Reviews

I agree with those who called this "film".. predictable, cheesy, and drivel.

It goes so far on the spectrum as to be fairly dripping with thinly disguised hostility -- anti-American.. and choking with PC.

Who would have thought the British could sink so low?

Apart from reasonable PD, this movie has a ridiculous plot.., and Meghan's representation of the character fails on every count to portray a business-like reality. Likewise the camp leader comes off more like a kidnapper than a Christian.

Overall, it's uncomfortable to watch.

This feels like a cousin of Cell, the movie.

And, if the note at the end is to be taken seriously, and the science is real.., this movie offers several possible explanations for WHY this sort of A. I. hyper-connectivity plays such a prominent role in either humankind's future of endless evolution.. or its religious eschatology.

Either way, there is something to beware of.. which this way cometh.

BtW -- as one of the few films to come out of Austria, we might even suspect that "globalist technocrats" are behind it. ., and therefore this film meets most of the requirements for "predictive programming" .

Everything that is Good and Bad about this movie is a consequence of Faith.. or the Lack thereof -- specifically the writer's, Victor Levin.

Taken as a whole it is the cry of desperate Judaism -- specifically the writer's, Victor Levin.

In 1940.. this film had one message. But in 2021 it could have a very different one. It was first seen as a brave movie.., which, in light of the focus on Nazi imperialism, was seen as a call for a more peaceful world -- a more perfect world. But if you pay close attention to Chaplain's final speech, his portrait of this perfect world, includes the "elimination" of national boundaries".. which could be seen as the anthem of the globalists.

Unfortunately, in the intervening years since it was made.. globalism holds a much different meaning than it did for the naive audiences of 1940. With an uncertain amalgam of everything from the perpetual technocrats and various power mongers.. to the corporations and those whose motives are simply money.., the goal, espoused by Chaplain, in creating a peaceful world with Unity is its hymn.. has mutated into the somber drum beat of a "Brave New World"?

This movie fell prey to several misconceptions. First.., The Perfect Family was unfortunately categorized (somewhere) as a Comedy. That was a bit of a mistake..; and subsequently.. certain reviewers were disappointed and miffed.., having brought to the film certain expectations, which only got in the way. Once chagrined however, some of these hard-nose reviewers seemed to take pleasure in accusing the film of Catholic bashing. I am not Catholic myself; and I never noticed ANYWHERE that it was supposed to be funny. On the other hand, I do admit to holding a certain amount of anti-Catholic sentiment, and would likely have noticed any significant amount of bashing.., which I did NOT. Ergo, I simply watched the movie.. more-or-less tabula rasa.. and enjoyed it, while having my belief confirmed.. that a wife and children are inevitably more trouble than they're worth.

What I noticed most.. was the irony -- that the hard-line generally taken by mom Cleary.. was reproduced by some of the more negative reviewers.., who seemed quite offended that the movie was not virtually a true-to-life documentary.., especially because of the liberal spin that was given to the alleged family values and Catholic doctrines depicted, while trying to present them nonetheless as if they were still conservative. And, admittedly.. this would be irksome.

Next.., these kind of movie viewers might have a hard time with movies in general.. if they CAN'T accept that Art is NOT obliged to represent reality with total accuracy. So, rather than dissect the plot, or compliment Turner on her acting, or assess the various details of production.. since everyone else has already done so .., I want to remind everyone that when you watch a Hollywood movie, you will be getting a heavy dose of indoctrination or propaganda, mostly designed to further the globalist/liberal/satanistic agenda.., such as has gotten us where we are - here, awaiting our modern-day boxcars.. all, like sheep, wearing ineffective masks for a pandemic which is a total fiction anyway.

The real, un-cinematic Truth here is that most religions will fail us.., since they are fashioned and dominated by corrupt individuals who seek power, money, and self importance. And, all modern Organized Religion is rife with corruption at the top.., while neared the bottom, you can find true, sincere, humble believers, bought with the blood of Jesus Christ.. and many Catholics, who try to serve their church, their family, and their community.. far better than a lot of fundamentalist Protestants I know. (I hereby proclaim next week to be.. Take A Catholic To Lunch Week.., though I would avoid Friday.)

Forgive the aside.., but FOR the one person who might ever read this, and who is a born-again Catholic.., you have a truly great spokesman for Truth in the YouTube channel "Church Militant".. presenting episodes of "The Vortex", a Catholic news show.. which is doing a good job of truthing, while trying not to deeply offend those Catholics who misguidedly think "Mother Teresa" was one of the good guys.., or are oblivious to the pagan roots of Catholicism.. or the fact that the Pope's Audience Hall is deliberately shaped to resemble a snake's head, thereby revealing the Pope's true Luciferian allegiance. (Hear me now, and believe me later.)

All in all.., The Perfect family was moderately enjoyable, with the possible exception of Emily Deschanel, who is the quintessential One Trick Pony. cheers!!😇

Here's to the off chance.. that someone will ever read this rubbish.. and insure my mortality. And... .. that this "Someone" (you) may have more delicate sensibilities than the average Midsomer watcher - namely, the proper aging Anglophile who gets erect.. I mean.. nostalgic.. whenever they pass an English tea shop.

Maybe, like me, you realize that good stories and high production values are hard enough to come by since the advent of Hollywood propaganda Movies.., though we can probably thank the British aristocracy for this, since they basically own the movie business, and scramble to star in whatever female roles they do not assign to those aging, unemployable MTFs.. who actually make tolerable replicas for fussy English dowagers.

And sure.., even British movies ultimately cooperate with the NOW agenda - demeaning and ridiculing males at every opportunity and uplifting females.. while engaging in all the usual topics of indoctrination.. from shotgun ownership and the absurdity of life in the country (country folk are harder to govern, it seems).. to the lunacy of Christianity or the "idiocy" of heterosexual relationships. But, it's all very tasteful; and does one ever actually get tired of seeing the English countryside... or female vicars?

It is, in fact, the parade of trans-people who make Midsomer Murders, at times (like smooching), quite unbearable to watch - virtually every ostensible female in every episode is trans.., with the exception of those roles made for more-or-less sexy babes, whose parts are apparently coveted by the female members of the Ruling Class.., those parts which are virtually impossible to pull off by MTFs.. even after a lifetime of vogueing practice.

I'm NOT complaining. I just cover my eyes when they kiss. Besides which.., I think it's great that even the homeliest of men, with female bone structure for example, can find purpose for their shattered lives, after a lifetime of being rebuffed and rejected by a cruel society who cannot be open-minded about their gender"perversions". There but for the grace of God.... And so forth.

One finds.. that you can actually get used to those romantic cringe moments - not really all that much different, say, from watching the horrifying lack of sexual chemistry between Nicole Kidman and Will Farrell in the remake of Bewitched. Or.., if you stick it out to the end, the ludicrous portrayal of Paul Lynde by Steve Carel.., which makes it understandable why it takes a full season of Midsomer Murders to help you forget.

Moral? -- Never marry a cop.. or anyone who plays a cop.. or really ANYONE until you've checked their equipment.

cheers😇

(OK -- forget they met on Star Trek.)

This is a strange movie.., maybe not in the usual sense, like a Dark City, or Bladerunner or even a host of mediocre, time-bending, sci-fi films like The Fare.., possibly because this film's primary purpose was not actually to be a movie in the first place.....imho. (stay with me)

I see James Kerwin as a remarkably talented fellow. But like the movie's male lead, Dudas.., some femme fatale broke his heart. And, at the point where his world was crumbling and time had stopped.., Kerwin had a choice to either join a MGTOW forum on YouTube (swear off wimmen for good).. or use his anguish to make a film-noir adaptation of his painful odyssey.., possibly with the hidden, albeit semi-predictable agenda of winning HER back. He chose the latter., foolish boy.

And you could say he really put his heart into it - striving, it would seem, for actual cinematic excellence (trial by theater), and revealing himself to be a sort of vanishing old-school Hollywood type, nostalgic of course, and aiming for production effects from the glory days of Hollywood, as opposed to the current, cold, calculating Cyclops of Baloneywood, bent on agenda-driven, formulaic films and even more formulaic propaganda. One might even call him a rebel (ergo of no use to the Masons).., perhaps accounting for his having only made this one solitary movie, despite his obvious skills and passion.

Dare I say, because catharsis and solace for Kerwin's broken heart were the raison detre of this film, several commonplace areas of production might have been slightly neglected - say, plot.. being the foremost. While some reviewers contend there actually is a plot.., I would not go THAT far. Furthermore, the absence of plot didn't really bother me. Besides which, I HAD been warned.., by an opening credit for one of the production companies, which boldly claimed it produced "intelligent films". So, no surprises.

I never really felt like the film was about telling a story anyway. Dare I suggest.., (for me) it was a kind of a (serene) visual and emotional hypnosis, where I was compelled to enter their world, by dint of the actors' commitment to the whole experience. In other words, Kerwin yet again expressed his unique values by selecting actors who were also "old school" -- drawn to acting, not to escape reality by treading the boards.., but to either escape the general phoniness of the "real" world, or perhaps their own personal sense of Unreality -- people who had perhaps always struggled to find their true inner identity, as might often be thought the case with individuals tortured by gender-identity issues.. or who merely longed to be some best, most beautiful version of themselves. (Think Melanie Griffith.., who exultantly "found herself in Forever Lulu.. (imho).

Take Chase Masterson for example - who, if you soberly peruse web images and so forth, might come across as bat-suit crazy.. and not even terribly attractive (or even female); but somehow Chase was absolutely dazzling, as if he/she'd matriculated from a life of endless beaus and beauty pageants, and had been literally carried from Edina to Hollywood.. on the shoulders of her worshipful admirers and understudies. She finally caught it!!

Kenleigh Brown.., well, unless simply a very adept switch-hitter.. was possibly more the former circumstance, tortured by his/her inner anima longing to be female.., but instead of projecting it onto some teenage inamorato, decided to BECOME said anima.., nevermind the Kirk Douglas chin or masculine brow ridges. (These are things you pick up being MGTOW.) Her acting, as well, was a bit ambivalent, and things did get off to a rather slow start.., but, imho, once the actors started trusting each other (getting comfortable with their collective schizophrenia).., some of Kenleigh's acting moments were astonishing and quite beautiful.., almost as if knowing their film tribute to this classic vision of Acting might be the last vestige of a dying art. (Wrap it up, buddy.)

Throw in a lot of semi-intriguing vocabulary from the world of arcane psychology and basically irrelevant metaphysics and pseudoscience.. (which the viewer cannot question, lest they appear stupid).., and voila - an 'omage to the naive and floundering past.. and all bittersweet human glories unattainable - electrically-crackling, star-crossed romance and abiding love, where wimmen are not fickle and hypergamous, or seeking self gratification by a juggernaut process of trial and error, where eviscerating collateral damage is NOT a given.

In short.., if you like antiques and/or at least drive a PT Cruiser, you'll probably enjoy this film.. despite its lack of plot or utile wisdom.., though a couple Manhattans ahead of time probably wouldn't hurt. AND, ere parting.. with a painfully slow shuffle about the dance floor -- I can't and shouldn't omit fierce kudos to (now deceased) Mik Scriba, who played Hoyle's somewhat inexplicable but uncondescending sidekick. Very endearing.

cheers!!😇 (I am not entirely discounting the possibility that they serve Manhattans in heaven.)

Maybe someday I'll watch more than the first 12 minutes.. (which eventually I did).., but I'd just come away from seeing Woody Allen's (excellent) Wonder Wheel.. and was therefore unprepared for THIS plateful of mush. Truth be told, I only decided to watch it.. because Spike Lee presumably has some sort of reputation, and was said to have shared a cordial interview with Jordan Peterson. It's NOT because I have the slightest interest in Greek literature, to which I've no doubt Mr. Lee was marginally faithful.

Actually.., speaking as an absurdly-white, post-menopausal, pre-political-correctness, small-town gentleman-farmer-slash-Quasi-intellectual.., this story contained almost nothing I could relate to. So, I suppose.. technically, I represent some vast segment of middle America that thinks IMDB is probably a secret branch of Homeland Security.. or a medication for chronic gall bladder disease.., (the latter being the correct answer).

Don't let my glib manner fool you -- (as I said, I'm post-menopausal).., which is to say, I DO very much care about race issues..; BUT I ascribe MOST black problems to the prison-like system under which inner-city black people live -- squeezed into impoverished ghettos by the Powers That Be.., where one's economic survival apparently depends on selling drugs, having babies, or taking a vapid bit-part in the most humiliating buffoonery since Birth Of A Nation.

I would tell you more.. (like my conviction that Spike Lee is single-handedly setting back race relations to the George Wallace era), but I dare not tweak the cheek too hard, lest I summon the unleashed fury of several tiny clown cars in my driveway.. containing a surprisingly large number of fez-wearing assassins. So, I won't mention it.

Such, in fact (the boot of The Controllers).. might actually deserve Spike Lee's ostensible passion and energy.. far more than some hackneyed old trope -- "No peace, No Piece". To get real.., even if major concentration camps.. I mean cities.. like Chicago.. can never stay the boot of THE OPPRESSOR (which they can't).., many (dare I say) "deliberately manufactured" problems of the ghetto.. could conceivably be mitigated (some say, not me) merely by changing the strategy from "No peace, No Piece".. to the slightly less pithy, "No government leaven, No mothers of seven." But, Spike Lee apparently can't see the street lights for the ILLUMINATIon, so to speak.

Either that.., or Spike Lee himself is under somebody's thumb.., a typical "Hollywood puppet, merely doing what he's told to do (by his handlers).., bangin' out red herrings and semi-relevant issues, with which to keep the bedazzled peasants distracted from Real Issues -- issues like, basic black urban incarceration, caught in the jaws of a repressive system -- not so much the local Mas.... I mean.. canonic "law" enforcers.. or simply race politics in general.. as much as other truly vast and horrific monstrosities, like the Federal Reserve Racket.. and/or a host of globally-orchestrated, literally evil pseudo-governments and their corrupt corporate agencies. (Hope that's vague enough.)

With fame.. comes corruption.. (and vice versa). Whereas, a relative newbie like the saggy-pantsed rapper, Hopsin.., though, granted, already (sadly) ensnared in the Luciferian "entertainment" industry, he at least (seemingly) still had the courage and perspective to say: "I'm just an idiotic, harmonic, symbolic, Illuminatic product that's gonna be chill (dead) if I talk about it." And to your mother he say..... Fu..... I mean.. God have mercy.

So returning to my post, as a nervous white observer of presumably normal Black society on a swingin' Friday night.., I can only think.. one literally has to be born into the Chi-raq constraq.. and what might be called an "ebonic" state of jive-mind. Otherwise you don't get it. You can't comprehend it.. or swing with the ebb and flow of black hiptitude -- the cathartic expression of eternally optimistic peeps.. caught in some rapaciously euphoric dance- trance, as mystical and spell binding as line dancing.

No doubt, equally enigmatic.. is how a charismatically top-heavy actor like Samuel L Jackson.. could evolve from, say, a quintessential combat Colonel in Rules Of Engagement.. to a couplet-rhyming, wardrobe-challenged, oratorically-super-charged jackanapes in Chi-Raq.., let alone turn around a few months later, and salute us with the infinitely superior Hateful Eight.

A word of warning. If you do see this film.., just be sure you're not "on the fence".., because even a mere 12 minutes of this film could be enough for Spike Lee to persuade you that every wildly negative, over-sexed, tribal stereotype about Blacks you ever heard growing up in Sioux Falls South Dakota.. might be true. And we REALLY don't want that.

I am likewise forced (by my Adventist handler) to say.. that, if any aforementioned fence-sitters (possibly yourself) are not already thinking about joining a separatist conclave within the first few minutes of this rubbish.., you will be squirming and writhing shortly, seething with indignation soon enough.., and thumbing through the Yellow Pages under "Rifle Associations" or "Aryan Brotherhoods", when Mr. Lee has the gall to trot out the issue of Gun Control -- i.e., confiscation of every rusty weapon in Sioux Falls -- you know, in keeping with Aristophanes' original screen play.. and his admitted loathing of the Second Amendment.. (as if That's the problem.)

If you are maybe seeing just beneath the surface, you might think I was possibly suggesting that, contrary to popular opinion, Spike Lee seems Not At All about lifting up the image or lot of black people -- which I think is NOT all that inconceivable.., because.. basically, ironically, in my white, post-menopausal, pre-political-correctness, small-town gentleman-farmer-slash-quasi-intellectual-albeit-humble opinion.., neither the Illuminati controllers, Freemasons, or Hollywood's cabalistic movie moguls ACTUALLY give a damm about the dark races.., and, imho, neither does Spike Lee. (Not vague enough?)

Let's put it this way -- Chi-raq is NOT some clever, whimsical update of Lysistrata. It's the shameless cinematic adaptation of Moses and the Hebrew children making bricks out of straw.., except THIS Pharoah ain't lettin' NOoobody go. In short.., this grossly insensitive movie has portrayed black people in a way far worse than all the vintage watermelon-scented, shuck-and-jive movies and Black-Sambo cartoons ever purged by the SJWs of past generations..; and my heart bleeds for all God's children, trapped in these stressful lives of urban incarceration, who actually deserve our serious empathy (dammit).., even if we in Iowa can't quite relate to it.

My heart also bleeds for many of the fine Hollywood trans-trenders.. I mean actors.. who were either coerced or bamboozled into contributing their efforts.. trying to turn this embarrassing film into some noble piece of Shi-cago social relevance. On the other hand.., as if the enemies I already have aren't enough: Mojo's list of Top Ten Worst Acting Moments Ever.. somehow neglected to site Tony Fitzpatrick.. as Chicago's police chief Riptide. Unless his job was to act like some dimwit who couldn't act, his dialogue with Harry Lennix was excruciating. Lennix looked miserable in that scene. In fairness however.., honorable mention should go to John Cusack. I know.., it seems crazy. Super nice guy and good actor (I guess).., but watching him swash about as a drum-beating uber-priest was very uncomfortable -- like watching a brood of baby snakes hatch.

If you actually want to see a film.. written, directed, and produced by an honorable young black man who is trying to make a difference in the face of tremendous odds.. I suggest Prepper.. by Andrew Patterson. Hopefully Mr Patterson is as prepped to face the hazards of Hollywood.. as well as he's prepared to face (at least fictionally) the threat of some impending natural disaster or societal collapse.. (which could well occur if Spike Lee is allowed to keep making movies.) God help us all.

Finé

There is a scene near the end of Midsommar, where our lugubrious Queen of the May is plodding across the turf, essentially towing a densely intertwined train of flowers behind her very handsome.. uhn.. gown.., which is roughly the size, weight, mass, and shape of a Volkswagen Beetle. Upon seeing this, my instantaneous vision was that of the lugubrious horse at the beginning of Melancholia, entangled as it was in a tennis net.. while struggling to gallop away (albeit in super-slow-mo) from impending galactic catastrophe.. and the end of life on Earth as we know it. This visual similarity led me to wonder if perhaps the same writer-director had written both movies (not the case) -- the more so, as I realized that each possessed and savored the same kind of tension throughout the film.., while the viewer is but a half-dead mouse being toyed with -- Will the worlds collide, or not?! Will some terrible pagan fate befall our hapless American visitors, or not? In short, Midsommar was/is every bit as nerve wracking as Melancholia, or better yet, say, Wicker Man (Midsommar's inbred cousin).., which I'm guessing has been referenced by every reviewer thus far. So enough said about it.

Thus.. so much for plot and all that.., the more so, because lately my "raison de la review" has focused on only two things -- the synchronous mirroring of my personal life in any particular film (doubtless of no interest to you whatsoever), and the inevitable Hollywood/NWO indoctrination/propaganda being spewed by it.. (the film, not my life.) NOTE: Please do not jump to conclusions, merely because I use words like "indoctrination" or "propaganda". Neither of these activities is necessarily all bad, as we usually assume.., just as franchise Religion or public education cannot be assumed to be ALL bad.

I bring this up, because imho.. in our current climate of aggressive social engineering, propaganda plays a big part. And, while once upon a time the Hollywood "show-bu$iness" industry was mostly about entertainment (with a little indoctrination thrown in).., we would be idiots not to notice that, in recent years, this relationship has reversed. Imho, Hollywood is now mostly about propaganda -- some of it.. perhaps well intentioned and long overdue.., some.. simply paid for by "The Powers That Be", and aimed at creating a "global" future, the details of which virtually no two "conspiracy theorists" can agree on.

As for synchronicity (briefly).., I had my worries from the start..; BUT, in fact.., it wasn't long before I saw that the unrelenting tension and perpetual sense of danger, the mysterious, arcane pagan rites and mixed messages, semi-hostile glances and grotesque smiles.. was indeed an accurate and lucid portrayal of everyday life in my homeowners association. It IS, however, a little early to know how that's all going to play out.

As for the propaganda (not so briefly).., this was far less surprising. First, there is the highly predictable, de rigueur injections of male-bashing, reinforced by an inevitable showcasing of dickish behavior -- lying, obfuscation, condescension, anger, mansplaining -- supplmented by emotional weakness or excessiveness, and bouts of raw immaturity or effeminate self expression -- reinforced by a litany of emasculating images, such as our vaguely unattractive and oily protagonist (who bore an unnerving resemblance to Seth Rogan) trotting about the tundra in his birthday suit.., and further reinforced by robes and "pedal-pushers" worn by all the heathen gentlemen. Special (sarcastic) kudos to the curiously agile looking septuagenarian, who apparently lacked the intelligence or courage to swan dive.., then merely broke his leg.. and earned himself The Gong, while the vexed and frustrated crowd booed him off stage. (Empathy.. my ass.)

Having hinted just now that both candidates for Ättestupa (cliff diving) seemed quite fit and healthy, I'm not really sure whether the film was trying to endorse it or condemn it. Such ambivalence is probably my response to the whole bloody movie in general (as a sociological debate)..; but this lack of clarity merely lends credence to the premise that the story and subsequent questions it raises.. are, as I suggested, less important than the film's embedded propaganda.

Bear in mind.., Propaganda is often best (most effective).. when administered in small or subtle doses. (Do recall, if you can, the elder who stated that homeopathy was one of the community's sources of income? -- possibly the same elder who, when asked about his frock, gave it a little swish, and explained that they were worn by the men as a tribute to hermaphroditism (translation: transgendering.., a huge Hollywood/Masonic agenda).

And.., with that epiphanous observation, I believe I'm suggesting that the overarching symbol-simile of Midsommar is the Harga community itself, which could easily be seen as a metaphor for Hollywood. In that sense.. we could easily compare the homeopathic injections of Hollywood indoctrination.. to the doses of narcotizing "teas" and/or the occasional follicle in ones chicken pot pie, the wisps of inhalents (aromatherapy) common to their pagan apothecary, and other assorted magical "natural" remedies, etc..., collectively (the propaganda now) leading us all toward a sort of chronic, mass anesthesia, attended by slavish obedience to the nearest cell tower.. and an emotionless wife and several "unclouded" children to keep us hopping.

In short, bit by bit, movie by movie.. we.. the voluntarily indoctrinated people of the United States of America Inc. are being prepared for whatever our paganistic NWO hosts have in mind.., if only to be assembly-line drones.. or soylent-green fertilizer for vegetables which have been engineered to mysteriously thrive in soil contaminated by cloud-laden aluminum, strontium, barium, etc etc., borne of so-said "clouds", better known as CHEMTRAILS.

And Ah ha!! You now think I've wandered astray. Not so. Had you paid attention you would have noticed several shots of the sky above Harga, in which definite chemtrails were present -- thereby (as good homeopathic propaganda will do).. merely, if only subliminally.. adding just another drop of lethargy to our midday tea.., until sooner or later what's achieved is a "new normal". Call it the cycle of life.., where the old realities give way to the new (nudged off the precipice).., and chemtrails and human sacrifice are thought as normal as Friday night football.. or Molloch worship at Bohemian Grove.

Pity me. At bottom, I'm struggling to see how this movie is worth watching -- especially if one has already seen Wicker Man.., neither of which movies I would particularly recommend for young children btw.., as tempting as that might be for the increasing number of neo-druidic parents.. eager to induct their children into the delights of nature worship, etc.., not to mention geronticide (which was re-popularized during the Obama years).

I say this NOT entirely with tongue-in-cheek. That is, I have long considered that tribalism would make a comeback, and become the next step in (America's) evolution -- especially given the financial crisis, housing crisis, employment crisis, marriage crisis, etc. etc.., combined with the enticing lure of the corporate business model -- I.e., what works for Coca Cola should work for the average over-stressed "family".., and free daycare!

In other words.., I don't care to attack Midsommar as a promotional film for this sort of bipolar, anti-Christian, commune-flavored, garden-centric, predictably-uniformed matriarchy. I'll merely point out that.. if it weren't for the tautly poised protests of Hollywood, and the thin black line of Amish buckwagons standing between paganism and Christianity, we'd probably have seen the word "cult" pop up somewhere in this film. (Oh no.., she di'int.)

Praise Horga.!! And let the chips fall where they may.

PS -- I usually recommend a sort of counterbalance.. after reviewing these propaganda pieces -- say, some small independent gem, as yet unpolluted by corporate money. In this case.. I thought of a film more-or-less also centered around an obscure community -- namely Granger Washington (not far from here actually.) It's titled Cement Suitcase. cheers!!😇

I like to believe that neither movie viewing nor reviewing should be excessive..; and ideally.. by living a disciplined life that is spiritually unfettered by name-brand fashion wear and/or speciality breads from French bakeries.., one can, with restraint and the beatific blessing of "The Universe" ride a perpetual wave of beautiful, magical synchronicity, where one can watch their personal life mirrored in the movies one sees. Simply put.., there MUST be rewards for walking the way of the peasant. To wit.....

Though my own departure from mafia life was in fact quite cordial (and we remain on good terms), Wonder Wheel, for example, (my previously viewed movie) did accurately reflect both my unhealthy attraction to dangerous men, as well as my inexplicable semi-loyalty to my husband, who was, in fact, also a carny who operated a merry-go-round back in the day -- well, ok, it was actually a used car lot.., but the similarities were uncanny. Thus (keep your eye on the Queen).., mid viewing of Mary And Martha, I was not surprised to see that the plot was largely about malaria.., in that only a few days earlier, I was told (in the bread aisle) that my ex-pastor's daughter (a missionary to Africa) had contracted and struggled precariously with malaria for several weeks. This happens all the time, is normal for me, and the main reason why I've never watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Now.., if one wants to believe that this film is merely a plaintive cry against malaria, that's fine.., in which case it did a pretty great job..; and thus, if one so chooses, they/you can dig out your checkbook, and send a donation to some vague, off-shore, corporate charity, possibly concocted by the same vague Illuminati overlords, who both probably financed this film.. and brought us, for example, the World Wildlife Fund and its ever-lovable founder, Prince Philip, a swell monarch, and the single most prolific slayer of endangered African species this side of the Temple Bar.

In other words.., imho, like most (Hollywood) movies of recent decades, Mary and Martha was more propaganda than plot, more indoctrination about obsoleting inter-gender relationships than soliciting empathy over third-world diseases. While superficially about malaria-related deaths in Africa, it seemed clear to me early on.. that Mary and Martha was basically just another hit piece against males.. drowning us in a mist of firebrand rhetoric aimed at "liberating" women even further from (white) male oppression -- eloquently providing more and more rationalizations for downgrading a wife's role in marriage to a take-it-or-leave-it pastime, bidding her to drift whichever way the wind blows, and poetically claiming responsibility for whatever strums her heart strings, while scorning her obviously supercilious and demeaning role as wife.. as well as her tedious and tunnel-visioned husband, who selfishly sees his function as merely working doggedly.. (to put specialty breads from French bakeries on the table).

For gift-wrapping these messages, we have (oh, let's see) a Hillary Swank (usually considered delicious) as Mary.., while her diffident, seldom-smiling, not-very-appealing husband wore a barely tolerable physiognomy, which otherwise would never be cast as a leading man. The same goes for her father (James Woods). From there.., most of the other slips and dips of indoctrination are far more subtle and veiled.. as is usually the case, and de rigueur for effective Hollywood propaganda.

It gets even worse later on.., as Martha (a polite and seemingly good-natured Brit) comes center stage.., where the unfortunate, albeit (we must remember) insufferable male characters now get double-teamed, as it were -- Mary and Martha calmly portraying strong, patient women who've borne many a care, enduring their men's man-speak and insensitivities with forbearing smiles.., while their countenances hint at borderline disgust. The visual subtext could just as well have been one of exchanging thinly veiled winks, denoting their thinly stretched tolerance of men.. suspended in a tincture of perpetual suffering. I think you get my drift.

But I am nothing.. if not fair. And my next cinematic goal is to locate and review a counterpoint film -- something perhaps showing a gentle, noble, virtuous male (who, let's say, works for Doctors Without Borders).. ensnared and tormented in the clutches of a shallow, petty, entitled, and vindictive wife. I bid you.. wish me well.., as currently I'm having difficulty finding the existence of any such movie.

Postscript: There is an irony in all this -- namely, that the unfortunately unconvincing but nonetheless REAL globalist agenda.. is not concerned about the continent of Africa or its people. Never was. That is.., historically, the corporatized NWO overlords have only cared about Africa's resources, not its people, except as a source of cheap labor to extract said resources. The agenda, as expressed, say, in Agenda 21 or 2030.. and/or the Georgia Guidestones in fact calls for at least an 80% reduction in global population. Africa will not be a priority. So, if anyone has any plan to address the malaria problem in Africa.., it's probably to send more mosquitoes.

cheers!!😇

Truth be told, I was pretty mad at La Dolce Vita.. for many years. A few snatches of it back in college had somehow soured me on Fellini.. until, to my great chagrin, I realized a couple decades later what I'd been missing. But lately (as nostalgic old hipsters are wont to do), I've been revisiting some of my youthful preconceptions.

But no...., I can't say it rocked my world. And, as one reviewer said, it WAS dated -- like watching Mad Men with two fingers of Scotch and wondering why I stopped wearing my Brook-Taverner suits. But, neither am I here to (as another reviewer said) "cast dispersions".., especially because Kirsten Dunst, MY HERO (for her music video, Turning Japanese, in downtown Tokyo) cast her vote in "How To Lose Friends And Alienate People" (the greatest" movie ever made btw) that La Dolce Vita was.. uhn.. the "greatest" movie ever made. (IRONY!!)

Fortunately for you.., you will not hear me say that La Dolce, like every movie in existence, is whatever the viewer (or Kursten Dunst) brings to it. I will simply tell you what I saw.., and what may not have been mentioned by other reviewers.

First, I'll just say that the whole morality play thing didn't interest me at all -- the bored, empty, jaded, half-hearted, profligate consumers of dissipation and excess -- BECAUSE.., as any Bible-belt Christian can tell you.., this is old hat. The semi-conscious awareness of ones miserable plight, by the spiritual zombie.. is nothing new to me. And, if Fellini can open with a feckless, concrete, flying Jesus.., I can certainly cite the prevailing spiritual subtext of this film..; not to mention the group scene -- the endless wandering through the deteriorating halls of some 16th-century castle, only to find that ALL ROADS LEAD TO (god help us) morning mass and confession. (Hey, don't blame Fellini. It's all he knew.)

Another (possibly unique) observation.. has to do with the frequent appearance of a sort of "Man-Versus-His Baser Nature" theme -- where man's (and woman's) Inner Beast is never far from emerging -- dare I say, especially Woman's. And if I had to guess.., I'd say (especially after seeing Satyricon) that Fellini did NOT have a terribly high opinion of Women -- a MOST "inappropriate" p.o.v. currently.., WHICH might explain why La Dolce is nowhere to be found at Netflix or Amazon, etc etc., and is available to watch only on YouTube. (i.e., Censorship is alive and well.) That is.., I think Fellini saw the vast majority of women as being very little different from cats or dogs, baying coyotes, witless barnyard foul, etc etc. (not to put too fine a point...)

Lastly, I think Fellini may APPEAR to express HIS own artistic point of view, as transposed by Marcelo giving Steiner some thoughts on a rather dull painting -- a sort of compositionless bottlescape in Steiner's home. Here.. Marcelo declares that romance and abstraction are worthless.., and that only stark, relentless, unembellished reality will and should prevail. Superficially.. it might seem like just more quasi-intellectual posing and party protocol, the urbane language of their profligate age (including the unbearable folk singer). BUT.., I tend to think it might just be our best clue.. that Fellini was actually being sly and tongue-in-cheek.. here and generally throughout the movie.., a lot more than people have given him credit for.

All in all, one SHOULD see this film.., if only so that, at your next "cocktail party" you too can (as I do) pretentiously ramble on about it.. in the urbane, quasi-intellectual language of OUR profligate age. cheers!! 😇

Note: I know it's not cool to criticize current Asian movies, what with the Tokyo meltdown hoax and all.., but one reviewer here called this movie "elegant".., so I'm compelled to reply.

Opening sequences OF.. or FROM.. trains in motion, especially when accompanied by smooth and alluring photography, will generally indicate a film with high production values -- in other words, an 'A' movie, albeit second-tier, usually just not quite on par with a top-tier movie that is typified by more expensive shots from aircraft -- at least THAT'S my theory. Ergo, I was optimistic.

I had just switched over from an entrancing music video of 070 Shake's UNDER the MOON, with its seductive, purple-haired singer, who insists she wants to get "ha-high".., so I was more than ready to embrace Lucy Fly, the rather equally morose and seemingly mysterious heroine of Earthquake Bird. I assumed she (Lucy) WAS in fact said Earthquake Bird.., though I never did untangle that particular metaphor.., and indeed, the fact that Tokyo has occasional tremors.. in my humble opinion never really seemed to contribute very much.. or even relate to the "story".

The quotes there should tell you that I spent a good portion of the remaining hour-plus.. trying to figure out what-the-kabuki I was watching. I refused to think it was just another story like Delirious.. or Sons And Lovers (a sensitive guy.. torn between a blonde and a brunette).. or an episode of The Mentalist.., say, with a quasi-gratifying twist at the end, like the old French drama, Diabolique.

I wanted to be swept away (get ha-high) in the exotic atmospheres artfully created.., but I had to hold myself back, owing to gradually mounting evidence of the limited but unmistakable Masonic thumbprint on this movie (like the checkerboard flooring, etc.), which would normally tell me that the usual social-engineering agenda would ultimately be more important to the director than simply making art. So, get over yourself.

Nonetheless, ever the jejune optimist, my first jolt of excitement came when Lucy and Teiji consider embarking on a truly honest dialogue (and presumably relationship).. since they mutually acknowledged how unique and special they each were -- i.e., capable of doing something which no couple in history has ever succeeded in doing. And, as corroborating evidence.., I cite the smooth-worn aphorism -- namely, "THE MAN (or woman?) WHO TELLS THE TRUTH SLEEPS ALONE." Thus, this idea of iconoclastically Painful Honesty was the first of many trailheads, where some thematic path turned out to be a dead end.

As time after time my hopes were dashed, and nothing really seemed to develop (except my latent fondness for karaoke).., the NWO agenda items nevertheless rolled out with the predictability of a train schedule -- i.e., Men are horrible, Don't trust anyone, Bi-sexuality is cool, etc. etc.. It felt as if the director was merely following HIS Masonic script, while compensating for enslavement to the overlords by randomly showing off his facility with film lore and styles. By the home stretch, I half expected a scene with Lucy running manically down the sidewalk, past shops of corrugated metal, to David Bowie's recording of Modern Love.. or maybe a brief vignette of a magic-wand-weilding Claire Danes singing I Think I'm Turning Japanese. No.., I can't say it wasn't fun. It was.

Omg, toward the end.. there WAS an actual plot twist of sorts, somewhat cathartic for Lucy perhaps, but barely a blip on the radar.. if you're thinking in terms of "spoilers". (Don't bring me down, Bruce.).., which is to say -- compounding Lucy's inherent Nordic guilt, there was the unfortunate incident involving a fatal fall from the top of a staircase. (Apparently even classical musicians have their job hazards?) Thus, the only redeeming gratification to be found.. for me, the hapless viewer, was to point out.. that the blame for said fall belonged to neither Lucy nor her fellow quartet member. ... By which point I was literally talking to the TV screen, pointing out that, if one steps back from the well-portrayed darkness that is Japan under the moon.. and moves into the light of Western lucidity.., one is forced to confess that the staircase had clearly lacked a proper-sized landing at the top; and thus the blame for the aforementioned fatality clearly lay at the feet of the Tokyo City Building Inspector, who was obviously not adhering to the North American Manual Of Uniform Construction Specifications. Thus.., what we can take away, (on the heels of yet another unpursued trailhead.. (an intriguing remark by the sagely detective).. is that, while we DO all live in the isolation of our own uniquely fabricated realities (where one COULD either be an inexplicably eccentric photographer OR merely a demented serial killer).. one should at bare minimum never lose sight of their local building codes.

cheers😇

Dear fellow anonymous losers of the inhibitions which normally keep lesser beings from writing film reviews. I confess I like good movies.., but rather hate myself for it. With just a nudge in the right direction.. I could be Amish.

So you can imagine the additional self-loathing convoked each time I compound my sins by writing a review -- likely, a beautifully crafted piece of art, which virtually no one will appreciate, and to which I will add insult to my own indignity.. by forfeiting all (copy)rights.. the instant I post it. ....All of which gratuitous commentary I hereby justify.. by declaring that the symbiosis and subservience thus described.. is a perfect analogy for the relationship between Bernard and Doris.. and/or my relationship., except for the fact that never feels shame or drinks my sherry.

I merely want to say that Doris must have funded this dubious film enterprise, and that the running "story" of her plant life was an ingenious metaphor for the fragile progress of its making. Kudos to Bob Balaban for not destroying it completely.., although I could only gasp with horror, when Bernard (Fiennes) inexplicably appears near the end of the film.. dressed like a raging flamer with full makeup and impossibly pendulous earrings.

So yes.., it was doubtless necessary, given that it was a mainstream Hollywood movie ("made possible by a generous endowment from the Doris Duke Charitable Foundation").., and as such was obliged to champion the usual agenda of degeneracy, "self-fulfillment", and eastern religion ("Islamic art").., while, as always, making alcohol appear to be an essential ingredient of la vie flamboyante.

In short.., there was nothing to be gained from watching this movie.., unless you're over 90, with foggy memories of the Crystal Palace, and (like Bob Balaban) are easily ensnared by nostalgic music from the 40s. (30s?) The only other redeeming social merit badge I can think of.. might be that, in terms of inspirational value, the Horatio Alger story of Bernard Lafferty (not to be confused with Gerry Raferty, who I'm sure looks better than Fiennes in chiffon and lipstick) was a story which perpetuates the alluring myth of the desperate young man who, like folk hero Andrew Cunanan, is caught between poverty and an appetite for caviar.., and thus strives to ingratiate himself into the lives of The Very Rich.., who, like Doris Duke, may or may not be transgenders.

The highlight of the movie (for me) came.. when it was revealed that Sharon Stone had sent flowers to Bernard's funeral -- highly apropos, I thought, in that she too knows what It's like to be thought guilty of cinematic crimes.. suspected but never proven. cheers😇

(At least it wasn't Tucson.)

For a B movie.. Room For Rent does have a bit of charm and surprise.. suggesting perhaps some actual creative instincts and effort on the part of director Stovall.. not to mention a valiant albeit short-lived tip of the hat to production value via the opening shots from high above -- I'm thinking a drone. (?) Overall, RFR (subtitled BNB) has the feel of a short story.. more than a movie, which helps compensate for what it lacks in visual interest.. no offense to Sedona (which I guessed right off the bat).

The other comments here pretty much say it all.., so I will merely remind viewers that most likely, uniqueness aside, RFR is still at bottom a Mason-influenced production, (let's say, fianced to the tune of "6000" dollars ?) , despite little if any Masonic symbolism that I could see.., unless I missed a globe or an owl somewhere. Nevertheless, the usual, primary (obligatory) indoctrinational themes were present (lest we forget), thus creating a standard, NWO-certified cautionary tale -- beating the drums of fear, mistrust, and division between genders and generations, etc. etc., while (like romance fiction) harkening to idealized relationships, impossible to achieve in real life.., thus leading to the desired American-Dream state of perpetual disillusionment, spousal abuse, self loathing, and ultimate senility.. all good news for the travel and tourism industry.

Perhaps the novel aspect here, seldom seen in other movies, was a reminder to fear and mistrust Old People as well. Hey, why not? And simultaneously, for the betterment of the whole suppressed hive, the cautionary tale includes the additional warning (like messages on Chinese walls to only have One Child) that old people must at all costs guard against making fools (or Sweeny Todds) of themselves.., as is their inevitable wont. Or, as I've known for years (and didn't need a reminder).., never trust a woman in a red hat.

(And copious THANKS and kudos to IMDB for providing a place for "freelance writers" and bored retirees like myself.. to express erudite opinions which no one cares about.)

First.., imho, debating the merits of this series, relative to plot and so forth, is a waste of time.. and misses the point entirely. That is.., the intended purpose of The Americans was far less about craft or even entertainment, and more (utterly) about indoctrination.. as usual. Scattered throughout, you will find almost every agenda and "value" of the NWO and "the Left" being exalted subtly or blatantly.., while maintaining a healthy balance of attacks on everything the Left hates.

Seeking unvarnished reality and truth is all well and good.., but don't praise the series for a "no-nonsense" script, while it portrays our heroic champions of soviet equality.. as living in a nice (expensive) suburban home which inexplicably doesn't seem to have a dishwasher, -- all so that we can see a guy doing the dishes.., never mind the predictable, endless parade of (no-frontal-nudity) transgender males portraying "Strong Sexy Capable Womyn".

...since I first saw her in Cherry 2000. I admire her quest to idealize herself, having not really been a raving beauty.., even the cosmetic surgery, which imho really worked.. until it didn't.. sadly. I'm saying, I think she really hit her stride here -- where she felt she was finally herself. , and not just acting.

This is a great film, though i was relegated to watching it on YouTube.. with a 4 second delay between sound and sight.

Apart from thinking it uniquely captures the spirit of the time, I am mostly just left wondering if M. Mercouri along with a fair bit of the "female" cast were transgender. So instead of accusing her/him of "overacting", I'd tend to call it passion forged on the anvil of painful experience.., which in a sense might even be called the theme of the entire movie.