Since they don’t come along too often anymore, Second Hand Popcorn film reviews will now be merged into my main blog, akuhei bakery. So, if you came here looking for film reviews, you can look at the old, archived ones, or head onto akuhei bakery for films, music and (possibly soon) books!
Last night, after stumbling out from the screen into the jarringly bright lights of the cinema, feeling dishevelled and thoroughly un-amused, I had an epihphany.
THERE IS NO GOD.
The “film” I had just been witness to serves as enough evidence as to why I have come to this conclusion. Because, O my brothers, last night I went to see Meet The Spartans.
Meet The Spartans
In cinemas now (but please, don’t bother)
You know that feeling you get, when you’re watching one of those horrific news stories about a man who raped and killed dozens of kids, or something? And you just hate that person with every ounce of your being, and vow to yourself that, if you ever cross paths with the individual, you will throttle them to death with your bare hands? Well, that about sums up my feelings towards the makers of this “film”.
Actually, that might be unfair. I’m pretty sure that writer/producer/director team Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are actually either
a) Special needs kids, or
b) 11-year-olds whose father took them to Fox studios on “Take Your Kid To Work Day”, where they promptly wrote the script in crayons
Such is the quality of the finished product. Supposedly a spoof of 300, Meet The Spartans also finds time to poke fun at any number of pop-culture icons from 2007. And by poke fun, I mean put in the film hoping to raise a wry smile because you vaguely recognise them. You get Ugly Betty as the mysterious oracle - and, er, that’s it. Then there’s Paris Hilton, whose character is dumb and blonde. Then Britney Spears, whose character is dumb and blonde. And Rocky, for some reason. And any film that disses Rocky must have been created by morons, right?
I should probably also point out that all these “famous faces” have to have their names exclaimed out loud by other characters, since the actors/actresses portraying them don’t look a thing like them. Which isn’t good if your supposed to be an impersonator.
The principle cast, meanwhile, is just as unimpressive; leading man Sean Maguire, previously seen in, uh, Grange Hill and Eastenders over here in the UK (so christ knows why he was in this), has little…well, anything. Comic timing, wit, screen presence…he could easily have been replaced with a piece of blank paper stapled to a broom. Carmen Electra breaks away from her usual roles by playing the sexy slut. Kevin Sorbo, TV’s Hercules, struggles to hide the sadness evident in his face, the sure sign of a washed-up actor. Oh, and Ken Davitian, aka the “fat guy from Borat” (the narrators words, not mine) turns up. Playing the fat guy from Borat, except he’s speaking in English.
Much like with recent “comedians” like Russell Brand and Dane Cook, and comedies like Epic Movie, I just…don’t get what about this film is supposed to be funny. It basically plays like one of those end-of-year TV shows they have on New Year’s Eve, where they show clips from all the music, films and pop-culture events from the year. only without any witty commentary - they’re just replicated. In a completley shoddy, unfunny way.
Oh, and before I forget, there’s also some healthy doses of racism and sexism, just for good measure. Can’t have one of these dumb comedies (wait, scratch that - Anchorman’s a dumb comdedy, and I love it. This is a retarded comedy) without it.
I think I can safely say that while watching Meet The Spartans I laughed almost as much as I did when watching Schindler’s List. Which is to say, not at all.
Hey kids! It’s time for part two of the Grindhouse review that I promised nearly a week ago! Woo!
Anyway, let’s get down to brass tacks. Planet Terror: this is more like it. Go-go dancer Rose McGowan fights zombies with her machine gun leg. Hells yeah.
If you’ll recall, in the Death Proof review I hilariously posted an image of me watching grey paint dry - a sly dig at how God-damn boring that film was. For Planet Terror, I have an equally representitive image, that sums up the quality of the film:
Yes, I am invoking the holy text of Die Hard 4.0, wherein John McClane, peace be upon him, killed a helicopter with a car because he ran out of bullets. That’s how awesome Planet Terror is. Didn’t you already read the bit about how Rose McGowan is a go-go dancer? Fighting zombies? With her machine gun leg? Huh?
I guess you want a full plot synopsis then. Well, in Planet Terror, rather than starting with boring girls talking, as Death Proof did, you get Rose McGowan dancing around in her skimpies. The film the continues to introduce bad-ass kung-fu truck driver Freddy Rodriguez, a testicle-slicing mad scientist played by Sayeed out of Lost, evil doctor Josh Brolin, Fergie out of the Black Eyed Peas as the good doctor’s wife’s secret kesbian lover and - oh yes - Bruce fucking Willis. John McClane himself is actually in this film. Conversley, at around this point in Death Proof…the boring girls were still sitting around talking.
Planet Terror really does deliver on the schlocky, OTT action promised by Rodriguez and Tarantino when these films were originally announced - there’s exploding heads, bags of balls (yes, those kind) and even a melting wang. Quentin Tarantino’s, actually.
Rodriguez’s reference points are obvious - the forboding mood and synthy score recalls John Carpenter (back when he was good), and the zombies are in thrall to Romero’s Living Dead series - Tom Savini, said series’ make-up maestro, appears here as a cop - and countless others. The film is also pretty straight-faced, in spite of it’s ridiculousness - Willis’ army general claims to have killed Osama bin Laden himself - which is a breath of fresh air in an age of tongue-in-cheek action films. And it just serves to make this film all the more like the awesome Grindhouse movies this is based on.
Oh, and a kid dies, which is always good. It makes up for the Haley Joel Osmonts and *shudder* Dakota Fannings of the movie world.
So, Death Proof - boring as shit, but has Kurt Russel.
Planet Terror - melting genitalia, machine gun legs, go-go dancing, zombies, lesbiabns, Bruce Willis
I think we have a clear winner, don’t you?
Since I was still slightly bitter about the debacle about the separate releases given to Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino’s Grindhouse over here in the UK, the other night I staged my own “Grindhouse Night” with some friends, where we watched both of the featured films, Tarantino’s Death Proof and Rodriguez’s Planet Terror, back to back: the way they were meant to be seen.
So, anyway, as an extension of this whole double-bill love-in, it’s time for the Second Hand Popcorn Grindhouse Double-Bill Review. First up - Death Proof!
Death Proof
On DVD now
Despite the fact it was Tarantino’s idea to do the whole schlocky, gory, exploitative Grindhouse movies in the first place, Death Proof…well, isn’t really schlocky, gory, or exploitative. In fact, it’s boring. Really, painfully boring.
For the first 40 minutes of this 114 minute portion of Grindhouse, absolutely bugger all happens. Really. Nothing at all. Just a group of women sitting around talking bollocks. Now, I know Tarantino is no stranger to excessive dialogue. The thing is, I enjoyed his witty banter in…well, pretty much all his other films (excluding Kill Bill). But that’s because the people who were talking were both likeable, and damn awesome. Hitmen, jewellery thieves, psychos, crooked cops, boxers…the characters of Death Proof are nowhere near as interesting. They’re just people. And they are incredibly boring, completely uninteresting people.
Now, if I wanted to some up the equivalent viewing experience of these first 40 minutes of Death Proof within a handy image and an over-used saying, it would be this;
At least in that scenario I could bet on which drip of paint would dry fastest, or something. There are no such luxuries with Death Proof. The film, up to this point, is (to paraphrase a Monty Python sketch) appallingly dull, unimaginative, tedious, has no sense of humour and is “irrepressibly drab and awful.
Luckily, though, Snake Plissken turns up to make things exciting for a bit.
Kurt Russel, who plays the character of Stuntman Mike (who is a stuntman. Named Mike.), turns up in the bar that the incredibly boring trio of women have been hanging around in, being boring. After some flirting, he manages to somehow get Rose McGowan (who wasn’t even in the boring group of friends) to get in his ‘death proof’ car - no matter how battered the car gets, he’s fine. It’s the people in the other seats that get messed up.
So, the film turns awesome for a little bit; well, about 2 minutes, since that’s about how long it takes Mike to roll his car over and kill Ms McGowan. Then, in the tradition of films such as The Devil Wears Prada, I fast-forwarded for a bit. And you know what? The whole time used to build up the boring, annoying ladies’ ‘characters’ was a complete waste of time, since they are completely inconsequential to the rest of the film. Because they all die. And get replaced by a whole other set of boring, annoying girls.
Then, 1 hour and 40 minutes into the film, it turns awesome again (after a pointless car chase that could have easily ended if the girls just pulled over), annnnnnnd that’s it. Out of 114 minutes of film, about 10 minutes is of any entertainment value. And about 4 minutes of that is a lap-dancing scene.
Quentin, for the love of God; just make another crime film. Stop messing about with all this cult movie malarkey. This is, well, like an intervention. It’s for your own good.
Anyway, tommorrow, get ready for: Planet Terror! (which is a hell of a lot better)
