When Lockdown Starts To Do Damage

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The coronavirus continues to take its toll, lockdown drags on, my dog died, and I'm being forced to leave my home to find somewhere else to live. Fuck it, I'm going to watch Snakes On A Plane again. In case none of you have noticed, it's been a pretty fucking stressful year so far and sometimes you just need to turn off your brain and stare at something distracting for a couple of hours. Occasionally it might not even be porn either. Snakes On A Plane is a weird movie because it was all anybody could talk about until it actually hit the cinemas and then we all seemed to decide to just never to talk about it again. That's kind of what the Germans initially did regarding their Nazi atrocities after they'd lost the second world war. They just tried to hush the whole thing up and pretend it never happened until about twenty years later and the students suddenly began to question what their parents were trying to hide. I'm sure that nobody is going to claim that Snakes On A Plane is the greatest film of all time but is it as bad as the holocaust? Let me be bold and claim that I don't think it is. So why have we all decided to develop this collective amnesia in regards to its existence? How bad can it really be? Because having watched it the other day I have to ask myself a pretty important question, has Snakes On A Plane actually aged really well or has lockdown finally fucking broken me?

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You Just Scream With Boredom

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The film begins with a media frenzy taking place outside of a building called Fowl Manor. Having never read the books I had no clue what the film Artemis Fowl was going to be about and so just assumed that Fowl Manor was a place where rich people might go to wear strange masks and have sex with each other. It's not. It's where the Fowl family reside apparently. Although Fowl Manor does also sound like it could be an old fashioned euphemism that my Nan might use for the bathroom after she's visited it for a shit. I suppose all of the above could still technically be true to be fair. The film never explicitly mentions that rich people use the place to spaff all over each other but that doesn't mean that they don't and I never really visit my Nan enough to know what she might call the bathroom. I think you have to agree that would be a pretty bold opening for a Disney film though, wouldn't it?! Children sit around excited to see their favourite book adapted to the big screen only for it to open with a gang of rich toffs all fucking each other whilst dressed in dog suits as one confused old lady wanders about having shat all up the bathroom. It wouldn't make any end-of-the-year best lists but you know... I'd watch it. 

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The Film Is A Saddening Bore

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John Carter is the greatest film that has ever been made ever and I will die to defend it. Not really. Obviously. It's a massive piece of shit, but it was fun to write a sentence that no sane human being had ever written before. What a novelty it felt to do something so original. I only hope that the makers of this fucking God awful movie get to experience that one day themselves. What is John Carter about though? From its title we can guess that it's likely about a person called John Carter, but what else? That's hardly an exciting sounding name, is it? Maybe it's about a bank manager that gasses himself to death in his own car after walking past a mirror and seeing how fucking dull his life is? Can you think of any other movie titles that are just the main characters name but that isn't part of a pre-existing franchise? Because off the top of my head, I can only think of Jerry Maguire, Donnie Brasco and Vera Drake. Is that what John Carter is about? Is he a sports agent that goes undercover with the mob to perform illegal back-alley abortions? Because if not I've just found a really easy new way of coming up with new stories? What about Carrie, Domino, and Alfie? In which case John Carter could be about a telekinetic bounty-hunter whose womanising ways end after a trip to an.. oh.. to an illegal back-alley abortionist. Hmm. Well, I can tell you right now that John Carter does not involve the subject of abortion in the slightest. Although if I could kill it with a coat-hanger and then wash it down the drain then I absolutely would. 

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This Film Is Dog Shit

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Netflix's The Wrong Missy begins with David Spade being mocked by Missy, the blind date that he's agreed to meet up with because he doesn't drink alcohol. Well, I don't drink alcohol either, although by the end of this fucking God-awful piece of shit movie I'd have been fully prepared to shoot heroin straight into my fucking dick if there was a chance that it would help me to forget. Nobody wants to make a bad film but this one is so fucking shitty that I honestly can't imagine that anybody involved had much intention of making a good one either. Lauren Lapkus plays the title character of The Wrong Missy and manages to give such an offensively irritating performance that you start to wonder if the actress might not actually be from our fucking planet. Surely a genuine member of our own species couldn't have such little insight into what it is to be a human that this would be the best they could come up with? Imagine Simple Jack crossed with a rapist that's been given amphetamines after being kicked in the head by a fucking horse and you're close to the horror show of her performance as Missy. If Lauren Lapkus is an alien then what she does here should be considered a declaration of war to which I suggest preemptively nuking every single planet within our fucking solar-system in response. David Spade's character is equally disturbed by her character and so decides to try and escape from his date by sneaking out of the bathroom window. Despite what we mere mortals might think when looking at this tiny gremlin of a man, this film treats David Spade as an actual living adonis for which the fairer sex can do all but resist. Throughout the entirety of The Wrong Missy, women continue to hurl themselves at him vagina first as I sat at home spraying vomit all up the fucking walls. 

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