Come in, come in! Take a cloth and help wipe the chairs down. You might need to give it a spray of Febreze also as I left the stink to fester in after my last visit here.
Right, everyone has the appropriate level of alcohol, nachos, and wanting to escape their pitiful lives I trust?
I’ve picked up a real VHS doozy from our smelly friends across the pond for us this evening – no, not the French you drunks (though I did recently have a fair maiden named Tavia request to me to “draw me like one of your French girls”. This sadly was not followed by any sexual do-gooding, as my attempt may not have been as she desired) – however its artistic merit is high.
So, dock your white flags away and pull out the ones marked “pride”, “honour”, and “unjust Middle-Eastern invasion”, for tonight we dine proudly with clogged arteries, and in the morning when we awaken with medical tubes stretched into orifices they needn’t be, and in between lengthy boats of rectal bleeding find ourselves judged in front of death panels (or whatever that party that stole all our tea would have you believe), we will most certainly need to wave the appropriate colours, discriminate against some blacks, and prove we aren’t really the socialist commies that we so truly are.
Ok I’ve gone off again haven’t I? Sorry about that but I haven’t eaten anything in a few days because the government won’t pay my support money. Apparently holding a weekly film screening isn’t considered “actual work”. Whatever they ‘actually’ mean by that, you should have seen how long it took to lay those soggy Wagon Wheels out.
Now what treat do I have in-store for you today you beg? Well..erm…
It would appear as though the VHS player ate the tape after I rewound it, and now it’s in a worse tangled mess than my pubes after a high voltage electric rodding session with Mistress Honey in her dank keep. Nevertheless, feel free to raid the beer fridge in an attempt to forget that horrid mental image as I re-enact with the helpful aid of shadow puppets the scenes I do remember – namely the ones where I wasn’t passed out or playing with myself.
Cat People (1942)
It seemed like a good film at the time and I suppose if you’re colour blind it still will be.
No, this isn’t working is it? Let’s drink some more cans of 8.4% liquid strength and go for something a bit more up beat and fuzzy. Fuck the cats.
The Dinosaur Hunter (2000)
Hiding away in CEX for 97p, I rescued The Dinosaur Hunter and hobbled upstairs like a socially inept child to get away from a builder who was installing my downstairs toilet – an act rooted mainly to my fear of being socially pressured to offer him a cup of tea, and not having the clear resources to make it as I had shat in the kettle the night before out of desperation, due to lack of said toilet. As such, I probably relate a lot more drama and tense emotion to this film than is likely warranted.
Nevertheless, The Dinosaur Hunter should at the least be remembered for being the only movie in human existence to have both the words “dinosaur” and “hunter” in the title, and to not actually feature any live dinosaurs in it, much to my confusion and vast disappointment.
What we do have is a charming tale full of unknowns and for whatever reason (most likely by being blackmailed by Jewish film producers catching him with Nazi gold) the legendary Christopher Plummer playing our bad guy.
The story centres around a young brother and sister named Julia and Daniel, growing up on a farm during the depression era in Canada, who meet an archaeologist named Jack who doesn’t look anything at all like Indiana Jones (see above).
It then all turns into a reminiscent childhood fluff piece of how amazing science is as Jack digs their farm land up in return for money, looking desperately for a T-rex skeleton, and more than likely saving their hard done by dad from a messy murder-suicide spree.
Whilst peado Jack is searching for a bone with these two kids, his rich arch rival archaeologist Plummer “Hump” comes along after hearing there’s some fuss over at the farm and wants in on the action with them. Hump, living up to his name, of course tries to royally fuck Jack in the ass with vast wads of cash and steal his find, turning it all into a moral story of venture capitalism and its effects on a podunk town with Julia and Daniel caught in the middle, fighting for what’s right. Dammit.
Add some rain, some drama, egotistical greed and you have the great makings for a nice cosy family film that you can drink to and feel fuzzy inside with, as it riffs off westerns, Harrison Ford and Jurassic Park in a slow but steadily paced fashion. Not too heavy, not too dull, it brings you back to that exciting time in your life when science was ahem, “cool”. Which, considering the budget and the intended audience, not too bad for a TV flicker show cashing in on Spielberg I say.
So what’s the best time to watch this little hidden gem then? Imagine; it’s cold outside, the rain is pouring down and you and a couple of (non-porno) kid film loving buddies have a dirty large bottle of cheap White Lighting each and nothing to do. Well when it gets near the boredom verge of breaking out into all man loving intercourse just to pass the time, slip this baby in instead of your soggy pre-cum rod and save everyone the AIDs test.
Now get your asses over here and help me fix this damned infernal VHS machine, unless of course you want me showing another grumpy tit-free movie next week. Rusty needs his fix!