New Poster for Mesrine: Part 1

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The Quaid

A few days ago I tried to share with the world my respect and admiration for Dennis Quaid, but for reasons I don’t fully understand it swiftly turned into an ugly rant against Mary Jane Watson from the Spider-Man movies. Well you’ll be pleased to know I’ve got that out of my system and I find myself in a much happier place. Quaidland.

“The Quaid”, as I expect he likes to be known, is a legendary actor of great likeability, vast talent and cheeky dimples. Sadly it’s been his misfortune to appear in some utter bum chutney over the years. I don’t know why this is; perhaps his agent is a mallard or a wombat or some other creature incapable of identifying a good script.

Part of The Quaid’s problem is that he’s very similar to Harrison Ford in appearance and demeanour, and he had the hard cheese to be making his name in the 1980s, a decade which will probably one day be rebranded as ‘the Harrison Fordies’ due to his scruffy-but-lovable-hero-based dominance of the box office.

Incidentally, I was in a restaurant once when I overheard this conversation between some middle-aged types at a nearby table:

“We watched Air Force One yesterday”
“Who’s in that?”
“Harrison Ford, I think”
“You mean, Harrison Ford Fiesta!”
“HA HA HA HA HA!!! Yes, Harrison Ford Fiesta!”

I had to be physically restrained from going over and replacing all of their eyeballs with pickled onions.

So The Quaid had to pick up the scraps Harrison Ford left behind, which was a shame because he might have made a good Jack Ryan in Patriot Games, and he could have done something with Regarding Henry and Working Girl that didn’t make them the movie equivalent of a glass of cod liver oil and raw eggs. Had he been in Frantic he may even have been able to give the impression of being awake.

Fortunately, The Quaid has brought us some gems over the years. InnerSpace is a groovy sci-fi adventure romp; Dreamscape is a cathedral of bonkersness about entering and manipulating people’s dreams, and Frequency is a heartwarming slice of cheesecake about a dead bloke talking to his son, across time, through a knackered radio. Less fortunately, American Dreamz, in which The Quaid finally gets to play the President, is quite literally one of the worst films ever made, and Vantage Point is as predictable and annoying as a Coldplay album.

What’s important, though, is that The Quaid is legend in all these films. He’s in his fifties now and he’s always been stuck at the border patrol of Megastardomland, frantically waving his passport and begging to be let in, so it’s time he found something truly brilliant to show how skill he is. Sadly everyone in the civilized world can see that his next two films, GI Joe: The Rise Of The Cobra and Pandorum will suck bowling balls through a straw, so it looks like we’ll have to wait a bit longer.



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Stomach-Churning Pole Dance

You know who you are. I know who you are.

Listen: True Lies was directed by James Cameron and stars Arnold Schwarzenegger in his least believable role as a husband and father leading an unlikely double life as a secret agent. It famously features Jamie Lee Curtis doing a stomach-churning pole dance in her smalls which immediately negates all the good work Cameron did for ladyfolk with Aliens and the Terminator movies.

True Romance was directed by Tony Scott and was the first script written by Quentin Tarantino in his inimitable, already-tiresome style. It stars Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette as two crazy kids trying to flog a shedload of questionably-sourced cocaine to a Hollywood bigshot while being mithered by the ghost of Elvis.

While it’s probably fair to say True Romance is better than True Lies, that doesn’t mean it should win a poll in which it wasn’t even nominated. That’s just silly.

This week’s poll is: What’s the greatest John Hughes film, like, ever? Now, please don’t confuse The Breakfast Club with Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Sixteen Candles does not feature Bruce Willis dragging Mos Def through New York, that’s 16 Blocks. And Uncle Buck is not about a 20th Century astronaut frozen for 500 years only to discover that everybody is dressed like they’re at a 1970s swingers’ party.

Honestly, you guys. Must try harder!

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John Hughes 1950 – 2009

The Incredible Suit would like to take a moment to thank the late John Hughes for:

But not for:

So… ANSWER THE QUESTION, CLAIRE!! What’s the greatest John Hughes movie, like, ever?

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Trapped In A Dustbin

It’s about this time of the week that the world waits with baited breath for the results of The Incredible Suit’s weekly poll, and I satisfy that demand with a meticulously crafted graphic representation and poetic prose hewn from the mightiest oaks of wit and arranged on the screen with the care of the world’s most careful carer of things.

Unfortunately some berk has set the end of the poll for 24 hours later than usual, so you’re going to have to come back after 5pm on Friday to discover what the readers of The Incredible Suit deemed The Greatest James Cameron Film, Like, Ever! Except you won’t, because I know for a fact that at least half the people who voted for True Lies, which is currently in the lead, thought they were voting for True Romance, which wasn’t directed by James Cameron and has nothing in common with True Lies apart from the fact that there are some people in it, talking. So a fat lot of good that poll is.

It doesn’t matter anyway because I watched Aliens again recently and can confirm that it’s far and away Cameron’s best work. It’s a 10 out of 10 perfect action thriller that feels like spending two and a half hours trapped in a dustbin while the most terrifying nightmares your mind could generate try to get in and eat bits of you that you’d really rather keep hold of. And I should know, I’ve stayed in the Formule 1 Hotel in Liverpool.

So with no poll result to announce and no new poll to kick off because I haven’t thought of anything yet, I’ll have to pull something else from the sleeves of The Incredible Suit. Hello, what’s this? Why, it’s something incredible! It’s a cheeky song written by Joe Cornish for BBC 6 Music’s Adam & Joe Show! If you’re living in a state of blissful ignorance of the Adam & Joe show (if you can call that ‘living’), it’s a weekly work of such sublime genius you could fatten it up, put a suit on it and call it Alfred Hitchcock.

It’s off air for the summer so don’t pop a sprocket trying to find it. But when it’s back, at the very least download the weekly podcast and listen to it on the way to work, especially if you’re the kind of person who likes to freak out fellow commuters by spontaneously snotting yourself with laughter for no apparent reason.

Anyway Joe wrote this song for the show’s Song Wars slot, which I haven’t got the arsedness to explain right now, but it’s basically a theme song for the latest Bond film, Quantum Of Solace. Yes, they did it about nine months ago but they’ve just put it on their website to download for nought pee, so I recommend you do so. Adam wrote one too but sadly it was like Moonraker to Joe’s Goldfinger. Sorry Adam, I know you’re reading this.

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Preposterous Claptrap

I like to tell anyone who can’t escape - for example, people in lifts, supermarket queues, my basement - how much I love Dennis Quaid. Not in a romantic sense you understand, although I do believe in man-love – only the other day I watched Spider-Man 3 and almost went out to buy a new hat after seeing Peter Parker and Harry Osborn get back together only for tragedy to come between them again. By ‘tragedy’ I mean Mary Jane Watson, that selfish, whining, thoughtless cow whose herculean efforts to get herself kidnapped every time there’s a new super-villain in town repeatedly put Spidey’s life in danger.

I really have had it up to the cephalothorax with that dozy mare, banging on about her ‘career’ and spouting preposterous claptrap like “I’ve always been standing in your doorway”. Get out of the bloody doorway, woman! That’s why Pete has to keep leaping out of the window, putting himself at even greater risk! The whole of New York depends on him and here you are, forcing him off the fire escape before launching yourself into the clutches of the nearest evil genius so that he has to leave orphans burning just to rescue you! Again!

She really should have popped her clogs in the first film when the Green Goblin dumped her off that bridge. That’s what happened in the comics, except it wasn’t her, it was the ravishing Gwen Stacy, who was far more likeable. Then they could have introduced the comic version of Mary Jane, a right saucy minx who teased Peter Parker till his undercracker elastic could barely take the strain. Instead we got Mrs Whingey-Knickers for three films and a Gwen Stacy in the third who was about as ravishing as Uncle Ben (by which I mean Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben, not the chap who sells the curry sauce. Although he’s no looker either).

Mary Jane hits new heights of selfish bitchery in Spider-Man 3 when she’s booted off her Broadway show for being useless and spends the rest of the film blarting about it. While Pete’s on a high because he’s finally found peace with simultaneously being a super-hero and a friendless geek (Not unlike The Incredible Suit), she’s bringing him down into a depression so deep he grows his hair over his face and starts wearing black all the time, even as Spider-Man! Give me strength.

Anyway, I was going to tell you about my man-love for Dennis Quaid but that moaning strumpet has made me all cross so I’m going to have to have a nice lie down. Grrr!


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Pork Chop

I haven’t really got anything to say today.

However, here’s a picture of a pork chop that looks like Darth Vader’s helmet:

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