Cinephilia

Alf takes a leaf out of Facebook

I'll be honest wiya. Reason I've bin slackin on film reviews is I've bin workin on another idea. Y'know that Facebook thing? Ad a gander and frankly I'm not impressed.

It's all reet fer t'young uns but some of us are more worried abart stuff like ow long we've got left. So wi this in mind, I've come up wi' a network fer folk me own age: Coffin Up.

It lets folk like me keep tabs on ooz dead an' ooz gonna be joinin 'em soon an' ow much they left t'their ingrate kids. There's plenny o' fun stuff too like what y' want to go on yer epitaph, most original places folk's ad their ashes scattered, an' the funniest one-liners you've 'eard in a eulogy.

It's also a top place to exchange tips on fashion (funeral suits: are elbow patches acceptable?), food and drink (how to do a wake on £50), music (why Candle in the Wind should be blown out) and keep fit for pallbearers.

Any road, I'm 'ere to talk films but cos I've wrote nowt for weeks I thought I'd catch up by nickin an idea from a website I right like: Four-Word Film Review. Cos life's short, tha noz.

Atonement - Poor sod stitched up.
Run Fat Boy Run - Marathon comedy? Miles short.
Rise of the Footsoldier - Glorified thuggery for morons.
1408 - The Shining writ small.
No Reservations - Romcom serving undercooked tripe.
Death Sentence - Kevin Bacon murders career.
Breach - Traitor gets what's coming.
2 Days In Paris - Woody Allen but prettier.

Alf Huckam

Hollywood fails it's A-L-F levels

Tell me summat. If A-level results 'ave got better 58 years in a row, that means folk in this country are brighter now than ever, right? So 'ow come Rush Hour 3's number one at box office? God 'elp us.

The Bourne Ultimatum
Lucky fer us dimwits that there's still somebody art there what can mek an action film what (a) meks sense, (b) keeps y'interested an' (c) don't mek y'deaf. This is one of abart three films put out this year what's worth shellin' out good brass fer. It's third one o' them thrillers what 'as Matt Damian as that spy what can't remember owt. Blessin' in a disguise if y'ask me. An' even though 'e'd be a right asset, CIA wants ter kill 'im. Bloody Yanks, eh?

Rush Hour 3
Who the bloody 'ell is this Chris Tucker idiot, any road? E's not even Chris flamin' Rock, lerralone Eddie Murphy. As fer that Jackie Chang - 'e must be nearly as old as me. An' why folk are still listenin' to 'em screechin' their way through a third pile o' cops'n'robbers tripe is beyond me. Buddy movies they call 'em. Aye - buddy awful.

Copying Beethoven
Copyin' bloody Amadeus, more like. This is like one o' them Sunday night period dramas BBC put on t'get everybody ter bed early. Ed Morris does a top Bob Geldof impression in it. Pity 'e's supposed t'be Beethoven. Tale goes that 'e were inspired t'finish a masterpiece by some pretty lass called Anna who understands 'is scribble and gives 'im sponge baths. Trouble is, lass what plays Anna is to actin' what Beethoven was to 'earing.

Alf's almightily unamused

Sad days fer comedy, these. First Bernard Mannin', then blockbuster merchants Ingrid Bergman and Antony Unnibunni kark it in t'same week. Then Evan Almighty comes out. Seventh Seal changed me life, tha noz... first wife were so bored in it she ran off wi'  an usher from Cleethorpes Picture Palace.

TRANSFORMERS
Robots in disguise? Robots in bloody disgrace, more like. This gibberish were so loud it gev me tinnittinus fer three days. It were like bein' chucked round a car wreckers by a gang o' neo-Nazis, then dumped in a compactor. What's it abart? It's abart robbin' dopey teenagers o' seven quid before buggerin' their eardrums fer life.

THE HOAX
'ey up, it's Richard Gere in natty gear - an' a nice Bamber Gascoigne 'aircut t'boot. Back in 1971 some cheeky apeth med out that 'e were gonna write 'Oward 'Ughes autobibliography. Turns out 'e were lyin' like a cheap Chinese watch. Mind you, 'e were nowt at lyin' compared t' that Nixon bugger. No stranger to a bit o' jiggery-pokery, that lad. Arf decent film this but nubdi's gonna see it cos they'll all be watchin' that Simpsons whatnot.   

EVAN ALMIGHTY
A sorrier excuse fer comedy I 'ave yet t'see. If there were a God, whoever med this feeble barrel-scraper'd be well'n'truly buggered. Tell ya what's funny abart it - absolutely nowt. Jokes're so lame they wouldn't mek it inter t'bloody Beano. 'Ow many times can a bloke fall off a plank o' wood? Too flamin' many. Save yerselves.

Alf Huckam

Alf Huckam and the Order of the Kleenex

'Appen cinema listin's look like bloody pools coupons at minute. Spiderman 3 - Ostel 2; Pirates 3 - Fantastic Four 2; Die Ard 4 - Shrek 3; Arry Potter 5 - Ocean's soddin' 13. Lookin' at that many numbers brings back bad memories o' that time t'wife dragged me to bingo. Frightenin'.

DIE HARD 4.0
Last one o' these Bob Willis action arse-arounds were 12 year since, but nowt much's changed. 'E's still bald, 'is vest's still ripped, an' t'baddies are still bloody 'opeless. Usual gibberish - cars fallin' darn liftshafts, jet planes blowin' up big lorries, an' FBI blokes gerrin shirty - all washed darn wi' Bob's trademark smart-arsery. Dunno abart dyin' ard, but it were bloody ard t'swaller.

HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX
'Ere we are again. A fifth load o' wizardy-woo wi' too much focus on British kids what can't act and too little on British grown-ups what can. Really gets me goat t'think that these little buggers aven't even left school but their pensions are already sorted. Same story - one teacher gives 'Arry grief while that villain wi' no nose does nowt but still 'as everyone brickin' it. Never mind, two more year 'n' it'll all be over. Thank Christ.

TAXIDERMIA
Now I'm nowt if norra man o' t'world, but what in the bleedin' blue blazes is goin' on 'ere? Some bloke's todger sets afire, then 'e rogers a chicken, then they 'ave a kid what looks like Jabba the Hutt. I've 'eard this 'appens a fair bit in Macclesfield but when another bloke what's a taxidermist starts stuffin' 'imself, there's summat up good'n'proper. It were made in Hungary. They allus were a queer bunch.

Alf gets sloppy seconds and steaming thirds

Bin on me 'olidays (Skeggy again - wife's nowt if not predictable), so managed t'miss most o' this summer's fifty-odd sequels, arf-bakes 'n' rebakes. But norrall of 'em.

SHREK THE THIRD
Did nobdi else notice that they ran art of ideas abart 'alfway through
Shrek 2? Quite liked it, mind, but this un's lame as an oss wi' polio. An' another thing - Shrek's not bloody funny. Donkey's best thing in it but they've stolen 'is thunder wi' some crappy Italian cat. Still, y'can 'ave fotty winks while other folks' kids chuck popcorn at screen.

HOSTEL: PART II
This is what y'might get if y'put three lasses an' a video camera in B&Q's tool department wi' Fred West. There's nowt 'ere what's not in t'first un, so unless yer one o' them freaks what likes watchin' folk gerrin their 'eads cut off on t'internet, best give it a swerve. Is it bloody? Aye - bloody rubbish.

FANTASTIC FOUR: THE RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER
'ey up, it's another dose o' comicbook claptrap fer kids 'n' cretins. Stretchy Man's abart t'get married to Glass Lass, but some flash bugger whizzes past on a tea tray an' causes an 'elicopter to fall on Bogeyman's girlfriend, so Fireboy guz after 'im. Turns out shiny britches int s'bad, but world's gonna end any road. It's abart as adventurous as Steve McLaren but that's not point - it'll sell loads o' toys an' t-shirts.

Alf Huckam

Alf Huckam gets saddle-sore

Time were that only films what went on longer 'n two hours were Gone Wit Wind, Ben-Ur an' them Cecil Gee De-Mille jobbies. These days y'spend so long in t'bloody cinema y'might as well pay yer bloody council tax there. After an arf-hour o' soddin' adverts an' them unfunny prats what ram Orange phones down us throats, there's a cartload o' trailers what show all t'best bits from owt what's comin' up. So yer already bustin' fer a Jimmy Riddle afore t'film's even bloody started. Then when it does, it guz on fer-bloody-ever.

'Ere's a list o' runnin' times o' some films whats been out s'far this year. I've also med some suggestions o' bits they coulda ditched fer everybody's benefit. But if tha's got piles, a weak bladder or a bad case o' t'fidgets, best avoid this bunch o' arse-cripplers.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End - 2h 48m
Cut it art: any bits wi' Keira Nightmare an' all them double-crosses - it's a flamin' kids film!

The Good Shepherd - 2h 47m
Cut it art: all them scenes where Matt Demon sits there lookin' miserable.

Zodiac - 2h 37m
Cut it art: that dopey basement scene. We know nowt's gonna 'appen ter that cartoonist bloke cos 'e wrote soddin' book.

Casino Royale - 2h 24m
Cut it art: last 20 minutes.

Blood Diamond - 2h 23m
Cut it art: All them bar chats between Leon diCapricorn an' that reporter bird.

Babel - 2h 23m
Cut it art: Kate Blanchflower's never-endin' death scenes. An' that bit where t'deaf lass goes fer a night down t'disco - enough t'give anyone a fit.

Letters From Iwo Jima - 2h 21m
Cut it art: Clint Eastwood's been numbin' everybody's arses fer nearly fotty year, so 'e's not gonna stop now.

Spider-Man 3 - 2h 20m
Cut it art: Where d'ya start? Any villain could go, that kitchen dance... in fact, does anyone give a monkey's which bloody Mary-Jane Mary Jane ends up wi'?

Flyboys - 2h 18m
Cut it art: Love story's bloody rubbish.

The Lives Of Others - 2h 17m
Cut it art: All them theatre scenes.

Flags Of Our Fathers - 2h 12m
Cut it art: see Letters From Iwo Jima.

Dreamgirls - 2h 11m
Cut it art: All t'musical numbers.

Summat else t'look forrard to: Quentin Tarantula's new film is best part o' three'n'arf hours long. Grindhouse? Grind-arse, more like.

Alf Huckam

Alf sees zombies, and 28 minutes later...

All of a sudden, life int s'bad. Blair's buggered off, global warmin's over, an' God's own county's top cricket team in t'land. I've not been this suited since I found 'alf a crown next t' mother-in-law's coffin.

28 WEEKS LATER
At last, somebody's seen fit ter wipe London offert map. Pity there were nobdi there bar a lorryload o' zombies. What's 'appened is that every bugger what's not a slavverin' cannibal lives in a safe bit o' t'East End (there's irony for thee). Obviously, it all guz crackers cos some bugger put bloody Yanks in charge. Then there's an hour's worth o' folk gerrin shot, burnt an' ripped ter bits. Guts'n'gore all ovver t'shop. Not bad like, but if tha wants ter see real zombies, get thi sen down Elland Road on match day.

ZODIAC
We're no strangers t'serial killers up north (Gail Tilsley marries most of 'em in Corrie), but this Zodiac lad were top dog when it came t'givin' coppers t'runaround. He certainly put kibosh on all that 'free love' claptrap what were goin' on in San Francisco back in t'70s. This is abart 'ow a cop (Mark Buffalo) an' a writer (Jake Haagendaaz) tried ter catch 'im, but there's no 'appy ending cos bugger gorraway scot-free. Still, I've nowt against anyone what keps Yank population in check... an' there's some reet natty shirts on show.

BLACK SNAKE MOAN
I can remember that Christine Ritchie when she were abart ten year auld in t'Addams Family... so it seems all sorts o' wrong t'be watchin' 'er flashin' 'er knockers abart in this barmy pervorama. She's this Tennessee tart what gets chained to a radiator be a bible-bashin' blues bloke, played be Samuel Pulp Fiction. 'E reckons it'll save 'er soul. I reckon it's time fer a walk. Where's me mac?

Alf skins up

Aye I know these 'ere reviews are out late doors but wife got inter some bother on a mystery tour at weekend. Bus got t'Scarborough (Len's Mystery Tours allus end up in Scarborough) but she were so busy bungin' 'er bloody pension in t'one-arm bandit, she got left there, the dozy pillock. So muggins 'ere 'ad t'pay fer a Senior Citizens Weekend Apex Standard Supersaver Special Single t'pick 'er up. She'll think on afore doin' it again, mind.

THIS IS ENGLAND
Aye it might be England, but I'm buggered if I know what town this were s'posed t'be. Accents were all over t'place - it were like United Colours O' t'National Front. Any road, I 'eard that it were gonna be a real 'ard-as-nails affair but it were all a bit tea 'n' fairycakes, like. Like Kes wi' crewcuts. It's abart this nipper what falls in wi' a bunch o' spotty 'erberts then meets a proper wrong 'un. Coupla scenes are quite nasty but I reckon it paints too pretty a picture o' skin'eads. I don't care 'ow many reggae records they 'ad, they were nowt but bloody 'ooligans.

NEXT
Not 'appy wi' one dose o' the silly buggers this year, Nicolas Cage 'as follered up Ghost Rider wi' summat even more bloody stupid. He's this magician what can see t'future. Juliet Moore's a miserable FBI agent what thinks 'e can stop a nucular bomb from goin' off. She's terrible, but not as bad as special effects. They're six shade o' shyte. Any road, I'm not sure what's more ridiculous - film or t'director. 'Appen the daft sod got three years' probation fer chattin' up a copper while dressed like a woman. Pity they didn't stop 'im from makin' films fer three years.

THE BREED
There's summat up when Next is only t'second most idiotic film o' t'week. This masterpiece is abart some dozy Yanks what pitch up on a tropical island what's swarmin' wi' mad German Shepherds. An' I don't mean blokes wi' reinforced wellies called Gunther. Bring back Barbara Wood'ouse.

Alf takes a swing at Spider-Man 3

'Ey up, 'appen this could be t'first review o' Spider-Monkey 3 from north o' Chesterfield. An' worrit worth spendin' two'n'arf hours amongst 200 teenagers wi' t'attention span of a goldfish? Worrit 'eckerslike. Bugger spider sense - it were me arse what were tinglin' after sittin' through all that computerated cobblers.

For them as gives a gnat's chuff, Tony Maguire's back as Peter Plonker - aka Spider-Man - while Kirsty Dunston repeats 'er cardboard cutout routine as 'is girlfriend Mary Jane (though there's only one Mary-Jane in this film, far as I'm concerned).

Starts off wi' Peter abart t'pop question, but she's not 'avin' it on account of 'im turnin' into a big 'eaded prat. Dunno what fuss is abart - they're such a pair o' bloody drips, they deserve each other.

In another "Gerron wi' it!" plotline what's been goin' on since first film, that Harry Osborn's still got bottom lip out cos Spides killed 'is old man. So they 'ave a big scrap what gives everybody 'eadache - includin' Osborn.

Meanwhile, an escaped criminal's just fallen into a radioactive sandpit - as y'do - an' been turned into a walkin' buildin' site. Then we've got another big scrap what gives everybody 'eadache. Funny 'ow nobody thinks ter mix 'im wi' cement an' leave 'im out t' dry... S'pose that'd tek too much common.

That's not all, neither. No, there's a photographer called Brock after Peter's job. But that's alreet cos Peter's after Brock's blonde bit o' stuff. An' ter top it all, some sticky tar from outer space turns Spider-man's leotard black - an' that turns Peter inter Spider-muppet. Then - just as yer gerrin' rid o' yer last 'eadache - the goo gets stuck ter Brock an' there's an even bigger scrap.

So what you've got is boys from the blackstuff and a Sandman. It's a good combination if yer layin' a driveway, but as a story it's abart as excitin' as yer average Batman sequel. An' addin' more subplots than a privatised allotment don't mek it any better.

There's a couple o' laughs an' t'effects are decent enough (be a bugger if they weren't when it cost 250 million Yank dollars) - but it's still like watchin' someone else play a videogame. I've seen worse, mind.

Any road, like owt I say'll stop it from mekkin' enough brass to end third world debt.

Alf is cursed

Dogs. That's where this flamin' country's goin'. You've got folk what signed up t'serve queen an' country gerrin' a fortune t' bleat about 'ow dangerous it is in t'middle east. We've gorra team of ale-cart cricketers what meks Bangla-bloody-desh look like 1979 West Indies. An' what's number one at box office? Mr Bean's bloody 'oliday. Jee. Zuss. Christ. Every bugger's gone soft, sitha - mainly in t'ead.

CURSE OF THE GOLDEN FLOWER
Hell's teeth, I've not felt this paranoid abart bein' poked wi' a pointy weapon since some bugger spiked me pint wi' LSD on that trip t' Leeds Armouries. It's another one o' them 'eroes wi' flyin' daggers jobs from China. Story's straight outta t'Skelmanthorpe Gazette - poisonin', masses o' cleavage, incest, bloody battles, lairy outfits, funny dialects - an' it's a reet bobbydazzler. It's not far off what you'd get if Shakespeare wrote Kill Bill.

WILD HOGS
You'll struggle t'shell out fer owt less funny than this sorry rustbucket of a comedy. These four sad sacks in their 40s decide t'spice up their lives on a motorbike trip. Pity they don't spice up any other bugger's life. It's like a rubbish episode o' the A-Team where they save a town from a gang o' bikers what don't swear cos it's fer kids. What the bloody 'ell did y'expect from four actors what's inflicted Big Momma's House, T'Santa Clause, Be Cool an' Jurassic Park III on us?

PERFECT STRANGER
Now if y'want proper comedy, y'should get along ter see Bruce Wallace and Ally Berry in this. They're tryin' t'push it as a clever murder mystery for t'internet generation, but y'd 'ave ter be Jade Goody t'buy a minute of it. 'E's a flash advertisin' man what fettles owt in a dress an' she's a reporter what reckons 'e murdered one of 'er old mates. Dialogue's more embarrassin' than a bust colostomy bag an' it's abart as convincin' as Brucie's toupee.