Invincible

Wake at 8am as have Oscar Wilde rehearsed read-through rehearsal at 10am. Decide to fill time between coffee/cigarette routine and acting with fan-spirit-based Marky Mark Wahlberg film that self recently downloaded during sports-related-film torrenting spree. During spree had remembered seeing trailer for Marky Mark film years previously and had at time found self hankering after little-guy-makes-good-in-Americanised-version-of-When-Saturday-Comes-film.


Am not disappointed when nostalgic 70s-based sepia toned credit sequence begins. Remember Remember the Titans, earlier Disney American football film. Pleased that film shot in similar fashion to earlier Denzel Washington film. Find self drawn to Marky Mark for first time since Boogie Nights. Tend to vocalise distaste for Marky Mark's career whenever opportunity arises, but now find self sympathising with his plight: thirty years old, tending a bar, flirting with Elizabeth Banks, going for open try-out for Greg Kinnear, making it onto team, being bullied by teammates, scoring one touch down, kissing Elizabeth Banks.


Moment of tension arises when Marky Mark makes it onto the team and goes to celebrate with bar bound friends. Fear repeat of drinking session in When Saturday Comes which briefly ruined Sean Bean's chances of playing with Sheffield United and really pissed off Pete Postlethwaite. Thankful that Invincible funded by Disney and never once see Marky take a drink.


Leave film halfway through to rehearse. Jaunt around rehearsal room with flatmate Tom and go for drinks with cast at pub, then after self's harassment, Somerset House. Find self suddenly alone as flatmates both at dinner with girl who wants me dead. Take a turn about the South Bank and resign self to watching end of Invincible. Climax is Marky Mark scoring touchdown. Stupid Disney film makes self well up. Annoyed that in real life, Marky Mark's character never scored touchdown. Feel cheated. Decide film better than McG disappointment We Are Marshall but not as good as Remember the Titans. Maybe just as good as Friday Night Lights. All of the above obviously better than The Blind Side. If Bullock can win Oscar for that film, Marky Mark should have been given Emmy for stint as rapper. 


Go to sleep early as have production meeting next day with woman called Theodora. If self can find open try-outs for England squad by then, may blow off Theodora, as know for fact that even Sandra Bullock could have prevented USA's goal against England at weekend. 

One Night in Turin

Wake at 10.30am due to persistent knocking on bedroom door by non-flatmate James. Previous night spent drinking until 4am with James in Aldgate and Southwark resulting in walk home with screaming James. Spent remainder of evening attempting to pacify uncontrollable screenwriter James with little success. Endure intensely strong coffee and numerous cigarettes in attempt to liven up and subdue residual alcohol affects as long football-based day planned. Walk to Oxford Street with non-flatmate-screenwriter-asthma-sufferer James discussing future film projects. Wave goodbye to James and secure copy of BluRay edition of heavily-advertised-in-underground-stations-film One Night in Turin using HMV voucher left over from Christmas. Ride tube-based subterranean vehicle to Walthamstow Central, outer-city village home of self's parents.

Insist on increasingly wealthy parents purchasing self various fried and refrigerated goods. Return to teenage home to bathe in football fiesta with father. Insert documentary disc into BluRay player. Have trouble navigating self through various remote controls usually operated by self's father but eventually realise that insertion of disc to BluRay player similar to insertion of disc to laptop. Line up fried food, salt, Diet Coke (novelty replacement for strong cider) and napkins in excited preparation.

Film begins and feel as if watching documentary directed by Nick Love (The Firm remake, The Football Factory). Lots of slow motion shots of white footballs hitting white nets intercut with archive footage of Italia '90 which at crucial moments always has annoying lines of empty bar chart graph at bottom and left of screen. Find self continually shocked by happenings that thought self was aware of but wasn't: how hated Bobby Robson (R.I.P) was by press, how fascinated country was by Paul Gascoigne, how riotous English fans were in reaction to horrible Tory government and so forth. Enjoy history lesson a lot despite enjoying more play-by-play unknown Clive Owen film An Evening with Gary Lineker, which in no small way defined self's childhood.

Film ends after famed Waddle penalty mishap. Watching close-up Waddle leads self to believe for sure that footballer intended to miss penalty purposefully. Forgive footballer as event one decade in past. Initiate applause which self's father doesn't join in with. Consider possibility that wound still sore with self's father and that sarcasm probably not appreciated at this stage.

Watch BluRay making-of extra feature whilst self's father drifts into sleep. Am tortured by boredom but am too turgid with chicken to move to other sofa to tackle self's father's meaty paw and attain possession of remote control. Yell at massive plasma screen often to keep self's father alert. Am penalised by self's father by being told that Italia '90 final ruined by self falling over in park and getting glass in hand at age four. Am comforted by self's father self-rebuff that Italia '90 final unbearably boring.

Fill interim between film and football match with 50 Most Shocking World Cup Moments. Realise that this is only saving grace of last film watched The Men Who Stare at Goats. Enjoy Peter Crouch acting as foolish as self imagines him in real life. Watch England opening game. Debate whether or not to start World Cup blog. Decide that additional blog would require too much knowledge of football and take up too much extra time. Pack bag with parentally sponsored drinkable goods and set off on pilgrimage to self's flat and leave teenage home. Chicken in stomach joined by bottle of wine and three beers. Flatmate Johnny awake and hassled by romantic concerns. Feel desirous towards element of competition between us due to day of sport. Decide against notion as flatmate Johnny trained in karate. Eventually put self to bed with traditional English musician Miles Davis playing jazz. Pleased at replacement for screaming that accompanied previous evening.

The Men Who Stare at Goats

Woke at 8.30am as had spent previous evening concocting grand scheme as to how to spend time before work. Bullet point 1: Coffee, cigarette, shower, shave, second coffee, complete Curb Your Enthusiasm Season 7. 2: Update Producing CV (saved for later). 3: Download controversial and potentially incriminating Rolling Stones documentary. 4: Haircut. 5: Breakfast. Bullet points in scheme all completed by 10am so decide to watch Clooney comedy that saw posters for but that has sunk without trace since. Remember during credit sequence that poster consisted of face of famous men who self generally likes.

Find self impressed by Ewan McGregor's accent. Am distinctly unimpressed by sound quality of AVI file. Initially blame VLC player but shift blame to torrent file. Whole film sounds as if it has a hip hop sub-track. Self not fond of majority of hip hop. Self also not fond of completely unrealistic storyline of The Men Who Stare at Goats. Find self accidentally typing "ghosts" instead of "goats." Wonder if this is due to recent screening of Paranormal Activity or because of Clooney caper's psych-experienment based content. 

Interest bubbles up whenever McGregor voice over gives backstory about Jeff Bridges being a hippy commander in the army and teaching Clooney and Kevin Spacey how to use their minds to see what is inside a locked box and kill ghosts. Shit. Goats. Enjoy that Kevin hates Clooney, meaning that Kevin doesn't have to act too much as he is always angry anyway and neither does Clooney as his expression is always that of a man put-upon.

Interest dwindles as plot gets increasingly ludicrous and self checking emails every thirty seconds by the time Jeff Bridges spikes water tank in army base and everyone begins tripping on LSD. Find out that have been offered unpaid job of Casting Assistant for You Me Bum Bum Train. Think credit will look good on CV but vague acting ambition takes pounding. 

Film finishes as self initiates download of several football-themed films. Pleased to be covering both English and American understanding of word in future film experiences. Decide that have taken nothing from Clooney caper beyond a smile or three. Decide to venture out to acquire copy of One Night in Turin on Blu-Ray to watch with, and subsequently sell to, self's father. Hate self for not watching BBC 4's 50 Most Shocking World Cup Moments on iPlayer instead of disappointing McGregor movie. Take slight solace in completist feelings regarding Kevin and Clooney careers. Leave house without running through a wall. Grand scheme bullet point 6: Delete The Men Who Stare at Ghosts.

Paranormal Activity

Return from work around 11pm. Exchange pleasantries with flatmate Tom but dismiss possibility of watching Kenneth Branagh film In the Bleak Midwinter in order to write how-to articles for website. Know nothing about how to decorate ceramic mugs and research into topic interrupted by arrival of saddened flatmate Johnny. Three way conversation enjoyable but brief as flatmate Tom disappears into night to find girlfriend and flatmate Johnny seeks comfort from Glenfiddich. Am left to own devices so decide to attempt screening of Paranormal Activity.


Begin film and feel self in position of authority over filmmakers as too drunk to be really frightened by anything. Suspicious happenings begin when phone vibrates unexpectedly. Further investigation reveals it is merely a text message from flatmate Tom. Visit bathroom and return to find beer can empty that was almost certainly full before. Begin freaking out. Calm self by visiting fridge.


Form of film makes it difficult to sass troubling lines such as, "Did you hear that? Something unearthly." Annoyed by filmmakers' attempt to freak me out even more.


Agree with girl who decides that paranormal demon didn't want to kill her until the camera was involved. Decide woman alluding to Paulo Cherchi Usai's book The Death of Cinema. 


By one hour and four minute point am comically enraptured by film because of photo found in man's attic. Find strange noises in own flat fascinating rather than terrifying because of self's suicidal streak. Watching film on purpose as if it was a documentary. Alcohol not acting as catalyst for paranoia like originally feared.


So gripped by film that find self switching from beer to Fanta. 


Find self uncertain as to why paranormal forces only play at night. Understand after further thought that when looking back over own life, most strange happenings most occur between the hours of 12am and 6am. Perhaps couple should be thankful they are not being mobbed by mephedrone-ridden clubber.


Decide film in fact a metaphor for closeted-lesbianism: girl obviously unhappy with man, camera never catches them having sex despite being on for several days, keeps on inviting over girlfriend, never comfortable wherever she lives. Essay on subject definitely in order. Girl needs to calm down and be comfortable with herself and then demon lesbian forces sure to leave her alone. Girl refuses and inevitable happens. Won't ruin film as flatmate Tom may read blog. Wonder if my own lesbian demon will follow me from flat to flat when self moves out at end of month. Worse still, will drunk demon follow also. Decide self would be totally fine being accompanied by the former.

Two Much / Sky-caper / Wound Footage

Wake at 9am feeling bright but have mood sledge-hammered by scarcity of job offers in inbox. Cascade back into bed and wake at 11.30pm feeling over-rested and sluggish. Wade through rubbish in hallway to flick switch on kettle in kitchen but surge of recollection results in panic that self has run out of tobacco. Hysteria sets in and realise overhaul of morning routine necessary. Shower, dress, leave house, get cash, visit shop, return. 


Check email and pleased that have been offered paid article writing position on website. Not pleased that job commission based. Know self has no drive to produce material other than blog. 


Remember that before slumping into cider coma previous night had begun watching Two Much. Have recently acquired said Antonio Banderas/Melanie Griffith romcom after advice from workmate-Ponyo-lookalike Valentina. Shocked at self ignorance of film given romantic comic nature, love for Banderas and fact that film followed by Banderas marriage to Griffith.


Nostalgia for ridiculous 90s premises in films when art wheeler dealer Banderas reveals name as Art Dodge. Banderas trying to sell painting to grieving family of millionaire. Banderas caught in act. Banderas bumps into Viggo Mortensen! Like experience of watching most other films, now wish self to be watching The Road.


Fail to understand Banderas' unwillingness to marry Griffith given later real life decision. Fearful that Banderas/Griffith long standing union total sham and that Banderas secretly wants to marry Madonna. Decide self too mature and/or sober to endure much more. 


Receive email from editor of eyeforfilm.com who self occasionally reviews for. Decision to abort Banderas/Griffith farce solidified by list of links to shorts being screened at Edinburgh Film Festival. Watch random two. Sky-caper inoffensive one-joke animation. Wound Footage a found footage based analogue/digital masterpiece. Decide for first time to include link to film on blog. Decision based on filmmaker Thorsten Fleisch's description of his process underneath video: http://vimeo.com/4741823


Send off reviews as flatmate Tom comes home to clean. Have achieved almost nothing. Have spent day writing unpaid reviews and unread blog instead of paid how-to articles for website. Ashamed to extent of considering forcing self to watch Two Much. Decide that would be too much.

Triangle / Legion / The New Daughter

Return from Oscar Wilde rehearsed reading rehearsal after drinks with cast in Somerset House (followed by Somerset House balcony as conversation was played off by rain) at 10pm to find flatmate Johnny in bed with non-flatmate Charlie watching obscure Canadian film. Have returned at early time for self as blog update of upmost importance, thus conversation swift with non-gay bed fellows.


Lament lack of new emails occupying inbox and look for consolation in shocker Triangle that if remembered correctly from reviews contains tumultuous twists. Find female lead sympathetic wrongly for sole reason of sharing namesake with ex-girlfriend-pig Jess. Find self distracted by every mention of name by other characters. Decide to force quit VLC player. Inebriation monster (otherwise known as titular Harvey, or Jack London's titular lifelong sidekick John Barleycorn) rears head and now fear numerous plot shifts will confuse and scare. However, enjoyment of modernistic one sheet leads self to believe Triangle will be revisited when more confident about romantic life. Opt instead for Paul Bettany playing angel in Legion. 


Know in advance Legion likely to be ridiculous as poster expects audience to believe Bettany capable of six-pack. Excitement as opening voiceover can be inferred as suggesting end of world. Drunk blogger remembers intensity of The Road. Excitement dies as thought process then triggers memory of The Book of Eli. Realise that pre-blog experience of apocalyptic visions of Earth mixed at best. Optimistic when pale Bettany appears bathing in moonlight although worry about self-flagulation-based-stereotyping of Bettany when Bettany cuts off angel wings. Fail to understand why Bettany collecting guns. Fear film more difficult to understand than Triangle. Decide second can of White Ace more more more than enough and give up. 

Wake at 9am when flatmate Johnny slams door to leave for work feeling unduly productive. Decide Bettany-angel-revenge-thriller unseemly for morning coffee and cigarette. Decide instead upon most recent Kevin Costner film, The New Daughter. (Actively seek out Kevin's recent output in kino-sphere because of self's mother's fandom for earlier Kevin output, in same way self suffers Orson Welles curiosity due to self's father's interest.)


Notice immediately that film centred around Kevin in domestic environment. Think back to Mr Brooks and suspicious that recent Kevin film content all based around domestic drama with additional edge. Understand deviation in sports-based film career as Kevin older and heavier. Attempt to remember sports-based career as interminable credit sequence unfolds: Tin Cup - Golf, American Flyers - Cycling (!), Bull Durham/Field of Dreams/For Love of the Game - Baseball, Sizzle Beach - Sex. Reflect; debate to self whether gun-toting in Westerns counts as blood sport. Decide Westerns count as genre. 


Enjoy well-shot nature of domesticity without forced drama until night time shot subtly reveals inhuman monster scuttling across Kevin's new house's roof whilst daughter looks out of window. Do not remember seeing Andy Serkis named in credits.


Difficult to dislike film for opening hour as slow burning, nice to look at and impossible to work out what's going on with Kevin's daughter who is undergoing "changes." Things take turn towards tawdry when Kevin brandishes shotgun and starts eliminating forest fairies-cum-ancient-American-Indian-Gods. Plot ultimately metaphor for daughter starting period. Results in fairy-ant-species trying to use her as Queen ant by eating her from inside out to repopulate species. Would have preferred film without inclusion of Gollum's extended family as Kevin capable of holding down domestic drama as milky eyes are so easy to sympathise with. Impressed by non-happy-ending but find self dumbfounded by misleading tag-line: "How far will a father go to protect the ones he loves?" Find self able to answer question: "Not anywhere near far enough" as by end of film daughter dead and son about to be eaten. Also dumbfounded by Hollywood financing and worry that Kevin secretly self-funded surreal film to remind people he still exists. 


Complete film sober and now with confidence regarding own domestic upheaval as flat lease runs out at end of month. Thoughts of moving into two bedroom house now hassled by fear of Gollum lurking on roof. Decide to look solely for flats on bottom floor of larger complexes. 

Brothers

Barely make it through double work shift but still drink bottle of rose in Somerset House with workmates. Return home merry to see flatmate Johnny watching West Wing with long-term friend Charlie. Retire to room and pick Jim Sheridan film Brothers from recent downloads as dark emotional war trauma film more appropriate to state of life than mulchy Wolverine film. 


Notice in pre-film research similarity between promotional one sheet poster for Brothers and play self co-directed last year starring flatmate Tom. Suddenly suspect possible Sheridan rip-off of low-level play productions. Decide against notion but instantly reassess and find self drawn back to original conclusion. Wonder why Sheridan forwent sending cheque for royalties. Wish self could find other play poster that inverts displayed play poster to left to truly get point across. Suffer Facebook search fail but confident that point stands.

Find self bemused by opening section as am expected to believe Jake Gyllenhaal is ex-inmate and Tobey Maguire an army captain in Afghanistan. Unsurprised as Jim Sheridan capable of casting Fifty Cent in lead role. Hate Fifty Cent in every way imaginable. Used to like Eminem but now hate Eminem as responsible for Fifty Cent's career. Potentially willing to hate Jim Sheridan as well for making Get Rich or Die Tryin' as disapprove of use of apostrophes replacing letters in film titles. Realise self in no position to judge as still drinkin' White Ace.

Realise that Sam Shepard not writing plays about western American culture at current time as too busy being disappointed with son Donnie Darko. However, playwright certainly proud of country-serving Spiderman. Realise that film of high quality and should watch when unencumbered by severe drink problem. Remember interview with playwright wherein playwright divulged recent rehabilitation and realise that self should take leaf from playwright's book of life. Pass out.

Wake at 8am as have rehearsal at 10am for Oscar Wilde rehearsed readthrough. Practise posh accent in shower before coffee and cigarette and Brothers. Terrified by Spiderman's anger upon returning from captivity in war-torn desert as he thinks Donnie Darko has been sleeping with wife Natalie Portman. Want to let Spiderman know that all they did was kiss and that was due to them thinking Spiderman was dead. Don't realise what all fuss over as obvious from filmic history that Portman has been kissing Clive Owen and Spiderman has been kissing Mary Jane, whilst Donnie has been busy beating people up in Persia. 

Find self relating to Spiderman rage after receiving text from readthrough director pushing rehearsal back to 12pm making early rise redundant. Probably wouldn't destroy kitchen like Spiderman does, nor hold gun and point at younger brother Donnie. Realise that sardonic nature of film blog inappropriate because Spiderman suffering genuine post-war trauma, leading to stand-off between Spiderman, Donnie, Portman and cops. Find self genuinely riveted and gripped by unpredictability of Spiderman rage. 

Find self taken back unwillingly to end of Wolfman when Spiderman delivers closing voiceover philosophy regarding post-war stress. Sheridan film hilariously better in contrast. Drunk blog writer in no position to critique film as script content analyses complex issues blog creator unfamiliar with. Blog creator pleased at sobriety for screening as Sheridan film deserving of attention. End up grateful to readthrough director as have had chance to finish film rather than walk to rehearsal at old university. Realise that now have to leave in order to make it on time. Decide to leave Spiderman rage at home and practise posh accent. Hope not to bump into Fifty Cent.