Sunday, 29 August 2010

James Cameron: Scrooge McDick?

James Cameron did quite well with "Avatar". The film grubbed up 2.7 billion dollars worldwide, beating Cameron's own "Titanic" to become the highest grossing film ever made.

The word on the information super-street is that Cameron himself poured roughly $350 million of that into his own pocket.

$350 million is not enough for James Cameron.

He wants more.

The Extended Edition of "Avatar" was released on Friday, complete with a whopping EIGHT WHOLE MINUTES of additional footage which will surely revolutionise the story and themes of the already two-hour forty-minutes of interstellar holiday video that the original cut was.

You saw it in Imax! You saw it in 3D! You saw it on DVD and Blu-Ray! Now, see "Avatar" almost exactly as you've seen it before!

According to Cameron, the logic behind this is that they "left money on the table" when "Avatar" got shunted from 3D screens to make way for "Alice in Wonderland". They left money on the table? How big was the fucking table? I bet James Cameron goes around restaurants sweeping left-overs into doggy bags and stealing out of tip-dishes. This guy wants the moon on a stick.

And, if an extra eight minutes isn't enough Pandora action to satisfy your Na'vi lust, just you wait! There's a special box-set of the film scheduled for release in November which contains an entire QUARTER OF AN HOUR of extra scenes!

So those of you who are big fans of the Blue Cat Group will have to stump up again and again to stay in the loop with what's hip on Pandora.

I genuinely think Cameron is being very cynical here. The "Lord of the Rings" extended cuts all featured at least half an hour of additional scenes, the documentaries were worth the price alone, and you didn't have to pay extra to stick plastic goggles on your face.

It could be argued that he is giving people who missed it the first time around the chance to see the film as God (James Cameron, in his own mind) intended, but phrases like "we left money on the table" make his intentions seem a little bit sinister, and who didn't see it first time round anyway? The money "left on the table" would've mostly belonged to people going for the fourth or fifth time, stroking themselves into raptures whilst fantasising about living on another planet and linking ponytails with a giant blue chick.

Add all this to the fact that Cameron is planning a sequel to "Avatar" which promises to be even duller and more preachy than the first one because, apparently, Cameron was told by some South American tribe that he related to the Na'vi that, rather than resorting to action-violence, they "have decided to try to solve [their] problems through dialogue". So say goodbye to the only redeeming feature of "Avatar" (the action) and say hello to intergalactic political debate and peace negotiations! Apparently Cameron thinks the next movie "needs a better message". Cos what's even more entertaining than ham-fisted preaching about conservation and military oppression is preaching about peace and love and can't we all just get along, isn't it? Go and hug a motion captured tree, Cameron. Fucking space politics.

Meanwhile Cameron is not only laughing all the way to the bank, he is chuckling all the way to his collossal vault filled with cash, sniggering all the way to the changing rooms, giggling over to poolside in his swimming cossie, chortling up the ladder to the diving board and guffawing his way through a swan dive into a pool of cash siphoned from the wallets of gullible Avatards. Then he is swimming about like Scrooge McDick, thinking up other ways to suck more money from the "Avatar" cock.

And he's gonna 3Dify "Titanic" and re-release that shit as well. Cos, let's face it, what that crass, simplistic, soap-opera trivialisation of a huge fucking human disaster really needs is to be converted into a three hour fairground ride so we can all go "Oooh, 3D" when Kate Winslet gets her tits out.

Saturday, 28 August 2010

The Expendables: A-Team/B-Movie



With a cast like that, made up mainly of people whose names cannot be written unless capitalised (and Eric Roberts), there was surely no chance of this film failing. Stick Stallone behind the camera, fresh from the excellent series-cap of "Rocky Balboa" and the cartoon-splatter ludicrousness of the last "Rambo", and we were sure to have a big, dumb, fun 80s throwback of an action-film, drenched in testosterone, blood and bullets.

The horrible truth is, however, that "The Expendables" is more than a little bit dull.

The film opens with Stallone's band of mercenaries rescuing some hostages from some pirates or summat. Not ones with eye-patches and parrots, or ones making counterfeit movies, but ones with guns and knives and stuff like that. This scene is an indicator of things to come: a little bit flat, featuring over-edited and all-too-brief action, stilted dialogue intended to illustrate the camaraderie between the mercs and an overall feeling of anti-climax.

Now, for a film that is pitched as the ultimate action film, it seems like FUCKING AGES before there's actually any more action onscreen. Stallone and the boys go home, hang out with Mickey Rourke, Statham visits his girlfriend Cordelia, Stallone chats with Arnie and Bruce, Stallone and Statham fly a plane to an island where bad shit is going down, potter around for ages observing said bad shit, meet a slightly hot local girl who guides them around, and FINALLY get in some trouble and have another all-too-brief fight before blowing up a dock and escaping in their plane.

They go back to Mickey Rourke's to hang out, Statham goes back to Cordelia and beats up her new boyfriend, Jet Li pops up to remind you he was supposed to be in the film, Dolph Lundgren turns bad, there's a short car-chase and a brief, choppy fight between him and Jet, then Stallone decides to head back to Bad Shit Island to rescue the slightly hot local girl from her evil General father, they all go along, kill the shit out of everyone and that's the end.

I usually hate to summarise plot in my reviews, but I do it in this case to illustrate the fact that there is a dearth of action for a large portion of this action film, and when it does kick off, it is brief, uninspired, unexciting and unimpressive.

Take, for instance, the Dolph/Jet fight. Dolph Lundgren's as big as a house, Jet Li is as tiny as a mouse, so it's a perfectly imbalanced match-up that was sure to bring laughs and thrills. There's even an amusing gag where Jet lures Dolph under a low-clearance gantry and he keeps banging his lanky head. Why the scene fails to impress is simply down to editing and pacing. It feels as if one or more of the performers wasn't up to scratch in the fight-department (Looking mainly at you, Dolph), and so Stallone had to edit the shit out of the fight until you couldn't actually see what was going on.

Now, I have no problem with the shaky-cam, fast-edit trend when used wisely. The "Bourne" films portrayed fluid action throughout their jerky, choppy scenes, so I never felt lost or disorientated, but "The Expendables" is riddled with confusing, incoherently edited action which continually distracts attention from what we really should be looking at.

If you've cast Li, Statham, Lundgren, Austin etc, Sly, we've paid good money on the promise of seeing these chaps do what they do best: smacking the shit out of people. So it would be nice to be able to see who's hitting who. There's a scene towards the end of the movie which intercuts between about four different fights, each featuring people dressed in black and wearing black hats, all situated in a gloomy subterranean tunnel complex, with lots of close-ups, shaky-cam, and minuscule edits rendering it almost impossible to work out who's getting their arse handed to them by whom and why we should care.

The final battle is entertaining enough, but still suffers from the aforementioned anti-climax feeling. I couldn't help thinking "Is that it?" when Evil Eric Roberts went down, or "Already?" when Nasty Steve Austin got set on fire. There was little momentum throughout the film and, when it finally kicks off in the last act, it's over before it's even got started.

One of the major draws for this film was the chance to see Arnie, Bruce and Sly onscreen together. This happens relatively early on in the film and Bruce has about two minutes of screentime, while Arnie gets about a whole sixty seconds. The scene is a typical exposition scene with some lame, injokey banter between Stallone and Big Arn, and continues the anti-climactic theme of the film. You put Arnie, Bruce and Sly together on screen and just make them have a conversation? Bruce is the only one who can TALK, let alone ACT! Stallone intones his lines through dangly, botoxed lips, sounding alarmingly like he's swallowed a knackered old tuba, Arnie smirks and winks, has a funny accent and then fucks off, and Bruce just about gets away unscathed with some whispering threats and odd laughter.

Of course, we couldn't expect Arnie to have time to get more involved in the film, but with his face in all of the trailers it all just seems like a cynical hash job to get his name on the poster. It's as if you went to Live Aid and Freddy Mercury came onstage, said hello and then fucked off again.

It's not all bad, though. Mickey Rourke is funny and amiable playing another aging rebel with a troubled past, Dolph Lundgren turns in a memorably nutso performance, bellowing "BRING IT, HAPPY FEET!" at Jet Li, and Terry Crews has an automatic shotgun that blows people to bits real good. That's about it, though.

The film has been very successful in America and over here, and I hope that Stallone uses this success to learn from the mistakes of this film and make a sequel that gives us the balls-to-the-wall, batshit crazy, kick-arse, head-stomping action-film that this promised to be.

Friday, 27 August 2010

Scott Pilgrim: Punching Your Life in the Face

Edgar Wright, the nasal-voiced nerd-box director behind "Shaun of the Dead", "Hot Fuzz" and "Spaced" makes his first solo outing with an adaptation of Brian Lee O'Malley's indie-slacker-action-manga-comedy comic. Can he maintain his streak of geeky comedy classics, or is his first major post-Pegg outing destined to crash and burn?

Depends on your perspective.

"Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World", judging by online chatter, blog excitement and web-based nerd-ejaculations, was one of the most anticipated films of the year but, upon its release in the United States of America, it tanked harder than Pierce Brosnan in "Goldeneye":

The internet buzz dissipated like piss in a pool and, in spite of generally positive reviews, the film has only made $20 million in its first two weeks of release. By comparison, "Vampires Suck" made almost that in its first week alone. Nice going, America!

So, "Scott Pilgrim" must be some sort of crashing disappointment, buckling under the weight of geek expectations that could never be fulfilled, right?

Fuck, no.

"Pilgrim"'s lack of financial progress is a similar kind of quality/income discrepancy as befell "Kick-Ass", where the lack of general public interest is no indicator of the sheer entertainment that the folk on the street seem unwilling to open their minds to.

The movie tells the tale of one Scott Pilgrim - a twenty-something Canadian slacker spending his days playing video games and jamming with his energetically ropey band "Sex Bob-omb" - who meets the girl of his dreams in the form of Ramona Flowers, an American girl with ever-changing hair-colour, and sets about attempting to woo her.

So far, so teen rom-com. The twist is that, in order to win Ramona's heart, Scott must defeat her seven evil ex-boyfriends in duels to the death of varying levels of chaotic ridiculousness.

This feels like the film that Edgar Wright was born to make. It plays like a feature-length episode of "Spaced", but instead of movies and TV being the main frame of pop-cultural reference, Pilgrim's world is filtered primarily through a comic book retro-gamer sensibility: Extra lives, multi-hit combos, enemies dissolving into showers of coins, anime-style motion blur and framing, and pretty much every memorable computer game sound effect from the 8-bit to the 16-bit age.

Wright has claimed the film as a spiritual musical - just with outlandish smackdowns instead of showstopping numbers - and this is a fair assessment. The battles are executed with such gleeful bravado that it is impossible to not be swept up in their infectious, inventive energy and frenetic-yet-fluid pacing.

It's not all crazy "Street Fighter" stand-offs, however, as the brilliantly cast ensemble and the sharply absurd script keep the chuckles coming even when Michael Cera isn't being punched into the sky by Anne from "Arrested Development". Cera, as Scott, reveals a hitherto unseen range: he gets angry, he smiles and laughs, he gets drunk and sarcastic, he smashes skateboards over people's heads. For most actors, this would just be taken for granted, but for Cera, anything other than his usual nervous-nerd schtick is a huge leap forward. It's as if Orlando Bloom stopped being upstaged by the furniture!

Mary Elizabeth Winstead, wielding a massive, pixellated hammer as Ramona, delivers a nerd wank-fantasy for the ages but also manages to flesh her out in ways other than the physical, rendering a flawed and believable character once she is displaced from the pedestal of Pilgrim's perceptions. The supporting players all bring something interesting to the table, from Ellen Wong's sweetly stalkerish Knives to Chris Evans chewing scenery as evil action-movie star Lucas Lee, but it is Kieran Culkin as Scott's gay room-mate, Wallace, who does most of the scene-nicking.

Coming on like a hipster Oscar Wilde, Culkin lounges through the movie, drink in hand, firing barbs and wisdom and collecting boys like he's stockpiling. He is the peak of a fine cast, each capturing the characters familiar to fans of the books whilst breathing three-dimensional fleshy life into them.

A soundtrack featuring artists such as Beck, Broken Social Scene and even the friggin Bluetones acts as the beating heart of the film, throbbing throughout the action and providing some excellently raw performance sequences from the various bands on display. It could be argued that the music is perhaps TOO good for these supposedly sucky and amateur groups, but only by the most churlish and cynical.

I was of two minds about the potential quality of this film, worrying that an excess of Adam West-esque POW-ZAP-BIFF writing on the screen, the general over-stylized tone and an incessent pace might render the film snarky, smug, cold, aloof and annoying, but I needn't have worried. "Pilgrim" is a warm, sunny, funny, tender, honest and fucking hilarious trip into the mind of a young man who should know better.

Go and see it.

Friday, 20 August 2010

The People Under the Stairs

There's a fire.

Well, if you trust the machines, there is.

The fire panel is telling me that an inferno is raging in "Area 16". It doesn't mention the word inferno, but I know it's thinking it. I'm checking on the map for Area 16, feeling like I'm playing "Resident Evil" or something, getting my bearings before ploughing on into another zombie-infested mission. The alarm is ringing in my ears. And outside them as well, obviously. I don't have a special inner-ear alarm connection or anything. Yet.

Area 16 is a small stairwell leading down from the Screen 5 fire exit. According to the all-knowing panel, the fire is on level one, meaning it will be right at the bottom of the stairwell, by the door to piss-alley. I hurry off, hoping I read the map right.

There are people in the screen, waiting for the show to kick off. If we don't find the problem, sort it, and reset the alarm within about two minutes, the film will not be starting. When a fire is detected, a silent alarm starts, along with a countdown to full alarm and evacuation. When those two minutes are up, a disembodied voice starts booming through the building like that of Jehovah himself, commanding "Attention please: a situation has arisen where we need to evacuate the building. Please RUN LIKE FUCK AND STAMP ON AS MANY CHILDREN AND DISABLEDS AS YOU CAN!" or summat.

So I trundle to the fire door in the screen, push the bar, swing it open... well, I'm sure you know how to open a door. As soon as I step through into the concrete stairwell, I can hear voices.

My first thought is "Holy shit, a TALKING FIRE!", and I prepare myself for some sort of religious experience. Peering over the bannister and down the stairwell, however, I can see what appears to be a sleeping bag splayed out on the concrete. The voices are still talking. At least three of them.

Someone's turned the fire-escape into a homeless shelter.

I sigh, and turn back to get help. There's no way I'm turfing a bunch of drifters out of the building single-handedly. What if they bite? Or have a bomb or something? That's what these homelesses are like, isn't it? Right?

So after quickly assembling an A-Team consisting of me and two of the popcorn-jockeys, we brave the stairwell again.

Descending the stairs, I start to use my big voice to order whoever's down there out of the building. This strategy hinges on the hope that they will hear the strange, commanding voice echoing down to them and it will strike an untold fear into their hearts, causing them to up sticks and bail before I actually get down there, thus saving me an uncomfortable, possibly dangerous and musty-smelling confrontation.

It kind of works.

When we reach the foot of the stairs, where the big piss-stain is, there are three hobos already halfway out of the fire door. I follow them, doing some sort of super-authoritative shooing motion with my hands, ignore their protests and shut the door behind them. Then we turn and survey the damage.

There are some bags and stuff lying around on the floor, and a quilt spread out under the stairs. I peer into the dark alcove at what looks like a bundle of clothes and bedding.

One of my elite homeless-evicting team points out that there is a man under there. That's why I picked him. Observant.

There certainly is a man under the stairs. Lying flat on his face, dead to the world, cleverly disguised as a bundle of clothes and bedding. Homeless people are known to adapt to their surroundings in order to blend in and hide from their natural enemies, such as the Police, projectionists and those gimps from "Bumfights".

I suddenly have a bad feeling. What if he is LITERALLY dead to the world? Who do you call to get rid of a dead homeless? He'd probably fit in the big industrial bins out the back, but that seems a bit inhumane. They are human beings after all, aren't they? I'm sure I heard that or read it in a pamphlet or something.

So I'm asking this body under the stairs if it's alive or dead, trying to get some sort of reaction, but getting nothing. I sit on the stairs and radio the manager to call the police. As soon as the word "POLICE" is uttered, a slurred, mangled voice emanates from under the stairs, imploring me not to get the fuzz involved.

The gentleman-formerly-suspected-of-being-a-corpse turns out to have just been enjoying a nice lie down. He emerges, informs me that they found the fire-door open the night before and the little alcove under the stairs looked too cosy to pass up. He also informs me that he and his friends are homeless, which seems a little redundant at this point. I mean, I didn't think they were on a camping holiday.

Trying to keep my distance incase he has needles for fingers or breathes fire or anything, I try to gently escort him out of the door. He keeps thanking me for some reason. At one point I think he's about to hug me. Then he fucks off.

The other two members of my team have performed an assessment and come to the conclusion that the door-lock has been jammed with a bit of metal off a cigarette lighter:

By this time, the building has been fully evacuated, even though there is no fire. The fire-point by the door has been activated, probably by one of the homelesses falling into it whilst having a trip from snorting marijuana or something, and we can't reset it.

A fireman comes. It's amazing how embarrassing it is to be unable to find the alarm-reset key and then, once it's found, be unable to work out how to use it properly, whilst under the disdainful gaze of a professional fire-fighter who is obviously thinking "If this was a real fire, you would be fucking toast, mate."

In all the confusion, the homeless types left the quilt behind. I couldn't help thinking that one of them would be damn cold that night.

I felt a little bad for having to be the one to move them on. You've got to admire the tenacity it takes to set up camp in a remote stairwell of a large, public building, and they had done it with some style. Truth be told, it was simple misfortune that betrayed them to us; if they hadn't triggered the alarm, there's no telling when we would've discovered them.

They fucked my day up no end, though. Making me run up and down stairs? Causing movies to be delayed and even CANCELLED? Inconveniencing members of the public and cinema staff just because you haven't got anywhere to sleep? Not on my watch, motherfucker. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, and I will shout at them with my big voice and shoo them out of the fire-exit.

Sean Connery Vs. Robert Shaw Vs. Bruce the Shark

I guessed another quote right over on Sugary Cynicism, and for my skills was awarded a picture of my choice. I chose a depiction of the fight between Sean Connery and Robert Shaw in "From Russia With Love", with a guest appearance from Shaw's nemesis Bruce the Shark from "Jaws". This is what I got:

For a chance to win a wonderful piece of art such as this for yourself, why not pop over to Sugary Cynicism and see what's shaking?

Friday, 13 August 2010

Knight and Day: Cruise Control

"Knight and Day" shuffles sheepishly to UK shores amidst jeers of box-office failure in the US and the distant sound of the death knell of Tom Cruise's long and spotty career. Does it really represent the end of Cruise's time in the spotlight? Are we witnessing the crash of the star-vehicle in general?

I dunno. It's not all that bad a film, not particularly successful, but not a disaster either.

The story revolves around Cruise's Roy Miller (same name as Matt Damon in "Green Zone". Maybe this is a sequel?), a secret agent type fella, and Cameron Diaz's June Havens, a mechanic or something I think, who meet on a plane and become embroiled in a convoluted and silly caper involving spanish arms-dealers, federal agents, teenage geeks and super-batteries.

I've stated in the past that I was surprisingly amused by the trailers, and the film itself is certainly amusing up to a point, but it is also clumsy, repetitive, dramatically flat and relies almost entirely on the charisma of its two stars.

So, if you generally like Tom and Cameron, you will probably quite enjoy "Knight and Day" in spite of its flaws, but therein lies the problem:

Nobody likes Tom Cruise anymore.

What happens when a movie star, essentially a product, loses its shine? Tom has, in recent years, spiralled out of public favour due to various high-profile foot-in-mouth moments and a growing, widely-held belief that he is at the head of some nefarious cult of alien-worshipping dingbats. His appeal has gone from "Lets go and see the new Tom Cruise movie, he's cool!" to "I'm not watching that, it's got Tom Cruise in it. I bet the money from my ticket will go to funding alien autopsies or something".

This presents us with the curiously double-edged blade of movie-stardom. You get famous because of some films you were in, so people want to get to know the real you, they find out too much about the real you, they then can't disassociate this knowledge from your actual work onscreen.

I've always thought Cruise was under-rated as a performer, but he's always at his best when playing a damaged arsehole. "Rain Man": Arsehole. "Magnolia": Arsehole. "Tropic Thunder": Arsehole.

Sure, he can play a charismatic action hero, but he really excels at arrogance and irrationality. This role sees him bringing some of that irrationality to a typical action framework, as his Miller is eccentric to the point of insanity, whilst doing all the usual running, jumping and cheesy-grinning you expect from a Tom Cruise character. This apparently unbalanced centre of the character is, unfortunately, never fully addressed aside from a couple of narrative red-herrings and ultimately feels like some sort of gimmick to keep you watching for the first half of the film: "What's Crazy Tom going to do next?!?!?"

It is also easy to read this as Cruiso grabbing at straws: "Tom, everyone thinks you're crazy." "Well, if I act crazy in a movie, I'll seem self-aware and funny and maybe they'll love me again!"

The failure of this effort has led to much speculation about the nature of movie-stardom at the moment. Is Tom Cruise really worth 20-odd million a movie? There was a time when slapping his name above the title guaranteed you a smashing opening-weekend and a massive return on your investment, but if he can't promise that anymore, what the hell are you paying him for?

This led the Gaurdian newspaper to suggest that perhaps Leo DiCaprio's Crazy Face has taken over the Cruise-Dude's place in the Hollywood-heirarchy (see here), and Empire magazine to retort here, but I feel that Dinky Tom's star is on the wane, not only because of his self-imposed smear campaign, but because he is the last of a dying breed. There are very few major male movie-stars who can carry a film just on the strength of their established persona these days, the only one springing immediately to mind being Will Smith, who manages to do pretty much the same thing in most blockbuster films he's in (save the world from some robots or something) and still keep it entertaining through sheer strength of charisma. Other performers like Johnny Depp or DiCaprio hold an appeal for a different reason, not just because of who they are, but what you know they're capable of: Eccentric, garish performances with a glimmer of heart that eventually start to grate on you until you just wish he'd do summat proper but he's got "The Rum Diary" coming out soon so that'll be okay, and performances of truthful intensity, seething with emotion and determination to discover the darkness at the heart of man via a permanently furrowed brow and a damn crazy face, respectively.

Cruise's commodity is losing value because he's still relying on simple, shiny-toothed star-wattage to get him through, and people have turned away in droves. He needs to start taking smaller roles, parts where the whole film doesn't rest on his shoulders, do some smaller films, take some risks with the characters he plays, remind us that we liked him because of the work he did, not because of who he is, and maybe he can win us back.

He needs to not do this anymore:

Seriously, the Les Grossman thing was funny in context in "Tropic Thunder", but it had run its course even by the end of that film, where they had him dancing over the end credits just because Tom Cruise dancing in a fat-suit is too funny to only see once.

But Cruise's people must have got the memo that people liked him in "Tropic Thunder", because now they're making a fucking movie all about Tom Cruise Swearing in a Fat-Suit. Careful, Tom, or you'll become the new Eddie Murphy.

Anyway, back to "Knight and Day". It's an okay film. Entertaining enough, with a nice bit of interplay between Tom and Cameron, but the action is somewhat marred by an abundance of CGI fakery which makes it appear a cheap bastard cousin of Bourne or Bond with some romantic comedy silliness thrown in. Peter Sarsgaard and Paul Dano are wasted on minimal screentime and shallow characters, the plot is convoluted nonsense revolving around an uninspired McGuffin, and there is a distinct feeling of repetition to the attack-chase-escape structure of the set-pieces and the film in general.

Basically: It's okay. I suppose.

Oh, and Paul Dano plays a character called Simon Feck. Which is bloody hilarious.

Summertime Blues

It's the summer holidays. A time when children rejoice at the prospect of six weeks of freedom from school, teenagers prepare themselves for exam results, and projectionists start to malfunction even more than usual.

Somebody has had the bright idea that, throughout the summer holidays, the cinema should be showing both early and late shows. This means that the site is open to the public from about 9.30am til about 2am. That's about seventeen hours.

Now, you can just about understand the mentality that would suggest opening early during school holidays. Some kids get up early and the parents need to give them summat to do, so they could go to the pictures. The late shows, however, make very little sense. It's the school holidays, so kids can stay up late, right? But nobody under 18 years of age is supposed to be in the cinema after about 10.30pm. But the students are off too, so they might want to catch a performance of "Inception" at 11.30, right? Yeah, the students are off, so the vast majority of them have gone home.

This leaves us sitting around at two o'clock in the morning, waiting for the credits to roll on a film with two people watching it. Bear this in mind next time you go to watch a late show: If you are the only person in the screen, you are the only reason that film is still on. If there was nobody there, the film would be shut down and everyone else could go home. So don't sit there watching the credits in case there's an extra scene at the end or because you want to find out what that one song was called. I'm tired and I want to go to bed.

The general crux of all this nonsense is an excuse. I haven't posted much lately because there's not much going on at work, though we are obviously busy, and the early/late opening times means there is no time to print-check new films or put on staff shows, so I haven't been able to write reviews. I even had to watch a film with the public yesterday! What's the world coming to?

Sunday, 8 August 2010

Taglines II: Double Entendres

Some of you may have already come across this poster:

Now, the composition of the image combined with the blatantly loaded tagline leads me to believe that somebody, somewhere is either laughing their arse off or getting fired because of this poster. I can't believe that tagline could simply slip in unnoticed without rubbing somebody the wrong way.

This, and the fact that I have nothing else to write about at the moment, made me ponder what other naughty poster-tags you could get away with. Here's a few:

Can you think of any?

EDIT: I just noticed that, rather appropriately, this is my 69th post! Hehe.