French director and writer Luc Besson has had a curious career thus far. In recent years he’s brought us films like The Transporter, Taken and Lucy, which are all shit. But prior to that, he was responsible for cult classics such as The Fifth Element and La Femme Nikita, establishing a unique visual style that basically looks like someone’s turned the colour saturation right up in an attempt to blind all the characters. Being a fan of that particular look (and Natalie Portman), I decided to watch Leon: The professional, arguably Besson’s best work. I’m only 22 years late. Continue reading
Gods of Egypt is a film that actually exists. That means director Alex Proyas and other people of considerable stature and wealth unanimously agreed it would be a good idea to make this. And they weren’t even being ironic. They also agreed that their leading actors would be white, despite the movie being set in North fucking Africa. But I don’t see too much point in lamenting what was always going to be an abomination. After seeing the trailer I knew it’d be a worse creature than if Clash of the Titans and Exodus: Gods and Kings produced a love child purely from sodomy. The question is whether this can be enjoyed on a simplistic, leave your brain at the door level. Continue reading
The Coen brothers are great at making films about nothing. And by nothing I mean everything. If that makes absolutely no sense to you whatsoever, it’s because it doesn’t. But hey, at least I’m embracing the Kafkaesque nature of their work, so fuck you. What I mean is their stories often have a nonsensical surface, in which gormless characters hopelessly search for meaning in absurd scenarios, while underneath there’ll be a profound message about religion or politics or murdering people. Hail, Caesar! is another fine example of that (minus the murdering). Continue reading
When we’re out and about I regularly call my wife a ‘terrible c**t’ and with equal nonchalance and regularity she addresses me as a ‘perfumed ponce’. For those not in on the joke it must appear dysfunctional at best and downright inappropriate at worst. Especially when we’re lighting candles in church. Continue reading
Is this funny? That’s the profound question I had to ask myself while watching Ryan Reynolds’ Deadpool limp around because he’d just been shot in the arse. “Right down Main Street!” he cries. Moments later, he kicks an old blind woman out of a room so he can masturbate in peace, but not before making fun of her age, disability and unlikelihood of getting laid. Haha?
It may surprise you to learn that I’m not a fan of 3D cinema. It gives me motion sickness. So imagine my delight when I discovered that my screening of Disney’s The Finest Hours, a film predominately set on choppy seas, would be shown in glorious IMAX. Not only would I be graced by disorientating holographic shapes, but I’d also be contending with the swaying and bobbing of a sinking ship. However, what I didn’t anticipate was that the nautical nausea would be trumped by an even more stomach-churning, ‘guff in a poorly ventilated room’ love story.
If you want to dumb down the dense stock market speak of Michael Lewis’s non-fiction book about the credit and housing market crash, what better step to take than to hire Anchorman’s Adam McKay as the director of its adaptation? He adds much needed silliness to a film that ultimately conveys a cynical message about the world economy, one that’ll make you contemplate opening an account at the Royal Bank of Mattress.
I’ve seen an awful amount of great films recently; anyone would think there’s a massive award ceremony on the way. It’s like all the good stuff has been kept locked away in a shed at the bottom of the garden and now it’s being released in one huge attempt to overwhelm the critics. Do you see what I did there? I made a grand metaphor about strategic release dates while simultaneously explaining the premise of Room. No? I’m wasted on you.
During Ride Along 2, I noticed a number of people in the audience going to the toilet. ‘They’re going to miss all the jokes’, I thought to myself. How would they be able to follow the intricate character arcs of Kevin Hart and Mr. Ice Cube if they were absent for a few minutes? And then I realised; they were probably getting more laughs out of pissing on urinal cakes and constructing more interesting narratives by blasting the porcelain with their arse noises.
I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in this film. If I somehow survived an onslaught from a bunch of hostile Native Americans, then I probably would have frozen to death in the snow instead, or at least got gangrene or frostbite and lost all of my limbs until I looked like a pillow. What’s certain is that I definitely wouldn’t have withstood the type of mauling Leonardo DiCaprio receives from a now infamous bear. He takes an absolute battering in The Revenant, a film that does everything it can to show his acting ability and willingness to drag himself through blood and mud for an exhaustingly long runtime. If he doesn’t win the Oscar he’ll be thinking this was the worst camping trip ever.