Friday, June 28, 2013
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Sorry again for the lack of any substantial updates of late, varying factors including work, gardening and a lack of halfway decent movies has taken it's toll recently.
I mean how can anyone feel the urge to view anything after the arse numbing shiteness of Evil Dead?
Luckily after my self imposed movie exile this gem presented itself to me, rather like a drink sodden, AIDS infected whore at the end of a particularly bad night out.
I'll try to keep it brief.
Dir: Dominic Burns.
Cast: Bianca Bree, Sean Brosnan, Simon Phillips, Jazz Lintott, Sean Pertwee, Maya Grant, Julian Glover and Jean-Claude Van Damme.
|"They're not kestrels they're aliens!"|
After a thoroughly cheesy (and distinctly middle-aged imagining) night out to a hip 'n' happening discotheque with his instantly unlikeable - save one - buddies, ex-soldier cum underwear model Michael (mega-muffin Brosnan, step son of Pierce but not John unfortunately) meets the enigmatic yet ultimately shallow Carrie (Jean-Claude Van Damme's daughter Bianca Bree) and invites her back to his pals house for some of the sex.
Which also gives the director a few minutes inbetween the soft focus tittie touching to introduce the other characters.
There's drunken divorcee Vincent (Lintott) who harbours carnal desires for Dana (the fantastic Grant who practically carries the entire movie) who, in turn, is engaged to the pube bearded peoples poet Robin (Unwell favourite Phillips, remarkably not half as kickable as normal).
Got all that?
Good now back to the plot.
|"Gottle o' geer!"|
Unfortunately the dance fever/fight bonding/shagging stuff is overshadowed the next morning when our cardboard cast discover that not only has the electricity gone off but also the phones aren't working.
Worse than that tho' is the fact that Vincent has taken a sip from the milk bottle before brushing his vomit stained teeth acting as a catalyst to the apparent breakdown of society and descent into mob based paranoia.
Hang on, I'm sure something else happens to cause that.
Oh yeah, a shed load of aliens are allegedly occupying the skies above the planet.
We know this is true because the god-like Sean Pertwee told us in a cameo.
Sounds fair enough then.
|Pertwee and Brosnan play Dad Top Trumps. Pertwee wins, flawless victory.|
As anarchy becomes more and more widespread and the burly, shaved headed supporting artistes make racist comments regarding immigrants and stuff our heroes become embroiled in a fight for survival (I would say fittest but Pertwee has that nailed) against an enemy even more mysterious and volatile than the invading aliens.
Which is kinda deep probably, tho' you'd be hard pushed to tell thru' all the random attempts at emotional dialogue, driving scenes and martial arts fights in police stations.
More importantly tho' films like this only work if you actually care for the characters involved.
Any scriptwriter worth their salt (I've still no idea what that actually means) should know that when your leading man and alleged hero, within minutes of being introduced to us refers to a female character as having a ‘ten out of ten gash’, that the audience is going to be wishing a hideous death (or at least a harsh buggery) on them as soon as possible.
Unfortunately tho' this kind of schoolboy misogyny runs thru' the entire script culminating in one of the characters morphing from pathetic chump to a super powered murderous rapist for no other reason than the director had noticed there'd been no cleavage on show for ten minutes.
Talking of tits you have to admit that the Van Damme cameo (for those who like that sort of thing) is a pretty big coup for the production, tho' it probably has more to do with his daughter being in it than the quality of the script.
And for a guy that was in Street Fighter that says something.
Perhaps Burns has some really dodgy photo's of Bianca Bree and next doors Doberman that JCVD really wants to keep quiet?
Well, it's just a thought.
And, unfortunately one that is a damn sight more entertaining than what's on offer.
|"You backed into my Transit causing a far amount of van damage!"|
Wearing it's influences with pride, the movie so obviously wants to be taken seriously, a kind of thinking mans low budget Cloverfield cum Invasion of The Bodysnatchers and with a tighter script and even tighter editing it could well have been, it's not like Burns doesn't have any talent or style, the movies nicely choreographed fight scenes alongside any moment with Maya Grant show that he does, so it's a pity he spends the rest of the movie coming across as a pound shop JJ Abrams.
With shitter hair and an unhealthy obsession with nonsensical throw-forwards obviously and whilst it's nowhere near as bad as Tape 407: The Mensa Reserve Incident it's not half as enjoyable either.
And there's no crime quite so bad as being mediocre.