The prospects of immortality, rearrange and shift, mutate, transform, galavanting through the epochs with illuminated historical flexibility, observing, unnerving, acting, forlorn fountainheads cartesian factotums, watching from the sidelines, taking direct roles, zigzagging away through the here and now like mesmerized counteracting resonance, a comment, a plan, an insight, a lyric, a strategy.
The choice is Damian's (Ben Kingsley/Ryan Reynolds).
Repercussions be damned.
Or not, as it soon becomes clear that the body he's purchased wasn't grown in a lab but was once inhabited by another whose consciousness still resides within, regular doses of potent pharmaceuticals required to maintain control, limitless ethics, the conscience of consciousness.
He was an extremely successful businessperson during his first life, erudite and invincible, this aspect giving him an advantage as he begins to unravel the crime, while highlighting the importance of retirement to give the next generation a shot.
He slowly comes to understand this, that he's already come into existence, that new ideas and fresh perspectives invigorate evolution, as his new body persists, still thrives with the ecstasy of youth.
A decision must be made.
A balance must be spiritualized.
Tarsem Singh's Self/less works as a thrilling contemplative digestible crucial reflexion.
Perhaps Ben Kingsley shouldn't retire (any actor looking to star in science-fiction or superhero films should study Kingsley's performance in Self/less).
Age versus youth, activism contra avarice, death circling everlasting life, the theatrics of a dream, the investment of a lifetime.
Agile mainstream science-fiction makes you think while plausibly delivering a steady stream of action.
Self/less embodies these synapses.
A touching examination of transformations within transmutations, it investigates the moral, to powerfully project and diversify.
Note: I'm still quite young.
*I like this Tarsem Singh. He also directed Mirror Mirror. I liked The Cell too when I saw it in 2000.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
For Cecil the Lion
It takes a special kind of asshole to lure a collared lion away from a National Park and then kill it.
That's not sporting, not sporting at all.
Imagine the lie he was going to tell his friends and family about how he killed it? I find trophy hunting disgusting, but this fucker wouldn't even play by those rules, he killed Cecil the Lion in the most cowardly disrespectful way imaginable, perhaps with the intent of boasting about it for the rest of his life.
This guy is worst case.
I highly recommend not killing lions and rhinos and elephants and whales (and other animals) because their populations do not bounce back quickly when they lose individuals.
When I was a kid, I thought the world had smartened up and realized that if lions etc. were to continue existing we would have to stop viciously hunting them for sport.
But these idiots keep doing it, time and time again.
And they brag about it.
And people listen to them.
And talk to them.
Also, medical science has actual remedies.
Rhino horn and elephant tusk do not.
You idiots are going to kill all of them.
It's basic math.
I'm not even going to ask how you live with yourselves because you just don't care.
You must be drunk every minute of every day to have such a total lack of conscience and find things like this amusing.
Honestly.
That's not sporting, not sporting at all.
Imagine the lie he was going to tell his friends and family about how he killed it? I find trophy hunting disgusting, but this fucker wouldn't even play by those rules, he killed Cecil the Lion in the most cowardly disrespectful way imaginable, perhaps with the intent of boasting about it for the rest of his life.
This guy is worst case.
I highly recommend not killing lions and rhinos and elephants and whales (and other animals) because their populations do not bounce back quickly when they lose individuals.
When I was a kid, I thought the world had smartened up and realized that if lions etc. were to continue existing we would have to stop viciously hunting them for sport.
But these idiots keep doing it, time and time again.
And they brag about it.
And people listen to them.
And talk to them.
Also, medical science has actual remedies.
Rhino horn and elephant tusk do not.
You idiots are going to kill all of them.
It's basic math.
I'm not even going to ask how you live with yourselves because you just don't care.
You must be drunk every minute of every day to have such a total lack of conscience and find things like this amusing.
Honestly.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Réalité
Malcontent enabled extractions, meandering like constipated reflexologies, prolifically backed-up, essentials, blunt banalities, a study of purposeless toyed flanked robotics, the aimless and the asinine, fluctuating between two worlds, a groan's canonization, bewildered supine prophylactics.
Resisting closure.
Residual repose.
I think this is how Quentin Dupieux approached Réalité.
I'm probably wrong.
Often in bizarre films concerned with the pointless mundane aspects of existence there are still some exceptionally peculiar hooks that pull you in to consider attaching the cult classification to their inanities.
These aspects, while present in Rubber and Wrong, are largely absent from Réalité, it's hopelessly unconcerned.
Its firm contempt for any kind of interlinking commonality, for any kind of rapport with films other than those I've already mentioned, is bold and risky if not rash and burdensome.
Unfortunately, while this bold risk takes a rebellious stand, the hooks that made Rubber and Wrong so commendable are missing in action, and although it's possible that Quentin Dupieux is comically ripping himself off, thinking, I'll make this as obtuse as possible just to see if my reputation can still guarantee unconditional applause, there's nothing really present in the film that would make me want to see it again.
Unless there's a Quentin Dupieux night being held somewhere.
At which point I would give it another shot.
Resisting closure.
Residual repose.
I think this is how Quentin Dupieux approached Réalité.
I'm probably wrong.
Often in bizarre films concerned with the pointless mundane aspects of existence there are still some exceptionally peculiar hooks that pull you in to consider attaching the cult classification to their inanities.
These aspects, while present in Rubber and Wrong, are largely absent from Réalité, it's hopelessly unconcerned.
Its firm contempt for any kind of interlinking commonality, for any kind of rapport with films other than those I've already mentioned, is bold and risky if not rash and burdensome.
Unfortunately, while this bold risk takes a rebellious stand, the hooks that made Rubber and Wrong so commendable are missing in action, and although it's possible that Quentin Dupieux is comically ripping himself off, thinking, I'll make this as obtuse as possible just to see if my reputation can still guarantee unconditional applause, there's nothing really present in the film that would make me want to see it again.
Unless there's a Quentin Dupieux night being held somewhere.
At which point I would give it another shot.
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Countess
Lactose me lovelies
introspects
nectars nestled politesse
digest invest digress contest
curvaceous tributaries meshed
recess.
introspects
nectars nestled politesse
digest invest digress contest
curvaceous tributaries meshed
recess.
Friday, July 24, 2015
Big Game
In the remote unforgiving Finnish wilderness, a young lad must claim his manhood, the hunting of wild game demanding his assurance, that he'll respect his forefathers, and bring posterity home.
But evil descends on his quest for ascension, as terrorists shoot down Air Force One, seeking the President's blood, the breadth of a misunderstanding, to see that the party survives.
Accidents collocate immediate reactions.
The President (Samuel L. Jackson) would have found himself abandoned and helpless if it wasn't for Oskari's (Onni Tommila) vigilant eye, his strategic positioning, as if he was unaware of his tumultuous destiny, his unheralded calling, his instinctual expertise.
Bold expeditious horizon.
Fertile and counteractive.
Footsteps, l'Hexicon.
Jalmari Helander's Big Game delivers.
There's an intense sense of disciplinary procedure carefully balanced by the shock of the extraordinary which isn't over exaggerated to accentuate the sensation, chill, mellow, playful metamockery, working within a tradition, to resist definitive cookie cutting.
It's fun.
It's a lot of fun.
The überurban dependent on the rural to ensure its steady survival, the ridiculous scandalous yet tame, chiding while redefining the blockbuster, seriously cohesive corrugation.
It cuts down a lot of stereotypes throughout, details, details.
Perhaps I loved it because it celebrates the unsung, a cabin in the woods, a tree or rock somewhere, abounding with meaning for the initiated, isolated, unheard of, withdrawn.
Muskeg.
Campfires.
Work.
Laughs.
Infusions.
But evil descends on his quest for ascension, as terrorists shoot down Air Force One, seeking the President's blood, the breadth of a misunderstanding, to see that the party survives.
Accidents collocate immediate reactions.
The President (Samuel L. Jackson) would have found himself abandoned and helpless if it wasn't for Oskari's (Onni Tommila) vigilant eye, his strategic positioning, as if he was unaware of his tumultuous destiny, his unheralded calling, his instinctual expertise.
Bold expeditious horizon.
Fertile and counteractive.
Footsteps, l'Hexicon.
Jalmari Helander's Big Game delivers.
There's an intense sense of disciplinary procedure carefully balanced by the shock of the extraordinary which isn't over exaggerated to accentuate the sensation, chill, mellow, playful metamockery, working within a tradition, to resist definitive cookie cutting.
It's fun.
It's a lot of fun.
The überurban dependent on the rural to ensure its steady survival, the ridiculous scandalous yet tame, chiding while redefining the blockbuster, seriously cohesive corrugation.
It cuts down a lot of stereotypes throughout, details, details.
Perhaps I loved it because it celebrates the unsung, a cabin in the woods, a tree or rock somewhere, abounding with meaning for the initiated, isolated, unheard of, withdrawn.
Muskeg.
Campfires.
Work.
Laughs.
Infusions.
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Ego Trip
Riches and success have spoiled a maturing talk show host to the point where his livelihood is threatened.
He built his career by connecting with people, and relied heavily on personal experience to humorously grind his convictions.
But since his experiences have become posh and lavish, his jokes have lost their charm, sowing contempt where once there was laughter, derision calibrated to applaud.
Yet hypothetical redemption presents itself in the form of a trip to Haiti, an engagement with humanitarian aid, a battle for surefire sanctity.
Age then counters youth, as his psychological economics, his current and past selves, egotistically contend, a confrontation worthy of Scrooge, a curriculum ripe with iridescence.
And errors.
Ego Trip's last half hour or so excels at delivering a finely tuned transformation, but its build-up is lacking in finesse.
I don't think the film's form was deliberately sabotaged to reflect Marc Morin's (Patrick Huard) temperament, I think there were too many people calling the shots behind the scenes, the result, messy and conspicuous.
You sort of know exactly what's going to happen, and this isn't necessarily a bad thing, but as critical moments capable of developing character are cut short again and again, and subplots are introduced to struggle aimlessly or far too briefly, you kind of wish an additional 18 minutes weren't cut out, that they had taken more time to adhesively bind.
A lot of the scenes don't seem to fit as part of a whole, they're lacking in rhythmic sustainability, like a series of misplaced staccatos, rushing by far too quickly, at too choppy a pace.
Morin's life is choppy but Ego Trip's form could have found other ways to express this, potentially through a subtle infusion of self-awareness to metamalign his misplacements.
Much more could have been done with Sammy's (Gardy Fury) character.
Note: I didn't take to the urine jokes, but they did make me almost throw up, that type of humour often intended to generate such a response, good work.
He built his career by connecting with people, and relied heavily on personal experience to humorously grind his convictions.
But since his experiences have become posh and lavish, his jokes have lost their charm, sowing contempt where once there was laughter, derision calibrated to applaud.
Yet hypothetical redemption presents itself in the form of a trip to Haiti, an engagement with humanitarian aid, a battle for surefire sanctity.
Age then counters youth, as his psychological economics, his current and past selves, egotistically contend, a confrontation worthy of Scrooge, a curriculum ripe with iridescence.
And errors.
Ego Trip's last half hour or so excels at delivering a finely tuned transformation, but its build-up is lacking in finesse.
I don't think the film's form was deliberately sabotaged to reflect Marc Morin's (Patrick Huard) temperament, I think there were too many people calling the shots behind the scenes, the result, messy and conspicuous.
You sort of know exactly what's going to happen, and this isn't necessarily a bad thing, but as critical moments capable of developing character are cut short again and again, and subplots are introduced to struggle aimlessly or far too briefly, you kind of wish an additional 18 minutes weren't cut out, that they had taken more time to adhesively bind.
A lot of the scenes don't seem to fit as part of a whole, they're lacking in rhythmic sustainability, like a series of misplaced staccatos, rushing by far too quickly, at too choppy a pace.
Morin's life is choppy but Ego Trip's form could have found other ways to express this, potentially through a subtle infusion of self-awareness to metamalign his misplacements.
Much more could have been done with Sammy's (Gardy Fury) character.
Note: I didn't take to the urine jokes, but they did make me almost throw up, that type of humour often intended to generate such a response, good work.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Dictum
Zoning zeroed quivered zephyrs
I'll be quaintly cast in Cheshire
vellum versatile vroom vroom
delinquent stargate Meriam's
aplomb.
I'll be quaintly cast in Cheshire
vellum versatile vroom vroom
delinquent stargate Meriam's
aplomb.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Infinitely Polar Bear
Rolling, coasting, recoiling, roasting, stabilized ruptures fuel Cam Stuart's (Mark Ruffalo) days as he's prescribed more responsibility than he's used to levelling, medicated and somewhat unemployable, he begins looking after his kids el lobo solo when his partner moves to New York to study.
He's a handful, and not used to the innocent ponderings of his two young daughters, meticulous yet sloppy, steady while breaking down, he slowly learns to mirthfully manage, the acculturation of a wild renaissance man.
Refrained.
Eccentric and helpful, he tries to cultivate bonds with both his neighbours and extended family, occasionally succeeding, although his wondrous naivety does shake and bake from time to time.
Eclectic churn.
It's a lighthearted look at the strength of the human spirit, Infinitely Polar Bear, at second chances, the exceptional, the highly talented intelligent people who don't crave order or structure yet excel nonetheless at whatever it is they happen to be doing.
Also a heartfelt look at why medication can be good, and why too much can be harmful.
Maggie (Zoe Saldana) and Cam's relationship pirouettes like distilled spontaneous chuckling, working as a team to loving care, sorting it out, getting down to it, taking risks, believing in one another.
Inspired freeform flexibility, perennially youthful, ebullient leaps and bounds.
Because it's lighthearted, some of its cultural critiques, although direct and to the point, lack the stamina associated with more rigorous analyzes.
I would have left the seasons out. The film's too short to have four seasons and they seem like they're over as soon as they begin.
The frustrated wholesomeness still encourages further research, exploratory expeditions,nights out on the town.
He's a handful, and not used to the innocent ponderings of his two young daughters, meticulous yet sloppy, steady while breaking down, he slowly learns to mirthfully manage, the acculturation of a wild renaissance man.
Refrained.
Eccentric and helpful, he tries to cultivate bonds with both his neighbours and extended family, occasionally succeeding, although his wondrous naivety does shake and bake from time to time.
Eclectic churn.
It's a lighthearted look at the strength of the human spirit, Infinitely Polar Bear, at second chances, the exceptional, the highly talented intelligent people who don't crave order or structure yet excel nonetheless at whatever it is they happen to be doing.
Also a heartfelt look at why medication can be good, and why too much can be harmful.
Maggie (Zoe Saldana) and Cam's relationship pirouettes like distilled spontaneous chuckling, working as a team to loving care, sorting it out, getting down to it, taking risks, believing in one another.
Inspired freeform flexibility, perennially youthful, ebullient leaps and bounds.
Because it's lighthearted, some of its cultural critiques, although direct and to the point, lack the stamina associated with more rigorous analyzes.
I would have left the seasons out. The film's too short to have four seasons and they seem like they're over as soon as they begin.
The frustrated wholesomeness still encourages further research, exploratory expeditions,
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Das große Museum (The Great Museum)
Times change, tastes, values, preferences, the integrity of the historical, timeless traditional structural dialogues, infused with contemporary stakes, striking artistic aggregates, emboldened through the maintenance of legacies.
Jockeying for position.
The decisions, the finances, the personnel, Johannes Holzhausen's Das große Museum (The Great Museum) blending various aspects of the Kunsthistorisches's management, its daily operations, linoleum, labour, preservation, advertising, executive inputs, some of which I would have found ridiculous if I didn't find myself having similar thoughts from time to time, through toil, mango, to converse, to generate dialogues with distinct publics, discourses of origins architecturally articulated, the thought, the detail, the work, meticulously cultivated to instruct and impress, with so many objects to enrich and tantalize, aesthetics of merit and truth bask in transitory permanence.
Intellectually gifted.
Delicately crafted.
The film illuminates a broad compelling practical yet highly abstract organism, budgeting its lucrative life blood with issues of power and control, while capturing moments of leisure and play, as a transformation strides and breathes.
In terms of mischievously yet respectfully examining the inner workings of a museum's perpetual motion, Holzhausen succeeds, but the sense of refined innocent yet aloofly didactic exuberance transports it to another level, Das große Museum wisely reflecting its subject matter.
You don't have to like museums to love this film.
There's also a tie covered in bears.
Jockeying for position.
The decisions, the finances, the personnel, Johannes Holzhausen's Das große Museum (The Great Museum) blending various aspects of the Kunsthistorisches's management, its daily operations, linoleum, labour, preservation, advertising, executive inputs, some of which I would have found ridiculous if I didn't find myself having similar thoughts from time to time, through toil, mango, to converse, to generate dialogues with distinct publics, discourses of origins architecturally articulated, the thought, the detail, the work, meticulously cultivated to instruct and impress, with so many objects to enrich and tantalize, aesthetics of merit and truth bask in transitory permanence.
Intellectually gifted.
Delicately crafted.
The film illuminates a broad compelling practical yet highly abstract organism, budgeting its lucrative life blood with issues of power and control, while capturing moments of leisure and play, as a transformation strides and breathes.
In terms of mischievously yet respectfully examining the inner workings of a museum's perpetual motion, Holzhausen succeeds, but the sense of refined innocent yet aloofly didactic exuberance transports it to another level, Das große Museum wisely reflecting its subject matter.
You don't have to like museums to love this film.
There's also a tie covered in bears.
Saturday, July 11, 2015
Parsec
Coconut spice to sate chile and chisel,
roundabout retentive diamond spike drizzle,
fumbling and grumbling spry porc-épic,
jitterbug jigging Jimmy the specs
convexed.
roundabout retentive diamond spike drizzle,
fumbling and grumbling spry porc-épic,
jitterbug jigging Jimmy the specs
convexed.
Friday, July 10, 2015
Terminator Genisys
Commencing once more, this time back where everything began, beginning again to inaugurate forlorn frontiers, Terminator Genisys reimagines its origins, to reflexively commentate, and consecrate anew.
The timeline has changed, as have the order of operations, Skynet incorporating both the personal and the domestic, along with its traditional military allies.
Nebulous nexus, motivate, guide, extend.
The dangers of having a lack of alternative options in the marketplace, monopolistic malfeasance, play an indirect role, Skynet having attracted over a billion customers to its Genisys device, prezoned, its ability to impact massively thereby enhanced, one platform, one strident mechanism.
Mired, fired, and expired, the T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger) continues to battle more advanced models, unyieldingly dedicated to protecting Sarah Connor (Emilia Clarke), Kyle Reese (Jai Courtney) doubting his reliability, after travelling back in time, to 1984.
The T-800's really quite touching.
He has an endearing way of expressing himself, and his comic aspects, notably developed in Rise of the Machines, productively flourish, theoretically postulating like STNG's Data, complaining about the shortsighted cruelties of belittling dismissals, and infiltrating a hospital with love in mind to bear.
How he came to love is a matter for the following sequels to discuss, his programming perhaps having become so used to Sarah's comforting presence, to the purpose and companionship with which she constantly provides him, that an artistic subroutine miraculously generated, a jet scream's genesis, Terminator Genisys.
Don't praise the machines Kermode.
Internally within the progressions of the franchise, within the growth of a character over a 31 year span, it does seem as if he loves, as if crying is something he somehow learned to do.
Perchance revolved excused and ruffled.
The franchise does progress, adding a contemporary dimension as previously mentioned, the Dysons (Courtney B. Vance as Miles, Dayo Okeniyi as Danny) showing up again, issues of fate expanding and contracting like predetermined infinities, the O'Brien (Wayne Bastrup/J.K. Simmons) character
functioning like a cooler Dr. Silberman, whom I still would have liked to have seen, they used him so well in T3.
Still shocked by what happens to John Connor (Jason Clarke), but it fits with the anti-monopolistic theme, even if it encourages a nuclear hemorrhage.
To be operated upon in subsequent films.
It's really aware of itself as a franchise now, the Terminator films, so this film relies heavily upon its legacy, there's a stronger sense of independence in the others, like they weren't setting up a trilogy, while still striving for uniformity akin.
Apart from number 4; events from Salvation are ignored.
It isn't that bad. I started liking it after watching it 3 times.
The duplicated scenes lack the intensity of the original.
The dread.
There's no Bill Paxton.
They should have spent more time on those.
Nice to see the franchise alive and kicking.
Tough to think of where it will go, without coming across as excessively dry.
Everyone's together in the end.
They might still be together at the beginning, next time round.
Unheard of.
The timeline has changed, as have the order of operations, Skynet incorporating both the personal and the domestic, along with its traditional military allies.
Nebulous nexus, motivate, guide, extend.
The dangers of having a lack of alternative options in the marketplace, monopolistic malfeasance, play an indirect role, Skynet having attracted over a billion customers to its Genisys device, prezoned, its ability to impact massively thereby enhanced, one platform, one strident mechanism.
Mired, fired, and expired, the T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger) continues to battle more advanced models, unyieldingly dedicated to protecting Sarah Connor (Emilia Clarke), Kyle Reese (Jai Courtney) doubting his reliability, after travelling back in time, to 1984.
The T-800's really quite touching.
He has an endearing way of expressing himself, and his comic aspects, notably developed in Rise of the Machines, productively flourish, theoretically postulating like STNG's Data, complaining about the shortsighted cruelties of belittling dismissals, and infiltrating a hospital with love in mind to bear.
How he came to love is a matter for the following sequels to discuss, his programming perhaps having become so used to Sarah's comforting presence, to the purpose and companionship with which she constantly provides him, that an artistic subroutine miraculously generated, a jet scream's genesis, Terminator Genisys.
Don't praise the machines Kermode.
Internally within the progressions of the franchise, within the growth of a character over a 31 year span, it does seem as if he loves, as if crying is something he somehow learned to do.
Perchance revolved excused and ruffled.
The franchise does progress, adding a contemporary dimension as previously mentioned, the Dysons (Courtney B. Vance as Miles, Dayo Okeniyi as Danny) showing up again, issues of fate expanding and contracting like predetermined infinities, the O'Brien (Wayne Bastrup/J.K. Simmons) character
functioning like a cooler Dr. Silberman, whom I still would have liked to have seen, they used him so well in T3.
Still shocked by what happens to John Connor (Jason Clarke), but it fits with the anti-monopolistic theme, even if it encourages a nuclear hemorrhage.
To be operated upon in subsequent films.
It's really aware of itself as a franchise now, the Terminator films, so this film relies heavily upon its legacy, there's a stronger sense of independence in the others, like they weren't setting up a trilogy, while still striving for uniformity akin.
Apart from number 4; events from Salvation are ignored.
It isn't that bad. I started liking it after watching it 3 times.
The duplicated scenes lack the intensity of the original.
The dread.
There's no Bill Paxton.
They should have spent more time on those.
Nice to see the franchise alive and kicking.
Tough to think of where it will go, without coming across as excessively dry.
Everyone's together in the end.
They might still be together at the beginning, next time round.
Unheard of.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
The Wolfpack
Cloistered, set apart, the world elastically pacing and raging, beyond, locked up, snickering extremes, movements in the ice, creating worlds within worlds, distance in the existensha.
Homeschooled and isolated, never leaving their apartment, never, children of an authoritative man, The Wolfpack contemplates the outside world, forging conclusions from which to engage in exploration based on cinematic truths, subjective posturing, movie watching, the knowledge revealed within their reels both fascinating and peculiar, illuminated nascent charcoal, requiring heat, in which to yearn.
Arrest awaits one of them as he ventures forth for the first time, but soon they gather together as one, to curiously seek out the new.
Sensations, vibrations, and manifestations then delight, as sundry exemplars exceptionally keel.
Sonar space oddity.
Cut-off yet assured they can withstand the pain.
Father, restless, mother, supportive.
Their father's introduction was well timed.
He doesn't show up for awhile so you're stuck wondering if he's dead or refused to take part or was left out entirely.
Strange man, frightened and brutal, struggling to maintain, withdrawn from communal exteriors.
Hard on his kids, his wife.
The Wolfpack compactly chronicles his excluded impacts, thereby elevating the voyages of his adventurous children, tracks upon which to trust, blending a fledgling thrust of punished sequestered resilience, overcome and insert infinite variability, one imaginative step at a time.
Issues of socialization, acculturation, finding a job, other things, can be found within.
Intermingled non-compartmental pinpointed reflections.
Their observations surreally yet practically confide in the sociocultural.
Loved the trip to the orchard.
True story.
Homeschooled and isolated, never leaving their apartment, never, children of an authoritative man, The Wolfpack contemplates the outside world, forging conclusions from which to engage in exploration based on cinematic truths, subjective posturing, movie watching, the knowledge revealed within their reels both fascinating and peculiar, illuminated nascent charcoal, requiring heat, in which to yearn.
Arrest awaits one of them as he ventures forth for the first time, but soon they gather together as one, to curiously seek out the new.
Sensations, vibrations, and manifestations then delight, as sundry exemplars exceptionally keel.
Sonar space oddity.
Cut-off yet assured they can withstand the pain.
Father, restless, mother, supportive.
Their father's introduction was well timed.
He doesn't show up for awhile so you're stuck wondering if he's dead or refused to take part or was left out entirely.
Strange man, frightened and brutal, struggling to maintain, withdrawn from communal exteriors.
Hard on his kids, his wife.
The Wolfpack compactly chronicles his excluded impacts, thereby elevating the voyages of his adventurous children, tracks upon which to trust, blending a fledgling thrust of punished sequestered resilience, overcome and insert infinite variability, one imaginative step at a time.
Issues of socialization, acculturation, finding a job, other things, can be found within.
Intermingled non-compartmental pinpointed reflections.
Their observations surreally yet practically confide in the sociocultural.
Loved the trip to the orchard.
True story.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Note to Iceland
Iceland, please don't continue with your whaling plans. They set such a bad precedent. It won't add that much money to your economy, and will cause serious damage to fin whale populations. Whale populations don't bounce back quickly and killing 150 of them will cause significant harm. It's a brutal way to earn a living. The economic impact will be slight and insignificant in the long run. Many whale species were almost hunted to extinction and it took decades of advocating for their right to exist before the slaughter ended. Please don't continue slaughtering them again to earn a quick buck. It's inhumane.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
Lemon Lime
The sprout refined abracadabra
splish the twine the jibber-jabba
splash align flexed spines a choice
a supratexta starchy moist
rye hoist.
splish the twine the jibber-jabba
splash align flexed spines a choice
a supratexta starchy moist
rye hoist.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Aloha
Aloha deals with complex contemporary capitalistic and sociological issues in a seriously relaxed manner, smoothly stylizing an hectic chill work/life balance, while focusing on the big picture through a romantic lens.
Set in Hawaii.
The film follows Brian Gilcrest (Bradley Cooper), who's down on his luck, has taken a new job, is quasi-interviewing for another, runs into the love of his life who's now married with children, and has to entertain the plucky go-gettedness of a conscientious captain, Emma Stone as Allison Ng, while trying to overcome his ennui.
It's about land rights and the weaponization of space, Indigenous Hawaiians not wishing to permit the launch of a new potentially war mongering satellite, Gilcrest having to convince them that it's safe, Ng having to convince him to live up to his word.
Indigenous and American Hawaiian culture fuels several of Gilcrest and Ng's exploratory exchanges, and there's a great extended festive scene where everyone lets loose, Cameron Crowe fluidly capturing the fever.
Oddball billionaire Carson Welch (Bill Murray) blames the American government for the country's troubled economic times, but I suspect it was companies who didn't care about the environmental integrity of their communities, American communities, that problematized things, preferring to rapidly expand without considering the costs to social infrastructures, looking for the green light to pollute freely, revelling in their blatant disregard for the sustainability of local health.
Spoiler.
He ends up in jail.
You wonder if the script is just a clever examination of the disasters of weaponizing space, or a subtle re/introduction of something lobbyists have been promoting behind the scenes for decades.
I'm thinking it's just a clever examination.
Odd that the military benefits from private funding within however.
Isn't that grossly irresponsible?
Corporate armies?
A love story?
Set in Hawaii.
The film follows Brian Gilcrest (Bradley Cooper), who's down on his luck, has taken a new job, is quasi-interviewing for another, runs into the love of his life who's now married with children, and has to entertain the plucky go-gettedness of a conscientious captain, Emma Stone as Allison Ng, while trying to overcome his ennui.
It's about land rights and the weaponization of space, Indigenous Hawaiians not wishing to permit the launch of a new potentially war mongering satellite, Gilcrest having to convince them that it's safe, Ng having to convince him to live up to his word.
Indigenous and American Hawaiian culture fuels several of Gilcrest and Ng's exploratory exchanges, and there's a great extended festive scene where everyone lets loose, Cameron Crowe fluidly capturing the fever.
Oddball billionaire Carson Welch (Bill Murray) blames the American government for the country's troubled economic times, but I suspect it was companies who didn't care about the environmental integrity of their communities, American communities, that problematized things, preferring to rapidly expand without considering the costs to social infrastructures, looking for the green light to pollute freely, revelling in their blatant disregard for the sustainability of local health.
Spoiler.
He ends up in jail.
You wonder if the script is just a clever examination of the disasters of weaponizing space, or a subtle re/introduction of something lobbyists have been promoting behind the scenes for decades.
I'm thinking it's just a clever examination.
Odd that the military benefits from private funding within however.
Isn't that grossly irresponsible?
Corporate armies?
A love story?
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Spy
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.
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.
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.
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