TV continues to occupy an increasing amount of our leisure time – last time I checked the Tivo, there were no less than 15 regular series which were being DVR’d, and it seems the number has been creeping up, to the point where we have to exercise discipline to ensure an unwieldy backlog doesn’t build up. It helps that the DVR hard-disk is limited to 20-25 hours of HD TV at any one time, and doesn’t appear expandable [unlike my ‘puter, which just got a 1 Tb external drive, almost entirely for media-related reasons]. It concentrates the mind when the DVR starts warning you that it’s gonna start erasing stuff, like a mother threatening to throw out all those toys if she finds them lying on the floor one more time.

To keep things fresh, all shows that were listed in last year’s top 10 are disqualified from contention. In some cases, e.g. Haven, they didn’t keep their standards up, others (Caprica, 24) were not on the schedule, but the majority would at least be worthy of an honourable mention in this year’s roll of televisual goodness. Speaking of honourable mentions, those should also go to Alphas and Being Human [the original British version, though the American remake is going in some interesting directions[. They were the two shows which were the final ones cut from the list. As last year, the list is in alphabetical order

Falling Skies
This tale of life after an alien invasion took a while to get going, but proved to be worth sticking with. Gradually we learn more about the ETs, their abduction of children and “harnessing” of the kids, which has both physical and psychological effects. There’s a chilling plausibility to much of this too; one suspects any actual alien invasion would probably result in humanity getting its collective arse kicked, rather than some kind of Independence Day triumph. Occasionally get a little too religious, though you get past that with a little rolling of eyes. Curious to see where they go in Series 2.

An Idiot Abroad
Debated continues to rage in TC Towers are to whether Karl Pilkington is real or a comic creation, played with deadpan seriousness. That’s been the case since we were first aware of him on The Ricky Gervais Show, and Idiot leaves the question unresolved. It’s a wonderfully funny counterpoint to the suggestion that travel broadens the mind, though Karl is thrown in at the deep-end of foreign culture and shows himself to be remarkably game, e.g. eating things that would certainly not pass my lips. So: genuine idiot or Borat-like character? The jury remains out on that one.

Law and Order: UK
I never bothered with the many US versions of the show, e.g. Special Victims Unit, Criminal Intent, etc. but have thoroughly enjoyed this one, even if the stories are largely reworked American episodes. There’s something uniquely British about the rhythms on view, and in particular, Bradley Walsh as cheerfully-reformed alkie DS Brooks. At its best – and it usually is – it’s smart yet emotional drama that really drives home the minefield negotiated by those in charge of striking the balance between law and justice. as well as the difference in those two concepts.

Nikita
Funnily enough, I’ve written more – lots more – about this one on GirlsWithGuns.org, and it remains the best action heroine show on TV, even though it’s now buried on the least-watched network (The CW) on a Friday night, where shows go to die. It’s a different take to the previous TV version, with Nikita here having quit her former quasi-governmental employers, “Division”,and now seeks to destroy them, with the help of both internal and external allies. The best fight scenes on TV, and the best selection of strong female characters, especially in Season 2, where Division has an anti-Nikita in charge.

Spartacus: Gods of the Arena
After the success of the first series, a second was commissioned, but the diagnosis of star Andy Whitfield with cancer put that on ice. While he underwent treatment, the makers went for a prequel, which retained most of the other aspects, e.g. John Hannah yelling “By Jupiter’s cock!” We also got Jaime Murray, best-known here for playing slutty psycho Lila on Season 2 of Dexter, demonstrating her range here by playing Gaia, a psycho slut. Her end in both was pretty messy, and the series single-handedly demolishes the idea of Rome being the birthplace of civilization. Sadly, Whitfield died in September, so has been recast for the show’s return next year.

Strike Back
It’s like Spooks/MI-5’s cruder big brother, with  all the gratuitous violence, swearing and rampant nudity you could want, and more than a hint of 24, with MI-6 agents Michael Stonebridge and Damian Scott kicking terrorist arse from India to Budapest [we can only speculate who would win, if Stonebridge and Jack Bauer had a fight]. Somewhat confusingly, the British Stonebridge is played by a Yank, and the American Scott by an Aussie. It’s one of two UK/US co-productions on the list – this seems to be the wave of the future, allowing for British talent to receive enhanced production values. 

Supernatural
Where have we been the last six seasons? How did we miss this? Chris just stumbled across an episode by chance; she was on the phone to me, and the conversation was peppered from her end with “What the fuck?” and “Holy shit!” It plays kinda like a cross between Buffy and The X-Files, with brothers Sam and Dean Winchester criss-crossing the country to take on occult evils of one form or another. While it’s not exactly impenetrable – we’ve figured out what’s going on without much difficulty – we’re waiting for the show to appear on Netflix streaming so we can catch up on the previous 100+ episodes

Torchwood: Miracle Day
Another US/UK co-production, we were concerned how this one would work out, and after some early stumbles, it meshed the obvious nods to the American audience, e.g. Mekhi Phifer with the essential British aspects (Gwen and Captain Jack) pretty well. Certainly, every penny was up on screen, and there was no toning down for a global audience. Indeed, we could have done without an entire episode basically being devoted to showing exactly how gay Harkness was [the omni-sexual approach from the UK series seemed more appropriate]. If not quite Children of Earth, not bad.

The Walking Dead
I covered the series last December, but am pleased to report it has kept up its quality and remains the most intense horror series presently on television. The second season is now under way with the dwindling band of survivors abandoning the city after their trip to CDC headquarters in search of centralized survivors didn’t quite go as planned. However, we’ve currently got one child missing and another shot accidentally, as well as all the zombies. Almost as good is this parody, which you wonder why no-one apparently thought of previously.

Wipeout
A truly guilty pleasure, watching people struggle their way through an impossible obstacle course, where failure is not an option – it’s the only option. Reminiscent of a hardcore version of MXC, complete with two presenters whose deadpan asides definitely enhance the viewing pleasure. I could go on about the program being a showcase for the indefatigable strength of the human spirit in the face of obstacles, but truth be told,. there’s really nothing funnier than watching people get whacked in the face, falling off things, and cartwheeling down into muddy ponds. Hey, don’t just take my word for it…

“Cunt” is about the last word possessing any power to shock, especially here in America. While the rest of George Carlin’s “Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television” list from 1972 – shit, piss, fuck, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits – are now, to various extents (and particularly on cable) part of the public vocabulary, you’ll still rarely find the c-word used.

This does, of course, only apply in America. A lot of the time, it just doesn’t sound right when Americans use it, such as the line in Way of the Gun: “Shut that cunt’s mouth or I’ll come over there and fuckstart her head!” or when Bill tells the Bride in Kill Bill, “Every once in a while, you can be a real cunt.” These examples is like children, who know a bad word or two, but have no concept of how to use them correctly, only that they shock adults. That’s a sad waste of the power inherent in “cunt”.

When you do hear it used correctly, there’s often a Brit involved, either as actor, writer or director, perhaps because the word doesn’t have quite the same impact there. It has been used on broadcast TV in the UK since at least 1970, and its use in a film is not necessarily a ticket to an adults-only rating e.g. the Ian Dury biopic Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll, which was rated 15, despite dropping several C-bombs. That’s understandable, given there were street-names such as Gropecunt Lane as far back as 1230. At that point, the word was not considered obscene, though it had drifted into so being, by the time of Shakespeare, who alluded to it more than once in various plays.

There are suggestions that its use is inherently derogatory to woman. Obviously, when aimed at a woman, it’s pretty much the worst single word you can use, but I’m less convinced of this being the case in general usage – indeed, calling someone a “clever cunt” is a compliment, albeit a coarse one. And as a counter-argument to some feminists, no-one ever complains about the similarly “anti-male” aspects of insults such as prick, dick or knobhead. And when was the last time you heard anyone call somebody out for talking a load of ovaries? Not all women object to it: when they started filming Closer, Natalie Portman gave Julia Roberts a necklace that said “cunt”, because of their characters’ foul mouths. When shooting ended, Julia Roberts returned the favour, giving Portman a necklace reading “lil’ cunt”.

It’s not a word I use a lot, personally, simply because I’m a big believer that the less you swear, the more effective it is – I still recall the first time I heard my mother swear, and it was something relatively mild. My 15-year old jaw dropped, and I can tell you, whatever it was I was doing wrong – and I forget that aspect – I stopped. We do use it, semi-facetiously, when referring to those who use the HOV lane when they shouldn’t. Or Hummer drivers. That works too. But there have been some epic uses of the word in cinema. Here are ten of my favourites; I’ve stuck to film, but give an honourable mention to Kenny Powers’ from cable TV’s’s Eastbound and Down: “There is no I in team, but there is a U in cunt.”

10. Monty Python: Live at the Hollywood Bowl

Albatross Woman: Of course you don’t getting fucking wafers with it, you cunt. It’s a fucking albatross, isn’t it?

Why it works: Because it’s the only time the words “cunt” and “albatross” have ever been used in the same five-word stretch.

9. Memento

Natalie: You know what one of the reasons for short term memory loss is? Venereal disease. Maybe your cunt of a fucking wife sucked one too many diseased cocks and turned you into a fucking retard.

Why it works: One of the rare uses by a woman, though it does occasionally happen e.g. in Bridesmaids. But the venom on view is unsurpassed, and the quote also appreciates the use of “cunt”, not just on its own, but in combination with other expletives.

8. Silence of the Lambs

Hannibal Lecter: Now then, tell me. What did Miggs say to you? Multiple Miggs in the next cell. He hissed at you. What did he say?
Clarice Starling: He said, “I can smell your cunt.”
Hannibal Lecter: I see. I, myself, can not. You use Evian skin cream, and sometimes you wear L’Air du Temps, but not today.

Why it works: It’s all part of the power-play between Starling and Lecter. The good Doctor knew very well what Miggs said – but wanted to make Starling say it. Unfazed, Starling does so, and Lecter then responds on an entirely factual basis. Academy Awards all round!

7. Blade: Trinity

Hannibal King: That’s atomized colloidal silver. It’s being pumped through the building’s air conditioning system, you cock-juggling thundercunt!

Why it works: Writer/director David S. Goyer is American, as is actor Ryan Reynolds who plays the character. But if you can hear the phrase, “cock-juggling thundercunt” without smirking, you’re a better person than I. Every time we see Parker Posey – to whose vampiric character the line was addressed – we have to use it. Hopefully, we never meet Ms. Posey in real life, or we’ll have some ‘splainin’ to do…

6. Snatch

Brick Top: Do you know what nemesis means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent, personified in this case by a ‘orrible cunt. Me.

Why it works: Contrast. What starts off as a dictionary definition, suddenly mutates at the end into something self-referential and a good deal more sinister. The rest of the film leaves no doubt that it’s an entirely accurate description.

5. Shaun of the Dead.

Ed: Can I get… any of you cunts… a drink?

Why it works: It’s addressed to Ed’s best friend, whose girlfriend is attempting to engage him in a meaningful conversation about their future, and why Ed should play no part in it. Case closed. Another case where a film was rated only ’15’ in the UK, despite its use of the word, likely due to the entirely non-sexual context.

4. Saturday Night Fever

Tony Manero: Look, what are you anyway? Are you a nice girl or are you a cunt?
Annette: I don’t know – both?
Tony: You can’t be both. That’s the thing, a girl’s gotta decide early on. You gotta decide if you’re gonna be a nice girl or a cunt.

Why it works: It’s easy to forgot what a harsh movie Saturday Night Fever was, full of violence, racism and – as the above illustrates – outright misogyny. Perhaps the most offensive use of the word – and, yet, Annette isn’t bothered by the philosophical dichotomy so eloquently expressed by Tony.

3. Sexy Beast

Don: Not this time, Gal. Not this time. Not this fucking time. No. No no no no no no no no no! No! No no no no no no no no no no no no no! No! Not this fucking time! No fucking way! No fucking way, no fucking way, no fucking way! You’ve made me look a right cunt!

Why it works: Rhythm. Listen to the audio clip below. Despite the limited vocabulary, it’s poetic, almost to the level of a Shakespearean sonnet. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but “cunt” becomes the exclamation point on the end of the tirade. How could you possibly respond to that? Plus, it’s said by the guy who played Gandhi.

2. Kick-Ass

Hit Girl: Okay you cunts… Let’s see what you can do now!

Why it works: If having a woman say the word is a palpable shock, what about this approach?

Step 1. Have it said by an 11-year old girl – oh, and she’s about to kill most of the people in the room, while accompanied by The Dickies’ cover of the Banana Splits theme.

Step 2: receive loads of free publicity discussion, mostly complaining about how irresponsible the film-makers are to put such appalling language in the mouth of an adorable poppet like Chloe Moretz (who, ironically, wasn’t technically able to see the film in which she played such an integral part).

Step 3: Profit! Masterful.

1. In Bruges

Ken: Harry, let’s face it. And I’m not being funny. I mean no disrespect, but you’re a cunt. You’re a cunt now, and you’ve always been a cunt. And the only thing that’s going to change is that you’re going to be an even bigger cunt. Maybe have some more cunt kids.
Harry: Leave my kids fucking out of it! What have they done? You fucking retract that bit about my cunt fucking kids!
Ken: I retract that bit about your cunt fucking kids.
Harry: Insult my fucking kids? That’s going overboard, mate!
Ken: I retracted it, didn’t I?

Why it works: Figure it out for yourself, you smart cunt.

It was my sister Pat’s birthday last week. I thought it would be nice, as a last-minute present. to get her a gift-certificate from Amazon.co.uk. Very simple: hop on their website, buy a certificate, and they’ll send her an email with the code. What could possibly be more painless?

Well… The long list of things which now fall into that category include items such as “being dragged backwards over shards of broken glass while having your prostate checked by an enthusiastic doctor with extremely fat fingers”. Let’s say, as far as customer service goes, Amazon are not among the finest companies with which I have dealt.

After the jump, you’ll find the whole sorry saga. Go get a cup of coffee. And a sandwich.

Birthday + 3 days. The first inkling I got of any trouble was when my Pat replied to my birthday wishes, saying, “An e mail from Amazon – no sign. I don’t check every day, but there is nothing today or previously.” Oh-oh… So, I tried to log in to my Amazon account and check. However, my password was rejected. No big: I have a few I use, so I requested a password reset link, and reset my password. Still wouldn’t let me in. I tried with another password reset. I’m even getting the message that my account has been updated, but still, nothing. Restarted my browser. Rejected. Tried in Chrome. Uh-uh. Used Chris’s computer. None shall pass.  So, I filled in the form on the website, begging for help.

Birthday +4 days. And, whether coincidentally or not, I got this email:

Dear Customer,
Thank you for your recent order xxx-xxx-xxxx. Your account and order are currently on hold while we verify your order.

We have left a message at the telephone number associated with the card used with further instructions. In order to verify this transaction, please contact us as requested in our telephone message.

Unfortunately, we are unable to proceed with this order until we have received a response to our answer phone message. If we do not receive a response within 3 days your order will be cancelled.

Thank you for your patience and understanding. We look forward to hearing from you shortly.

Sincerely

Amazon.co.uk
Account Specialist

Ok, fair enough. It was an order placed from America, going to a British address. I can see how that could have raised red flags. I checked my voice-mail, and yes, there was a message. It was barely intelligible, delivered by a heavily-accented South Asian apparently reading from a script scrawled by a doctor on the back of a napkin, but it was there. And it had a telephone number! Surely my sister was now within reach of her present…

Not so fast. The guy gave the number twice, but it wasn’t actually the same number. Heck, it didn’t actually have the same number of numbers. [Yay for minimum-wage outsourcing!] A bigger problem soon surfaced. Both numbers were 0800 toll-free ones – utterly unusable from America. It was 7pm Arizona time, too late to so anything about it that day.

Birthday +5 days. After a good deal of hunting around the Internet, I track down a number for Amazon customer service that can be called internationally. In case anyone else is wanting it, here it is: 0207 084 7911. I call, speak to another person who is apparently closer to the Amazon than the UK, and am promised someone will call me back within 24 hours to verify the order.

Momentarily overcome with madness, I believe this promise. Oh, I can just imagine the call-center staff chuckling after I hung up the phone: “Hahahaha! Chalk up another victory over the British Raj!” Yeah, as somebody who used to be the one making those promises, I should really have known better. You will not be surprised to hear that 24 hours passed, and my telephone was completely untroubled by any contact from Amazon.co.uk.

Birthday +6 days. I adopt a different tack. I try Amazon.com, first attempting their live chat service.

You are now connected to Arun Kumar from Amazon.com.

Me: I’m hoping you can help – the order referenced was placed with Amazon.co.uk, as a birthday present for my sister, but they put it on hold and I have not been able to contact them.

Arun Kumar: Hello, my name is Arun. I’ll be happy to help you.

Arun Kumar: It appears your account and order are on hold at the moment, so I’m unable to view your account. I’ll need to transfer your information to an account specialist, and they’ll get back to you within 24 hours.
Arun Kumar: Could you provide me with the following information, so I can make sure that it is passed onto the Account Specialists.
Arun Kumar: 1. Order # (If applicable):
Arun Kumar: 2. Billing address the bank has on file:
Arun Kumar: 3. Phone number the bank has on file:
Arun Kumar: 4. Contact phone number for your bank (found on your statement, or the back of your card):
Arun Kumar: 5. Any other comments or concerns you’d like me to forward:

Me: I have already done this, and was told someone would be calling me within 24 hours. That has not happened.
Me: This was supposed to be a birthday present, but it has now been five days.

Arun Kumar: I’m sorry you’ve not received a contact from us. I’ll make a note on your account for this.9:27:19 AM
Arun Kumar: So that they will contact you sooner.

Me: I am happy to call them, but need a number I can actually call from the US.
Me: What is the number for that department?

Arun Kumar: Unfortunately, they do not have a phone number to contact. Possibly they will contact you sooner.
Arun Kumar: Thank you for visiting Amazon.com.
Arun Kumar: We hope to see you again soon!
Arun Kumar from Amazon.com has left the conversation.

Yep: I got hung-up on by a live chat customer support agent, before I could even point out that I know they do have a phone number to contact (albeit a useless one for me), because they left it for me in a voice-mail. I then call Amazon’s number, only to be told by the girl – who sounded like she was on her first day on the job – that they couldn’t help with Amazon.co.uk orders and I’d have to contact them directly. Clearly, information of which Amazon chat had not been made aware. She provided exactly the same number I had already found.  Since she was clearly a n00b, I restrained myself.

But, hey, what the heck. Called Amazon.co.uk support, asked to speak to a supervisor. Got through to one, explained the problem… And the call was disconnected. Whether deliberately or by happy accident from her point of view, I don’t know. Convenient, though. I called back, now royally pissed, and asked for another supervisor. Got the “I’ll put a note on your account” argument. BANG – you’ve already done that, mate. Got the “They don’t have a direct number” argument. BANG – so what is this on my voice-mail, Scotch mist? I unloaded on the man, slating Amazon’s incompetence, shoddy business practices, poor customer support, disdain for their client base and direct responsibility for global warming.

Did I get anywhere? Of course not: just more assurances someone will call me back within 24 hours. But I certainly felt a lot better for it. It’s very cleansing to yell at someone, even if they are only tangentially responsible for the actual problem.  While waiting for the promised call, I thought I had perhaps found a work-around. Buy a card from Amazon.com, and she can use it at Amazon.co.uk! Or not. “Amazon gift cards can only be used at the issuing website.” [Shakes fist in air] Curse you, Amazon! That’s nailed that one down. Think I might as well give up and send my sister a set of towels.

Birthday +7 days. Another email received overnight, exactly the same as the one on Order +3. No voice mail or additional information. In fact, no indication Amazon actually tried this time: my phone showed no missed calls.

I realize that what I have gone through corresponds nicely to the Five Stages of Grief:
1) Denial – “Must be something wrong with my computer…”
2) Anger – “F*** Amazon!”
3) Bargaining – “I am happy to call them, but need a number I can actually call from the US.”
4) Depression – “I think I might as well give up.”
5) Acceptance – I guess this is where I now sit, and am strangely comfortable with this. It has certainly been a learning experience – specifically, I learned not to buy anything from Amazon ever again.

Much though I’d like to reveal a happy ending, with an apology from Amazon for their dreadful service, there is none. However, a degree of closure was obtained, since I phoned them up this morning and cancelled the order. Well, I think I did. I got exactly the same BS that the “information will be passed on to the account specialist”, i.e. exactly the same as I’ve been told in all my previous conversations, without any positive results. Needless to say, I strongly suspect the order will not be canceled, and I’ll need to file a chargeback with my credit-card company. Trust me, I will…

I’m really sorry it didn’t work out, Pat. But, hopefully. you will at least appreciate, that this was the most troublesome, problematic non-gift you didn’t receive this birthday.

Dir: Pongpinij
Star: Lek Aiyasoon, Yoko Takano, Chalomjit Junkaj, Thunyaluk Worrapimrut

Women in prison films are a cornerstone of trash cinema, but are one whose appeal is difficult to explain. Chris typically sidles her way out of the room when they’re on, looking at me strangely; I think she’s slightly concerned about the sadomasochistic overtones. But, to me, that’s like being concerned about the homosexual overtones of pro wrestling – which is, after all, well-muscled men in skimpy costumes getting all sweaty and grappling each other. Indeed, pro wrestling and WiP films have other aspects in common: both are disparaged critically, packed with larger than life characters, and contain certain standard plot-devices that are almost de riguer for the genre, showing up time after time.

It’s a universal construct too. Not just Hollywood, but anywhere with a low-budget movie industry, the odds are the genre has been mined. Italy? Hong Kong? Japan? Done. The problem comes when censorship or other restrictions limit your ability to deliver on expectations. A decade ago, back when I shared a house with Steve and Abigail, I tried one of their vegan sausages. It wasn’t bad actually – but something less like a real sausage, is hard to imagine. Which brings us to Final Detention, the vegan sausage of women-in-prison films. While not without its entertainment value, something less like a real women-in-prison film than this Thai entry in the genre, is hard to imagine.

It opens with the heroine escaping, for reasons never explained, from two men with guns on a dock. She does so by diving in to the water and clambering onto a nearby boat. Unfortunately, this turns out to be transporting death-row inmates to a remote prison. Its lightly-clad passengers are apparently Al Qaeda terrorists, judging by the fact that they are guarded by an entire posse of men in ski-masks, wielding automatic weapons. Okay, if I was in this film, I’d likely demand anonymity too. Remarkably, the guards are entirely unconcerned by the sudden appearance of an unscheduled, dripping addition to the manifest, and sail on regardless.

On arrival, the women are dumped off-shore, and forced to wade to the beach, which would be a good excuse for their clothes to turn transparent. Not here though. Instead, when they hit the beach, two try to run away, only to find themselves losing a quick game of Minesweeper. Impressively, they appear to evaporate entirely after detonation. Taken to the camp by the traditional queen bitch guard, they pass the equally traditional guard tower – now, this is just a guess, but I’m predicting, here and now, that it will explode by the end of the movie, hurling the guard to the ground. They also pass a row of women tied to crosses (below). “What the hell is this?” asks one inmate – about two seconds after the viewer wonders the same thing. “Hell is what this is,” replies Queen Bitch, which may be the finest moment in the history of translation.

Turns out, this is one of the forms of punishment if you break the rules. The alternative apparently involves being forced to…er, stir the warden’s herbal bath. “You know you are on death row forever?” he says, which would seem to negate the point of death row somewhat. Similarly, Queen Bitch tells the new meat, “We’re here so we can correct your behavior. You’ll all be perfect women.” It’s nice to see Thailand adopt a kinder, gentler approach to capital punishment, aimed at rehabilitating the condemned before presumably killing them. The new inmates are taken to the showers. While a fire-hose is involved, the kinder, gentler guard lets them keep their clothes on.

The prison uniforms are pretty neat: little midriff-baring combos, appropriate for a safari excursion – or death row- causing Top Dog Inmate to drool quietly over the new arrivals. This concerns her current pals, who have their worries dismissed with “You’re too talkative. Keep on massaging.” I swear, I will work this line in to my next corporate meeting somehow. 16 minutes in, we finally learn the names of two characters, both called after desperation late moves from a Words With Friends game. “Am” is a new arrival – I sense this could cause grammatical issues later on – while Wan is an Old Hand in the prison.

Security is kinda lax here. And by “lax”, I mean “entirely on the honour system”. An inmate asks the guard to go to the bathroom, and that’s all she needs to do, in order to sneak out and snog her boyfriend. The guard appears incredibly surprised when she doesn’t come back. Top Dog makes a play for Am, but Wan stops her, causing Top Dog to storm off in a huff. We also learn that those who try to escape are buried in the ground up to their neck, while the new inmates do aerobics and clamber through what appears to be a Women of Ninja Warrior course.

It’s all too much for one, who is taken to the infirmary. Turns out she’s a drug addict who’s going through cold turkey. The treatment for this deserves quoting in full:

“Tie her up in the water and give her some herbs.”
“Isn’t that a bit dangerous, sir?”
“What choice do we have?”

Er, not tying her up in the water and giving her some herbs? Just a suggestion. Top Dog still has her eye on Am, but Wan has her back, and a slap-fight ensues, until Queen Bitch breaks it up, and orders the new inmates to sleep outside for the night. There, they bond over touching stories, such as:

“Is your sister addicted to drugs too?”
“No. She went insane after she got raped.”
“Terrible. Men that rape women should be killed, and rot in hell.”
“I cut their dicks off.”
“Yeah! Great! They deserved it.”

Um, about that “rehabilitation”… We discover the island is run by Commander Chart. He is apparently, “an ex-soldier, a dictator and some say insane.” Any of those would certainly explain his hobby of shooting buried women in the head, accompanied by overwrought, sepia flashbacks to his time in the army. But he has to answer to Madam Pornpimol, even if her oversight consists of a 30-second video phone-call inquiring politely about progress, and telling him, “Keep healing them. Don’t use violence. It may affect my votes.” Politicians, eh? They’re all the same.

Top Dog is unhappy with the food, and asks for more. Impressively, the response is, “You won’t finish it. If you want more, come back for it.” Say what you like about Thai prisons, the all-you-can-eat buffet approach is certainly novel. When she tries to sit next to Am and Wan, another fight occurs, and this one has to be broken up by the Commander and Queen Bitch. He rounds up the troublemakers, takes them outside and yells at them through an entirely unnecessary megaphone – they’re maybe 25 feet away – “If you can’t get along then fight! Fight to the death! Fight until one of you dies!”

So much for “Don’t use violence,” I guess. Admittedly, given the combat skills on display, old age is probably a bigger threat to life and limb for the combatants, even after every other prisoner joins in, apparently realizing this could take a while. For variety, the Commander turns a fire-hose on them, perhaps hoping one will accidentally drown. It doesn’t help, and he has to commute the death-match sentence to “Let them sleep here.”

The inmates hard labour consists largely of prodding rocks unenthusiastically with tools. Madam calls up requesting “well-behaved” inmates for a press conference. This rules out the one who embeds a pick-axe in the back of a guard, triggering an escape attempt. “Hunt them down!” snarls the Commander during his chat with Madam, forgetting that this thing is indeed on, and provides the Worst Explanation Ever of what he meant: “Hunt is just the word we use. It encourages prisoners to work happily. It’s not a real hunt.” Maybe all that’s needed to prevent escapes is to point out to the inmates that this is a remote island? It would certainly save the need to build the elaborate pits and other traps into which the escapees manage to stumble (as shown below, right).

These executions are the final straw for the inmates, who begin to plot a revolt while tied to the crosses: “The only thing here is death – we have to get out.”  The next day, the women wander the island and see one of their co-inmates being held upside down by two guards, while another two beat the soles of her feet. In what may be the understatement of the year, their sole reaction is, “It’s very strange here, isn’t it?” No shit, sister. A slightly-better planned escape is planned, scheduled to coincide with the monthly return of the boat.

The plan appears to be to distract the Commander with a fully-clothed table-dance to Stardust’s Music Sounds Better With You. One wonders whether the band gave permission for this; I’m thinking not.  Somehow, this succeeds, and the others overpower the guards at the arms storehouse so easily, you have to ask why they didn’t try earlier. They blow up the guard-dogs(!), which loses them the element of surprise, and a largely bloodless battle commences. As predicted, the guard towers explode, though in a startling deviation from convention, there is no guard seen falling through the air and out of shot.

The Commander vows to hunt down all the survivors, who easily take the boat, thanks to the ski-mask clad guards falling for the old “underwear-sporting woman running towards you” ploy.  However, the Commander blows it up with a contender for the worst digital explosion ever, though he himself is shot by an inmate, who is then shot too. Basically, just about everyone dies. I trust I haven’t spoiled it for you. But here’s the last ten minutes, in all its unsubbed, insane glory, which will demonstrate its Incredibly Bad credentials, much better than my 1,700 words ever could.

D+

Dir: Scott Patrick
Star: Sarah Lavrisa, Matthew Rogers, Mark Courneyea, Shelley-Jean Harrison.

“If you love Twilight, you’ll love Blood Red Moon.” There’s the pull-quote on the DVD sleeve from the apparently untraceable “Gates of Gore,” which is exactly the kind of line you couldn’t buy. Now, I can’t speak conclusively for those whose love Twilight,  but I suspect they would probably react to BRM by forming a mob with torches and storming Canada, for this carefully-calculated insult to everything they hold dear – like fundamentalist Muslims shown a sock-puppet re-enactment of the life of Mohammed. Those of us who didn’t really like Twilight much, on the other hand, will find this a no-budget, micro-talent rip-off, which is less homage or satire than shameless rip-off. It’s so painfully close Stephenie Meyer should sue – except even if awarded the entire production cost and revenue, it would likely not even cover the cost of the phone-call to her lawyer.

It starts off with a farmer drinking on his porch, when something attacks his cattle – though the way it’s edited, and with the lack of any actual cattle save a cheesy sound-effect, for one glorious moment, I hoped we were going to be getting vampire cows. No such luck. Instead, it’s on to new girl in school Megan (Lavrisa) – or Meagan, the film can’t seem to make up its mind on the tiny detail of the lead character’s frickin’ name – who has gone from Toronto to Inbredhicksville, population 23, where everyone hates her for her daring fashion sense, e.g. wearing black.

But there is brooding recluse Victor (Rogers), whom no-one can get a handle on, but has a habit of being able to appear and disappear at will. Which might be more impressive, if said disappearances clearly consist of nothing more than him simply walking out of the frame. He goes through the whole “It’s not you, it’s me,” thing, before revealing his true nature to Megan, and offering to climb a tree with her. She demurs, citing her fear of heights, although the poverty-row production values are far more important in that decision. And, really, what is it with the trees? I know it’s shot in Canada, but there is more pointless footage of forest than I’ve ever seen. Felt like I was watching Monty Python: “How to recognize different trees from quite a long way away. Number 1. The larch. The larch.”

As for Edward Victor, imagine the young Adam Sandler circa The Waterboy, trying to pass himself off as coolly eternal. To say it doesn’t work, would be a grave dis-service to non-working things, not least because he possesses the dress sense of Stevie Wonder in a fire-bombed thrift store. Mind you, he’s not alone there: the film takes place over quite some time, but just about everyone – most notably Megan’s mother – wears exactly the same clothes for the entire movie. I guess this film could only have been made in Canada, where roll-on deodorant is cheap.

And, ye gods, the continuity. Witness, in particular, Megan’s bag as she meanders through the forest with Jacob. Or not. For one second it’s across her shoulder; the next, it’s nowhere to be seen. It’s astonishing that no-one appears to have noticed this, at any point in proceedings. Cheapness doesn’t necessarily have to mean slapdash film-making; indeed, you should be taking greater care over the little things, when those are all you have. As someone else noted [I’ve lost the link], this feels less like a movie, than a piece of course-work, with the aim merely being to get a passing grade.

It all builds to a devastating fist-fight between Victor and the local sheriff, who turns out to be the one responsible for the local killings. Meanwhile, the teacher who gave Megan detention turns out to be the one responsible for making Victor a vampire. Because, of course, if I had eternal life and superpowers, I too would choose to be a high-school teacher in a small Canadian town. It is ended by the deus ex machina of the farmer showing up, blasting Victor with a shotgun, and then vanishing without further role or explanation. Oops. I’ve spoiled it for you. No, the film did that by itself: here are some of the other cringeworthy aspects of this shot-on-video stinker.

• The establishing shot of Megan’s house, which appears to be used for every scene in it.
• The detention sequence, where absolutely nothing happens. Seriously. Nothing.
• Dreadful day-for-night shooting.
• The incredibly-slow credit crawl, including two credits for each cast member, obviously done to boost the running time of the actual movie from a mercifully-brief 61 minutes.

It’s the kind of movie I was tempted to do as a drinking game, e.g. take a chug every time you notice something stolen from Twilight, or when you spot a continuity error. That way, however, lies alcohol poisoning, and a [now missing from the Internet] interview with writer Kevin J. Lindenmuth shows where the problem at the core of the film lies:

Why don’t you think Twilight works?
Twilight works very, very well if you’ve never seen a vampire movie before, which is probably true of its core audience–teenagers. What, they’ve probably seen a handful of vampire movies? So, for me, the movie was kind of boring and stereotypical. They had the good vampire/bad vampire, the good vampire who only drinks animal blood, the turning into a vampire via a type of venom… yawn.
What is Blood Red Moon about?
It’s exactly what Twilight is about.

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner folks. The problems of Twilight, freely acknowledged by the writer,  are faithfully reproduced in Blood Red Moon – only, exacerbated a hundred times by the lack of production values. If he had had the guts to go in the different directions occasionally hinted at e.g. how vampirism is an STD, there might have been some hope. Instead, Lindenmuth claims the difference is “sarcasm,” but it’s almost impossible to find any trace of this. There may have been irony in the intent, but there is more to irony than the shameless repeating of someone else’s bad work.

D-