Sigh‘s most recent album at this time, In Somniphobia, was awarded the number one album cover art by Revolver Magazine. The article, much of which I read with a dismissive attitude because of the attitude communicated in the author’s words, can be found here. Continue Reading
One of my favourite features of the WordPress system by some road is the ability to get a list of all of the search terms used that have led people to this journal. Some of the search times in the list raise an eyebrow, to say the least. One such search engine query in the list reads “images examine my pussy”. No, I am not making that up. But it seems that at least one individual has a poor enough understanding of the world we live in to do searches with the terms “why people expect lunch bought for them”. Continue Reading
First of all, please be warned. This dissection in text will contain a lot of revealing plot information concerning both versions, 1975 and 2002, of Rollerball. In the 2002 case, I might be saving you a lot of agony in the process of trying to watch it without a few friends and a lot of chemical stimulants. In the 1975 case, it might actually ruin something worth a watch or two. Your discretion is advised, although even knowing everything that happens in the 1975 production in advance cannot make it any less compelling.
As I intimated in my previous post, there is a reason why Hollywood recycles its old ideas at a rate that seems to increase as time goes on and the oligopoly of the media continues to worsen. It is not to improve upon or even ignite nostalgia for the original film, but rather to remake the money that the original film made. Whilst there are genuinely good remakes out there, the majority are so stupendous in their mediocrity that they prompt genuine puzzlement at Hollywood’s surprise that returns on investment are declining sharply. And then there are the ones that are so incredibly, utterly bad that they prompt questions about whether the executive who green-lit the production was subsequently buried out in the Nevada desert somewhere. The 2002 production of Rollerball as directed by John McTiernan goes well beyond that. It achieves a level of outright imbecility that even trying to describe why it sucks so much to the proverbial Man From Mars is a fruitless exercise. In order to understand how bad it is and why, you just have to see it for yourself. It really is that awesomely terrible.