For A Few Movies More

I couldn’t help it. It just happened. It was there, I was there, and it happened. And I know I should feel seriously dirty and ashamed for doing it, but somehow I don’t. In fact, I’m pretty proud of it. After all, it was only $5 at Big W. A real bargain! So, DVD in hand, I hurried home through the rain and eagerly fired up my DVD player and sat down for a wonderful 78 minutes of inanity as my eyes beheld “Beavis and Butt-Head Do America” for the first time in years. Yeah, yeah, I know, totally immature, blah blah, whatever! Well, let me tell you something, ‘immature’ is just a word boring people use to describe fun people with a sense of humour, alright?! Nineties kids, stop looking at the screen like I’m talking about a porno here, ok? You watched it too. You know that as well as I do. You, like me, spent plenty of time sniggering away at that loveable pair of potty mouthed ne’er-do-wells, and secretly, like me, you have fond memories of it. Well, as I say, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it was only $5 at Big W! Brilliant!

It is funny how the human brain works. We can watch a film and feel quite strongly a certain way – loving it or hating it – but the strange thing is the sense that that feeling isn’t as tangible as it could be until we share it with somebody else. That’s why we turn to each other as the credits roll and eagerly ask what the other thought; it’s why we recommend our favourites to our closest friends and measure potential relationships on likeminded choices; and it’s why you are sitting there reading this article right now. But the flip side of sharing a sentiment is not sharing it. If you’re the sole hater or the lone lover of a film then does that mean you missed the point? Does that mean your opinion is not as valid? Do you begin to doubt your point of view and start to bend to the will of popular opinion?

I’ve been guilty of this in the past which is what brings me to The Island. I saw this film and I truly enjoyed it. I found it compelling and interesting and with just the right blend of action, comedy and romance. It was by no means a masterpiece but it was simply engaging and fun. Then over the years I began to hear a little differently. The film bombed in the box office and was received critically with a consensus of mediocrity; I found myself increasingly disinterested in the brainless antics of director Michael Bay and I had some friends dismiss it entirely. I started to doubt what I once believed and came to a rather odd conclusion: I wanted to remember it as the fun, intelligent film I remembered and to ensure that happened I decided I would never watch it again, lest it be proven otherwise.

I stuck by that determination for some seven years. But for the sake of a throw away guilty pleasure article I put it all at risk and hired out The Island for a fateful second viewing…

Bond Season is officially in full swing. 007 is touring the world (and raking in a small fortune in the process) with the eagerly awaited Skyfall, and blogs and websites everywhere are spreading the gospel with the promotional video blogs, the recycled polls and the traditional Top Tens. So I think it is time for me to pay my 2c tribute to that undying ode to mid-century chauvinism that still ignites fantasies in the hearts and souls (and other regions) of men and women alike – And what better way to celebrate with than with a Guilty Pleasure! My favourite Bond is Pierce Brosnan and my favourite Bond film is Goldeneye and that has everything to do with the hours of youth (which could probably be measured in weeks) spent playing the Nintendo 64 classic. But there is another Bond film close to my heart which I have seen more times than any other and can watch over and over again with uncanny fascination. The film I love is the brash, fanciful and just plain over-the-top silly Die Another Day.

DAD is your quintessential Bond film with the suave Double-0 agent, dangerous ladies, invisible cars, megalomaniac bad guys, and the most outrageous stunts imaginable – only it manages to take each to a new and absurd level. I remember watching it at the tender age of 16, susceptible to the less refined indulgences of cinema, and even then I came out thinking it was a bit much. But over the years we have crossed paths again and again, and again I sit and watch, anticipating every explosion and rolling my eyes at every one-liner, but secretly loving every single thing about it.

For a guilty pleasure, this is a bit of a recent release. My picks are usually at least a few years old, having survived many repeated screenings, thus proving both their staying power and viewing pleasure (coincidentally, I find this applies to films that fall under favourites as well. Is there a connection, or even a difference, between favourite films and guilty pleasures? Discuss). But I feel fairly confident that Hot Tub Time Machine is most definitely a guilty pleasure of mine, and will continue to be so for quite some time, if not forever.

It’s only in the last year or two that I’ve realised my genre of choice is comedy. Where Dean has been a horror aficionado since a wee lad, or maybe Felk a Sci-Fi enthusiast, I’ve always — when given the option — gravitated towards comedies. No matter what mood you’re in, a good comedy will sit with you comfortably and make you forget your troubles, your life, and just give you a couple hours off from whatever you need time off from. Now, I’m usually wary of films that are scripted by three people or more — it doesn’t usually bode well when a film needs a whole classroom full of people to get it through to shooting stage — but I’m a bit of a John Cusack fan, and the trailer had enough jokes in it for me that I was quite looking forward to it back when it was theatrically released. Lucky for me, I was proven wrong in that sometimes, a multi-writer script doesn’t necessarily equal a shit movie.

It’s been too long, right?! According to my research (which was pretty much just clicking on the Guilty Pleasures tag), the last one of these was done way back in Feb of this year, and the last I did was Dec last year! Guess that means we’re long overdue. Having a look through my travel DVD collection (24 films that have travelled the world with me for my film-watching emergencies), and taking into account my current mood (we’ll leave that one alone…), I decided to tackle Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. My entry into this Guilty Pleasure isn’t even the original Dirty Dancing, which I’m fairly certain many of you reading would laugh at with derision already. This film isn’t an actual sequel, continuing from the original’s events (though it does feature a cameo from Patrick Swayze), but more of a reimagining of the original’s premise, following the same general format but set in another time and place (and apparently based on some true events). Jeer all you want, I have no shame when it comes to my favourites: I love this movie.

To be fair on me, my first involvement with the title was trying to catch up on the filmography of Diego Luna, who at one time, was a favourite celebrity crush of mine. I’m not saying I don’t still find him muy guapo, but more that my eagerness towards the Mexican actor has waned slightly. So anyway, it seemed pretty lame, but here comes the part where I have to confess another guilty pleasure of mine: dance flicks. Not a huge guilty pleasure, but still a valid one. Every now and then one of these movies comes along and I simply must watch them. I think it comes down to the fact that I have no dancing skills whatsoever, so I watch these films with a mixture of jealousy and awe. Because let’s face it, the acting and stories might suck, but it’s almost guaranteed they will feature some pretty amazing moves.

Everyone loves a musical. Go on. Admit it. You do too. We all do, whether we’re prepared to admit it or not. I have seen the most joyless, straight laced types go nuts on the dance floor singing along to “Summer Lovin’” and “Greased Lightning” when “Grease Megamix” comes on, or perhaps doing the “Time Warp” again. And with the revival of the musical film in recent years we have seen some great new classics join the ranks of the all time musical greats, such as “Chicago”, “Sweeney Todd”, “Hairspray”, and next year we can confidently expect “Les Miserables” to do likewise. But of course, as with any genre, not every film can be an instant classic. We have also seen some utterly horrible ones be puffed out onto the silver screen recently. In 2007 Julie Taymor taught us all that even the Beatles are not infallible with her disappointingly flat “Across The Universe”. Rob Marshall bet all the credibility he’d earned from the success of “Chicago” and lost it all with 2009’s memorably forgettable “Nine”. And in 2005 Chris Columbus spectacularly failed to win audiences over with his disappointing film version of John Larson’s massive Broadway hit “Rent”. Now, in the lead-up to the resoundingly unenthusiastic release of the big-screen adaptation of the somewhat popular musical “Rock Of Ages”, it is far more difficult to summon up excitement for such cinematic outings as it was a few years back when the musical was making its triumphant comeback. In fact, one rather awaits the day they start to really scrape the bottom of the musical barrel and release things like “Closing Time: The Semisonic Spectacular” , or “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me? – The Boy George Story”.

I have a question for you. Which of the six Star Wars films is your favourite? Be honest here. I promise I won’t judge. I imagine this question will get a pretty varied response. I believe the overwhelming majority of Star Wars fans out there will say their favourite is Episode IV: A New Hope. The original 1977 classic, by which all else is measured. Some sentimentalists may say Episode VI: Return Of The Jedi, for being the big climactic ending to the saga. For me it remains Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, for taking a truly brilliant groundbreaking film like Star Wars and taking it to whole news levels, raising the stakes, darkening the horizon, and of course giving us the immortal twist: “No. I am your father.” A few of Star Wars’ younger fans may even say that one of the prequels is their favourite. One thing’s for sure, I imagine very few will say their favourite is Episode I: The Phantom Menace.

For all the hype leading up to its 1999 release, Episode I left a sour taste in many mouths, with its strange title, its plot fraught with complicated politics previously unheard-of in a Star Wars film, its script that sounded like a first draft scribbled on the back of a beer coaster after a few schooners in the pub the night before filming began, it’s just-too-convenient plot points (a nine year old kid who can build a complex protocol droid from spare parts in his bedroom. Yeah, right. Okay.), and of course the insufferable Jar-Jar Binks. But even allowing for all these short comings (among others I could mention), Episode I has its moments, and some rather good ones at that. And now, with George Lucas finally re-releasing all six Star Wars films in 3D as he has been threatening to do for the past six years, starting with Episode I, I figured this would be an ideal guilty pleasure to take a look at.

Having recently visited Richmond, Virginia, and been happily soaking up US Colonial history, when I saw this film on TV the other day I immediately sat down to indulge. I first saw The Last of the Mohicans as an 11 year old (probably not really age-appropriate, but I’ve come to realise that I saw a lot of films at an age I maybe shouldn’t have, and it has done nothing to detract from my impeccable character) and absolutely loved it. I’ve always been interested in Native American cultures, and though this film doesn’t really delve that deep into any customs or beliefs, it still holds a special place in my heart. Of course, the inclusion of Daniel Day-Lewis is probably reason enough for many, but there’s much more to enjoy beyond Mr Day-Lewis’ ever-reliable acting abilities.

In the midst of the French-Indian War, Chingachgook (Russell Means) and his son Uncas (Eric Schweig) and adopted white son Hawkeye (Daniel Day-Lewis) are the last of the Mohican tribe, and are helping the British in their battles against the French. When a British convoy is attacked by traitor Mohawk Magua (Wes Studi), the Mohicans come to the aid of Major Duncan Heyward (Steven Waddington) who is escorting the two daughters of a British official, Cora (Madeleine Stowe) and Alice (Jodhi May) Munro. The group make their way to Fort William Henry, just as the battle between the British and French forces escalates.

OK, so before we delve too deeply into the belly of this latest Guilty Pleasure article, allow me to clear the air before the comments section starts filling up with a torrent of abuse such as:

STINKYRAT76
Alien Vs Predator f’n sucks. It’s worst den aids n’ shiz. U Suk! Lol. FML!

Yes, this following article does cover the mild entertainment that I receive from sitting down and watching the laughably inept intergalactic grudge match that is Alien Vs Predator, however I would like to state in my defence that I’m completely aware of its glaring inadequacies and shortcomings. No, Alien Vs Predator is not a good film, anybody who has ever seen it can vouch for that. It’s a paint by numbers production that takes two of cinemas most iconic monsters and proceeds to pit them in a sloppily constructed slugfest, eradicating everything that made these creatures so memorable in the first place. It’s a frequently frustrating experience to endure, often requiring a great deal of teeth-clenching to endure the insultingly lacklustre treatment these two beloved creations receive at the hands of Paul W.S. Anderson, a master of delivering entertaining yet completely brain-dead features. It’s almost the cinematic equivalent of taking two of your favourite foods, say a succulent steak and delicious bowl of chocolate ice-cream, then throwing them into a blender and grinding them into an unholy concoction. It may have been a good idea from the outset, but in the end, it’s a combination that just doesn’t work well together.

Anyone with any film industry acumen knows that the Wayans brother’s movies aren’t exactly a cause for celebration. Designed to be consumed by the dull palates of the masses they feature like a Summer Special Triple Cheeseburger, but despite the mediocre premise you still just have to try it once. Any laughs usually escape as a snort as you choke on the three months you just shed from your life expectancy; the racism and sex jokes bring us all down to a level playing field, like a communist regime inspiring doctors to flip burgers – the very same seasonal treat that you couldn’t resist. As you pick up your fries and coke you ask for some medical advice for the numbness in your left arm but they just laugh and say “Maaan, yo mama’s so fat your car don’t need hydraulics, you just sit her in the backseat when she gets the hiccups.

Yes I really do seem to put the ‘guilt’ into guilty pleasure. The first time I watched this movie was when I was 17 or 18 with a bunch of male friends – the exact demographic that it was designed for – and we got some laughs but ultimately, deep down I knew I was watching a horrible movie. I kept that in mind as I avoided it on DVD and television and dismissed it in movie discussions; my refined film tastes found it to have a lingering bitterness in my memory (probably further soured by the Wayans’ follow up feature Little Man).