Making Rambo Crap Again

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In First Blood, Sylvester Stallone gave us one of cinema’s most relatable characters with John Rambo. He was an aimless man who decided that he was feeling a bit peckish. When denied a sandwich by a town’s local authorities, he understandably went berserk and fucking battered them all. If I'm in work and lunch is delayed by as much as five minutes then I start to think about dousing the place in petrol and burning it to the fucking ground. Obviously I didn't fight in Vietnam the way Rambo did although I did once engage in some pretty heavy haggling in a Turkish market. I guess it's probably not the same thing though. He came back with PTSD whereas all I managed to bag was a pretty nifty fez. And look, I know it's easy to make fun of how Stallone might talk but we really shouldn't joke about it. Stallone's mumbling is a result of an actual accident in which he was pulled into this world during his birth with so much force that he was left permanently damaged. This is understandable too when you remember that his mother is Jackie Stallone. If my first experience of life involved a journey through her vagina then I reckon I'd probably end up being yanked out by the fucking face too. But First Blood ends with his broken ex-Green Beret in tears and screaming about the horrors that he endured as a result of that war and it's genuinely heartbreaking. Well.. I assume that's what he was getting upset about, anyway. Obviously I couldn't understand a fucking word of it. 

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Slumdogs And Millionaires

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Things didn't bode well for this new film version of Downton Abbey when I found myself sat next to a little old lady that had wandered to the cinema to watch the thing alone. “Don't mind me”, she said before cracking open a massive fucking bottle, “but I can hardly watch Downton without a Prosecco”. I've never seen a single fucking second of the show but it seems that even its fans need to get themselves fucking ratted to sit through it. I didn't even think it looked that good to begin with, so I figured that I'd need something stronger than a Prosecco to get me through it. I've never done cocaine in my life and I have no clue if it makes films more watchable but as the granny to my left proceeded to get herself twatted it seemed like now might be a good time to find out. Alas, the trailers had already finished at this point and I live such a sheltered life that unless Al Pacino had walked in with his Scarface costume then I wouldn't know what the fuck a drug dealer looked like. As the film went on and I found myself bored to fucking tedium I concluded that I was now faced with two options. I could remain sober and risk the film being so dull that my mental health might never quite recover or I could make a fucking move on the old lady and attempt to get pissed off the alcoholic fumes of her Prosecco-laced breath. 

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What's Going Down In The Town With The Clown?

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The first It film made more money than a coin-operated vagina and, as such, the sequel was greenlit about as fast as I reckon that coin-operated vagina would likely need cleaning. I'm sure that you saw that first film but in case you've forgotten, it was basically about a gang of young friends that explored the sewers before each attempting to batter an old clown to death with a fucking stick. I guess the clown kind of deserved it though because beyond anything else he was a clown, and the only people to dress like that are either serial killers or out to start a fight with fucking Batman. Like Simply Red's Mick Hucknall, Pennywise the Dancing Clown is a pale ginger freak that seems designed to haunt the nightmares of anybody that encounters him. Unlike Mick Hucknall however, Pennywise isn't satisfied by only murdering a person's ears, preferring instead to terrify them to their very core before eating them and feeding on their fear. Although if you can think of anything more terrifying than being forced to listen to a Simply Red playlist then you obviously have a more horrific imagination than I do. 

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Expectations Have Fallen

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Before I saw Angel Has Fallen there was an advert on the radio which claimed that “it's the best of the Fallen trilogy” and “it's the film that's causing critics to go wild”. Now that first boast is the total definition of 'damning with faint praise' considering that the first two instalments of the Fallen trilogy were actual dog shit. The script for the first movie was so bad that lead star Gerard Butler's mates were apparently texting him in lines for it whilst the second movie managed to lower that bar even further by adding a little racism into the mix. Both movies were an irony and joke-free remake of Team America but in which the main characters were somehow even more convincing as dummies. I'm aware that technically the puppets in Team America were marionettes rather than dummies and that nobody has used the word dummy as an insult since about 1950. But in the words of Gerard Butler's Mike Banning, 'let's have a game of fuck off... you go first'. Saying that Angel Has Fallen is the best of the trilogy is like going to a restaurant and having the head chef claim that your food has less shit in it than an unflushed toilet. Technically that's true of a meal with no shit in it but it certainly makes it sound like he's pinched at least a little something off into it. In terms of the second boast, saying that the film is “causing critics to go wild”, is also interestingly worded. If critics loved it then wouldn't the advert just say, “the film that's loved by critics”? Because when I picture people going wild I don't imagine them to be having fun. I imagine them running down the street with their balls out after they've bitten a tramp in the face and are being shot at by the fucking police.

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