Issuu

Vol. 2 Issue 8: Getting Personal

In this Weeks Issue:

Page 1-Mama, Take this Badge Off of Me: A Portrait of Peckinpah Raised by the law. Turned rogue by himself. Set loose upon the Hollywood studio system. Cinemas biggest badass, Sam Peckinpah. With each passing day his reputation as one of America's finest filmmakers grows. However, Funeralopolis firmly believes every film fan should know this man's name. Speak it. Share it. Here we break down every single film in his catalogue. From his television origins to his genre defining westerns. From academy award nominations to cinema penitentiary. Cuffs to dollars. Blood to bone. Beware, along the way you will have to confront an evil within yourselves.

Page 11-No Uncle Boonme, No Party Past Lives looks to be a strong contender come this year's awards season. However, it wins no favour with this rag tag mag. Normally, it would be beneath us to even bother reviewing such garbage but since everyone's sucking it off 'til the cows come home, we thought you might like to hear an alternative opinion.

Page 15-Post Saw X Analysis Over a Full 3 Course Chinese Sit Down Meal with myself I Was a terror since the public school era. Bathroom passes, cutting classes, squeezing asses. Smoking blunts was a daily routine. Since 13, a chubby Kelly on the scene! Over a three course sit down Chinese meal, Kelly sits down with Kelly to discuss the new Saw film, the 10th in the franchise, which some are calling the best one yet. This is your invitation to return to the year 2008, blasting Biggie and appreciating the genius of Detective Mark Hoffman. Sticking with Saw is no easy task, it takes an odd kind of person but these people exist. An in depth examination of what a real Saw fan looks like. Degenerates of the world unite and roll in their filth. We are all waiting to be tested by Jigsaw himself. Some more than others.

Page 28-Endless Blue Old school television hit differently. Instead of these quick 10 episodes we have today, seasons ran well over double that and so revisiting these pre-prestige shows can be daunting in their length. They have their rewards though and if there's one programme we should revisit it's Michael Mann's Miami Vice. A trip back to the '80s with Memphis Style as far as the eye can see. Cocaine on the rise. Ronald Reagan on the war path. If this review of the classic episode, Definitely Miami (Season 2, Episode 12) with musical guest star Ted Nugent can't convince you to check it out, nothing can. Budgets and resources have increased for television over the years but Miami Vice still looks a million bucks. More style in a single episode than Marvel's entire catalogue. Modern cinema could do with learning from this TV Shows visual and aural narration. In just a few pages, this review attempts to get to the very essence of what Miami Vice is all about. Elsewhere, Kelly, Ricardo Carvalho and Electric Six take a ship by the name of The Glittering Jewel and head to Wales. It's strictly packed lunches, boat themed playlists and sunnies. The boys are going on a 3 hour tour. All aboard!

Mama, Take this Badge Off of Me:

A Portrait of Peckinpah

They punched him. They kicked him. They hung him out to dry and they left him to die. Time after time. But he fought back and did some hellraising of his own. The unapproved butchered truncated versions of yesterday are being forgotten. Replaced by the heroic restored versions and over time this director is increasingly being recognised as a master of subversion right under the studios nose, leaving his stamp on every piece originally conceived as routine work. Where the Hollywood hack's saw the western as a form to be copied over and over for guaranteed profit, he saw a universal frame within which to place contemporary commentary. The blood of Vietnam oozed across his yellow desert canvas. He was raised by law men and he rebelled against that exploring all the territory the legal system couldn't. To watch his work is to witness Ford's patriotic purism exposed as the work of an ignorant child whilst the shades of morality and the complexities of codes bleed on to the screen. Time is our test and we are our own judge. Once the credits roll, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Cries from behind the camera of, "If they move kill 'em". And that includes you. No audience was ever treated as a passive spectator in this man's movies. If his presentation of violence scares you, it's because he's saying even you possess it. Man is beast and years of evolution has not taken away our primordial instincts. We cannot ignore it, we cannot pretend it's not there, we cannot let it rule us, we must learn how to use it. Ladies and gentlemen, the biggest badass in cinema. Sam Peckinpah.

The Deadly Companions (1961) Fresh out of university, Peckinpah got himself a good gig as Don Siegel's assistant. Hence, why you'll see his name attached to noticeably big projects early on such as the original '50s classic Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Originally hired as a dialogue coach but taking on greater roles as time went by. On Siegel's recommendation, Peckinpah was able to work on a few of television's hottest western shows like Gunsmoke, Have Gun – Will Travel, The Rifleman and Broken Arrow. However, the show that really established his name was The Westerner, for which he wrote and directed several episodes and garnered great acclaim. During this time he was able to learn from the best, being taught the various slow motion editing techniques that he would later become so recognisable for. After The Westerner was over, its star Brian Keith signed up for The Deadly Companions and who would he suggest for the role of director? You guessed it, Mr Peckinpah. The Deadly Companions would set the tone for Peckinpah's entire career. For his debut he comes up with the most marvellous story about a man who never takes his hat off because he may or may not have been scalped that ends up accidentally shooting a child so he agrees to join the mother in taking the body to be buried next to a grave that may or may not be the boy's father and along the way they form an understanding. Sadly, so much of the picture is destroyed by studio meddling and over involved producers. Against his wishes, the ending was changed to this contrived one that does not fit with the rest of the film and characters betray comments they make in previous acts. Also, the producer wouldn't allow Peckinpah to give direction to the female lead, Maureen O'Hara who was his sister. O'Hara would go on to trash Peckinpah by saying he didn't have a clue what he was doing. I'd go on a rant about how she's not exactly Lauren Bacall (Who is though?) but time will get to her first. This dull prude and party pooper may have been one of the longest serving women of the studio system but in 50 years nobody will care, whereas Sam Peckinpah will be forever on the lips of aspiring filmmakers. Often, what would happen many times in Peckinpah's career is that after the critical beating and box office disappointments, the studio would then invite him back to reedit the movie how he would have originally intended and that is exactly what happened here. Unfortunately, though by the time he was asked to come back for this one, he was long gone and too busy to accept. It's a testament to his abilities that his skills still shine through on the picture. There's these near psychedelic scenes of Native Americans continuously hunting them and when they look for the boy's father's grave there's a real poignancy. Going forwards, Peckinpah decided in future he would always demand full script control to see his vision was not compromised.

Ride the High Country (1962) "All I want to do is enter my house justified" are the words spoken by one character in Ride the High Country. This is a direct quote from Peckinpah's childhood, his father would often repeat this phrase and so this sophomore effort marks a turning point with a more personal touch. Those wanting to see the first signs of distinctive artistry will find it here. For it is here this respected figure initially revealed to us what a Sam Peckinpah picture really was. Codes becoming compromised. Modernity crushing the landscapes and the lives these characters once called home. Shot in glorious CinemaScope, the backdrops are simply gorgeous. It recalls one of my favourite of Anthony Mann's contributions to the western, The Far Country. Both tell tales of golden greed and the final conquering and also corporatisation of the west. This realisation that the freedom and the numerous possibilities that came with the endlessness of the plains was destroyed. Dreams were shattered and as they reached land's close the hard work was for nothing as all they really did was sell off true beauty to the highest bidder. America's people had no more control over their lands than they started with and the rich firmly cemented their position as rulers. The west was lost.

I hear that if you have seen Scott and Boetticher's collaborations (I have only seen The Tall T) this becomes even more interesting as it is in direct conversation with those prior efforts. The reputation for Ride the High Country has grown in recent times with many critics pushing the message of "revisit, revisit, revisit". And they are absolutely right because it's well worth it. You may be asking yourself what did the studio (in this case MGM) do to try to sabotage this picture. The cut remains intact as intended but they were under the impression it was terrible and so tried to bury it at the bottom of a double bill. As Nicolas Winding Refn said when Amazon tried to bury his innovative TV show, the last truly great TV show to result from the oversaturated prestige and auteur television era, Too Old To Die Young, "you can't bury a diamond". Ride the High Country would go on to win prestigious prizes at Cannes and have many critics calling it the film of the year. Begging the question, when will these fucks learn?

Major Dundee (1965) Can someone tell me how it's been 18 years since they put out the 136 restored version and the closest we'll ever get to how it was intended and still this isn't considered a western classic? It's currently stuck in the 'near great' categorisation. Surely it's been long enough to surpass that and get a full reevaluation? Unfortunately this is not the case and so we're dealing with one of the most underrated westerns of all time. Upon initial release, it was heavily chopped to pieces, reduced from 150 minutes to 125 and the story is it could have been worse if Charlton Heston hadn't stepped in and given his full salary back to the studio (Columbia) so the director could have more autonomy. It sure is a fucked up thing when the studio become so detestable and unsupportive they make Mr Cold Dead Hands appear the hero. I'm backing this film until the end because it emphasises the most why Peckinpah is in another league entirely to John Ford. It will be of serious interest to those who have seen Ford's cavalry films that established him. My criticisms of Ford remain the same, that he's such a fucking patriotic purist that his ideas of the west quickly grew outdated, unlikeable and naïve. Playing ball, sure he deserves credit for actually showing what these people did and what they stood for. There's a vision there alright. No-one tackled the profession of cavalry men with the level of detail he did. However, the purism always destroyed the realism for me. He showed us the clean theory and idealism as practice and I never really bought it. There's a real naivety to it and notable short comings to the approach. Either you have to believe in that bullshit or you're forced to enjoy it for its camp value. As Jigsaw said, "make your choice". Instead, Peckinpah makes this Dirty Dozen type picture (in which confederate prisoners fight on the side of the unionists). The only sides are the sides of man and his ability for violence. He gives us the unionists, the confederates, the blacks, the Native Americans and the Mexicans and as usual the real enemy is within.

Peckinpah has a tendency for uncomfortably throwing children randomly in to the narrative amongst all the violence and chaos. Yet, when he does it's not Return of the Jedi. It's no excuse to sell toys and pedestrianise plots for cheap stabs at sentimentalism. No chance, this guy, like myself despises any sentimentalism and when he does venture that way he always despises himself for it making it all the more beautiful in its rarity and authenticity. Alternatively, his use of children tends to be to make crushing points. He views them as naïve and pure souls with an inability to perceive good and evil in anything other than simple terms. If you ask me, he's mocking John Ford. The cavalry trilogy may have respectably set the foundations of the genre but it's the revisionist directors approach to characters, which distances easy labels of good and bad that adds complexity and is more relatable to modern day audiences.

Noon Wine (1966) After the disaster of Major Dundee, this grounded low budget TV movie had to be made to get him out of movie jail. Although tolerable for TV Movie standards it remains one of the worst of Peckinpah's career with dull theatrical staging and a lack of flair with the shootouts. Sitcom level limited camera set up and none of the blood spurting or flash cuts in the editing process. Only the writing is a triumph in putting his name on it. None of this bothers me though because it worked. Noon Wine went down a treat causing them to take the cuffs off our outlaw of the studio system so he could then go on to create his masterpiece The Wild Bunch. Film is a strange game that I struggle to make sense of every day. Auteurs in the studio system are not these guys who bust out masterpiece after masterpiece. Such an image is an illusion. Completely false. In reality, they are rebels who have crashed the family car multiple times but they keep finding ways for Dad to keep handing over the keys time and time again. You show them the back door and they find a side entrance. They're hustlers, swindlers and con men. They do whatever it takes to get their movie made.

The Wild Bunch (1969) I would be of the strong opinion that this would be the greatest western from an American director. And therefore a mighty contender for the best movie of all time status. Then again I'm a romanticist for the end of any era and this is the big bloody send off. Arriving just in time for the decline of the western. The going out party. Unusually structured like Reservoir Dogs with the heist placed at the start, which goes horribly wrong. They ride in to a town where kids make scorpions fight ants and the only loot they leave with is bags of washers, setting the tone for the entire movie. Time's up for the gang! A surreal journey to make it back home amongst a rapidly fading landscape like The Human Condition Part 3. This is the end of the line, the end of the trail and the end of west(ern) with modernity seeping in as the old way of life slowly disappears and "all you can do is pray for a quick death, which you ain't gonna get". Death is the only certainty so all you can do is work on your exit strategy. Will it be honour or cowardice? Technology advances people but in the process they lose a vital part of themselves. So toast to the death of codes in a brutal bloodbath that is sure to be enjoyed by fans of masculine action classics like Seven Samurai, The Train and Once Upon a Time in the West. It also has the hardest quote in to a "Directed By" you will ever see in the history of film. During the robbery, gang leader Pike Bishop, gives out the order of, "if they move, kill 'em" and boom straight in to the director credit. Movies don't get any harder than that. Perhaps, the most violent vision of the west and it's a miracle a studio ever made it. For some time, I have believed the superhero genre needs to take some notes from The Wild Bunch. Since the genre is going down the toilet (if it wasn't already down there to begin with), they may as well bow out with their heads held high and just make this violent epic send off. Look to Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns, Grant Morrison's Arkham Asylum and Sean Murphy's White Knight. Finally, show us these characters aging rather than being stuck in a surreal sitcom like The Simpsons. The effects on the cities that bare superheroes. They've answered the question of why they put the mask on many times, now we need to know why they keep it on. This was almost achieved in Logan but when you hear about Wolverine coming back for Deadpool 3, what does that say? It says they can't go out with honour!

The Ballad of Cable Hogue (1970) Far from what I'd call typical Peckinpah fare but he has this peculiar habit of following his most violent pictures with lighter ones just to fuck with the haters and keep them on their toes. Respect to anyone who operates like that. Constantly in conversation with himself and challenging the very image of what a Sam Peckinpah picture is perceived to be. Certainly one of his most personal outings, where critics go "shit, he has a heart!" Or "It's not all blood and guts after all!". Personally, I see the humanism in all of his works. As he said himself once, "I'm a student of violence because I'm a student of the human heart" as well as, "the whole underside of our society has always been violence and still is. Churches, laws – everybody seems to think that man is a noble savage. But he's only an animal. A meat-eating, talking animal. Recognise it. He also has grace and love and beauty. But don't say we're not violent". Therefore, to me all his pictures have a strong beating heart and if anything a movie like The Ballad of Cable Hogue has slightly less of one because it's obvious and has less of the contradictions. Humanity is powerful because of what it is has to compete with, what it has to overcome not for what it is alone. Regardless, there is still a man seeking redemption at the centre of The Ballad of Cable Hogue and so I cannot say I don't warm to it. The Coen brothers have made an entire career out of their metatextual deconstructions of noirs and westerns, they even have a title similar to this with Buster Scruggs but there's definitely a lot of this in Raising Arizona.

Straw Dogs (1971) Back to brutal. Peaceful detour over. His nastiest picture so far, leading Pauline Kael to call it, "the first American film that is a fascist work of art". Considering her favourite director was DW Griffith, it escapes me how she can come to this conclusion. Fascist? Perhaps. First? Absolutely not, Pauline. Straw Dogs arrived a time along with A Clockwork Orange in the early 1970s, when people were questioning whether British film was becoming too violent. When in reality they should have been tackling the questions of what was in the films. Distracted as always by the wrong element. As you may have noticed though, I mentioned this was British, Peckinpah shot this one in Cornwall, leaving me absolutely baffled how he managed to maintain the local dialect and still carry across his voice. Nothing is lost in translation.

My first meeting with Straw Dogs was back in 2017 and I still recall it like it was yesterday because it released a demon in me, one that I've been trying to make sense of and try to channel it for good ever since. Over the years, I've encountered many films like Straw Dogs with Deliverance and Wake in Fright coming to mind quickly but what makes this stand out for me is that it is a Pandora's box. You see there's a time before you watch Straw Dogs and a time after it. Frustratingly, it teaches you that it's there and that you need to deal with it but now how to, leading to one of the most bleak and darkly funny final lines ever. Dustin Hoffman drives in to the dark future, smiling at the irony as he admits he no longer knows what "home" is for him, having potentially lost his wife, house and own dignity in a single evening. The 4 walls are down. How can we ever re-build it like it was? You got about as much chance of putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. No man was ever safe from time in a Sam Peckinpah picture, the road ahead is always uncertain. Although not an out and out horror film in form or iconography, Straw Dogs remains one of the scariest movies ever made as it brings you face to face with something you pretend doesn't exist and refuse to acknowledge deep within. Even mild mannered Dustin Hoffman, who didn't take a stand back in Yankeeland has it in him. Returning to the film more recently, the characters only seem more complex. Hoffman plays this academic type, making his descent in to the barbaric all the more shocking as he would be regarded as society's most civilised. His wife does not seem a suitable candidate for him, being intellectually inferior, prone to boredom and promiscuity. Hoffman is trying to write a book, whilst she continuously interrupts him and sabotages his work.

These back and forth mind games they play like chess until the ultimate act of betrayal when the wife is raped. Normally, I would never consider rape by an outside party to be an act of betrayal in a relationship as its forced and all that defending honour for as long as you can is bullshit. There's no choice involved and so it shouldn't be considered unfaithful. Straw Dogs rape differs though because there's a strong case to say the wife is absolutely getting her rocks off, which is why to this day the film remains controversial. How many big movies can you name where that's occurred? A woman enjoying rape, that's a conversation no-one wants to have. At first, the perpetrator is presented as a sleazy unreliable narrator but it slowly comes to fruition that the two of them may have actually had a history together. Later, she turns on her husband Hoffman by letting the perpetrator back in to their home as she sees her rapist as more protective and reliable, making some rather twisted statements about the allure of masculinity and its connection to violence. The rape scene itself has a touch of genius with its intercutting of Hoffman and the rapist who are in two separate locations but through the effect appear together. Whilst his wife is being raped, Hoffman is out doing some hunting as he pathetically shoots at some birds in the sky. Through Peckinpah's intercutting technique, Hoffman is implemented in the act and his emasculated nature revealed. Like Witchfinder General, this could have easily been considered a western so it really isn't difficult for Peckinpah to handle a modern day setting. In many ways it serves as an improvement on Man of the West (in my opinion the finest western of the '50s) but with Peckinpah's fingerprints on it having read some Robert Ardrey, a writer who theorised that man can appear civilised only up to a point, that point being when their territory is questioned. When this line is crossed man returns to a primitive and bestial state. Hence why the famous tag line for Straw Dogs was, "Every man has a breaking point". Somehow in the face of cancel culture, talking about these things only seems more controversial than ever. If you're shocked by it and repulsed by it, then good. No director accepted it and confronted it quite like Peckinpah. Want to know what it is? Let me allow the man himself to explain, "I rise up against all those that hide or ignore the social and moral aspects of violence. It's part of our existence; it's within us. I recognise that I am a violent man. I believe that human begins must try at any price, to recognise and track down the violence brewing within him. This is also one of the artist's roles. The most dangerous people in our society and any society are those who ignore their inner potential for violence...There is a great streak of violence in every human being. If it is not channelled and understood it will break out in war or madness".

Junior Bonner (1972) As Peckinpah puts it, "I made a film where nobody got shot and nobody went to see it". Catch me in the corner like Christopher Moltisanti shouting, "Junior Bonner, I liked it!". There was never an issue with the critical reception, only that old chestnut of no bums on seats. Don't you just hate the game of numbers? Junior Bonner's the type of soulful quiet film that gets me all rambunctious like a late era Paul Schrader movie that speaks to me directly. Thematically it has its links to the great neo-westerns of Hud and The Lusty Men, covering the lives of ranchers and rodeo men in days following the wild west when the destructive forces of modern capitalism emerge. Something gets me all hot and heavy about the idea of the rodeo, especially the aging men still caught in the scene. Dumb jackasses refusing to take off their cowboy hats and boots, risking their lives to evoke the old traditions and provide their townsfolk with some entertainment to brighten their day. 8 seconds in the saddle before the bull throws them off is their goal and that 8 seconds is everything. Life stops and all meaning and purpose comes down to that 8 seconds. These local losers are like heroes to me so a movie like Junior Bonner probably moves me more than it should. It's another softer response to a violent previous film but this one has less of the annoying quirky aspects Ballad of Cable Hogue had. It's truthful and honest, it really moves me. There's quote in particular that summarises what this film is about to me, Junior's business minded brother confronts him and says, "I'm working on my first million and you are still working on 8 seconds".

The Getaway (1972) Poor financial returns on the compassionate Junior Bonner led to the cuffs being hooked back on Peckinpah's hands and another stay up in cinema penitentiary. The quick thinking front man and alibi Steve McQueen had to present Hollywood with Jim Thompson's novel and promise of a more commercial project to allow Peckinpah early parole. Critical verdict was generally divided between those giving in to it as entertaining and those who considered it empty. In retrospective reviews, there is acknowledgement of where Peckinpah makes this his own. The script comes from Walter Hill, who like he did with The Driver, updates noir classics like The Killing and The Asphalt Jungle. Peckinpah picks up where he left with Straw Dogs by having two couples committing the crimes and locked in a game of professionalism. So it does have that Melville style use of pulp as character study even if it is to a lesser degree. Obviously, in Peckinpah's hands its every bit as ferocious as what William Friedkin would dominate the '70s with. There's a truth to all the differing takes on The Getaway, it's no Straight Time or Le Circle Rouge and it's definitely closer to The Outfit in standard but I'd have definitely been careful not to say anything too negative about it at the time. Can't be getting in the way of a good character reference sent in to grant early parole. Annoys me that you'd attack this film knowing Peckinpah's clearly playing the game and finding his way back in to the system. Sadly, Hollywood doesn't protect its directors like France, so you have to visualise the long game and not get in the way of the sneaky tricks. Things could get worse than having the coolest motherfucker to ever grace the screen, Steve McQueen, shooting at the cops in broad daylight for some good old heist action. Thankfully, the ploy worked and the fish took the bait as MGM funded him to make what would be his next masterpiece...

Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid (1973) Back in his writing days, prior to being in the director's chair, Peckinpah wrote a script on Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid that was then reworked in to becoming what we know today as One Eyed Jacks. Marlon Brando's single directorial effort that is rumoured to be Martin Scorsese's personal favourite western. Eventually, Peckinpah went back and dug his old script out, polished it off and gave us this incredible piece. Expectations were high as it would be his western follow up to The Wild Bunch. Everyone was left disappointed by a disjointed narrative that didn't flow and its meaning was incomprehensible. In plain, the studio were wanting just another quick re-hash of an old story and didn't care for Peckinpah's interpretation of an old story. They wanted the studio hack and not the artist. Did Peckinpah make a bad movie? No, he did not. Once again the studio (MGM) had tampered with his vision and released the truncated version at 106 minutes. Why? Why? Why? They keep fucking doing this and it's for the benefit of no-one. It really pisses me off that they would repeatedly do this. In anger, nearly the entire cast removed their names from it, setting a new record for which there wasn't enough Alan Smithees about to fix the problem.

Against the studios wishes, Peckinpah went and re-edited it to create the preview version that lasted 124 minutes, which he showed to his family and friends to prove it was no failure. On the back of completing Mean Streets, Scorsese witnessed this cut and hailed it Peckinpah's best film since The Wild Bunch. The reputation of the preview version grew with each screening and consequently it was released on video in 1988. Now as a slightly more commercial release, critics could see how it was intended and so began the re-evaluation. After it was being talked about as one of the greatest westerns, a more official release arrived in 2005 at 115 minutes, referred to as the 'special edition'. For those conflicted over which version to choose, the special edition has my vote. Its closest to what Peckinpah had in mind and looks the best because the sad part is when you make a rogue cut on the side you don't always have access to the original negatives and so the quality can notably drop in places, which can't always be fixed later with the Blu-Ray. Their main use is in fixing narrative issues and pissing the studio off.

Most importantly, the Special Edition retains Bob Dylan's 'Knockin' On Heaven's Door'. Peckinpah believed Dylan (who had never written a film score before) had been pushed on to him by the studio and his usual composer Fielding had been dismissed unfairly to account for modern tastes and trends. Therefore, he removed as many pieces as possible from in his version including the main single. The star of the picture, Kris Kristofferson would later state, "Unfortunately Sam...had a blind spot there" and that the use of Heaven's Door was the strongest use of music he had ever heard in a film. I can only agree. When it comes on, you get this wide shot of the lake cutting straight in to a mid-shot of the guy looking straight in to the camera whilst holding his bleeding chest as he takes his final breaths. In the last year, no moment has touched me in cinema quite like that one. It was a direct assault on the soul. Maybe that was the moment, when the old west(ern) died then and there, before our very eyes. It will haunt me as an image until I die.

During the early '70s, popular music began to infiltrate its way into film. On the underground circuit, Kenneth Anger would kick off this idea with his experimental short film Scorpio Rising. This would then influence Scorsese, who would play hit after hit in Mean Streets. Westerns would see the change in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and McCabe & Mrs Miller. If McCabe & Mrs Miller was Leonard Cohen's west, then Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid is Bob Dylan's west. For those yet to experience this beauty, remember the opening scene of The Big Lebowski? When The Man in Me strikes your ear drums and the joyous feeling can only be described as unmistakably homely. Imagine that but for 2 hours straight. Arguably, it's a spiritual sequel to The Wild Bunch with this whole idea of trying to come back home one last time and live this peaceful existence before your time is cut short. This tragic story whereby you pick two directions: one of freedom, where you live on the run forever being chased and looking for your next score. Or you join the law, compromise every ideal you ever had and sell out all your friends just for regular pay. No longer wondering about your next meal but having given up any reason to live. Weirdly feels exactly like the two directions that have always been presented to Peckinpah working in the film industry so it feels so damn personal. Yeah confession time, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, The Wild Bunch and Once Upon a Time in the West can fight it out for the best western of all time but Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid is my personal favourite. Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid ends with Garrett shooting a mirror to emphasise him losing a piece of himself and then riding off into the distance. Peckinpah, a PTSD war vet, was known to shoot mirrors in anger and after the poor response to this film, he went riding off in the distance (Mexico) with people wondering whether they would ever see or hear from him again...

Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974) Despite being absolutely mind blown by the artistic beauty of The End of Evangelion and As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty, this remains my personal favourite new watch of 2023. Apparently, this is Takeshi Kitano's favourite movie of all time, really illustrating the dark and comedic places this sun drenched horror western goes to. It's a film of real anger and self-loathing, arriving when Peckinpah was in the midst of serious alcoholism following a breakdown brought on by the experience of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid's mauling by the studio and critics. Therefore, it offers the rare opportunity of seeing a director lose the plot in the most artistic way before your very eyes. Being able to do the switch from violence to wholesome demonstrates a remarkable range and it's all well and good but there's no topping the switch from violence to all out insanity, making one two pounding of Pat Garret and Alfredo Garcia probably the best two film run in film history. You may never see a grimmer and more morbid plot either. Upon hearing that his daughter is pregnant, a gangster puts a contract out on the soon to be father's head. As you may have guessed the father's name is Alfredo Garcia. Garcia's friend, a Piano player, Bennie (Warren Oates), takes on the mission and drags his prostitute girlfriend on board. The task should be simple, considering Bennie knows that Garcia is already dead and better yet where he is buried. Together, they journey towards the grave to collect the head of their former friend.

A common criticism upon release was that this road movie runs out of road quickly. However, I believe these critics miss the point entirely. The nothingness and despair along the way is the point. This is a form of storytelling where you start with the small and incidental, then you carry that all the way until it becomes this Herculean task in a psychedelic surrealist sense forever changing the lives of every character involved. A kind of magic near impossible to replicate as the director channels in his own inner breakdown, bordering on the truly disorienting existentialism that the Coen brothers are known for. Making this an absolute treat for fans of No Country For Old Men, Fargo and Barton Fink. Man of the West makes its return in a horrible Straw Dogs style moment. There's definitely a novelistic approach in the narrative that could be described as near Burroughsian and you don't just fear for the characters but for the filmmaker too. His regular producer Gordon T. Dawson never worked with Peckinpah again after this and said, "he really lost it on Alfredo. It tore my heart right out". You can really feel that watching the movie. Reflecting on it, Peckinpah later expressed some positivity in that good or bad, it was his film without the usual studio meddling. Good for him. When we're dealing with a scarred alcoholic roaming the Mexican countryside with his prostitute girlfriend, picking out crabs from his pubic hairs, proposing to her whilst in a field in the middle of nowhere, caving in to insanity and talking to a decapitated head, I can't think of a story which captures the entire experience of what a Funeralopolis story is meant to be. Completely disgusting, horrible and near irredeemable but under the surface oddly romantic and hopeful. If you can get on its level.

The Killer Elite (1975) This has little to do with the convoluted dumb fun thriller starring Robert De Niro, Jason Statham and Clive Owen shared to baffled audiences in 2011. Although, they are both near nonsensical and difficult to follow. That is something they do share in common. The Killer Elite is regarded as one of Peckinpah's worst films. Well, what happened here is that its star, James Caan, introduced the already alcohol addicted director to cocaine. Probably not the best idea in hindsight. Caan self-rated the film a 0 out of 10. Peckinpah was famous for stating that he couldn't direct a film sober. Whilst his career is generally proof of this statement, The Killer Elite is evidence that there is a too far though at the other end of the scale. Despite being lumped in with The Getaway as empty entertainment, there are those who defend it by picking out the battle between mercenaries caught in a proxy war as being an allegory for Peckinpah's treatment by the studio. This may be reaching but it's hard to stay mad at coke fuelled movie with ninjas and surprisingly great set pieces. Pauline Kael may be right though about this being a genre satire. My man's just having a good time.

Cross of Iron (1977) By most accounts, his final work of true greatness. His only war movie and yet he seems right at home in the genre, playing it out as you'd expect with orgiastic violence, pure cynicism and a subversive tone only Samuel Fuller could match. A stylistic trend of Peckinpah's that divides people is the slow motion, unique cutting and squib heavy antics. On this subject, he would say, "well, killing a man isn't clean and quick and simple. It's bloody and awful. And maybe if enough people come to realise that shooting somebody isn't fun and games, maybe we'll get somewhere". Even today, his method of filming violence is still striking because it stretches the moments out longer to capture the pain involved and how some events can be perceived to last longer than they do. He communicates this manipulation of time through his particular techniques that are as recognisable as a Monet painting. Therefore, I can only approve and compliment the style.

Iron Cross is not your typical war movie, joining All Quiet on the Western Front in being from the German's perspective. Don't let this fool you in to thinking this is an endorsement of fascism. Peckinpah has used the entire thing as an excuse to basically put men alone together in a bunker discussing their own misogyny, notions of class and primitive urges. The war giving them full reason to finally fulfil them. Politics is the sham. The song and dance. War is the truthful extension when no-ones watching and the law holds no value. Exactly, the kind of apocalypse Peckinpah has been building to throughout his career. As Coburn's character declares, "at least here we're free". For the millionth time, in case we didn't know, Peckinpah hates his fellow man. Almost as much as he hates himself. This is his final warning to take control of man's urges, otherwise get used to these troubling images on screen because this is the world we shall live in.

Convoy (1978) A noble attempt at recapturing the success of the low stakes popular favourite Smokey and the Bandit. Naturally, this causes critics to lump it in with The Killer Elite and The Getaway as part of his empty entertainment pictures. The ones where under the influence of alcohol and various drugs, he struggles to subvert them and put his own signature on them. Let me make it clear though, if you want to find the gold in these weaker efforts, be my guest. Wouldn't stop you. Considering I happen to love those easy going old '70s AIP and NWP carsploitation movies, Convoy was nothing but pleasurable. Plus, like I do with the aging rodeo folk, I have a real soft spot for the 'trucker' character. Hence, why I love the trashy Dennis Hopper movie Space Truckers probably way more than I should. Any unpretentious movie about working class outlaw heroes sticking it to the law is alright in my book.

The Osterman Weekend (1983) And so my man goes out with another of these commercial 'empty entertainment' films like Convoy, The Killer Elite and The Getaway disappointing all the critics. Look, there could be worse things than getting back on the coke and hooking your claws in to some Robert Ludlum. Peckinpah's bizarre re-imagining of a Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy type movie deserves to be seen for its coke fuelled mayhem. True to form even on his final movie, the studios took the film away from him and re-edited and so we had to wait years later for the final version. Just a running joke at this point isn't it. Yet, even in the extended version, this is still very convoluted and illogical becoming near impossible to keep track of who's on who's side. Peckinpah doesn't seem to care much. He's just having fun with the set pieces and parodying the paranoia of post-Watergate thrillers. Therefore, it's meant to be a little confusing going more for this psychedelic spy movie like Videodrome. Semi-convinced he thought he got sent the wrong Ludlum novel and accidentally adapted Jason Bourne instead. Or perhaps that's just the way Ludlum operates. This big pile of nonsense strangely became Peckinpah's highest grossing movie. At the end of it all, I don't think there's anyone who would have preferred Peckinpah not to go out with a masterpiece. Even the defenders of his commercial projects. Personally, I've always wondered why this man was never handed Blood Meridian. There will never be anyone more suited to the project than he was. Making it forever a tragedy. Perhaps, the greatest in cinema. Regardless, we have to recognise sometimes commercial entertainment is needed to stay in the game after financial flops. Not many studio directors other than say Tarantino or Nolan have the luxury of being able to sit and plan their careers out. Fact is the majority of directors have to take what's given to them and do the best with what they can. Peckinpah once jokingly referred to himself as a whore ready to be pimped out at any moment but he always had a sense of humour and treated everything he came in to contact with a hint of irony. He fought from within and attempted to make everything his own, once stating that, "I want to make westerns the way Kurosawa makes westerns". Essentially, acknowledging that the form is already there as template but you need to filter in your subconscious if you want to have any hope of being an artist.

Forever chased by his own inner demons, alcohol and drugs allowed him to wrestle with those artistically. Admittedly though these could occasionally make him volatile, losing control over pictures as they slipped in to being decent routine studio hack jobs rather than the subversions promised. At the same time, this is a tough game and sometimes you've got to be clever to stay alive and by being clever that means being dumb. In all honesty, if having shootouts with cops, bar fights, car chases and crashes, CIA conspiracies, ninjas, assassins and working class truckers are considered real low points in your career, then you're probably the best director of all time. Every time I watch one of his restored cuts, it really moves me to think this man didn't get the kind of critical appreciation he deserved in his time and any respect achieved has been gained over time and through trusted followers who kept the faith. In spite of the critical bashings, he just kept going and going. Through the madness, the violence and the addiction. Further and further in to himself. Creating these masterpieces, refusing to compromise and then time proving his greatness. I hope he entered his house justified and throughout this I have managed to convey a sense of why this director means a lot to me. Lastly, I will close with this quote about him from Paul Schrader, "Sam really was an outlaw sensibility. He did not feel comfortable in civilised company. And the only way he seemed to be able to make a film was if he got himself in such dire straits that he'd be forced back to work. A lot has been written about the poetry of violence and how he was able to take very violent stuff and personalise it in a very sad and beautiful way. It moves me a lot. One of the things I like about Wild Bunch, which I think is a great film, is it doesn't shy away, you know, here are some people, they're killers, they're psychopaths, they're chauvinists, they're misogynists and they're fascists but God help me I love them so and I'm gonna make a movie about them and he can simultaneously convey his love for these people without trying to make them look better than they are and you know there's a complex morality there that's kind of exciting. Peckinpah's artistic struggle was like the struggle of a drunk pulling himself off the ballroom floor until he fully got prone on the floor he really wasn't able to pull himself back up so his greatest work really comes from the notion of you know you thought I was out but here I come back. I think Peckinpah is a great American director".

No Uncle Boonme, No Party "You're talking a lot but you're not saying anything!", says the supremely talented David Byrne in the Talking Heads hit Psycho Killer. Such a statement applies when discussing A24s latest uninspired offering Past Lives. A classic reminder that just because you shoot this all fancy doesn't change the nature of the source material. What is this you ask? This is basically a John Green book. Written quickly and lashed on to the shelves every summer for a white girl to pick up in WH Smiths before her big beach holiday. Something low stakes and easy going that can be read by the pool in between beverages. Please don't see that as an attack on that market. Had this movie have played out in the manner fitting to its classmates, I'd have probably respected it more. There is simply no need for all these pretentions. Call up Julia Roberts, Emma Roberts or whoever the fuck, let's get the wine in and have a good time. What we don't got to do is pretend we're something we're not. Past Lives announces the arrival of yet another fraud in new comer Celine Song. The next in line to spoon feed cheap Asianness for all the American fetishists out there and reap the rewards. Have we learnt nothing from hacks like Chloe Zhao? But oh how we must praise this as we go one ladder up from orientalism. This bandying around movies based on false progressiveness over quality is a sickness. Streaming services getting out their support cards out and having entire sections dedicated to themes such as "Black History Month" only irritate me personally. Are you going to tell me that movies such as Black and Blue and 42 represent the peak of black artistry? Either put in the work and find the talent or don't bother because quite frankly its embarrassing and a complete mockery to these cultures. Luckily, Past Lives is nowhere near as disgusting in content and as incompetent as John M. Chu's Crazy Rich Asian's but to call it a pleasant experience would be far from the truth.

As a young cinephile, Korean cinema really opened up to me towards the end of the 2000s with the explosion of their twisted revenge thrillers, psychotic horrors and violent crime movies from the likes of Bong Joon Ho, Park Chan Wook, Kim Jee Woon, Na Hong-Jin and Park Hoon-Jung. After completing the catalogues of Scorsese and Tarantino it seemed the next logical step and finding such depraved titles was easy as it was all delivered to us neatly under the banner of 'Asia Extreme' from the Tartan film distribution company. A potentially controversial form of marketing with its exploitation of Asian weirdness. Truth is though, without it we wouldn't have been exposed to such great movies. Naturally, it makes sense for us to now turn to exploring what female Korean directors have to offer. All part of A24s continued youthful hip appeal. Honestly, I'd be struggling to name talented female Korean directors. This is not even a question of tastes but an acceptance that in our present time they are yet to really emerge and explode in the west like the boys before them. It's only been in the last 20 years they did that too, we need to accept these things take time. Therefore, what we should be doing is tackling this issue by supporting their industry further to create greater opportunities for female filmmakers there. Promotion in the manufacture. The problem lies in when this strategy soon becomes let's celebrate the perceived progressive conditions of the films over the actual quality. I stand by: if we're not there yet, we're not there yet. So Let's not kid ourselves.

Past Lives is another shallow attempt from A24 at relevancy by picking at easy targets to win over the kids by tugging on heart strings and false progressivism. They're going down the drain rapidly. They've changed their strategy from weirdness for weird sake and not even that weird for a completely routine romance. Men and The Whale were dog shit too but at least they were amusingly awful in their desperate strains at success. Whereas, Past Lives is simply bland.

Since the trailer was so obvious in its intentions in presenting this cliched love story of a married woman who must choose between her current committed husband and childhood best friend, I was under the impression that somewhere along the line there would be subversion. Had to be right, considering the attention this film has been getting? You go in especting the usual format and secretly it's telling this whole other story beneath the surface that's far more interesting? Think again. Two of my favourite romance films of all time are Hiroshima Mon Armour and Chungking Express. Both are romances with backdrop. Living on top of the ruins of the rubble or between two competing cultures. The characters in Hiroshima fear their traumatic pasts and the characters in Chungking Express fear their future. We have the aftermath of the Hiroshima bombings and the approaching handover of Hong Kong from the UK to China. These characters are trapped in their times and dealing with the wrongdoings of western cultures. So amongst this you get these battles for personal identity with the threat of outside influences. This all exists beneath the surface. You go in expecting by the book romance and you're hit with the full weight of history. Chungking Express and Hiroshima, those are fantastic romance movies. Ultimately, the question you have to ask yourself with Past Lives is, how much does it teach us about the experience of being a Korean American? I propose this, it teaches us next to nothing about such an extraordinary cultural clash. Often, a technique to establish the definition of something is to show the other. What would the typical Korean lifestyle be like and what values do they hold? We never see all that much of Hae Sung or learn anything about him, especially considering the first hour is spent mainly in front of computer screens. Other than that we see him with his boys in a takeaway during the early hours of the morning after a night out. That's how takeaway expert Jacob Kelly spends every weekend, getting loaded on kebabs and various inedible looking rubbish that looks delightful after a drink but sadly is not. Sorry, how does that differ from the typical westerner's weekend?

There are no marks available to Past Lives when it comes to its unsubtle script (something even its supporters have picked up on). In the opening scene the themes are bluntly spelled out as an unknown narrator asks us to consider the love triangle before us, to challenge our cultural first impressions and work out who is Nora's boyfriend the American or the Korean. Aren't we supposed to visually make this connection? Where is the respect for audience's intelligence round here? If you thought the movie was off to a bad start there, wait because it gets worse. John Magaro, who I thought was absolutely hilarious in The Many Saints of Newark as young Silvio Dante, is given some of the worst lines in film history on this occasion. I shit you not, this is a direct quote, "What a great story this is, childhood sweethearts who reconnect 20 years later and realise they were meant for each other. In the story, I would be the evil white American husband standing in the way of destiny". Ugly metatextuality masquerading as intelligence but really just substituting for a lack of intelligence? How disgusting.

In another clumsy scene, Nora brushes her teeth and passive aggressively rants to her American husband about her childhood friend. "He's just so Korean!", she blurts out repeatedly. What does that mean though? You have not shown me what that means? If it meant what it seemed to be suggesting, this is even worse because it was so arrogant and ethnocentric. Perhaps, you could accept it in a solid character study but this is all over the place. Wong Kar Wai, Mr Romantic himself, goes all out when he depicts the selfidentity confusion of east and west in Hong Kong. There's the McDonalds looming in the backgrounds next to the local street food market stalls. There's the repeated close ups of clocks and sell by dates. There's the freeze frames at the brutal point of intimacy. There's Christopher Doyle's deliberately and gorgeously blurred and layered cinematography. There's the non-stop playlist of Mamas and Papa's California Dreamin' juxtaposed with Faye Wong bangers.

Where is the technique in Past Lives? Because it's definitely not coming through on the tin eared script. Defenders will point out that it is a slow film of quiet glances. No, this is not a film hidden in the gazes or anything even close to that. Go back and watch Claire Denis's Beau Travail. A movie where every glance from a character, every head turn. That's the story. It's narrative through physicality and movement where dialogue only reveals so much. One where inner sexuality is hidden behind its characters eyes and subtle gestures. Celine Song doesn't have the same understanding of film as a purely visual medium.

These actors aren't good enough to carry across the sense of longing required for this kind of film to work. They gave me nothing with their faces. We're not dealing with real people as there's nothing to them. They're the template for a movie with none of the intricate details filled in. A twee score cannot hide the utter nothingness that lies within. Looking back at the stills from the film, all I see is glorified Google stock photos. The very type people edit in to memes and jokes. There is no genuine emotion in them. Nothing beautiful is captured. I didn't care for the characters because I didn't know who they were. There was no effort made to establish their connection. Flashbacks to their childhood may have helped. Although, I can understand this was going for more of a trust or belief in the abstract and flashback images may have cheapened that. It relied on something more spiritual which I never felt. Past Lives is both soulless and Seoulless. Can Past Lives be enjoyed as a dumb rom com? Well, firstly, this is incredibly difficult because of how much it thinks it is above such trashy material. However, even as a routine romance this fails ridiculously. Locations do not vary. People spend their time in dark bedrooms speaking through laptops or engaging in shallow pillow talk. There's no spark or life to it because they're trying so hard to be this arty restrained anti-romance. Conversations are particularly dull and merely take you through the motions avoiding cultural discussion for standard set up in nearly every instance.

Structurally I cannot fathom Past Lives at all. It takes one hour of the running time to get to the question the trailer asks in the first place. Which man will she choose? There's very limited exchanges and a lack of intimacy with Hae Sung and so you never see their relationship build enough to feel the tension of the films question. The audience can only have faith in it because the filmmakers don't do anything to suggest a connection. Typical rom coms can be guilty of being obvious and overly sentimental but they wear their emotions on their sleeve and there is no desire to deceive. Often, I even warm to the cheesiness of a pop song no matter how overused it may be. Past Lives is under the belief that is above all this and there is nothing more embarrassing than having that big ego, thinking you're all clever and then failing to deliver in going the alternative route. I can't help but think how much better this would have been if instead of spending one hour and the equivalent of two acts Skyping, they couldn't cover this in the first fifteen minutes and got Hae Sung to America quicker? Earlier this year, we got Are you There God, It's Me, Margaret?, which has its roots in girly book trash but completely managed to create this wonderful piece of pop art that was both wholesome and rich in its examination of a little girl torn between her parent's two religions. I much preferred its vibrancy and fast pace with the music selections. Past Lives works as neither art or a trashy rom com. Back in 1996, when the shit Manc band Oasis won some award they probably shouldn't have won at the Brit Awards, in an on brand moment, they rudely mocked and called out their slightly less shitter Cockney rivals, Blur, by wishing to thank, "all the people, so many people" who "all go hand in hand through their shiteeeeee lives". This was the exact sentiment I had watching Past Lives. Also, I can't sign this one off without asking where was Uncle Boonme's fucking cameo?

Director: Celine Song

Bonus Points:

Screenplay: Celine Song

Cinematography: Shabier Kirchner

-Minus points only for Uncle Boonme's exclusion

Music: Christopher Bear, Daniel Rossen Production Company: CJ ENM Distribution: A24

Overall Score: 1/5

Country: USA Run Time: 106 mins Budget: 12 mil Plot Synopsis: Two former friends sit and stare at each other over Skype for an hour. Eventually, they meet up and realise they have nothing to say to each other and go their separate ways once more

Post Saw X Analysis Over a Full 3 Course Chinese Sit Down Meal with Myself Kelly: I'm Jacob Kelly and I'm with Jacob Kelly over at Jumbo City Restaurant in Chinatown. The Time is 2am on a Saturday morning. Liverpool is freakishly quiet tonight. There's a cold chill in the air. Most of its citizens are now in bed or grinding on people to Pony in a dingy club. Instead, Kelly is having a sit down 3 course Chinese meal and is going to discuss Saw X. The 10th film in the Saw franchise, for those who don't understand Roman numerals. He's a self-confessed Saw fanatic and he's itching to go. So, Kelly. Let's begin with that starter you're tucking in to. What got your attention there on the menu? Kelly: Well, actually I ordered 2 starters

Kelly: But to be clear you didn't actually restrain this person or expose them to physical harm?

Kelly: No. No. Nothing like that. It was all power of suggestion. In the mind. Derren Brown shit. Kelly: Did she... you know... get out the trap? Kelly: Absolutely not. She couldn't figure out how she was trapped and it sent her in to a real existential crisis. Probably didn't help that I picked the one bird who'd been smashing the ketamine all night. And I'm there saying your whole life has led you to this moment. So she went in to a real hole and this trap really pushed her over the edge.

Kelly: Can you do that?

Kelly: What happened to her? Kelly: Look my friend. Let's get one thing straight right now. I don't follow the rules Kelly: Don't let Jigsaw hear you say that! Kelly: Truthfully, I'm more the think outside the box type. Strahm pen to the neck. Hoffman face first in to the windows, you know?

Kelly: She ran off to the toilets crying and her boyfriend's trying to keep up with her whilst she's screaming, "Kelly's put me in a Saw trap!". Next thing I know everyone's coming round wanting to know what's happened. Asking questions and one guy just goes, "Kelly's putting birds in Saw traps again" Kelly: Again? Oh no. Habitual offender?

Kelly: The master strategist? I don't think anyone could know how they would respond to a Saw trap until they were in one, right? Kelly: I am an expert in escape. I would get out of any trap. Although, I have never been in a Saw trap. But I've seen enough. I did once put someone in a Saw trap though

Kelly: You put someone in a Saw trap? Kelly: Yeah, I was at this gaff and things were slowing down, so I was like I'm gonna have me some fun. I made eye contact with this bird I knew. Told her to come to the side where it was quieter. Then I say, "you're in a Saw trap"

Kelly: I don't recall doing it before but I'm not saying I wouldn't do it again

Kelly: You had a taste of God, a taste of Jigsaw, and you want more? Kelly: I'd definitely be more careful next time. In the end, I think her boyfriend put her to bed, then he comes back in and I'm asking if she's alright ready to apologise and that. And he just says, "It's all ok, but maybe don't do it again" Kelly: Jesus Christ. And what's that thing you're currently chomping on? Appears to be some sort of dough ball

Kelly: This is Char Siu Bao

Kelly: You put a bird in a Saw trap? Kelly: Yeah man. Pulled up the stopwatch on my phone and everything. Said you've got 3 minutes to get out

*He's chomping really loudly and messily and I can barely hear him speaking

Kelly: Char Siu what? Kelly: Char Sui Bao.

Kelly: Ah Char Siu Bao, I think I've heard of it actually

Kelly: And who's better?

Kelly: Who's better, what? Kelly: You were right, it's like a dough ball but on the inside there's some pork right there. You see? Just as a little treat. You're thinking this is fluffy. This is very good. And then BAM MARGERA, it hits you. Just gets even better. Really takes it up a notch. I'm a big fan of things that appear to be one thing and then like they switch it up. Really improves my day. Kelly: And you often get this for a starter?

Kelly: Does Jigsaw not test the wicked? Kelly: Good, Good. That brings us straight back in to Saw. Let's talk shop. I see you've put down the Char Siu Bao and you're rubbing your hands together

Kelly: Just Saw, isn't it? Gets me excited. There's nothing quite like it. I, Jacob Kelly, live for a good game of Saw. Like bring one out every year. Come Halloween, we need it. People get all like doesn't it get repetitive? And I'm like no, we watch football every week don't we? To me it's the same thing. To me it's more than a movie, it's an event. It's a game and John Kramers like Jose Mourinho

Kelly: Out of 2pac and Biggie? Kelly: Oh come on, you can't ask that one

Kelly: I'm asking right now, come on Kelly: Well, it's complicated isn't it. Biggie realised his potential. Made fun jokey pop rap. Had incredible flow cause he probably had lungs bigger than Willem Dafoe's cock. Nice beats and he's chatting about doing this and that in the bedroom. It's sexy, it's stupid. I like it. 2pac didn't realise his full potential but on paper he should be better. He was the more ambitious and serious of the two. I think his Mum was like a Black Panther or something. So when he started his lyrics had more weight but his production was fucking awful. Boring overused samples like ESG's UFO-Kelly: Didn't Biggie sample that too?

Kelly: Yeah but his slapped to be fair. Anyway, 2pac then met Suge Knight and just dumbed it right down. Basically just copied Biggie's style with that All Eyez On Me album. Kelly: You don't like All Eyez On Me?

Kelly: John Kramers like Jose Mourinho Kelly: Just mind games on top of mind games on top of mind games! Kelly: Jumping way back. How was it you originally got in to this franchise?

Kelly: Must have been 2008, around the time Saw 5 came out. So that would make me what? About 12 or 13? Something like that. First time I watched it was back at Kevin Godley's place. First time I smoked a joint was with that man. One day he just goes, "Right today I'm going to buy some weed and if you want to smoke some you can, ok?". And like that we were on the road to becoming heroin users and ruining our lives because weed is an awful gateway drug that should never be touched. Maybe a bit of a fabrication there towards the end but yes fun times. There was Saw, there was joints, there was 2Pac and Biggie.

Kelly: It's got its bangers. Can't C Me goes hard. I love that George Clinton intro. The blind stares of a million pairs of eyes. Lookin' hard but won't realise. That they will never see the P! They're all jams though, which is fine but if it's just pop commercial dumb shit, I prefer how grotesque and satirical Biggie gets. 2pacs more blunt. But that's not to say it doesn't work on Hit 'Em Up. Not as good as Who Shot Ya, is it though? Biggie was definitely funnier. He dressed it up a bit. My favourite 2pacs are the early ones like Brenda's Got a Baby and Dear Mama. Bit more soulful.

Kelly: So? Kelly: So, what? Kelly: So who's better? Kelly: For fuck sake.

Kelly: I want an answer now, 2pac or Biggie?

Kelly: And the ending change?

Kelly: Alright. It should be 2pac but it's Biggie. There you got it. Kelly: What kind of answer is that? Kelly: It's the best one you're getting. Anyway, I don't even listen to either of them that much these days. It would be Wu Tang Clan I'd pick up on a few months later that would change me Kelly: So as you said, you were watching Saw movies, smoking that wacky backy and listening to 2pac and Biggie. What did you first make of the Saw films? Kelly: I remember it well. I went round and we started off with The Exorcist, which weirdly enough I double billed with Saw X. They had The Exorcist director's cut on at the cinema for the 50th anniversary.

Kelly: That's the worst part. The original has this mysterious ending where Father Dyer is looking at those stairs and for me that's the movie. As an observer was all this real or beyond our whole understanding. But they change it in the director's cut to something more hopeful with cinema addict Kinderman trying to get people to go the pictures with him again. Going for this "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship" type ending. Between the mystery and Casablanca, I pick the mystery. Talking of the mystery, I come out the cinema and you know what I seen? Kelly: What?

Kelly: They caught 2pac's killer! Kelly: That's mad. Kelly: This life is strange.

Kelly: And what do you think of the director's cut? I know a lot of people have their problems with it

Kelly: And so what did you make of the first Saw then back in 2008?

Kelly: Flawed definitely. The original version is a masterpiece though. Blumhouse have tried to copy it time and time again but fail every time because their scripts are contrived. The beauty of The Exorcist is that it exhausts every possible thing. From science, to religion, to humour, to comedy, to the family unit, to child actor abuse. These days though it's come like Alien where I love the quieter moments. The Exorcist on his holidays. Karras moaning in boozers about losing his faith.

Kelly: You know what we actually started with the second one

Kelly: Alright and what's the problem with the director's cut then?

Kelly: I was blown away from the opening scene. There was something so strong and disturbing and visceral about that reverse fly trap with the key behind the eye. These traps test us in the most primitive way. Both the character with survival and the audience for their tastes

Kelly: There's meant to be a few scenes added in the middle and if there is, I don't notice them. They don't bother me. The flash cut editing of the demons face. Doesn't bother me. The spider crawl is actually great, it's just wrongly placed. Generally the film does a great job of balancing the horror and comedy in a shocking way you don't see any more but that one isn't smooth at all. You get that spider crawl that catches you off guard and you start laughing. Then it goes in to that close up of Regan in bed with the brooding atmosphere. I don't like that. It's jarring.

Kelly: Was that not confusing? Kelly: Considering they spend about 20 minutes each movie filling in the plot holes of the last movie, not that confusing Kelly: That's the one in the haunted house, right? And what did you make of Saw 2 then?

Kelly: If I remember he doesn't even try to cut away at that eye Kelly: He's a pussy. I hate the ones who don't even try. They deserve to die. Saw 2 even has that needle in the haystack with Amanda. One of the only ones that really makes me feel ill. That and the rack in Saw 3. Most repulsive hands down though is the pigs. It takes a mad mind to come up with something like that.

Kelly: None of this puts you off eating?

Kelly: That's a brutal brawl that one

Kelly: I always eat when I watch Saw

Kelly: I love 3 for that, it's so obvious that Saw was always envisioned as a trilogy. They wrap up everything in that one. I love those scenes of Amanda and Jigsaw preparing the bathroom trap together

Kelly: And what to you, Kelly, makes a good Saw trap? Kelly: For me it’s not necessarily the most brutal ones but the audacity and weird pleasure you get from well-planned out and orchestrated ones that come together nicely Kelly: When the emotional stakes are high? Do you have a favourite trap? Kelly: Sure do. End of Saw 3 when there's that operatic Mexican stand-off going on. Jeff has a chain saw at Jigsaw's neck. Amanda's got a gun pointed at Jeff's wife. It's like this closed loop and they only improved on it in the later films by adding more people connected to this game. It's Hoffman's masterpiece really just designed to kill everyone off. He predicted all of it. I love that guy. Kelly: He picked that up off Jigsaw in Saw 5 didn't he? Kelly: He reads minds. He gets human behaviour. That smug face of his in the glass coffin is a classic. Kelly: What did you do after watching the second one, go back to the first? Kelly: No, we were too far gone by this point. It was on to the next one. Mid way through Saw 3, this other mate of ours appears with a shit mix-Kelly: Now that's a word I've not heard in time Kelly: Proper kid thing to do isn't it? Like raid the parents secret cupboard and pour whatever in to a flask. No care as to the taste. How it comes out is how it comes out. You'd only do it now as a dare or something.

Kelly: Preparing the bathroom trap, which at this point you'd never seen? Kelly: True but I just love the way it flows, the use of the music Kelly: When did you go back and watch the first one? Kelly: The next day. I got home having seen the 2nd and 3rd, downloaded them all off PirateBay on to a memory stick. Yes, this was 2008. Then I got in the bath and hit play.

Kelly: Hold on, you watched Saw in the bath? Kelly: Yeah, I had this whole set up like Margot Tenenbaum. Used to watch Saw movies 'til I pruned Kelly: You watched Saw in the bath? Kelly: Come to think of it maybe it was like a Pontius Pilate thing. You spend so much time rolling about with these characters. All of them bad. Even the cops portrayed that way. The worst of the worst. The utter filth as they try to find some redemption. Maybe that's my attraction to the series in some ways. In the same way I'm in to Schrader and Peckinpah Kelly: You are aware most people when they spice up the bathroom. They light up a few candles. Relax. Maybe get a bit romantic. That sort of thing, right? Kelly: This is my romantic. This is my relaxation.

Kelly: Would a Saw fan understand this? Kelly: Bring back the shit mix

Kelly: We've gone too far back in time now

Kelly: A Saw fan would absolutely understand this.

Kelly: This is dangerous territory

Kelly: Was having the time of my life though between all these joints, the shit mix and watching Detective Matthews taking on Amanda

Kelly: And how would you describe a typical Saw fan?

Kelly: Would you say there's a mythology to Saw?

Kelly: Someone who enjoyed Seven but thought it wasn't enough and in some This is Spinal Tap way wanted to take it to 8. They dress like people in The Matrix with long leather jackets and maybe some steam punk goggles. They probably like industrial. Nine Inch Nails, Maybe Rob Zombie. Saws very Nu Metal as well isn't it? There was that Chester Bennington trap in Saw 7.

Kelly: Mate, it doesn't even play by its own rules. It's a victim of having too many different writers after the first three. Originally, it was Leigh Whannel's baby but after that it was open season for anyone. It's one thing for one guy to have a controversial view but if there's many different people with different controversial and political takes, you've got no chance. If you start examining it in that way, you're going to get very confused quick. There's the whole personal thing that's something of a joke now. Jigsaw says to Hoffman like it can never be personal. It was personal when you put your doctor in a trap, it was personal when you put your child's killer in a trap, it was definitely personal when you took on the whole US health care system. They've even made the tagline for Saw X about it being personal. But then again maybe he means you can pick people close to you but you have to be a partial judge, I don't know.

Kelly: It's funny you mention Nine Inch Nails, Saws composer was an ex-member of theirs wasn't he? Kelly: Charlie Clouser my man. You know he got that theme from the creepy piano tune in Eyes Wide Shut? Kelly: What?

Kelly: Yeah, just decided to keep that going faster and faster towards a climax. Everyone always talks now about the link between the torture porn cycle and the post 911 civil liberties that were abused at Guantanamo and that. I think Hostel was better for that cause of the xenophobic fear of the foreigner angle involved but I always liked how Saw seemed to tap in to the alternative cultures of the '90s and early 2000s. James Wan doesn't get enough credit for that. All those silly jarring handheld camera movements, the 360 spins, the blue/green colour filters. It could be a music video for any band from that period. This was when James Wan could be considered something of an artist and not the hack he is today. His films are so ugly and bland now. Kelly: So there was a relevancy to Saw?

Kelly: Absolutely. The critics would avoid that but I think stylistically and visually it captured the culture of that time better than most films. Even in the most disturbing ways. Jigsaws selection of victims is massively outdated when you watch these back. He picks on the mentally ill, the drug addicts and the cutters. However, these were sadly things very much part of the alternative cultures back then so if anything it works in its favour giving it some authenticity. Even if it does give it a strange right wing conservative stance that critics would get lost in like they did with Halloween. As always, the critics take things too straight.

Kelly: Like Judge Dredd? Kelly: Indeed. It's very arrogant, it's very fascist. But hey, like most fascist things it's very entertaining on the big screen. I try not to get to in to that side any more. A lot of it only ruins it for me. I literally rewatched Saw 1 the other day. And the bathroom trap is meant to be this series masterpiece. And yeah the journeys fun. Adam and Lawrence have very homoerotic vibes going on. But there's a few things here that ruin it for me. If the game fails, Lawrence's innocent wife and kid have to die too? And why is Zepp involved? Wasn't he nice to Jigsaw in the hospital? All people say on this is that he bad mouthed his colleagues to John. So What? His colleagues were sleazy degenerates who treated their wives like shit, who cares? And what's with all the VS traps that came after Saw 4 where one person has to die? None of it seems fair to me. I don't mind Jigsaw having these outrageous politics, could they at least be more, you know, consistent? This is why I like Hoffman, he just rigs the shit out of it. He's just a straight up killer. Out to end his enemies. Nobody stands a chance. He's a parody of the whole thing. An absolute joker of the highest order.

Kelly: So what you're saying is the key to enjoying Saw is with tongue firmly in cheek?

Kelly: So when it comes down to it, you prefer the overall games to the individual traps?

Kelly: Definitely. Avoid the politics, embrace the procedural. That's my advice. One aspect they really got right with Saw 4 to Saw 6 was the format. Critics gave them a real kicking but I liked their avant-garde ways of being economical. Building sets that linked in to each other so they could quickly go from the game to the detectives trying to work out its location. Back in 2008 again, I have memories actually of when Saw 5 came out, I recorded it on TV (when people did that before on demand) and noticed when I put it on to watch it had already been watched. My father had snuck in a cheeky viewing as late night television, which is exactly what this is, late night television for the curious. A cure for insomnia. I guess there is a whole sleepless boredom voyeuristic aspect to it. Everybody has some form of fascination with the traps, hence how it got the name torture porn because they're like these musical numbers or money shots. There's a sort of peep show thing going on where you can't help put loiter and fade in and out.

Kelly: it's like when people say are you an ass man or a tit man? I'm the whole package man.

Kelly: And what did Mr Kelly think of it all? Kelly: I asked my father, what he had thought of it when I caught up with him. Because that man loves his action and hates his horror. Whilst he couldn't say he liked it, he was intrigued on some level. I think it has something to do with the procedural format. Despite, being this repeated October horror release, it's not your typical slasher from the 80s with lots of sequels. Instead, it has more in common with your cop shows and Giallos. That could well be an attraction for me, it's definitely as though they expanded on movies like 10 'til Midnight and Seven. Like Hercule Poirot you have to work out where the games are being played and what the twist is going to be each time. I get high on the montage of all the clues and theme song in the climax. Even more so than the individual traps.

Kelly: I notice you moved on to a second course there. What is that you're eating now? They look like those aliens you could buy from the corner shop as kids. Kelly: This is Hargau. Kelly: What's Hargau?

Kelly: Hargau is prawn dumplings. It's said to be the one where the skill of the dim sum chef is judged on. Kelly: And is it good? *Kelly throws another one in to his mouth just to be sure Kelly: Very good Kelly: Jumbo City dim sum chef has got the Kelly seal of approval. Colossal. Ok, so we've gone through most of the franchise there. The politics, the aesthetic, the format. Growing up with the franchise, watching them when you probably shouldn’t have been. What was the first you saw in the cinema?

Kelly: Sadly that would be 2017s Jigsaw. I could never bring myself to not like a Saw movie. It's just never happened. But this one is definitely the worst. Narratively speaking it just doesn't work. Why is he designing such elaborate traps before the beautiful simplicity of the bathroom trap? What the fuck is the bike trap? Kelly: Consensus is that either the worst is Saw 7 or Spiral, right? Kelly: 7s got the pink blood. The gimmicky 3D. Gordon's long waited return. The love triangle. Jill getting her vagina rammed. Has a very misogynistic streak come to think of it. But most importantly, it's got Chester motherfucking Bennington in a trap that JG Ballard would approve of

Kelly: And what could possibly be your defence of Spiral?

Kelly: I think it's you that needs a curfew

Kelly: Alright, you got me there, I think that was a case of the conditions I watched it under.

Kelly: You may be right there

Kelly: Those being?

Kelly: Why you don't come in a box with a list of rules like a Gremlin, I don't know. God did us no favours there

Kelly: That was a red wine drunk job. Oh no, I just remembered I think I pissed off many people that night. Might have severely misbehaved

Kelly: Kind of wishing I did make an early exit too now.

Kelly: Not again

Kelly: Both. I outstayed my welcome definitely. I'm sorry but if you leave me in a gaff with a bunch of people I don't know too well when I'm 2 bottles of red, 3 pints and 1 screening of Spiral: From the Book of Saw in and there's going to be trouble, ok?

Kelly: In life or that party?

Kelly: Come to think of it, Saw has a real habit of getting me in to trouble Kelly: It certainly seems that way Kelly: It's like Bukowski said, "find what you love and let it kill you", except I find what I love and let it kill my friends

Kelly: A saw fan would understand?

Kelly: Some people just can't handle Saw. They should illegalise it because of people like you. Maybe you never matured enough to watch Saw. Maybe that's the secret to sticking with Saw. Once you become mature enough to watch it, you no longer want to watch it. You lose all interest

Kelly: They would. Made a right fool of myself. Almost got in a fight with this guy that I was trying to tell had pissed me off severely but I did not plan on fighting him. Somehow telling him I wasn't looking to fight him provoked the situation more to nearly fighting him. Sometimes you should just keep quiet, yeah? Kelly: You're telling me.

Kelly: It activates a part of my body that just triggers mischief. Saw is for the young dumb and full of cum Kelly: So what happened at this screening of Spiral? Kelly: It's probably better left unsaid. I hardly even remember. I went to the cinema with a long-time friend Jesse Welles. Had a personal bottle of wine. Chuckled my way through Chris Rock's stupid facial expressions. Came out, went the pub for a few pints. Then Jesse says to me there's this gaff happening that we should go to. Don't really know the people there so well but I'm one bottle of red and about 3 pints in and need to party so I agree to go down there. I get another bottle of red from the shop on the way and head there. Barely 5 minutes in to getting there, Jesse Welles makes his typical early departure. Literally once the clock strikes 1am he leaves any party like he's got to make his parents curfew.

Kelly: Words definitely failed me that evening. In fact, I've probably spoken about 5 words to Jesse Welles since that night. Kelly: Christ Saws opened up a whole bag of history up here from 2008 to the present day. I see you're now on your final course there. Can you let us know what you are nibbling at? Kelly: Stir fried beef in satay sauce with egg fried rice. Kelly: A regular choice? Kelly: Not exactly. Although, I do tend to stay in the same ball park of beef. Mix it up with some black bean now and then maybe some mushroom or peppers. Before all this I was usually in a toss up of lemon chicken or sweet and sour chicken. These days though, there's something about beef.

Kelly: What's beef? Kelly: Beef is when you need 2 gats to go to sleep.

Kelly: You have walked me through your Chinese meal selection, now walk me through Saw X

Kelly: When I saw the good reviews, I didn't even know what to think. Saw getting good reviews now? Have I departed planet Earth? Very surprising. Question was had they made a thriller as good as the first or had they toned down the violence to be a dish the critics could handle. Maybe even some winky humour? Had time caught up with Saw? Kelly: You weren't overjoyed? Kelly: Cautious and intrigued would be the right words. Living in a world where Saw is accepted is slightly worrying. Not because I don't think it should be accepted. Not because I think people should dislike Saw. Simply because if it's being accepted that means it's not shocking and that makes it pointless in my eyes. But either way the producers definitely exploited the success well with a kind of reverse marketing. That I admired. Kelly: What beverages were required for this one? What was the preparation? Was Jesse Welles invited?

Kelly: No Jesse Welles this time. Was a Jason Derulo job. Booked a screening for 11pm with the Odeon recliners. Had to go for that late one so I could fit in The Exorcist too. Got a 10 pack of Bierra Moretti in, had a couple watching Jeremy Saulnier's debut Murder Party back at mine. Went full Rambo reviewing and stuffed 4 cans in my jacket. Ordered 2 Heinekens and a nachos with jalapenos and cheese. Watched The Exorcist. RIP Friedkin. Came out, got the waterworks out the way. Re-stocked up with another 2 Heinekens. Heard a guy on the way to the till say The Meg 2 was rubbish, nearly struck him down with the kind of deadly blow that led to life in prison for the poor Cameron Poe. Realised he was absolutely clueless when he brought up why his other recent trip Expendables 4 was a disaster. Expendables 4 was bad because of all the green screen and the AI approach to the script

Kelly: There's no need to strike a man when his own words killed him. Karma meant that I didn't have to intervene. He said Expendables 4 was bad because the last 15 minutes was just a shootout. In an action movie? No way! Still can't believe he said that as well like shootouts are inherently bad. Restraining myself from screaming, "go watch the fucking Wild Bunch you freak!", I grabbed my Heinekens and walked over to the 11pm late night Saw showing. Got the recliner up and noticed there weren't too many people around me. No-one in the seat next to me so I put that recliner up too, flicked the shoes off and stretched out across the two. Kelly: Saw, the way it was meant to be watched. Your thoughts on act one? Kelly: Mixed here. There's a clear departure from the usual format with it being Jigsaw seeking out alternative medical treatment with less than a year to live. It's all told chronologically too rather than in typical rapid flashback. His so called trusted sources from legitimate doctors telling him all he can hope to do is die well. So our games master has to find risky underground alternatives. Saws got to be one of the funniest indictments of the American health care system. Fellas, get an NHS, I beg you. We're definitely back in Saw 6 territory with that one. Oh and you know how Saw is famous for its blue and green filters? You're never going to guess what filter they used for Mexico Kelly: Fuck sake

Kelly: Another thing that made me laugh was Jigsaw telling the doctors he's a "life coach" now. I'd have loved to see him select that under profession under a medical form. Would have been a way better joke come to think of it Kelly: The critics were right so far? Kelly: So far the critics had mainly pissed me off. It's typical of them to praise bland character development over abandonment of the fun of the form. I'm happy in some ways they do switch it up a little at first as there is a strange immediacy to the set-up of John seeking this medical help urgently with time running out

Kelly: How did you restrain yourself from using deadly force?

Kelly: No game running at the same time? No detective work?

Kelly: Nope. Just a man realising The Hollies greatest reminder, all he needs is the air that he breathes. It was like Man on Fire though when you're totally fine with them taking their tame and going lighter at the start because you know when the turn comes in, to quote Jigsaw himself, "there will be blood". I do think though they should have made a greater effort to stylise the scenes more. Occasionally, it just comes off as a second rate drama. Doesn't flow like Saw 3 does beautifully with its messy flashbacks. Kelly: Doesn't flow beautifully like Saw 3s messy flashbacks?

Kelly: So I take it John's operation to remove his tumour doesn't go well Kelly: Correct

Kelly: And all quacks get put in a Saw trap? Kelly: Correct again

Kelly: I like the messy flashbacks! But yes, completely standard that the critics would praise conventional routine 'depth' and ignore stylisation. More information is great but when you present in a way that’s flat, then who cares? Horror movies never really get praised for their forms of storytelling and to me Saw always had its own way of storytelling. Crosscutting between games, detectives working out the location of the games and messy flashbacks explaining plot holes from 3 movies back Kelly: What's the added depth? Kelly: The try to humanise the monster. And you wonder is that the right thing to do? Guess revealing more shades and that is good but don't get clumsy and they do occasionally here. You can reveal his desperation and flawed mentality without praising it. In the middle section, Amanda makes her return-Kelly: The woman herself. How did that go? Kelly: Strange feelings here. They have these intimate scenes together where they discuss the game itself taking these little half time breaks from the traps for motivational team talks. Naturally, there's a lovely drug addict involved who really shouldn't be there but you know how Jigsaw is with drug addicts Kelly: He hates them like Anakin Skywalker hates sand!

Kelly: Loathes them. This addict obviously gets Amanda's attention and causes confusion in Jigsaw's leadership and goals. Whilst I'm happy to see more of this fatherhood/mentor relationship between Jigsaw and Amanda, I can't help but think calling Saw X one of the best is absurd considering so much of this had been done already in Saw 3. Same material and better stylised!

Kelly: Any good new characters? Kelly: I can tell you the most disappointing is Parker Sears. Mainly because I feel we need to move on from John and I'm always on the lookout for potential apprentices to lead the mission and carry on the work. When Sears first arrives, they weave in this interesting angle that's almost Batmanesque. He plays another supposedly wronged patient looking for retribution. It's complicated territory for a filmmaker. You have to try to present these two competing ideas. Essentially, what is different between vigilantism and Jigsaw's method. Jigsaw refers to his work as re-awakening not retribution. I think they should have changed it so that Sears was more supportive and they could have shown him torn between the gun and the trap. Could have had future accomplice in the making there too with Jigsaw having sympathy for what Sears went through. Imagine you were wronged by these people and someone who was also wronged kidnapped them for you and went to work on them. Wouldn't you respect that in some odd way? Forming some weird bond with Jigsaw? And then you could also show whether this guy would deem it too far? I like those kinds of relationships in movies. Something bound not by shared admiration but by debasement. That tends to interest me. Goes back to human nature with relationships forming out of trade deals rather than anything positive. Not friendship but what does this person have that I need?

Kelly: But they don't go this way with it?

Kelly: Hold on a minute. They put a child in a Saw trap?

Kelly: No, not at all. Firstly, instead of showing the situation as desperate to account for the mistakes in Jigsaw's thinking, they make him appear all high and mighty and there's a God like arrogance to it. It's laughable really, critics praising this one for 'depth' and all that really means is they've tried to be smarter and been dumber in the process. Taking attention off the games and on to Jigsaw's logic which they still can't perfect so should be left alone. I firmly believe that if you're going to be this sloppy with the character just get the game right minimum and if it’s a good thriller, we'll praise that. Well, I will. They ruin Sears further by then throwing in a twist

Kelly: They put a child in a Saw trap

Kelly: A twist? Go on

Kelly: More of a turn than twist or at least a first twist before the main one. He's no victim. He's actually fucking the hot blonde dodgy doctor Pederson. Abandons the strand that was more interesting for me. Does get funny though because when he frees his beloved quack and then puts our man Jigsaw in a trap! Kelly: Role reversal? Kelly: The sadist becomes the masochist. Jigsaw the super sub. Ole Gunnar Solskjaer! This is when things get really good and I started to have some fun. That hot blonde dodgy doctor Pederson sees Jigsaw's mate he made when he was a the hospital, a little boy who loves playing football. In a wholesome scene earlier, the DIY handyman Jigsaw fixes the kids bike. Hot blonde dodgy doctor Pederson drags this kid in to the warehouse and I was like I think I know where this is going. Ok, you had my curiosity, now you have my attention. Literally pressed the recliner down, put the drink holder tray to the side and leaned forward. They were going to put a child in a Saw trap Kelly: They put a child in a Saw trap?

Kelly: They put a child in a saw trap. You think Saw 2 was bad for it with Detective Matthew's nefarious nipper. This is a whole new level. They put a child in a Saw trap

Kelly: Can they do that? Kelly: I believe they did Kelly: How was that? Kelly: Loved it. Jigsaw and this have to waterboard themselves with blood to stay alive. Probably the most directly referring back to Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib trap I've ever seen. The idea behind this one is you can either pull the leaver and tilt the board and take all the blood and choke to death or you can share it and both survive. Jigsaw says to the innocent football loving kid, do not under any circumstances pull the leaver. Amanda gets all emotional as this means Jigsaw is going to take it all and die sparing this kid any pain. But this kid sees Jigsaw is taking all the suffering, decides to pull his own leaver and take some of the burden. This act is what saves them both. Honestly, this back 2 back action might be some of the best buddy cop shit I've seen in cinema history. Jigsaw and a child, back 2 back like Mel Gibson and Danny Glover. One of my favourite moments in the entire series that. Can't remember the last time I was so engaged in a trap. When Jigsaw got out and said to the kid, "you are a warrior", I felt that, I was ready to go insane. I was ready to go full It's a Wonderful Life and start doing laps of the cinema screaming, "Merry Christmas, everybody!". My faith in life had been restored, I was ready to live again. Kelly: Wow

Kelly: Can't believe the hardest character in the entire franchise is now a child Kelly: Incredible. Thoughts on the overall game and the actual twist? Kelly: I don't think they've come up with a good game since Saw 7

Kelly: That was what, 3 movies ago?

Kelly: Yeah and you know how it is with me, it's like Triple H said, "It's all about the game". They're too stop start these days. They're too absorbed by individual traps and not the overall game. In the past, it's been because they're struggling to rework the format because they didn't have a bad guy and had to explain Jigsaw's absence. They fell lucky after the third one because they went straight in to Hoffman, he stepped off that ice block and was able to take the reins and they kept working it well with Jill and Gordon. They set 4 at the same time as 3 and that all made sense. However, after Hoffman, they've not found anyone adequate like Star Wars after Darth Vader. Except its worse cause its actually ruined the entire structure of the movies since. They can't flow like they should because they're keeping identities hidden and only revealing them last minute detracting from the games and the overall mischief. Was better when you knew it was Hoffman and he had these head to head matches will Jill and Strahm. They were box office

Kelly: So what's the issue here? Shouldn't that all be fixed if they've got Jigsaw back here? Kelly: Not enough tapes. Not enough rooms. Not enough Billy. Too many timeouts for team talks on the sofas. It's amusing but it doesn't flow. The trailer flowed really well with a near psychedelic leaning through The Hollies. Where was that? Kelly: They don't play The Hollies in the film?

Kelly: So you just know he's coming back? Kelly: If you don't see them die, they don't die. And if you see them live, if you see them take time to show something separately from the main plot it's probably for a reason. There is no time wasting in film. Next obvious clue is hot blonde dodgy doctor Peterson's trap being designed for two people. Also, the thing you need to know about doctors in this series is they all have affairs and those who are connected to them are happy to spill their guts about said affairs (we saw this in Saw 1 with Zepp). It was clear all along Jigsaw knew this was coming and had sort of planned for it even if he has to adapt.

Kelly: You don't got to be Hercule Poirot to figure it out? Kelly: You do not. A few notes on the ending though. Jigsaw takes back the money these quivering quacks stole. He makes out like he's going to give to all to the kid. As much as I'd love to see that warrior take home some prize money, I think Jigsaws keeping some of that. It would explain this massive plot hole in how he's always afforded so many massive warehouses Kelly: He's dying, maybe he just put his life savings in to them? Kelly: Maybe. But properties aren't cheap these days. If you didn't notice, we're in a cost of living crisis!

Kelly: But this is a prequel and so before it?

Kelly: Disgraceful isn't it. As for the twist? It's obvious just like it was obvious in Spiral. In Spiral, there's that classic rule of if you don't see them die, they don't die. Therefore, by process of deduction, it's easy to pick out who's organising the games. It's a cheat. Not the worst cheat in cinema history, that goes to A Perfect Getaway, which features a scene where the killers discuss being stalked by the killers. Saw X isn't quite a cheat but it's a technique you've seen before. Jigsaw testing that taxi driver separately to the main game? That's always going to mean something otherwise you wouldn't waste the time to do that narratively.

Kelly: True. No way these gaffs have ever been cheap though surely! Regardless, some will be disappointed that the hot blonde dodgy doctor lives to tell the tale and looks unchanged, revealing the cracks in Jigsaw's system. There was something about the ending though that I did like where you felt the sense that this storyline could be continued. I never got that impression with Jigsaw and Spiral. They're like standalones. I want to go back to having an idea they can run with for like 3 movies. Even if it is what I like to call cock tease storytelling

Kelly: Cock tease storytelling?

Kelly: Yeah cause they basically work to set up the next few movies and proper drag out developments. It's a Lionsgate specialty. When it comes to Saw, I love that cock tease storytelling Kelly: Wait. What happened to that other cameo? You mentioned Amanda but I heard there was another one? Kelly: That's the real twist, baby! It's a post-credits job. I'd waited the whole movie for that. Before he came out, I was chanting to myself to make him appear, "If you build it, he will come. If you build it, he will come. If you build it, he will come". It being the Saw trap and he being Detective Mark Hoffman. When he finally rocked up, I morphed in to WWE commentator Jim Ross, screaming manically, "Oh my God!".

Kelly: I think I'm starting to get your obsession with Saw now. You love its characters because you are as corrupt as them. Birds of a feather. And one day you will be tested Kelly: Jigsaw will have to catch me first Kelly: For all our sakes, we pray that he does. That concludes our interview. Times nearly 3am. What are you going to do now? Kelly: Probably get some biggie on in the headphones. I'm thinking Hypnotise. Then I'm gonna float the shop, get some more cans in, maybe some more scran, then I'm gonna get back to mine, get Saw 5 on and take it back to 2008. Cause they just don't make them like Detective Mark Hoffman any more...

Kelly: Brought out the teenage boy in you? Kelly: Young, dumb and full of cum. That reminds me. Guess who I ran in to the other week? Kelly: Who? Kelly: Kevin Godley. I'm in the Jack. This was a couple of weeks before my rendezvous with Doctor Zira. So, Kevin Godley's there with this bird. No idea who she is, I've never met her. To blow my head off he actually sends this bird over to me first who keeps saying my name. My mental database draws blank. Have to tell her, "sorry, I can't place you, how do you know me again?". Then KG taps me on the arm and has a cheeky smile on his face. I'm shocked. Haven't seen this guy in years. We're reminiscing over the old days. Then I get back to the present by asking about this woman he's with. I ask, "Who's this then? I always remember you had a different girl back then? This a new one?". He then informs me he's still with the other one and then gives me a funny look. The girl then makes a hasty exit and KG has to scramble on out after her without even saying goodbye

Kelly: What? Wait. Oh. Kelly: Yeah. I think so. But who knows. Hope I didn't cause a problem

Kelly: Saw getting you in to trouble again Kelly: Yep. Once again

Director: Kevin Greutert

Bonus Points:

Screenplay: Josh Stolberg, Peter Goldfinger

-The eye suction trap

Cinematography: Nick Matthews Music: Charlie Clouser

-The immediacy as a result of the structural change

Production Company: Twisted Pictures Distribution: Lionsgate Country: USA

-Wholesome Daddy Jigsaw looking after the kids and fixing bikes for them

Run Time: 118 mins Budget: 13 mil Plot Synopsis: Given less than a year to live and no hope of a cure, a desperate John Kramer seeks out alternative treatment in Mexico. When the operation is not completed and his money stolen by quacks, the trap master lays out a deadly game for those who wronged him

-More Amanda/Jigsaw fatherhood mentoring -"We have a rope"

-Putting a child in a Saw trap -Waterboarding a child -Jigsaw and the child back 2 back like Mel Gibson and Danny Glover -"You are a warrior!" -The Return of Detective Mark Hoffman

Overall Score: 3.5/5

Endless Blue We open with the kind of scorching fires that would have made Survivor wince. It's a hot day in Miami, maybe the hottest day of the year. This is the city that at its warmest tends to reach just under triple figures every summer without fail. A Porsche rides down a long empty road where the buses certainly don't go down. Ted Nugent's Angry Young Man is pumping out establishing as quickly as possible, as Miami Vice always does, that the dudes are rocking and by rocking we mean hard. We bear witness to a sketchy business deal being formed. Our buyer has hair longer than Mr Steely Dan and is none other than Ted Nugent himself. Another stellar cameo from this show. Already in this series we've seen the likes of Phil Collins, Miles Davis and Little Richard. Perfectly cast respectively as seedy talk show hosts, pimps and preachers. Desperately looking forward to when Leonard Cohen appears. Ted Nugent joins the greats with his contribution as a scam artist. Before the deal can be made, Nugent fires off his gun and takes the sorry son of a bitch's money. The nature of the business deal taking place is surrounded in mystery and the body (and car) burial under mountains of sand is nothing short of epic adding to that.

Cut straight in to the theme song and the memorable credits sequence. Future Sonny Crockett player, Colin Farrel, when asked what he recalled most from the show had just two words, "the flamingos". They undoubtedly dominate the screen and once seen can't be unseen. Only a few weeks back, Weng Weng and I went the zoo and upon seeing the flamingos, in an uncontrolled frenzy, I screamed, "It's Miami Vice, kid!". Being just 5 years of age, the reference was lost on him and he asked, "What's Miami Vice, is that a TV show?". Had to correct him by adding, "It's not a TV show, it's a god damn way of life, son!". And one quickly taking over me in a big, big way.

On top of the Flamingos, may I also mention the parrot that thinks he's bloody Rashford pointing to his head like that. Does that little birdy know something we don't? It's as if he's on the same wavelength as the producers here, a secret code between us and them that spells out, "we got you covered, dudes!". Well, they sure do with a flurry of credit sequence background images from boobies to boats. Give them credit, these guys know what we want to see each week. No-one could ever take that from them. Miami Vice is the perfect spectacle of the male fantasy and a solid satire of life under the Reagan administration. It has a stronger sense of style than pretty much every movie released today with producer Michael Mann's strict rules about colour schemes (the perceived boring colour red was completely banned from every episode with bright pastels being the favoured). Costumes and colour schemes are its main attraction. Truthfully, I've not been this wired in to particular rig outs since Scorsese's Casino when De Niro was rocking up every 5 minutes in a brand new suit. Gangster games such as the Grand Theft Auto series would all be inspired too. Style certainly takes prevalence over routine plots. After all, admittedly the plots do very little to expand on regular cop shows and the writing too is barely a grade above typical fare. Notably, suspense and mystery is often avoided as the game here is not for the viewer to work out the villain's identity. Audiences are invited to hang with the villains from the outset. However, these are all conventional means of storytelling. To criticise Miami Vice for prioritising plot as probably about the 5th most important thing on the show is to miss everything else it does uniquely.

Examples will no doubt pop up over this episode but areas of study would be the visual storytelling, presentation of Miami as a character itself, the establishment of mood, the creative use of music and through a combination of these the way it comments on the routine of the procedural and breaks away from its clutches to get to the one thing the procedural tends to fail to: the heart of its characters. In many ways, its auteur television, the infamous writers medium, with Michael Mann's vision dominating well before the recent idea of auteur television was conceived.

Having got the opening out the way, we rejoin our busy as ever boys, Crockett and Tubbs. Now what are two fine officers of the law doing on what has already been established to be one of the hottest days in Miami? If you guessed sat by a swimming pool drinking cocktails, you are absolutely right. Get this, they even have the nerve to complain about how they are spending their afternoon, crediting their inactivity as waiting for a break in a case. These cases don't solve themselves boys! Only in a pure fantasy show easy going show like this would this happen and I'm here for it. These guys are just living the life. Right on cue, a glorious example of the female form appears in full beach gear. An actress by the name of Arielle Dombasle, primarily known for her numerous roles in French New Wave legend Eric Rohmer's films. Her casting demonstrates Miami Vice's existence being at the perfect intersection of popular entertainment and art. Everybody involved knows the two roads and how to guide them towards the perfect spot. Playboy Crockett locks those sights on the Blonde bombshell and for the life of him can't look away for a second. Noticing his partner's dick growing in his pants, Tubbs throws him a warning of, "she's too conservative for you". In a moment of humorously relatable reflection, Crockett confesses, "I get these occasional urges for stability in my life". Don't we all. Tubbs can only laugh and say, "you need to see someone about that". Don't. We. All.

Rohmer Girl isn't helping matters by massaging those thighs so seductively and then we get one of those '80s style fades that shows us both her legs and his sleazy gaze layered on top of one another. What happened to that kind of editing? Rohmer Girl then deliberately wet T Shirt contests herself, getting a laugh out of Crockett for this. They smile from across the pool and that's when you know there's no going back. Courtship is in action, baby. When she walks on over, Crockett as cool as a cucumber says, "what took you so long?". It's guaranteed with this man, a veteran of the game. Rohmer Girl makes attempts to get his attention by stealing the ice from his cocktail and pouring it down her body. This causes Tubbs to sweat more than he did from the Miami heat. Crockett doesn't need the ice, he's colder than that. No reaction from him. An angry Rohmer Girl turns to Tubbs and fires out, "tell your friend Sonny to come and get me when he wakes up". He's not asleep, he's just a pro. After she leaves, we get a close up of Crockett sucking on some ice and putting us his partner at ease with, "Don't worry I'm immune". Got to be one of the funniest exchanges in TV history. What could make the scene any better? Straight after a bad guy runs on over and Crockett has to bust out some Kung Fu moves, entertaining all the pool users and day time drinkers. Perfectly summarising this show as primarily about women, the cases come second. It seems they really do crack and close themselves in this world.

Back at the station, fans blow cool air at high speeds, sweat drips from the faces of every cop and the cells remain empty. This is when the narrative splits off in to two different directions. Crockett pursues Rohmer Girl, who appears to be having some trouble with a dangerous boyfriend. Naturally, Crockett is compelled to intervene. "Please just leave me alone" are not words in his vocabulary and so such requests are wasted on him. Eventually, they form a connection with Crockett knowing full well what Rohmer girls means when she talks about "how bad it feels when you wake up with nothing, so lost". Sadly, he can't even take his own advice when he says, "we all get in to free fall. Just gotta ride it out. First thing you gotta do is getaway".

Free Fall is actually the name of a later episode and one of the last I believe to receive the feature length treatment and DVD release. I hope this thread is picked back up there as it is in essence what the show is all about. Following a walk on the beach, they end up back at Crockett's crib. Where else would they go? However, Crockett makes it clear that he didn't take her there to make a play. Unconvinced she probes further into his psyche wondering aloud why Crockett doesn't find a new town and get a new job if he's so unhappy. The words, "you're restless, you're lonely, you have dreams" go right through Crockett as he stands by the window completely unsure of himself and whether to leave. In contrast, Rohmer girl is lying on the bed casually, revealing she is in total control of the situation and where it is heading as she reveals, "men are my job. Well not really men. Wild men. Men who will give me what I need". Sign me up. Considering Miami Vice's typically very masculine viewpoints, Rohmer girl's utter selfawareness and manipulation of men makes her stand out allowing her to be a kind of feminist icon in this world. Consequently causing this to be one of the shows most memorable and best written episodes.

Elsewhere, on more official business, Tubbs is dealing with the shows secondary storyline. A member of the "Organised Time Task Force" (whatever that is) has come to ask for the location of a woman in witness protection. The woman's brother is a gangster and has agreed to make a deal for immunity if the authorities will allow him to see his sister one last time. Commander Castillo is reluctant to compromise a protected witness and put her under the possibility of harm just to gain the convictions. This character has already gained legendary status this season with the earlier episode titled, "Bushido". An absolutely flawless episode that Edward James Olmos directed himself. In this episode, the commander's chequered past catches up with him as it goes further into his previous role as a DEA agent working in the "Golden Triangle" of Southeast Asia. He can't tell if the CIA or the KGB are after him but he must personally bodyguard a friend's wife and child and chop down any enemies with a samurai sword Shogun Assassin style.

Commander Castillo is something of an enigma. He walks around with his hands in pockets, observing situations as he roams a room, avoiding eye contact until the most important part of a conversation when he will stare straight a character. A decision that came about mainly cause he hated Don Johnson's acting style and couldn't bear to look at him all day. Regardless, it really adds to the characters sense of mystery. We're still unsure on the exact events of his past but after an episode like Bushido, I'm beginning to look past his initial iciness and really admire the man. Bushido taught us he's not really an empty cold hearted bastard but like Crockett, he's a man of unyielding discipline, sacrificing the common life to defend the people. As that episode suggests, what we call a "warrior". Miami Vice is filled with developed characters like these, drawing me to it as it surpasses all other cop shows. Amongst the procedural routine, these are real people who are restless, who are lonely, who have dreams. Back on Crockett's story line, we finally make the connection to Ted Nugent. Our protagonist is being beguiled. A honey trap is in action and he's the sucker. Rohmer Girl and Ted Nugent have a tasty little set-up. She pretends to be the damsel in distress and he demands money from the men. The sorry son of a bitches end up buried under mountains of sand. Erased from existence. Harking back to what we saw in the opening scenes and leading us to wonder will Crockett have the same fate? Task Force guy and Commander Costillo reach an agreement midway. Since, using the woman in witness protection is far too dangerous, a trained decoy will be used instead and so the meeting is given the go ahead. On a secluded bridge, everybody arrives. Cop cars line the way. Helicopters ride the skies. We are treated to gorgeous pans across the police men waiting and breathtaking wide shots of the aerial units inches above the vehicles. Absolutely mind boggling to see such good production values on a TV show from this time. No way any of this could have been cheap and it precedes the epic qualities of Michael Mann's Heat when Al Pacino surfs LA from the skies in a heli to Moby's cover of New Dawn Fades.

During all the waiting around, Tubbs finds the time to warn Crockett about getting too involved with Rohmer girl. Like before, he has another wise crack to make with, "this is what I like about you, Sonny. You attract some of the weirdest women in the western hemisphere". Readers be aware, reminiscing over my former flames and brief burials of the weasel, I felt that line to my very soul. We are referring to women who occupy institutions for the insane and the front pages of local newspapers. Usually for outrageous acts such as creating flame throwers and trying to burn their flatmates to death and being banned from every club in town for public fornication. Whilst I ponder who these one night stands were in their absence, my friends send me articles about them and so their identity will forever not be a mystery. This happens so frequently its downright disturbing and if it continues I may have to get in to scrap book collecting to preserve these women's legacy. Why do they flock to your least favourite critic? And what does it say about me? Am I helping them or enabling them? These are questions that will one day need answering. Whilst we're waiting for the meeting to go down, I'll add that there's a distinctive lack of screen time in this episode for Crockett's boat and alligator. Shame because I've been forming something of an attachment to that boat and its use as a site to seduce women. We never get any interior shots of the boats, where I assume he does his two person push ups to stay healthy. Embarrassingly, this obsession with Sonny's vessel, led me a few weeks back to blurt out my three step plan in life after a few drinks. Write this on a wall or something. Step one is, we buy a boat. Step two is we get heavily in to yacht rock. And step three is we get all the women. All my homies are invited to join in the plan. Even mentioned this to Long Tall Sally and her boyfriend, she was completely accepting of having more women around. Cause the thing is men love women and women love women. Women are great. But no men like men. They may fuck 'em, they may be in love with 'em but nobody actually likes men. Not even women.

About the highest a man can gravitate to is the six month poster boy male obsession. This is the difference between men and women, right. Women will fluctuate their tastes, week on week. Search history just becomes a compilation of tutorial videos. Hair styles change. Dresses change. All based on whatever their many ideal female icons are doing. They lack conviction. Instead, guys will print off a little picture of their male hero, take it to the barbers with them and say, "like that please". When they get home and their lover or mother asks, "What happened to your hair?". Their answer will be let's say, "It's Sonny Crockett!". If you think it stops here, you are sorely mistaken. They will make a playlist called, "Sonny Crockett vibes". They will dress like Sonny Crockett. They will fuck like Sonny Crockett. They will even eat like Sonny Crockett, picking out particular mannerisms and the way they hold the fork. This lasts for about 6 months and will irritate their social circle nonstop. The worst is that no friend can talk him out of it until the cycle is complete. Nature must run its course. Now, you tell me, which method is more pathetic, the female utter lack of conviction or the sixth month poster boy male obsession. Anyway, where was I? Our meeting is a disaster. The gangster sees right through the trained decoy and drives away rejecting the deal. Out of options, Commander Costillo hesitantly agrees to use the real woman. No easy task as the woman in custody believes this will turn in to a murder attempt and isn't an innocent meeting between siblings. The selfish task force guy uses harsh bullying tactics to goad her into accepting the mission. Between them, Tubbs and Commander Costillo manage to convince her that she will be surrounded by cops and it is their personal duty to keep her safe at all costs. Concurrently, Crockett sets up a meeting of his own with Ted Nugent. Will he heroically leave his mark in the sand or be buried deep under it? Mother, I can feel the sand pouring over my head.

Noticing the atmosphere in the station, Tubbs mentions that it looks like "some kind of cemetery". There is an omen in the air as most of the force prepares to meet the gangster and Crockett gathers his belongings to see Ted Nugent. Starting with Tubbs, his mission is an absolute disaster. When the gangster rocks up, the sister strikes first and stabs him. She manically stands covered in blood, screaming that she had to do it. We wonder whether this is true and we get our answer pretty quickly after a sniper takes her out. This then leads in to one of the series all-time great music montages. Here's the thing there's literally a good one in every episode so there's so many to compete with too. We knew Miami Vice was always going to deliver on the musical front from the first episode when In the Air Tonight comes on by Phil Collins and the two newly acquainted partners drive in to the night. It's impressive to watch the scene individually on YouTube but when you revisit the pilot and see how it follows on from the previous scene where Crockett has to arrest a corrupt cop that was his friend is even better. Mann is a master of mood and transition, it's genius! Then out of nowhere, when you thought they couldn't, they top this in season 2 with the use of Dire Straits's Brothers in Arms. The combination of Mark Knopfler's guitar and Crockett's Ferrari roaring in to the night is powerful. A stunning crane shot done in long take following the car from behind through the empty streets is insane to comprehend for a TV show back in the '80s. To put this in context, in the '90s, Spike Lee had to beg for one in Malcolm X and got his request accepted for like a day. And this for a 3 hour plus movie about one of America's greatest figures. Kind of amusing when you think about it, that all Mann has to do is say Dire Straits and Crockett's Ferrari and boom he's got one. But yes, it's a very emotive and poetic scene.

Even in a weaker Miami Vice episode, you can be stunned by the use of music. Buddies is far from being a classic episode but the way it intercuts between all the characters to The Nobodys No Guarantees is so good it would have impressed Martin Scorsese.

Not only do the songs fit the mood exactly for the scenes they are selected for, it's the fact that they play out for their full duration. You think that No Guarantees has stopped playing in some scenes as you no longer notice it so much but then right when the song hits the chorus again it accentuates the action perfectly. Nicolas Winding Refn has talked about the decline in allowing songs to play out in full. What was a popular technique in the '80s has been tossed out in favour of playing songs quickly and pointlessly to fill gaps losing the power of sound and image. A song should not simply fill a gap, it must accentuate it. Miami Vice still leads the way in this department. In Definitely Miami, Crockett drives down an empty road mirroring the opening shots and we hear an extended version of Godley & Creme's Cry. Along with the comments on the station being a cemetery, the disaster of the gangster meeting and this song, this episode really does feel like a wake. Finally, we get to see if Crockett's fate will be the same as the earlier guys. Both Crockett and Ted Nugent bounce in with such swag. Crockett's in his usual suit and the cameras doing these lovely slow spinning motions around him. Nugents strolling in shirtless with just a blazer on, throwing out cool lines like, "Burnett. So we meet again. Got something for me?". Out in the middle of nowhere, they begin their sandy duel like something out of a western. The '80s version of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly complete with music video style montages to new wave and pop rock. A light success for Crockett in apprehending the criminal is about the most upbeat thing that occurs here. We cut back to the disastrous operation with the gangster. Tubbs is crouched down looking at the dead womans body on the floor. Task Force guy is laid out on the ground too, not dead, just in defeat. Commander Castillo walks over to Task Force guy and looks deep in to his eyes with disappointment and in a clever moment we get a close up of his face and he stares into the camera too so even the audience can't shy away from the disappointment in the air. It's classic Commander Castillo, cold and firm exterior but behind the eyes...pain.

In a surreal moment that feels like a Norm MacDonald sketch, the cops go trudging through the sand with metal detectors and find all the bodies and cars. "Found another one over here!", yells cop after cop. Now, this is the real cemetery. You could say a part of Crockett dies here too, the part that loved Rohmer girl and saw a way out of this life with her. And where is the woman in question? She lies on the beach making sand castles, writing promises in the sand that will soon be washed away by the tides. Upon seeing a blurred figure in the distance, she stands up to attention. At first this figure is shown as Nugent then on a fade is changed to Crockett. Making you wonder, does it matter to her which man returns alive from the duel? She runs over and hugs Crockett passionately. However, he is indeed immune to her charms and doesn't say a word. Instead, he makes a sexy swift turn to go back in the direction he came. She tries to give this pretentious speech about beaches and dreams but it's too late. A helicopter flies in and 2 cops hop out on to the beach ready to make an arrest. A rather expensive arrest but a cool one nonetheless. Having seen the helicopter, Rohmer girl realises the game is up and looks at her man. Right as we hear the lyrics, "you cheat, you lie", Crockett puts on his sunglasses. One of the coldest things you'll ever see from the coldest motherfucker in the game. We witness what we assume will be Rohmer girl's fate. She hugs and caresses the officers arresting her, resuming her role as the manipulator of men. Some people are destined not to go to jail. She'll find a way to get off with minimum punishment. She's a professional. Life will continue as normal for her and so it will for Crockett. He paces intensely across the beach in reflection. He makes a final sexy swift turn and stares out in to the sea, out in to an endless blue. Cut to a wide shot of Crockett as a small isolated insignificant dot against a vast sea that could sweep him up in and instant and maybe he wishes it would. Any audience will wonder, how was it that Rob Cohen, director of The Fast and Furious and XXX, could create such a masterpiece of television? The first credit we see is, "Executive Producer Michael Mann". He's the real auteur here.

Turn your attention now to Liverpool, England. Kelly barely has a moment to let this incredible work of cinema settle in before the phone is ringing. It's Ricardo Carvalho calling, he says he has come in to possession of a boat for the weekend. Belongs to his uncle. He invites me to spend the day with him and his girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, Electric Six, on board The Glittering Jewel (the name of this vessel). I ask him whether he knows how to sail a boat. He informs me he's picked up a few lessons from his uncle. Says, "it only takes about an hour and you've learned everything you need to know". Now, normally, the last thing I'd want to do is spend time secluded with a recently separated couple. Who wants that drama? But at the same time, who turns down a free day trip on a boat? In seconds flat, I'm making a packed lunch to take with me for this adventure. Maybe even listening to the Gilligan's Island theme song on repeat and fixing a playlist together. "A 3 hour tour", I sing to myself repeatedly, as I throw everything in a bag and head on down to Calday beach. The sun beams down on me and so I pop on the shades and look around for my hosts. They are stood in the distance with a life guard. We're not in trouble already are we? As it turns out, you need a guy from the sailing club to get you to your boat. I always wondered how one accesses those boats you see in the distance. You learn something new every day. Once on board The Glittering Jewel, we wait. We wait for the tide to come in further so we can then get moving. Jonny Greenwood's Able Bodied Seamen scores the montage. This goes on for an eternity and the suspense gets to me. Any time the boredom creeps in, Ricardo and I pass a bottle of rum between us and break in to a round of "A 3 hour tour!". This severely annoys Electric Six who after about the 4th time yells at us to stop. We do not. We can't stop. We're going a on a 3 hour tour! The plan is to get to Wales and get a Kebab at Conway. That is our mission and we choose to accept it.

The moon does its job and stirs these waves into action. These are so aggressive, Bodhi from Point Break would get such a hard on. These are the waves he lives for. Off we go in to our unknown fate with Village People's In the Navy pumping out my cheap portable speaker. Spirits are running high. The space aboard the vessel is limited but this doesn't stop me throwing shapes up and down to the Village People. Electric Six can only shake her head. She demands to hear Danger! High Voltage but I have to remind her this isn't boat themed and unfortunately will not be tolerated at this precise time. Although, I did debate breaking the rules after she saved my life by shouting to get out of the way of the passing boom. Had I not been warned and ducked just in time, I'd be laid out like Wiley Coyote after an unsuccessful Road Runner chase.

At the half way point, my belly is rumbling. The message couldn't be any clearer, time for lunch. I crack out a few nachos from a plastic bag, instantly stirring Electric Six, who demands I, "not bite down on them loudly". Went in to a brief lecture on how I go the cinema like 3 times a week and during that time I have perfected how to eat nachos silently. To the point I have studied which tooth produces the least possible noise and the precise crunching technique that is best to mask all and any sound. I must have gnawed them too loudly for Electric Six's liking because she just walked off shaking her head. Unfortunately for her, there wasn't too far she could go to get away from the masticating because of The Glittering Jewel's intimate size. They cannot run, they cannot hide. Before I can finish the nachos, there's a golden glow shining through the blue Dee in the distance. I halt the teeth and stare as if in a trance. I couldn't be sure but I could swear along with the light being emitted, so too were the sounds of Max Corbacho's A Place of Discovery. Ricardo takes notice of my fixed gaze and sees it too. It is not a figment of my imagination. "What is that?", he asks and drifts towards it. When in close range, I bend over the boat and attempt to pick up the shining object in the water. Electric Six grabs hold of my legs for maximum reach. It's close. I can feel the hum of its tune becoming ever louder...

She is within reach. With one last stretch, I grab the blaze of light from the water and hoist her on board. This is when I see the red drips of blood slipping down my palm. Our mystery object was sharp. Our mystery object was a blade. My eyes naturally fixate on the forged words across the centre of the knife. "Szwedzki Zabójca", were the words but these had no meaning to me. "Russian?", asks Electric Six, now standing shoulder to shoulder with me. I hadn't even noticed her creep up. "No, no. Polish perhaps", I answer. "Need to change direction!", yells Ricardo but neither of us hear with our attention firmly on the potentially Polish knife. Electric Six sees the boom slightly faster than me and responds by rapidly hitting the deck. I'm not so lucky. The boom strikes me right in the temple and takes me overboard.

An old dream from younger days replays as I drift in and out of consciousness. I was never a strong swimmer. Back in Worsley was where I learnt how to swim. Front crawl is tiresome, a light breast stroke comes naturally. Neither particularly interests me. Often, I'd give up and get on my Father's shoulders, as he formed a human torpedo and we'd go hunting for treasure, singing, "Shiver my timbers, shiver my soul!". Well, in this one memorable dream, the human torpedo packed in. A cocoon forms around him and the pool is evacuated. My father's body is left submersed in the water. The room is in near total darkness apart from the bright electrical pulses being shot out of the cocoon. People stand around the edges and the sight is treated like a memorial for all to see. The water becomes my father's permanent grave. From up above, standing on a ledge, someone wearing a white mask and robe lights a candle. Soon everyone begins to do the same. Dream over. When I come round, I'm taking in colossal amounts of water. Screaming and screaming. What a slow and painful way to die. Just when all hope is deemed lost, a hand without a body grabs my arm and pulls me to the surface. The hand now has a body and the woman its connected to is giving me mouth to mouth, except it feels more like an MD addled bird trying to kiss you on a night out. Eventually, I am alive and kicking, albeit with a few bite marks on my cheek like a victim from a Jaws movie.

I put my hand down on the ground expecting to feel soft sand but am alarmed by the hard concrete. In front of me is a giant swimming pool, to my left and right is rows and rows of pastel coloured art deco buildings. Behind me palm trees and a Ferrari F40 whizzes by. Every man wears Hawaiian shirts with over exposed chests. Every woman wears Memphis style sweaters with enough patterns on to keep the eye busy for a week. There was only one place I could be, Miami in the 1980s. "He's alive! Turn the music back on he's alive!", cries out an enthused man. The DJ in the corner slams his fist down on the play button and out blasts Robert Palmer's Simply Irresistible. Like clockwork, everyone goes back in to throwing dance moves and incoherently ranting about the president.

"Thought we lost you there, partner", says a calm fellow who walks over gracefully in a fedora and low neck vest under a dark blue shirt. In one hand he holds a cigar, in the other a glass of champagne. Under his nose sits a wellgroomed tash. For some reason, he was putting on a sloppy Puerto Rican accent. He had the Ds and Ss going ok but the rhythm and intonation was all wrong. This man was not who he says he is. Over a glass of champagne we get to talking and it becomes clear that this is a work colleague. Joey Munro here and I are Miami Vice. And I'm not exactly me. These people keep calling me "Jack" Kelly. An undercover name perhaps? But what was our mission? What were we doing here? Before I could get an answer, a beefy bastard who looks like he's waltzed straight off a porn set calls the pair of us inside the apartment. Inside the apartment more mischievous activities are taking place. Champagne towers flowing from top to bottom. Women lying across the floor like human centipedes ass to mouth. Cocaine snowfalls raining down from the hands of seedy men on to female flesh. It takes me a few seconds to realise a wealthy gentlemen behind a desk blowing cigar smoke in to the air is trying to get my attention. "Mr Kelly, do I have your attention?", asks the gangster with his feet on the desk. I crane my neck over to his direction, coming to my senses as I hear the intro of Talking Heads Swamp. "What was that you said there?", I ask.

"What's up with your boy?", asks the gangster, turning towards Joey Munro. My partner answers, "Maybe that fall in to the pool not done his head too good, Mr Cardenas". The gangster re-adjusts his position in his chair, looks directly in to my eyes and shouts, "Oi, scuba diver, you with us today? I'm a busy man. So either you come to do business or you can get the fuck out!". I assure him, "It's all cool, man". To avoid further trouble, I let Munro do most of the talking and try to look as present in the conversation as possible. This proves to be difficult as there is an unexplained man sat on the sofa holding a framed photo of Nancy Reagan and wanking himself silly. No one seems to be addressing this peculiar activity taking place only yards away from our business deal. I try to ignore this and restrict myself to simply observing this side show with my peripherals whilst maintaining my attention on Mr Cardenas. Once the zeros are agreed, Munro and I rejoin the party. Duran Duran's Planet Earth is in full swing. No signs of slowing down, this one's going until sunrise and maybe even straight in to Monday. Women stand on tables grinding against each other and grabbing what God gave them. Men throw 20s at them and if they've got no 20s, they throw cocaine. I was beginning to wonder did anyone actually snort it round here? Out of the corner I spot...no, it couldn't be, an ex-girlfriend of mine by the name of Marianne Weatherford. Quickly, I move towards the exit. Best to leave and not think too much about this one. Too late. We make eye contact for a moment across the room and now I'm in serious trouble. The next day, my partner and I stroll across the beach on our way to brunch. It's All I Can Do by The Cars can be heard coming from the café speakers in the distance. "I had a dream about my ex last night", Joey informs me. Coincidentally, he'd broken up with his girlfriend recently. We're always losing women out here in Miami. They come and go like the tides. "Was it violent", I ask. "Na", he replies confused by my answer. "You don't have violent dreams about your ex's?", I probe. "Na", he says again and adds, "what sort of violence are we talking about here?". "Well, my ex's have a habit of trying to stab me", I tell him.

"Stab you? Which ones?", asks Joey. "All of them. Some even put me in Saw traps", I clarify. Half laughing, half concerned, my partner says, "Maybe you should see someone about that". Defensively I counter with, "you started it, motherfucker". "Ok, no my ex's don't stab me in my dreams to answer your question", says Joey. "So what the fuck are you so worried about?", I blurt out. We make it to the café, take our seats and stick our head in the menus. A waiter takes our orders and walks away. Joey resumes our conversation with, "hold on. Just cause I'm not getting stabbed every night doesn't mean I'm on easy street". Back on that defensive, I shoot my mouth off by saying, "hey, I never said every night. Alright, what do your ex's do to you in your dreams?". Joey responds with, "rejection, mainly". I spit out my coffee and chuckle, teasing my partner as I say, "fucking hell, you're pathetic. Don't you experience enough of that in real life?". "Fuck off. Don't know why I came to you with this", whines my partner. "Me neither", I throw back with mutual feelings. We share a tense silence between us, drinking our coffees until we can't take it anymore and have to laugh. Joey embraces the situation and throws it back by pretending to be serious with, "so... you ever think about seeing someone about these stabbings, partner? For real, what have they got against you, where does all the anger come from?". The phrasing of the question throws me a little off guard and I try to think of answer, eventually saying, "Don't know. Do your ex's not represent your failures?". "Strange way to talk about your ex's", is all Joey can add. "No but like, regrets, pages left unturned, future lives unrealised, you know times you didn't get it right, times you could have been better", I rant letting out a tad more than I was wanting. Joey marinates on this with a few sips of beverage before declaring, "Well, I guess if you were still with them, you'd be getting it right". "Exactly, you and Christina gonna work things out, mate?", I query. He doesn't answer the question. Instead, he leans back, exhales and then asks, "did I see Marianne last night?". "You did", I answer, holding back any further information. "You gonna try and meet up with her again while she's back?", enquires Joey. "No, no. Absolutely not", I state with zero conviction.

She is sighted walking across the road from Hotel Azul Pálido. I put down the binoculars and place them next to the half-eaten McDonalds and empty beer cans on the passenger seat. This is not a stakeout. This is not stalking. This is purely chance. None of my intel had been gathered abusing police resources and visiting my snitches. I was about to turn off the engine and get out my 1980 red Chevvy Corvette, when someone opened the passenger door, placed my McDonald's on the floor and sat down. Instinctively, I withdrew my pistol and pointed it straight at the intruder. On the other end of my gun was Joey's ex Christina. Worst time for a "talk" but when you gotta help your boys, you gotta help your boys. She asks me if he'll ever change. I tell her, "He's a good kid but no. This is the life we've chosen. It's not a regular 9 to 5 type of life. We don't clock off. When the street moves, we move. We can't make promises. We can't be in certain places at certain times. If we move slow, if we're too busy thinking about life. That's when we get shot. You can't switch off for a second out here. You do and your dead. If your serious about Joey, you gotta accept that. That's just the way it's going to be. If you can't accept that then...". She tells me that was the worst "talk" she ever had slams the door behind her. Personally, I thought that was a good speech. In confusion, I shrug at the outcome. Then I notice my half-eaten hamburger and I'm about to take my second bite, when Marianne walks out of a shop further up the road. Since nobody else is looking for a "talk", I get out the car and quickly head over. Six Different Ways by The Cure plays over some café speakers as Marianne and I reminisce over old memories. Both of us are careful not to discuss how the relationship ended, such an act would kill the joy in our voices. Always thought seeing her again would be awkward but the experience proved to be humorous. We were friends at one point after all. Practicality is the killer of most friendships. We never hated each other, we just couldn't make it work.

We retraced our steps going back to all the old hangouts, joints and dives. From the bookshops to the coffee bars. Walking under our favourite bridges and digging in the sand like children let loose in the adult world. Meanwhile, OMD's Souvenir echoed round in my head on repeat. You could say things were going swimmingly. By the end of the afternoon, we were fucking to Kate Bush in a dingy motel called Century. Hounds of Love blasted over the speakers and we were doing that passionate '80s fucking that no-one does any more. Heads slammed in to pillows. Legs parted. And fists clenched tight. You know the drill. When it was over, my beeper was going off without any pauses. That could only be my boss. He'd be furious if he knew what I'd been doing on work time. I shook my head and Marianne told me to just ignore it. When duty calls, my friends, when duty calls. We had to cut our romance short. I slid on my pants, buckled my belt and put my arms through my blazer jacket. It was time to go back to work. Although, I couldn't leave without a goodbye kiss just as OMD's If you Leave was kicking in on the radio. If I could tick just one woman off the list from stabbing me every night that would be a good day, right? As I make it back to the Corvette, the radio DJ has made his way to Cyndi Lauper's Time after Time. Hands firmly on the wheel and looking out the window, images of the afternoon bombard my brain. Romance was back, baby! Back in a big way. Gone is the selfloathing bullshit, who needs it? We're all about the feeling good, living life in the fast lane, letting the wave of positive emotions carry us through the night kind of life. One ticket to the shagger's Valhalla. All aboard the love train. Hurry up because, we will soon be departing the station. Hours of longing, replaced by hours of being horny. No longer the pathetic Mr Useless and Inadequate. I am the man who provides for his woman. I am the man thinking about the fuck around the corner. In the shower, in the back seat, in the office cupboard, whenever the mood takes us. I am sexy and she is the proof.

Strolling the station corridors, you'd notice a spring in my step. Shoulders up high, standing tall. All of this was shattered when the captain called me in to his office. With the slam of the door, I was brought back to reality and the love drug wore off. Mr Mood Killer went to work and I was brought down a few pegs. Who grassed on my whereabouts for the afternoon? Probably those fucking amateur ass cops Pinewood and Tucker. Should not have involved those clowns in finding Marianne. Proper sly characters those two. Munro and I never trusted them further than we could throw them. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Naturally, the captain reminded me of the mission at hand and that my former lover was working for Mr Cardenas. Told me to, "get that fucking look off your face and stay sharp out there!". Smoke was coming out his ears like a hot M60 recently out of rounds. He slams down the plans for the evening in front of my face and snaps a ruler pointing to Cardenas's face on a blackboard. I got the message. Tonight we were making some arrests. Angrily firing up the Corvette's engine once more, Robert Tepper's No Easy Way Out let's rip from the speakers and the car roars in to the night. On my way to pick up Munro, I try to block out the images of the afternoon and recall everywhere my relationship with Marianne went wrong. One hand on the steering wheel, one constantly brushing through my hair in frustration. By the time, I made it to the Munro residence the hand motion was complete. Inside he was combing his hair back and straightening his shirt out. My mind drifted to Marianne, who was no doubt doing the same in the Hotel Azul Pálido. Damn she always looked beautiful when she did that. I'm brought back Munro's living room when he says, "I heard you spoke to Christina today". "Yeah. That could have gone better", I admitted. "You can't do anything for Marianne, it's too late", he adds. "What?", I asked, knowing full when what he was on about. "She's in too deep. She's fucking Cardenas, you know", states Munro. I knew. "Why don't we just not think about women this evening and just do our jobs?", I suggest. "I can get down with that", clarifies Munro.

The sun has been replaced with the moon. Day has become night. But we have a few lights of our own out here. Neon signs glow up the strip, making it even more alive than in the day time. Miami never sleeps. The Corvette's wheels roll over the crowded roads as we cruise along wondering what the night shall offer us. The DJ chimes in with a perfectly timed use of The Lebanon by The Human League. We pull up outside the Colony Hotel. Mr Cardenas is on the top floor but first we have to get the go ahead all clear from one of his boys in the lobby. "How will we recognise him?", I asked when Mr Cadenas called us at a telephone booth round the corner. "His name is Juan. You can't miss him", said Mr Cardenas. It was true, we couldn't. Literally, as we entered the lobby, there was a grinning big beefy bastard sitting in a chair that barely seemed able to hold him. I'd clocked him at the party last night. We sat down in the two free chairs opposite him. "Got the money?", asked Juan. Munro lifted the bag he was carrying up to his eye level. "Unzip", demanded Juan. Munro complied with a quick flash in the bag. You don't argue with a man like Juan. "Lot of cops about these days, you have to be careful", backed up Juan. "You do", I agreed and let out an evil laugh. This set Juan off laughing too and it didn't take long for Munro to do the same. The giggling trio, what a sight we must have been to the hotel guests currently occupying the lobby.

"Tell me, Juan, why is it I recognise you and not just from that party last night?", I enquire. "Maybe you've seem my pornos?", answers Juan. "You were in porn?", I ask trying not to laugh as I look at my partner. Juan nods and replies, "Juan Peterson at your service, star of such films as A Cockwork Orgy, A Cockalypse Now, Oceans 11 Inches, The Italian Blowjob, Boner and Clyde, Raging Boner, The League of Extraordinary Genitals, Cock Corridor, Juan Blew Over the Hooker's Breast, Night of the Giving Head and The Urethra Franklin Story. But these days the works kind of dried up so I offer a kind of protection. To whoever is the highest bidder. I used to go wherever my cock was needed, now I go wherever my fists are needed".

"A respectable list of titles there, I'm not really a big porn guy but I'm sure they're pretty good", I fire back. "They're pretty good", admits Munro. "You ever go drinking at Hardy Hars?", asks Juan. "Sometimes", I inform him. Juan's ears perk up on this and returns with, "ever speak to a guy named Lenny?". Before I can provide him with an answer, a bar tender flashes him a signal across the room and Juan changes the subject with, "Gentlemen, I think we best be going up". Together we ascend in the lift. It's kind of haunting standing in front of a man who could rip our necks off with one arm if he so wished. Even with two of us, it be difficult to stop him. I didn't feel safe until we are back in the open corridors. Juan fiddles with a room key on a door and we walk in to the hotel room. Black Celebration by Depeche Mode can be heard from a nearby radio. Mr Cardenas is sat on a sofa eyes locked to the ceiling and smoking another of his cigars. His number two man greets us and invites us to sit down. Out on the balcony, there's a party going on. Marianne emerges from behind a curtain wiping some cocaine from her nose. She stops when she sees me. We try to down play the eye contact. There was never a greater pain. But we have business to attend to. The deal runs smoothly until Munro needs to use the bathroom. Unbeknownst to me, my partner had been struggling with a cocaine addiction as of late. Bloody difficult to hide when you're Miami Vice. I'd heard of it happening to one or two of the guys from the past. Never did I think it be something my own partner would succumb to. Munro slipped to the toilet to get a hold of himself and try to calm the temptations. He paces round the bathroom, fighting a losing battle that is not helped by seeing a man dressed as a giant Marlin as soon as he opens the door again. In pure fight or flight mode, he knocks the giant Marlin out cold with a single punch. The B-52s Rock Lobster scores the chaos that takes place in room 303. Juan reaches for his gun, I slap it out of his hand and he throws me through the balcony window and over the rails. Using all the strength I have, I cling on to the bottom of the balcony for dear life.

A hail of bullets bounce across the room. Undoubtedly, my partner needs back up and here I am clowning about over the edge of the balcony like a God damn rookie. There's no excuse for this display of amateurism. I hoist myself over the steel bars and rejoin the battle. The second I re-enter the room, I am sent to the floor, taking a shot to the chest and shoulder. Munro has them pinned in all by himself operating on nothing more than pure anxiety mode. There was no intellectual decisions being made, nothing the enemy could predict, only rage and solid instinct. We'd have had this thing over there and then but Cardenas brought out the dirty tactics by using Marianne as a human shield. "Nooooooo!", I yelled out firing a bunch of aimless shots in to the wall. Cardenas, his new hostage, his number 2 and Peterson used this as a moment to make their exit. My partner puts his arm round my shoulder and carries me out to the car. In the lift, I couldn't help but say, "there's a lot more room in here now without that big beefy bastard, ay?". Munro doesn't bother replying, he knows my heads gone. He dumps me in the passenger seat, takes the keys from my pocket and gets the car in motion. He drives in to the night and I become lost in the neon haze of Miami. Fragments of neon lingers in my blurred vision as we pass the signs at top speeds to Suicide's Surrender. The blood pours through my jacket on to my shoes. A bad day to wear white. You have to laugh. My speech becomes slurred and incomprehensible. In between calling his snitch to find out the location of Cardenas's secret property up the coast, Munro calls back at me, "hang in there, Kelly!". I slip into an existential crisis in the passenger seat of the red 1980 Chevrolet Corvette and in those moments where I thought death was calling me, this life and what we were doing out here began to make sense. If Miami Vice can be reduced to a single sentence it's this feeling of longing amongst the mundane procedural as lovers come and go like tides in this ceaseless pursuit of honour and professionalism. Being warned that it's coming over and over until the day the other pillow grows cold, you look out across the vast emptiness of the Atlantic Ocean and all that you could ever had has been replaced by Endless Blue.

Obsessive focus on plot mechanics loses all meaning. Heart and soul grinded down until they are sold as spare parts. Being a part of a relentless party town, where the coke dealers keep popping up like whack-a-mole and for you it's just another kind of prison. You are a guest here but the hospitality does not extend to yourself. You can look but you can't touch. None of these people are your friends, only respectable snitches at best if such an oxymoron can exist. They form a greater part of your life than your own children. Any friendship earned is returned by slapping the cuffs down once the sting is over. Cheating and lying until the bars shut and the case is closed. I sometimes wonder who tells the truth more, us or the criminals we put away. Only your lovers get worse treatment than the criminals. We should play the harmless monk but who can resist latching on to somebody from time to time? Anything to ward off the incalculable isolation. It was exactly as she said, "one day you will look for me and I'll be gone". There was a fleeting moment. An opportunity to escape and you let it whimper away. Chance after chance was handed to you and one more mojito with a beautiful lady might have saved it but once it sank in, it was already too late. A life dedicated to the badge means the only true relationship you will ever have is with your partner on the force. So he watches your back and you watch his. Naturally, credence and certitude are necessities. You must become an extension of the other. He your right arm and you his left. One brain. One police force. This is Miami Vice. Everything else is bullshit. There are no other commitments. By the side of the road, using whatever materials available to him, Munro patches me up. "These will hold for the next couple of hours but then you're needing a doctor. You think we can do this by then?", says Munro. "We'll have the fucking report written up by then and put down on the captain's desk", I mention without hesitation. We laugh. I agree that once this is over I'm going to spend more time helping my partner with his addictions. We'll help each other.

The time is 6am in Miami, We bomb through the empty streets on the hot trail of our enemies who will soon be punished by the full force of the law. This is about the only time you'll find this place quiet. Already the sun is beaming down on us. Munro turns up the volume on New Order's Dreams Never End, the ultimate revival tune. If you can't screw your head back on to this song, you're already dead. Whatever was to happen up the road didn't matter, we'd restored our faith in one another as partners. We were the bloody boys and we couldn't be stopped. At the gaff in question, Poison by Alice Cooper is pouring from a nearby speaker. In synch, we dive out the car and go in to the house with our canons outstretched ready for the dangers in our path. Marianne reaches us first and cries out, "Kelly!". Followed close behind her is Cardenas. Knowing he's weak without his hostage, he decides to up the ante as he loads up his shotgun and says, "don't think you can get away with this so easily Marianne. You will still have to answer for what happened to Juan's brother". One cue, Juan turns round a corner, joining the Mexican stand-off with a pistol raised and addresses Marianne directly with, "What did you do to Lenny? Where's Lenny?". Marianne refuses to answer, stirring Juan's trigger finger to shake. "He's gonna shoot her", says Munro. "Juan, put the down the gun or we will have to shoot you and I don't want to kill the star of Juan Blew Over the Hooker's Breast". Alice Cooper builds towards his chorus. Every trigger finger edges towards its final destination. It's difficult to know who fired first but on Alice screaming, "I wanna love you but I better not touch!", the Miami early morning firework display commenced.

After a brief fade to black, I open my eyes and I'm surrounded by yellow crystals. I put my hand down on the ground and feel clusters of sand falling from the gaps in between my fingers. Pink Floyd's late era brilliance Coming Back to Life drifts in to my ears. I knew where I was, I'd washed up on the shores of Calday Beach. A classic childhood venue, where the Kelly family and the Zinchenko family competed for many Gold Medals at the Olympic Games in the mid to late 2000s. High jump, long jump, 50 metre dash. You name it, we did them all. Endurance was always my strong suit. Technique or natural ability was nonexistent. As Uncle June said, I "did not have the makings of a varsity athlete". So my strengths lay in an unfaltering mind over long distance. Endurance is all about patience and perseverance. But how long can a man out run his own inner demons? Caught in life's curious canter like that dumbass Forrest Gump. What does this preservation of values matter in an age where centuries of culture is swept away like castles made of sand? Always the same questions. My dear Agnes, can I leave something behind? Buried deep in the sand? Is this still my home? Or should one give in to the temperaments of the tides in the vague hopes that this supposedly cursed ship may one day be bound for brighter shores? The credits sneak up behind without me noticing once again. Executive Producer Michael Mann.