Wednesday, July 27, 2005


I considered having another Festival of Bad Cinema on Friday night. But when I thought about being snide and mocking over yet another piece of obscure filmic kitsch, I realised that my heart just wasn't in it.

So instead, I went for a genre I like to call 'Bruckheimapalooza!' It's still Bad Cinema, but you don't enjoy it on an ironic post-modern level. You enjoy it with that part of your hind brain that drags your eyes toward a car accident as you drive past it.

‘Bad Boys 2’, baby, and ‘Blade Trinity’.

I didn't like ‘Bad Boys 1’; there was too much whiny crap about the personal lives of the two heroes, as if people had come to see this movie to learn about the intricacies of male bonding. ‘Bad Boys 2’ avoided that fault by framing every scene in relation to the all-important car chases. Every scene was either the heroes setting up a car chase, being in a car chase, or suffering the after-effects of a car chase (ie being chewed out by their theatrical police chief, not anything as mundane as whiplash). It worked a treat. Cars exploded, boats exploded, trucks exploded… if they could have worked in a locomotive falling out of the space shuttle and landing on a hovercraft, I’m sure they would have.

Then there were the bodies. Rastafarians splattered against the structure of a high-rise car park, Cubans blown up by a booby-trapped remote control car, and the piece de resistance, in a car chase with a mortuary van, a full load of corpses dislodged one by one and strewn across the freeway. It sounds appalling, but remember, at this point the higher functions of the brain have given up in disgust and it’s just your id, gibbering excitedly at the movement and colour.

As for Blade Trinity, well, memos to all involved…

Memo to Wesley Snipes: That’s right. Just keep repeating ‘I am being paid millions of dollars for this.’

Memo to Jessica Biel: Nice work, but if you want to replace Jennifer Garner in the world’s affections, you’re going to have to do some more hand-to-hand combat in skimpy lingerie.

Memo to Ryan Reynolds: Damn, dude, leave the gym for fifteen minutes and eat a doughnut! You can’t possibly be comfortable!

Memo to Parker Posey: It’s a good thing your resume has more on it than this and ‘Josie & The Pussycats’.

Memo to Kris Kristofferson: That’s right. Just keep repeating ‘I am being paid less than Wesley Snipes for this, but I didn’t have to be on set more than a few days or in the gym more than twice a week, if that.’

Memo to Dominic Purcell: The good news is, you’re playing Dracula! The bad news is, you’re playing him as a Syrian poseur in ‘Blade Trinity’!

It may be a stupid way to spend your Friday night, sitting in the dark in your living room with half a dozen friends, drinking beer and eating popcorn and watching stuntmen earning their pay packets, but it’s great fun.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I feel awful because I've been enjoying you blog for a a year and I haven't told you. Congratulations, blandwagon. Lovely site. It prooves that you can be a success without all the HTML. Love you!

2:12 PM  
Blogger Blandwagon said...

Thanks, il supremo, but given that I've only been writing GotB for eight months, I discern that your comment must have fallen through a hole in the space/time continuum FROM THE FUTURE!

The fact that you do not refer to me to as 'Emperor Blandwagon the Merciless' is a cause for concern, as it means my plans for global domination are not destined to run to schedule.

Dang it.

1:46 PM  

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