Ever wondered who has to clean up the mess when some schmuck blows his brains out?

Turns out it’s pretty much the same person that cleans your house if you’re rich enough to afford a maid service.

Perhaps iot was because I was already in a bad mood thanks to Chadstone giving me the run around due to construction works, but I found this flcik to be profoundly saddening, with an ending that felt tacked on to simply make you not become the next job on the list of the main characters.

Allow me to explain.

Rose (Amy Adams) is in love with the same guy she was going out with in highschool, still seeing him in fact, even though he’s currently expecting another kid with his actual wife. He’s a cop, she’s a cleaner, I’mexpecting Penelope Cruz to strut in any moment… She doesn’t. Phew! Let’s move on. She’s struggling to raise her son who is gifted, and misbehaves to the point where he has been expelled. The struggle is because she’s actually a controlling bitch who thinks she has to take care of everyone even if they don’t need or wnat her to. Her sister Norah (Emily Blunt), who’s never moved out of their father’s (Alan Arkin) home since their own mother committed suicide, is a complete fuck up goth chick who can’t even hold down a job at a burger joint and is (presumably) in her late 20s at least. Their father is a shyster, consistently going from one hair brained get rich quick scheme to another… usually in the sale of dodgy food products.

All of them are deeply unhappy, unable to form relationships of any kind of meaning, and generally massively dysfunctional.

So the two sisters decide to go into business cleaning up homicide scenes!! Wooooh!

Whilst I can see that being a realistic business decision (someone’s gotta do it, and the money is good), the sheer stupidity of both the characters, both from the outset when they decide to clean a murder scene without even wearing gloves, to the complete and utter ineptitude at which they handle interactions with those around them, is mind boggling.

No wonder she’s still getting being used for sex by the highschool QB, when a perfectly nice guy who basically does her every favour she asks rots away in the back of his shop.

The story is actually somewhat formulaic and predictable. What is refreshing is the twist given to it, but it doesn’t cover up the glaring issues.

Videographically speaking, this movie is refreshing. They don’t bother with filters to alter the mood. They don’t insert scenes where they’re not needed. The vast majority of the the film is set in American suburbia, shot on location in a way that gives you the impression of just a place that could be absolutely anywhere. For a brief moment, I actually thought they’d shot in Adelaide.

The acting all around is actually quite good. I was believing that the actors were their characters for a good portion. It’s what saves this movie from being a tired, semi-arthouse that no one but Jay Sherman would bother to watch.

All up, it’s worth seeing if you have the hankering to see a movie, but can’t stand the idea of seeing a “block buster” because you’re a pretentious wanker, or simply hate Michael Bay.

So I was feeling in a bit of a celbratory mood this week, as I’m now working three days a week from an office that I can walk to, has a nice view, and is actually just a generally pleasant and pleasing work environment.

And what better way the celebrate than Tequila!? (more…)

So you’re out at a goth club, and then some punk biatch comes in and shoots up the joint. And not with heroin or ketamaine, like you’d expect to happen at any good goth club, but with his nines, yo! And not size no Demonia’s, but pistol!!! Coz he be from da East sayeeeeed, beeyotch!

And that’s why no one is safe from rampaging wiggas.

But what can we do to prevent being gunned down in Eminem inspired wannabe gangsta violence? Why, isn’t the solution obvious?! We should all wear bullet proof corsets!

My dear friend Twist, always on the look out for ways to combine her goth lifestyle with bar room brawling (she’s from QLD originally), has found the ultimate way to ensure her own safety, whilst allowing her maximum carnage when people decide to tell her that maybe she something she’d rather not hear.

I think what worries me the most is that there are going to be people wearing these when the zombie uprising happens, thinking that it’s good protective gear. Whilst it may protect you from something up to a .22 (I’m making an asusmption here. It doesn’t look very solid, and most women, particularly goth chicks, don’t get enough calcium for strong bones required not to have tactial armour just shatter your rib cage directly into your own organs) it still leaves plenty of flesh exposed. So whilst they think they can go around wielding the pump action 12 gauge, taking out zombies like they were strippers, they’ve actually left many prone zones on their bodies for zombies to bite and infect them.

Hell, a lucky shot from an above angle (as most goth chicks tend to be short too) or from behind would still get you a decent wound or kill if you’re a human still capable of holding a fire arm, like our example of a sad wigga in the first paragraph.

Another shooter this week folks.

I did mention I was in more of a gettin’ drunk mood lately, didn’t I?

Anyway, this one’s so simple, you can’t fuck it up, and yey you still get to pretend to be all classy because you now more shooters than a QF, a traffic light and a jam donut., (more…)

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