Banned by Twitter…Again [2023)

I have a plethora of invective that I would like to direct at Elon Musk right now.

But I am going to hold off on that.

I will say that his company (Twitter) is still operating like shit in a number of ways.

I woke up today and tried to go on Twitter and it said my account had been permanently suspended for “platform manipulation” and “spam”.

Very interesting.

Because I only had two followers when I was suspended:

-Dr. Steve Pieczenik MD PhD

-Lt. Gen Michael Flynn

And of all days, why suspend me today?

This Monday the 13th…

Seems we are on some sort of precipice.

One bank.

Two bank.

Is your banking institution publicly-traded?

How did its stock do today?

Does that concern you?

And why is Shitcoin…er, Bitcoin finally on the rise?

Will Biden outlaw crypto currencies?

I think there is a significant chance of that.

But crypto might be something to monitor in the short-term.

What would you do if your bank collapsed?

Most of all, instead of bitching and moaning about the retards who made frivolous reports about me (keep in mind that I was not shown any evidence or tweets–I was shown no example of tweets which qualified as “spam” or tweets which, when taken together, constituted “platform manipulation”), I am going to ask you to follow my “news wire” on Telegram.

https://t.me/deathwishnews

On this station, I will seek to keep my subscribers up-to-date with significant happenings in the world.

You can go check it out now.

I will rely upon alternative media.

And I will rely upon mainstream media.

The goal is to get an ACCURATE picture of what is really going on.

I want the people of this planet to have the information they need to make GOOD DECISIONS.

That is what the channel will be about.

It’s not AP, Reuters, UPI, McClatchy, Agence France-Presse, or Deutsche Press-Agentur.

No.

But it’s something more honest.

Find my mistakes.

Find my errors in logic.

I am not going to draw conclusions for you.

I will present you with stories.

Many different kinds of stories.

They are not stories I write.

It is not my reportage.

It is, however, my curation.

I encourage you to do the same thing.

Start a “news wire” service of your own on Telegram.

Get your friends to subscribe.

Post stories that you think are of general interest–things that everyone should want to know about.

In this way, the would can get better.

I ask one final thing of you.

Please give a chance to this video:

https://www.infowars.com/posts/breaking-gen-michael-flynn-issues-emergency-message-to-humanity-must-watch/

I just watched the whole thing and it (quite frankly) blew my mind.

Find the errors in logic.

Find the biases.

Are there gentlemen intelligent?

You decide.

-PD

Alex’s War [2022)

The United States of America is over.

It is finished.

We fought hard.

But we failed.

Because of traitors like General Mark Milley, General Lloyd Austin, and Admiral Michael Gilday.

But those who really let us down were the ones we truly believed in:

General Paul Nakasone: loser

General Jay Raymond: loser

General C.Q. Brown: loser

General David Berger: loser

General James McConville: loser

U.S. CYBERCOM: losers

U.S. Space Force: losers

Defense Intelligence Agency: losers

U.S. Army Intel G2: losers

Fort Belvoir: losers

Fort Huachuca: losers

Fort Meade: uber-losers

All of these men and agencies have let us down.

They allowed an illegitimately-selected President, Joe Biden, to be illegally installed.

They did not step into the breach and defend the country.

They have stood by as we have been slaughtered.

So I say, “Fuck them.”

I spit on their pitiable memories.

History will piss on Nakasone, Raymond, Brown, Berger, and McConville.

History will be far less kind than that to Milley, Austin, and Gilday.

So what is to be done?

Putin is a great leader.

But he is not our leader.

He is far away.

He is decisive.

He doesn’t bullshit.

Putin won.

Vladimir Putin: winner

Russia: winner

China: admirable

Why?

Because China stood by Russia and against the neo-Nazi Azov Regiment.

China: winner

United States of America: loser

Germany: loser

United Kingdom: loser

France: loser

NATO: total fucking losers

So what is to be done?

Make art.

Alex Lee Moyer made a film.

This film.

A great film.

An ESSENTIAL film.

Will it be in the Criterion Collection someday?

Probably so.

But I don’t give a shit.

We are fucked.

There is no Criterion Collection in our future.

Is this film better than Oliver Stone’s JFK?

Probably not.

But that’s ok.

Make art.

It takes practice.

How many films has she directed?

This is a VERY GOOD film.

That is nothing to scoff at.

Make art.

Art is information.

Keep fighting.

Keep shifting.

Survive.

Evade.

Resist.

Escape.

SERE.

Make art.

Pozner is a piece of shit.

Veronique is a piece of shit.

Make art.

It ain’t over till it’s over.

China is not my enemy.

Sorry, Alex Jones.

BUT I would fight for Alex Jones eight days a week before I would fight for China.

But China is not my enemy.

Trump faced a crisis situation.

Trump failed.

Putin faced a crisis situation.

Putin suceeded.

Trump bailed.

Fight or flight.

Putin fought.

Putin won.

Putin protected his country.

Trump failed to protect America.

The U.S. military has failed to protect America.

The U.S. military is a dismal failure.

How long will the U.S. military sit idly by and watch the country get economically slaughtered?

How long will the U.S. military be the grunts for a criminal Federal government?

How long?

I sympathize with Trump.

Trump did not deserve to be raided.

But I sympathize much more with Alex Jones.

If Trump doesn’t disavow the three COVID vaccines currently available in the USA, he is, politically, toast.

But we have no elections anymore.

How long will the U.S. military stay on the sidelines while fake elections are conducted every 2-4 years?

How long?

China is not my enemy.

Communism works in China.

Why?

Because east Asia has a tradition of anonymity and collectivism.

Look at the musical traditions of places like Thailand.

The compositions are not attributed to some esteemed composer.

The music belongs to the entire people.

It is created.

Who cares who created it.

Communism is in harmony with older Asian philosophy.

Communism works in China.

Russia is my model society.

Not Sweden.

Now Switzerland.

Not Japan.

Russia.

And Russia owes its entire existence and future to the bravery of one man: Vladimir Putin.

Trump was very brave.

Putin was far more brave.

Which is why Trump lost.

And Putin won.

America is now a toilet that won’t flush.

Europe is a cesspool.

Russia has a future.

And that future is as an ally of China.

China has a future.

And that future is as an ally of Russia.

If Turkey is smart, they will leave NATO and join BRICS.

China, Russia, Iran, Venezuela, North Korea.

These countries are united.

And each day more countries join this bloc.

BRICS.

Brazil.

If India is smart, they will ally themselves with Russia and China.

Peace on the Asian subcontinent can be had.

Bring back Imran Khan.

Pakistan and China should remain allies.

All of Asia can and should be united.

Japan and South Korea are slaves of the United States.

If you live in Taiwan, and you want to live under liberal democracy, I would advise you to leave immediately.

If you have no problem with Chinese-style communism, then by all means: stay.

Trump lost.

He lost the battle.

He won the election.

But the election was neither free, nor fair.

The USA lost.

Fauci is to blame for Bidenflation.

Biden is to blame for American gas prices.

Klaus Schwab, Pope Bergoglio, and Prince Charles are to blame for the collapse of Europe.

And Boris Johnson pissed away Europe’s future as well.

By allying himself so staunchly with Jewish Nazi Zelensky.

There is still hope for Bergoglio.

Because he blames NATO for the war in Ukraine.

On that point, he is absolutely correct.

What will happen in the U.S. midterms?

Will Nakasone finally do his job?

Will General Raymond finally do his job?

The USA has, at most, two years before it descends into a societal death spiral.

I honestly do not think we will make it even that long.

Is there any hope?

Make art.

And hope the U.S. military stops being pussies.

-PD

Career Opportunities [1991)

Special operations.

Fail.

Disregard.

Dispose ASAP.

Forthwith.

Wasteland.

T.S. Eliot and William S. Burroughs.

Overqualified.

Working at night.

Alone.

In a store.

Mannequin meets Pretty in Pink.

Which makes sense.

Since John Hughes wrote this.

But didn’t direct it.

OCD.

Moral dilemma.

Crise cœur.

Two roads diverge in the wilderness.

Yellow wood.

Jennifer Connelly on a mechanical horse.

For kids.

In the concession area.

How love begins.

A song.

Spark.

Magic in the eyes.

Chain reaction.

Some good story.

How it ties together.

Double-cross.

Triple-cross.

How many levels to this matryoshka?

You let fools make fools of themselves.

We all have our talents.

Special agents.

Secret.

State-sanctioned skills.

You need a plan.

And another.

You never bank on one outcome.

No realm is so entirely concerned with contingencies as the military.

Many elements needed for this outcome to come together.

An abundance of force.

A disarming amount of shock.

A way to reload.

Repeatedly.

To hold criminals at bay.

Criminals who have multiple rounds to spend.

Asymmetry.

Know yourself.

Know your enemy.

Know your enemy.

Know yourself.

Dream big.

Trust in God.

-PD

The Opposite of Sex [1998)

It was a very good year…

1998.

Unlike the year experienced in this film by Martin Donovan’s character.

And, perhaps, unlike the year 2020 which we are all currently living through.

Spoiler:  Christina Ricci does not get nude in this film.

Carry on!

We start in Louisiana and come to Indiana, Los Angeles, Canada, and back to Indiana again.

This film deals with a lot of things.

Being a widow(er), for one.

Being gay.

Particularly, being gay in a conservative locale.

But at the heart of this film is a very strange series of lies and poor decisions.

But there are also some good decisions interspersed.

Mainly, there is a shitload of chaos.

And most of it is caused by Christina Ricci’s character Dedee Truitt.

Or sex.

Sex is a unifying principle here.

The stupidity of sex.

How sex can lead to a whole concatenation of events which were unintended.

In a strange way, this film is a cautionary tale.

But our narrator (Ricci) couldn’t give two fucks about ethics for most of this movie.

The whole tone of this film is sarcastic.

Sardonic.

If you like your comedy dark, you might like this.

But it’s not a particularly funny movie.

It’s watchable.

And, one might say, good.

Not great.

Lyle Lovett plays on an archetype perhaps established by Sheriff Harry Truman in Twin Peaks.

The resemblance of gesture and demeanor are remarkable.

Lisa Kudrow does a nice job here.

Her character is annoying as fuck.

And she pulls off that personality deftly.

But the real star is Martin Donovan as Bill.

His acting exceeds that of all the other players.

Really, to my eyes, this film revolves more around him than it does around Ricci’s hellbent character.

And so this film is not bad.

It is a little disappointing.

It is a little half-baked.

Half-assed.

Boring.

Even amidst all the chaos, it feels hackneyed here and there.

In the end, it was worth watching.

But just barely.

 

-PD

Vénus et Fleur [2004)

Why?

Why sexual tension.

Why do we like who we like.

Why do we choose certain people.

We must make a choice.

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Vénus et Fleur operates on the principle of sexual tension.

The world turns on the tips of tits.

We can wait a lifetime.

20 years.

Or 1 hr. and 16 minutes (in this case).

To see the bride stripped bare.

In the end, perhaps it doesn’t matter.

If it happens or not.

Because the journey has been sustained by sexual tension.

So I will give director Emmanuel Mouret credit.

He buoyed a whole film on the prospect of nudity.

There is some nudity here, but perhaps not the nudity which we seek.

That is my take.

Like Finnegans Wake.

Something is disallowed.

Something is taboo.

It is our puritanical instinct which causes us shame.

One would think such honi soit would only be found in England.

We become tangled in a web of meaning.

That any French person could feel shame is astounding.

But Fleur feels it.

She in an SJW.

A BBW.

Honestly, Isabelle Pirès is stunning here!

She is the reason I kept watching.

Sure, her character can be pitifully PC.

As when she lectures the third world about their plight.

It is maudlin.

Or is Russia the second world?

It was second.

But what is it now?

Doesn’t matter.

People still get drunk and fuck.

Says Venus.

Marseille.

Beautiful film.

Keep hoping.

And Veroushka Knoge reminds us of yet another lover.

Love is quintessentially French.

Four films and then career falls off.

Tough.

Magic moment by the sea.

 

-PD

Lady Bird [2017)

So much has happened since I last wrote.

Since I last really wrote.

The world has changed.

Donald Trump is President.

And the effort to oust him continues.

But I still support him.

Not blindly.

And yet.

A movie.

Here.

Lady Bird.

At first glance, a daft filmic gesture.

Taken again, a poignant slow-boiler.

And finally I watched the whole thing.

On the third try.

It’s like making a hazelnut blonde latte.

You put the hazelnut.

Pump-specific for size.

And you pull your shots of espresso.

And midway through, you realize you are pulling regular shots.

So you start over.

BLONDE espresso.

And you make the drink the second time.

And you hand it off.

And the drink comes back.

It wa sup be ic.

Iced.

All these fucking abbreviations.

Like being a part of the “intelligence community”.

So you make this same pitiful beverage a third time.

And by now you are woefully behind on the assembly line.

Once behind, there is very little chance of catching up.

Oh.

You will catch up.

Or fall over dead.

And probably no one will care either way.

This is Lady Bird.

Sacramento.

San Antonio.

Orlando.

Shitholes masquerading as metropolises.

Oklahoma City.

Provincial nightmares.

Greta Gerwig did a good job.

I ripped her to shreds the first time I saw her mise-en-scène.

Like a fucking JV football coach blocking The Tempest on a chalkboard.

Bad.

But, as we know, each film is its own language.

Each auteur, or metteur en scène (as the case may be), is a Rosetta Stone.

Mashed together.

Bleeding from one translation to another.

Along the gnarled edge pulled from from the Nile.

Trump is hard-pressed on every side.

And what is this #QAnon business?

Is it real?

I hope so.

Yet it’s terrifying.

Life, mainly.

The whole enchilada.

You work your balls off.

For what?

Are you happy?

Yeah, me neither.

And then you get to a place in life where you have no friends.

Yep.

That’s me.

It’s over.

Right now.

No friends.

Family, yes.

Thank God.

But no friends.

And you feel like a failure to have let down your family.

But maybe you came back for them.

You lazy Messiah, you.

You laid it all on the table…the altar.

Hammered to the sacrifice plane.

And also, you were really dumb.

As always.

But it is an idiot-savant dumbness.

Fuck.

I have a Master’s degree.

And a really specialized bachelor’s degree.

And the two together put me in position to do…just about nothing.

I could find that job.

But it wouldn’t be here.

But let’s talk about drugs.

Sickness.

Exercise.

Work.

Exhaustion.

Sacramento.

Mundane life.

I have hung on.

Barely, sometimes.

As today.

Fucking horrible shift.

God damn it.

Don’t get me started at this late hour.

This elderly midnight.

Premature.

“Time to make the donuts.”

I watch a film, and then I write about it.

Except that it hasn’t happened in a long time.

Because my job is a shock to the senses.

It is a brutal concatenation of events which beat upon my body and soul.

And my PSYCHE!

My brain.

My health.

Exercise good.

Stress bad.

Laziness gets no exercise.

Work gets exercise.

Work gets stress.

It is a tradeoff.

Decision theory.

And so I humbly pray to God.

That God will send me friends.

That love has not passed me by forever.

That my mind will be healed.

That my body will be strengthened.

That i will find the will to make difficult choices.

Which lead to health and happiness.

It is uphill.

I am not young like Lady Bird.

I’m old.

I’m a failure.

“I been all around the world, boys…”

What does life hold for me?

What does tomorrow hold?

Can I get out of fucking bed?

Will my joints ache as much as they usually do?

What’s the point?

What’s the plan?

Must rest to continue.

Must have hope to continue.

Where’s the hope?

I need hope.

I am a religious man.

And so I ask God, here among witnesses, to grant me hope.

I ask that my method be acceptable.

I believe in God.

And I feel the Spirit with me now.

I am scared.

I don’t know what the next day brings.

I don’t know which way to steer my ship.

And so I ask for Divine intervention.

A nudge.

A signal.

A sign.

That still-small voice.

Lord, help me to know.

Where to go.

Help me in my weakness.

Shore up my deficiencies.

Make your power evident in my poverty.

A film.

Lady Bird.

A country.

Coup and countercoup.

Q is the countercoup.

Assuming it’s real.

And a life.

I am here.

I can watch films.

When my brain allows.

But I know that in order to keep going, I need a miracle.

What will it be?

I have no idea.

I ask, Lord, that you have mercy upon me.

I ask that you comfort me and give me guidance.

I come to your feet humbly.

This is an excellent movie.

Saoirse Ronan is great here.

It is a poignant story by Greta Gerwig.

May we all be richly blessed by the Creator.

I pray this is Jesus’ name.

 

-PD

An American in Madras [2013)

Here we come again to India.

And again to Tamil Nadu.

When last we visited India in our minds, we spoke of For the Love of a Man.

Another Tamil documentary.

About the superstar of South India:  Rajinikanth.

But An American in Madras takes us back.

WAY back!

Indeed, it is the story of a man named Ellis Dungan.

And his 15 years of fame (complete with tuned klaxons) [meme mixing] was 1935-1950.

Ellis Dungan from Barton, Ohio.

Who went to Spain.

And bicycled to France.

Worked a bit in Paris.

Became interested in photography.

And somehow ended up in one of the first cinema cohorts at USC.

Met an Indian student.

Got an invite to Madras (Chennai).

And six months turned into fifteen years.

Isn’t that the way life works?

If you think I’ve spoiled too much of this story, you’re WAY wrong.

There is so much more to this fantastic documentary directed by Karan Bali.

Mr. Bali is in his prime, being just 48 years young.

But he has made a significant contribution to cinema with this picture.

Yes, this story is unique and compelling.

But again, we get a priceless view of India.

I promise we will move from Rajasthan and Tamil Nadu eventually (the only two provinces I have really covered).

But you really must see An American in Madras.

It is currently on Netflix.

And by the screenshot–the thumbnail…you might think it’s about a Jewish director.

That would be wonderful and fine.

But you would be wrong in assuming such.

Indeed, it seems that the six-pointed star on the “film poster” is not the Star of David but perhaps, rather, the Star of Goloka.

Which is to say, an Indian six-pointed star.

And though there are (and certainly were) Jews in India (though not very many…all things considered), An American in Madras is just about a bloke from Ohio who somehow ended up directing some (14) of the classic Tamil-language films.

1935-1950.

He left India at the behest of his wife.

They divorced a short time later.

Okay, ok…I will stop giving spoilers.

But suffice it to say that An American in Madras tackles a very sticky conundrum:

motivation.

For most of my life, my main motivation has been EXPRESSION…

What I’m doing right now.

Showing off my verbiage.

But hopefully adding value to the world.

[there goes my business school dissection…it’s second-nature now!]

And yet, my motivation changed.

For I was presented with a crossroads.

Not like Robert Johnson’s crossroads…

But more like Robert Frost’s crossroads.

Two paths.

God damn it!

I chose the path less-taken.

I chose love.

Not lust.

Not romance.

Just love.

And it doesn’t make me a saint.

But it is what it is.

I gave up music.

I gave up expression as my main motivation.

And I attempted to evolve.

To nudge an inch closer to nirvana.

I chose love.

As my main motivation.

It is not a rockstar path.

Mother Theresa probably had some pretty rough days…

And I ain’t no Mother Theresa.

But I’m trying.

Trying to put other people before myself.

Often failing.

But steadfast.

I am on the path.

And yes, I become wistful.

It seems like 40 years ago.

Maybe I can catch a wisp of song in my memory…a shard…a sherd…some hieroglyph of my past life.

But growing into an adult can entail smiling through the tears.

Singing a snippet, and being glad to be here now.

-PD

Nuovo Cinema Paradiso [1988)

One of the greatest of all time.

I wasn’t sure I could handle the flood of emotions this film was bound to trigger.

But I went for it.

And it is, truly, a masterpiece.

Essential viewing.

In the U.S. we know it simply as Cinema Paradiso, but I wish to honor director Giuseppe Tornatore by reviewing it under the Italian title.

This film is full of fear and regret…because it is reminiscence.

Gone long from home.

Many years away from family.

Moreover, there are few films which portray a pure love for cinema quite like this one.

What we have is a mentorship.  Alfredo, the mentor…and Toto, the mentee.

There are so many magical shots…so many jewel-like devices of cinematic deftness which make this picture truly special.

When I was a young man, this film taught me the potential of cinema.

And my fear at the time was losing my past.

But now that I have, by the grace of God, returned to my homeland, my fear tonight was reimmersing myself in the beauty of misery.

Or the misery of beauty.

In accounting, they teach you to ignore sunk costs.

But the human psyche still yearns for the one that got away.

We analyze our past decisions.

We lament our judgement.

But the costs of love, the economic costs of love (the totality of what was at stake) cannot be so easily dismissed.

Maybe it was not meant to work out.

But there are some very painful, lonely yearnings which age us like a bottle of scotch.

Perhaps our pain will be someone’s joy.

We cannot live with a “letter never sent”.

But a letter never answered can be so indescribably mournful.

And so we have come back.

Having tried our luck and worked our hands to the bone.

And we praise God for the opportunity to see Alfredo again.

The whole family.

It’s a trade-off.

And lost love still leaves us wistful.

Maybe we don’t understand the reverse culture shock we have been battling.

For several years.

Maybe we are yet too young.

To see our homeland with eyes of clarity.

This is what Philippe Noiret tells Marco Leonardi.

You’re not old enough yet…to be here.

Noiret is really the star of this film.

With his big mustache.  And his close-cropped hair.

The projectionist.

But none of this would have been possible without the child.

Toto.  Salvatore Cascio.

His impish smile.  His hunger to learn.

We see a filmmaker in the making of himself.

And while Jacques Perrin is quite special as the grown-up Toto,

there is one key personality I must touch upon.

Agnese Nano.

This actress changed my life.

And I fell in love with her understudy.

Perhaps years later I did the same again.

Those blue eyes always kill you.

But it was when I first saw this.  In 1998.

I fell in love.

And it didn’t work out so well.

It was too much.

Ill-fated.

Romeo and Juliet.

I felt I was lower-class.

I had no confidence.

It is these things which we regret.

How a word could have been different.

How a revelation might have changed history.

But we praise God for Pupella Maggio.

Thank you, God, for your blessings.

This film has made me very emotional.

Because it is a masterpiece.

And we shall sail on.

Into the night sky.

And remember how Ennio Morricone guided our every blessed footstep in our Garden of Eden.  Over paths encrusted with tiny diamonds here and there…which would catch the reflection of the moon.  We walked the path the best we could.

-PD

J. Edgar [2011)

“I read the news today, oh boy…”

Ever since John Lennon sang those words on Sgt. Pepper‘s (and likely long before that) the news has had the power to depress us.

The power to shock.

The power to put our day into a tailspin.

But can we avoid the news?

And, perhaps more importantly, what is news?

As for avoidance.

Sometimes it is recommended.

To unplug.  To disconnect.

We all hit our saturation points concerning the dissemination of details.

Just what is deemed newsworthy accounts for much of our discomfort in keeping ourselves  abreast.

Even as private citizens.

We want to know the goings-on of the world.

Out of a sense of self-preservation.  To protect our families.

To be prepared.  Informed.  Able to make better decisions (we hope).

Today I made the mistake of digging a little deeper than recently.

And I came across several pieces on the ongoing pizzagate controversy.

I must start by saying that I have not followed this story much since the election.

Indeed, if the allegations are true, it is unfathomably revolting.

But there comes a time when waffling has its benefits.

I will just say that I don’t know what the truth is concerning pizzagate.

I’ve seen the pictures.  I’ve read the names.  I’ve connected the dots.

And now the ball is (back) in the FBI’s court.

[And perhaps that of the NYPD as well]

But it is germane to discuss a parallel matter which bears upon pizzagate.

And that is the coup which Dr. Steve Pieczenik described as having been undertaken by Hillary Clinton and her cabal around the first of November.

Just what was this coup?

Dr. Pieczenik was scant on details.

But perhaps it was the absolving statement of FBI Director James Comey.

And, if we give Mr. Comey the benefit of the doubt (which I’m not sure he deserves), then we might assume that the Clinton coup was largely activated from within the Department of Justice.  In essence, Comey’s boss (Loretta Lynch) could very well have compelled the Director to issue that statement at that particular time.

That would, in some ways, be a significant manifestation of a coup in progress.

Contrary to this was the countercoup of which Dr. Pieczenik spoke.

As I have written previously, this countercoup appears to have been initiated by other branches of the U.S. government (particularly the 16 intelligence agencies).  Dr. Pieczenik seemed to intimate that it was military intelligence in particular which was taking a lead on countering Clinton’s attempted coup.

Beyond these details (and they are vague), I know not much.

But we should return to pizzagate.

We should consider it as a phenomenon which might have several explanations.

Putting all our cards on the table, it is not out of the question that pizzagate was in itself the countercoup.

Which is not to say the allegations are false.

Indeed, it appears that the instigators of the countercoup were working closely with WikiLeaks to prevent Hillary Clinton from stealing an election by leveraging the Department of Justice (and other parts of the executive branch) improperly.

But there is a further possibility.

And I will pose it as a question.

Have we been the targets of a very sophisticated psychological operation?

And even muddier…did this operation save our country?

Investigating a child kidnapping Satanic ritualistic murder pedophile ring is certainly the purview of federal authorities.

The FBI.

But how much has the FBI been compromised?

Any American with at least two brain cells to rub together lost immense confidence in the Bureau in the years following 9/11.

And so history keeps repeating itself.

Sham investigations.  Issues too big to cover.

JFK.  9/11.  A litany forwards and backwards.

But I am beating around the bush.

I want to apologize if I have been less-than-stellar in citing my sources in the practice of my film criticism.

This is not an academic site.

I do not seek peer review.

But I do not lie.

I may jump to conclusions.

And yet, I would fancy myself a fairly astute observer.

Apologizing further, I do not seek to defame anyone.

That would be something too horrible to do (especially with the gravity of the pizzagate allegations).

But information will organically find its level as long as law enforcement is neutered by insiders.

Which brings us to a wonderful film by director Clint Eastwood.

This film covers just what we are talking about.

What is right.  What is wrong.

What methods are appropriate.  What methods are effective.

But at the heart of this controversial film (about a controversial personage) is the idea of serving one’s country.

However, we encounter much here which could fall into the “noble lie” category.

All of that aside, the idea of government service is put in its proper light.

A dirty game, sometimes.  But a noble pursuit.

And so this is less a review of the film J. Edgar and more a letter of THANK YOU to the men and women of the FBI.

Thank you for taking upon yourselves the stress of seeing unspeakable atrocities.

Thank you for taking upon yourselves the stress of following every lead.

But we thank you one further:

thank you for remaining humans.

You know the right thing to do.

Do the right thing.

And we will too.

From the depths of our hearts,

we salute you.

A bit late for all your thankless tasks gone by.

And in advance of your excellence…your leading by example…your adherence to the highest ethics…which we know will be evident in your future work.

-PD

Sommaren med Monika [1953)

This film hits a depth like no other.

Summer with Monika.

I should have said, nothing is more persistent than love.

There.

And the ups and downs of love are painted by Ingmar Bergman in their greatest glory and most miserable despair.

Two kids rebelling.

Such freedom.

There are moments which presage Pierrot le fou.

On the beach.

In the most carefree sense. And also in the Neil Young sense.

Two characters attracted to one another.

One freewheeling.  The other a more reserved being.

Several dreams interwoven.

Security.  Tenderness.  Camaraderie.  Courage.

Harriet Andersson is the star.  Shining bright.

Ice.

Pursuit of the elements.

“Slip inside my sleeping bag” as ZZ Top sang.

Two kids against the world.

Such a sparse recounting.

Quitting jobs.

The stress.

The harassment.

Bergman showing the unique pressures of young women.

But everything is so sweet.

With a girl not afraid.

To take the role of the man.

Not let life pass by.

This film made an immense impression on me when I first saw it.

Almost like Tropic of Cancer shuffled with Tropic of Capricorn and compressed to a pamphlet.

But it feels epic.

Film does that.

We can feel everything in an hour and a half.

We can shake our asses in three minutes.

Get the message in 30 seconds.

But life intervenes.

And we have to make some ugly choices.

We must pawn our scant comforts.

And aspire to one day again achieve “augmented survival”.

Debord again.

Monika wants nothing to do with it.

Her Henry Miller streak is longer.

And it’s pretty ugly.

Though she played the most beautiful hippie before beatniks even snapped.

Up and down.

Gives you the bends.

Few films capture the razor’s edge of pleasure and pain…the excruciating detail of ecstasy and sad panic.

Bergman was a master.  Along with Wild Strawberries, this is his true winner.

 

-PD