Tuesday 13 August 2013

13/08/2013 - PHILOSOPHY OF FILM


PHILOSOPHY OF FILM

 

Let’s delve into some character, some archetypes, some depth or certain quantities of depth. Let’s pick on the little guy in all his ambiance, let’s strip the million dollar actor from the billion dollar project and let’s see what happens. The respect is not a bit, not a part of the grand operatic process of trucking along in cinematic containment. Its contingent, which is to say it might be television. It all depends on the latitude and the pleasure of the audience as they whack off into tomato examinations. The perpetrators of such act claim that they have simply been compromised by Martian musicality that swam into their very naked essence. Would the manly whale take a feel from a blanket of producers? Possibly, they do carry blunderbusses and harsh payslips. But it’s all in the screenplay. If you want to talk back at me, it’s all in the screenplay. Let’s keep it starry!


THUGGISH BEHAVIOUR

 

I have burst my fateful smithy, right as he was making the landscape from horseshoes. He was nobody you ever heard of and you probably won’t seek me out to help mourn him but his widow was quite sweet-lipped and hairy. I’ll make my move in a few weeks time, I’ll punch around the memory of her husband, tussle with his essence until it submits under my romantic beat.  This isn’t thuggish behaviour; this is merely exertion of the ample ideal. More specifically I rip off hacks and disparage the ingenious dead. Let’s say the smithy returns and drops raindrops on my nose that gradually imitate a slimy asylum. There are steps I could take to reverberate the old dust and swallow it till swollen. When I become swollen, I simply then pay homage and think it over in a public place. They’ll see and set their standards accordingly and I’ll live to fight another day. That does not make me a mercenary though, I write my own dialogues.

 

SLAM DUNK/SLAM DUNK/SLAM DUNK

 

They told me I had natural talent and that everything would work out like bullshit in a thirty degree deathbed. Nuh-uh. What really happens is the hat comes off and the truth of the matter is that you’ll discover that failure develops into vibrant pictures of likeable bays. There are points to get across the body of water and lisps to receive them with auteur sensibilities. Lisps have very little to do with lispers and even less to do with director caps, the cinematographer edits and edits until she walks away. Chumps are surer of the validation that acts as the rind of every daily action. We share and we care about the wood and blood and wanton structured walks on Western fronts. Sadly though the stories rarely engage me as I pluck thin clogs from unwatchable cartons. Anyone can get their picture on the cartons, its promotion goes far too far. Let the smack talk roll. Just give me a second to dunk this basket. Five minutes.

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