Don't Look Back In Anger

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From the title, The First Purge, you could be forgiven for assuming that this movie might be a gritty drama about a young girl that discovers the joys of ramming her fingers down the back of her throat. But in actual fact it is of course the fourth instalment of The Purge series which began as a silly dystopian horror movie but at this point feels only a few weeks away from becoming a genuine national holiday. Within the world of the film, Purge Night is the one night every year in which all crime becomes legal and the American public decide to all go out on a killing spree. So kind of like America now but where the kids don't have to specifically be in school if they want to be shot at. Interestingly, the series has only ever really focused on the night being used for murder which is strange because it's not that killing people is tolerated for that one night but that literally every crime is. I know it makes for a more dramatic movie if everybody wants to murder each other but I honestly think that if Purge Night happened where I live then everybody would just start building a conservatory without planning permission, fly-tipping, and burning unwanted leaves in their stupid fucking gardens. 

I Saw John Carpenter Live!

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As John Carpenter and his band launched into their live rendition of the theme from his ghostly masterpiece The Fog, some genius thought it'd be a good idea to turn on the smoke machine. And they were right. It was fucking genius. Seeing Carpenter play that piece of music with footage from the film projected onto a large screen behind him, while mist slowly descended over the room, was one of the many highlights of the Liverpool gig that I saw him at on the 28^th of October. I can't say that any ghost-pirates appeared from the fog this time, however it's been so long since I last ate any fruit that it wouldn't surprise me if I had fucking scurvy at this point. Getting into the gig had proven to be more of a ball-ache than I'd imagined thanks to Google-maps providing the wrong location, one Taxi-driver refusing to take us because “he'd be fucked by the Hackneys”, and then finding ourselves stuck outside the most badly organised venue that I've ever been to. People with paper tickets were allowed straight in whereas those with E-tickets had to stand outside until twenty-minutes past the gig's original start time for some reason. To quote a fellow E-ticket queuer; “it's like we're the working class and this venue thinks it's the fucking Titanic”.

Is This A Hollow Victory?

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13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers Of Benghazi has to be one of the worst fucking titles ever. I mean, what does it even refer to?! '13 Hours' sounds to me like it's the first instalment of a shitty new Young Adult franchise. Or does '13 Hours' simply refer to the running time of the movie, because that's how long it fucking felt like. In fact, here's a better title for this movie- how about 'Another American Balls Up'? Based on a true story, the film is about an American security team that find themselves lost up Shit Creek after a U.S Ambassador is killed by a mob in his Libyan-based compound. Considering this is a touchy subject that's constantly being used as a political football, I'm sure you can imagine the calibre of director that would be required to tell the story. Could it be Paul Greengrass, Kathryn Bigelow, Oliver Stone, Clint Eastwood, or maybe even Ben Affleck? No. Fuck them. Let's get Michael Bay to do it. It's not like his films are always total shit... just look at Pearl Harbour! That film clearly understood the nuance's of history, hence Roger Ebert's classic review of it being about how “the Japanese staged a surprise attack on an American love triangle”.