FilmMattic

Show Me The You're So Money, Baby       Imagine the year is 1996. Los Del Rio's Macarena and Blackstreet's No Diggity are dominating the music charts. The Spice Girls are infuriating every teenage boy who is just beginning to experiment with the opposite sex.  Independence Day  annihilates the Summer Box Office and convinces me that being dropped off six hours before it screens is an ingenious way to spend six hours. Everyone is "being showed the money!" in inappropriate outbursts to flex their obnoxious  Jerry Maguire muscle. The Summer Olympics are being held in Atlanta. Ebay has just launched. Sadly, Ask Jeeves follows suit. No one knows who the hell Justin Bieber is.

Bone Hugs-N-Disharmony       RUST [rust] v.        1. To deteriorate or degenerate through inactivity or neglect.        2. To impair or spoil, as by misuse or inactivity.  The Free Dictionary: By Farlex       Jacques Audiard dangerously conforms to a sociological latticework that breeds dysfunction and chaos. He is not interested in exploring the complications of life through rose-colored glasses. Materialistic goons spawned from the next incarnation of The Queen of Versailles are not his concern .  Disharmony is his unifying force. People who operate desperately on the fringes of society are his focus.

It's Not The Final Countdown       Formulating a list that by its very proclamation boasts of "My Ten Favorite Films" requires a mindset I've never been truly ready to embrace. To exclude so many films that I love is to commit an almost homicidal act upon works that to me are endowed with such everlasting appeal, my affinity for them incontrovertible. What follows, therefore, is merely an attempt. 

Sentenced to Write Editor's Note: Realizing that this is a site dedicated to film and is meant to foster discussion therein, I shamefully admit that I have been derelict in my aficionado duties. Which is the business of reviewing films. So, starting now, I will be fulfilling my ardent obligation and writing a review. I hope this will be a reemergence back into regular blogging and reviewing, and that I will not fall victim to malaise. FilmMattic reviews shall persist in perpetuity as far as I'm concerned...       Perhaps the hypnotic gestures of fate energized my inner-critic because here I reflect on a movie spawned from the prodigious creative might of Orson Welles. That movie is  The Trial. And as I reflect and yield to the calm solace of introspection, I am alarmed to discover that I have not written a satisfactory review in an eternity and a day.  This blog has not, as its inception dictates, appropriately performed its primary function. ...