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.