a review thing

So I'm doing a film review.....

Warm Bodies:

So you know that feeling when you're attracted to a walking corpse?

No me neither, its fucked up. But this is one of the situations that's covered in Warm Bodies, the second Zom-rom-com that's ever existed in modern cinema and the first to have a zombie as the male lead (that I'm aware of). Our Undead hero named 'R' has the advantage over other movie zombies of having a Joss Whedon inspired internal dialogue, and despite being dead, being more attractive than everyone you know. (Seriously, his hair in the film is impeccable and he's fucking dead.) R spends his undead days in an airport shuffling about and grunting to his best friend 'M' (sadly not played by Judi Dench) and collecting trinkets and being cool in his Boeing 747 converted home, listening to the films groovy soundtrack. Then, on a food recon mission, R stumbles into Julie (whilst eating her twat of a boyfriends brain) and does what any love struck man would do, smear his entrails over her face and take her back to his home. From here Julie realizes that R isn't going to open her up like a box of malteasers and feast on the chocolaty goodness. What begins is a pathway to what potentially could be a revolution for the lives of every living and unliving thing on the planet.

Having a dead guy for a leading man is something of a risky choice seeing that he's not much of for talking, but having a fully functioning internal dialogue is a genius idea and Hoult delivers it very well.
Of course the internal dialogue was an original idea adapted from the book, Coincidentally called Warm Bodies (written by Isaac Marion, who incidently was interviewed by my brother on his awesome website right here).
Teresa Palmer (who I'd never heard of and imdb does nothing to help me in this regard) plays Julie as a smartarse army brat you'd expect what with John Malkovich has her Dad, but gives her enough depth that you don't want R to eat her limbs.

As with pretty much every zombie film, the metaphors for living your life are thrown around with a carefree abandon. There's a great little moment at the start where R bemoans being able to connect with people which leads to a flashback to a pre-virus time where everyone in the airport are staring into their phones and tablets, completely oblivious to each others existence.

The overriding theme that comes across (not often subtly) is the importance of connecting with your fellow human. As R gets further down the line of potentially regaining his humanity, we get the reminders of what happens if the connection is completely lost if the form of the "Bonies". These skinless super-evil zombies are essentially the poor CGI creations from 'I am Legend' loaned out to a film with a lesser budget, they look out of place but they are indeed, the necessary evil that is needed to inspire an unlikely alliance that propels the story forward.

There's not much else to say about this to be honest. It's a great little film that occasionally has a different take on the zombie film and has great soundtrack and a good central performance from Hoult and solid support from Palmer and that bloke from "Hot Tub Time Machine". If your stuck for something to watch then it's a great compromise. I know this as I wanted to see Les Miserables but there wasn't a decent showing for it.

Next time, an attempt to write something about Skyfall and why I was pissed off about there being an advert for a VW Beetle within 5 minutes of it starting.

After that, probably Total Recall again.



                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Massive Red Granny Pants

There's nothing quite like being terrified by a nonchalant conversation about nuclear waste.

This happened earlier whilst driving back from my local generic supermarket. Apparently there's enough nuclear waste in the UK to fill four Wembley stadia (because Radio 4 aren't quite pretentious enough not to just say stadium) and a small percent is hugely radioactive still. What fun, eh? I was sitting there and could not help but feel terrified about living in a future where there's millions of tonnes of this glowing shit buried under the earth, no doubt right next to an ancient Indian burial ground. Then the zombie's will come and try to eat us all. But we'll be able to see the glowing undead which will help the revolution.

 I don't want to live in a world where there's a potential for my sons to become Radioactive Man. Or Fallout Boy for that matter. Some people have even suggested firing it into the sun. Well, that just creates super villains. I know, I've seen Superman IV and the only thing that I got from that film is that if anything all the copies should should be fired into the methane lakes of Titan. The sun would be too good for them.

As it happens, I've been a bit taken in by the Man of Steel lately. It might have something to do with the fact that the story of the attempt to get Superman back on the big screen in the mid 90's has resurfaced online. It's a fascinating story involving Kevin Smith, (speaker, smoker and occasional film maker) who wrote a great script, which you can read online, and also involved several Hollywood nutters.

One in particular called Jon Peters, demanded that Smith wrote a script in which Superman doesn't fly, doesn't wear his costume and fights a giant robot spider.

Lets face it, nothing ruins a Superman film like one where he wears his costume and flies. I mean, what the fuck were they thinking? The fact that Smith manages to work all that shit in and still make a feasible story is testament to him.

I don't know why I've been getting into the Superman story lately  There is, of course, the new Superman film coming out before long so maybe I've been suckered in by the amazing subliminal advertising. It is a possibility, I've been easily led by advertising in the past. Once I was singing to my son to get him to sleep whilst watching TV, and a car advert came on.

 I actually sang the words 'Twinkle Twinkle little car' and bought a new Lexus two days later.

But anyway, Superman. I watched Superman Returns the other day and loved it. I fear I may lose any geek points I may have for admitting this, but I did. I thought it was beautifully shot and I thought that Brandon Routh was a brilliant Kal-El. Yeah, Kate Bosworth was miscast as Lois and the kid was a misstep but when Superman was in action it was a joy to behold.

Of course it doesn't help that he wears pants on the outside. It was much worse with Christopher Reeve, the pants were MASSIVE.
They were MASSIVE RED PANTS.
MASSIVE PANTS.
RED PANTS

I know it's been the main joke for nearly seventy five years but what the hell is that about? Is that Kryptonian fashion? Why didn't his Dad tell him before he sent him to earth?

I will leave you with an exclusive extract from the original script that was edited for time at the last minute. You can find the full script online.

Live as one of them, Kal-El, to discover where your strength and your power are needed. Always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you... my only son. But you'll have wear massive red granny pants over a powder-blue leotard in order to be their saviour. I saw all the kids outside our local Tesco wearing it, so I'm sure that no-one will question it. But, just in case, I've given you my banana-coloured belt to hold up the massive pants. You can't possibly fail. Make sure you wear the red cape as well, just to finish the look. If anyone questions what your wearing, just punch them into the sun.

Questions about Hammers

I rediscovered the apple trailer website the other day and have got slightly obsessed with watching HD trailers.

Previously I'd been using computers that would would take a day and a night to load up so watching any videos would involve a long waiting time or deleting a lot of programmes in order to free up space.
It's not like I ever used Word for anything important...

One of the trailers I watched was for the latest Die Hard film, the fifth, if you're counting. This time, John McClaine is out in Russia to help his son, who, judging by the trailer, is leading the sort of life that seems to scream out 'father abandonment issues'. By that, I mean he's just doing what McClaine Sr did for twenty years, just on an international scale and his soul shouting "LOVE ME DADDY" whilst snapping a terrorist neck. There's one scene at the end of the trailer that just made me laugh and lose all hope for the film.

Basically they take out a helicopter and fall out a window parallel to a helicopter they've just destroyed that is about to hit the deck and explodes ten times on the way down. They fall for what appears to be two minutes. Bill and Ted had a shorter journey to hell.

It's just fucking stupid.

But on one hand its a nice father/son bonding event for the McClaines.

Watching this however did get me thinking. The Boy started school this week and it seems like the time is just flying by. Soon I'll have to start thinking about our own bonding routines (not only for him but the new boy as well) I don't think that we're going to end up in Russia and take down an attack helicopter anytime in the next ten years, but there might be moments when we'll end up doing "male bonding" things.

By man things of course I mean the institutionalized gender stereotypical "man" things including (but not limited to) car maintenance, camping out and not asking for directions when we're so clearly lost and desperately in need of help.

This worries me. As few may know, I'm not the biggest example of Alpha male that has ever graced God's green earth. I haven't got a football team I really support among other things and I don't like the ever-fun pastime of parking a car, opening the bonnet (or hood as the films tell me) and staring at an engine that's not running. Or running. Either way I couldn't give a tiny monkey shit what that piece of welded metal is doing. As long as it can get me back and fore to work I will respect it, I just don't want to stare at it in the hope that it will offer me some sort of sexual gratification, as many petrol heads seem to be thinking whilst gazing into the twinkly tips of their gleaming spark plugs. If indeed spark plugs gleam. Do they just spark? I have no idea. I'm not James May.

I do worry that I will somehow inexplicably find myself stuck in a situation where I have to defeat some other boys' father by throwing something really far, or answer questions about hammers. I worry about letting them down in front of their friends. But then the fun will be finding out if the boys are going to be sporty, geeky, arty or all of the above.

I have a feeling that they're going to like Star Wars, no matter what they turn out like. I'm looking forward to the first time I watch it with them. They're going to want a lightsabre, everyone wants a lightsabre. I already have one.

I know it'll be fine. I just hope they find adequate guidance from me and not expect a dad can kill helicopters and survive a 100 foot fall and have a snappy quip at then end of it.

Fingers crossed....

Fuck You, Daily Mail

Generally, I don't read the papers. Not for news at any rate. In this day and age, who needs to?
The only time would buy a paper is on the weekend to read the pithy comments of people who hate the TV programmes they feel compelled to watch. Idiots.

But when I'm in the shop i can't help but feel compelled to read all the headlines of the tabloids to see what
dirge they're spouting off their diseased soapboxes and it's usually the same thing.

"DIANA IS STILL DEAD. WHY GOD WHY?????" shouts the Express.

"WE ARE APPARENTLY THE VOICE OF BRITAIN (BY THAT WE MEAN RACIST ENGLISH PEOPLE)" States the Sun.

"WE HAVE NOTHING INTERESTING TO SAY WHATSOEVER" blurts the Mirror.

"TITS TITS TITS BOOBS.....TITS" slurs the Star.

"...." (thank god the News of the World is dead).


Then there's the Daily Mail. The Mail just sits there on the stand, and nearly every day there's
a headline that manages to boil the blood and enrage the soul. I stand there and I wonder how this shit-rag
manages to get away with some of the things they have written.

So this is a short blog to say fuck you to the Daily Mail.

Fuck you for your unashamedly biased Tory Opinions

Fuck you for your so called crusade against online pornography when your own website features sleazy pictures of women

Fuck you Jan Moir for writing a piece about the lifestyle choices of a man who had tragically died.

Fuck you for endlessley targeting the BBC, one of this country's greatest assets, time and time again.

Fuck you (Jan Moir) For your pathetic non-apology about the aforementioned piece.

Fuck you for "Sashagate''

Fuck you for your pathetic attempts to create a bogus witch hunt for Jack Whitehall

Fuck you for saying that coffee, causes cancer.

Fuck you for giving false hope by stating that coffee can help the fight against cancer.

One that really tugs my shit more than anything, fuck you for apparently fighting for freedom of speech
yet wanting questioning any art/comedy/anything else in the world that you disagree with.

Basically, just fuck you. The day your pathetic waste of paper is taken off the shelves is a day that cannot come soon enough.

If you read this and think of any other reasons why you want to say "fuck you daily mail" then please comment below. I will gladly add them to the blog. This wont take down the paper, more will it make much of an impact. But, I hope that it will just show some people what a waste of space it is.

If it does, then I will feel I have achieved something.

Next time, funny stuff about Die Hard and various other things.