Complete Cock, In Palaces Of Poverty Inducing Misery.

The other day I sat down and watched a couple of my favourite films. First, I watched RoboCop, because it is excellent and violent and meaningful and very, very violent. Then I watched Starship Troopers, because it is silly and violent and brilliant and immensley violent. Both of these blood soaked wonders were directed by Paul Verhoeven, as was Total Recall, the identity crisis revolving, face popping scene featuring, three breasted alien lady containing, Arnold Schwarzenegger starring masterpiece that has recently been remade, with Colin Farrell in the role Arnie made famous. The original was pretty violent. The new version has been roundly trashed, referred to as lacklustre, pointless, and nowhere near gore filled enough, and as such I have decided to avoid it. It is, however, the reason I watched the two films that I did, because they are being remade as well, and they will be shit and worthless also. This is sad and makes me angry. So angry, I want to blow someones hand off with a shotgun, laugh maniacally as myself and my goons fill the poor fools torso with lead, and then later regret it when my victim comes back as a cyborg law enforcer determined that, dead or alive, I’m coming with him.
Why Hollywood seems determined to ruin Verhoevens’ classics is beyond me, they’ve been made, and made very well. Those stories have been told, enjoyed, turned into various sequels, and left to the positive reviews of history. But remaking them they are, or reimagining them, or rebooting them, or whatever code they’re using for ‘pissing all over the memory of’. I guess there’s a young, incredibly easy to please, new audience out there, one that hasn’t seen the original versions, one that doesn’t know the stories, one that has been spoilt by CGI and humongous budgets and couldn’t possibly cope with prosthetic effects that, ok, haven’t aged so well, but that do the bloody job just fine. An audience that wants slick, quick, glossy thrills with little to no artistry about them, in which story telling, character, suspense and involvement have been replaced by huge explosions and tits. Fine, yes, tits were always fairly prominent, but you know what I’m saying. At least there used to be some sort of acting ability required of those with breasts, now they just have to be able to kick quite high whilst wearing PVC. And look a bit horny.
I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that there are probably some more original scripts out there. Not never before thought of, but at least not a copy, and a poor one at that. Someone has written a lovely story, they’ve given characters names and then blown them up or sent them into space. Or both. So why not make their film? The answer is seemingly risk. Why invest in an unknown, when you can leaf through the scrapbook and puke up the sterilised evil twin of a past success? It seems like a no brainer – which funnily enough is what is required of the audience – but if I were to mention Dr. Frankenstein to you, it should seem a less perfect proposition.
He wanted to make a person, didn’t he, so he got all these bits of people and smashed them together, all sewn up nice and tight, then he used some jiggery pokery to make his creature live. And it was a bit shit, wasn’t it? It was a bit of a shit person, all groaning and stomping and not sure what the hell it was. A remake of a film is much like a remake of a person, kind of, in that it’s never going to be as good as its source material. You change too much or not enough, you cast the parts lazily, you fill it with computer wizardry to compensate for the lack of creativity, and it just ends up a bit confused.
For the last year I have had a Cineworld Unlimited card, one that lets you see as many films as you’d like for £15 a month. I’ve just cancelled it. There are several reasons behind this decision, firstly that I need that money for food and or rum, secondly that the cinema is further away now that I’ve moved, and so on. But the largest contributing factor is this: films are getting to be quite poo. There, I said it. Why on Earth would I pay to see a film I’ve basically seen before, only this time not quite as good? I wouldn’t. And if not the films themselves, then the experience of seeing them on the big screen is increasingly unenjoyable. With the tiny, uncomfortable seats, and the noisy pricks, and the disgustingly priced everything, and the sound cutting out and the, well, and everything being done really badly.

Stop making (or remaking) complete and utter cock, and then showing it in palaces of poverty inducing misery, and maybe – MAYBE – people will start to reconnect with the process of devouring a film together, which in turn might reduce the piracy. Which reminds me, when you get a good copy of The Avengers, let me know, yeah.

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