On the second draw from the top, the one that never closes all the way, it has been carved “Jess loves Dan forever”. Well, to be more precise, it says Jess ‘hearts’ Dan, even though the phrase itself is written within a heart. To me, that’s overkill. And forever is spelt with the number 4. As cutesy and annoying as the token is, how it came to pass always makes me wonder. In particular, what led to the events of the monument being discarded, and now serving as a rest home for my extended warranty papers and that weird japanese nightlight fashioned as a toadstool.

Did Jess and Dan part ways, with one of them entitling themselves to the chest of drawers in the divorce proceedings, along with Tuesday night pub trivia team and all mutually purchased DVDs within the last six months of the relationship, but then after having the piece in their new dingy apartment serve as a constant reminder of what they had lost, gave it to the Salvos? Or did Jess and Dan get married and live happily ever after with all their fancy new stuff they never knew they needed until they registered for it at David Jones and their wedding guests felt inclined to buy it for them. More likely, due to the juvenile nature of the gesture, the drawers claimed residence in the room of a young girl who grew up and out of such childish things, but that scenario doesn’t ignite my imagination.

My friend Courtney has decided that the only possible reason films like this could be made is through a concept called “Movie Chicken”, in that you just keep pushing the envelope of what anyone could consider to be a quality production, cutting of people’s thumbs, politising porn, and creating duplicate copies of Sean William Scott until someone dares question your genius. Obviously, writer/director Richard Kelly won this round. 

Richard Kelly is arguably best known for Donnie Darko, which is by all measures, a great film. Watch it if you haven’t. Southland Tales is one of his follow ups. If you haven’t seen it, don’t bother subjecting yourself to it. You will never get that two hours back. 

People try to justify this film by calling it “abstract” or explaining you need to “expand your mind” to understand it. To me, that translates as it’s a film that’s only enjoyable if you’re on drugs. Which is never a good sign, because some may argue that being high makes EVERYTHING better, including movies. Somewhere along the line, it was decided that the reason this film wasn’t well received is, unlike your average popcorn flick, it forces you to think. I would say people didn’t like Southland Tales because if forces you to try and make sense out of nothing in order to justify the fact that you actually sat through the whole thing and are now dumber for having done so. 

Apparently, the film is the end half or so of this massive story written by Kelly, the first sections being published as graphic novels. People will also tell you that if you’ve read said novels, you can appreciate the movie more. One, if the story is this incoherent and erratic in film, I can’t even being to imagine how it would be presented as text, and two, a good story is a good story, no matter where you jump in. Kelly surely understands this as, and I quote from his IMDB trivia page, “two of his favorite films are Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and Mad Max 2 (1981)”. Check and mate. 

You could say the ethos of the film is best summed up in the fact that it stars Dwayne Johnson, and it was the first time he dropped his “The Rock” title is his billing. This was meant to be the film where everyone involved proved themselves a serious artist capable of meaningful and potent social commentary. Instead, this happened: 

This film is so non-sensical that I can’t even really review or write a synopsis for it. Pretty much, a whole bunch of shit happens. You don’t enjoy it, you don’t absorb it, you don’t learn from it, it doesn’t even look all that great. It just… happens. Some even dare suggest that this for the reason, this film could be classified as “art” over anything else, as though that justifies its awfulness through the “anything that’s kind of weird is art and therefore you have to like it or you’re uncultured” rule. You can thank Lady Gaga for that one. I don’t think this film is art, but even if it is was, that doesn’t mean you have to like or appreciate it for that reason. That’s like being dragged into a gallery and being told “you have to love everything in this building because someone decided it’s art”, completely disregarding personal perception, opinion and taste. 

However, I will say this about Southland Tales. In one scene, Jon Lovitz grabs Cheri Oteri by the throat (quite an ensemble cast I know), and growls in her ear menacingly “do you wanna fuck or do you wanna watch a movie?”. There is no way I can write that statement to imply how incredibly creepy it was when spoken. That snippet was, in my opinion, quite possilby the scariest scene in any movie ever made. And i’m not saying that in a 14 year old girl “OMG the new Justin Beiber CD is the greatest thing ever!” kind of way, it was genuinely freaking scary. I’d say watch the movie just for that scene, but don’t, seriously. Just imagine Jon Lovitz’s voice, that creepy PE teacher from high school who got a little bit too touchy feely, and look at this picture.

Scariest. Thing. Ever.

Also, Bai Ling is in this movie. 

Essentially I believe there are two kinds of films. Those you enjoy, and those you experience. Southland Tales is neither. If anything, it is the self-righteous pill forced in your mouth without the aid of enjoyment or aesthetic to massage your throat to ease it down. And at 145 minutes, it’s a freakin’ horse pill.

Your ticket to the Frenzy

Seeing as April 1st didn’t bring an admission of false premise from the production crew behind “Grown Ups” or the Apocalypse that was sure to ensue as a result of this non event, that means it’s the first day of the Script Frenzy competition.

Script Frenzy, the sister event of NaNoWriMo, involves using the month of April to write a 100 page screenplay. The idea is to aim for quantity, not quality, and spend the rest of the year editing.

Click the ticket if you are interested in partaking. You’ve got just as much chance of finishing as you do of failing. And either way, whatever you come up with will surely be better than “Grown Ups”.

I have nothing to say about this movie. I just had to post a link to it to prove its existence. After having seeing the horrifying preview, my friend Courtney has convinced herself that this movie and everything to do with it is a huge joke, because the concept is so bad, if it were to be realised, it would bring about the end of existence.

She gave them til April Fools Day to do the big reveal. Well guess what… it’s April 1st. It still exists. The world still turns.The preview is still on YouTube. You can still join the Facebook fan page. The release date is still listed on various cinema websites. People still think Adam Sandler is funny for some reason.

Maybe next year.

I considered posting a spoiler alert notice with this post, but I don’t think I actually ruined the movie for anyone. We all know it’s the movie where Steve Buscemi gets fed into the woodchipper. I’m just telling you how far into the movie it happens. Like those guys that tell you how many minutes in before you see tits. If I didn’t, you’d be wondering “when the hell does Steve Buscemi get fed into the woodchipper” all the while, and not focusing on/enjoying the rest of the movie like I did.

Or maybe that movie isn’t actually that great, and the Coen Bros knew their main draw was Steve Buscemi getting fed into the woodchipper. So they put the gory scene you’re hanging out for right at the end so you got sit through all of their arty farty nonsense.

Well, now you don’t. Skip to the end. Or look it up on Youtube or something. Ah, the digital age.

Kung Fu Flid: Unarmed, But Dangerous.

This movie is bad. Not so bad that it’s good either. It’s so bad that it redefines bad. It’s bad in every possible aspect: The original concept, the plot, the acting, the way it was shot, the editing, the poorly choreographed fight scenes… it has no redeemable factor. I still don’t think I have managed to convey just how bad this film is, so I will continue.

If you hadn’t guessed from the title, the movie is about a guy that does Kung Fu, and has shortened arms due to Thalidomide. Or so we assume. They never give us an explanation as to why his arms are short, and it’s not because the film is taking that “everyone is the same and we never even noticed” approach. Because people point it out to the guy that his arms are short… several times. And never with any tact. In one scene, Kung Fu Flid is in a brothel talking to a little person, and this sleaze ball asks him if he’s interested in doing some porn with her, because people are into “freaky shit”. Specifically, Porn Daddy asks Flid, “Can you do any tricks?”, to which he responds with an impersonation of a tyrannosaurus rex. Oh yes, they went there.

But I’m jumping the gun here. Let’s go back to the beginning, and examine how this film is bad from start to finish.

The film starts with Kung Fu Flid working out at a gym, fighting this guy with average arms, so  obviously he’s a tough oponent. Flid is struggling,  so his trainer gives him a motivational speech using that “don’t be a pussy, ’cause pussies get fucked” analogy from Team America. In all seriousness.

Then he goes home to his wife, and of course, they start getting in on. It’s totally pointless, but they had to throw an obligatory sex scene in there, just in case anyone thought that for some reason a guy with slightly shorter arms than average would be incapable of performing in bed. Because, as all as girls know, the length of a man’s arm is directly relative to the size of his penis.

Thankfully, this scene is cut short (no pun intended) by his daughter doing that whole “I’m a cute kid and I can’t sleep so I’m going to interrupt my parents fornicating” thing. The happy family three-in-a-bed scene is then interrupted by a knock at the door, which is answered by Flid’s wife. I’d point out the unlikelihood of the woman in this situation answering the door on her own so late at night, especially when her husband is an alleged Kung Fu master, but I’d rather focus on the fact that she goes to the door in her underwear. Of course, she then spends the rest of the film in various states of undress, but is inexplicably wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors throughout. So we are to assume, that on the way from the bed to the door, this woman had time to find a pair of socks and tie her sneakers, but not to throw on a slip.

So half-naked lady is shot by a hired goon of this Mob Boss guy, even though we later find out that Kung Fu Flid’s apartment was invaded by mistake by those gangster dudes, who had no beef with Flid prior to them showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night and shooting his wife without provocation. However, in the frenzy of this guerilla ambush, Flid shoots one of the attackers in the crotch, blowing off his balls. Seeing as how the castrati is Mob Boss’ son, they take his daughter hostage as revenge and leave. Or so we assume, as you don’t actually see this to come to pass. The next thing you know, it’s out and out war between Flid and the mob, apparently, and the kid’s at the pub with Mob Boss and his cronies being interrogated as to why she doesn’t want a Happy Meal at three in the morning after seeing three people get shot and taken away from her parents, and Kung Fu Flid and his hot naked wife are driving around in a van, screaming at each other, bleeding all over the place.

Some other stuff happens, but I’m not going to detail those non-events. I’ve already put more time and brain power into this review that anyone involved in the production of this movie. I will say this though: it gets worse.

The “big name” star of this film that they’re attempting to use as a draw card, in case you weren’t sucked in by the freak show element,  is some skank from a crappy 90′s pop band. (Remember Steps? Me neither.)

The latter part of the film also features what could possibly be the most pointless scene from any movie ever, where Flid’s car breaks down and a magically appears simultaneously. He then gets in the cab, and they take the wrong turn over and over for about twenty minutes. Then the cab driver stops the car, and busts out a religious epiphany, full of rants about how God hates disfigured people. It’s written as though he’s quoting scripture, but he’s obviously not, and there was one word he used that really bothered me, that my gut and 11 years of catholic school told me was never used in the bible. I can’t remember what the word was, and finding out would require more effort than what went into that scene. The fact that no one could be bothered to locate a copy of the Good News and quote directly from the text, and instead just made up some random shit, is testament to the ethos of the film.

Then there’s the whole torture bit, which is torture in itself to watch. Kung Fu Flid gets strung up by his neck and has to watch while the dungeon master eats chicken. When Flid reveals he is in fact, a vegetarian, the guy squeezes his balls while he force feeds him said chicken. I really wish that I had made that part up, but I didn’t. It actually happened. Despite how stupid that sounds, the worst part of the scene is the meat sadist’s tattoos, which have been literally painted on. I mean, finger painted on. The tattoos are an unnessicary detail that don’t speak of the character in any way, so why did they even bother? In the end, the guy is a skinhead in a kilt with dodgy tribal tattoos eating chicken, and I didn’t think any of those attributes had anything to do with the other. He just wound up looking silly, not scary, like a guy who made a Halloween costume at the last minute from junk under his bed.

And that’s all I’m going to say about this film. I know my review went on for too long, was patchy and failed to convey the point, but that’s rather fitting considering the subject matter. Ultimately, this film was gruesome and horribly offensive, but not for its premise, insensitivity or gory scenery. It’s just THAT bad. So bad that it’s painful to watch. And write about. So I bid you adieu, and hope and pray that you are never subjected to its badness.

Another reason why I felt that I probably shouldn’t comment on whether or not I thought the right movies won the right awards was that I hadn’t actually seen any of the films nomed for best picture this year, even though the list was twice as long as every other year. You give me a list of ten movies, I should have seen at least one of them. I guess as a supposed movie buff, I was ashamed to admit this. But then I realised… it wasn’t my fault.

I live in a town that is not rural when measured by the amount of big name fast food joints and discount malls we have per capita, but when it comes to arts and sciences, I may as well be living on the freaking moon. Actually, that’s probably not an accurate analogy. If I where living on the moon, it’d be pretty cutting edge in terms of science. The art bit is probably about right though. I wouldn’t even be able to throw paint up against stuff without stupid gravity, or lack thereof, getting in the way.

But enough about gravity. We’re talking movies here. Or not, since I haven’t seen any of the films in question, and therefore have no right to comment on them. You have to understand, it’s not that I didn’t make the effort. It’s just that none of these supposed “best” films were on anywhere, at any time, ever.

That’s right, pretty much all of the films on the list didn’t make it to the town where I live, so I couldn’t see them even if I wanted to. And I don’t download movies, but that’s another rant for another blog. The films that did make it to the silver screens of Wollongong didn’t drag their sorry arses round until a week or so prior to the awards, and I didn’t have the time or the money to catch them all at once. But for the most part, they don’t exist in these parts, and won’t for several months. Either that, or they never will.

There were some big name films on that list, but I had good reasons for not seeing them either. Several people told me Inglourious Basterds was “the greatest thing ever”, and you know when people use such phrasing, you shouldn’t take their opinions into account. I don’t like seeing hyped up films in the middle of the media circus that surronds them, because it’s impossilbe to view them objectively. I do really want to see Basterds, but i’ll probably wait until the next Tarantino “greatest thing ever” comes out before I do.

Up seemed liked a cute movie, but everyone I knew that saw it went to a 3D session, and once again, that’s another blog for another day. Also, I don’t think it will take anything away from the film if I catch it on DVD. I have absolutely no desire to see Avatar. Ever. It’s just not the sort of film I enjoy or have any interest in. I did plan to see it once, because enough people made out like I was missing out on a part of cinema history for me to give into peer pressure, and on that day I got hit by a truck and ended up in hospital and missed the session. I swear that really happened. And I took it as an omen.

I will most likely watch all the best pictures of 2009, bar Avatar of course, even if it takes me until 2015 to do so. Watching them later down the track won’t lessen the experience they offer by any measure. If anything, they will truly prove that they are great movies when they stand the test of time. It would be nice if they were easier to access though. I guess that’s another reason why people watch bad movies: sometimes, they’re all you have to choose from.

I typed "bad movie" into Google Images. This was the first thing that came up that wasn't porn.

You know how it goes. A bunch of guys are sitting around, obviously drunk or just naturally stupid, presumably having just finished watching an equally bad film, and said, “Wouldn’t it be great if they made a movie about <insert impossibly bad idea here>?”

It would be all well and good if it stopped here. But it doesn’t.

Somehow, these impossibly bad ideas get developed. And by developed I mean those same guys get drunk together a few more times and throw up new parts to the “story” that could resemble a middle and end, providing you were also drunk. Or stoned.

And then, somehow, in a scenario as impossible as the premise to the so-called movie itself, these guys end up pitching this idea, that should have never gone beyond a drunken joke, to a studio. Then these so-called professionals, who somehow have earned the right to decide what is a good idea and what isn’t, hear impossibly bad premise for a film no.1672 and say “I can see this working. This is a really good idea!”

AND THEN, the movie executive douchebags give the drunken frat boy douchebags money. Butt loads of money. Probably more money than anyone reading this will earn in a lifetime.

AND THEN, the half-baked joke turns into a legitimate film project, involving a whole bunch of people who know better, but aren’t rich or famous enough to be particular about who signs their next paycheck. Executive types pray on the inevitability that for the most part, artistic integrity will give into not wanting to sleep out on the street.

However, there are others that will willingly be involved. They will read the chicken scratchings labelled a script, and choose to be associated with the production. Perhaps because Douchebags Inc. offered them a decent amount of money for their soul. Or maybe because hey subscribe to that “any leading role is a good leading role” school of thought, even if they’re contractually obligated to bare their breasts for at least 30 minutes of film time. But more likely than anything else, they’re just as drunk and stupid as everyone else involved in the project.

So the movie gets made. They orchestrate scenes, make sure the lighting is right, do more than one take, edit the film, tweak the sound, add computer effects, and put it through post. The end result almost resembles a film, in the same way that a kid walking around with a box hung over themselves with four circles drawn on it can pass for a working car.

Finally, the movie gets released. People see posters and previews, and think to themselves, “that looks like a good movie. So good in fact, that I’m going to give it $15 of my hard-earned cash and two hours of my life that I’ll never get back.”

People see the movie. Lots of people. Too many to justify their actions with drunkenness or stupidity. The movie makes money. Enough money to prove the whole process was a solid investment. So then starts the vicious cycle.

THIS IS HOW BAD MOVIES GET MADE. It needs to stop. You may think as the average consumer, you can’t do anything. But if the last step in the process didn’t eventuate, that being people seeing bad movies and them making money, neither would anything that comes before it.

If the movie stinks, just don’t go. Seriously.