What I Did In My Holidays -- CHAFF 1 2009

Hello Chaffy peoples!!

Hope you all are feeling glad to be back and psyched for the new semester. I thought for a bit about what to write for this my first column of the year, I considered imparting the wisdom I gleaned over the last few months from venerable spiritual masters on mountains remote, but after much contemplation I decided that the most enlightened path is to tell you about the mountain of dishes that has slowly accreted on my kitchen bench, and why you do, in fact, give a damn.

See I flat with this one other guy in a pretty little dump in Hokowhitu , let’s call him B, he is still technically a student because he hasn’t graduated and still enrols every semester, even though every semester he promptly withdraws because he doesn’t have the time for study and this has been the case for about eight years now. He’s a great guy – best flatmate I’ve ever had in fact – but I’m starting to suspect he is actually planning to overthrow the government and set himself up as a tyrannical dictator bent on world domination. What tipped me off? Was it the maniacal laughter in the dead of the night, the plans of Parliament Buildings strewn around his bedroom floor, the furtive glances at the door when the police drive past the house? No, it was more subtle even than that. It was his absolute aversion to doing the dishes.

B will not wash his cereal bowl and spoon after eating breakfast. Every day he gets a new one out from the cupboard, fills it up with delicious, healthy Nutrigrain or muesli, munches his way through while reading Stuff and gossiping on Bebo or MSN or whatever you crazy kids are calling it these days, and then he unceremoniously dumps the bowl on the bench and dashes out the door to work. Wouldn’t be so bad if he ate everything in the bowl and maybe licked it clean afterwards as I was wont to do as a child, but no, every day I am confronted by another bowl of half eaten muesli and yogurt. And I’m stuck cleaning them up, because if I don’t they just don’t get done, and the smell of a bench-load of week-old bowls of stagnant, putrid breakfast mush is enough to drive me to homicide.

He could just rinse the bowl out, but he doesn’t. Ever. So I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s intentional. But he must abhor this nasal offense as I do, surely, I refuse to believe that anybody could simply fail to detect or be bothered by such a vile stench. There must be something else, some reason for leaving the loathsome goo out to moulder and curdle. And I think I know what that reason is.

He’s raising an army of ants. That’s the only rational explanation. Those bowls of muck are there to feed his legions of miniature monstrous minions, because sure enough, if I don’t endanger my health and sanity rinsing off those unwashed bowls every morning the bench-top, and indeed the entire kitchen, is quickly overrun and conquered by those little fuckers. Millions of them. My quiet unassuming flatmate is in fact the Emperor of the Ants.

Yes, it’s terrifying, but fear not, children, for I will not bow before this scourge, this army of irritating arthropods. You may rest in your beds at night, secure in the knowledge that, and I alone, fight the battle for Palmerston North, -- nay, the world -- armed only with a plastic dish brush, a pair of pink rubber gloves and a can of Raid. Be grateful. I may yet ask for payment, and it may be more than you can afford.

I’m quite partial to Toffee Pops.

Danny R

CHAFF Review -- Underworld

Underworld 5/10

Starring Kate Beckinsale, Scott Speedman, Bill Nighy

K, so I watched this one recently on DVD with friends because we all know the newest instalment in the Underworld trilogy is coming out at theatres soon. It’s been a few years since I saw this picture, I only remembered that it had something to do with vampires and werewolves and that everybody was wearing big Fuck-Off boots and tight shiny leather like in The Matrix (such things tend to stick in my mind).

I’ve always thought vampire films were a bit wanky and pretentious, and this one’s no different. With the exception of hot-as-hell-but-cold-as-ice Selene (Kate Beckinsale), a Death Dealer committed to assassinating werewolves with guns – big ones, lots of – the rest are pretty standard fare, lounging around on sofas being bored and boring, sipping red wine (Or is it?? Come on people, CLICHÉ!!) And watching it, you don’t really give a damn about any of them.

The Lycans, the werewolf clan that Selene and her nocturnal crew are hunting, are as hairy and muscular in human form as their vampire counterparts are sleek and stylish. They look like drug dealers, until they get all big and monstrous in the moonlight and start climbing walls, lurking in sewers and dark alleyways and being vulnerable to silver bullets. And of course there aren’t any girl-werewolves. So again, pretty standard.

The plot, while a bit convoluted at times, isn’t too bad. The main story revolves around Selene , who finds herself attracted to a human, Michael Corvin (Scott Speedman) who is being targeted by the Lycans. After Michael is bitten by Lycan boss Lucian, Selene has to decide whether to do her duty and kill her man-crush or go against her clan and save him. Typical Romeo and Juliet stuff, but with lots of biting and blood-sucking.

I remember the film’s fight sequences as being pretty impressive when I saw it at the cinema in 2003, but I think they lost a lot in the translation to the small screen (so if you want to see the new movie, I’d suggest seeing it at the cinema). Watching this first instalment again, I’m struck by how loud this film is, it’s all howling, screaming, and gunfire. But then, I guess that’s to be expected.

In fact probably the best thing about Underworld is its soundtrack, which successfully creates the film’s dank and moody atmosphere, making up for the sometimes awful dialogue and acting. There’s a great blend of metal, hard rock, industrial, and gothic tracks, my favourites being David Bowie and James Maynard Keenan’s Bring Me The Disco King and Puscifier’s brilliant Rev 22:20, one of the seediest and most irreverent songs ever penned.

All in all, I have mixed feelings about this movie. Sometimes I think I like it, sometimes I think it’s awful. The critics certainly weren’t kind; one said, “This is a movie so paltry in its characters and shallow in its story that the war seems to exist primarily to provide graphic visuals,” while another has said “[B]y any reasonable standard, this dark vampire epic — all massive overacting, cologne-commercial design and sexy cat suits — sucks.”

Danny Rudd

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