Against The Odds?

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Life begins with us being dragged, kicking and screaming from our mothers vagina, and then it's all downhill from there. Some people are born stupid and will spend most of their lives shoving junk food into their mouths and trying not to bump into any obstacles that don't have the corresponding genitals. For those of you who weren't blessed with stupidity then there are some magical herbs that will help to defend you from your own piece of shit mind. I won't name them but they're famously available in Amsterdam, parts of America, and from a bloke in Liverpool called Billy Baggy. I'm an over-thinker, which means that as soon as it gets dark, my brain likes to torment me to the point that if I worked in a motel, I'd probably be dressing up as it and killing people as they shower. With the magical herbs however, the world is a beautiful place to behold. There's no stress, everything tastes nicer, and things are incredibly entertaining to simply stare at. I once spent about fifteen minutes looking at a door handle because it was just so god-damn fucking shiny and white.

A Rocky Legacy?

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When I was finishing school, my Dad suggested to me that I consider his line of work as a possible career path. Obviously I ruled this out on the grounds that it's not the fucking Victorian times and I'd rather hang myself than do something as cliched as follow in my father's footsteps. Little did I know that, after nepotism, the only way to get a decent job would be to find the CEO of a company and suck them off in an alley. Creed is the seventh film in the Rocky series, one which has decided to spin off and focus on the young son of the franchise's Hulked up Lando Calrissian, Apollo Creed. Little Creed is determined to do his own thing despite who his father was and he admirably wants to make a name for himself on his own merits. Bearing in mind my own stubbornness on the subject and subsequent lack of success, hope, and happiness, I see him and I as being kindred spirits. So to make it on his own he decides to become a part of his fathers profession, forces his father's ex-world-champion friend to train him, and then takes on his first big match simply as a result of who his father was. Oh, right... good job with the whole 'making it on your own' thing. Prick.

Tarantino's Eighth Film?

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The Hateful Eight is Quentin Tarantino's eighth movie and the first to revolve around a mystery. The mystery being 'how the fuck is this his eighth movie!?' Counting Kill Bill as one film is bullshit because there's a very obvious tonal difference between the two volumes, and when combined they're about as structurally sound as a castle made of shit. Also, I had to pay for two separate fucking tickets to see them both. Either it's one film and he's willing to compromise his artistic integrity for the sake of a quick buck, or he now owes me about eight quid for that extra ticket that he accidentally sold me. Of course even if we count Kill Bill as one film, that still leaves the anomaly of Death Proof. Originally that was only the first half of a movie known as Grindhouse, but when it flopped in America, everybody panicked and released the two halves separately. So if we're using the Kill Bill logic, then we can only conclude that Death Proof was also another half of a film. But then if we're counting halves then surely we're also counting the quarter of Four Rooms that he's responsible for, and maybe even that two-percent of Sin City that he did? Combined, they work out at about twenty-seven percent of one full film. I mean, I've been forced to do Maths GCSE questions that were fucking easier than this...

It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world!

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Don't you hate it when you go to see a film about a woman who loves pastry and then suddenly it turns out to be about a guy who wants to have his dick chopped off?! The Danish Girl is set in 1920's Copenhagen when all of the locals have decided to discard their own language in a nationwide experiment to sound like posh, English RADA graduates. However despite this bizarre Twilight Zone bat-shittery, the film decides to focus on a young and slightly unconventional married couple of artists. Played by Alicia Vikander and Eddie Redmayne, the wife of the two asks her husband to pose as a woman for one of her portraits which magically imbues him with the desire to literally transform into an actual female. With a power like that, I can't help but wonder if she's the reason that Piers Morgan seems to look like a sweaty, phone-hacking bell-end. Anyway, so what follows is the story of a man and his desire to undergo one of the worlds first gender reassignment operations. In all honesty it's probably a good job that I saw this film because I've been lobbying for a sex change operation for some time. Although rather than swapping my gender I was simply hoping that I could alter the status of my 'sex' to anything other than 'getting none'.

Why Did Amy Winehouse Die?

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“Amy Winehouse died from an overdose? Of course she did. Fuck her, the stupid bitch.” That generally seemed to be the sympathetic response from my parents' generation when news broke of the singers death. Nothing seems to annoy my own Mum more than when a financially successful person succumbs to their own monsters and kicks the bucket. It's as though they see mental illness as being the same as watching Steve Irwin get bitten after sticking his cock into an alligators eye. I agree that if you play with matches then there's a chance that you'll get burned but with addiction, it seems like getting burned is kind of the point. In which case perhaps there's a good possibility that the underlying motive is a little more self-destructive and tragic than simply trying to annoy anonymous members of the public.. and my Mum. I have actually encountered addicts who have entered into a rehab program and can honestly say that it's one of the most profound things that I've ever been involved with. These people are valiantly attempting to find a state of mind and normality that we all take for granted. These are the ones that see choosing life as an improvement to their current situation. There's nothing that will highlight the grim reality of a persons existence than seeing them fight to become part of a world that's undeniably as fucking miserable as this one.

Kids Need To Learn That Life Is Grim

If you're depressed about being a fuck up then it's probably Disney's fault. I'm not blaming the house of mouse for the fact that you're seemingly incapable of achieving happiness but rather that you consider it your own fault. Being the constant miserabilist that I am, I've taken to asking most people within my social circle if they're happy and the two most positive responses that I've had are “I'm in a happier place” and “I don't like this line of questioning”. Am I happy? No. I wake up every morning, rate my joy out of eight and then stick my head in the oven, on that gas mark and for that equivalent amount of minutes. Literally nobody will admit to being content because nobody actually fucking is, but in this world of social media we assume that everybody is swimming in an ocean of success whilst we're trying not to drown in a swimming pool of piss. People used to be worried that the grass was always greener on the other side but some days I can't help but feel it'd simply look better from six foot below.

An Emotional Journey?

I check the latest movie news on my phone with such impulsiveness that it's like watching a crackhead frantically rifle through his dead mate's pockets, however the news that George Lucas had sold the Star Wars franchise to Disney and that they were essentially going to make these movies from now and until I die came as a shock. Not only had I presumed that the saga was over, but Lucas had managed to make this entire deal with the kind of flawless secrecy that you wish he'd reserved for his ideas regarding a prequel trilogy. I was with my friend at the time the announcement was made and it was him who was able to give me the news. “They're making more Star Wars films, the cast of the original trilogy is involved, Lucas will have nothing to do with it”. My brain imploded. I couldn't cope. How does somebody react to having news like that just sprung upon them? Well- I did what any respectable, twenty-something year old geek would do. I marched over to my Darth Vader voice-changer helmet, popped it onto my head, sat on my bed and had a little fucking cry. 

The Benefits Of Being A Slow Burner

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Do you ever have one of those evenings in which one second you're having a casual sip of alcohol and the next you're screaming abuse over some loud music and projectile vomiting up the walls? Ah, nights in are the best aren't they?! Well, in many ways the new film Bridge Of Spies is a non-aggressive version of that kind of night except it won't result in you needing a new liver or losing custody of the kids. Well, not unless you're watching it with them whilst rubbing your belly button and masturbating, anyway. So the movie began calmly, I relaxed back into my chair, and then two hours later I left the cinema having seen one of my new favourites of the year. In the same way that David Hasselhoff can't handle his drink, I had no idea that I was being affected as much as I was until the credits rolled and I could feel my sense of awe. Except in my case I'd just gone to the cinema to see a really good movie - in the Hoff's case, he was filmed trying to eat a broken burger off his bathroom floor whilst naked from the waist up. I don't know if you've seen that video of him making a complete fool of himself? Although I will say, in his defence, and as Pamela Anderson will be aware, there is more undignified footage online featuring the cast of Baywatch. It's called Baywatch.

Toy Story Changes Meaning The Older You Get?

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Last night I finished watching the Toy Story Trilogy for the first time since the third installment was first released at the cinema. Obviously the whole experience was fucking amazing. I laughed, I cried, and I felt guilty as hell about some of the things that my toys would have seen happen in my room during my teenage years. This morning when I got into work however my boss had brought his six year old grandson with him and by shear coincidence the kid was playing with his figurines from the film. Either that kid has a seriously decent taste in pop-culture or it's about time that I grew the fuck up. As I was trying to crack on with my job, I could hear the little scamp playing out his own stories with Woody, Buzz, Jessie, and Rex, and I was genuinely impressed. Beyond anything, I had no idea that kids still played with toys if I'm honest. I just assumed that the youth of today had thrown away their love of figures and imagination after being seduced by the charms of computer games, crack-cocaine, and violent pornography. Admittedly he was wrapping the characters up in sellotape and suffocating them as though trial-running the future murder of his fucking pets but still... until a cat turns up dead, it seemed sweet to me. 

Steve Jobs - A Pain In The Art?

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I guess the general vibe of the world is that nobody likes their boss. I mean, I know for fact that I couldn't fucking stand the Guy that I previously worked for. In case you didn't get that very un-gettable inside reference, the twat's name was Guy, but for the sake of some anonymity we'll just call him Mr Williams. Anyway- Mr Williams was one of those people who expected you to pull the moon out of your arse despite every one of his instructions being completely contradictory, impossible, or not my fucking responsibility. Danny Boyle's latest film Steve Jobs depicts an equally demented piece of shit, although at least this chap is changing the world instead of making pennies from a crappy sheet-metal company. The film is broken up into three very distinct acts with each third focusing on the avalanche of technical and personal problems that Jobs has shat on him before launching several new products. Of course everybody will be allowed their own interpretation of the film, but for me it's about one of two things.. either it's about art and what it means to be an artist or it's the story of a total fucking psychopath. Despite his loyal army of fanboys, the film depicts Jobs as what I'd call “a total Guy Williams” and what the rest of the world would probably just call a cunt. 

Does This Survive The Cut?

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I'll say right now that The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2 is the best second half of a film that I've ever been forced into paying full price to see. Generally it's nice for a film to have a beginning, a middle, and an end, but thanks exclusively to the greed of the money grabbing studios, that's sadly not the case here. Occasionally a franchise will start spewing out billions of dollars in box office returns and as the thing comes to its inevitable conclusion, the money men will do whatever they can to drag things out for as much as they can. As has been the case with other young adult franchises, their solution seems to be to stretch the final book out for longer than it needs to be and then slicing it in half like a magician with a real saw and an assistant that he doesn't particularly care about. Fans of the book will argue that the final two films had to be extended like this to get everything in, but that's only because they lack an emotional distance. When adapting for the cinema, it's often required to trim, chop, and change things for the story to translate between the two mediums. Kind of like shooting a hostage's arm off to kill a suicide bomber behind them. As an impartial spectator, I can see how that would have been for the greater good despite the probable pissyness of the louder, screaming loved ones.

How The West Was Really Won

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The traditional 'Western' genre is almost a propaganda movement for everything that's great about America and why it's often considered 'the land of opportunity'. This is of course assuming that what you really want from your land is the opportunity to commit mass genocide and then glorify it on film. In these older movies we'd see pure-hearted heroes wiping out the savages from the local area without ever questioning the fact that referring to the enemy as a 'native' might suggest they have some entitlement to fucking live there. It's kind of like being in an alternate world in which the Nazi's won the war and invented a genre of film in which lone Aryan soldiers would save the world from money hungry demons called The Jews.

Paddington And The Problem With Humanity

You can tell that Paddington is unrealistic because it features a foreign bear arriving in our country and nobody bats a single eye. If this had been set in the real world then he'd have arrived to find a load of pasty-faced fuck-ups looking for somebody to blame their own shitty lives on, and demanding to “send that bastard bear back!” The film presents a world in which we not only accept the existence of a talking animal but rather more unbelievably, it's also one in which we only treat an immigrant with mild irritation instead of an uneducated and twat-like contempt. The story begins when a bear named Paddington is forced to flee his native land due to it having been fucked into pieces by a natural disaster. The little scamp manages to find his way to London where he's taken in by a family that kindly decide to help him track down an explorer that encountered his species many years previously. The mother takes Paddington in due to her kindness, the father wants to get rid of him as soon as possible, the teenage daughter is completely indifferent, and the youngest son just loves him. Had this been real life then the plight of Paddington and his flee from the darkest Peru would only have garnered a modicum of sympathy had he arrived face down and dead on a beach.

So What Is Spectre Really About?

The dead are alive. These are the opening words that hammer on screen and begin James Bond's latest post-shag, pre-drink murder-sprees. At the start of Spectre, 007 is off-duty in Mexico and chasing down a fat foreign guy that he promptly kills for no good or obvious reason. Maybe this is an unofficial mission or maybe it's simply how an 'imperialistic right-wing fuck-face' chooses to relax. Either way it essentially kick-starts the latest story, dealing with the fate of MI6, the circumstances of Bond's childhood, and the threat of a sinister organisation that may even be more evil than the tax-dodging Starbucks. As a fully-obsessed fan of the series, I once received a poker chip from the casino in Skyfall for Christmas that a friend suggested I show to every single girl I meet. If I ever find one that recognises it as being from that film then apparently it's proof that she's the one for me and I should propose on the spot. Well, the same test could sort of be applied to any friendship with this entire film. The question is “What do those opening four words refer to?” If the answer is "Sum of da people in da opening Day of da Dead sequence look lyk zombies” then you're to get the fuck out of my life. As anybody with at least three brain cells will be able to deduce, the correct answer is “The filmmakers are literally spelling out the film's theme for all of the thick people in the audience”.

Was Chappie Really That Bad?

At least in terms of its themes, if Pinocchio, Oliver Twist, Robocop, and Short Circuit ever got bored and decided to start fucking then Chappie would be the spunky mess that gets left on the bed sheets. Set in the near future, Johannesburg has become so shitty that the South African government has had to invest in a squadron of attack robots to try and stem the flow of crime. These cyborgs have pinpoint accuracy, armour plating, and are as ruthlessly efficient at stopping wrong-doers as the American police are with little, unarmed, black children. Meanwhile the robots creator Dev Patel has just figured out how to make his products a little less murdery and a little more thinky which he celebrates by having Chappie, his prototype, promptly stolen from him by a couple of criminals. By coincidence, it's also worth noting that the two kidnappers are two of the biggest fuck-nuggets I've ever seen... more on them later I suppose. Essentially Chappie tells the story of the worlds first, completely sentient robot, and how it's forced to choose its morality whilst simultaneously learning the hard facts about how shite our species really is.

Her And The Awkwardness Of Life

Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I have always written my own love letters when trying to woo a potential suitor. To save time, I generally just email a photograph of my cock with a question mark written on in marker pen! Set in the not too distant future, Her tells the story of a twitchy loner played by Joaquin Phoenix who makes his living from faking other peoples emotions by writing love letters on their behalf. Despite being so sensitive and kind however, he is currently going through a painful divorce which is of course all the stupid fucker deserves for being dumb enough to get married in the first place. Did I mention that I'm a romantic? As such he begins a relationship with an operating system that lives in both his phone and computer. Because clearly it's a good idea to start a relationship with a woman that you can't hide your internet history from. This is a world in which we seem to have figured out how to create artificial intelligence with his mobile-girlfriend being played by the voice of Scarlett Johansson. This might sound mildly impressive, but if I had a choice of dating Johansson's voice without her body, or her body without her voice, this isn't the way round I'd probably go for.

Has Ridley Scott Gone To Mars And Returned To Form?

Personally I don't think we should be going to Mars. It's too far away, it's expensive, and we've still not been able to explore the absolute depths of our own oceans. I'm sure there's some scientific reason for one day going to the red planet but personally I just want the boffins to find me some freaky shit to stare at. Have you seen some of those crazy fucking fish that are living in the deeper parts of the oceans? They're amazing. They're all crazy colours with massive teeth and tentacle-like dicks on their heads. I mean just look at the giant squid- what the hell is it?! It looks like some sort of biological, satanic sex toy! Even if we do find some sign of life on Mars, it's not going to be as impressive as that. And if it is then I'm pretty sure we run the risk of it being sentient enough to be into the whole anal-probe thing. I don't know about you... but when given the choice of either finding some massive fucking Kraken or having an alien ram its equipment up my arsehole I know which one I prefer.

Just Another Film About Artificial Intelligence?

It has recently been alleged in an unofficial biography of British Prime Minister David Cameron that the dish-faced little gimp once popped his probably wart-riddled cock into the mouth of a decapitated pig. I have no idea if this story is true and I can't say that I was exactly expecting a headline that suggested our countries leader had necro-face-fucked the star of Babe, however, true or not, if you ask me, the fact that it doesn't surprise me is kind of bad enough. This thought process and story kind of reminded me of Alex Garland's latest film Ex Machina, which is a sci-fi film dealing with the creation of the worlds most advanced AI robot and that Garland claims to be set “ten minutes from now”. His point with this is that his movie might depict an extraordinary set of circumstances, however technology is moving so quickly that if it were announced that his film had come true then we'd be surprised, but not that surprised. I suppose the main difference is though that I'd be excited if they announced the creation of a robot super-race, but with Cameron I simply can't help but wonder who comes out worse in the story? The dead-eyed dirty pig or the decapitated sow with a cock in its mouth.

Glamourising Scum?

Back in the 1960's the Kray Twins ruled London's underworld like a living, breathing, 'Spot The Difference Competition' between a couple of violent bell-ends. Reggie was meant to be the 'nicer' of the two brothers, with Ronnie having had his brain replaced with a lump of pig shit and a hand-grenade. However let's face it, neither were exactly anything less than a couple of over-achieving pricks that bullied their way to the top before dying the sad and premature deaths that they had coming. However as well as being gangsters, the two were obsessed with celebrity culture and were regularly seen rubbing shoulders with actors, politicians, and whatever kind of shrill-voiced, cockney Womble Barbara Windsor is. As a result the two men went onto to become one of the iconic faces of the swinging sixties. Probably thanks to their working class background, the nutters have spent the last few decades brewing in the British subconscious to the point were they've basically become anti-heroes. Sure, they might have just been a couple of local lads that upset the establishment by doing things their own way... It's just that their own way involved shooting people in the head and knifing them in the belly, with the Kray's moral code being as deformed and twisted as their battered, bull-dog faces.

A Film For Actual Teenagers?

There's a scene in American Pie in which the main character gets a girl into his room and secretly films her getting her tits out on his webcam... I guess nothing smacks of hilarity like a sex crime. Call me a prude but when I was a teenager I had higher ambitions than simply getting drunk and finding a girl to cram my balls into. As a result I pretty much hated every bigger budget teen movie that I saw thanks to their complete obliviousness of my life. I suppose there's meant to be an aspirational element to all of those films in which brain-dead frat boys get their steroid-shrivelled cocks sucked off by a gang of crab-riddled, cheerleading slags. The reality is however that rather than spending a couple of hours feeling like I was part of their gang, I was left to return to a life of feeling left out. Was that what I was meant to be doing? I think that during my teenage years I spent more time trying to think of a particularly witty suicide note than I did about getting laid. In fact, being the depressed geek that I was I did actually come up with one that would depressingly also apply to the oft-fucked and vaginal-stinking 'jocks'. To put it simply, “So long and thanks for all the fish”.

Cinema Needs Faces

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Don't you just hate people and their big punchable faces. It's just a skin-mask featuring their squinty little eyes, fat noses, and a mouth that essentially just acts a delivery system for their ill-informed and unwanted bullshit. Well- not so, according to director David Cronenberg, who argues that “the essence of cinema is a human face speaking”. That might be a bit rich coming from a man who's made a career from mutating peoples bodies and having Jeff Goldblum's dick drop off, but despite my ingrained sense of misanthropy I can't help but agree with him. Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master is a perfect example of this with there being almost no obvious plot and about as much action as you'd find in a horny Nun's bed as she lies motionless, alone, and in denial. Unlike most modern movies, there's no superheroes or aliens, no shared universe or exploding buildings. It's just a freaky looking man with a cleft lip talking to a fat man with a moustache and it's fucking amazing.

Inside Out Excels For Knowing That Females Are People Too!

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As an only child that went to an all boys school and who has since become almost terminally single, I grew up in complete fear of all woman-kind. I mean.. what were they?! They liked dolls, the colour pink, and would one day grow two massive arse cheeks on their chest for babies to suck on. I was predominately exposed to females through the goggle-box which terrified me with images of Bonnie Tyler screaming down the camera like the Welsh God of Drunken Anger. Even movies rarely focused on the vagina'd gender unless they were spoon-feeding us a turgid love story about a frumpy tart's desperate attempt to win the heart of some terribly English prick. Talk about boring! As a young boy I didn't care about 'romance' and so found those movies and characters to be about as interesting and relatable as a tiny stain on the rim of a cat's anus. In the years that I've since spent growing up I'd like to think that I've gained some insight, but sadly it seems that most mainstream movies haven't. If you want to see a film starring a woman in the lead role of a movie which doesn't fall into the romance genre, then the odds are she's going to be on her knees as twenty men tug one out around her. Thank God then for Pixar and their new film Inside Out which aims to have a look at a young girls brain and answer the age old question of 'what the fuck is going on in there!?'