Cage Fighting With The Cosmos

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During one of the earlier scenes in director Richard Stanley's latest film Color Out Of Space, Nicholas Cage decides to milk one of his many alpaca's before drinking it straight down before it has chance to cool. Did you hear that? Nicholas Cage squeezes milk out of an alpaca's tits before instantly guzzling it down to enjoy its freshness. Nicholas Cage. An Alpaca's tits. He drinks its milk. I think it was at that point that I decided that this might be one of my new favourite films of all time. What was cinema even invented for if not to see Nicholas Cage fondling a random animal's nipples before necking back whatever liquid he manages to get out of it? How can art ever top this? What are they going to do next? Will they make a sequel in which he wanks off a pig? According to Cage's character, alpacas are “the animals of the future”, and although he never explains his reasoning for this, my belief in his performance is such that I've now got ten on order. Will I milk them as Cage does here? Of course I fucking will. Will I name one after him when they arrive? Why the Hell wouldn't I? What's the point in having a pet alpaca if you can't then offer guests a glass of milk squeezed fresh from Nicholas Cage's hanging nipples? Color Out Of Space is the kind of movie that delivers exactly what it says on the tin and not only does it not disappoint but as with Cage's own ability to over-act, it goes above and beyond. What a fucking film. 

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It's Amateur Hour On Netflix

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At the start of the week, I had to have my dog of fourteen and a half years put to sleep and yet watching Mark Of The Devil was probably the worst thing I've experienced over the last few days. Not really. Obviously. But you get my point. The dog thing was like having my heart ripped out whereas watching this film was more like I was being lightly kicked in the head for a bit. I'd spotted the film on Netflix and so figured I'd give it a whirl but despite only having a running time of about 80minutes I swear to God that it must have been on for about five fucking days. By the time that the film was finally over, I'd grown facial hair, lost weight, and reality was now tinged with this surreal dream-like edge that didn't feel real. Admittedly most of that was probably down to the dog situation but there's no denying that getting through Mark Of The Devil was like being stranded on a desert island with only rocks to lick and suicide to contemplate for entertainment. The film itself is about a group of people getting possessed by a.. thing? That's about as much as I can tell you because the whole film was so painfully tedious that my concentration began to lapse and I was forced to retreat to that safe-room in my Mind Palace. It was as though I was a fucking torture victim. I swear that Terry Waite would have found himself with more to think about as he spent five years chained to a fucking radiator than I did whilst watching this piece of shit film.

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