Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before Stop me if you think you've heard this one before but when did you last say goodbye to The Smiths? Was it when Morrissey ousted himself as the face of British far right party UKIP and the true heir to Nigel Farage? Spouting all that shit about tighter borders and keeping the foreigners out. Going from serious lyricist to serious racist. As bad as these events were to me these are the least of his crimes. Above that, he needs to stand trial for being a miserable bastard in need of lightening up. The phrase, "touch grass", is one that can be applied to Morrissey's despicable antics. Puts a serious downer on Johnny Marr's otherwise generally pleasant jangly guitar work. And I know what you're going to say right, it's all about the contrast of the two? No. How can I back this take when I find Morrissey's contributions to the songs utterly insufferable? One half is good and the others shite. That's the truth. Why is it that The Smiths critics label them as a "student band", when in actuality Morrissey's "poetry" could probably make a sixth former cringe? If you get the urge to hit play on David Fincher's latest offering, The Killer, currently streaming on Netflix, be careful, be careful. I come bearing great warning like Takashi Miike in Hostel. You may get more than you bargained for. You may come out wanting to give The Smiths another shot. Ladies and gentlemen, a sickness is spreading Do not underestimate the power of ironic championing. This is the key to conversion. It starts off as this grand joke and next things it's tolerable. I'm glad more people don't know this is man's greatest weakness. For who doesn't appreciate a good joke? Don't fall for it. Don't even let it in. Keep you damn doors shut. Throw up a no canvassing sign if you have to. Not in this neighbourhood! We shall not be overrun. Mr Fincher almost led your least favourite film critic astray with his devious methods and Smiths records but I am here stronger than ever to ward off those evil spirits that seek to take our bodies over like it's The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Now that warning is out the way, we can begin this fucking review.
Ok, so the opening chapter which takes up a good 20 minutes of the run time could work as a superb short film in itself. Perfectly depicting the boredom of one man's routine as he lines up his kill shot. Yoga exercises, naps and coffees are how he fills his time. To relax he listens to his favourite band The Smiths just so if you didn't get the message this guys a total fucking loser, you've got it now. Excellent use of music that really parodies the whole fan base. Smiths fans, don't take it personally, Fincher's even taking shots at himself. Here we get the man at his most personal turning to auto criticism. He compares himself to the role of an assassin, planning out technical compositions and set pieces like actual murders. A consequence of this obsession with diving in to the imagination. The tagline is literally, "execution is everything", it couldn't be any more on the nose. This comparison between murder and auteur is hardly new ground. Hitchcock had this all figured out way before anyone else. All his greatest students today like Fincher, Park Chan Wook, and Steven Soderbergh are merely continuing his way of life. Personally, I don't fully relate to this image. For me, as I discovered in last month's issue, I'm more of a TV cop like those depicted in 80s hit show Miami Vice. I have not been as others were-I have not seen as others saw. It's look but don't touch. Observing this life from afar but never being part of it. Never experiencing it. Dabbling now and then but never committing. Nothing but undercover stings and illusions. Brief but passionate encounters. left with this overwhelming sense of longing. Living amongst unresolved cases gathering in dust. Every time an issue is dealt with, another one pops up like Whack-A-Mole. Wanting to retire from the life and throw that badge so hard in to the sea but holding on to centuries of tradition because if I don’t no-one will.
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