Trailer Breakdown - Eat Pray Love

Brimming, toothless guru talks in fortune cookie messages whilst getting in on some palm fondling action.

Said palm fondling action induces a come-hither look from the smiling loon.

"Me curly-haired lothario man. Me make fire to fry tofu burgers on."

"Me unstable and psychotic woman. Me think long and hard as to where curly haired lothario can ram-jam his tofu burgers."

"Me curly haired lothario man number two. Me part of rebound relationship while curly haired lothario man number one is crying into his barbeque out of misery."

"Me all sad and shit now. "

ME. ME. ME. BLAH. BLAH. BLAH. ME. ME. ME.

Repeat until the end of film.

Favourite Female Characters: Sarah Connor

Sarah Connor

Transformed from the hyper permed squealing bar wench of the first film, into a walking, gun toting pair of biceps in the sequel, Sarah Connor unleashed the one-woman-army without slumping into the pouting, backflipping pin-up of a stereotype.

Huffing and puffing like the Marlborough man and scowling bitterly about the apocalypse, she opened up a full can of whoop ass onto the metamorphosising blubber of an android and gets all self-help book optimistic about the future of the human race. Aw.

The Girl Who Played With Fire

The Girl Who Played With Fire

Plot: Computer-hacking, fist-throwing goth with bull attire nose ring gets framed like a family potrait for three murders and unleashes her vigilante inner Monte Cristo onto the sex trafficking world.

Watch out for: The gratuitous lesbian sex scene, the wall-of-a-man archetype blonde euro-trash villain and the entirity of Sweden seemingly having the same ringtone.

Overall opinion: All in all, this film ranks as enjoyable.There's plenty of room for improvement, but I'd still rather watch a chain-smoking taser-toting vigilante than Ingmar Bergman's cape-donning death move his bishop to B3 for a few hours.

Playlist

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven claws

The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level. It's got to happen inside first. You can take away a man's political freedom and you won't hurt him - unless you take away his freedom to feel. That can destroy him. That kind of freedom can't be granted. Nobody can win it for you.
                                                                                                                                       Jim Morrison

In the Heat of the Night Review

The first time I saw In the Heat of the Night, I was in my playdough-and-sugary-toothpaste years. Bearing in mind that at that age, my primary interests in life were lego, crayola pencils and satisfying my next sugar high, my soul shrivelled out of boredom faster than Usain Bolt on crack.

But having watched it again as the walking tantrum-throwing hormone that I was as in my glorious teenage years, I rather liked it actually.

Plot: Ray Charles scowls the theme tune. The uniformed peeping tom discovers a dead one decorating the pavement. Rod Steiger appears, chewing his gum so enthusiastically it has probably been churned to liquid. The peeping tom sets his sights on Mr Tibbs to scratch his police order claws against. Mr Tibbs turns out to be a Philedelphian detective just trying to slug his ass home after visiting his mother. Gets his arms wrangled into working amongst the as-inviting-as-a-locked-door Southerners to bust out the Sherlock on the murder case and wrench his way through a plentiful supply of greaseball rednecks.

Twilight Drinking Game

If you manage to squeeze even a nanosecond of pleasure out of the viewing, develop a lusting for the pubescent teenagers or start hoarding enough twilight memorabilia to stock a shop,  drink bleach.

Favourite Russian Film: They Fought For Their Motherland

Sergei Bondarchuck is a director most associated with his butt-numbing, insomnia-curing beast that is 'War and Peace'. But to give the third fingered salute to the masses, I count the cream of his celluloid crop not to be the money-guzzling Tolstoy extravaganza but the underseen and underated world war two film: 'They Fought For Their Motherland'.

With it's star speckled cast, intelligent and witty script, powerful blood-curdling scenes and a show-stopping oscar-worthy peformance from Vasiliy Shukshin...this is one of the rare Bondarchuk film that I can actually watch without forcement by gunpoint.

Music Playlist

A one-album god of a band. Anyone else think that Miles Kane looks like a leaner, indie-fied less-follically generous version of Puyol?

Favourite Female Characters: Part 1

Jackie Brown - Quentin Tarantino blew a wet one to the blaxpoitation genre and created one mother-effin thick-skinned diva in the process. Acting out the tired and desperate stewardess who refuses to shrivel up and weep like a leaking damn, Jackie Brown toots the girl-power horn and manages to outwit everyone left, right and centre.

In an industry where strong female characters are defined by knuckle-busting, leather-donning senoritas blasting out high punches and kapows,  Jackie Brown is breath of fresh air in a sewer factory. Whilst not squeezing her generous ass into an animal print suit and brandishing out the automated weapons, she's got more cojones than the combined total of Michael Bay's pouting car-grinding broads.

Rear Window - Stella

Because her wise-ass bowfull of wisdom character trumps the frills and ribbon of Grace Kelly's beauty. James Stewart can keep his belle of the ball - the luckiest chump of the film is whoever that female-yoda nurse donned the veil for.

Stella: Intelligence! Nothing has caused the human race so much trouble as intelligence.

Music Reviews

Frank Sinatra - In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning **

I'm probably the only sucker treading this bit-for-nothing earth to find no pleasure in listening to ol' blue eyes Frankie boy's sandpapered-smooth vocals. Call it the tastleness of the youth, but I've always preferred Dean Martin's crooning.

Drug Dealer Beats - Illski *

The biggest bunch of turd to grace my ears since being harpooned by conservative speeches. Bound to be a smash hit amongst those who cite household appliances as their favourite instrument, drizzle ecstasy onto their cornflakes, inject themselves with alcohol, take their coffee with two spoons of cocaine and  have installed strobe lighting into their bedroom.

Favourite Russian Films: Watch Out for the Automobile

The masked soviet film avenger returns. This time with a gearhead film-noir comedy classic to chew over.

Characters: 

Yuri Detochkin

• A trenchcoat-donning car thief annoyed to the last degree by corruption and crooks. A soviet Travis Bickle without the trigger-happy mohawkness. A soviet Robin Hood without the fetching green tights. A soviet Zorro without the masquarade outfit and swash-buckling acrobatic. etc
• Swirls the moral compass by donating the car-pawning dosh to orphanages.
• Side tracks as an insurance agent and amateur Shakespeare-spewing thespian 

Maxim Podberyozovikov

• Lead sleuth on the case and fellow amatuer theatre actor.

Why I love it: Well filmed, well scripted, well acted, well scored and so goddamn quotable.

Theme Song: Waltz - Andrei Petrov

Playlist

Fast Fuse - Kasabian




Flowers On The Wall - The Statler Brothers




How's It Gonna End - Tom Waits

Game Reviews

Sonic Heroes

Blah. A tornado-twirling blue hedgehog running around acid-trip landscapes? Thanks, but no thanks.

If you like this you might also like: Cbeebies and repeat viewings of Yo Gabba Gabba.

Fatal Frame/Project Zero

Plot: A ghostbusting camera-exorcist Japanese chick tries to find her brother in a spirit-laden haunted house.

Overall Opinion: As soon as the controllers started vibrating spasmadically and the hot and bothered spooks started molesting the screen, I got the chronic heebie-jeebies.

Book Reviews

I've decided to stir the intellectual pot and bash out some dim-witted book reviews. Don't expect anything remotely insightful though...I'm a test-tube minded science student.

Crime and Punishment - Dostoevysky

I have to say, I had sub-terrain low expectations for this one. I was expecting a page-wasting eye-dulling mind-numbing bore-fest of a book.

But 'twas a pretty enjoyable 'woman-hacking nihilist' bedtime read.

The Shining - Stephen King

I'm on the fence on matters Stephen King related. Ever since I popped my first King novel cherry, I've always held the opinion that his teeth-wrenchingly mediocre writing ability doesn't fill squat of his idea-spurting shoes. And his anti-bardism is full blown in 'The Shining'. It's. Just. So. Plain.

Favourite Russian Films: White Sun Of The Desert

As soon as the bombshell topic that is Soviet cinema drops onto the laps of westerners, most have a knee-jerk reaction of cringing their faces, upturning their noses and blurting out that films dishing out thickly-clad, pro-Stalinist red propaganda is not their priority viewing.

So, to remedy your staunch-anti-soviet act, I've decided to unleash a series of articles upon your unbewildering arses to prove that Andrei Tarkovsky and Sergei Eisenstein are not the only slices of Russian cinema worth chewing on.

White Sun Of The Desert

A cult Borscht Western that chucks the prototype reluctant gunslinging hero onto the coast of the Caspian Sea and opens the history books on the Russian Civil War pages.

Plot:

Suchov, the demobbed red army soldier is trudging his way home when he earns himself the duty of protecting a harem of wives from Black Abdullah and his band of turbaned horse-trodders. He gets himself into a pickle of a situation and is cornered into a showdown lead-guzzling action shoot out with the bandits.
The fastest gun in the East if you will.



Why I love it: It's a low budget cult flick that checks every box....It churns out action scenes that aren't overly stylised a la Hollywood, it has an engrossing hats-off-to-history plot, it doesn't bow down to sappy endings and its goddarn mother-effin' funny. And it's ritually watched by cosmonauts before every space launched. Case closed.

Game Review

Metal Slug 3

A mind warping side-strolling game that blows your grey matter to smitherens.

It involves huge phallic water creatures, spewing zombies and genuinenly traumatising rotating alien abominations (see below).

The dime arcade graphics may put some of you off, but oity-toity developed graphics wouldn't gel well with the shear brain-scratching anarchy unleashed on screen.

Grand Theft Auto : San Andreas

Would it be too emotionally traumatising to declare that after an initial shoot-em-up rampage involving tanks, rocket launches, flame throwers, ladies of the night and industrial strength explosions, I spent most of the time clocking in cab fares to the sweet tunes of mother lovin' southern state rock.

Overall opinion: Addicting as crack cocaine.

Why I stopped playing: Developed a vague outline of a social life. And more importantly, I used the gimp suit cheat.
It turns out there's only so much of a man strolling around in a gimp suit, semi automatic in hand, you can take.

The Crapness of Judd Apatow

On the matter of the king-of-crude, Judd Apatow, I've always felt like a staunch, upper-lipped, bible-bashing, hell-and-brimstone-preaching puritan.

Whilst all the critics and audiences seem to be swooning over backwards for the nerd herd's outing in la-la-land, I'm the lone wolf clenching my teeth through their run-of-the-mill genetalia and five-dollar-hooker-filth shows that seem to be churned out every other week.

Whilst I'm not demanding a victorian-level repression, ankle-length-skirts and crimson cheeked damsels to shoot one out for comedy - I sure would set the bucks rolling if I wasn't harpooned from every direction by the formualic celluloid of geeks trying to get laid and drowning in ethanol.

General Reviews

The Great Silence ****

If you missed it thinly written between the lines, I have a mild school-girl obsession with the Spaghetti Western genre. And having been weaned on the Sergio Leone poncho-and-cigarillo flicks from a young age, I was slightly hesitant about watching this snow-dome critic's-little-darling.
But my doubts flew south for the winter when the disc started spinning. Bleak as the British weather, with a chill-down-your-spine Morricone track and an ending that raises a few eyebrows, it's a big thumbs up from me.


Where Eagles Dare ****

A thinking man's action war film that doesn't aim to punch the harrowing, realistic, tear-jerking 'war-is-hell' ticket. With busty bar-wenches and blondes, Clint Eastwood snarling alongside Richard Burton, ze germans, a head-scratching plot laid on thick at the end, explosions and some age-old cable car jumping and thumping...this may damn well be one of the best darn war action films I've laid my eyes on.

Also on the running is Robert Enrico's cesar-winning 'Le Vieux Fusil' where Philip Noiret unleashes his inner Rambo to avenge for his family's death. Although it's slightly heavy-handed on the flashbacks, it does churn out some horrifyingly-disturbing scenes that makes the film slightly more than a bish-bosh gun wielding action film.

General Reviews

Django ***

Cult western celluoid pulp that worked on a shallow-pocket-budget and that spawned off so many sequels that even the most hardcore hollywood remake enthusiast would blush.

Plot: Django frumps his way through the mud with his death box. Rescues whipped-like-an-ice-cream Maria. Maria stuck between a rock and a hard place. The rock being the crimson faced fascists and the hard place being the Mexicans. Django and Maria arrive in a deserted town drenched in the brown stuff (er, mud). Django and the boa-and-feather clad 'ladies working in the horizontal position' make conversation. Insert painful english dubbing. Django gets trigger happy. Mexicans. Gold. Whore-mud-fight. Ear chopping. Steep body count. Shoot out. Theme tune blaring out.

Verdict: Entertaining as they come but trampled on by the cheese-curdling accent. Pay special attention to his uttering of 'I'm glad I made you feel like a real woman - very glad'. It makes Franco Nero sound like the neighbourhood pervert.


Barbie and the The Musketeers *

The pinkalicious 'plastic one' dropped her oopsy-dipsy, wandering princess act and decided to toot on the 'girl power' horn instead. There's a subtle heads up to Alexande Dumas but nothing to brandish this as educational viewing.

Barbie rocks out with a sword...her fellow budding-musketeers play around with ribbon and fans. They solve the world's least complex ploy to kill the dazed-and-confused metrosexual prince who's preoccupied with circular, inflatable things (ahem, hot air balloons that is). One of the ass-wooping musketeers shrieks with excitement at sequins and dress-making. They twirl and sigh to teenage bubblegum-pop. Your soul dies.

The moral of the story: if you're plastic, have polymer knockers on your chest and a 'Made in China' label imprinted on your ass - you'll make it.