The End Of Days

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.

Grindhouse Double Bill! Part Two: Planet Terror

Planet Terror
On DVD now

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?

You Can’t Drink Just Six!

Cloverfield
In cinemas now

Before I entered the cinema to see Cloverfield, the JJ Abrams-viral-marketed-monster flick, a friend instructed me, via SMS, to text him my opinions of the film afterwards.
After I peeled my sweating body from the cheap Odeon seating, and prised my white knuckles from the arms, I managed summed up my opinions in about five words:

“HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME!”

I think I can safely say, without reprieve (well, until I go see No Country For Old Men, maybe), that Cloverfield may very well be the film of the year. And it’s only Feburary.
Let me explain, using poorly thought-out sentences and analogies. The reason Cloverfield has me spitting superlatives like a ten year old who’s just seen Bill And Ted’s Excellent Adventure for the first time is because it manages to do what many (make that most) Hollywood films fail to do – it just works.

The film’s gimmick, if you didn’t already know, is that it’s all filmed on a handheld camera – not Michael Bay-style Parkinsons-disease shaky-cam, but actually filmed by one of the protagonists, the endearingly dorky and awkward Hud (it’s like heads-up-display, see?)

This “gimmick”, while making a few (pansy) patrons get motion sickness, really is the crux of the film; it’s what invests you in the story, the characters, the events – this film immerses you more than you thought a monster movie could, or, some might argue, should.

Even events that would seem, well, stupid in other films (a skyscraper leaning on another? And they climb up it? WTF?) instead make you sweat like a paedophile in a schoolyard, and I was actually scared in parts – and I never get scared by films. Ever. I watch horror films to laugh, for God’s sake.

Actually, the last film that really scared me is The Blair Witch Project, which was filmed in a similar way to Cloverfield; so I guess, if you want to make your film scary, have it all shot on handheld (though apparently that didn’t really work for George Romero’s latest, Diary of the Dead). But also make sure to create characters the audience actually care about, have some of that Joss Whedon-esque witty dialogue, and don’t just make it retarded as hell (I’m looking at you, 1998 Godzilla).

Those looking for a b-movie, guys-in-rubber-suits kaiju film of destruction…well, you’ve sort of got it. But it’s that bit extra that Cloverfield adds which makes it special.

Get to the chopper!

Alien Vs Predator: Requiem
In cinemas now

Alien vs. Predator: Requiem (the “Requiem” makes it sound smart) didn’t surprise me in any way at all. It was exactly what I was expecting it to be – for the most part. Glossy looks, decent enough special effects, a crap ending, rubbish dialogue, and characters I couldn’t give a fig about (the fact that I was more bothered about what happened to the Predator character than any of the humans speaks volumes). And it wasn’t a patch on any of the other Alien/Predator films (well, except maybe Predator 2 and Alien Resurrection). Although it was, as I predicted before I saw it, better than the first one – which wasn’t particularly hard since the original, which saw an Aztec temple full of Aliens in the Arctic, was directed by Paul WS Anderson, mother of such cinematic abortions as Resident Evil.

Yet amidst all the stupid lines (someone makes the hilarious quip “It’s not Halloween for another six months” – to someone in his pizza delivery uniform. Is he infamous for his rubbish Halloween costumes, or is it just bad writing? Considering the staggering lack of back story, we may never know), the murkiness (yes, there’s a Predator fighting multiple Aliens – but it’s at night time, and it’s always raining, and the Aliens are black, so you can’t see a God-damned thing), and the ideas which sound like they’ve been come up by a twelve-year-old, who provided sketches in crayon (ladies and gentlemen, I give you… the Predalien!), there’s something other big budget horror films tend to lack nowadays – balls.

Big old hairy testicles. While some of the violence in AVPR (which, when you say it out loud, sounds like a noise a baby would make) is rather tame and rubbish, some of it is actually quite daring – a kid dies within the first twenty minutes (which made up for that annoying-as-hell kid in The War Of The Worlds, who really deserved to die), the Aliens invade a hospital and start killing pregnant women, and there’s allusions to babies being eaten. You don’t see that in The Grudge, do you? No, you just get cat-children.

For the most part, however, the film plays out like a Greatest Hits package of the Alien and Predator films – there’s the skinned guy hanging from a tree (see Predator), the Alien swimming (see Alien Resurrection – or better yet, don’t) – but only for the Alien/Predator characters. Unlike the beefcake Arnie and co/actually interesting Sigourney Weaver and Bill Paxton characters from the other films, the characters in are more broad caricatures – but that’s okay, because then they’re usually exploded/eviscerated. There sure are a lot of multiple choices separated by dashes in this review – and maybe that’s a good analogy to wrap up Alien vs. Predator: Requiem – a lot of multiple choices separated by dashes. Actually, no, that’s crap.

Alien vs. Predator: Requiem – it’s alright.