In an exciting and only mildly derivative fashion I have decided to review whatever I can remember of the last week. This is mainly because I can’t actually think of anything to write about. Sadly I have to write about something as I absent-mindedly drank a Red Bull when thirsty and now I need to keep my fingers busy or else I’ll start carefully fidgeting off bits of skin.

Memory:          The last 200 cigarettes.
Date:                The whole week.
Review:
 After the slight disappointment in the quality of last week’s smoking I decided to try to up my game. Rather than taking the pedestrian route and just smoking when the urge took me I instead opted for a ‘fuck you all’ approach. This approach involved grumpily chaining the bastards while quietly resenting the world for not attempting to intervene to save my life.

 The slight pang of guilt following every cigarette ignition and the sensation of waking up feeling like one’s lungs are full of treacle is nicely off-set by blaming the act on somebody else. The truly cunning part of the plan is that I’m actually offering the human race a much needed chance to redeem itself. In fact it would be a truly selfish act to quit. The only downside to the situation is that I don’t have the lung capacity to sigh forlornly.

 Rating: 7/10
 It wasn’t one of those weeks where I could actually taste the things but at least it was one of those weeks where I couldn’t taste much else either.

 Memory:         Mouse Wars.
 Date:               03/02/2008 – 04/02/2008
 Review:
An interesting week in the continuing Mouse Wars. After the Somme-like flurry of a few weeks ago the mice are now appearing to employ a subtler approach to shitting on my things. Either their numbers are down or they’ve gotten bored of being released and then having to walk ten yards back into the house via their previously discussed magical gateway.

 Two prisoners were taken, Cuthbert 13 and Cuthbert 14, on the Sunday and the Monday. They were released out the front door after a brief interrogation consisting of asking “are you taking the fucking piss?” angrily at 7am. Cuthbert 13 was released in pristine condition and was a small, big-eared mouse. Cuthbert 14 tried to fucking kill me.

 Cuthbert 14 may have been unhappy because he got stuck to the peanut butter at the back of the trap when I picked it up and shook it to see if there was a mouse inside. As a result it took quiet a hard tap to loosen the little fellow. Cuthbert 14 was thus released from his marinade and sent out to enjoy the pleasures of being a small furry satay-flavoured snack for owls and other bastards. As he departed he politely tried to remove a bit of my fucking toe.

 Since then the only obvious signs of mice have consisted of a single, delicately-placed, shit on the arm of the sofa. I am assuming it was sitting there watching TV while I slept and was perhaps driven to over-excitement by a glimpse of thigh.

 Rating: 3/10
            An unimpressive showing from my infestation and unworthy of even a mild fist-clenching. I do however offer the caveat that the fuckers are doubtless planning something along the lines of the Tet Offensive.

 Memory:         30 Days Of Night
 Date:               Yesterday… I… think…
 Review:
            I hate vampire films with a particular passion that verges on the edge of twitching, frothing, screaming and remorselessly fouling myself. I hate them for many reasons but one of the key ones is that I refuse to believe evolution would be overly kind to any species that was allergic to the big fucking glowing thing that has a tendency to shine on our planet with some regularity.
 “Oh but they just go indoors of a morning” you might say. However, as someone who has roughly the same sleep-pattern as a vampire and about as much fondness for direct sunlight I would like to know where these people buy their curtains. I keep my curtains closed specifically because somehow doing this lets more light into the room. This is not even going into problems such as the beam of light coming through the letterbox when someone stuffs the unwelcome local paper half-way through… because somehow that extra thousandth of a calories to push it through would kill the paperboy.

 Anyway…  Josh Hartnett, a man with all the acting skill and personality of a freshly aborted Lassie puppy, is sheriff of some town in Alaska. The screenwriter probably spent several hours masturbating to a picture of himself when he came up with the idea of vampires fucking about in a place that remains dark for a chunk of the year. I imagine there was much awe in the meeting when he pitched it. I will grudgingly admit there is something one-dimensionally clever in the concept… however after about five seconds thought you realise it’s actually used with about as much cunning as Jaws 2’s use of a shark that can swim.

 “Oh it’s dark for days… Whatever will they do?”

 The answer to this question is that they’ll do about as much, if not less, than in a vampire movie based in a town where it gets dark at about 8pm and light at about 7am. The only difference is that people will grow slightly longer beards. Also it means that a continuous plot and slow building of suspense is not needed because it’s much simpler to just let a couple of days pass and pretend everyone’s been a bit stressed during this time.
 
 I can’t remember much of the first half hour of the film. Josh Hartnett is apparently estranged from some blonde woman. I can’t remember if they explained why she left him but I’m guessing it’s because it’s really hard to tell if Josh Hartnett’s alive or not. I don’t mean that he’s easily confused with the vampires, more that he’s easily confused with an actual corpse. I imagine sex with Josh Hartnett is a similar experience to sitting on a rain-swept beach throwing rocks into the water.

 Hartnett has a brother who is both a ginger man, and thus automatically to be hated, but also a ginger male actor which guarantees he will never, ever be any good. Go on, I dare you, name a good ginger male actor. If you say Eric Stoltz… wonder why you did? The brother is at various times in trouble but somehow survives each time due to the magic of a caption appearing every so often to tell us a day or two had passed.
 
 There are other people in the cast but I have no idea why. The entire village seems to be populated with Falcon Crest-grade actors and actresses who are so full of blood that they explode upon the slightest touch. Several seemingly exploded just from boredom. I empathised with them. At one point during this movie I contemplated pissing my trousers just to feel alive.

 The vampires in this movie are quite possibly the single most irritating ones ever put on film. I actually dry-heaved more at the vampires in this film than those in Interview with the Vampire. They all look like members of 80’s synth bands apart from the lead vampire who looks so much like Morrisey I kept expecting him to pull out a carton of soy blood. Once you notice just how much like Morrisey he looks you will find yourself instantly suffering internal bleeding as two of the most anaemic creations in history are combined.

 The vampires further pushed me to ironic self-harm by only talking in some utterly hateful made-up language that sounds like a whale being repeatedly and unlovingly violated by the strap-on cock-sword thing from Seven (I am aware it has a number 7 instead of a V but I will never, ever write that). The screenwriter cleverly uses this device to save having to write dialogue, put in effort, have talent and or deserve a place amongst the living. I am tempted to call for his actual assassination but will hesitate on the grounds that I’m not sure you’re allowed to do that anymore in this day and age. The only benefit gained from his decision to be a fucking hack is that you just stop listening after a while and manage to miss a lot of the dialogue that’s in ‘English’.
 
 There really is no plot at all. There’s something that might look like a plot when summarised in the first paragraph or two of a review but when actually stretched to film-length it’s the same picture on screen the entire time. It’s a picture of your hands as you stare at them rather than watch the movie. You will look at them and wonder where all the tiny wounds came from. Perhaps you burned yourself cooking bacon?

 In an effort to spoil the movie for people who are functionally retarded I shall say that for no apparent reason Hartnett decides to save his, doubtless unfaithful, shrew of a wife by turning himself into a vampire and fighting Morrisey. During this epic battle of shits The Cocteau Twins, Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream and Joy Division all sit around watching and not getting involved. Apparently vampires are not only pale, they are also the kind of shit friends who will stand around watching you get kicked to death by a man in a bar and only once he’s left and they’ve phoned him to check he got home alright will they walk over and ask ‘are you alright?’.

 I just didn’t care enough to pay attention to the bulk of the fight but Hartnett wins by sticking his fist through Morrisey’s head. Apparently this is enough to make thirty other vampires of equal power fear him. Or maybe they were just disgusted in the screenwriter, director, editor and tuberculosis-stricken walrus that green-lit the movie because it liked the sight of snow. Then… OH NO… Hartnett tops himself by having a cuddle with the blonde bint as the sun comes up. I would like it to be noted that the sun appeared to have been fairly up for quite a while before it gave him eczema and he died.
 
 The only good thing I will say about this movie is that they didn’t bother to tack on a last scene hinting at a sequel. This does at least show that they watched it before releasing it and had the decency to edit out Morrisey’s eyebrow hopping off into the sunset as it steadily grew back a fat little singing bastard.

Rating:              0/10
            I may have failed as a screenwriter but at least I didn’t make this movie. This fact actually makes me slightly less failed.