The Underdog Show

What a piece of car-crash television this was! And yet, strangely compelling.

I found myself unable to switch off, convinced that this was crap, and in direct violation of my recently imposed “I Will Not Watch Crap” policy.

It was a total wreck: a group of seemingly senile judges (including Peter Purves, of “Peter Purves Customer Service” fame) sat smiling absent-mindedly into the camera, while a group of “celebrities” tried to look like they knew what they were doing, with a set of dogs who’ve been hand-picked from various shelters.

It’s basically celebrity Crufts, with the canine equivalent of juvenile delinquents. And it’s the dogs that kept me watching. Much hilarity ensued after placing a plate full of doughnuts, cheese, and pie on a table, and asking the dogs to ponce about and perform tricks. A plate of munchies so grand would have no problem tempting my good self away from pretty much anything, let alone a group of dogs who’ve never known such sugary delicacies. And things got a bit nasty when staff tried to part one dog from a large block of cheese.

And so it all went horribly wrong: the dogs decided they couldn’t be bothered (they’d much rather eat doughnuts), the celebrities put on a brave face, and the judges waited calmly for someone to tell them where they were. Ideally in a very loud, purposeful voice; “YOU’RE ON THE TELLY, LOVE”.

Couple that with a very uncomfortable looking Julian Clary, and the prospect of each dog being adopted via viewers phoning in after the competition (I can only hope the profits go to a good doggy cause), and this was some of the worst TV I’ve seen in recent memory.

And yet, I watched every second of it. Weird.

Ear Wick

Yes, “Ear Wick”.

Doesn’t sound nice, does it?

That’s what I’m currently enjoying - a wick, in my ear, to do some “wicking”.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had quite a nasty ear infection. Strictly speaking, I’ve had two nasty ears infections: one in each ear. Actually, if I’m to be 100% accurate, I’ve probably had about five ear infections as they’ve been bouncing back and forth. Regardless, it’s been unpleasant.

Thanks to a doctor who appears to enjoy a “hands off” approach to curing ear infections - and by this I don’t mean he amputates the bits at the ends of people’s arms - I ended up visiting the local hospital today so that the experts could have a look. The wonderful woman at the Ear, Nose, and Throat clinic at the Royal Infirmary has taken some steps to sort me out.

By which, I mean she inflicted quite a lot of pain on me, and has left me in more discomfort than I was prior to visiting her. But, as they say, no pain; no gain. After inserting some sort of ear-widening device, she proceeded to hoover all the nasty, infection-debris from my ears. This is a weird sensation - you can hear, and more alarmingly feel - bits of icky gubbins being forcibly extracted from your ears. She did this on both ears, using increasingly wider widening tools each time.

But I’d had this done before. It was fine: I knew what was coming, and in all honesty looked forward to it; once they’d been hoovered, I’d feel better, right?

Sadly, this time the infection was sufficiently nasty as to close up my left ear. This explained why I couldn’t hear very well. In order to combat this unhelpful closure, a wick was inserted into my ear. And by inserted, I mean rammed. Hard. And, as I said in an email to my boss following the experience, it hurt like a very hurty thing.

And there’s nothing like applying the prescribed drops into the ear, placing cotton wool neatly inside - as advised by the nice woman at the hospital: this would absorb the drops that I’d put in - and discovering that your ear is now bleeding, thanks to the forced insertion of said wick. Blood from the ears - particularly my blood, from my ears - is something I’m not particularly fond of.

Quick Bite: The Zombie Diaries trailer

Found via Dread Central; this looks surprisingly effective.

Terrible News: Bob Clark Killed by Drunk Driver

I just read this over at Bloody Disgusting, and I had to do a double take. I cannot believe this has happened.

Bob Clark - a director I rate incredibly highly - and his son were both killed in a car crash in the early hours of this morning. This is horrible. A shocking tragedy, made all the worse by the fact that their death was the result of a drunk driver. Bob’s son was 22, he was 67.

Clark was responsible for Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things, Porky’s, Deathdream, and the magnificent Black Christmas, among other things. His work has inspired generations of film makers, and he will be sadly missed.

My thoughts go out to his family and friends.

The Hills Have Eyes 2

I didn’t expect a great deal from THHE2, but it surprised me: it’s a huge achievement.

Massive. Seriously uber-humongous. Mere words alone cannot express how huge an achievement this film is. This film has the honour of being the most tension free, uninvolving, yawn-inducing horror film I’ve ever seen. It’s not even like the Black Christmas remake (a film so bad I considered self harming as a more entertaining option after 30 minutes) in that it’s not absolutely terrible; it’s just such a complete non-entity.

The gore isn’t particularly well done: featuring more of the terrible cgi blood spurts that I loathed in 300, and some pretty crap prosthetics; the actors are all uninteresting, and lack the ability to build any emotional ties with the audience, and the cast don’t even look particularly attractive; the script is so flimsy I suspect Cravens Jnr and Snr could have knocked it together over a couple of beers one night, and is filled with the sort of cliches Craven’s Scream mercilessly taunted; and the whole thing lacks any undercurrent of dread or impending doom.

We’re basically introduced to a team of incompetent, obnoxious national guardsmen. They proceed to ponce about in the mountains for a bit, while bumpy headed mutants hop about above them. After a painfully dull 45 minutes - including the appearance of Nameless Scientist Dude #1 from within a chemical toilet - they start to get picked off. Hilariously, right after killing one bumpy headed mutant, Generic Female #2 wanders off behind a rock - without telling anyone - to urinate. Whilst trousers are firmly around ankles, another (yes, there are lots of them) bumpy headed mutant carries her off into his lair. Generic Female #1 insists that they can’t leave without her, and leads the rest of the team to their - if there’s any justice - doom. Curiously, Generic Female #2 still finds time to pull up her trousers. Come to think of it, even after being raped - a scene that some describe as shockingly violent/extreme/horrific/etc, but which is actually one of the least effective scenes of its type in any film I’ve ever seen - Generic Female #2 finds time to pull up and buckle her trousers.
The original film’s “normal people are capable of shocking violence too, you know?” subtext has been totally abandoned for the sequel, and while we’re spared any doggie flashbacks this time, it’s still a complete non-event in the history of horror.