A Film Without A Craftsman

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It is April 2017 and an X-Men spin-off that focuses on a cast of new characters coming to terms with their new powers in a creepy asylum enters pre-production. It is called The New Mutants. I am miles away in England and am unaware that this is taking place. I am probably masturbating. It is September 2020 and I am walking towards the cinema having finally booked my ticket to see The New Mutants. The reviews I'd read the day earlier prepared me for the worst. I continued masturbating. It is September 2017 and principal photography has concluded on the film. Director Josh Boone claimed to feel “a bit neutered” during the process having been prevented from making the horror movie that he'd intended. As I sit down to watch his film tonight I notice a man sat a few seats along from me. He smells like a toilet. As the New Mutants title card appears on the screen, this man's smell will not be the last thing that reminds me of shit tonight. “I wish this man had been “neutered” like the film was” I think to myself, “he seems to be looking at me like I'm a discount sex doll and, despite my lack of luck with the ladies, am still yet to turn - as I call it... prison gay”. It is January 2018 and the film's release is delayed until February 2019 in order to allow time for reshoots that are intended to make the film feel more frightening. As the film begins to play in front of me I do feel fear, although not because of what I can see on screen but because the man that smells of shit has decided to slowly move seats to get closer to me. I regret leaving the house tonight.

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I've Had The Time Of My Life

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When I walked out of Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk back in 2017 and declared that “I would die to see his next movie”, I didn't expect the director to actually hold me to it. It's now 2020 and after several global pandemic related delays, the new Nolan film Tenet has been released at a time in which sitting in a room with a stranger is liable to lead to your immediate death. Although if you've sat anywhere near me in a cinema over the last few years and dared to so much as fucking breathe too loudly then you've very much been at risk of death already. On average I tend to go to the cinema literally about three times a week and yet it has now been five entire fucking months since I was able to visit. Sitting down to watch Tenet was like returning to a church but better because although God might not really exist, big explosions, thumping soundtracks, and mind-bending visuals thankfully do. Plus I'm relatively young, pretty healthy, and have at least one older member of my immediate family that I really can not stand. As I ran up the stairs to the screening room whilst licking the bannisters and door handles, I decided that, although I might not be prepared to die to see Christopher Nolan's latest film, I was more than happy to at least risk the passing on of a deadly virus to my bitch of a step-mum. 

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Bring On The End Times

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I don't know about you but once we get over the shock of having to eat each others face-meat to survive, I think the apocalypse will be pretty good fun. Just imagine the disappointment of all those fundamentalist Christians who thought they'd ascend to Heaven only to find themselves still stuck down here and forced to shit into a hole like the rest of us. What an absolute laugh that'll be. We could taunt them the way they've been taunting gay people for thousands of years. “Come on now God boy, shit in a ditch because Jesus didn't love you”. Also, fuck society. It's a piece of shit anyway. The only way that most of us are getting the deposit to buy a property is by selling off our kidneys and then renting out our arse-holes to some rich sugar daddy who insists on calling us “little piggy” in case using our real names humanises us too much for him. But with society gone and us all scrabbling around in the same old dirt it'd no longer matter which class you were born into or what cunty connections you made at your snobby piece of shit private school. All that would matter is the size of the rock in your hand, how hungry you are, and how much you like the person that's between you and that delicious looking rat. I also think it'd be nice to have a bit of structure in my life. Right now I'm sort of treading water having spent the last directionless decade achieving an impressive sweet fuck all. I like the idea of knowing that as long as I'm not being splayed open and feasted upon by a rabid hillbilly gang of cannibals by the end of each day then I might close to experiencing a sense of achievement for once. 

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Save Me Some Food You Selfish Bastards

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Look, I'm not saying that Netflix has intentionally started this coronavirus bullshit but it is all beginning to look a little suspicious. What better way to get us all watching their service by having us put under house arrest for fear of catching bat-AIDS? Not only that but they've just released a new film called The Platform that is so perfectly timed for right now that I reckon they probably fucked that flying rat themselves. The Platform is a Spanish language horror film about a man, Goreng, who wakes up to find himself trapped on a grotty random floor of a grotty random tower block. Unlike the rest of us who would only find ourselves in this environment if we decided to dabble in being a crack-head for a little while, Goreng is actually imprisoned here. There is a hole in both the floor and the ceiling of his room by which a table full of food is able to magically glide down once a day for him to eat from. The only catch is that the higher up the tower you are then the more food you'll have to choose from. Those nearer the bottom of the tower are obviously therefore only able to scavenge the scraps that they might have been left with. Any of this sounding familiar yet? Because right now I'm stuck in a small building in 'lockdown' with only the food I could find after you fucking bastards had grabbed everything off the fucking shop shelves first. The only difference between what's happening to Goreng and what's happening to us is that Goreng doesn't get offered a seven day free trial of PornHub's admittedly quite exciting-sounding premium service. 

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The Last Blockbuster We Ever Made

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Fisting a donkey, fucking a monkey, or sucking off a badger? I keep asking myself what must be in the photographs that Vin Diesel has of the movie producer that he keeps blackmailing for work. Because I refuse to believe that he actually gets hired for his acting ability alone. Have you seen any of his movies? The Fast And Furious franchise literally only works because he seems to be the only person involved in it that doesn't realise how fucking stupid it is. I don't dislike him but I think that we all know that he is a po-face figure of absolute ridicule. In which case it must be his good looks that people keep casting him for.. right? ...Are you kidding me? He looks like a camel fucked a potato and then nine months later a baby made of shoe-leather fell out. When I look at him I see a gingerbread man wrapped up in recently-waxed bollock skin. Sure he has a deep voice but he sounds like a butch woman that's been smoking seventy a day since the early Fifties. I agree that his best role is in Guardians Of The Galaxy but that's only because he's playing a tree monster called Groot and he'd already spent his entire career giving wooden performances anyway. I'd probably sound like him if my voice was booming out of from a charisma-free husk too and listening to him speak is like being shouted at by a haunted cupboard door. About forty-five minutes into his latest film Bloodshot, he takes off his jacket to reveal that he's also wearing a white vest. As usual. My theory is that filmmakers actually keep hiring the vest and he just comes fucking free with it.

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