Kate and Leopold / Jurassic Park

Have been attempting to download Kate and Leopold for several weeks and know that time is running out before flatmate Tom returns and discovers what I'm doing and beats me up for bringing such romantic mulchy crap into our home. Successfully acquire version with Spanish subtitles. Want to watch mulchy crap solely for presence of Hugh Wolverine Jackman in romantic role, harking back to Animal Attraction, one of favourite films of all time ever.


Credit sequence reveals that James Mangold responsible for direction. Know that something brilliant/terrible commencing as he made favoured films Walk the Line, 3:10 to Yuma etc., yet no one has ever seen Kate and Leopold and there must be a reason for that.


Know that possible enjoyment on cards as line shouted desiring Wolverine to be "resplendent." Know that Wolverine capable of nothing less. Wonder how Wolverine became a duke in the 1870s. Enjoyment swayed to fear as appearance of Liev Schreiber suggests that self has inadvertently embarked upon Orson Welles season as Schreiber played Orson in TV movie RKO 281. Have recently watched The Player featuring script writer murder victim Vincent D'Onofrio who played Orson in well-liked Burton film Ed Wood. Annoyed by own father's correct prediction that anything vaguely cultural can always be linked back to Orson Welles.


Notice that Orson is inexplicably following Wolverine. Confuddlement at sudden switcharoo as Wolverine starts following Orson. Orson apparently trying to kill himself by jumping off boat. Think this reasonable as Orson may have foreseen career nosedive following Citizen Kane. Wolverine, in typical heroic manoeuvre, tries to stop Orson suicide only to be maced in the eyes by modern-day-gadget-carrying Orson. Both fall into ocean and gadget now understandable as Orson actually from modern day.


Pre-fish-face-surgery Meg Ryan very angry at ex-boyfriend Orson and unconvinced as to life story of new-Orson-flatmate Wolverine. Transpires that Wolverine responsible for invention of elevators. Now elevators non-existant as Wolverine in future before having opportunity to invent elevators in past. Yet, lift shafts still present. Wonder why buildings across globe now have useless empty shafts running through them and find self becoming lost in sparkling-wine-fuelled-space-time-continuum-haze. Decide to finish film later and trot wearily to work.


Decide to go on drunken walk with workmate Lydia on South Bank. Eventually return home to find flat quiet as flatmate Johnny asleep and flatmate Tom still absent. Renewal of screening reveals that Meg Ryan works for Josh Lyman and he clearly wants to have sex with her. Believe reassessment of complete West Wing probably due. Screening interrupted by opening of front door. Flatmate Tom alive! Feel as if self caught in act of crime and hide VLC player window and replace with Facebook page.


Drink White Ace with flatmate Tom until receive phone call from drug-addled-James-flatmate-Johnny. Invite non-flatmate Johnny round to drink. Receive text from drink-addled-nineteen-year-old-friend Louise. Invite child Louise round to drink. Screening of Jurassic Park initiated by flatmate Tom for sole reason of listening to theme tune. Have to evict guests at 4am as have work in morning. Jurassic Park unfinished but okay with this as can quote film from memory. 


Following evening decide to use emptiness of flat (flatmate Johnny at museum, flatmate Tom at girlfriend's - information pried from him the previous night uncovers that he has been there all week and wonder if there will be repeat absences granting continued abuse of internet to procure romcoms) to catch up on television as Kate and Leopold no longer on VLC player following screening of first half of Spielberg dino-flick. Pass out to sound of favourite-aspect-of-Jurassic-Park-Jeff-Goldblum being interviewed by Jonathan Ross. 


Dream that evening spent sorting out life: finding better job, sorting out pending court summons regarding council tax, finding girl partner. Wake saddened by dream. Realise life unfinished like Kate and Leopold.

Did You Hear About the Morgans?

Fear regarding life-status of flatmate Tom calmed by Facebook wall post embracing blog. Feel warmed. Decide to continue flatmate-Tom-absence-advantage-taking by watching Did You Hear About the Morgans? Know that disappointment beckons but fail to resist lure of update of Uncle Hugh career following despite massive distaste for SJP.

Know that self-destruction in upward curve as sun apparent through window yet find self sat in homemade cinema still, finishing blush from The Player experience. Yet, fear still present on off chance that monster Sarandon has read blog and wants to do to self what she did to Robbins. Have also created illusion of surround-sound by drawing curtain across one speaker whilst leaving the other exposed.

SJP fear nursed by calming voice of Uncle Hugh during credit sequence. Miss artist-friend Simon as remember fondly career tracking Uncle Hugh with him two years' ago. (Am alerted to grammar of last sentence because of Lynn Truss' published dislike of other Uncle Hugh film Two Weeks Notice which Aunt Lynn suggested was missing use of apostrophe. )

Relative love of Uncle Hugh and film in general obliterated by sudden terrifying appearance of SJP trying to sell a foreign couple an over-priced flat. Look with horror into SJP's glazed over eyes staring out from heavily CGI'd face. Terror lapses only when she is not on screen trying to appear cute. Hope that later blog entry not centred on SATC 2 which Guardian inferred as most culturally ignorant film of all time.

Confused by appearance of Jedd Bartlett's daughter (now working in the 1960s at an advertising agency and claiming name as Peggy). Realise Peggy attempting to launch film career and willing to whore herself about in bid to be Meryl Streep. Disapproval rises when Peggy gives Uncle Hugh evil eye.

Wonderment at Uncle Hugh's desire to remarry SJP. Contents of remaindered blush dwindling and worry that intoxication could lead to enjoyment of film which in turn may lead to Facebook deprication from flatmate Tom.

Shocked when Uncle Hugh and SJP spy a man stood on balcony in high rise following awkward dinner. Wonder what he is doing. Contemplate possibility that he is planning on committing suicide following double screening of Wolfman and SATC 2. Hope man not Peter Bradshaw.

Instant satisfaction when man plummets to mortality and Uncle Hugh wraps hand around SJP's mouth to muffle screams. Hope rest of film of similar ilk. Realise with sadness that Uncle Hugh stifled SJP only because another man has pushed Peter Bradshaw off balcony. Fear for Uncle Hugh as man on balcony has gun and wants to eliminate witnesses of Bradshaw homicide.

Film takes turn with line: "Wouldn't you rather live somewhere else than die in New York?" Impressed by mass-audience-orientated film asking philosophical questions. Presume posthumous approval from David Hume.

Uncle Hugh and SJP flown to Wyoming for witness protection. Unconvinced until appearance of moustachioed man from The Big Lebowski. Sickness stirs in stomach from blush intake and become desirous of sustenance. Catch 22 incurs because too blush'd to move. Brain turns over deeper theoretical textual analysis of film and am forced to note down on Apple application 'Stickies':

become moved by improving relations between two 'democrats' in "God fearing America country" but find it uncomfortable that this new Uncle Hugh-SJP-bondage occurs only because of their simultaneous integration/alienation into/from the Wyoming environment


Am too blush'd to elaborate point further but in condition am glimpsing possible future as replacement for murdered Bradshaw.

Become annoyed when Uncle Hugh rejects SJP's advances (which have only begun because of the revelation that she slept with another man [Mr Big?] whilst they were separated - which surely is acceptable, even with relationships involving territorial Uncle Hugh, if not ones involving Ross Gellar) because this results in Uncle Hugh putting hand across back of head whilst lying bed (instead of across SJP's mouth before they fled) presenting viewer with a... is that a... a... BICEP?! Feel utterly bemused by attempt to objectify Uncle Hugh and situation instantly worsens when SJP attempts to spoon him.

End of film predictable and undergo uncertainty as to enjoyment. Realise that blush-time-lapse has occurred and have to make a break for work. Fearful that new found enjoyment of blog will cause deviation of evening plans focussed on sex and narcotics. Ruminate over potential abortion of notion of straightening hair because know how much SJP would approve of such flagrant metrosexuality. Accept that must straighten hair anyway on off chance of bumping into Uncle Hugh.

The Player

Find self in hurry to get to work after Wolfman experience. Notice that I now growl when annoyed. Pleased, as this replaces dinosaur wail that I employ whenever hurt or scared. Receive text at work from non-flatmate James telling me to drink champagne with him. Devastating weather situation provokes rejection of concept even though it's painfully obvious I have nothing else to do. Notification from non-flatmate James concerning his degree result means that celebration is certainly in order.


Drink self to Archway and hide out in The Hideaway with James and also-non-flatmate-Prince-Charles-Cinema-employee Jimmy. Steal toast from Norton and declare "Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends." Discussion of massive oil spills and Liberal homosexuals ends with revelation that all this is an elaborate ruse to force me to watch Tim Robbins in The Player which was apparently the plan all along. Two bottles of blush sitting in my satchel suggest I was gearing up for a very different sort of evening.


Announce secret film blog and that preparations are necessary before we play best Altman film besides M*A*S*H. Know that inebriation will induce forgetfulness so nab copy of Review section from The Guardian to record notes. Note-taking later develops into transcription of flat-owner James' sarcasm. 


AVI copy of film appears on large television. Know not whether AVI version is worse quality than DVD as am struggling to pick which one of the Robbins I should focus on. Decide I'm too drunk and switch to Pepsi.


Find self saying in high pitched voice, "My names Robert Altman and I can rip off Orson Welles any time I please!" in response to famed sequence-shot opening. Am quickly chastised by James and non-drinking Jimmy as this is obviously on purpose. Feel humiliated and that my role should from now on should simulate Ryan Phillippe's in Gosford Park.


Feel sorry for Robbins as someone is threatening him with confusing postcards. Robbins convinced they're coming from chameleonic-actor Vincent but know that they're actually from vengeful Sarandon. Robbins so convinced that he tracks down screenwriter Vincent and joins him in a cinema. Jokingly notify absinthe-drinking James and absinthe-drinking Jimmy and recently-appeared-James-flatmate Johnny (not my flatmate Johnny) that The Player appears to have meta-filmic elements. Chastised again by James for failing to notice that the film Robbins and Vincent are watching is called, in the film, The Bicycle Theives, which is an incorrect translation of the original Italian and that this has distinctly Western connotations. Remain silent as feel out of depth. Take on Ryan Phillippe role by fetching cork screw from kitchen. Feel decadent and self-aware because this is solely for personal benefit.


Am reminded of Boston Legal season two when Vincent says to Robbins, "See you in the next reel, asshole." Find this funny because it's true. Notice Altman link to self self-reflexivity regarding title of blog. Am joined in laughter by potentially tipsy Jimmy and feel part of the group once again. Robbins gets angry at frustrating Vincent and drowns him. James theorises in reaction to this: "Death of the Author?!" 


Robbins decides to go to murder-victim Vincent's funeral, but does so in incongruous fashion in large black jeep. Brent Spiner lookalike eulogises for dead Vincent. Feel sorry for Robbins as he is conflicted and scared and doesn't know yet that Sarandon will divorce him.


By now have finished half a bottle of blush after switching back from Pepsi and am sure that sudden appearance of Whoopi Goldberg is an hallucination. Feel sorry for Whoopi because to be playing an actual character in the most cameo-laden film of all time is embarrassing. Don't know whether she is terrible or brilliant. Either way find self disliking her because of brutal laughter attack on Robbins in her office.


Foresight showed by Altman from beyond the grave as Angelica Huston is seen in screening room declaring, "I have to cut." Altman clearly on paranormal wavelength with David O. Russell. Alerted by James to a cut between Malcolm Mcdowell and Andie Mcdowell. Realise Altman teasing me because Andie notes quickly in the scene that she is unrelated to Malcolm. Realise that The Player is not to be watched in my condition and paranoia and confusion reach dangerous level.


Condition leads to rupture in on-going sympathy with conflicted Robbins when he claims, "I came so close to dying tonight." Little does he realise what absinthe-infected James and self are going through. Relationship rebuilt when I remember what Cloverfield-monster Sarandon will later do to him.


By end of film am watching AVI copy in 2D, 3D and 4D because of inebriation. Remain conscious long enough to hear James observe that Robbins' character name amalgamates Cecil B. Demille and D. W. Griffith, visit bathroom, take bus with not-as-drunk-as-me Jimmy and pass out in bed. Notice that flatmate Tom still AWL. Presume worst due to how angry Robbins was in film and in real life because of angry Sarandon. 

Wolfman

Decided that rain on the first day of Summer was cause enough to embark upon another film before gritting my teeth and skipping to work. Still no sign of flatmate Tom so feel less embarrassed about slothfulness. Require something easily ignored in order to work on rewriting CVs. Decide on Wolfman as critical derision contrasted my enjoyment of the trailer and like catching up on Benicio's inexplicable career slump following his two-film stint as bearded revolutionary.

Try to remember what year I worked for the London Student newspaper only to be distracted by sudden appearance of Hugo Weaving. Accept that Anthony Hopkins has no self respect but am disappointed by Hugo's career self-flagulation. Hugo joins in with the others in their game of accent mash-up which Emily Blunt is obviously enjoying.

Annoying back pain due to today's immobility worsened by agonising morph sequences. Feel sorry for Benicio: all he wants to do is die but nobody will let him, not even Emily. He seems so miserable about being a conflicted monster man in a film that even its director gave up on. Benicio's going to need a Magnum.

Had done best to repress memory of the beginning when Benicio performs Hamlet to a full theatre but am forced to revisit hair-raising happening when Benicio has hallucinogenic flashback.

Enjoy ferocious Benecio vs. Hugo fight/chase through the city but do not enjoy silly Benicio committing fire fuelled patricide. However, pleased that Hopkins is dead. Am reminded of famed Norton/Roth fight in The Incredible Hulk when Benicio and Hopkins run at each other. Feel metaphysical link to gleeful sound designers everywhere when watching climactic fight sequence and know for sure that Universal Studios didn't think anyone would still be watching.

Decide that the closing voice over regarding the duality of man is the worst writing since Portraits by Rose debuted at Twenty 2e7en's festival at The New End Theatre in Hampstead.

Receive text from flatmate Johnny confirming that he has wired me money for our internet bill and count myself lucky that he isn't here watching this as I would be like Benicio at the end of Wolfman and he would be conflicted over what he'd just done to me as punishment for using broadband to watch howlers.

Edge of Darkness

Woke at 9am knowing that Edge of Darkness will have finished downloading. Insatiable lust to see Mel Gibson's face looking angry fills heart and have barely rolled the day's first cigarette by the time credits roll. Flatmate Johnny has already left for work and other flatmate Tom is AWL. Decide to forgo what I usually do when found alone in the flat which leaves impossible to deny conclusion that I feel more strongly for Gibson than I do my own carnal satisfaction.


Revenge saga explodes through front door of Gibson's house and his Boston Irish accent can barely keep up as he embarks upon bringing down go-to-company-owner-who-wants-apocolypse Danny Houston. Conduct online research into whether this film made a profit and am disappointed to learn that total domestic gross did not out-measure budget, which could be anywhere between $60 million and $80 million (as imdb does not agree with boxofficemogo).


Before everyone starts dying from Gibson gun and/or radiation poisoning, a bing sounds on laptop that means The Wolfman has finished downloading. Uh oh. Gibson keeps my interest because now he's really angry so a defection to del Toro does not occur on VLC player.


Come close to crying but embarrassing final walk towards bright window with Gibson and Gibgirl signifying afterlife staves off this urge. Realise upon deeper thought and reevaluation of mind's eye that Gibson has been wearing a crucifix throughout whole film and that this is all potentially masturbatory papal propaganda. Feel cheated by Gibson once more. Know as fact that I would have enjoyed this even more than I did had I watched it a decade ago. Realise this happened when I watched Ransom on VHS in my parents' living room one night after school. Also realise that I downloaded Ransom a few months ago and was disappointed. Realise that Edge of Darkness has contributed nothing to cinema. Continued self-discovery imparts new found wisdom that I have, after all, been touching myself...

Gamer

Woke at 9am. Fell asleep. Woke again. Repeated routine until 1pm when I eventually dragged myself to the kitchen to flick the switch on the kettle - a task that had seemed so impossible whilst I was horizontal. Bathroom. Coffee and cigarette whilst reviewing recent happenings on Facebook. Conversation with flatmate Johnny about intended schedules. Negotiation of fry-ups, home cooked pasta/bacon sandwiches and staying in or going out results in a decision to pick up fried chicken and watch my recent download of Gerard Butler’s Gamer. (I credit him with authorship rather than the director because it would never have found a home on my hard drive otherwise.) Excitement ensues. Later re-analysed as hunger for filthy bird meat. 

Home cinema invented: a chair stolen by other flatmate Tom during theatre-fuelled drinking binge, laptop mounted on said chair against my radiator, speakers jacked into said laptop, chairs bought for a play I produced two years’ ago. Fractious credit sequence begins as single-serving salt is sprinkled upon carcass and instantly the hunger that replaced the excitement is in turn replaced by sexual arousal as Butler appears on screen killing everything in KillZone multiplayer mode. Genital galviniztion is promptly ruined as Butler goes on to graphically annihilate human beings in the most inhumane way possible throughout the rest of the film. 

Raucous applause on my part is contrasted by Johnny’s declaration that Gamer is “The worst film I’ve seen in a long, long time.” As I bite down on the factory fattened corpse of a chicken, Gerard breaks the spine of a character whose name includes the word rape - only possible in a Sims-type environment, of course, where every dark human desire can be realised. This avatar-based game which Gerard has illegally penetrated (unlike Rick Rape who was trying to have an avatar-amour session with Gerard’s wife - stupid fucker) is called ‘Society’ and I immediately want to live there, with Johnny controlling me. 

Gamer causes repeated yelps of “Agh” and “Ugh” which are signals that I find it difficult to watch the 300-Scottish-Bigfoot lift people up by the legs and drop their skulls into the ground in its full widescreen gratuity... 

BUT... trash as it is, Gamer is undeniably well-made trash. Ridiculousness culminates in a dance sequence/basketball match in which Gerard and Dexter punch each other in increasingly elaborate ways. Lighting of the scene reveals Gerard as the ugliest person in the entire film. 

Go to work feeling as if I’ve eaten a sugar hamburger. Look forward to downloading The Bounty Hunter. Johnny does not. Johnny feels so ashamed of himself that he stays in bed reading Goldfinger until I return from work, drunk, ravenous for marathon download session.