BlogalongaBoldly #4: Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home

Netquix: RoboCop 2 (1990)

Netflix content reviewed in 150 words. Or thereabouts.

RoboCop 2 (1990)

Dir: Irvin Kershner

1 hour 56 minutes

A karaoke rendition of the original through a megaphone, RoboCop 2 is one neon and noisy son-of-a-bot. Unfortunately, with a script seriously lacking in focus (by Frank Miller of legendary Batman comic The Dark Knight Returns) and a drive towards the needlessly savage, rather than the savagely satirical, it’s a clumsily-executed re-tread with few of the light touches that buoyed its immediate forbearer.

Loosely threaded by non sequitirs and an apparent disinterest in the lead (who now walks, inexplicably, like he’s just shit himself) , the film is driven not by plot, but by a series of mostly ugly action sequences and a raft of dislikeable and unengaging characters. Missing both the pomp of its triumphant theme tune and much of the wit with which the original was woven, it’s not a terrible film, just a deeply unremarkable one. And nothing with “RoboCop” in the title should ever be that.

4/10

Flap Off: Flipping the Bird to the Chirping Turd

You’ve probably not missed the recent reality-distraction of a smartphone game, Flappy Bird. The aim is simple: keep airborne a flight-shy canary by endless screen tapping. Now further navigate its way through various Mario-style pipes for points. It’s a tireless exercise that feeds the lab-rat compulsion of score-bettering, but with zero sense of achievement or enjoyment. 

So far, so suck, but its baffling level of popularity has lead, inevitably, to a slew of legal litigation-baiting imitators, all wanting their piece of the feathered nest. So, with a sense of self-loathing, I set about trying all of them. This is what I discovered.

Fly Birdie – Flappy Bird Flyer

TapTomic

The most brazen infringement of intellectual property on this list to crap down from above, which has even half-inched the title. As it’s slightly uglier, much easier and even less compelling, it’s less a Xerox, more a smudged Polaroid of the original. But don’t take my word for it. Check out Stoo bum’s grammatically-challenged but otherwise spot-on review.

Flappy Plane

sungsoo jung

Well, yes, planes do have flaps. Their use to constantly levitate said vehicles is frankly questionable, however. Suffice to say, this game is deep-fried dogshit. Weirdly, it comes with a difficulty level selection but no instructions.

“And how would sir like his Unicorn penis cooked?”

“Erm...”

The gameplay, such as it is, requires the player to not so much tap the screen as keep the finger humming at a speed invisible to the naked eye, lest your poorly-animated aircraft belly-flop to the ill-defined no-go area below. All to the nauseating aural backdrop of a cheap nineties Casio. To add insult to incompetency, it’s rammed to the pixels with bullshit pop-ups and ads, so exists purely as a platform to hawk yet more thumb-numbing nonsense.

Flappy Rabbits!

Aitor Velasco

An eerily silent “smear the icon about to miss hailing things” puff of nothing. Card game Snap carries a greater level of sophistication.

Ironpants

Eduardas Klenauskis

Ha ha ha - "pants"! See, it's better than Flappy Birds because oh no wait it is just as shit.

Flappy Penguin

DaisyBo LLC

Dunno about this: there’s no free version so fuck ‘em.

Super Ball Juggling

Dong Nguyen

Doesn't really belong on this list but it’s by the same team/man/pebble that produced the original so here it is. Either way, like wanking at disaster footage; joyless and confusing.

A Flappy Turkey World - The Best Tree Village Mini Pet Birds Free Adventure

Ashfak Ahmed

A slightly sub-par side-scrolling Doughnut Games-style dodge-em-up that’s, hey, not too hateful if you’re into that sort of thing. It only earns its place here due to its mischievous/cynical use of the word “flappy” in the title (a title so long, it doesn't fit on the App Store). Do Turkeys flap? Suppose their wattles do. Or their wings, if someone’s treading on their necks, swinging an axe wildly towards their throat.

Smarcle Flyer

Smarcle, Inc.

“What’s a Smarcle?” I hear no one ask. On the evidence of this, I’d say it’s the sound of lawyers typing threatening cease-and-desist letters.

Now, the next two games pre-date Flappy Birds by at least three years, so their inclusion on this list was questionable at best and downright dishonest at worst. This was pointed out to me after initial publishing so apologies and suckjobs all round to anyone concerned. I loathe intellectual property theft (hence this) so to accuse others of it without doing a modicum of research is unforgivably poor on my part.

I'm leaving them here though, as the core mechanics are startlingly similar to Nguyen's App Store chart topper. Or rather, his game is startling similar to theirs. Of course, I'm not for one second suggesting that he copied existing titles. Oh no. If you wish to decide that, then that is your conclusion. Not mine.

Copter Classic

Classic Games

From the audaciously-titled Classic Games is this – the only iOS release that feels as if it’s been knitted into existence. Ironically, chewing a ball of wool would be more pleasurable than cranking up this abomination of a timepiss. It lacks even the common decency to be a challenge: halfheartedly navigate your bum-guffing chopper through a chasm of easily-avoidable blocks. Bring it down with firepower and dance about like a lunatic insurgent on the news NOW.

iCopter

lawlmart

iHatethis

So, that's it. What have we learnt? 

Nothing. We have learnt absolutely nothing.

Netquix: RoboCop (1987)

Netflix content reviewed in 150 words. Or thereabouts.

RoboCop (1987)

Dir: Paul Verhoeven
102 minutes

Lazer-targeted satire of rampant commercialism? Ultra-violent action pulp? Or a dark sci-fi parable on the nature of autonomy? Appropriately enough, Paul Verhoeven’s brutally savage crime yarn welds the very human grit, sleaze and carnage of 70’s grindhouse to the corporate mechanical sheen of coked-up 80’s excess; a motorised monster of a movie utterly thrilling from start to finish on any level you choose to take it.

No need to buy it for a dollar. Just stream it, ok?

Dick and Ed

A taut tale expediently told, Peter Weller’s transformation from rookie to robot has a breathless quality, drenched in pitch black humour that lifts it above its generic genre brethren. Crucially, the comedy never undercuts the drama – moreover, it adds to the rich tapestry of a film that in the wrong hands, could have easily been a cheesy superhero pastiche. As it stands, RoboCop is a curious and furious mix of debauched hedonism and the faintly fascistic. Verhoven done good. Now give the man a hand.

10/10

Netquix: Best Worst Movie

Netflix content reviewed in 150 words. Or thereabouts.

BEST WORST MOVIE (2009)

Dir: Michael Paul Stephenson

93 minutes

Essentially the Spinal Tap of movie reunion movies (but real), Best Worst Movie documents endearingly the resurgence in cult popularity of celluloid slop-bucket, Troll 2. Child lead Stephenson turns the lens on himself, his co-“stars” and fans in a bittersweet journey that’s every bit as excruciating and hilarious as its cinematic subject matter.

Focusing largely on dentist-cum-actor George Hardy -a perma-grinning likeable everyman fumbling his way through cult appreciation – he’s the sensible centre around which much of the delusion and madness that forged the film revolves. Witness his un-cracked smile to the news that his DVD is filed in the “Holy Fucking Shit!” section of a video rental store: here is a man who truly understands his place in the acting world.

George Hardy: grinning

Troll 2: winning.

 Occasional overlong lingers on the pained misfortunes of its participants aside, this is an excellent and refreshingly cynicism-free celebration of schlock horror filmmaking that’s so bad, it’s utterly astonishing.

9/10

Netquix: Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters

New semi-regular feature, in which I review Netflix content in exactly 150 words. Or thereabouts.

Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)

The good...

A dizzying flurry of whip-pans, excessive CGI and casual nudity, Tommy Wirkola’s foul-mouthed fairytale is an adolescent wet-dream achieved on a Hollywood budget. With a plot not so much thin as ravaged by famine, the film’s dot-to-dot approach should satisfy even the shortest of attention spans: inexplicably-accented hag-hunters Jeremy Renner and Gemma Arterton attempt a kiddie rescue venture whilst preparing for a witch-slap smackdown with big bad, Famke Janssen.

...the bad...

...and the fugly.

 So far, so Grimm, but it’s not all sub-par sorcery. Despite the thudding functionality of the dialogue, it’s delivered with a twinkly charm from the leads, particularly Renner (channelling his best grizzled Harrison Ford).  And as you might expect from the director of Dead Snow, there’s a rock ‘n’ roll sensibility hard-wired throughout the action that’s rarely less than entertaining. 

Ultimately though, a movie much like the eponymous siblings’ candy incarceration; a rotten interior heavily disguised by a superficially tempting facade. 

4/10

FOAM ALONE

The Hard Truth about Soft Play*

 *well, not really. It’s a strapline as sensational as it is disingenuous.

Very recently, I took my son to the soft play centre for an exhausting but rewarding bout of father-son sodding about. A crucial parental duty, it involves trying to tire out someone at least a tenth of my age before quickly realising that actually, three year olds are essentially fully-clothed, fleshy Duracells, whilst thirty-something adults need only stay up a bit late just one evening to render an entire fortnight a complete bleary-eyed write-off.

Spot the window: not a common game at soft play

Weirdly, I’ve never been to a soft play centre that has a natural light source. Much like their adult counterparts, casinos, they’re a window-free reality block-out, constructing their own Day-Glo artifice in place of an unpredictable, grim and sometimes cruel outside world. Soft play is always bright and colourful – eyeball-strainingly so.

Funderzone in Barnstaple. Their spelling, not mine.

There is etiquette in soft play world. Shoes off, naturally. Socks on, sensibly. Try never to engage with another parent’s child, no matter how distressed or eager it seems to be. I committed that sin just the other day. A pair of excitable brothers decided that my son and I would play the role of monsters and they, the heroes, would chase us through the centre’s various obstacles until satisfactorily vanquished. We played along gamely for all of a minute until:

a)      my son became genuinely frightened and

b)      the elder of the two children launched himself onto my leg right in front of his bewildered father.

Awkwardly trying to brush the child off with the least casual chuckle I’ve ever mustered made no difference, so had to apologetically pull the boy’s remarkably tight grip from my thigh with a certain degree of force.

Swearing at soft play is a big no-no, obviously. Hey, I don’t put on Goodfellas during the day, because I don’t want said film’s colourful language echoing around my kids’ cochleas. If they picked it up at a children’s activity centre, I’d be muthafuckin’ livid.

"Try the fucking monkey bars you chimp-ass motherfucker"

As it happens, swearing is just the tip of the language iceberg – there’s potentially loads of things you wouldn’t want to hear at soft play:

“Can’t believe I failed my CRB check again…”

“Ticket for one adult spectator please.”

“Rose! Have you shit in the ball pool?”

"Dad! I've broken my leg!"
"Hang on, I'm just updating Facebook to say what a great parent I am"

This takes us to the parents, of course, without whom none of the children would be there, quite literally. They’re a curious bunch, the Mums and Dads of soft play. The Dads seem either forlorn or furious, often during the same sentence. Mums tend to assimilate into small groups: whether they arrive like this or just naturally form these daytime Diasporas, I’m not entirely sure. Each Mum takes it in impatient turn to bark at each another facts of minimal interest concerning their child’s development progress before pretending to listen to their companion’s similar nugget of nothing.

A lot of parents don’t even bother to hide their indifference, taking rare opportunity to bury their head in the distracting glow of a smartphone without guilt, as their offspring hurl themselves with glee through one hundred square foot of foam-padded scaffolding. I should probably add here that I’m not judging anyone. It’s really not my place to do so and besides, it’s all some can do for a moment’s relative peace. And anyway, what else am I doing whilst this is taking place, except mentally concocting notes to write this? You sanctimonious shitsack, Miles.

Soft play can be stomach-churningly sweaty. Because soft play is bloody knackering, especially for a fully grown man who is categorically not dressed for a workout (there’s a reason Usain Bolt doesn't break world records whilst rocking a pair of Levis you know). Negotiating the cramped play frames, scramble nets, and tight plastic crawl tubes can be so physically demanding, I find myself heading off regularly to the giant air cannons for a quick cool down gust (that in no way looks weird. Not one bit).

Cargo netting: cheesewire for feet

The rope bridge walkways are the worst. Children, who are relatively light, can withstand easily the press of foot on tangled chord. Conversely, an adult’s full body weight bearing down on a mesh of thick rope feels like you’re being forced through a giant bloody sieve. I then spend the rest of the day treading everywhere gingerly as if the world’s floor space has been strewn with scattered Lego bricks and shattered glass shards.

There is nothing else quite like soft play: for an activity that forces frequent encroachment on your personal space, it's startlingly impersonal. The climbing frame gets a sunroof, steel bars are cushioned with spongy foam, and freedom of movement meets rules of engagement.

I like soft play; it’s reassuringly peculiar and refreshingly pretension-free. Paying to leave the murk and rain of mid-December to run around in a live action cartoon seems a pretty good deal, and am happy to indulge the children for as long as they find it worthwhile.

Even if you do run the occasional risk of tumbling into a puddle of toddler piss.

Wee!