The exciting world of Cowboy/Hair puns and yet more Spoiler free Dredd

Last weekend was the official opening weekend of the new Judge Dredd movie - readers of this blog will know ("Yeah, I know, Dave. You've banged on about it enough") that I was lucky enough to be invited to an exclusive screening a week ago in London, but thanks to John Burdis (author of the excellent Cellar of Dredd blog) the evening of Saturday the 8th would see us both clad in our Judge outfits promoting the film for the Empire Cinema in Leicester Square.

This time Tara would be with me as would my friend Paul, neither of whom had seen the film yet. Lunchtime Saturday saw us on the train again and I was absolutely dreading (no pun intended) what was to come - mainly because it was absolutely sweltering (uncomfortably so, in fact) and I found myself loath to be wandering around in sweaty leathers for a whole evening as I'd seriously be running the risk of passing out.

The train journey was unexpectedly made more entertaining by a twitter related pun-off between my friend John Moynes and myself prompted by a crap gag I'd thought of on the way up that I felt had to be unleashed upon the world.

Yes, I'm not sure why either. It just tickled me at the time. Moynes quickly returned with a post..

..and thus Cowboy/Hair War was declared and the salvo began.

"Unless you're the man with no mane" - BLAM - "Or that guy from a Fistful of Straighteners", "Or the fella from High Plaits Drifter", "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Curler Robert Ford" - KABOOM - "The GHD, The Bad and the Ugly", "Bury my Hair at Wounded Knee" - WUMPPHHHH - "Redhead Redemption", "There will be blondes", "Bunanza", "Butch Cassidy and the Skinhead kid". The onslaught continued...

..and then (with the sound of a whistle growing louder) BLAM, an unexpected and blinding assault from Fifth Columnist Tara - who by this stage had suspected what I was busy doing when I asked for her help in thinking of a Western that had "The real" in the title so I could pun on the word "L'oreal"

..and then we arrived at London. Proof therefore of two things - that punning can act as a distraction from tedious long journeys, and secondly that the whole genre of cowboy/hair related puns is a rich vein from which to tap. If you can think of any more, please let me know - there must be some that we hadn't thought of.

Meeting Paul in London we headed to Leicester Square to grab a bite to eat - however, we happened to choose a KFC that had been equipped with the most sensitive fire alarm known to man, which of course chose mid-meal to go off, so were left standing on the streets to finish our meals, having been evacuated. Upon our return inside the alarm went off again, but this time the flames would have had to be lapping around my trainers for me to desert my chicken and chips.

Judge Burdis was already outside the cinema trooping when I there at around 17:45 so I went straight inside the cinema - where we'd been given the warmest disabled toilets in the UK to get changed in - and got into costume. There was a brief moment of panic where I ruined three out of my four contact lenses trying to put them in, and another horrifying moment where I thought I'd left my headband (essential at sweat collection for the Judge helmet - a phrase that sounds way cruder than I'd intended) at home. Still, some fifteen minutes later saw everything done and me out in the hubbub of Leicester Square.

Judges Court and Burdis greet the Brit-Cit movie-goers with the famous
Mega City blend of hospitality and warmth

Luckily there was a bit of a breeze and Steve Green (of Minty fame) was there with bottles of water, so my fears were unfounded. The crowds seemed to enjoy having us there - and a surprising amount of people knew who we were dressed as - and the afternoon and early evening were taken up with having hundreds of photographs taken of us posing with our guns and beating up passers-by (many of them children, I'm ashamed/amused* to say). John was in his element, at one stage picking up a bride from a hen party with a firemans lift, much to her (and her friends) amusement, and rushing inside the cinema with her. I also failed desperately to convince a lovely 76 year old lady (who was desperate to get a photograph with me, although she had no idea who I was supposed to be) that she should go to see Dredd instead of Anna Karenina **.

There was also some amusement when a foreign gentleman asked me who I was supposed to be in very poor English. I tried to explain as best as I could, but he'll now go home convinced he spent a while on Saturday evening in Leicester Square speaking to an oddly dressed man named George Court.

By early evening many of the 2000ad forum members coming to the showing - along with my wife and Paul, now returned from sampling Londons finest ales - were now all present so we all made our way inside The Empire. In advance of the adverts before the movie starting we had the opportunity for some photographs of us sitting in the cinema in full costume and also got the opportunity to have some photographs taken with John and I standing on the stage right in front of the curtains.

Judges Court and Burdis laugh in the face of 18 rated gore whilst those around them drop their popcorn in astonishment

After the film - more on which later - we had the opportunity for some photographs with people inside the cinema and then it was time to - at long last - get changed out of some very sweaty clobber and return to relative normality. And for anybody who happened to be travelling on the tube between Leicester Square and Snaresbrook last Saturday evening, I apologise if you had to stand anywhere near me - You'll know if you were, as your nose won't quite have recovered yet. I was humming like a barbershop quartet after a hot day in leathers.

So, how was the second viewing? Despite the fact that both screenings saw me in the presence of fanboys (and I'm not ashamed to count myself as one of their number) it was interesting to see it again without the whole "Squeee I'm Sitting Near To John Wagner and Carlos Ezquerra in an exclusive screening" fever pitch mood accompanying my first viewing and to actually pay proper attention to it.

Much as I still love the film - the look and feel of it despite the differences from the strip (low-tech vehicles, an oddly sparse Mega City One) are incredible, for instance - what I'm most excited about isn't the film I've just watched but that which will come after it.

If there is any justice in the world it deserves to do well - It's a British independent film so deserves our support, after all - and the world of Dredd has such a fantastic wealth of material to tap into. Subsequent Dredd films (and I sincerely hope it does well enough at the Box Office that this happens) might be bigger and fancier but Garland understands the material and this shows in every second of Dredd 3D. It might not look exactly like the Dredd we'd envisaged, but it sure as Drokk feels like it.

..Time to check out the time of the next showing of Anna Karenina

And it's brutal, uncompromising, ridiculously violent and earns every bit of its 18 certificate - and it's nice for once to have a film that hasn't been watered down just so it gets a bigger audience. As I said last week this is the Dredd film I've wanted to see since I was a kid - and I'm anxious to see what Garland could do next with it, if given the chance.

And the traditional Coventrian*** exuberant review from Tara? "Well, I didn't hate it.". That is as high praise as I'd expected from my lovely wife :)

So, thanks to John Burdis for organising an excellent evening, The Empire in Leicester Square for letting us muck around outside their building, Steve Green for loads of photographs/looking after the Judges and also (last but not least) to Tony Richards for taking the excellent photographs that accompany this piece. There are some awesome photographs of the weekend, and undoubtedly more will emerge over time.

* - delete as applicable. Or don't. It's your call.

** - She told me she might get to a showing the week after. I suspect she said that to humour/placate me.

*** - The inhabitants of Coventry, by their very nature, seem to find it difficult to get overly excited about anything. If Zeus were to visit Earth, his arrival accompanied by the sound of a billion triumphant horns being sounded and a kaleidoscope of colour as the Heavens themselves joyously greeted his arrival, a Coventrian, upon witnessing said spectacle, would announce "Yeah, s'alright.". The cause for this phenomenon is mostly unknown, but it's believed to be something to do with Coventry City Football Club.

The Guard

What do you get if you get a grumpy Irish person with a penchant for swearing, speaking their mind and a general disrespect for authority crossed with a straight-laced by-the-book respectible man from a different country? You get my marriage for one, but you also get the new Brendan Gleeson film "The Guard".

In its simplest terms, The Guard is a typical cop buddy movie with two mismatched partners, but this barely does it justice. It'd be like describing In Bruges (written by the writer of The Guards brother, and a similiar film in many ways) as simply being a film about two hitmen.

Brendon Gleeson plays Gerry Boyle, an unorthodox (to say the least) Garda Sergeant working in the remote hills of the west of Ireland. Forced to team up with FBI Agent Wendell Everett (played by Don Cheadle), the two unlikeliest of partners join forces to take down an international drug smuggling ring.

So far, so Lethal Weapon. But, as with the excellent In Bruges, that's not really what this movie is about at all. It's eminently quotable ("I didn’t know you had gay lads in the IRA.", "To be sure, it was the only way to infiltrate the MI5"), hilarious and utterly charming.

Boyle comes across as a racist and offensive incompetent smart alec with a dying mother and penchant for whores and drugs, but behind this front lies a genius intellect surrounded by ineffectual and/or corrupt idiots. Cheadle plays his role deadly straight as the archetypal fish out of water (Crocodile Connemara, if you will), but is a perfect foil for the diametrically opposed Boyle. It's interesting to note that Gleeson and Cheadle became very good friends during the shooting of the film, and this really shines through their roles - two very different people who become the unlikeliest of friends.

The ever reliable Liam Cunningham fronts the trio of drug smugglers who are given an unusual level of characterisation for this type of film - indeed, they have some of the best lines (no drug pun intended).

Overall, I can't rave about this film enough. From the opening credits it feels like a Western shot by Sergio Leone, but has a very unique vibe thats difficult to describe. And as expected, if you're won over by this review, you'll probably find it next to impossible to find showing at the cinema - what with it not being a toy franchise with lots of explosions. We had to go and see it at the local Warwick Arts Centre and were quite taken aback to hear the audience applaud when the film ended - that hasn't happened for me since a pissed up midnight premiere of From Dusk Till Dawn.

Go watch it. Enjoy.

William and Kate - The Movie

What could be a more fitting reminder of their romance than a commemorative cup
of William and Kate coffee?

In less than a weeks time, a joyous occasion is set to happen. A once-in-a-lifetime moment that you'll speak of to your grandchildren in reverent tones - "Yes, young Bacardi", you'll say between mouthfuls of Werthers Original, "I remember it well. I got April the 29th off without having to take it as holiday".

Oh, and somebody got married.

In loving honour of these two somebodies who'll get married, Channel 5 pulled out all the stops yesterday to show the glorious William and Kate - The Movie. A landmark piece of cinema, this gritty warts-and-all almost documentary-like meisterwork offered us, humble proles that we are, a fascinating insight into the romance of those two star crossed lovers, namely William Arthur Philip Louis Gustav Mountbatten-Windsor and Catherine Elizabeth "Kate" Middleton.

You think you've got it bad?  Try either being a royal or being engaged to one. Not only do you have to contend with being pestered by the pararazzi at every turn, but also with the devastating nature of reality itself altering around you.

Take this simple example; Kate and her mother emerge from a shop in London. A simple enough act, but it would appear that this shop is being run by the shopkeeper from Mister Benn. They find themselves on a Los Angeles street, the only concession to London being that there is a red double decker bus. On the wrong side of the road. What's happening?  WHY AREN'T THEY PANICKING?

A romance isn't a romance unless it's been commemorated
with your face being constructed from ham

A pheasant shoot in Gloucestershire?  We've all been there. But pan back - and we suddenly find ourselves with a backdrop of a huge mountain range. These are no mere marilyns, but huge majestic peaks. And the royals are so used to the sheer fabric of reality adjusting itself around them - it's why they don't carry money, you know - that not a royal eyelid is blinked.

Ok, so it's easy to mock. And I will continue to do so. It's obvious that other than the odd stock shot of London (Thats London, En-ger-land, swinging happily like a pendulum do) filming alternated between being done in the States and in Cloud-Fucking-Cuckoo land.

I'l concede that the leads were reasonable (Camilla Luddington, a british born actress and Nico Evers-Swindell, a New Zealander pulling off a convincing English accent) except for the ridiculous height difference between the two of them - unless in real life Kate has been standing on a Fortnum and Mason box before any photographs are taken with the two of them. The less said about the American playing Harry though with his dyed barnet the better. But at least they've given Harry the right amount of hair, unlike his brother. And not a Nazi Uniform fancy dress costume prank in sight.

Prince Charles, however, appears to be being played by the rubber faced eighties comedians Phil Cool and Phil Cornwell. He's on hand to convey the difficulties of royal life to his son, and to express quite how difficult his relationship with a mere commoner will be.

The whole thing is an overly-sentimental piece of tripe that even Spielberg would baulk at the sheer schmaltz of. t's terribly directed and paced with a bewildering array of English and transatlantic accents, and is clearly aimed at Royalists, the overly-stupid and the Twilight generation. It's clearly aimed at Americans and conveys that view of our royals that they find so endearing and fascinating.

Although the dilemma Kate is faced with in this isn't should she fuck a corpse or a dog as in Twilight, but should she live the rest of her life in ridiculous splendour and wealth. Or not.

They missed a trick though - they should have taken the opportunity to include a ghostly Princess Diana ("Always in our hearts") to appear (perhaps wearing her bright pink Barbie Land Mine Disposal outfit) and discuss the marriage with her son, in a loving homage to the bit in Empire Strikes back where Luke chats to Obi-Wan.

And it was totally gripping, from start to finish. Definitely one for the 'so bad it's good' folder. And it had a happy ending, which was a great relief. But I think I'll be giving the live sequel a miss later this week.