So, here we are again. I posted a total of two articles on this website in 2015, and I think you’ll agree, that’s pretty fucking amazing work on my side. To fit writing two (admittedly fantastic) posts in between all the relentless shagging, fisting and drinking that I’ve done over the past year, is an achievement not seen since they built the fucking pyramids. And who gives a shit about pyramids anymore? I certainly don’t, unless their sides are cut off, they’re all laid in a row and then covered in chocolate.
A Toblerone. A Toblerone is what I’m talking about here. They look a bit like pyramids or something. I don’t know, I’m not thinking straight. That’s because I’m shagging right now. Well, ‘shagging’, anyway. And by that, I mean ‘wanking’. And by that, I mean ‘crying’.
Anyway, there were loads of great films released in 2015, and I saw a lot of them. And as I have done on this site in the past, I’m going to gift them some less-than-arbitrary awards that I’m sure those involved will be most happy about. You can see them now, dancing about their living rooms in pure joy – well, maybe you can’t, but I’ve got cameras set up in their houses, so I can.
Here are the awards:
Now, there were two 18 westerns starring Kurt Russell made in 2015, and one of them got all the glory. That’s because one of them was directed by Quentin Tarantino, and we all know how mental everybody goes when his name is mentioned. Naked in Waitrose at the deli counter mental, that’s how they go. The Hateful Eight was alright, but it was too long and there wasn’t enough action in it – if I wanted to watch eight people talking and keeping secrets from each other for three hours, then I’d actually attend my AA meetings.
The other western that was much, much better was Bone Tomahawk. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s a hell of a lot of talking in this one, too, but there are two clear differences. One, they’re talking whilst walking, which makes things 100% more bearable, and two, what happens at the end is worth the longest wait in the world. Even longer than the wait you have to endure at the Tesco salad bar when all you want is the cheese cubes and pickled onions at the end.
Bone Tomahawk kicks off in such a big way in the last half an hour that it’s hard to believe. It needs to be witnessed by anyone with even a passing interest in genital trauma. Also, Kurt Russell is much more of a badass in this than he is in Eight.
Also, I noticed something else shit in The Hateful Eight: when one of the main characters* is killed, the squibs go off in the wrong order (or the shooter points the gun in the wrong order) and that is unforgivable – I thought Tarantino was a perfectionist.