Hollywood teaches us one thing, and that is not to stick cotton buds in our ears. But if it teaches us two things, it is surely that every killer, no matter how far beyond redemption, was once a reasonable and sensitive person who was driven to murder by the cruelty of other humans. If Speilberg’s serial killer biopic, Jaws, is to be believed, the same is true of sharks:
Posts Tagged ‘Speilberg’
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:
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.