I had been looking forward to this week for quite some time, due to the release of a film in my local cinema… that I actually wanted to see – Furious 7. We don’t live out in the back end of beyond, not by any means, but sometimes our friendly lil multiplex doesn’t carry the specific titles I wish to see. Damn them for not operating like a video store. Or Netflix.
For all the hype surrounding Under The Skin, I assumed it’d be a pervy skin flick masquerading as art… which it sort of is. The attachment of a big starlet, in this case Scarlett Johansson, granted it a larger audience than it would have had otherwise. Dearie me, I’ve no doubt the Marvel acolytes were rather peeved when instead of being met by the spry Black Widow, we were met with… well, she’s an alien, right?
Well, Beowulf. I think we were both expecting something fluffy, along the lines of The Polar Express as it was from the same director, Robert Zemeckis. What it actually did was surprise the hell out of me by being a bloody, pervy, nymph-monster romp. Fantastic. Always a sign of a good film if I know I’d have been terrified by it as a child.
Tasked with de-shelling, de-fleshing and (probably desexing the corpses of) a load of crab our mates chucked our way, the wife and I opted to watch a movie while conducting the stinky job. Don’t ask me why I’d never seen Oliver Stone’s The Doors. It will make me feel like a terrible person. I have now though and it’s bloody brilliant. There’s nothing quite like ramming tiny steel shafts into the pungent husk of a mighty Dungeness while watching Val Kilmer do the same.