So.

It goes without saying, there's been a little hiatus going on. I apologise for not saying anything sooner. I also apologise for telling you that said hiatus is not over quite yet. 

When I want to write these things, there's nothing more fun in the world to do. When I don't and I'm just getting something out there to fulfill my unwritten 'at least one thing a week' rule, they feel forced and uninteresting, both to read and write. 

I'm on the verge of big changes in my life, which I won't bore/annoy you about, but suffice to say, the combination of being super busy and being simply burned out doing these meant a indefinite break. 

I love writing, creatively, analytically, it's kind of cathartic for me. This is want I want to do for a living in some form or another. And I suppose I'm taking advantage of the fact that I won't get this freedom to scarper much in my adult working life. 

For anyone who bothered to keep up with this consistently, once again, I'm sorry. I promise this will return at some point. When? I do not know. Where? I cannot tell you. How? Eh, I haven't decided yet. But for now, if you still want to hear the sweet sound of my syntax, and, *ahem*, who could blame you, you could follow me on twitter @Tom_Snrub. That'd be cool. Alright, see ya around.

I'm trying out using more paragraphs, I can't decide. They make it look a bit like TMZ.

The Five Women You Meet in Comedy

It's an improving time for women in films. Good? Ehh, that might be a stretch. But improving. Look at comedy films, for example, and you'll see women, who were once treated as pretty little numskulls obsessed with sex, to be pretty damn respectable. Gone are the days when Barbara Windsor's bikini would spring loose, sailing through the air like it's received a distress call from it's home planet, and plop into the hands of a boggle-eyed Kenneth Williams, while the audience literally soil themselves laughing at some other stuff no competent human being thinks is sodding funny. Nope, nowadays, you could almost see women in comedy films as something of a role model. They're tough, independent, loving, thoughtful, carefree, cunning, seductive and secure. But there's one thing women aren't being enough of, and it persistently bothers me that they are rarely written in such a way; they aren't funny.

There are exceptions, obviously. There are terrific films where women are both the stars and the primary source of comedy. And actual comedy, not 'funny because lady thing I'm not familiar with lol' funny. Bridesmaids, for example. Mean Girls. Hell, even the Sex and the City Films. But considering how many comedy films there are, it is far too low a percentage to be down to coincidence or talent. Why? Why is it that the stereotype that 51% of the world’s population can’t tell a good one-liner now and then, has transferred itself onto Hollywood?

It's disappointing, continuously seeing the female lead relegated to being the brick wall the male lead hurls joke after joke at. Which brings me to the reason I’m here typing passive-aggressively today. It’s my solemn duty to present the five types of women that appear in comedy films, each one as consistently unfunny as the next.
1.The Love Interest. Usually seen in teen comedies and your typical rom-coms, these flawless beauties exist only to be drooled at by the (usually nerdy) main male character, and occasionally to tell said main character what a slob/jerk/friend he is.
Language Used: Interrogatives, to ask the hero to parties he’s too nervous to attend, tag questions, to emphasise her air head-edness, and negative politeness.

2. The Voice of Reason. Often an old friend of our hero, she is always at hand to disapprove of any fun being had, with a chance of pretending to be Mr. Hero’s girlfriend to make Love Interest jealous.
Language Used: More declaratives, mostly because she's mean and naggy, plus a meaty dose of complex sentences to confuse and bore dumb, relate-able man, and by proxy, the audience.

3. The Manipulative Cheater. This seems to be the only way Hollywood knows how to make a woman the bad guy. She will use her charms to ruin Joe McEveryman’s life, and usually wind up getting publicly humiliated, making us all feel good about ourselves.
Language Used: Imperatives, to display her promiscuous power, as well as a bit more taboo language than typically expected for a female comedy role, because women that swear a lot shouldn’t be trusted.

4. The Old Lady That Talks About Sex A Lot, Because Ew, Old People. 
Sigh.
Language Used: So. Much. Taboo language.

5. The Bad Ass. 
The lesser of five evils, she at least is able to provide entertainment, simply by not taking the sh*t the other four do. But even she isn't immune from the tidal wave of melancholy, eroding at Hollywood like a plague of fantasist misogyny disguised as empowerment, dressing in barely-there attire, using any body part in her arsenal to dispose of her enemies. And a hair swish or two never goes amiss.
Language Used: Often doesn’t say much to add to the cool persona, but if she does speak, it’s usually in  compound sentences. Furthermore, declaratives are used, as Hollywood always presents this stereotype as someone needing to either prove themselves or have revenge, so don’t be surprised to find her shouting monologues to nobody in particular.

Maybe one day, women will be the stars of comedy films for actual comedy purposes, and it won’t be such an innovative thing. But for now, I guess we should be grateful we’re past the days where women were the punchline. Now they’re just...a line.

Mitchell Monday: Love and Hate

Dave explores and explains the brilliant marketing strategy behind a product that more than half the country detests. I'm not sure if non Brits have Marmite, so look at it like this. New Dexter. There you go.

Bad Lip Reading

One of the greatest Youtube channels at the moment is the sensational BadLipReading. As it sounds, a music video, film clip or political hype video (yep) has the original sound taken away and replaced by what it looks like they're saying. There are two wonderful things that work together to make sure this will stay a wonderful channel, in a sort of opposite vicious circle. A cuddly circle, if you will. Number one; these never get boring. Ever. You will find the next video just as funny as the last. Number two; there is pretty much endless material available for spoofing. Think of all the millions of hours available of people talking. This channel will go on forever, which makes this a glorious time to be alive.

Mitchell Monday: Problems and Challenges

David Mitchell helps you through life by assuring you that some things really are just crap. There's no way of spinning it positively. So stop trying. What, you think that makes you better than me? You wanna fight about it?! *draws line on floor with shoe, flees from newly formed shoe-line*

Page vs. Screen: The Shining

Many people like to think of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining as one the greatest creations of horror of all time. Honoured by casual movie watchers and critics alike, you'd be hard pressed to find a film that builds tension better, with excruciating dialogue and camera shots that hang...and hang...and hang. You start wondering after a while if the cameraman couldn't handle the tension and bailed. Yes, just about everyone holds The Shining in an understandably high regard. And by just about everyone, I mean anyone not named Stephen King. Said King believes the film fails to capture the intention and message he laid out in his 1977 novel named, aptly enough, The Shining. Arguments have been as bloody and distressing as a Colorado elevator, with both sides having merciless defenders. But which one's better? There's only one way to find out!

...analysing them both and making an informed, objective decision. That's the one way.

Terrifying vision, or a victim of SEGA's Blast Processing? You decide.

To help see what the difference is between the novel and the film, one has to really find what Stephen King finds wrong with the film, and why he considers it so much worse than his message. The 1977 book was, at its roots, a haunted house ghost story. Evil hotel wants a psychic kid for his power, possesses loving but vulnerable father in order to get kid, psychic kid uses psychic powers to defeat evil hotel. Obviously, the characters and motivations are far more complex than that, this isn't Eli Roth we're dealing with, but that was what it all boiled down to. By far the most interesting part of the book is the character of Jack Torrance, who is pretty hard to categorise in terms of what kind of character he is. He doesn't feel like a bad guy, at least not at the beginning. He's a flawed protagonist, a lovable rogue just trying to Go Straight and Get His Kids Back. The book doesn't pretend he doesn't have a dark side, far from it; it appears to lay all of its cards on the table, explaining Jack's alcoholism and violent past and, in turn, explaining why he's changed. What makes Jack's transformation truly disturbing, however, is how you stick with his perspective and his way of thinking throughout and, in what truly makes it feel creepy, it always makes some level of sense. Just as the hotel influences, seduces and eventually possesses Jack, it seems to possess both the author and the reader along with it. If you're not too careful, you might end up agreeing with everything Jack says, as he charges through the hotel corridors, swinging a splintered Roque mallet decorated with brain and gunk. Jack Torrance did bad things, but he isn't the bad guy in this story. The hotel is, and the book never forgets that.

The film disagrees.

For the movie adaptation, Kubrick and fellow screenwrtier Diane Johnson removed almost all of the supernatural elements found in the book. Really, the only ghosts you see at all in the film is in a bizarre montage near the climax, accompanied by Shelley Duvall looking like a fish that's been swatted out of the tank by the cat. In its place, much of the true evil in the story comes from Jack himself, which is where the criticism from Mr. King and his trusted followers is usually held up. Unlike in the novel, Jack always feels like an axe-wielding maniac, who just needs to be given an axe. Where in the book you might be screaming "COME ON JACK FIGHT IT HELP YOUR FAMILY ESCAPE" in the film, you're screaming "KILL HIM OLIVE OYL, STAB THAT CRAZY BASTARD RIGHT IN HIS BIG WEIRD FACE". It seems fair to say that at least some of this can be blamed on the performance of the great Jack Nicholson, who couldn't play a gazelle in a Dreamworks film about the animals of Africa entering a break dancing competition, perhaps called 'DJ, Rwanda Track' without making it seem sinister. Seriously, look at this face.

There isn't a single moment in this film where Jack Torrance feels like a good father. He starts off a borderline maniac, pushed over the edge by the isolation of the hotel. The hotel does sod all to him, really. It probably had a bunch of ways to convert Jack to evil planned, but nope, Nicholson just handles that shiz on his own.

And you know what? Despite it all, I actually prefer the film. Why? The story is stripped down to the bar minimum while still being scary. Kubrick wants a sense of isolation and tension, and the general lack of ghosts and outsiders helps maintain that. The film has much of what makes The Shining so famous. The twins in the hallway, the typewriter, the proclamation that Johnny is here, etc. As much as it detracts from Stephen King's envisioning of Jack Torrance, Nicholson still puts on an incredible performance, and while he can't do family lovin', there's no one better for pure crazy. The novel version of The Shining tells a great, creepy story with a lot to work with. The film version of The Shining tells a great, creepy story with barely anything to work with. For that, it gets the win.

BOOK OR FILM: FILM

Mitchell Monday: Compliments

I have a problem apologizing to people. It's one of my biggest flaws. Since as far back as I can remember, all my apologies have come off as forced, sarcastic and overly rehearsed, although, in fairness, they usually are at least one of those things. It's the main reason why I try and be a nice person. Not for the benefit of other people, but so I don't have to apologize later. Here's David Mitchell with the opposite problem; giving compliments.

Brooker T: 2012

Remember 2012? Shut up, no you don't. Well today is your lucky day! Here to fill you in like a passive aggressive history book is Charlie Brooker, showing you how miserable 2012 was. I realise 59 minutes is a long time to sit through a video some tosser threw at you, but I assure you, you will hate the world a little more, and thus feel better about yourself, if you do.

Mitchell Monday: Emotional Intelligence Quiz

Today, something slightly different from your typical video that's all about telling you how to think. Today, Mr. Mitchell lets you decide for yourself what kind of person you are, with a little quiz based on everyday, somewhat awkward scenarios. There are official answers, but I find it's more fun to draw your own conclusion from the results. That way, no one can accidentally look over your shoulder and see your computer screen tell you you're a complete tosser.

Brooks and Liars: American & British Newscasters

In the second of what I guarantee will not be a regularly scheduled series, we're examining how Mr. Charlie Brooker sees the world of media. Today, we're looking at American and British news shows. I picked this because A, I love a good Britain vs. America battle, and B, Bill O' Reilly is as likable as he will ever be in this video. 

As pointed out in the comments section, the greatest part of the video is the singer that claims the good ol' US of A would "be speaking German and living under the flag of Japan". That's all well and good, but what about when the Commie Nazi's invade. Break-neck speed won't be enough to save you this time!

Paul: Autopsy-turvy

When looking for famous and successful partnerships in film, there are a lot that come to mind. De Niro and Scorsese. Russel and Carpenter. Friedberg and Seltzer. And one of the more recent additions to that famed list is the comedy duo of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. And they certainly have valid reason to be so renowned. The combination of Spaced and the Cornetto Trilogy have made it a shoe-in that they will enter the comedy hall of fame that I just dreamed up. NO GO AWAY MIRANDA, NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE.

There's something important that needs to be acknowledged, however. All of those ships were captained by the great Edgar Wright, who has proven his success rate goes beyond his Brit-happy bread and butter with the superb Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. In turn, Pegg and Frost made a film without their famed director. That film is Paul, the 2011 film with a director that goes by the name of Greg Mottola. Nope, me neither. But he has a decent record of directing comedy, with Superbad and some episodes of Arrested Development under his belt. So does this intrepid sci-fi adventure match the dizzying heights set by its genre busting spiritual predecessors?

Hahaha, not even close.

"Only human...and some iffy CGI."

The overall story for Paul reeks of self-indulgence, a script written by two nerds bringing their boyhood fantasy to life because they're rich and important enough to do so. Which I wouldn't mind so much, if it hadn't cost 40 million dollars to make, an astounding ten times more than it cost to make Shaun of the Dead. And I'm not stretching to hyperbole with that teenage nerd analogy, this film has it all. Gratuitous sexy cosplay, too many jokes to mention where a curse word is the punchline, poop humour, genital cracks, some EDGY~~ shots at Christianity's expense, Sigourney Weaver complete with Alien references, the works. It's cringe-worthy, not necessarily because of how bad it is, there are certainly worse stories out there, but because of how blatantly they sacrifice good humour and character development, in favour of fulfilling their own geeky desires. It's almost as if this was never meant for worldwide release, and was just something for Pegg and Frost to bust out at parties to impress friends that aren't really friends. "Oh, that's cool news about your new Audi your mum bought you Chad Hogan, but I met Jason Bateman, and here's the movie to prove it! Bada boom, coolest guys in the room! Now, who wants to see my Scotty outfit?"

Even the performances are reminiscent of some lame sitcom plot about adults humiliating themselves to keep the hopes and dreams of the wide eyed, smart-ass kid alive. I was half expecting Superman and the Holiday Armadillo to show up at various points. Pegg and Frost act like a couple of college kids with a video camera, pissing about in their dad's motorhome, screaming and making silly faces for the camera. There is the odd moment when Bateman appears to stray from his - albeit very well played and successful - one note style and look like an actual villain, but he swiftly returns to looking and acting like regular Jason Bateman, only a bit constipated and his eyes hurt. I feel genuinely sad for Kristen Wiig, who probably gets both the worst character and the worst dialogue in the film, especially sad when knowing what a talented screenwriter she is, she likely could have whipped the script into something decent in half an hour or so. Seth Rogen is Seth Rogen, in a time when he was at his most over-saturated in the movie business, his voice is likable enough, I guess, but doesn't add too much character to Paul, since all you can think when he talks is 'I wonder how much Seth Rogen got paid for doing this'. Really, the only performance I seriously enjoy is Sigourney Weaver, who's on screen for a total of one 10 minute scene before being squished by a UFO. I'll admit, it is pretty cool seeing her in a sci-fi flick again, referencing Alien in a subtle-ish way while still being a badass in her own right. That's the kind of nerd fan service this film should have had throughout, instead of toilet humour and "Star Wars, amiright" moments that people that have never even watched Star Wars could come up with. The only clever moment in the entire film is when Paul reveals he's been the brains behind every sci-fi film ever, but it's over so quick you barely have time to appreciate it. If only he'd beseech-ed some of his expertise onto this sci-fi deflation.

How do you get a movie full of people I love (seriously, I love every actor here in pretty much everything else they've ever done) and have me not enjoy it? Easy. Be lazy. Paul might never have lived up to the expectations of the Edgar Wright movies, but it could at least have been a fitting tribute to sci-fi enthusiasts everywhere, and not just enforcing a suit and cool guy's interpretation of what a nerd is.

What happened to you, Simon? You used to not be cool.

Mitchell Monday: Rape and Pillage

David touches on a very real issue - how rape is being downplayed in today's society as a minor offence committed by the lovably mischievous - in a funny, smart and in no way intense way. He should be everyone's hero.

CM Punk's Grammar Slam

Hey, look at me, not putting up a proper entry in the week! What else is new? Luckily, I have the entire weekend off for the first time in over a month, so there's literally no excuse as to why I couldn't have a review up by the end of the week. And speaking of "literally"...

Allow me to introduce you to CM Punk. He's a professional wrestler for the WWE, but that isn't really important in this context. He's something of a grammar snob, and he's also pretty quick to anger, which has lead to the folks at Nerdist creating this short, wonderful series, highlighting typical grammatical errors seen on the web. I'll leave you to them, since there isn't much to analyse. Unless me laugh and clapping like an idiot counts as sufficient analysis.

Mitchell Monday: Tastes

Specifically, our takes on the tastes of others, and why are more willing to accept some opinions more readily than others. Or, at least we think we are. Really, you're not being subjective and accepting at all. You're just being smug and superior. 

Alien vs. Aliens: Weaver big problem on our hands!

Yeah, I brought my A game with that title.

The 1979 smash hit Alien is regarded as both one of the greatest sci-fi films and one of the greatest horror films of all time. Creating one of the most iconic movie characters ever, the combination of Dan O'Bannon's idea, H.R Giger's design and Ridley Scott's execution, Alien set the bar for sci-fi horror skyrocketing, at a height that has been sparsely troubled since. In fact, many believe there's only one film that has managed to surpass it in the 34 years since its release. It's sequel, James Cameron's 1986 creation, aptly titled Aliens. The debate over which is the superior film is fierce, with wars going on in various comic-cons to this day. Which film deserves the crown, Scott's slow paced masterclass in tension, or Cameron's pulse rifle pounding, action packed extravaganza? It's a tricky one. Let's open this freaky looking egg up and take a look.

WHY ALIEN IS AWESOME

There isn't much I'll give a movie more credit for than effectively building tension. It's why I think the first half of The Shining is better than the second half, and why anyone who doesn't like The Blair Witch Project is dumb and needs to stop having hamster mothers. Alien is up there with The Exorcist and Psycho as one of the films that most successfully implements this into its atmosphere. We all know about chest bursting, but come on, was that just not the most perfect scene in cinematic history? The story as a whole holds up brilliantly as well, and doesn't appear dated in the slightest, bar the occasional chunky computer.
The story works because it doesn't get bogged down in the sci-fi, allowing the pros of film-making to mesh seamlessly with beloved nerdy tropes, allowing for something that everyone can enjoy and, more importantly, not feel ashamed about enjoying it. Compare that to two films that get it too far in either direction. 2001: A Space Odyssey, that is hailed by people who know who Joss Whedon is as one of the greatest films of all time, but has struggled to gain recognition from casual movie fanatics due to its ambiguous messages. And on the other side, you have a film like Prometheus, whose nostalgic jargon was a hit with the folks with nostalgia glasses, but found the sci-fi nuts less wavering, seeing through to the awful characterisation and unnecessary shoehorning of dumb space monsters. Alien is a patient mans film which rewards you handsomely for taking the time to get to know the characters, the environment and the enemy, with shocks and suspense as your ultimate payment.

WHY ALIENS IS ALSO AWESOME

If Alien is a thinking mans film, Aliens is a doing mans film. Cameron builds superbly on the original, realising that the initial fear and angst of that one alien killing those idiots on a spaceship is gone, and the only logical step forward from that is to have a bunch of aliens kill a bunch of idiots that appear to be much tougher! The biggest difference in these humans is, of course, that you want to see them die. Hoo boy, do you want them to die. The first scene where they are introduced is like a cheese board of stereotypically unlikable characters. There's no pitiful redshirt scrub here, at least not initially. Everyone here is going down, and it's a glorious thing to realise. It's one of the biggest differences between Aliens and its predecessor is development of characters. Aliens has a much larger cast than Alien, and unfortunately that means sacrificing a lot of what made the original so spectacular, the fact that every character was an individual and you honestly thought any of them could have survived and it wouldn't have seemed out of place. Aliens has plenty more stock characters, but in its defense, Ellen Ripley is still written astutely, as is new character Carter Burke, the slimy researcher who you can never quite tell whose side he's on.
The extra seven years in technological advancements is an advantage not gone un-taken by Aliens over its predecessor, with effects that still look impressive to this day. The scene featuring the first appearance of the Queen is still one of the most disturbing cinema moments I have ever witnessed, and the shots of several aliens charging towards their target are shots you can't help but feel would be impossible in the original, with the alien moving robotically, and, let's be honest, barely at all. Weirdly, however, it's this film that appears to show its age to a greater extent than the 1979 original, notably the space shuttle costing $42 million dollars. Really? Football players cost more than that. There's also the occasional stupid moment. The scene with Ripley in a mechsuit fighting the Queen is great, yeah yeah yeah , but do you remember how it starts? The Queen takes the lift up to the landing dock. THE QUEEN. TAKES. THE LIFT. HOW IS THIS NOT HILARIOUS.

So which do I prefer? Alien. It's the more sensible film and succeeds more on its own merits rather than using some Hollywood blueprint. I love and respect Aliens, but at times it feels too much like an over-the-top B-movie, which would be fine, except it takes itself far too seriously to be accepted as that. It wants to be compared to the original, and that's a battle it just isn't gonna win. Aliens is a great sci-fi horror movie. Alien is goddamn Alien.

Mitchell Monday: American Language

This is David's most popular video, where he brings up the age old argument of the changes in language between Blighty and Yank central. I'd advise staying away from the comments section, that way lies madness.

Brook Worm: Gameswipe

And I'm back. I arrived home about two hours ago, and to be quite honest, I'm too exhausted to post a full blog today. But because Monday was a long time ago, I'll wet your whistle with a with another video from the almighty Charlie Brooker. This time, he focuses on gaming, and the trials and tribulations it faces in the world of the media. It's a bit general for my liking, and seems to target non-gamers more than anyone else, sort of fulfilling its own prophecy, but it's hilarious and interesting and we all get to laugh at 50 Cent.

Mitchell Monday: Kids' Stuff

In this thrilling and heartwarming edition of Soapbox, David subtle-y runs down every Comic-Con attendee ever. Are most of the best shows around aimed primarily at children? I'm not sure. But I can't help but chuckle at a good old fashioned "what are you doing with your life?" rant.

A Tale of Two Reviews

I love movie reviews. For a long time it was what I wanted to do for a career, and in all honesty I still would do in a heartbeat given the chance. No matter what media platform, regardless of whether it's meant to be informative, funny, angry or just pretty pointless, I have a need to know what everyone thinks about everything. It's why this silly blog is up and why you're reading this right now. This is me being the world's tiniest cog in the Truckasaurus wheel of reviews and opinions, the tippy tip of my toes dabbing the water to see if I could do this consistently. My personal evaluation? Hit and miss. But that's okay. In any case, I'm not here to give myself a job evaluation. I'd like to present two of my favourite movie reviewers at the moment. One is British, witty and informative, the other is American, with screaming, swearing and occasional misogyny. I love both equally. Here they are reviewing the Dark Knight Rises, in two very different styles. They both add up to about an hour, so if you're short for time, just watch the first 5-10 minutes of each. You'll still get it. 

The point I'm trying to get at is, knowing what people think about a film, what every person thinks about a film, is key to realising what works well and what doesn't, and for whom. One reviewer is just one point of view, and if one wants to truly claim they have a passion or whatever for film, they need to see films from all angles. That includes grumpy old Brits and annoying Yanks.

Maybe this entire post is more my own self-indulgence in wanting to work in film professionally, rather than actually informing or entertaining you in any way, but sometimes it's nice to remind myself why I'm doing this. Well, that and for you guys of course. You wonderful people, you.

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Side note, I'm going on holiday tomorrow, so updates will likely slow down once again unfortunately. I'll do my best to have something else up by the end of the week, Mitchell Monday will go up as normal, and after that? I have no idea. You'll just have to find someone else to act all opinionated whilst never really saying anything definitive. The Worlds End review will go up at some point, but I want that to be my finest work, so it's going in the fridge for a while. See you on the other side.

Mitchell Monday: Innuendo

Dave explains why innuendo in its intended form is dead. It's why you see "sexual references" on the back of DVD cases and not "innuendo".

The Cornetto Trilogy, Thoughts & The Worlds End Preview

Next week I'm going to see a film I've been looking forward to for nearly two years. The Worlds End has a lot of pressure on it to be as great as its two predecessors, and for that reason I'm avoiding all reviews and opinions until I see it, presumably leading to a more exaggerated reaction, good or bad. The trailer looks promising, if not all that different in style from the first two. But who's going to see it wanting it to be different? Well, me, a little bit.

I saw Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz pretty much back to back, way back in 2007 when the two were released on DVD together, and they were two of the funniest movies I had ever seen. Mixing traditional tropes of film making with Spaced style humour led to a fantasy ride of story telling, references, action, characterisation and flat out quality humour that could have only come from die-hard fans of said genre. Shaun of the Dead, of course, was your typical zombie flick. This trailer is unable to properly show its brilliance, which gives me hope for The Worlds End.

And Hot Fuzz? In the words of Simon Pegg himself, "we wanted to make British police cool for once." And cool they were. Car chases in Vauxhall Astras, fist fights with Timothy Dalton, references to Castle Greyskull, there's nothing here that the hippest young couple couldn't love. While I rank it slightly behind Shaun, I think that's mostly because I'm more familiar with the zombie genre than the buddy cop one. Which is my fault. Stupid me. The trailer here is probably the best of the three, likely due to the fact that Fuzz completely embraces the over the top Hollywood style of films and their trailers, while Shaun and, I assume, The World's End are trying more to be their own individual thing, but still get the Hollywood treatment in the trailers. It's hard to explain, so see for yourself.

Doesn't that work so much better than the first two? The "IN A WORLD" narrator sounds so much more at home.

Rest assured, I will be posting my review type thing on The Worlds End as soon as I can, after I see it, hopefully announcing that the perfect trilogy has been completed, never to be Lucas'd into oblivion. If it's more along the lines of Paul, I'll just have to appreciate the first two for what they are, and theorise that they just got a bit too carried away with their final installment. All I know for sure is, there are few films I've cared more about and wished harder to be good than The Worlds End. See you on the other side.

Bachelor Party

                 This is a short story type thing that I wrote last year. Some parts I love, 
                  some parts not so much, but I figured it deserves a home. Enjoy.


           .............................................................................................

I watched the tiny bubbles of air form at the bottom of my beer, dance up the drink excitedly, then disappear into the froth that peacefully lay still at the top. I glanced around the bar, ignoring the signs that warned me that this wasn’t the most hygienic place for drowning your sorrows. It was dark, damp and musty, with a distinctive smell that penetrated the already potent air. Sleazy rock music stung through my ears as it spluttered out of the dusty stereo, and my pounding headache relentlessly voiced its disapproval of the song choice. I ran my fingers along the table, each time taking a small amount of effort to un-stick my hand from the table, accompanied with an understated squelching sound. I leaned back and sighed. The seats were worn, and had a pattern that shrieked of the 70s, but they were soft. And warm. But I didn’t want to know why. A small black TV was murmuring something about an escaped convict; it was hard to tell over the terrible music and my own head screaming in pain. This hell hole would seem a lot better if Amy was here.

“Cheer up, sad sack,” Pete quipped from the other side of the table. I glanced wearily at him. Pete was, in many ways, the worst friend any human being could ever possibly have. He was impatient, insensitive, violent, moronic and gave terrible advice. His questionable fashion sense and receding hairline meant that he had little use as a wingman. He had his benefits, though. Namely, he had never turned his back on me when everyone had and was always there for me when I needed a drink.

“Did you even listen to what I just told you?” I replied curtly, “what possible reason is there for me to be cheerful?”

“You know what you could do with?” he said.

“What I think I could do with and what you think I could do with are two drastically different things. But…” I waved a hand at him, permitting him to continue.

“You need to forget about everything that’s happened today. Seriously, just wipe the slate clean and get out of town. Start a fresh.”

I stared down at the beer; half hoping it would provide an answer, like tea leaves. It was true; things could never get back to normal after what happened today, perhaps a new beginning was what I needed. But what about Amy? I looked up at Pete, who was wearing a disgustingly smug grin on his face. In the background, the Neanderthal barman had mercifully turned down the hideous music, so my own thoughts were easier to concentrate on.

“Maybe you’re right,” I muttered finally.

“Maybe I’m always right,” he said, leaning back and resting his hands behind his head. I stared at him. And then I realised something. Something I had told myself many times, but only as a tough love motivator. I was weak. Everything that has happened recently has been as a result of my weakness. And now I had to leave, but I couldn’t. Not alone, anyway.

“Would you come with me?”

Pete spat out a laugh, meaning the crumbs and shells of peanuts that had stuck around in his mouth now found themselves on my face. As his galling laughter continued, I got the feeling that even though the casual roar of voices was filling the air within the bar, everyone was listening to him. In fact, the voices seemed to be dying down somewhat. He exhaled loudly, wiped away a tear and turned to me. He ignored the scowl that I was housing.

“Sorry, no can do.” He answered bluntly, like I’d asked him to feed my goldfish or something.

“Why not? It’s not like you have any reason to stay here”

He laughed again, this time more of a chuckle.

“Au contraire,” He grinned, and at that point he diverted his attention to somewhere behind me. I turned, just in time to catch a waitress’ tray in my side temple.

When I looked up after tending to my now revitalized headache, I noticed Pete was now accompanied by a young woman who had her arm draped around him lovingly. Her blond hair was startlingly bleached and riddled with extensions, and her face was caked with make-up of various colours. She didn’t look like a type that would have a college degree. Her apron indicated that she was a waitress. “This…” Pete started, gesturing to his left “is Shaunice.” I stifled a laugh. Shaunice pulled her eyes away from Pete and turned to me, pointing at the newly formed bruise on my temple.

“Sorry about that, sweetie,” she said, distinctly lacking sincerity in her voice “I’ve only been working here a few weeks. Pete’s always here waiting for me during my shifts. He’s so sweet!” She turned to face Pete again and their lips met. I’d never been one for downing pints of beer before, but it felt necessary at this point. I grabbed my glass and began to drink, quickly but steadily. Through the drink and the glass I could make out the warped outlines of Pete and his lady friend, still entwined with each other, oblivious to my existence. My senses were numbing with every passing second, and with every gulp, thinking became harder. The sounds that were crisp, loud and clear before began to echo and mumble, like they were trapped in a box. What now? Where could I go where I could escape from everything? Did I want to escape from everything? My parents? Amy?

No, I won’t run. Not this time. I’ve fought for us before, I can do it again. Resolved, I slammed my empty glass down triumphantly and took in my surroundings. Everything was much hazier than before. What I was able to notice was around half the bar was staring at me, concerned expressions on their faces. The other half had their eyes fixed on the entrance behind me, looking similarly worried. I turned my attention to Pete and Shaunice, but both were now standing in the corner of the bar, trying to avoid attention. I looked behind. Two men were blocking each door, while a radio crackled and spluttered from somewhere on their waist. They both wore gaudy high visibility jackets and black pointy hats. I assumed it was some kind of themed bachelor party. That is, until I noticed a woman defiantly walking up to me, a determined look on her face. She wore casual clothes, a dull red hoodie and jeans, but she still seemed to emit an aura of authority. As she neared me, my still hazy vision managed to focus in on her face details. My stomach turned. It was Amy. And it turned out that determined face was actually one of unrelenting fury.

“I told them you’d be here” Amy said bitterly. Suddenly running away seemed like a much more favourable idea. “I think your little joyride is over now.”

I slumped in my seat, defeated. “How are things?”

Amy smiled, but not in a warming way. “Could be better,” she remarked, “The police force fired me for having a relationship with one of the prisoners.”

“Wow. That was pretty stupid of you.”

“There’s been a lot of stupidity lately. Such as said prisoner suddenly escaping when word gets out of the relationship.”

I looked away, not in shame, but annoyance. The TV had been muted, but they were obviously still playing the escaped convict story. There was my face, looking beaten and dejected. Lying low afterward would’ve been a good idea, but after calling everyone I know, and each one wanting nothing to do with me, like I was some kind of out of fashion disease, I felt like drowning my sorrows. In retrospect, that probably wasn’t too smart.

“I’m sorry?” I said finally, and started to laugh, “I’m not gonna feel guilty for your lack of self control--” My sentence was cut short by her fist landing me square in the centre of the face. The two men on their bachelor party decided that was their cue to approach. I had just enough time to crack my nose back into place, before my hands were suddenly pinned behind me and cuffed. As I was led away, I looked back at the bar. I spotted Pete and Shaunice loudly declaring they had no idea who I was, the bar slowly regained focus and the noise level gradually returned to normal. And as I saw Amy, I thought I saw remorse in her face, before she turned away and headed to the bar. As I was taken outside, I looked up at the stars, wondering how different the night sky looked on the other side of the world, and knowing that I’d thrown away my chance of ever finding out.

Mitchell Monday: References

David Mitchell explains why a reference isn't a reference if you have to explain it. I'm looking at you, every American teen show ever.

Mother Night: Spy Curious

I'm not a big fan of the literary canon. Both the people that decide it and the books themselves. They're often nothing but melodramatic, over-hyped fodder turned out by rich white men who hate their comfortable and secure lives. What you will not find in the literary canon, is black humour. Or political satire. Or anything that resembles Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s 1961 war novel, Mother Night. Now, I'm not going to go on some big tirade, screaming that it should be inducted into the canon, because honestly, I couldn't care less. It does not a good book make. But when you have quotes like "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be" and "There are plenty of good reasons for fighting...but no good reason to ever hate without reservation, to 
imagine that God Almighty hates with you, too", you probably deserve a bit of attention. 

The plot of this book is easy to summarise, but impossible to fully explain. Howard W. Campbell is the protagonist, an American counter spy who works during the war as a Nazi propagandist, while simultaneously broadcasting messages to the American army. He is unable to tell anyone about this, however, so once the war ends, he finds an America that hates him, and a fascist movement that idolises him. It presents plenty of opportunities for love, betrayal, wit and regret, and with Campbell at a Sideshow Bob level of cynicism and intelligence, it makes for a main character that's both sympathetic and hate-able. With Nazi best friends, American associates and a wife who may or may not be alive, the fact that Campbell takes this all in his stride is probably the most ridiculous part of the novel. And in contrast to most stories, that usually consist mostly of set up, then maybe a single twist near the end, Mother Night is nothing but plot twists, causing the reader to second and third guess themselves and take nothing at face value.

The novel has an abundance of colloquialism, using its profound imagery only when it doesn't detract from the story, which is, as it happens, not that often. There will often be a number of pages in a row where there is nothing but speech, broken up only by an "I said" or "She asked". As lazy as this appears to be on paper (I'm so witty), it actually does a very effective job of keeping the attention of the reader where it should be; on the dialogue and on the story. Vonnegut doesn't feel the need to tell you what the villa ten blocks away from where the conversation that these two characters are having looks like, because who wants to hear about that? Show off's and procrastinators, that's who. Mother Night contains just as much beautiful imagery as a Tess of the D'Urburvilles or a Great Gatsby, but it chooses to use it to further the story, rather than furthering the authors sizable ego. But the best books rarely have the best story, or even the best syntax. It's all about how famous the man, or woman, is behind them. Middle class and white? Links to the monarchy? Died young? You're already half way there.

Mother Night is not some big-city book like his opponent here tonight (points to David Copperfield), but I can say with all honestly that this novel is better than 90% of works in the literary canon. It was popular enough to have a film adaptation, but it flopped harder than the will of a man whose will to live has found an existence outside of love*. Read it. It's not very long, and it's not structured in any fancy way, but if you're not engaged within thirty pages, I'll refund you the penny it'll cost you on Amazon.

*I'm now referencing the book in my review of the book. My love knows no bounds.

How TV Ruined Your Life

Massive apologies for still not coughing up a proper entry this week, the combination of being unusually busy and a fried brain from the summer sun means banging my head against a keyboard until somewhat well articulated words appear on my screen has taken a back seat. I will try my best to have something by the end of the week. Until then, allow me to introduce you to another inspiration of mine. His name's Charlie Brooker, one of the most cynical men working on British TV today. His short series, How TV Ruined Your Life, examines how television has been used to shape our brains into thinking however they want us to think. If you have a half hour to kill, I thoroughly recommend it. 

Mitchell Monday: Bread & Butter

There's currently a heatwave going on in Britain, which means it's been hot for more than two days in a row. In honour of everyone trying to get slim so they can hit the beach, here's David talking about dieting foods.

Zombieland: Right Said Undead

Zom-Com is a bizarre sub-genre that shouldn't really exist. 99% of these films range from forgettable to terrible, with the 1% of quality film-making fueling the next four or five years of mediocrity and embarrassment. But, when that great film does come along, it deserves to be recognized, appreciated and scorned for inspiring terrible writers, directors and actors to attempt the same. Don't always try to grow up to be your hero, kids. That film is Zombieland, only the second good zombie comedy, and, by a 50% chance, the best.

Still less pestering than traffic wardens, amiright.

The most important thing when creating a comedy horror film is to do the exact opposite of what most traditional horror films do; create meaningful, thoughtful characters that make decisions you care about. This is especially important in a horror where the antagonist is the shuffling undead, who are traditionally sans personality. Unlike vampires, werewolves, psychotic dolls, clowns and the wrath of god, zombies can't have a horrific back story, or a dastardly plan, or a sensitive side. That's usually why it's in zombie films where suddenly the army are a bunch of perverted scumbags. While Zombieland doesn't exactly create heart wrenching origins for its main cast, everyone has a story to tell and it makes them easier to empathise with/laugh at. 

And my word, do the cast fill those roles well. Columbus, played by Jessie Eisenberg, suffers from the 'main character being least interesting in a world full of insane companions' trope, and should be a character worth little more than an eyeroll, but Eisenberg puts a positive, funny spin on it by using his natural awkwardness around these ridiculous fellow survivors. Woody Harrelson cements his place as one of the screens great badass' as Tallahassee, giving the character a genuine lovable-ness rarely found in other horrors and comedies alike. There was also the risk of Emma Stone as Wichita and Abigail Breslin as Little Rock falling into conventions of genre, and that does happen to an extent. Stone is your typical feisty love interest, though many of her lines are genuinely funny, making it easy to forgive any shortcuts taken in the writing. Breslin is what's known as a sassy-kid-because-broken-home character, which takes away slightly from her fantastic first appearance in the film, which I won't spoil. But what makes the performances great is not that they stray from typical character stereotypes. It's that they don't, and then some.

Just like the performances, the plot is not without its flaws. There are several occasions where characters do monumentally stupid things, and not in an ironic, forth wall breaking kind of way. There are some side plots that I really wish had been explored in greater detail, such as Tallahassee's life before the infection. And, although I am completely at fault as I should know what I'm getting into, at times it doesn't seem very genuine. Maybe I was spoiled by Shaun of the Dead, but that movie proved that it isn't that hard to have a linear, progressing story set in a zombie apocalypse. Occasionally, Zombieland feels like a sketch show, perhaps telling of the fact that it was initially a TV series.

Zombieland is a B-movie, there's no doubt about that. But it uses that in its favour to create a hilarious, engaging, exciting story about four lovable weirdos as they shoot things with guns a lot. On top of that, it has incredible celebrity cameos, a bit of romance, and adorable dogs And if you really need more than that, well then. You're just a worse version of Hitler, aren't you?

Mitchell Monday: Gangster Movies

The more I think about this one, the more I realise he doesn't really make any sort of point in this video. And I happen to think Westerns are fun as hell. Ah well. I still enjoyed it.

 

A Smorgasbord of British Satire: Wit for a King

Of all the different types of humour that hovers around in the big scary world that is the media today, there is perhaps none more respected and valued than satire. Mark Twain once said, “The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven”, summing up nicely why satire and similar forms of humour exist and are so popular. Unlike any other humour, satire does not just improve with pragmatics, it requires it. People feel smart when they get it, and curious when they don’t, and can encourage people to keep up with the news and events. And, while I fully admit to a certain bias in their favour, Britain in particular have a certain spark for subtle-y humiliating adversaries and allies alike. Some are amazing, some are abysmal, some I'll touch on here. Well, the ones I know enough about to have an opinionated snort at.

One of the first examples of a television broadcast to feature parodies of news and politics was a 1962 late-night BBC broadcast that went by the name of That Was The Week That Was. Hosted by now legendary satirist David Frost, the show pushed boundaries and caused people to question the famous unbiased attitude of the BBC’s political agenda. However, the show never showed favouritism towards a political party as a whole, and instead focused on the incompetent acts of individual members and in general, lampooned the establishment in a successful attempt to appeal to the lower classes of the audience classification. As Frost put it, they wanted to "Change the world, one joke at a time".

This paved the way for other British satires to establish themselves and be taken seriously by the British public. Have I Got News For You is as simple as satire programs get. Host, four panelists, taking the piss out of the week's events. This simplicity, however, has managed to give the show an astounding lifespan of over 44 seasons and counting. The mix of politicians, journalists, comedians and other controversial celebrities as guests are a factor in maintaining the constant current-ness and controversy and roping in various audiences that want, among other things, the political wit and the light hearted whimsies, as well as a different guest host every episode to keep things fresh. Sorry, Angus, but you were terrible.
Oddly enough, I find this three minute clip to be the best representation of the show.

Of course, the great can't exist without the terrible to establish the great as being great, and to me, the biggest insult to satire that Blighty ever spat out was Russell Howard's Good News. This monstrosity focuses less on the main headlines of the week, and instead targets news stories that are more obscure, but have more opportunities for comedy. In addition, the show does not rely on pragmatics as much as it’s more sophisticated counterparts. Instead, it chooses to fully explain the story before the host, aptly named Russell Howard, begins his joke. It also features considerably more profanity and juvenile antics, and occasionally includes videos found online. Good News, like it’s British satire counterparts mentioned earlier, are featured on the BBC, specifically BBC Three, a channel of which I have made my feelings very clear. To empathise this, the show is edited in a manner that gives it a low budget feel, with a small, somewhat grimy studio, basic camera cuts, and Howard himself dressing in casual attire. He's essentially the British Dane Cook. Avoid at all costs.

When searching for the greatest British satirical program, however, there can only be one winner. That winner is Brass Eye. I won't say much about it, I'll let the clip speak for itself. We can't be friends if you don't find this funny. Which is fine, because it's the type of clip that can really divide people, and if you don't like it, you won't want to be friends with anyone who is. It'll make sense when you watch it.

 This entire entry was just an excuse to play that clip. I hope it was worth it for both of us.