Why I Think the Japanese are in fact Mogwai

I’ve been in Japan a while now, getting to know the people, the customs, and the outright craziness of the whole thing, and, after many months of speculation, I have come to one simple conclusion; the Japanese people are in fact Mogwai.

Now, this may come as something of an odd claim to make for anyone not accustomed to life in Japan; How can a race of peoples, with centuries-old traditions be akin to an animatronic creature created by Joe Dante back in the nineteen-eighties?

Well, dear reader, cast your mind back to the three simple rules, and indeed the character of that oh-so-lovable young scamp Gizmo, and I’m sure, after my little analysis, you too will see the East through Gremlin-fied eyes.

Rule One: Keep them out of bright light, especially sunlight; they hate it

When summer rolls around in Japan, a very peculiar thing happens. Unlike the rest of the world, where folk tear off clothing to soak up the sun, Japanese women actually cover up to save themselves from being exposed to any form of natural light. So much so is this obsessive protection, that it is not uncommon to see women clad from top to toe in thick black clothing, sweating in the sweltering heat, just to maintain that “white” appearance.

Rule Two: Don’t get them wet

On my first day in Tokyo, I saw one of the most amazing sights of my life. As I was crossing the infamous Shibuya roadway (a fantastic sight in itself), the slightest rain began to fall. Nothing to an Englishman, so very used to the occasional downpour. As such, it was with utter bemusement that out of nowhere, a thousand umbrellas opened up, forming a goliath shelter lest one single drop should fall on the locals’ heads.

Since this first display, I have become more than used to a bevy of umbrellas in even the trickliest of showers.

Rule Three: Don’t feed them after midnight

This is perhaps one that I would not be aware of were I not spending the vast majority of my time living with a delightful young Japanese lady, and something that I must admit I do, on occasion, find somewhat irksome.

Whereas in the West a midnight tummy-rumble is to be quenched with the eponymous timely snack, out here it is utterly forbidden to eat after the clock strikes twelve. Don’t ask me why, as I am yet to find a suitable explanation, and quite frankly, I am still going to have my biscuits at two in the morning, rules or no rules.

Of course, it’s not just these rules that have turned me to my way of thinking; there are many other attributes of Japanese peoples that liken them to their Mogwai brethren…

A love for cutesiness and all things Disney

Remember that scene in the first movie when the gremlins storm the movie theatre and sing along to Snow White? Well, that love of all things twee emanates in every aspect of Japanese life. One cannot buy a detergent without some bizarre anime creature grinning inanely, and clothing here ranges from the cute to the down-right daft.

The obsession with Disney is also somewhat bizarre, with kids sporting bags with characters from movies they have never even heard of, let alone seen (seriously, right now EVERYONE has Jack Skellington stuff going on, and I know for a fact a minute percentage has ever actually sat through Nightmare) and waving around their Duffy the Disney Bear merchandise.

Singing

Gizmo loved to sing. Everyone remembers that. And the Japanese are the same. Karaoke bars and boxes litter the streets, and one cannot move more than ten metres down a city road without being festooned with fliers for some neon music-based establishment.

So if your air conditioner goes on the fritz, or your washing machine blows up, or your video recorder conks out, before you call the repairman, turn on all the lights, check all the closets and cupboards, look under all the beds, because you never can tell; there just might be a Japanese person in your house…

All-Round Scariness

Sphere
(Michael Crichton, 1987)

3.5 Stars

I must admit I have something of a love/hate relationship with the late great Michael Crichton. Doubtlessly, Crichton was one of the finest novelists of the twentieth century, producing not only the groundbreaking Jurassic Park and its sequel The Lost World, but also the delightful Congo, the thought-provoking NEXT (review coming soon) and also pioneering modern medical drama with ER.

So why the hate? Well, it’s simple really; Crichton’s exploits into scientific fiction are so addictive that one finds oneself ploughing through a six hundred page tome in a matter of days. Most frustrating indeed.

And so to Sphere, the first of two Crichton novels that have kept me transfixed over the last few weeks.

For those who haven’t seen the film version (of whom I must admit I am one), Sphere tells the somewhat farfetched tale of an air accident response team sent to the undersea site of what is believed to be an alien spaceship crash-landed over three hundred years ago. What they find is far more bizarre than any of the scientists could have ever imagined.

Unlike in many of his other novels, Crichton wastes no time here with character development or back story, instead plunging us 20,000 leagues within the first fifty pages, and allowing us to experience first hand the strangeness and claustrophobia of his underwater world.

The tale barrels along at speed, only slowing briefly on occasion to let both protagonist and reader recover from the terrifying exploits of the alien creature with which our heroes find themselves confronted with.

An exploration into the darkest recesses of the human psyche, and into not only the depths of the ocean, but that of human imagination, and the dangers that lie therein.

Overdue Goodness

It’s been a while since an update, what with moving from one end of the country to another, and it seems that amidst the mania of upheaval, Nestle have finally got themselves into gear with a plethora of new regionals and rarities, along with the much advertised new “regular” dark chocolate cookie KitKat.

And so, in what will hopefully be a more regular return to Silver Screen Lining, I gleefully bring you the first of two bumper editions of KitKat updates.

Much chocolaty goodness on its way.

Dark Chocolate Cookie KitKat – 3.5 Fingers

This much hyped new national is actually very much worth the attention. Coming in all three sizes; mini, “regular” and bar form, this is a delicious dark chocolate number, interspersed with little oreo-like biscuity bits. Morish, filling and all round awesome, this really is a great addition to shelves across the country.

Roasted Tea KitKat – 4 Fingers

This is perhaps the best regional variety I’ve come across. Harking from Kyoto, this is a rich and flavoursome “brown” chocolate bar, with a truly intense tea zing. Certainly worth a trip to the flowery city.


Annin Dofu KitKat – 2.5 Fingers

Upon finding this KitKat (a Yokohama speciality) I was left utterly bewildered as to exactly what “Annin Dofu” actually is. After a little research, and divulging into the candy itself, I have come to the conclusion that it’s some form of Chinese dessert that tastes pretty much exactly the same as marzipan. If white chocolate and almond sugar are you cup of tea, this is one for you. If not, I’d pass.

Apple KitKat – 3 Fingers

I must admit, the idea of chocolate and apples was not one that filled me with any form of excitement. After tasting the bar, I’m still not quite sure it is. That said, this was quite yummy, and definitely had a strong apple taste. Three fingers are for capturing the essence, rather than tastiness.

Blueberry Cheesecake KitKat – 2.5 Fingers

In the past year, we’ve had the overly feet-y Strawberry Cheesecake KitKat and the horribly Wonka Bar-like Blueberry version. Neither one tickled me the way they should have done. This I was pleasantly surprised that this wasn’t all too bad. Certainly not great, but not awful. Just not a patch on the real thing.

Autumnal Treats

KitKats have been scarce of late. There have been various theories amongst we merry band of enthusiasts; most notably that it’s summer and therefore no-one wants chocolate, which is just downright stupid. Turns out, however, that Nestlé have been concentrating on a shiny new range of regional specials that shall be hitting the shelves sonly. Hazah!

My last day in Yanai was, however, brightened up no end upon discovering the tasty new “Autumn Assort”. Nom-ilicious.

Chestnut KitKat – 3 Fingers

Chestnuts are a strange breed. Obviously not the kind that once were battled in school playgrounds (until good old health and safety stepped in), rather the kind that are sold by cheery greasy Cockney folk outside the British Museum. The Chestnut KitKat is pretty yummy. Smooth and nutty, it’s certainly the best of the nut-based bars I’ve come across.

Caramel Pudding KitKat – 3 Fingers

There seems to be something of an obsession with Crème Brule style flavours in these reaches; indeed this is the fourth variation of exactly the same flavour that I’ve come across. Yes, it’s good, but can we come up with something new please chaps?

Salt and Caramel KitKat Bar – 3.5 Fingers

There’s been some weird ones along the way; Wasabi wasn’t exactly a tasty treat, and Vegetable Juice was a painful ordeal. Sometimes, however, it’s the most bizarre flavours that really hit the spot. Salt and caramel may not, at first, sound at all appealing, but in fact this one of the greats. The lightly salted wafers hidden by a delectably caramel chocolate combine for a real, filling snack. Hello salty goodness!

Back to the Whedonverse

Dollhouse
(Joss Whedon, 2009-2010)

3.5 Stars

I’ve never been a religious man. Since an early age, a faith in a secular deity has been lacking. Possibly the vast array of faiths and cultures I was bombarded with from childhood. Or just simple nihilistic atheism.

One cult I have been indoctrinated in for well over a decade now, however, is that of Joss Whedon, a man who has, time and time again produced some of the finest TV shows that have graced the small screen. As such, I feel somewhat tentative writing this review, and hope that the lord shall forgive me for taking his name in vain.

It’s taken me a long time to finally sit down and watch Whedon’s most recent televisual venture, the apocalyptic drama Dollhouse, mostly because after watching the opening episodes first time round, I was utterly unimpressed. Of course, I should’ve known better; Whedon never pulls out the stops with a pilot. That said, after Buffy, Angel and Firefly, I had very, very high hopes for this show, none of which were ignited by the season’s opening shows.

Determined to find the joys here, though, I persevered, and by episode five, things were starting to take shape. Set in the eponymous Dollhouse, a plush science lab with the ability to “imprint” humans with any personality that a client show desire, the show follows (for the most part) Echo (Eliza Dushku – Buffy, Tru Calling, Wrong Turn), one of the “actives” who begins to recall her previous engagements.

Of course, for me, casting Dushku as the lead was the show’s first flaw. A fantastic supporting role in Whedon’s previous projects, Dushku does not hold the audience as a lead character, and is, quite honestly, and in stark contrast to her spectacular co-stars Enver Gjokaj and Dichen Lachman as fellow actives Victor and Sierra, unconvincing as most of the “personalities” she takes on.

The story arc of the first season is engaging enough; FBI agent Paul Ballard (Tahmoh Penikett) attempts to track down the Dollhouse, whilst week in week out Echo is sent on a variety of different missions. The second season, however, finally gives the show the “oomph” it needed, bringing the lesser characters to the fore-front, such as typically Whedonesque neuroscientist Topher (Fran Kranz) and the wonderful Olivia Williams as the house’s manager, keeping the audience ever on their toes with her “is she evil or not???” persona. Dushku, thankfully, is rather placed on the backburner.

Unfortunately, where the show falls flat for this cynic is not in its storytelling, but in its heart. Its themes are typical Whedon; battling big corporations, self discovery, brainwashing, Amy Acker in a lab coat… but what is really missing here is the warmth and humour that I have always admired Joss for. In every show or film he has been involved in, he has presented us with a group of bizarre reprobates, whether they be vampires and werewolves, space cowboys or even talking toys, and managed to make us care for them, thus encapsulating the dysfunctional “family” of the 21st Century. In Dollhouse, however, we are not given characters, merely shells that can be filled with anyone, thereby leaving us with no connection with our leads. Even the “real” characters are so morally defunct that it’s difficult to care about them.

That said, episode 2.11, in which something utterly heartbreaking happens to the somewhat endearing Topher, did actually make me scream at my TV screen; something that hasn’t happened since Danny was killed in season three of Spooks.

It’s difficult for me to look at this show without some prior prejudice; I simply had too high expectations. With that in mind, when The Cabin in the Woods finally unearths itself from development hell, it better be bloody good!

Cinco de Awesome

Piñata Survival Island
(David and Scott Hillenbrand)

B-Rating: 3.5 Stars

Let’s face it, when it comes to movies, one of the major selling points is the name. When it comes to the B-Leagues, the stupider the name, the better. To quote the two that I so often do; Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, Jack Frost 2: Revenge of the Mutant Killer Snowman; the name summarises everything. We know exactly what stupidity to expect. Even The Killer Shrews (a film I am determined to find, having seen the trailer - thanks to M.D.) tells us instantly what we’re in for.

So, imagine my joy when I came across the little heard of Piñata Survival Island, a film starring none other than Buffy’s Nicholas Brendon, and Nate “Harvey from Sabrina” Richert. This was one I had to see.

The story starts off with some delightful back-story about a piñata maker who trapped all the bad will of the people in his village in an magical piñata. Wonderful! We then fast forward a few hundred years to find a group of “college students” (none of whom are under the age of thirty) arriving on a remote island for a weekend of fun, frolics and, for some bizarre reason, underpants collecting.

Naturally, one of the overacting “teens” stumbles across the piñata, breaking it open and unleashing the evil forces within. Or at least a really badly CGI-d donkey demon.

The rest of the movie sees each of the kids bumped off in hilarious ways by the monster, with Xander… I mean, whatever his name is, giving some brilliantly over the top expo, and his female accomplice delivering some of the finest melodramatic screams I’ve ever seen in a piñata-based movie.

My one complaint is the CGI piñata… It clashes so harshly with the rest of the film; we are presented with a gloriously campy Power Rangers meets Scooby Doo the Movie
Set-up, only to have an almost-too-good-but-not-quite-good-enough monster. Had they gone all out on the schlock and made a lame poly-foam creation, this would’ve been ingenious. Alas, it seems they almost weren’t quite brave enough to go the whole hog. Or donkey.

This film is currently #70 on IMDB’s Bottom 100, with most of the message boards complaining about what a “bad horror movie” it is. But quite frankly, it’s called Piñata Survival Island. Were you expecting bloody Kubrik?

Back in Time

Hot Tub Time Machine
(Steve Pink, 2010)

3 Stars

The eighties. The decade of great comedy and terrible outfits. Mix the two together, add a little John Cussack and a magical Jacuzzi, and you have the recipe for the fun-tastic blast from the past Hot Tub Time Machine.

Taking inspiration from Back to the Future, this enjoyable, if not at all original, comedy sees Cussack and his friends sent back to their eighties hey-day to both mess up and sort out their present day problems. Cue plenty of sexual shenanigans, and, the films most amusing joke, a running gag involving Crispin Glover’s right arm getting into various scrapes.

Cussack is, as ever, on fine stoic form as the unlucky in love lead. Clark Duke is great fun as his hopeless nephew, offering all important obvious exposition whilst fighting for his own existence as he re-treks the path of Marty McFly in trying to get his parents together. Craig Robinson meanwhile provides one of the film’s only real laugh out loud scenes in which he calls his nine-year-old wife a cheating whore. His rendition of “Let’s Get it Started” by the Black Eyed Peas is also a highlight. The only real letdown in the cast is the suicidal Rob Corddry, who is simply too crass to really care about.

This is a movie that, with the wrong cast, could have gone down like a lead balloon. Fortunately, however, it manages to keep momentum, and is well worth a few decent giggles. Plus, it’s called Hot Tub Time Machine. What more reason do you need to see it?