From Cradle To The Grave

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Alice Lowe's comedically black horror film Prevenge begins with the line that David Attenborough has never had the balls to use; “Nature's a cunt”. Having found herself knocked up and alone, the lead character Ruth appears to have lost her fucking mind and I honestly don't think I can blame her. Her baby still has a little while until its due but already she believes that she can hear it talking to her and it mostly seems to want her to kill people. It's all just 'want, want, want' with these fucking kids, isn't it?! But can you imagine getting pregnant? It's a fucking terrifying idea. One minute you're having a fun time fumble with somebody that you hopefully fancy and the next you're preparing for a tiny human to blast their way out through your fucking genitals. Thank God I was born a male because unless that shit Arnie movie from the early nineties turns out to be a true story then it seems pretty unlikely that I'll find myself up the duff anytime soon. I honestly think that expecting mothers are braver than fucking soldiers because of what they have to go through. At least if you go to war you can convince yourself that you'll return unhurt and having taken a few of the enemies down with you. But pregnant women? There's no escaping the inevitability that a tiny person is about to rip their way out of your vagina and there's nothing you can do in retaliation but love them for it. Nature really is a cunt. 

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Let's Be Frank

Frank starts in some fucking God-awful British coastal town where the beach is made out of broken rocks and the sky is constantly threatening to piss down. Life for Jon is predictably boring with his attempts at writing songs resulting in both unproductive brain-farts and well... shit. One day when out walking, he spots a man attempting suicide which, having seen the grottiness of the area, seems like common sense to me. Being both British and human though, Jon doesn't really worry and instead watches apathetically from the side in the vain hope that he'll suddenly be struck by some musical inspiration. Also, watching this breakdown with understanding nonchalance are the chap’s bandmates who are now in need of a new keyboard player. Jon plays keyboard. He joins the band... it's as easy as that. Sadly though, the band he's joined are so musically experimental that their sound is like listening to somebody angry fuck a dustbin and everybody except the lead singer hates his ginger guts. Oh, and just because that's not already enough of a set up for a ninety minute film, the lead singer is clearly fucking mental having made the common-as-muck life choice of permanently wearing a giant Frank Sidebottom mask on his head. Yep, it's another one of them... A film about the creative process as filtered through the deranged mind of a nutcase, hidden behind a papier-mâché symbol of musical old Madchester. God, I hate all the fucking clichés!