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Thursday 8 September 2011

Films Forced to make Ridiculous edits I

Wrote an article for Cracked, THEY DID NOT CARE FOR IT.
So instead of having it edited or taken out of my control (They do that, they state on the writing forum) I will give it to you wonderful people, like if Daedalus didn't give his son brutal wax wings that would be his downfall, but a wonderful lecture on how the FUCKING SUN works.
Enjoy.

(I'll be uploading this piece by piece every few days or so.)

Army Of Darkness
What's It About?

First things first, it's got a poster so bloody terrific it's an affront to God. (ALL THE GODS)

The Evil Dead is a series of films that progressed from graphic dismemberment to light-hearted humour, like a misshapen reversal of the world’s most horrifying episode of The Wiggles.
Army Of Darkness is the end of the trilogy and can be described via this obnoxious hyphenated description as an action-horror-slapstick-comedy, concerned with time travel, armies of the undead and giving Duke Nukem 60% of his dialogue.

"It's time to Kick Ass and write Sam Raimi another Royalty Cheque"

The film itself usually gets mixed reactions from hardcore fans of the series, but has never the less gone on to be a renowned cult classic referenced in everything from Shaun Of The Dead to the animated show Reboot.

If you remember this, you're officially an adult. Somebody had to remind you.

Since the film’s release Sam Raimi has become one of the biggest directors in the world due to the SpiderMan movies, whilst Bruce Campbell cemented himself as THE cult icon, adored by many and endlessly mentioned on internet forums by people who’ve never seen his movies, usually on forums entitled 'WHO SHOULD PLAY THIS POPULAR COMIC/VIDEO GAME CHARACTER'...


Inane Censorship Decision

The series has always attracted controversy, because apparently people have qualms with seeing possessed teenagers dismembered with gardening equipment. Who’d have thought eh?
Army of Darkness has one of the most erratic censorship decisions of the series with regards to violence, as you'll see...below...just be patient, ok?

In this scene from early on the film, due to an elaborate back-story concerning the previous films, Protagonist Ash finds himself thrown into a medieval pit full of ‘Deadite’ zombies who he fights off with his chainsaw arm replacement anjoshg;12;lasd- Sorry, I just...zoned out there for a second due to an overload of AWESOME.....and presumably lack of sleep.

Anyway, during the battle Ash decapitates a Deadite and a shot lasting for one second shows a splash of blood hitting the wall.
What’s that? You didn't find that small time detail deplorable and outrageous? Well the Studio did, and in the DVD commentary Raimi states that THAT SHOT ALONE would have gained the film an nc-17 rating. (The equivalent of an 18 and just as bad as releasing a film 'unrated'.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFijZxv8d8g

4.47-4.474 on that clip

As you can see, there’s nothing gratuitous about it, and a shot like that would have been commonplace in most action and horror movies of the period. Compared to most violent scenes it’s extremely tame and restrained, it’s almost as if the studio were worried it’d offend people who were outraged at the notion of 4th grade biology and borders on a patronizing 'we know what's best for everybody' mentality.

What adds to the fickleness of this demand is that the studio had no problems with a scene whereby a man’s death results in, and this is not hyperbole, A GEYSER OF BLOOD. (0.50 during the aforementioned clip).
That’s not for crude comedic effect, blood erupts out of a pit in a motion reminiscent of a violent discharge of water, once again resembling, A FUCKING GEYSER.
The Irony here is that the studio has no problem with a geyser of blood (unless they downgraded it from ‘a torrent’) but bats several maladjusted eyelids at a decapitation resulting in a mild (and realistically expected) blood spatter. I’m sure we can all agree, that’s just not Groovy.

Get it?! Because...it's a line from one of the movie- Oh I just don't know anymore...

Sunday 29 May 2011

Pseudo-philosophical culture rambling

You know those generic spy-cum-assassin thrillers, where there's always some clichéd rule about not getting attached to anything? As if the ability to experience human emotion and connect to another human being will impair their ability to spear a biro into someone's jugular. If the impending stress about an awkward date at Nandos will somehow make an incredibly experience assassin hesitate about sniping a crooked official from a hot air balloon in...I dunno, Prague, or something snazzy like that. But of course, said assassin becomes attached to whatever has entered his life and is so utterly infatuated and gripped by it whilst it lasts. Every so often you find a part of the cultural zeitgeist that somehow latches onto you, pries open your skull like an novelty serial killer and pours itself all over your brain, smothering your consciousness with fantastic characters, brilliant scenarios and a general atmosphere that’s so endearing and enjoyable it’s on par with a mix between Christmas, Pizza Hut and a year huffing morphine fumes from a balloon with a smile painted on it in marker pen.
You see, I’m probably a tad unusual in the fact that I get incredibly involved with certain books or films and feel probably more irked or disappointed than most people when it’s over. I’m not talking about an obsession on par with say fetishists or the Manson family, nor does a bleak winter sky of a depression following the closing chapters, but enough to make me quite ‘reflective’ when it’s over. I imagine it’s because I’m for lack of a better phrase ‘Socially awkward’ and tend to dislike EVERYBODY WHO HAS EVER EXISTED. (Daryl Hall, Colin Firth and Kaylee from Firefly not withstanding)

I don't think you could handle a picture of Daryl Hall's magnitude.



Of course I doubt this is just me, I remember the national outpouring when the final Harry Potter book was released, or the last LOTR movie; these two examples seemed to unite the entire world into a level of unusual, yet understandable ‘mourning’ like a worldwide cultural funeral whilst the earth bawled unashamedly.
Why though? Why do we suffer such strong reactions when something goes off the air or finishes a series? Remember when FRIENDS finished and about 95% of the population were incredibly distressed, apart from E4 who realised they now held the keys to a chest containing at least 10 more years of re-runs, like a middle aged man stuck in the 90s who references long-since-funny OJ Simpson jokes and occasionally says ‘what’s the deal with....’ before unleashing a disgusting guffaw at himself like a cross between a nauseating teenager laughing and a Labour MP having an orgasm. I’d suppose we come to treat characters as ‘friends themselves, not literal, but in the sense that you’re regularly involved in their ‘lives’ and personal details, you know they’re ‘reliable’ and when they’re gone there’s a definitive sense of losing something you’ve grown strongly accustomed to, especially with a series spanning a decade or several novels.


Perhaps it’s something you’ve known since childhood, like an endearing TV show or bedwetting, and when it finally ends, it seems a sad reminder that your childhood is over, not to sound like some pseudo psycho-analytical wankpot, but it’s the knowledge that your childhood is over and your now an adult, where fun is outlawed and a mortgage is the sexiest word in your lexicon.
Characters of the opposite sex are perhaps the simplest to summarise in that they seem ‘perfect’...wait no, I don’t mean to sound like an unshaven sexual deviant who dreams of making an exercise bike out of human skin; let me explain. Think of any character of the opposite sex you’ve admired or become particularly fond of (Not in a weird way...you kook), with what description and scenarios we’re given our subconscious seems to create a character from these materials, the result being...for lack of a better word, somebody bloody awesome. They’re not the girl in your class you’re afraid to talk to, resulting in your staring gawped like a group of cavemen around a fire; nor are they the person who constantly rejects your affection, like somebody turning down a muffin full of soul affirming fun, I mean, come on, just one bite right? Just try it, you might like it! Seriously, just a nibble? Come on, give it a chance and see for yourself, EAT MY FUCKING CAKE YOU IGNORANT, TEMPESTUOUS HARPIE! DON’T MAKE ME CARVE YOUR NAME INTO MY DOOR.
.....

....Sorry about that. But to re-iterate, we perhaps become attached to characters of the opposite sex because they seem ‘obtainable’ and we’re allowed to add our own perfections and ideas onto them because they seem far more ‘possible’ than the myriad of human beings queuing to reject you and your ugly face, you loser (Except you, obviously. You’re bloody marvellous). Of course I’m using self deprecating humour to otherwise mask a point which is in fact quite adult and interesting...you get what I mean. And when these characters go, we’re disappointed because of becoming attached due to our own imaginations and hopes; yeah, it’s your fault for having the metaphysical properties involved with creating abstract representations of ideal people...you spoiled feeb. You and you’re bloody emotions eh? If only we could trade them in for something of equal value, like a game boy.


A game boy colour would be pushing it.

That said, at the end of the day it’s all about lifestyle, obviously. The reason people adore the Harry Potter stories are because, frankly, life is uneventful compared to the extravagant situations they’re having. We want what we couldn’t possibly experience for ourselves, which is why I imagine Harry, Frodo or Robocop would rather sit down at the pub than constantly have the threat of death and TERROR (all caps) thrust at them. Comic books are a massively dominant cultural force, but Spider-Man would never read one, and even if he did it’d be something low key like Archie or Dennis The Menace; because he gets enough ‘sensationalism’ in his own day to day life.
What I’m essentially trying to say is whilst the narratives and characters may be strong, we only get attached to these things because we're all so boring.


And that when this show finishes I'll have nothing left...

Tuesday 10 May 2011

Job Hunting

The clock on the wall has a neon plastic coating and a clear glass plate over the hands themselves; it’s loud ticking an audible notice of how out of place it is in this office. I’m guessing battery powered, about 60 years old and presumably very expensive, presumably bought from a museum or a private collector. It’s a bit ironic, how we spend so much on technology that’s technically inferior to what we have now.

Sometimes "Irony" dominates most of the purchase.


I should have worn a suit; I really should have worn a suit. I’ve opted for what could be considered as ‘smart-casual’, as much as I dislike that phrase.
A suit adds levity and class, it says ‘I am presentable and should be hired’ or ‘I have the ability to rent a suit as if that somehow affects my overall working capacity’.

"You've spent the first twelve minutes of this interview swearing profusely and hitting on my receptionist with misogynistic insults...but damn those are some neat lapels"


The man behind the desk, Mr Phoenix is head of the ‘applicant review’ scheme of this company, Solus intergalactic, the second largest interstellar management company on earth. Or third...actually it might be fourth. Well the main thing is they send vehicles and people into space, so they’re at least better than British Rail.
Actually...British rail don’t really have any need to send trains into space, it would be a pointless endeavour.
He’s taking far too long with my CV, hopefully he’s impressed. Maybe my font choice has caught his eye. That’s right, I printed on BOTH SIDES of the paper. I’m not your regular average Schmuck looking for work.
After a few minutes he looks up, links his hands and gives a warm yet quasi-fake smile.
“So with regards to the actual location, what sort of area in space would you like to be?” This is the first time I’ve heard him speak, a faint Birmingham accent that space still hasn’t managed to make him lose.
“Somewhere quite out of our solar system, not ‘rural’ in the sense of the word, but a tad unexplored thoroughly. Yeah, I’d like to go somewhere a bit ‘distant’ if that’s possible” I hear myself speak, attempting to sound professional via unnecessary elaboration.
He rifles through some files in front of him, he smiles a satisfied grin and pulls an a4 sheet out, peppered with graphs and text, I can’t see it clearly but there’s an image so dark it’s bled onto the back.
“We’ve got one here that’s located in a galaxy ‘far, far away’” He says without a hint of irony.
“Don’t patronise me sir”
“No...That’s what it says here”
He passes me the sheet; it does. Right down to the repetition of ‘far’, as if ‘far’ in itself conveys any meaning other than ‘FAR’, actually the use of one ‘far’ isn’t even needed, I’m pretty sure it’s overshadowed by the vastness conveyed by fucking ‘GALAXY’. I don’t tell him this but instead point to an image of a dark circle on the sheet.

Also the term 'Space' seems a bit underwhelming, all things considered.

“What planet is this?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.
“The thing is, it’s not on a planet. It’s funny because loads of people confuse it for a small one, or a moon, it’s a space station, called get this...The ‘Death Star!’ Awesome, right?” He rolls back on his chair and laughs theatrically, awkwardly this isn’t fake.
“It’s called the Death Star?” I pronounce every word as slow as possible to emphasise my reserve with this situation.
“I’m sure that’s just creative exaggeration, for appearance and marketing purposes, sort of like Burger King. I mean, there’s not really a king is there? ”
I’m slightly uncomfortable with his reaction to this settlement being described ‘creatively’ as a star that caters in fucking DEATH But, my curiosity has been piqued, and truth be told I’d like the work. The fact I’ve even snagged an interview is ridiculous, and at such a youngish age I shouldn’t be too testy.
“And what jobs are going?”
“Oh plenty! Security, weapons manufacturing, defence maintenance, fighter pilots, medical, interrogator, translator, spying, sabotage and cafeteria work” Well, let it not be said it isn’t diverse.
“A lot of those are...” The correct word fails me “...fighty’”
“Fighty?” His eyes widen slightly.
“Yes...fighty, in that they denote fighting is involved” It’s hard not to come across as cynical here.
“Well it is called the Death Star haha!”
“I thought you said that was just a whimsical marketing strategy”
“It is....partially, but it’s mainly because it can blow the shit out of planets.” Well those are very unprofessional colloquialisms he’s just thrown at me.
“Have you heard of Aldeeraan?” He’s elaborating, this worries me.
“No”
“No point bothering now then! Haha!” I was right to be worried; I should fake a laugh but my moral compass only allows me to pull off a grimace passing for an awkward smile. Thankfully he continues talking, allowing me to get my thoughts together, if I say anything now it would probably result in me being asked to leave.

“So anyway, have you ever been into space before?” The hands become linked again and he leans forward, an expression that, once again, might not be entirely interested.
“I went on one of the Virgin passenger flights about a year ago; we orbited Mars for about an hour...there was a cafe on board. I had a coke and took some photos of the Olympus Mons...it was my screensaver for about a month. Actually, I should have had a coke zero!” I perk up with the fake intensity of an overzealous priest trying to relate to some agnostic youths, hopefully he got my joke.
“Why a coke Zero?” He did not get my joke.
“Because of...zero...zero gravity. What with it being...space”
“But you didn’t go onto the actual planet?”
I hesitate for a second, the thought of ‘beefing up’ my CV by lying is a common occurrence, but lying about visiting a location, another planet even, isn’t something I couldn’t adequately pull off.
“No” An uneasy silence “But I’ve heard it’s nice.”
“We built a theme park there. You should visit it.” He says this just short of winking
“Why? What makes it different from any other theme park on Earth?”
“It’s on Mars. The novelty value alone is simply extravagant.”
“Well if that’s the case, you could have saved money and built a Post Office or HMV. I’m sure the actual building or purpose it serves is irrelevant, as long as it is ON MARS” Against my better judgement I continue this tirade “And anyway. A theme park on Mars may be all peaches and gravy, but I could just as easily visit...Alton Towers, without firstly having to pay for interstellar travel and secondly I wouldn’t have to wear a protective suit due to the atmosphere being so volatile it would genuinely cause me to explode from the inside, like a ghastly flesh-puppet piñata” I may have come across like a pedantic, argumentative lout, BUT it shows that I’ve done my research and know my facts, so hopefully that will smooth over the fact I’ve shit all over the fact he pissed away millions on an unprofitable, dangerous and not to mention, highly impractical behemoth of faceless corporate idiocy.
"I see, well that's certainly a strong opinion you have."
"I don't mean any offense by it Sir"

“Have you seen Total Recall?” A wry smile curls itself around the lower half of his face.
“The Schwarzenegger film with the gunfights and elaborately convoluted plot? Yeah I’ve seen that, it’s pretty aweso-“
“It’s nothing like that” He interrupts me, completely blunt faced and stoic.
“Then...why compare it to that in the first place?”
“Well you see” He leans back, eyes wandering as his chair forces out an irritating, straining leathery squeal “We don’t want our employees setting their sights too high and getting, well, stars in their eyes. So we subtly crush the enthusiasm out of them in the screening process.

Upon closer inspection, the fact it's nothing like this is probably for the best.


“Oh” I don’t even reply, it’s just me saying a vowel, appropriately without any enthusiasm.
“Just like that! You seem very reliable, now all I need now is for you to answer some quick questions and we’ll be done”
“But you’ve hardly asked me any questions”
“Oh, we just have one of the androids go over your CV and filter out the bullshit, creativity and intelligence. I mean I could do that but it would take like...what? 20 minutes? That’s just ridiculous”
“Oh Right” The man has a point, I’d rather have my future in technology be judged by...technology itself. Like some ‘Highlander’ fate nonsense, hard to believe that was voted the greatest film of the past century...my mind’s wandering, questions, he has questions!
“Right, firstly, what university did you graduate from?”
“The southern London technology college”
“Oh interesting, which part of the south?”
“Well it’s technically...underground, so it kind of is ‘south’. It’s a very misleading name, but an efficient learning environment”
“Underground?! Screw the rest of the questions. That’s bloody interesting stuff, I like you already.”
“Oh...thank you” Apparently, learning engineering near the earth’s core is a viable working trait.
He gets up and shakes my hand, If I’m going to speak I may as well now, I honestly don’t want to be a webmaster for some planet destroying...space...fortress.
“Not to be up front or ungrateful sir, but this...dead...star-“
“Death Star”
“Yes that, would it be possible if I...didn’t get sent there?”
“Oh, any reasons why not?” Apprehension, I need a lie. A lie that won’t be hunted down.
“Religious reasons, my religion...means I can’t be there. I can go into space, just not areas of space whereby planets are blown up...by moon sized instruments of terror”
“Well, we’ll call you soon, happy to have you as part of the team, hopefully” Don’t wink....and we’re safe. He leads me to the door and I exit as he closes it abruptly.

Above all, I think...that went well.

Tuesday 26 April 2011

Deleted Friend activities from Grand Theft Auto 4.

Is three years too late to hop on the bandwagon?
Is there even a bandwagon to hop on?
Who gives a Caligula-organised buggering anyway.


"Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's get our anuses bleached!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's organise a gay pride rally!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's buy fancy 17th century replica pocket watches!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's actually go IN A SANDBOX!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's compare toenail clippings!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's drink responsibly and safely walk home!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's upgrade our broadband to a more reliable provider!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's clear out the attic!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's do Bill Cosby impressions and hurl fashion-based critique abuse at pedestrians!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's make a box fort!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's convert protein into energy!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's wear inappropriate hats at social situations that call for an entirely different category of hat"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's edit and sabotage the Wikipedia page of Henry 7th with the facts of Henry the 6th!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's play Wand of Gamalon!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? I wonder what's for dinner!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's eat octorocks!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's bomb some dadongos!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's put on our red shoes and dance the blues!"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's wash out our used cans and containers for the recycle collection"
"
Hey Cousin what are you up to? Let's shave each other!"

Sunday 17 April 2011

The Job Offer

Clive sat down at his desk like a man who couldn’t type very well standing up. These TPS reports weren’t going to file themselves, which in all honesty was a good thing, else Clive would be unemployed.
The dull ‘reverbing’ buzz of the computer was pleasant, like feedback from the world’s weakest guitar amplifier; it was the sort of noise that made Clive feel secure from the pitch black clouds that loomed outside, and the rain that was battering the window like a swarm of irritated wasps. Angry enough to form a collective mob harbouring similar feelings of resentment, but not smart enough to work out how to use their collective mass to open a window; to summarise, Clive thought....Wasps are idiots.
This insect-weather contempt was cut short when Clive heard a voice call his name, which technically is kind of obvious...you don’t exactly see voices, or smell them. But I digress, it was a woman, a woman’s voice drenched in stern, yet class, authority.
“Clive, can I see you in my office?”
“I don’t know, maybe if you moved one of your cabinets away from the window. Or set up some cameras” He pushed his glasses awkwardly with his forefinger
“No I mean, now. Can I physically see you there now?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah I’ll be there in a sec. Actually, seeing as you’re partially out of your office, wouldn’t it be easier for you to come to me?”
“It’s a private matter”
“Then why do you need me?”
“A private matter ABOUT YOU”
“Oh.....then you could just whisper”
“Just get in here quickly, ok? Please?”
“Righto. I’ll be there in a sec”
Clive instinctively felt the dull gut punch of panic, like when you take a bite out of a chocolate cake and realise it’s merely a sour fruit gateaux.
Steven from row C mimed the act of a noose around his neck and winked at Clive. Clive raised an eyebrow and tightened his forehead, unsure what the 17th century punishment for stealing corn had to do with his impromptu meeting with Veronica.

Clive ambled towards Veronica’s door and knocked; a relatively pointless act as she A) had a wall of windows and B) had just asked for him anyway that minute.
Pushing open the door Clive stood upright, hands in his pockets.
“You wanted to see me Veronica”
She rose from her chair and placed her palms on the desk, her black hair hanging in front of her eyes, in a way that only hair can.
Her blazer was unbuttoned in a ‘get off speeding tickets’ fashion and she had all the confidence and presence of a woman who knew what she was doing, be it in terms of a strong demeanour and a fully working ability to send electrical signals to the brain, but that’s just an unrelated scientific truth that only Clive would have acknowledged.
“Are you married Clive?”
“No”
“Girlfriend?”
“I’m sorry?”
“As in..Do..you...have..one?”
“Oh...No, no I don’t” He didn’t so much as speak his words as struggle to push them out, he had a disturbing feeling that Veronica didn’t want to talk about the quality of fax machine paper. Which frankly, needed to be discussed.
“I’m going to be blunt with you Clive” Veronica moved in front of her desk, arms folded and almost tiptoeing forward, slinked in front of him.
“I’m bored Clive. I’m just....so bored all of the time”
“Have you tried getting....a game boy?” He swallowed. Hard.
She placed her hand at the top of his thigh. This was rare, hands were never at the top of Clive’s thigh, not even his own, save for some aggressive crumb removal whenever he’d be careless whilst eating muffins.
“My Husband” She whispered in a voice that had no place in an office, “My husband refuses to...give me things. He doesn’t share”
“What? Like....a communist?” Every word choked Clive as they dredged themselves out of his throat.
Clive remained motionless, his eyes transfixed at an arbitrary spot on the wall that may as well have been a sight on par with the Sistine chapel, albeit confined to a 1cm piece of drywall.
“You’re desk looks very...presentable”
“I have sex on it”
“Wow...that must be...bad for its overall state. I mean, it mustn’t be doing the stability any...favours”
She removed her hand, stepped backwards and laughed, her usual feminine voice becoming quite deep and aggressive.
Clive had never considered himself an attractive individual. One colleague had once joked that he had all the appeal of a mass grave full of children. Well it seemed a joke. Clive had laughed, but in retrospect it was on par with the laugh of a hostage.

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised and a stern expression on her lips. Here was a woman who wanted wine and he was bringing her coke. Two beads of sweat raced down Clive’s forehead, his hands clenched in his pockets.
“So...I have to go, I’ll be done with the Coleman reports pretty soon. Yeah..pretty soonish”
“I’m not going to lie Clive. The reason I’ve chosen you out of all those idiots outside is that you’re least likely to tell all your buddies about this over poker or whatever the hell you men do. You’re efficient and you’re reliable, and that’s what I need.”
Clive was clenching his fists so hard that his nails were digging into his palms, it was a good thing he was pedantic with his clipping, else they would have caused some serious damage.
“Veronica. This seems very...un-you. It’s quite stereotypical and a borderline offensive portrayal of women, and as a staunch equal rights advocate I find that quite......unpleasant”
She was so close now he could feel her breath on his lips and, truth be told, it was quite annoying. This was at the forefront of Clive’s mind, and for a second he considered taking up her offer if only to get rid of that irritating warmth that she was blowing onto his face.
“You don’t know me Clive.” She smiled “I see you every day, you eat by yourself, you do your work double time, hell you even sit in your car before work every morning for a few minutes”
“I wait for the song on the radio to finish...else it just irks me”
Veronica moved backwards and then sat down, a move so abrupt that Clive took a second to realise that she was no longer in his face, she began shuffling papers, her eyes away from Clive.
“Um....what are you doing?” He stuttered.
“Work, some of us aren’t as good as you.” She laughed “But, just think about what I said OK? You can go now” She winked once, that was one too many for Clive.
He exited stiffly, all the poise and subtlety of a man who’d just witnessed a murder. He ambled back to his desk, Steven was still ‘noosing’ about as he walked past.
“What was that about then man?”Steven smirked, the smirk of a prick.
“I think she wants to have sex with me” Clive stuttered each word, deadpan.
Steven rolled back in his chair and laughed loudly.
“That’s classic man! Shit, I didn’t know you were a funny guy! Well, whatever Dude. I gotta work”
Clive sunk into his chair, expressionless. He had a plethora of emotions to choose from in this emotional tombola, but he could only pick out one; guilt. He felt bad lying to Veronica. He’d already done the Coleman reports hours ago.


Friday 15 April 2011

Untitled thing.

Int. A small seminar room, quiet and with little distractions. There are 3 people on a small table, each doing various bits of work. NICK is sat next to LUCY and opposite them on the table is KEN. (With me so far? Good? Good.)

Nick
Seven squared?

Ken
Forty-nine.

Nick writes this down

Nick
Fifty-five divided by eleven?

Ken (Raising an eyebrow)
Five...

Nick writes this down

Nick
Seventy X divided by twenty X?

Ken
...Malcolm X.

Nick writes this down. Lucy on the opposite side of the table looks up, bemused.

Nick
The root of six thousand?

Ken
Beirut.

Lucy
Nick, you are aware what he is doing?

Nick
Why yes Lucy...yes I am.

Nick shows his notepad to Ken, “YOU’RE A TWAT’ is written in capital letters.

Ken
Well...at least you managed to spell ‘you’re’ correctly. What’s up with that work anyway, it seems a bit too easy and/or patronising for university.

Nick
It’s a ‘maths refresher’. We’re meant to do some stripped down basic sums to remind us of the ‘beauty of maths’.

Lucy
Is that like The Power of Love?

Ken
Huey Lewis and the news, or Frankie Goes to Hollywood?

Lucy
What’s the difference?

Ken (air-quotes)
The type of ‘Love’ involved...

Nick
I don’t see the point of this; I don’t care for the beauty of maths.

Ken
Nobody does. The only people who care for the beauty of maths, let alone use that phrase ‘non-ironically’ make chairs out of skin.

Lucy
At least the angles would be accurate...

Ken
Ooh, well played.

We hear a door open and GID appears, he throws his bag onto the table.

Gid
Shit. Shitting shit! Shitting shitballs.

The Screen freezes, the boss music from Mega Man 2 plays (youtube it) and the words “GID” “CURRENTLY ANNOYED” appear.

Ken
That’s very upbeat. What’s up?

Gid
Hamlet! Again! Sodding Hamlet, I’ve done Hamlet the past two years, yet once it appears in the curriculum like a fucking poltergeist. Seriously, if I have to do any more Hamlet I will, appropriately, kill myself.

Ken
Context relevant...

Gid
I hate Hamlet more than the degrading remains of Saxo Grammaticus.

Nick
Isn’t that a car manufacturer?

Gid
He’s 12th century Danish Historian, Shakespeare ‘borrowed’ a lot of his story elements. See! See what it does to you! You know that idea that new knowledge pushes something else out? That’s what is happening, I know that bloody fact which will appeal to Danish people, lecturers, and Danish Lecturers, but it’s probably meant I’ve now forgotten something tedious and minor but to me, incredibly important, like secondary Batman Villains or how fast it took the Millennium Falcon to do the Kessel run.

Ken
The what...run?

Gid (Despair)
I don’t know!

Lucy
At least you haven’t spent the past 2 months watching ‘Crash’ for your media course.

Gid (Sitting down)

Isn’t that the racism movie?

Ken
I imagine it’s a bit more ‘in depth’ than that.

Lucy
No, Gid’s absolutely right. It spends 2 hours telling you how all races are equal, and that hey...black people aren’t bad! And Latinos aren’t lazy, and white people aren’t all racist. And then you’re supposed to be surprised and awestruck at this knowledge, even though it’s common sense. It’s the most patronising, smug piece of crap I will ever see. I expected it to end with Ebony and Ivory playing at the credits. Although, I now hate racism more than I did before, so it had a positive effect on me. Urgh!

Gid
So...apart from my Shakespearean contempt and Lucy’s ‘after school special’, what are we all up to?

Ken
I’m just killing time till my next seminar.

Nick (head in his work)
I’m learning about the beauty of maths...

Gid

The beauty of maths? Don’t people who say that make chairs out of-

Ken
We already discussed that.

Gid
Oh, right.

Lucy
Have you seen Kenneth Branagh’s version of Hamlet? It’s 3 hours long, but really good. We watched it last year in theatre. Although not as good as the Romeo and Juliet with Leonardo Dicaprio.

Ken
What happens in that version?

Lucy
He does things....in a shirt. I think that outweighs the fundamentals of it.

Gid
How generically ‘woman-like’.

Nick
Isn’t Kenneth Branagh the bad guy in Wild Wild West, with the metal legs?

Gid
It’s a shame your first port of call for Kenneth Brannagh is a film with a giant metal spider...

Nick (oblivious)
Will Smith did the sound-track!

Gid
That is true...

Lucy
It’s amazing how you can be so...simple Nick.

Gid
Well it’s an odd world...we’ve got wars, paranormal events, and people who find it perfectly acceptable to give Gwyneth Paltrow an academy award.

Ken
What for?

Gid(Contempt)
Shakespeare in Love.

Lucy
Ooh, full circle.

Ken
That beat Saving Private Ryan for best Picture...just let that sink in.

Gid (Starts off accusatory, shifts into depressed)
It’s sad how that affects you...and me for that matter.

Nick (in his work)
Isn’t Saving Private Ryan based on a true story?

Ken
Not really.

Nick (lifting his head)
Yes it is...world war 2.

Gid
Ooh, reversal.

Lucy
Hey, can we even be in this room?

Nick
Nobody’s here.

Ken
Evidently...

Gid
Yeah, when you text me, I found it a bit odd. But whatever, I’ll just blag it...

Lucy
You’ll blag it?

Gid
Yeah, anyway, why this room?

Ken
We all sort of just had time to kill and the door was left open so, why not?

Gid (raised eyebrow)
Why not?

We hear a door open and a voice off-screen say ‘hello?’. Gid shrieks and flails dramatically (GET IT?! GET THE COMEDY THERE??!)

Ken
Can we help you?

Girl at door
Is this the spelunking club?

The group look at each other awkwardly for a few seconds.

All at once (Minus Nick)
No.

Nick
Maybe.

Girl at door
Oh right, never mind.

She closes the door and leaves.

Gid
We have a spelunking club? When did this happen?

Lucy
What’s spelunking?

Nick
Cave exploring, odd because she seemed too attractive for it.

Ken
I don’t even think that’s a stereotype.

Nick
Name one attractive cave explorer, apart from Lara Croft.

Ken
I can’t even name one cave explorer full stop, and you know...that’s never kept me awake at night.

Nick
I reckon I’d make a good cave explorer, and we were talking about WW2 earlier, I reckon I’d be pretty good at that aswell.

Lucy
Really?

Nick
Me and Tom Hanks, taking down Nazis, I’m pretty sure that’d be great.

Gid
Even I could kick your arse.

Nick
Oh yeah? Please explain.

This next bit will make a lot more sense if you’re a fan of Hong Kong Cinema, but...deal with it. Nick and Gid, on opposite sides of the table, now wearing shades, both draw guns in a very obnoxiously ballet-esque slow motion. (Easy to film, I’ll make sure of it)
Cut back to Gid thinking and then Zach.

Zach
Were you thinking the same as-

Gid
John Woo movie?

Zach
John Woo movie.

Lucy
John Who?

Nick
John WOO.

Lucy
That’s what I just asked!

Gid
Don’t do this to yourselves...

Lucy
I have no idea what you guys are on about.

Nick
You never have any idea-

Gid
Stop it!

Nick
Stop what?

Gid
That...that back and forth ‘whimsy’ snappy dialogue...it’s like a tedious sitcom. Except you two lack the necessary sexual tension to be entertaining, that said ee all know that sitcoms are ruined after the two leads do it. Under no circumstances should they, apart from the expected pornographic parody. My flatmate bought one as a joke, and let me tell you, everybody certainly does love Raymond.

Lucy
The Frankie goes to Hollywood kind?

Gid
If only...wait..that didn’t come out right.

Ken
You know that an in-depth discussion about something quite thin and low-brow, like a sitcom, is a staple of most sitcoms...so you’re not doing yourself any favours.

Gid
Alright ok from now on, let’s just do some work. No catchphrases, no wacky over the top shenanigans, let’s just be boring meat-and-potatoes individuals, no stereotypes or whatever.

We cut to somebody standing near the table, wearing a backwards hat and a manner of ‘wacky clothing’.

Stereotype

He’s damn right, Ri-dunk-u-lous!

Cut to black

Gid (Voice only)
Right, I’m leaving.

We hear the door close, and a few seconds of silence.

Lucy
Everybody else can see this guy right?

Nick
I’m sorry...who are you?

Ken
Just be quiet, maybe he’ll leave.

Roll credits.

After credits sequence, we see the back head of a soldier crouching on a sloped hill on a field, (Easy to film, just need to get some props for the top half of the two guys). We hear his voice off-screen and then see NICK awkwardly clamber into show in front of him.

Nick
Tom... Tom... Tom! Tom hey! Isn’t this war crazy, by the way, I loved Forrest Gump!

Cut to Black, we hear an explosion

Nick( Slightly flustered, but nonchalant)
Oops, Shrapnel.

Show Lutube TV logo, AND END.