Posts Tagged ‘Popcorn’

Martyrs

January 19, 2013

Martyr: noun – a person who is killed because of their religious beliefs.

But not if you’re in this film. ‘Martyr’ means ‘pretty woman wearing pants and vest who gets punched in the kidneys repeatedly’. Or does it? Sickened by the (alleged – I haven’t seen it) misogyny of this film, I turned to the wisdom of internet reviews for an insight into the true artistic meaning of slapping a woman about in a darkened room.

User JSh0k writes on IMDB that “…Martyr’s [sic] is definitely a dish best served cold” by which I assume he means that watching the kidney-punching is like eating a big bowl of ice-cream.

He (I’m assuming he’s a ‘he’, although ‘he’ may well be a ‘she’) also says that Martyrs “…will hopefully astound you with it’s gutsy originality” but that it is similar to “movies like Nacho Cerda’s Aftermath”. Hmm, I’m confused.

He does clarify things by arguing that Martyrs “….is guaranteed to divide audiences everywhere.” Divide them into sadists and non-sadists, presumably.

At least IMDB user Onderhond can add some meaning to the dismemberment: “…limbs are flying enjoyment to be found.” Right. “Don’t watch Martyrs to get a little horror kick, or to indulge in silly gorefests.” I won’t, then.

Still, I don’t quite know what all the slapping, punching, knifing, pissing and impalement means. I get that it’s ‘tough to watch’, ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘not for the faint-hearted’, but what’s underneath all of that?

In a last bid to unearth some sense I turn to the late William Burroughs. Using the Lazarus Corporation‘s fine Text Mixing Desk, I throw together some of the key points from the most avid internet reviews, and I paste the results below. I think you’ll find they render the film obsolete.

Not that I’ve seen it.

Lazarus Corporation Text Mixing Desk says: “Torture scenes watch this film is harsh. you wear an honour watched that! like the easily badge to say movie women have physical stabbed in the street to answer her warped kidnapping get a little horror gorefests. young girl girl captured wants laugier digs deeper into the forgotten. don’t watch martyrs story of horror and torture, I honour badge film there’s no genre ‘popcorn’ flying the capacity laugh harrowing extremely violent desires the enjoyment to be found. violence unfeeling squirm and accept the monster wrangled, the tension simply serve a human mind. the physically sick schizophrenic horribly monickered martyrs to and torture of a ‘torture-porn’ are emotionally exorcism bleak, depressive to be slasher gory, but you won’t people literally get kick, or joy, limbs are rather that idea behind martyrs truly is a ordeal to end must-see is not futile nor characters to indulge in silly and wear an understanding cold and inevitable extremely graphic presentation is cold, the her.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why some people like the film Martyrs.

Avatar (spoiler alert)

September 1, 2009

There I was, eagerly awaiting the postman, that evergreen Father Christmas, with his daily yield of treats from Amazon (not the website, the river – I’ve recently developed an interest in silt and ox-bow lakes). Any minute now, thought I, a parcel swollen with sediment samples and crocodiles’ fingernails will poke its eager head through the letterbox and into my welcoming arms. Verily, the samples and fingernails arrived, but an unexpected boon accompanied them: a letter designated for James Cameron. This was highly peculiar, as my (real) name shares no letters with his, and I live in the North of England whereas Cameron lives in Hollywood, Los Angeles, which is quite a way off from the land of deep-fried Mars Bars and whippet-grooming tournaments that I call my native province. Naturally I ripped open the envelope and read its contents. It appeared to be from Cameron’s father, Bill, and it detailed his thoughts on the upcoming science-fiction film, Avatar. I am sure that no one, least of all Bill or James, would object to me reproducing the letter in its entirety. Here you go then:

Dear Son,

You done good Jimmy, real good. You done a great little movie here. Your ma and I are real proud of you Jimmy. Real proud. I still don’t know how movies work even though you explained it to me already. I mean, how can there be blue people flying through the air on the screen when I’ve never seen it happen myself, not even in ’Nam? I saw a lot of bad stuff there Jimmy. Like that time when Rooker got elephantiasis of the balls in that brothel after that hooker gave him a rubber caked in evil Vietcong beeswax and his balls fell clean off and rolled under the pool table and the dog ate one of them and Rooker tried to kill himself but he only shot off one of his ears then Gomer said he’d got one ear to match his one remaining ball and everyone laughed even Rooker until he tried to shoot himself again. We saw some crazy stuff over there Jimmy. You should make it into a movie some time Jimmy. Jimmy. Jimmy son.

Seriously Jimmy, we never thought you’d grow up normal. You used to sit in your room drawing pictures of that alien you used to call Nerrbits. Old Nerrbits. Remember him Jimmy? All the boys at the club had normal sons who wore jockstraps and shouted ‘Beer-Bus!’ even when there weren’t any beer-buses around. But you sat in your room with Nerrbits.

Anyway Jimmy. This continuous prose business is for white-collar assholes. So here’s my thoughts on the film in bullet point form:

Worthington – great guy. Good glutes, solid guns. (He is based on me, isn’t he?)

Story – I got confused Jimmy. What happened?

Dialogue – I liked it when Worthington said ‘Ahhrrrerrrgh’ and pushed that girder off his stomach. Good dialogue.

Special effects – Real special Jimmy. You’re a special kid.

Credits – Why couldn’t your name be bigger on the credits? And why was it so fast. Old Cody Wilkinson said it went so quick he’s not even sure your name was on there. What an asshole.

Popcorn – Real delicious. How do you movie guys make it so delicious. Except for that Speilberg guy. His popcorn is WEAK and CHEWY. I went to see E. T. and I couldn’t even finish the popcorn. He shouldn’t be allowed to make films.

Well that’s all Jimmy. You done good son.

Love,

Dad