Feet stompin' fist poundin' head boppin' finesse, dodgin' unlodgin', deke death's caress, the test swerving strenuous random incisions, athletic acumen, jocose renditions.
Cro-Magnon.
I wasn't expecting Spy to be so consistently funny.
Apart from the first 15 minutes or so, the comedy cleverly entertains, a study in rapid-fire instantaneous comebacks, mellifluous mouthpieces, agilely exchanging feints.
Channeling Archer.
It follows the emergence of a multidimensional spy, Susan Cooper (Melissa McCarthy), as she leaves command headquarters and heads into the field for the first time.
She's the only one capable of successfully completing the mission because her organization's adversaries are familiar with all of their active agents.
Rick Ford (Jason Statham) doesn't trust her and hilariously errs critically, his outlandish tales providing ludicrous added depth, hardboiled yet klutzy, stumbling the whole way through.
Casting by Zsolt Csutak.
Modestly audacious, Spy blends the wholesome and the crude to frenetically fry and sensationally sizzle.
Cloaked like a reborn marbled masquerade, it excels at enlivening, while mischievously poking fun at gender.
Heartfelt.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Saturday, June 27, 2015
Craftin'
Caressed like mirth's pristine embowered
cascades stitched with stole sun showers
understated sashay, trim,
'jamas shorn to flock chagrin
tchin-tchin.
cascades stitched with stole sun showers
understated sashay, trim,
'jamas shorn to flock chagrin
tchin-tchin.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Phoenix
Resplendent devoted unassuming submission, longing to be lovingly reunited with her heart's treasured panacea, her horizons leavened after having survived an incomparable hell, having survived to live once more, to return home, to rebuild.
World War Two has left her former life in ruins, a mad state of affairs, and after fortunate reconstructive surgery, her husband can no longer recognize her.
She plays it safe, overflowing with desperate joy, which she attempts to express, patiently waiting for the ecstatic moment of truth.
But he's a boor, and she can't accept it, a stubborn fool who refuses to listen, to logic, to reason, providing insights into the gender discriminations that likely played a part in lobbying for the war's eruption, played a part, in setting the world on fire.
A faithful information professional spiritedly stands by her side, but she's too familiar with the facts, and realizes they're beyond forgiveness.
She succumbs to the horror.
The war claiming yet another victim.
Christian Petzold's Phoenix is well done, a dark sombre juxtaposition of innocence and cowardice gracefully moving towards an abysmal redemption, the beginnings of a future, previously unbeknownst.
It's ending is exactly what I was looking for from Ex Machina and The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 1, powerful closure, constitutional in its rebirth.
I had no sympathy for the husband who turned quisling when he could have countered.
But who knows what one would do amidst such savagery?
Death seems preferable.
World War Two has left her former life in ruins, a mad state of affairs, and after fortunate reconstructive surgery, her husband can no longer recognize her.
She plays it safe, overflowing with desperate joy, which she attempts to express, patiently waiting for the ecstatic moment of truth.
But he's a boor, and she can't accept it, a stubborn fool who refuses to listen, to logic, to reason, providing insights into the gender discriminations that likely played a part in lobbying for the war's eruption, played a part, in setting the world on fire.
A faithful information professional spiritedly stands by her side, but she's too familiar with the facts, and realizes they're beyond forgiveness.
She succumbs to the horror.
The war claiming yet another victim.
Christian Petzold's Phoenix is well done, a dark sombre juxtaposition of innocence and cowardice gracefully moving towards an abysmal redemption, the beginnings of a future, previously unbeknownst.
It's ending is exactly what I was looking for from Ex Machina and The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 1, powerful closure, constitutional in its rebirth.
I had no sympathy for the husband who turned quisling when he could have countered.
But who knows what one would do amidst such savagery?
Death seems preferable.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Love & Mercy
Bill Pohlad's Love & Mercy takes a touching look at gentle brilliance and the jealousy it unwittingly incites, the vindictive and the voracious perched to pounce, asserting themselves through dismissive abrasive cynicism.
Preying on the gifted.
The film romanticizes Brian Wilson's (John Cusack/Paul Dano) stealth, his steady patient creative orchestrations, the insights, the voices, the exacting yet understanding care playfully attached to his work, the fun humble spontaneous personality that nurtured love in those that could see his beauty, childlike wonder and awe maturely mastered to crystallize ecstatic movements, multifaceted maestro, coy imaginative visionary.
He faces three main challenges in his personal life, one that isn't too serious, another Beach Boy trying to (boringly) keep things simple, to move away from the experimental yet relatable path his force was cultivating (Brian writes everything so it's easy for him to ignore him although he becomes increasingly hostile), his father, who can't accept his exceptional success, who goes out of his way to brutally put him down, thinking he's regained control of the family by doing so, he can't let go, and a psychiatrist who traps him in a hellhole, controlling every aspect of his life, treating him like a spoiled two-year-old child, as opposed to a musical manifest.
There's a lot of pressure when it comes time for him to write.
A loving woman, Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), then enters his life and seeks to turn things around.
The legalities are daunting.
But she's full of angelic zeal.
It's a solid film, entertainingly profound, smoothly mixing the provocative and the popular, paying tribute to Wilson's legend in both form and content.
Examining his trials, his genius, his humanity, elevating the individual, critiquing the callous and the cumbersome.
He wrote everything.
He added layers upon layers of complementary sounds.
His genius still shines like seductive sweltering serenity.
And he was rewarded with contempt and isolation because of a mental illness.
That makes no sense.
None at all.
*I'm no genius, but I always did well in school when I applied myself and like what I come up with a lot of the time.
Although there's always room for improvement.
It's cheesy, but the trick to avoiding the destructive influences of jealousy is to love what you have, what you're doing, while still looking to change and grow, at different speeds, governed by circumstance, and be happy when you see that your friends like what they're doing too.
Works for me most of the time anyways.
Popsicles.
Preying on the gifted.
The film romanticizes Brian Wilson's (John Cusack/Paul Dano) stealth, his steady patient creative orchestrations, the insights, the voices, the exacting yet understanding care playfully attached to his work, the fun humble spontaneous personality that nurtured love in those that could see his beauty, childlike wonder and awe maturely mastered to crystallize ecstatic movements, multifaceted maestro, coy imaginative visionary.
He faces three main challenges in his personal life, one that isn't too serious, another Beach Boy trying to (boringly) keep things simple, to move away from the experimental yet relatable path his force was cultivating (Brian writes everything so it's easy for him to ignore him although he becomes increasingly hostile), his father, who can't accept his exceptional success, who goes out of his way to brutally put him down, thinking he's regained control of the family by doing so, he can't let go, and a psychiatrist who traps him in a hellhole, controlling every aspect of his life, treating him like a spoiled two-year-old child, as opposed to a musical manifest.
There's a lot of pressure when it comes time for him to write.
A loving woman, Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), then enters his life and seeks to turn things around.
The legalities are daunting.
But she's full of angelic zeal.
It's a solid film, entertainingly profound, smoothly mixing the provocative and the popular, paying tribute to Wilson's legend in both form and content.
Examining his trials, his genius, his humanity, elevating the individual, critiquing the callous and the cumbersome.
He wrote everything.
He added layers upon layers of complementary sounds.
His genius still shines like seductive sweltering serenity.
And he was rewarded with contempt and isolation because of a mental illness.
That makes no sense.
None at all.
*I'm no genius, but I always did well in school when I applied myself and like what I come up with a lot of the time.
Although there's always room for improvement.
It's cheesy, but the trick to avoiding the destructive influences of jealousy is to love what you have, what you're doing, while still looking to change and grow, at different speeds, governed by circumstance, and be happy when you see that your friends like what they're doing too.
Works for me most of the time anyways.
Popsicles.
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Les Carcajous
A penchant for impassioned laced
albacored quixotic states
begets a truffled residue
spiced like choral Montague
then stewed.
albacored quixotic states
begets a truffled residue
spiced like choral Montague
then stewed.
Friday, June 19, 2015
Jurassic World
The miraculous theme park envisioned by John Hammond has become a reality, and profits are steady, but their future is theoretically in jeopardy, or they at least may not continue to increase, hence, a new carnivorous force of immaculate magnetism is required, the product, the indominus rex, a creature so malevolent it makes the fearsome tyrannosaurus look like a fluffy pillow, bred to dominate, severely shackled.
But it's highly intelligent and soon tricks its creators into setting it free, proceeding to rampage thereafter, as hundreds of tourists unsuspectingly stride.
Enter one Owen (Chris Pratt), adventurous pulsar, intimately aware of danger, his knowledge essential, his strategies, ignored.
His relationship with the velociraptors he trains forges the film's ethos in relation to the ways in which it examines the phenomenon of control.
He maintains a respectful attitude, looking at their relationship symbiotically, he controls aspects of their dynamic but only because he respects the team, and treats it with corresponding assertive humility.
He's indirectly compared with Simon Masrani (Irrfan Khan), who also finds freedom in letting go, a constructive truth in my opinion, variations on a theme, but he made the mistake of authorizing the indominus's creation without applying either oversight or foresight, for which he pays an incendiary penalty.
Too much progress.
You see a number of the park's features throughout and wonder how its profits could ever be called into question.
It looks mind-blowingly amazing.
How driving a spherical vehicle through a field of dinosaurs could ever become boring doesn't make sense to me.
Even the petting zoo could never become boring.
But future profits are called into question and the aforementioned apex predator is the solution, treated with foolhardy disrespect, and then hunted as it threatens their very existence.
Bad decision.
Small aggressive dogs can be difficult to control.
But aside from the appealing critique of the poor decisions that can be made when obsessing about profits that are already stable, and team leaders who apply too much or too little oversight to their vitalities without taking into consideration the agencies of their networks, found in Jurassic World, it's generally a chaotic enough blockbuster, romance blooming amidst the carnage, reckless youth suddenly coming of age.
B.D. Wong (Dr. Henry Wu) makes a welcome reappearance in the franchise; I always wondered what happened to him in the original.
My favourite character was Lowery (Jake Johnson), who likes to think of his working space "as a living system, with just enough stability to keep it from collapsing into anarchy."
Nice line.
There are some other nice lines.
Too much oversight is provided by Hoskins (Vincent D'Onofrio), who wants to turn Owen's velociraptor team into a militaristic fighting force.
His ideas are fast-tracked.
Menacing progressions are critiqued, although their devastations develop character.
Those that survive anyway.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Aloft
Isolated helpless superstitious promise, the only hope for a mother's incurable child resting in the hands of a weathered witch doctor, desperation, the unknown, an attempt to reach into wild undiscovered mystic knowledge potentially hosting scientific truth/s, cures, poetic miracles, gifts, afflictions, a reliance upon the yet to be explained medical hardware built into environmental consciousnesses, humanistic crucibles, penicillin in a beam of light, tactile chemotherapy, the mother refuses to believe only to find she has what it takes, tragedy tearing her family apart, a reluctant, crippling, emotional commitment.
To belief.
Trust.
The event's shocks leave her other son permanently withdrawn, difficult but stable, cultivating an archaic art.
The consequences of a devastating decision lay waiting North of 60, forlorn forgiveness, buried beneath the ice.
It's an incredibly dark film, Claudia Llosa's Aloft.
Well done though.
A depressing desperate joyless aesthetic meticulously matriculated like the resin of pure hopelessness.
Not very cheery.
Well acted, Jennifer Connelly (Nana Kunning) and Cillian Murphy (Ivan) given more room to manoeuvre than I'm accustomed to seeing, not that I've seen all their films.
Well structured.
It challenges you to believe or condemn, take a side, consider, which is always a huge risk, commendable in its execution.
I don't deny the existence of miracles, things that can't be explained.
I do believe they can't be explained because our knowledge still lacks the means to comprehend them however.
It may, always.
Trying to intuitively reproduce them is a sketchy calling.
They can't be explained.
That's why they're so fascinating.
Motivating.
To belief.
Trust.
The event's shocks leave her other son permanently withdrawn, difficult but stable, cultivating an archaic art.
The consequences of a devastating decision lay waiting North of 60, forlorn forgiveness, buried beneath the ice.
It's an incredibly dark film, Claudia Llosa's Aloft.
Well done though.
A depressing desperate joyless aesthetic meticulously matriculated like the resin of pure hopelessness.
Not very cheery.
Well acted, Jennifer Connelly (Nana Kunning) and Cillian Murphy (Ivan) given more room to manoeuvre than I'm accustomed to seeing, not that I've seen all their films.
Well structured.
It challenges you to believe or condemn, take a side, consider, which is always a huge risk, commendable in its execution.
I don't deny the existence of miracles, things that can't be explained.
I do believe they can't be explained because our knowledge still lacks the means to comprehend them however.
It may, always.
Trying to intuitively reproduce them is a sketchy calling.
They can't be explained.
That's why they're so fascinating.
Motivating.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Stitches
Wrapped-up wrigglin' sugar shack
symphasquigglin' stunned shellac
the tracks the path the hikin' boots
twisters twizzlin' coy the roots
to juke.
symphasquigglin' stunned shellac
the tracks the path the hikin' boots
twisters twizzlin' coy the roots
to juke.
Friday, June 12, 2015
The Age of Adaline
Coyly acquiescing to time passing, chronicling cultural rhapsodies like timid mellow echoes, epochs merging and diverging like predetermined burgeoned whiplash, photo luminescent filaments, spurned inchoate cracks, immortality strikes in The Age of Adaline, and with it comes frayed responsibilities, the importance of remaining impersonal, hesitant refusals to love.
Aloof highlander.
She can't get close, watch while others develop, like physically disinclined incandescence, engaged in lifelong learning, observant, patient, withdrawn.
But a suitor emerges who will not yield, and temptation entices her dormant romantic desires.
Euphoria exfoliates before fate steps in, a cosmic interpersonal strike, socializing sequestered surveillances, interdisciplinary constructs, radiance mesmerized in bloom.
Like father like son.
Maddening immersed fraternities.
A beautiful film, saliently capturing the awestruck, the in/visible, historically intensifying inflamed conjugal passions, a universal library, modesty in timeless curation.
I thought it was odd that the FBI eventually stopped searching for Adaline (Blake Lively), because it would have been so easy to find her by following her daughter, although, in hindsight, continuing with that plot thread would have added an irritating sense of oppression, whose lingering aftershocks haunt the film regardless, as it wisely focuses on romance, delicately arranging an iridescent jaunty bouquet, from securely self-imposed isolation.
Distant, tragic, torn.
Good decision.
Aloof highlander.
She can't get close, watch while others develop, like physically disinclined incandescence, engaged in lifelong learning, observant, patient, withdrawn.
But a suitor emerges who will not yield, and temptation entices her dormant romantic desires.
Euphoria exfoliates before fate steps in, a cosmic interpersonal strike, socializing sequestered surveillances, interdisciplinary constructs, radiance mesmerized in bloom.
Like father like son.
Maddening immersed fraternities.
A beautiful film, saliently capturing the awestruck, the in/visible, historically intensifying inflamed conjugal passions, a universal library, modesty in timeless curation.
I thought it was odd that the FBI eventually stopped searching for Adaline (Blake Lively), because it would have been so easy to find her by following her daughter, although, in hindsight, continuing with that plot thread would have added an irritating sense of oppression, whose lingering aftershocks haunt the film regardless, as it wisely focuses on romance, delicately arranging an iridescent jaunty bouquet, from securely self-imposed isolation.
Distant, tragic, torn.
Good decision.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Une nouvelle amie (The New Girlfriend)
A loved one passes, leaving distressed feelings of emptiness in her wake, both her best friend and husband struggling to cope, united one afternoon by an accidental revelation.
Puritan codes of conduct initially confuse grieving Claire (Anaïs Demoustier), who's somewhat shocked by her sudden discovery.
But curiosity and understanding soon replace her dismissive state, as she forges a playful friendship with David (Romain Duris), and the two embrace the wonders of exploratory gender identification.
Mischievously masquerading, prim intimacies sewn.
Une nouvelle amie (The New Girlfriend) seeks to expand consciousness, to normalize what is often regarded as a taboo subject.
I don't think it's taboo, but many still do, and the film recognizes this peculiarity through the expression of Claire's reservations, as mentioned previously, and the odd looks they receive au centre-ville.
Her husband has no reservations however, and represents the chill inclusive bourgeois mindset, a normalizing force in the film, even if he does make awkward statistical observations.
The opening moments reminded me of Mommy, and I wonder if Ozon was giving a nod to Xavier Dolan.
The film struggles for the next 45 minutes or so though, choppy editing covering too much subject matter in too little a space of time, like you're watching a film on Sunday afternoon in 1987, until Claire and David take a trip to the countryside, after which it opens up and excels, although the accident near the end was a bit overdone.
I think it's a device filmmakers use when trying to appeal to both sides of the political spectrum when investigating controversial material that shouldn't be controversial.
The exploration appeals to the left.
Negative outcomes appeal to the right.
That's somewhat too basic.
Still, what a world, what a world.
Puritan codes of conduct initially confuse grieving Claire (Anaïs Demoustier), who's somewhat shocked by her sudden discovery.
But curiosity and understanding soon replace her dismissive state, as she forges a playful friendship with David (Romain Duris), and the two embrace the wonders of exploratory gender identification.
Mischievously masquerading, prim intimacies sewn.
Une nouvelle amie (The New Girlfriend) seeks to expand consciousness, to normalize what is often regarded as a taboo subject.
I don't think it's taboo, but many still do, and the film recognizes this peculiarity through the expression of Claire's reservations, as mentioned previously, and the odd looks they receive au centre-ville.
Her husband has no reservations however, and represents the chill inclusive bourgeois mindset, a normalizing force in the film, even if he does make awkward statistical observations.
The opening moments reminded me of Mommy, and I wonder if Ozon was giving a nod to Xavier Dolan.
The film struggles for the next 45 minutes or so though, choppy editing covering too much subject matter in too little a space of time, like you're watching a film on Sunday afternoon in 1987, until Claire and David take a trip to the countryside, after which it opens up and excels, although the accident near the end was a bit overdone.
I think it's a device filmmakers use when trying to appeal to both sides of the political spectrum when investigating controversial material that shouldn't be controversial.
The exploration appeals to the left.
Negative outcomes appeal to the right.
That's somewhat too basic.
Still, what a world, what a world.
Monday, June 8, 2015
I was thinking it would be fun to communicate using YouTube videos exclusively for a period of 72 hours and then realized that's probably a bad idea, but then thought that a game show where contestants are given a subject (iced tea, the Thelon Wildlife Sanctuary, architecture . . . ) and then asked to find a corresponding YouTube video in under 15 seconds may be a good idea, the quality of the corresponding choice being judged by a select panel of eclectic net personalities, and commented upon by an athletic host.
This could work.
Perfect for late night on Space . . .
This could work.
Perfect for late night on Space . . .
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Cajoeled
Lithely strung spry armadillo
who bends and breathes like whistling willows
shuffle pluck reflex the reeds
swaying gently 'pon the breeze
at ease.
who bends and breathes like whistling willows
shuffle pluck reflex the reeds
swaying gently 'pon the breeze
at ease.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Welcome to Me
Individualized destabilizing pent-up regressive rage, vanity spiked with lavish tear-jerks, revenge, pretence, Sardaukar, like white water rafting while having an enema, serendipitously skydiving into reckless raw sewage, a tropical vacation during a hurricane, horseback riding through an excrement infused mine field, or effervescent diarrhea, stuck in the washroom with the runs for 90 minutes with a good book after having drank a glass of Johnnie Walker Red, laughing your ass off while occasionally glancing at what's written on the walls, it's well done, solid dark comedy, poignant pointless improvised puttering, septic serenity, caw, caw, caw.
86 million squandered insanity.
There's a raw sense of guiltless innocence that destructively vibrates like a ludic chaotic cello, devoid of any constructive purpose, strict subjectivism, too independently inclined.
Like Immortan Joe, Alice (Kristen Wiig) rules, although her domain isn't post-apocalyptic, yet remains symptomatic of what leads to Fury Road.
Welcome to Me isn't hastily thrown together, they took their time to apply added depth, simultaneously enthusiastic and ghastly, it smoothly maintains its aesthetic the whole way through.
Reminiscent of World's Greatest Dad.
Possibly funded by the pharmaceutical lobby.
Decadence.
Mega Maid.
86 million squandered insanity.
There's a raw sense of guiltless innocence that destructively vibrates like a ludic chaotic cello, devoid of any constructive purpose, strict subjectivism, too independently inclined.
Like Immortan Joe, Alice (Kristen Wiig) rules, although her domain isn't post-apocalyptic, yet remains symptomatic of what leads to Fury Road.
Welcome to Me isn't hastily thrown together, they took their time to apply added depth, simultaneously enthusiastic and ghastly, it smoothly maintains its aesthetic the whole way through.
Reminiscent of World's Greatest Dad.
Possibly funded by the pharmaceutical lobby.
Decadence.
Mega Maid.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Poltergeist
I know I saw the original Poltergeist film, starring coach Craig T. Nelson, a bunch of times when I was a kid, and I'm not a kid now, so comparing my youthful impressions to those I currently prescribe isn't a viable option, but there was one scene from the original that still sticks out, near the end, when a hallway is featured and then its length hauntingly extends to augment the sense of desperation, there's nothing like that in the new film, nothing that memorable, although if I had been 8 while watching it I might have found it more shocking, more real.
I may have also found it not so shocking.
There seems to be a formula that's being followed here, which is adhered to too strictly, like they have i's to dot and t's to cross rather than innovations to disseminate and paradigms to shift.
They just seemed to spend more time building up tension in the original, it's patiently disorienting, which explains the switch from otherworldly supernatural investigator Tangina (Zelda Rubinstein) to rough and tumble Carrigan Burke (Jared Harris), the best feature of the film, due to his comic exchanges with glasses wearing ex-wife Dr. Brooke Powell (Jane Adams), and charismatic audacity, like he's running for 1,500 yards a season, which suggests that contemporary horror is more immediate than that dispensed in the 1980s, although I don't watch enough mass produced contemporary horror films to be able to make that claim with legitimate certainty.
It's a tough claim to make with legitimate certainty no matter how many horror films you watch.
That's what makes making such claims so much fun.
The other aspect of the film that I liked was its focus on the struggles of middle-class American families, represented by the Bowens, credit card debts without regret, no other choice, the poltergeists functioning like manufactured socioeconomic pressures, subconsciously harrowing burdensome manifestations.
They also wrapped up this Poltergeist film too quickly, which fits with what I'm saying, one of the strengths of the original being the shattered sense of calm explosively annihilated in the end.
Perhaps it was a warning that bourgeois economic prosperity was about to start facing tough times in America?
A precursor to the first Terminator film.
It probably wasn't that.
I like that the new Poltergeist film didn't duplicate the original's ending, but would have liked to have seen it replaced with something different.
They just abruptly end it.
Bivouacs.
Although it has some solid characters and themes, I remain loyal to the original.
The original sequels weren't that great though.
The new Poltergeist 2 could exponentially improve on The Other Side.
I may have also found it not so shocking.
There seems to be a formula that's being followed here, which is adhered to too strictly, like they have i's to dot and t's to cross rather than innovations to disseminate and paradigms to shift.
They just seemed to spend more time building up tension in the original, it's patiently disorienting, which explains the switch from otherworldly supernatural investigator Tangina (Zelda Rubinstein) to rough and tumble Carrigan Burke (Jared Harris), the best feature of the film, due to his comic exchanges with glasses wearing ex-wife Dr. Brooke Powell (Jane Adams), and charismatic audacity, like he's running for 1,500 yards a season, which suggests that contemporary horror is more immediate than that dispensed in the 1980s, although I don't watch enough mass produced contemporary horror films to be able to make that claim with legitimate certainty.
It's a tough claim to make with legitimate certainty no matter how many horror films you watch.
That's what makes making such claims so much fun.
The other aspect of the film that I liked was its focus on the struggles of middle-class American families, represented by the Bowens, credit card debts without regret, no other choice, the poltergeists functioning like manufactured socioeconomic pressures, subconsciously harrowing burdensome manifestations.
They also wrapped up this Poltergeist film too quickly, which fits with what I'm saying, one of the strengths of the original being the shattered sense of calm explosively annihilated in the end.
Perhaps it was a warning that bourgeois economic prosperity was about to start facing tough times in America?
A precursor to the first Terminator film.
It probably wasn't that.
I like that the new Poltergeist film didn't duplicate the original's ending, but would have liked to have seen it replaced with something different.
They just abruptly end it.
Bivouacs.
Although it has some solid characters and themes, I remain loyal to the original.
The original sequels weren't that great though.
The new Poltergeist 2 could exponentially improve on The Other Side.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Fletched
Caresting peaceful in the shade
the mix concrete enpastured glades;
stretched out the blanketed recess,
earthen reticent express
vitesse.
the mix concrete enpastured glades;
stretched out the blanketed recess,
earthen reticent express
vitesse.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Mad Max: Fury Road
Accelerated omnipresent pressurized pulsation, strict violent fanatical allegiance, the strongest suffocating to prosper penultimately, commanding the collective will, autocratic anarchy, order established where there was only suffering, fierce frantic fallout, old world technologies mechanistically motivating, the power to recreate them exhausted in the flames, control what survives, post-apocalyptically yield and burn.
Tyrannically.
Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne), ruler of his domain, is challenged by the free thinking Imperator Furiosa (Charlize Theron), who audaciously seeks escape, from his unleashed sands of thine.
The film irresistibly functions on a need-to-know basis.
Little is directly explained, it's a filmic theorist's broadbanded El Dorado, compelled to advocate and wager, within absolutism's clutches.
While enjoying a chaotic chase which minimalistically yet compellingly develops multiple marooned mindsets, simplicity functioning on a complex sociological level, artistic in its expansive brevity, enhanced by stunning complementary visuals.
The people, the elite, the executive, their competitors.
You get a sense of what the film will be like early on, when Max Rockatansky (Tom Hardy) attempts to flee his captors, boldly leaping to what would represent freedom in so many action films, only to fail in his attempt, and be overcome by the frenzied horde.
He could be the most unfocused upon heroic figure I've seen in a strong action film, he's not the main character, rarely says anything, his actions have beneficial repercussions for those claiming individuality, but so do those of others involved in the same blind maddening quest.
Direct absolutism, indirect social democracy, levelled out blunt mysterious jagged character development mired in an unending conflict which intuitively yet intellectually assaults tyrannical preconceptions.
I'm placing Mad Max: Fury Road on my list of favourite action films, with Aliens, Robocop(1987), and Terminator 2.
There's no need to impose rank.
It demands that you find the definitions.
Immersing you in its world thereby.
Providing clues.
Tyrannically.
Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne), ruler of his domain, is challenged by the free thinking Imperator Furiosa (Charlize Theron), who audaciously seeks escape, from his unleashed sands of thine.
The film irresistibly functions on a need-to-know basis.
Little is directly explained, it's a filmic theorist's broadbanded El Dorado, compelled to advocate and wager, within absolutism's clutches.
While enjoying a chaotic chase which minimalistically yet compellingly develops multiple marooned mindsets, simplicity functioning on a complex sociological level, artistic in its expansive brevity, enhanced by stunning complementary visuals.
The people, the elite, the executive, their competitors.
You get a sense of what the film will be like early on, when Max Rockatansky (Tom Hardy) attempts to flee his captors, boldly leaping to what would represent freedom in so many action films, only to fail in his attempt, and be overcome by the frenzied horde.
He could be the most unfocused upon heroic figure I've seen in a strong action film, he's not the main character, rarely says anything, his actions have beneficial repercussions for those claiming individuality, but so do those of others involved in the same blind maddening quest.
Direct absolutism, indirect social democracy, levelled out blunt mysterious jagged character development mired in an unending conflict which intuitively yet intellectually assaults tyrannical preconceptions.
I'm placing Mad Max: Fury Road on my list of favourite action films, with Aliens, Robocop(1987), and Terminator 2.
There's no need to impose rank.
It demands that you find the definitions.
Immersing you in its world thereby.
Providing clues.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Tomorrowland
Cloaked like a pessimistic counterproductive dagger, Tomorrowland brakes to nourishingly excel, the forces of darkness coveting rash inevitability, unforeseen factors, championing propulsive change.
Marshmallow.
A bright young girl (Britt Robertson as Casey Newton) is given the rare opportunity to interdimensionally express her points of view, but she requires the aid of a jaded visionary (George Clooney as Frank Walker) who made a mess of things hardwiring his.
A cascading proacticon (Raffey Cassidy as Athena) facilitates their endeavours, doing everything she can to make dreams live again, the sequestered realm where the gifted resuscitate having physically broken down, to the point of planetary exclusion.
A product of inbreeding.
Their leader (Hugh Laurie as Nix) suffers from bitter exposure, hopelessness, having lost the capability to separate slime from synergies.
But Casey still believes.
And her wondrous enthusiasm calls Frank to action, a towering historical flight, to breathe life into despondent degeneracy.
Pitter patter.
Liked Tomorrowland's positive message.
Encouraging for youth and adults alike, it explores the big picture from an innocent perspective which breaks through the immense complications that prevent people from thinking constructively.
Slow moving change isn't always the best option, but it enables groups to move forward collectively at a subdued yet surefire pace, that allows multiple stakeholders to make structural adjustments to various infrastructures without inciting furious passions that can be rather destructive if imposed on a mass cultural scale.
An obsession with immediate gratification can be problematic when operating in this fashion.
Patience is the productive key.
While still making sure you enjoy the weekend.
Note: the changes in Tomorrowland do require immediacy. If they didn't, it would be a rather odd mass produced science-fiction film.
Social democracy's a tough sell.
Marshmallow.
A bright young girl (Britt Robertson as Casey Newton) is given the rare opportunity to interdimensionally express her points of view, but she requires the aid of a jaded visionary (George Clooney as Frank Walker) who made a mess of things hardwiring his.
A cascading proacticon (Raffey Cassidy as Athena) facilitates their endeavours, doing everything she can to make dreams live again, the sequestered realm where the gifted resuscitate having physically broken down, to the point of planetary exclusion.
A product of inbreeding.
Their leader (Hugh Laurie as Nix) suffers from bitter exposure, hopelessness, having lost the capability to separate slime from synergies.
But Casey still believes.
And her wondrous enthusiasm calls Frank to action, a towering historical flight, to breathe life into despondent degeneracy.
Pitter patter.
Liked Tomorrowland's positive message.
Encouraging for youth and adults alike, it explores the big picture from an innocent perspective which breaks through the immense complications that prevent people from thinking constructively.
Slow moving change isn't always the best option, but it enables groups to move forward collectively at a subdued yet surefire pace, that allows multiple stakeholders to make structural adjustments to various infrastructures without inciting furious passions that can be rather destructive if imposed on a mass cultural scale.
An obsession with immediate gratification can be problematic when operating in this fashion.
Patience is the productive key.
While still making sure you enjoy the weekend.
Note: the changes in Tomorrowland do require immediacy. If they didn't, it would be a rather odd mass produced science-fiction film.
Social democracy's a tough sell.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Broth
Buttoned-up distressed fanatic
Your sentiments so symptomatic
Pitchforked stitched horizon blues
Find a hobby, chess, backgammon.
The zoo.
Your sentiments so symptomatic
Pitchforked stitched horizon blues
Find a hobby, chess, backgammon.
The zoo.
Friday, May 22, 2015
La famille Bélier
Nestled in the French countryside, La famille Bélier proactively propels.
Tired of the pejoratively polite glad handing of the long standing local mayor, Rodolphe Bélier (François Damiens) takes a virile stand.
Concurrently, his daughter, young Paula (Louane Emera), discovers she has a talent for singing, and the lure of the big city suddenly complicates her steady bucolic stamina.
Political fights and Parisian heights then dominate their social reflexivity, as change blossoms and grows, and democracy asserts its egalitarian heritage.
With comic un/characteristic aggression.
A triumph of the human spirit, La famille Bélier boldly demonstrates the potential inclusiveness invigorates, juxtaposing debilitating doubts with overzealous confidence to familialize the tenacious and the timorous, while heartbreakingly accentuating a challenging component of différence.
But said différence and its fortunate opportunity serve to strengthen through the act of disintegrating, risk's embrace hallowing assured vested calm.
M. Bélier makes the jump into politics quite rapidly, his potency augmented thereby, although a couple of additional transition scenes would have quietly validated his decision.
It's quite patriarchal.
Tough to say what galvanizes his backbone.
He's reading a book about François Hollande but would rule with strict unsympathetic objectivity.
There's a well rounded cast whose quirks and qualms playfully comment on urban and rural realities.
Which playfully flirt.
While remaining tantalizingly afield.
Note: the focus is on Paula.
Tired of the pejoratively polite glad handing of the long standing local mayor, Rodolphe Bélier (François Damiens) takes a virile stand.
Concurrently, his daughter, young Paula (Louane Emera), discovers she has a talent for singing, and the lure of the big city suddenly complicates her steady bucolic stamina.
Political fights and Parisian heights then dominate their social reflexivity, as change blossoms and grows, and democracy asserts its egalitarian heritage.
With comic un/characteristic aggression.
A triumph of the human spirit, La famille Bélier boldly demonstrates the potential inclusiveness invigorates, juxtaposing debilitating doubts with overzealous confidence to familialize the tenacious and the timorous, while heartbreakingly accentuating a challenging component of différence.
But said différence and its fortunate opportunity serve to strengthen through the act of disintegrating, risk's embrace hallowing assured vested calm.
M. Bélier makes the jump into politics quite rapidly, his potency augmented thereby, although a couple of additional transition scenes would have quietly validated his decision.
It's quite patriarchal.
Tough to say what galvanizes his backbone.
He's reading a book about François Hollande but would rule with strict unsympathetic objectivity.
There's a well rounded cast whose quirks and qualms playfully comment on urban and rural realities.
Which playfully flirt.
While remaining tantalizingly afield.
Note: the focus is on Paula.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Far from the Madding Crowd
There seems to be at least 2 ways to view Thomas Vinterberg's Far from the Madding Crowd, one favourable and another dismissive, without focusing on the strong performances.
I often say this, but it applies here as well, when you cover dense literary material in a short span of time and try to maximize the amount of your narrative coverage, you often lose much of the poetic subtlety that maintains the vision's life force, by causing complex emotions to seem trite due to their overabundance, which adds a subliminal comic dimension to your structure.
Joe Wright's Anna Karenina worked well in this frame.
Strong performances can fight against this tendency, and they do in this case, but as the frequency of the condensed points of fascination increase, there's little they can do to avoid being swamped by the deluge.
Two scenes in particular struck me, when Sergeant Francis Troy (Tom Sturridge) discusses his preference for Fanny Robbin (Juno Temple) with Bathsheba Everdene (Carey Mulligan), a definitive moment, where the depth of emotion simply isn't there, and when an exasperated William Boldwood (Michael Sheen) pulls out his rifle in the end, once again a pivotal pinpoint, which falls flat in terms of critical perplexion.
But, if the film is viewed as a sombre love story in/directly examining Everdene and Gabriel Oak (Matthias Schoenaerts) specifically, then it makes sense that both the scenes I've mentioned above would fall flat, in order for the film's subconscious to structurally validate all the interactions Bathsheba has with Oak.
By making the scenes with Oak stand out, and making those featuring the other men who desire her insignificant, Bathsheba and Gabriel's love rings true, an appealing romantic cultivation.
This is a risky move because it necessitates lacklustre moments, but if your aesthetic preferences are in tune with such stratagems, Far from the Madding Crowd works on a high level.
Liked the black bear and how it highlights Everdene's suffocated independence, both spirits prospering as they assert themselves, suffering when forced to perform parlour tricks.
I often say this, but it applies here as well, when you cover dense literary material in a short span of time and try to maximize the amount of your narrative coverage, you often lose much of the poetic subtlety that maintains the vision's life force, by causing complex emotions to seem trite due to their overabundance, which adds a subliminal comic dimension to your structure.
Joe Wright's Anna Karenina worked well in this frame.
Strong performances can fight against this tendency, and they do in this case, but as the frequency of the condensed points of fascination increase, there's little they can do to avoid being swamped by the deluge.
Two scenes in particular struck me, when Sergeant Francis Troy (Tom Sturridge) discusses his preference for Fanny Robbin (Juno Temple) with Bathsheba Everdene (Carey Mulligan), a definitive moment, where the depth of emotion simply isn't there, and when an exasperated William Boldwood (Michael Sheen) pulls out his rifle in the end, once again a pivotal pinpoint, which falls flat in terms of critical perplexion.
But, if the film is viewed as a sombre love story in/directly examining Everdene and Gabriel Oak (Matthias Schoenaerts) specifically, then it makes sense that both the scenes I've mentioned above would fall flat, in order for the film's subconscious to structurally validate all the interactions Bathsheba has with Oak.
By making the scenes with Oak stand out, and making those featuring the other men who desire her insignificant, Bathsheba and Gabriel's love rings true, an appealing romantic cultivation.
This is a risky move because it necessitates lacklustre moments, but if your aesthetic preferences are in tune with such stratagems, Far from the Madding Crowd works on a high level.
Liked the black bear and how it highlights Everdene's suffocated independence, both spirits prospering as they assert themselves, suffering when forced to perform parlour tricks.
Monday, May 18, 2015
A kindly old man brought out his accordion and started playing upbeat rhythms as I read outside in the sun today, a welcome accompaniment to my imaginings. Some time later, as I left to return to my dwelling, I looked in his direction and gave him a quick celebratory nod of my head, so that he would know that I had enjoyed his playing. I thought I saw I slight sign of acknowledgement in the form of a brief smile that minutely lit up his face before he continued to shyly stare in another direction, but I can't be entirely sure. It was like I had been effortlessly transported to the deck of a cozy cruise liner, to sit by the pool throughout the afternoon, and consider taking a nap.
I find it odd when people continue to use their cellphones while urinating, whether texting, surfing the net, or actually talking to another person, as if the threat of a cumbersome splash, spray, or sprinkle means nothing, content as they are to embrace whatever cellular caprice currently fascinates their attention.
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