Friday, September 16, 2016

lionel.

It's finally here.

The sequel we never thought we'd see.

After the sequel we hoped we'd never see again obviously.

So throwing my cool cinematic persona to the wind and embracing my inner fanboy I decided to go to the first showing on the opening day.

I mean at 11.00 AM on a Thursday morning what could possibly go wrong?


Blair Witch (2016).
Dir: Adam Wingard.
Cast: James Allen McCune, Callie Hernandez, Brandon Scott, Corbin Reid, Wes Robinson and Valorie Curry.





Pity poor James (The Walking Dead and Shameless star McCune) Donahue, a kinda thinner, council estate Chris Pratt whose entire - young - life (and taste in lumberjack shirts) so far has been defined by the fact that his big sister Heather disappeared back in 1994 whilst making a documentary about the legend of the Blair Witch.

 But all that is about to change.

It seems that a couple of Interweb types - Louis  Lane (Robinson, who scarily is an almost exact genetic splice of Tom Savini and Alex Winter) and Talia Shire (cutesy, button nosed star of The Following and daughter of former UK politician Edwina, Curry) have found a video tape in the woods near to where Heather disappeared that appears to show someone being chased around the spooky house in which she was last seen.

Even tho' the mysterious figure isn't wearing a bobble hat or covered in snot James is convinced that it's his sister.

Could she still be alive?

And what about Josh and Mike?

Look let's be honest who really cares about them.

Not James that's for sure.

Maybe next time.

As luck would have it his 'friend' Lisa (Hernandez, soon to be seen in Alien: Covenant) is about to start work on a documentary for college and decides that her pals grief is as good a subject as any so agrees to accompany him to Burkittsville to find the truth.

So along with James' best friend Peter (Scott, the voice of Kohut in Wreck It Ralph) plus his girlfriend Ashley (How to Get Away with Murder's Reid) and armed with a frankly magnificent selection of ear mounted cameras, I-Pads, drones and the like head up country to meet up Lane and Talia to discover more about the footage and maybe even pick up some useful tips for surviving a night in the woods.

Tho' Bruce Campbell would probably be a better bet when it comes to scary cabins and terrifying trees.

Maybe they'll meet up halfway thru?

James farted....and it smelled of pine cones.


Arriving at the home of the trailer trash twosome, Peter is a wee bit unnerved to see a Confederate flag flying above the fireplace and immediately begins to suspect that something isn't quite right about the pair but chooses to remain quiet for the sake of his pal.

The others are too busy giggling at Talia's greasy violet barnet to notice.

Offering everyone a nice cup of tea and a biscuit to ease the tension (and promising that no lynchings will occur) Lane settles down to tell our cute quartet the story of how he came across the tape in question.

Tho' he refrains from telling us how often he comes across Talia's boyish yet still incredibly attractive arse.

Which is a pity.

But our creepy couple have their own agenda and refuse to give out any information unless they too can accompany the group into the woods.

James, much to Peter's chagrin reluctantly agrees.

"I wouldn't want one of them swimming up my arse!" Said the stickman, obviously.

Any thought that the group has about the trip being a walk in the park - or at least a hike in the woods - abruptly changes when Ashley falls whilst crossing a river and cuts her foot causing much swearing and concerned looks as she bravely limps along, stopping occasionally to let out a little "ouch" whilst wrinkling her nose in an incredibly cute manner.

Yup she is so marked for death.

Setting up camp our merry band prepare for an evening under the stars, swapping stories of Coffin Rock and Rustin Parr before tucking themselves up in their sleeping bags ready for a busy days walking and witch hunting.

But as night falls all hell breaks loose in the woods as, from nowhere a looming shadow lumbers out of the dark before revealing itself - in hideous technicolour close-up - to be a baw-faced man-breasted Star Trek fan (in a scarily stained and pulled necked Starfleet t-shirt and smelling of warm milk) resplendent with a greying ponytail that hadn't seen a bottle of shampoo for at least 30 years waving the brightest phone you have ever fucking seen around his head as if warding off demons whilst mumbling away to himself in a voice only his mother (WHO WILL NEVER DIE!) would love.

Unfortunately this was happening right in front of me in the cinema.

Then to top it all the fucker noisily threw himself down 2 seats away before  proceeding to scoff the contents of his Sainsbury's carrier bag whilst giggling like a fucking school girl.

Marvelous.  


"I love my mum....SHE WILL NEVER DIE!"

Obviously something like that can be oh so slightly annoying at the best of times but especially if it's a movie you've literally been waiting 16 years to see.

Luckily he was too interested in his Haribo/Dorito/lard stash to prove too much of a distraction - tho' I've still no fucking clue what happened to Peter, chances are the fat fucker probably ate him - so I bravely attempted to get back into the film.

I mean it couldn't get any worse could it?

Calming myself down I suddenly noticed the stench of stale booze wafting up the stairs as a teetering toward me was a tanked up tosspot in a suit, 35 minutes late in and waving his ticket around as he stood directly in front of the screen shouting "Is this Blair Witch? So where's my seat? Am I here? Is this right?" before stumbling back down towards the exit. 

Obviously enjoying the effect he was having on my cinema viewing he proceeded to do this 3 FUCKING TIMES before the small girl (she was about 7) that worked at the cinema nervously followed him toward us before asked if we knew where he was/what film he was seeing.

Cue "Fucking kick him out!" from the couple a few seats along followed by a shaky seat Aspie meltdown from me.

Oh joy.

"OK....who invited the fat sweaty fucker with the portable sweet shop?"

By this point I had no idea what was happening on screen due to the drama unfolding around us so resigned myself to spend the rest of the movie shaking, swearing under my breath and staring intently at the drunken guy who was by now snoozing merrily in the aisle, any build up of suspense or terror totally destroyed by a couple of thick wankers who obviously decided that today was they day that they'd take a break from sitting in their rooms masturbating over Japanese anime porn (or by the look of the drunk guy his daughters school friends) and entertain the outside world instead.

And breathe.

So I can't really say if Blair Witch lived up to its promise, or if Wingard succeeded in fashioning a virtual roller-coaster ride of terror that starts the occult assaults with the dial at 11 then progressively pumps it up from there and I don't even know if the cast conveyed the sheer horror and hopelessness of the situation they found themselves in.

I know I did.

I don't know if the situation was made better or worse by the fact that I was absolutely loving what I was watching up till these little inconveniences.

"Let's go to the pictures!"


The end credits hadn't even started to roll when Dorito-dust fuck wheezily raised his massive girth from his seat, turned to us and whispered (in a voice he usually saves for trying to get pre-teen girls to undress online) "Well that was a waste of time." before waddling slug-like to an early grave.


Yes it was mate, ours.

If you can't arrive in time or not last 90 minutes without having to fucking stuff your massive ugly face or feel that the only way you can watch a film in the cinema is to get off your tits on drink then I beg you, go see a doctor or at least stay in your fucking house so I don't have to interact with you.

As an aside if anyone on here has a fat, shit-haired Trekkie pal who went to see Blair Witch on Thursday morning at Cineworld Glasgow tell them from me....If I ever encounter him again he's a fucking dead man.

Same goes for you in the suit you shit-heeled sozzled sod. 

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.



*As a (non-amusing) aside, kudos to the cinema manager for listening to my calmly explained rant afterwards and refunding my money....tho' he was probably trying to get rid of me.

**Oh and if anyone from Lionsgate is reading this (yeah right), of course a screener when the film is released on home video would be great so I can review it properly.

And a T-shirt and/or some stickers/posters/badges too would aid my recovery.































I can but try.

No comments: