Introduction
New Year’s Day I was having a bit of a bez down Hyde Park to see if I could find some carrots – I could – and just as I was going past the cinema – the wonderful old cinema on the corner there, right where I saw The Adventures of Baron Munchausen as a lad with my dad – I noticed people going in. What’s on? I wondered. Answer: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, starting in two minutes. Lessgo! I said. I inquired into length of trailers, bezzed back up home, grabbed Nicola, and we bezzed back down. Even time for a piss.
The Movie
The movie started off a little bit boring. Gritty old men smoked in seventies coats and talked all serious. Then someone got shot, then it was more boring still. I questioned this: I’d heard good things about this film, had high hopes. Also, I like long, slow films, so it’s not like I’m some modern day kid with no patience and a mad desire for stimulation. I started to wish I’d gone to watch a comedy instead, and maybe even resolved to watch only comedies in the future. Light-hearted is beginning to trump earnest and dramatic every time.
Meanwhile, the movie carried on. Gary Oldman was, of course, excellent. He did stuff, got to work on cracking a case. Well, alackaday, I ain’t no movie reviewer: I’ll do my sum up now. It was a bit ponderous and the big problem was that, for a whodunit, there wasn’t much scope for audience participation. Sure, the suspects looked a bit suspicious for a time – and then the culprit was revealed. Oh, okay. Would’ve been more fun if we’d had a chance to try and work it out for ourselves – you know, like a Columbo. Apparently they were all guilty but one more so than the others – so the others only got fired, not kicked out to Russia – and then he got shot in the eye by his ex-bumchum because…well, I dunno really, he knew all along anyways so it was hardly news to him. It was well-made, undoubtedly, but ultimately all a bit blah.
Another Movie
The next day we were in the mood for an illegal download and were wracking our brains for what was supposed to have been good last year. I know! I said, let’s watch Bridesmaids! I’d heard good things about that too. I like goofy comedies. And I thought Kristen Wiig was excellent and sexy in that Flight of The Conchords episode with the woman with the wonky eye and the epileptic dogs.
Bridesmaids was good. It was goofy and daft and it made me laugh and I also thought there was a bit of depth to it in that she was a total screwball loser and that was interesting to see. Also good to see women being dirty bitches and nutters. Sure, it was a bit cornball in places – but whaddya want? It were a cornball comedy. Shame she insisted on keeping her bra on in all the sex scenes though. Who screws in their underwear? Nobody I know.
All in all: very good. I’m going to type that again: very good. Also: I liked it. And: well done the writers and actresses and everybody else who helped make it. Well done you.
About Me
I have to write all that because what I’ve come to realise and been pondering on is that I appear to be the kind of person who can almost only see the negative in something creative. In life, I’m not too bad – life is wonderful, everything’s groovy, I would count my blessings but I can’t count that high, etc – but when it comes to books and movies I’m one pain-in-the-ass critic. Except, in general, I’m not, I just keep it to myself. Inside, of course, when I’m thinking about a movie or a book, all I can see is the bits I thought went wrong. It’s annoying, and I mostly wish it wasn’t there – but then, what I’ve been a-ponderin’ is, hell, maybe the world needs people like me, otherwise they’ll just go merrily churning out substandard shit – well, they do anyway – and surely it needs someone to point out that, uh, hello, there are one or two problems with this film, you aren’t gonna release it like that are you? Take Bridesmaids, for example…
Back to the Movie
It finished. Like I say, I liked it. It was two hours and ten minutes long which is long for that kind of film but it only felt a teeny weeny bit too long. It was, on the whole, refreshing and likeable and good. So why, with that in mind, did I come away thinking about the bits that irked me? Like…
That bloody Irish cop. She fucked him off big time. In his head she used him for sex and then shunned him. He gave her his heart and then she disappeared with a guy in a Porsche who he rightly assumed was her fuckbuddy. He was a sweet, nice guy and he really liked her and he was so hurt by the whole thing that even when she was speeding up the road and committing crimes to try and get his attention he didn’t budge. He left her cake for the raccoons. In a nutshell, she’d blown it. And then, right at the end of the movie, out of nowhere, there he is to pick her up with a smile and a kiss and off we go and everything’s gonna be fine now. Hello? He was a simple man but he weren’t that simple. Where bitterness and recriminations and stupid petty sniding and calling her a bitch? Where real world in Hollywood rom-com, I ask moronically? I could see it coming and I was praying they wouldn’t go there – stay with the darkness, stay with the reality of life that you’ve hitherto done so refreshingly well – but – ah, Wiigy! – they did, and that made me ever so disappointed.
The other scene that pissed me off was the aforementioned repeatedly driving past the cop to get his attention. It was silly, unbelievable, corny and out of keeping with the rest of the movie. A movie universe can be as fantastical and ridiculous as you want it to be – but it’s got to be consistent and believable in itself. That wasn’t. It was daft. The cop wouldn’t have just sat there. She wouldn’t have done all those stupid things. She might have talked, begged, pleaded, and then left him alone. She might have even said I’m sorry and explained herself a little. But she wouldn’t have gone spinning doughnuts in the middle of a busy highway. And then when she flashed him but covered up her boobs anyway? What kind of flashing is that? What’s with the no nipple clause, Wiig? At least film it from the back and give poor dowdy Chris O’Dowd some treats. The whole thing was just a big stage for some silly car antic gags – and given that the pay-off was, like, to get the cop to track down her missing friend who it turns out was actually just in bed and not really missing at all…well, it’s plain to see that part of the script was a downhome native of Dudsville, Crapsylvania.
But that was just two scenes in an otherwise good film – okay, the wedding shower destruction scene was a bit much too: as though nobody (her mum?) woulda stopped her – so…three scenes, that’s all; three scenes…
Back to Me
That bothered me that I honed in on that when I otherwise enjoyed it: I don’t know what that is. Maybe frustration that they spoiled it with that little extra corn when it could have so easily been avoided – by ringing me, for example. (Whaddya mean you don’t have my number?) It’s like that last Batman movie all over again – The Dark Knight – which for an explosive action kinda thing I thought was really, really good – until the point where it ended but then carried on anyway. I always hark back to that, I just can’t help myself: everything’s come to a head and it’s all fucked up and crazy and the thing happens with the girl – can’t remember what – and then the other guy gets turned into Two Face and you’re just like, excellent, great movie, really well done – and then: no, sonny Jim, get back in your seat, we ain’t finished yet: in fact, we’re gonna start the whole thing over again, introduce some ships and a hospital and – Jesus, by the end of it I was just wishing someone’d blow me the hell up and save me from that boring-ass wreck of a film. Seriously, with all the talent going on there is it really possible that no one said, uh, Chris, this is pretty awesome up to this point here but I don’t think we need the last hour, it’s kind of a million times better without it? I tear my hair. It couldn’t have been more obvious as an editing decision. But, no, they have to be retarded and stupid and stick the whole lot in and destroy the flick and make me feel bad. Was it a case of, oh shit, you’re right, it sucks – but we sure paid a lot of money for all that hospital blowing up stuff so I guess we’ll just have to stick it in anyway? Hell, Mr Nolan probably said, they won’t even notice anyway, the dumb action-loving schmucks.
While We’re On The Subject…
Christopher Nolan. Inception. What a pile of poo that was. I can’t even go into it: what is there to say? It was dumb, daft, stupid, pointless, and shallow – and that a great many people thought it the exact opposite fills me with great painful sorrow for the state of our race – and in particular, the state of millions of currently young males. Then again, I’ve read enough youtube comments to get a flavour for the kind of people that are out there so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. And I suppose it’s a kind of talent to make something just non-understandable enough to make it seem like there’s something to understand, even when there isn’t. Hats off for that.
And? What else has he made? Well the first Batman movie – first modern Batman movie: let’s not forget Tim Burton’s original, which I still think is the best of the lot (a plot you can follow! humour and light-heartedness!) – Batman Begins – I fell asleep in that so I shouldn’t really say, all I remember is lots of scuttling about in shadows and ponderous, pseudo-heavy dialogue and repeatedly waking up to that and then it was time to go home.
Also, Momento: I saw this in London
In a nutshell: Christopher Nolan: massively overrated.
Also: call me next time you’re editing a movie, I’ll pluck the turkeys for ya.
Other Things
So it pains me to see the flaws. And I try and say, well I’m probably wrong in any case – but then I share these things with smart people and they’re invariably like, yeah, that’s what I think too. In fact, I don’t actually know anyone who liked The Dark Knight – I watched it again with two smart friends, just to give it another go, and it was all we could do to keep our eyes open. So it’s not that and I guess I’ll just have to accept – just hold on a sec here while I put my tongue in my cheek – that I’ve a brilliant mind when it comes to sorting the creative wheat from the chaff. Oh well.
On a positive note, like I say, I just think maybe there’s a place for people like me. In writing workshops, for example, there are plenty enough people who will give you pointless platitudes and half-kill themselves looking for the good in a piece of work when maybe there isn’t any – and what benefit is that, really, if there are flaws and major flaws that you obviously yourself can’t see? How to improve if no one will tell you your stuff ain’t already perfect? Step in Rory – or, at least, step in Rory’s potential – for, truth is, unless I believe the door is open and the stinking guest invited, I ain’t gonna throw in my turd’s worth unless I’m sure the writer can take it: I ain’t so crass as to not understand the potential devastation of ripping someone’s baby to shreds when they’re still all fledgling and new. Encouragement, sure. Little pointers here and there. We’re students – beginners – nervous and afraid and we need love. But Hollywood movie makers on millions of dollars and reputations full of trumpets? Nah, you guys can take it. Or, you should be able to, if your egos can handle it.
All I am is the Voice of Truth: t’aint my fault that everything I say is incisive and right. ;-)
(pun. self-parody. entertains me.
More Other Things
Well, I wish I was more positive – or at least able to rave equally about things that are 90% good and not just focus on the 10% I perceive as bad. Maybe it does leak into my life – sure it leaks into my life – and maybe, most worryingly, there’s nothing I can do about it. My mum was a pain-in-the-ass critic and I’ve often thought I’d inherited it from her. My girlfriend says, hm, you can be quite cynical at times – and I laugh and know it’s true. Sure, I’m having a good time in life and smile and giggle a lot and feel well inside – but it’s perhaps a little too much at the expense of and in comparison to others, rather than with them. Once I knew what all that oneness and compassion was like: but I ain’t there no more. Ah well, one day we’ll get back to the light, once I’m done with all this other life stuff.
In the meantime, can the rest of you please stop making imperfect movies, stop writing imperfect books? It’s giving me a headache.
Cheers!
Rory
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