FILM: RUBBERFOOT S/J
A bizarre scheduling choice
for the television channel whose very name summons up
baggy stockings and end of pier pointlessness. This
hypnotic and visually monochromatic film from David Lynch
follows the adventures of 'Henry'... which is more than
you'll be able to do. Amidst flying dust, a crying
diseased marrow and ogling a singing dumpling behind a
heater, Lynch finds time to turn his lead character's
foot into a rubber. Arty.
Hunter says: Oh, Christ. I
hate these goddamn French films. [We explain that the
film was made by an American.] An American? Good God.
Things are worse than I thought. I gotta tell you, this
makes me wanna fucking weep, man. I thought all our films
now were shallow and packed with sex and violence.
Y'know? Life fulfilling. But this? This is... horrible.
Look at this guy! If you wore a hairstyle like that round
these parts they'd put fish hooks through your eyelids
and drag you along behind a pick up truck until you'd
learnt some general ideas about fucking respect. Look at
his foot, for crying out loud. Horatio Alger would never
have stood for this kind of shit.
CAMERA, NARRATION! M/M
John Suchet flaps his lips
from ground and sky in various hues of high visibility
clothing betwixt top shots of rapid metal.
Hunter says: What did he call
that? A stinger? What's a stinger? A row of spikes for
the tires? Not on my fucking ranch, bubba. The only way
to deal with these bastards is with maximum violence,
immediately. Draw up alongside 'em, throw a couple of
mustard gas bombs through the driver's window and watch
them stop real quick. Their pre-pubescent criminalised
eyes turned yellow and weeping. If they still even have
eyes, man. You give these fourteen year old joy boys a
second chance the next thing you know they're carving up
old Dan from the local store and spray-painting the walls
with his blood. Your limey policemen are trying to hold
back this dark tide of 'British naughtiness' with these
far out looking hats on their heads? Jeez. It's no wonder
you people don't know whether to respect them or lift
them six foot in the air by their nuts.
Whilst some programmes only
make heavy weather of programming, this offering also
manages to make programming of heavy weather. Features
things propelled through the air, knocked over or
otherwise broken by the elements (primarily hydrogen).
Hunter says: This is all very
well for the beginner, bubba. But when you've seen Nixon
and Carter attacking each other with broken beer bottles
and wearing necklaces made from the teeth of Hells
Angels, damn well near destroying the Mexican bar they've
been in for the past thirty six hours; then a mail box
toppling over in a southerly gust of wind just don't cut
the ice. But I chose this because of... wait... wait...
THERE! You see that? You just saw another Kennedy
tragically killed. I ain't fucking kidding you, man. That
guy being swept off of the side of that,uh, that... [we
venture to suggest 'escarpment']. Escarpment? What kind
of crazy hippy talk is that? I don't wanna hear that kind
of talk in my house. I've got children 'round here. And
guns. The fucking slope man. The guy being swept off the
slope was Milford Kennedy. He was disowned almost as soon
as he came out of the womb. Fucker never grew any teeth
and had some wierd allergy that meant he couldn't have
regular false ones. He ended up with wooden teeth, like
Washington. Do you know how hard it would be to make it
in late twentieth century American politics with wooden
(CHANNEL 4) ALLY
Lawyers display their legs and
fetishes accompanied by a new silly dance each week.
Hunter says: Admit it. Admit
it you limey cocksuckers. You're surprised, aren't you?
You're surprised I chose this? You wanna know what the
attraction is? You know like people play drinking games
along to their favourite fucking programmes? Like people
watch The Simpsons and down a triple bourbon every time
Barney burps? Or like people watching 24 hour news for 56
straight hours will down a tab of acid every time some
whore crazy republican comes on the screen with a face
like some crazed wild boar and drives you half fucking
crazy? [Hunter registers our blank looks.] Well, maybe
that second one's just for me... But anyway, Ally McBeal?
I like to shoot holes in the fucking wall just above the
TV whenever one of those piss-weak fucking anthems comes
on. Or I'll just wail like a fucking wolf whenever that
creepy little shitface whistles through his nose. Y'know
what I mean? Really fucking howl, man. I mean, obviously,
for the first one of those I wanna be shooting the TV.
But, y'know, the game kinda goes into decline very
quickly if you play by those rules, bubba. And it ain't
easy for an old man like me to carry a new 21"
Trinitron up the dirt path to my fortress every fucking
Saturday morning. Not anymore, bubba, oh no, not any
(CBS NEWS) THE
11TH HOUR O/O/O/O/O/O
Hour long slot on CBS News 24.
I have to say that most of
that shit I've been saying up until now is bull. I mean,
y'know, I'm just trying to give you guys something to
work with, here. But really I don't watch any of that
crap. Hardly ever. This is what I crave. This is my
lifeblood. The News. I can't get through the day without
it, man. It keeps my blood pumping through my fucking
temples. It keeps the saliva flying straight outta my
mouth, man. If I couldn't get my dose of news each
fucking day, God, I swear it, I'd have to go out and make
my fucking own, know what I mean? Fear & Loathing in
Las Vegas? You know what started that? Fuck some shithole
editor telling me to go cover some crappy drag race, man.
You know what really started it? My paper didn't get
delivered that morning. Can you believe that? Can you
believe that that started the whole thing off? They
didn't deliver my early morning paper. Something about
the delivery boy being whipped half to death by his
deformed uncle on some Wild Turkey booze jag the night
before. I couldn't stand it. The night before I'd had to
shoot my TV for turning into a screaming death's head
again. So I had no release, man. So I just sped out to LA
in a rabid frenzy. The rest, as they say, is history...
and a big fuckin' pay check.
At this, Hunter laughed
maniacally for some time. We don't know how long. But it
was long enough for us to reclaim our video and get back
in the camper. We didn't hear about Hunter again until we
got back to England. There were reports that he had
become embroiled in some sort of Bucket O' Buffalo Wings
incident with Calista Flockhart but police were still
running tests on the ridiculously oversized napkins as we
went to bed.