Review: The Lucky One (2012)

The Lucky One (12A)
Starring Zac Efron and Taylor Schilling

2/5 Stars

A mind-numbing experience as cliché and as convoluted as the two times table – The Lucky One panders to all your ‘chick flick’ expectations, but in true clichéd form, it’s as flat as a pancake.

Mr Heart-Throb himself looks rugged and gorgeous but just doesn’t quite make the cut…
Image Courtesy of Screen Crush

Review: The Cabin in the Woods (2012)

The Cabin in the Woods (15)
Starring Kristen Connelly and Chris Hemsworth

3.5/5 Stars

Strap yourself in kids; you’re in for a real treat with this postmodern horror. Hailed as the next instalment to Wes Craven’s Scream and from the writer of the ass-kicking and stake-stabbing Buffy the Vampire Slayer to the  gritty and tense Cloverfield, Drew Goddard’s The Cabin in the Woods is a film with no limitations and strikes the perfect balance between the stereotypical and the surreal.

This looks familiar but I can't quite put my finger on it...
Image courtesy of Forbes

Review: The Woman in Black (2012)

The Woman in Black (12A)
Starring Daniel Radcliffe

4/5 Stars

Good evening and welcome to Eel Marsh House, where everything is black, covered in cobwebs and small china dolls or monkeys play instruments.

In other words, welcome to shit-your-pants-ville.

Review: Heavenly Creatures (1994)

The long wait is over. I have safely landed back into the blogosphere; blame my absence on MA work, Christmas and selling books.  Or just my laziness and over-tiredness. With my insomnia back in full spirit after its sip of mulled wine, I’ve taken a journey into the land of film, more specifically the fourth dimension of Heavenly Creatures.

Heavenly Creatures (1994) directed by Peter Jackson is certainly a marvel to behold. Based on a true story from Pauline Parker’s journal entries in the 50s, Jackson begins a devilish journey into the ‘fourth dimension’, where fantasy grips two young girls and leads them straight to Hell’s gates.

Image courtesy of A.V. Club: Friends forever.

The Lost Daughter of the Clayr: Lirael by Garth Nix

For those of you who have yet to come across the internationally acclaimed author Garth Nix, you are certainly missing out on a big bucket of deliciously chewy treats:  a fantastic fantasy series aptly named The Old Kingdom Trilogy, featuring all things good, bad and witty. Starting with Sabriel, originally a stand-alone novel, Nix penned his two sequels Lirael and Abhorsen with such attentive delicacy that it is certainly hard to imagine my life without the story revolving around Lirael.

I can hear the cliché bells ringing when I say that this story changed my childhood.

But whether you choose to believe me or not, I respected the fictional character of Lirael. In a world where everything presents itself as fake, selfish and image based, the character of Lirael represented the opposite of the popular trend.

Lirael is an outcast, a social reject and unable to find her way in the Clayr’s Glacier of the Old Kingdom.

The Clayr are a group of partial-seeing, partial-knowing residents of Nix’s fantasy world, who stumble their way through life consistently confused, never knowing which path to take. To see the future the Clayr must group together to produce a ‘whole’ picture, but even then all they See are fragments of a vision that may or may not happen.

Lirael does not have the Sight, nor is it likely that she will receive the Sight for a long time. She is 14 and contemplating death over a sheer cliff-face.

Being only a year older than Lirael at the time of reading this, I understood her situation. My Nana had died and left me with a Mum who couldn’t stand, let alone eat or look after me. Plus, I had an overwhelming feeling that I just didn’t belong in this world – that I should be there with Lirael, standing on the brink of doom and destruction. I connected with Nix’s character so well, and being at an impressionable young age, I began to think I was the character, living her solitary life.

Undeniably, Nix is a great writer; he made me feel that life was worth living, even if it was to only read his books, and other great writers from the past. My love of fantasy fiction began as an 11 year-old sapling with Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, to then flower with Philip Pullman and eventually blossom with Garth Nix’s work.

Sabriel began its life as a passionate sapling and grew throughout its 366 page term, to then flower into the compelling Lirael, and end on the beautiful blossoms of Abhorsen.

As I found my way, Lirael also found hers, begging the simple question:

‘Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?’ - Garth Nix

August 2010, Edinburgh Book Festival

Topic of Debate: University vs Real Life Jobs

Students vs The Rest of the World:

It seems there has been an ever-increasing dislike for students who complain that they are ‘tired’ and ‘overworked’ by their University study work. It appears that non-students who work a 9am – 5pm job, evening work, or some that are doing two jobs find students frustrating, somewhat egotistical and quite frankly ‘cop-outs’.

I must agree that working all those hours in a regular job will be tiring as well as monotonous, but how can a regular worker believe it’s harder than studying for a degree, masters or PHD?

Who's up for a study sesh?

As a current MA student, I am working part-time in a bookstore for 15 hours per week, I am in lectures for 20 hours, and independently study for around 8 hours each week.

That’s 43 hours per week.

A regular 9 to 5pm job equates to 40 hours per week and if they did over-time it would take us to around 45 hours a week.

So what is the difference then? University students work the same hours as the rest of the working world, so why the outbreak and anger?

Was it the lack of opportunity twenty or thirty years ago? Or maybe that some people just aren’t a correct fit for the academic world?Whatever the reason, don’t dislike us for it. As students, we are just trying to make a living for ourselves, as are the non-academics of this world.

Even as an undergraduate I worked a 40 hour week at a bookstore during the months November to December, whilst still studying four days a week at University, and commuting the three hour train journey every Wednesday and Sunday. I worked myself to the bone, and the consequence was a very nasty Christmas illness.

On the other side of the coin we have the students that are lazy: they eat, sleep and get drunk, staggering into lectures with a hangover and half a piece of paper.

We’ve all seen them, heck we’ve probably even been there ourselves. However, during exam time your guaranteed to see students cramming in the library, setting up camp with some water, chocolate and a packet of crisps as ‘midnight snacks’.

Non-University youngsters actually have a much better outlook in the current climate of our nation; you can start out in McDonalds and work your way up the career ladder becoming a manager. On the other hand, students work crap jobs for rubbish pay even after they graduate. So who seems to have the easier life?

I'll have a McFlurry please.

It’s a simple question, but the answer is undeniably difficult.

At the end of your shift at work, the rest of the world sits down to a cup of tea and television. University students sit down to a cup of tea, their laptop and a deadline of 3,000 words.

Would you like to write my essay for me?

No, I didn’t think so.

 

 

Barrowman’s Bonks in Torchwood Touch Viewers’ Nerves

On a recent article in Metro, John Barrowman has responded to some viewers’ negative criticism on the current gay sex scenes in Torchwood’s new series, Miracle Day.

Jack and Angelo: Whisperings of Sexual Intimacy

Speaking of the received criticism, John said:

‘When you watch Torchwood there is a warning at the very beginning that some scenes may offend or disturb people. So if you allow your children to sit and watch it with you that’s your responsibility, not ours any more.’

Of course, Barrowman is utterly correct. The warning given at the beginning of each programme is concise and easy to understand, so unless you are severely lacking in common sense or you are four years old then it’s not exactly difficult. But hang on a second, Torchwood is shown after the watershed, at the sensible time of 9pm – can I be so bold to ask as to why your children are even awake at this time, or are even watching stimulating television instead of being read to in their beds?

Sharing the Love

The average 11-year-old has already had sex education – probably even had sex, if you’re looking at today’s current climate, and may even be experiencing feelings towards both sexes. Trust me, they know about the gays.

The average 8-year-old should have already gone to bed at this time; I was in bed by half past 7!

The problem here doesn’t concern the children, it revolves around the parents embarrassment, as John says:

‘They were just embarrassed because it put them in a position where they had to explain things to their kids or their family which probably should have been explained a long time ago.’ 

The most frustrating thing is that viewers didn’t complain about the concept of the show: man-made people burning ovens, torture and so on. Yeah, you definitely got your priorities right there didn’t you?

No wonder violence and crime rates are so high.

Hanging On by a Thread

Now I consider myself as ‘desensitized’ to violence in films and television shows, but what was shown in Torchwood horrified me, simply because it felt so realistic. It stuns me to think that with such an open-minded culture and society, we still cannot get past the homosexual scenes on television.

Let me throw a spanner into the works – would you be so traumatized and angry if two women were on the screen having a bit of rumpy-bumpy? Can I remind you of the earlier Torchwood series with Tosh and her midnight rumblings with women? Or are you just annoyed because it’s John Barrowman, a family television presenter?

Being gay isn’t a disability, so stop being embarrassed by homosexuality; your kids aren’t.

Old Horror Movies: Psycho

Returning to my series of blog posts on ‘Old Horror Movies’, I shall take you into the psychotic world of Norman Bates. It’s not a pretty one, plus he has an avid fascination with stuffed animals and birds. Let’s just say, he likes to get his hands dirty.

Hello my pretty...

Psycho directed by the infamous Alfred Hitchcock, is the story of a beautiful secretary, Marion Crane, who wishes for more in life than the ’9 to 5′ shift. She wants money and she wants it quickly. When the ‘opportune-moment’ arrives and the stash of money is dangled in front of her eyes, temptation hits; as a cat to milk she licks the evidence clean and tears herself away from the world she once knew, driving straight into her doom at the Bates Motel.

Norman Bates is a good-looking young man and Marion’s sexual drive begins to rev at the sight of him as she accepts tea and sandwiches in his office and later, or so it has been interpreted, gives herself some ‘fun-time’ in the shower. Little does she know that Norman is safely watching her through a peep-hole. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if he’d just have had Facebook to treat his snake’s eye?

The shower scene is easily the most famous Hitchcockian moment of the film, with many people knowing of it without seeing the film. There has been an abundance of psychoanalytical theories attached to this film: Marion’s slick blood spraying the walls as her sins wash down into the symbolic drain hole of hell, the phallic sword of the vengeful mother gutting her son’s love interest revealing her as Barbara Creed’s lustful term of the monstrous feminine, and the shower curtain resembling the not-so-hidden veil of the hymen, are just a few to name.

Of course, the film does not just revolve around the infamous scene, but holds much more horror within its motel walls. Who is Norman’s mother lurking in the window, ever-watching, ever-seeing and ever-knowing? Tightening the noose and jerking on the tether, Mrs Bates holds a firm grip on her son, whilst he grips the ‘peeping tom’ trophy.

Please do stay a night, though it will be your last.

With Psycho coined as a ‘timeless classic’ and as one of the most coveted black and white horror films of the 60s, if you have not seen it prepare to be chilled with a tale of lust, vengeance and surprising twists. This is horror at its most tantalising, most brutal and its most psychotic, with no other film even coming close to its haunting mark.

Superman Without His Pants!

Snyder just got it all wrong. Again.

I’m about to give up hope; may as well just run myself off the edge of a cliff, because I know my hero won’t be there clad in all his glory to save me.

So what’s the dealio Snyder, Cavill? Costume designer gone on their vacation, to the land of no return? Took off with Supes underpants, in a hurry to take over the world!? I knew you were an evil man Lex, but stooping to that level…

In case you haven’t got the foggiest idea what I’m speaking of, here’s a clue: the latest on-set pictures to be released of the new Superman film has Henry Cavill with the iconic red underwear gone, and in its place, lo and behold, Cavill’s crotch.

Gone Commando Cavill?

SHIELD THE CHILDREN’S EYES!

Wouldn’t want to get your daughter saved by Cal-El whilst she’s leaning against his package would you?

So I’m all for seeing a bit of the bulge on Henry Cavill, but seeing it on Superman? Not so keen. This is a comic book hero for kids, not an up-street, flying high gigolo. Interestingly enough, if you’re geeky about Superman (like me) you’ll know that in the original Richard Donner version, the costume designers were finding it tricky to ‘flatten out’ Christopher Reeve’s privates. They weren’t sure whether to make things bigger or smaller, eventually they just bulked up the underwear a bit.

However, to add to the confusion of all things Kryptonian, Snyder has released photos with Cavill still wearing the red underpants. Clearly they haven’t decided whether to abandon them just yet.

The yellow belt also seems to have disappeared and replaced, by what appears to be, a yellow button. So what does that do Snyder? Wonder if it opens up Cavill’s secret compartment…

Well ladies and homosexual men, it seems that pushing Superman’s buttons does get you somewhere.  For heterosexual men, I’d certainly not push that button – you might just get wet.

 

The Inbetweeners Movie: Riding Out On A High

Shagaluf? Sorry, it's Malia

The Inbetweeners have been posing nude in front of our tv screens for a successful three series, now they’ve got us hooked on the big screen ready to bare their bums (as well as other parts) in a 90 minute ‘LOL’ trip to the Greek Island, Malia.

On hearing the word ‘movie’ in the same sentence as ‘end of the series’, it is safe to say that I was a little dubious.  Though it worked for Sex and the City, fully disregarding the atrocity that was the sequel, I was blindly hoping that The Inbetweeners Movie may just ride out on a high.

I wasn’t disappointed.

The Inbetweeners Movie was exactly how I had imagined: crude jokes, ‘LOL’ moments, amusing nudity and some absolutely disgusting ‘vomit-in-your-mouth’ scenes. Everything that I love with the series was portrayed in the cinema bigger and better, and I’m not just speaking of Jay’s ego. For the final time, the writers and producers have screened the perfect end to a not-so-perfect group of Inbetweeners.

Without hitting the mark of spoiler territory, Will (Simon Bird), Jay (James Buckley), Simon (Joe Thomas) and Neil (Blake Harrison) played out their roles with ridiculous amounts of crude gestures as a group of teenage boys would.

The spoken gem of the film came from none other than Jay:

‘She’s so wet for me I can hear the waves breaking in her fanny.’ 

Oh Jay, thanks for enlightening me I’d never thought of it in quite that way before…

Another great ‘LOL’ moment appears at the half-way point of the boys shenanigans, where Will is wondering what it would be like to put stones in his underpants and jump in the pool. Neil, the bright-spark of the foursome, has a wondrous revelation about religion and the spelling of said spiritual entity. I can’t give the joke away – that would be cruel!

Fish Bowl Time - Where's the pussay?

The film never misses a moment to capture laughter from its audience and just like the series it always hits you right where it hurts: on the funny bone. With tear-filled eyes (from laughter) and a massive smile on my face, I was struck by the sadness that the four boys would never haunt my television with their sock-covered penis’, their shit-filled pants, and their egotistical ‘pussay patrols’.

Yet one thing is for certain, I’ll never forget them bus wankers.

5 Stars