Now.................I know what you’re thinking, I’m thinking it too. It IS very arrogant of me to think that anyone would give a toss about what I’ve got to say about film, or anything else for that matter. For the most part I would agree with you, and as anyone who has ever posed a question in my general direction will testify, my opinions are often ranting, contradictory affairs and should almost always be dismissed.
So why am I doing this? and why should you waste your precious time, time that could be spent doing something infinitely more constructive (like selotaping hookers to your face or dry humping a park bench), reading the inane rantings of a tool? Two words.
James King.
For those lucky folk who don’t subject themselves to the soul destroying infinity of ear rape that is radio one during the daytime, James King is the guy who reviews the weeks big cinema and DVD releases. He is also the fucktard who gave the sex and the city film its best review.
Before anyone gets all preachy about how it’s a ‘chick flick’ and it wasn’t meant for my consumption consider the argument that the term chick flick is not shorthand for steaming pile of dump that is so insulting to women that for some reason not even very sane and intelligent women can comprehend that they’re being patronised. The only thing I can possibly think of to compare it to is having a complete stranger accost you in the street, then stand in your face and scream obscenities about your mother having an unhealthy lust for horses. You’d be so shell shocked you wouldn’t know what to do so you’d have to quietly accept it.
Anyways, I enjoy a feel good film as much as the next man (or woman) but what I don’t enjoy is watching four self obsessed, vapid, cock hungry, spunk dumpsters eat lunch and bang on about how important their so called problems are (problems like living in a massive penthouse or having elbows) and how hard it is to be a rich white woman living in New York. It’s like someone watched an episode of loose women (without spooning out their eyeballs just to have something to throw at the TV) and thought “How can we make this more vacuous and inane?”.
Anyway back to the point.
James King.
Here is a grown human being of who rates an art form by giving it a number of hotdogs out of five. If you don’t find that insulting then you may aswell go buy the sex in the city box set right now!............go on, you’ll love it. Jesus, I just can’t get over it can I. I promise that will be the last reference to said program, honestly.
So. A good friend of mine (yes, that’s right. I have friends. As amazing as it seems I don’t just stay indoors and fixate on sex and the city. Dammit,sorry!) got sick of my whining and decided to give me the kick in the arse I need to do anything that involves a degree of thought and told me I should start writing film reviews, ”WHAT HAS THIS RAMBLING BULLSHIT GOT TO DO WITH JAMES KING!!!!!” I hear you cry. Well, the catch is: if I don’t post a review on this blogsite he is going to send a love note to James king signed with my name and a photo of some testicles, namely his ,but James King wouldn’t know this and would assume said balls where mine. This can not happen. Nobody’s balls should be forced to be looked at by that toss hole. Hence I am caught between a love of sitting down doing nothing and the shame of having a complete tit think I love him. It’s like a crap episode of ‘24’ isn’t it! Next thing you know some terrorists will turn up at my house with Jack Bauer’s daughter and hold her hostage using my nutsack as some kind of bunker to hold up in. I may have to copyright this, 24 has gone so tits up lately that it’s actually a viable storyline.
Thing is I haven’t watched anything new for about a month and although I do go to the cinema alot, it’s nowhere near enough to review the latest releases. So as of this week what I’m going to do instead is review(talk bollocks about) a film that’s new to me, this way I can get through all the DVDs I have that have sat in my collection unwatched. And I’m doing this all for you..................gutted.
As this wouldn’t be a film review blog and I would technically be breaking the rules of the James King/ballsack blackmail if I didn’t at least seriously talk about one film I feel now is the time to give my first opinion on film that isn’t angrily and patronisingly shouted into the beleaguered ear of my long suffering girlfriend.
Here goes.
Ready?
Go and watch ‘Cop Out’.
Another highbrow critique will be limping its way to you soon folks. Next time I’ll be serious. I swear on my coveted special directors cut edition of ‘Sex and the city’.
