It's the second eviction of the final ever series of Big Brother, and, as is customary on a blog, I'd like to share my thoughts. I don't care if you don't want to read them, that's the concept of a blog and you'll just have to deal with it. I mean, chill out it's the 90's man. Govan has been evicted. I'll give you a minute to process that earth shattering news. Yes, the human Kif Kroker from Futurama is on his way home, to 72% (72%!!!) of a four way vote.
I both love and hate eviction nights. I find them an incredibly schizophrenic experience. On the one hand, it satisfies the blood lust I've built up all week, due to an irrational frenzy of hatred for people I've never actually met, and, on the other hand, it's also the moment I realise that the people in Big Brother are actually human beings, and that time they ate an extra yoghurt 4 weeks ago, probably wasn't such a big deal in the grand scheme of things. And, as they are released out to the baying mob, I begin to feel sorry for the person, who, just days ago, I likened to Mussolini. As I said, it's very confusing.
Govan exits to massive boos from the crowd, leaving the housemates in a state of shock and Shabby to pick her, no doubt artistically relevant, jaw up from the floor that it just hit. It always amazes me just how enormously housemates misjudge public opinion. I know they're isolated from the real world and exist within a self-contained bubble, but they must have some sense of self-awareness. Ben is upper class twit, he has no concept of life outside his 40 acre mansion and probably hasn't spoken to anyone who isn't a blood relative, ever, without referring to them as “the help.” He would have been a shoe in to go, but no. As things stands he is one of the more likeable memebers of the house. That a man who, on national television, sung the praises of feudal paternalism, would be one of my favourite housemates, is a damning indictment of them all, to be honest. People don't like bitching. People don't like it when housemates team up in groups and isolate other members of the house. People don't like Shabby. If any of the housemates had seen any other series of big brother, or, simply, existed on Earth for more than a week, they would know this.
Govan sits down for his interview with Davina and is confronted with his atrocious behaviour, which err.... isn't actually that bad. Govan's biggest crime is being a bit of a gossip, and, to be fair to him, there isn't anything else to do in there but naval gaze gossip. If every one sat around in silence trying to look up their own bum cracks while waiting for the tasks, we probably wouldn't have reached 11 series. Govan is obviously a very confused young man, struggling with, among other things, his sexuality and sense of identity, so I do question whether Big Brother was a good choice for him. This stage of his development was always going to be tricky, without having his every decision analysed and criticised by millions of baying viewers. It was obvious that he was going to seek companionship in the house as, if he was well liked, it would be a sort of validation of himself as a person. And I think, that's where his ostracisaion of Ben stemmed from, as, if his group had an enemy, if you will, then Govan would not be left to feel isolated or an outsider. It was playground stuff, admittedly, but he is just a kid. So I, for once, feel Davina handled his interview brilliantly, as there was no need to criticise him aggressively for his behaviour, he can do that himself over the next few weeks. Anyway enough of the cod psychology, I've been on the internet now for well over an hour and I haven't even looked at any pictures of Rachael in her undercrackers, and, that, is the real tragedy.
Saturday 26 June 2010
Wednesday 23 June 2010
Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime is death.
Big Brother is back! Yeah! But the world cup is on, so almost noone cares. Our brave housemates will now face what will feel like 700 years locked up in a house, which, this year, appears to have been designed by Brian Bolland for a sequel to The Killing Joke. Get ready for everyone to tell us what an amazing experience they've had, despite the fact all they've done for the past 3 months is sat around a house and drank tea. An experience you can have around your Nan's house, only with the added bonus of countdown. Still, without further ado, let us take a look at the 14 people who we will casually acquaint ourselves with when there's nothing better on telly:
Josie: A loud, brash, Bristolian gal; she will gain much popularity purely because of her accent, causing much crowing on internet forums about how “real” she is. Later on in the series Stockholm Syndrome will take full grip and she will pursue an illicit affair with the diary room chair. Possibly.
Steve: Bookies favourite, as he is an ex-soldier who has lost both his legs and one eye. Steve will sail through to the final three despite doing nothing all series, before being patronised live on eviction night by Davina McCall who will tell us all how brave he's been. He had his leg's blown off by a BOMB Davina! I'm sure this pales in comparison! Actually scratch that until you've met the rest of the housemates.
Ben: A writer/broadcaster who doesn't appear to have actually done any writing or broadcasting, which will stand him in good stead for his post Big Brother career. Ben is a chippy posh lad; the kind of which we stopped producing around 1974. Ben has quite a good vocabulary, so bet on him to be evicted by about week 4, as people are suspicious of this sort of thing.
Rachael: A confident and good looking Beyonce impersonator. Which, these days, is enough to qualify you for celebrity Big Brother, surely? As she was no doubt bumped to fit in another Z-list celeb that shagged Jordan, this will have to do for poor Rachael. Rachael is very pretty and of mixed race. She will be evicted almost immediately, which is a shame, as she has a gorgeous figure, and pictures of her arse are destined to appear plastered all over the Daily Mail while they moan about Big Brother being voyeuristic.
Nathan: Speaking of arses. Bez continues his post CBB experience with a stint in the regular Big Brother house. Nathan is tall and Northen, and the sort of fellow Will Mellor will go on Big Brother's Little Brother and tell us he'd like to go for a pint with, until he freaks out and attempts take control of the whole house hold using only a spoon.
Dave: Straight from graduating Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Dave “The Weirdo”, is our next contestant. Depressingly Welsh, Dave's unsettling joviality and Catholic views will alienate him from all the other housemates quick to show how progressive and easy going they are.
Caoimhe: The mythical white member of Kid n' Play has, apparently, been living in Ireland masquerading as a model. Caoimhe has achieved the unlikely feat of being incredibly beautiful and incredibly ugly at the same time, which is an arresting combination. Seemingly pleasant, she will avoid nominations for ages as the other housemates will be unsure of how to pronounce her name.
Govan: A sprightly, could be gay, voluntary worker, who has entered the Big Brother house to find himself. Which, if Steve wasn't around, would mean guaranteed winner. Expect Govan to be this years contest to go the biggest 'journey', about which we will be reminded everytime he appears on screen. In the Australian outback, Aboriginies will undergo a journey during adolescence and live in the wilderness for six months, tracing the paths of their ceremonial ancestors. Govan will cop off with a transvestite and flash his privates to the nation. Maybe, we're not so different after all.
Shabby: A former child actor and art student. Shabby dresses like a lesbian Noel Fielding genetically spliced with a bin. Shabby is a squatter who, along with her art collective “The Oubliette”, promote emerging artists through the re utilisation of empty space. Or, to put it another way, they are a bunch of work shy tossers squatting. I always wondered what the collective noun for “cunts” was; and now I know: The Oubliette. Don't say Big Brother doesn't teach you anything.
Ife: A professional dancer who lives with her adoptive parents and fiancee. Ife is not religious but believes in God and prays to him in her own way. Expect this to be indulged by all the other housemates, who will also row vociferously with Dave as soon as he shows any concession to his religion. Ife is also bald, a quirk that will, no doubt, be the most interesting thing about her.
John James: A 24 year old Australian who is a retired vehicle body builder. That sentence makes no sense to me either, but it does make me hate him. As a young man he changed his name to Achillies or chills to his mates. He had change it back though, as they, presumably, kept pronouncing it “dick”. John's dream is to have daring people and hot girls in the house, I think he may have confused Big Brother with Charlie's Angels..
Sunshine: A posh young lady who's clueless demeanour belies her moniker. She, frighteningly, claims to be a medical student, but also believes her car is powered by fairy dust. She has gone on Big Brother to prove that beauty and brains do mix. It's a well known fact that beauty and brains do mix as there are millions of beautiful, intelligent woman in the world. Most of them don't, however, apply for Big Brother. Something Sunshine should think about.
Corin: Our second lookalike of the evening sees Corin, as a Jordan look alike from 10 years in the future. Corin is exactly the sort of person you expect has auditioned for every Big Brother series ever. According to her Big Brother Bio she “is always tanned, dyes her beauty spots and uses hair pieces.” It would annoy her if there were better looking girls in the house, but surely, as she's hidden underneath all that, how would we know? Also claims to dislike posh, arrogant people who 'turn their noses up at others' which you can take to read as: dislikes posh people.
Mario: Unfortunately, not the really rather brilliant lunatic that brightened up Big Brother 9. But a person who, this time, is actually called Mario. Mario was chosen randomly by Big Brother and had to enter the house on a secret mission dressed as a mole. A fact not lost on Sunshine, who showed her intelligence by spotting this almost straight away.
So there you are. All 14 housemates for the final ever series of Big Brother ever, until it gets remade on Channel 5. I forgive you if you feel you've seen them all before, because with the raft of reality shows on TV over the last decade, you probably have actually seen them all before. I will be watching, but I long ago lost the will to better myself. I'll see you at the Rapture, I doubt I'll get in.
Josie: A loud, brash, Bristolian gal; she will gain much popularity purely because of her accent, causing much crowing on internet forums about how “real” she is. Later on in the series Stockholm Syndrome will take full grip and she will pursue an illicit affair with the diary room chair. Possibly.
Steve: Bookies favourite, as he is an ex-soldier who has lost both his legs and one eye. Steve will sail through to the final three despite doing nothing all series, before being patronised live on eviction night by Davina McCall who will tell us all how brave he's been. He had his leg's blown off by a BOMB Davina! I'm sure this pales in comparison! Actually scratch that until you've met the rest of the housemates.
Ben: A writer/broadcaster who doesn't appear to have actually done any writing or broadcasting, which will stand him in good stead for his post Big Brother career. Ben is a chippy posh lad; the kind of which we stopped producing around 1974. Ben has quite a good vocabulary, so bet on him to be evicted by about week 4, as people are suspicious of this sort of thing.
Rachael: A confident and good looking Beyonce impersonator. Which, these days, is enough to qualify you for celebrity Big Brother, surely? As she was no doubt bumped to fit in another Z-list celeb that shagged Jordan, this will have to do for poor Rachael. Rachael is very pretty and of mixed race. She will be evicted almost immediately, which is a shame, as she has a gorgeous figure, and pictures of her arse are destined to appear plastered all over the Daily Mail while they moan about Big Brother being voyeuristic.
Nathan: Speaking of arses. Bez continues his post CBB experience with a stint in the regular Big Brother house. Nathan is tall and Northen, and the sort of fellow Will Mellor will go on Big Brother's Little Brother and tell us he'd like to go for a pint with, until he freaks out and attempts take control of the whole house hold using only a spoon.
Dave: Straight from graduating Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Dave “The Weirdo”, is our next contestant. Depressingly Welsh, Dave's unsettling joviality and Catholic views will alienate him from all the other housemates quick to show how progressive and easy going they are.
Caoimhe: The mythical white member of Kid n' Play has, apparently, been living in Ireland masquerading as a model. Caoimhe has achieved the unlikely feat of being incredibly beautiful and incredibly ugly at the same time, which is an arresting combination. Seemingly pleasant, she will avoid nominations for ages as the other housemates will be unsure of how to pronounce her name.
Govan: A sprightly, could be gay, voluntary worker, who has entered the Big Brother house to find himself. Which, if Steve wasn't around, would mean guaranteed winner. Expect Govan to be this years contest to go the biggest 'journey', about which we will be reminded everytime he appears on screen. In the Australian outback, Aboriginies will undergo a journey during adolescence and live in the wilderness for six months, tracing the paths of their ceremonial ancestors. Govan will cop off with a transvestite and flash his privates to the nation. Maybe, we're not so different after all.
Shabby: A former child actor and art student. Shabby dresses like a lesbian Noel Fielding genetically spliced with a bin. Shabby is a squatter who, along with her art collective “The Oubliette”, promote emerging artists through the re utilisation of empty space. Or, to put it another way, they are a bunch of work shy tossers squatting. I always wondered what the collective noun for “cunts” was; and now I know: The Oubliette. Don't say Big Brother doesn't teach you anything.
Ife: A professional dancer who lives with her adoptive parents and fiancee. Ife is not religious but believes in God and prays to him in her own way. Expect this to be indulged by all the other housemates, who will also row vociferously with Dave as soon as he shows any concession to his religion. Ife is also bald, a quirk that will, no doubt, be the most interesting thing about her.
John James: A 24 year old Australian who is a retired vehicle body builder. That sentence makes no sense to me either, but it does make me hate him. As a young man he changed his name to Achillies or chills to his mates. He had change it back though, as they, presumably, kept pronouncing it “dick”. John's dream is to have daring people and hot girls in the house, I think he may have confused Big Brother with Charlie's Angels..
Sunshine: A posh young lady who's clueless demeanour belies her moniker. She, frighteningly, claims to be a medical student, but also believes her car is powered by fairy dust. She has gone on Big Brother to prove that beauty and brains do mix. It's a well known fact that beauty and brains do mix as there are millions of beautiful, intelligent woman in the world. Most of them don't, however, apply for Big Brother. Something Sunshine should think about.
Corin: Our second lookalike of the evening sees Corin, as a Jordan look alike from 10 years in the future. Corin is exactly the sort of person you expect has auditioned for every Big Brother series ever. According to her Big Brother Bio she “is always tanned, dyes her beauty spots and uses hair pieces.” It would annoy her if there were better looking girls in the house, but surely, as she's hidden underneath all that, how would we know? Also claims to dislike posh, arrogant people who 'turn their noses up at others' which you can take to read as: dislikes posh people.
Mario: Unfortunately, not the really rather brilliant lunatic that brightened up Big Brother 9. But a person who, this time, is actually called Mario. Mario was chosen randomly by Big Brother and had to enter the house on a secret mission dressed as a mole. A fact not lost on Sunshine, who showed her intelligence by spotting this almost straight away.
So there you are. All 14 housemates for the final ever series of Big Brother ever, until it gets remade on Channel 5. I forgive you if you feel you've seen them all before, because with the raft of reality shows on TV over the last decade, you probably have actually seen them all before. I will be watching, but I long ago lost the will to better myself. I'll see you at the Rapture, I doubt I'll get in.
Friday 18 June 2010
Why the World Cup is good.
The World Cup, eh? What are you going to do? The biggest sporting event on Earth is here, and, try as you might, you simply can't avoid it. Much like herpes it's back after four years to see men procrastinate sex, and make woman cry. And I love it. Every time the World Cup comes around you get the same naysayers peddling the same arguments: it's only a game; there are far more important things in the world; it takes away money the government could use elsewhere; vuvuzelas are shit. Well, stop it. All but that last argument are bollocks, and you know it. The World Cup is being held in South Africa and this was a controversial decision before we realised what vuvuzelas sound like. This is an opportunity for South Africa to show the World just how far it has come since Mandela was released. To marginalise football as trivial compared to some of Africa's, obviously, larger problems is not entirely fair; this is an opportunity for people all over the world to be privy to the side of the Rainbow Nation we never see.
Unlike Europe, Africa will be united at the World Cup, they will go into the tournament as a mutually consenting force, each cheering on each others victories and each mourning each others setbacks. This is exemplified by the so called 'African six pack' comprising South Africa, Ivory Cost, Ghana, Cameroon, Nigeria and Algeria. They will all be the home nation for this tournament, all proudly wearing the banner of South Africa for the next month. If France or Germany had attempted to coerce Europe in this way in 1998 or 2006, there wouldn't be a Europe left. But the benefits of this tournament far outweigh the blurring of Nationalistic pride- Football is huge in Africa. For many African's it is their only escape from their day to day struggles, indeed, many young Africans see an escape into football as their only chance to escape poverty. Young footballers could be a lucrative export for South Africa, and one only has to look at the beyond commendable efforts of Didier Drogba to realise what an asset to the country a successful world footballer can have. However, the current state of African football academies is exploited by European Countries in what Sepp Blatter called “social and economic rape” with a majority of teenage footballers exploited by unscrupulous agents and illegal academies. A well run world cup could help to change all of this. The interest in African football will never have been at a greater high and if the African authorities can organise a professional, exciting world cup then investment into African football from FIFA could easily become a world wide agenda, and help make sure their “Win in Africa, with Africa” slogan, is not just a slogan. Renewed investment could help create a viable academy system and allow South Africa to get fair compensation for exporting their young footballers. There will always be debate over the validity of investment into stadiums over public services, but the triumph of this world cup would be both economic and symbolic. While it will, undoubtedly, bring millions in from tourism, it could be the moment people look at, years from now, when Africa is a footballing powerhouse, and say “that is when it all changed” and isn't that something worth cheering? They could also make vuvuzelas popular, but I doubt it.
Unlike Europe, Africa will be united at the World Cup, they will go into the tournament as a mutually consenting force, each cheering on each others victories and each mourning each others setbacks. This is exemplified by the so called 'African six pack' comprising South Africa, Ivory Cost, Ghana, Cameroon, Nigeria and Algeria. They will all be the home nation for this tournament, all proudly wearing the banner of South Africa for the next month. If France or Germany had attempted to coerce Europe in this way in 1998 or 2006, there wouldn't be a Europe left. But the benefits of this tournament far outweigh the blurring of Nationalistic pride- Football is huge in Africa. For many African's it is their only escape from their day to day struggles, indeed, many young Africans see an escape into football as their only chance to escape poverty. Young footballers could be a lucrative export for South Africa, and one only has to look at the beyond commendable efforts of Didier Drogba to realise what an asset to the country a successful world footballer can have. However, the current state of African football academies is exploited by European Countries in what Sepp Blatter called “social and economic rape” with a majority of teenage footballers exploited by unscrupulous agents and illegal academies. A well run world cup could help to change all of this. The interest in African football will never have been at a greater high and if the African authorities can organise a professional, exciting world cup then investment into African football from FIFA could easily become a world wide agenda, and help make sure their “Win in Africa, with Africa” slogan, is not just a slogan. Renewed investment could help create a viable academy system and allow South Africa to get fair compensation for exporting their young footballers. There will always be debate over the validity of investment into stadiums over public services, but the triumph of this world cup would be both economic and symbolic. While it will, undoubtedly, bring millions in from tourism, it could be the moment people look at, years from now, when Africa is a footballing powerhouse, and say “that is when it all changed” and isn't that something worth cheering? They could also make vuvuzelas popular, but I doubt it.
Wednesday 9 June 2010
I love you but we only have 14 hours to save the earth!
It's almost time for the summer blockbuster season, and we all know what that means: skin cancer, gratuitous lady bumps and shitty barbecues. But, more importantly, lots and lots of sub-par action movies! Yay. We can all forget about the recession, global warming and Britain's continued decline into nation of call-centres, and enjoy some popcorn- life is good. However, on discovering that you can now purchase alcohol in Vue cinemas (I'm assuming this was made a prerequisite after the last Ricky Gervais film) I've decided to help make your cinema going experience much more enjoyable. You can forget surround sound and Imax, this is the true revolution of the interactive cinema going experience- The movie cliché drinking game! Yes, as our cinema screens fill with frame after frame of tried, rehashed movie ideas, lame, uninspiring dialogue and hundreds of generic plot twists (usually starring Mark Wahlberg and directed by M Night Shymalan- I still haven't forgiven them for The Happening.) we can all sit back and make their predictable antics that much easier to take: by plying ourselves with alcohol. So sit back, line up some shots and get ready to get buzzed; in, what I'm calling, Jar Wars.
1.Cool guys don't look at explosions: The ultimate in cinema cliché. The mack daddy of them all, and something we all only realised thanks to Andy Samberg, but pretended we knew about it anyway. In the summer of dire blockbusters there will inevitably be at least one film were our hard ass hero – who no doubt has a heart of gold underneath that gruff exterior- walks calmly away from the 12 pounds of TNT he has detonated, that sends a building to it's knees, and, even though the seismic force of the explosion is able to shatter windows all around our wannabe John McClaine, his hair isn't even ruffled. Take that physics. Take one drink this happens, two if it happens to be a former wrestler doing the walking away.
2.Nobody calls me chicken: Yes, it's the ultimate in cool guy trash talk. When words aren't getting the job done, simply revert to the go-to cool guy fighting manoeuvre: The walk away sightly, turn around and punch! The scene usually begins with our grizzled hero trying to suppress his unstoppable rage during a slanging match with some unscrupulous bastard. Then, just as our boy tries to be the bigger man by walking away, the aforementioned bastard says something to push him over the edge, something like “Oh yeah, I heard your mum smells of eggy farts” (I'm paraphrasing, of course) causing our would be Steve McQueen to stop in his tracks turn around and sock the sucker into next week! It wasn't cool when Michael J Fox did it in Back to the future part2, so it certainly isn't cool now. Another drink if this cliché occurs, make it two if the hero retorts with a line of snappy dialogue.
3.I'm too old for this shit: A popular movie cliché that, although uttered numerous times by the character portrayed on-screen, is never used by the actors who play them when offered the role. And, rather than settling into their Autumnal years with a range of self parodying roles, before accepting old age gracefully and winning an Oscar on the back of a low budget film where they spend most of the film staring blankly to the camera, they, instead, don a fedora and whip and piss all over our childhood memories. Interestingly, although our ageing Robert Redford will utter this phrase about chasing criminals, operating stakeouts or detailed police investigation (basically anything that involves paperwork) never once have they uttered the phrase when presented with the chance to hop into bed with the nubile 22 year old model, who is inexplicably cast as their love interest. Drink one drink every time an over 50's action hero uses this phrase. If in the unlikely event they do refuse casual sex with co-star young enough to be their granddaughter, you have my permission to use hard drugs, but only once.
4.The black dude dies first: Actually no, he doesn't. Unless you're watching Amistad, or a documentary set anywhere, any time before the 21st century, which says more about our collective failure as the dominant species of the planet than about our horror films. In purely horror movie terms, however, then no, the black dude doesn't die first. This non- cliché only came to prominence after it was mentioned in Scream when, ironically, this very line of dialogue became cliché, after it was then repeated to nauseating effect in every teen movie ever made. In horror movies the first person to die was almost ubiquitously a slutty teenage girl. In fact the only Friday the 13th movies where a black character is the first to die is Jason goes to Hell:The final Friday when Jason possesses Phil the coroner. And as nobody wants to remember Jason goes to Hell, we can rule this one out. Drink one drink every time you hear this line. Two drinks if the actor playing the character is a would-be stand up comedian. Three drinks if the movie was made pre-2003 and you've heard nor seen from the stand up comedian since.
5.Alan Rickman: Just Alan Rickman. In everything. Drink steadily for the entire length of time he appears on screen.
6.Don't tell me how to raise my kids: If earth is ever threatened by impending doom, be it an Alien Invasion, some kind of thermo-nuclear disaster or a Godzillaesque monster, then you had better hope that you're not a divorced dad of two looking after his kids for the weekend, as, for some reason, the onus to save all humanity will fall on you. Despite the fact there will be thousands of people caught up in the impending apocalypse, both more interesting and dynamic, the film will inevitably follow the story of some drippy, washed-up fathers for justice reject, just trying to understand his kids better. The fact that all of humanity has to be almost wiped out for him to do so is a damming indictment on his abilities as a Father, and is a point lost on Steven Speilberg. To be honest, they'd be better off with the all American step dad we're introduced to at the beginning of the film, and encouraged to hate on no stronger recommendation than his cheekbones. If there does happen to be children involved in a shameless attempt to make you care for the characters in a way the writing can't, then take one drink for each child and an additional drink if they have a lisp or some other quirk.
7.My kids are in there: Sticking to the theme of kids for the time being, then I'd like to draw your attention to another of their annoying idiosyncrasies. At some point in the film(usually when fleeing from the aforementioned Alien/Storm/Monster) The child will drop some sort of toy or heirloom and go back to collect it, cheerfully ignoring the threat at hand, despite the fact they've spent the previous hour screaming in abject terror at whatever happens to be chasing them. Thus leaving Tom Cruise to pull his best I'm not mental I'm a caring dad face, and run back to save them even though he will throw the whole rescue operation into danger. I say, fuck them, let them get eaten. They've let themselves down and they've let you down. Plus, they'll only hamper our attempts to later repopulate the earth by passing on the stupid gene into our DNA anyway, so you might as well let them get eaten. Drink one drink for each child that this happens to. If they do happen to taken by the monster/caught in an avalanche/abducted then please allow yourself another, celebratory, drink.
8.Eureaka!: Just as all looks finished, when all hope is extinguished and humanity is gearing itself up for an age where we harvested as mere batteries for our new robo-alien overlords, salvation strikes! Our hero is able to gain divine inspiration from a seemingly useless non-sequitur: a woman sneezing, a man spilling coke over himself, a dog shitting a table leg in a field of cheese (okay, I might have made that one up). Our chiselled Jeff Goldblum is then able to relate this curious act of innocuousness back to the previously unsolvable equation that had flummoxed the greatest minds, algorithms and computer systems that NASA could provide, presumably because no one working there ever GOES OUTSIDE. Drink one drink for the act of inspiration itself, and further drinks for just how implausible/tenuous the link back to the plot actually is.
9.God bless you, Mr President: In the vast majority of Hollywood made, ILM powered super movies, the president is king. The American president is often depicted as a super cool, suave, possibly African American, buff shagmeister. The rest of the world's leaders are portrayed as hapless, naval gazing morons who spend much of their time picking their bums with a spoon. This is clearly unrepresentative of real life, erm.. Anyhow, as the film progresses it becomes inevitable that the only way the world can save itself is if the president strips down to his misleadingly buff torso and fight whatever alien/robot/tornado happens to be at hand, all by himself. Possibly with his cock. This leads to a fist biting epilogue in which America and it's values is agreed as the definitive law of all time and space and I, with a spectacular disregard for anatomy, vomit my brain out of my arse. Drink constantly until you are sick. It will only hasten the inevitable death of your brain cells anyway, and alcohol abuse is a far humane way to go about it.
10.I'll deal with my problems in my own way: If we happen to be watching a sequel, or a particularly gritty Steven Segal film, then it's entirely possible that our grizzled anti-anti-hero will be deep in the throws of addiction, usually heroin, or alcohol. However, rather than sleeping in pools of his own watery shit under a bridge while offering blow jobs to compensating middle-aged business men in desperate effort to get his next fix, our hero simply dresses a bit grungy and grows a cool beard. This is a usually a ham fisted attempt at symbolising a deep inner turmoil such as the death of their daughter, or that one time at band camp. What you never see is a would be Will Smith, hopelessly in the throes of an internet porn addiction, who, just as he is needed to hack in to the pentagon, has logged on to red tube and is thrashing away to two girls one cup, at exactly the same time the Russian's bomb detonates, all the while screaming "It's ok, windows 7 and protected browsing was my idea." I don't know the plot to independence Day 2, but that's out there now. Whatever addiction plagues our hero I suggest you follow suit, as a full blown addiction will probably make the loss of the next 120 minutes of your life slightly easier to bear, and will be a good talking point when you appear on Jeremy Kyle.
So there you go, I do have explain that this is merely a suggestion and if anyone is injured following these rules (either through alcohol consumption, or the sheer mind-numbing inanity of the films themselves) I can in no way be held accountable. However, I do bid you adieu, as I go forth, drink in hand, to watch Russell Crowe mumble his way through Robin Hood. Happy Watchin'!
1.Cool guys don't look at explosions: The ultimate in cinema cliché. The mack daddy of them all, and something we all only realised thanks to Andy Samberg, but pretended we knew about it anyway. In the summer of dire blockbusters there will inevitably be at least one film were our hard ass hero – who no doubt has a heart of gold underneath that gruff exterior- walks calmly away from the 12 pounds of TNT he has detonated, that sends a building to it's knees, and, even though the seismic force of the explosion is able to shatter windows all around our wannabe John McClaine, his hair isn't even ruffled. Take that physics. Take one drink this happens, two if it happens to be a former wrestler doing the walking away.
2.Nobody calls me chicken: Yes, it's the ultimate in cool guy trash talk. When words aren't getting the job done, simply revert to the go-to cool guy fighting manoeuvre: The walk away sightly, turn around and punch! The scene usually begins with our grizzled hero trying to suppress his unstoppable rage during a slanging match with some unscrupulous bastard. Then, just as our boy tries to be the bigger man by walking away, the aforementioned bastard says something to push him over the edge, something like “Oh yeah, I heard your mum smells of eggy farts” (I'm paraphrasing, of course) causing our would be Steve McQueen to stop in his tracks turn around and sock the sucker into next week! It wasn't cool when Michael J Fox did it in Back to the future part2, so it certainly isn't cool now. Another drink if this cliché occurs, make it two if the hero retorts with a line of snappy dialogue.
3.I'm too old for this shit: A popular movie cliché that, although uttered numerous times by the character portrayed on-screen, is never used by the actors who play them when offered the role. And, rather than settling into their Autumnal years with a range of self parodying roles, before accepting old age gracefully and winning an Oscar on the back of a low budget film where they spend most of the film staring blankly to the camera, they, instead, don a fedora and whip and piss all over our childhood memories. Interestingly, although our ageing Robert Redford will utter this phrase about chasing criminals, operating stakeouts or detailed police investigation (basically anything that involves paperwork) never once have they uttered the phrase when presented with the chance to hop into bed with the nubile 22 year old model, who is inexplicably cast as their love interest. Drink one drink every time an over 50's action hero uses this phrase. If in the unlikely event they do refuse casual sex with co-star young enough to be their granddaughter, you have my permission to use hard drugs, but only once.
4.The black dude dies first: Actually no, he doesn't. Unless you're watching Amistad, or a documentary set anywhere, any time before the 21st century, which says more about our collective failure as the dominant species of the planet than about our horror films. In purely horror movie terms, however, then no, the black dude doesn't die first. This non- cliché only came to prominence after it was mentioned in Scream when, ironically, this very line of dialogue became cliché, after it was then repeated to nauseating effect in every teen movie ever made. In horror movies the first person to die was almost ubiquitously a slutty teenage girl. In fact the only Friday the 13th movies where a black character is the first to die is Jason goes to Hell:The final Friday when Jason possesses Phil the coroner. And as nobody wants to remember Jason goes to Hell, we can rule this one out. Drink one drink every time you hear this line. Two drinks if the actor playing the character is a would-be stand up comedian. Three drinks if the movie was made pre-2003 and you've heard nor seen from the stand up comedian since.
5.Alan Rickman: Just Alan Rickman. In everything. Drink steadily for the entire length of time he appears on screen.
6.Don't tell me how to raise my kids: If earth is ever threatened by impending doom, be it an Alien Invasion, some kind of thermo-nuclear disaster or a Godzillaesque monster, then you had better hope that you're not a divorced dad of two looking after his kids for the weekend, as, for some reason, the onus to save all humanity will fall on you. Despite the fact there will be thousands of people caught up in the impending apocalypse, both more interesting and dynamic, the film will inevitably follow the story of some drippy, washed-up fathers for justice reject, just trying to understand his kids better. The fact that all of humanity has to be almost wiped out for him to do so is a damming indictment on his abilities as a Father, and is a point lost on Steven Speilberg. To be honest, they'd be better off with the all American step dad we're introduced to at the beginning of the film, and encouraged to hate on no stronger recommendation than his cheekbones. If there does happen to be children involved in a shameless attempt to make you care for the characters in a way the writing can't, then take one drink for each child and an additional drink if they have a lisp or some other quirk.
7.My kids are in there: Sticking to the theme of kids for the time being, then I'd like to draw your attention to another of their annoying idiosyncrasies. At some point in the film(usually when fleeing from the aforementioned Alien/Storm/Monster) The child will drop some sort of toy or heirloom and go back to collect it, cheerfully ignoring the threat at hand, despite the fact they've spent the previous hour screaming in abject terror at whatever happens to be chasing them. Thus leaving Tom Cruise to pull his best I'm not mental I'm a caring dad face, and run back to save them even though he will throw the whole rescue operation into danger. I say, fuck them, let them get eaten. They've let themselves down and they've let you down. Plus, they'll only hamper our attempts to later repopulate the earth by passing on the stupid gene into our DNA anyway, so you might as well let them get eaten. Drink one drink for each child that this happens to. If they do happen to taken by the monster/caught in an avalanche/abducted then please allow yourself another, celebratory, drink.
8.Eureaka!: Just as all looks finished, when all hope is extinguished and humanity is gearing itself up for an age where we harvested as mere batteries for our new robo-alien overlords, salvation strikes! Our hero is able to gain divine inspiration from a seemingly useless non-sequitur: a woman sneezing, a man spilling coke over himself, a dog shitting a table leg in a field of cheese (okay, I might have made that one up). Our chiselled Jeff Goldblum is then able to relate this curious act of innocuousness back to the previously unsolvable equation that had flummoxed the greatest minds, algorithms and computer systems that NASA could provide, presumably because no one working there ever GOES OUTSIDE. Drink one drink for the act of inspiration itself, and further drinks for just how implausible/tenuous the link back to the plot actually is.
9.God bless you, Mr President: In the vast majority of Hollywood made, ILM powered super movies, the president is king. The American president is often depicted as a super cool, suave, possibly African American, buff shagmeister. The rest of the world's leaders are portrayed as hapless, naval gazing morons who spend much of their time picking their bums with a spoon. This is clearly unrepresentative of real life, erm.. Anyhow, as the film progresses it becomes inevitable that the only way the world can save itself is if the president strips down to his misleadingly buff torso and fight whatever alien/robot/tornado happens to be at hand, all by himself. Possibly with his cock. This leads to a fist biting epilogue in which America and it's values is agreed as the definitive law of all time and space and I, with a spectacular disregard for anatomy, vomit my brain out of my arse. Drink constantly until you are sick. It will only hasten the inevitable death of your brain cells anyway, and alcohol abuse is a far humane way to go about it.
10.I'll deal with my problems in my own way: If we happen to be watching a sequel, or a particularly gritty Steven Segal film, then it's entirely possible that our grizzled anti-anti-hero will be deep in the throws of addiction, usually heroin, or alcohol. However, rather than sleeping in pools of his own watery shit under a bridge while offering blow jobs to compensating middle-aged business men in desperate effort to get his next fix, our hero simply dresses a bit grungy and grows a cool beard. This is a usually a ham fisted attempt at symbolising a deep inner turmoil such as the death of their daughter, or that one time at band camp. What you never see is a would be Will Smith, hopelessly in the throes of an internet porn addiction, who, just as he is needed to hack in to the pentagon, has logged on to red tube and is thrashing away to two girls one cup, at exactly the same time the Russian's bomb detonates, all the while screaming "It's ok, windows 7 and protected browsing was my idea." I don't know the plot to independence Day 2, but that's out there now. Whatever addiction plagues our hero I suggest you follow suit, as a full blown addiction will probably make the loss of the next 120 minutes of your life slightly easier to bear, and will be a good talking point when you appear on Jeremy Kyle.
So there you go, I do have explain that this is merely a suggestion and if anyone is injured following these rules (either through alcohol consumption, or the sheer mind-numbing inanity of the films themselves) I can in no way be held accountable. However, I do bid you adieu, as I go forth, drink in hand, to watch Russell Crowe mumble his way through Robin Hood. Happy Watchin'!
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