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Smile if you’re in it for less than 5 minutes.

It’s ironic and not just a little sad that The Expendables 3, or hashtagEX3 as its marketing wants you, the kids, to refer to it, seems to want to look to the future because for the most part it is an anaemic recreation of the past (which may actually be what the modern world is like – I’m still not quite sure but will amend this article appropriately should my findings change).

Despite being unable to age like a normal person, Stallone lumbers aimlessly through each scene that doesn’t require him to shout or shoot someone, meeting other remnants of action films from the past. They mumble at each other for a few minutes then shamble off. And then the character pretty much disappears for most of the film’s running time and you wonder if that scene existed or if this is what the early stages of dementia feels like.

What’s most insulting – even to fans of the worst of 80s action cinema – isn’t the way hashtagEX3 thinks it can keep you entertained by trotting out the stars of Christmas past to bloodlessly murder hundreds of generic henchmen, or roll out to recant their most famous lines like they’re in an expensive end-of-pier performance, it’s the way that there’s barely an ounce of passion, innovation or effort made in its construction. The script, written by 3 people (probably at the same time and on the same typewriter) is so trite and predictable that video-shops, should they still exist, would have to create a new bottom shelf in order to have somewhere to stock it.

Most of the blame can be placed on Stallone himself. Now looking like a totemic recreation of a sullen owl, or a hastily constructed replica of the Rocky Balboa statue fashioned from grizzled kebab meat, he seems to be sleepwalking through the role of ‘grumbling old man who likes to kill people’. He also surrounds himself with people who can’t act whilst giving short shrift to those who have talent, screen presence or you might actually want to see on screen.

This is doubly disappointing because others actually seem to give a crap. Arnie appears to be having fun fulfilling the role of an inappropriate uncle at a family gathering. Banderas too, is obviously having a blast playing Puss in Boots with his actual body. Snipes reminds you what a great screen presence he is, whilst Mel Gibson embarrasses almost everyone by utilising something called ‘acting’*.

But for the most part Expendables 3 concerns itself with Stallone and a bunch of children using modern techniques like ‘computers’ and the 12A rating to combat the villains. This comes at the expense of almost everything else – not just the actors you want to see. It seems that logic, consistency, character motivation and coherency are just as disposable as the laughing band of murderous mercenaries that make up the title.

In fact the only thing that appears to be ‘pendable’ is Stallone’s hubris. As ridiculous as it may seem, perhaps the best way to make a Stallone film these days is probably without him stealing the running time and churning out random scenes of recycled dialogue and calling it a script. Maybe we’ll see that in the forthcoming female-centric ‘Expendabelles’ – though I wouldn’t bet against the debut of ‘Sylvia Stallone’ bravely attempting to wrestle the limelight from Cynthia Rothrock.

* That’s without mentioning the fact that for some reason Jet Li is hired only to hang off a helicopter and machine gun people and the excellent Terry Crews spends most of the film lying in a hospital bed. This suggests that he may be even smarter than real life Chemical Engineer graduate Dolph Lundgren who spends most of his time playing a large moron locked in a tank.


Allo, cheeky!

I just watched Predator in 3D last night. As much as I was against the principle of reconfiguring it to promote some silly gimmick, I love the film too much to pass up an opportunity to watch it again.

The effect was surprisingly good – almost making me duck to avoid Carl Weathers’ arm!

This is probably due to the fact that John McTiernan considered the fact that audiences may actually want to understand what they’re looking at – a lesson Michael Bay a few contemporary action directors could learn from.

But it could all have been so different. This footage was on the DVD release from a few years ago and shows a certain JCVD walking around like a giant red lobster*. And to think I could have been avoiding that in my front room last night.

Anyway, it seems the ultimate design of the Predator was a happy accident, a sign that even the most iconic creations can come to life through happenstance, random occurrences and input from James Cameron. I’m sure it’s tales like this that give solace to filmmakers trapped in a hell of the studio’s making. Check out Van Damme’s lobster-Predator below…

* I’m pretty sure they also mentioned putting a monkey in a red suit on the DVD too, but it was too shamed to emote anything other than deep embarrassment. Did that actually happen?


When Nick Cave describes a film as “The best and most terrifying film about Australia in existence”, you can be sure of two things. One: he’s probably not talking about Crocodile Dundee, and two, coming from a man whose most accessible work is blood soaked ballads involving sodomy and murder, said film is most assuredly very scary indeed.

True to form, Wake in Fright is a powerful, disturbing and wholly believable buttock clenching journey down the dusty back roads to insanity with nary a golden hued, leathery skinned Paul Hogan cracking funnies in sight.

It’s hard to describe just how efficient Wake in Fright is at instilling fear in the minds of most right-thinking individuals (and Nick Cave). Its nearest bed-mate is probably Sam Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs, but even that – with its simple Cornish folk who divine enjoyment from rape and annoying the outwardly nebbish Dustin Hoffman – offered obvious antagonists. The lead in Wake in Fright, a snobbish English teacher called John Grant, is undoubtedly his own worst enemy whilst the outback town of ‘the Yabba’ offers the perfect backdrop to contrive a fall through the cracks of civilised society.

The people who inhabit the Yabba aren’t unfriendly. Far from it; when Grant is approached by the town’s Sherriff in the Yabba’s drinking establishment (which won’t be completely unfamiliar to anyone who’s ever popped in to a Wetherspoons) the alarm bells soon start ringing. Years of watching backwater horror films has engendered the viewer to suspect it won’t be long until he’s attempting to wear John Grant’s face whilst conveying his skewed morals in the kind of overcooked monologue that might make Nicholas Cage blush.

But he doesn’t. He simply buys him more drinks. And buys more drinks. And buys more drinks.

And that’s what makes Wake in Fright even more terrifying. There’s no clear reason for John Grant to leave; the locals are friendly, there’s food, drink and good times aplenty. It will adequately sustain you, at least until your liver leaves town. The problem is, when viewed through the slightly more sophisticated prism that the viewer brings with them (a metaphorical monocle in my case), it looks like a fucking horrible place, with leery sweaty men getting shit-faced and blowing off steam, and it would be very hard to turn such earnest offers of hospitality down without looking like either a puritanical bum-head or a complete snob. Neither one would be embraced in the Yabba, but they probably wouldn’t be ostracised either. More likely they’d be offered a drink, and the offers wouldn’t top until they’re half-pissed or driven mad by persistence.

But John Grant’s problem doesn’t come from turning a drink down. Instead he soon launches himself wholeheartedly into the Yabba’s activities, downing ales, eating steaks of mysterious origin and gambling on a coin toss in a giant sweat-filled hall. The Yabba exposes his weaknesses but he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Instead he lets it carry him away – despite always carrying a slightly superior air that serves to notify the audience that his fall will be far and painful.


Wake in Fright doesn’t contain many narrative surprises, but it’s not exactly short of shocks either. The most infamous sequence, and the main reason it’s still discussed in hushed tones to this day, is a graphic hunting expedition that would be enough to turn you into a vegetarian – if you were in danger of eating kangaroo, which is probably quite likely if you’ve bought a meat product in the past 10 years. When you consider that the film also features what appears to be a forced homoerotic coupling featuring Donald Pleasance as the suitor, you go some way to understanding the film’s potency and its ability to provide memorably disturbing imagery.

The passage of time has not dulled Wake in Fright in the slightest. If anything its rough edges and audacity are even more apparent when lined up against modern fare. In fact, you get the impression that it would be hard to make in today’s climate as it doesn’t really fit into a genre. Its thrills are sparse, its horrors are ambiguous and its laughs are basically non-existent (which might make it suitable for an Adam Sandler retooling I suppose). With its loud, brash, ballsy and disturbing nature, it’s essentially a celluloid distillation of the Australian stereotype, which admittedly makes it a bit of a tough sell.

Wake in Fright is well worth tracking down. It’s a one-of-a-kind experience that has emerged as a classic of its genre over the years. I’m just not sure what that genre is.


This one came out during my hiatus and, truth be told, the thought of Luc Besson making a mob thriller with Robert of Niro was nearly enough to drag me to the cinema. This is despite the nearest one being 10 miles away – unless you count the OAP screenings at the local civic centre. £2 for The Great Gatsby a cup of tea and a biscuit – is it any wonder multiplex bosses are feeling the pinch?

But what’s most telling about the marketing of The Family is that they felt the need to create a poster for, and almost give equal billing to, a German shepherd. Presumably the draw of the director of Leon and star of Raging Bull now equates to the star of Little Fockers and producer of the Transporter 3, so they aimed for the ‘Paw Pound/Doggy Dollar’ with what I expect were fairly modest results.

It’s probably for the best. If The Family had set the box office aflame we could quite easily be anxiously awaiting a remake of Turner and Hooch where a dog has to stop Tom Hanks from crapping on the sofa, or a version of CATS starring DOGS, or Reservoir Humans. The mind literally boggles.


Though judging from the lack of German shepherd on the Blu-Ray cover of The Family it seems that this marketing strategy was a bit of a washout. Perhaps the biggest question is why Tommy Lee Jones didn’t make it on to the poster at all? He may not be the most aesthetically pleasing actor but he’s arguably as recognisable as a German shepherd. I suspect the only person who knows the answer to that one is his agent.




“Norris was of course supposed to land safely in the most reliable and advanced cushion yet devised…a huge mound of empty cardboard boxes.”

Mad Max


The first Mad Max film is something of an oddity. While it may have earned a reputation for being the kind of petroleum fuelled cinematic odyssey that might prompt rumblings in what one might imagine (if one were forced to – probably at gunpoint) to be the long dormant loins of Jeremy Clarkson, the actual vehicular action is kept to a minimum. What’s more the almost legendary post-apocalyptic setting isn’t all that apparent in the first film.

In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure if the first film was set after a nuclear war as, despite some allusions to the collapse of civilisation: people dressing in leather and listening exclusively to saxophone music, there are still vestiges of civilisation on display. People still go on holidays, visit bars and mechanics and have lawyers – though it’s possible that they, like cockroaches, are one of the few species to survive nuclear fallout.

The world isn’t particularly well defined in the first Mad Max film, either, which is compounded by Mel Gibson’s slightly wide eyed and wet behind the ears performance. Still, the character himself is a bit if a cipher and it’s not until he’s forced into revenge that Gibson and the film itself, to coin a fairly obvious parallel, switches into high gear.

It’s in these scenes of combat on the road that George Miller comes alive as a director. Like Sam Raimi’s first go at Evil Dead, you can almost feel Miller’s frustration when his creative instincts collide with the limitations of his budget. Still, despite constraints on ambition, Mad Max is wholly memorable with some preludes to things that really come alive in later films, such as creepy leather clad loonies, well-spoken but wholly psychopathic antagonists, innocents being slaughtered, practical stunts that look amazingly dangerous and Max himself dealing out cathartic retribution on the road.

Mad Max also boasts a fairly ominous ending, with Max retreating into the wasteland, seemingly abandoning humanistic traits like love, compassion and an unconditional appreciation of the saxophone, to be a vengeful force chasing down wrong-‘uns like a white-line vigilante. It’s a very effective prelude of bigger and better things.

Which brings us to…

Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior

mad max 2

There’s no real clear through-line from the first Mad Max to The Road Warrior. The opening voiceover attempts to connect the two films, but when it never really dovetails. The world in part 2 has gone to shit a hell of a lot more than it had in the first film. I suspect it’s because the bomb went off between the two films, but the opening monologue makes it clear that that isn’t the case.

Perhaps the wasteland in which Max finds himself in part 2 is a more decimated part of Australia? But that makes you wonder why any civilised people would choose to set up camp there – as the poor buggers do in The Road Warrior. And if that is the case, why doesn’t Max advise them to drive a few miles east where they can enjoy diners, beach holidays and saxophone recitals to their hearts’ content?

It’s safe to say that the opening narration of The Road Warrior taxed my tiny mind a little more than it should. Thankfully, questions of logic are left in the dust as Max uses his wiles and his supercharged Interceptor to overcome yet more feral predators on the road in the first few minutes. It’s an incredibly effective opening and a bold declaration of intent from George Miller, who’s now fully confident in his abilities to tell a bloody good, action packed yarn.

The Road Warrior is essentially one long chase film. It’s stripped of bloat with a pared down storyline that doesn’t amount to much beyond Max helping some innocents escape from some very, very bad people. But what it may lack in plotting and character development it more than makes up for by being resolutely focussed and incredibly aggressive.

The colourful freaks of the first film have been replaced by an even more grotesque bunch of bondage-clad psychopaths, led by the memorably monikered and alarmingly large Lord Humungous, who, with his duplicitous nature, well-spoken ways, perfectly polished pate and predilection for creepy man-servants is perhaps a good advisement for keeping William Hague away from the weight-bench and/or post apocalyptic scenarios.

Alarmingly large: William Hague

Alarmingly large: William Hague

Humongous leads a rag-tag bunch of Manson family alike misfits featuring such notable luminaries as Arnie troubling (and idbuythatforadollar fave) Vernon Wells, whose fierce portrayal of the sexually liberated, Mohawk sporting, bum-cheek chafing ‘Wes’ was so memorable that he popped up again to cause terror in John Hughes’ Weird Science a few years later.

(Incidentally I once engaged in email conversation with Mr Wells in order to obtain his autograph for a friend who was getting married. It was quite odd and notable for the fact that he possessed possibly the largest email signature I have ever seen. Seriously, I had to buy a bigger monitor to read it. Find out more here).

Mad Max 2 still works wonderfully. It seems even more rough and visceral than I remember it, mainly because it seems that George Miller hates his stunt crew and devises innumerable ways to ensure they won’t be around long enough to appear in his dancing penguin film. In the modern age of green screen and compositing an actor’s face on to a computer-generated body, like Buffalo Bill with a mouse mat, it’s wholly refreshing to re-visit a time when if they wanted to film a car chase with people jumping between vehicles they got some vehicles and people and filmed them jumping between them.

More so than the other films in the series The Road Warrior covers some very dark territory, leaving you with a palpable sense of tension and dread. What’s more when it’s all over, and the dust settles, Max is pretty much in a worse position than he was when he started. You get a clear sense that he’d be much better off embracing nihilism and rejecting what’s left of his humanity. But it’s this conflict that fuels him as a character, and it’s a subject that is explored further in the glossier, big budget part three.

And if you needed proof of how ‘Hollywood’ Max is in part three check out its Tina Turner power ballad and Drew Struzan poster (below)

Max Max Beyond Thunderdome


By part 3 things a looking a little healthier in the world of Max. For one thing Gibson boasts a fairly lustrous sand-blown-mullet at the film’s opening, which also appears to have strengthened his charisma. No longer the acting ingénue, here he seems like a fully formed movie star. The budget’s also a little heftier, with Miller able to create the bustling Bartertown, which marks the first obvious difference from part 2.

Bartertown is something like a roadside café, or a post-apocalyptic Little Chef (and if you can tell the difference please post in the comments). So if the Mad Max trilogy has previously been a supercharged white-knuckle ride through Hell, the trilogy capper is essentially a chance for Max to stretch his legs and purchase some overpriced wine gums whilst avoiding a man selling RAC membership in the foyer. In essence, it’s still Hell; it just takes on a different form.

At the risk of driving this metaphor into the ground, the RAC salesman in Bartertown is Tina Turner’s Aunty Entity – ostensibly a villain, but with a slightly more refined manner and reasonable aims than either Lord Humoungous and The Toecutter from the previous entries. She offers Max a deal, and his end is to assassinate the problematic architect of Bartertown. This culminates in a duel within the Thunderdome, which, chronologically speaking, was probably inspired by TV’s Gladiators, but is a bit more engaging as it offers bungee ropes and chainsaws instead of a large man pretending to be a grumpy wolf hitting a swollen mechanic from Wallsall with a large cotton ear-bud.

Max’s inability to abandon his humanity, as hinted at in part 2, comes to the fore in the Thunderdome and results in him being ostracised from Bartertown wearing a giant paper-mache head and riding backwards on a donkey. It’s in this middle-stretch that sees Beyond Thunderdome enter its most thematically interesting patch. In the wasteland Max meets up with a bunch of children who survived a plane crash and essentially raised themselves in the desert in the absence of their guardian, the plane’s captain, who the children mistake for Max.


Max’s ignominious exit from Bartertowm

It’s here that the plot takes its foot off the accelerator. Max himself lies down and suggests that he’s reached the end of his journey, which is understandable, if not great news for the viewer. This apocalyptic anthropology whilst touching and – despite some rough performances from half of the cast of Home and Away – fairly engaging, is obviously not how people want a Mad Max film to play out, so, like Max himself, Miller is unable to leave his former habits behind and soon the film culminates in a chase involving leather, mohawks and petrol.

The final stretch displays other limitations. Whilst Miller obviously has a bigger budget, it has come at some cost. Beyond Thunderdome had a PG13 rating enforced at the time, which would probably a ‘U’ in today’s money. So whilst children getting chased by psychopathic adults who have a prevalence for violence, leather and cutting the seats out of their trousers, should be terrifying, the presentation is laced with slapstick pratfalls and bloodless action.

It doesn’t help that Miller is attempting to out-do himself and what is undoubtedly one of the greatest sustained chase sequences in screen history in Mad Max 2. You get the impression that his heart is not really in it, which is likely to be the case, since he only agreed to co-direct the film following the passing of his production partner Byron Kennedy while scouting locations for the film.

This leaves Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome with something of a bittersweet taste. While it strives and almost succeeds in breaking out of the formula that was undoubtedly perfected in part two, it loses its nerve part way and devolves into a more child-friendly rehash. That said, the ending is surprisingly tender and effective, placing our hero in what seems a highly appropriate position with promises of adventures to come but also serving as a form of resolution. If Max’s story ended here, it wouldn’t be a bad way to go out.

But the cinematic gods have decided that Max is too good a character to retire to the world of sexy fan-fiction, disappointing videogames and pub discussions about sequels that improve on their predecessors, and have given him his own bloody film again. Huzzah! In no small part is this down to the tenacity of George Miller whose attempts to reintroduce the character were thwarted by things like the invasion of Iraq (like we needed any more reasons to hate Tony Blair!) and Mel Gibson’s very public troubles.

Unfortunately, the conditions of Max’s return appear to be that, despite filming about 3 years ago, we’re still at least another year off seeing how good/bad/disappointing Mad Max: Fury Road is (if you’re visiting from the future, please delete as applicable) and whether or not Tom Hardy is going to bring his Bane voice to the table. Incidentally Hugh Keays-Byrne, who played the Toecutter in the first film, is back on villain duties bringing a wonderful synergy to proceedings and allowing me to use the word ‘synergy’ without looking like too much of a pillock.

I have a good feeling about this one. The Mad-Maxathon will be updated next year.

Good day

Trademarking ‘Hardy Gets Mardy’ for 2015

I bet the art department had to show Michael Bay where the 4 is.

And what a 4 is.

(It’s part of the robot’s face, Michael).

Who are we? What are we doing here? How can I finally understand the secrets of Prometheus, despite already watching it twice at the cinema? These secrets and more are promised by the home video release of the film formerly known as Paradise, Alien: Paradise, Untitled Alien Prequel but, sadly, not Olien.

As my original review stated – a worryingly low number of posts below this one (sorry about that!) – I enjoyed the journey Prometheus took despite the fairly unsatisfactory destination and most of the passengers. Ridley Scott’s return foray into science fiction may be slightly unsatisfying but it is fairly bold and not overly concerned about dovetailing with fans’ expectations, which I suppose is a good thing.

Since I didn’t really have many unanswered questions after my first viewing, I wasn’t really sold by the pre-home release marketing that promised ‘Questions will be answered’.

Still, there are clearly answers to something on the bugger, so here’s a list of stuff I learned from the Prometheus Blu-Ray.

Deleted scenes:

The first question the deleted footage answers is: ‘Will a director’s cut be able to improve Prometheus?’ The answer is a resounding ‘Nerp’. What is clear from the 30+ minutes of deleted footage is that Scott and company took most of it out to further obfuscate the story. This is hardly surprising when you factor in the involvement of Damon Lindelof, a man who introduces himself by spelling out the characters of his name in the wrong order, occasionally pausing to point out mysterious hatches and things that should not be, like polar bears wearing sunglasses, before vanishing four letters from the end.

The promised alternative opening shows the ‘Nappy Engineer’ clearly taking part in a ritualistic sacrifice, or perhaps a stag party that goes horribly wrong. The alternative ending is based around a longer conversation that David has with the ‘Lazy Engineer’ on the planet. There are no subtitles during this dialogue so what they are saying is anyone’s guess, though, clearly, ‘Why does Mike from Neighbours look like a mechanised raisin?’ is probably a good guess. David explains to Shaw that the engineers come from ‘Paradise’, which serves to illustrate that they probably also invented sarcasm and/or some parts of East Lancashire.

The other scenes serve to highlight the crew’s dysfunctional personalities. Holloway becomes even more of a penis, which is quite an impressive feat and makes me wonder if the character was more a response to a dare than an attempt to fulfil some kind of narrative objective. Captain Janek, on the other hand, seems to have a weird habit of wandering around the ship visiting the ladies’ quarters to tell them stories about military testing facilities. This possible seduction routine seems to have a 50/50 success rate, which is quite surprising.

One scene that I thought did add something to the plot – or at least helped to explain a character’s actions – was the biologist getting excited upon discovering some space worms. This makes the later scene where he re-unites with a larger, meaner space worm easier to swallow. Though, sadly, not for him, *titter*. There’s also a scene where the future’s worst scientists find some dried alien skin, which is a nice little nod to the rest of the series. All in all, these two scenes amount to just under 2 minutes of screen time, so, unless there’s a vault of alternative footage somewhere, you probably shouldn’t worry about double dipping on a future director’s cut.

Other stuff:

Scott on the rocks…

Through interviews and footage we see that most of Ridley’s meetings are accompanied by wine. We also find out that two of the most unpopular decisions: the look of the engineers and the rolling spacecraft at the end, come from Scott. I’m not saying the two facts are related, but I’ve made far worse decisions than revealing one of Prometheus’ characters isn’t ‘a turner’, and that the engineers are more like Renaissance tributes to Telly Savalas than elephantine space giants, on less wine than Sir Ridley is seen consuming in his pre-production meetings.

Jon Spaihts probably doesn’t like Damon Lindelof…

Original writer Spaihts worked on the film for nine-months, meeting with concept artists, visiting the set – even making a little board game to help him construct the story. So he was understandably a little peeved to find that they were dialling back some of his input to make way for a fresh approach. What is even more surprising is that it was allegedly the studio’s idea to make Prometheus more of a thematic relation to Alien than a direct prequel. Then again, the lessons taught by Aliens versus Predator are not easy to forget. Damn you, Aliens versus Predator.

H.R. Giger probably doesn’t like Ridley Scott…

When you’re responsible for birthing one of the most iconic cinema creations of the twentieth century, you could get a little too used to the feel of laurels under your back. So when His Royal Giger got the call that his input was needed on the return to the Alien universe it appears he grabbed the nearest biro and recreated some of his mainstays: aliens with horrible knob mouths, creepy vagina chasms and spooky space cocks. Unfortunately for H.R., he took a bit too long so they found a suitable replacement in a mysterious artist from Russia who expanded on similar themes (2 spooky space cocks!). ‘Gutalin’ allegedly had to have his 13-year old daughter translate for him, which must have led to a few interesting conversations around the breakfast table.

The world’s worst idea…

On Prometheus it is revealed that at one point there was an idea to link the universes of Blade Runner and Alien. Can you imagine Deckard chasing aliens? No. It’s a stupid idea. Fuck it to hell.

In conclusion:

Prometheus remains an enjoyable voyage into science fiction that stimulates the eyeballs more than it troubles the intellect. If you’re looking for ‘answers’ to some of the narrative questions then you probably won’t find them here. If, however, you’re looking for a comprehensive document of how one would go about creating such a voyage, whilst enraging film fans on the internet, or are just looking for a place to allocate blame, then you should probably go and buy the shit out of it right now.

EDITOR’S NOTE: I have no real desire to see The Bourne Legacy. This is due in part to the trilogy’s real legacy for me being two great films and one half-baked compilation that shamelessly steals elements from another pseudo New York based entry to a popular film series. The second reason is because one of my 2012 predictions was that films not starring Jeremy Renner would become a new genre. That’s not a world I want to live in. Anyway, my pal Dan has no such concerns; he went to see it last night and sent over this fairly comprehensive review. Spoilers, I suppose…

Total turds. Nothing at all happens. Each scene merely serves to explain the next. It’s like one giant exposition sequence. The basic premise is boring, with a second rate Bourne-esque character (Renner) on the run whilst trying to score some pills that stop him turning into Cleetus the Clown. He makes some very improbable leaps from cupboards in chez-Weisz and the two of them lam it in search of loony juice in Manilla where they are chased by some dork who falls off a bike. They sail into the sunset. The end.

Agree? Disagree? Not bothered? Voice your apathy in the comments section. If you’d like to run an article on – and have your work seen by literally tens of people – please send me an email.   

1. All the world loved Mandom.

2. ALL the world loved Mandom.

3. Charles Bronson loved Mandom more than guns, pipes and air.

4. Charles Bronson probably loved Mandom more than all the world.

5. I love this video (and Mandom).