I like being nice, with it comes the rewards of hopefully people not detesting you and actually not retching at the sight of your face. However in the world of the nice it isn't all smiles and sunshines, although in the land of smiles and sunshines ironically everyone hates each other and it's all some sort of deceptive facade to bring more victims into their circle of disgust.
Maybe it's foolish to complain as niceness is a very applaudable quality that can't be pulled off by all. Unfortunately in a world where people aren't nice, and these people outnumber the nice ones, the nice people are often simply used as crutches for people who have fallen prey to bastards. In this scenario however you can get tired of being nice and like the Christian who loses faith in Jesus, you often wonder if it'd be easier to just be a bastard.
That was how I thought until I read a wonderful piece of writing done by our proverbial lord and saviour Mr. Charlie Brooker. To paraphase it simply stated that we see life as something much greater than it actually is, and we aspire to wonderful visions of life where we are rewarded for our actions immediately and that we deserve the perfect celluloid dream, and in this respect we become a bastard striving for this and knocking over any unlucky fucker in our way of that holy grail. In my own interpretation I have found this to be most useful as now instead of reaching for the stars, I'm simply reaching for naff all and am grateful for simply being a blip in the massive scale in existance. Whatever happens is a bonus as I am not some special creation destined for grand things, I'm one in a few billion and it feels good to life in insignificance. Enjoy the nice things that happen because its probably just a bonus to have lived long enough to read this without being mauled by something big and scary. That's what I took from it and I don't know if I got this right but it works for me.
Hopefully this blog sounded like the ramblings of a born again Christian, as aposed to the ramblings of a born again pessimist. For the record I don't believe in god and I do not thank him for my existence, I simply know my parents are sexually active and I'm lucky to have avoided death by falling piano for an ongoing 21 years.
Falls and Epiphanies,
Chris
[The original article resides here if you feel the need for enlightenment: Charlie Brooker]
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Thursday, 21 August 2008
X-Files 2 review, don't believe the hype
There has obviously always a little bit more than whiff of paranormal activity and bizarre happenings in the history of the X-Files, so it may come as a surprise to regulars that the most out of the world thing you’ll encounter in this film is Fox Mulder’s dubious beard.
It’s been a decade since Mulder and Scully bounded across the big screen in the name of extraterrestrial discovery, and quite a bit has changed in their absence. They are now a couple, although this is only quickly addressed by a scene with them sleeping together, and they have moved on from their alien callings to continue with slightly more down to earth pursuits. In the case of Dana Scully this involves trying to find a cure for a terminally ill patient in a religious hospital, and in the case of Mulder it involves retreating to a shack filled with newspaper cuttings. However with a few quick lines to skim over any plot holes lying about they fall back into their detective ways, this time working on the psychic visions of a paedophilic priest as they race to save the lives of missing FBI agents.
The lack of paranormal activity in the film, save for the visions of Billy Connoly’s sinister priest, has made the film feel much more like a regular drama than an X-Files film. Obviously not wanting to go down the same over the top path as the last film, the action has been dialed down almost entirely now relying on the tension in the dark to keep the audience interested. Unfortunately while exploding skyscrapers and UFO’s were a bit too much, the sight of a hundred FBI agents solemnly trudging repeatedly over snow poking at the ground with sticks is definitely too little. The film itself seems as if it is missing something inherently X-Files. It is a reasonably thrilling mystery with a suitably sinister ending but you get the feeling that the FBI could have probably got one of the other agents to cover it, Xzibit’s Mosley Drummer or Amanda Peets underused Dakota Whitney.
However this is not a film so concerned with action and with X-Files 2 Chris Carter has nailed his colours firmly to the mast. The film, while outwardly scientific, has set its focus firmly on the equally stick subject: religion. From the title onwards this film is laced with religious references, starting off early by questioning Scully’s scepticism and waning catholic beliefs in the face of Father Joe’s incredibly dubious past. The concern over whether God will judge her as he would judge a man, who in her words ‘Buggered 37 altar boys’ stays with her throughout. There is also the obvious battle between science and religion, with Scully fighting to use stem cell research in the face of opposition from the highly religious hospital board to save a small boys life. Ultimately the answers to the questions asked in this film of religion are about as answerable as the questions of little green men.
It is nice to see a return for Mulder and Scully, Duchovny and Anderson sinking easily back into their roles and giving very solid performances. But with the removal of the sexual tension between the two characters and replacing it with vague pillow this has taken away an essential part of the dynamic. Overall this feels like an extended episode from the later series; with the addition of a relationship dynamic that makes the characters appear more whiny than sympathetic and religious overtones implied yet not explored. If this is the last X-Files we will see, it’s a sad goodbye and there is no boat involved this time.
It’s been a decade since Mulder and Scully bounded across the big screen in the name of extraterrestrial discovery, and quite a bit has changed in their absence. They are now a couple, although this is only quickly addressed by a scene with them sleeping together, and they have moved on from their alien callings to continue with slightly more down to earth pursuits. In the case of Dana Scully this involves trying to find a cure for a terminally ill patient in a religious hospital, and in the case of Mulder it involves retreating to a shack filled with newspaper cuttings. However with a few quick lines to skim over any plot holes lying about they fall back into their detective ways, this time working on the psychic visions of a paedophilic priest as they race to save the lives of missing FBI agents.
The lack of paranormal activity in the film, save for the visions of Billy Connoly’s sinister priest, has made the film feel much more like a regular drama than an X-Files film. Obviously not wanting to go down the same over the top path as the last film, the action has been dialed down almost entirely now relying on the tension in the dark to keep the audience interested. Unfortunately while exploding skyscrapers and UFO’s were a bit too much, the sight of a hundred FBI agents solemnly trudging repeatedly over snow poking at the ground with sticks is definitely too little. The film itself seems as if it is missing something inherently X-Files. It is a reasonably thrilling mystery with a suitably sinister ending but you get the feeling that the FBI could have probably got one of the other agents to cover it, Xzibit’s Mosley Drummer or Amanda Peets underused Dakota Whitney.
However this is not a film so concerned with action and with X-Files 2 Chris Carter has nailed his colours firmly to the mast. The film, while outwardly scientific, has set its focus firmly on the equally stick subject: religion. From the title onwards this film is laced with religious references, starting off early by questioning Scully’s scepticism and waning catholic beliefs in the face of Father Joe’s incredibly dubious past. The concern over whether God will judge her as he would judge a man, who in her words ‘Buggered 37 altar boys’ stays with her throughout. There is also the obvious battle between science and religion, with Scully fighting to use stem cell research in the face of opposition from the highly religious hospital board to save a small boys life. Ultimately the answers to the questions asked in this film of religion are about as answerable as the questions of little green men.
It is nice to see a return for Mulder and Scully, Duchovny and Anderson sinking easily back into their roles and giving very solid performances. But with the removal of the sexual tension between the two characters and replacing it with vague pillow this has taken away an essential part of the dynamic. Overall this feels like an extended episode from the later series; with the addition of a relationship dynamic that makes the characters appear more whiny than sympathetic and religious overtones implied yet not explored. If this is the last X-Files we will see, it’s a sad goodbye and there is no boat involved this time.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
A Burgeoning blog addiction
Lovely word there, I like big words for growing, especially cause it means I have more complex terms to reference erections with. Endless joy from intellectual innuendo.
But enough about my erection, I'm here today to discuss a very important topic: The way American Psycho was translated into a film destroying all that was intended by the book. I didn't realise until recently until re-reading the book that the film has put a very annoying line in a very annoying place.
BATEMAN (V.O.)
There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some
kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an
entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold
gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping you
and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably
comparable: I simply am not there.
This bastard of a line mostly removes the film of a point at the end, that Patrick Bateman is so inconsequential that his crimes are never realised and that in his abstract world there is no self and everyone is simply what they own, because you already knew he was never really there as such.
Or at least thats what I think, I'm aware for people just watching the film the line probably passes by unnoticed and only resurfaces in the brain at the end, but gosh darn it stuck right in my craw and if the internet isn't for venting then I'm just going to have to make porn instead.
On a porn note though the scene with the Sussudio sex video is absolutely amazing, thanks to Christian Bale's magnificent performance as the slimy, material obsessed arse that is Bateman.
Primo.
Chainsaws and Theatrics,
Chris.
But enough about my erection, I'm here today to discuss a very important topic: The way American Psycho was translated into a film destroying all that was intended by the book. I didn't realise until recently until re-reading the book that the film has put a very annoying line in a very annoying place.
BATEMAN (V.O.)
There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some
kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an
entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold
gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping you
and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably
comparable: I simply am not there.
This bastard of a line mostly removes the film of a point at the end, that Patrick Bateman is so inconsequential that his crimes are never realised and that in his abstract world there is no self and everyone is simply what they own, because you already knew he was never really there as such.
Or at least thats what I think, I'm aware for people just watching the film the line probably passes by unnoticed and only resurfaces in the brain at the end, but gosh darn it stuck right in my craw and if the internet isn't for venting then I'm just going to have to make porn instead.
On a porn note though the scene with the Sussudio sex video is absolutely amazing, thanks to Christian Bale's magnificent performance as the slimy, material obsessed arse that is Bateman.
Primo.
Chainsaws and Theatrics,
Chris.
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