Connect with us

Cinema's Ultimate Jerks

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks #8: Simon (True Lies)

Published

on

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks is a celebration of the characters we love to hate in the movies we love to love. They’re not always the main villains – and sometimes they’re not even villains at all – but they’re definitely jerks. So let’s take a look at this week’s jerk-off, and why they find themselves forever enshrined here in the hall of shame. Also, since I’m not a jerk, this is your spoiler warning for the 1994 movie, True Lies.

Simon, laughing his back off about how he’s a massive jerk and nobody is stopping him.

Saving the world is a full time job. Harry Tasker – the role Arnold Schwarzenegger was born to play – knows this as well as anyone. He’s always blowing things up and icing baddies in awesome ways, not because it’s badass, but because he cares about humanity. And also because it’s badass. What’s not badass, by the way, is going to work for a fourteen hour shift, capping villains, thinking up hilarious quips to deliver seconds later, and generally being a god-damned American hero, just to come home and find out that there’s another dude moving in on your old lady. Enter Simon, AKA Carlos the Jackal.

True Lies is an odd movie. It’s like a ninety minute action movie that’s stretched out to nearly two and a half hours by inserting a little bit of family drama into the middle that’s largely unrelated to the rest of the plot. I know, that sounds mental, but it’s basically the best film ever so we’ll let it slide. The opening act establishes that Harry Tasker is an amazing American secret agent sporting a thick, never explained Austrian accent. With the rest of his team he travels the globe foiling terrorist plots and blowing shit up in totally radical ways in the name of justice. After a bunch of gunfights, explosions, and an amazing tango – who knew Schwarzenegger could dance? – Harry and his team discover that a really nasty terrorist is planning to do something real naughty, and it’s absolutely imperative that he be stopped… later, because it’s family drama time.

Since being a spy means that you’re not allowed to tell anyone you’re a spy, Harry’s wife Helen is blissfully unaware that her husband is fucking gnarly secret agent, and thinks he’s just a boring old sales rep. A sales rep that’s got incredible muscle definition, but a sales rep none the less. He’s always late for dinner, he’s always breaking promises, and he doesn’t spend enough time with his kid. The romance has gone. And so Helen, living a dull life as a legal secretary, married to a dull – not awesome – sales rep, is feeling vulnerable and in dire need of a little action, when by chance she’s handed a briefcase by a mysterious man in a restaurant who claims it’s a matter of national security and then promptly runs off.

Simon AKA Carlos the Jackal AKA Carlos the Jerkel, right?

Naturally, she breaks into the briefcase to see what it’s all about, only to find it’s stuffed with money in all different denominations from various countries across the globe, numerous passports, and a gun. The mysterious man contacts her, and arranges a meet to get his stuff back, where he announces that his name is Simon and he’s a secret agent. There’s a mole in his unit and nobody can be trusted which means he’s gonna need to get help from someone unaffiliated with the agency, and lo and behold, he’s just met Helen, who is not a spy. Harry’s wife is caught up in the allure of the action and the excitement, and so she’s perhaps a little more receptive to Simon’s particular brand of bullshit than most people would be and she agrees to join him on his quest. But you see, Simon isn’t a spy at all. He’s a used car salesman and a massive, deplorable jerk.

Simon has been gasp! lying to women about his job in order to get laid. He’s been enjoying his sleazy shenanigans for far too long, assuming that no real life superspy would ever take umbrage with him taking credit for their actions, but that was before he started to ply his trade with Harry Tasker’s wife. Harry ain’t got time for that shit. So Harry tracks him down under the pretence that he’s interested in buying a car, and gets him to tell all about how he seduces women with a killer angle about being a hero. Simon only pretends to be a spy so he can stick it to bored housewives in need of a little bit of kiss kiss bang bang, and his shtick is yielding dividends. “Not just the skanks, either,” he so eloquently puts it. “Well, some are.”

Later, Simon tries to get Helen on board for a secret mission to Paris where she’ll have to play his wife. He pours her a glass of claret and starts touching her up to “help her get into the role”. When she declines, citing her love for her husband as more important than stopping a pretend terrorist, Simon pleads for a shag, saying “If not for me… Do it for your country?” God loves a trier.

I love how Arnie’s shirt gets strategically torn in the perfect position to show off his bulging bicep.

Jerk-off Quote: “She could be so hot if she wanted to. She’s like all these babes, you get their pilot lit, they could suck start a leafblower. And she’s got the most incredible body too and a pair of titties that make you wanna stand up and beg for buttermilk. Ass like a ten year old boy!” – Simon, using the phrase “Ass like a ten year old boy” in what I’m assuming is a compliment, but I’m not really sure why.

Comeuppance: Harry uses government funds to pull off an elaborate sting operation to scare Simon, having him dragged out of his trailer home in his underwear by armed agents. He starts crying, claims he was never a spy and only pretended to be one in order to get girls to have sex with him, laments the size of his manhood – “I got a little dick. It’s pathetic!” – and then pisses his pants. It’s not his best day.

Jerk-off Rating: Arnie spends hundreds of thousands of American taxpayers dollars and stops tracking a dangerous terrorist just to teach this guy a lesson, and we’re all totally okay with it.

Tune in next week – same jerk time, same jerk channel – to find out who’s next in our celebration of cinema’s ultimate jerks.

John can generally be found wearing Cookie Monster pyjamas with a PlayStation controller in his hands, operating on a diet that consists largely of gin and pizza. His favourite things are Back to the Future, Persona 4 Golden, the soundtrack to Rocky IV, and imagining scenarios in which he's drinking space cocktails with Commander Shepard. You can follow John on Twitter at www.twitter.com/JohnDoesntDance

Advertisement
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Cinema's Ultimate Jerks

A Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks Christmas: Harry Ellis, Dwayne T. Robinson, & Dick Thornburg from ‘Die Hard’

Published

on

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks is a celebration of the characters we love to hate in the movies we love to love. They’re not always the main villains – and sometimes they’re not even villains at all – but they’re definitely jerks. For this very special Christmas edition of Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks, let’s look at three of the biggest douchebags in cinematic history and see why they find themselves forever enshrined here in the hall of shame. It’s the final ever Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks, and for Christmas we’re inducting Die Hard’s Dick Thornburg, Deputy Dwayne T. Robinson, and Harry Ellis.

cinemas-ultimate-jerks-2

Look at those pearly whites.

Die Hard is of course the world’s greatest ever Christmas movie, and so it seems only fitting that Die Hard would include not one, not two, but three of the biggest pricks ever to grace the silver screen. Die Hard‘s Unholy Trinity of cinematic buttheads is legendary and is actually one of the reasons that the late, great, totally-wrong-on-this-one Roger Ebert gave the movie a mediocre review. You can’t win ’em all, Rog. Anyway, Hans! Bubby! Let’s talk about Harry Ellis.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. If you’re a wholesome, well-to-do individual like myself then you’ll have sung those lyrics in your head, imagining little children building snowmen, chestnuts roasting on a roaring fire, and Christmas cheer and good will to all men (and women, before you start). But did you know that snow is also — in the parlance of our times — a slang name for the illicit street drug, cocaine? Also known as Charlie, Sniff, Blow, Bugle, Bernie’s Gold Dust, Auntie Nora, Bizzle, Colombian Marching Powder, and Great Uncle Charles’ All Natural Nose Tonic, cocaine is an illegal substance enjoyed by deviants and ne’er-do-wells looking to talk a lot of shite or balance out an incredible amount of alcohol consumption with an upper. Anyway, Harry Ellis, the dirty little bastard, can’t get enough of it.

John McClane — a New York, straight shootin’ cop who’s not afraid to play by his own rules — hates Ellis about 0.4 seconds into his first meeting with him, when after arriving at his wife’s Christmas party at Nakatomi Plaza, he gets an eyeball of Ellis sticking his beak into a big fat slug of Paradise White. Harry claims he was just making a phone call, but John — with eleven years of experience as a detective — instantly recognises all of the sniffing, fast talking, jittery behaviour, and the fact that Ellis still has some cocaine in his moustache, as signs that Ellis has just been having a cocaine. But John isn’t at the Christmas party to bust people for having a big one on pay weekend, and so he lets it slide. Just this once.

Ellis, overconfident thanks to his indulgence in too much Star Spangled Powder, tries to show his dominance as the office alpha male by insisting that John’s wife Holly show her husband the Christmas gift that he bought her. “It’s a Rolex,” he proclaims, proudly, with a massive, bearded grin. Honestly, what an absolute flannel this guy is. I firmly believe that John McClane could have grabbed Ellis by his fucking beard right then and there and launched him directly through the window to his death, and there’s no jury in the land that would have convicted him. Not even in one of the weirdo states. Defenestration would be a mercy killing. Not for Ellis, but for everyone else who ever had to suffer spending one moment in his odious presence.

Anyway, once it all goes pear-shaped and terrorists take over the Nakatomi Plaza, Ellis starts freaking out a little bit. Maybe it’s the fact that armed gunmen have taken him hostage, or maybe he’s just desperate for another toot of Peruvian Flake, but instead of trusting John McClane to sort all the baddies out like everyone else has, ol’ Harry decides to take matters into his own hands. He requests an audience with the terrorist leader, Hans Gruber, in which he pretends to be an old friend of John’s who can talk him out of sneaking around in the shadows, capping terrorists, and generally fucking up Hans’ plan.

“Hans! Bubby! I’m your white knight!” he audaciously claims, utterly oblivious to the fact that he’s in way over his head. He tries to convince Hans that they’re equals, only while Hans prefers to conduct his business via the medium of threat and/or violence, Harry does his deals with the stroke of his pen. If looks could kill, Hans’ burning hatred for Ellis would have zapped a hole through his head there and then, but ever the consummate professional, Hans hears him out. Harry’s plan, it seems, is to negotiate with John, get him to stand down, and then what? Have a glass of champers with Hans and his mates, before going back to his apartment to watch Home Alone 2 like a normal person on Christmas Eve? Honestly, I don’t think he thought this plan through. But then maybe his drug-addled brain wasn’t capable of rational thought.

Say no to drugs, kids.

“Hang on, you’re telling me Ellis hasn’t already been inducted into Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks? The fuck you bin doin’ lad?”

Jerk-off Quote: “I’ve watched 60 Minutes, and I say to myself, they’re motivated, they’re happening, i.e. they want something. Maybe it’s because you’re pissed off at the camel-jockeys or maybe it’s the Heebs, Northern Ireland, it’s none of my business. I figure, you’re here to negotiate. Am I right? Hey, business is business. You use a gun, I use a fountain pen, what’s the difference? Let’s put it in my terms: you’re in a hostile takeover, you snatch us up for some green mail, but you’re not expecting some poison pill to be running around the building, am I right? Hans! Bubby! I’m your white knight.” — Harry Ellis, who negotiates multi-million dollar deals for breakfast, dealing with some Eurotrash.

Comeuppance: Unfortunately for Harry Ellis, he’s not the master negotiator that he thought he was, and his plan to make friends with his terrorist captors and get out of the situation unscathed all goes to pot. Hans Gruber — in a move so crowd pleasing that it almost turns him into the hero of the movie — shoots Harry Ellis dead when John McClane refuses to give himself up. And nobody, not even his mum, turned up to his funeral. Maybe. They don’t deal with that bit in the movie. But come on.

Jerk-off Rating: Beards didn’t come back into fashion for like twenty years after Die Hard. Coincidence? I think not, bubby.

Somewhere around the time that Ellis is first starting to wish he had another gram of gear on him to get through the terrorism-related pickle he’s found himself in, Deputy Dwayne. T. Robinson of the Los Angeles police department turns up outside the Nakatomi Plaza to stick his oar in. Up until this point, John McClane has been chatting via walkie talkie to another cop named Al, and the two have been getting along swimmingly. But for whatever reason, Deputy Dwayne T. Robinson takes an instant dislike to John McClane, and pretty much whatever the situation is, he finds some way to point the finger of blame towards him.

cinemas-ultimate-jerks-4

Look at Al’s face. It’s the exact same face I make when I hear the phrase, “And up next, the new song from Ed Sheeran.”

Has there ever been a worse policeman that Dwayne? You’d think that when you’re facing an incredibly volatile terrorist threat with dozens of potential civilian casualties, you’d be glad of a little help from an inside man, but Dwayne seems determined to fuck the whole thing up from the moment he arrives on the scene. The bullet-riddled terrorist corpse that John McClane threw from the window to get Al’s attention? He reckons it’s probably a stockbroker who got depressed. Now, admittedly, depression is a difficult thing to quantify, and it’s hard to predict how exactly it may affect the person afflicted by it, but I have a hard time believing that depression could cause one to repeatedly shoot themselves in the chest and then leap face-first through a high-rise window. It’s a slightly ostentatious method of suicide, wouldn’t you agree?

Still, who knows? I’m not a big city psychiatrist. Maybe that’s a common occurrence in Los Angeles. Far be it from me to dispute Dwayne’s credentials when it comes to dealing with such matters. Maybe Dwayne just wanted to look at it from all angles? To be thorough? So what about when a SWAT team tries to enter the building, terrorists mercilessly gun them down and leave them bleeding on the pavement, and then John McClane drops C4 down an elevator shaft to blow up the baddies responsible before they can do any more damage? Surely, that tells you McClane must be fighting the good fight? Well, Dwayne gets annoyed that McClane blew out of a bunch of windows with the blast. Say what you will about Deputy Dwayne T. Robinson, but he’s a man who respects his glass. Don’t fuck with windows on this dude’s watch.

But hey, we don’t know Dwayne’s history. Maybe his parents were artisan glassmakers and that’s why he was so upset about McClane brazenly destroying dozens of windows just to save a few lives. I mean, these guys knew what they signed up for. It’s a dangerous job. People die. And if a handful of people have to die so that we don’t have to make an uncomfortable phone call to the local glazer, then so be it. That’s why Dwayne is the Deputy — he has to make the tough calls that we wouldn’t be able to.

This man respects glass.

Jerk-off quote: “We don’t know shit, Powell. If there’s hostages, how come nobody’s come to us with ransom demands, huh? If there’s terrorists in there, where’s their list of demands? All we know is that somebody shot your car up. It’s probably the same silly son of a bitch you’ve been talking to on that radio.” — Deputy Dwayne T. Robinson, PhD in Psychology, master glassmaker, enormous twat.

Comeuppance: None, really. His authority is fairly quickly diminished once the FBI arrive, but then I guess he probably gets it back when the FBI are blown up minutes later. At the end of the movie it looks like he’s about to read John McClane the riot act, but then some shit goes down and it never happens. Presumably he got fired for being absolutely shit at cop stuff, and he now lives on the street, drinking liquor from a brown paper bag, recanting tales to all and sundry about how shit Die Hard 5 was.

Jerk-off Rating: I’ve seen all three The Naked Gun movies, and every Police Academy, and he’s still the worst cop ever.

Not long after Deputy Dwayne T. Robinson arrives to make John McClane’s life more difficult at every single turn for no apparent reason, the press gets wind of something sinister being afoot at the Nakatomi Plaza. Enter Dick Thornburg, slimeball reporter extraordinaire, played with effortless sleaze by the wonderful William Atherton. Long time fans of Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks may recall that William Atherton was featured as our very first entry thanks to his role in Ghostbusters as EPA Agent Walter Peck. How fitting, then, that he should be our final inductee, too.

cinemas-ultimate-jerks-6

I don’t think I’ve ever seen William Atherton in anything where he’s not an absolute scumbag. He’s probably really nice in real life.

If there’s one profession that Hollywood has historically been unkind to more than any other, it’s journalism. Reporters are frequently presented as self-centered, arrogant, sell-their-own-mother-for-a-story types, and hey, maybe that’s all true. I don’t know any actual journalists. Maybe they’re all massive whoppers. And whoppers don’t come any more massive than Dick Thornburg. The guy practically oozes out of the screen in every single scene he’s in, like some sort of creature out of The Ring, only ginger, and much shitter. As far as Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks inductees go, Thornburg is the gold standard.

Perhaps his greatest crime against taste and decency occurs in the latter half of the movie when, after discovering John McClane’s name thanks to Harry Ellis’ ill-fated attempt to coax John out of hiding via Walkie Talkie, he travels to McClane’s home address and threatens the Mexican house-keeper with the INS if she doesn’t let him in to interview McClane’s infant children about potentially never seeing their parents again on Christmas Eve. Wow, that’s quite a sentence. There are so many things wrong in that sentence that it’s tough to know even where to begin, but Dick couldn’t give a flying fig. He wants a Pullitzer, and if he has to threaten a few Mexicans and ruin a couple of kids’ Christmases to get what he wants, then so be it. Hey, sounds like another guy we all know.

Anyway, once the terrorist incident has been dealt with via a combination of gunshots, explosions, and cheesy one-liners, John McClane and his wife, Holly, are about to head home for a well deserved glass of sherry when Dick decides that now is the perfect time to poke his nose in and ask for an interview. Holly, bemused with Thornburg thanks to the whole threatening the housekeeper and putting her traumatised children on national television thing, scones him with a right hook, live on camera for all the world to see, proving that Santa really is out there, listening to our appeals for physical violence against smug people we don’t like. Thank you, Santa.

Jerk-off Quote: “Look. You let me in right now, or I call the INS. Comprende?” — Dick Thornburg, proving that douchebaggery sounds the same in every language.

Comeuppance: After getting jarped by Holly McClane on live television, he gets a restraining order against her and remains a massive prick, ready to reprise his role in the alright-but-not-as-good Die Hard 2. Eagle-eyed viewers will also notice that the wedding ring that Thornburg is wearing in the first Die Hard is nowhere to be seen in the sequel, and so it’s safe to assume that his wife learned of his pending induction into the annals of Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks history, and got out while the getting was good. Nice work, girl.

Jerk-off Rating: We’re ending Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks with him. He’s the peak. Or the trough, depending on how you look at it. He’s an arsehead, okay?

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed – or read, at least – our celebration of all things jerk-off here with Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks. It’s been a blast to write, but all good things must come to an end. If you’re in the mood for a little more cinematic dickheadery, then check out the previous entries into the hall of shame right here. Enjoy your Christmas, and whatever you do, leave being a jerk to the professionals.

 

Continue Reading

Cinema's Ultimate Jerks

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks #23: Paul Krendler from ‘Hannibal’

Published

on

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks is a celebration of the characters we love to hate in the movies we love to love. They’re not always the main villains – and sometimes they’re not even villains at all – but they’re definitely jerks. So let’s take a look at this week’s jerk-off, and why they find themselves forever enshrined here in the hall of shame. Since this week we’re talking about Paul Krendler, this is your spoiler warning for the 2001 movie Hannibal.

Hannibal Lecter was convinced he’d be winning the money on this week’s Come Dine With Me.

The Hannibal Lecter movies have never left us wanting when it comes to characters that are so loathsome and detestable that we want to see real bad things happen to them, real soon. While many of these characters are of the criminally insane variety and fall more in line with what we traditionally think of as baddies when it comes to serial killer movies, there’s also a few that are ostensibly on the side of good, but are absolute hoops regardless. The Silence of the Lambs gave us the hideous Dr. Fredrick Chilton, but Hannibal ups the ante with Ray Liotta’s Paul Krendler.

Paul Krendler has a bit part in The Silence of the Lambs (and it’s not Ray Liotta) as a big-shot bureaucrat that’s about to make life very tricky for Clarice Starling unless she catches serial killer Buffalo Bill, and quick. Of course, she does and we never hear from Mr. Krendler again. By the time Hannibal rolls around, Clarice (and it’s not Jodie Foster) has had the shine taken off her career somewhat after a couple of botched jobs in the public eye, and her bosses are coming down on her hard. Paul Krendler is one of those bosses, and he seems to take immense pleasure in making Clarice squirm at every conceivable opportunity.

As the movie goes on, we learn that Paul Krendler is a prick to Clarice because years previous she rebuffed his romantic advances and told him to go home to his wife. Romantic advances might be overselling it somewhat, because he strikes me as the “any hole’s a goal” sort of scumbag, and it’s more likely than anything that he just wanted a bit of slap and tickle behind the back of her indoors. Anyway, obviously, since Clarice didn’t want to partake in any of these adulterous shenanigans, Paul Krendler now has to be an absolute peenarse to her because those are the rules. Someone doesn’t want to have sex with you? Thou shalt make their life a misery forever more. I think that’s one of the Jerk-Off Ten Commandments.

It’s Gary Oldman under all that make up.

Anyway, not only is Paul Krendler massively incapable of dealing with rejection like a rational human being, it later turns out he’s also not above taking bribes from the dregs of society in exchange for his clout within the FBI. Mason Verger – an evil millionaire paraplegic – isn’t too fond of everyone’s favourite cannibal psychiatrist, and he’s sending Paul Krendler money as part of an international effort to lure Hannibal out of hiding so he can have him killed for revenge. You see, years previously, before Hannibal was ever arrested for his naughty eating, he came across Mason Verger and wasn’t a big fan. Mason liked to abuse children which Hannibal thought of as incredibly rude, so he drugged the millionaire with hallucinogens, convinced him to peel his own face off, and then snapped his neck leaving him alive, but paralysed. Yikes. Mason is none too happy about his current state of affairs thanks to Lecter, and wants Paul Krendler to publicly destroy Clarice Starling for whom Hannibal has a bit of a thing, knowing it’ll capture the good doctor’s attention and then they can strike.

Paul Krendler spends most of the rest of the movie being an obnoxious jerk to Clarice, while also taking money from a known pedophile and all round rotter with nary the briefest hint that he might feel remotely bad about any of it. He’s a scumbag crooked FBI agent, and that’s just something we simply can’t stomach. If you can’t trust the FBI, who can you trust? Paul, you’ve let the FBI down, you’ve let America down, and most importantly, you’ve let me down. On the plus side, by the end of the movie, we don’t really need to worry about that any more.

I hate it when you start the night with good intentions, and then someone says, “Jägerbombs?” and then next thing you know your brain is out.

Jerk-off Quote:

Paul Krendler: I always figured him for a queer.
Clarice Starling: Why would you say that, Paul?
Paul Krendler: Well, all this artsy-fartsy stuff.

Comeuppance: Okay. Sometimes baddies get their just desserts and sometimes they don’t, but when it comes to making sure that what goes around comes around few movies deliver quite as resolutely as Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter foils Mason Verger’s plans to murder him, and, of course, murders him right back. It turns out that Lecter isn’t totally okay with Paul Krendler trying to destroy Clarice Starling’s career just to get one over on him, and so he prepares a little revenge. Before I wind up slipping into some sort of lazy, “Revenge is a dish best served cold,” pun, let’s just get down to brass tacks: Hannibal kidnaps Paul, drugs him, lobotomises him, cuts the top of his skull off with a surgical saw, picks bits of his brain out, stir fries them, and feeds them to Krendler while he’s still alive. On the plus side, Paul does seem to enjoy his meal.

Jerk-off Rating: Honestly, all that horrible shit above happens to him and you don’t even feel sorry for him at all.

Tune in next week – same jerk time, same jerk channel – to find out who’s next in our celebration of cinema’s ultimate jerks. And if you’ve not quite had your fill of cinematic jerk-offs, check out #22 Draco Malfoy (Harry Potter), #19 Byron Hadley (The Shawshank Redemption), or Iosef Tarasov (John Wick).

 

Continue Reading

Cinema's Ultimate Jerks

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks #22: Draco Malfoy from the Harry Potter Series

Published

on

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks is a celebration of the characters we love to hate in the movies we love to love. They’re not always the main villains – and sometimes they’re not even villains at all – but they’re definitely jerks. So let’s take a look at this week’s jerk-off, and why they find themselves forever enshrined here in the hall of shame. Since this week we’re talking about Draco Malfoy, this is your spoiler warning for the all of the Harry Potter movies.

Draco is the sort of kid that makes you think that perhaps we should go back to beating our kids when they step out of line.

POTTER! If there’s one thing worth celebrating about Draco Malfoy it’s that he somehow perfected the fine art of turning someone’s surname into a slur through nothing more than the sheer venom in which he enunciates it. POTTER! He really spits the name every time he says it, and in many ways it’s impressive that he could furnish so much hatred into two innocuous syllables that, spoken by anyone else, are a form of identification and little more. But it’s also part of the reason why we’re talking about him today, because Draco Malfoy is a bully and we can’t abide bullies here. He’s a cockgoblin of the highest order, and someone needs to bring him down a peg.

Harry Potter is a ten year old boy who one day finds out that he’s a wizard, and he’s cordially invited to attend Hogwarts wizarding school to hone his craft with other wizards, and giants, and shapeshifting cats, and all kinds of mad shit – mostly in the form of rubbish early 2000s CGI. His invitation to Hogwarts is a life-saver, because Harry Potter is an orphan who lives with his aunt, uncle, and cousin and they’re an absolute shower of bastards. Awful people the lot of them. The uncle is played by that gay old dude from Withnail & I, I think. Anyway, all Harry wants to do is go to wizarding school, do all of his homework, study hard, pass his wizarding A Levels, and then get a soul-crushing middle management job for which he’s marginally overqualified and equally underpaid, but not by enough to do anything about it. That’s life, kids, and having a magic owl or, you know, saving the wizarding world from the greatest evil it has ever faced isn’t going to change that fact. Better grow up and accept it.

Anyway, Harry Potter, as it happens, is some kind of legendary kid because back when he was a baby, Lord Voldemort – who is basically magic Hitler – tried to murder him in his bed after icing his mum and dad, but somehow the baby survived the attack – spoilers, it was magic – and now everyone reckons he’s the key to stopping the aforementioned Big Daddy V and his minions of evil. While that makes him popular among some students, it also makes him the target of bullies, because that’s how it is at school. Honestly, I remember the time a kid at our school got some new shoes that were different to everyone else’s, and man, that was some dark shit that went down. It was like the end of fucking Platoon – people throwing shit about at him and all sorts. School is a warzone. You’ve got to play it smart, and Harry makes a bum decision when he makes friends with Ron Weasley who is not only ginger, but poor too. Double whammy. Hey, I have nothing against redheads, but let’s face facts, aligning yourself with one at school is fucking suicide because even cool gingers get tortured.

Draco-Malfoy-03

In an alternate reality, Draco Malfoy works at the zoo, and is still a massive knob.

So the ringleader of the bullies at school is Draco Malfoy, whose mum and dad are rich and well-to-do, and he’s from a distinguished line of pure blood wizards. That’s important, apparently, because some wizards aren’t down with the whole wizards and humans gittin’ it on thing, which, you know, seems a bit uncool to me. Maybe it’s an allegory for something. Who knows? Since he’s rich and everything, he thinks that gives him free reign to do whatever he wants, and whatever he wants to do is pick on young Harry Potter every chance he gets. He’s basically every stereotypical rich prick bully you’ve ever seen in a movie, all rolled into one vile, white haired, smug little shit that you just know would end up abusing his power in his job at the zoo if he didn’t come from wealth. But he’s rich so in reality he’d probably go on to join the Conservative Party, putting some sort of mad slogan like, “£300 million a week for the NHS if you all punch yourself in the kidneys” on the side of a bus. He’d probably end up as Prime Minister, too, the jumped up little cu

Anyway, so he’s a prick, and everyone knows it, and for the next eight movies, literally all he does is bully Harry Potter in slightly different ways. Most of it involves saying, “POTTER!” with a ferocity usually reserved for usage of the words on George Carlin’s list of things you can’t say on TV, but he also does some other shit, like mocking Harry’s dead parents, and joining a cult and agreeing to murder the kindly old headmaster of the school. Actually, that last one is probably a bit much, but then he never actually goes through with it. He’s a coward, you see. All bullies are cowards, or so the old adage goes. He runs his mouth, and he talks a big game, but really he’s just a scared little boy, pushed into a life of villainy that he’s ill-prepared for by his ruthless, overbearing father. He’s still a twat though.

They look like they’re about to drop the worst rap track of all time.

Jerk-off Quote: “No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood!” – Draco Malfoy, basically being a magic racist.

Comeuppance: He doesn’t really get any, which totally annoys me. I’m still not over it, actually. It pisses me off. He’s a rotten egg, and he picks on everyone for seven years of school, then he joins the Death Eaters and tries to kill Dumbledore, and then he has a big fight with Harry and Co. in which one of his friends actually gets burnt alive and dies, and nothing happens. He just gets to live his life. Doesn’t even get grounded, probably. Honestly, if I was Harry I’d have let him burn, but no, Harry rescues Draco from certain death and lets him go despite all of his shenanigans. Ultimately, it’s this that saves Harry’s life, as Draco’s mum helps him in exchange for information regarding the fate of her son, so I guess it all works out, but The Deathly Hallows Part 2 would be like 14% better if someone just shivved Draco in the back at some point with a filed down tootbrush.

Jerk-off Rating: If you had a dose of polyjuice potion you’d neck it, transform into Draco Malfoy, and then immediately punch yourself in the John Thomas.

Tune in next week – same jerk time, same jerk channel – to find out who’s next in our celebration of cinema’s ultimate jerks. And if you’ve not quite had your fill of cinematic jerk-offs, check out #18 Rene Belloq (Raiders of the Lost Ark), #8 Simon (True Lies), or #4 Glenn Guglia (The Wedding Singer).

Continue Reading

Cinema's Ultimate Jerks

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks #21: Brick Top from ‘Snatch’

Published

on

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks is a celebration of the characters we love to hate in the movies we love to love. They’re not always the main villains – and sometimes they’re not even villains at all – but they’re definitely jerks. So let’s take a look at this week’s jerk-off, and why they find themselves forever enshrined here in the hall of shame. Since this week we’re talking about Brick Top, this is your spoiler warning for the 2000 movie, Snatch.

brick-top-02

He doesn’t really look that scary does he? If I squint he kinda looks like my gran.

‘Ello me ol’ China, an’ welcome ter anuvver Cinema’s Ultimate Berks, da weekly column what takes an in depf butcher’s at da biggest berks from classic movies. Guy Ritchie’s Snatch is mostly remembered fer Brad Pitt’s incompre’nsible turn as a gypsy bare knuckle boxer, but everyone knows it’s really da cockney gangster Brick Top what steals da show in every scene ‘e’s in. ‘E’s scary, viol’nt, roofless, an’ o’caaahrse, a massive berk. Phew. That’s quite enough of that. I briefly considered doing the entire thing like I was from Sarf Lahndan this week, but it turns out that typing like a cockney is a far more arduous a process than I ever imagined it would be. Frankly, I don’t know how they do it.

Brick Top is a relentlessly entertaining baddie. I don’t know what it is about the guy that I love so much, despite the fact that he’s quite obviously an abhorrent human being. Perhaps it’s his endless stream of highly quotable musings on everything from the best way to dispose of a dead body to the true meaning of the word ‘nemesis’. Maybe it’s just his big ass comedy glasses. For whatever reason, Brick Top amuses me but that doesn’t mean that I can’t see that he’s a huge jerk. Actually, that’s probably why I like him.

Brick Top is an illegal boxing promoter, illegal bookmaker, illegal, well, everything really. He’s a gangster, surrounded by sycophantic yes men that don’t dare cross him because they know what’ll happen if they do; they’ll get zapped by a taser, have a plastic bag slapped over their head until they suffocate, and then their carcass will be fed to starving pigs to get rid of the evidence. Brick Top has absolutely no qualms about bumping people off, even people who try to help him, on occasion. He’s not somebody that you really want to be involved with under any circumstances, but he’s also the big name in town when it comes to illegal, underground boxing, and so when fledgling boxing promoter Turkish finds a top notch Gypsy bare knuckle prize fighter named Mickey, Brick Top needs to be dealt with to get their careers on the go.

brick-top-03

Those glasses really are tremendous, aren’t they?

Unfortunately, Brick Top isn’t a particularly trustworthy individual. It turns out that his underground boxing matches aren’t just illegal – they’re also fixed, with Brick Top letting a selection of his most loyal associates know the outcomes of the bouts in advance so they can all make some big money via his illegal gambling racket. Honestly, there’s an awful lot of illegality going on. Anyway, that’s great and all, and hey, let me tell you, if I was a boxer I’d have absolutely zero issue with taking a dive for the almighty dollar, but that’s me, not Turkish’s gypsy champion who, sadly, doesn’t like the idea very much. The gypsy refuses to take a dive. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. He goes into the ring under the pretence that he’s going to take a dive, then doesn’t, and knocks his opponent clean out, costing Brick Top and his buddies an awful lot of coin.

Brick Top is somewhat understandably a mite vexed by the gypsy’s reluctance to take a fall in the manner agreed upon before the fight, and so in an effort to coerce him into doing the right thing, he has his minions burn down the camp where the gypsies all live, including the caravan housing Mickey’s mum, who tragically, is in it at the time. As if burning down a gypsy camp wasn’t quite bad enough, when Mickey rocks up to the next fight still three sheets to the wind after his mum’s wake, Brick Top decides to give him a little pep talk, reminding him about all of his recently deceased friends and family, that includes motivational phrases like, “There’s a camp full of pikeys that might not think you’re so funny, not when they’re putting out the flames on their children’s backs.” Go get ’em, tiger, I guess.

Babe 3.

Jerk-off Quote: “Listen, you fucking fringe, if I throw a dog a bone, I don’t want to know if it tastes good or not. You stop me again whilst I’m walking, and I’ll cut your fucking Jacobs off.” – Brick Top reprimanding a boxing fan who tried to talk to him by threatening him with castration. You see, Jacobs is cockney rhyming slang. Jacobs are a manufacturer of crackers in England – crackers as in the sort of thing you’d put cheese on, not the things you’d put marshmallow between in America. Anyway, Jacobs Crackers rhymes with knackers, which is British slang for… you know what, this explanation isn’t worth the effort. Don’t worry about it. Just accept it’s not a very nice thing to say.

Comeuppance: It was perhaps a little naive of Brick Top to think that he could convince a gypsy boxer to do his bidding after burning down the camp that he lives in and murdering his mother in the process, but maybe he was just feeling hubristic since nobody dares to cross him, generally speaking. Regardless, Mickey is supposed to take another dive in another fight, and again, he doesn’t. When Brick Top comes to confront him, it turns out that Mickey’s surviving gypsy friends have killed Brick Top’s henchmen, took their guns, and are laying in wait to ice Brick Top in revenge for the aforementioned murder of Mickey’s mum. And so Brick Top’s reign over the London criminal underworld comes to an undignified end, via the medium of shotgun to the face. And no, I still have no idea why he’s called Brick Top.

Jerk-off Rating: He doesn’t have sugar in his tea because he thinks he’s sweet enough.

Tune in next week – same jerk time, same jerk channel – to find out who’s next in our celebration of cinema’s ultimate jerks. And if you’ve not quite had your fill of cinematic jerk-offs, check out #5 Ed Rooney (Ferris Bueller’s Day Off), #19 Byron Hadley (The Shawshank Redemption), or #14 The Concierge (Home Alone 2: Lost In New York).

Continue Reading

Cinema's Ultimate Jerks

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks #20: Dennis Nedry from ‘Jurassic Park’

Published

on

Cinema’s Ultimate Jerks is a celebration of the characters we love to hate in the movies we love to love. They’re not always the main villains – and sometimes they’re not even villains at all – but they’re definitely jerks. So let’s take a look at this week’s jerk-off, and why they find themselves forever enshrined here in the hall of shame. Since this week we’re talking about Dennis Nedry, this is your spoiler warning for the 1993 movie, Jurassic Park.

Perhaps I’ll start a column about cinema’s most amazing shirts, and this will be the first one I’ll write about. Honestly, look at that bad boy.

Poor John Hammond. A kindly old billionaire wants to delight adults and children alike by – his critics would probably say – playing God and resurrecting numerous dead species of animal for profit. DINOSAURS! Of course, there’s a fly in the ointment and Hammond’s plans go awry, thanks to a series of events started by a jerk-off 65 million years in the making, Dennis Nedry.

Okay, so dinosaurs are fucking radical. We all know that. They’re big and scary and they go feral and eat people and stuff. That’s movie magic right there. But you gotta respect nature, man. Nature is a savage mistress, and if one treats her badly, then her scorn is without equal. You don’t just find an incredibly far-fetched method of genetically recreating a number of extinct, gigantic, terrifying lizards and then do it without considering the consequences. Not in real life, anyway. Fortunately, nobody in Jurassic Park considers the deadly implications of housing lethal creatures behind electric fences and then giving Newman from Seinfeld the responsibility of keeping the fences buzzing, and carnage ensues.

Dennis Nedry, you see, is a massive strap-on. He’s found himself in financial peril, and after speaking to John Hammond about getting a pay-rise and being told to go swivel, he decides he’s going to get his dollar by hook or by crook. Well, it’s definitely crook, I’ll just tell you that now. See, Dennis Nedry’s plan is that he’s going to steal some dinosaur embryos and crash the computer system in Jurassic Park to buy him time for his escape. Of course, there’s one minor issue with crashing the computer systems – it will also disable all of the electric fences – which means that dinosaurs could wind up on the loose, but Dennis Nedry couldn’t give a fig about that. He reckons he’ll be alright, and if a couple of people get accidentally eaten then it’s probably their own fault for looking so damn tasty.

Those ’90s computers are a thing of beauty. You needed a fucking fork-lift truck to move the monitors.

So Dennis puts a virus or something on his computer – I don’t know, man, I’m not one of these hi-tech computer dorks – and he suspiciously asks the room if anybody fancies a can of coke as he’s wink wink heading upstairs to the vending machine. Off he waddles, but it turns out he isn’t going to the vending machine at all and that was just a dirty, rotten lie. He goes into a futuristic looking room (for the ’90s) with dry ice steam and all that stuff, and he opens a vault and steals himself some dino babies. He hides the embryos in a specially hollowed out tin of shaving foam – James Bond style – and then he plots his escape. He hops into a car and head off into the night, ill-gotten gains in hand, ready for all of his financial troubles to be over.

As Dennis Nedry is escaping the island – kind of – the inhabitants of Jurassic Park quickly notice that something is amiss when dinosaurs start roaming about and eating everyone. Jeff Goldblum is amongst the terrified guests and I’m still annoyed about Dennis Nedry putting Goldblum’s life in danger. You just don’t do that to an icon like Jeff Goldblum. Anyway, the dinosaurs go on a rampage and a bunch of people – but thankfully not Jeff Goldblum – get eaten, including a young Samuel L. Jackson, and some lawyer dude who hilariously gets chomped by a Tyrannosaurus Rex while he’s sat on the pot. What a fantastic movie.

This is like the ’90s version of Michaelangelo’s The Creation of Adam.

Jerk-off Quote: “No wonder you’re extinct. I’m gonna run you over when I come back down.” – Dennis Nedry, being a jerk to the dinosaur that will, comically, eat him.

Comeuppance: As Dennis Nedry is escaping Jurassic Park, a storm hits, and he finds himself lost. While desperately trying to suss out the way to the docks his car crashes, and he needs to get out to use the winch to get it back on the road. Unfortunately, thanks to his previous actions, in a delicious moment of irony, dinosaurs have escaped their compounds without electric fences to keep them in, and as he gets back in the car he’s greeted by a cute little dino that just wants to be friends. Just kidding, the dinosaur spits thick, poisonous, black goo into Dennis’ eyes, blinding him, and then mauls him to death in the car. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don’t fuck with Jeff Goldblum.

Jerk-off Rating:
Tune in next week – same jerk time, same jerk channel – to find out who’s next in our celebration of cinema’s ultimate jerks. And if you’ve not quite had your fill of cinematic jerk-offs, check out #19 Byron Hadley (The Shawshank Redemption), #11 Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars), or #9 Mrs. Deagle (Gremlins).

Continue Reading
Freelance Film Writers

Goomba Stomp is the joint effort of a team of like-minded writers from across the globe. We provide smart readers with sharp, entertaining writing on a wide range of topics in pop culture, offering an escape from the usual hype and gossip. We are currently looking for Indie Game reviewers.

Learn more by clicking here.

Advertisement

Trending

Share
Tweet
Reddit
Pin