Film Blog #1 - The BT's 'Big Filmy Balls' Award for Greatest Quality/Premise Ratio

(Hello again. Apologies for the protracted absence since the last entry, but my own advice turned out to be so good that me and my right hand decided to take a spur-of-the-moment second honeymoon. I'm having to choose my words carefully too - anything east of 'H' on the keyboard increases the chance of further straining, so I'm trying to avoid straying there too much.

Yes, anyway, moving on, I should have two film-themed ones coming in fairly quick succession, so keep your eyes peeled, people.)

It's the Oscar's tonight. At the time of writing I genuinely have no clue who's won what, so there's a bit of excitement for you. In this spirit of this ignorance I've decided to stick my oar in early and award my own, very special prize - the award for the greatest quality/premise ratio.

Hollywood's got a bit of a reputation for favouring movies with big premises. Got an idea for a movie about a plane-crash? Sounds promising. Why not make it about a spaceship? And how about the crash could kill everyone, including people IN AMERICA? Even better. Except all the passengers should be sharks. Robot sharks. Played by Will Smith. Wearing sunglasses. In 3D. You've got yourselves a winner. If, on the other hand, you fancy making a film about two pensioners at a scone-tasting festival in Halifax you can piss right off to your garage with your tenner budget.

Except this year everyone's gone a bit mental, and most the films up for best picture sound a bit...naff. In a good way.

Compare it with last year. The two main contenders for best picture were a film about a man assimilating into an alien race then joining their resistance against human oppressors, and one about a crack bomb disposal unit in the heart of Afghanistan. Whereas this year, the nominees include films in which;

*A king has trouble making a speech

*A girl finds ballet a bit difficult

*Two college students build a website

*A girl goes looking for her father in various houses

*A man gets stuck in a canyon for a while

I'm being facetious here o' course (and totally ignoring Inception and Toy Story 3, who's premises are so out there they show up on the DVD itself, like idea tumours) , but there is a noticeable difference. None of these are subjects that immediately strike you as required viewing. And we at the BT wish to honour these humble little wonders. Sometimes, you can get diamonds out of coal-heaps. The award is thus rewarded to whichever film makes the most out of the least, that weaves a masterpiece from the narrative equivalent of two lumps of horse shit.

I was tempted therefore to give it straight to 127 Hours, because unlike the rest of them, the film about the man getting stuck and cutting his arm of is LITERALLY a film where a man gets stuck and cuts his arm off. The others amplify their credentials by adding character dynamics and snappy dialogue. This just sits there being stuck for 90 minutes. The fact anyone was even still in the theatre at the end of the movie merits the award outright.

Except then I came across two pieces of evidence in favour of the Social Network, namely this video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVgXQiKLnqQ&feature=related) and this article (http://www.cnbc.com/id/39675388/)

The first is a nice visual example of how much more interesting, charming and likeable person Jesse Eisenberg's Mark Zuckerburg is than Mark Zuckerburg himself. When people prefer a fictional you to the real you you may as well get into your Fiat and take a hosepipe with you, because you've basically failed. That bit where he mentions poking and then grins at the camera. Ugh.

The second? Well, how many people watched that film, came out into the lobby and said "Very good. The true takeaway for me was that entrepreneurship and creativity, however complicated, difficult or tortured to execute, are perhaps the most important drivers of business today and the growth of our economy." Eduardo Saverin for one, and he had the massive distraction factor of actually being in the sodding thing. I bet Eduardo Saverin irons his socks. I bet he does sudoku and grouts tiles. I bet his favourite flavour of crisp is potato. I bet he makes jokes about how if you think watching Indiana Jones go up and down is exciting you should watch his cousin, Dow. I bet his favourite Beatles album really is best of the Beatles. I bet his children will be half-calculator.

Yet The Social Network manages to make a film about these two fundamentally sub-people. Largely by just ignoring them, it's true, but there's a lesson in there. If the real people are shit, don't try and make them interesting; make interesting people and give them the same names. For clearing this hurdle, the film deserves the prize. Round of applause, please. Oh and if Black Swan wins anything I'm nuking Arizona. Just saying.

A 'Handy' Guide to Valentine's Day

So. It's Valentine's Day. Unless you're reading this sometime in the future, having missed today due to being unable to fit a quick visit in between your bevy of romantic appointments; the two-hour long breakfast in bed, the country walk with its dizzying clash and fumble of fingers as you hold hands, the heady, soft-lit romantic meal, the struggle to unlock your door in your mutual distraction, the tangle of bedsheets, the murmured, honeyed words, the full minutes you spend smelling their hair...Understandable, really.

But you're not, are you? Let's not kid each other. Lets not yank each others' chain. Let's get down to brass tacks. You're just not.

Reader, I feel for you. I want to hold you. I want to tell you everything will be okay. But I can't. You're just a little too physically repulsive for me to manage it.

So I'm going for the next best thing. You don't have to be miserable today! You're not alone! You've still go your favourite, trusty appendage! The one that's never let you down, the one that's there when you need it. Here's the BT's guide to a romantic night in with your right hand.

Step 1) Treat it a little

The first thing you'll want to do is splash out a little. I mean, it's done the same for you, right?! Only this time it's banknotes you'll be spilling. Into a cash register. Buy some nice moisturizer. Nothing less than £20. Your hand goes through a lot, and will appreciate some care and affection. Gently massage the moisturizer into the palm and rub it into the fingers and knuckles. Must not be used for recreational purposes.

Step 2) Take it for a nice walk

Head down to the park. Give it a nice airing, but bring some gloves if it starts to get a bit nippy. Feel free to let it brush through the fresh grass or stir the surface of a duck pond. Make sure you wash it afterwards though.

Step 3) Have a romantic meal

Find a smallish table - a bedside or general side table will do. Get comfortable and reach under the table until your hand appears at the other side. Now you have a perfect, uninterrupted view of each other. Food is optional - hula hoops are recommended since you can both get equal levels of enjoyment out of them. If you fancy increasing the effect, simply make your fingers into a mouth and mouthe along to the dialogue of your favourite romantic movie moments. The ending of Casablanca, that bit in Sixteen Candles, and so on. If you're ambitious try the infamous faked orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally. You can use your free left hand to say 'I'll have what she's having' at the end.

Step 4) Groom it

Give it a nice pedicure. Instead of ripping the nails off with your teeth like you usually do, file them down to a neat curve. By all means paint them, but for half of you you'll only look like a serial killer doing it, so proceed with caution.

Step 5) Retire to the bedroom

Gently carry it up to bed in the crook of your free arm. What you get up to after that is none of my business. Just remember to be safe. Premature arthritis is a bitch.

Good luck, and Happy Valentine's Day, lovebirds!

It's The Higgledy-Piggledy, Hokery-Pokery, Rumpity-Pumpity Poem A Day!

So I was picking my toenails into the sink one night, waiting for my Pot Noodle to cool down, when I was suddenly struck by the notion that I was hideously squandering my life. I watched a particularly curly slice from my big toe go dancing around the basin and fall helplessly into the abyss of the plughole and thought about how apt a metaphor this was for my wasted potential. Then I realised I needed better metaphors.

In light of this I decided I would get off my apathetic arse and read at least one poem a day, unconnected to my course. I thought the best idea would be to get a nice spread, so I chose Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes' anthology, The School Bag to work my way through. They group poems not chronologically or alphabetically, but to encourage 'different kinds of historical and thematic reading'. Also because it was sort of aimed at kids. Afterwards I planned to write a few sentences summarising each one, to record my progress. So far, so good.

What I didn't realise is that I'd usually only remember to read them at about three in the morning, often drunk, always angry; which made both understanding them and being funny a bit of a challenge. What follows is the early results. You have been enlightened.



Day 1 – 1st Feb - Long-Legged Fly by W.B Yeats

Compares three historical figures – Caeser, Helen of Troy and Michael Angelo. Suggest that, just like the long legged fly, genius moves effortlessly over the water of the mind. Uses a repeated refrain, which never fails to be shit. Whilst Caeser’s skill is command and Michael Angelo’s is painting, Helen of Troy’s seems to be being able to dance like a poor person. Evidently there wasn’t much going on under the bonnet.

Day 2 – 2nd Feb - Adze-head by Anonymous (Irish)

Written about an adze – a hoe-like implement used for carving wood. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. Poet accuses the adze of chanting with ‘impiety’ as it carves; i.e., not respecting religious customs. I suspect it might have something to do with Christianity chipping away at paganism, just as the new-kid-on-the-block adze chips old-boy wood, but to be honest it’s one in the morning and I can’t be arsed googling anymore. Translator gets respect for using the line ‘...adze-head/Crazed in the head’; proving you can have a little bit of fun with a poem about a fucking hoe.

Day 3 – 3rd Feb – Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold

Man looks at a beach. Decides the earth isn’t as great as everyone says. A bit like this poem. Ho-ho. Name drops Sophocles like someone desperately trying to sleep with his classics teacher. Which would have made for a much better poem.

Day 4 – 4th Feb – At the Fishhouses by Elizabeth Bishop

Long description of stony beach (see a theme developing? Congrats, you’re good enough to do degree level English!). Literally no reason for it to be put into verse other than to take up more space on the page and depress me more when I realise its three and I haven’t read a poem yet. Some nice imagery about fish-mongering, and there’s even a bit where a seal jives to Baptist hymns which, as you realise with another pang of disappointment, isn’t meant to be taken literally. The poet tries to excuse herself by making the whole thing into a metaphor about ‘knowledge’. In response I’ve decided my next poem will be about knowledge and turn out to be a metaphor for funky Baptist seals. Watch this space.

Day 5 – 5th Feb – A Grave by Marianne Moore

The most mediocre one yet. Uses the sea as a metaphor for the grave. Gives this away in the first line, of which there are at least 40 more. I could try and make a better joke about it, but seriously, you try reading the fucker and tell me what there is to make fun of. I can’t be cunted myself.

Day 6 – 6th Feb – The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Sigh. Okay. Wedding-ship gets held up by an old man. They decide to drop everything and listen to his story. Turns out he used to be on a ship that ended up in the South Pole. An albatross turns up and starts leading them to safety, at which point the mariner shoots it. This rather scuppers things, and the crew tie the albatross to his neck to teach him a lesson. If you’re like me you probably thought this was where the poem ended, but actually its only part two of seven, and you have to slog through five more...holy shit did a fucking GHOST SHIP just turn up?! Was Death on board playing dice! Does he kill the entire crew? Do their corpses come to life and row the ship? You bet your sodden crotches they do. My preconceptions shattered, I thundered on to the finish. I’m still shaking from how badass it turned out to be. Extra points for using the words ‘Eftsoons’, ‘uprist’, and ‘gramercy’. You hero, Coleridge.

Day 7 – 7th Feb – Clanranald’s Galley by Alasdair Macmhaighstir Alasdair

Christ, just getting through the name and title is a struggle enough here. Scottish people on a boat, nice imagery, fairly uninteresting...holy shit is the ship being attack by fucking HOBGOBLINS?! That’s even cooler than Death! Oh sure, there’s the usual bullshit about thanking God at the end, but you’re too impressed to care. Proper lad’s poetry this. Phwoar.



So there you have it. I think I'l periodically post more extracts, if you want them. I might be more selective too, since some are more entertaining than others. But hey! Least you learned something, hey! Hey!