Jacob Kelly's Funeralopolis Vol. 2 Issue 1: The Dark Horse Jazz Ensemble

Vol. 2 Issue 1:

The Dark Horse Jazz Ensemble

In this Weeks Issue:

Page 1-Babylon: Swing and a Miss

A movie which gives off the strong signs of disaster has been in many ways successful, what does this mean for criticism? The origins of Babylon's style are traced back to the source and how accurately it captures the silent film world in the me-too era. Is the film as risqué and obscene as it wants to be? Should one be flattered by its intentions or offended by the flaws? Having delved in to just about every angle, is it fun? All is revealed in this review.

Page 8-He's Got a Ticket to Ride

Jean-Francois Richet's Plane. The trailer went through about 6 different genres. Can the film tie them all together? We have our first interview for Funeralopolis. Our mystery guest has seen some action in Desert Storm but these days mainly gets freelance work in bodyguard duties overseas and occasionally Hollywood hires his services as an outside consultant. One could say he's got the magic ticket. He goes by the codename: Sheldon Coltrane and he's here to talk Plane.

Page 14-The Roulette Wheel has Chosen

It's another dark and depressing day as Kelly is forced to endure yet another watered down studio horror with Megan. He refuses to encourage it. The good reviews only stir him further. Also, Bonehead Bill introduces us to The Renegades of Funk and catches us up to speed with his eventful New Year's Eve. This is not to be missed.

Page 27-Whales, Donkeys and Horses: A Free Jazz Improvisational Review

An Ornette Coleman inspired review. No planned structure or end goal. No restructuring later. All in a single take. Just firing left, right and centre with a few things on the mind. Whales, donkeys and horses will be the focus with off shoots in to the state of slow cinema, Hitchcock, the apocalypse and whatever distracts me. EO and The Whale will be covered as a double review. The nature of transcendental style and whether it exists is examined. Will Wild Horses drag Kelly away from his doubts?

Babylon: Swing and a Miss

Call Denzel Washington because I've got major Déjà vu. Damien Chazelle's latest has the feel of the kind of wildly uneven, overblown and self-indulgent project that cripples an entire movement, bankrupts a studio and puts a director in movie jail for years. The sort of wild swing miss that only a decent director is capable of and should make at some point as a learning curve. One which usually results from a director nobly wanting to revive a particular long gone aspect of cinema and getting lost in their own wave of brilliance and there's a sort of mutual trust involved so no-one tells the director to stop before it's too late. They've delivered before and so everyone just assumes they're going to bring it home with ease. Usually, you end up with this weird and unusual quaint thing every time. Chazelle proved himself capable on Whiplash, La La Land and First Man, so why wouldn't he pull this off? This time he's aiming for Goodfellas, The Wolf of Wall Street and Boogie Nights but ironically has pulled up short with a New York, New York We've seen these before. Generally, you expect them to take an absolute critical bashing but in about 20 years or so people go, "Oh wait that wasn't all that bad!".

Let me tell you a little story. In 1974, following the massive success of Taxi Driver, Martin Scorsese achieved a new found recognition, all eyes were on his next film. 3 years later, he had it: New York, New York. This would be his excuse to examine the musicals of his youth and try to replicate his earliest influences. The colourful films of Michael Powell and MGM. Take note, whilst Funeralopolis approves of The Red Shoes gorgeous cinematography, we feel our sensibilities are closer aligned with Peeping Tom, which is a film of real substance. We will not rest until Peeping Tom is talked about in the same breath as The Red Shoes. In recent times, Ti West made the mistake of returning to MGM musicals with Pearl, earning great praise from Scorsese but no love from Funeralopolis. In all fairness, New York, New York does fare better than Pearl. Mainly, in its unapologetic appreciation of jazz and painful study of the intersection between art and relationships. It poses the question of can romance blossom between two people committed to their careers?

Scorsese's production of New York, New York was rocky to say the least. His style was chaotic to begin with as he ventured in to the improvisations that had done him well on smaller scale productions. This was to be his first big studio film and he was not playing it safe. One thing to mess about in the streets with your mates and a camera but when Hollywood opens its doors to you, they don't tolerate such behaviours. They were wanting a by the numbers musical and they wanted it fast. For Scorsese, this was the opportunity to place Italian cinema, French cinema and American independent cinema inside the conventional Hollywood musical. To mix the modern playing field with the artificial backdrop. Essentially, superseding homage, avoiding re-creation and taking Hollywood into the current thinking of filmmaking. In the process, carving a more respectable industry. If those two words don't cancel each other out as an oxymoron.

Consensus on release was that Scorsese's marriage of old and new styles was a total car crash. Fast forward a few generations later and the hybrid is barely questioned. Flaws remain narratively but a future re-cut down the line could prove beneficial as in places it does grow repetitive. However, we're long past doubting style and the film is fairly accepted nowadays. People understand what he was doing. There is now huge respect for the style, at least in ambition anyway. Back in the late '70s, the negative response crushed little Marty's heart and so commenced his downward spiral. He didn't get it faxed across on to his desk that the entire New Hollywood movement was on its way out. Like the French New Wave that had preceded it, New Hollywood began to tumble. Time was up for the French in '62 and for the young American guys it was towards the end of the '70s. Dwindling box office entries, led to a lack of faith in studios hiring young directors with auteur dreams. New talent were asked to hand back the keys and booted out the back door with an almighty kick. They were fucked.

Scorsese's depression led him in to a severe cocaine addiction. After, casually using for a few years to meet assignment deadlines, he suddenly began snorting all day every day. Friends tried to stage their interventions but nothing worked. Eventually, this heavy usage resulted in a collapse and when he woke he was in hospital having survived a drug fuelled near death experience. Fearing the worst, lifelong friend Robert DeNiro decided the only thing that would cure this addict was more cinema. Before Scorsese was barely conscious, DeNiro launched Jake LaMotta's autobiography at the hospital bed. It was time to get back to work.

What do you do when you need a script fast? They called up their other best mate Paul Schrader, who was actually busy at the time making his own movies. Since writing Taxi Driver, Paul had made a name for himself in the director's chair with a string of well received hits such as Blue Collar and Hardcore. He was about to start shooting American Gigolo. Taking the time out to write again for other people would definitely be a huge favour. A table meeting was scheduled and they all sat down nervously to see if Paul would come aboard. Without him involved it would be a whole lot more difficult finding someone to get the structure right and to the essence of the character. An especially difficult task on this movie, considering the subject was a violent wife beater. It would have to be done just right. Paul didn’t need too much convincing. He took a long sip on a glass of wine and said, "Yes the boys, I'll do it. Give me 6 weeks"

That's a man who knows when the boys come calling desperate, you answer. Like that, The Taxi Driver dream team were back in action.

True to his word, in 6 weeks' time he had a first draft prepared. This script would form the structure of the story. A bones to keep revisiting. Main changes were, as you could have guessed, Schrader wanting LaMotta's pent up frustration to go even further in to the sexual arena. Whereas, DeNiro thought it needed to be more violent. Before the prison scene was LaMotta bashing his head in to the wall over and over, it was him masturbating. Classic Schrader antics. With the 6 weeks now up and Schrader back to work on American Gigolo, a second draft needed to be developed by Scorsese and DeNiro. To keep Scorsese sober, they went to an isolated island in the Caribbean called St. Maarten. A Dutch owned beach place with a small population of 41,000. In between listening to Blondie's Heart of Glass on repeat, bouncing round in Hawaiian shirts and a plethora of cocktails, the pair of them managed to crack on and maintain the right head space appropriate for healthy working.

Everything was going so well until one other celebrity randomly showed up on the supposed to be quiet island. Fellow Italian Enzo Ferrari. Naturally, Scorsese got all excited at this and there may have been some intense drinking and dancing on the beach to Donna Summer's Hot Stuff but other than that the boys behaved and kept their heads screwed on. After a few weeks of living out there like brothers, they had a usable script. In 1980, Raging Bull was met with rave reviews and is now considered one of the best movies of all time. Scorsese maintained an extremely critically successful career, earning his place amongst the American greats he idolised and is still dropping masterpieces at the age of 80.

Why do I mention all of this? Babylon suffers from the exact same excesses and indulgences as New York, New York and whilst it could be considered a box office flop, it has received an unexpectedly warm reception all things considered. Has the culture changed? Are we ahead now in the foreseeing of this being the type of movie being a critical disaster upon release but re-evaluated later? Are we skipping steps with awareness? Or is this a brilliant statement on where film criticism has sunk today. A world in which appreciation doesn't grow? It looks good, it must be good. No need to be critical. Analysis unnecessary. What will come of this? Normally, as we saw with Scorsese, when a director goes through their moment of excess and indulgence, they take a beating by the critics but then they come out the other side stronger. So, generally I recommend wild swing misses to get it out the system but if there's no backlash then what's the point? Who gains from that?

An artist will fail to grasp the confines of where they operate best creatively and never learn the parameters of how far you can push your audience.

My opinion on Babylon is completely split. For every reason I can think of to reward the film, there is something so embarrassingly terrible that takes you back to square one. What we have here is an ensemble piece about a bunch of filmmakers during the silent era of the '20s but told in a Boogie Nights style, which means multiple set pieces with rapid intercutting and relentless music. Since Boogie Nights is my favourite movie and I'm a silent film enthusiast, two competing arguments prevail in my mind. Should I be flattered enough to forgive a lot of its flaws or due to being a weaker effort should I hate it for damaging the legacy of the particular style? Adding to the latter there, what I mean is that since this is so heavily inferior, is it harmful to Boogie Nights and Goodfellas because all that happens is people copy the style in a shallow manner and forget substance, misremembering those two classics in the process? It's a real Blow

Definitely a case of diminishing returns and did they have to literally copy as much as they did? Let's go over this. Rise and fall hangout structure. Every characters collective downfall triggered by an update in technology. Instead of the emergence of video, here it is sound. A massive threat to silent stars when it was suddenly revealed many of the most well-known names couldn't speak well. Their voices couldn't match their looks. Pure David Beckham shit. Accents became a huge problem and overnight many vanished. Missing though is the evolution of writing and the demand for better skilled writers. Directors had to develop camera work to fight a battle against merely filming theatre and distinguish the art form. Many critics thought cinema lost its uniqueness with the inclusion of sound. Babylon's scope is quite narrow focusing mainly on the acting and music. The former is nothing new. Sunset Boulevard creepily touched on this issue over 70 years ago. Mansions became the graveyards of once loved actors. The living dead play cards to pass the time. No marks for originality then with Babylon.

At the changeover, one of the gang has a Little Bill moment and blows their brains across the walls. I won't reveal who. Missing though was the fuck off smile before finger hits trigger but other than that it’s a clone. Instead of Doc OC, we have Spiderman filling the Rahad Jackson role. He revels in this, being able to play an older version of himself from his Pussy Posse days. Google them. Also, ever wondered who Player X was in Molly's Game? He may have this cute and innocent persona in his films but he's definitely the sleaziest Spiderman. Respect. In the fake deal scene, prop money replaces dummy drugs. More directly lifting from Boogie Nights but yes I have to admit, that was very funny.

Are the set pieces and cross cutting enough to make the film survive on its own merit? These are generally mixed. Chazelle's erratic camera movements successfully maintain a suitable level of chaos but all this swooping cannot match the elegance and clarity of his inspirations. He sacrifices skill for speed but the effect is achieved. 3

To explain how such a style came about. Personally in my head it's called the 'Hand me the keys. Yes sir. No Sir. In the front and out the back, sir'. But this could definitely do with a shorter catchier title. Back in the late '80s, Scorsese literally re-discovered Kalatazov's Soviet film

I Am Cuba. A movie featuring some of the greatest and most complex tracking shots known to man.

Scorsese had always had an interest in these. It didn't quite appear overnight in 1990. Chapman and his crew were left baffled at some of the shots they were ordered to get on Taxi Driver. In one sequence, Travis enters the cab headquarters and the camera leaves him to capture everything else in the scene as it pans across and eventually picks him back up reentering the frame from another point. Before Scorsese, no-one really did shots like that. Leaving your star behind then returning to him in a continuous shot was ludicrous. Entirely changed the idea of continuity and perspective with the emphasis on maintaining the films world itself.

After seeing I Am Cuba though, he decided to take these concepts further and studied Hitchcock's Rope heavily and those Michael Powell musical numbers might have re-entered the picture too. So he takes all these factors and combined them with Thelma Schoonmaker's aggressive editing style not only reinvigorating the gangster genre on Goodfellas but going on to create a new style of storytelling. If you wish to carve a 150 minute plus epic that keeps on the move and goes by in a flash without stuffy stilted moments, study this style well. In the right hands, a picture in this style can become ferocious. All I ask is please, create some genuine characters, a proper world and do your own thing on the soundtrack. It doesn't have to be a Rolling Stones numbers every time!

Paul Thomas Anderson did just that and we got his disco porno magnum opus. Boogie Nights stands shoulder to shoulder with Goodfellas because it actually creates a realistic world with authentic characters. This is where Chazelle fails for me. His characters can be lovely to watch but this is not the silent era, this is Damien Chazelle's silent era, which has no bearing on the real one.

Marks go to his addition of Jazz. A delightful alternative to the copycats who endlessly play Rolling Stones tracks like Gimme Shelter and simply feature constant close ups of coke with heavy narration. Additionally, Chazelle doesn't just do this stylistically. Sure he's got the banging Justin Hurwitz score (his regular collaborator) but Jazz forms a basis of the story thematically too. In one of the best scenes, the black character Sidney Palmer, a musician, is forced to apply silly dark make up for 'lighting' purposes. They're so manipulative about it by bringing in the crews families in to the situation and suggesting if he won't take one for the team, they all have to go home.

This part has always intrigued me in film history. As an individual would you view your own actions as cowardice or would think I'm here, that's what matters, I'll take the hit now so somewhere further down the line someone else doesn't have to? Would fellow blacks look up to their actions and interpret them as brave for fighting within the system or cowards for being part of a system that mocks them? Or is it simply fuck everyone else, I've got to do what I've got to do to get paid and keep the lights on? Guess a lot depends on when you ask people these questions. Assume people grow more favourable to the struggles over time when the results can be judged further down the line. If only this character had more scenes though. Watching him moodily play his instrument having given in to the racist request and then using this central point to cut to the other characters is a cinematic moment of brilliance.

Over the course of the film, his character becomes increasingly intertwined as musical contributions to filmmaking transition from the side lines to within the frame itself. Always find that the appeal of the ensemble, watching them assemble the gang, split them off and later gather small pockets of them for side missions. On the subject of Babylon, it is evidently Jazz where Chazelle makes this his own. His appreciation of that music is the high point and what aligns this with Whiplash and La La Land as an Auter's vision.

Can this cruise by stylistically? When Chazelle keeps this contained to a minimal amount of locations, this can work. However, the scenes in between are so overstuffed and poorly written. This is where recent efforts like Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and Hail Caesar have fared well by restricting the action to a limited amount of days and locations.

To go outside of these causes the overall orchestration to fall. Scenes placed either side of the set piece heavy chaos become misplaced overly long interludes. Chazelle functions at his best when he slowly attacks a scene like it’s a massive blank canvas with each new stroke closer to a different corner and refusing to focus on a particular section in an ordered fashion. When the canvas shrinks, so too does my interest. When the number of fresh canvases increases, so too does my interest.

At first you think Chazelle has nailed it with the long extended sequences in the mansion and on the farcical film set. The latter being one of my favourites as they fight the elements with a sunset on the way and the need for a new camera. Brad Pitt must get his big kiss in before the sun goes down!

Spike Jonze plays the manic director, who's making this DW Griffith style epic. When I say the film world in Babylon isn't real, the criticism does not extend to here. I praise the heightened sense of disorder and surreal nature of filmmaking on display. Dudes clattering about in to each other with swords, destroying everything in their path and the camera trying its best to capture it all. Reminds of the Francis Ford Coppola cameo in Apocalypse Now Spike Jonze is amazing but should this role really have been played by Damien Chazelle?

Ironically when too many locations are brought in and Chazelle is compelled to ground his material with meaning is exactly the point he completely loses the picture. Other than the cockroach speech, which in my opinion becomes a little overly explained and destroys the subtlety (as is custom today), the writing is piss poor on this movie. Where it comes alive is in the kinetic direction. Any sidestepping from the style becomes so obvious that all it serves to do is advance the plot.

Had Chazelle kept this to about 3 locations and just had extended hangout scenes, this would have no doubt been much better. His inability to weave the plot in to the big set pieces exposes his weak writing. The fact he can't blend the two damages the movie significantly. He'll deviate back and forth between the fun free for all scenes and dull exposition catching you up on where the characters are at. He should have been able to maintain the style. How to do it actually is that scene when Brad Pitt's on the phone, we're cutting back and forth wondering how Chazelle will bring all the characters back together again in the montage. It needs to work like the sound of a typewriter, initially tapping a few keys then building in to a frenzy as it goes from flirtation to fruition. You can slow down slightly in the interludes but keep the momentum. These interludes need to be quick and snappy building the tension for the next huge set piece to come. Slowing down and removing your style to give us plot, now that's cowardice. Find a way to do it on the move!

Despite approving of this being a 3 hour epic in theory, there's definitely a few scenes I'd have cut out straight away. The 'hitting the mark' sequence could go for starters. PJ Byrne was funny in The Wolf of Wall Street but here just repeatedly saying he's going to "shit" on people didn't get a single laugh out of me. His scene to show off his comedic talents and he fails miserably. Bad lines and even worse delivery. Wasn't exactly Living in Oblivion or Day for Night was it? Shame cause that line he had earlier about the boner on set was a humdinger.

Also, that scene when Margot Robbie is throwing plates around did nothing for me, that's got to go. Whole cinema was erupting with laughter and I was just praying for it to be over quicker. It's one of them loud and annoying routines you'd expect from Rebel Wilson or Melissa McCarthy. You're better than that Margot. Don't lump yourself in that category. You're the future Sharon Stone babe, you don't have to be doing shit like this. You're a better actor than that, come on. Stinker of a scene, scrap it.

As a provocative film of debauchery, it's a complete failure. About the best we get in this department is a bit of piss play early on. A fetish so tame these days though it may as well be a vanilla activity. So cast any ideas about this being a grand epic Tinto Brass movie sexploitation movie aside. Most disappointing because it's not every day Hollywood finances a big R Rated sex comedy like this. Unfortunately, all this amounts to is a quality one notch up above a Baz Luhrmann movie with a few barely visible titties in the background. Step your game up Mr Chazelle. You see, I could have sacrificed some of the quality on this if Damien was more sexually explicit, outrageous and got even more money out the studio for it. Racier, more outlandish and with someone else's money. The big 3. That's the mantra. That shit gets my respect. Bankrupting and disgracing studios by financing your sleazy endeavours is a move to be held high separate to quality. The stuff of legend.

Sadly, no one would really walk out of Babylon and go that was outrageous, controversial, offended my good tastes or was too far. Alternatively, most would just go ah that was a fun movie; on this basis a let-down in perversion. A bottle job. When I mentioned earlier that this film world doesn't feel real, it is in Damien Chazelle trying to create this honest depiction of the silent film eras infamous depravity whilst cohering to the current sensibilities of the MeToo movement. There is no lecherous gazes, excessive illicit touching or anything that comes close to the horrors of the Virginia Rappe scandal. Strictly consensual making none of the interactions or behaviour engaged in at the parties establish the time period. It isn't believable or real. The actors don't walk or talk right breaking the spell and reminding you this is just a bunch of modern people trying to re-create a past they weren't part of.

Oh what do you know, on the provocation, just like with the 'Pass me the keys. Yes sir, no sir. In the front and out the back, sir', Chazelle's technical abilities comes up short of his influences. Scene in question: late on in the third act with the Irreversible nod at the seedy underground club. Full respect for throwing a crocodile in there but the atmosphere is very tame and exhaustedly a little boring in its lack of true weirdness. Could have done with a more surreal shooting style that was artistically intoxicating. Every tool possible being used to make the viewer feel sick.

In all fairness, navigating the line between fun nostalgia and the dark underbelly of the past is a hard task. With Damien adhering more to the former to create a cheeky spectacle over a shocking one. And I get that decision. I do. It's a tough tight rope to walk revealing the amusing likeable naughtiness and what is fundamentally morally corrupt. However, he doesn't even try with this and never comes close to the line of shocking or challenging. As a consequence, he also loses the gritty authenticity and what comes with that is the inability to say anything worthwhile about the period. The extreme contradictions of the creativity and fun against the unforgivable sins would have been the complex portrait. The human portrait. If he wanted to only depict the romanticised version of the silent era then that would be fine but he also wants to engage in the perverse, so you have to judge it that way too. On this angle, it doesn't deliver.

The title is undeniably intriguing though comparing the silent era to one of the first established empires. A religious and cultural centre providing the world with early major technical developments and all the dodginess that comes with any empire. Making the 3 hour length a fitting goal to evoke the sense of a historical epic such as those covering the Ancient Greeks and Rome. Couldn't tell you who originally came up with this in relation to early silent filmmaking but underground cult director Kenneth Anger would write notorious articles about movie star vices and these would later form the book Hollywood Babylon. Many of the stories involved have been questioned for whether they are fact or fiction but Chazelle never gets anywhere near the same sense of shocking sordid mischief as Anger's tales.

Since Chazelle is unable to establish the period as it was, his scope is diminished and the overall message or purpose is small. Best he can do is just say oh isn't cinema lovely in a cheap and superficial way as is becoming far too popular. Sorry boys, it's another of these love letters to Hollywood. Return to sender.

This brings me to what is genuinely the most vulgar and offensive moment in this so called provocative movie. A disgusting and lazy montage of every movie ever. What a tacky and unearned way to deliver your message. It reads more as an advertisement of cinemas catalogue than a celebration of cinema. Unironically putting 2001 and Avatar together to emphasise cinema at its best is laughable. Don't even care whether the images are connected by their developments in technology across the last hundred years. Beyond cringe inducing. What an unforgivable sequence in a film that was already close to the line of my tolerance.

If you read Babylon as a dorky film about dudes hanging out in the silent era, there's so much to appreciate here. Obviously, as I've touched on, it doesn't come off respectably but there's enough of a good time for you to think lay off Babylon and why attack it so viciously? So what if it doesn't land as it should, Damien is clearly refreshingly passionate about jazz and the silent era. Brad Pitt, oh god, this man is hilarious. For his first introduction, he re-invents the "Babe please stop you're not a 1940s LA private investigator" to "Babe please stop you're not an Italian film star". She gives him a final warning to stop like Bear the other week and like Balthazar, Brad doesn't stop. In this case, leading to an instant divorce on the spot hahaha. As a straight up comedy, rather than a homage, this unequivocally has its moments. Trust me, I want to lay off it and I know I'm guilty of going to town on it but the pain of the cinema is great montage and unfunny shouty routines can't be understated.

Overall, it's a sporadically fun failure that I would call a miss but the kind of crazy exciting miss only a decent director could make and learn from. I've been asking myself all these questions to determine whether it's genuinely good. Picking apart every sequence. When really there's just one question here that matters. Would I watch it again? Yeah, sure. Make of that what you will.

Bonus Points:

-Chazelle's unrelenting love of Jazz, the silent era and set piece heavy intercutting

-The ambition to make a 3 hour epic about days gone by and focus on debauchery all on studio money

-Margot Robbie for icing her nips between takes

-The dude who gets a boner mid scene

-The DWG riot and Spike Jonze being a maniac

-Brad Pitt for enticing all his women by doing stupid shit like speaking Italian

-Flea being a rich creep

-Jovan Adepo's moody instrument playing

-Eric Roberts supremacy

-Tobey Maguire seediness

Overall Score: 3/5

He's Got a Ticket to Ride

This week we interview a mysterious guest about Jean-Francois Richet's Plane. He goes by the codename: Sheldon Coltrane. Here's what we do know, he's ex-military, having fought in the Gulf War and Desert storm. These days he finds freelance work across the globe and occasionally serves as a consultant in Hollywood. So if you need protection or insider knowledge for a realistic movie scene, he's the man you call. Above all, he loves movies.

Kelly: Sheldon Coltrane. Great to have you here, speaking with Funeralopolis. Just so you know my internet is terrible. So if the call drops, don't think I've abandoned you. Although, I'm sure you're used to the horrors of radio silence.

Sheldon Coltrane: There have been a few occasions when the comms have dropped. It's like playing Chess blindfolded. You just have to memorise the board and also hope for the best. Good to be here though. Any opportunity to talk movies.

Kelly: We certainly love that here. Today, I want to discuss the new film Plane. A mid-budget January programmer that does the impossible. Delivers. So, we got a new action hero in Captain Brodie Torrance. As I like to say in these scenarios, GET THE BIG GUN BLARING! He's on some they're his passengers and he will get them back type business. What do you think of him?

Sheldon Coltrane: He was good. But I was waiting for him to go full Gerard Butler. This was more like Butler on easy mode. I was waiting for Olympus to fall.

Kelly: I know you. You were wanting some Steven Segal Under Siege shit weren't you?

Sheldon Coltrane: Of course, I love Casey Ryback.

Kelly: Casey fucking Ryback.

Sheldon Coltrane: Seen it many times the old chef with a past routine. You put an action star in the kitchen you just know, they've got a few undisclosed abilities.

Kelly: Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragons.

Sheldon Coltrane: "Behind the rock in the dark probably hides a tiger and the coiling giant root resembles a crouching tiger".

Kelly: That's the one.

Sheldon Coltrane: Really wanted our friend Captain Torrance to do for pilots what Casey Ryback did for chefs.

Kelly: They half suggested it for a second. Remember with the viral videos of him punching that guy on a previous flight.

Sheldon Coltrane: Yeah, that was the moment to stick it in. That was the moment.

Kelly: Definitely the place for it. Smoother than Butler trying to chew his way round that exposition in Act One when he first meets the copilot.

Sheldon Coltrane: I've seen sketchier pipe laying in my time.

Kelly: It's funny, even when we're not dealing with the ill-disciplined cop, they gotta make him a badass rogue somehow. Dudes a fucking pilot and they gotta give him a sketchy record.

Sheldon Coltrane: You can't beat the suspended cop.

Kelly: You really can't.

Sheldon Coltrane: And if he drinks too. That's the goldmine.

Kelly: The big sweep. Do you find a lot of suspended cops/dishonourable discharges in the mercenary work?

Sheldon Coltrane: Ah the DDs. Often yes because they've got skills they're not able to use in normal society. May as well get paid for them somewhere. Problem is if they start pulling shit like that in the field, they don't last long cause noone will want to work with them and so they don't get too many jobs. Works for some. Not others.

Kelly: I think Captain Brodies more the type who just gets shit done. Not the hardest type but unquestionably a man of bravery.

Sheldon Coltrane: Yeah, not too tough physically but morally balanced. I like having people like him around. Tough guys aren't always smart and need a lot of persuasion to do something. They're not prepared to dive in out of a desire for justice or morality. Someone like Brodie will just do it cause it's right. He's a rare breed. Most of the time it's like that quote from The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. "What the hell do you think spies are? Moral philosophers measuring everything they do against the word of God or Karl Marx? They're not! They're just a bunch of seedy, squalid bastards like me. Little men. Drunkards. Queers. Hen-pecked husbands. Civil servants playing cowboys and Indians brighten their rotten little lives. Do you think they sit like monks in a cell, balancing right against wrong". Luckily, they invented money. You dangle that in front of the tough guys and there's nothing they won't do.

Kelly: What did you make of Louis Gaspare? I bet you liked him.

Sheldon Coltrane: Of course.

Kelly: Don't fucking down play it. Bet the minute you saw that Legionnaire symbol, you were rubbing your hands together.

Sheldon Coltrane: The cookie jar had been opened.

Kelly: Hehehe. What is like the British equivalent of the Legionnaires by the way?

Sheldon Coltrane: Oh I'd have to go with the paratroopers.

Kelly: So what we're talking about is no nonsense?

Sheldon Coltrane: Absolutely none.

Kelly: You've just reminded me of that bit when Gaspare's sneaking round the village taking the terrorists out with a hammer. Gnarly.

Sheldon Coltrane: That is true to form French Foreign Legion. Vintage. Nothing pretty. A lot of them are like Gaspare. Their legal system gives them a second chance by letting them enlist instead of jail time. You just give them the tools. Barbaric tools. They go in, front line and just get the job done. Real primitive shit.

Kelly: Strangely enough, how I approach reviewing.

Sheldon Coltrane: Rambo Reviewing?

Kelly: As Roy Orbison once said, 'You got it'. I don't walk to the cinema. They fly me in with Ride of the Valkyries blaring and hand me nothing but a couple of bottles of the good stuff and say get us the intel.

Sheldon Coltrane: I love the smell of cinema in the morning.

Kelly: He's only gone and got it again. Need to read up more on these legionnaires. My whole understanding of them is based on the Jean Claude Van Damme movie Legionnaire. Were you a fan of that?

Sheldon Coltrane: At the time these were all my favourite movies. They seem a bit cheesy and dated by today's standards. I like where we're going now. Sicario and that. Real menacing stuff. But obviously you can't attack JCVD.

Kelly: He's the legionnaire God dammit!

Sheldon Coltrane: He is.

Kelly: I get what you're saying. The more serious stuff is 50/50 on me. Sometimes it just means bland instead of fun. Can't ironically like them.

Sheldon Coltrane: What?

Kelly: What I do like with the newer stuff though is the use of digital. Testing out the limits there. Finding new kinds of shots with the cameras available. Plane has that amazing one take when Gerard gets him his first pirate. Not even a fight. Just an extended brawl. But I'm talking about Michael Mann. Michael Bay. Visual stylists like the Scott Brothers changing the look of movies. Even older auteurs like Schrader, DePalma and Ferrara have all dabbled.

Sheldon Coltrane: I don't follow that side too closely. But I like those movies. 13 Hours. Blackhat. Black Hawk Down. All good.

Kelly: What is it you watch them for?

Sheldon Coltrane: I like the authenticity. The small character details. When someone's clearly done the research on the performance. Rather than some joker with a gun. Sometimes I look at these people and I'm like he's never fired a gun! He's not seen combat! He wasn't there when it all went down!

Kelly: I see. And this stuff takes you out the picture?

Sheldon Coltrane: Definitely.

Kelly: You said you like your JCVD back in the day. Did you follow the Cannon movies?

Sheldon Coltrane: I got a whole bunch of these on video that I can't seem to throw out. Don't know what to do with them. It be like saying goodbye to an important part of your life. No-one wants to do that.

Kelly: They don't.

Sheldon Coltrane: During the '80s my life was basically wherever they stationed me but I'd always sneak off to the local cinema to catch the latest Stallone or Schwarzenegger, when I could. Everyone loved Commando. They wanted to be like John Matrix. That was the model. Then in the '90s, I started picking these all up abroad on video on the cheap. Just can't seem to get rid of them.

Kelly: You got a favourite Cannon film?

Sheldon Coltrane: I watched Delta Force a lot and Invasion USA. The Cannon stuff was pretty wild. Maybe it would have to be Cobra

Kelly: I love Cobra. That was like the '80s response to Dirty Harry

Sheldon Coltrane: If you go back and watch it, it's more like a horror movie.

Kelly: I know. As soon as I hear Stallone in that gruff voice narrating, "In America, there is a burglary every 11 seconds, an armed robbery every 65 seconds, a violent crime every 25 seconds, a murder every 24 minutes and 250 rapes a day", I'm in the fucking zone. You don't get shit like that every day.

Sheldon Coltrane: Did start upping my toothpick quota after that film. My girlfriend at the time was like can you please stop spending our already limited money on toothpicks. It's not a necessity on our bills. We were living off my government wage and that isn't very high.

Kelly: They should factor that in to your wage. Like government funded toothpicks.

Sheldon Coltrane: I know right.

Kelly: You know Ryan Gosling said for Drive he got the toothpick's idea from Cobra.

Sheldon Coltrane: Wouldn't surprise me.

Kelly: Everything good comes from Cobra. You know that Mandy film?

Sheldon Coltrane: I don't watch too much horror.

Kelly: Well that's the Cobra guy's son.

Sheldon Coltrane: Is it? That makes sense.

Kelly: I know. I love what Cosmatos did on Rambo 2. He shoots it so psychedelic.

Sheldon Coltrane: Now that you mention it, he kind of does. You got a favourite Cannon?

Kelly: For action? Runaway Train.

Sheldon Coltrane: I forget that was Cannon.

Kelly: Easily done. I thought Plane was very Cannon.

Sheldon Coltrane: Very old school. But like modernised for today, which was cool. I get what you mean though. It's there. But if it was really Cannon it would have to be a lot more over the top. They'd have to multiply the number of pirates and have Butler firing from the hip, wiping them down without even bothering to aim. Plus it be shot on the streets of New York or something. Same plot but just to save production costs. I'd say it was more Assault on Precinct 13.

Kelly: With the buddy dynamic between cop and criminal? Except this time it's pilot/criminal. Interesting that you mention it cause the director did that Assault on Precinct 13 remake, so he's clearly interested in that.

Sheldon Coltrane: Ah, did he?

Kelly: Do you care much for it?

Sheldon Coltrane: I mean there's no beating Carpenter but as a kind of late night action movie you could do worse.

Kelly: Couldn't have put it better myself. Not too long ago this Richet Plane director did another action movie with Mel Gibson. Blood Father

Sheldon Coltrane: Mad Max himself.

Kelly: Indeed. I just love an unhinged Mel.

Sheldon Coltrane: He was very unhinged in that.

Kelly: Off the charts. He's got that new movie out called On the Line. I haven't seen it yet but all I can think is this dudes never been on the line. He's always firmly over it.

Sheldon Coltrane: He's that Madness song. One Step Beyond

Kelly: Screw loose. No-one gets my love of Blood Father though. That scene when he's storming about his trailer home loading up a shotgun like, "They're gonna take my parole away for this!". That's the Mel we come to see. Positively. Firmly. Over the line.

Sheldon Coltrane: Same old Mel.

Kelly: Same old Mel. But yes this Richet director definitely loves an action BMovie.

Sheldon Coltrane: We salute that.

Kelly: We sure do. I want to go in to the area. The location of Plane.

Sheldon Coltrane: Where it crash lands? Jolo Island? Philippines. Pops about 500,000. Abu Sayyaf are the law down there. A mean Jihadist group. They were responsible for a terrorist attack in 2004. Bombed a ferry. Over a hundred deaths. Worst attack in Philippines history. Although, in more recent years, I think their numbers are dropping. Terrorism is expensive. They don't really tell you that. Hence why they often turn to kidnapping.

Kelly: And there's a lot of kidnappings that take place there?

Sheldon Coltrane: They had a case there back in 2015. A few got beheaded when the ransoms weren't paid.

Kelly: What's the standard price per head?

Sheldon Coltrane: I'd say probably about 500,000 thereabouts.

Kelly: Half a mill? So there is an exact value on human life?

Sheldon Coltrane: You could say that.

Kelly: So, you don't pay up you lose your head? That simple?

Sheldon Coltrane: Often in kidnappings they'll kill you after anyway even when they've received the ransom just to avoid being caught.

Kelly: That sounds like a nasty business.

Sheldon Coltrane: It isn't pleasant, Kelly.

Kelly: Have you done any work out there?

Sheldon Coltrane: Not on that island specifically but I've done lots of work in the Philippines.

Kelly: What does that entail?

Sheldon Coltrane: Bodyguard work mainly. The rich office workers are paranoid.

Kelly: What of, the kidnapping?

Sheldon Coltrane: Oh yeah, big time.

Kelly: So there's a lot of kidnapping? Like more than Mexico?

Sheldon Coltrane: Kelly, it's the kidnapping capital of the world.

Kelly: Really I thought that was Mexico?

Sheldon Coltrane: No, you're just saying that cause of the Denzel Washington movie, Man on Fire

Kelly: I think you're right.

Sheldon Coltrane: Which was actually originally set in Italy with the book. But by the time they were adapting Italy had dropped their numbers pretty significantly so Mexico was the obvious choice.

Kelly: Oh, good for Italy. So how does the bodyguard business work?

Sheldon Coltrane: You get the call. Some rich company owner will want a few people round him at all times over a weekend. Usually when he's making a big deal that might affect the country. His associates will have a list of trusted names to hire in. I'm pretty high on that list. I'll then call a few regulars I use that I knew back from the Marine Corp or just people that I find hanging about VFW bars. They fly us in. We have a license to carry. We follow the businessman round for a few days. Make sure nothing happens. Barely anything does. Nothing we couldn't handle. It's easy money.

Kelly: So it's good work?

Sheldon Coltrane: The best kind. We'll get more money in that weekend than we ever did working for the government. Independent contract work takes up the majority of my time now.

Kelly: Ok and coming back to Plane. How did you rate the rescue team?

Sheldon Coltrane: The private assets haha. As soon as they got mentioned by the risk analyst guy, I couldn't wait to see them in action.

Kelly: That's a good example of your new school realism coming in to the Cannon picture?

Sheldon Coltrane: I guess so. A move away from the solo cowboy. The one man wrecking crew.

Kelly: I got no problem with the guy at the desk, operatives in the field movies. Your Body of Lies. Your Clear and Present Danger. Allows for an ensemble.

Sheldon Coltrane: Yeah, it's more accurate. One guy doesn't do everything. It's like when you see a cop at a crime scene on TV. They go up and they pull out a small piece of evidence like a pen that somehow forensics missed. The TV Cop really does everything.

Kelly: Like Doctor House being a specialist in every field of medicine?

Sheldon Coltrane: Well, that's just a fucking cop show isn't it.

Kelly: Crime is a disease. Meet the cure.

Sheldon Coltrane: Nailed on haha. That man locks up all diseases behind bars.

Kelly: House, MD. A legend of the game. So these private assets then in plane, when they eventually came in. Did they operate like a good unit?

Sheldon Coltrane: They came in prepared. Don't know how they had just 500 grand spare for get out of jail money. Plus it probably wouldn't even cover one of them in some places but I admired the prep. Some incredible artillery too. When that 50 calibre came out

Kelly: When. That. 50. Calibre. Came. Out.

Sheldon Coltrane: NICE! I just love guns you know. Just the feel of it in my hands. Sometimes I go to bed with one. My fingers closed round the trigger, soothes me. Obviously, I keep the safety on. A lot of brothers have unnecessarily died from that.

Kelly: Call the NRA. This man loves guns.

Sheldon Coltrane: Moms Demand Action hate me.

Kelly: I bet they do. You're right though. Was nice. As soon as that 50 cal came out them naughty pirates were flying all about the gaff. Hitting cars. Hitting everything. They went full David De Gea.

Sheldon Coltrane: They had no chance. Bodies piled up. Perps went down.

Kelly: Pirates finished.

Sheldon Coltrane: One thing I did notice that I wasn't so sure about.

Kelly: Referee Michael Oliver has spotted something he doesn't like.

Sheldon Coltrane: They lacked skills as a team.

Kelly: Maybe they hadn't worked together much. Can that be a problem in mercenary work?

Sheldon Coltrane: Maybe. And sometimes. But if you go back through and watch them, they don't really work together. No-ones really covering each other or watching their backs. No real communication.

Kelly: Rio Ferdinand once said that him and Nemanja Vidic didn't really need to communicate at the heart of the Manchester United defence. They just developed a relationship where they instinctively knew where each other was and would go in any given situation. Vidic, would dive in, often brutally. Rio would be at the rear ready to gracefully clean up. A real he goes this way, I go that way type of partnership.

Sheldon Coltrane: It's not really like that I'm afraid, Kelly. And if it was, those guys in Plane don't best demonstrate it. You may get it sometimes with some of your closest buddies out there, a sort of instinctual thing and you'll work with them over and over. But I don't like to devalue the importance of teamwork. Deep down, I'm a real stickler for communication in the field.

Kelly: "What we have here is a failure to communicate". On that note, I think we'll end this here. Just want to say what I liked most about Plane was how it goes through the motions. Starts off like a potential hijacking movie, then a survivalist thriller and finally settles on a hostage movie. Keeps you on your toes.

Sheldon Coltrane: It's a white knuckle ride. Oorah!

Kelly: Yes, it is. Everyone get your tickets sorted. Because Butler taking out terrorists is pure box office.

Sheldon Coltrane: Always has been, always will be.

Kelly: Sheldon. You're a man of action and a man of truth. Come back soon.

Bonus Points:

-Richet rammer! Butler Banger!

-The Assault on Precinct 13 buddy cop set up

-Old school Cannon vibes with new school badass units

-The one take fight sequence

-Hammer time

-Mr 50 Calibre

Overall Score: 4/5

The Roulette Wheel has Chosen

Blumhouse went through the catalogue again and this time decided Chucky needed a comeback. Honestly, do they just spin a roulette wheel and go whatever classic horror this lands on, we'll steal the plot, commercialise it and water it down for 15 year olds? This comes after a 2019 remake and TV series of Child's Play by the way. All I could handle was 1 episode of the show. When it ended with a bullying helpline number, I knew it wasn't for me. Nothing ever emphasised the death of the transgressive kick in horror quite like that little blunder. Makes you want to bring back bullying. Aside from the Chucky renewed interest, James Wan already made his shitty doll horror with Annabelle. For the last 10 years these guys have been getting away with the same formula over and over. Turning to the roulette wheel to get them their next hit. However, all this makes me wonder, are they allowed to rip off a movie they already ripped off? Surely, that's across the line? A step too far?

Well they've gone and done it but don't expect any support from me. Horror fans continued endorsement of rubbish like this routinely confuses me. Do they not care about production? Are they really so blind to it? Surely, the appeal has always been the independent approach and guerrilla filmmaking? A bunch of mates getting together and delivering a big fuck you to the studios? What happened to that ethos? If 15 year olds want to get behind these films, let them, that's who they're for. They need their gateway drug they can slip on during a sleepover. Anyone older, I cannot understand the attraction. Call it what it is, shit.

Inverse cost and quality law has been thrown about willy nilly over the years.

I'm sorry Mr Wallace, I have considered your arguments and still believe Terminator 2 was a good movie. I can understand the idea behind the phrases attempted usage with regards to Star Wars and Lord of the Rings too because they originate from low budget serials and sword and sandals movies. Truth is when money has been stacked behind them, these films have been incredible. It's the knock on effect which has been bad for independent filmmakers. As soon as the big studios meddle with your trash, you're in trouble because you lose your greatest weapon over the competition, which is embarking on material the studio won't touch.

Unquestionably, one should not forget the movies themselves (Terminator 2, Star Wars and Lord of the Rings) are exceptional. On the other hand, modern mainstream studio horror is in my opinion where the term best applies. On principle, classic horror movies have worked on a low budget but now backed by a big studio they are doomed to fail creatively because they are designed to adhere to a strict package in order to ensure a successful hit. Anything that could be of interest or considered challenging is removed to make way for total acceptance and popularity. Put simply, they play it safe for the bucks.

Could you please tell me what Megan has to offer that hasn't already been said? Are we just going to pretend that there weren't a million 80s horrors that cheekily critiqued consumerism? Childs Play being the obvious first example. Chopping Mall another. Robocop The Stuff They Live. Halloween 3. Christmas movies like Gremlins and Jingle All the Way. Is one to forget these movies exist? We've had that whole response to the excess of the '80s and Reagan's reign of terror. So don't be passing off Megan's satire as even remotely new. Big selling points like new technology and a girl boss have been tossed around as justification for its existence. Neither do anything to persuade me this is good.

We'll start with the technology. Artificial intelligence has been a fear for decades. Philip K Dick published his frightening novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep in 1968. Isaac Asimov's I, Robot was written in 1950. These were visions of the future that suggested what human and AI integration would look like. How we would have to re-examine our laws and morals. The designs for these machines have changed over the years but the reason these texts don't lose their value is because fundamentally the ideas remain the same. No-one actually cares what the AI looks like right? The point is that AI would just come to be and we would still have to deal with the dangers regardless. Therefore, I have little interest in Megan simply for technological updates.

There is no vision here. Times have caught up and all this comes off as is Ok, we now know what this future will look like, we present to you what you know. There's no leaping ahead. Nothing brave in it. At least with the '80s there was this sense this is what it could be like but imagined through the medium of film. We need to push further ahead than Megan if we really want to succeed in any originality.

As for your girl boss? Didn't Bride of Chucky already deliver the finest doll girl boss in Tiffany? A really likeable fun play on Bride of Frankenstein for a '90s crowd. She had serious sex appeal and was a badass. Of course, to a large extent there is literally no point taking this material seriously. A lot of the '80s anti consumerist satires were just light fun one joke movies to begin with. Strict emphasis on the fun. Megan has very little in the way of fun. Chucky, he was cool as hell in that dumb '90s way. Loved his Rob Zombie and got in shootouts with the cops. Megan is a well behaved little shit and delivers a grand total of zero massacres. Her kill count is unforgivably low.

Musically, not too sure what's going on here. What is a Titanium? Maybe it's a commentary on the artificiality of auto tune and that style of pop music? Think the worst part is when I googled the song and it turned out to be from 2011 and produced by David Guetta. Proving not to be something that just appeared overnight and we'd had plenty of time to get acquainted. Got no excuse for that one. I can recall the album cover for Nothing but the Beat but couldn't tell you how any of the tracks went. One More Love now that's got all the guilty pleasure hits on including mega banger Sexy Bitch featuring the great Akon. Jesus that could be the most 2010 song existence. Brings back memories of sharing songs on Bluetooth on the back of the school games bus, buying sweets and drinks from the food dealer and then rounding off the day with countless hours of MSN. Get me away from all this now.

When compared with Annabelle, Megan suggests a new equally terrible path in horror. My criticisms for Annabelle were that it took itself too seriously in trying to be scary. We needed to return to genre legend Joe Dante and go back to the campy high energy fun. His trick was always to put in the comedy first and then the horror. The effect was far more unnerving cause it had this dangerous juvenile feel to it. That sort of Jackass or Beavis and Butthead like quality. As thought admitting this is a laugh, completely silly but someone may get hurt. The uncertainty and slow realisation of danger the thrill. Comedy in horror is how you wrongfoot an audience. Annabelle's problem was that it plays the situation too straight. Such an approach is entirely predictable and it basically becomes a wind up clock with programmed jump scares.

Megan indicates a move away from straight up horror but let's be clear, it is not in the right direction. There is a recent trend emerging of overwriting these films. They want to appear to be addressing the debate over horror films lack of character development. As a result, we get very conservative and traditional writing to meet bourgeois tastes. Since the writers are fucking terrible, all we're really doing is substituting horror for hokey drama. Moving the audience too far away from what it is they're actually here for. I know not every horror is going to be Night of the Living Dead or The Thing but if you haven't got the tools, at the bare minimum tick the boxes. These films don't even do that because putting in such pointless drama takes you so far away from the genre requirements. We end up with not a passable horror movie but a boring and shoddily crafted drama. Not what the doctor ordered!

Someone remind these fuckers its doll horror not dull horror. In the case of Megan, there is this really uninspired attempt at critiquing careerism against family. Something that inevitably falls apart when they realise, this is against the entire core of the film, which is this girl boss prevailing. Megan is the real hero in this. She is what audiences are coming to see. This female fantasy of taking no shit from patriarchal society. So why does the film waste so much time with the counter argument that family should dominate over career?

The film doesn't quite know whether it wants to champion housewives or the feminists progressing in the office. Unexplainably, it doesn't understand that you're allowed to ironically champion one and not take it seriously. No-one even really cares what stance you pick on an issue. This is a major problem of studio horror in that they seek to provide clear positive messages and in the process lose the tongue in cheek and transgressive thrills. Independent filmmakers and exploitationers don't necessarily believe in their stances or bow in to ill-conceived notions of good taste. There is a lot more mocking of the subject matter and the potential to wrongfoot the audiences as they question do the filmmakers actually believe this or is it a joke? That ambiguous positioning is lost in studio productions because they refuse to take risks and be playfully cryptic.

You may begin to wonder have the writers of Megan ever even seen a doll horror? We're here for the fucking mischief not to fucking cry! Consequently, there is only one sequence in this film that even comes close to resembling the campy trashy horror fun a decent doll horror can provide. I refer to the scene when Megan is revealed to the public. Her corridor scene when she's got trouble on the mind and disco tune Walk the Night by Skatt Bros drops in. She takes out the boss and his assistant. Still, I can't fully praise the scene because what goes down is firmly against the rules. You can't be boring for the whole movie then set up a huge premiere and instead of a massacre just give us 2 kills. ONLY 2 KILLS. WHAT FUCKING PLANET ARE YOU ON?

This Megan is a faulty product, send her back. Up your game, girl. Did these people not think if they scrapped all the atrocious family drama, we could have had more mischief? Megan's dedication to mischief is seriously lacking. Me and her need to have some serious words about that along with her inadequate kill count. Why doesn't she fuck? Where is her doll boyfriend? Is she too much of an independent woman? Oh fuck all that. Make dolls fuck again. Purely because it's funny.

As has been proven, not enough absurdity on display here. I like my doll horrors to be relentlessly manic. For the sequel, I want more Soulwax remixes, more kills, less drama. Truthfully, don't even want a sequel cause you just know they'll squash all the fun in favour of the drama. The '80s had Joe Dante. The '90s had Ronny Yu. Now we have a bland studio taking over and I might well have to check myself out of this genre. The day has come. Pack your bags lads, it's all over.

Ok, time to catch up on what our friend Bonehead Bill actually got up to on New Years Eve. I was shocked and appalled as always when this man fills me in on any of his adventures. Know that with this man, there is no boring drama just straight up genre requirements. He's all thrills no frills. He's someone you can rely on in times of hardship to give you the goods and none of the unwanted unnecessaries. A man of good old fashioned values such as sleaze, mediocrity and low intelligence. Guys in capes may dominate our screens but he's the real hero. Without further ado, I give to you Bonehead Bill. The people's champion.

It's New Years Eve. 7:03. Bonehead rocks up at his mate Groove Dog's house. After about 3 swift knocks, Groove Dog's mother opens the door. There is a somewhat awkward hello before Groove Dog's mother reveals, "He's on the toilet. You'll have to wait in the back room". "Cheers, Angie", replies Bonehead and makes his way to the back room. Creak, creak, creak go Bonehead's footsteps across the floor. He looks over his shoulder to see if Angie is still watching him. With the coast clear, he shuts the door behind him. In the back room, a 2005 Royal Rumble DVD catches Bonehead's eye. That was the one where they couldn't decide who had won. It had been pre-planned that Batista would be the last man standing but both him and the poster boy of the PG era John Cena accidentally fell out of the ring at the same time. A simultaneous elimination but did one fall just a millisecond before the other? VAR was needed. To make matters even funnier, Vince McMahon marches in so fast that he tears his quads and is unable to say anything but just sit there on the floor whilst the confusion prevails.

"We're going to die tonight", calls a voice from behind. Turning round, Bonehead can only add, "Excuse me?" Leaning against the open door was Groove Dog himself, fresh out the shower and combing his hair back. "I just know it", re-iterates Groove Dog. Bonehead squints heavily and then calmly responds with, "you know that's a heavy thing to just walk in the room and lay on me" Plonking down on to the sofa and staring directly ahead, Groove Dog casually clarifies, "Doesn't change the fact we're...marked for death". Bonehead chuckles and puts the 2005 Royal Rumble DVD on the shelf where it belongs. He turns back to Groove Dog and goes, "alright, fucking Steven Segal. What's got you thinking this way anyway? That feeling?". "I've got that feeling?", throws in Groove Dog as he stops combing his hair for a second.

This startles Bonehead who bursts out an expletive and automatically puts his hands on his forehead. "You not got it too?", asks Groove Dog. "Give me a sec", answers Bonehead as he closes his eyes and rubs his temples, thinking for a moment. After a brief meditation, Bonehead grits his teeth together and sharply utters, "yes". Such a response stirs Groove Dog and leads to him throwing his comb across the room, rapidly and near indecipherably shouts, "Shit. We're fucked. I know it. I've got a family meal tomorrow and all. That's not fucking happening". A note to readers, Groove Dog takes all superstitions and instinctual feelings extremely seriously. Bonehead Bill can only stare in to space. To contradict such a statement would be a lie. Was time up for these two hellraisers?

We cut to 8:12, Shake Rattle and Roll by Bill Haley and the Comets is playing on a shitty speaker. Groove Dog pours their third tequila slammer and they both make stupid sounds as it goes straight to their heads. Looking up they see a figure at the window holding about 5 pills and 4 grams of coke. It's Derek Dooley. One half of the Dooley brothers. Together this trio makes up The Renegades of Funk. Dooley enters the gaff and it only takes a few more tequila slammers before the three of them are re-enacting the 2005 Royal Rumble. There is a loud thud as both Bonehead and Groove Dog hit the floor. Closely followed by shoe scratching as Derek Dooley slips down too and leans back against the sofa. Footsteps can be heard coming across the corridor.

That can only mean one thing. Angie. They all look at each other trying not to laugh. Angie ploughs open the door. She takes in the scene. Half angry, half puzzled. This then changes in to a long stare at her son. The boys feared this may go on forever until Angie finally coldly remarked, "maybe it's time you all went to that party". They all knew what that meant. In defeat, Groove Dog nodded and went, "yeah, maybe". To this day, Angie, one tough son of a bitch. Heard many tales about the infamous Angie. In a rare moment, Bonehead senses the situation and shouts, "roll on out!" "Yep, roll on out!", returns Groove Dog. They had outstayed their welcome.

All 3 of them pile in a taxi and head up to the party. The Weeknd's hit Take My Breath is being played at an excessively loud volume over the radio. Groove Dog can't resist attempting Abel Tesfaye's signature high pitched vocals. After the slammers though, he sounds more like Judy Dunaway. The taxi driver stares straight ahead, his grip on the wheel tightening, desperately trying not to snap and choke everyone in the back seat to death. He knows, it's just going to be one of those nights. As they enter the gaff, I Walk the Line by Alien Sex Fiend is in full swing. Groove Dog sees an acquaintance in the living room, instantly gets down on all fours like Lieb Schreiber in X-Men Origins: Wolverine, let's out a Herculean roar and pounces on the guy. Bonehead and Dooley look at each other, shake their heads and proceed to the kitchen. Some men's behaviour can't be explained. Noticing a cupboard, bonehead sees the perfect opportunity to hide the rest of his crate from snatching hands. Dooley folds his arms and looks over suspiciously. "Can't be too careful", Bonehead says to himself. He learnt that one from me. You really can't.

Dooley is distracted by a man fiddling with the music set up. He bounces on over with the prerogative of seizing control early. "Oi fuckstick, you best not be about to put on that EDM bollocks of yours. No, we don't want any of that shit you normally make us listen to. I'm vetoing that NOW!" Fuckstick waves his hands about defensively and goes, "Hey, I got told I was in charge of this room". Dooley dismisses this instantly with, "No. No. Not tonight, brother. Save that shit for the walk home".

Fucksticks on the back foot. He knows it and awkwardly interjects with, "That was the deal. I'm in charge of this room. You guys get that room. I get this room. You got a problem you speak to Goats Cheese Vicki, alright?". Loosening up, Dooley nods and says, "Oh alright then. I'll let you off then big man. But fucking hell. What is it with you and that Code type music? I'm sick of that shit. Hear it enough on nights out. Should probably see someone. Sort yoursen out"

The stand-off is pretty much over but Fuckstick remains nervous. He's waving his arms again, giving it that routine, as he mumbles, "I don't talk about your music". This guy is on the ropes. Ready to be rattled. Dooley has him right where he wants him and hits back quickly with, "Good, cause you'd be leaving with a fat lip, son". Fuckstick flinches heavily as Dooley mocks a punch. In the corner Bonehead busts a smile, he's seen this little wind up act before. Dooley notices the smile and breaks in to snidy laughter. "Ha, I got you!", he repeats over and over. Bonehead knows not why he smiles at such stupidity. He still hasn't figured out the purpose of this passive aggressive nonsense his boys always pulling but when he sees ribbing taking place, unexplainably he senses an overwhelming urge to support it. Who is he to go against the laws of the jungle?

"Oh my God, are you two flirting?", comes a voice from the door. Bonehead slowly spins round to catch who spoke. Fuckstick's girlfriend Lula Vincent enters the room. Dooley walks over to her and hugs her as he whispers in her ear at a volume everyone can hear, "You know me baby doll, I'm a loving man. Can't nothing stop a loving man".

Bonehead Bill sees that his cue to leave and gives it the Dora the Explorer routine, investigating what other rooms this gaff had to offer. Behind any door could lie a romantic liaison waiting to happen. I hadn't mentioned this but Bonehead had himself something of a mission this evening. He was on the hunt for a mysterious brunette by the name of Emily Boginia. Like all women, so far she was doing a damn good job of evading him. However, that wasn't going to stop our riled up young tiger from taking part in the hunt. This was his jungle and his lioness couldn't be far.

Courtship was on the cards, Bonehead just needed to find his tennis partner. The predator scans the room for any signs of his 'future wife'. This wasn't something that happened over night. They'd been talking for a few months and even locked lips a couple of times. Our brave knight was under the belief that tonight could be the night to progress things. To take their budding friendship to the next level. To go deep under the covers and take her to a place of ecstasy. Go on, Bonehead!

Sadly, no evidence of her in the living room. Not even a trail for an amateur detective to work with. No blood, no breadcrumbs, not a single soul had encountered her. Polishing this room off, Bonehead was just about to make his exit when Dooley walked in with a small blonde and blocked the doorway. "Vicki, you got a minute?", asked Dooley. "Sure", replied Goats Cheese Vicki but she didn't seem like she wanted any part of the conversation and was mainly preoccupied with taking in everyone else in the room. "Can you sort the music out in this room? I liked that idea you had of our music in here and the shitty wa wa wa wa wa edm bollocks for them in there. We should go with that", proposed Dooley. "Alright, I'll get on it. Wait what was that EDM bollocks again?", mockingly adds Goats Cheese Vicki. "You know like the wa wa wa wa oh fuck off Vicki!", Shouts Dooley realising he's being taken the piss out of.

Goats Cheese Vicki begins setting up the speakers whilst Dooley hovers over her. She maps out a precious area with her arms and says, "Just be careful with these wires. Last time everyone was here they got knocked about a bit. I tested them this morning but ". Before she can finish her sentence, Dooley jumps in with, "Vicki, I didn't ask for your life story, I just asked for the tunes" Shaking her head Goats Cheese Vicki throws out, "Alright, alright" and returns to setting up the equipment. Realising he's overstepped the line, Dooley tries a half arsed apology with, "Sorry, that was out of order, Vicki. I'd just like to hear the tunes. I'm on edge. I just really want to get some music on. I get anxious when I don't hear the music. So chop, chop, quick time, Vicki. Quick time". "Oh no, not the quick time", returns Vicki giggling to herself.

Having set Dooley up on the laptop and speakers, Goats Cheese Vicki moves away from the music station. She stops and turns back to say, "Just get on whatever you like, there's a couple of playlists on there". Dooley throws a thumbs up and returns with, "decent, decent". Holding on to the door, Goats Cheese can't help but ask, "You're not going to be a dick tonight are you, Derek?". To this Dooley smiles and answers sarcastically with, "Vicki, come on. I wouldn't dream of it". Our host knows exactly what this means and in frustration screams, "Oh fuck off, Derek. Just don't break anything" and storms off. Now alone in the corner, Dooley mutters to himself, "Hehehe I'm going to break everything in her fucking house".

With no luck in the living room, Bonehead makes his way to the toilet and engages in the gaff pissing game. The gaff pissing game begins when the waterworks commence, you stand as far back from the toilet as possible and aim the stream. What you're wanting to do is see how long you can spray from this distance. As the stream gets shorter and less powerful, you can move closer to the toilet but if you miss the bowl, you lose. A no hander is optional and naturally carries double points. The thrill is in how many times you can complete this as with every pint, it grows harder. Accuracy will be measured and poor pissers will be exposed. Bonehead passes level one. He leaves the toilet with a grin on his face that could only come from a true victory and doing us all proud with his gifted technique. Well done, Bonehead.

Slipping out the toilet and making his way back past the living room, Bonehead becomes aware of an argument taking place. He glances around the faces of the guests to get a gist of what has triggered such a hostile reaction. Paranoia tells him he missed the bowl and got a splodge on the toilet seat. The smarter side of his brain tells him this is nonsense as no other person other than himself could know this if that were to be true. In reality, the argument was caused by one girl accidentally spilling their beverage down the back of another girl. Except this wasn't really over the drink. The word 'accidentally' was also in question. Unconsciously intended might have been more accurate.

These two particular girls had a history over having shared the same mating partner at various times. Make that the same time. Although, those that could confirm this piece of information were keeping mum on this one. The girls had their suspicions and that was enough. That was what the argument was really about. Obviously, neither would admit that out of embarrassment but everyone knew. The crowd stood with their backs against the wall, safeguarding their secrets, wondering whether to step in or just enjoy the confrontation. Groove Dog tucks his quivering bottom lip and has to put a hand over his mouth to hide his strong urge to laugh at tonight's entertainment.

Dooley, who was completely oblivious to the situation, (in fact the only one hadn't noticed the quarrel taking place), continued to do lines of coke off just about every surface in the room. He displayed a toothy grin, rocking his head back and forth, dancing to The Stooges Search and Destroy in between snorting line after line. His attention never drifting to the rest of the room. Stress was high all around but he was having the time of his life. As soon as Goats Cheese Vicki noticed this along with the specks of white powder scattered round the room, she pushed past Bonehead and berated Dooley, screaming, "Stop that now. Pick one spot and clean it up after". Even when receiving his telling off, Dooley kept that toothy grin and just nodded his head like a naughty child.

Our amateur detective's search for his elusive femme fatale led him outside. He'd near cleaned out just about all the rooms downstairs. Either she hadn't arrived yet or worse, she was already upstairs. A drop of rain hits his head, he looks up to the black skies and there is more where that came from. He steps back to where the patio shelter covers and lights up a cigarette. The combination of the cheap lighter and his cold hands make the task difficult but through sheer perseverance, the thing begins to smoke. As he inhales, minute details of conversations are heard from a few groups around him but none sound like his girl. Why would she do this to him? Disappointed, he throws the barely even half-finished cigarette in to the ground and strolls back inside.

Bonehead's bladder strikes again and he angrily heads back to the toilet. Opening the door, his eyes lock on an elbow resting on the toilet seat. There is a girl perched next to the crapper with her head in her hands, she could almost be praying except she's wiping a stream of tears from her eyes. "What's up, Lula?", asks Bonehead with a rare affection. Near inaudible due to the rivers of regret pouring down her cheeks, Lula replies, "It's Mikey". To clear up, Mikey was her boyfriend previously referred to by Dooley as 'Fuckstick'. Bonehead checks nobody is watching, then he closes the toilet door behind him and shifts the lock to give them some privacy. Once clear, he queries, "What's he done?". Lula unloads weeks and weeks of couples codswallop on this episodes protagonist. The type a single person has the luxury of avoiding. All he can do is sit back on the sink top and hear her out in a flurry of tears even Justin Timberlake would be satisfied with.

"I'm not having a good time", confesses Lula. "You don't look like you're having a good time", truthfully declares Bonehead. "Are you having a good time?", asks Lula. "Me? Hell yeah I'm having a good time!", shouts Bonehead, cracking open a can of beer and raising it to the roof. Blancmange's Feel me can be heard creeping in from the party outside. "Goddammit, I just want to have a good time", returns Lula laughing to herself and spilling some of her drink down her chin. Bonehead puts down his can and points at the door as he explains, "and this...this fucker is ruining that". Lula clears a strand of hair from her face and shares that, "He's a good guy. But when it comes to this. I don't know, man. I don't know"

Bonehead leans forward and questions his companion with, "Tell me this Lula. You work hard right? You pay the bills..." Lula stands up and interjects with, "Lula works hard". As she comes closer to him, Bonehead jokingly pushes her back and says, "then you deserve to have a good time with your friends, right?".

Growing in confidence by the second, Miss Vincent steps forward and exclaims, "Lula deserves to have a good time with her friends". Bonehead adds to this with, "Lula deserves to have a good time with her friends...as a treat" "As a treat", repeats Lula.

"Right, so next time he gets all in your face about this, you tell him this sounds like a you problem. Fuckstick, this sounds like a you problem", exclaims Bonehead. "Fuckstick, this sounds like a you problem", chants back Lula. "Cause it’s not your problem, right?", ponders Bonehead. To which Lula proclaims, "It's not my problem"

Mockingly, Bonehead points his finger at her and expresses that, "It's not your problem. That I know. That I know". Lula smiles back at him and a silence is shared between them. Eventually, Bonehead Bill taps his knees, stands up and announces, "Hey, I know how we can solves this". He reaches in to his jacket pocket and pulls a key and a bag of coke. Offering it up to Lula, he invitingly insists, "between me and you, as part of our ever blossoming friendship". Wiping away the final tear of the night without a seconds hesitation, Lula helps herself to a few keys from the bag. You wouldn't have even known only moments ago this dame was a waterfall.

"So we're friends now? We're doing that?", inquires Lula as she rubs her nose clean. "As far as I'm concerned we always were", clarifies Bonehead. "I'm sorry for the way things started between us", apologises Lula. "I didn't make things easy", admits Bonehead. The two friends hug it out and Lula almost unable to believe her own words says, "You know, you're alright, Bill"

Quickly, Bonehead whispers in her ear, "yeah but don't tell anyone". Stepping back, he puts his finger to his lips and she smiles back at him. He retrieves his can off the sink and unlocks the door. Standing right outside is Groove Dog.

"Nooooooooo!", cries Groove Dog and rapidly follows up with, "Is this like one of those things I'm not supposed to say anything about? The old unspoken? What on earth have you two been up to?".

Bonehead hears the first notes of Blancmange's Living on the Ceiling and looks around for snooping eyes. He taps his friend on the shoulder and, leads him away from the scene and asserts, "nothing but straight up friendship. The greatest drug of all". "Yeah, yeah is that what they're calling it these days?", teases Groove Dog. Lula Vincent flashes one last smile in their direction and slips off quietly to rejoin the party. "

"You seen Emily yet?", probes Bonehead. "Na lad not seen her. She ain't come out to play", answers Groove Dog. "Alright. Fuck. Just keep an eye out. I got so much to say to this girl whenever I may find her", informs Bonehead. They walk in the living room to find that it is now completely silent. "Wait. Where's the music gone?", questions Bonehead. Everyone is so pre-occupied he gets no response. Dooley is sat on the floor like a child in a school assembly about an inch from the television. "Come on move, you'll get square eyes like that, kid", explains a party guest as they try to drag him away by the arm. He is unable to be moved. "Whys he staring at the TV like that?", queries Bonehead. Some geek turns round and says, "He's been staring at it for the past five minutes. He hasn't spoken to anyone" "What's going on?", adds Bonehead looking for an explanation. "The countdown", informs the geek. "Oh shit, yeah. I forget about that every year", remembers Bonehead, scratching his cheek.

There she is. He spots her in the corner of his eye. All 5 foot 8 of her. Her chin pressed against her chest. Eyes titled upwards. She flicks her hair back in slomo. Almost total command of movement and gesture. She never crawls. His Lauren Bacall. Woman of Bonehead's dreams. Swiftly, he makes a beeline for her. He tries to get her attention but she seems distracted by the boy her next to her and only half listens. "I had this dream about you last night, you know. Yeah you were standing all dressed in smoky burgundy", reveals Bonehead. "Burgundy?", picks out Emilly in her sexy growl. She half smiles but continues to involve herself in the boy next to hers conversation at the same time. "Burgundy. It was softer than rain. I wondered these empty streets. Past all these shops and alleyways", poetically explains Bonehead.

Before he can continue with his dream, the countdown begins. 10...9...8...with all the drunken screaming Bonehead has to raise his voice in order for his dream to be heard. 7...6...5..."Then you appeared. And when I woke ", shouts Bonehead. "Hey Bill, I want you to meet someone. This is Chris. My boyfriend", cuts off Emily. "Boyfriend?", repeats Bonehead despite clearly hearing what was said.

4...3...2...1 Happy New Year! Dooley cranks the volume up on Abba's Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie! Almost cruelly, right before Bill's very eyes, Emily grabs hold of her boyfriend and begins kissing him.

The sweet tender kiss of betrayal. Everyone is dancing, cheering, stumbling and knocking in to each other. Welcoming the taste of life. The entrancing smell of a new year of mischief. A devastated Bonehead stands amongst the crowd. Sticking out like a sore thumb as the only one not wearing a smile. Against his pocket, he can feel the vibrating of his phone. He pulls the phone out to answer it. It is none other than Jacob Kelly. Unfortunately, he is unable to hit that green button and communicate with Mr Funeralopolis himself because Moby Dick has engulfed him sending his phone flying across the room and under a sofa. Captain Ahab is launched up against the wall and a hungry Moby Dick ravishes him, biting his head off and grinding his precious bones. The great beast refuses to let him come up for air and starves him of oxygen. When he does so, he looks so dry and shrivelled up he could be Spongebob and Patrick after they've spent too much time on land. He felt for the first time what it was like to be poor Geppetto swallowed whole by the enemy. Call me fucking Ishmael.

After what seems like an age, Moby Dick releases him for her trap and moves on to locate her next victim of the seas. A strong wave brings Bonehead Bill back to land as he drops to his knees and lets oxygen fill his lungs once more. As he rises back in to a standing position, he catches eye contact with a fellow human who mouths, "Alright?". Bonehead nods. In front of them the geek is getting it on with Moby Dick. The fellow human shakes his head and says, "Fuck sake, Jonah's gonna be buzzing about that one all week".

An overwhelming desire to leave the room comes over Bonehead. Sanctuary lay elsewhere. He seeks refuge in the toilet but upon making it there, 2 fornicators are already inside going at it. A dude is balls deep and sucking a breast so hard it was like his life depended on it. Noticing Bonehead, the dude barely stops. "Either get in on this or get out", is the dudes ultimatum. Bonehead doesn't need too much convincing. He grabs hold of the woman's other breast and sucks on it so hard like his life depended on it.

A crack of light appears. The door is opened once more. Minor Threat's Straight Edge coming from the living room fills their ears. A tall dangly fellow pauses for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, mid boob suck, Bonehead can positively make out the largest man he has ever seen. "Either get in on this or get out", mimics Bonehead. Probably fuming that this is not the three breasted woman from Total Recall, tall dangly fellow grabs the two boys by the scruff of the neck and shouts, "get out of there you" They are dragged out with their feet off ground and thrown back in to the wild. Cocks flapping in the wind as they are sent packing.

"Well there goes that dream", mumbles Bonehead as he makes his way to his feet, pulling up his trousers and dusting off his sleeves. He can hear the riff of Devo's I Can't Get No Satisfaction like an unstoppable force in his head. the only thing louder than the riff is tall dangly fellows powerful stream striking the bowl. That guy would definitely never lose at the gaff pissing game. The girl flicks her dress back over herself in a well-rehearsed moment and sprints off. To vent his sexual frustrations, Bonehead pulls out his coke bag and his nose finds itself on the receiving end of a few keys.

In the living room, Dooley is pumping up the volume on Rage Against the Machine's Renegades of Funk. Groove Dog has brought back his Lieb Schreiber impression and is crawling along the floor and up the walls at high speeds. Unexplainably, this sabretooth act releases a primal urge in the women, who breathe heavily and can barely hide their horniness at the sight of this animal loose on the floor. Dooley glances over at Bonehead and sees him looking down. He hands him over a couple of ecstasy pills and says, "Ay, take a few of those lad. And remember, we're The Renegades of Funk, lad". Bonehead awkwardly nods back at him, replies, "ok" and stupidly slaps those pills down his throat with an unnecessary force you only see in the movies.

Struggling to stay upright and with the intensity of the spinning room, Bonehead stumbles across to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of the life-saving liquid: water. "You ok?", whispers somebody over his shoulder. He turns round to see Emily. "I'm not in a good place", responds Bonehead with no emotion and sipping the drink. "I should have called you before...", admits Emily. Bonehead stares forward, revealing about as much emotion as Buster Keaton and randomly asks, "have you ever seen Dirty Work?" "No", answers Emily, shaking her head in confusion. "The '90s comedy with Norm Macdonald?", clarifies Bonehead. "Still no", doubles down Emily.

"Not to be confused with the Steely Dan song, although it could have been named after it. It's the one where he gets dumped and he's got no job so he starts a revenge for hire business to raise 50,000 dollars for his step dad's heart transplant. I might do that. I don't have a Dad who needs a heart transplant or a Dad for that matter, but I could do with 50,000 dollars", drunkenly rambles Bonehead. "I think you could do with a rest", counters Emily. "You might be right", agrees Bonehead.

Gambling on his legs abilities, he puts one foot in front of the other and tries to maintain strict balance while waking to the door. "Semi Charmed Life, good song. They used that in a lot of movies when I was growing up", says Bonehead to no-one in particular. "Bill, I'm sorry I didn't call you to explain. This could have gone better", apologises Emily. Our Third Eye Blind loving champion takes no notice and continues towards the door. "Bill!", screams Emily in a bid to get his attention. He stops dead in his tracks, mostly at the unexpected raise in volume. "I want to talk to you, Bill", demands Emily. "The Bill you have called is not available right now. Please hang up and try again later", mumbles Bonehead mimicking an answer machine on his way out the door. As he drifts away out of sight all Emily can hear is, Bill humming the opening of Semi Charmed Life to himself. "Doo doo doo, doo doo-doo doo".

Time is running out. Bonehead Bill needs a bed. He can't see anything closer than a few centimetres in front of his face. Each step of the stairs represents a brand new challenge. He has to revert to the old hands and knees to complete the last few that remain. At the top of the stairs, a man stands leaning against the wall with his arms outstretched. "I seek refuge with the lord at daybreak, from the evil of what he has created, and from the evil of the dark night when it penetrates, and from the evil of the blowers (men or women) into knots, and from the evil of an envious one when he envies", preaches the man at the top of the stairs.

"Have you not considered those who were forbidden from private conversations, then they return to that which they were forbidden and converse among themselves about sin and aggression and disobedience to the messenger? And when they come to you, they greet you with that word by which Allah does not greet you and say among themselves, 'why does Allah not punish us for what we say?'. Sufficient for them is Hell, which they enter and burn and wretched is the destination", continues the top stair preacher. Next to him, a dude in a vest and wearing an oversized beanie dances about the landing, feeling the words of the sermon deep in his soul and getting high on them. Dancing vest guy is unable to remain completely still with jittery movements as he raises his head and smears dirt up his arms. Down below someone is blaring what appears to be the Black Hawk Down soundtrack. Bonehead keeps moving, pretending they are not there. One elbow in front of the other, dragging himself across the floor.

Now deep Behind Enemy Lines like Owen Wilson back in 2001, a resting place must be found. One in which the enemy wouldn't find him. Unable to stand, he maintains the crawl. Coming to the first door available, he finds his hands not working like they should and opts to headbutt the door wide open and dives through full John Terry. When he lands back on the floor, he raises his head and makes eye contact with a neat hour glass figure with an immaculate arse mid riding her man. "Ride like the wind, Bullseye!", calls the man somewhere under the woman. Hour glass tilts her head and clocks Bonehead Bill sprawled out across the carpet in a hauntingly inhuman position. A tangle of limbs like the T-1000 moments before he falls in to the lava pit.

Unable to handle the horrible contorted body only yards away from her, she lets out a deafening scream. "Sorry!", cries Bonehead as he puts two hands on the edge of the door and backwards rolls his way out. This was not to be his resting ground.

Thankfully, the next room is not too far because all this crawling is causing serious carpet burn for our hero. What on earth had Dooley given him? There had to have been a mix up. Ecstasy could not get a man this twisted. The next room happens to be empty and Bonehead catches a lucky break. A moments respite in this torturous hell. He dives under the covers and slams his head back in to a pillow. Cold sweats come over him and he wriggles about uncontrollably. A large creaking sound sends him in to shock. The sound of a door in need of a sprinkle of the old WD40. "Where's the God Damn lube?", bellows Bonehead. Before he can get hold of the identity of the intruder, the figure dive bombs on top of him. It was Groove Dog back in Sabretooth mode.

"Fuck was that for?", cries Bonehead holding his arm that was so nearly crushed in battle. "You don't call. You don't write. How else am I supposed to get your attention", says Groove Dog as though diving on top of people is the most normal thing in the world. His form of a hello. "Fuck off, Groove Dog!", aggressively explodes Bonehead. Velvet Underground's Venus in Furs echoes up from below. The pair begin laughing and lie back taking up the space of their coffin or final resting place. Immortalised in cheap Marks and Spencer's bed sheets costing no more than a twenty pound note. "Is this to be the funeral of Groove Dog and Bonehead Bill? The swansong of The Renegades of Funk?", inquires our leader. "I am tired, I am Cotton Weary", jokes Groove Dog. "One day we need to get to the bottom of this Lieb Schreiber obsession of yours", states Bonehead.

"Never. What you doing back here anyway?", queries Groove Dog. "Recovery", answers Bonehead. Groove Dog nods, steps up and glides to the door. He turns and adds, "I've got two things just for that. Water or cocaine. Which is it to be?" "I'll take a water", decides Bonehead. "One water coming up", echoes Groove Dog. As he walks out the door, he sings to himself exaggeratedly, "We can't go on together with suspicious minds. And we can't build our dreams on suspicious minds".

Always the worst singer but that never deterred him from obliterating any song he wanted. Bonehead Bill sniggers, shakes his head, shuts his eyes and lies back down on the bed. The door in need of the WD40 hums once more. Lifting his head, Bonehead calls, "Groove Dog?". No answer. A shadow moves across the wall. "Nosferatu?", cries out Bonehead. No answer. The sheets begin to move. Someone or something is crawling in to the bed. Bonehead lifts the sheets. A human head pops just a few inches above his balls. "Bonjourno", smoothly says the head. It's Emily Boginia

She kisses him. Playing it cool, he pulls away and playfully asks, "what makes you think I want this after tonight?" "You want me to stop?", throws Emily right back at him. He contemplates this for a second. A single floor down, he can hear X's The Unheard Music blasting its way up to them. "Fuck it", mumbles Bonehead, giving into his own horniness, hoisting Emily up against the wall and attacks her face like a clicker from The Last of Us spreading it's deadly fungus aurally.

Before our noble hero can make it to third base, there is an unwanted intrusion. The door slams open and two people looking to go all the way, crash in to the room. "Somebody lube the fucking door!", demands Emily. Both of them look up, to check out the intruders. It's Chris with a fine blonde that he's picked up from somewhere or other. Emily is so angry, she furiously gets up and begins slapping Chris. I think for cheating. As though, she wasn't doing the same. Chris's blonde companion then proceeds to slap Emily. The two girls get in a scuffle. Hair flies everywhere. Both boys have to duck back to avoid the strands. Not knowing quite what to do but feeling a compelling urge to get involved somehow, Bonehead Bill stands up and socks Chris in the jaw. Chris goes down like a sack of spuds.

This does not have the intended effect he would have liked because a red faced Emily turns her screams to Bonehead and tosses him out the door. Devo's I Can't Get No Satisfaction is stuck in our unfortunate hero's head again. "Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby!", chants Mothersbaugh as Bonehead proceeds to slam his forehead in to the door multiple times.

Breathing heavily, Bonehead pauses for a moment and analyses his options of how to burst through the door that separates him from fulfilling his sexual needs. He throws his gaze to his shoulder and lines himself up to charge through FBI style. He debates this for a moment and shakes his head dismissing the thought. Another idea enters his small brain, same thing but use his leg to kick the bastard off its already fucked hinges. The moment passes. Giving up on that situation, Bonehead re-joins the party.

Downstairs, Dooley is coked out of his mind, head banging to Deftones My Own Summer (Shove it). He won't stop slapping his penis region doing DGeneration X chops and letting out screams of "Shove it" at random intervals. Bonehead decides to ignore this and sit on the sofa. When Dooley tries to involve him, Bonehead just nods over respectfully but stays seated. A group of raised voices can be heard coming in to the room. It's the recently socked Chris surrounded by Emily and the blonde. "Where's that fucking faggot who hit me in the nose?", shouts Chris so everyone in the room can hear him. Yes, in the year of our lord 2023, homophobic language like that. Emily is tapping his chest and begs him to, "leave it!".

"Where's Bill? I want Bill!", demands Chris. Some joker heckles back with, "Go on, Uma, get him!". Dooley giggles and turns to Bonehead as he asks, "Oh my God, did you punch this guy or what?" The comment gives Bonehead's position away. Chris runs over ready to fight. Dooley dives in with, "Hold on. Hold on. You're sober and he's clearly inebriated. That's not a fair fight is it? I say we reschedule". Chris does a fake laugh throwing back, "and where was his sense of fair when he sucker punched me?". "Well that doesn't mean we all have to sink to his level", justifies Dooley.

Artie Shaw's Nightmare is set to repeat on Spotify. Hazy cigar smoke fills the air. Against the dames wishes, all the guys sit down and dictate the terms of a fair fight. a verbal contract is made between those present. As per the agreement, both fighters will do bong hits of DMT so that they are equally fucked and that is when, and only when the fight shall begin.

Dooley, who is something of an unquestioned expert in the field, will sort the DMT quantities and set up the bong. 40mg will be the chosen amount for each fighter. Bonehead takes his friend to the side and politely asks, "40mg? What's that like? what does that to a man?". Dooley returns with, "fine. Completely fine. No hallucinations. Just a pleasant feel through the body. A walk in the park". He taps his buddy on the shoulder for re-assurance. This of course is a complete lie. The amount involved is going to send them to space. No victory for either competitor, just mutual embarrassment. Dooley knows this and is far too intrigued what the results will be to stop this experiment.

All the party goers gather outside in a circle to bear witness to these two young men hit the bong. Once the required amount is reached and the effects begin to take hold, our fighters stare each other out. Jackie Lovetime, a local drummer begins hitting a plate with a tube of pringles to get everyone in the mood for battle. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute", demands Dooley as he finishes setting up the speakers outside. He hits play and out pours Bongripper's Reefer Sutherland "There we go", clears up Dooley. Chris raises his fists and edges closer to his opponent. Bonehead puts up a hand gesture to stop the fight for a moment. About a second later, he throws up on the floor much to the crowds collective disappointment. "Ewwwwwwww!", cries the crowd in unison. Chris looks utterly disgusted by his opponents actions on the battlefield but this shifts when he immediately bends over and has to throw up too. "Ewwwwwwww!", cries everyone in unison once more. "Homophobia makes me sick too!", calls a voice in the crowd. With sick still pouring down their chins and shirts, the spaced out warriors commence the fight.

Bonehead struggles to land a single punch with his aim completely thrown off by the DMT. Chris has the advantage of the longer arm reach and bigger hands meaning some heavy blows. A hard hook to the eye sends the Raging Bull flying backwards and blood spills on to the gazing crowd. They were going to call it at that point because truth be told, Bonehead was taking a real beating. However, Bonehead informs me that this is the very point at which a wizard appeared behind the shoulder of his enemy.

The wizard stood there unmoving with his hands resting on his staff and Bonehead wondered what to say. All he could do was stare at the powerful being. Bonehead had insulted many people over the years but he knew from the scrolls of literature that one should never insult a wizard. He feared any action could offend the supreme enchanter and that was the last thing he wanted. So he just stood and stared, waiting. After what seemed like a life time, a one eyed dwarf wearing a patch draws a circle in the air with his finger and howls, "The wizard has chosen!".

Bonehead Bill rapidly surveys the scene and looks for an explanation. The wizard expelled bluntly, "kill him". Bonehead didn't even hesitate on the request, he went in attacking Chris in a crazed state. No-one can defend against the psychotic fighter. They're far too unpredictable. On the spot, he developed a new form of Kung Fu, DMT Boxing. Chris took blow after blow from Bonehead's fists. Flesh crumpled in to flesh. Blood sliced the ground like a Jackson Pollock painting. When he looked down, Chris suddenly took on the form of a fully developed Agama Lizard. This freaked him out more so he just kept on pounding him.

Everyone at the party suddenly dispersed as a couple of cops showed up. The neighbours must have seen what was happening and called the boys in blue. My man says the cops were swinging their truncheons like they were fucking Lydia Tar. They knocked down anyone in their path without a hint of remorse. Teeth were flying. Bones were breaking. Bonehead looked down at his hands and flames were bursting off them. Were these even his hands? Had he lost his hands? Was he watching himself watching his hands? Or was he watching himself watching someone else's hands? He had to ignore this problem for now and get out of this place immediately. Our lionheart had to clear the scene and avoid the scouring pigs closing in. In the corner of the garden, the wizard still stood leaning on his staff. The wizard pointed to his left and a dazzling droshky appeared out of nowhere. Bonehead saluted the wizard, hopped in his newly acquired vehicle, whipped the horses in action and rode off in to the sunrise. When he awoke and came to his senses, Bonehead was perched against Sheffield's high stones in Howden with Vangelis's One More Kiss, Dear playing on his phone speakers. "Happy fucking new year", he says to himself sarcastically. How had he got here? How would he get back? How much of this you choose to believe is entirely up to you.

Bonus Points:

-The cop being amused by a child dying -That little Disco number Walk the Night by Skatt Bros

-Megan donning a samurai sword

-Megan taking out the boss and his assistant Overall Score: 1/5

Whales,

Donkeys

and Horses: A Free Jazz Improvisational Review

Ok, so this is for all you jazz nuts out there, we're going to try something different. No end destination in mind here just a few things I would like to discuss and we'll carve it as we go along. We're going to go round the houses on this one and create a sprawling freestyle piece. No restructuring or trimming down. Single take job. Hopefully, by the end everything comes out that needs to. Time to go full Ornette Coleman. Load up The Whale and EO on the 1s and 2s. We're going to take both of these on in this review.

Ah The Whale, now what on earth is this supposed to be? Initially, appeared to be a re-tread of Aronofsky's The Wrestler. Another father/daughter reconnection story. That bastard Yasujiro Ozu was always doing that. A Japanese fraudster repeating himself over and over with the same familiar beats and nothing new beneath the surface. Literally, every time I watch one of his movies, I think of Arsenal Fan TV favourite Lee Judges ranting about Harry Kane and screaming, "He's done it again, you fucking little bastard!". What is it they said about auteurs fundamentally making the same movie over and over?

After all, Hitchcock loved the old wrong man accused of a crime he didn't commit set up, didn't he? In his hands things play out a little differently though. Each time he used it as an opportunity to explore new psychological realms. Arguably, the first time anyone went so in to their own subconscious and revealed their own kinks. Hitch was a sleazy fucker. Known today as being part of clean classical Hollywood but if you watch his films back they are so perverse. Probably why I like them. Take the opening of Psycho for example. Gives you the date, the time, shots of the city and eventually lingers outside the window of a hotel room where two people are meeting for a lunch break fornication hook up. If that's not voyeurism, I don't know what is.

Vertigo another example. The scene when Scottie has Judy dress like Madeline. This is a story of man meeting woman, creating a false image of her and being completely shocked when the real image doesn't match up. Therefore, he cannot go to bed with her until she lines up with his fantasy. Creepy once you watch the scene back with that in mind.

Hitch almost gets away with it because his shooting style is so surreal with the potential for so many different readings in a way that could only be considered cinematic in the full sense of the word. Recently, I watched Marnie for the first time, which is largely considered one of his worst and most controversial. For a man who gained a reputation as someone always firmly in control of his craft for this project he was clearly out of control. Yet, this made it one of his best for me as it revealed so many darker shades to the man.

Finally, years and years of repeating the same plots, this one went the deepest in to himself. If his whole career was a game of diving in to his kinks and sexual fantasies, then this riot has to be one of his masterpieces. On set there were reports of him relentlessly pursuing the star of the film Tippi Hedren in a manner which was deemed to have crossed the line. Read one piece that said he even had the special effects department make a prop head of her for 'personal' uses and to my knowledge this piece of equipment never appears in the film. Lord knows what he was doing with that prop head.

Casting womaniser James Bond only added to the madness. The character that beds hundreds of women and deserts them all in a flash. Outside of that, Sean Connery is well known for his news interview where he exposes himself as a supporter of wife beating. All of this behind the camera malarkey found its way in to the movie and when you combine that with a plot dealing with the so called 'hero' character raping someone and childhood abuse, it's so outrageous. As Connery's character declares, "I've caught something really wild this time" I could feel that Hitchcock was leaning in to the camera and deliberately confessing this to me himself. It would be foolish though to make the mistake of calling this a shallow exercise. In being so extreme, it covers more ground about rape and childhood abuse victims than almost any movie in existence. Hedren gives an insanely good performance vocally transforming herself back to the harrowing event of her character's youth. Hitchcock's trippy flashing colours gravitate you towards a whole new headspace of thinking about the issues involved. We go deeper in to his mind than before. I wouldn't say I was offended but I was shocked by Hitchcock taking you to mental places only he can.

Why the Hitchcock detour? He's proof that an auteur can do the same storylines over and over but conquer new territory through the process. The fact he did it whilst working under the studio system as opposed to a lot of the independent cinema today is incredible. Working within the old Hollywood and still having a signature voice that came out increasingly over so over his career is something to be championed. Also, I definitely wanted to get it out there, I'm not resting until Marnie is considered on the same level as Psycho and Vertigo. At the bare minimum Rear Window.

Coming back to fraudster Ozu, his form of cinema bores me to death. Doesn't help that as part of Japanese culture they're always on the floor so the camera just remains very low to the ground and there's little variety with his camera positioning and the environments. Location wise, just like The Whale actually, much of the drama is centred around the protagonist's house and rarely leaves this spot. I'm a Kurosawa man, he was a Japanese director who knew how to keep the action and ideas flowing. This Ozu bozo is well respected because he's one of the original contributors to 'transcendental style', pretty much an off shoot slow cinema. Slow cinema being the most popular form of arthouse today. Is there a purpose to this approach of distorting time and studying boredom or is it solely lauded as an unmistakable alternative to the mainstream?

I wish slow cinema wasn't seen or accepted as a genre as it is today. Unavoidably, there's always going to pure forms that hold up but generally speaking it should just be a tool at the director's disposal for individual scenes when required. People have the same argument when it comes to long takes, in that the old oner in an action movie can make for a great sequence (Hard Boiled) but the whole movie doesn't necessarily have to be shot that way (Hardcore Henry). This logic should be applied to slow cinema and it should not be a norm or encouraged that directors get carried away. Take Taxi Driver, when Travis is at the cabbie hangout café and the camera lingers on a glass of water longer than commonly expected.

The extension of the shot allows you to experience Travis's dissociation from his surroundings. A co-worker tries to get his attention and continuously fails. This is just one scene of slow cinema in a movie that otherwise wouldn't be classed as slow cinema. Despite his unrelenting interest in the area, Paul Schrader could never manage true slow cinema for a full movie. First Reformed was intended to be so and couldn't manage it because the guy writes his characters so ferociously. They have these burning desires to commit terrorist actions. Far from a bad thing though, it means Schrader has created his own style in the arena. Post-slow cinema if you will, the equivalent of Hitchcock and David Lynch with noirs.

Slow cinema turns a lot of people off but it does have a purpose and can be great in the right hands. The logic behind it is that if you maintain a shot longer than natural it causes the viewer to mediate more on the actions and objects in the frame, bestowing new meanings and leaning towards introspection. It's all to do with perception and time. A perfectly legitimate tool that is unfortunately often abused and drives this stickler for economy crazy. If you can do it and immerse the viewer further then this is good. If you're just pointlessly boring your audience and losing them, I don't see the point in that. As is regularly the case it comes down to director's discretion and the practice itself is not necessarily the problem. A spade is not inherently a bad tool but an idiot can use it for the wrong job. As the samurai say, it's not the sword, it's the man in control of it.

Personally, I'm all for whatever the hell Nicolas Winding Refn is doing with it through the medium of television and continuing where Twin peaks left of. I refer to Copenhagen Cowboy and Too Old To Die Young, where he breaks up the high art slow cinema with these unexpected low art cheesy Kung Fu fights out of nowhere. No-one has yet written The Kelly Filmmaking Manifesto but this would absolutely be in there somehow. Incorporating a Roger Corman like stance of every so many pages there must be a Kung Fu fight. Why? Cause Bruce Lee is God and Kung Fu our religion.

This is the great potential for slow cinema in that it can disrupt rhythms and create jarring effects. In time, I'd like more of it to merge with so called low art genres like action however impossible it sounds. Ozu remains the bad side of slow cinema. He extends shots longer than necessary and anyone claiming 'transcendence' is lying in my book. So not only does this guy never develop his storylines to reveal more about his recurring themes, formally little changes either.

We all know Hitchcock used to have his characters casually talk murder (take a drink every time he does it) but even with that, he expanded formally too. Strangers on a Train had that one scene where they discuss killing together. By the time Rope came along, he took that to a new level by having the whole thing shot in the one take, maintaining the thrill of dark discussion. As though a record or document of criminality. A brief moment which will cost them forever. Filming this way preserves their final precious moments of freedom.

Aronofsky did little to convince me he had more to say about complex family relationships than what was said in The Wrestler. Always thought that was quite a wholesome movie but is it even that side that is the most interesting part of the movie? It's devotion to the 'low art' of wrestling was so admirable. I love wrestling. That tightrope of entertainment and genuinely dangerous sport with competitors giving their lives for their audience. A relatable commitment to craft, which won over even the biggest critics of the sport. Many wrestlers warmed to it showing the realistic side of the chaos in the ring with all the self-mutilation involved. Also, the fact he's picked up life threatening injuries along the way. These guys never had long life expectancies.

Another one of these great movies, which is very careful about its final frame. Picking one which immortalises its subject forever. A second later they could be dead but the director cements them as heroic and pinpoints their eternal action for how their audiences will remember them. Like Raging Bull, the protagonists attention to the ring has poignantly cost him his relationships outside of it.

Is it the very movie Barton Fink would wrote? Is it an incredible film that Aronofsky deserves high praise for or is it just sadly one of the only serious films about wrestling? More of a sad commentary on the way wrestling is still viewed and that no-one else has undertaken in studying it through cinema? Maybe it's time for less capes and more tights.

The Whale does not take the opportunity to immerse you in its world through the character's profession. It doesn't utilise that aspect at all. Unlike The Wrestler, any connections it does make between character and profession are insulting. Basically, abusing the roles that lecturers play in the development of students. No, I'm not referring to his relationship with one of his students. That was fine. What I am referring to is the way it forms this belief that academic essays are irrelevant, to be tossed out the window and what students should really be marked on is writing a few cringeworthy lines on how they feel rather than engaging in their subjects. Can they not blend such opinions in to their work rather than going to these really basic and minimal emotions of "Dear Sir, I feel sad today". Mental health is serious stuff and should always be addressed but this shouldn't mean dumbing down education.

A scene which summed up Darren Aronofsky's entire career for me is when the protagonist reads his daughters pathetic teenage ramblings in a notepad. He loses his mind because he discovers it's a Haiku. Thus, The Whale became the film Aronofsky detractors had always warned me about. A celebration of formal gimmicks in the place of meaning. The question then becomes is The Whale an accidental parody of his style because his overall message in this film is to do away with technique and get to truth, consequently exposing his creations as hollow because they are all technique? Or has he always been like this?

Confession time: with this mind I'd be apprehensive about revisiting his older movies. Movies which may have been a generational thing and those my age really took to. Nobody really wants to admit that someone they liked when they were younger is actually a fraud and has been the whole time. Unfortunately, it could well be true in the case of Darren Aronofsky.

Has anyone ever seen that interview for Black Swan? That's the one where Aronofsky gets visibly frustrated because he gets asked if Mario Bava (pictured top right) was an influence and he doesn't know who that is? Who makes a Giallo inspired movie and doesn't even get past Dario Argento? Those wanting to go that route Blood and Black lace is essential I'm afraid. Real dudes go one further and check out Lamberto Bava too. Do your research Darren and absolutely do not get angry when you're called out about it! We can let you off for some degree on the former as we're all learning but never the latter. Black Swan to a large extent was very similar to The Wrestler in being the same thing but a navigation of a more high art world, ballet dancing. Clearly though, as was revealed, when it came to his homework on the assignment he never got past Suspiria. Lazy from him that.

Requiem for a Dream taught us 90s/2000s kids all about framing and editing, diving in deep in to hip hop culture in the construction of the montages. Comparable in many ways to Trainspotting, not just cause they're drug movies but in the way those sequences are crafted. They're very of their time being assembled to fit hip hop and dance music beats. If you will, a '90s style assortment of orchestrated chaos in cinema. They're both very in tune with the direction music was going and they manufacture their movies around that stylistically.

A few years back, I finally read the original Hubert Selby Jr book and it became evident that Aronofsky hadn't really understand the social issues and the way the characters fit in to that world. He barely engages with that side, simplifying it and trivialising those aspects in favour of these impressive formally dazzling tricks of his. The book itself was more like a grittier version of Don DeLillo's White Noise. Drug addictions, dangers of television, capitalism critiques and supermarkets but in Coney Island. Strangely enough, White Noise also recently had a director butcher the book in his adaptation to the screen. Baumbach, I'm not quite sure DeLillo had mumblecore in mind when he wrote White Noise. Please stick to writing your own stuff and give us more like The Meyerowitz Stories, that was good.

My respect for Aronofsky's construction of images has also been wavering since I saw Perfect Blue. This could well be the finest anime has to offer being the Japanese version of Sunset Boulevard. Looking at the shots side by side (pictured above), it goes past influence and mere plot elements. The bath tub sequences are an exact match in Requiem and he doesn't just leave it there. Black Swan has so many lifted shots. He owes a lot Satoshi Kon, the director of Perfect Blue. Kon's comments on the 'homage' was, "it's a pitiful tale when the person being paid homage to has less name recognition, less social credibility and less budget to spend". Is there a point at which post-modernism ends and its simply imitation? This could well be it. Correct me if I'm wrong but shouldn't post-modernism be about creating new meanings from the older material? Disassembling and deconstructing to find new possibilities in art?

His shot and beat for beat narrative recreations don't really add much. Perfect Blue is very inspired by Sunset Boulevard as I mentioned but it has a distinguishable Japanese touch that is very modern. A very different kind of culture is depicted. In spite of the strong evidence illustrated, don't take this as a conclusion on the matter and proof that Darren Aronofsky is a no good shyster. There may still be a defence in his case but I would have to re-visit the films in question but as I've said, I'm hesitant to do so because it could well just topple his legacy. Consider this me just throwing things out there, going back to the beginning and trying to understand why The Whale is as bad as it is rather than firm statements.

Continuing his tradition of dedication to formalism over thematic exploration, he shoots The Whale in academy ratio to tell everyone he's making an arthouse movie but I'm not so convinced. The script and performances are absolute dog shite to the point this is closer to exploitation and trash. Had it been intentionally delivered as so, I might have enjoyed it but when the filmmakers are clearly lying to themselves about the package they're creating, it's very hard to do so. Honestly, I was shocked to find The Whale to have more in common with Limp Bizkit frontman Fred Durst's The Fanatic than I was expecting.

By that I mean in its whole relation to character and the way its director is carelessly treating them. As bad and uncomfortable as The Fanatic was in inviting you to laugh at a mentally disabled character's actions at least it was honest about it. Yeah, there was a hint of a commentary on the obsession with fame but was there any need for a blatantly mentally handicapped individual in that story? Durst was making a different kind of a movie for a different kind of crowd. One in which sick thrills go a long way and on that basis, it unfortunately succeeds. I didn't enjoy finding that film funny in places but as awful and offensive as it was, it wasn't the same deceptive act as what Aronofsky has done with The Whale. He may try to hide it with his academy ratio but he clearly finds his subject repulsive. Why else would he shoot him masturbating in grim fashion and sloppily shoving pizza down his throat.

Once the montage of aggressive pizza thrusting came in, I was like here we go again. This is a lot like Requiem's final montage to Cliff Martinez's modern classical banger Lux Aeterna. Aronofsky has a real knack for skipping getting to the heart of a character for getting right to their montage of pain. He doesn't care for the character back stories, all he wants to do is wheel the characters in, put them in the torture chamber and zap them with electric shocks. Get the next character in, repeat the process. Me being me, I could forgive a lot of this based on the skill of the assembly of the montages if he wasn't so self-absorbed in delusions of grandeur. Also, probably doesn't help his case that his greatest skill that I credit him for has come from copying another piece of work so literally multiple times.

Misery porn is a term that gets passed around a lot these days and often overused inappropriately. However, how else would you describe a man with no interest for substance or character motivation, viewing them as shells for the slaughter? If you leave out all the back story and focus on mainly wallowing in their pain, it's difficult to avoid such a label. Amusingly, when Aronofsky has delved in to the bible, he has picked the most depressing passages possible. Noah deals with God losing his entire faith in humanity and killing off everyone to cause the end of the world.

To be clear, I have no problem with Aronofsky latching on to darker material but let's not fool ourselves in to thinking he has anything to say when venturing in to this territory. He's the equivalent of a rollercoaster with cheap thrills, which doesn't bother me too much. I'm a thrill kind of guy. That experience can be exhilarating. The fact, he thinks he can pick up a few of the nerd's awards and earn prestigious acclaim from the suits whenever he rocks up in to town does. Lose that air of superiority, Darren. If you want to join the dark side, then truly join the dark side. We shall welcome you, brother.

Easily the saddest part of The Whale is that Brendan Fraser is undoubtedly channelling real pain in to the role. At this point, it is well known that he was a victim of sexual misconduct, leading to a mental decline that cost a talented man his career (we're all Mummy stans here). Some have criticised his casting with a fat suit. Not sure I can take too much issue with that because his traumatic experience did lead to a physical transformation in appearance. Maybe not to the size of the character in The Whale but I think it's fair game.

In the same sentiment as Short Round in the also awful Everything Everywhere All at Once, if this role gets him the popularity and acceptance for further roles in Hollywood, they're both great guys and I'm all for it. Literally cannot wait to see Fraser in Scorsese's Killers of the Flower Moon. It would be foolish though to deem this a great performance. He's trying, bless him but it's impossible for any actor to work with a script like this which calls for him to constantly repeat, "You're amazing!". That kind of surface level superficial positivity bullshit goes nowhere with myself I'm afraid. Was half convinced it was going to morph in to They/Them when everyone bursts in to a singalong of Pink's Fuckin' Perfect (the single lowest moment in the history of slashers).

Please don't take that as a dig at the Princess of Philly. We're fully aware that when she's coming up you have to Get The Party Started. Just as we're fully aware who the boss of Philly is. More of an attack on the context of how it was used within the scene and how it falls under the wretched Twitter algorithm cinema. Faster it fucks off the better.

Ironically, one of the big messages of the film is to retreat from the cold and technical and in to truth. As I previously mentioned, Aronofsky is incapable of this and the films demands to step outside of the cryptic constructions that come with academia to genuine honesty is so laughable. In doing so he uncovers his own inability to convey any real meaning like never before. Riding out the most basic of emotions. A director exposing his own flaws and weaknesses, does this sound familiar? What were we saying about Hitchcock on the subject of Marnie? Yet, when Hitchcock slips up, it somehow reveals more rather than less. Difference being Marnie's flaws took us further in to the director's subconscious and aided the material of the movie, whereas the Whale took us further away.

Brendan is trying to take us in to the soul of the character, in contrast his director is working against him in alternative routes. Their interests conflicting with each other and heavily damaging whatever good Brendan is trying to do. Returning to The Wrestler, both of these films take advantage of manipulating casting. They take the lead actors personas in to the movie. Mickey Rourke is a fantastic and underrated who before The Wrestler didn't have too many opportunities to prove that. Rumble Fish, Barfly and Sin City coming the closest he got to showcasing his artistry of the soulful washed up hard man. His tragic moment came when he thought he'd done a career best in The Thin Red Line as the main character and then fell victim to Terrence Malick's cutting room antics. Malick re-shaped the film in post and cut him out the picture completely. The Malick scissors, a fate bestowed upon numerous actors. Nothing to do with their acting abilities, the director just has an avant-garde method involving making the film in the post-production rather than on set.

As a result, this supposed career best performance was never seen on the big screen. Therefore, it always made me happy then that with The Wrestler he was able to have his moment and can serve as evidence of his strengths for the doubters who lower him to the status of a 'heavy'. He's that and more! In the Wrestler, he was portrayed as a man dedicated to his art and wanting to reconnect with people as a human being. Almost mirroring his real situation.

On The Whale, the lead actor's trouble outside the picture runs contrapuntal to the director's intentions. It does little with that which it brings in. Making it completely unnecessary and wasted. Hitchcock's genius was utilising his star's image on Marnie to work with the film he was making. The Whale doesn't do that. Aronofsky's eyes are on the Academy Awards rather than creating something life changing and challenging. He is content with doing the minimal amount of work to achieve his already shallow goals. Any director who concerns themselves with how the academy will take his work is doomed to fail. Court jesters and you remember what we do with them right? They may swoop all the awards come the season but they will also be forgotten about in a year or so. There's no longevity and any success is short lived.

Moving on to the other actors in the movie, what are they doing? Absolutely one note performances from all of them, which taken along with Aronofsky's exploitive sensibilities turn this in to one of those lousy rip offs of a belting '90s Michael Douglas erotic thriller jam. You know, the kind where logic is abandoned for dumb entertainment. Fear of the laws confinement is removed from the situation and all characters first decision at the hint of trouble is murder or sex. The filmmakers are too involved with providing the thrills for their audience rather than realism and I love them for it. They know what they are. They know what they're doing. They're not these old school noirs taking you on an existential journey. They get to the goods and they get to them fast. They are trash and they are great.

I see the same lack of nuance in the acting from Sadie Sink and Samantha Morton on this picture. Both of them just playing the archetype psychopath without creating believable characters. Whenever they appear, all they have to offer is threatening eyes and each time I'd be like, "oh there they are. The psychopaths have rocked up. These guys are psychopaths. They've got scary eyes. We've got psychopaths". Thoroughly stupid and hilariously so. Towards the second half, the film completely loses itself with increasingly ridiculous situations to keep the drama coming. It may have been glossed over to be an awards movie but underneath all that is the garbage. I wonder, had they stripped this off to what it really is, would this have made it more or less uncomfortable? There's definitely an offensive body horror hiding in here amongst the second rate exploitation thriller and finding it would inevitably in poor taste but at least it would be honest.

Out of nowhere, when it's nearly completely lost itself in the field of a 90s erotic thriller with everyone out to sabotage each other's lives with drugs and fuck each other over, it makes a last ditch bid at respectability by being a sugar coated corny Robert Zemeckis movie like Forrest Gump. Our obese protagonist, confirms his love for his daughter by walking towards her unaided and dying in the process. This is obvious from the unbelievably stupid decision to have Brendan Fraser floating in the air. There's something very much lost there in the final images. Sure, The Wrestler may have drifted from the family drama with its heroic final image but it cemented his love of the sport. Alternatively, The Whale goes on far longer than it needs to cementing nothing but silliness. In contrast, the genius of The Wrestler is that any silliness that occurs as a result of the heroic action are not shown and on some level don't happen. A few frames too many this time, Darren!

When the credits rolled up with Darren Aronofsky's name, I'm ashamed to say I let off a long snigger and burst out laughing at how preposterous it was. Reminded me of that in movie from Kaufman's I'm Thinking of Ending Things when 'Directed by Robert Zemeckis' flashes on the screen. An incredible gag that applies to The Whale. Pure parody. In another world where The Whale was not deemed a so called masterpiece, I might have ironically applauded it but given the support its received, it doesn't seem appropriate.

Concluding the strand on family relationships, Aronofsky and Ozu may be interested in the area but they're both frauds. Paul Thomas Anderson remains the king of that arena. Whether it's his runaways, strays and social outcasts bandied together by collective failure in Boogie Nights or the bastard son whos father failed to form any connection with him in his capitalist pursuit of greed and wealth in There Will Be Blood, PTA is the unquestioned master of family matters. Spielberg's generally alright too when he's not making films called The fucking Fabelmans. I'll leave it to those braver than myself to revisit Aronofsky's catalogue and have the final say on whether he's always been a fraud and fooled us all. However, we'll continue to champion his guerrilla spirit on Pi. That's the one with the mathematicians and religious nutcases not the one with the tiger.

Mentioning Ozu again takes us back to slow cinema. Robert Bresson is a fellow slow cinema director whom I hold with higher respect. This man uses similar techniques to Ozu with the extended shot lengths but he's far more playful. He manipulates all forms of narration (visual, voice over and written) to experiment with the concept of truth and perspective. He'll tell you something will happen via a voice over, he'll show someone writing about an event in a diary and then he'll visually depict the event itself. What's interesting is then what he does with the rhythm, how it'll still throw you off and leave you in a state of suspense and uncertainty at how reliable the information is presented. Finds multiple ways to reveal details in order to establish their authenticity and still finds a way to challenge the viewer.

This is exactly the part that captivates me. Ozu does not have this in his arsenal and so there is little effect in his style and it has no purpose. There's no outcome or pay off, it's boring. A Man Escaped is Bresson's masterpiece with Diary of a Country Priest and L'Argent on the next shelf down. Pickpocket and L'Argent make use of his repeated close ups. L'Argent the stronger of the two as it uses his style in a wider sense to emphasise that money is more than currency and what happens when it changes hands. Instead of a Scorsese movie, the transition isn't slick, it's cold and mechanical. It captures class at each level the bills are exchanged.

Don't let L'Argent being a late career effort put you off, Bresson's resentment for society's diminishing values still shines through. In Au Hazard Balthazar, Bresson switches money for a donkey. Currency swapped for goods. At each turnover of owner, society loses a piece of itself. Beautifully shot and economical as any of his films but is there a human quality missing? Isn't that also the point to focus on the suffering of animals and the loss of humanity? To say I've strong answers here would be an understatement. Although well established as one of the best films of all time, it continues to ricochet around the walls of my head and refuses to settle.

Bergman's comments on the film were: "this Balthazar, I didn't understand a word of it, it was completely boring to me...a donkey to me is completely uninteresting but a human is always interesting". Godard's thoughts counter this with, "everyone who sees this film will be astonished. Because this film really is the world in an hour and a half". So which is it? The premise has always had potential to be laughable with it basically being a high art Babe. On paper it could well be a plot for a silly kids animated movie. However, there is no denying whilst there is no central human protagonist, the decline of humanity is still visible. Since so much of the information is revealed visually, it is a film to be watched over and over to unlock its full mysteries.

Unhinged urchin Todd Solondz once made his contribution to animal cinema with Wiener-Dog. An excuse to tell an anthology story with each new owner. Unlike Bresson, its director doesn't care too much for his creature, seeing it more as a macguffin to connect the characters. A term made by popular by Alfred Hitchcock of all people, referring to a device that has great purpose to the plot but in itself no significance. Usually used in spy movies to drive the action. Think the Rabbit's Foot in Mission Impossible 3. By the end, Solondz kills off the poor doggo by having it run over brutally multiple times, grinding it in to the tarmac, until it can achieve its next cinematic role as Flat Stanley. Most definitely, a moment of black comedy that proved a little unforgivable for some critics. As soon as he has no use for it, having finished his story, the logic is that the animal has to go. Give him a break, at least he helped get the dog his next casting role. It's hard out here for dogs in Hollywood.

Do I need to remind you, no dogs were harmed in its production? Back to Bresson. His animal plays more of a central role than a simple plot device. A passive observer forced to endure suffering. Therefore, the donkey is elevated to a Christ like status or divine figure. The very animal used to traverse in to Nazareth so already there is holy status. This donkey is God's final bridge to us all, his final call and the connection is severely lacerated in our treatment of this gift. In similar fashion to the biblical story, we fucked it up. Yes, we sure made an ass of him. There had to be a donkey joke somewhere, I'm afraid. As opposed to Aronofsky, the severing is explored and we do not just lazily skip to God's wrath.

Recently, one of Poland's greatest directors Jerzy Skolimowski loosely remade Au Hazard Balthazar as EO. Previously seen about 3 of his films. The Shout is a gem of a movie. A British cult classic that plays like a cross between Stephen King and Martin McDonagh. On look alone, Deep End could well be a Giallo but it chooses to be some nonce shit. Very overrated but it does have a cracking sequence to Can's Mother Sky, where a kid buys multiple hot dogs and slithers through the sleazy underbelly of '70s London. Out of the three, Moonlighting is the magnum opus.

How to even describe Moonlighting? A twisted social drama? A dark comedy? Jeremy Irons is a Polish contractor leading a bunch of workers to do an illegal job in London. They're called in to fix up a house as it be cheaper to fly them in than using English workers. Business isn't included in their visas so they cannot make it obvious. It humorously opens with them sneaking the tools in to the country in compartments of bags. During their stay, the military coup occurs in Poland and they can't leave. Problem is they only come over with about a grand. Wanting to get the job done and destroy 'morale', Irons chooses not to tell them about their exit route being off the cars due to the political turmoil. A reasonably easy task because he's the only one of them who speaks English.

Over the film, he resorts to all sorts of sketchy plans to keep the boys alive such as robbing bikes and running turkey scams on the local shop. Soon as the alcohol comes in along with Hans Zimmer's early electronic score (his debut), it slips in to the psychedelic with a creepily unresolved ending. Effortlessly political at the same as being an accessible black comedy thriller. The part when they buy a cheap telly that cuts out during a Liverpool match and vent their frustrations by hammering the walls down to Hans Zimmer Black Rain style is a highlight.

Now in 2022, at the age of 84, Skolimowski has given us another classic. Despite EO and Au Hazard Balthazar both featuring donkeys, they are actually quite different. Whereas, Bresson's film is operating on a transcendental style, Skolimowski's film is working towards one. One could call it a fan being interested in someone's work and discovering more about their influence over the course of the movie by emulating the style. A loving homage to the master. Naturally, Skolimowski's films is more emotive. Not sure anyone has ever been as cold, technical and precise as Bresson. This causes Bresson's film to be predetermined and calculated with the outcome. Mind already made up and so this arguably reduces the impact.

EO serves as The Last Temptation of Christ counterpoint to the classic tale. The switch is flicked slightly and we see less of the divine figure and more of the human side. This adjustment has always made these characters more adjustable to me. There's a point at which you just switch off slightly because there's no sense of struggle when someone is practically invincible. EO's donkey is more susceptible to his environment and so we get more from his perspective. He starts off closer to a real character rather than a symbol. Notably though, by the final frame that's when he becomes a symbol. A near martyr. Another fallen brother, way harsher than anything Bresson had in mind. Lands better. There's the sense of a real journey with Skolimowski's version where you reach an end point rather than starting at one. If you take in to account the two stories and styles, EO then becomes something of a prequel both narratively and thematically.

Fully welcoming of EO's modernised elements. We're hit with a bunch of things Bresson didn't have access to in his day. We're talking drone shots, metal songs, lasers and 2001 Jupiteresque sequences. Without a doubt the same person who was interested in snapping up a pre-film fame Hans Zimmer and commissioning him to test out electronic scores. To go back to Hitchcock and make the relevant comparison, the equivalent here would be Vertigo and Déjà Vu, to mention that silly Tony Scott banger once more in this issue. Albeit, EO has a slightly less ridiculous plot and doesn't grapple with the constraints of time travel and the studio demand for a happy ending. Aside from that, the idea is the same, riffing on a classic with the new technology available. My man Skolimowski even gets his love of football in there when EO becomes an ultra. Full scarf and everything. Unfortunately, this doesn't last too long as a bunch of nasty hooligans beat up our beloved donkey. If there is a hell, I hope these guys are in it and when I eventually end up there with them, I will make it my duty to see that they are punished adequately. You have my word on that. No-one fucks with EO.

Folks, we've talked about whales, we've talked about donkeys, we shall now turn out attention to horses. Equines. The big beasts of the west that helped out the cowboys and continue to serve ranchers. Their legacy has been damaged by horse girls but besides that these are delightful beings worthy of respect. It is time to reclaim them. Sell your cars, throw away your bus passes and buy a horse. Actually, maybe not if The Turin Horse is anything to go by. Put off watching this masterpiece until the other day. Despite seeing traces in films of transcendental style over the years, this film proves it does in fact exist and this could be the best way to use it for the entire run time of the movie.

Bela Tarr's (no relation to Lydia) The Turin Horse opens with an unproven story from 1889 about how philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche witnessed the whipping of a horse in Turin. The story goes that he stepped in between the victim and its abuser, wrapping his arms round the horse's neck and weeping until he lost consciousness. Said event was meant to be so traumatic Nietzsche suffered a mental breakdown, which he never recovered from and never wrote again. Big fan of using rumoured stories and biblical tales to set the tone of a movie (A Serious Man being a memorable example) so this went down a treat with me.

Our director was also not far from the end of his lifespan too with this being his concluding chapter and final film. He uses this anecdote to leapfrog in to many of Nietzsche's ideas. Be prepared to stare death in the face watching this. The death of the characters. The death of God. The death of humanity. It's an invitation to see what Nietzsche saw. To stare in to the abyss and firsthand experience how his thinking came about. Unlike that clown Aronofsky, this pushes deeper in to how the death of humanity comes to be rather than merely jumping in to the apocalypse. Step by step you witness the plummet.

How best to show the aging process and gradual turn towards the end of the days than through slow cinema? In his book Sculpting Time, Tarkovsky wrote that, "I think that what a person normally goes to the cinema for is time: for time lost or spent or not yet had. He goes there for living experience; for cinema, like no other art, widens, enhances and concentrates a person's experience –and not only enhances it but makes it longer, significantly longer"

Furthermore, in Hitchcock/Truffaut, Hitch himself states, "The ability to shorten or lengthen time is a primary requirement in filmmaking". Already made mention of how slow cinema is about the manipulation of time using techniques in editing with regards to shot durations. Tarr masterfully orchestrates these to capture slow deterioration. In this instance, the style and set up meet head on giving each other new meaning and justification.

The Turin Horse's brilliance lies in how it focuses on style to express its ideas. Throughout, there is very little in the way of dialogue and little is explained narratively. In fact, the film is very much anti-narrative mainly consisting of mundane actions such as cooking potatoes, gathering water from a well and staring out windows. When you repeat actions like this, after a while the slightest occurrence outside the routine is terrifying. The simplest of actions given the greatest weight. An unexpected knock at the door could be death and his horse drawn carriage ready to take you away. Similar in effect to Jean Dielmann, the house wife who's chores don't go as planned and her life falls out of balance, except with that film it establishes what it sets out to but doesn't maintain it. My question at the end was ok, you've made your point but is there a reason for it being this long?

On the other hand, The Turin Horse maintained its sense of doom and I was immersed for the full length. Slow brooding music may have helped. A big no no for some slow cinema purists but fuck them. What's good is good, right? Tarr found the contemplative state he wanted to take you with precision. He only has 30 shots in the entire movie across 155 minutes and each is meticulously controlled. This then leads in to the argument of how long is the correct length of a shot to both establish meditation and maintain? Is this subjective or is there an accurate collective human measure? Is it an exact science? An obsessive study of the compositions involved basically becomes fucking math rock for better or worse.

Where I'd defend The Turin Horse would be in the same way as I'd defend Bresson. They're icy cold craftsmen but there is a meaning to what they do. In The Turin Horse, I think I have found transcendental style in the purest sense. Some say this belongs to Deyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc and they might be right, I'd have to revisit it with the style in mind. However, The Turin Horse is the first time I've been convinced by it. Whilst I haven't read much in the way of Nietzsche, through the form I was able to feel all his ideas successfully and get the meaning. A spiritual/religious experience on the nature of God not through the substance of the text but through a specific style.

That is through specific camera placement and extended shot lengths with extremely minimal narrative. The style then inevitably becoming the substance. Not a substitute, not equal to but eventually the same thing in synthesis. Everything I'd read about and often disagreed with finally proven. To say I was blown away by The Turin Horse would be an understatement. I have seen transcendental style. It exists. In the words of Leonard Cohen, 'Hallelujah'.

The Whale:

EO:

Bonus Points:

Bonus Points:

-Made me want to get a pizza

-The Brenaissance or whatever we're calling it

Overall Score: 1/5

-E.O becoming a polish football ultra with the scarf and everything

-Drone shots, Metal music and lasers

-The Last Temptation of Christ alternative

Overall Score: 4.5/5