I remember seeing Braveheart for the first time, I was 16, and I watched it in a cinema in Coolock. That is where my seat was, that is where my body was, but my mind and my soul were quickly somewhere else, and they stayed there for the full length of the film. I was captivated, the raw power of story put to image and sound, manipulated me, and caused me to feel what it wanted me to feel. The film ended, the collective consciousness of the audience returned to their bodies, and the lights went up. I remember noticing the absolute silence of the people as we shuffled the door and into the lobby. People returned to their cars and their lives slowly over the sticky lobby carpet, lost for words to describe how good that piece of movie making actually was. Like with all great art, it took up residence in my brain for many months afterward, and over the following years, I must have watched it a further 10 times. Although I saw some superb and probably superior films since Braveheart, it will always be, for me, the blueprint for a simple hero against all the odds story, expertly told.
Star Wars, I never got, the first ones when I was a kid, were good, they were fine, they were fun, but even back then I always remember the geeky kids, the ones who played with action figures rather then with footballs seemed to love it with a passion I never understood. I remember people buzzing about the new ones in the late 90s and then being disappointed, what I never got was adults who gave a fuck about Star Wars? it is a kids film that geeks think is cool.
Then came the 2015 installment, I really liked JJ Abrahms re booting of Star Trek, and fell for the marketing. I paid 10 euro and took my seat. This was everything that Braveheart was not. This was two hours watching Disney executives raping a 17-year-old waitress over a pinball machine. Their enlighted script writers covering the windows and doors and writing their modern take. Female lead, check, token black guy, check, get Carrie Fisher out of rehab, check, tell Harrison Ford his grandkids need the money, check.
These cunts will not rest until every last golden egg is wrenched from George Lucas’s 40-year-old goose. It was a sham, a phony, a trick, it was a shake down, it was awful. I walked out of the cinema, past 4 nerds, excitedly exclaiming how great they thought the movie was. If I had a flame thrower I would have happily emptied both tanks, but why? they had a good time.
I held on to a bit of anger about the whole thing, and realized a few things. Nerds have always pissed be off because far from being gently folk who hang around on the edges of the buzz, they are binary ruthless little cunts without ever noticing. And now they are taking over the world. Their latest installment is out for chrimbo. Any shred of cool that existed in 20th-century characters such as Han Solo or James Bond for that matter is now the plaything of the nerd, and he hasn’t got a fucking clue. From Bond to Star Wars we are treated to hollowed out, soulless corporate paint by numbers films. Can somebody please explain to me why people keep paying to see this shite? and can you actually blame Disney for making a balls of it, they literally could have shot Star Wars on an iPhone4 in the Phoenix Park, got the CRC drama soc to play all the roles and the nerds would still pay to see it! Spoiler alert Star Wars is crap.