Rambo (2008)
Thursday 29 November 2007
I've written about the new Rambo film on here before, but since then the movie has gone through several name changes and a couple of new teaser trailers have been released, and neither are encouraging.
Here's the original trailer, in high-res AVI format (25mb).
Let's not beat around the bush here - that's a great fucking trailer. I mean, it's an odd thing to say, but that level of mindless gore is almost unprecedented in the modern climate. It's almost refreshing.
And here's the second trailer.
I find it quite interested that Stallone, who's basically running this entire project, has made some significant changes to the feel of this second trailer. The music is very much Black Hawk Downish with a cheesy monologue, and it's nowhere near as brutal as the first one. What's also true is that if I'd only seen the second trailer, I'd pretty much think this was going to suck.
And here's the third trailer. Which is fucking awful. It looks like something MTV put together.
The film is now going to be called Rambo. I liked John Rambo, as it implied a bit more of an intellectual (for want of a much better word) take on the character, and tied in nicely with Rocky Balboa, but thank the good Lord they've dropped Rambo IV: To Hell and Back, which is just about the worst name for a sequel ever.
Here's a link to the official site, and here's a featurette about the film.
Stallone claims the picture is about "humanity", and it's safe to say it appears to be offering a familiar but vaguely interesting take on whether conflict can ever be resolved by goodwill or the establishment of a discourse, as opposed to more violence. The jury's always going to be out on that one, although given that it's a Rambo feature you can be pretty sure the closing message is going to be soundly right wing.
Burnett: Please. It will help change people's lives.
John J. Rambo: You bringing any weapons?
Burnett: Of course not.
John J. Rambo: Then you ain't changin' nothin'.
Quite.
In case you're not sporting a semi quite yet, here are some promotional pics:
The risk here is that Stallone couldn't decide whether to really go back to a First Blood-style introspective look at the character or to make a super-violent 80s-style post-pub flick, and ends up with something messy in-between. I think if I had to make a choice I'd go for a film that was closer to the latter, as per the original trailer, although the various bits and pieces that I've seen and the comments made by Stallone himself suggests to me that he was possibly trying to make this one a tad more worthy. Let's not kid ourselves - both the previous Rambo sequels are pretty poor. I don't want any more of that, and I'm pretty sure Stallone doesn't either. We'll have to wait and see exactly what he ends up with. I just hope it's not as lost as those new trailers seem to imply.
Released on January 25, 2008 in the States and February 22 in the UK.
posted by Sheamus @ 10:00 am
Brighton.
Saturday 24 November 2007
I went to Brighton last weekend for my birthday. Yeah, it was nice. You weren't invited.
For my sins, I like to have a drink or two in Wetherspoons. Now, I know many of the branches of this fine establishment, particularly on the outskirts of London, are complete and utter dives. However, the Hastings John Logie Baird is really quite a decent place. It's a great venue to start your evening - the drinks are cheap (and consistently good), the conversation can free-flow and you really don't get any trouble there. That's as much as a testament to the door staff in Hastings as it is anything else - they've improved dramatically in the last ten years or so. If you've lived in Hastings long enough (I've been here nearly 30 years, on and off) you'll have noted how much safer it feels in the town centre on a night out. You see so few fights, certainly compared to how it used to be. Part of that is due to a greater police presence, but I like to think your friendly neighbourhood doorman, and a slight uptick in the quality of venues and patrons in Hastings, has contributed.
So, I'm in Brighton. There are ten of us altogether. We've had a nice meal and are looking for places to drink, and decide on the local Wetherspoon. In case you don't know, it's called 'The Bright Helm', which really has to be a bit of an in-joke, doesn't it? It's accurate, too, as outside were a right couple of knobs.
When I got there a couple of my mates were standing outside talking to the two doormen, and I thought, "Here we go... too many blokes so we won't be allowed in." But it wasn't that. We were almost an even split of men to women anyway, our little group, and what the problem actually turned out to be was one of ID.
We didn't have any. Hence, they weren't going to let us in.
Now, this wouldn't be all that unusual a story except that last weekend I was celebrating my 36th birthday. Thirty-six. That's double-eighteen.
I can understand door staff being told to be careful about letting in people who look under 21, but for fuck's sake - if I look a day under bloody 35 it's a bloody good day, let me tell you.
Now, this would have been bad enough, but it was the attitude of these cocksuckers that really pissed me off. They wouldn't let me in, and wouldn't give me any decent reason why not. I told them my age, they could clearly see I was telling the truth, but it wasn't good enough.
I never carry ID when I go out. I mean, I've never needed to, but I don't bring my wallet with me because I feel it's too much of a risk. You life is in there, really, after all, isn't it? So it's just a bank card, cash, keys and my phone. But that's because I look my age. I'm 36, you know.
"Yeah, can I see the manager please?" I said. At this stage I'd had a few drinks but was sober enough to be both coherent and maintain the correct level of attitude, i.e., I had none.
"Yeah, wait over there and he'll come out when he's ready."
"How is he going to know to come out if one of you doesn't go and tell him that somebody wants to see him?"
They looked at me blankly.
"So...", I said, "Can I see the manager please?"
"Wait over there..."
And this went on for a bit. Ultimately, of course, I adopted a bit more attitude than was probably desirable and one of my friends pulled me off with the usual "it's not worth it... they're wankers..." etc. For a second I wondered if this was one of those times where it very much WAS worth it but, of course, with the magic of hindsight my friend was right.
However, it's dicks like those two that give all doormen a bad name. There was no need to be such pricks. We weren't rude. We weren't wankered or out of control, and we certainly weren't out to cause trouble. But because we had an average age of somewhere in the early 30s we were too damn youthful to pay two quid for a pint.
Suffice to say I did something I never, ever do, and wrote a letter of complaint to JD Wetherspoon HQ. I haven't heard anything yet, and don't really expect to, but I won't be moistening my lips at The Bright Helm anytime soon, let me tell you.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 pm
Work.
Monday 19 November 2007
Christ, I've been crap lately on here.
What's going on? Well, we have a full house at work, but they're all behaving themselves, and hence the lack of updates. It's come to something when you don't know whether you want it to kick off or not just so you'll have something to say.
I've been hitting the gym very hard, adding a lot more cardio to my routine and doing 90 minute workouts 5-6 times a week. I've lost half a stone in two weeks, but that's the same half a stone I put on vigorously watching DVDs whilst sitting on my arse 38.5 hours a week.
I've cracked the sleeping thing; the secret is to just have a mug of coffee every two hours - 10am, midnight, 2am, etc, up until about 6am, and then you've had more than enough. No Red Bull or Pro Plus - just coffee. It works. You only have to worry about little two-hour windows of pain.
And that's about it.
posted by Sheamus @ 1:30 pm
Progress.
Saturday 10 November 2007
The last six shifts, I've pretty much fallen asleep in every one. This is pretty serious; indeed, it's a sackable offense.
Thing is, it is getting better.
After my recent post about the problem of sleep, I got quite a few emails from around the world. Some sympathised, some criticised, but most were actually pretty helpful. So, thanks. I'm touched.
Last week was a bit of a low - each night I totally crashed around 2-3am and basically slept, on and off, until 8am. Now, I have to make a check-in phone call every hour on the hour, so sleeping all night, or through some kind of incident, is not going to happen. My phone is set up to make a really loud, irritating alarm go off at each of these times and so I always wake up. And then go back to sleep. However, while I have figured out a nice private place where I can't be seen having a crafty one in the land of Nod, I did almost get busted once. This concerned me greatly.
The caffeine OD clearly was not helping. However, it's more than this - it's all about my diet.
We're fortunate enough to have a trained nutritionist amongst the staff and after speaking to her I believe I've nailed down a lot of the reasons why I'm dozing off so readily. One, obviously, I'm fucking tired at 4am in the morning, but two, if you've been eating large, carbohydrate and fat-heavy meals throughout the day, and especially so late at night, your body just wants to conk out. Every day is like Christmas after the Queen's speech. Minus the booze.
So, I've made some radical adjustments to my diet. No more white bread, and less bread overall. No pasta. Less sweets and refined sugar. And, as said, less caffeine. The Red Bulls are Pro Plus are gone. It's just coffee and Diet Coke. I've also been hitting the gym hard, switching from just heavy weights to a mix of circuit training and cardio. The result? I'm a lot sharper.
I'm still falling asleep.
But it's slightly more under control.
By this time next week, I'll have nailed it. You watch.
posted by Sheamus @ 9:30 am
Being Grant Mitchell.
Thursday 1 November 2007
I was just in M&S picking up a few groceries. All of a sudden, this lady, maybe in her fifties, comes slowly up to me. I see her out of the corner of my eye and I'm thinking it's all a bit strange.
"Sorry," she says, suddenly, "I thought you were that Grant Mitchell off the telly. I was going to ask you for your autograph."
It's becoming a fucking epidemic. As I've said before, I don't even look much like him. Shaved head, jeans, leather jacket. That's about it. My grandmother's name was Peggy, but she couldn't have possibly known that.
Still, it wasn't all bad. I got a tenner for my signature. Then I slapped the woman and ran out of the store without paying. Fuck 'em - I'm a celebrity.
There's a book in this, actually: Being Grant Mitchell. I'll walk the Earth, like Caine in Kung Fu, picking up stories and anecdotes from famous people like me who look like celebrities, and how it's made their lives absolutely magical. The epilogue, of course, will be Ross Kemp and I meeting for drinks in a very public place and then, hilariously, people will still be asking for my autograph and shunning him.
I'm going to be very, very rich indeed.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 pm