Crazy, Stupid, Love: The Best Film Ever Made Ever?

After watching Crazy, Stupid, Love I can hereby confirm to you all that I’m not crazy and I’m definitely not stupid, but I am in love. With this film. Which is crazy, but surprisingly not stupid.

It stars the hottest people in the world and Julianne Moore figuring out how to best procreate and apparently the answer is always knock back six gallons of hard liquor. Vodka if you’re a man, whisky if you’re a woman, because who needs gender stereotypes when you can have transgender stereotypes? And yes before you ask Steve Carrell does count as one of those ‘hot’ people, so sue us. It’s fine though because we’re about to write five paragraphs on Ryan Gosling.

Ryan Gosling.

The idea, the man, the abs. Those are just three of the things he has going for him plus the boy can act we have to throw it to him. We like how he acts in leather jackets, in suits, in blood, but mostly we like the way he acts out of his clothes into his car and right to our house, that’s the sort of talent Brando never had. He even acted alongside a toothpick and along with children and animals they’re just a no-no, but somehow baby-duck Gosling pulled it off.

OH COME ON

Crazy, Stupid, Love is one of those films that makes you change your mind about ‘those kind of films’ and along the way it makes you wish you had this exact life and when I say, “this exact life,” what I mean is it makes you wish you were one half of the pair Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone, it really doesn’t matter who you are because they are both incredible human beings with life’s more fulfilling than whatever it is you’re doing right now: said the girl writing this at 2 am.

In seriousness though (dim the house lights) it was more than just funny, it was a steam train chugging away; all aboard the Emotional Express: destination, your heart strings. You might not actually learn anything that you can put into action because like us you’re a lonely soul, a lone wolf, a lone ranger…you get the gist. The great thing here though is IT DOESN’T MATTER because now that you’ve seen Crazy, Stupid, Love you’re fucked, well and truly and doubly if you’re in a relationship, so sorry guys, sorry. You might be wondering why and I’m going to tell you that after a short paragraph on goddess Emma Stone.

Emma Stone.

The illusion, the woman, the fiery hair. She’s gone from strength to The Helpful strength since her days of teen comedy, wait you thought this was a teen comedy? GET OUT OF MY BLOG YOU VAGRANT. She’s a serious actor now with her films about the issues jazzed up for a new generation, I mean I learnt such important life lessons from Easy A, like never have a bitch for a best friend and that served me well in my life.

Yeah, I know.

Why you’re all fucked, single or not.

Why would you want to be part of any couple where you aren’t with or made up of the genetic code of Emma Stone and/or Ryan Gosling? You wouldn’t. Even when they aren’t having sex and they’re just talking about their sublime lives they’re having better sex than you. Ryan Gosling is the most casually charming six pack you will ever meet mixed with the perfect amount of sleaze. His voice is alluring and confuses us in our quest to have a defined sexuality. Someone make this man James Bond right now, seriously. He’s all vulnerable and secure and smouldering, he’s sort of surpassed ‘man’ status now, he’s a phenomenon and we’re going to start The Church of the Latter Day Ryan’s if you fancy joining?

Emma’s here too dumping the begeesers out of Josh Groban for being a massive knob which is unfortunate because we actually quite like a bit of the wet, sappy Groban, obviously, he’s not good enough for our Em, but then who is? (Ryan). She plays it all empowered woman who doesn’t need love, but her heart soon melts when she gets a load of him. Her hair is fabulous; even when covered in water from the sky. She does her little array of laughs and voices and of course the obligatory snort which we’re convinced is a clause in her contract somewhere. IT’S ADORABLE. She’s so ‘every girl’ which is what the world loves about her, so it’s a real shame when you realise you could never be her, not Emma, not that beacon of worship.

What that all should say is that you might want to watch Crazy, Stupid, Love and change your life in in the trivial ways that really matter. I mean you’ll never get laid looking like that. No, you should be taking tips from this man who doesn’t actually look too much like what he’s aiming for, but you know it’s the thought that counts or something equally meaningful about how it;s great to not be yourself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTm2ru-APUw


Normal Service will resume in 5…4…3…2…

‘… and they watched the fire which does contain within it something of men themselves inasmuch as they are less without it and are divided from their origins and are exiles. For each fire is all fires, the first fire and the last ever to be.’

Oh snap, you caught me. I thought I’d try to sneak back in here whilst you were chewing on the apocalyptic verse of Cormac ‘were all going to die’ McCarthy. Ah well Hiya! It’s me Scruffy, returned after a five-month tenure visiting all the sacred sites of the major and minor religions in order to gain a greater spiritual insight into the self and the act of blogging as a meditative release.

Henceforth Metajunkies shall strive to be bigger, stronger, funnier, more productive, more sensual, more relevant, better written, more serious, less serious, less dedicated to pithy throwaway cultural references and finally, thanks to the lengthy sermons of Pastor Aloysius Avarice of Waynesville, North Carolina, much, much more radically Right-Wing.

Unfortunately Sharpie is away, giving seminars on advanced IED defusal to private military contractors in an as yet un-named location, so I shall be at the helm for a while, but never fear, no doubt she’ll come slinking back once the money runs out.

Right, before we start there’s some house-keeping to get out of the way:

E-MAILS: None

COMMENTS: None

SUBSCRIBERS: One! Congratulations ijm1983@yahoo.co.uk for your staunch and steadfast support when all others recognised a sinking ship when they saw one, I’ll buy you a pint out of that thirty quid I owe you.

Now, on with the show.

(EDIT: ijm1983@yahoo.co.uk just contacted me in a lengthy and some may argue foul-mouthed e-mail saying I actually owe him forty quid and if I don’t get it to him soon he’ll send a crew of Rough Lads packing brass doorknobs in burlap sacks to pound my kidneys into a bloody urine pâté.)


Canne Not

Us Meta Junkies, well me anyway-the other one is happily playing his new x-box games, are devastated that we aren’t at Cannes Film Festival when everyone else in the entire reviewing world is, even the unimportant and YOUNGER THAN US Ultraculture got a yellow press pass. As we live in this bastardised internet savvy environment we can’t even  forget about the event because twitter is making Woody Allen jokes right in our faces and ‘videoblogisodes’ whatever the hell they are are being streamed into our brains. We don’t like it. You’re actually quite lucky this entire thing isn’t in caps as a 21st century representation of my pain.

Instead of living it up in France with the smelly, frog-eating, bread-carrying, French people* we got a bit drunk in Salford, went to a glam-rock night our friend put on, got drunk a bit more, watched Thor and then topped it all off by watching The Thing for the first time. Now I’m going to bear all in a review that will be nothing like all the other one’s you have already read.

After the initial disappointment of having to watch  it in 3D Thor  actually wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t camp and it wasn’t cheesy and it was actually a little bit funny, It’s up there with Iron Man as the best super-hero adaptations. Well done then Ken.

Asgard looked shiny and cool; the bridge to the bi-frost was the strongest aspect. New Mexico was a perfect setting for arrogant hero in small town style slapstick and chaos which turned out to be more than just a little light relief from some big non-human words and names. Chris Hemsworth was perfect for Thor with his flowing golden locks and massive abs and Natalie Portman clearly thought so too as did every woman in his vicinity. Portman might not get the kind of accolades here she did for Black Swan, but it’s got to be better than whatever swan-dive her career is taking from that Ashton Kutcher ‘movie’ and let’s not forget Your Highness, granted I haven’t seen either of these films, but you can’t make me do that so just understand they aren’t very good and we’ll move on to Loki. Tom Hiddleston was a show stealer here portraying a perfect amount of hurt and born-to-be-evil glamour that looked great in a cape, you might recognise him from TV, but probably not. I’m going to say the word SPOILER RIGHT NOW before I go on to ruin it for you all and I’ll even be nice and leave a little gap, but not a big one, so just click away if you don’t want to ruin anything for you and I apologise for making you leave. Please come back.

If you wait till the end of the credits you can see the little Avengers bit that only the geekiest are aware exists at the end of the recent slew of Marvel flicks to hit our screens and you can see a little more Tom with hints to what I can only assume will be a lovely empowered evil role in The Avengers next year.

Right Thor  was good then, The Thing was pretty cool too. It scared the crap out of me actually and I went to bed shuddering. I did get told off for falling asleep in the Alien-esque stomach bursting bit, but I was bloody tired. The monsters were excellently designed and the soundtrack was for me the creepiest bit, Carpenter is always great at that though. Still looks awesome after all these years and may just be one of my favourite scary movies,  in case Ghostface ever comes to ask.

Cannes is still in swing for another week I think so be prepared for another one of these and I hope everybody who is there is having a horrible time.

*No stereotypes were used in the creation of this blog


In which Zack Synder is compared to a drunken frat-boy with an erection.

Once upon a time we at Metajunkies had a dream, a special dream. We wanted to create a website which celebrated art, culture and just a little bit of love. A website which saw not the cruel and stupid and ugly in society but instead recognised all that is beautiful and good and worthy about human kind. Alas, as with all things, that dream quickly, quietly died. Aborted, as like a bird never even allowed the chance to take flight. Nowadays we spend our time reviewing Sucker Punch.

Ah, Zack Snyder, what have ye done? Didn’t you realise you had a good thing going simply taking the works of greater men and adding a slow-motion tracking shot and an anachronistic cover of a popular song? Why else do you think those delivery men kept on dropping off bushels of money at your door?  How the fuck else can you now afford that yacht shaped like The Hulk’s angry fist? It certainly wasn’t your keen understanding of character, or pacing, or even basic coherence.

That’s right, the man who didn’t think there was anything slightly peculiar, if not downright ironic about the latent xenophobia present in Frank Miller’s 300 has been given the opportunity to make a movie about anything he damn well pleases. The results are less a film and more a comprehensive list of Zack Snyder’s personal psychiatric problems, as filtered through the eyes of a monkey masturbating in the throes of a Ritalin dervish.

So, whilst slugging back Bud Lites and catching the game in an idiot’s sports bar Snyder was beset by a drunk academic who smelt of the sea and potential gone to rot. It was in the rough course of the scholar’s gin talk that the director’s brain heard about this computer game or something called The Bell Jar. Snyder soon found himself helplessly intrigued, not by the story of a young woman’s descent into depression and madness, but how this Plath dude could miss out on what all truly great works of art need; the holy trinity of guns, swords and tits, and robots, and Nazis! In the trenches!

Nerdgasm!

Dizzy with possibilities, Snyder fist-bumped the now incoherent wino and raced out of the bar, almost tripping over his unlaced sneakers with excitement. This was fantastic. All his life Snyder felt different, felt special. Now, finally, he was going to prove it to the world. All he needed was to get his awesome owl film out of the way.

Okay, so almost none of that scene took place, but I think it does replicate the basic impulses that drive Snyder onward. If he had decided to simply release a quadrate of music-videos detailing his every stupid fantasy then that would have been… well, not fine exactly, but understandable. Instead he had to place them in a framing narrative that becomes sillier the further down the rabbit-hole we go. That a recently-institutionalised woman should retreat into a fantasy world so as to escape the horrors of her situation makes sense. The fact that this is the fantasy world not of a damaged young lady in the sixties but of a mentally-stunted World of Warcraft enthusiast is less so.

In fact said institution is itself too much of a downer for Snyder, so let’s turn it into a high-class brothel. Sweet! Unfortunately Snyder has a child-like approach to human sexuality and thinks that women spend exactly one half of their time gyrating lustily on a man’s lap and the other half getting raped. In fact ‘getting raped’ seems to be the only threat Snyder can possibly envisage for a woman. It happened in 300 for no good reason and there was a very intense scene again in his Watchmen adaptation which was only alluded to in the graphic-novel. Sucker Punch has been described, by me at least, as the horrible sex-fantasy of a demented misogynist. I don’t actually think that’s the case. The tone of the film is simply too childish to be truly offensive. Then again, Synder mysteriously made some concessions to the ratings board, having to cut several scenes so that it could be a PG-13. You could confidently take your children to watch this film knowing that they will only leave the cinema with a vague sense of depression. In fact I thought that the women of Sucker Punch were almost too beautiful. They made me want to court them Edwardian style, placing my coat on the floor so they didn’t have to tread in peasant shit.

As for the violence, well there isn’t any, not unless you seriously feel for the plight of imaginary orcs and steam-powered Nazi-men. The action itself looks pretty, as it tends to in Snyder’s films, however due to the central conceit of the film, that it all takes place in a fantasy, there is never any sense of risk or danger. In fact with no tangible connection between the fantastic scenarios except for that created in Snyder’s stupid mind, it is almost impossible to care about what happens during these sequences. Which is peculiar considering what happens involves giant samurai with chain-guns which is basically what I think about when I’m taking a dump without a book.

The cast itself isn’t up to much either. Jon Hamm makes the most confused-looking cameo I’ve seen in quite a while, which is understandable seen as by that point the film stopped making sense about seventy minutes ago. The women look beautiful as I said but given the amount of dialogue in the film that is basically all they have the opportunity to do. In fact I don’t think that the ­main-character, Babydoll (Emily Browning) actually says a word for the first forty-five minutes as Snyder is too obsessed with turning everything into a music video to remember that he’s dealing with actors and not backing-dancers. Also I fear that if you decided to speed the film up to real time it wouldn’t last more than five minutes.

Overall Sucker Punch is the greatest example of style over substance I can think of, and when I say ‘style’ I mean a protracted music video involving the cast of Final Fantasy VIII fighting the Helghast in the middle of Arkham Asylum. In fact if you understood everything about that last sentence then this film is probably for you.


You will be unprepared

Zack Snyder, fan-boy without a budget, shows us what his (wet) dreams look like. What ensues is the slaughter of Nazi-zombies by scantily clad ‘chicks’ on a road-trip through a mental asylum/dance-club/apocalyptic game wasteland.

You might think that sounds great and you would be quite right, but as somebody famous no doubt said, theory is different to practice.

Snyder has made quite a name for himself in refashioning everyone’s favourite cultural products of yesteryear; Watchmen, 300, Dawn of the Dead, and his visual style has never been short of stunning. With this, his first original offering, he lets his imagination run away with himself like a feral child. It looks sharp, snazzy, and satisfyingly cool, but then it always would have, what Snyder lacks is depth. Dialogue here is scarce, as are characters that anyone would give two hoots about, and not to mention the distinct lack of anything resembling a plot, but then it does have smoking-hot empowered female leads right? For reasons not quite clear yet everyone expected this to be the case and thus critics the world over have cyber-bitched about the inherent misogyny of a sexualized female cast. I’m not sure if anyone saw 300, but it’s full of men wearing skimpy clothing and nobody cared about that, this really isn’t that bad. Snyder has bastardised himself a bit here by showing too little and leaving the audiences mind to create whatever bizarre sexual fantasy they want. If we had seen Babydoll do a nice little dance a-la Britney nobody would be complaining, instead we’re left to our own sick desensitized imaginations. Sadly it’s a bit ambitious to think the director was trying to confront societies menace.

While the women of the film are busy moaning, groaning, and grunting (mostly in slow motion), the men are getting some half-decent roles. With a quick appearance by John Hamm, Don Draper to you and me, the only interesting and developed character in this graphical showcase is Oscar Isaac as Blue Jones. In each layer of the film, let the Inception comparisons begin, he plays a sadistic ‘manager’ in a constantly emasculating power-struggle with ‘his girls’, a great new talent from the Eli Roth school of evil, Isaac could easily adapt to the scenery of a Tarantino type film. These layers which the film relies so heavily on are presented simply as performances, the film starts with a red curtain, each ‘act’ of the play starts with a mission and a dance, when the music stops so does the un-reality, it’s an interesting technique and the asylum as a club worked beautifully, but go a bit a deeper and the emptiness takes hold. Utterly un-cohesive is the only way to describe the events that take place within this multi-faceted world.

Snyder’s aim here seems to be nothing more than creating a two-hour show reel of music videos. He’s good at that and he used music beautifully in Watchmen, here he drowned in the dreaded remix-album. Any fight scene that includes an industrial remix of a Bjork song is designed only for a game and all scenes in this Nazi/dragon/robot infested world looked and sounded like cut-scenes. If they don’t develop a videogame from this then somebody somewhere should be sacked.

Zack Snyder isn’t a bad film maker; possibly, he’s just not a very good creator. Oozing through Sucker Punch’s every pore is Snyder’s influences from anime, TV, games, films, music, and anything else he may have encountered in his life. As a film maker fully stocked up on Ritalin he tries to show us everything and in doing so shows us little of anything. Just calm down Zack and go back to remaking and remodelling.


The wedding one

I miss Skins already, don’t you? When it ended I felt my life deflate a little bit.

For now though we can still live in bliss as I discuss what exactly just happened on my poor laptop screen. I feel like I should apologise for clearly missing crucial pieces of information from last weeks mental breakdown, I for one was very shocked to learn that Rich had proposed, because on the Channel Four I was watching this never occured, which is quite terrible since the entire finale revolved around this. At least I have an excuse to watch it again now.

As much as this episode massaged my brain into a sweet sweet coma it pissed me off in equal measure. Liv suddenly didn’t give a shit about her relationship based on booze with Matty and decided that Franky could come along for the ride when clearly, as she later realised in a moment of enlightenment, he wanted to shag her in the woods–hasn’t happened enough this series. Also we shouldn’t be starting to like Mini now because she is slowly turning into a ‘caring lesbian’ she is probably still a bitch deep down inside and she should be crying herself to sleep. The writers really need to bang some more stereotypes in, their target audience will be getting confused. One last thing which thouroughly annoyed me was Nick’s existence. He is now un-neccessary to the plot and should be disposed of like the beer cans he is never without. Rugby was never that good mate, go home and cry to daddy.

Otherwise it was rather enjoyable and an interesting finale of action packed proportions. So the couple whose wedding it was suppossed to be weren’t really the centre of attention, too much stuff was happening on the way to the wedding, in the woods. Okay so the only bit that gripped me was the bit in the woods. Skins is always better when it’s in the woods, as we have witnessed over the course of five series it’s a tried and tested method for carnage and success. This time round we got some latent homosexual feelings arising, which they didn’t explore enough and I look forward to it coming up in the next series, we got poor Franky telling us just why she is adopted, also an excellent tale, and we got her then tumbling of the edge of a little cliff after NOT having sex in the woods. You can’t please everyone I suppose.

After all that was over and business had been taken care of, nobodies head would be fucked with any longer, they set-up the next series brilliantly with a reintroduction of the aformentioned head fuckery and some lovely back and forth shots of texting. Those clever souls over at E4 have realised the future is upon us and are taking full advantage of it. Next series should be filmed entirely via facebook with the occasional Skype conversation for a bit of excitement. The first social media show, I can see the critics swarming already.

Usually I would now talk about the music, but lets face it, it was good and average that’s about it. Though I have just discovered Segal who is rather excellent so I will say a begrudging thanks to Kyle and be done with it. Thanks (dick).

That’s it folks, my banter has drawn to a close and I’ll have to find something else to weekly disturb and excite myself with, but I did just read the news that Skins has a film coming out this summer which will focus on the second generation, but feature the first and third accordingly. I’m absolutely terrified of that.

 

 


It’s high art obviously

This week Skins decides that the popular literary figure Shakespeare, you might have heard of him, is cool. Grace decides that sustaining a voice doesn’t matter, and everyone gets out their ‘coke eyes’. Sounds good I know.

I appear to have missed all important plot points this week, if indeed any occurred, and only saw Frankie kiss everyone on command while saying that she isn’t bi-sexual she “just likes people”, great writing coming to you from E4 since 2005.

Despite all this it was however Grace’s episode, though it did appear to be more like a Mr.Blood (Chris Addison) greatest hits compilation as he pranced about the scenery spouting nonsensical shit in a pan-British accent. The accents played a large part of this weeks shows mainly because, never having been to Bristol, none of them sounded remotely Bristolian in nature. Of course I recognise that they are professionaly trained thespians from the ‘big-city’, but I mean come on, if you can’t make it Skins then you have no chance, which is why nobody knows what any of the previous cast members are doing. Nicholas Hoult being the exception, but then he worked with Hugh Grant so nothing else really matters does it.

GOD I ALMOST FORGOT THE PEA SONG.

For those unawares the pea song is a cultural movement unbeknown to anyone in the modern world that isn’t a complete and utter shit-tard of a human being. If this doesn’t signal a last attempt at greatness before ‘the fall’ then I don’t know what does. Empires have been ruined by less. Just ask Julias.

I’m still recovering from that memory for a while so let’s discuss the aforementioned ‘coke eyes’. Picture the scene: four quiet girls in a bedroom full of floaty stuff with nothing to do, they get out their limitless supply of cocaine, kiss daddy goodbye, and run off to the club that doesn’t ask for any form of identification from said underage children. It’s a great world I know. Once at this club where all their friends also happen to be, it’s obviously not a school night, they decide to ‘get off with’ some fat bloke and his mate, Matty takes unkindly to the unwanted attention Franky is recieving and asks him politely to leave by scaring the living shit out of millions of people with what is the complete opposite of Bette Davis Eyes. That boy can act. Maybe. No, no he can’t. We can all begin to walk the long road to recovery know because he clearly had an overdose of something. Sorry about that long-winded rant, but someone had to say it and I am speaker of the truth. Anyway I’m sure next week all this trouble will end, or be exacerbated-who knows, when him and Franky just have sex already, Liv won’t mind she’ll just have another five bottles of Vodka.

Since I don’t know what I’m saying anymore I’ll just stop saying things, other than that the music this week was unusually good and I would like to say well done Kyle. We had a bit of Jessie J, The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, James Blake, The National, and Magnetic Man amongst others. God it’s a great time to be alive.


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