2022: Another Year In (Another Lack Of) Review

Ugh. 2022.
The apparent knock-on of The Dark Times is that global film production is still in absolute flux, thanks in no small part to online-streaming having knocked distribution into a cocked hat. I'm not saying that all the best stuff's going direct to the small screen, because from my (admittedly undocumented) experience, that's clearly not the case either.

My year began with good intentions of course, as most do. The usual ongoing cinema-reviews were going to be supplemented with catch-up pieces from home, and I'd even pick back up on my list of Can't Believe I Haven't Seen classics. Didn't fucking happen of course, since February's customary despondency fell in lockstep with the frankly 'challenging' standard of newly-released entertainment, with studios veering wildly between 'brainless crowd pleaser for crowds which still aren't there' and 'we're putting this out because even Netflix wasn't interested in throwing money into promoting it as new'.

It's not that all new films are crap.
I'm saying that seem to I care far less about them either way.

That said, my creative energies have been diverted a little (as you are possibly aware from the social-feeds of this site). The retro-TV podcast which I co-host goes from strength to strength, and a short sub-series on movies back in May/June created crossover-posts where I'd write here about them as well. Whereas the audio shows lovingly take the piss out of these celluloid gems, the written versions re-imagine them in a far darker light.

But I digress. This post is is a belated catchup on what I actually watched at the cinema. I only clocked 50 visits this year, the least number of times I've been since 2010. And hand-on-heart, this isn't just down to the choice on offer; I have resolutely refused to spend time sitting in front of movies which did not appeal from their trailers - precisely the kind of movies I'd previously have gone to see as a matter of course. If a trailer doesn't do the job of selling the film to me (the only job it has), I very much doubt I'd be surprised by the final product. Because of this, there's nothing below about Avatar, Uncharted, Three Thousand Years Of Longing, Black Adam, Secrets Of Dumbledore, Rise of Gru, Mrs Harris Going To Paris, Morbius, Strange World, Prey For The Devil and definitely nothing on the cultural fucking atrocity that appeared to be Ticket To Paradise. These might all be marvellous of course, it's my loss in not knowing.

Anyway, here's what I managed to get myself to the pictures for, that I didn't write about here...

THE FILMS

Licorice Pizza
Paul Thomas Anderson, 128m
I'm not a scholar of PTA, so the only thing I was impressed with here was his minute attention to detailing the most unlikable characters at the centre of his own film. Technically exquisite, emotionally excruciating...

Nightmare Alley
Guillermo del Toro, 150m
Like a beautifully-filmed episode of Hustle where there's no intricate twist anywhere to be found. Blanchett's femme-fatale character is so overplayed she's basically a cartoon. GDT is better than this.

Death On The Nile
Kenneth Branagh, 121m
Okay this was always going to be a hard-sell with me as I adore both the Ustinov and Suchet versions, but Branagh ditches half the characters, does nothing with the rest and assembles a cast so bland to tell the story that the world would be a better place if he just hadn't bothered. I mean, who hires French & Saunders and then utterly wastes having French & Saunders on-set? And the moustache doesn't need an origins-flashback, you tool.

The Batman
Matt Reeves, 176m
Very decent stuff. Not my sandpit to play in, but I enjoyed this thoroughly. Loved the performances, and only felt let down by the simplistic pay-off to Riddler's character arc and the screenwriting genius of protecting Gotham's city folk from flooding by herding them into a building which is beneath ground-level. This film works best as a one-off, standalone snapshot, so naturally DC are going to make more...

Phantom Of The Open
Craig Roberts, 102m
Sunday afternoon film. Great cast, decent scripting and solid performances, but can't overcome the hurdle of its own tweeness.

The Duke
Roger Michell, 95m
Was on standby for eye-rolling levels of cinematic saccharine, but found this surprisingly enjoyable due to it having a properly crafted storyline.

The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent
Tom Gormican, 107m
If you think the idea of Nicholas Cage playing Nicholas Cage in a movie about Nicholas Cage is exciting, innovative or hilarious, you are going to love this movie. I mean it's basically fine, but the central conceit wears thin pretty quickly, and after that it's just another Ferrell/Wahlberg action comedy with a different label. Consistently entertaining, but far too in love with itself.

Operation Mincemeat
John Madden, 122m
A timely reminder for us here in Blighty that the winning team in the Second World War achieved victory despite having some unlikable arseholes in its ranks, not because of that. Madden's film is too playfully throwaway for Saturday night historical-drama territory and too introverted and acidic for Sunday afternoons. Not a total loss, but the cast are lost with a script still in its second-draft.

The Lost City
Aaron Nee, 112m
An all-star action rom-com, written in caps-lock and painted in neon? Yeah, I was surprised I loved it as well. The cast are committed, this never takes itself seriously and is a better film for that. An unexpected highlight of the year.

The Northman
Robert Eggers, 131m
Takes itself too seriously. Visually dark and tonally linear. Eggers is better than this (The VVitch, The Lighthouse), although I suspect his cast really aren't...

Sonic The Hedgehog 2
Jeff Fowler, 122m
Like a lot of movies, this sequel could never re-capture what made its predecessor a pleasant, lightning-in-a-bottle surprise. It's fine; check-the-boxes, straight-to-video fare which is only intended for an audience who are into spotting Easter-eggs over an actual story...

Doctor Strange In The Multiverse Of Madness
Sam Raimi, 121m
The closest the MCU have/will come to making an outright horror flick. There are pacing, plotting and performance issues and I loved this anyway. Certainly the best it could possibly be without Scott Derrickson at the helm, but a beautiful continuation of his 2016 work.

Everything Everywhere All At Once
Daniels, 139m
Not feeling the love for this. Some moments of audience-baiting genius (subtitled rocks), but spends far too much time being pleased with itself for an arthouse mashup of Brazil and Jet Li's The One...

Men
Alex Garland, 100m
Nice filmmaking, shame about the story. The performances and visual crafting here are outright beautiful, just don't expect the screenplay to have any meaning other than what's ham-fistedly reeled out in its final moments.

Doctor Strange In The Multiverse Of Madness
Sam Raimi, 121m
Back to this one for a second-pass (a rarity this year), revelling in Raimi's revelling in the undead.

The Black Phone
Scott Derrickson, 99m
Very strong performances (this, from someone who usually detests Ethan Hawke) and visual design, and a weirdly flawed narrative where one half of it is compelling and the other is utterly needless other than changing the scenery. Should probably have written about this because I have issues with the aspects which are holding back what should be a great movie. Is this really what Derrickson bailed out of Doctor Strange for..?

Thor: Love & Thunder
Taika Waititi, 114m
Despite the chronic mis-casting of Christian Bale bringing DC energy to a Marvel character and wondering why his performance falls flat on its arse, I absolutely loved this. Okay it hasn't got the flow of Ragnarok, but I don't think anyone realistically expected it to. And yet I didn't go back and see this again during its run, unheard of for Legacy-Marvel. Suspect that has more to do with me in 2022 than the film, though.

Bullet Train
David Leitch, 121m
Film of the year, there I said it. It's messy, it's too long and it's not sure who its main character is supposed to be, but Bullet Train is very bright, very fast and very silly. Like Guy Ritchie directing a Deadpool movie. Full ruddy marks.

Nope
Jordan Peele, 125m
Maybe it's a first-world problem to expect a movie from a provenly-brilliant writer/director to have a coherent narrative and structure, but Nope is a mish-mash of interesting ideas which haven't been developed properly, dumped out in this form because no one at the studio had the cojones to tell Peele to go back and fix it. If this film had come from any other director it would have been utterly roasted, and deservedly so.

Bullet Train
David Leitch, 121m
This was still on, so why wouldn't I go and see it again? Joyous.

Fisherman's Friends: One And All
Meg Leonard / Nick Moorcroft, 112m
Better than it has any right to be and nowhere near good enough to have been green-lit in the first place. The soundtrack is still superb, the scenery is still gorgeous, but that's not enough the second time round.

Nope
Jordan Peele, 125m
Just to make sure. Yeah, I was sure the first time.

Bodies Bodies Bodies
Halina Reijn, 90m
Okay my comparative-pool is smaller than most this year, but this is hands-down the worst film on the list. 94 minutes of mumbling, shrieking and hand-held cameras in the dark. A couple of interesting shots, but I'm actually slightly impressed with how relentlessly awful it is.

The Invitation
Jessica M. Thompson, 101m
Hammy, overcooked, and features some of the very worst British Person Dialogue Written By Someone Who Is Not British™ you have ever heard. But it's got the fun swagger of a decent mid-90s vampire romp. I've certainly seen far worse.

Top Gun
Tony Scott, 111m
First time I'd seen this since the late 80s, first time ever in a cinema. And I don't care what people say, Top Gun is a demonstrably bad film. Deplorable characters, next to no story, just a series of loud events for the best part of two hours while people who like the sound of engines tell themselves they're fans of cinema now. Seriously, I almost walked out...

Top Gun: Maverick
Joseph Kosinski, 131m
...which is why I was so surprised when I enjoyed this immediately afterward. The characters are still cardboard at best, and the fixation with afterburners and destroying what's left of my low-frequency hearing still remains, and the story (such as it is) is basically the Death Star trench-run, but I had fun with this. I'll never intentionally watch it again, but I had fun.

Fall
Scott Mann, 107m
Beautifully shot, well assembled but appallingly written. Fall should have ended after 25 minutes with a Wilhelm Scream. All I'm saying is, this film was better when it was an episode of Bottom.

Bullet Train
David Leitch, 121m
Yes, again.

Hatching
Hanna Bergholm, 87m
As social, coming-of-age metaphors go it's incredibly on the nose, and structurally far from perfect. But for sheer bloody-minded, pent-up, what-the-fuckery Hatching is very solid.

See How They Run
Tom George, 94m
Wes Anderson-lite, and there's something missing in the 'togetherness' of the film as a whole, but it's satisfying and entertaining enough for casual fans of Agatha Christie.

Jaws
Steven Spielberg, 124m
Yeah, it's not great. Sure it's iconic an'all, and obviously worked better for a 1975 audience, but I found the characters to be almost entirely one-note in a story which is grindingly linear. I say this because I know for a fact that the novel has layers which just aren't represented here. Yeah, this and Top Gun. It's almost as if 'a shark' and 'a plane' aren't quite enough for me on their own...

Smile
Parker Finn, 115m
A few superb performances fail to save this social-horror involving a tag based curse which takes seven terrifying-vision-filled days to kill its victim. Well done guys, you've invented The Ring a mere 24 years, 1 reboot and 8 sequels after it already existed.

The Lost King
Stephen Frears
Sunday afternoon. It's fine. Nothing to disappoint, nothing to shock, exactly what you expect. If anything, it's Sally Hawkins I feel sorry for, this is all on her CV...

Halloween Ends
David Gordon Green, 111m
Solid cinematography and a few nice set-pieces, but this is a tonal car-crash of a movie. Narratively and emotionally incoherent, this feels like it's been directed by three people, none of whom have met one another.

The Banshees Of Inishirin
Martin McDonagh, 109m
Intriguing and bleak in equal measure. At one point I was literally crying with laughter, and by the end I was expecting the cinema staff to be handing out leaflets for Dignitas. Wouldn't go so far as to say I enjoyed this, but I certainly appreciated the fuck out of it.

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever
Ryan Coogler, 161m
Torn between acting as an industry-tribute to Chadwick Boseman (which it does very well, when it remembers), and dragging out a b-list story with badly chosen characters and GCSE moralising (I think you can tell how that goes). To be fair, this entertained me all the time it was on and as soon as I stepped out into the foyer I knew I didn't need to watch it again. Also, no post-credits scene: what the fuck, Marvel? Don't get all 'sombre and respectful actually' after a movie where you had the gall to bring the atrocious Sub-Mariner on to the stage...

Confess, Fletch
Greg Mottola, 95m
By no means perfect (more a series of sketches than an actual narrative), but very entertaining in an old-school, disposable, 1980s action-farce kind of a way.

The Menu
Mark Mylod, 107m
Plays like a Shyamalan movie at every single turn, until the crescendo when you realise the twist is that the film is going to do exactly what it said it would. For this reason: decent.

She Said
Maria Schrader, 128m
The template for this 'January Oscar-Bait movies for people who love current affairs but apparently don't watch the news' outing is tried and tested now, but I'll happily admit I was surprised by how fucking good this is. Always justly furious, never preaching or condescending. A masterclass in social filmmaking.

Living
Oliver Hermanus, 102m
Yes it's twee, yes it's meandering, yes it plays like a cinematic mood-board rather than a story, but Bill Nighy raises his game above autopilot and just about saves this.

Bones And All
Luca Guadagnino, 125m
Weirdly decent considering how much the director and the cast seem determined to not let the audience enjoy the story or any of its players. Too drab for a horror, too visceral for a YA drama, but its compelling characters make this worth a watch.

Violent Night
Tommy Wirkola, 112m
Sure, it's an r-rated Home Alone and the storyline is average at best, but Wirkola and his cast embrace the live-action slapstick in a way that's impossible not to enjoy. And the absolute, nailed-on stroke of genius that makes this really work is that the film remains committed to Santa being real throughout (which of course, he is).

The Muppet Christmas Carol
Brian Henson, 89m
Fully restored version, remastered and with When Love Is Gone back in there. This very well may be the single greatest film of all time, and bear in mind I say that as someone with three Star Wars tattoos and none of The Muppets...

The Silent Twins
Agnieszka Smoczynska, 113m
It's not every true-story that's got the balls to haphazardly show its unintelligibly dialogued protagonists as inherently unlikable. Awful. Then because there's no story, there's no ending - the film just finishes as things stop happening. Absolute scenes, although it's still nowhere near as bad as Bodies Bodies Bodies.

Nocebo
Lorcan Finnegan, 97m
Solid performances from the central cast crumble as soon as the film cack-handedly telegraphs that it's going to half-inch the sweatshop subplot from that shit Steve Coogan film. Everything afterward is precisely what it deserves to be.

The Pale Blue Eye
Scott Cooper, 128m
Languorously pacing proves to be this film's greatest ally, as a story that's just on the right side of batshit-crazy builds the atmosphere of paranoid hyper-reality required to make it work. A lovely mood-piece for the cold winter months, this will be largely (and wrongly) overlooked.

THE CONCLUSION

Whatever. 2022 has felt - overall - grindingly average, and my heart goes out to the cinema industry when this is all they've got to attract customers to spend money. I haven't cancelled my Unlimited card, but this is the first year I've thought very seriously about it on more than one occasion. Other than Indiana Jones, there are currently no 2023 movies which I'm actually excited about seeing. And I'm not ready to bin this blog off completely yet (if I was, it'd all just disappear), but I need to formulate a quicker way of writing about movies. This is the one aspect of blogging which I've got worse at over the years, with my obsession over formatting outweighing spontaneous efficiency.

I'd like to say reviews are going to pick back up, but that's precisely the sort of thing I always come out with at the end of December. Let's see. No promises, no regrets.

Let's all just agree to never do 2022 again...

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Film Ramble: Questions, Answers and Film Festival Etiquette

As noted in my first review of Saturday's BHFF 2017 screenings, I'm not really au fait with film festivals. There's no agenda behind that, I've just not really crossed paths with the scheduling-format before, save that one I blagged at the last minute which felt a little like gatecrashing someone's end-of-year party.

I only bring it up here as there seems to be a different behavioural vibe at the festival screening. I've noted the routine foibles of younger and older audiences before of course, but this heady atmosphere of exuberant communal creativity seems raise a whole bunch of problems other than ones usually covered by The Code.

With this in mind, I've compiled a short checklist of situations you may well find yourself in, and (in my humble opinion, of course) the most appropriate way in which to respond. To wit...



Are you taking part in a Q&A session in a cinema auditorium?

Well, if you haven't been given a microphone for this (as either the presenter or interviewee), why not actually project your voice? That would be lovely. Unlike the music-halls of yore, these new theatres are designed to absorb sound so that nothing bounces around unduly, and the audience of a film hears exactly what the sound-designer intended, at the precise moment they're supposed to. This doesn't really extend anything not emitting from the 7.1 speaker-system, though. So, standing at the front of the room and talking at conversational-volume is pretty much useless for everyone except the occupants of the front row, even in smaller theatres. Thanks in advance.




Are you an audience-member asking a question in a Q&A session?

Well, why not raise a subject which other people in the audience might relate to, or remotely know/care anything about? Have you got a ridiculously technical film-making query? You can probably get that answered via Facebook, e-mail or just catching the production team in the foyer afterwards. If the crew know the answer, they'll be delighted to have a 20-minute conversation about it outside. I promise that other than your budding cinematographer mate who's sat next to you, nobody in that room cares what type of cameras were used for the film. No. Body. At. All. The Q&A audience want broad making-of advice and anecdotes about the film they've just watched, not a list of specs and statistics.




Are you a filmmaker attending a screening of your own project at a festival?

Well, if this is taking place at one of the 'chain' cinemas and there's public admission, you'll be allocated a numbered seat like everybody else, mate. I don't care if you have a lanyard, you'll be issued a ticket by the cinema, either digitally or on paper. That's how cinemas work, now. It's not always great, but it's where we are. The cinema has given you a specific seat purely because all those people who've paid to be in the room as a viewer have also been given specific seat. That's why they're walking into the room and asking you to move. I promise you, they're not the ones being rude.




Are you sneaking your own booze into a film screening?

Well, why not try carrying it in a hip-flask or buying a flat, pocket-sized bottle of whiskey? We can all hear you opening your can of Fosters you absolute dick, no matter how surreptitious you think you're being. You are *this* close to being as bad as the next guy...




Are you one of the apparently in-a-minority festival goers who does give a shit about allocated seating?

Well that's great, but check you're at the right seat when you walk into the auditorium and you're looking at the seat number. Don't wait until after the lights have gone down, the preceding 19-minute film has played through and the main feature is actually beginning, and then decide to flick your iPad on lighting up your entire torso and shiny bald head to a room full of astonished onlookers. That's the kind of thing a massive, absolute twat would do. Also, don't act all surprised and indignant when someone steps across the aisle to tell you to turn it off. If you're going to be surprised about anything, try channelling that into some amazement that the guy in question didn't simply punch you in the side of the head before clattering your tablet to the floor and stamping on it.

This question/answer is a little more niche, obviously, applying mainly to the occupant of seat B7 in Screen 5 in the 19:30 screening at Cineworld Leicester Square on the Saturday 4th November 2017. If you're reading this sir, just know that the other 30 occupants of that room think you're some kind of massive, absolute twat, and rightfully so.




Are you going to see a film at A Film Festival?

Well, it's still a cinema so fucking well behave.

So… any questions?

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

The Super-Fan Diaries, vol.2

[ The following post is archival material, written for another site/platform, but never published until now. It is a follow-up to the previous SuperFan Diaries entry. While the text has been reviewed/proofread, it is presented here in its original, unexpurgated form. ]

The September morning had been bright and welcoming, if somewhat brusque in its temperature, when Mrs Blackout and myself left Oxfordshire. The locomotive engine of Mister Brunel's own Great Western Company which ferried us toward London Town did so with the velocity and we had come to admire, and its counterpart which carried us from the Euston station did so with a comparable efficiency.

And yet the day as we found it when we arrived in Milton Keynes had a grey stillness to the air; not exactly an atmosphere of foreboding, but one of reluctance, certainly. Lest we forget, this is one of the realm's 'New Towns', commissioned in a drunken haze by His Majesty in 1819, then designed and built to completion by architects Frederick Milton and Broderick Keynes less than a year later. Alas, upon the day of the grand opening of the Central Station, the two had a spectacular quarrel regarding the refreshment concession in the forecourt (Milton citing his wish for a Pumpkin Emporium, Keynes professing his preference for The Caffeteria Nero brand), and the ensuing duel which many assumed to be naught more than a publicity stunt resulted in the untimely death of them both. And I fear that the literal clouds which hung overhead as we alighted our train were made all the heavier by this metaphorical one.

As to the purpose of our visit, I have for some time been a member of The Cineworld Motionography Company's subscription scheme, whereby for 1/6d per calendar month, one can view as many modern moving pictures as the heart desires in any of their screening-halls, theatres or booths (although this rises to the still reasonable 2/- if one should like to include London's 'West End' halls). As a valued customer and cine-fanatic, I (and a few select others, I hasten to add) had been invited, all expense covered no less, to attend one of The Cineworld Company's flagship playhouses, in the aforementioned New Town, upon arrival at which, we would be presented with a showing of The Hollywood Corporation's latest moving picture drama, complete with a new-fangled system of pulleys and bellows attached to each customer's chair, the motions of which purportedly accompany the storytelling on the screen.

This contrivance, "The Four Dee-Ex" as its creators have named it, was the first of its kind on our glorious shores, and had been dreamt up by those marvellous boffins in the Korean See-Jay Four Dee-Plex Corporation. Additionally, this was to be a three-dimensional presentation, utilising a scientifically engineered pair of spectacles worn by the viewer (supplied by the cinema at a surcharge of -/3d, coincidentally enough), which work in tandem with a series of shutters and mirrors to create the effect of complete visual cinematic immersion. Whatever will they think of next?

After being met at the historically pensive station by The Cineworld Company's delightful representatives, carriages were arranged to ferry us along the bustling esplanade and toward the veritable Mecca of leisure and entertainment which expectantly awaited our arrival. We stepped down onto the concourse and the day proper began.

Now, the programme's feature presentation, 'The Thermally Inclement Judiciary System' was in fact "a sequel", as I believe they are known; a second installment in an ongoing cascade of adventure tales, rather like the serialised stories which appear in penny dreadfuls. Unsure as to whether Mrs Blackout and I were familiar with its narrative predecessor, our benefactors had very kindly put aside an entire theatre for a private screening of the series' first cinematograph, 'The Labyrinth Expedient'. In fact reader, I had seen the reel before (although my good lady had not) and enjoyed it thoroughly, so this cognitive refreshment was a most welcome addition to the proceedings.

As was, in no lesser way, the banquet arranged by our hosts, prepared and provided by Mr Franklyn Benjamin's Brasserie Americana & Sausage Emporium (although the exterior signage would lead one to expect that Franklyn and Benjamin are the two cooperative partners of the business, this was an affectation insisted upon by its proprietor when a severe blow to the head sustained in an unfortunate kitchen-based accident lead to his developing two distinct personalities. Although the man's culinary skills are unparalleled, this is still very much a subject of some vexation, and should you meet Franklyn (or 'Benjamin') in person, for the love of God do NOT bring it up).

After luncheon, and as an additional (and pleasantly surprising) perk of our visit, my good lady and I were given, gratis, a shopping basket containing confectionery, a carbonated soft drink (one of the more deplorable items to come from The Americas independence, if one is being honest) and a range of branded 'merchandise' relating to The Thermally Inclement Judiciary System, so that we may outwardly express our appreciation for its entertainment value, whilst also acting as ambassadors - indeed, advertisements - for its continued availability and success. Whatever will they think of next?

And so it was with great trepidation that Mrs Blackout and myself were shown to our reserved seats in the centre of the auditorium, the braided rope being removed for our passage by the proud duty manager of the theatre. The house-lamps were dimmed to a respectful level and the show began. And what a show it turned out to be...

Following an initial period of bodily and psychological adjustment to the method of delivery, the audience was transported, in spirit at least, to a God-forsaken futuristic vision of The Americas, whereby a particularly virulent outbreak of Gout has all but exterminated the population, save for a smattering of spirited urchins who appear to be immune to the misfortune. Using naught but their wits, cunning and a series of progressively powerful firearms, the group endeavour to find the apothecary who can put an end to this madness and restore order, dignity and scheduled meal-times to what remains of civilisation (Mrs Blackout remarked on the lack of tea facilities in the film; I reminded her that this was a horrendous portent of humanity's future ailings, and American ailings at that).

Added to this engaging spectacle was the aforementioned system of sensory enhancements, which lived up to our expectation and then more. In scenes depicting thrilling carriage-pursuits, a parade of off-duty chimney sweeps beneath the screen were to waft large fans toward the audience, to create the sensation of air movement. Similarly, depictions of explosions and continued conflagration were accompanied by the ensemble's rapid inhalation and subsequent exhalation of Capstan Full Strength cigarettes, to create a layer of immersive smoke (and with the added bonus of being good for the health of both the little tykes and the audience alike!). At one point during a scene set in a storm, Mrs Blackout even marvelled at the effect of moisture flying toward the viewer from apparently concealed water-pistols. I quietly informed her that this was merely a fortunate co-incidence of the feeble collective's tears, projected as their gangmaster whipped their backs in synchronisation with on-screen gunshots. Whatever will they think of next?

Alas, with our cinematic duality at its conclusion and the return journey to Oxfordshire still to be endured, the time had come to bid farewell to our fellow revellers, thank our beloved hosts most humbly and make our way into the cool Buckinghamshire evening (although the hour was still light, the venue's programme contained no other cinematographs we wish to view at that juncture, nor did we wish to take our chances among the town's ruffians by leaving the hall once darkness had descended).

As a parting extravagance, carriages had been summoned for our convenience, but not before we were informed that the next gathering of our cinematic league was to be in December, whereby we would be excused from the church-services of the festive-season and convene back in our nation's wondrous capital (thank the Lord), to witness the upcoming moving-picture by Rev. Jebediah Jeronimo Abrahamson, entitled 'A Stellar Hostility: The Compulsion Enlivens'.

It appears, dear reader, that this is what they thought of next.

Our carriage awaited, as did our future festivities. Into the night we roared, over the moors, through the provinces and across county borders; our expectation and excitement matched only by the clattering wheels of Brunel's steel beast…

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Film Ramble: Genre

[ The following post is a collected series of tweets, hence the choppier and shorter-than-usual sentence structure.
I imagine many of you will probably be thankful for this, if nothing else. ]




So I was catching up on podcasts when I heard Ethan Hawke being interviewed on @Wittertainment, for his new film #Maudie. (For the record, I doubt I'll get to see this at the cinema. Shame, Sally Hawkins is always fantastic. Anyway...) It was during this chat that Hawke pointed out that this type of movie wasn't his usual go-to, presumably for either acting or watching. Fair play. It instantly occurred to me that I feel largely the same, I'm not interested in bio-pics either; Although I am interested in people. Then it expanded, again instantly. I'm not interested in bio-pics because I'm not really a fan of any genre these days…

When was the last time you watched a film based on the section of HMV it'd get shelved in? And is that why you did/didn't enjoy it? It's a more reliable barometer to go for movies starring a certain performer or director, but they're rarely the same style of work (obviously I'm excluding the likes of Seagal, Van Damme and Kevin Hart here, but bear with me). Most people when asked "what's your favourite type of movie?" would be able to tell you. Me? I have no idea... is 'good ones' an answer?

When I started reviewing on the blog, my two objectives were a) to write regularly and b) to see film differently. The combination of these means that I've seen a lot of films I wouldn't normally have bothered with, largely due to their genre/category. Now obviously I've seen a lot of rubbish over the years, but I think I've watched as many disappointments in familiar genres as in new ones. Quite possibly more, in fact. In making myself write about each film, I've developed a laundry-list of things I can't stand about Horror™. Which is to say 'studio horror', but since I live ten minutes walk away from a multiplex, this is only to be expected. Similarly, I approach comedy movies with far more trepidation than in the past, their genre-label absolutely no guarantee of performance. Luc Besson and the Wachowskis have done their best to ensure that Sci-Fi is no longer the thoughtful, reliable escapism it once was, and for every Wreck-It Ralph in animated adventure, there's a Cars 3. For every Kubo and the Two Strings, there's an Emoji Movie. Which makes absolute sense of course, you can gravitate to one type of music - eg. Metal - but that doesn't mean all Metal bands are great.

I understand why genre exists of course, and from a marketing perspective I can see that it's essential on a very fundamental level. The problem seems to be when filmmakers become more obsessed with using it as an end-goal rather than being something which happens anyway. Or worse, they use the genre as an excuse to flop out half-baked ideas which shouldn't have made it past the screenplay's first-draft. "Oh it'll be fine Terry, it's only a comedy/horror/action, the audience isn't expecting much!". With an attitude like that, no wonder.

The films I enjoy the most are the ones which surprise me. Often because they defy the category their marketing has slotted them in. I generally abhor Richard Curtis' work, but About Time was a masterful mix of rom-com, family drama and (albeit 'broken') time-travel. Likewise, if someone can tell my why I loved My Week With Marilyn when I have little/no interest in Marilyn Monroe, that'd be great (and yes I love Star Wars and the MCU, but those films are their own thing and no longer dependent on people 'fancying a superhero or space-movie'). And sure, it's intriguing to see how a director will fare after switching from a familiar lane to an unexplored one. (Kenneth Branagh directed the first Thor movie, putting himself well on-par with the other Phase-1 MCU filmmakers). But that often says less about the 'new' area they're working in and more about their own range of skills as an artist.

So I find myself at a place where the only useful info I can glean from a film's genre is how wide its distribution is likely to be, and what kind of crowd will be there - ie looking at their phones (slasher movies) or rustling sweet wrappers and talking (period drama). Quite often, assigning a set of expectations in the audience's mind can work against a film (ref. three walk-outs during A Ghost Story). It almost certainly leads to comparative references against other movies 'on the same shelf' that shouldn't be made.

And yet obviously, you need to know roughly what type of film you're going to see. That's why genre exists, to cater for our moods. Even after all these years dissecting the things I watch at the cinema, I'll talk about 'Saturday night' and 'Sunday afternoon' films. Genre is how the industry works, and yet it's one of the biggest problems causing it to stagnate.

"Bio-pics largely aren't interesting to me, it's Maud Lewis' art that's interesting."

~ Ethan Hawke, 4th August 2017.

It's art. That's interesting.

I'm not interested in genre; I'm interested in storytelling.
I'm interested in film. I'm interested in art.

Discuss.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

The Super-Fan Diaries, vol.1

[ The following post is archival material, written for another site/platform, but never published until now. While the text has been reviewed/proofread, it is presented here in its original, unexpurgated form. ]

My name is Ian, and I am a Cineworld Super-Fan.

It wasn't always this way of course. When I was younger, I'd go to the movies when something took my fancy or a big, event-film dropped, but it was an irregular, even occasional past-time. Then a brand spanking new cinema opened in my town, courtesy of The Cineworld Filmographic Projection Co, and never had the magic of celluloid been so readily accessible. Better still, word was going round that Cineworld also offered some manner of subscription-card, whereby customers could watch as many movies as they wanted, and at any time for a monthly fee which was less than the price of two regular tickets. As many as I wanted. Imagine that.

It was then, in 2007, that Cineworld became 'my local'.

I'd go two or three times a month at first, making sure I at least got my money's worth from the card, but as the months and years strode on I visited more and more. Comedies, thrillers, horror, animation; I'd give any promising-looking flick a try, I just needed film. By 2013, I'd even upgraded my membership to cover Cineworld's West-End London locations, a 45-minute train ride away. With a bit of canny scheduling, I could zip into the capital and watch three or four films back-to-back; works which were too indie or niche to be shown at my local 5-screener. And all the while still making two or three weekly visits to my local.

I was in cinematic free-fall.

Then, early in 2015, I received a direct-message through Twitter. It was from Cineworld themselves. I'd tweeted them before as I'd taken to 'checking in' when I sat down to watch a movie, and they'd favourited the occasional judgement of mine on those reels, but here they were, contacting me, unbidden. What could it be about? "Would you like to take part in something special?" they asked. It should go without saying that the answer was a resounding yes. "Great! More details will follow…" they replied and with that, signed off, leaving me wondering what I'd agreed to.



When the invitation arrived, the crisp black envelope held within it the words that no friends, no family, even no cinema-staff could say to my face. "You are one of our Cineworld Super-Fans!" the card beamed. Like any cineaste in my position, I could only accept, and not deny, this fact. If wasn't a judgement or an opinion, just a fact. But wait, the card went on to invite me (and a tantalisingly unspecified number of other Super-Fans) to London for 'a special day' at the O2 (formerly the Millennium Dome) in Greenwich. Again, I unquestioningly confirmed my attendance, travel arrangements were made and a sunny Saturday in July set aside. All the details were finalised, except for the actual contents of the 'special day'.

After the now-familiar journey into London, I travelled the insanely hot Jubilee Line to North Greenwich, my nerve-insured punctuality causing me to arrive over an hour early. Cineworld's helpful staff (but then, they unfailingly are) pointed me in the direction of the bar-area, where members of the PR team were already preparing.

We sat and chatted movies, work, movies, life and movies, and I gently (clumsily) attempted to mine more information about the day ahead. Just how many Super-Fans were there? After all, we'd been mysteriously summoned to one of Cineworld's largest, flagship cinemas. 150? No. 100? No. 50 then? No, 10. Ten. I represented one tenth of the Super-Fandom? Apparently so. Wow. How's that for special?

Gradually my fellow Super-Fans and their plus-ones arrived, each from farther afield in the UK than myself. Once assembled, we were shown into a specially reserved auditorium and thanked for our attendance. Yes, Cineworld were thanking us. A goodie-bag awaited each of us (and I'm not talking about a carrier bag with some money-off vouchers, this was a branded messenger bag containing a t-shirt (no, not a Cineworld one, they don't want us posing as staff), a book, two DVDs, some of that high-end popcorn and a proprietary enamel-destroying soft drink). A behind-the-scenes tour followed, including the projection-area (it'd be unfair to call it a room, as it's the lengthy hub which links all eleven of the screens) and a walkaround of the largest 3D screen in Europe. This is all very geeky, naturally, but let's not forget why we were all there.



Oh, yes. Why we were all there. This was another previously raised and enigmatically unanswered question. Giving us our welcome/introductory briefing, Cineworld's PR told us (and I'm paraphrasing here, but not too much) "We've seen what you guys have been doing on social media, we like it very much and we wanted to say thanks". Cue a collection of fewer than twenty film geeks thinking "…yeah, I thought that's what you said. You're thanking us for loving what you do when you're the ones doing the work to make it great?". As gestures go, it's pretty hard to beat. The Super-Fans programme, we were told, was to run from July to December, with a surprise for us every month, this being the first.

And the other major component of the day's surprises was to be a special advance screening of the new Pixar movie, Inside Out, with unlimited complementary refreshments (and if you've bought any refreshments in a cinema ever, you'll appreciate that this in itself is a big deal). Of course, once you're told you can go wild at the concession stand - particularly with everything else that's being laid on for you - you do the sensible thing and don't go wild. I'm not sure if social experimentation was part of Cineworld's agenda for the day, but it would have made for an interesting study.

And so after our guided tour and lunch at Frankie & Benny's (no, seriously, spoiled rotten), the Cineworld Super-Fans were the first public audience in the UK to see Inside Out (an online embargo was placed on discussion/reviews and duly observed here at Blackout Towers, but we were only a week ahead of the full release, and I happen to know that Picturehouse were running a students-only screening the very next day. Nevertheless, words were typed, but duly withheld). It's is a very good film; funny, thoughtful and intelligent. A story told for the reasons of the narrative itself, rather than a blatant ruse to try and sell spin-off merchandising (although, this being the twenty first century, there's plenty of that, too). While I'm aware that it certainly connected with others far more than it did with myself, I still got a lot out of it, and can see the value of the brightly-coloured psychological analogy on display; Freud in felt-tips, if you will.

After this, the gathered Super-Fans were offered the chance to watch a 3D screening of Ant-Man, with added D-Box enhancement (short version: shaky-seats). Not an exclusive screening obviously, but consisting of complementary seats reserved right in the centre of the auditorium and the aforementioned mega-snacks, certainly a welcome addition to the day's proceedings. And as much as the D-Box is a total gimmick, it's a gimmick which works perfectly for a movie like this, with the audience in the special-chairs feeling every swoosh, sway and punch thrown throughout the film.

After Ant-Man, though, it was early evening. The Super-Fans thanked their hosts sincerely, and began the arduous trek homeward, laden with all the merch and snacks they could carry. Not me, of course. I think we've established by now that I rarely use the words 'cinema-going' and 'restraint' in the same sentence, unless it's one designed to highlight their disparity. Having travelled the shortest distance to be at the O2, I still had time to slot in another movie which wouldn't be playing at my local and still make it home at a reasonable hour. That movie was The Gallows, and while it was hardly my favourite of the day, I'm still glad I watched it in the environment it was meant to be seen in; a Saturday night multiplex full of shrieking viewers. Somebody enjoyed it, at least.

That, my friends, was my first day as a Cineworld Super-Fan. And I'd been assured it wouldn't be my last. I'd like to say that I swapped details with my cinematic comrades that day, and that we all had plenty to discuss and dissect on social media afterward. Unfortunately, I'm atrocious at actual human-networking in meat-space, so other than brief and polite chit-chat, I didn't really get to know the other Super-Fans as much as I'd have liked. No matter; in the intervening hours, I'd at least managed to glean that we'd all be meeting up again for another event in two-to-three months time. Networking could wait. My homebound train, on the other hand, couldn't.

And at the end of all this, as I type these words before daring to go to sleep and losing some of the day's lexical momentum, I'm still actually no clearer as to why this all took place. What's in it for Cineworld other than preaching to the choir? It's a question which several people had asked me on the run-up to the day's events, and one I'm no more qualified to answer after the fact. But the fact that it did take place is more than enough.

My name is Ian, and I am a Cineworld Super-Fan.



DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Intermission: The half-year in review...

Good lord, are we really half way through the year already? Life barges on at a terrifying pace, an adjective which it has in common with this increasingly awful world we live in (or so it seems to someone who now reads the news like middle-aged people tend to do). Our only salvation*¹ is the cinema. The large, darkened room where everyone is legally*² obliged to shut the hell up because all that matters is the huge, glowing screen and its shimmering message, whatever that may be.

If memory serves, I'd predicted a slow-down of cinematic consumption in 2016. And like most things I predict, it didn't come to pass. I didn't set a target for going to the pictures this year, I just opted for seeing the movies which interest me (as and where I can), and maybe a few which look terrible but should be fun to pick apart, at least. As it turns out, the more I watch films, the more I'm interested by them. So, the more I watch.

Here are the notable entries from the half-year just passed…




2016 started strongly, with The Force Awakens still on general release, of course. But The Danish Girl, The Revenant and Room ushered in the more philosophically and emotionally heavyweight (read: awards-bait) fare which January is renowned for. Also on the theme of Films v Movies, 10 Cloverfield Lane, The VVitch and Hail, Caesar! all interested the hell out of me, and March's Eddie The Eagle turned out to be every bit as self-indulgent as promised (but even managed to win over the confirmed cynic that I am). Civil War arrived in April, overly-long and with far too much going on, but reassuringly MCU, nonetheless.

Once Spring had kicked in properly, it brought us the musically-inspired Miles Ahead, Green Room and Sing Street, the latter of which I already know will be my favourite film of this year (and is already pre-ordered on DVD). More recently Hardcore Henry and The Nice Guys*³ have cemented their place in the playlist of movies to watch into the night with friends and beer. Tale of Tales is an offbeat joy, and of course no win-list would be complete without a nod to the utterly magnificent Deadpool, already a contender for favourite movie (because I'll love the upcoming Rogue One no matter what, obviously).

Despite what I'm about to go on and say, there have been some truly marvellous films so far in 2016…




It's not all popcorn and giggles, of course. Zoolander 2 began the year flying the flag for belated, unnecessary and largely un-funny comedy sequels, just as Bad Neighbours 2 was more punctual but still managed to more than live up to its own name.

With a far straighter face, The Finest Hours struggled with character-building and storytelling in much the same way as it did with the Massachusetts accent. Speaking of accents (and crap sequels), The Huntsman: Winter's War was a bad film, made worse by allegedly Scottish vocalisations which make Mel Gibson's Braveheart look like a hagiographic documentary. But the horror-genre wasn't going to be left out of all this, so Friend Request, The Forest and The Boy dredged the lake of over-wrought, poorly executed clichés to the point that even clockwork-frightfest The Conjuring 2 seemed passable by comparison.

And for those who don't want to see potentially interesting films fail, but would rather watch an already terrible idea still managing to die on its arse, we got Warcraft and Gods of Egypt, both of which actively stripped IQ points from their audience as the hours wore on. I should also mention Me Before You, a film which certainly has its fanbase, but that actually left me more angry than disappointed.

And while this seems like a relentless list of complaining, bear in mind that it's not actually unusual. Bad movies are everywhere; on TV, Netflix, Amazon, the shelf in your local supermarket. The ones listed here are just the films which happened to be released in the cinema, first…



These have been the more troublesome nights. Ones where I'd anticipated a movie either by virtue of its trailers, advance buzz or previous installments, only to find myself oddly deflated by the time the credits rolled. Not necessarily disliking the film, but certainly wondering why it didn't work as well as it could (should) have.

Scoring highly in this department is X-Men: Apocalypse, a two-and-a-half hour trail of destruction which answers the audience's question 'how do you follow Days of Future Past?' with "yeah, we don't know either". Not a bad movie, but an insultingly bland one. The cautiously-approached (by me) Dad's Army reboot also failed to be anything more than a well-intentioned but needless cover-version of a thing you wish you were watching instead.

The Jungle Book was a fantastic-looking and emotionally-empty retooling of a Disney movie that should be left the hell alone, while The Man Who Knew Infinity and Whiskey Tango Foxtrot both managed demonstrate that sometimes, making a documentary would just be better than building a hackneyed film around a premise. Also clocking in as 'pointless placeholder' are London Has Fallen, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2, TMNT: Out of the Shadows and Independence Day: Resurgence. No, it hasn't escaped my attention that those are all sequels.

Foremost in this section is Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, of course. A film that's like three or four carefully selected presents for different people, that have been bundled together and gift-wrapped by a five-year old. I haven't gathered the strength to watch the Ultimate Edition yet, but I shall do so with great interest…




We're already a few days into the second-half, and there's everything to play for*⁴. The rebooted Ghostbusters is mere days away, a film which I'm confident will slot firmly into one of the categories above, although I'm going to do my very best to just enjoy it for what it is (hopefully not 'Pixels 2'). The third Star Trek movie of the new series is on the horizon, as is the fifth Bourne film. Doctor Strange lands in the MCU in the Autumn and of course Star Wars: Rogue One brings up the rear in December.

Yep, it's all sequels, reboots and franchise-entries, at least as far as the posters in the foyer are concerned. There'll be smaller and more interesting films of course, but as every cinema-manager knows, screen-time doesn't automatically equate to money-taking*⁵, so I've no doubt I'll be travelling afield to catch those as and where I can.

As I mentioned above, I didn't set a target for this year. As I mentioned above, I didn't have to.
Will I go to the cinema more in 2016 than I did in 2015? More than likely, yes...



Yes, I keep a spreadsheet. Wait, are you telling me you don't..?

---

*¹ Well okay, and alcohol. I tend not to mix the two directly, though. Largely because you can't pause the cinema when you have to go to the loo.

*² "I will make it legal…" ~ Frank Palpatine, TPM.

*³ Good name for a band…

*⁴ As you can tell, I don't do sports-analogies. And when I try, I sound more like a 1980s gameshow host.

*⁵ Although the decreasing numbers at the midnight-showings held by my local in recent months (as well as the worrying advance-sales for Ghostbusters) would certainly suggest that the big releases are no longer a licence to print money, either.


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

#FilmRush!

Similar to the situation that occurred earlier this year, I found myself in the third week of a month without having been to the cinema. This simply won't do, I told myself, and set about fixing that state of affairs, pronto. It involved watching nine movies over eight days; the full gamut of what was available, taking in brand new films, some which had been out a week or two and one which was twenty years old. A veritable #FilmRush, indeed.

The genres were mixed, as were the results (and as they always should be).
These things were in my eyes last week; click or tap for all the words…

…so, that film about those poncey North London ghosts ticked the boxes but didn't bring anything new to the genre, even if the one about your dogs and cats coasted effortlessly on charm. A somewhat late-addition of a sequel proved to be arguably far more interesting than its predecessor, whereas the latest comedy-vehicle for a professional sass-merchant proved to be exactly the same as its spiritual forebears. Then we hit a really rough patch with an ancient Egyptian romp that makes John Carter look like Citizen Kane, and a tried-and-tested, mawkish corn-fest from yesteryear that kinda holds up, but certainly hasn't improved with age. Another unusually (and especially) delayed sequel left the same overall effect as its original yet to be less entertaining, so all that remained was a jaunt into the capital to see The King meeting The President and a trio of bedtime tales to scare you awake all night.

I'd have extended the run for longer if I could have, but the combination of weekend programming and IRL duties meant that wasn't to be. No matter. June's not quite over yet of course, so there's still a couple more movies on the horizon before we turn the calendar over.


If anyone needs me in the meanwhile, I'll be at home...



[ All of this was made possible with Cineworld's Unlimited Card. I haven't been paid, sponsored, bribed or even asked to say this, and I neither ask nor expect anything in return. I'm just pimping them because I'm a satisfied customer. Wow, disclaimers really take the wind out of a self-indulgent post's sails, don't they? ]


DISCLAIMERS (the regular ones):
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

#MarchMovieMadness

#MarchMovieMadness. If you wanted to put a label on it (and if you're me, you do), that'd be about right in pretty much every sense. It's what happens when you get into the third week of the month and realise you've "only" been to the flicks three times. It's what happens when you have way too much time on your hands (this isn't my job, remember; I'm an office-drone for forty hours a week). It's what happens when you then watch thirteen movies in eleven days, all at the cinema. Considering I'd predicted the review-schedule would slow down this year, well let's just say it hasn't. At all. If they show the films, I will watch the films, that's how that works.

And I only mention this because it's reminiscent of the chain of events which essentially started this blog in the first place. In March 2009 I set myself the target of watching (and crucially, reviewing) a different movie over twelve consecutive days. A mixture of cinema and home screenings, it seemed a fairly arduous committment at the time. Ah, what an amateur. Co-incidentally, it was the same month of 2013 when #MarchMovieMadness saw me be able to mirror the programme, but this time managing to catch a dozen films in the cinema, sequentially.

So as luck would have it (because when it comes to studio distribution patterns, luck plays a greater part than the alignment of the stars), March 2016 has seen me slot in thirteen threatrically-screened movies over eleven days. It's a higher hit-rate than 2013 certainly, but not quite as mathematically pleasing, obviously. And I'd have gone for the full twelve, but a) I don't really like repeating movies within the run (although I had seen one of them previously), and b) I really need to flush the batteries before I take in Dawn of Justice again.

So here's a quick roundup of the things which have been in my eyes over the last week and a half…



That film about the underground bunker was very good, and the polar opposite (pun intended) of the one about the twerking bear. The movies about the tower block and puritans were quite a challenging watch, for both the right and the wrong reasons, so a law-enforcing rabbit made for a nice change of pace. The annoying kids trudging around a nuclear wasteland was nowhere near as satisfying as that sounds, but a panda kicking the crap out of an ancient, evil yak was. This was just as well as the doll of porcelain turned out to be laughable; nowhere near as durable as the man of steel or even the mid-life crisis of vucanised rubber. Saturday saw us being invited to a wedding, after which an unexpected and slightly underwhelming trip to the moon proved to be nowhere near as much fun as belting down a snow-packed chute with two planks strapped to your feet. But as long as we learn from our experiences, even those we only rate with one star, they're not wasted time, right..?

This month's cinema viewing has been a mixed bag (as it should be), so if you don't mind, I'll go for a lie down, now…

And all of this was made possible with Cineworld's Unlimited Card. Other cinema-subscription services are available, but only very recently. And they cost more and don't offer the same discounts and benefits. Well done, guys ;)


DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

Ramble: The Definition of Smug

DISCLAIMER: This post contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.



Hi. Before I start, let me just say now that I like Picturehouse Cinemas. Seriously. They've got that indie vibe. I mean sure, with 22 separate venues (as well as working in conjunction with the 1000+ strong Europa Cinemas network) and being owned by Cineworld, they're about as independent as buying your Smiths CDs from Amazon, but the vibe is there. Their cinemas (their actual cinemas, not the subject of this post) are impeccably fitted. Okay, they seem to attract the most poorly behaved and inconsiderate audiences I think I've ever sat amongst, but that's a subject for another ramble.

Picturehouse show a lot of movies that just wouldn't get played in regular multiplexes, either due to smaller and independent film distributors, or just the niche appeal of the films themselves. And sure, they'll also run Mission Impossible and Inside Out, but for many movie-goers, Picturehouse is their local, and they don't mind a bit of mainstream in the same way that I don't mind when my Cineworld shows a bit of indie.
What I'm saying is, there's a need for them to exist.
I'm glad of the need, and I'm glad that they're there to fulfil it.

But I've seen this promo-film a few times too many, in recent months…



What. The fuck.

Have you ever seen anything as nauseatingly self-satisfied as that film? Is this a thing to aspire to? Is digital projection and 7.1 sound really such an awful hallmark of our modern age? Presenting a movie as close as technically-possible to the director's intention? If I want to sit at the end-credits of a movie covered in popcorn kernels as the lights come up, that's my choice, but I draw the line at fucking brickdust…

Backed by the hipsterial-lodestone that is Daniel Johnston, a bunch of eerily happy minimum-wage saps construct a makeshift cinema in a filthy disused warehouse, wearing black clothes which are going to get covered in shit long before ther first unpaid break and which will have to be changed before the easily-amused punters are herded in that evening (Overalls? How mainstream).

Cakes are laid out onto a counter uncovered, to develop a stylishly quirky location-dynamic topping of free-floating insulation fibres and asbestos-dust, and the man who's been allotted the task of setting up the deck-chairs doesn't know how to set up a deck-chair. Despite being surrounded by set-up deck-chairs (maybe he's covering for one of his colleagues who's gone for a wee. Not a normal wee like you'd have, but a thoughtful wee into a hand-fired 1960s chamberpot which will then be poured artfully into a genuine 1950s Armitage Shanks toilet before being flushed away with artisan water and Highland pony's tears), then lightbulbs are merrily connected to live cables whilst a cat skulks around the inadequately-lit room. Being a stray, it's probably sprayed its territorial markings onto every surface that now holds the food which is about to be consumed (yeah, I had toxoplasmosis before it was cool, actually).

A playfully kitsch ticket-booth is erected, despite tickets not being actually sold for this event, and manned pointlessly by a bow-tied spectacle-wearer (let's call him Brian) whose apparent job it is to wave the audience in the only available direction since no money's changing hands. Just looking at this guy boils my piss. Why is he smiling like that? He's not even allowed in the "auditorium" with the others, surely that should tell him something? They fucking hate this guy. His own colleagues. His secondary job is to cry whilst listening to the film playing through a closed door.

The main theatre is still poorly lit, despite having cables of un-shaded bulbs trailing everywhere (Indemnity insurance? That's for squares). The inexplicably-delighted audience mills around in the filthy room, where further ironic stalls hand out bottles of warm lager (because there's no on-site refrigeration), and day-old popcorn (because the warehouse doesn't have a license for food-preparation) in cardboard cartons. Not paper bags like you'd get in one of those grubby, common multiplexes mind you, cardboard cartons. Like from the 1950s when cinema was cool. Young children are milling about, which means that the film on tonight's schedule has to be either a U certificate or a PG due to BBFC certification guidelines (a 12A could work from a legal perspective, but since they're mostly used for blockbuster action movies, it's hardly likely as the film this evening will be special, just like the audience and their cakes and their deck-chairs and their hushed yet enthusiastic conversations about watching a film in a condemned building). And God only knows what the show's going to sound like, since I don't see a single speaker being set up. It's either going to be a literally silent-movie, or the audio is going to be pumped through the auxilliary-input on a solitary boombox at the front.

Then a rope is pulled, the audience carries on talking, pointing or gawping, the insufficiently-low yet irritatingly-high lighting isn't dimmed, and everyone enjoys a 3:4 aspect-ratio film projected at too-small a size through a dusty room onto a crumpled sheet.

I'M SOLD, BRIAN! TAKE MY MONEY AND SHOW ME IN…




DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.