Jacob Kelly's Funeralopolis Vol 2. Issue 4: God Speed and Good Luck

Page 1-We Care A Lot: Subverting Pop Through Pop

Welcome back. As always glad to have you. This time we're soul searching, we're traversing the galaxies and we're locating the one they call God. Is he out there somewhere or is he just "a concept by which we measure our pain" as the Walrus so eloquently put it. First up, we review James Gunn's Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3. Over an epic 150 minutes, the MCU's only auteur continues to blossom as he strives for smuggler status and to find cracks in the system.

Page 8-Are You There God? It's Me Kelly

Kelly wants to talk to God but he's afraid cause they ain't spoke in so long (Fire, Walk). God show him the way because the Devil's tryna break him down (Fire, Walk with me). The only thing that I pray is that my cock don't fail me now. In the form of an open letter to the God of the coming of age film Kelly Fremon Craig, Are You There God? It's Me Margaret is reviewed.

Page 10-Good Booty: If it don't fit, don't force it, you can grease it, make it easy

A recent musical documentary shining a light on the contradictory life of Little Richard becomes the perfect excuse to delve in to why as drive-in movie lovers and action addicts we are forever indebted to this man. Why he still has a hold over us even when he spent so much of his career alienating us.

Page 15-Renfield: It Sucks

Nicolas Cage gives us his rendition of Dracula in a modernised version aimed directly at the Deadpool corner of cinema. Anyone else should probably stay away. Kelly and Bonehead bicker and brawl at a Weedeater gig. Is their time in Sheffield over?

Page 22-Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

We close shop with a trip to the priest. After sinning heavily by enjoying the abomination that is The Pope's Exorcist, in a desperate attempt at absolution, Kelly begs for forgiveness. He explains all the ways in which the devil tempted him through Russell Crowe's steadfast performance, Da Vinci Code level conspiracies and mopeds. He promises that he will try not to do it again. Will he be forgiven?

We Care A Lot: Subverting pop through pop

Calling all Gunners. He's back and better than ever. To be clear, that's like James Gunn fans not Arsenal fans. Not that slimy club managed by a fraudster who thought he was massive cause they won the December Cup. Nothing I hate more than bottles who run off cowering when shit gets serious. No, we're talking about the legend who made his name writing those infamous Troma pictures and is now most known for his Guardians of the Galaxy series for Marvel and being granted full creative control over the future of DC. Both sides want a piece of him. Cause let's be honest, he's the guy. Women want him. Fish fear him. He's the only one with any respectable clue of how to direct a decent superhero movie. This time he's made the best piece of vegetarian propaganda since The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. We've often sung his praises in Funeralopolis because he's either got the power to improve the genre or bring it crippling to its knees. Eithers fine with us. Expand or die.

The studio puppets have come and gone. You can't remember half their names. Yet, the Gunn remains and he's only improving his craft film by film. Who else could you name? Jon Favreau?

Please, Iron Man was average. Putting aside its frequent pro military industrial complex nonsense, Black Sabbath banged but that's about it. I'll never forget that they cut out a scene with the REAL Tony Stark, the great Ghostface Killah. Iron Man is talked about now as if it's some classic of the genre. Historically speaking, yes it was an early one in the MCU and established the formula that I never liked and would be used for far too long. Act One, the central character is close to being a bad guy and we see them in some unusual situations we'll definitely never see them in again. They steal. They're selfcentred. Act Two, we first see their powers. Set pieces in this section are restrained and that's what makes them better than those in Act Three. Finally, Act Three comes in all disastrously with the big end of the world battle.

There's pure CGI overload that's far worse than anything in The Transformers series and we lose the characters. Cities are damaged but we never see that impact in any of the sequels. Each time the locations are miraculously repaired and there is no impact on New York's residents. Magic fixes of cityscapes and bringing the dead back to life eventually seizes to have any interest on the viewer. There is no stake in anything. I'd forgive all the lack of logic and character depth if they could at least make the set pieces exciting like recent blockbusters Mad Max or John Wick. Without a doubt, they should have had a break after End Game and focused on solo isolated adventures from then on.

As I said, constant building destruction and unexplored characterisation can be forgiven. If you can't be clever be cool is always my advice. Those who can't stimulate intellectually, should at the bare minimum entertain with popcorn thrills. Considering the mantra for the Guardians of the Galaxy can be broken down to 'get shit done and look cool while you're doing it', it's easy to see why I favour these guys over the Avengers. Nerds those Avengers lot. Give me Gunn's stylish intergalactic Star Trekkian adventures in space over those dull bores who still fight on earth. I can hear it now. Some defenders will bring out the Russo Brothers. God, I'm glad their time is up. Outed as frauds like Arteta. Their 'take' on the action movie with The Gray Man exposed them. They don't have a clue. Coincidentally, they did indeed make some of the better MCU movies with Winter Soldier and Infinity War. End Game was a little repetitive with them basically repeating the same scene over and over of them saying goodbye to family members all too neatly. Civil War is better than Superman 4: Quest for Peace at merging superheroes with real life politics but still pretty dumb. The best scene coming when they all fight each other at the airport. Mixed results on the political debate of whether the Avengers should report to the UN. However, for that one scene at the airport, they understood the appeal of the whole royal rumble/battle royal that you can have with the juvenile superhero genre. It's the MCU's Destroy All Monsters moment and it bangs!

Over the years if there's one thing that's disappointed me with these films it's their success at blending superheroes with popular culture and real life. They've done too good a job at making these characters fit in to NYC. Normalised it and so they've lost their exaggerated camp and cartoonish fun that should be inherent to the genre. This is what makes me keep returning to the loathed Joel Schumacher films with such fondness. What happened to those outlandish sets and costumes? The backdrops are boring now because it's just real skyscrapers that you see every day. They are bereft of imagination and design when we know they exist.

The beauty of a comic book is having these incredibly well drawn panels limited to a single frame and having your mind connect each together and filling in what is occurring outside the frames. I want that vibe back of the sound effect speech bubbles. Whack! Whomp! K-Pow! Sure, there's always going to be the desire to strive towards maturity but remember where the roots lie otherwise you lose the entire thing. Superhero films today are so ugly and this is before we even get to their overreliance on CGI. Somebody needs to go back and reconsider mise en scene and costumes. My man, The Gunn has kitted his troops out with trackies that look like they've come straight from Star Trek: The Motion Picture and I'm here for it.

When did we stop being so concerned over the image? X-Men 2's opening scene is a work of art because it expands on the limitations of the comic book medium by having the panels flow in a continuous movement. One medium trying to better another or at least offer something different in experience. Robert Rodriguez decided it was time to make Sin City after digital came in to play and he was able to achieve aesthetic of Frank Miller's comics with their gorgeous use of colour added on to the old school noir black and white. Digital can be a friend to this genre if it was used properly more often. This is the heights the genre could reach if it actually returned to the source material wondered once more how to recreate the experience of reading the comics in a cinematic sense. Instead, they've come too lazy with so little time spent over what the look of the film should be. They're not interested in challenging the capabilities of the medium but rather finding a style that can be replicated over and over.

This is why I don't rate the Russo brothers and glad we're fucking finished with those clowns. At best, they were decent studio puppets with no individual recognisable style. Honestly, could you really tell me what a Russo Brothers movie is? Do they have a common stylistic touch familiar to only them? Do their movies have recurring themes that they wrestle with on every occasion with the plot serving to go further in to their obsessions? Simple answer is they have none of these things. They are not artists. They're just serviceable directors (and barely that competent at that either) delivering what Marvel want operating within a very tight creative boundary that poses no risk to the future of the franchise but comes with a complete lack of ambition.

Now, this is where I admire James Gunn. Cause if there's one thing about James Gunn, it is that he makes James Gunn movies. That is not to say they are perfect but they are his. He may not be there yet but I'm sure by the end of his career if he continues to hone his craft, he may qualify for smuggler status. In this industry, what that refers to is someone operating within the formulaic systems, repeatedly making genre films but demonstrating the ability to reshape whatever material that comes their way into their own movie. They find cracks in the system and illustrate they have their dirty hands over everything.

There is a subversive element to Gunn's work that recalls the likes of Samuel Fuller, Alfred Hitchcock, Anthony Mann, Sam Peckinpah and Nicolas Ray. In terms of quality, it be outrageous to put him on their level (he's nowhere near as of yet) but I see the same approach to his work as those guys had. Especially, given that the superhero genre is the most popular right now and the equivalent to westerns and noirs in those directors days. It could be a while before we see Gunn's best work but seeing him being the only one right now trying to subvert the genre and guide them in to a unique singular direction makes him arguably one of cinemas most interesting director's working today.

Usually, his contributions come through in the wacky humour, which for me counter the normalisation of where superheroes have gone within our culture. We're dealing with people that can fly and smash through walls. Somehow along the way that's become too common and normalised that it no longer has any effect. Where's the absurdity in it all? He's put weirdness back in the genre. Best two examples being in the first Guardians of the Galaxy and The Suicide Squad. In Guardians, when Rocket comes up with the plan to escape and throws in stealing a man's prosthetic leg, only to later reveal that to be a joke is vintage Gunn gallows humour. I'm amazed it ever got passed the studio. That's a moment where it stops being just another churned out superhero movie and Gunn makes his presence known. In that instance, you almost feel him coming up to you, shaking your hand and going, "Hi, I'm James Gunn".

The entire opening of The Suicide Squad is nothing short of audacious. Setting up an entire cast of popular names and killing them off so quickly was insane. The Jim Carroll Band's unsubtle and hilariously literal 'People Who Died' being used to reveal the ruse is excellent. An act of madness, which catches you right off guard in a genre that's come all too predictable. I want to take a minute to talk about the Weasel character. The Weasel. That's one of the funniest and weirdest additions to the DCU I've encountered. A character who's only ever appeared in about 2 comics. Gunn knows a legend when he sees one. He even makes his brother play the character. Another aspect that makes me an unapologetic Gunner. Taking studio dollars to create oddball nonsense and putting your own family members and close friends in all your movies too. Respect. We salute that. If there is a manifesto to this game it is take the studios big bucks to fund your weirdness, put in all your relatives and compadres and just hijack the picture. Total control and dominance to take the piss. Your movie, their money.

Gunn's off-kilter humour wasn't something generated over night and he's really developed it into fusing it through the superhero genre. Our man on the inside. His early efforts were writing the Troma flicks Tromeo and Juliet and Terror Firmer. For these, he Tromafied Truffaut and Shakespeare. Tromeo and Juliet is the trashy version of 10 Things I Hate About You and Terror Firmer is the low budget exploitation filmmakers Day for Night

He aims low and scores high. Even in these films towards the start of his career that he helped write, you can see that desire to subvert his material and poke fun at particular modes of filmmaking. Terror Firmer, as disturbing and depraved as it is, is literally the bible to exploitation filmmaking. A modern Hollywood Boulevard arising from the arrival of the independent filmmakers. Although, not always pleasant and certainly to audiences today problematic, everything is undertaken without fear for offence and as a result it is one of the best satires on the horrors that occur on low budget sets and the fucked up families formed when numerous outcasts are brought together to make movies. A must see for John Waters fans.

Gunn's Hollywood call up came with the live action Scooby Doo films, which I'm glad to see are finally getting the respect they deserve. He saw right through the corny sentimentalism that I'm sure most writers would gravitate towards and cut straight to the reason we all love Scooby Doo. Deep down it's a stoner comedy. Any chance he gets, his script has these little jokes about God's herb. The Alligator cigarette. Gorilla finger. Bobo Bush. Boo Boo Bama. Grandpa's medicine. Party Parsley. Hungarian Hummus. The Devil's Lettuce. Sin Spinach. Mr Green. Reverend Green. Greenest of the green. The Nixon. The ever eating boys with the great metabolism, Scooby and Shaggy, are sat in the back of the van with smoke coming out. Then not long later, just in case you didn't get the memo that these guys were Astro travellers, scuba divers, herbalistas, space cadets, men on the moon, jedi slayers, joint jugglers, cheech and chongers, coconut creekers, Scooby snackers, Reefer Sutherlands, full time florists, rocket men. Shaggy shockingly reveals to us that "Mary Jane" is his favourite name. To top it off he eventually rocks up to a gaff dressed as a blunt in a green and brown zoot suit.

Next up was his horror films, a Dawn of the Dead remake and Slither It's been years since I've seen the 2004 remake of Dawn of the Dead but the fact many deem it that clown Zack Snyder's best work, I guess that means the script must be so good that even he couldn't fuck it up. As for Gunn's directorial debut Slither, I'm yet to see. However, I hear it's a very comedic take on the horror films of the '80s with nods to Carpenter and Cronenberg. So I'm sure his particular brand of humour is evident there as well. Horror seems like a natural step for him too based on the shock element of his humour.

2010s Super serves as a trial run for placing his humour inside a superhero movie and unfortunately isn't that much of a success. Unless, you are 15 years old and it would probably be the best film ever made. Sadly, I watched it aged about 24 and was about 11 years too late to the party, sitting their thinking Christ I'm too old for whatever this is. You have to put up with the painfully awful repeated quote, "Shut up crime!", which thinks it's far funnier than it is. That's the problem here. As a low budget independent Kickass, you want to admire it for interpreting the superhero as psychopath and attempting to break down the genre. Irritatingly, this side to the film loses value because it becomes all too clear that the writer/director himself is also a bit of an arsehole too and not in like a funny way. Smug would be the right word. Any satirical points and genre analysis is lost in the cheap attempts at shock. Hence, why only a 15 year old would love such an edgy movie because it's 'awesome'.

Gunn's love for the eccentric and quirkiness in independent productions of both music and film can be both his greatest weapon and kryptonite. His track choices can be that lo-fi rubbish indie. Little incels who listen to Jackson C. Frank, The Microphones and Daniel Johnston (who are good by the way) and try to replicate that sound but it's just pathetic. Those types of indie bands. Gunn's pop tracks fare better. Above all though, no matter the song selection, it's use is so good it can make me re-evaluate the band in question or at least try to.

Strange thing is even when his work goes well, he's still working within the same confines of the thin line between likeably juvenile and annoyingly juvenile. it's not like what makes him great on a good day is that he avoids and abandons the things that make his work weak. No, it's that he just does them better. His more recent success on the Guardians series, I think can be attributed to his well-timed balancing acts with the more emotional aspects of the movie to make for a rounded and less edgy movie. He still has these bizarre tastes in both humour and musical choices but he's using this more now to push himself in to very idiosyncratic places that are admirable and not smug. Whereas, previous failures such as Super, Movie 43 and The Belko Experiment have been too distracted by the spectacle and the gross out shock value that they cannot fully succeed in their aims as satire.

The brilliance in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3 is in how Gunn takes you not only on a journey through Marvel comics but through what personally interests him. Each choice he makes is unique and he's clearly not trying to do this generic act that appeals to everyone. Somehow though he makes his distinctive detours interest the viewer too rather than alienating audiences. For example, much of the plot of Vol.3 focuses on providing a back story for Rocket. As Mark Singer has accurately pointed out, Rocket Raccoon has not always been that popular amongst the Marvel fans or even the writers. He appeared in only 10 comics in his first 30 years and wasn't even an original member of the Guardians. He came in when they re-branded in the mid-2000s. His increase in popularity and transformation in to a household name has come almost entirely from Gunn and now he has dedicated a 150 minute movie to addressing the character's origins.

Brave to say the least and the emotional impact can't be understated. Gunn doesn't treat this like a run of the mill superhero movie. As though in his mind he views this in particular scenes as an 80s romantic comedy or 30s screwball comedy and even a 2000s stoner comedy. Calling each part volumes and having these tapes is definitely him making this more suitably '80s and cartoony.

These are his characters though and he clearly cares enough about them to keep you with them permanently rather slipping in to boring third acts with mindless destruction. You don’t normally get this level of attention to each character as Gunn gives here. Quill trying to deal with his former flame, Rocket's trauma over the death of his old gang, Drax's desire to find a place in the gang as this utter idiot with the best of intentions, Nebula discovering the more she gives the more she gets back and Mantis who can manipulate people's emotions and still can't achieve genuine respect as a member of the group. The Guardians remain these loveable losers, mischievous misfits and outrageous oddballs bandying together to do the impossible. There's a lot of strands here for Gunn to juggle but somehow he never loses his characters in the spectacle.

In addition, Vol.3 provides the opportunity to treat us to a second cameo from Howard the Duck, my favourite character in the entire MCU. Here, he joins a sleazy cards game. What else would he be doing? No-one else directing these movies shares Gunn's passion for that character and desire to weave him back in. To everyone else he's disreputable character that Marvel first made a movie about and also the last due to how offensive and disliked he was. Therefore, as consensus has shown, one to be avoided. Howard the Duck is my second favourite Marvel movie, falling just behind The Toxic Avenger (that time Troma got their hands on some Stan Lee produce). So you can probably tell where my heads at with this silliness and I think myself and Gunn share the same sensibilities. Especially, when his last films have both featured Kaijus. Another reason why he's Funeralopolis's golden boy. He champions what we champion. He speaks for us.

His brother gets another shot at playing Kraglin. He goes all Turner and Hooch buddy cop with Cosmo the Dog and is now the proud wearer of the arrowhead passed down by Yondu. Referred to as the Yaka arrow, which can change its trajectory based on a whistling technique known to Centaurians. My guys still learning how to get his rod erect and to fly through the air.

Observing what happened with Yondu illustrates for me Gunn's development as a director. He's the only one with any basic cinematic awareness for story and character currently making superhero movies. Seeing him take the guy who played Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer and turn him in to this lovely father figure was so unbelievably wholesome. Gunn has a range now that he's never demonstrated until he started making these Guardians films. He's added undeniable warmth to his ability to shock.

Up until Vol.3, Vol.2 was, and this will not shock you, my favourite movie of the MCU. There was something so inviting about a Marvel movie which scraps the usual repeated plots for this perfectly pedestrian hangout shore leave episode, where characters work out their long standing troubles with their fathers. My Sweet Lord superbly used when they visit Kurt Russell's created world. Sort of like a more amiable Honey Boy.

Wonderfully soundtracked too with Sam Cooke's Bring it on Home for romantic scenes. It wasn't like a traditional movie but an episode of television devoted to being a non-plot driven piece where characters can deal with their hidden feelings for each other and all they've been through that can become unaddressed for too long with all the action episodes.

Yes, you could say, James Gunn brought it home that day. In my book, the best MCU movie for actually offering something different and genuinely character oriented with great music. Sure, some will say the first is better because of the novelty of seeing them all come together for the first time and I can understand that. Personally, I prefer how the chemistry has improved between the cast and seeing them effortlessly have fun together rather than having to dedicate so much time to the initial set up. One thing that hasn't aged well with the first is how heavily it links back to The Avengers with Thanos and has to some serve some wider narrative that isn't as interesting. These sequels have been much more isolated affairs able to stand on their own. Being a break from Earth is welcome so it's not just the same old skyscrapers. They've finally established themselves as having a base on the planet, 'Knowhere', which is really funny cause I swear that makes much of The Holiday Special canon.

Evidently, Vol.3 has earned some of the best reviews of the series. Is it better than Vol.2 though? Whilst emotionally Vol.2 is a hard one to beat and did come first, I'm more impressed by this coming now and where this indicates Gunn is heading towards artistically than I am concerned with which is better. The Suicide Squad was good and very nearly great. Since that film he's been really mastering the ensemble like never before. You could say he's giving us that Star Trek movie Tarantino promised but never did. His new thing is doing the whole Seven Samurai men on a mission but in a pleasing pop way. The Suicide Squad had all the chapters as though trying to be Inglorious Basterds. In Vol.3, he's delivering it more on the dialogue with these jokes about whether they're heading towards a "trap" or a "face off". The Mexican stand-off fan in me appreciated that one. A sort of formal wit that Gunn's displayed since day one but is now starting to come very interesting in his desire to carve serialised pulp adventures.

For some reason Gunn seems to be the only one trying to expand on these worlds he's building and have fun with his own creations. Counter Earth being a fantastic location too for Gunn to subvert those realistic backdrops that have plagued and dominated the MCU. Through this setting, he can present the familiar as unheimlich. There's cars and houses like any neighbourhood but at any moment he can throw in an animal that you've never seen before and blow your fucking head off. Those seeking for the superhero genre to return back to its over the top weirdness like myself, would be advised to check out Gunn's recent output.

On departing the cinema, I ran in to a couple of friends, namely Fabian Barthez and Mike Delaney. Despite not seeing them in a while, Fabian's bald head was going off like a homing beacon. I couldn't miss it. The human lighthouse made this point that some of the track selections were odd such as picking Faith No More's We Care a Lot over their bigger and more liked hits from Angel Dust. This caused me to go back and listen to some of their most known hits. I have always held the opinion that Faith No More are fucking shit and this re-listen did nothing to change that.

Faith No More make the sort of god awful funk metal the Red Hot Chilli Peppers made at the start of their career when they were somehow even more insufferable than the Californication/By the Way era. As for this We Care a Lot track, which I must point out, I'd never heard even heard of before Vol.3, it is by far the best thing that shite group ever had their name on. Something I would probably credit to the fact it sounds like Metallica trying to make a groovy danceable post-punk song and doesn't have the usual terrible vocals. Here we return to the reason why I'm a Gunner through and through. Another fine example of him perfecting his ability to take things that may not have interested people in the past and may have been disregarded back then but somehow against all odds making them hooked now and share that love of his peculiar tastes. I always had a downer on Rainbow because Dio replaced Ozzy in Black Sabbath. I will admit though, Gunn's opened my eyes to the catchy fun of Since You Been Gone Since Vol.3, like Rocket's popularity growth, We Care a Lot has been racking up some serious numbers on the Spotify and I'm sure will cement itself as a fan favourite in future. No doubt it being this parody of the 'usefulness' of Live Aid charity concerts with millionaires asking for the public's money and 80s pop culture within the body of a catchy anthem appeals to Gunn.

In a few years, don't be shocked to see Gunn's Guardian films compared favourably to pre-MCU films such as Sam Raimi's Spiderman 2 and nonce's X-Men 2 as classics in the genre. They're that good and so superior to all the crap the MCU has given us since this began with Iron Man. Whatever he does next, I want more of this men on a mission business. Maybe we can actually reach the absurd display of masculinity the westerns had. Warriors with codes and maybe just maybe they can adapt to our modern times with female liberation and the superhero film can finally have something interesting to say. If the superheroes are dying out maybe he'll be the one to go full Sam Peckinpah and do this bloody The Wild Bunch style send off. I'm not declaring him a genius or a master artist. He's fucked up before and I'm sure he'll fuck up again. However, he does demonstrate the most hope to do something with this popular genre. Everything he does it turns to Gold. Roll down the red carpet and give this man the keys to the kingdom. Making these Marvel movies is a dirty job but someone's got to do it.

Director: James Gunn

Screenplay: James Gunn

Starring: Chris Pratt, Zoe Saldana, Dave Bautista, Karen Gillan, Pom Klementieff, Vin Diesel, Bradley Cooper, Will Poulter, Nathan Fillion, Sylvester Stallone, Sean Gunn

Cinematography: Henry Braham

Music: John Murphy

Production Company: Marvel Studios

Distribution: Walt Disney Studios

Motion Pictures

Country: USA

Run Time: 150 Minutes

Budget: $250 million

Plot Synopsis: Suffering the post-break up blues, Star-Lord must gather the troops, who remain ever unreliable, in order to rescue a dying Rocket Raccoon. To complete this mission, they will have to come face to face with Rocket's dark past.

Bonus Points:

-Kaiju heavy third act

-Howard the Duck playing cards

-Kraglin and Cosmo going full Turner and Hooch buddy cop

-The terrific Beastie Boys fight scene

-The sexy trackies and zero gravity walks

-The The's This is the Day getting whacked out prebattle

-Gunn continuing his men on a mission series and sense of subversion. The only auteur making superhero movies today

-Bautista saving the kids

-Star-Lord's adamance it's a face off not a trap

Overall Score: 4/5

Are You There God? It's Me, Kelly

Are you there Kelly Fremon Craig,

it's me Kelly. Yes a fellow Kelly. You sold this to me on the trailer with George Harrison's What is Life. What can I say? I'm a Goodfellas head. Liked the trailer so much I finally checked out your other work The Edge of Seventeen. A movie I'd put off watching because it looked like annoying coming of age rubbish. It's not, it's good. But still you seem like you've matured here as an artist. Talking of Scorsese, you won me over here on the account it felt like a Paul Schrader movie for 11 year olds. Seriously. New Yorkers. Diary entries. Religion. The search for a soul. Comparing feeling the touch of God to the touch of a sexual encounter. You had me on that. Really moved me. Wholesome as shit. I also watched this with a woman (Long Tall Sally) who confirmed that all these teenage experiences were true when she grew up so maybe you did a really good job there. As for the dude all the girls fancied who was like 10, he had game. Son of a Preacher Man. The eyes. The eyes chico. They never lie. Had to wack the note pad out and start taking notes. Also, Kelly Fremon Craig, can you please give me dad energy like Benny Safdie. Like I just want to cut myself mowing and slap reclining deck chairs across the Living room. I've been a really good boy this year! Thanks, hope you get this, Kelly.

Director: Kelly Fremon Craig

Screenplay: Kelly Fremon Craig (adapted from Judy Blume's novel 'Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret')

Starring: Rachel McAdams, Abby Ryder Fortson, Elle Graham, Benny Safdie, Kathy Bates

Cinematography: Tim Ives

Music: Hans Zimmer

Production Company: Gracie Films

Distribution: Lionsgate

Country: USA

Run Time: 106 Minutes

Budget: $30 million

Plot Synopsis: Life is not easy for Margaret Simon. After her family move from New York to New Jersey, she must find a way to fit in with her new fellow female class mates on the verge of puberty and discovering boys. On top of this, her teacher assigns a complex project for which she must explore her dual religious backgrounds that have kept her relatives apart for so many years. Does she swing towards Christianity on her mother's side or Judaism on her father's? Does she even believe in a creator? Is all this too much for an 11 year old girl to handle?

Bonus Points:

-Kelly Fremon Craig cementing herself as the next go to for teenage coming of age films

-Abby Ryder Forston for pulling off a genuinely tough and complex role for a young girl

-Benny Safdie's big dad energy as he cuts his arm mowing and slaps down a reclining deck chair across the living room and let's his wife know he does not need a sofa

-The kid with game who's an absolute natural and talks through his eyebrows as he seduces to Son of a Preacher Man

-Kathy Bates going from axe wielding Annie Wilks to wholesome nan Overall Score: 3.5/5

"Are you jacked on Jesus?", asks a character in Harmony Korine's sun soaked synth drenched fever dream Spring Breakers. Generally Rock'n'roll has always been considered the Devil's work. Parents greatest fears were their children being overcome by the evil lurking within their records. As the vinyl spins, out pours the demonic. Untold abominations in packaged goods released directly in to the family home. All these titillating and corrupt records had to be cast in to the burning fires of Mordor to free the children. Early metal pioneers Black Sabbath openly embraced the connection between rock'n'roll and the Devil by turning to satanic appreciation in a tongue in cheek way to be reactionary. Later, this would take a dark turn, biting music back in the foot with the Manson murders proving the parents to be right and the church burning edge lords from black metal bands who didn't get the memo that this God hating business was all a joke. A ruse in the music industry just to sell more records. We're just fucking around here.

Every now and then though it goes the other way. We're given a natural born sinner with a religious upbringing who establishes their career through their conflicted relationship with God and then sabotages it all as they move increasingly and uncomfortably further to the right to appease the Lord. Alienating themselves, tarnishing their legacy and losing many of the fans that have supported them since the start. My generation will instantly think: Kanye West. However, he wouldn't be the first and he won't be the last. No, the OG jacked on Jesus music freak was Little Richard. The big bright shining star of Lisa Cortes's documentary Little Richard: I am Everything

As one would expect, I'm really interested in the material here considering this guy was like the face of the '50s juvenile delinquent and rock'n'roll movies. He's synonymous with drive in history. You've got your Elvis movies, you've got your Bill Haley and the Comets movies, you've got your Chubby Checker movies and right next to these you have The Girl Can't Help It . Starring the "working man's Monroe" Jayne Mansfield. A blonde bombshell who spoke 4 languages and boasted an IQ of 163. But all anyone ever remembered her for was "40-21-35" (her body measurements).

Although the Rock'n'roll movies were often limited in plot, usually being about happy go lucky troubled teenage boys dating the prettiest girl in town, being on the verge of school expulsion and getting in to scrapes with the local gangster, they brought with them the opportunity of exposure, allowing people to see the latest trends in music. You have to remember, these were the days before Spotify, PirateBay and Bluetooth sharing. Accessibility was not the gift granted to that generation of kids.

There's an argument to be made that The Beatles would never have formed if it wasn't for this film. Naturally, the film appealed to the band because it brought together all their musical heroes Little Richard, Fats Domino, Eddie Cochran Gene Vincent and The Platters in the days without YouTube and before the concert film really took off. When auditioning for The Quarrymen, John actually made a 15 year old Paul perform Cochran's Twenty Flight Rock, a rockabilly number about a man off to see a girl, making it to her apartment, noticing the lift isn't working and by the time he's climbed all the stairs to the twentieth floor finding he's too tired to "rock". I'll let you work out what that one means. Notably, this was written for The Girl Can't Help It, making it a movie of great historical significance.

Those unfamiliar with the rock'n'roll and juvenile delinquent pictures of the '50s will recognise them to some degree in John Waters's more commercial output of the '90s with Hairspray and Cry-Baby Both of these parody the old school musically inclined hangout movies. Truthfully though, my first meeting with Little Richard would come from my childhood days spent watching '80s golden age action movies. In John McTiernan's Predator, mere seconds after the handshake mem, Arnie's mercenaries fly in to the jungle blasting Long Tall Sally like it's still Vietnam. Jesse Ventura sits right by the boom box in control of the music, as he disgustingly spits out chewing tobacco and homophobic slurs in the ultimate parody of hypermasculinity.

Good Booty: If it don't fit, don't force it, you can grease it, make it easy

Years would go by without me thinking about Little Richard, until a camping trip with the boys in Ffestiniog when I was about 16. Ffestiniog being some small village in Wales with a population of under 900. Our eyes lit up at the idea of a riverside camp site and so we pitched up as close to the water as possible. On the website it did read, "occasionally and very rarely prone to flooding". However, try telling that to a few 16 year old boys. The words "occasionally and very rarely" mean very little to a bunch of teenagers seeking beverages and close proximity to natures gifts. By the time I knew the banks had burst, the water was slapping me in the face and Balthazar Marie was shaking me awake. As I looked down, I could see the uninvited guest had made its ways in to the tent and was ramming away at me from behind wave after wave. In my hand, I was holding a half-eaten angel cake, I must have passed out eating it. Balthazar wanted me to snap in to action and help move the tent but I was useless to the world.

A vote was taken, although I don't remember casting forth my vote, the two most soberly sound minded individuals would take down the tent and pitch camp about 20 yards uphill. That was fine with me, being a firm believer that too many cooks spoil the broth. So I grabbed a deck chair and set up shop uphill. Looking around, I noticed we were the only ones frantically darting about and relocating. Everyone else had realised camping so close to the river was a bad idea and that "occasionally and very rarely" was some advice not to be taken lightly. You live and you learn. We had been more than touched by the nature we sought. Like Kurt Russell and Keith David at the end of The Thing, I sat shivering looking out at the beauty accepting my fate with a beer in my hand.

I must have drifted off again waiting for a camp that never pitched. Our designated pitchers found they were too intoxicated to complete their appointed task and abandoned ship. "Leave the tent, take the booze", one of them said. Eventually, we ended up seeking refuge in the disabled toilet. That was to be our rest spot for the evening. What was left of the drinks were dished out as we welcomed the end of the world. Conversation was restricted to that of any person of that age. "Fight Club is the great misunderstood masterpiece of our time" "Nirvana were the second coming of The Beatles".

During this, our resident Beatles connoisseur, Frankenstein, was playing Paul McCartney's howling vocals through his shitty phone speakers. A cover of Long Tall Sally no less. Had to scream over Paul, "Oi, Frank. What the fuck is this? Isn't this that song from Predator?". He proceeded to fill me in on the often under talked about sleazy days of when The Beatles lived in a brothel in Hamburg and would regularly play at events with Little Richard when they were lesser known. Sammy Winklevoss is still a wanted man for dropping the last vodka bottle that night. He will never be forgiven. Once, I returned home though after this aquatic occurrence, I was seeking out Little Richard bangers left, right and centre.

So that's me and my Little Richard out the way. Back to this documentary. They do a fantastic job of forming this near Kanye West like narrative of a man's relationship with his religion constantly eating away at his soul. That conflict over the music, own identity and the flaws of the father providing the ferocious creative spark but also losing fans within marginalised communities at times. Frequent transformations and inability to decide whether their music is good/evil and whether their sexuality is a sin. At any point in his career, you may hear Little Richard say either orgies are the most liberating act people can engage in or that the bible is the only way to free the soul. The duality of man.

He made his career by screeching over Gospel influences. A piano player by trade. With one hand he played seductively slow with the other he played ferociously fast. In fact, he would only get faster as time went by to distinguish himself from the white artists who would cover his songs and sadly sell more records. He refused to be a victim of the racist side to the industry, which seeks to exploit the black man's innovative talents and then tone down the blackness for a white audience. A legendary moment in musical history is when Little Richard envisioned the impending apocalypse through a bright red fireball roaring across the skies. He read this as a sign of God to repent and change his ways. Not long after he discussed quitting his band. Never a man seen without his precious jewellery. They said to him, "if you're serious throw your jewellery in to the sea now". He threw them into the sea.

Following that incident, fans noticed some big changes with his music over the next few years. He cut his high hair, he joined a religious cult, he toned down his vocals, he sung slow, his lyrics became preachy and he demanded you throw away all his old records because they were evil. Those were dark times between 1958 and 1962. Nobody liked his newer records and his career plummeted. You know who brought this legend back from the dead? You know who resurrected the King from his slumber? You know who put the sleaze back in him? The city of Liverpool. His first UK tour. They welcomed him with open arms and he was back to his old antics of leaping from behind curtains and slamming his legs on pianos. God I love Liverpool. What a city.

All this indecisiveness and soul searching within the subject makes for a highly gripping story enough to allow a watchable movie. In spite of this, so many of the directorial decisions are awful and they almost ruin the viewing experience. It's as though someone told them Little Richard was gay so they had to strive for all these cheap attempts at glamour with stars floating across the screen like a child's PowerPoint presentation strung together in minutes for class. No, if you're going to go in that direction, I want "Mirror Suit" levels of outrageous. "Mirror Suit" referring to an episode when performing after a supposedly tremendous Janis Joplin. Little Richard's band members report to him, saying, "Janis has got the crowd really going tonight. There's no way he can top that, right?". Little Richard says, "bring me my Mirror Suit". A roadie was sent out to retrieve this shining so bright it reflected your own image suit and Little Richard brought the house down, topping Janis Joplin.

There is an over-reliance on the talking head interviews when the archival footage is much stronger. Having modern footage too blended in wasn't pretty to see. Took you out of it with the constant clashing and changing formats. I kept wanting to lose myself in the time period but doing so was simply impossible because it comes all too clear that this was not made during those times. Therefore, it doesn't preserve but only adds layers of later re-evaluations and unwanted nonsense. Unapologetically give me that time for what it was and not what we wished it was.

They spend so much time re-working the story for modern times that they seem to forget to remaster the near unwatchable and blurry footage itself. Slightly after the PowerPoint presentation problem, I'd mention the poor choice of people to interview. Who let the 'scholars' show up? Wasn't this a man who was all about shitting on that kind of elitism? Those guys didn't need to be there. Consequently, the film suffers from this sort of forced intellectualised and recontextualised rubbish on queerness. Completely silly and out of place. The language they use just doesn't fit the images of the past. You're just re-defining the legacy there.

When you're dealing with one of the coolest show stealers there ever was, let him tell his own story. To mention the title, how can he be everything when you keep taking his story away from him? Let him tell me who he is, make me laugh and entertain me the way he does. When you're dealing with someone as charismatic as he was, these people only weaken the effort. He spoke with the type of arrogance and confidence that to hear it second hand comes off as annoying and merely imitation. When you hear it from a man who can deliver that, there's a huge difference. You accept them. They're a rare breed. That's the whole rock'n'roll bravado and swagger talking back at you. Let those who have it, share it. With all the flamboyance and trash talk. Don't try to tell me as this 21st century geek armed with all your new complex terms who he was in this really nerdy way. Kills the fun. Show me. Don't tell me.

Preferred the interviews with his friends and family who knew him personally. About what hanging round with the nutcase himself was like and how funny he was. Reminiscing over an old pal. Mick Jagger talking about how much he stole from him as an energetic front man. Paul talking about those sleazy days in Hamburg. John Waters and his pencil moustache in "twisted tribute". First hand tales over these little geeks arguing over whether Little Richard was a closeted homosexual, gender nonconforming or genderfluid. He was the King and the King shall do as he please. End of debate.

Since Elvis was released only the other year, re-positioning who the real King of Rock'n'roll is an obvious choice. Irritatingly, they take too much time phrasing him as this artist looking for acceptance. A link you can make with the racism but somehow this just ends up with wishy washy corny sentimentalism towards the end. Too much emphasis on the generic troubles of the artist, not enough of the specifics. This documentary worked best when it was trying to get into his head and revealing all these conflicting images. Little Richard leaping off the balconies and then suddenly having him in these religious cults looking like a member of the square community. The two sides to this man. Should have scrapped the nerds interviews, the PowerPoint presentation effects and the generic corny comments that would come in any documentary about a musician.

Despite the filmmakers best attempts to ruin this, I couldn't give it any less than a pass. Any time spent with the King is a pleasure even if the format has its problems. I remain as obsessed with Little Richard as I was when I was 16 first searching out his records. Rip it Up still goes on every pay day when I'm officially bankrolled and getting ready for a night on the town. A near religious act. "Fool about my money, don't try to save. My heart says go, go, have a time. Cause it's Saturday night and I'm feelin' fine" is the mantra. Getting all Spruce Springsteened. Lost in thought over how later on I'll be flying high, walking on out unto the sky, not caring how I be spending me dough. Then, I'll look down at my phone, see Long Tall Sally calling me and I just know I'm gonna be "Havin' me some fun tonight".

Director: Lisa Cortes

Starring: The King

Cinematography: Keith Walker, Graham Willoughby

Music: Jonathan Finegold, Tamar-kali

Production Company: CNN Films, HBO Max, Rolling Stone Films, Bungalow Media + Entertainment

Distribution: Magnolia Pictures

Country: USA

Run Time: 98 Minutes

Budget: Unknown

Plot Synopsis: A preacher. A King. A homosexual. A husband to a neglected wife. A black artist in a white man's industry. A gay rights advocate. A conversion therapy supporter. An orgy conductor. A certified celibate. He was all of them at one point. Ride out this music documentary's conflicting images and try to piece it all together.

Bonus Points:

-Getting John Waters involved to talk about his hero

-"Get me my Mirror Suit"

-Paul McCartney going back to the sleazy Hamburg days

-Little Richard sat in the back of taxi chatting about the liberating pleasure of orgies for 5 minutes

-Constantly replaying the leg on the piano antics that continue to drive us wild

Overall Score: 3/5

Renfield: It Sucks

Renfield. Renfield is about the most desperate attempt at making 'cool' happen I have seen in a long time that it becomes something of a 15 year olds wet dream complete with 'awesome' fight scenes, 'mean' gangsters and 'non-stop' gore. Had it been solely geared to that audience, I'd have still given it the same score but not been as disappointed. Unfortunately, they lulled me in through their marketing of this as being a 'modern' take on the Dracula story. This extends about as far as a teenager's boastfully 'hip' school drama piece updating Shakespeare. Should have known something was off when they were blasting Radiohead through the trailers. What on earth does Radiohead and Dracula have to do with one another? Only screams that a child has been handed the AUX cable and let loose on Spotify. No thought, no meaning considered. Merely a desperate bid at 'cool'.

This is not to say Dracula and Radiohead couldn't go together. Maybe there could have been some connection between some edgy thing there about their isolated youth fan base and Dracula/Renfield's seclusion from society. This isn't really the angle taken, it's just shoehorned in. Other vampire movies have used the modern soundtrack better. The Lost Boys used '80s pop hits to focus on the hedonism of youth and the endless partying and aids spreading when the sun goes down being akin to a Peter Pan story. The Addiction went to the sample heavy hip hop to suggest this decaying drug addicted society in New York left over from the '80s biting and getting every drop of blood out another person to keep the culture going in a postmodernist sense. Near Dark featured psychobilly to promote this idea of an acid western with vampires roaming the land as though caught in an act of manifest destiny. Only Lovers Left Alive focused on the entire history of music, comparing vampires to the ultimate art collectors, who with all the time given to them could be the perfect subjects to examine how music culture has affected society over the centuries. The irony being with all breadth of art available to them, the knowledge they could acquire from it, they still can't figure out basic human interactions like how to sustain a relationship. Making one wonder how much time does a person need to master that. How could we possibly do it in one single life time?

Renfield is a missed opportunity then musically speaking. Operating only to shoehorn in a certain set of classics to get a certain set of people to go watch it. Outside of music, about its only contribution to the genre is to be this shaggy dog story demonstrating that theirs is a relationship of codependents. To quote Nicolas Cage himself in Face/Off, "Bravo. Brafucking-vo!". Honestly, I'd have actually admired this more if they'd made an old school atmosphere based throwback to Universal/Hammer horror vampire movie and centred it around Cage's wacky performance. The opening prelude black and white scenes set in a castle before they move to a modern city are by far the superior.

Still, Cage's performance is so easy and obvious that it no longer becomes very watchable. It gives him too much room for weirdness that you begin to expect it and so it loses the thrill. Part of the fun of his other movies he makes is that he'll often start off as these subdued characters like grieving cops investigating murders and he'll gradually and unexpectedly take it to 11. Under this basis, his particular technique of Nouveau Shamanism (the defining method used by some to declare him the most original actor since Marlon Brando) operates best. When he's given this much room from the start, it loses its appeal and weakens the blow. Therefore, Renfield was not a good project for him to unleash this technique.

As for Nicholas Hoult, brother you're 33 years old, if I'm too old for this you definitely are. I can see why Cage had to because someone gave him the chance to play Dracula but you've got no excuse. Stick to roles like those in Mad Max, The Favourite and The Menu You don't need to be taking roles like this anymore. You're not the Skins or About a Boy kid looking for a way in to Hollywood. You've arrived. No need to seek out such juvenile rubbish any more just to get your name out there. It is known my man. When it comes to Awkwafina, the less said the better. What an annoyingly loud and shouty actress. Another woeful entry in her appalling excuse for a career. One of the worst actors currently working.

Ok, I hear you, this was never going to be a film of any real substance with anything remotely interesting to add to the vampire genre. Can't it be enjoyed as a bit of silly fun? Think again. How is one to appreciate these fight scenes? I've seen some compare them to John Wick, as though they have the same exquisite and balletic elegance to them. Behave. Chris McKay knows his way round a fight scene like Forrest Gump knows his way round a brothel. There's no skill here involved so they just distract you with clunky editing and digital nonsense. This is where I respected last years Netflix vampire movie Day Shift for bringing in Scott Adkins for those sorts of fight scenes.

Throw in a few lousy therapist jokes, a really tame Marxist reading of Dracula as your work boss and some gangster subplots that wouldn't even make the cut of a Guy Ritchie movie and you've reached the end of the movie. Hurray! Nicolas Cage's Dracula goes out with Devil horns like he's at some rock concert. Cannot recall Christopher Lee or Bela Lugosi ever doing that. An image, which pretty much sums up the entire movie. Shite. Alright, so let me get this clear, you modernised the story of Dracula so you could make a Deadpool movie? You lose Renfield.

*Instead of wasting another sentence ranting about this one, I'd rather just let the kids have their fun and say don't be distracted by its attempts to lure you through using our favourite blood sucker Dracula. Anyone else seeking a good vampire movie to watch, here is the official Kelly top 20 vampire movies for you to watch:

20. The Velvet Vampire (Stephanie Rothman, 1971)

Arrives as part of Roger Corman's New World Pictures, which was along with American International Pictures, the home of great B-Movies in the '60s and '70s. Stephanie Rothman gives this eurosleaze desert freak out a rare feminist touch.

19. Alucarda (Juan Lopez Moctezuma, 1977)

Crosses over into being nunsploitation like The Devils. Throw in some of The Exorcist too with it existing right on that uncomfortable edge between science and religion.

18. The Shiver of the Vampires (Jean Rollin, 1971)

The first of many Jean Rollin to appear on this list. What can we say? That man loved vampires. Perhaps the least gripping of his narratives but aesthetically speaking could be the most appealing with its psychedelic lighting and rocky score. Immaculate vibes.

17. Vampyres (Jose Ramon Larraz, 1974)

Jose Ramon Larraz is one of the most underrated exploitation directors who should be as well-known as Spanish compatriot Jesus Franco. Larraz is a real master of location. Whether it's bisexual vampires drifting across the English countryside or shacked up at a castle, he's got you for the entire movie.

16. A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (Ana Lily Armipour, 2014)

Marketed as the first Iranian vampire western. That alone should sell it. This one is for post-punk loving women tired of being the victims and wanting to be the perpetrators. Vampirism offering the ability for subversion and to turn the tables on their male counterparts.

15. The Nude Vampire (Jean Rollin, 1970) Runs wilds with the cult aspects of vampires and turns it in to this Eyes Wide Shut type of movie. The closest I've ever seen Rollin get to some decent ideas beyond visual beauty.

14. Twins of Evil (John Hough, 1971)

Among the later gnarlier Hammer Horror films. Basically, the Sisters of vampire movies. John Hough was a legend. Either made movies for the exploitation crowd or Saturday matinee films for the kids. You gotta respect that.

13. Daughters of Darkness (Harry Kumel, 1971)

The essential erotic lesbian vampire eurosleaze movie. One of those where you have to bring out words like 'surreal', 'hypnotic' and 'cerebral' because you don't have a clue what's going on you just know you love it. A very singular experience and the only thing that disrupts the dreamy atmosphere is the unexpected outbursts of violence.

12. Vampyros Lesbos (Jesus Franco, 1971)

There was no way Jesus Franco wasn't going to appear in this list soon enough. Takes the syphilitic subtext of Stoker's classic and converts it into a near masterpiece in erotica. A real high point for softcore.

11. Fascination (Jean Rollin, 1979)

A criminal on the run takes refuge in a mansion. After a brief shootout, he captures a couple of housemaid hostages, who tell him there is going to be a party this evening. A group of black robe donning, axe wielding women show up that never get cold and never cease to entertain.

10. Let's Scare Jessica To Death (John D. Hancock, 1971)

According to a few respected horror critics this is one of the great '70s horrors that didn't get enough appreciation. It has garnered greater acclaim over the years but remains underseen. Whilst I don't think it will ever be considered a masterpiece in the same way as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Jaws, as a film about mental health it was ahead of its time.

9. The Addiction (Abel Ferrara, 1995)

The Guardian film critic Peter Bradshaw's favourite film of all time. Does win the award of being the most philosophical of all the vampire movies. In Ferrara style, a disturbing look at the citizens of New York, who in his eyes could all be vampires.

8. Dracula (Todd Browning, 1931)

The OG. Bela Lugosi was a gift of nature. No-one could wrap their voice round syllables the way he could with that Hungarian accent. In our minds forever, that is how Dracula speaks and it can never be matched or recreated.

7. Dracula (Terence Fisher, 1958)

Christopher Lee gives the character an added sex appeal. Lugosi could seduce you with words, Lee would ravish your neck violently. And you would enjoy it. A twisted female fantasy.

6. Habit (Larry Fessenden, 1995)

Almost want to call this mumblecore vampirism. A sort of pre-cursor to Spring and After Midnight. Takes the mental health angle further and views it as potentially a sex game, which gets out of hand between two unstable New Yorkers. Tragic ending.

5. Near Dark (Kathryn Bigelow, 1987)

I'll make this easy for you. Watch the scene on YouTube where Bill Paxton goes in to full Manson mode and wipes everyone out in a pub to The Cramps's Fever. If that doesn't make you want to watch this cracking less popular alternative to The Lost Boys, I don't know what will.

4. The Lost Boys (Joel Schumacher, 1987)

The ultimate crowd pleasing vampire movie that no-one can turn down. Whilst it may not be the best, its inarguably the most popular and understandably so. If this is on at your local cinema, you drop everything you're doing and go see it. Nothing else matters when this is playing. As Tim Roth angrily says in Reservoir Dogs when he gets interrupted by a phone call, "Motherfucker, I'm trying to watch The Lost Boys!".

3. Nosferatu (F.W. Murnau, 1922)

The first real cinematic attempt at converting the vampire literature to the screen. Max Schreck respectably gives the least human performance you've ever seen. Since, this is a silent film, one of my favourite things is mixing this with the droney sounds of Sunn 0))) and their haunting album Monoliths and Dimensions. Try it. Soon as the shadows appear on the walls and he creeps up to the bed, you'll be shitting your pants!

2. Bram Stoker's Dracula (Francis Ford Coppola, 1992)

Coppola studies all the great '70s eurosleaze directors and then achieves a vision so sexually outrageous that it couldn't have been done by any of those directors before him. Why? Cause he had studio backing. The quote that best sums it up is "Civilisation and syphilisation have advanced together" It wipes the floor with any other Dracula adaptation.

1. Martin (George A. Romero, 1976)

The fact you don't even know if this is a vampire movie makes it the King for me. Challenges all the great vampire myths as presented by cinema going all the way back to the beginning. Romero keeps you on your toes. What's even crazier is that they've found the original 3.5 hour cut of this. Will it ever see the light of day as a commercial release? Would it ruin the mysteries of the 96 minute version or add to them? Who's to say?

Right, that's enough pussyfooting. Time to catch up on all things Bonehead and Kelly after last weeks run in with The Pseuds in the peak district. Light began to enter my eyes. How long had I been out? Where was I? I was in a big box on wheels cruising the highways. Where was I going? My heart began to race. "Wait. Where the fuck am I?", I called out. "Don't start that again", spoke a voice next to me. I jumped back not expecting the response. Bonehead was behind the wheel of the box. "What?", I mumbled. "You've been waking up, asking me that, then falling asleep and asking me again every 5 minutes for the last hour and to be honest, I'm starting to get sick of it", said a fuming Bonehead. "I have?", I said. If I didn’t remember it didn't happen. Only defence mechanism one can have in these situations. Why couldn't I remember anything though? The acid. Some fucked up shit had been going on the last few hours and worst of all I didn't have a clue what. Maybe for the best? "Yeah", reinforced Bonehead doing nothing to relieve me of this nightmare.

I looked around trapped in endless paradoxes. My head felt like it had got the Michael Myers meat grinder treatment in Halloween Ends. Not even Inspector Poirot could have figured out just what went down last night. "Ok, can you tell me just one more time? And I promise you I'll remember this time. I'm awake now", I beg of bonehead. He caved in and began to explain, "fine. The Pseuds had us cornered. I had to get us out of there. We both rolled down that hill. I went one way. You went another. Took me a while to find you. But eventually I came across you lying in some bush. You kept repeating someone's name. What was his name? That was it. Who's Melvin Purvis?". I didn't want to know any more. "Jesus. And what happened to you?", I asked. "That's a tale for another day. Let's just get home. I want to get some sleep and be in a safe place for the next few hours while I get my head screwed back on. An incident like this can get you thinking. I don't want to be doing any of that", answered Bonehead.

"I feel you, brother. That bush must not have been a sensible choice of rest. My back feels like it's been sleeping on a fooking bed of nails", I replied, putting a hand under my shirt to massage an irritated region. "Na, that wouldn't do that", countered Bonehead. "What?", I threw out angrily, in no mood for shit like whatever that comment was supposed to be.

"Your bodyweight spreads out evenly so there's no pain. It's maths, Kelly. Mathematicians have worked it out. It's simple maths, Kelly", explains Bonehead. "Well it's not going to be fucking comfortable is it?", I argue. "They've tested it. There was no pain. It's maths, Kelly", Bonehead doubles down. "Shut the fuck up, Bonehead", I snapped back, too tired to argue with him. "Either way, I think we can both agree. Our dogging days are over?", Bonehead says. By far the most logical point he'd made since I regained consciousness. "Sure, Florence", I said in agreement. "Oh and the answers four thousand", stated Bonehead as if I had any idea what he was talking about. "Four thousand what?", I probed. "When you were drifting in and out of conscious, you kept asking how many holes it took to fill the Albert Hall. The answers four thousand", clarified Bonehead. I had had no idea what to do with this piece of information.

The next time I would see Mr. B would be at a Weedeater concert about 4 days later. On the way down, I had been telling him that I'd thought about what happened out in the peaks and decided it was time for me to be packing my bags and leaving. Whilst I was browsing the merch section, he began questioning my desire to depart. "Please tell me you're not leaving Sheffield cause of the fucking Pseuds?", Bonehead demanded to know. I informed him it had nothing to do with those losers. He kept wanting to know more. Even I didn't fully understand why yet. It was something to do with what happened on the acid. Bonehead couldn't get to grips with how I could make a decision without understanding why I was making it. I couldn't explain. It just felt right. When it was a man's time to go, you didn't argue with it. You moved swiftly on and let the winds take you in to the next adventure wherever that may be.

"Do I get the Godspeed T-Shirt or the Outlaw Josey Wales one?", I wondered aloud. Bonehead smile and said, "has to be Clint, don't it?". I nodded and the merch man handed me one over in exchange for a 20. I stared at this incredible piece of art I was holding in my arms for perhaps 5 seconds or 5 minutes. Everything around me disappeared. It was just me and the Weedeater shirt. My loving gaze was interrupted by Bonehead's filthy fingers reaching across to touch my new baby.

I slapped three loose fingers away and screamed, "don't touch the fucking shirt!". A wild light came into my eyes, "Stand away! Don't touch it!", I cried. "It is mine, I say. Be off!". My hand clenched in to a fist, ready to go to war. But then quickly my voice changed. "No, no. Bill", I said sadly. "But you must understand. It is my burden and no one else can bear it. It is too late now, Bill dear. You can't help me in that way again. I am almost in its power now. I could not give it up and if you tried to take it I should go mad", I ranted and raved. Bonehead could see it in my face, the shirt had taken over me, I was no more. "Alright. It's your precious. It's your precious", said Bonehead, accepting the situation as we made our way to the stage.

We had two support acts before the legendary stoner metal trio would arrive. Telekinetic Yeti who played respectably loud and didn't disappoint. Covid had robbed us of the live experience for too long. It was time to come a gig man again. Catch him, a recognisable and sociable face, in the front row at the shows. Sipping on a respectable amount of beers at a moderate rate. Cause he's here for the music and not to make a fool of himself. That guy who checks out all the new talents. Nothing gets past him. Knows what's happening in the 'scene'. He's on every trail. If the scent hasn't reached his nostrils it isn't worth smelling. I'd probably been about 5 gigs since the world re-opened up again. Randomly, I had listened to Telekinetic Yeti's debut album back in 2017. Completely slipped my mind. Either it's due a re-listen, they've come a long way or sometimes you just can't factor in how good something sounds live. It was one of the three.

Mars Red Sky were a bunch of white senders from Bordeaux, France. No-one was really quite prepared for their accents or really knew what to do with them. When it came to the usual back and forth between numbers, the crowd looked at each other all wondering the same thing, "is he having us on with that accent?". Nope, these guys were just French. Something they should have played on a bit more cause the music itself was well... on the dull side. Don't get me wrong, they were all competent musicians but none of it was really going anywhere.

Had they worked on their white sending image, that might have given them some much needed personality to carry it. They seemed a funny bunch though. Jimmy Kinast looked like an IT technician by day, basement bassist by night. Mathieu Gazeau looked like an out of work prowrestler that had been asked to help out on drums for one night only and he was loving every second, bless him. One of those guys that looks like he could tear you limb from limb but actually turns out to be secretly the nicest person you've ever met once the intimidating initial impression tears away. Frontman Julien Pras was the least frontman looking person you've ever seen. Think French Charlie Day but all the years of glue has finally got to him. They looked more like characters from a TV show than a band. Who knows how they've made it this far and for some reason I hope they keep going. Always good to see weirdos and white senders doing well. It gives us hope.

A little while after their slot time but better late than never, the North Carolina ched chompers rocked up on stage. Dixie Collins lifted his whiskey bottle to the air on his middle finger in ritual salute, confirming this was indeed a Weedeater gig. No need to pinch yourselves folks. It's all happening. This act was met with great cheers from the audience. They're gonna have to credit that whiskey bottle as one of the band soon enough. He's putting in a real shift. Clothes wise, they were dressed in near enough the exact same clothes as their previous gigs available on YouTube. Dixie donning that Reggies TShirt that doesn't look like it's been washed since Keko was slapping cymbals. Dixie plays like he's been strapped to the death chair and is having 40,000 volts zapped right through him. He looks like he carries every disease that's ever manifested itself in to this sorry world. You could fool me in to thinking on his days off he wrestlers with alligators. For what reason? This guy doesn't need reasons.

On the other side of the stage, Shep stands cool as ever, near unmoving, lost in his own epic soundscapes, his mind wandering the hills of Doradilla. Ramzi scrambles away at everything in front of him, be it hi hats or beers. Midway through, he lights up and nobody dares stop him. He tosses it across to Dixie, who near burns his hand on the fumble but manages to get hold of it and takes a few hits.

Dixie launches it to the other side of the stage to Shep, who catches it cleanly with ease and tokes away. It somehow improves their playing. By the time Wizard Fight is pumping out, the pits have opened and a hole lies in the floor. Anyone with any good sense has separated to the sides and the nutcases are left to their own devices. Only a few beers in and it being a school night, I edge off joining the chaos for as long as possible until one of the lunatics on the loose knocks in to Bonehead Bill, who in turn spills his drink all down me. I stare forwards, mouth closed and breathing through my nose. Bonehead awaits my response with each passing moment of my inaction intensifying the situation. In the end, I opt to down the rest of my drink and dive in to the pit ready to give it to any fuck that wants it. It was elbow sharpening time. Bonehead smiled and lunged in right after me.

One guy was so drunk he climbed up with the band and ended up stage diving four times in a row to God Luck and Good Speed. The first time was pretty funny but after about the third, everyone was just wondering, "Is this going to do this all night?". Some people just can't handle the Weedeater. Not that I could talk, the noise gave me temporary tinnitus for an entire week with my ears ringing like it was Vietnam. Every day sat in work, struggling to hear, thinking my time has come, dropping to my knees and launching both arms in to the air like Willem Dafoe in Platoon. But other than that, they put on a good show. After it was over, Dixie was playing spin the bottle with his now empty whiskey. It took him about 10 spins to sort it out because he was clearly too fucked to function. Some unfortunate guy on the front row ended up being his victim and now carries more diseases than he knows what to do with. Having now seen the big man live, I can finally understand how he accidentally shot himself in the foot whilst cleaning his favourite shotgun. I guess that's what eating weed does to a man. Raise your glass to a true legend there. They don't make them like that anymore.

On the way home, Bonehead brought up my Sheffield exit plans again. Obviously, I mentioned he was welcome to join me but my time in Sheffield was up. She'd bit the dust. She was over and any time staying here was just prolonging the inevitable. She'd had synthpop. She'd had industrial. She'd had bleep. She'd had trance. She'd had Niche. And maybe that was all she'd ever have. She'd dried up after Covid and become a ghost town. The steel mills were going down and the student flats were going up. This was a different era and one that didn't involve me. Time to abandon ship. The dream was over. And it has been coming for some time. When you know, you know. The peaks would always have my heart but the city had gone to the dogs. Bonehead just didn't want to face but I knew he knew it too. We had to start again somewhere. "What, so we'd just live in some flat together in like Liverpool or Manchester?", he asked. Had to correct him and say, "same city, not the same flat", cause there's no way there's no way I could put living with that filthy creature. I was bad enough myself. He kept adding, "But this is my home town! The magnet. the woodbines. The snuff. The greasy chip butty!"

"Look, it's like The Animals said man, we gotta get out of this place!", I exclaimed. Bonehead was still unconvinced and just kept going back racking his brains as to why I'd decided this. Since, no answer was satisfying him, I stopped for a minute to think about a proper answer. "I know Michael Jackson said and did a lot of things that weren't good. But I can't stop thinking about one thing he said " "I'm looking at the man in the mirror?", Bonehead interrupted. "No. I mean he said that too. But he also said something else. What did he say? Wanna be startin' somethin'. That's what he said. That's what I wanna do. I just wanna do things. No contemplating. No sitting back. No missing the boat. I want to do. It's now or never", I replied. Bonehead stops for a minute too, taking this in properly with his hands on his hips, he looks up towards the towering Park Hill flats in the distance that forever keep their gaze on Sheffield's residents, then looks me dead in the eyes and says, "Right, so you wanna be startin' somethin'. What do you wanna be startin'?"

Director: Chris Mckay

Starring: Nicholas Hoult, Nicolas Cage, Awkwafina

Cinematography: Mitchell Amundsen

Music: Marco Beltrami

Production Company: Skybound, Giant Wildcat

Distribution: Universal Pictures

Country: USA

Run Time: 93 Minutes

Budget: 65 Million

Plot Synopsis: Here's one that's never been done before. Dracula in present day. It doesn't get more original than that. Dracula and his assistant Renfield in the modern world. Nobody has ever thought of this. What if these two were really co-dependents?

Bonus Points:

Overall Score: 2/5

-The early black and white scenes in the castle that showed some promise before it all went tits up

Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. "How long has it been since your last confession?". This is my first time, father. Actually, that's not strictly speaking true. I once confessed to a man dressed in a black cassock and white Roman collar in a Nottingham nightclub because one confession equalled one shot of vodka. Not a bad deal. I got so good at confessing I might have made up a few little lies that with each passing shot, I couldn't even keep track of them to the point the man dressed in black told me to "take your last shot, fuck off and don't come back". And here was me thinking the church was open to everyone. Regardless, I have come to believe that this nightclub priest was not really a man of the cloth. If he's still lurking at the back clubs, then maybe you and your padres better put a stop to this fraud, if you know what I mean?

"What are your sins?". I really really enjoyed The Pope's Exorcist. Yes, Julius Avery is an awful director who unbeknownst to God (sorry if that counts as blasphemy or saying the Lord's name in vain or something like that) somehow happens to land big Hollywood actors each time. In this case, Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true Emperor Marcus Aurelius, father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. I'm talking about Gladiator. The great Russell Crowe himself. What he's doing here is an absolute mystery, greater than the mystery of life itself. Can we forgive a man for trying to keep the lights on? Even if he is worth 120 million dollars? Not like the church ever considers class or wealth, is it? Making them almost completely useless.

If an actor can be overqualified, then Russell Crowe is certainly that when it comes to this God awful (sorry) B-Movie. Yet, seeing such a big name making his way in to this way past its sell by date genre, the possession movie, does give it a much needed kick up the arse and new life it so desperately needed.

From the outset he's playing mind games with his enemies. It is 1987, he's called in to a small Italian village to help a man tied to a bed who is believed to have been possessed. Gladiator sees right through this and realises the man in question is just severely unhinged. So he decides to play a little trick on this mad man by calling out the demon and saying if it really was a demon and possessed such powers, it could transfer itself to the pig in the corner of the room. No idea why there's a pig just chilling there but this scene is amazing so I'll allow it. Once the supposed demon jumps in to the vessel of the pig, Gladiator gives a nod and one of his accompaniment, the men of God, blows the pig away with a single shotgun blast. This firmly establishes Gladiator as perhaps not a friend to the animal loving community but a hardened professional not to be trifled with. The Earth's most seasoned and in demand exorcist.

His actions get him a disciplinary hearing at work and he's called back to The Vatican urgently. These people are furious as he did not confront them and ask for permission from the high priests to perform the exorcism. To which he responds that it was technically not an exorcism as there was no demon involved only intellectual role play conducted on a weak mind. Elaborate role play of the finest order that would have no doubt impressed Dr John Crawley in Shutter Island. These padres are sceptical of Gladiator's tales of psychological theatre and attack his methods as those of an uncontrolled maverick. Leading the Commander of the Armies of the North to discuss the existence of evil, which the church in recent times has tried to deny and declares them all a "firing squad" like those he saw during his battles in World War II, before abruptly leaving the room like the Don that he is.

Gladiator is repeatedly shown to give no shits and they believe him to be operating independently with no care for authority. However, these fools do not understand that he is a loyal servant to the true pope himself, Franco Nero. That is who he reports to and no-one else. Sorry, how could I not help loving this one? This is just gold. As I have ranted about on several occasions in Funeralopolis, the current flaw of modern horror is overwriting the drama and not finding enough time to deliver what the audience truly wants: the thrills.

The Pope's Exorcist takes an extreme response to this by completely and shambolically underwriting everything. We get one scene to introduce Gladiator, one to show him as a rogue and one to reveal his allegiance to a single person, the pope. So far that's fine and purely economical, getting the information across in the most efficient way. Next, we are quickly introduced to the family he will soon be helping. One driving montage to The Cult's She Sells Sanctuary and one unpacking montage to Violent Femme's Gone Daddy Gone later, this family's child is possessed. No build up. No warning. All we need to know apparently is that it is the '80s, they're moving to a Spanish castle and there is no Dad present in this family.

Considering how stale this genre has become and we're at a point when little is being done to push its boundaries further, skipping to the set pieces and bringing in Gladiator sooner than later is totally acceptable. Give the people what they want right? We didn't come for a dull family drama, We came to see Gladiator kick some ass, fight the demons and perform exorcisms. He's the selling point. One of the hardest motherfuckers in cinema going toe to toe with one of the biggest villains of all time, the devil. So let's not waste a minute more than we have to. Nobody came here expecting The Exorcist. Just good silly fun. Exactly what this stupid film provides.

Having got the prologue and Act One out the way, Act Two commences and can be described as outrageously ambitious, especially for a 90 minute movie. In a pure Scooby Doo like segment, the General of the Felix Legions and his assistant take a break from the exorcism to explore the basement of the castle, which is currently in ruins. Complete with cobwebs and bones.

Down here, they learn that the founder of the Spanish Inquisition was a former exorcist who fell to a demon and infiltrated the church. Therefore, positing that the extreme and amoral actions of the church during the Spanish Inquisition were solely due to the devil invading the ranks like an undercover agent. Feeling there's a Martin Scorsese The Departed style prequel there waiting to happen. Venturing further in to the basement, Gladiator begins to suspect a similar plot taking place in present times and so he must be put a stop to the Devil's highly detailed plan. I salute such ridiculous nonsense. Transforms it beyond a single case of possession and in to the a huge battle of good vs evil. The man who battles armoured soldiers in the arena against the ever scheming Devil. Who will win? Only thing missing here is Gladiator recreating Ben Hur's chariot race against the Devil on his Lambretta Severta Li 150 Special. Unexpectedly though in that second act, this tighty ninety openly suggests that really it is an epic.

The Third act is slightly disappointing and goes on a little longer than it should. You do get the typical funny scenes of a child saying really outrageous things often to their defenceless mothers. However, what I was liking with the second act was the world building. Thankfully they come back to this in the closing scenes and set up some sequels. I pray they happen but something tells me they may not. Then again in spite of the mixed reception, they've made 70 million off an 18 million budget. Probably just proves having a big star involved does a lot. The Pope's Exorcist goes out on a high as Gladiator is recruited to join a secret unit and tasked with putting a stop to the Devil's work wherever it may appear. Get Ron Howard on the blower and let's get some really dumb Da Vinci Codeesque sequels made. Then when he gets bored or has taken the full brunt of the critics to his maximum level, we'll drag in Stephen Sommers for those who have a soft spot for pulpy trashy guilty pleasures like The Mummy and Van Helsing. He could get this going to the absurd and operatic heights suggested in the second act.

Up until the closing credits appeared, I was unaware this was 100% a factual and true story with zero fabrication. Father Amorth, pictured above, who Gladiator plays is a real person. A former exorcist who wrote the classics of literature An Exorcist Tells His Story, An Exorcist Explains the Demonic: The Antics of Satan and His Army of Fallen Soldiers, Memoirs of an Exorcist: My Life Fighting Satan and my personal favourite title, The Devil is Afraid of Me. That one sounds like the hardest Memphis rap album of all time. I will be checking out all of these to prepare for the supposed sequels. Essential reading.

The Church opened its doors to this man and he is now worth over a million for selling flapdoodle to Hollywood and the masses. What an absolute King His infamy has only grown with the movie, leading to The International Association of Exorcists to denounce these stories as, "unreliable splatter". The Vatican for a long time were fuming at him for forming the IAE splinter group from within back in the '90s. His favourite film is William Friedkin's The Exorcist. He is a legend. Oh yeah and when I came back from the cinema, I realised I must have been really intoxicated for this because I didn't just leave my front door unlocked, I left it wide open. Any interested party could have waltzed right in and nicked the sacred Blu-rays. Had to let out a Homer Simpson "Doh!" Like sound upon witnessing this unwise act. I noticed I had let the Devil into my home. This film does things to you. Maybe it's really evil. That was the moment I realised it was time to go church and re-win favour with the lord.

Liking this movie is a sin, I have committed a sin and I am fully aware. I am sorry for this and all my sins. "How will you atone for this sin?". I will try to be better and help my neighbour where possible. I will dedicate my life to God and healing those I have hurt through the actions of my sins.

Although, I don't think I can be fully blamed for this one. No-one told me

1.His choice of wheels would be a moped (which he would ride whilst ominous music plays and is now being dubbed as The Exorcistmobile).

2.His greatest fear would be France winning the World Cup.

3It would adopt the stance that the flaws of the church during the Spanish Inquisition would be accounted for as being the result of the Devil infiltrating the church. Honestly father, every time Gladiator went in to fight Earth's final battle and take on the demon, I kept wanting to cheer, "SPEAR 'EM GLADIATOR!". I couldn't control myself. The whole affair was rather amusing and left me in a ball of laughter, heaped over my chair in the cinema in a position rather like how Linda Blair walks up steps. Anyone who's trip to the cinema I ruined due to my laughing fit, I deeply apologise. The Devil made do it. Lord, have mercy on my soul.

I am just a poor sinner who may never learn from his actions and sin again at the next available opportunity but please I am asking to be forgiven. I am bowing to Leper Messiah. Now comes the absolution, right? Father? Are you there father? "God the father of mercies through the death and resurrection of his Son as reconciled the world to himself and then sent the Holy spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Now fuck off and don't come back".

Director: Julius Avery

Screenplay: Michael Petroni, Evan Spilitopoulos

Starring: Russell Crowe, Franco Nero, The Devil

Cinematography: Khalid Mohtaseb

Music: Jed Kurzel

Production Company: Screen Gems, 2.0

Entertainment, Loyola Productions

Distribution: Sony Pictures Releasing

Country: USA

Run Time: 103 Minutes

Budget: $18 million

Plot Synopsis: Maverick exorcist Father Amorth is called in to help out a desperate family, who's child recently became possessed by an unknown entity. In the process, he ends up discovering a conspiracy dating all the way back to the Spanish Inquisition. When history begins to repeat itself, Father Amorth must put a stop to the evil that surrounds him before it is too late.

Bonus Points:

-Gladiator

-Father Amorth's Exorcistmobile

-His greatest fear being France winning the World up

-The Cult and Violent Femmes on the soundtrack

-Declaring that the flaws of the Church during the Spanish Inquisition was a result of the Devil invading their unit

-Causing The International Association of Exorcists to denounce it as "Unreliable Splatter"

-The Scooby Doo vibes of Act Two

Overall Score: 3/5