Kids Need To Learn That Life Is Grim

If you're depressed about being a fuck up then it's probably Disney's fault. I'm not blaming the house of mouse for the fact that you're seemingly incapable of achieving happiness but rather that you consider it your own fault. Being the constant miserabilist that I am, I've taken to asking most people within my social circle if they're happy and the two most positive responses that I've had are “I'm in a happier place” and “I don't like this line of questioning”. Am I happy? No. I wake up every morning, rate my joy out of eight and then stick my head in the oven, on that gas mark and for that equivalent amount of minutes. Literally nobody will admit to being content because nobody actually fucking is, but in this world of social media we assume that everybody is swimming in an ocean of success whilst we're trying not to drown in a swimming pool of piss. People used to be worried that the grass was always greener on the other side but some days I can't help but feel it'd simply look better from six foot below.

An Emotional Journey?

I check the latest movie news on my phone with such impulsiveness that it's like watching a crackhead frantically rifle through his dead mate's pockets, however the news that George Lucas had sold the Star Wars franchise to Disney and that they were essentially going to make these movies from now and until I die came as a shock. Not only had I presumed that the saga was over, but Lucas had managed to make this entire deal with the kind of flawless secrecy that you wish he'd reserved for his ideas regarding a prequel trilogy. I was with my friend at the time the announcement was made and it was him who was able to give me the news. “They're making more Star Wars films, the cast of the original trilogy is involved, Lucas will have nothing to do with it”. My brain imploded. I couldn't cope. How does somebody react to having news like that just sprung upon them? Well- I did what any respectable, twenty-something year old geek would do. I marched over to my Darth Vader voice-changer helmet, popped it onto my head, sat on my bed and had a little fucking cry. 

The Benefits Of Being A Slow Burner

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Do you ever have one of those evenings in which one second you're having a casual sip of alcohol and the next you're screaming abuse over some loud music and projectile vomiting up the walls? Ah, nights in are the best aren't they?! Well, in many ways the new film Bridge Of Spies is a non-aggressive version of that kind of night except it won't result in you needing a new liver or losing custody of the kids. Well, not unless you're watching it with them whilst rubbing your belly button and masturbating, anyway. So the movie began calmly, I relaxed back into my chair, and then two hours later I left the cinema having seen one of my new favourites of the year. In the same way that David Hasselhoff can't handle his drink, I had no idea that I was being affected as much as I was until the credits rolled and I could feel my sense of awe. Except in my case I'd just gone to the cinema to see a really good movie - in the Hoff's case, he was filmed trying to eat a broken burger off his bathroom floor whilst naked from the waist up. I don't know if you've seen that video of him making a complete fool of himself? Although I will say, in his defence, and as Pamela Anderson will be aware, there is more undignified footage online featuring the cast of Baywatch. It's called Baywatch.

Toy Story Changes Meaning The Older You Get?

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Last night I finished watching the Toy Story Trilogy for the first time since the third installment was first released at the cinema. Obviously the whole experience was fucking amazing. I laughed, I cried, and I felt guilty as hell about some of the things that my toys would have seen happen in my room during my teenage years. This morning when I got into work however my boss had brought his six year old grandson with him and by shear coincidence the kid was playing with his figurines from the film. Either that kid has a seriously decent taste in pop-culture or it's about time that I grew the fuck up. As I was trying to crack on with my job, I could hear the little scamp playing out his own stories with Woody, Buzz, Jessie, and Rex, and I was genuinely impressed. Beyond anything, I had no idea that kids still played with toys if I'm honest. I just assumed that the youth of today had thrown away their love of figures and imagination after being seduced by the charms of computer games, crack-cocaine, and violent pornography. Admittedly he was wrapping the characters up in sellotape and suffocating them as though trial-running the future murder of his fucking pets but still... until a cat turns up dead, it seemed sweet to me. 

Steve Jobs - A Pain In The Art?

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I guess the general vibe of the world is that nobody likes their boss. I mean, I know for fact that I couldn't fucking stand the Guy that I previously worked for. In case you didn't get that very un-gettable inside reference, the twat's name was Guy, but for the sake of some anonymity we'll just call him Mr Williams. Anyway- Mr Williams was one of those people who expected you to pull the moon out of your arse despite every one of his instructions being completely contradictory, impossible, or not my fucking responsibility. Danny Boyle's latest film Steve Jobs depicts an equally demented piece of shit, although at least this chap is changing the world instead of making pennies from a crappy sheet-metal company. The film is broken up into three very distinct acts with each third focusing on the avalanche of technical and personal problems that Jobs has shat on him before launching several new products. Of course everybody will be allowed their own interpretation of the film, but for me it's about one of two things.. either it's about art and what it means to be an artist or it's the story of a total fucking psychopath. Despite his loyal army of fanboys, the film depicts Jobs as what I'd call “a total Guy Williams” and what the rest of the world would probably just call a cunt. 

Does This Survive The Cut?

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I'll say right now that The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2 is the best second half of a film that I've ever been forced into paying full price to see. Generally it's nice for a film to have a beginning, a middle, and an end, but thanks exclusively to the greed of the money grabbing studios, that's sadly not the case here. Occasionally a franchise will start spewing out billions of dollars in box office returns and as the thing comes to its inevitable conclusion, the money men will do whatever they can to drag things out for as much as they can. As has been the case with other young adult franchises, their solution seems to be to stretch the final book out for longer than it needs to be and then slicing it in half like a magician with a real saw and an assistant that he doesn't particularly care about. Fans of the book will argue that the final two films had to be extended like this to get everything in, but that's only because they lack an emotional distance. When adapting for the cinema, it's often required to trim, chop, and change things for the story to translate between the two mediums. Kind of like shooting a hostage's arm off to kill a suicide bomber behind them. As an impartial spectator, I can see how that would have been for the greater good despite the probable pissyness of the louder, screaming loved ones.

How The West Was Really Won

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The traditional 'Western' genre is almost a propaganda movement for everything that's great about America and why it's often considered 'the land of opportunity'. This is of course assuming that what you really want from your land is the opportunity to commit mass genocide and then glorify it on film. In these older movies we'd see pure-hearted heroes wiping out the savages from the local area without ever questioning the fact that referring to the enemy as a 'native' might suggest they have some entitlement to fucking live there. It's kind of like being in an alternate world in which the Nazi's won the war and invented a genre of film in which lone Aryan soldiers would save the world from money hungry demons called The Jews.

Paddington And The Problem With Humanity

You can tell that Paddington is unrealistic because it features a foreign bear arriving in our country and nobody bats a single eye. If this had been set in the real world then he'd have arrived to find a load of pasty-faced fuck-ups looking for somebody to blame their own shitty lives on, and demanding to “send that bastard bear back!” The film presents a world in which we not only accept the existence of a talking animal but rather more unbelievably, it's also one in which we only treat an immigrant with mild irritation instead of an uneducated and twat-like contempt. The story begins when a bear named Paddington is forced to flee his native land due to it having been fucked into pieces by a natural disaster. The little scamp manages to find his way to London where he's taken in by a family that kindly decide to help him track down an explorer that encountered his species many years previously. The mother takes Paddington in due to her kindness, the father wants to get rid of him as soon as possible, the teenage daughter is completely indifferent, and the youngest son just loves him. Had this been real life then the plight of Paddington and his flee from the darkest Peru would only have garnered a modicum of sympathy had he arrived face down and dead on a beach.

So What Is Spectre Really About?

The dead are alive. These are the opening words that hammer on screen and begin James Bond's latest post-shag, pre-drink murder-sprees. At the start of Spectre, 007 is off-duty in Mexico and chasing down a fat foreign guy that he promptly kills for no good or obvious reason. Maybe this is an unofficial mission or maybe it's simply how an 'imperialistic right-wing fuck-face' chooses to relax. Either way it essentially kick-starts the latest story, dealing with the fate of MI6, the circumstances of Bond's childhood, and the threat of a sinister organisation that may even be more evil than the tax-dodging Starbucks. As a fully-obsessed fan of the series, I once received a poker chip from the casino in Skyfall for Christmas that a friend suggested I show to every single girl I meet. If I ever find one that recognises it as being from that film then apparently it's proof that she's the one for me and I should propose on the spot. Well, the same test could sort of be applied to any friendship with this entire film. The question is “What do those opening four words refer to?” If the answer is "Sum of da people in da opening Day of da Dead sequence look lyk zombies” then you're to get the fuck out of my life. As anybody with at least three brain cells will be able to deduce, the correct answer is “The filmmakers are literally spelling out the film's theme for all of the thick people in the audience”.

Was Chappie Really That Bad?

At least in terms of its themes, if Pinocchio, Oliver Twist, Robocop, and Short Circuit ever got bored and decided to start fucking then Chappie would be the spunky mess that gets left on the bed sheets. Set in the near future, Johannesburg has become so shitty that the South African government has had to invest in a squadron of attack robots to try and stem the flow of crime. These cyborgs have pinpoint accuracy, armour plating, and are as ruthlessly efficient at stopping wrong-doers as the American police are with little, unarmed, black children. Meanwhile the robots creator Dev Patel has just figured out how to make his products a little less murdery and a little more thinky which he celebrates by having Chappie, his prototype, promptly stolen from him by a couple of criminals. By coincidence, it's also worth noting that the two kidnappers are two of the biggest fuck-nuggets I've ever seen... more on them later I suppose. Essentially Chappie tells the story of the worlds first, completely sentient robot, and how it's forced to choose its morality whilst simultaneously learning the hard facts about how shite our species really is.

Her And The Awkwardness Of Life

Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I have always written my own love letters when trying to woo a potential suitor. To save time, I generally just email a photograph of my cock with a question mark written on in marker pen! Set in the not too distant future, Her tells the story of a twitchy loner played by Joaquin Phoenix who makes his living from faking other peoples emotions by writing love letters on their behalf. Despite being so sensitive and kind however, he is currently going through a painful divorce which is of course all the stupid fucker deserves for being dumb enough to get married in the first place. Did I mention that I'm a romantic? As such he begins a relationship with an operating system that lives in both his phone and computer. Because clearly it's a good idea to start a relationship with a woman that you can't hide your internet history from. This is a world in which we seem to have figured out how to create artificial intelligence with his mobile-girlfriend being played by the voice of Scarlett Johansson. This might sound mildly impressive, but if I had a choice of dating Johansson's voice without her body, or her body without her voice, this isn't the way round I'd probably go for.

Has Ridley Scott Gone To Mars And Returned To Form?

Personally I don't think we should be going to Mars. It's too far away, it's expensive, and we've still not been able to explore the absolute depths of our own oceans. I'm sure there's some scientific reason for one day going to the red planet but personally I just want the boffins to find me some freaky shit to stare at. Have you seen some of those crazy fucking fish that are living in the deeper parts of the oceans? They're amazing. They're all crazy colours with massive teeth and tentacle-like dicks on their heads. I mean just look at the giant squid- what the hell is it?! It looks like some sort of biological, satanic sex toy! Even if we do find some sign of life on Mars, it's not going to be as impressive as that. And if it is then I'm pretty sure we run the risk of it being sentient enough to be into the whole anal-probe thing. I don't know about you... but when given the choice of either finding some massive fucking Kraken or having an alien ram its equipment up my arsehole I know which one I prefer.

Just Another Film About Artificial Intelligence?

It has recently been alleged in an unofficial biography of British Prime Minister David Cameron that the dish-faced little gimp once popped his probably wart-riddled cock into the mouth of a decapitated pig. I have no idea if this story is true and I can't say that I was exactly expecting a headline that suggested our countries leader had necro-face-fucked the star of Babe, however, true or not, if you ask me, the fact that it doesn't surprise me is kind of bad enough. This thought process and story kind of reminded me of Alex Garland's latest film Ex Machina, which is a sci-fi film dealing with the creation of the worlds most advanced AI robot and that Garland claims to be set “ten minutes from now”. His point with this is that his movie might depict an extraordinary set of circumstances, however technology is moving so quickly that if it were announced that his film had come true then we'd be surprised, but not that surprised. I suppose the main difference is though that I'd be excited if they announced the creation of a robot super-race, but with Cameron I simply can't help but wonder who comes out worse in the story? The dead-eyed dirty pig or the decapitated sow with a cock in its mouth.

Glamourising Scum?

Back in the 1960's the Kray Twins ruled London's underworld like a living, breathing, 'Spot The Difference Competition' between a couple of violent bell-ends. Reggie was meant to be the 'nicer' of the two brothers, with Ronnie having had his brain replaced with a lump of pig shit and a hand-grenade. However let's face it, neither were exactly anything less than a couple of over-achieving pricks that bullied their way to the top before dying the sad and premature deaths that they had coming. However as well as being gangsters, the two were obsessed with celebrity culture and were regularly seen rubbing shoulders with actors, politicians, and whatever kind of shrill-voiced, cockney Womble Barbara Windsor is. As a result the two men went onto to become one of the iconic faces of the swinging sixties. Probably thanks to their working class background, the nutters have spent the last few decades brewing in the British subconscious to the point were they've basically become anti-heroes. Sure, they might have just been a couple of local lads that upset the establishment by doing things their own way... It's just that their own way involved shooting people in the head and knifing them in the belly, with the Kray's moral code being as deformed and twisted as their battered, bull-dog faces.

A Film For Actual Teenagers?

There's a scene in American Pie in which the main character gets a girl into his room and secretly films her getting her tits out on his webcam... I guess nothing smacks of hilarity like a sex crime. Call me a prude but when I was a teenager I had higher ambitions than simply getting drunk and finding a girl to cram my balls into. As a result I pretty much hated every bigger budget teen movie that I saw thanks to their complete obliviousness of my life. I suppose there's meant to be an aspirational element to all of those films in which brain-dead frat boys get their steroid-shrivelled cocks sucked off by a gang of crab-riddled, cheerleading slags. The reality is however that rather than spending a couple of hours feeling like I was part of their gang, I was left to return to a life of feeling left out. Was that what I was meant to be doing? I think that during my teenage years I spent more time trying to think of a particularly witty suicide note than I did about getting laid. In fact, being the depressed geek that I was I did actually come up with one that would depressingly also apply to the oft-fucked and vaginal-stinking 'jocks'. To put it simply, “So long and thanks for all the fish”.

Cinema Needs Faces

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Don't you just hate people and their big punchable faces. It's just a skin-mask featuring their squinty little eyes, fat noses, and a mouth that essentially just acts a delivery system for their ill-informed and unwanted bullshit. Well- not so, according to director David Cronenberg, who argues that “the essence of cinema is a human face speaking”. That might be a bit rich coming from a man who's made a career from mutating peoples bodies and having Jeff Goldblum's dick drop off, but despite my ingrained sense of misanthropy I can't help but agree with him. Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master is a perfect example of this with there being almost no obvious plot and about as much action as you'd find in a horny Nun's bed as she lies motionless, alone, and in denial. Unlike most modern movies, there's no superheroes or aliens, no shared universe or exploding buildings. It's just a freaky looking man with a cleft lip talking to a fat man with a moustache and it's fucking amazing.

Inside Out Excels For Knowing That Females Are People Too!

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As an only child that went to an all boys school and who has since become almost terminally single, I grew up in complete fear of all woman-kind. I mean.. what were they?! They liked dolls, the colour pink, and would one day grow two massive arse cheeks on their chest for babies to suck on. I was predominately exposed to females through the goggle-box which terrified me with images of Bonnie Tyler screaming down the camera like the Welsh God of Drunken Anger. Even movies rarely focused on the vagina'd gender unless they were spoon-feeding us a turgid love story about a frumpy tart's desperate attempt to win the heart of some terribly English prick. Talk about boring! As a young boy I didn't care about 'romance' and so found those movies and characters to be about as interesting and relatable as a tiny stain on the rim of a cat's anus. In the years that I've since spent growing up I'd like to think that I've gained some insight, but sadly it seems that most mainstream movies haven't. If you want to see a film starring a woman in the lead role of a movie which doesn't fall into the romance genre, then the odds are she's going to be on her knees as twenty men tug one out around her. Thank God then for Pixar and their new film Inside Out which aims to have a look at a young girls brain and answer the age old question of 'what the fuck is going on in there!?'

A Sequel To Tarantino's Bond Movie?

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Like the dead bodies of a string of slightly dim foreign women, James Bond's DNA can be found in most spy films released within the last fifty years. Like it or not but in the same way that Sean Connery might attempt to 'calm down' one of his lady friends, the Bond franchise has bitch-slapped its way to the top to become the centre pole of the genre. I don't know if you remember but back in 2004 Quentin Tarantino started flapping his face-mounted drone-machine and telling people about his plans to make a 60's set adaptation of Casino Royale starring Pierce Brosnan. Shockingly though, and despite this being the director of The Vega Brothers, Kill Bill 3, and Killer Crow, it turned out that this was all hot air with his film never actually materialising. To his credit, he did attempt to bid for the rights to make the movie but was unsurprisingly beaten by EoN who then famously used it to reboot their series. Still, at least he took it with his traditional good grace and dignity by claiming that the reason the producers subsequently denied him a chance at directing was because they were worried he'd “make it too good and fuck the rest of the series”. Still, lets say that wasn't the case.. and it definitely was.. let's say that we live in a parallel reality where the producers of Skyfall hadn't been so intimidated by the talent of the director of Death Proof and they'd actually let him make Casino Royale... Well, at least in terms of style and tone, The Man From U.N.C.L.E is basically a sequel to that movie. 

Why The Purge Needed John Carpenter

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If you could get away with killing somebody, do you think you would do it? I know I would. I won't say who they are but if you've ever been within about six foot of me then you'll be more than aware of the situation. You know how some people are always banging on about the holiday they're going to plan or what they'd do if they won the lottery? Well my version of that is to try to come up with the most atrocious way for that specific person to die. My current favourite idea is to buy them a Jack-In-The-Box to wind up, though neglecting to tell them that I've replaced the springy man with a springy cup of anthrax. I told my Mum that I wanted somebody to walk up and knife the person in the face--that was fine. I then said that there isn't a cancer in the world that I didn't wish on them. My Mum then kicked off on me on the grounds that you shouldn't wish cancer on anybody... and you wonder where I get my morals from.. Apparently I've been raised to believe that slashing somebody in the kisser is okay but hoping that they get a fairly common disease is beyond fucked up. I know that I'll never commit this justified act of violence- beyond anything I've told so many people that I'd never get away with it.. but you know, I guess a boy can dream. 

Defending Cruise and Identifying McQuarrie

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People used to say that Tom Cruise was hiding his homosexuality to protect his reputation. I think we can assume that's all bollocks now though because there's nothing wrong with taking it up the hoop, but believing in dead, volcanic aliens is a bit fucking weird... but then to an atheist like me, it's no more weird than claiming that there's a judgemental magician sitting in the clouds, or that Heaven is anything more than a gay bar in London. I don't care about his beliefs, I don't care that he's short and I don't care that he has a fucking weird middle-tooth. Cruise is an easy man to make fun of but that shouldn't detract from the undeniable fact that most of his films are really, really good. Okay- the middle tooth is strange and annoying; seriously, check it out. But as long as he keeps making films like Edge Of Tomorrow and Collateral, I think I can forgive him for having his teeth in the wrong place.

Was The Lone Ranger Really That Bad?

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The Lone Ranger opened to such a hostile reception that most reviews of it contained less stars than the average episode of Celebrity Rehab. From hearing about its dubious casting, huge budget, and overly long duration, the American critics had already undone their collective belt before seeing the final product, squatting down and taking a shit all over it. European reviewers seemed slightly kinder to the movie but the general consensus was that the film was a total fucking mess. Like being told about that picture of 'Tub Girl' however, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see the thing for myself. Could it really be as bad as its reputation suggested? People seemed so happy to stick the knife in that you'd assume it was the cinematic equivalent of a Piers Morgan Voodoo doll. How can a fun looking film like this be on the receiving end of such hate? Was it funded by the gold that the Nazi's had stolen from Jewish teeth and I'd just not heard? If the film was played backwards would it contain a satanic message that had the power to resurrect whichever one of the Corey's has died? I needed to see and find out for myself. 

Robin Williams Was Misrepresented By The Masses

When Robin Williams died there was a genuine outpouring of love and mourning for a man that seemed to be genuinely close to most peoples hearts. For me, I'd say the key to this though is that most people are idiots. They saw his shit films when they were younger and yet to develop a true appreciation of cinema. Bear with me with this... I'm not a prick- I'm going somewhere! Most people aren't interested in the French New Wave or the history of German expressionism. I've tried to watch films several times with my Mum since I became obsessed with the medium and every time was a complete failure. She made me turn off Taxi Driver because it was old, Superman Returns because she remembered there were dishes to wash, and Memento because to quote her “What the fuck is going on”. I understand the problem though and it's simply that most people have more of a life than I do. Films for the masses are just a mixture of light and colours that can be stared at until we're all a little closer to death. In that respect, I suppose there's no way that Flubber can't be said to have done its job. It wasn't funny, well made, or in any way tolerable, but there's no denying that it had a duration.

Was It Right To Get Rid Of Wright?

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I understand that most people actually have a life and so for those who don't know, I'll explain the situation. Basically, Ant-Man sounds like a really, really shit title for both a super-hero and a film. If you're unaware of the character's history then you'd be forgiven for imagining that he's the name of a cheap knock-off Spider-Man toy that some grotty fucker's trying to flog down the market. Even Marvel Studio's weren't that arsed about making his movie a priority until they were convinced of its potential by Geek King, writer/director Edgar Wright. For most movie nerds that name could be attached to a script called, “Sifting Through Gary Busey's Actual Shit” and we'd still be excited. As a result, the appeal to most people wasn't so much in the idea of seeing a super-hero who can shrink down to the size of a genital wart but rather in simply seeing Wrights mad-cap, kinetic, directorial style applied to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Sadly however, and after working on the film with co-writer Joe Cornish for over a decade, Wright abruptly left a few weeks before filming was due to begin. At this point we're still not entirely sure of the circumstances in which Marvel and Wright were forced to part ways, with both sides currently only explaining the event with the dreaded 'C-word'... Creative differences!*

What A Disaster!

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People often describe big Hollywood blockbusters as being like a roller-coaster ride and this is certainly true of San Andreas. Although as anybody whose actually been to a theme-park will know, what this really means is a lot of waiting around followed by about five seconds of fun and then a headache. I honestly don't think I could summarise The Rock's new disaster movie in a more efficient way than that to be honest... Oh wait, yes I could- 'It's a load of shit'. To sum up the plot, I'd say that The Rock plays a helicopter rescue pilot during the worlds worst ever earthquake. Although he does also seem to know how to pilot planes, boats, and hot-wire cars too as though he's jacked into the fucking Matrix. As a result, he actually spends most of the movie sat on his arse and so it's not difficult to see he might fancy a break and take this role on. It's essentially his holiday before he has to go back to work and do some real action. I don't know what's more unbelievable... that you'd hire The Rock and then not utilise the Thor-like power of his body or the fact that a helicopter can get off the fucking ground with him inside it! 

The Shadows Smile

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If I've learnt one thing in my life it's that if you use the word 'sausage' with anger then nobody will ever take you seriously. I saved myself a sausage for lunch once but by the time I got to it somebody had already cooked and eaten it. I don't know about you but when I'm pissed off, I need people to be apologetic and sorrowful or there's a good chance that I'll begin to over-react. In this instant, I didn't get the response I was hoping for and so what started off as a mild irritation quickly escalated into a full blown shit-fit. The angrier I got, the funnier people seemed to find the phrase “Where's my fucking sausage gone”. I don't think I'll ever fully get over this situation and even now I have abandonment issues where my pork-based snacks are concerned. It was a horrible circle of innuendo, hunger, a lack of perspective, a lack of empathy, and an annoying lack of sausage. I don't remember how the situation ended but based on how angry I was, I probably blacked out.

My Kind Of Scum

I don't know if it's a mental condition of mine but for some reason I just can't enjoy something once it gets over half way. The knowledge that the end is in sight just taints whatever pleasure I'm having, whether it be a tasty chocolate bar, a holiday, or the second month of what the other person thinks will become a long term relationship. The same is true of watching films, however in their case I think I often have a point. Generally by the time we get to the third instalment of a planned trilogy, something goes titties up and all the hard work that's been done before gets a little shat on. For example, just look at Spiderman 3, X-Men 3, and Debbie Does Dallas 3, which all somehow lack that sense of wonder and excitement that made the first two so gripping. Maybe they felt the need to escalate effects in favour of focusing on character; maybe they'd painted themselves into a corner, or maybe you could simply see the boredom behind Debbie's now cold, soulless eyes. The same rule of diminishing returns is sadly true of Star Wars: Return Of The Jedi. Though, does that film suffer because it is a bad film or simply because its predecessor was arguably one of the greatest films of all time? I say this as though I don't think anybody's seen it and made their own fucking mind up already. But if you keep reading, I can promise a good few dick jokes and a few too many swear words to keep everybody awake.

Fathers And Justice

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The Empire Strikes Back continues the story of Luke, Leia, and Han as their importance in the universe continues to grow and their incestuous love triangle reaches its fever pitch. Luke begins his training with Yoda, an alien that both looks and sounds exactly like the disabled love-child of both Kermit and Miss Piggy, whilst everybody else just tries to avoid the massive shiny helmet of Darth Vader. Meanwhile, Vader himself is attempting to track down the young Skywalker with all the determination of a knob that's dressed up as Batman, whilst hanging a 'Fathers For Justice' sign off Buckingham Palace. For most people, this is the best film in the Star Wars franchise and for others it's simply the best film ever made. On the flip side however, some people even consider this film a further stain on the reputation of cinema after the dumbing down of movies began in the mid-70's with its predecessor and Jaws. I won't really be giving that train of thought much time here though on the grounds that those people are simply pretentious, boring twats.

The Original Hope

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When I was younger I used to believe in all sorts of silly little things such as magic, Santa Claus, and anti-aging cream. Since then however I've sadly discovered that most of these things are actually total bullshit and exist simply because people were desperate enough for them to be real. In many ways this is similar to the Star Wars prequels which were willed into creation by the franchise's fans and a creator with all the imagination of a lump of cheese. Being set before the original holy trilogy, those films could be seen as the mundane reality behind the eye-catching magic. In the same way that the Masked Magician showed us that everything is done with smoke and mirrors, they too showed us what the Clone Wars were and how Darth Vader came to be. If we're to assume that most people weren't the biggest fans of these most recent additions to the saga then I guess one question has to be asked... now we've had a decade to come to terms with them, do the prequel films diminish the magic of the original Star Wars?  

No Expense Spared

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Now, before we go any further, I feel I should point out that I think that Jurassic Park is perfect in every single way. If you told me now that there was a movie starring Sam Neill, Jeff Goldblum, Laura Dern and Richard Attenborough then I'd have my pants off and my pop-corn ready before you even got to the title. If you then told me that the cast would then spend the bulk of the movie running away from huge dinosaurs then I'd probably just start crying due to how flawless that idea is. Sobbing whilst naked from the waist down really is the only proper way to react to a plot description of Jurassic Park. It has a fat man falling down a waterfall, a triceratops with the shits, and a sneaky, ninja T-Rex at the end. What more could anybody ever want from a movie?! The sequels decreased in quality as the franchise marched on but I'd argue that they were still never less than good. Sure Jurassic Park 3 isn't the best but it's not much worse than Jurassic Park: The Lost World. Neither films might reach the heights of the groundbreaking original but they both have their moments. The scene in which Julianne Moore falls onto a sheet of cracking glass is one of unbelievable tension, and if you don't like the idea of a dinosaur that's eaten a phone and now has his own ringtone, then I don't think we're ever going to get along. 

I Have A Bad Feeling About This

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Some people call me a fussy eater which is nice of them. I do love being judged. I guess humanity has reached a point where crimes such as serial killing and pedophilia have been long-since eradicated leaving just me and my hatred of sprouts to sort out. I do wish I liked vegetables but right now I find it difficult to eat something that was both fertilised with and tastes like horse shit. Having said that, I did find myself presented with a salad the other day and I actually enjoyed it. Now usually I'd just throw the plate on the floor and start screaming expletives but I'd just spent the previous week with a violent case of diarrhoea and so didn't really have the energy for a pissy fit. With cynical apprehension, I put the first leaf in my mouth and chewed down to discover that not only could I swallow the green crap but that I didn't hate it either. Sure I was starved to the point were I was half hallucinating that I'd turned into a six foot fucking rabbit, but that doesn't change the fact that that particular salad wasn't awful. I suppose the reason I tell you this is because in many ways this post-diarrhoea appreciation of salad is exactly like my most recent experience of watching Star Wars: Episode 3 - Revenge Of The Sith.  

The Reality of Nostalgia

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I started life in a particularly grotty area in which junkies roamed the streets and little children would shit on the floor in public. Some girl I knew once squat one out under a slide in the park and told me to keep it a secret. She said that I should tell people a dog had done it, which was fine because as far as I was concerned a fucking dog had done it. I was disgusted, appalled, and about five years old. Thankfully we moved away and it was only the other day, about twenty years later that I decided to return to it. I looked up the old road that had shaped my initial impression of the world when I was kicked in the balls by a wave of nostalgia. The place was exactly how I'd remembered it... the streets were paved with faeces and syringes littered the floor acting as obstacles for the children as they played their daily game of 'don't get AIDs'. What struck me the most however was how small the place now seemed. I wondered what the chap who bought our old house thought of the place, but of course I couldn't ask him. Not because I didn't have the confidence but rather that he'd made his answer quite obvious several years earlier by stringing himself up from a nearby lamppost and hanging himself. Oh well.