thoughts on final destination

The thought that occurred to me after having lost 85 (mercifully not even 90) minutes of my life watching the festering heap of jock decapitation ludicrosity, that was final destination 4 (IN 3D) was to wonder of how such an abomination had succeeded in dragging its ketchup-splattered comedy-mutilated corpse into my cinema? How could such a corny, unintelligible heap of insincere moralizing hero mediocrity, and chauvinistic jock 'doofus stoopidity, have even had a first draft? Let alone many alterations! The entire affair seemed to be composed of the off-cuts that failed to make the grade for any of the years higher-budgeted blockbusters, the lines t00 stale for Bay, the humor too lowbrow for tarantino. In fact if final destination 4 had a brow, it wouold probably rest somewhere near its dribble drenched chin. Any of the rudimentary cheap thrills that could be squeezed out of watching loathsome cretins suffer in all manner of innovative ways, where exhausted by the 1st films end and its evident from the opening scene here that the barrell of comedic slaughter had been well and truly scraped. Hollywoods textbook ethnic sterotyping managed too meet its pinnacle with george, the hapless reformed alcoholic security guard, who was given the prophetic slice of genius that was: 'goddamnit, i've spent all day trying to kill myseelf' before engaging in a Champagne toast 'to life' a few minutes later. The entire cast was assembled of vaguely familiar 2bit nobodies whose most memorable performance came as vomiting party extras in the later american pie films. The special effects where a dire selection of polystyrene rubble props, and budget cgi explosions which even in 3d failed to elicit the earth-shattering awe they seemed to deem themselves worthy of, such was there petrol drenched frequency. The entire farce played out like an over-budgeted health and safety, hazard awareness training video, the audience being treated to tentative glimpses of open (where is the lid???) cans of oil or petrol teetering over raging inferno's which seemed to have sprung from nowhere, it was as though for my six pounds and fifty pence i was meant to circle the fucking danger's and lapses in safety in the scene depicted !

saturday

The guests have left, so my sister me and my dad have stewed in lethargy for two days, whilst my mum was painting a diminutive posing aristo in the north. I have had a weekend off work and have failed entirely to carry out any of my lavish proposals of how to spend it. Since the Barcelona clan have gone we've allowed our smiles to fade and have each retreated to our spaces. The house has become like a colony of islands which we each inhabit braving the waters of interaction only for essentials before hot footing it back to our screens. In the aftermath of the week long invasion we have recuperated with such extremity that on saturday the most effort i exerted was to shower. Across three floors of the house shrapnel of our downtime, is strewn all over; shoes and socks deployed where gravity has left them, books upended, half drunk coffee's perched worryingly close to table edges, ruf's fag ends smoldering in glasses, wires, chargers and odors are left in our wake as we listlessly travel from room to room.