Experimentally Mind-Fucked (Part I-IV): My Bloody Valentine
February 28th 2009 12:41
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in 3D, of course.
So it's a hot night in the troublesome rural neighbourhood I inhabit. To most people, I can see that they would be lulled into a false sense of security thinking such a peacefully quiet night would indicate calm and centred neighbours would be out in droves to all be reasonable and mediocre together.
But I know the truth. I know you wacked out junkie satanists are waiting to leave me bleeding in the street coughing up nothing but stale intestinal air because you stole all my blood.
So i'm in the mood for a horror movie. But not just any horror movie, I want something so vile and hellish that when the jittering maniacs DO come to steal all my insides at least they'll leave me brain. Because it will snarl at them.
I have other reasons, none as interesting as that though, so lets skip them.
To be honest with you, for just a second before we descend into madness so extreme it send you into labour. I just broke up with my girlfriend. I'm not in the best of moods. There's a whole post in that alone so lets not get into it.
The short of it is that I want something that will take my mind off the reality for a short while.
Drugs and alcohol call to me at a time like this, so one can only assume that coupling them with a brainless horror movie (IN 3D!!!) and some mind altering company will do the trick.
Ah Roberto, let me tell you about Roberto. I have a feeling that Roberto imagines he is the incarnation of some long lost hero, spat out from a battlefield lost in time to our meek society in a dastardly quest to seek out the fertile females of civilised society and seduce them into gibbering play-doh in his hands. I more or less believe him.
Less a man than a god, his uncanny ability to charm any female he knows continues to astound me.
For Roberto is built like a mountain. His facial hair could kill a man in ways more horrible than can be expressed on the internet. His immensity is, for lack of a better word, immense. He has the power of long lost european cultures of frantic seducers channeled through his meaty paws into the deepest most depraved part of a women's soul.
Nice Guy.
Following the procurement of spirits, wine and mead (in a bucket, for Roberto) and some potent mind-fuckery we journeyed into WESTFIELD. I say it in caps for fear of angering the tempermental beast. We don't know what it's capable of. Pay it respect and solve its riddle before you make it mad.
Regardless, we ventured inside. The horror was filling the air. The paranoia set in and we dove for the cinema. After the earth-shattering ordeal of buying tickets which expended most of my energy. The ticket distributor person barked at me in some freakish tongue only for me to wheeze and point at the sign.
I removed the wine from my pant leg and took a hearty swig. Surely nobody had seen me. But surely, i peered over the dark red bottle into the eyes of Roberto, staring lazily at a parliament of nuns. The bastard. If Jesus existed, Roberto was probably on his naughty list anyway.
Fuck, I said. You bastard. Don't go there, you'll make it angry.
Who? grumbled Romberto.
GOD, get with the program. HA, I got my own joke.
I had to drag Roberto away. The monster.
Weren't we here to see a film? I dashed into the cinema with my viking chum in tow. The lights came down and i squeezed into those sadistically uncomfortable 3D glasses. That I know are designed to scientifically papercut the shit out of your ears in the most efficient way. Technology is grand.
So the movie, I'll give you the run down. Some guy, for some reason. Has a grudge against free spirited teenagers, so he kills them. He dresses like a miner. And does his best to kill free spirited teenagers in the most dull ways possible. The number of times we have an eyeball thrust at the screen to at least try to make the extra ten dollars I apparently forked out worth it.
Basically, the plot was written by a disinterested and sickly janitor on set who saw "Friday the 13th" too many times and was shanghai'd into a the task of scribing this masterpiece. It just seems as though the creators weren't even trying.
Though the plot is my main problem. Everything else was competent, and nothing more. The acting at times veered into grimace inducing, but soon you start to expect nothing more.
Though I feel for 3D to become a ligimate medium for film we need more of a reason to pay the extra cash than to cut our ears off and have giblets flung at us.
Who knows how Roberto felt. I asked but seemingly he dozed off near the beginning then inexplicably fled the scene.
I await the police report with bated breath.
In short, because honestly who would read the previous drivel, "My Bloody Valentine" will not sate your endless bloodlust for a vile and unspeakable celluloid evil. It will not even sate your dramatic glands continuous feeble pumping in search of a thrilling story.
In fact, the only thing it might do is to take your mind off of something terrible for an hour and a half.
You might even giggle.
Yours in the worst of ways,
Calum
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