Coming soon to a cinema near you.

Recently I’ve found myself getting bored. I’ve spent the morning wandering my house looking for something to tidy only to end up more bored sat in front of ESPN watching United play Bolton. Now this tedious boredom I keep encountering may or may not link in to the fact that there is nothing to look forward to in the movie world.

I mean, as soon as the credits rolled for Scott Pilgrim, that was it. It was the moment I looked up and bemoaned the fact that there is now no film to look forward to between me walking over the sticky floors at the cinema complex on the way out and Rudolph laying his front two hoofs down onto my snowy rooftop. I know this as I’ve been punctual enough to see the trailers at the start of recent films I’ve watched. Which for me is usually a rare thing.

If you’ve been the same you’re likely to agree with me. Most trailers have done nothing but bore me, or frustrate me. Now alright to be fair not all of them are going to be aimed at me. I went to see Toy Story 3 for example, so I’m not likely to want to go and see Diary of a Wimpy Kid, a movie in which said wimpy kid gets bullied by stereotypical fat bullies and forced to eat cheese from the tarmac of the playground or something; or The Owls of Ga’Hoole, a movie in which said owls fly across the world in order to stop something, I don’t know I wasn’t paying attention!

But there are some lazy movies that are supposedly aimed at me, or at least a similar demographic to me. Most of which still seem to be trying to sell themselves with the 3D suffix plonked on the end of the movie title. Currently out in cinemas right now is Resident Evil: Afterlife (3D). Not only is this movie series beyond awful, which is frustrating enough as the games are actually quite decent, but they’re just frustrating the hell out of me by continuingly bringing out sequels to it. Who is watching this crap? Who!? Whoever it is needs to be stopped, they’re the T-virus of the movie world, seemingly crushed only to re-appear in the next game, I mean movie. Well at least its giving Milla Jovovich something to do.

Speaking of sequels, coming up later this year is the eighty first instalment of Saw (3D). This dead horse surely, surely, cannot be flogged any more. It doesn’t even resemble a horse anymore, it’s been flogged so much all that’s left is an arching tube, which I can only assume is its spine, and what looks like a wafting carrier bag dangling from one end. Please stop making this movie. Please. Poor Sea-biscuit.

Another brainless sequel is that of Jackass (3D). Another instalment of a bunch of tools finding ways in which to hurt themselves using generic equipment such as shopping trolleys and paintball guns. I don’t really have to go on, you know what it is, just save yourself eight quid and watch MTV2.

So if you’re not into sequels where do you turn to? Well before you head for the nearest gun shop let me fill you in on the non-sequential movies coming out in a theatre near you very soon.

First up, it’s Charlie St. Cloud starring Zach Efron. No come back! I saw this trailer at the cinemas for the first time and I was actually pleasantly surprised by it. Zach Efron has a kid brother, Sam (who is the spitting image of the kid-now adult from Two and a Half Men), who he vows to spend more time with playing catch and such. Seconds later he carelessly crashes his car killing Sam during some very dramatic camera work. Cut to the funeral and Zach breaks down and heads into the forest with Sam’s glove, where he meets, yes you’ve guessed it, Sam! He then proceeds to play catch and be with Sam. Yay.

Looks like we have a great drama on our hands here. Wrong! The film is then ruined! Ruined! By the director's true motives. It’s a freaking love story, nay, a romantic comedy-esque drivel-fest, argh I hate you! After we see Zachy boy play with Sam in the forest we then see him randomly hanging around a dock where he meets a girl who is on one of the boats. Game over! Just stop watching, you know where this film is going now. It’s been derailed and its heading to movie hell as now the main storyline is whether or not Zach can be with sailor girl and still keep Sam. How pathetic, it looked like this movie was actually going to be a thought provoking drama. Instead it turns out to be another pointless Zach Efron movie. Sorry I called you back.

The thing that annoys me the most about this movie is the unrealistic nature of it. Okay so Zach can see Sam, who’s dead, that’s a little unrealistic, but I‘m fine with it. Yet in one scene, after Sam’s death, Zach goes to a bar, presumably to drown his woes. A young black man hands him another drink saying “have another, it’s not like there’s a big demand for you as a driver.” Who…Says…That!? Who!? In what universe does anyone say that to someone in his situation? Not only that but he seems surprised to get a punch in the face! It’s just unbelievable! So unbelievable that if Chris Kamara watched this movie he’d bloody well explode!

I’m afraid that’s pretty much it, there’s the story of Facebook with The Social Network, the trailer for which is just as dull as you’d expect. In a nutshell Justin Timberlake ‘likes’ himself. Vampires Suck represents the American teen movie of 2010. I’m all for a bit of Twilight bashing but please stay away if you value your integrity. And of course there’s the final instalment of Harry Potter where Harry, now 38 years old, has one final showdown with He Who Shall Not Be Named (Ralph Fiennes). In two parts. Seriously, this is how arrogant Warner Bros are. They can literally charge you twice to see this movie. One last money spinner I suppose, until J.K. Rowling writes more about him. Thank God for Christopher Nolan.

It’s not all bad though. Ben Affleck looks like he’s done a good job directing and starring in The Town. A crime drama starring Rebecca Hall, Jeremy Renner, and Madmen’s Jon Hamm alongside Affleck. Hopefully it’s good. It should at least rid him of the horrible stench Gigli left.

So yes, that’s about all. One movie that you might want to check out between now and Christmas. Brilliant. Looks like the best movies will be out on DVD: Iron Man 2 for one, and of course there’s Inception, in which I will be getting the 63 disc special edition! I certainly won't be gracing the cinemas with many appearances anyway, anyone fancy a game of Halo: Reach?

***

United drew by the way. Typical.

I've included the tralier for Charlie St. Cloud for your viewing pleasue. Yes that is Ray Liotta.

Morning is Broken.

The most depressing thing has been happening over the past couple of weeks. Something so disheartening that even Carole Smillie goes into hibernation. No, I’m not talking about the X-Factor I am of course talking about our big, bold, beautiful sun. Yes, as I write this at 7.45pm the sun is a distant memory over the horizon of nothingness, which can only mean one thing. Winter is upon us.

So much for waiting for the summer. I genuinely can’t remember any summer at all. I seem to recall a week long warm patch back in May but that’s about as good as it got. Now before you know it it’ll be wet, windy, freezing and pitch black as you leave the office to head back to your dreary little town house.

Co-incidentally this horrible series of events has happened just as Daybreak has begun on ITV. It’s not exactly making life any easier for us now is it. You now wake up in the morning all boggle eyed, scrambling for the remote in order to get your first bit of sustenance from your trusty television, only to find Adrian Chiles and Frank Lampard’s girlfriend greeting you with a cheery grin. I say cheery, Bleakley seems to have mastered it but Chiles seems to be visiting the same smile doctor as the Right Honourable Gordon Brown. It’s like watching a bear wipe its arse with a pine cone.

You may have heard that the big transfer news over the summer was Chiles and Bleakley from BBC’s The One Show to ITV’s brand new morning annoyance Daybreak. Chiles went first complaining about Chris Evans (which is fair enough, we’ve all been there) but Bleakley took a while to make up her mind. In the end she left, but she stuck around long enough for the Beeb to take a cell sample from her and clone her. Yes the BBC have replaced the dynamic due with a burly Manc and Bleakley 2.0.

Now, the burly Manc I speak of is none other than comedian Jason Manford, who suffers a bit from ‘northern comedian syndrome’. He’s a bit like a poor man’s Peter Kay. He’s not that bad to be fair to him, to put him in perspective he’s not quite as good as Peter Kay but he’s still miles better than Paddy McGuinness. And if you don’t know who Paddy McGuiness is, he’s from the Greggs adverts, looks like John O’Shea, about as funny as a JCB running over your feet. Twice.

ITV didn’t just steal the presenters mind you. The got the set designer too. Daybreak’s is pretty similar to The One Show’s except it’s purple, very purple. The set has a massive glass window showing off the city of London in all it’s smoggy glory. Seriously you can see bugger all through it. The times I’ve watched it all I’ve seen is three seagulls fighting over a falling cigarette end one of them dropped and what looks like cranes building what I can only assume is a giant green screen so ITV can just put up a pretend sunrise instead of the bleakfest Londoners are subjected to these days.

Now, to be fair, I’m all in favour of Daybreak. I do kind of like it, a bit of a guilty pleasure I suppose, but I’ll take anything to alleviate the horror that was GMTV. A morning show so simple it was just plain insulting at times. Remember when they used to send Keith Chegwin round to some poor sod’s house first thing in the morning. I used to love it when no one answered the door. I’d rather answer the door to Noel Edmonds than that little git. As for the other presenters of sheer bland I’d rather line them all up and catapult them to a far away land using a giant slingshot just so that no one can be subjected to their drivel any longer.

But of all the absolute morons that presented GMTV my absolute worst was always Andrew Castle. I just cant stand the man. He’d be given special treatment, instead of the oversized slingshot I’d have to build a trebuchet just for him, one big enough to send him into orbit. Let’s see you belittle your audience from there you smug ferryman. Every morning I’d turn on the TV and there he was sat upright, next to whoever drew the short straw that week, with his smirking face and hidden eyes talking at you with his innate attitude of sheer patronization, argh it’s enough to make me watch Breakfast.

So thank goodness it’s gone. No longer do I have to put up with the horrible 80s set. No longer do I have to watch the painful chemistry between Kate Garraway and Ben Shepherd. And no longer do I have to sit and watch Andrew bloody Castle every morning. For that reason alone Daybreak is absolutely brilliant in my eyes. Now I only have to put up with him during Wimbledon.

Daybreak’s supporting cast are also better than GMTV's, yes Garraway is still on it, but she’s been given a minor role in entertainment thankfully. As for the weather girl she isn’t really the best, I’d imagine she’s a graduate, or a Blue Peter presenter because she has no idea what she’s doing. I’ve seen her a couple of times and each time I’ve found my self looking over my shoulder because that’s where she’s staring in to. She looks like she’s reading her lines off a large piece of card being held by an unusually tall man slightly to the right of the camera. What is she gawping at!? I really want to know! Is it a mouse? Jim Davidson? The apocalypse? What are you staring at woman!?

Old favourite Dr Hillary is still on it, giving out some mild advice, that can be found in leaflets, to the general public. John Stapleton’s been sent out into the field to find news, gives him something to do I suppose. And they’ve kept GMTV newboy Dan Lobb to read the sport, which is great news for him as he must have been having nightmares of going back to Sky Sports News to repeat himself over and over again to the unemployed.

As for Chiles and Bleakley they’re as much a married couple as ever. They’re not too bad. Better than the previous generation were. It’s pretty much The One Show's setup only it’s found during cereal time rather than tea time. The content is pretty much the same as GMTV: news, sport, ads, a guest, a chatette, ads, weather, ads, feature story. You get the idea. I have noticed though that a lot of their content is just ripped straight off YouTube, like the penalty save that wasn’t or the running dreaming dog. They cut short the YouTube clip and invite you the audience to text in and let them know which one you want to see more of. Which leads me to question: why don’t they just go on YouTube and watch them all yourself. It’d save you a text, and save you the adverts, actually no there’d probably be more adverts. Fair enough keep on texting.

Yes it could be improved. They could have an actual backdrop, they could have bettered the content of the actual show and they could stop trying to cosy up to me whilst I’m still trying to get the sleep out of my eyes, but otherwise I’m pretty happy it’s on.

What I’m not happy about is the fact that at the start of The One Show the great outdoors looks exactly the same as the start of Daybreak. It makes me feel so sad, so very very sad. I’m looking out into the darkness, dreaming of what could have been, wondering if the sun will rise tomorrow morning. All being well it will, but that's the least of my worries right now, Cheggers is at the door.

***

(Seriously though, Alex Jones and Christine Bleakley have got to be twins, or at least sisters.)

You put one leg in front of the other over and over again really really fast.

I am by no means the epitome of fitness. In fact I am nowhere near that. I’d say I’m not as good as Usain Bolt but I am a little better than Eamon Holmes. It’s fair to say I’m closer to a This Morning presenter than the fastest man on the planet but hey, I’m trying.

I’ve been running for a few years now, so you’d think I’d be pretty decent at it wouldn’t you. You’d be wrong. I’m fairly sure most people’s mums could be better at running than I am at the moment. But it wasn’t always like this. I used to be good, honest I did.

Whilst living in Australia I got back into running pretty well. I used to go all the time, a nice jog by the lake or down the coastline. Obviously I did this before noon as if I did so after that I would just end up curled up inside the refrigerator of a petrol station’s convenience store clutching onto a bottle of overpriced lemonade. Yeah that happened more than once.

Coming back to England didn’t exactly help my running aspirations though. My scenic lake had been replaced by a slushy field full of gnats, nettles and syringes and my beautiful coastline is now a grim grey road that goes on as far as the eye can see. You won’t hear the lapping of waves here, only the distant shout of a chav in a Citroen Saxo who just threw an empty can of Stella at you. I love the UK.

But I’ve been defiant. For some unknown reason I continued to run. Simply for the love of it. I enjoy running for many reasons, yes it keeps me fit and healthy but I like the social side of it too. Whether I’m with my mates or nodding in acknowledgement at a fellow jogger, like two bus drivers on a grim grey road going in opposite directions, we have the runner camaraderie. I have to say though, running alone can become pretty boring. It’s just so easy to stop and have a breather or two, or three, or four, or seventeen. After about two miles I’m desperately holding onto a street sign for dear life, red-faced, praying that I wouldn’t collapse into a pile of human failure.

Yep, it’s fair to say I’m at my best when running with a partner or a group. It keeps me motivated so is therefore good for my fitness. Yet for some reason, when all I want to do is stop and cry like a little girl, my running buddies morph into terminators, turn to me and tell me they’re thinking of running further and faster. Of course my brain agrees with this suggestion, and my mouth passes on the message. My legs on the other hand aren’t best pleased with this act of treason and they make this painfully clear to me, sending wave after wave of hurt and torment until the horrible ordeal is finally over.

Usually we would start at a meeting spot and then run a route until we got to a landmark that we’d designated the finish line (usually the meeting spot). Of course by the end of these crazed run-fests I’d be found with a shiny beaming face, hunched over like Quasimodo and throwing as much water over myself and down my throat as possible in a desperate bid to appear fit. It’s not a good look. In fact it’s a terrible look. I’ve given up on trying to look good whilst on a run. I’m very jealous of these Herculean specimens who run around parks in their all-in-one lycra suits and stopwatches. Yeah we may be part of the runners guild but I hate you. I need help, I’ve applied to go on Gok Wan’s new show ‘How to look good knackered‘. Hopefully he can help.

After running for a while me and my terminator mates decided to make a go of it and enter the Manchester 10K. It all sounded like a great idea at the time, sat around a pub table telling ourselves how fit we are and how we could be running marathons by the winter months. Brilliant we thought, 10km is going to be a breeze. The very next morning we got training. It wasn’t a breeze. The alcohol that was so kind to me the night before had now turned on me faster than a Lib-Dem in a cul-de-sac. My self-set target of 10km in less than an hour wasn’t looking so simple after all.

So I upped my game. I needed to if I was ever going to complete this mammoth task. It was often too hard, but I carried on. Through all weather conditions. Rain, hail, harsh winds and snow. Nothing could stop me. It was a long hard slog and everyone had written me off. But the naysayers only made me stronger. More determined. As the finish line grew closer I would be up earlier and earlier, so as to stay ahead of my competitors. They wouldn’t catch me, nobody could. My eyes were on the prize. I had created a bond with my running shoes so great that they would take me to the ends of the earth if needs be.

On the day of the race we all went down together. We’d been put in the pink band, meaning we were deemed not only awful but not fit for television. By the time we even left the starting line the TV crews had all packed up and left, leaving only Bez and Clint Boon to look upon you in utter despair as they realise that this is what it’s come to in order to pay the bills.

I was ready for action: limbered up, race number pinned to my shirt, timing chip laced to my right shoe. Bring it on! We were positioned at the back, alongside most people’s mums, a smurf and a Chinese dragon. This alone wasn’t exactly a massive morale boost and it wasn’t made any easier by having us queue up to get to the starting line on a road with more pubs and take-aways than inside the daily thoughts of Ricky Hatton.

We did eventually make the starting line and we were off. The first 3km were the best. All I did was sprint past the mothers and the Flintstone characters. The horrible anti-morale monkey on my back was wiped clean out by this mass overtake. I felt like a Ferrari in a unicycle garage. But it didn’t last long. Soon enough my Ferrari was running out of fuel and it seemed my only option was to change into a more efficient contender. Let’s say a Skoda. An Old Skoda. My sprinting days were over, this was going to be about enduring. Going the distance. I had myself all psyched up. Christ! Is that the 4km sign!?

The remaining kilometres are a bit of a blur. I vaguely recall running past the Theatre of Dreams, with my timing chip looking up at me taunting me with it’s relentless knowledge of my feeble speed, and I think I saw some weird walk-in shower, that might have been a mirage come to think of it. Even my running shoes had abandoned me by the 8km mark. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I’m glad the cameras had gone home. Heck, even Bez had buggered off by the time I’d got half way round. By the ninth kilometre mark I was contemplating quitting, I’d just take off my right shoe and somehow smuggle it onto a passing runner, no one would know.

Still, one way or another I fought against this evil temptation. Somehow from deep within I summoned a great iron will, restoring the trust I once had with my beloved running shoes. With just one kilometre to go I put my head down and went for it. The harshness of my training taking its toll on my body, a niggling stitch boring into my side like a flaming hot dagger. Surely this fool of a competitor won’t make it, he can’t, he mustn’t. But he did! And if Kevin Spacey or any other doubters were around he‘d have punched them in the mouth too!

Fireworks went off, many a champagne cork was popped, thousands of women flocked towards me just to take in the aura of success, one of them carrying a large novelty cheque with a six-figure sum on it. Of course that’s what happened in my head. In reality I just stopped running, my legs breathed the biggest sigh of relief they’d ever achieved, I was shepherded through some gateways, picked up a bag of free stuff and eventually found a street sign to grasp on to.

A fun day was had by all then and incase you‘re interested I was a minute and a half over my one hour target. Shameful I know but all the more reason to tackle it next year! However, since this momentous occasion my running ability seems to have gotten worse. I need a new goal. A half marathon perhaps? Ouch, my legs just sent me some express mail at the thought. Maybe I’ll just go to the pub, I always do better there.

Soapstar Superstars.

Believe it or not soap operas are the most popular thing on TV right now. Usually found sitting in the prime time slots of weeknights, like an unwanted tramp pondering around the Chelsea flower show looking for a damp cigarette, soaps feed on the poor souls who can’t leave the house on a school night.

Some people have their favourite, whether it be BBC’s Eastenders, ITV’s Coronation Street, Five’s Neighbours or Channel 4’s…. wait what do Channel 4 have? Not Brookside the other one. Oh yes Hollyoaks. I’m not even going to get into Hollyoaks right now but for a brief synopsis it’s thirteen out of work manikin doppelgangers talking to each other about how to make an omelette using only left over Shreddies and a broken wine glass. Titillating stuff.

Yes soaps have been wasting our precious hours on this Earth for quite a while now and to be honest I just don’t understand why they’re still going. Well, they get such high ratings so it isn’t a massive surprise actually. It’s like some sort of hypnotic monotony that, if your subjected to it too often, will take over your body and force you to sit and watch every night until you start empathising with the characters on-screen as if they were real family members. No you cannot adopt them. People get so obsessed with these things to the point they think they are actually real. But I must stress, they are not.

I know a few people who don’t watch the soaps themselves but stay updated with what’s going on via a tabloid newspaper with nothing else better to do then tell their hard working journalists to write about Dev’s love life or how many times Grant blinked in last night’s episode. I say journalists but to be honest it’s just a few badgers and a Speak & Spell.

Not all soaps are bad though. My favourite, which I have to admit I follow in the tabloids, is the one about the footballers. I’ve forgotten what it’s called but it was on over the summer, they went on holiday to South Africa, Adrian Chiles was in it. Doesn’t matter. Anyway I’ve loved this soap for a while now and yes I’ve got my favourite characters I like to follow.

We’ve been treated to some great storylines over the years. Remember when Fergie kicked that boot at Beckham? It was so intense. When Glen Johnson was caught stealing from B&Q. I was shocked. How about when Martin Keown jumped around on Ruud van Nistelrooy. I always knew he was a baddie. The writing is so fantastic, you would actually believe that footballers are idiots! Recently though I feel the scriptwriters have tried to up their game but it‘s gotten a little too far-fetched. It started when they gave Darren Bent a Twitter page to enhance audience interaction. That didn’t go down too well. They had to write him out of it in the end and the easiest way to do that was to send him off to Sunderland. Unfortunate, as I thought his character had potential.

After that they subjected us to that wearisome love triangle storyline with Wayne Bridge and John Terry. Team-mates at club level and international level, married man and general love-rat Terry stabbed Bridgey in the back and slept with his ex girlfriend and mother of his son, Vanessa. It sent shockwaves throughout the world, time stood still, people were starting to question not only Terry but themselves. It was gripping stuff. Alright it was over the top but the masses loved it. 

They did drag it out for far too long though. There was the drawn out non-handshake, merchandising went mad with the creation of Team Bridge and Team Terry t-shirts (one of which didn’t sell too well) and then they wrapped it all up by having Terry’s wife actually take him back and sending Bridge off to football purgatory (Manchester City). Rubbish ending that. They never even told us what happened to the kids, oh wait I forgot, nobody cares about them.

Since then though we’ve kind of been starved of a good storyline. Nothing to get your teeth into really. Gazza turned up to a stand-off with a KFC bargain bucket, they tried to re-create the non-handshake and there were some boring changing room bust ups in the South African holiday special. Nothing other than that. But lo and behold the scriptwriters have gone back to one of the show’s favourite characters: Wayne Rooney.

Now, I don’t want to have a go at the writers but they’ve gone with another prostitute story for him. I’ll give you the gist: Wayne, fresh from entertaining and generally wowing audiences over the summer in Shrek Forever After, has once again been found cheating on Princess Fiona whilst she was pregnant with his son. He did so in a five-star hotel with a prostitute, who stayed quiet for a while only to reveal her client’s evil intentions to a group of badgers in exchange for a pot of money and a free lunch.

Not the best storyline I’m sure you’ll agree, Wayne’s been put in this situation before with some other prostitute. Now, in that storyline Fiona took him back and that was that really. So you’d expect her to dump him this time round. It’s hard to judge, there’s been a few cheating storylines recently: Ashley Cole, a man who says ‘lol’, ‘rofl’ and ends every sentence in a conversation by saying ‘text back kiss kiss’, has recently divorced his handbag Cheryl; and Peter Crouch was involved in something but that storyline died a horrible death due to lack of interest.

I for one hope that whatever she decides to do it’s dealt with quickly as I’m bored of the cheating stories now. As long as Wayne doesn’t do too many speeches to the media I don’t care what happens to him. I don’t think he’s allowed anymore anyway. Ofcom get inundated with calls every time he opens his festering hell-hole of a mouth. We have a watershed for a reason! I want better stories guys, c’mon, you guys used to be great. I remember when Adrian Mutu was forced to pay his former employer £14 million for shovelling narcotics into his nostrils with a trowel. Such an expensive habit. Or when Ben Thatcher straight up assaulted Pedro Mendes and we had Pedro-cam for about three weeks until something better came up. Bring back those days.

It’s just lazy writing really. We, as fans of this long-running soap, expect more. In tonight's episode Wayne and friends are playing away in Switzerland and I expect someone to be hit by a steel chair at the very least. Don’t worry, it’s on Sky tonight so you won’t miss Corrie.

That's actually hilarious.

Video game movies suck, yes? Tomb Raider, Resident Evil, Alone in the Dark, Mortal Kombat. Yeah they pretty much all waver between God-awful and depressingly disastrous. But I went to see a movie recently that may very well defy this fact. A fact that has been written in stone ever since Bob Hoskins popped out of a green pipe and yelled ‘Mamma Mia!’.

This Movie is: Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Now I know it’s not a video game, all you pedantic boffins will know it’s based on a comic book written by Bryan Lee O’Malley, but it is a video game movie! It just is! It’s so awesome! From the moment it starts you know it’s a video game movie. The Universal logo is presented to you in 16-bit format with an 8-bit version of the theme. Okay movie…you have gained your first star.

It’s directed by Edgar Wright, of Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead fame. I didn’t reckon much to Shaun of the Dead but Hot Fuzz was hilarious. And this movie beats it. Easily. That’s so hard to say considering how much I love Hot Fuzz, but this is on another level.

This is the point where I’ll be nice and polite and announce a spoiler warning.  I don’t want to ruin the jokes for you so yeah, stop reading if you’re thinking of going to see this film. As it’s best enjoyed without being ruined by idiots like me on the internets.

So the movie begins and we’re introduced to our protagonist Scott Pilgrim very early on. He’s played by Michael Cera who plays the role perfectly. I loved him as George-Michael in Arrested Development and he plays a very similar character here. It’s a no-brainer for the casting team. You find out he’s dating a high school chick who I presumed was Ramona Flowers. But it isn’t, it’s a Chinese girl called Knives Chau (Ellen Wong) who he’s going out with on a rebound from his ex girlfriend Envy Adams (Brie Larson) who, when she got signed by a record label, dumped him. Brutally. I’m probably a complete noob for not knowing this but I didn’t read the graphic novel and I abstained from all trailers to avoid spoilers. The only thing I knew about this movie before I walked in was Michael Cera, Chris Evans, Ramona Flowers, evil exes, graphic novel. That’s it. There’s nothing worse than trailers ruining funny bits in movies. I’m so glad I avoided them.

The character of Ramona (Mary Winstead) comes into it fairly quickly and becomes the object of Scott’s desire instantly. Their relationship is kind of quirky and fun throughout the movie, there’s an obvious attraction but in the end it’s just two people trying to figure out what they want out of life and a life partner rather than a typical love story. A lot of guys will be able to relate to Scott, he’s been dumped by a girl he was in love with. Funnily enough a few guys might be able to relate to that. So you instantly warm to him. Well I did anyway. Even if he is a total broom handle at times. He basically two-times with Knives and Ramona and he treats Knives and fellow band-member Kim (Alison Pill) pretty badly. Kim’s another ex of his. Yeah, you may have noticed, there are a lot of exes in this movie.

As the story progresses you get a lot of in-jokes thrown in your gawping face, but you don’t need to know them to find this movie funny. And my God it is funny. So funny in fact I laughed out loud in the cinema so many times I lost count. I don’t think that’s happened since Hot Fuzz, and before that it was Anchorman. Alright so I got a lot of the in-jokes because, well, I’m a nerd, but I’m pretty sure I would have missed a hatful as well. Some of the great moments in this movie involve a constant barrage of nostalgic video game sound bytes, a shoryuken and even a scene replicating Seinfeld! It’s just great writing. Okay movie that’s another star for you.

Of course not all of the jokes perform perfect landings. Julie’s bleeped mouth borders overuse, for example. And the pee bar is a fail. But I know that was in the comic so fair enough, I’ll let that slide, and if you don’t like those jokes just deal with it! There’s so much more in this movie so chill out. I know some people would have hated the writing on the screen, but I loved it! It was genuinely funny, and I didn’t even get to read some of them because I was concentrating on something else. I need to watch this movie again.

So once Scott is dating his beloved Ramona he is randomly attacked by a dude named Matthew Patel (Satya Bhabha) who crashes in through the ceiling and kicks off the movie’s first fight scene. Yeah this movie just got surreal. And it’s a good thing. Reality is finally fully disbanded and you can just sit back and enjoy the festivities. Matthew Patel reveals that he’s an ex of Ramona who wants his revenge for being dumped all those years ago in 7th grade. He then breaks into song in the most comedic Bollywood scene I’ve ever seen and is easily disposed of by Scott. Ramona then tells our hero he must defeat her seven evil exes in order for him to continue to date her. Pretty standard stuff so far, I’m sure you’ll agree.

The next evil ex is Lucas Lee, played by none other than Captain America himself, Chris Evans. Lee is a skateboarder turned cocky movie-star and is one of the best characters in the film. Scott’s room-mate Wallace (Kieran Culkin, yes Macaulay Culkin‘s brother), who is also one of the best characters in this movie, reveals Lee when he tells Scott he’s going to be stalking him. He sprays magazine cuttings of him across the table and one of them is a poster for a movie called ‘Action Doctor’ with the tagline ‘The good news is, you’re going to live. The bad news is, he’s going to kill you.’ Genius, absolute genius, I don’t know who wrote that but give him an Oscar now, two Oscars, heck just give him them all. Movie, have a star.

Once Scott defeats Lucas Lee and his army of stunt doubles. His ’big’ ex enters the movie, randomly, and invites him to her gig. Scott obviously turns it down but his band-mates decide otherwise when they are offered to support her band (The Clash at Demonhead). Poor Scott. Once at the gig we get introduced to the next ex, the psychic vegan Todd Ingram (Brandon Routh). Another fight scene ensues where Scott challenges him to a bass battle, only to lose and trick him into drinking coffee with half soy and half milk. Obviously this prompts the vegan police to burst in through a wall and take away Todd’s psychic powers. Incidentally the Punisher is in the vegan police. That alone blew my mind.

Next up it’s the bi-furious Roxy Richter (Mae Whitman, yes she was in Arrested Development too, come to think of it she played Cera‘s ex in that, I wonder if that was planned…) Scott finally realises this is an ex of Ramona’s but we’re treated to a fight scene between the two ladies rather than Scotty. He eventually has to step in but Roxy’s speed gets the better of him and he has to resort to hitting her sensual spot, revealed to him in slow motion by Ramona, behind her knee. Job done Scott well done.

The fight scenes make this movie for me. They are some of the best I’ve seen in ages. You might think as there are seven exes it would get boring. But it doesn’t. They’re all so varied and fun, they’re simply bad-ass. They easily keep you interested. I never once got bored in this movie. There’s always something going on. Whether it’s the massive summoned creatures in the battle against the Katayanagi twins or the final battle’s sword play, this movie keeps you wanting more, and more, and more. I need this on DVD. I really do. Another star for the fight scenes? Consider it done.

As for music, it’s pretty darn good. It’s very rock influenced, which you’d expect considering Scott’s in a rock band (known as Sex Bob-omb). It uses the music brilliantly and it’s used to great effect in the fight scenes, adding atmosphere and general vibrancy to the proceedings. There’s a few slower numbers thrown in there as well as the heavy stuff. But the soundtrack will be enjoyed more by rockers. Rival band ‘Crash and the boys’ produce some very short but good ones. I like the way the bands in this movie are named after Nintendo games. That’s pretty cool.

In the end Scott goes up against the final boss Gideon (Jason Schwartzman). But oh no! He loses to him and he’s left dead in a sandy purgatory! Whilst he’s here he gets to speak to Ramona and he learns a valuable lesson. Too bad he’s dead. But no, he has an extra life. I told you it was a video game! So he goes back, endures Gideon’s cut-scene (thank God Hideo Kojima didn’t direct this one) and starts the fight over, this time for himself not Ramona. This fight scene is so epic, he fights off a few guards with swords only to come up against Gideon and give him a kicking. Knives randomly jumps in to attack Ramona, as you do, and they fight for a bit until Scott finally defeats him and the final final boss! Phew.

So once all that’s done and Gideon has given his end of game boss defeated speech, Scott leaves the building to find Ramona and Knives. Ramona gives a little speech and walks off leaving Scott with Knives. But Knives tells him to go after her as they’re meant to be together or whatever. So he does. This is good and all but by the end of the movie I kind of grew fond of Knives more than I did Ramona. I wanted him to stay with Knives! She deserved it and was way more interesting than Ramona. Ellen Wong should go on to do tonnes of other stuff after this performance. I’d say it’s the best in the movie, and there are some pretty good performances here.

This really is one of the best movies of the year. But I’ve noticed it’s not doing well. It’s bob-ombing in the States and it came in at number two in the UK box office behind Grown Ups. Now, I haven’t seen Grown Ups but I can imagine that this film is several times better than that one. So go and see it! You need to! If you don’t Action Doctor will never be made! As for my final verdict, eagle-eyed readers would have counted the four stars I’ve given but no it gets 5 stars. The last star was for awesomeness. Yeah. It happens.

Whatever you say, Mr. Billboard.

Have you noticed there’s not much happiness going around at the moment. Seems like everywhere I turn there’s a woman sobbing on her knees, or a tormented policeman trying to coax a man down from an open window, only to end up climbing the stairs himself and swan-diving into the concrete abyss. You don’t think anyone’s happy? Well may I direct your attention to the megalomaniacs making a tidy sum of off the brainwashed masses who buy their meaningless tat. How do they do it I hear you ask. Advertisements (See dictionary definition ‘scourge’).

Advertising has come a long way since the very first entrepreneur caveman started spouting about the tar pit he was offering a dip in for a mere 7 strands of hair and a jagged rock. Of course he looked like a loveable little rascal, but upon looking a little deeper and you’d find he only owned the tar pit because he killed the previous owner with a stone rose and a Gillette razor. Oh and the tar pit killed you. Gruesomely. Small print didn’t exist in those days.

Of course nowadays there are standards so no sneaky little bugger can trick you into killing yourself for a buck. People who have stepped in and told McDonalds it’s not okay to make kids fat, and BT’s Adam and Jane that they’re too boring for television. These heroes of modern society are knows as the ASA - the Advertising Standards Authority. They’re the guys who patrol the entire broadcasting network of the UK. Expect a charity to pop up for them soon.

Cigarettes for example, have been around for a while, torturing humans and making people excessively rich in the process. Fag companies used to advertise everywhere, billboards, television, radio, you name it. I’m fairly sure they went to the moon before Armstrong and set up an advert just for him (and Buzz) to see when they got there. Thankfully for humanity though they were forced to put warnings on their adverts and products. But thankfully for the cigarette firms, people are idiots and will smoke anyway. So it didn’t take too long for them to be banned from advertising entirely.

There is of course the inevitable loopholes. The ASA are self regulatory and are therefore run by the advertising industry itself. So realistically anything is allowed really. It’s a bit like having a guard dog, but instead of choosing a Doberman they’ve got themselves a Tamagotchi. I found a Rizla advert on my msn before, it’s rolling paper, not necessarily for tobacco you see, but yes based on that fact you should expect an increase in puff pastry commercials. Oh and there’s also the number one advert that makes such an impression on kids they’re puffing away before they‘ve even sat their first sex education class: smoking parents.

Television (see scourge) brought with it a massive boom in the ad-game. Now companies could beam themselves directly into your poxy little living room and invade you like the French did, leaving you feeling violated and nibbling the corner of a stale baguette. It all kicked off a bit of a revolution. Creative people in suits and ascots holding a croissant in one hand and a fountain pen in the other, set out to create 30 second long clips of charm and pure persuasion for the moneybags who couldn’t be arsed doing it themselves. Hence the rise of advertising companies.

They’d create all sorts of gems like the Cadbury gorilla, the big ad for Carlton Draught or the Xbox bang bang advert, which was banned actually. Typical, I‘m not giving to your charity now. Nike have produced some decent ones in the past, as have Coca-Cola. Remember that Snowman ad for Irn Bru? Brilliant. Or the one where Brains from Thunderbirds danced like Christopher Walken on crack. Epic. Or when Apple did that 1984 advert where that woman threw a sledgehammer into her oppressor's beaming face. Ironic. Some I never really liked were the Guinness ones, they were just tiresome, superficial and pretentious but they always got massive acclaim. “Tick follows tick follows tick follows tock” boring! The recent one with the domino effect is better.

But recently advertisements have got a bit, what’s the word? Pathetic. The creative swanks who left the country for better rewards have been replaced by retarded walruses in mustard stained t-shirts who scribble all over an A3 piece of paper with a piece of fudge brownie and hand it in to their boss who looks at the paper, tries to pretend that he isn’t drunk, and gives it the green light. Advertisers now pretty much resort to annoying the hell out of their target audience and anyone else who’s unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire. Because tedious annoyance is memorable.

Exhibit A: we have the Go Compare man. Yes you know him, the obese younger brother of the Pringles bloke who runs around telling upper class women they can save daddy’s money and gallivanting around a desert island telling anyone who happens to be marooned there they can save a few quid. Sorry but if I was deserted on a paradisal island I tend to think I’d make up an imaginary character like Wilson from Cast Away. Not a fat bloke in a tux running around telling me to compare! My therapist told me to stop comparing.

Exhibit B: we have the fabulous piece of creative genius that is the advert for webuyanycar.com. I feel I must genuinely apologise for bringing this up. It starts with a normal looking man behind a news desk, nothing bothersome here, but then all of a sudden from nowhere, a sneak attack of pure evil emanates from him. He stands up and starts singing a song about the unnecessary service they offer. Imagine Westlife wrote their own songs, you’re not even close. It is the most aggravating commercial on the box right now, it’s the only advert that will make me flick to the next channel. As soon as I see his obnoxious little face and his news desk I’m off. Gone. I’m on Channel 4 watching the ultimate Big Brother, and by Joe I’m not going back, not for at least 45 seconds in which I’ll probably forget what I was watching and therefore miss the last 15 minutes of Poirot. Sigh.

In short it’s not only horrendous advertising but it’s costing commercial television money. Say you own a tambourine company and you’d like to advertise your new bad-ass percussion instrument on ITV during the final episode of The Bill (because hey, the viewers will need something to entertain themselves with now). Okay, so now imagine the nice lady on the other end wants to schedule you straight after a webuyanycar advert. Are you going to do that? Hell no! The best place to be is on the very next channel, three seconds into the webuyanycar ad. This company annoys me so much I’m thinking of giving them a call and seeing how much I can get for my micro-machines. “Hello yes, a small hatchback it is, how much? Size? Erm I‘d say about one and a half centimetres.” Actually I’ve realised a flaw in my scheme already, it’s online. Crap, I bet they don’t have a micro-machine option. But I bet they do have a Jazz option! Ok here’s what we’ll do: we’ll all go on their site and offer them a big talking transformer called Jazz. If enough of us do it we should be able to shut them down forever or at least make fifty quid and cause mild discomfort at their headquarters. Why do I get the image of the Death Star when I imagine their headquarters? Weird.

You must be wondering how this kind of advertisement is actually successful? I’ll tell you how. People are idiots. Like the smoking ads of yesteryear they could write ‘Warning! Going on Go Compare will cause Aunt Bessie to come round your house and kill you with a pair of oven mitts’ and people would still go on it. If a advert during Corrie wrote ‘JUMP’ in big letters across the screen, the UK would witness an earthquake so powerful the Earth’s very core would implode and God himself would get a sun tan from the aftermath. Okay maybe a slight exaggeration, but you have God to thank that they haven’t done that during the Superbowl broadcast over in the States.

The future of television isn’t all that bleak though. We have Sky+! Or V+ if you’re on Virgin. I’m not 100% sure on what the plus means. I’m just guessing it means positive, because you can record stuff and whiz through the ad breaks! This thing seriously made me so much happier. It’s like every channel is the BBC. Happiness reigns! Now that very same woman is on her knees crying tears of joy, and that guy just jumped into the policeman’s arms and they’re going on a romantic getaway to Cyprus. This can only mean one thing. The evil bosses at Tat inc. are not happy, money’s not coming in as quickly as it used to, and rent on the inside of a volcano isn’t cheap.

So they have to find new ways of getting your attention. Putting an advert in the actual show is one way of doing it, I hear in the next Britain’s Got Talent Ant will have a Burger King billboard pasted to his forehead and Dec will just dress up as the King himself, not sure which will be more obvious. Celebrity endorsement is usually a winner for advertisers too. Depends who you get mind you. John Smith picked a winner with Peter Kay, can’t say Iceland did the same with Kerry Katona. It’s used in the political world too, remember when Oprah Winfrey told us Barrack Obama would fix the matrix? Look who’s in the White House. It’s like celebrity top trumps. Now we know that Oprah beats Chuck Norris. Mike Huckabee had Chuck Norris. Chuck friggin’ Norris and he still lost. I suppose it depends on your party though. Eddie Izzard couldn’t even get Labour to lose with dignity earlier this year.

A favourite weapon of the overlords that cant be avoided like an ad-break however is product placement. You just have to train yourself not to notice it or be mentally corrupted by it. The odd bottle of Sprite on the set of Emmerdale. Innocent enough isn’t it? Wrong! It’s pure evil! I like to think I’ve managed to be immune to this sort of thing. Okay so I watched the Premier League match at the weekend on ESPN and I might have seen an advert for ‘liking’ Manchester United on facebook, and I might have ‘liked’ them afterwards. But that’s just one time, and besides I do like United, don’t I? Oh God they’ve got to me. Before long I’ll be in Clown College.

I wouldn’t mind adverts if they weren’t so darn painful and annoying. They’re not all bad, sometimes a good one will appear from nowhere and surprise you. But we need more of them to stop this horrible oppression! Sledgehammer to Steve Jobs anyone?