In a few months Facebook: The Movie hits cinemas. Now this sounds about as wank an idea as Robbie Williams replacing Noel in Oasis, but bear with us. Firstly it’s not called Facebook: The Movie but the much better sounding The Social Network based on the book by Ben Mezrich. Secondly it’s not about Facebook but rather the creation of Facebook and the surprisingly interesting tale of friends suing each other over who owns the rights and ultimately hating each others guts. Most noteworthy of all, it’s the new movie from David ‘Se7en, Fight Club, Zodiac‘ Fincher.
It’s also being scored by Nine Inch Nail‘s Trent Reznor and the trailer (which you can click on and watch above) features a Scala reworking of ‘Creep’ by Radiohead. Instead of tiredly listing rubbish wordplay based on Facebook vernacular, i.e. Owen ‘likes’ new Fincher movie, updating status to ‘chuffing excited’ or I’d like to ‘poke’ Justin Timberlake in the eye with something sharp, instead let’s use this as an excuse to look back on Radiohead’s back catalogue, as featured on the silver screen.
Way back on the 9th if June it was widely reported that Michael Fassbender would be taking over the role of Erik Lensherr aka Magneto in the Michael Vaughn directed franchise prequel X-men: First Class. Much to my disappointment, only a few days later I read an article claiming that Fassbender had denied rumours linking him with Magneto and also a similar role in the forthcoming Spider-man reboot.
Then, yesterday I breathed a sigh of relief when Entertainment Weekly reported that Fassbender was all but guaranteed to follow/precede Ian McKellan into the X-men universe. As a fan of the X movies and of Fassbender you can see how this past week has been somewhat of a roller coaster for me.
The events of the past week got me to thinking. What is the real effect of twenty four hour casting speculation? Is it merely fan boys run amuck or does it have an almost viral impact on the entertainment industry, be it good or bad? If Inception director Chris Nolan is to be believed the whole thing can have a negative impact on the overall process.
The Wire has been given a lot of press attention and critical acclaim. And rightly so. It’s ridiculously great storytelling, impeccably put together and as addictive as heron. But it’s also had a rather adverse effect on the world of film. It’s not The Wire‘s fault but over the past few years certain films (Pride and Glory, American Gangster) have tried to ape the maginificent show, and also many of it’s network’s (HBO) product. The most obvious example of this, Brooklyn’s Finest is in cinemas now.
The biggest reason why Cinema can’t be HBO, at almost almost 60 hours, almost 3853 minutes, The Wire has literally days to tell it’s complete story. Brooklyn’s Finest has a little over two hours. But it doesn’t stop deluded film-makers trying.
We’re all very lucky. We live in a world brimming with lovely tits. All the shapes, sizes and shades imaginable exist somewhere in the glorious diversity that is the human genome. Viva la boobie! Whilst I’m of the opinion that all tits should be celebrated on merit of their existence alone (imagining the immense evolutionary chain stretching back over the eons from simple milk dispensing teats, through sexual and natural selection to form the modern homosapien mammary is the closest I’ve come to “know the mind of god” (:Hawking: “A brief history of time”.) There are of course notable exceptions that require special appreciation. Which leads me to the main point of this essay, the tip top, or top tips if you will. Pam Grier’s.
I can see in my mind’s eye, your brain racing, synapses firing full throttle trying to think of a superior pair and maybe you can. Or at least you think you can. I intend to prove you wrong.
It’s easy to knock Noel Clarke. The first reason, being the bright young thing of the UK film scene, he most probably has Danny Dyer’s mobile number on speed dial having starred with the feckless wonder on two occasions. Secondly, walking amoebas like Peter Andre cite him as “a hero”. Thirdly he won the Orange Rising Star BAFTA, sandwiched between unworthy victors Shia The Beef and Kristen Stewart.
So it’d be easy to knock Noel Clarke. Easy, but wrong. Look beneath the rather attractive surface and he’s actually the definition of a grafter. The youngest looking 35-year-old on God’s green Earth he has the whiff of a meteroic rise about him even if the facts speak otherwise. Stints in British shit TV staples such as Casualty, The Bill and even Doctors litter his early career until he pulled himself a Good Will Hunting and decided to write a film based on his life experiences. Success, both financial and critical, swiftly followed.
Kidulthood will have it’s detractors. It featured “Nah wat I mean bruv?” dialogue that usually ushers a reply of “Well not really my dear” from anyone outside of London who wasn’t talk to speak English via SMS and it featured the kind of dramatic teenage years that even Skins script-writers may consider a tad far-fetched. It was, if nothing else, refreshingly different.
“What are they gonna say about him? What are they gonna say? That he was a kind man? That he was a wise man? That he had plans, man? That he had wisdom? Bullshit, man. What are they gonna do when he’s gone?”
Dennis Hopper died at 9am local time at his home in Venice, California yesterday after losing his battle with prostate cancer he was 74.
He was born in Dodge City Kansas on 17th May 1936 and showed interest in acting from a young age. He began his acting career with several TV performances but his first movie role was in Rebel Without a Cause (1955) and it was during the making of this film that he met James Dean, their meeting had a huge influence on Hopper and went a long way to transforming him into the great career actor he has become in the staggering five and a half decades since.
In 2004, Ben Mack put together a website entitled WhatWouldBillHicksSay.com. The idea was that fans would post their thoughts on Bill’s take on current events. It received over half a million hits.
The idea itself was met with a certain degree of cynicism, the main argument being, “Who the fuck are you to put words in Hick’s mouth?”. I agreed. What kind of a self-important, arrogant dick thinks he knows what a dead man thinks?
So I wrote my own piece. Because I’m a self-important, arrogant dick. But one that hopes you enjoy these words…
WHAT WOULD BILL HICKS SAY? MONOLOGUE FOR STAGE
A large framed man, 33, dressed in a bright white trench-coat, bright white jeans and bright white cowboy hat emerges into a spotlight. This is the late BILL HICKS.
He stands on a vast open stage. A single bar stool sits next to a table with a glass of water on it. He walks over takes a sip of the drink and places his hat next to it.
BILL
“I used to be a comic. I used to be a dark little poet. I used to be a preacher. I used to be a blowtorch, an excavator, a soothsayer some would say. Richard Pryor said I was a dangerous and brave truth teller. He told me that again yesterday. That kinda thing could give a man an ego. Here, I’m just another douchebag with some opinions.”
Every so often you’ll turn on the TV and see some actor bitching about how they’ve been type cast or how Tom Hanks steals all the good roles. Ninety eight percent of the time this actor is not very good. The other two percent of the time you’ll be watching an interview with Gary Sinise. Even now, when movie stars seem to be ten a penny, there are very few true renaissance men. Woody Harrelson is one such man.
Last week, in the curious but somewhat apt setting of The Jesus Centre, London, ThisfilmisON sat down with directors Matt Harlock and Paul Thomas to discuss their cracking new documentray American:The Bill Hicks Story and all things Hicksian.
THISFILMISON: You could have any documentary subject in the world, so why Bill Hicks?
MATT HARLOCK: I think Bill was someone who was seen as, especially in the UK, culturally significant. For some reason there had never been a full length feature about his life. There had been one documentary made just after his death…
TFIO: Just a ride…
MH: Yeah but that was only about 35 minutes long and didn’t include much of who the real Hicks was. It was just clips of him performing and a brief overview of his career, so the attraction to the story was the amazing biographical details of his life. A struggle with drugs and alcohol, getting clean, coming from a religious family, trying to break through, (SPOILER ALERT) getting terminal cancer at the age of 32, seeing how much he achieved. These were all attractive elements deserving of wider cultural recognition, something we felt deserved exploring. Didn’t like his comedy much…(laughter)
Friday sees the release of Chris Morris’s first feature film, the Sundance Grand Jury Prize nominated; Four Lions. The film takes a satirical look at Jihad and extremist Islam as it tracks the exploits of a group of less than brilliant Muslim terrorists. With this piece of sure fire comedy gold so close you can smell the outrage this seems like a good time to appreciate the greatness that is Chris Morris.
Born in Cambridgeshire and educated at an all boys Jesuit boarding school in Lancashire before studying Zoology at Bristol University Morris moved back to his birthplace and began a traineeship with the local BBC radio station. While working for BBC Radio Morris wrote Blue Jam which was later re-written and renamed for his first foray into television, Jam. It has been described as ‘a surreal, ambient mix of bleak comedy sketches’, and it is just that, pieces of comedy woven together with abstract confusion and moments of sheer excellence.
