The greatest issue facing the world today, the fact that I couldn't get to blogger.com by typing it into the address bar, appears solved. The new issue is that I can't get on my wireless in a particular room in the house - it just goes from full strength to completely dead within about a foot. Some basic research tells me that it's Apple's problem and I have to wait for an update, making it my problem. Surely it takes more than stupidity to make a network card throw up imaginary walls around itself and sit stubbornly refusing to connect?
Anyway, because I've been going around my house looking for further dead spots and I'm bored of carrying this thing around staring at a network monitor that I'm not sure I understand, you're in for a blogging first: a post written while I'm sitting on the bog. Once the awe of that revelation has subsided, I'll also tell you that there's almost no news in this post, largely because nothing in the world is happening: There's almost no news in this post, largely because nothing in the world is happening. Oh, except some people with far too much time on their hands (more time than is required to spend your sunday blogging from the toilet? - Ed) have decided that Paul McCartney wrote a song about Heather Mills, based solely on the fact that the song's title, 'Mister Bellamy', is an anagram of 'Mills betray me'. Come on, that's not even grammatically correct. Incidentally, it's also an anagram of 'Bellm at Misery' and a partial anagram of 'Belly Mist', so you can draw your own conclusions really.
Tonight I'm going to talk about films, and why they've suddenly gone shit. Actually, that's wrong, because that implies I actually know why they've gone shit, and am going to tell you why - I honestly have no idea. I am as gobsmacked by this current crop of gloopy mind-vomit spraying itself all over cinematic history as you are, I'm just the only one bored enough to bang on about it for any length of time. Oh, and as I write this, I'm being told that I can't connect to Blogger.com - bollocks to it, I'll deal with that problem when I come to it.
I'll ignore 'Horton Hears a Hoo' because it's a kids' film and so I can't really expect it to be any good - long gone are the days when kids had good entertainment to stop them from pushing lego bricks up their noses, and I doubt they'll be back any time soon. I'll also ignore that 'Hannah Montana 3D' thing by the same token, although I really have had enough of Miley Cyrus. The people who paid to go and see U2 in 3D, however, really should know better. No amount of additional dimensions will ever make U2 any good.
My problem does not lie with these movies, as infuriating as they are, because I know they are not aimed at me. My problem lies with two other films being heavily advertised at me: Meet the Spartans and Step Up 2: The Streets. I'll deal with the former first because just mentioning Step Up 2: The Streets makes me want to go and curl one out into the minds of everyone involved in it's production. Meet the Spartans is this year's (or this season's - these things are getting more and more frequent) Scary Movie, and by that I don't mean the sharp, fresh if slightly repetitive Scary Movie 1, I mean the painful, teeth-grindingly awful Carmen Electra-shitting-in-a-box Scary Movie 4. Only with about four times less humour and a lot less class. Have you seen the trailer? Of course you have, it's everywhere. There are undiscovered tribes in the middle of the Amazon rainforest that are yet to master the concept of fire, but are well aware of how truly awful this film is. If you've seen the trailer, you've seen the funniest points of the film. Yes, an unfunny repeat of last year's worst internet meme and the hilarious concept of Donald Trump firing Spiderman (and by 'hilarious' I mean 'would-rather-rip-off-my-own-testicles-than-sit-through-again awful') are the high points of the entire movie. Thankfully the whole thing is only 75 minutes long, or your intrepid writer might have chewed off his own face to complete this review for you. If you want an experience with an equivalent amount of humour to Meet the Spartans, but absolutely free, I advise you to out to your local town center, find the biggest bloke in the biggest outsize baseball cap you can find and enquire as to the availibility of his mother.
Or just stick a knife in your eye as a punishment for even considering going to see Meet the Spartans. And then it was over. Breathe.
Because then, ladies and gentlemen, it just got worse. Painfully, it also got 'hip'.
Step Up 2: The Streets is the most hilariously bad thing I have seen in a long time, and the sad thing is it doesn't try to be. It's actually played as a straight, intense film. About dancing. The attitude and determination the characters put into being 'illegal street dancers' is nothing short of absolutely fucking hilarious. The 'illegal street dancing' itself is pant-wettingly stupid, and the very concept of there being such a thing as 'illegal street dancing gangs' patrolling the streets of Maryland is probably the most moronic concept I've ever seen in a serious film since the finger-clicking street toughs of West Side Story. Is street dancing illegal in Maryland? I don't know, and I don't really care. Even if it is, it doesn't make you the criminal badass it's made out to be in this abortion of a film, and seeing as about half the scenes center around the main character's mother living in fear of these street dancers, I found it pretty hard to concentrate on the plot through the flowing tears of mirth and pinpoint the exact time when it became the worst film of all time. I think it was somewhere around the line "She has more talent, more conviction than anyone else I know!", delivered with all the heart of someone who has just seen their partner save a life or overcome a life threatening illness, about a girl had to overcome the odds and erm... dance.
Frankly, much as it shames me to admit this, it's probably more tolerable than Meet the Spartans, because Meet the Spartans just made me want to piss blood out of my eyes rather than watch another second, but Step Up 2 was just so completely blissfully stupid in both concept and execution that overall it's probably the worse film. You'd better keep that one under your hat, though, or some illegal street dancers will come and bust some, erm, moves at you. Because they're badass like that. And dancers. And completely fucking rediculous.
Goodnight.
Anyway, because I've been going around my house looking for further dead spots and I'm bored of carrying this thing around staring at a network monitor that I'm not sure I understand, you're in for a blogging first: a post written while I'm sitting on the bog. Once the awe of that revelation has subsided, I'll also tell you that there's almost no news in this post, largely because nothing in the world is happening: There's almost no news in this post, largely because nothing in the world is happening. Oh, except some people with far too much time on their hands (more time than is required to spend your sunday blogging from the toilet? - Ed) have decided that Paul McCartney wrote a song about Heather Mills, based solely on the fact that the song's title, 'Mister Bellamy', is an anagram of 'Mills betray me'. Come on, that's not even grammatically correct. Incidentally, it's also an anagram of 'Bellm at Misery' and a partial anagram of 'Belly Mist', so you can draw your own conclusions really.
Tonight I'm going to talk about films, and why they've suddenly gone shit. Actually, that's wrong, because that implies I actually know why they've gone shit, and am going to tell you why - I honestly have no idea. I am as gobsmacked by this current crop of gloopy mind-vomit spraying itself all over cinematic history as you are, I'm just the only one bored enough to bang on about it for any length of time. Oh, and as I write this, I'm being told that I can't connect to Blogger.com - bollocks to it, I'll deal with that problem when I come to it.
I'll ignore 'Horton Hears a Hoo' because it's a kids' film and so I can't really expect it to be any good - long gone are the days when kids had good entertainment to stop them from pushing lego bricks up their noses, and I doubt they'll be back any time soon. I'll also ignore that 'Hannah Montana 3D' thing by the same token, although I really have had enough of Miley Cyrus. The people who paid to go and see U2 in 3D, however, really should know better. No amount of additional dimensions will ever make U2 any good.
My problem does not lie with these movies, as infuriating as they are, because I know they are not aimed at me. My problem lies with two other films being heavily advertised at me: Meet the Spartans and Step Up 2: The Streets. I'll deal with the former first because just mentioning Step Up 2: The Streets makes me want to go and curl one out into the minds of everyone involved in it's production. Meet the Spartans is this year's (or this season's - these things are getting more and more frequent) Scary Movie, and by that I don't mean the sharp, fresh if slightly repetitive Scary Movie 1, I mean the painful, teeth-grindingly awful Carmen Electra-shitting-in-a-box Scary Movie 4. Only with about four times less humour and a lot less class. Have you seen the trailer? Of course you have, it's everywhere. There are undiscovered tribes in the middle of the Amazon rainforest that are yet to master the concept of fire, but are well aware of how truly awful this film is. If you've seen the trailer, you've seen the funniest points of the film. Yes, an unfunny repeat of last year's worst internet meme and the hilarious concept of Donald Trump firing Spiderman (and by 'hilarious' I mean 'would-rather-rip-off-my-own-testicles-than-sit-through-again awful') are the high points of the entire movie. Thankfully the whole thing is only 75 minutes long, or your intrepid writer might have chewed off his own face to complete this review for you. If you want an experience with an equivalent amount of humour to Meet the Spartans, but absolutely free, I advise you to out to your local town center, find the biggest bloke in the biggest outsize baseball cap you can find and enquire as to the availibility of his mother.
Or just stick a knife in your eye as a punishment for even considering going to see Meet the Spartans. And then it was over. Breathe.
Because then, ladies and gentlemen, it just got worse. Painfully, it also got 'hip'.
Step Up 2: The Streets is the most hilariously bad thing I have seen in a long time, and the sad thing is it doesn't try to be. It's actually played as a straight, intense film. About dancing. The attitude and determination the characters put into being 'illegal street dancers' is nothing short of absolutely fucking hilarious. The 'illegal street dancing' itself is pant-wettingly stupid, and the very concept of there being such a thing as 'illegal street dancing gangs' patrolling the streets of Maryland is probably the most moronic concept I've ever seen in a serious film since the finger-clicking street toughs of West Side Story. Is street dancing illegal in Maryland? I don't know, and I don't really care. Even if it is, it doesn't make you the criminal badass it's made out to be in this abortion of a film, and seeing as about half the scenes center around the main character's mother living in fear of these street dancers, I found it pretty hard to concentrate on the plot through the flowing tears of mirth and pinpoint the exact time when it became the worst film of all time. I think it was somewhere around the line "She has more talent, more conviction than anyone else I know!", delivered with all the heart of someone who has just seen their partner save a life or overcome a life threatening illness, about a girl had to overcome the odds and erm... dance.
Frankly, much as it shames me to admit this, it's probably more tolerable than Meet the Spartans, because Meet the Spartans just made me want to piss blood out of my eyes rather than watch another second, but Step Up 2 was just so completely blissfully stupid in both concept and execution that overall it's probably the worse film. You'd better keep that one under your hat, though, or some illegal street dancers will come and bust some, erm, moves at you. Because they're badass like that. And dancers. And completely fucking rediculous.
Goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment