confrontations.
Anyone notice the apartment complexes in Hong Kong?
Wow.
The act of creation unites the converging storylines, along with issues of operational control, to thematically cap the series's 4th instalment.
Convincingly hypothesizing a new set of sociotechnological indicators, while economically aligning them for the film's terrestrial inhabitants, earning a living subconsciously contends with manufacturing a soul, to experimentally produce a sensationally revelled playing field.
Because Age of Extinction is so long, the introduction of the Dinobots seems somewhat tacked-on.
However, the introduction of the Dinobots, is, awesome.
The President doesn't make an appearance and I'm betting when he or she does it turns out to be one of the members of Dark of the Moon's most disputatious romantic couplings.
Their presence was missing from Age of Extinction.
But the anticipation is something to look forward to.
An intergalactic jailer by the name of Lockdown (Mark Ryan) seeks to imprison Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen), punishing him for disobeying his creators, uniformly inhibiting his hard-fought freedom fighting.
Megatron's brain has been harvested and the technological secrets residing within have led brilliant scientist Joshua Joyce (Stanley Tucci) to believe that the power of the Transformer can be governed by Homo sapiens.
A new generation of Transformer is therefore created, to be used as military drones, the Autobots having become obsolete.
Fortunately a feisty independent struggling inventor has discovered the whereabouts of Mr. Prime, and he remembers the sacrifices he made, improvisationally fighting by his side.
Scolding his young daughter all the while.
The resulting combat, wherein the American individual boldly teams up with the abandoned to challenge the forces of oppression, is ingeniously summed up in the film's best scene, which sees Mr. Joyce cowering in a Hong Kong elevator, a momentary respite, from the cataclysmic confrontations.
Anyone notice the apartment complexes in Hong Kong?
Wow.
The act of creation unites the converging storylines, along with issues of operational control, to thematically cap the series's 4th instalment.
Convincingly hypothesizing a new set of sociotechnological indicators, while economically aligning them for the film's terrestrial inhabitants, earning a living subconsciously contends with manufacturing a soul, to experimentally produce a sensationally revelled playing field.
Because Age of Extinction is so long, the introduction of the Dinobots seems somewhat tacked-on.
However, the introduction of the Dinobots, is, awesome.
The President doesn't make an appearance and I'm betting when he or she does it turns out to be one of the members of Dark of the Moon's most disputatious romantic couplings.
Their presence was missing from Age of Extinction.
But the anticipation is something to look forward to.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
22 Jump Street
Unrepentantly unashamed of its recycled ripple effect, yet excelling where Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me did not, 22 Jump Street revisits 21 Jump Street's plot, counting on the strength of its reflexes to convincingly entertain, Hill (Schmidt) and Tatum (Jenko) demonstrating that they've still got it, poetry, football, college, weak on plot but undeniably hilarious, their humouristic confidence reliably overpowering the need to expand, not that they don't bromantically exemplify, how to sustain a flexible working partnership.
The bromance, introduced at the outset with a comparative illustration of both yin, and yang, holds the film together, breaking away to adhesively unite, strategizing football connections in the meantime, relationships, parenting, age.
Giving minor characters from the first film a larger role in the second can work, and it works well in 22 Jump Street, Ice Cube (Captain Dickson) furiously losing it at one point, Tatum's additions to the motif, a side-splitting shining moment.
Hill's best scene comes in the form of an improv slam poetry reaction.
I'm wondering if they wrote his poem beforehand, in which case he should be applauded for his ability to believably pretend to be improving, or, in the case that he did improv his poem, he should be seriously applauded for delivering some successful semantic syllabic breakdowns, immediate and inferential, confident and spry.
Either way, he makes a bold fashion statement.
Is 22 Jump Street a left wing film?
The yin seems to be represented by the more sensitive thoughtful Schmidt, Jenko representing the yang.
But equating sensitivity with the left and aggression with the right is somewhat stereotypical, an organized left often functioning highly combatively, the right seeming quite timid when living outside its comfort zone for extended periods.
What I've just described somewhat reflects Jenko's role in the film, as he is quite timid when interacting with the more intellectually gifted Schmidt, yet, when it comes to applying what he's learned in his human sexuality course, he isn't afraid to defend groups traditionally ignored by the right, making a great point about the problems associated with silence, such actions breaking him away from his social comfort zone, which I would be guilty of examining stereotypically if I thought it didn't support Jenko's actions, it doesn't come up but Jenko does start searching for something more, what he's missing being the fire enflamed through his arguments with Schmidt, that fire enabling them to cohesively function highly combatively, as long as they remain organized, which they do as time goes by.
The Colleges of the United States of America may wish to explore the issue further.
Having Peter Stormare (The Ghost) complain about how things were better in the 90s was a nice touch.
Has he ever been in a Woody Allen movie?
Libraries are unfairly examined.
It's a funny plot device.
But nothing beats having the physical book in-hand.
The bromance, introduced at the outset with a comparative illustration of both yin, and yang, holds the film together, breaking away to adhesively unite, strategizing football connections in the meantime, relationships, parenting, age.
Giving minor characters from the first film a larger role in the second can work, and it works well in 22 Jump Street, Ice Cube (Captain Dickson) furiously losing it at one point, Tatum's additions to the motif, a side-splitting shining moment.
Hill's best scene comes in the form of an improv slam poetry reaction.
I'm wondering if they wrote his poem beforehand, in which case he should be applauded for his ability to believably pretend to be improving, or, in the case that he did improv his poem, he should be seriously applauded for delivering some successful semantic syllabic breakdowns, immediate and inferential, confident and spry.
Either way, he makes a bold fashion statement.
Is 22 Jump Street a left wing film?
The yin seems to be represented by the more sensitive thoughtful Schmidt, Jenko representing the yang.
But equating sensitivity with the left and aggression with the right is somewhat stereotypical, an organized left often functioning highly combatively, the right seeming quite timid when living outside its comfort zone for extended periods.
What I've just described somewhat reflects Jenko's role in the film, as he is quite timid when interacting with the more intellectually gifted Schmidt, yet, when it comes to applying what he's learned in his human sexuality course, he isn't afraid to defend groups traditionally ignored by the right, making a great point about the problems associated with silence, such actions breaking him away from his social comfort zone, which I would be guilty of examining stereotypically if I thought it didn't support Jenko's actions, it doesn't come up but Jenko does start searching for something more, what he's missing being the fire enflamed through his arguments with Schmidt, that fire enabling them to cohesively function highly combatively, as long as they remain organized, which they do as time goes by.
The Colleges of the United States of America may wish to explore the issue further.
Having Peter Stormare (The Ghost) complain about how things were better in the 90s was a nice touch.
Has he ever been in a Woody Allen movie?
Libraries are unfairly examined.
It's a funny plot device.
But nothing beats having the physical book in-hand.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Maleficent
Two kingdoms bordering one another, although kingdoms is the wrong choice of word, for although one is certainly the domain of a king, the other has no definitive ruler.
The other's strongest is respected, however, due to her extraordinary abilities, and her application of them, to the art of realm protection.
An act of charity sparks a romantic flame between occupants of the divergent lands, but whereas a magical aura of egalitarian majesty permeates the one, greed and covetousness rule the other, the relationship's male component residing in the later, not that such couples need be composed of both males and females, a fact the filmmakers use to circuitously cultivate their filmscape.
He craves more power.
And ignominiously betrays.
His betrayal has consequences for both the victim and the beast, as darkness reluctantly descends, to clarify his inestimable wickedness.
The couple comes of age.
And a child is born.
Regally recalling and extending Snow White and the Huntsman's proverbial special effects, comically synthesizing the free and the dependent, ravenously adjudicating a curse's immutability, while cloistering the innocent in an ominous crown of thorns, Maleficent tacitly tracks the course of the fairy tale, abiding by while transgressing, its traditional fantastic forms.
Beautifully stipulated and tragically adorned, it presents insights and prohibitions regarding love's cautious stealth, preferring loyalty to might, the incandescent, to the miser.
The other's strongest is respected, however, due to her extraordinary abilities, and her application of them, to the art of realm protection.
An act of charity sparks a romantic flame between occupants of the divergent lands, but whereas a magical aura of egalitarian majesty permeates the one, greed and covetousness rule the other, the relationship's male component residing in the later, not that such couples need be composed of both males and females, a fact the filmmakers use to circuitously cultivate their filmscape.
He craves more power.
And ignominiously betrays.
His betrayal has consequences for both the victim and the beast, as darkness reluctantly descends, to clarify his inestimable wickedness.
The couple comes of age.
And a child is born.
Regally recalling and extending Snow White and the Huntsman's proverbial special effects, comically synthesizing the free and the dependent, ravenously adjudicating a curse's immutability, while cloistering the innocent in an ominous crown of thorns, Maleficent tacitly tracks the course of the fairy tale, abiding by while transgressing, its traditional fantastic forms.
Beautifully stipulated and tragically adorned, it presents insights and prohibitions regarding love's cautious stealth, preferring loyalty to might, the incandescent, to the miser.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Jeune & jolie (Young & Beautiful)
A cold stark excessively gratuitous portrait of a teenage sociopath, François Ozon's Jeune & jolie (Young and Beautiful) casts a chilling unresponsive gaze at bourgeois stability's apathetic spectre.
It's bare bones.
Or helplessly destructive.
Suddenly nothing interests Isabelle (Marine Vacth) besides pleasure, and she decides to search for this pleasure while earning a comfortable income.
It might be an experiment.
It's as if she can't recognize the danger, or lasciviously profits from its vicious prospects.
Ordinary or traditional forms of social interaction, rich in diverse variations on manifold themes themselves, relationships, poetry, familial warmth, simply hold no interest, a wild rebellious ingénue, blindly and recklessly courting the dark side.
The film's naked manuscript can't adequately capture the depth of her mother's sense of abandonment, but this inherent emotional vapidity augments Isabelle's carnality.
Like Belle du jour without the consequences, Jeune & jolie's bland calculated immature desire precipitates a baleful hush, violently curtailing the flowering of youth, its empty excesses, pathologizing discourses of the beautiful.
It's bare bones.
Or helplessly destructive.
Suddenly nothing interests Isabelle (Marine Vacth) besides pleasure, and she decides to search for this pleasure while earning a comfortable income.
It might be an experiment.
It's as if she can't recognize the danger, or lasciviously profits from its vicious prospects.
Ordinary or traditional forms of social interaction, rich in diverse variations on manifold themes themselves, relationships, poetry, familial warmth, simply hold no interest, a wild rebellious ingénue, blindly and recklessly courting the dark side.
The film's naked manuscript can't adequately capture the depth of her mother's sense of abandonment, but this inherent emotional vapidity augments Isabelle's carnality.
Like Belle du jour without the consequences, Jeune & jolie's bland calculated immature desire precipitates a baleful hush, violently curtailing the flowering of youth, its empty excesses, pathologizing discourses of the beautiful.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Bear Sighting
Black bear sighted on the shores of Lake _______.
I've been kayaking around lakes in _______ for over a decade now, and until three days ago, had never seen a bear.
My eyes continuously move from the water (to stay on course) to the shoreline, since if you aren't consistently attentive, you may miss spotting resident wildlife (or hit a rock/sandbar/. . . ).
Foraging on the prowl.
And this time I couldn't believe it.
I've been mistaking stumps and bushes for bears since I started kayaking, is that a bear?, no, not a bear again, that also, is not a bear, the bears are obviously sleeping.
But this time I saw a big black image moving in the distance on a ridge.
The movement made me hopeful, but after years of disappointment, I kept my bliss in check.
As I approached, the image stopped moving, but I had seen it move, and it wasn't that hot, so I figured there was a high probability it was a bear, and eagerly stayed on course.
He or she had spotted me!
And as I came within safe viewing distance, there he or she was, vigilantly keeping track of my movements.
I enjoyed the sight for around 5 minutes, allowing myself to revel in my good fortune, before deciding to take my camera out of my backpack, to focus-in and snap.
But this movement spooked the bear and s/he went running off, up over the ridge into the forest beyond, a smart move for the bear, in case my backpack had been a rifle.
Unbelievably happy for the rest of the day.
Finally that stump or bush had actually been a bear!
Couldn't think of anything else as I kayaked back to my destination, overflowing with bliss, searching the wilderness for more.
I've been kayaking around lakes in _______ for over a decade now, and until three days ago, had never seen a bear.
My eyes continuously move from the water (to stay on course) to the shoreline, since if you aren't consistently attentive, you may miss spotting resident wildlife (or hit a rock/sandbar/. . . ).
Foraging on the prowl.
And this time I couldn't believe it.
I've been mistaking stumps and bushes for bears since I started kayaking, is that a bear?, no, not a bear again, that also, is not a bear, the bears are obviously sleeping.
But this time I saw a big black image moving in the distance on a ridge.
The movement made me hopeful, but after years of disappointment, I kept my bliss in check.
As I approached, the image stopped moving, but I had seen it move, and it wasn't that hot, so I figured there was a high probability it was a bear, and eagerly stayed on course.
He or she had spotted me!
And as I came within safe viewing distance, there he or she was, vigilantly keeping track of my movements.
I enjoyed the sight for around 5 minutes, allowing myself to revel in my good fortune, before deciding to take my camera out of my backpack, to focus-in and snap.
But this movement spooked the bear and s/he went running off, up over the ridge into the forest beyond, a smart move for the bear, in case my backpack had been a rifle.
Unbelievably happy for the rest of the day.
Finally that stump or bush had actually been a bear!
Couldn't think of anything else as I kayaked back to my destination, overflowing with bliss, searching the wilderness for more.
A Million Ways to Die in the West
A Million Ways to Die in the West's opening credits make it clear that nothing within is to be taken seriously.
They playfully ambush a stunning solar-powered sight, calling its dynamism into question, while mischievously reinforcing it at the same time.
Within this ambush lies MacFarlane's gambit, can his wise-cracking intertextual self-aware stir-crazy sense of humour be applied to a Western filmscape, in 1882, the setting wild and untamed, the middle-class, struggling to define itself?
It's a bold move. Apart from Blazing Saddles, Westerns generally lack this kind of exposure. In the spirit of the wild west MacFarlane explores new ground, faces up to the challenge, diversifies, drills, prospects, but the booty accumulated, unfortunately, fails to impress.
The blend's too sour.
That could be the point.
It's not that his chemistry with Anna (Charlize Theron) isn't soluble, or that I didn't love seeing intelligent book smarts talk their way out of multiple gunfights.
The jokes just aren't very sustainable.
Take the moustache song, brilliant idea, but it falls flat, like having nothing but the option of straight whiskey, there's contentment in the availability, but stomach pain in the habituation.
Doc Brown's (Christopher Lloyd) cameo distills what I mean, this device having worked for MacFarlane ad infinitum in his other works, but it just seems bland in A Million Ways's context.
But there is another Back to the Future reference, a bit a subtle foreshadowing, in the form of the old prospector, played by the loveable Matt Clark.
With his lil' dog Plugger.
The subtlety of this reference was more powerful, relating directly to the difficulties Albert's (Seth MacFarlane) having asserting himself in the desert, the Doc Brown reference functioning like the response he generally receives from his neighbours, within the film's meta-formalities.
Correct.
That's correct.
They playfully ambush a stunning solar-powered sight, calling its dynamism into question, while mischievously reinforcing it at the same time.
Within this ambush lies MacFarlane's gambit, can his wise-cracking intertextual self-aware stir-crazy sense of humour be applied to a Western filmscape, in 1882, the setting wild and untamed, the middle-class, struggling to define itself?
It's a bold move. Apart from Blazing Saddles, Westerns generally lack this kind of exposure. In the spirit of the wild west MacFarlane explores new ground, faces up to the challenge, diversifies, drills, prospects, but the booty accumulated, unfortunately, fails to impress.
The blend's too sour.
That could be the point.
It's not that his chemistry with Anna (Charlize Theron) isn't soluble, or that I didn't love seeing intelligent book smarts talk their way out of multiple gunfights.
The jokes just aren't very sustainable.
Take the moustache song, brilliant idea, but it falls flat, like having nothing but the option of straight whiskey, there's contentment in the availability, but stomach pain in the habituation.
Doc Brown's (Christopher Lloyd) cameo distills what I mean, this device having worked for MacFarlane ad infinitum in his other works, but it just seems bland in A Million Ways's context.
But there is another Back to the Future reference, a bit a subtle foreshadowing, in the form of the old prospector, played by the loveable Matt Clark.
With his lil' dog Plugger.
The subtlety of this reference was more powerful, relating directly to the difficulties Albert's (Seth MacFarlane) having asserting himself in the desert, the Doc Brown reference functioning like the response he generally receives from his neighbours, within the film's meta-formalities.
Correct.
That's correct.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Tracks
I've always enjoyed a good hike.
Set off into the woods, seek, explore, discover.
After a solid hour-and-a-half to two hours though, 4 hours in British Columbia, I've usually decided it's time to head home, or to a café, either way, to drink coffee, and reflect upon sights seen.
Tracks's Robyn Davidson (Mia Wasikowska) approaches hiking quite differently.
Tired of her predictable daily routine, she decides to hike across Australia's Western desert, departing from Alice Springs with her playful dog, an adventure similar to one which her father embarked upon in Africa decades previously, her goal, to reach the Indian Ocean.
She digs-in and grinds.
Problem.
She needs camels.
Solution.
She works hands-deep-in-the-grit with camel herders until she's learned how to train and lead them, during which time she's ripped-off by a cantankerous old jackass, which only strengthens her resolve.
She eventually receives enough funding to begin with the help of a National Geographic photographer (Adam Driver as Rick Smolan) with whom she begrudgingly strikes up a romance, which intensifies the film's risk-fuelled desert induced heat.
Tracks is still family friendly and Davidson's ultimate hiking is condensed into a series of mis/adventures, plenty of material presented, at a fast energetic pace.
Obviously with a hike such as this, especially considering all the snakes in Australia (Canada only has rattlesnakes scattered here and there throughout the country [it's too cold for poisonous snakes {I can't prove that}]), much can go wrong.
But Davidson takes the setbacks in stride, always focused and determined, unyieldingly pursuing her sweltering objective.
There's a sequence near the end where Alexandre de Franceschi's editing aptly pressurizes Davidson's delirium, intertwining disorienting shots of character and landscape, to accentuate both the length and strain of her quest.
Tragedy strikes here as well, which was somewhat unexpected, since at other points balms are provided to ease the tension, shade provided for her dog for instance.
Intermixing the stubborn, the dedicated, the supportive, and the persevering, to concisely celebrate a triumphant human spirit, Tracks is a seductive struggle that can be constructively accessed by diverse audiences.
Don't think I'll ever be able to hike for longer than 4 hours myself.
How do you pack that many sandwiches?
An extended North-South trek through Patagonia would be fun some day though.
Searching for spectacled bears.
(Which don't live there I'm told).
Set off into the woods, seek, explore, discover.
After a solid hour-and-a-half to two hours though, 4 hours in British Columbia, I've usually decided it's time to head home, or to a café, either way, to drink coffee, and reflect upon sights seen.
Tracks's Robyn Davidson (Mia Wasikowska) approaches hiking quite differently.
Tired of her predictable daily routine, she decides to hike across Australia's Western desert, departing from Alice Springs with her playful dog, an adventure similar to one which her father embarked upon in Africa decades previously, her goal, to reach the Indian Ocean.
She digs-in and grinds.
Problem.
She needs camels.
Solution.
She works hands-deep-in-the-grit with camel herders until she's learned how to train and lead them, during which time she's ripped-off by a cantankerous old jackass, which only strengthens her resolve.
She eventually receives enough funding to begin with the help of a National Geographic photographer (Adam Driver as Rick Smolan) with whom she begrudgingly strikes up a romance, which intensifies the film's risk-fuelled desert induced heat.
Tracks is still family friendly and Davidson's ultimate hiking is condensed into a series of mis/adventures, plenty of material presented, at a fast energetic pace.
Obviously with a hike such as this, especially considering all the snakes in Australia (Canada only has rattlesnakes scattered here and there throughout the country [it's too cold for poisonous snakes {I can't prove that}]), much can go wrong.
But Davidson takes the setbacks in stride, always focused and determined, unyieldingly pursuing her sweltering objective.
There's a sequence near the end where Alexandre de Franceschi's editing aptly pressurizes Davidson's delirium, intertwining disorienting shots of character and landscape, to accentuate both the length and strain of her quest.
Tragedy strikes here as well, which was somewhat unexpected, since at other points balms are provided to ease the tension, shade provided for her dog for instance.
Intermixing the stubborn, the dedicated, the supportive, and the persevering, to concisely celebrate a triumphant human spirit, Tracks is a seductive struggle that can be constructively accessed by diverse audiences.
Don't think I'll ever be able to hike for longer than 4 hours myself.
How do you pack that many sandwiches?
An extended North-South trek through Patagonia would be fun some day though.
Searching for spectacled bears.
(Which don't live there I'm told).
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Los Angeles Kings Second Stanley Cup Victory
Have to admit, that I like the fact that the Los Angeles Kings have now won the Stanley Cup twice.
I would have obviously preferred Montréal to have won, but I honestly never thought the Kings would win, and now they've won twice, in dramatic fashion.
A lot of low ranked teams have made the finals before, but, since I started following the NHL playoffs anyways, none of them ever won.
Was crushed when both Edmonton and Calgary didn't win in the 2000s for instance.
But when LA won the cup two years ago they were ranked 8th in the Western Conference and they then proceeded to destroy everyone they played, easily winning in the finals after going up 3-0 on New Jersey.
And then this year, they're down 3-0 to San Jose in the first round and they come back to win.
And in the finals, they go to overtime versus the Rangers 3 times and win every time.
They also won all of the overtime games they played against the Devils in the 2012 finals (2 total).
Congratulations Kings fans, I never thought you'd win.
What a playoff team.
*They had a low ranking this year upon entering the playoffs as well, having only gained 100 points during the regular season, the 6th highest total in the Western Conference. Crazy.
I would have obviously preferred Montréal to have won, but I honestly never thought the Kings would win, and now they've won twice, in dramatic fashion.
A lot of low ranked teams have made the finals before, but, since I started following the NHL playoffs anyways, none of them ever won.
Was crushed when both Edmonton and Calgary didn't win in the 2000s for instance.
But when LA won the cup two years ago they were ranked 8th in the Western Conference and they then proceeded to destroy everyone they played, easily winning in the finals after going up 3-0 on New Jersey.
And then this year, they're down 3-0 to San Jose in the first round and they come back to win.
And in the finals, they go to overtime versus the Rangers 3 times and win every time.
They also won all of the overtime games they played against the Devils in the 2012 finals (2 total).
Congratulations Kings fans, I never thought you'd win.
What a playoff team.
*They had a low ranking this year upon entering the playoffs as well, having only gained 100 points during the regular season, the 6th highest total in the Western Conference. Crazy.
Wakolda (The German Doctor)
An ingratiatingly intelligent financially secure monstrosity suavely earns the trust of an unsuspecting family in Lucía Puenzo's Wakolda (The German Doctor), a Nazi war criminal having fled to Patagonia to continue conducting his medical experiments, preying on local families, and their innocent children.
Lilith (Florencia Bado) instinctively trusts the doctor, who is in possession of experimental knowledge that can help her grow.
She's growing at a much slower pace than the other children at school, and they've taken to bullying her as a consequence.
Her father refuses to allow the treatment, thinking, "who is this person who shows up out of nowhere, with neither references nor credentials, saying he can help my daughter, with medicine that the local doctors have never heard of"?
There's no cross reference.
Josef Mengele (Àlex Brendemühl) proceeds nonetheless, pursuing his perverted conception of science on the available human resources.
But his presence is detected.
The film's focus on Lilith and her beautiful curious wondrous spirit, seeking friendship, ignoring her tormentors, using the library, adds additional depth to the repugnance of the Nazi, to whom she's simply a T to be crossed, a doll to be played with.
The film doesn't directly condemn, rather, it uses character, setting and confidence to vilify the doctoral aberration, suffusing viewers with an idyllic subconscious revulsion, to passionately overcome the ambivalence.
There have been films in recent years highlighting the fact that many German citizens were themselves caught up in the Nazi's terror, during which time they felt like they had no choice but to follow the party line.
Wakolda's ambiguity acknowledges this, while using emotion to appeal to the intellect, to present a compelling exemplar of the guilty.
They only care for the individuality of the exceptional.
For everyone else, there are no exceptions.
Lilith (Florencia Bado) instinctively trusts the doctor, who is in possession of experimental knowledge that can help her grow.
She's growing at a much slower pace than the other children at school, and they've taken to bullying her as a consequence.
Her father refuses to allow the treatment, thinking, "who is this person who shows up out of nowhere, with neither references nor credentials, saying he can help my daughter, with medicine that the local doctors have never heard of"?
There's no cross reference.
Josef Mengele (Àlex Brendemühl) proceeds nonetheless, pursuing his perverted conception of science on the available human resources.
But his presence is detected.
The film's focus on Lilith and her beautiful curious wondrous spirit, seeking friendship, ignoring her tormentors, using the library, adds additional depth to the repugnance of the Nazi, to whom she's simply a T to be crossed, a doll to be played with.
The film doesn't directly condemn, rather, it uses character, setting and confidence to vilify the doctoral aberration, suffusing viewers with an idyllic subconscious revulsion, to passionately overcome the ambivalence.
There have been films in recent years highlighting the fact that many German citizens were themselves caught up in the Nazi's terror, during which time they felt like they had no choice but to follow the party line.
Wakolda's ambiguity acknowledges this, while using emotion to appeal to the intellect, to present a compelling exemplar of the guilty.
They only care for the individuality of the exceptional.
For everyone else, there are no exceptions.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Shifting
Symbiotic cycling sails
fluttering didactic gales
fish-fry focused chants freon
interred liaising pantheon
a taste of incoherent pressed
ornately feathered plumes digested
kernels crunched spectaculate
tripartite winged facts relating
succinct newsroomed quarterlies
a gust of hyperfoxedfancy
consumed hypnotic chop-stick bites
interdimensionned stencilled flights
arriving, seastained aviaries
perched proficient stacked in very
able flexéd harpstring bows
from which it rains that which will grow.
fluttering didactic gales
fish-fry focused chants freon
interred liaising pantheon
a taste of incoherent pressed
ornately feathered plumes digested
kernels crunched spectaculate
tripartite winged facts relating
succinct newsroomed quarterlies
a gust of hyperfoxedfancy
consumed hypnotic chop-stick bites
interdimensionned stencilled flights
arriving, seastained aviaries
perched proficient stacked in very
able flexéd harpstring bows
from which it rains that which will grow.
Fading Gigolo
Financial fissures beget liaising insurances while potential clients attract attentive patrolpersons in John Turturro's Fading Gigolo, wherein the world's oldest profession brings good fortune to Murray (Woody Allen) and Fioravante (John Turturro), suddenly caught-up in an historical vortex, secularly lucrative, religiously blasphemed.
The film unreels pleasantly enough, risks taken, rewards cashed-in, comical awkwardness syncopating charm, Midnight Cowboy's lighter side.
Fioravante is a strong character, mild-manneredly reflexive, sensitive yet powerful, equanimously conscious.
His love for Avigal (Vanessa Paradis) isn't tragic or heartbreaking, more like a mature delicate yet robust scintillating red wine, caressed then invested, with lucid modest elegance.
About 50 minutes in I thought, is it starting to drag?, but then Avigal appeared again, and I was immediately reminded of my nightly glass of red wine, and then knew that it wasn't starting to drag at all.
Ancient religious practices follow, a ridiculous patriarchal kerfuffle, chillingly yet playfully impassing an ancient contemporary dialectic.
The negative side of prostitution, apart from a requisite ethical dilemma, is totally absent from the film, but it is a lighthearted comedy, presenting issues of race/ethnicity, identity, and community from a temperately confrontational perspective.
Apart from the nut with the baseball bat.
Not sure if I'm reading too much into some of Woody Allen's introductory lines, but from an off-the-wall point of view, it's as if he's handing off his reins to Mr. Turturro, either sincerely or mischievously, who proves he could be a worthy successor.
There's a volatile scene near the beginning involving a traffic accident.
Minor characters feud to introduce Dovi (Liev Schreiber).
More scenes like this one throughout, not necessarily volatile, just ones which interject cameos to inquisitively motivate the action, work well.
Highlighting the multidimensional nature of the world at large.
Thereby romanticizing the role of individuals within it.
He sort of does this with Murry's kids, but they have a direct relationship to a major character, which lessens their impact.
The film unreels pleasantly enough, risks taken, rewards cashed-in, comical awkwardness syncopating charm, Midnight Cowboy's lighter side.
Fioravante is a strong character, mild-manneredly reflexive, sensitive yet powerful, equanimously conscious.
His love for Avigal (Vanessa Paradis) isn't tragic or heartbreaking, more like a mature delicate yet robust scintillating red wine, caressed then invested, with lucid modest elegance.
About 50 minutes in I thought, is it starting to drag?, but then Avigal appeared again, and I was immediately reminded of my nightly glass of red wine, and then knew that it wasn't starting to drag at all.
Ancient religious practices follow, a ridiculous patriarchal kerfuffle, chillingly yet playfully impassing an ancient contemporary dialectic.
The negative side of prostitution, apart from a requisite ethical dilemma, is totally absent from the film, but it is a lighthearted comedy, presenting issues of race/ethnicity, identity, and community from a temperately confrontational perspective.
Apart from the nut with the baseball bat.
Not sure if I'm reading too much into some of Woody Allen's introductory lines, but from an off-the-wall point of view, it's as if he's handing off his reins to Mr. Turturro, either sincerely or mischievously, who proves he could be a worthy successor.
There's a volatile scene near the beginning involving a traffic accident.
Minor characters feud to introduce Dovi (Liev Schreiber).
More scenes like this one throughout, not necessarily volatile, just ones which interject cameos to inquisitively motivate the action, work well.
Highlighting the multidimensional nature of the world at large.
Thereby romanticizing the role of individuals within it.
He sort of does this with Murry's kids, but they have a direct relationship to a major character, which lessens their impact.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Under the Skin
A complacent harvest of unsuspecting trust, seduced, submerged, packaged, preserved in an hallowed solution, embryonic bliss, conscious of the terror, mesmerizing intake, dangling, merged, afloat, neither here nor there, masqueraded glacial transience, luminescent molecules, directions, paste, a ride, seraphic insulation, enraptured salutation, like a liquified libidinal glaze, slowly processed, then drained.
This film really does get under your skin.
It's patiently moving along, odd and peculiar yet generally non-threatening, light creepy apathetic bursts, then suddenly the horror, no build-up, no preparation, just there on a beach, one after the other, cold heartless calculated observation, purpose and intent, its goal indisputable.
And the next scene just follows, back at it, more of the same, manufacturing a costume, objective, driven.
But a fog descends and the comfort zone vanishes.
Curiosity's necessitated by the conditions.
Habituated disbelief.
A monster.
Jonathan Glazer's Under the Skin isn't like typical horror/sci-fi, its apathetic presentation leaving a much deeper impression than the most maniacal rampage to be found in a well-crafted slasher flick.
Its non-sensational unconcerned impact doesn't fade with the following week's routine.
It's still there.
Haunting.
This film really does get under your skin.
It's patiently moving along, odd and peculiar yet generally non-threatening, light creepy apathetic bursts, then suddenly the horror, no build-up, no preparation, just there on a beach, one after the other, cold heartless calculated observation, purpose and intent, its goal indisputable.
And the next scene just follows, back at it, more of the same, manufacturing a costume, objective, driven.
But a fog descends and the comfort zone vanishes.
Curiosity's necessitated by the conditions.
Habituated disbelief.
A monster.
Jonathan Glazer's Under the Skin isn't like typical horror/sci-fi, its apathetic presentation leaving a much deeper impression than the most maniacal rampage to be found in a well-crafted slasher flick.
Its non-sensational unconcerned impact doesn't fade with the following week's routine.
It's still there.
Haunting.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Godzilla
The presence of two gigantic destructive monsters competitively reawakens the mighty Godzilla, perviously resting in his or her oceanic layer, content and comfortable, in its overflowing radioactive abundance.
Secrets have been kept from the people of Japan, and one man's overwhelming quest to ecolocute them, sets his son on the path to heroic indentation.
Project Monarch has known about the existence of these ancient beasts for decades and has been assiduously researching their origins, attempting to understanding what might be their purpose.
When it becomes clear that aspects of said purpose threaten the longevity of prosperous American cities, the characters hear the kitschy call.
Pinnacled to pressure.
If at one time in your life you found yourself watching every Godzilla film you could find, Gareth Edwards's Godzilla doesn't disappoint.
It's, pretty awful, intermixing enough cheesy sentimentality to settle anyone's disputes concerning the hyperactivity of microwaved plutonics.
But this is what's to be expected from a film respectfully paying homage to its amusingly light predecessors, like a refreshing glass of chilled mountain dew, stricken yet satisfying, all the way through.
Dr. Ishiro Serizawa (Ken Watanabe) impresses.
Some of the best deliveries I've heard in a blockbuster for a while.
How I looked forward to his next line with unfiltered anticipation.
The scene where the troops skydive into San Francisco is incredible.
Secrets have been kept from the people of Japan, and one man's overwhelming quest to ecolocute them, sets his son on the path to heroic indentation.
Project Monarch has known about the existence of these ancient beasts for decades and has been assiduously researching their origins, attempting to understanding what might be their purpose.
When it becomes clear that aspects of said purpose threaten the longevity of prosperous American cities, the characters hear the kitschy call.
Pinnacled to pressure.
If at one time in your life you found yourself watching every Godzilla film you could find, Gareth Edwards's Godzilla doesn't disappoint.
It's, pretty awful, intermixing enough cheesy sentimentality to settle anyone's disputes concerning the hyperactivity of microwaved plutonics.
But this is what's to be expected from a film respectfully paying homage to its amusingly light predecessors, like a refreshing glass of chilled mountain dew, stricken yet satisfying, all the way through.
Dr. Ishiro Serizawa (Ken Watanabe) impresses.
Some of the best deliveries I've heard in a blockbuster for a while.
How I looked forward to his next line with unfiltered anticipation.
The scene where the troops skydive into San Francisco is incredible.
Friday, May 30, 2014
X-Men: Days of Future Past
Evidently, cause and effect temporally deducing, internal philosophical differences debating an approach, the struggle to survive polarizing its parameters, the fact remains that a choice was made, its destructive consequences perspiring an end game, a solution transporting a stabilized atrophy, back to the source, to realign its origins.
Smoothly and shockingly aspiring to First Class, X-Men: Days of Future Past rivetingly integrates their two timelines, flexibly intertwining the old with the new, investing the best of both worlds with Wolverine (Hugh Jackman).
Harnessing irrepressible elasticities.
Magneto's (Michael Fassbender/Ian McKellen) might-is-right response continues to rebel against Professor X's (James McAvoy/Patrick Stewart) republic, as both are given ample contraceptives, their ideals tumultuously tested, by acts of genocidal supervillainy.
Perceived threats, prejudiced itineraries, Magneto's malignment, Professor X's stand.
Why difference has to often negatively preoccupy powers-that-be doesn't make sense.
Such attitudes can turn potentially productive community members into bitter antagonists, generations of Magnetos, time after time after time.
A cultural framework open to alternatives multiplies the conditions through which it can innovate and progress.
Infinite combinations and constructions.
Limitlessly inducing.
The film's really well done.
What a beginning.
Smoothly and shockingly aspiring to First Class, X-Men: Days of Future Past rivetingly integrates their two timelines, flexibly intertwining the old with the new, investing the best of both worlds with Wolverine (Hugh Jackman).
Harnessing irrepressible elasticities.
Magneto's (Michael Fassbender/Ian McKellen) might-is-right response continues to rebel against Professor X's (James McAvoy/Patrick Stewart) republic, as both are given ample contraceptives, their ideals tumultuously tested, by acts of genocidal supervillainy.
Perceived threats, prejudiced itineraries, Magneto's malignment, Professor X's stand.
Why difference has to often negatively preoccupy powers-that-be doesn't make sense.
Such attitudes can turn potentially productive community members into bitter antagonists, generations of Magnetos, time after time after time.
A cultural framework open to alternatives multiplies the conditions through which it can innovate and progress.
Infinite combinations and constructions.
Limitlessly inducing.
The film's really well done.
What a beginning.
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