Guy Ritchie
Revolver

"We, who from ancient
Times have met,
We, obscure poets
Who never rest,
Generators of saving actions -
We, who have already forged,
Oh brother, the spear
So that, wrapped
In the peace of its splendor
In our spaces
The seed matures for you -
Again we greet
We, links of the chain,
You, the Saved one,
Today's Victor!
He who conquers himself,
Frees himself from the world.
He who no longer fights
Let him become a link!"

There is a glaring misunderstanding in examining this film, one comes from comparing it with the director's other works, which in front of this are reduced to caricatures for road movie cinephiles with a weak palate, the other is the rational, empirical approach of examining a thing with blunt instruments. Those who critique and slam the film simply do not understand the subject matter.

The gangster-like rhythm allows the mystification of action to subliminally lubricate the immense scope of the information presented. Not grasping the essence of the checkmate offered is understandable, but a critique of "visual" shortcomings ridicules the inquisitor of the moment, do we forgive him because "he doesn't know what he sees"?

The trajectories of capturing crystalline moments of God's inscrutable designs are burdensome for the observation where the viewer is a young soul "making do", on the other hand, it will arouse an interest in souls a little less infected by the ego and tormented by realizing they are no longer "all of a piece". For the few who already know what game is being played, the psychic stalemate of the past will be remembered with tenderness, reinforced by a compassion for others who do not live in truth.

And so, the adversary who kicks our butt from morning till night is inside us, and we think we are him, and we even love him! We think, desire, act on behalf of others believing we are us. Unacceptable, don't you think? It stands to reason, the biological vehicle is the temptation of identification par excellence, the gym of the eternal return is that.

Already sensing the smell of burnt from the astral parasites that maneuver us would be a remarkable achievement, then knowing how to eliminate them are big things where this power of "redeeming" is had by ancient souls with a millennial crust of holiness because if you are not trained in that sacred pump, when you encounter them you change sidewalks. So scenarios change but the war is always the one between good and evil, if we wish to frame it that way, the war is ONLY psychic.

And so it turns out that candidates for liberation are stimulated to solve the "problem" by Angels who deliberately misunderstand celestiality, resulting far more in pieces of crap than the "bad" ones. It goes without saying that when one manages to see a bit of the invisible that surrounds one, one resizes the simplistic plots of hell by framing the achievement of mortal sins as an animic encephalitis in front of the Light of the solitude of Paradise. And it always comes down to Faith, the Faith that illuminates the darkness, the Faith in the existence of God's love.

And the protagonist is revealed nothing, only observations, topics of reflection, proposals without tacit agreement, selective gnosis, logic of the beyond. Forewarned is forearmed, no delegation, one will then have to face it alone, just like when you are born, when you die, alone... Justifications are superficial, the hold is denied in ecstatic precipitation, the Leap is brutal. But everything is material, and thus the deep flaying that comes from being humiliated is the Holy hand that allows us to evolve. Shouldn't we jostle this miserable carcass a bit, don't you agree?

And accustomed to action flicks costing millions and millions where when they shoot you move the camera more than the characters that you can't understand a damn thing, here the footage remains immobile filming the act. Hence comes some rash negative comment on the intrinsic dullness of the rhythm. But who tells them here no "action" is filmed? That the product doesn't bother with the viewer?

The film is hilarious in its "heaviness" in indirectly stimulating to be a little present instead of just warming the little chair and evolves into a disturbing disappearance in its enormity proposing the dimension of the prize in the impossible number reached by doubling the grains of rice on each square of the chessboard, starting with one grain. Try calculating it...

Simple-minded like many the enthusiastic King who fell for this request from the inventor of the game of chess: "Ask me for any treasure as a reward for this fantastic invention! I would like as many grains of rice as starting with one on the first square and doubling from square to square, to the end of the board... But do you ask so little? Be it so!" When he began to understand what mess he had gotten into, the King resolved everything by having the "rascal" inventor beheaded, royal decapitative pragmatism.

Cloaked in a Las Vegas-style bravado of dervish spins of glittery roulettes, chips, and white powder, the film exposes us to a kaleidoscope of high society possessions where ego rules supreme. Apart from the protagonist, we note the awareness of Sorter, the bald killer with raincoat and glasses who seems a clumsy and nerdy accountant but turns out to be a sharp killing machine, an exterminating angel in the wrong place realizing "something is wrong". He who never makes mistakes begins to see the infinite mercy of God informing him that the delusion of omnipotence never brings anything good. And so redemption is offered to him, and he grasps it ("Okay, that's enough now") in an ecstasy of resignation and joy of reunion with his inner God, consciously sacrificing his own life.

The constant presence of the puppeteer pulling the strings hangs in the air, it's up to us to try to cut them, an enormous task because "this world is his". There is a queue to get into the circle of Sam Gold's favors, "Mr. clandestine, Mr. ambiguous, Mr. mystery, Mr. black magic, Mr. I control the game, no one sees Gold but Gold sees everything, no one stays alive if they upset Gold, no one escapes Gold". The most seasoned "criminals" with their tails between their legs beg for more and more frequent collaboration in the cauldron cooking souls. The old Luciferian secretary makes the suitors crane their necks to gauge the level of possession reached, to test who is willing to do anything: "all this will be yours", if you sign here...

The magnificence of estrangement reached by Jake Green in front of boss Macha (a superlative Ray Liotta) who from the previous self-celebratory frenzy ("You have to fear me, you have to fear me!") passes to the confusion of questioning his reality in this dimension, informs us of what the alchemical cloud is: it is the intangibility reached in front of "evil" that against the Light can do nothing anymore. The untouchability is mediated by that stardust that is of the few: dust we are, dust we will return, of stars indeed...

The unrequested proof that the thread of the skein has never been lost lies in the absence of end credits communicating the reset of "starting everything differently", something that to me, a cinema lover especially in waiting for end credits and watching them to the last frame, aroused an impersonal joy in admiring the black screen of a gnostic insolubility of a "to be continued" projected to infinity.

In essence, there is no awareness of how much the "low astral" affects everyday life; behind psychic pathologies, there is an invisible world that heavily conditions our real life. The animic stalemate remains in continuing to play this game: "leave everything and follow me", surrender is the only solution to calm the "hot spirits".

The silly grin of Buddha, the inner dialogue, déjà vu, the tyrannical ego, the awakening, bliss and damnation, the ablution of those two assholes Avi and Zach in cold water, escapes with disappearances, quantum physics, astro checkmates, formulas of eternity scribbled here and there, Paternoster lifts, the silence of the "moves", playing golf without holes, betting everything on "0": "Jake, you can't do this to me, let's stay together, we're friends!".

Who goes with the lame learns to limp, the hunchback straightens up only in the grave, to become more Holy you have to "play" with entities more Holy than you. Do you feel ready for radical action? Do the "right" thing, I implore you.
"CLOSE TO THE RUINS, THE TRIUMPHS"...