Gutless (Part Two)

The rain lays heavy on the greyed ruinous town. I try to wash down the sweet with savoury in the hope of alleviating the sickness. More than the ten pound cinema ticket my initial idiotic indulgence cost me. It’s not a revelation that the cinema prices are ludicrous but my appearance is also becoming absurd and the tumour swells in pain as I trudge towards another supplier. Water flows past me down the street as if willing me to turn back and forget this foolish notion. I’m on the brink of overdosing but I’m spurred on by the illness in all its degrading decadence.

They already know my preference as I enter and a deep shame simmers inside me as they hand me the stuff. Even the potato shards taste like they’re made of yeast and starch and the groaning patchwork sky gazes down on me with disappointment. The traditional British meal starts to taste like cardboard and the side order has substance like soft mushy shit. It’s not an appetising contrast and the desecrated meat tube falls apart in my mouth.

I don’t want this and yet I need it like I need air. The silver screen icons seduce me in memory with fantasy six-pacs and heroic physiques totally impossible to me. I curse myself for all the good it does and try to imagine myself with an appearance like them. Fantasies are all I have now.

There’s nothing more than crunchy shrapnel in the bottom of the paper, I finish the pork pole unsatisfyingly as its mild tang prods and pokes my catatonic taste-buds. I lose myself in the swirl of this pathetic cone of crap. I think about leaner, healthier times, before the addictions before the need for such meagre primitive fixes. I’ve gone too far this time, I’ve taken it all much too far. I am Jabba The Fucking Hutt. 

The film of my life would end there, but life is so upsettingly far from a film. I arrive home and sink into my own sweat and seething ulcers. The chair strains under my influence and I pitch pointless prose into the ether. I wipe the residue from my neck and feel like dying here. I want to beat myself to death and fall underneath myself into the endless dark judgeless abyss. The tumour groans and swells as usual and I pray I could cut myself clean but life isn’t necessarily progress, and my life is decidedly downhill.

This is the end, I need something to work towards and mundane normalities won’t satisfy. Filling in forms can go fuck themselves. I’m going to become the silver screen icons, I’m going to purge this tumour from my mass. I can’t stomach my own stomach so I’ll beat myself into abstinence. I’m going cold turkey from cold turkey and everything similar. There will be no part three…

Thor 2: The Dark World - Cinema Review

Thor 2: The Dark World faced overwhelming odds; post-avengers hype and one of my phenomenally bad moods. I sat seething for a long while at my mistakes in the timing leading me to reluctantly attend a 3D showing. Kevin Bacon's increasingly humourless twattery only irritated me further and i was not in the mood for the mythical exposition with which the film opens. That said, anyone entering a showing of Thor expecting anything other than grand Lord Of The Rings style fantasy worlds and lore will not enjoy this film.

There is a lot more suspension of disbelief required in the Thor films than arguably any of the other avengers and the contrast between grimy, grey London and the transcendental Asgard is more than a little jarring though perhaps intentionally so. The first Thor film left me feeling a sense of forgettable mediocrity where Loki was a far more magnetic personality than the titular hero.  It seems i was not alone as Loki features significantly in the sequel. He provides some much needed humour and underlying tension as well as rightfully dictating the film's major plot twists. His subtle menacing psychosis, damaged backstory and hypnotic unpredictability were the highlight of the film and the makers did well to recognise his appeal and bring it forward. Unfortunately this still leaves me preferring the villain to the hero of this series which is surely not the intention.

A good effort is made to remedy Thor's potential blandness through his romance with Natalie Portman's Jane Foster. The film tries admirably to give her purpose beyond love interest and her parallel scientific storyline is at least relevant to the cosmological shenanigans at play during the film. Though in trying to make her fit into every scene she spends a good amount of time unconscious which isn't really exploring the character.

The new villain Malekith sadly comes off as archaic and one-dimensional and whilst he is built well enough as this imposing, dangerous figure, it bears very little meaning overall when he becomes just another thing to hit with the hammer. The actions scenes are suitably groundbreaking (literally not conceptually) and they bring a fair amount of spectacle to what should be a spectacular film but ultimately there is little tension for a character that can be smacked through mountains and survive.

The film peaks about half-way and whilst promising a potentially very experimental climax with the equinox of different realities it doesn't use this set-up for anymore than random teleportations which is a little disappointing but still spices up the fight scenes. There's nothing flagrantly broken or confusing with Thor 2 but there's very little remarkable as well. There are plenty of nice moments usually involving Loki or the comical juxtaposition of Thor in our mundane little world and for a film with so much grandiose fantastical majesty it does well to not take itself too seriously. I prefer Dark World to the first film but Loki remains the dominant presence and the main pull that brought me to see it. Everything else felt somewhat like a novelty or maybe that's just my bad mood.

Filth - Cinema Review

Filth couldn't be more true to its name, there is depravity in the very pores of this film but if that doesn't turn you away you'll find a brutally brilliant drama that will knock as much out of you as it does its characters. Based on Irvine Welsh's 1998 novel, the film is a shameless comedy and unflinching character drama that focuses on a man named Bruce Robertson, a thoroughly corrupt detective who appears to be pulling the strings on his colleagues in the run up to a potential promotion.

The film naturally has a twisted sense of humour and the overall atmosphere is undoubtedly the work of the man behind Trainspotting. That said, there is a sophistication present which comes in the form of Bruce's wife Carole who, whilst corrupt in her own way, seems to live in a noir-style fantasy world that couldn't be further from the grimy Scottish streets we see Bruce and his colleagues patrol. Slowly the film becomes less about the promotion and more about Bruce's mental state as he grapples with drug addictions, sexual frustrations and his own tragic past coming back to haunt him.

Filth is loaded with depth for the characters and for all its eccentricities it portrays a cast of painfully real, complex and damaged people. James McAvoy is potent as the protagonist Bruce and the film is almost worth seeing for his performance alone. Thankfully his role is flanked by some other excellent actors, effective pacing and very strong writing. I'll admit i've not read the book so perhaps some flaws in the translation are lost on me but Filth gripped me almost immediately and whilst undeniably hard to watch in places, stop watching i absolutely could not.

To delve much deeper is to spoil the best of what Filth has to offer so i'll simply finish on a recommendation and state that this sordid feast of a film is far more than its shallow appearance would suggest.