Let me ask you a theoretical question. Pick your favourite music album of all time. Got it? Hold that thought in your head. Think about what that album means to you, how much you love the lyrics, the orchestration, the production, its sentimental worth to you and so on.
I'll tell you what album I'm thinking about. Plucked at random, one of my favourite albums is "London Calling" by the Clash. It's a work of genius that still stands up to the test of time today.
Now then, for the sake of my argument, imagine that this brilliant slice of late 1970s British punk was merely re-recorded by the fucking Jonas Brothers. Contentious lyrics were edited out, simpler stuff was added in, production was bigger and boomier and so on.
That's madness, right? You don't take a musical work of art and attempt to remake it. A cover version is a one track tribute, but no-one is going to take your favourite album and Hollywood it up a bit to make it more palatable. No-one (well, Banksy maybe) wanders into art galleries and hangs up their kid's version of Dali's Persistence of Memory. It's insane.
If you look on Wikipedia you'll find that there are so many film remakes that they have to split the listings over several pages. There is no example of a remade film being better than the original. Why? Because the original film has the essence of the writer and directors vision, has the initial spark of creativity and above all else does not star Sarah Michelle Gellar.
To save you time I've decided to tell you the differences between original films and their remakes. No, no. Thank you.
ALFIE (1966) - Michael Caine stars as Alfie, a bit of a rogue who grows as a character during the film, passing a scathing commentary on promiscuous swinging London in the 1960s.
ALFIE (2004) - Jude Law is a cock. You watch the entire film praying that he catches a disease. Whilst Mr Caine talking to the camera in the original is cool, Law doing it is as toe curlingly annoying as when Lovejoy used to do it.
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ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13 (1976) - One of the greatest action films of the 1970s. A stark, stylish take on both western and zombie film themes made for a pittance - thus adding to its grimy charm.
ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13 (2005) - They decide to change the enemies in the film to policemen (HA! GENIUS!) and Ethan Hawke is in it. And Ja Rule, who looks like Howard from the Halifax adverts. Watching it makes you feel like you're playing a terrible video game. It even has flash grenades in it. Do they even exist?
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BEDAZZLED (1967) - Peter Cook stars as the devil. What other reason do you need to see this?
BEDAZZLED (2000) - Liz Hurley stars as the devil. What other reason do you need to rather set your face on fire than watch this film?
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WILLY WONKA AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY (1971) - The acid-drenched celebration of many a child's favourite book, represented in a way that is entertaining for both adults and kids. Gene Wilder is utterly convincing as the completely batshit loco Wonka.
CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY (2005) - Unimaginitive retread that is too dark and grimy to be fantastical, of course because it's directed by Tim Burton and he's not familiar with what light is. Johnny Depp tries to out-loon Gene Wilder and just ends up looking like a camp man in a top hat.
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DAWN OF THE DEAD (1978) - The greatest horror film ever made. Over two hours long and the prototype for a billion other cheap and nasty zombie films, none of which could get it quite right. Atmospheric, thought provoking and genuinely has you on the edge of your seat.
DAWN OF THE DEAD (2004) - Hang on a second. JUST HOW LONG HAVE ZOMBIES BEEN ABLE TO FUCKING RUN?
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GET CARTER (1971) - Stylish, gritty, dark crime drama set in bleak, industrial Newcastle. Another amazing turn from Michael Caine, a man who knew no bounds in the late sixties / early seventies. Received criticism at the time for its decisively unhappy ending, but is now beloved by us all because we're in essence all heartless bastards.
GET CARTER (2000) - Wannabe stylish crime drama set in upmarket Seattle. Sequel friendly ending tacked on to the end (Carter doesn't die, basically). Stars Michael Caine. No, don't be silly. Not as Carter. They hired - get this - SYLVESTER FUCKING STALLONE. Jesus.
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THE ITALIAN JOB (1969) - The best caper film ever made, bar none. Loads of quotable lines, a plethora of fine actors in the cast (yes, even Benny Hill), a character called Camp Freddy, stylish costumes, amazing cars (from the Mini to the DB4 to the Miura) and the best car chases ever committed to film.
THE ITALIAN JOB (2003) - No cliffhanger ending. A completely different plot. Doesn't matter if Ed Norton and Donald Sutherland are in it, it stars Mark Fucking Wahlberg. The longest BMW commercial you'll ever see - it's two hours of a glorified ad for the all new fat-arsed Mini, which you can only sucessfully drive if you're a hairdresser or an estate agent.
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SEVEN SAMURAI (1954) - Samurais are awesome.
THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (1960) - Cowboys are shit.
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THE OMEN (1976) - Beautifully shot horror film with a stellar cast and an awesome gothic soundtrack that makes the film a zillion times more sinister.
THE OMEN (2006) - Poorly shot horror film made on the cheap in the Czech Republic. Doesn't stray too far from the original plot, so feels like a pirate DVD of the original with the soundtrack missing.
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[REC] (2007) - Wonderfully low budget Spanish zombie film, shot as if it's been filmed with hand held cameras. Features a truly loathsome female central character who you eventually start to feel sorry for, even despite her vanity.
QUARANTINE (2008) - Firstly, why change the title? It makes the film sound like a brightly lit room containing a couple of German Shepherds that someone tried to smuggle in from Bulgaria. Also, how the heck did it cost $12 Million to make? I could have made it. And I'm a better actor than Jennifer Carpenter.
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RINGU (1998) - Stupendously frightening, atmospheric Japanese horror film that spawned the rebirth of an entire genre in the Orient. Through ingenious filmmaking contains some of the most frightening sequences ever committed to film.
THE RING (2002) - Scary premise ruined by having Americans in the film. Naomi Watts? Come on. Manages to remake many of the Ringu sequences with four years experience and additional knowledge and yet do them worse. Made more money in its opening weekend in Japan than Ringu because the whole of the nation was watching the film and laughing at it as a collective.
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ROLLERBALL (1975) - The film that the Commodore Amiga classic game "Speedball" was based on. Violence, a frightening image of the future, comment on society and classical music for a soundtrack.
ROLLERBALL (2002) - Chris Klein. LL Cool J. Rebecca Romjin. Annoyed yet? Wait till you hear the soundtrack, featuring P.O.D and Hoobastank. Even better, everyone's favourite fat-faced pop star - Pink - has a cameo role. The joy.
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THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (1974) - Possibly the finest independent horror film ever made. Cost a mere $140,000 and remains one of the most influential films of all time, inventing the slasher film on its own. The cheapness of the film adds to the illusion of reality.
THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (2003) - Hideous remake with too much noise, gore, overacting, violence etc and nothing approaching the tension of the original. More to the point, the central "heroes" are American College kids. As soon as you see them you WANT them to die. You end up wanting to give Leatherface cake to sustain him in his long day of slaying.
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TAXI (1996) - Nuts French caper film. Great fun.
TAXI (2004) - What, you mean the film was FRENCH? Can't have that. No way. Subtitles? God no. How about we cast Queen Latifah in it? Somehow? Hello? Hello? I think they hung up...
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WAR OF THE WORLDS (1953) - First truly great stab at making an apocalyptic sci-fi film, using one of the greatest stories HG Wells ever wrote.
WAR OF THE WORLDS (2005) - Lots of explosions and Tom Cruise running round with Dakota Fanning, hoping that pairing him with a child that is playing the role of being his daughter will make us think he's heterosexual. Come on Tom, just admit it now.
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What we've learned here is that there is no such thing as a good remake. None at all. It's like me reinventing cheese. I could try and do it, but it would just be runny and taste bad.
OK, that's probably not the best analogy. But you get the point.
http://twitter.com/jimsmallman
Tuesday 7 July 2009
Wednesday 1 July 2009
18: Strawberries
Ah, Wimbledon fortnight. When the entire country pretends to like tennis and we're treated to endless images of the middle classes and aristocracy munching on strawberries in their little enclave in south-west London.
I don't like strawberries. Saying this to most people causes them to stare at me like I've got a conjoined twin stuck to the side of my face, and said twin is spreading messages of hate with its little reedy voice. I imagine it wouldn't have a brilliantly developed voicebox. But I don't like them. I would go as far as saying that I despise them. I hate their taste, their texture and the fact that they look like obese raspberries.
For the record, I also hate raspberries.
My mother took around 25 years of my life to be able to accept that I don't like strawberries. In her very British way, me saying this is akin to me denouncing the joys of roast beef and yorkshire pudding or suggesting we join the Euro. Before she accepted the fact, I dare say that she would have been able to accept the news that I was - lets say, a transgendered serial killer - in a much more calm and orderly fashion than she did my refusal of strawberries.
Before you imagine that I'm ok with strawberry flavouring - in the same way that tomatoes are evil to eat on their own, but ketchup is a staple of my diet - I'm not. As a child I would be the only kid who would leave the pink part of the neopolitan ice cream to fester in the bottom drawer of the freezer, the only one to turn down trifle, the only one to eat the yellow and green Opal Fruits over the red. Fuck off, they're called Opal Fruits. Starburst sounds like a godawful 1970s nightclub in decadent New York.
Thing is, I like puddings. Love them. I sport an impressive set of man-breasts thanks to this lust, and have an ample beer-gut despite never really having drunk beer. This is the result of years of cake, pies, biscuits, sweets and ice cream. Why, just the other day I stopped on the way back from a gig for ice cream. At 1am, nothing entertains petrol station staff more than a heavily tattooed man trying to decide what frozen treat is easiest to eat whilst driving at 90mph.
It's a Maxibon, by the way.
At this time of the year though I have to hold back from the desserts because everyone serves up strawberries. If I was on Come Dine With Me this week (and lets be honest, a boy has to have dreams) I would inevitably be offered up strawberries, or summer fruit suprises, or strawberry pavlovas, or some other hideous concoction that makes a mockery of fruit and all of its joys.
There are only a few fruits that I approve of:
Bananas - The rolls royce of fruit. I could actually overdose on them. Not green ones though. If you like them anything other than slightly blackened then you're a freak.
Oranges - For which to make mandarin cheesecake and orange jelly. And to flavour calippos.
Lemons - For to flavour sprite.
Limes - For to also flavour sprite.
Apples - Mainly pink lady ones, because I'm classy.
All other fruits can go away. All berries can, to be frank, fuck off. Stupid sickly, tart little beasts with their horrible gritty seeds and disgusting texture. I don't care one jot if I can go to a godforsaken field in Somerset and pick my own, nor if they provide one of my five alleged portions of fruit and veg a day - a law in itself which was, like Valentines Day was invented by Hallmark, dreamed up by the Munch Bunch. Strawberries aren't healthy if you cover them in sugar and cream. Although you can tell how working class you are dependent on what topping you put on your strawberries. Use my sliding scale below:
POSH
Mascarpone and champagne
Double cream
Single cream
Squirty cream
UHT cream
Several creamers stolen from a coffee shop
Dream Topping
Fussell's Condensed Milk
SCUM
Another thing. Where to people get off putting a single strawberry on top of something as wonderful as a chocolate cheesecake (served in an individual glass ramekin) as some kind of obscene garnish? No thank you, sir or madam. It's like decorating a fine Fruits De Mer with a sea urchin, or a beautiful rabbit shaped blancmange with dead woodlouse.
Finally, if I ever find the person who invented strawberry jaffa cakes then I will thrash him until an inch of his life. Until his brain is revealed, like said cake's smashing orangey bit.
http://twitter.com/jimsmallman
I don't like strawberries. Saying this to most people causes them to stare at me like I've got a conjoined twin stuck to the side of my face, and said twin is spreading messages of hate with its little reedy voice. I imagine it wouldn't have a brilliantly developed voicebox. But I don't like them. I would go as far as saying that I despise them. I hate their taste, their texture and the fact that they look like obese raspberries.
For the record, I also hate raspberries.
My mother took around 25 years of my life to be able to accept that I don't like strawberries. In her very British way, me saying this is akin to me denouncing the joys of roast beef and yorkshire pudding or suggesting we join the Euro. Before she accepted the fact, I dare say that she would have been able to accept the news that I was - lets say, a transgendered serial killer - in a much more calm and orderly fashion than she did my refusal of strawberries.
Before you imagine that I'm ok with strawberry flavouring - in the same way that tomatoes are evil to eat on their own, but ketchup is a staple of my diet - I'm not. As a child I would be the only kid who would leave the pink part of the neopolitan ice cream to fester in the bottom drawer of the freezer, the only one to turn down trifle, the only one to eat the yellow and green Opal Fruits over the red. Fuck off, they're called Opal Fruits. Starburst sounds like a godawful 1970s nightclub in decadent New York.
Thing is, I like puddings. Love them. I sport an impressive set of man-breasts thanks to this lust, and have an ample beer-gut despite never really having drunk beer. This is the result of years of cake, pies, biscuits, sweets and ice cream. Why, just the other day I stopped on the way back from a gig for ice cream. At 1am, nothing entertains petrol station staff more than a heavily tattooed man trying to decide what frozen treat is easiest to eat whilst driving at 90mph.
It's a Maxibon, by the way.
At this time of the year though I have to hold back from the desserts because everyone serves up strawberries. If I was on Come Dine With Me this week (and lets be honest, a boy has to have dreams) I would inevitably be offered up strawberries, or summer fruit suprises, or strawberry pavlovas, or some other hideous concoction that makes a mockery of fruit and all of its joys.
There are only a few fruits that I approve of:
Bananas - The rolls royce of fruit. I could actually overdose on them. Not green ones though. If you like them anything other than slightly blackened then you're a freak.
Oranges - For which to make mandarin cheesecake and orange jelly. And to flavour calippos.
Lemons - For to flavour sprite.
Limes - For to also flavour sprite.
Apples - Mainly pink lady ones, because I'm classy.
All other fruits can go away. All berries can, to be frank, fuck off. Stupid sickly, tart little beasts with their horrible gritty seeds and disgusting texture. I don't care one jot if I can go to a godforsaken field in Somerset and pick my own, nor if they provide one of my five alleged portions of fruit and veg a day - a law in itself which was, like Valentines Day was invented by Hallmark, dreamed up by the Munch Bunch. Strawberries aren't healthy if you cover them in sugar and cream. Although you can tell how working class you are dependent on what topping you put on your strawberries. Use my sliding scale below:
POSH
Mascarpone and champagne
Double cream
Single cream
Squirty cream
UHT cream
Several creamers stolen from a coffee shop
Dream Topping
Fussell's Condensed Milk
SCUM
Another thing. Where to people get off putting a single strawberry on top of something as wonderful as a chocolate cheesecake (served in an individual glass ramekin) as some kind of obscene garnish? No thank you, sir or madam. It's like decorating a fine Fruits De Mer with a sea urchin, or a beautiful rabbit shaped blancmange with dead woodlouse.
Finally, if I ever find the person who invented strawberry jaffa cakes then I will thrash him until an inch of his life. Until his brain is revealed, like said cake's smashing orangey bit.
http://twitter.com/jimsmallman
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