Kenneth Anger's FIREWORKS (1947)

How ev'ry damned emotion one could feel
Comes forth in thirteen minutes, I can't tell.
In that short span, the viewer's fed a meal
Of imagery, some raw, some cooked too well.
Deep shadows, lush and secretive, invite
Our exploration, then, as though a spell
Is breaking, stark and strong and sere and white,
The body beautiful is put through hell.
Sometimes it disappears, a landscape, or
An abstract pattern takes its place. No cell
Or tissue has been substituted, nor
A shred of clothing. Laugh? Too soon t'will quell
Your humor with some horror. Frame by frame,

The dreamer's dream can never be the same. 

Elaine May's MIKEY AND NICKY (1976)

The squalor and the glamor of the day
In Philly of the '70s, behind
These faces! Watch as two such old friends play
Each other. Falk and Cassavetes wind
The viewer in their story, scene by scene
(And not one wasted, nor is one detail!)
Is captivating. Both are at their keen
And subtle best, as they chat, laugh and flail
In bitter combat. But it's Carol Grace,
A side piece, treated badly, whom I'll keep
In memory the most, I think. Her space
And how she's treated -- no, I will not weep
But cheer. Elaine May grab me any night
And show me what she likes. I'll never fight.

Jemaine Clement's and Taika Waititi's WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS (2014)

The fruit that's hanging low but never picked,
Is it still fruit? It could have rotted. I,
For one, am sick of vampires, but was tricked
With silly genre mixing by this sly
Directing duo. Monster roommates fuss
O'er household chores and how to dress without
Reflections... Ev'ry rule is played for yucks.
What ultimately made me laugh and shout
The most was early-ish; we meet a pack
Of "werewolves, not swear-wolves" out in the night,
And Waititi as Viago, calling back
To Andy Kaufmann's Latka, a delight!
It's all quite gross and silly, juvenile
But also smart. I couldn't help but smile.

Thomas Russell's MR. DUNGBEETLE (2005)

No geese fly over any cuckoos' nests;
Disciples of a strange and kindly god,
The Khepri, who persuades them it is best
To heal themselves in wilderness. Applaud,
As each is given space and time to tilt
At his own windmills. Ev'ry line they say
Has meaning strange and lovely as they build
A world that looks like ours, but better. They
Are fun to watch e'en as they make one cry
At kindness and at courage. This unknown
But perfect cast will have you asking why
Divergence bears such stigma. We're alone
Each in our heads, but Thomas Russell sees
Us all. Let's sit together 'neath the trees.

Susanne Bier's BIRD BOX (2018)

Survival in another "pockyclypse" --
We've seen it many times, but here, to look
Is what one mustn't do. To come to grips
With such a world is hard, but then they took
It up a notch.  Unseen is not enough;
There must be crazies to oppose the blind
By choice. Come see as Sandra Bullock, tough
But motherly, must ever keep her mind
Off what she mustn't let herself perceive
While also shooting rapids. This should not
Work near so well, but yes, I did believe.
One thing, though, bugged me. Both the leads were hot,
But how come Mr. Rhodes' was tight and strong
Throughout, while Sandra's hair kept growing long?

Sidney Lumet's DOG DAY AFTERNOON (1975)

Prince Humperdinck near steals the whole freak show,
A feat, that, for the ages, next to Al
Pacino and his sweat-hair and, you know,
The hostage thing. And then let's talk of Sal,
Few words but each one counts. Amazingly,
This film feels timeless, from its true crime plot,
To how its crowd scenes scarce contain the glee
The extras felt, to how the cops get hot.
A cell phone wouldn't change much, the conceit
That one could turn to crime to bring about
The changes one most needs... Today would greet
This tale with bullets sooner, though. The shout
For Sonny still feels timely, anyway.
But Hollywood, please don't remake this Day.

Ava Duvernay's A WRINKLE IN TIME (2018)

Inclusive casting makes me smile and smile,
And when it's done this well, I've boundless joy,
Enough to let it slide once in a while
When things I love get cut (like that good boy,
That Fortinbras, and both the twins). Storm Reid,
And young McCabe quite stole my dusty heart.
Their roles called for maturity, indeed,
And gravitas, which each brought to the part
Abundantly. And everything looked great --
The Murrys' home, the stars' duds -- but it seems

All thought went to the visuals. Is the fate

Of novels that are treasures, books our dreams

Wish real, to all get butchered? Nothing much

Of what I love came to the screen, as such.