Who was he?

I’m really glad everyone’s bummed out about his death; it means he touched us.

This is just a cross we have to bear – so fucking WHAT if we’re a bit miserable today? That’s nothing – it’s the least we can do, considering he let us borrow him for a short while.

Maybe somebody somewhere will seek help knowing that this great man was just like us; a man who quite possibly would have given all that he had, just to BE like us in some small way.

He had me at Nanu Nanu when as a wee sprog, I just kind of fell in love with him. It wasn’t his delivery or his madcappery – it was the EYES – his FUCKING eyes. They sucked me in – and I stayed there, hugged by his hairy teddy bear arms. I soaked up every emotion he ever conveyed through that screen of mine. And he OWNED it.

For me each performance was the greatest thing he ever did since the last. Because of him, I was a Dead Poet until I was Awakened. He said Good Morning to me and Hunted me with Good Will. Each performance was his finest – he gave ALL of his everything in a visual encyclopedia of acting classes that we get to keep.

But there came a time when we had to give HIM back.

Fuck.

Did we HAVE to?

Maybe we didn’t. Maybe somewhen, somewhere, somebody could have prevented this.

So who was he? All I know is who he was to me. He was Mork, he was Garp. He was Keating and Sayer, and a fucking GENIE, for Christ’s sake.

He was Jakob – and he was a liar. All actors are liars to some extent, right? They show you what they want you to see? They take on these roles where they portray someone else? Well, we didn’t get to see the character of HIM – he hid himself; he lied to us.

I do imagine there’s no heaven – and it’s NOT easy to do. But instead, I’ve invented a little place in my own crazy head – an imaginary rehab where actors go for the ultimate recovery. (This is the shit that keeps ME sane).

And in this place, there’s a party going on. It’s a party for Supermen, whose worlds were stages. Here, it’s some kind of other-worldly Labyrinth; Phil Hoffman is there being truly awesome. Peter Sellers walks on his knees and talks about this being the war room, so you can’t fight.

Seems like he fought his entire life.

Back to the party. James Gandolfini is the Man Who Wasn’t There, and Michael Clarke Duncan towers eighteen feet over everybody else. James Dean doesn’t say much but looks pretty fucking cool, while Phil Hartman does incredible impressions of everybody else.

And Christopher Reeve stands up, and walks over to Robin Williams to welcome him home.

Wilfred’s Men

A poet’s shattered soul reacts to crumpled men with words intact

Recalling lies as glory folds, one verse – yet many stories told:

Our Wilfred said they’d cursed through sludge, towards their distant rest they’d trudged

And Wilfred’s men had lost their boots but limped on, blind, deaf to the hoots

There, Wilfred saw a hanging face – as death came to his writing-place

So we could read -at every jolt- of gargled blood to our revolt

If Wilfred knew – if he could see -dead men survived by poetry

What would he say – and would he be surprised his words revered by me?

Adored by age, revered by youth, for hitherto-unspoken truth.

If then were now – if he were here, would Wilfred to the world endear?

Or is it likelier he’d see: the sale of arms, cash weaponry?

And then the fight to stop it all, this great divide as countries fall?

Perhaps for now, hypocrisy – humanity’s mobocracy:

And as he rhymes of this or that, he’d write: Manus Manum Lavat.

FILM REVIEW – LAST VEGAS

This is NOT the official review, by the way……but I just experienced THAT moment. Y’know, the one where you watch a movie containing some of the GREATEST fucking artists ever….and they’re all on screen together an’ stuff…but you end up trying to poke out your own eyeballs (earballs too, maybe).

I’m referring to “Grandfathers Do ‘The Hangover’ “, of course. I can’t even bring myself to type the actual, hideously crowbarred, I-see-what-you-did-there title. There is a time and place for puns; movie titleage is not it.

We have Michael Douglas in leftover Liberace orange-face, being…well – Michael Douglas. Then there’s Morgan Freeman who, apart from one inspired little bit of inebriation, leaves me otherwise MEH….De Niro IS, of course, doing his “I’m really THAT fucking awesome that you can’t take your eyes off me ” thing….which is always good. Boring, but good.

But….and I feel horribly filthy even saying this, what with his being the GOD of everything ‘n’all….Kevin Kline just ain’t right. I feel like I’m cheating on him; I mean – bugger ME!! He’s OTTO, for fuck’s sake!!! He’s The Pirate King! He’s Dave! He’s Bottom! He’s Cole fucking Porter!!!!! (I could go on….). I must go and partake of some nifty little self-flagellation to atone for these thoughts…….

So….anyway….the story – such as it is. There’s this bloke, played by Dougie baby. He’s getting on a bit, and is about to get hitched to a 32-year old (a stretch – I know).

Unimaginatively, his three mates join him in Vegas for his utterly ghastly and extremely chavtastic stag bash. And we can guess the rest as soon as we see him perving over Mary Steenburgen. Yeah: there’s Mary as a kind of jazz singery thingymabob, who sounds more than a little like Snow White with her sitting-on-a-sex-toy singing voice.

Kev’s role? A sixty-something geezer, whose missus has given him (along with a blue pill and a condom) the green light to do whatever it is that usually stays in Vegas, in the hope that when he returns to her, he’ll pork away and fuck her blue. (Ok…it might not have been put *exactly* like that, and I realise that I *may* be channelling Otto a little bit).

But – YAWN. What a travesty of a sham of a mockery of a waste of a *Kevin. He’s just too fucking awesome for such a lame-ass role.

(*Often found myself wishing he had a cooler moniker).

It’s definitely not going down in Lin’s most-quotable movie list, being that I can’t recall any memorable lines; despite having only just watched the fucker.

This film should have been good. It should have been either amazeballingly awesome or awesballingly amazesome. Sadly, it was neither. All it was? A load of leftover one-liners from the Bucket List.

So. Erm…yeah. Do I have anything good to say about this movie? Erm…There’s Curtis Jackson in a nice self-parodying cameo, and that guy is well fit. Nice gnashers.

That’s it.

Oh fukkit – this IS the official review.

GiveMeALobotomyToRemoveThisFromMyGreystuff rating (out of 5):

ROLLERCOASTER

If I read one more lazy-arse review using “juxtaposition” in the wrong context when they actually meant “contrast”, or describing a film as a ROLLERCOASTER of a ride, I SWEAR I am going to stalk the person responsible, stick ’em on the Big Dipper on repeat for six hours and then see how their face likes being juxtaposed with my fist.

We Have Such Sights To Show You

So – you’re a movie buff. Me too. But for those of you still in the filmfreak closet, here’s a way you can quote your favourite lines ALL….DAY….LONG….and nobody need ever know (unless you want them to – I assure you, it’s a great pulling technique if you want to gather yourself a nice, smart movie geek).

Technically, any flick with a half-decent script is a quotemine, so this list is compiled with that in mind; to show you just how easy it is. Quotes you didn’t know you knew, lines from films that are usually overlooked when it comes to “Best Quote” lists. It’s especially thigh-slappingly amusing trying to crowbar a line into a conversation at work. With a customer. On the telephone. And yes – I have. Many times.

So fly, fly – engage in a little of your own project mayhem that only the true enthusiast will espy. Let’s explore how we can take oft-overlooked statements and make them work for us (Work it, baby, work it…)

Ah….We have such sights to show you….

The Terminator (1984)

Why it’s so quotable – with a Duel-like chase, the story becomes all the more sinister as Arnie’s Terminator takes on the voice of Sarah Connor’s mother to track her down at the sleazy motel. You too can be equally menacing if you need to know where someone lives:

“Give me your address there”.

OR…..run from that spider crawling towards you, at the same time maniacally exclaiming:

Why me? Why does it want me?

When trying to haggle at a market or garage sale, turn to whoever is next to you and tell them, referring to the vendor:

It can’t be bargained with, it can’t be reasoned with.

(Using this one makes you truly awesome.)

This will all stand you in good stead for the day you need to borrow someone’s clothes, boots, and motorcycle.

Withnail and I (1987)

Why it’s so quotable- the greatness of the nothingness of every single thing that happens in this movie owes itself to Bruce Robinson’s uber-screenplay. He provides us with a truly juicy superabundance of utterances which can be easily levered into everyday speak.

The finest hangover line available to humanity?

I feel like a pig shat in my head.

Feeling a little paranoid in a new office or hotel room?

You’re not leaving me in here alone. Those are the kind of windows faces look in at.

When you experience poor service at a local establishment, it’s super-fun to yell:

We are multimillionaires. We shall buy this place and fire you immediately.

(Of course, they won’t believe you, but your pure awesomeness makes that a moot point).

When you’ve haggled with the vendor at the aforementioned garage sale, you do of course need to tell them they’re out of their mind. But it only makes sense when you get down to two quid.

Fight Club (1999)

Why it’s so quotable – With their screenplay, the deities that are Chuck Palahniuk and Jim Uhls make things secretly obvious. If you’re anything like me, by the end of the movie your head is spinning with the incredible dialogue you’ve just heard.

To console someone about a break-up:

It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.

If you want a slap in the chops, wait until someone you know gives birth to a girl and utter:

We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.

(The mere danger/stupidity value of using this quote means you’ll receive extra cool points on your awesomeness chart).

It’s the ideal movie for paraphrasing purposes, too, where you can create endless phrases inspired by Chuck and Jim: “I am Philip’s sense of utter rejection” or “I am Maria’s total lack of responsibility”. I am Linda’s lack of fuck-giving. That kind of stuff.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986)

Why it’s so quotable – it’s fucking Ferris fucking Bueller’s fucking Day Off. That is all.

Customer service agents leaving you frustrated on the telephone? So many choices: but to start with you could ask them

Do you know anything?

(Or simply tell them to stick their finger up their butt).

Worried about being fired for using Terminator quotes on the telephone? Talk about your boss thus:

If I’m gonna get busted, it is not gonna be by a guy like that.

And if you are clever enough to crowbar:

I did not achieve this position in life by having some snot-nosed punk leave my cheese out in the wind

into a real life situation, then I may need to marry you a little bit.

This will imbue a sense of greater purpose and confidence: If you need to call across the office to your colleague Grace, you KNOW how it must be done.

Beetlejuice (1988)

Why it’s so quotable – If you ever wanted to prove yourself strange and unusual, this film gives you the chance.

Not into the person trying to pull you down the local boozer? Refuse to tell them your name:

If I tell you, you’ll tell your friends…

..and go on to say it’d make your life Hell, ok? A living hell. (Disclaimer: at this juncture, if they get it and laugh hysterically, you may have to have a rethink – they might just be The One).

Viewing a new house? Not too keen? Tell the estate agent:

Oh look! An indoor outhouse.

Of course, there is the one you HAVE to use whenever you try on a new outfit:

This might be a good look for me.

Extra points for saying it after sucking on some helium.

Dave (1993)

Why it’s so quotable – because it rocks. Simple.

Excellent insults abound:

You’re LINT! You’re a FLEA! You’re a BLIP!

Try on a sweater vest and complain in your best Voice of Ving that it makes your neck look too thick.

Take the kids on a museum trip just so you can say:

We’re walking, we’re walking…and we’re stopping.

(This could only be made cooler if Frank Langella were to bustle past).

Be Dave. Because Dave is just wonderful. Fess up to everything:

I take full responsibility for each one of my illegal actions.

If you know anyone called Ellen (or with the initials LN), you do of course have to thank them for doing this at every available opportunity. It’s the law.

Robocop (1987)

Why it’s so quotable – because it’s essentially a comic lavishly portrayed by real people. It’s also one of the finest movies ever made.

Assure your friend that their upcoming surgery will be a success:

They’ll fix you. They fix everything.

Made a typo on a document? As you delete it, you MUST say out loud:

Now it’s time to erase that mistake.

(Come on! Say it with me!)

There ARE a lot more quotes from this movie…..I can feel them… but I can’t remember them.

Austin Powers(s) – (1997 et seq)

Why it’s so quotable – because it’s such a well-rounded collection of Mmmmmovies.

Don’t go for the obvious YEAH BABY nonsense. But if you’re about to go for surgery to correct your vision, you HAVE to do air quotes when you say LASER otherwise it’s just a wasted opportunity.

Channel Scott Evil wherever possible, with as many, like, whatevers as you can. And always refer to the French language as Paris talk. It’s like, cool.

Being that you’ll often hear people using the boring old in-a-nutshell phrase, you can liven things up. You know how – get on your back and be you, in a nutshell.

As you do this, laugh inwardly at your own genius, point to someone and tell them that’s where they are. They’re there.

Casablanca (1942)

Why it’s so quotable – it’s set in a gin joint. There’s booze.

Enter a casino and declare that you are:

..shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!

Next time someone calls you a piss-head, explain that that makes you a citizen of the world.

Confuse the enemy: explain that somehow,

just because you despise me, you are the only one I trust.

You could also tell someone that you are looking at them, kid, but this may just cause confusion.

School for Scoundrels (1960)

Why it’s so quotable – watch it. Just watch it.

Tell someone you’ve been married a long time. Perhaps almost…

Be utterly charming and patronising at the same time, translating everything on the menu. Even if it’s in English.

Point to some tomatoes in your local store, and state what they are.

If you’re being berated for trying to get one over on someone, explain that:

he who is not one up, is one down.

Speaking of one-upmanship, get one over on your local garage by convincing them that your piss-poor excuse for a heap-of-crap car is actually a rare automotive gem.

See? It’s easy when you know how. I’m off for a game of golf now, but it’s snowing. So I’ll use red balls.

REVIEW: A MIRACLE IN SPANISH HARLEM

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you A Miracle In Spanish Harlem. Do be sure to catch this film; It’s like watching a poem.

This is not an exclusively Hispanic story – it’s just a story that happens to people who just happen to be Latino. The story is timeless, crossing boundary and culture, its main language LOVE. And that is what translates. It is for this very reason that I could see MIRACLE being adapted for live performance, and being that all the world IS a stage, then you could take this piece anywhere, for anywhom.

Director Derek Partridge seems to have gifted his ensemble with a vision of his own; a pragmatic approach enabling some really real performances. Five minutes in and already, I’ve identified with TITO. This is a guy whose eyes are as crucial as the script in telling us the story. As Luis Antonio Ramos draws us in with those peepers, so he lets us see his world through them.

This is a world whose genetic make-up began with an extract of Carlos Bermúdez, whose screenplay gave birth to a pretty awesome bunch of people. (I refuse to call them characters when they’re as real as this). It is this writer’s DNA that acts as a catalyst here, setting off a series of events that allow the production team and performers to deeply reach within themselves. And then, they decorate our screen from the inside, painting in wide, free brush-strokes with their own souls. Their palette? STORIES.

We see Tito’s Mom, (Priscilla Lopez) having a rant for his shamelessly blocking the love of God from his girls’ lives. And just how true is this performance? Well – for starters, Ms Lopez would appear to have studied my own (Irish Catholic) parents for inspiration. For the most part, she underplays – thus underpinning the very nature of a parent who thinks they know what’s best for their children. (And they’re usually right, damnit).

Back to those eyes. There’s stories behind them; we know this much already. As Tito’s single-parent status is established pretty early on, so it’s apparent there’s a lost love behind them. And we’re dying to find out more; we eventually do just that, through the heart of Mr Ramos, which he wears on Tito’s face. Ramos pours everything he has into the pressure-cooker of Tito, to be released in drip-feed motion as the vapour is released. The revelations of the depths of his soul are conveyed both with words, and without.

Gradually, we’re GRACED with EVA (Kate del Castillo) as she glides through the store, eventually meeting us face-to-face at the checkout. We immediately warm to her, so it’s unsurprising that Tito feels likewise. From the get-go, Eva’s established as a feisty lass, with just the right amount of charm and a healthy sprinkling of pluck – this is Miss America right here. She recognises a good ‘un, too, as she acclaims Ernie as “something-else” in exactly the right way. (Ernie – sensitively observed and displayed for our viewing pleasure by the super-talented Adrian Martinez – is a man whose presence tells us a lot about the others; this is great use of the sidekick narrative device).

Then there’s the kids -the gorgeous kids. Confidently performed by Fatima Ptacek and Brianna Gonzalez-Bonacci, Amanda and Samantha are two little girls hopeful for their Father’s future. They’re part of him, and they don’t let him forget it.

There’s a bit of ACTION, too, which I won’t spoil for you. The MAIN EVENT is something we as the audience aren’t privy to, but the resultant aftermath is displayed. Whether this was intentional or a result of budgetary constraints, it worked. If it was the latter, then Serendipity was at work.

It’s far from a perfect movie, but if truth be told, the minor flaws kind of added to its charm. I’d liked to have seen more realism –tighter direction might have been the key – when the girls met Daddy after the aforementioned occurrence. Apart from beautiful puppy-sad eyes, there wasn’t much difference between their reaction here and the more everyday scenes.

I could have done without the canine back-story and Eva’s au-pair revelation; we’d already endeared ourselves to her, so this felt like a sell-out. It kind of felt like an addendum, the white lie itself a deliberate flaw-of-sorts sellotaped on to Eva’s character. To have kept her as Miss 90210 would have only added weight to the love story – and would have actually been a nice Cinderella twist – she with the princely wealth and he, scrubbing the floors.

The Miracle itself was a bit of a MacGuffin – I’m talking the actual miracle here, not the miraculous finding yourself/finding love/finding happiness theme. I blame the REST of the movie for being so damned good that it sucked me in and made me want to forget the supernatural edge. It gave me PEOPLE to believe in, so I didn’t need a Power, a Glory, or a Holy Ghost. Is divine (or Tyronian) intervention the reason things turned out for our couple? I’m pretty sure that with the strength of our two lovers, supported by one heck of a loving family, things would’ve worked out anyway for sure.

So is it true what they say? That they don’t make them like that any more?

They just did.

Pass The Tissues rating (out of 5):

Four Fifths of Breaking Bad

I don’t know why I like it so much. It’s compelling stuff, granted. But to have your principal thisclose to sexually assaulting his wife, failing to help a dying girl, and engineering the lirio scenario? That’s a risky little game!

Beaut TV is in the square eyes of the remote beholder. But Gilligan’s Isla? It’s bigger than that. It’s unsurpassed, Shakespearean devastation for the screen.

What started as visual methadone for a Dexter addiction has since stolen my every gram of potential sleep. We’re talking five episodes injected at any given sitting. Why watch just one teenth of a season per night?

Perfectly imperfect…..and oh! the hypnosis of narcosis. This is a poetic expedition explaining why the high is worth the risk. And, ultimately, why people bring meth labs to airports.

It’s ART of the highest order. There’s more POV shots than you can open a fridge to (my particular favourite being the delightfully dusty Vac-cam).

And then there’s the sheer ProtAGONY! There’s the Jesse of murders past haunting the Jesse of murders present, and the dawning that there’s ALWAYS someone bigger than you. Especially when you parade around most of the day in your tightie (Walter) Whities.

I’m broken in, good. Please send season 5 my way. That is all.

Ralph.

Ralph Fiennes owes me one, BIG TIME. He made me reach for the STOP button with Shakespeare!!!! And THAT is almost unforgivable.

I say almost, because he did spoil me with his sublime, passionate bastard of a Heathcliff and his Luciferous Amon Goeth, not to mention his dreamy realisation of the Constant Husband, gardening away until he reached the truth. But CoriolANUS sucked.

This review is one-fourth the size it should be, because I only viewed a quarter of the movie. Which wasn’t moving in the slightest.

It didn’t draw me in – even the POWER of William’s Words couldn’t save this attempt to turn Ancient Rome into the Hurt Locker. And contrary to popular belief, EVERY Brit-flick does NOT have to contain a Redgrave. Be TOLD!

I bid Fiennes to wash his face, keep his teeth clean, and consider some atonement in the form of self-flagellation. That oughta do it.

(As I finish this rantlet, I can hear Ralph – somewhere in the distance with shame etched on his face: Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, even to a full disgrace.)

Exit- screen right

I Understudied Constantine

The screenplay must have weighed fifty pounds on its own; this film is a fucking cauliflower, and it’s MASSIVE.

I can’t make any new observations: it’s been dissected to death. All I need to say is that the movie is epic and immense whilst somehow managing to contain itself within a dirty wet world where two quid is rather a lot of money, where coffee is mistaken for soup, and where dolls need diaper changes. It’s nowt, and it’s all. As nothing happens, so does everything. And this: it’s real. It has spawned so many bad impressions, sweary drinkathons, and bad pilgrimage misquotes on Crow Crag’s cottage door. When released, I’m guessing that Withnail wasn’t HALF of what it would later become. Do you grow? This film has grown to Fuckdom Come and Back, and continues to do so, exponentially.

The passion that Robinson evokes amongst the fans is wherein lies his genius. Ahead of its time, WITHNAIL AND I (for it is surely a sentient entity? Sentity?) doesn’t know what’s to come, or the legacy it is to leave with its Beckett comparisons and the tidal wave of visitors to Penrith. (This is the muddy juncture where fanatics—in the true sense of the word—can be found hopping into a fucked Mark II Jag and retracing the nothingly-everything journey of Withnail and Marwood.)

The technique?

1) Point the camera and shoot.

2) Let it run.

For the correct sort of wetness, you should also obtain what looks like unadulterated child’s piss.

Then let rip with long scenes, editless one-shots, potatoes on forks, and beautiful silences. It’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are ALIVE. It’s Vladimir and Estragon—and there’s even a convenient carrot (firm, and young). It’s horrible and it’s bleak. It’s on-location-visitable. It’s Hendrix Heaven. It’s Bruce Robinson’s life story presented as an étude in booze.

In your fucking FACE, Zeffirelli, you terrible cunt.

The Dead Zone

To my Darling The Dead Zone.

It’s been 30-odd years and we’re still going strong. Biannual dalliances have kept us perennial, and with every date you deliver something new, to someone who is:

Not scared – she knows him.

Each time you visit, you promise me a cold time in the old town tonight. And you ALWAYS play that game with me: Castle Rock, Paperback, Dodd’s Scissors…..

With an apparent budget of tens of dollars, I can easily forgive your one flaw: the worst movie death ever (Johnny’s mom), instead relishing one of the finest (her son).

You iconified Walken, and via Sheen, you gave us the Dark Side of Jed Bartlett (You KNEW!!).

Herbert Lom achingly reveals Weizak’s past – a devastating telephone-exposition that his young self just wasn’t meant to be; and so, we learn how second-Sam was born.

Even your melancholy score is in absolute simpatico with my heartbeat, every note reflecting seat-edgedness, teasing out a symphonic range of emotion via a three-part harmony (The Murders, The Spells, and The Prez).

Your clued up crew were in on it, and it shows-from the aural delight of the crunching gazebo snow to the Johnny-lookin’-spooky uplighting.

You’ve been a real sport to me. You just fucking (castle) ROCK and I shall never let you go.

Nevermore…Nevermore…Nevermore.

Let’s send Mediocrity to hell.

Lin.

	Kody L on The Dead Zone
	Drew Norris on SECOND DO NO HARM
	Paulie Jaye on Seeing Red – by CM …
	Let Loose and Lose t… on It’s *You’re Call…
	KNICKERS TO YOU, TOO… on ASKING FOR IT