From the mind of horror author Edward Lee, comes this horrifying tale of gruelling revenge and backwoods terror! Stewart Cummings (Jake Suffian), a government agent playing both sides of the law, finds himself in the nightmarish crossfire of a bloody family vendetta. Forced to delve deep into a series of gruesome murders, Cummings encounters the most twisted method of revenge ever conceived by man: The Header. What’s a header? Only redneck Travis Tuckton (Elliot V. Kotek) and his evil “grandpappy” knows for sure… and once you learn the shocking answer, you may never be the same. Get ready for the acclaimed horror film that may be the ultimate in violence and gore! “Header” is a film of unrelenting, twisted terror!
2006 – Certificate: Not Rated – American Film
7.0 out of 10
There’s only 360 more days until next Christmas; how exciting! I’ve managed to get all the way through this Christmas without putting the heating on at home. It was my present for the planet and a middle finger to SSE (Scottish and Southern Electricity). SSE managed to really piss me off recently. I have (well had) an early version of a smart meter for my electricity. I’ve had it about 2.5 years. When I got it I had to change my tariff for a more expense one, (although to be fair it’s probably helped me save more money than the extra I spent on having it). A couple of months ago it stopped working. I e-mailed SSE to ask if it could be fixed or replaced. The reply I got (that took longer to arrive that it should have) said that it was an outdated model and it couldn’t be replaced, but that I’d get a new, free smart meter in a few years’ time! There was no suggestion that perhaps I’d like to change my electric tariff for a cheaper one again or anything. This really annoyed me. In fact it’s annoyed me so much that I’m going to change my electivity suppler next month. Doing this has been on my mind for a while anyway, as SSE isn’t exactly top of the league when it comes to producing electricity from sustainable sources. It will probably cost me a bit more, but I’m looking forward to using fair-trade, organic electricity in future, that’s produced by whole African villages of people peddling really quickly on static bikes to produce the stuff for me. Quite why we can’t harvest the same stuff locally from all the private gyms around here I don’t know. I guess it’s a similar situation to apples, where in the autumn I can either buy English Cox’s (the world’s best apple), or some tasteless replica with a brand name variety (like Pink Lady) grown in New Zealand. That’s just weird. So’s this film.
Agent Stewart Cummings is having a really, really bad day. (I know he’s an agent as he spends most of the film running around in a t-shirt with the letters ATF on it. (The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.) His wife has a mystery illness for which the drugs she needs cost a fortune and his boss is less than supportive of him taking any sort of initiative when it comes to investigating crime. And on top of that someone locally has started doing rather icky things with peoples’ heads. Sadly for Stew it goes even further downhill from then on. After the first ten minutes or so I thought I was going to be faced with an entirely crap film featuring poor production, acting and script. Weirdly, as it progressed it improved. It was like it was filmed in chronological order and everyone just got better as they went along. That’s not to say it’s likely to worry the Oscars in any way, but it got good enough not to distract too much from the watching experience. I’d love to tell you exactly what a header is, but that would spoil it for you. Needless to say, it’s not got a great deal to do with aerial prowess in the penalty box, or plumbing. If nothing else, it’s worth watching just to see Grandpappy, a brilliantly, over-the-top character who brings a level of enthusiasm to proceedings that I wish I could replicate myself when doing my budget forecasts at work. I did have a lot of sympathy for Agent Cummings, a generally decent guy who just had a run of bad luck, really bad luck. Sometimes you just have to lose it. Whilst watching this movie, into my head popped the idea that American rednecks have a lot in common with the UK’s UKIP voters. More weirdness.
There isn’t a lot of music used in the film, it’s mainly just over the credits, but it’s a decent bit of whatever sort of music it is.
The trailer isn’t exactly forthcoming with details. (There is a better one on the DVD, but I couldn’t find a link to it anywhere to put here.) I guess that’s what comes from having a ‘big secret’ that you don’t want to blow to quickly.
Movie Weather Forecast: Warm and sunny through the course of the film. Nice.
Recommended for police officers, cobblers, drug dealers and adulteresses.
No cats, chainsaws or decapitations.
Top badass moment? In a fit of anger that wouldn’t have been out of place in the final verse of Eminem’s “Guilty Conscience”, Agent Cummings finally gets pissed at his bad luck. I’m not condoning his behaviour of course, but, well, you can understand it. I’m sure when I eventually ‘lose it’ I’ll go on the rampage too, probably on the London Underground in the rush hour, or maybe in Reading’s Oracle Shopping Centre, on a Saturday afternoon just before Christmas.
Following the unrelated deaths of four old school friends Danny, William, Kevin and Steve, they find themselves meeting in the afterlife waiting room, a state of limbo between heaven and hell – Purgatory. The four friend’s topic of conversation turns to their strict catholic upbringing and the possible wrongs that each has done through their lives that have earned them a seat in Death’s anteroom. Now will their actions as children forgo their future and determine the final resting place of their eternal souls? A thought provoking film that explores the youthful coming of age and the views held by the catholic church of these adolescent years.
1986 – Certificate: 12
Rating Details: Moderate sex references
6.0 out of 10
I’ve been having some pretty disgusting, impure thoughts myself recently. However, mine concern iTunes’s so called customer service. Not for the first time, my iTunes account got hacked a couple of weeks ago. I wasn’t able to reset it so I was forced to contact iTunes to sort it out. Tying to find out how to get hold of the right person in the right part of the world, was akin to discovering how to levitate through the power of thought, whilst learning to write traditional Chinese, inside a crater full of molten magma in a volcano on Titan, with a bad hangover. I did eventually find an e-mail address to use and got a reply from Umair, who sounded like he’d find helping me with my problem as much fun as a three-in-a-bed session with Mila Kunis and Rihanna. (I’m not a reader myself, but they topped the FHM Sexiest Women in the World poll for 2013.) Seriously, I really thought my little issue was going to change his whole life for the better, provide him with eternal inner peace and a place in heaven, such was his enthusiasm for wanting to assist me. Sadly, the latter only went as far as telling me to e-mail someone else and providing a link to another page of Apple-crap®. What’s wrong with these people? Haven’t they learnt how to forward an e-mail to the right person yet? After trawling through more pages of advertising masquerading as ‘customer support’, I finally found out how to arrange for a call-back at a time convenient to me; (as long as it wasn’t for a day or two, as they seemed to be too busy to manage anything any earlier). So I waited in at the appointed time, my hand poised over my phone, ready for action. Of course, it never rang. This evening I e-mailed Umair back and told him that if my account being compromised caused any problems they could argue it out with my credit card company. I signed the e-mail an ex-iTunes customer. Bollocks to iTunes. Bastards. I hope they all end up in Purgatory, which strangely is where the main characters in this film spend most of their time.
This is a pretty lifeless little movie that only occasionally brightens up. Not only that, but it’s in mono and the print that was used to master the DVD I watched was dirty and dull too. I couldn’t even find a trailer for it either, so I’ve just picked a bit of it to show here, although this does seem to have all the best parts in it. If I’d gone to a convent school, had a Catholic upbringing or a ‘thing’ for nuns, I might have found it a bit more interesting, but I didn’t. (How such a weird system manages to turn out reasonable well-rounded people most of the time, I’ve no idea.) I did however, learn the difference between venial and mortal sins. There is in fact only one real reason to watch this film and that’s to see the world’s most beautiful woman, Alyson Hannigan, in her first ever role. I guess she was about 11 when she made it. And despite her age, she’s already playing the sort of quirky, sexually ‘interesting’ type of character that she later made famous in “Buffy” and “American Pie”. That probably makes me sound terribly Stuart Hallish, but honestly, she’s such a tease!
The film’s soundtrack is about on par with the rest of it. However, it does have “The O-men” as the band at the school dance, which does show it’s got a bit of a humorous, dark heart.
Recommended for Catholics, nuns and Hanniganites. (I just made that last word up, but I’m sure they probably exist.) I still can’t get into “How I Met Your Mother” though. I’ve watched a couple of episodes and it didn’t look very good; too much like old-fashioned American sitcom humour, which anyone with a sense of humour will tell you isn’t actually very funny.
No cats, chainsaws or decapitations.
Top badass moment? It’s a toss-up between the lads stealing/drinking the communion wine and Alyson Hannigan’s first film role. Then again, she’s busy stuffing her bra whilst they’re not even getting pissed. So really, in the end there’s not a lot of competition. Given her age, I guess it’s not appropriate to shout, “get ‘em out for the lads”?
Ever watched any of those TV ads, which always seem to feature a young and good-looking guy in a white shirt and tie, sitting on a train with loads of space around him? The ones where it’s sunny outside and the train is passing through some beautiful countryside, which the guy in the shirt glances at contentedly whilst he works away on a laptop, looking happy and in control, as he drinks his complementary and delicious cup of coffee and deals with his important but achievable workload? Well that’s total bollocks. I’ve spend a lot of time recently sitting on trains trying to work on a laptop and its had about as much in common with that image, as someone sweeping the floor in an aircraft hangar has with Tom Cruise in “Topgun”. So here’s a reality check.
1) The trains are always over-crowded and no one looks happy.
2) You always have to chuck someone out of the seat you’ve booked, who’s always the person most genuinely in need of a seat on the whole train; typically a heavily pregnant but exceedingly fray old lady, who’s often from a Black or Asian community too, so that everyone else on the train can brand you both a bastard and a racist.
3) You can never plug your laptop in anywhere; there either isn’t a plug, or someone else is using it and will defend it to the death if need be. You’d have more chance of negotiating a peace treaty between North and South Korea.
4) The tables are too narrow to have the screen at the right angle or the keyboard in the right place; and there’s always some other poor sod sitting on the other side of the table trying to use a laptop too; and the nightmarish possibly that the backs of the lids might accidentally touch one another, would feel not unlike experiencing your best mate suddenly touching you ‘inappropriately’ and declaring he’s always loved you.
5) You’re always stressed out because you’ve got too much work to do. Internet access costs nearly £5 for an hour and at best is annoyingly intermittent and slow, so you end up having to close and reopen Outlook loads of times in an effort to send or receive any e-mail. And don’t even think you can use a mouse, as the train’s movement will result in your clicking on everything but what you wanted and a screen full of usless boxes and windows that you’ve then got to try to close, an equally futile exercise that just perpetuates the nightmare. And if you saved the link your mate sent you last week for that comedy bestiality gay porn website, you can be sure you’ll accidently click on it and everyone in the carriage with hear your tinny laptop speakers blare out the fact, confirming in their minds that you’re a social deviant as well as being a bastard and a racist, and probably a paedophile too. Your only defence against all this is that the chance of you actually finding a suitable space in which to move a mouse around, is rather less than that of the Earth suddenly exploding right now… nope, we’re still here. (And here’s a friendly bit of advice; don’t bother trying to use your mouse on your thigh, it doesn’t work and after it’s fallen on the floor with a loud clatter a few times, everyone will be adding stupidity to your growing lists of crimes.)
6) The person sitting opposite you always has a better laptop that makes you feel like a Luddite and failure, as you look at your scratched Dell with its broken bit of trim in the corner; whilst his is miraculously in pristine condition, despite its apparently nomadic existence; they’re nearly always Macs too; does Apple pay people to travel on trains just to make it look like it has a bigger market share than it really does?
7) The weather is always wet and horrible; or really bright and the sun shines directly onto the screen of your laptop, rendering it unreadable.
8) The person next to you acts as if he’s Beelzebub’s cousin and insists on staking his claim to every square nanometre of his allotted space; even using his bag and jacket to build something akin to the Berlin Wall between you and him. The unspoken threat this leaves hanging in the air will lead you to prefer the option of wetting yourself, rather than ask him to move so you can go to the toilet.
9) If the person next to you is a woman, she will continually use body language that strongly suggests the world’s most evil-smelling pervert has just sat next to her. Unlike Beelzebub’s cousin, she will attempt to curl up in as small a space as possible, mathematically as far from you as she can, whilst texting her mates non-stop to tell them of her ongoing trauma.
10) The coffee is mediocre, costs £2.20 and comes in a paper cup.
This film is set in 1972. Before laptops existed. (And I really actually like trains.)
1991 – Certificate: PG – USA
Before I watched this film I couldn’t remember anything about it or why I’d bought it. Neither the overview nor the trailer suggested that it’s going to be anything other than a fairly crappy, 90s, mainstream Hollywood romantic/family comedy with a precocious, ‘Hollywood-style’ kid in it. An evening of British stoicism beckoned, as I looked forward to 98 minutes of mediocre averageness. But when a film starts with an 11-year-old girl speaking directly into the camera, claiming to have caught haemorrhoids and explaining how her breasts are developing at different rates and that means she’s got cancer, does suggest that it’s going to have more balls that it ought to. (Sorry if that all sounds a bit Jimmy Savilley, it’s not meant to.) For a PG rated film, I bet that freaked out a few parents in the cinema! It’s basically a film about death, a suitable depressing topic that probably explains why I bought it in the first place. In the end, it still turned out to be a 90s, mainstream Hollywood romantic/family comedy with a precocious, ‘Hollywood-style’ kid in it, but at times it’s also a genuinely touching and powerful bit of drama. The adults are more or less cardboard cut-out characters, but the kids make the film come alive and the script’s surprising subtle. It’s got a good soundtrack too. (Problem is, I still can’t get used to Dan Aykroyd not hunting ghosts, or Jamie Lee Curtis not fighting Michael Myers.)
Recommended for people who want to revisit the experience of losing someone they love.
No cats, decapitations or chainsaws.
Top badass moment? Vada sulking in the supermarket and throwing can after can from the shelf into the trolley. Am I the only one who thinks doing this without looking at the shelf or fumbling any of the cans, whilst the trolley is moving, was pretty clever? It’s hard to make sulking look cool, so managing to do so is badass.