15 September 2020

Join In The Fight That Will Give You The Right To Be Free

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So I went to the cinema to see a film about the French called Les Misérables, although I should clarify that it wasn't the one about the cunt who stole a loaf of bread. Instead, this was a modern-day cop drama thing that tries to draw attention to a certain part of life and in a certain part of France. The title seems pretty apt to me though because whenever I see the French I do think 'oh look, there are the Miserables'. For me, the question isn't about why this film is called Les Misérables but rather as to why all the other french movies aren't called that as well. Except maybe Amelie which should probably just have been called The Upbeat Gnome Thief. I should clarify that I've never actually been to France and I haven't met a single french person since I was in school and they wheeled one out in class to help us learn their language. But when did that ever stop a Brit from making an unfounded and xenophobic judgement on an entire country? I can confirm that the individual in school did not find it funny when I suggested the french word for ' the pub' might, in fact, be 'la pube' and so you know. Fuck'em. They say that french is the language of love and yet every single one of their words sounds like they gave up about halfway through and just started fucking vomiting. “Bonjurghhh”, they might say before doubling over and expelling out what looks like liquid cheese. “Sacreblurrrgghh”, another will respond as a chewed up frogs leg spews back out of their mouth in a semi-digested green paste. French might be the language of love but only if the thing that you love is to be face down in the fucking toilet as your partner holds your hair back and you have to catch a breath between the fucking dry heaves. 

7 September 2020

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.