Monday, 24 January 2011

Wrestlemaniac (2007)


When I was a kid I used to love Saturday afternoons. Saturday afternoons meant The Incredible Hulk, The A Team and Wrestling. Now, there’s probably a vast difference between how you understand wrestling and how I do. Wrestling to me means good old fashioned Her Majesty’s British wrestling which roughly translates to overweight middle aged men who wouldn’t look out of place propping up the bar in the local pub wearing leotards and bashing into each other a bit. Our wrestlers looked like your uncle just before he went in for a heart bypass, they were the legends Big Daddy, Giant Haystacks, Mick McManus and big screen stars like Pat Roach and lovely Brian Glover and they were gods among men. They ruled Saturdays like majestic lycra clad warriors and Saturdays have never been the same without them.


With this in mind I was naturally delirious with excitement when I came across Wrestlemaniac and while I had a vague suspicion that wrestling had changed since my early Saturday afternoons sprawled on the carpet in front the TV cheering for Giant Haystacks memories I was confident that this was going to be the best film ever. So confident was I of this fact that I immediately texted everyone I knew (three people) proclaiming that I, Jinx, had found the best film ever and that they better ruddy well get themselves over on Friday night to watch the heck out of it. You may know by now that I’m prone to irrational overexcitement, most days are like Christmas Eve for me, so when Friday night finally rolled round my overexcitement was finely tuned to a pitch only dogs hear and by the time we all settled down with our pizzas and whiskies to watch this cinematic gem my head was almost ready to explode.

Wrestlemaniac begins with a van full of clichés heading out into the Mexican desert to make a porn film, this annoyed me from the outset, not because they were clichés or even because they were largely un-likeable clichés, but because this, from square one, shows a shocking amount of fiscal irresponsibility. Sadly I don’t produce porn of a living, but if I did I’m fairly certain that I wouldn’t be wasting my valuable time and bloody hard earned cash driving a load of people unnecessarily to Mexico when I could stick a cactus in a motel room.

Our merry band of pornmongers are made up of Alphonse (Adam Huss), team arse and hat wearer, his badly structured beard offends me, pointless stoned friend only included on account of it being his van, Jimbo (Zack Bennett), chubby guy, Steve (Jeremy Radin), who obviously knows about the holy lore of wrestling because he’s a chubby guy, this proves to be useful later, and, of course, every porn film needs its lovely ladies so we also have Daisy (Catherine Wreford), largely unconscious, could do with a good meal, Debbie (Margaret Scarborough), her curiously shaped implants alarmed my BFF Kev, and Dallas (Leyla Milani), final girl, contortionist and manicured mechanic. (It took a surprisingly long time for me to realise that the two lovely ladies were called Debbie and Dallas, it made me snigger, eventually).


In a shocking and completely unprecedented turn of events the porn gang find themselves running out of petrol on an isolated stretch of road with still a hundred miles to go to their intended destination and things only get worse when they stumble upon a dilapidated petrol station that doesn’t have any petrol but does have liberal supplies of cocaine and a local nutcase (Irwin Keyes) who thinks the best way to make friends is to jump out people wearing a wrestling mask. Local nutcase points the porno kids back to the road and portentously adds that they will have to pass La Sangre de Dios to complete their journey.

Fortunately the team have a chubby guy so he is able to explain that La Sangre de Dios is a ghost town where the infamous wrestler and insane killer, El Mascarado (Rey Misterio), was banished for, well, being an insane killer. This raises my first question; how exactly does one banish someone to a ghost town? I can only assume that the banishee isn’t keen on this arrangement so how precisely is the banishment maintained? This first question pales into insignificance when the rest of the tale comes to light. El Mascarado, it turns out, was assembled from the miscellaneous body parts of the world’s greatest wrestlers in order to create the ultimate, unbeatable wrestler to compete in the ’68 Olympics. (So many questions). He never made it to the Olympics because before he even made it through the qualifying stages he went somewhat mental and started tearing people’s faces off rather than making the concerted effort necessary to secure Olympic gold.


Exercising phenomenal stupidity, but marginally better fiscal acuity, Team Sexy Times sagely decide that this ghost town will be the ideal impromptu location for their pornographic extravaganza and wasting no time they run over a rock (a rock not The Rock) suitably ensuring their crappy van is going nowhere fast and get right down to amateur porn hour in the ghost town bar.

Amateur porn hour goes badly to say the least, again, I’m sadly not a producer of porn, but if I was I’m fairly certain I’d have utilised my given space and time in a better manner than a bit of girl on girl writhing, I’d have also probably suggested that, given her semi-conscious state, Daisy probably isn’t best placed for anything requiring coordination like climbing atop a ghost town bar, or walking and I definitely wouldn’t have allowed the arse with the badly constructed beard to join in the action. Fortunately for everyone this erotic interlude is short lived as poor scrawny, semi-conscious Daisy comes over all queasy and makes a run for freedom. To her credit she manages to run a fair old way before she finally succumbs to some violent vomiting, less to her credit she then proceeds to stumble about bare foot in some wasteland littered with broken glass, but ultimately this is really the least of her worries as, before she has time to worry about tetanus, El Mascarado proves himself less of an urban legend and more of a crazy man in tights and swiftly puts her out of her misery, and rips off her face.

From here on in it’s fairly easy to predict the course of events; El Mascarado, still governed by the rules of wrestling for which he was created, continues to systematically engage ‘opponents’ in combat and once triumphant doles out the ultimate wrestling humiliation; the ritual removal of the mask, or face, he not really fussed on this score. As our wrestling madman methodically limits the potential of any decent porn being made there that day, chubby guy, Steve, commits cinematic suicide by working out that El Mascarado can be defeated by using the rules of wrestling to their own advantage and then merrily tells everyone this information to ensure that he now serves no tangible purpose and can be freely slaughtered so maybe some more attractive people can live.


To be perfectly honest, while Wrestlemaniac may not have been quite the best film ever, it was certainly the best film I saw that night, and I actually did enjoy watching it, whether the whiskey and the good company had anything to do with this conclusion is probably best not mentioned. It did give me everything I was expecting; blood, boobies, ample silliness and a little bit of crassness. It was also surprisingly well made, the direction and camerawork was unexpectedly competent and for the most part it looked like a much better, classier movie than it actually was. I am reliably informed that Rey Misterio is a big name in the wrestling world (though apparently not as big as his nephew Rey Misterio Jnr.) and I would imagine that he pretty much conducts proceedings here as he would do in the bona fide wrestling arena. While it’s partially a little difficult to take a man in white tights seriously I’m still reasonably sure that I’m sufficiently scared of him for him to make a decent enough villain, but of course he’s no Giant Haystacks and it would be silly to pretend otherwise. Ultimately I’m glad that I got to see Wrestlemaniac, even if it was only for the happy memories of childhood Saturday afternoons, it does have some good things going for it and frankly, considering, it could have been a lot worse. If you’re easily excitable like me I’d recommend you give this a go, you’ll probably have a bloody good time, if you’re more reserved and discerning then you probably haven’t even made it this far and are mostly likely already reading/watching something much better.

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Two Kittens Creeping

While I brew up a proper post I thought I'd post some Christmas kitten pictures, because everyone loves kittens, right?

Opie and BeBe destroying the Christmas tree

Opie and BeBe pretending they're not destroying the Christmas tree

Lounging and clearly plotting more mischief
Needless to say the Christmas tree spent most of the season on the floor and we're still finding baubles under the furniture. Presents were also something of a lucky dip as they ate all the labels. I was thrilled to receive my Lynx gift set and limited edition Dinobot. I now smell like an adolescent boy and can turn a plane into a pterodactyl in less than 11 seconds, thanks kittens.

Monday, 17 January 2011

Jinx, Links, Drinks and Kinks

Well, hello there, gorgeous cats and kittens!

Just stopping by to apologise for not having been around as much of late. I’ve been a bit under the weather. Well, actually, no, I’ve been feeling a bit sorry for myself is a more accurate way of putting it. I’ve had a rubbish gammy foot for about six months which has been increasingly causing me ungodly amounts of pain, and while the pain is indeed ungodly, it’s been more the fact that hobbling around the place half of the time has made me feel old and decrepit and that has made me a bit low (except for briefly during the bad snow when I quite genuinely looked like Jack Nicholson at the end of The Shining on my home from work each night, that amused me). After finally relenting and visiting a doctor (and then a biomechanical specialist, seriously made me feel like the Six Million Dollar Man) it turns out have Morton’s Neuroma which is a tumour that grows on a nerve in the foot, hence ungodly pain. The name and the description actually sound more alarming than it really is, it’s really just a pathetic complaint most commonly suffered by people who wear high heeled shoes constantly. As I am not one of these people this really pisses me off. Anyway, I may have to have a crappy operation which I’m none to thrilled about, but as an interim measure I have been issued with special inserts for the only pair of boots I can actually suffer wearing, so essentially I am now wearing ‘special shoes’, just a small step away from orthopaedic corrective footwear. I am not exactly thrilled about this either, it’s the principle not necessarily the aesthetics. I am reluctantly forced to admit that the inserts have made a hell of a lot of difference. And that’s what I’ve been up to. Hope you’ve been having more fun.

In other news I seriously can’t stop watching Metalocalypse. I love it so much. My husband and I have started narrating the kittens giving them the voices of Skwisgaar and Toki. ‘Stops copyings me, BeBe.’ We find this hilarious. We’re not getting out much at the moment.



For reasons best known to myself I’ve started ploughing my way through the Children of the Corn series. I guess I’ve been self medicating with whiskey too much. To prove this point further my sister and I spent Christmas threatening to start writing Midsomer Murders fan fiction. I've also been thinking I’d rather like a really fancy blog banner to stick up at the top there, only I suck and am incapable of anything that technical, if anyone super clever would care to make me one you will have my undying adulation. Sorry, I’m just wittering now.

One thing that did cheer me up recently was that the unbelievably rock and roll Matthew Coniam sent me the most awesome Christmas present and I now have Vincent Price and Robin Askwith goodness to cheer me over the coming week. (I didn’t get it till just last week because Royal Mail suck and can’t cope with a little bit of snow). Thank you so much, Matthew, you are the very best!

Also another piece of good news that pleased me heartily was that gorgeous The Mike has been nominated in Total Film’s 2011 Best Movie Blog Awards in the category of Best Fan Blog. Hell, yeah! Please, please, please stop by and give him your vote.

click for voting goodness


I would also like to thank the very lovely Jenny B. for kindly bestowing on me her ‘You Make Me Scream Award’. I utterly love it, Jenny, and thank you so much for honouring me with it. I promise to pass it on when I’m feeling a bit less old and rubbish.


Sorry, I’ve been unpleasantly whiny this post, that’s rubbish. However, I’m very grateful that people like Matthew, The Mike, Jenny and many others here make me super happy on a daily basis with their wit, wisdom and general all round awesomeness. I will finish now on a lighter, less whiny, note and offer up some of the more amusing searches that have brought people to my blog recently and made me smile:


Heroine in her underwear – Yes I am! Love this.

Burt Ward penis - I get variations on this a lot. Really, a lot. What’s wrong with people?

Removal of jinx for alcoholism - Shut up!

Daddy shirtless - even by my standards that’s just a bit creepy

For god's sake will somebody help me - not sure if this was a cry for help that got misdirected. My review of Somebody Help Me probably didn’t help matters. Sorry.

At the recess queen mean jean push velma who wears glasses – nope, no idea what that means, but I’m fairly sure someone somewhere is taking the piss out of me.

jynx fuck puppet: I ruddy beg your pardon!

Jinx to make my son behave: Yup, you’re in the right place, I make all the boys behave.

Horror tit grab – Hell yeah!!!

Sex with octopus – I both love and fear this one all at once. Unfortunately I’m not entirely surprised though; I do discuss sex with marine life disturbingly often here.

Tuesday, 4 January 2011

Happy New Year and Heck Yeah, Sharks!

I had vaguely thought about doing one of those 2010 best/worst rundown posts, but I’m rubbish and lazy and instead spent my time drinking whiskey, cuddling kittens and, as it turned out this morning when I sat down to write some stuff, thinking about sharks. It’s fairly common knowledge that I love a shark movie. Oh, boy, do I love a shark movie! I barely even discriminate, I’ll watch anything and I pretty much love them all in one way or another. There’s a lot of work and effort goes into loving shark movies so to save you all the blood, sweat and the tears, little naps and distracted nail painting that I go through on a regular basis here’s a brief peek at seven of the most awesome. (I am for the most part using ‘awesome’ in the broadest sense it’s possible to use it, ever).

Jaws (1975)


The undisputed daddy. I don’t even feel the need to write anything here. It’s Jaws. It’s awesome. And it’s still bloody terrifying.

Shark Attack 3: Megalodon (2002)


I care not what anyone says about this film, I love it. It’s a great big steaming pile of awesomeness with a great big John Barrowman shaped candle on top.

Carcharodon Megalodon is making it very difficult to install/repair very important underwater cables off the coast of Mexico, so security man Captain Jack takes it upon himself to sort this ruddy mess out, with the help of marine biologist, paleontologist, pretty lady Cat Stone. Much toothy chaos ensues.

Among the many finer points of Shark Attack 3: Megalodon are: prehistoric shark managing to always look utterly and convincingly real and not in the least like stock footage of a normal shark with things added that are smaller than they really are. John Barrowman, just generally, but in this instance as a lady loving, jet skiing playboy who can hunt supposedly extinct giant sharks, still crack wise and get lucky while doing it. It turns out that megalodons are perfectly able to subsist on a steady diet of boats seasoned with a little sailor and/or diver. I won’t hear a word said against this movie, it’s probably one the greatest motion picture extravaganzas ever. I’m going to put my fingers in my ears now and go la la la la la very loudly.

Raging Sharks (2005)


Quite genuinely the stupidist plot I’ve ever heard in my life.

Two alien spaceships crash into each other, (yes, you heard me, alien spaceships) and some manner of spacey type generator thing from one of the ships falls into the Bermuda Triangle (yup, that’s alien spaceships and the Bermuda Triangle). Said super spacey device is, it turns out, powered by magic space crystals,(space crystals, people!) which strangely enough have a devastating effect on the local sharks making them go all extra mental and kill crazed that. Mental, crystal crazed sharks attack then proceed to attack an underwater research lab, cleverly and systematically cutting out the power and oxygen because, naturally, space crystals make them smarter than your average shark. Fortunately for humanity, the Navy sends specialists to rescue the scientists trapped inside, however, little do they know there is already a covert black-ops team within the lab that have their own nefarious agenda. So essentially all Steven Spielberg’s early films sliced up and shaken around in the wacky pot until they congeal into one giant ball of craziness; Heck yeah, Nu Image!

Utter and complete madness presided over by Corin ‘Parker Lewis, I Know My First Name Is Steven, Jonas Quinn’ Nemec. I think if I had sharks that were not just angry or a wee bit miffed but actually raging then I’d send in Parker Lewis, he can’t lose apparently. Raging Sharks is one of those movies where it’s best to start drinking earlier, you may then find that as Parker Lewis negotiates his way through sharks, aliens, spaceships, treacherous assassins, nuclear submarines, cosmic crystals, Corbin Bernsen and some footage from Shark Attack 3: Megalodon that you actually start to enjoy yourself in the midst of the stupidity.


Deep Blue Sea (1999)



On a remote research facility in the middle of the ocean scientists try to cure Alzheimer’s by experimenting on the brain make up of Mako sharks. Unsurprisingly this ends in tears before bedtime. Under the noble but stupid impression that by increasing the brain capacity of the sharks they can then harvest the tissue as a potential cure for Alzheimer's disease scientists prod about in shark’s heads until all hell breaks loose. It turns out that the increased brain capacity also makes the sharks faster, more dangerous, more intelligent and more angry so naturally they begin to engineer their escape and their bloody revenge on dratted scientists who have imprisoned them.

When this was first out at the cinema I paid a good £6 in good faith to see Samuel L. Jackson take on some bloody big crazy sharks. Let’s face it, if anyone can do that, (after Scheider), it’s Sammy L. This is not what I got. My incredulous cry of ‘…the fuck!’ at a particular part of this movie was heard echoing through the theatre and I was seconds away from demanding my money back from someone. Fortunately for all involved, especially my mum who was at that stage fearing a scene, the whole thing picked up and I got carried away with the exciting shark action, and LL Cool J. Instead of curing Alzheimer’s the sharks decide that their time would be much better served in systematically taking down a deep sea science facility and eating a load of people. What could possibly be wrong with that?

Megashark vs. Giant Octopus (2009)


A megalodon and giant octopus are conveniently flash frozen amid a titanic battle a long time ago, in the olden days. Much like a really long game of musical statues, the two colossal beasts remain in their mid battle frozen state until the present day when pesky global warming begins to thaw them out and it’s not long before they are back swimming free in our modern waters unleashing carnage and devastation in their mighty wakes. The kind of carnage a megalodon and a giant octopus wreak turns out to be largely eating improbable things like bridges, off shore oil rigs and goddamn, bloody airplanes, in flight. Eventually scientists, mainly Debbie Gibson, come to the conclusion that the only way to stop these mighty killers is to pit them against each other in one final battle of prehistoric proportions, kind of like Gladiators. I entirely misinterpreted the scientific plan for the destruction of the beasts on first viewing and for quite a long time genuinely thought that the plan was to encourage them to have sex with each other until they both died. I was disturbingly disappointed when I learned this wasn’t the case.

From the concept alone I knew this film was going to be a winner with me. While I was inexplicably a little disappointed by the lack of interspecies prehistoric sex, the whole affair was ultimately worth it for the opportunity to see a shark take down a flying plane, and Debbie Gibson, it was nice to see Debbie again after all these years.

Hell yeah, shark films rule! They manage to all at once be horrendously disappointing (mainly just on the basis that they are not Jaws, except for Jaws which is obviously Jaws) and being unbelievably exciting and satisfying simply because, irrespective of all else, they’ve got great big sharks eating stuff in them. I bloody love them. Stay tuned for my further adventures beneath the sea and in the depths of my DVD collection where I will explore such important issues as; what happens when you cross a shark with an octopus and can you actually fit sharks in Venetian canals.

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