Movie Recommendation Time: A Bag Of Hammers.

A bag of hammers (metaphor) - a burden; a cross to carry.

"... but the thing is, it's what you do with these hammers - when you get 'em, because that's what shows you what kind of a man you are. Even if you're not ready to be one yet." - Ben.

From losing a child in Seven Days (2010) to acquiring one in A Bag Of Hammers, destiny has an uncanny way of choosing the films Russovoir timely has the mood for. The poster was eye-catching and the cast were young adults; Russovoir prefers young adults as they likely to be in roles that are relatable and almost always distinct in character, a validation to be different. And there, in addition, in tiny print, Amanda Seyfried was cast. Seyfried was in a handful of films iconic of her. Including but not limited to Mean Girls (2004), Dear John (2010), and the lesbian kiss with Megan Fox in Jennifer's Body (2009). She's a bombshell, from her Jolie lips and well-endowed bosoms, the 26-year old actress has an ass and an asset to the film industry.

Immediately, familiar faces caught Russovoir by a visual blow. Sky High (2005) elastic bully, Lash, Jake Sandvig was a delight, now plays a major role, which he did coolly surprisingly. After Seyfried had her take - brief yet masterful performance - the plot strikes itself at a precise recklessness of a person hurting himself with a hammer. Chandler Canterbury (picture below) moved Russovoir to tears, provoked by the weight of the plot in which Russovoir has never seen before.

"I got Penthouses. I got seven of 'em."

Canterbury is a child prodigy. At 12, he cries on cue. Impressive. It's almost a shame Russovoir just knew of him with this film, basking on the consolation A Bag Of Hammers is the film that he's finally gotten a major role, noticeably suitable and deserving of such role.

Two charming delinquents live their lives with nothing ahead of them, just living for themselves. Bros before chores. They are on the faster lane of life when suddenly, 12-year old Kelsey came uninvited to their porch one afternoon with a rusty heart and life's been a flat tire.

Movie Recommendation Time: Seven Days.

There is absolutely no greater pain than to bury your own child before they do. It's like you already failed as a parent yet you have so much in store for them, so much love to give in due time. But irreversibly, you have to swallow the pain, the guilt, the planned years, like a series of bad medicine with varying intensity. Uniquely torturous.

Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart dug a hole in Russovoir's heart, left it gaping, hallow, and unobtrusively numb in Rabbit Hole (2010). Below zero - not with a cold heart, instead heart was as if submerged in icy water, pulse froze - sympathy for Ethan (Thomas Dekker), who explicitly didn't know any better, was arrested for child negligence in Angels Crest (2011). Parenting, let alone babysitting, is serious business. There will be unforeseeable circumstances that threaten the lives of the ones you most love, you once vowed to protect because life is unfair like that. You imagine a million ways to prevent it from happening, to have been there when it was happening, to turn back time, to wish it was you instead of someone who has so much to live for. Where was God? Where was He when 8-year old Jasmine Hamel was savagely raped and murdered? Seven Days is unsettling, traumatic, because there is no resolve to deprive a father of being one.

"Your daughter was not the only one."

A doctor husband and a gallery owner wife were having breakfast with their daughter, whose birthday invitations had to be delivered door-to-door around the seemingly peaceful neighborhood. Not a single invitation was received when seven days turning 9 Jasmine was found lying on an empty field, pallor body unresponsive, legs awkwardly open; it wasn't exactly birthday sex than child molestation.

With a degree in medicine and surgery, Bruno, the father to a dead daughter, blew the life out of the pedophile as if it were evenly distributed into seven candles, for seven days, lasting on her baby girl's birthday. If only every scream of pain recovers his.

Movie Recommendation Time: The Jacket.

First it was The Pianist (2002). Then Detachment (2011). Russovoir has been captivated with Adrien Brody for his choice of films like a pianist in detached concentration. It was only, and only fate, that a film of his came to his fancy, inspired by the general perception of what Brody signs up for from realized roles. The Jacket (2005), in between film masterpieces mentioned, is an underrated masterpiece. 

Almost poetic in celluloid, it took Russovoir a good hour to understand the subtlety of its plot. He was not satisfied, he played it again, coming close to an emotional jar. Partly maybe the film had a note of bittersweet - eventually it'll be sweet; you'll see - romance. And the other part, an emotional infliction against oneself for being heedless on such a pivotal hour. Going back to the scenes of which were in oblivion was the only solace. Russovoir cannot allow a film, any film to pass him without fully grasping its story. However ambitious, ambiguous, or just plainly dull the plot is, his brain after all has the final decision of its recall reflex.

Strap yourself in, and strap them well, because anyway, they won't matter. The Jacket however strangles the mind, a mindfuck of genius. Interest that rapidly brims towards the end, as if overcompensating the void of confusion it left; that good thing to those who waited.

"I was 27 years old the first time I died."

"I was 27 years old the first time I died." The line Russovoir didn't know what to expect at all. The title itself gave nothing away to the gist of the plot; a brilliant ruse. What went on were assumption after assumption that stifles Russovoir in agitation; the excited agitation.

Russovoir won't say anything more that would reveal the well-thought-of story it unfolds. Best believed Russovoir is already excited had you put this on your list. It has given him adrien-aline.

IMMORTALITY for the CULLENS.

Russovoir thinks life could have been bitter and empty if he had read the four (4) books of the The Twilight Saga, spoiling the heart-stopping - at the same time, blood-draining - finale of the franchise.

Quick tip: Hollywood has this habit of turning books to movies. And having read them, knowing the ending, is a bit of a thrill killer. One way to circumvent this is to leave out the final chapters of the book that you personally think will ruin the mood of its anticipated film. I have done this to the The Hunger Games Trilogy. On the other hand, not reading them at all is another thing once to often blissful.

Russovoir knows a good plot if he sees one. Absolutely regardless of what the minority - a good plenty - thinks otherwise. The onset of the The Twilight Saga interests Russovoir not because of who played what nor what is remotely applicable to society, to relationships. It has always been about the innovative approach of the saga. It was risky for Stephanie Meyer, the author, to frankly distort the universally recognized and accepted image of a vampire: their lifestyle, their strengths, weaknesses, their physical and mental dispositions. But that's the intention of creative writers. To distort. To invent. To think outside the box. For that, Meyer is immortalized by her craft.

Now the aesthetics of the blood-curdling finale, no spoilers.

Kristen Stewart. Absolutely - fucking - amazing; Edward Cullen's very words himself. The public eye knows of her as expressionless and vapid. Up until she turned, Stewart only stayed true to the character of Bella, an overthinker by which there are grave consequences on the horizon. Peculiar behavior of Swan writhe Russovoir as if a pair of fangs stung deep when it was revealed. Stewart, and Russovoir has always thought so, is one valuable actress by attributable roles.

"So beautiful. We're in the same temperature now."

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2 answers all questions of the critics. It ties all loose ends, coming to a full circle as lingering in which insatiable as the Harry Potter series. It must be a bane to society - the intolerant society, slowly forgotten as succeeding authors create their own versions of vampires, werewolves, and how vampires should not sparkle, and what a "better love story" should be, but Russovoir, God as his witness, The Twilight Saga is one of the greatest novels ever written. Ambitiously risky - how books should be.  

Movie Recommendation Time: Moonrise Kingdom.

Adorable, enviable, and slightly bothersome, young love is a tricky plot in which we must not give the impression that love really conquers all, lovebirds forget how to build their birdhouse. Intuitively, Russovoir believes the trend of young love flew us a hundred plus more miles south from the setting of Moonrise Kingdom to star-crossed lovers Romeo + Juliet by William Shakespeare. Two warring families, covert meetings, an illicit affair for which made it more insatiable as forbidden must be, as it is risky, worthwhile.

Classic puppy love films that still avert one's mood with similar dogma of one's dog impatiently waiting for you after a long day, My Girl (1991) and Little Manhattan (2005) were a paws up. Maybe throw in Little Rascals (1994) for those familiar scenarios where a group alleviates mutual tension. Conversely, half way across America to New England, tension is a barren forest. Moonrise Kingdom is rebellious, willful, but eventually one realizes kids, who have yet to go through life, had they already understood the true and simplest nature of one of the most complex entities - love, must be wiser than we think.

"Look into my eyes. Do you love each other?"

The most destructive hurricane recorded in history was no less than a week in insurgence in the fictitious island of New Penzance. But there is a collection of the state of minds more conniving than the condensation of rain clouds. Two anachronistic wildflowers found their own sanctuary conspiratorially, to grow freely. Be that as it may, but there is a storm coming, and these impatient wildflowers have yet to realize that their thin stems and developing petals need nurturing.

HALLOWEEN SPECIAL: The Thompsons.

There are only a handful of films of vampiric plots that Russovoir is proud of. He has never seen genius story-making than them, deviating from cliche and circuitous love plots that is more predictable than the heart's daily, perennial pulse-cedure. Worst, a derivative of the million-dollar movie franchise The Twilight Saga. They have managed to think outside the box. The coming-of-age of a clueless bloodsucker in Midnight Son (2011), a civilized way of sucking in Daybreakers (2009), an aggressive cult of bloodsuckers in 30 Days of Night (2007), and a deal made with a demon to live forever in The Forsaken (2001).

Then as oddly as often, films shown in Britain (London FrightFest Film Festival, e.g.) always seem to find Russovoir, a sweet surrender to his taste. The Thompsons (2012) was bloody brilliant! Bee's Knees.

"I am nothing like you!"

A sequel to The Hamiltons (2006) of the same production company, The Butcher Brothers, The Thompsons stands alone with its plot regardless. The film was generous enough to recount the accounts of the Hamiltons turned Thompsons for ulterior purposes. Or-fanged children of the original, first generation vampires are wanderers, both finding their places in the world, and lost, longing for their parents' guidance. Each Thompson now is responsible for one another so that when their baby brother was shot - vampires are uniquely, closely human here; they bask in the sun - they cross oceans and oceans to seek help from existing, unfortunately in hiding vampires for a cure. What little knowledge they know about themselves seems harmless and just lapsed than the unreliable knowledge they know about other vampires.