terrifying things and broom handle heads.

Well, three weeks into 2012 and I may have spoken too soon when I said that The Amityville Haunting was the biggest pile of shite I'd ever sat thru.

In the wise words of Yoda "There is another".

Or two.

Yoda: Slap Ben Wheatley hard he will.

 Readers with long memories (or short fuses) may remember a few months back when in regards to that great British horror epic Little Deaths I mentioned that it'd been called 'the future of British horror' (by who God only knows) and that if that was the case we might as well unplug the life support machine and go home now.

If only Ben Wheatley had read this.

What am I saying?

If anyone actually read what I say I'd be happy.

And no, popping by to look at the pictures of Megan doesn't count.

Anyway, Ben if you accidentally come across this on your interweb travels I'd just like you to know that you're the only film-maker to ever make me sob like an Albanian baby trapped in supermarket meat locker.

With your dad.

And it wasn't thru' fear or even due to a tearful Pot Noodle aided wank.

Oh no.

It was at the sight of what British horror has become.

And while I'm at it you can stop looking so smug Mr. Julian Gilbey, I mean at least I managed to sit thru'....

Kill List (2011).

Dir: Ben Wheatley.

Cast:  Neil Maskell, Michael Smiley, MyAnna Buring and Emma Fryer.

Cake loving, bowl haired hitman for hire Jay (played by what looks like a fatter, camper and considerably crapper Paul Ross) hasn't had any work killing folk since a botched job in Kiev eight months ago.

By the look of him he probably ate all the chicken, sweaty cunt.

With no cash to pay for a new Jacuzzi or have a couple of holidays abroad this year (oh my heart bleeds), his baby faced ex-army wife Shel (Buring from The Descent and Doctor Who channelling an East End fishwife) shouting at him between gulps of wine and troubled by the fact that his terrifyingly toothsome son Sam (Simpson) has a scarily posh stage school accent, Jay's luckless (if not lard-less) life is starting to tear the happy family apart.

So far so grim.

Luckily Jay's best buddy cum fellow assassin and professional Oirishman Gal (Smiley bringing some much needed characterisation, charm and acting talent to the movie) turns up for dinner with his equilateral triangle faced girlfriend Fiona (low fat Fryer, an actress with a face so perfectly angled that you could use her as a spirit level, which frankly shouldn't work but does. She just oozes sexy badness throughout the whole movie and deserves so much better) one night and during some boy time in the garage, offers Jay a job.

It seems that ex Radio One DJ Jimmy Saville wants some people killed.

People...on a list.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or have you put your cock up my arse?"

Meeting up with the Jim'll Fix It star in a cheap Leeds hotel, Jay is slightly surprised to find that not only does his new employer know about Kiev (which is probably why they met in his suite and not the dining room) but that the deal is to be finalised over a wee bit of blood sharing.

Three people, three hits, three pound seventy eight pence.

How can our dynamic duo refuse such an offer?

Plus as Jay so eloquently puts it "They're bad people and they should be punished".

Top quality writing I'm sure you'll agree.

 

"Your hair reminds me of ice cream...can I eat it?"

But, as is the way of these movies, things don't go to plan; for a start Shel has been secretly using his credit card (elocution lessons for little Lord Fauntleteeth must cost a bomb) causing him a knock back at the hotel and a wee bit of unwanted attention at the check in desk and if that wasn;t enough he's forced to share a dining hall with a group of singing Christians whilst at home Fiona and Shel have become bezzy mayes, giving Flighty Fi enough time to scratch a variety of mystic symbols onto Shel's bathroom wall.

Fryer: Like she'd give you a choice.

But enough of that let's get killing and first up it's a dodgy priest - I know, how ground breaking is that? I've never seen the church portrayed as anything other than straight down the line nice guys before - who politely thanks Jay before our portly pal puts a bullet in his head.

I assume the audience are meant to be wracking their heads as to why he would thank him at this point, me? I just reckoned he was overjoyed to be finally out of such a shitey movie.

Next up it's a silver haired librarian whose only crime appears to be selling dodgy DVD's of folk screaming on rollercoasters out of a lock-up.

Saying that tho', they must be top quality Blu Ray if you go by Jay's horrified reaction to watching them, sitting as he is trembling and in tears.

Well it's either that or he's spotted someone eating candyfloss in the background and it's making him feel hungry.

And a wee bit mental, seeing as soon as he arrives at the Librarians house he starts attacking him with a hammer whilst trying to find the location of the nearest burger van.

Probably.

Strangely enough, he thanks Jay too before he brings the final blow down on his bonce, even going as far as to say it's an honour to be killed by him.

Obviously a fan of those celeb talking head shows then.

"I've told you already! I'm totally out of biscuits!"

This politeness (and lack of sugary snacks) seems to send Jay right over the edge as he storms (well, waddles) off to bring justice to those responsible for the scary vids which culminates in an offscreen bloodbath and dog killing.

Alas it wasn't a hotdog but hey, you can't fault the guy for trying.

Back at the hotel and in between visions of a ghostly Fiona and flashing images of knights Jay and Gal discover that their last target is a top MP which means a longer driveway and, by default longer for Jay to go without a snack.

The pair decide to back out of the agreement, saying that Jay's cat has eaten the list.

Jimmy being a professional isn't to happy to hear this and threatens the pair with death if they don't complete the work.

"Now then now then dear Jim could you fix it for me to visit a cake shop, love Jay".

Jay returns home for a wee bit of comfort cake only to find his cat hanging from the porch.

Someone's unhappy with him.

With no choice but to finish the job Jay and Gal head out to the pervy parliamentarian's posh pad for a nosey around and some outdoor grub only to find themselves inexplicably drawn into a sixth form stage version of The Wicker Man as the barely sketched out plot descends into a nonsensical mix of new age hocus pocus, market stall animal masks, old folk in revealing capes and busty sacrificial blondes with their tits out.

Beware the Judder Man!

A waste of time, energy and whatever talent was working on it, Wheatley has managed to produce a movie that encapsulates everything that is wrong with the British film industry in a grimly self conscious ninety odd minute celluloid shitfest that mistakes bad storytelling for for the kind of back slapping self self-congratulatory arse that fools some viewers into thinking "That made no sense therefore the film is cleverer than what I am" when in fact the film in question is just poorly thought out and plotted in the first place.


God knows what the critics who raved about this were on at the time, maybe Ben Wheatley gives out crisp new fifty pound notes to those who write good reviews.

Or bloody good head.

Either way it's still wrong.

For the love of God somebody release something good (even watchable will do at this point) soon before I end up gouging my eyes out with a spoon.

Or yours.