Rain stops play. But I managed to do some Swinton Stalking. And left full time employment. So films a-plenty it is from Monday then.
Sweet comedy drama from Sweden, in the form of Flicker (Flimmer). Yes, I do have a penchant for all things Swedish, therefore I knew I’d be guaranteed to love this. On a more serious note though, Patrik Eklund’s first full length feature really is something special.
Real, actual reviews will eventually be found here.
“I swear, I’ll never eat a fried chicken leg again as long as I live”
Today started off with Alexandre O Philippe’s the Life and Times of Paul the Psychic Octopus. Bless. He was my highlight of the entire 2010 World Cup. Loved that cephalopod clairvoyant and his tentacled fortune telling ways. Shed a tear at news of his demise. Lovely stuff, even if it does try to stretch out such a short career for maybe a little too long. Particularly taken with a lot of the animated sequences – jiggling felt and cardboard octopi with googly eyes? Of course I’d appreciate that kind of thing instantly. Started drawing up templates for my own tiny handsewn oracles this afternoon…
Ian Clark’s Guinea Pigs was eh…’interesting’…no, I jest. It was rather terrible. Nice idea, clunkily handled. I’m sure during an actual write up I can find some good points, but all I can think of right now is “Syringe chib!!” and “ARE THOSE DONUTS ON THAT GUY’S EYES??”
Richard Ledes’ Fred brought about a rather sad and emotional end to the afternoon. With a believable and touching performance from Elliot Gould as an ageing man attempting to deal with the toll Alzheimer’s is taking on his wife, while refusing to give up and leave the family home. The effects on not only Fred (Gould) but his family and those charged with care are also portrayed in what could have turned into a sentimental and mawkish melodrama, but instead – by focusing on two visits from his exasperated children – stays the right side of light. Not exactly what I was expecting from the press description of “a comedy of errors akin to Woody Allen” mind you…
Highlight of the day by far though, was William Friedkin’s amazing Killer Joe. Wow. Fantastic stuff. It goes on general release June 29th and it’s a film that shouldn’t be missed. Superb performances turned in by all involved, but Matthew McConaughey is magnificent as detective/hitman for hire, Joe. Truly fantastic. Darkly comic, and rather violent, I’m still on a high after seeing it. And was smiling like the bloody Joker for the whole time during Friedkin’s intro. The man is a legend.
Real reviews will appear here.
Luis Prieto’s remake of Nicolas Winding Refn’s Pusher. Known affectionately to myself as Jeff from Coupling: The Junkie Years. Wow. Never knew Richard Coyle could look so done-in….whatever happened to that baby face look thing he had going on, eh? If I’m honest, Pusher lost me with the character intros and Paul Kaye cameo. Cracking soundtrack though…
Real reviews will be posted here.
Inescapable 10 till 8 in work. Did nowt but register. While wearing cat ears, and flyering.
“And so it is that the unseen dusty build up that accumulates behind the DVD shelves in the rumpus room exists also…”•24/04/2012 • Leave a Comment
Why? Why must you leave me upon this mantel? If you could only see the layer of dead skin cells that occupy the space which I inhabit, you would not let me live within this never ending hell…
This cannot be real, right? Of course it isn’t.
Nevertheless, “Werner Herzog’s letter to his cleaning lady” made me almost piss myself with laughter. Perhaps for the wrong reasons.
This shit is getting printed out, and stuck to the kitchen wall, where it will serve as a reminder that even when I think I’ve completely lost the plot over irrational things – which is almost every day right now – I’m not *that* fucking mental. Yet.
In the last five days alone I have punched a towel rail, repeatedly called the hoover a useless cunt over its inability to handle the lightest of debris and flown into regular Kinski-eque rages over the unceasing trail of dust that seemingly cannot be eradicated from any surface in my bedroom for more than half a day. I have also given serious thought to throwing away every single one of my possessions in a bid to eradicate the ‘clutter’ that both ‘surrounds’ and ‘taunts’ me. I have declared that we move house immediately upon finding a moth*. I have battered the shit out of two plastic bottles. Their very presence in my kitchen caused much distress. I have not stretched to killing a spoon on sight, but have threatened three of the bastards in the last two weeks and screamed at various Tupperware boxes that would not dry properly. Why must these plastic jesters mock me with their hidden bubbles and watery deposits?
Wait, this letter does not display mental behaviour to me. Does it?
No, this letter instead acts as an insightful and hilarious eye opener to the ridiculous, dramatic thought patterns that often take place in my brain every day regarding my living environment. Where the insignificant is raised to dizzying heights, and becomes the be all and end all of the highly charged moment it occupies. And not in the singularly wonderful way of a Herzog film, where the mundane is magnified into the sublime heights of bizarre beauty, but where the pointless shite like “why must this oose defile my velvet jacket? WHY?” and “where?! WHERE do these fruit flies come from?? AND WHY WON’T THEY DIE??” and “for the love of all that is good and pure and sacred in the world, I ONLY DUSTED THIS MORNING!!” and “there has been sweet chili sauce dropped upon the once clean floor. I cannot think. My mind, like the linoleum, has been desecrated by its sticky sweet evil” become the most important concepts known to man, and take over – replacing all capability of rational thought.
Like the creators of Moshi Monsters before them, the writer of this piece has quite possibly fallen temporarily into the abyss of my mind, completely by accident, and become horribly trapped, and maybe a wee bit scared.
So does this mean I’m mental? Nah, I just need to fucking chill out, and laugh at how bloody off kilter I have been acting of late. Have a few extra orgasms, and drink more. And realise that quitting smoking can often release the inner lunatic within us all.
If, however, it does indeed turn out that I am in the grip of a severe breakdown of normal thought – I can choose to view myself as some form of visionary genius. I am sure the high quality film making and groundbreaking documentary features will arrive in their own time. All I need is a plane ticket to the jungle, Brad Dourif and a gun. For my own safety.
*Have a history with regards to these winged cretins. Think young Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins. But substitute bats for moths, the cave for a cupboard, and the pre-caped crusader for a swearing redhead.
“Holy shit, that’s right! Miguel Ferrer and Ray Wise are in this! Twin Peaks team up? Fuck yes!”
A week after revisiting Paul Verhoeven’s Robocop on the big screen, and my head is still buzzing. I hadn’t seen the tin-plated law enforcer strut his stuff in almost nine years, and was amazed at how well the hold film had stood the test of time. Straying away from ropey 80’s cgi and using a shitload of fake blood set to blow really paid off, eh? High-impact, pulsing explosions of red spark a visceral reaction you just don’t get from low quality computerized gunshot wounds…Machete anyone? What? You hated it too? Yeah, Don Johnson and his paper bag full of dildos* couldn’t save that shit.
Even the stop motion robot Ed-209 didn’t look that shaky. Right up until the minute he blasts the hell out that poor OCP employee, I still found him cute and rather charming. Loved the hell out the clunky article attempting to navigate the treacherous terrain of stairs built for humans with his outsize robot trotters. Hilarious. Ending up like a turtle knocked upside down. Christ though, I had forgotten how bad the death of the OCP volunteer actually was…bloodpacks bursting without mercy over a scale model of planned utopia Delta City.
Similarly, I had also forgotten the brutality of the torture inflicted on Murphy by Clarence Broddicker and his cronies. Full scale claret-soaked assault on the senses. That many of those present in the auditorium pissed themselves laughing throughout the entire scene disturbed me. Heartless bastards.
However, this was nowhere near as disturbing as the introduction before the movie by someone who quite possibly had never seen Robocop. With the exception of maybe a quick once over pre-start time. Pointless asides along the lines of “ew! He ate baby food” etc do nowt to hide the fact that there was little of substance to the pre-movie ‘commentary’, and a blatant disregard of quite possibly every major theme, and the whole fucking point.
Yes, while I’m not questioning or doubting the intelligence of the introductee, I just feel that rather than focus on how empty the streets look, and make misjudged comments regarding race, they should have just said one thing and one thing only:
“Robocop – what is it that makes us human?”
And maybe extend that one, pivotal point into the realms of does the memory/soul remain when the body has been destroyed? Can our humanity ever be restored after an attempt to eradicate it? Ah fuck it. What do I know? Maybe I just took the deepest meaning possible on my first viewing and just ran with the metal bastard.
*I’m sure an incident involving Don Johnson being found with a bag full of dildos happened a long time ago, I just can’t find any proof.