Starbuck Rogers

Tee Hee!
Yup, still making a mockery of it with the mocha.  Or even - get this -  a mochary. 

Tank up on tea with a teapot tank

      Giving you time to get over your wincing, I did mention in today's earlier post that there does appear to be a bit of a plot hole in a few films featuring zombies or folks infected by hideous diseases that mimic the condition.  Why don't they just attack each other? is the question that springs to mind.

Well, to my mind, anyway.

     The further exploration of the world behind "28 Days Later" does offer an explanation.  The Infected attack us due to how we smell - apparently we reek, rather.  I don't know if we smell so delicious that they want to eat us, or pong so appallingly that they merely want to rip us apart; whichever, it's down to smell.

Oooh!  Exciting!

     The Hungries in "The Girl With All The Gifts" are normally quiescent, and can be negotiated as long as you move slowly, quietly and avoid eye contact.

Obviously, someone was careless

     In a comic that I only got the first copy of, and whose title escapes me, two survivors in a South Canadian city survive by donning stinky old clothes and zombie masks, which enables them to pass for the walking dead amongst the walking dead.  In fact, in one of the earlier trade paperbacks of "The Walking Dead", our heroes attempt to scavenge supplies after coating themselves with a collection of offal.  This works fine to begin with, until - it rains.
     I think that's enough reminiscing about revenants.  Let us throw the motley over the wall of the dog pound, now that we've tied a pork chop around it's neck!*

Conrad:  Happy As He Ever Gets
I did bewail my inability to lay my hands upon my DVD of "The Halls Of Montezuma" yesterday, after searching in half a dozen places where I keep my collection. Then I recalled there was a seventh - and lo and behold, there it was, hiding at the bottom.  Art?

     Conrad seems to recollect that there was a lot of military hardware on display here, which the South Canadian Marine Corps were quite happy to supply, as the film is entirely laudatory and uncritical.  You could get away with that sort of thing in the Fifties.

BOOJUM! Reviews Films
Once again for those who are new, have a short attention span or are unfortunate enough to have English as a second language, I shall recapitulate our Film Review Rules.
     1)  Go by the title alone.
     2)  Generalise wildly.
     3)  That's it.
     If you want a proper film review, go and Google Mark Kermode.  Not only is he an incisive and insightful film critic, he is also a musician.  Plus, he's a big fan of The Comsat Angels, and so automatically gets a "Get Out Of Uranium Mines Free" card when my starship invasion force arrives.  The rest of you reprobates, take note.

Mark, returning to bass

     Okay, enough prating.  Let us review.
"A Bad Moms Christmas":  Conrad is not hopeful for this one.  Firstly, we haven't even got Halloween out of the way, and already they're banging on about Christmas?  Secondly, why do we, here in the Allotment of Eden, have a film title that panders to arcane South Canadian spelling?  It ought to be "Mums", thank you very much, just as it should have been "Pearl Harbour".

Girl Arbour.  Close enough

"Murder On The Orient Express":  Warning - SPOILER ALERT!  Seriously, if you intend to go see this mobile snuff movie, be warned that there are SPOILERS AHEAD!






     That's enough of a warning gap.  If your humble scribe recollects, the original film starred Richard Widmark as the murder victim.  Yes!  The same chap from "The Halls Of Montezuma" - I keep telling you everything is connected to everything else.  I haven't seen that film, but I did read the book, and the murderer was actually everyone on the train.  So, there you go, I've just saved you £10.00.  Or, if you live in Sodom-on-Thames, £20.00.

This is a train to miss.  Sincerely.

"Breathe":  Ah, now, this is more like it!  A  film surely based on that Pink Floyd song from "Dark Side of the Moon", called "Breathe".  Conrad is not sure, exactly, how you'd base a 90 minute film on a song that lasts 4 minutes, tops.
     Oh.  Unless it's that horrid species of cash-in, a prequel.  You know, as regards that horror film "Don't Breathe".  Hmmm.  I shall watch with interest..

Pink Floyd: the hairy years

*  Yes, we've come a long way since merely letting the motley out of the door.  Progress, baby, progress!