Solving and ruining the Falklands dispute

So we welcome in the new year... with some old news. Once again, the Argentinian President Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner (see, I do research!) has demanded that Britain hand over the Falkland Islands. By this point, I think this is the third or forth time in a year, but I could definitely be wrong, on account of repeated demands all blurring together in one big ball of stupid boring pomp.

My feelings exactly, captain.

And boring it is. If we break things down into simplicity's sake, possession is nine tenths of the law and our nation likes it's little windswept frozen rocks in the middle of nowhere. Look at Gibraltar, for example. It reminds us of a time we actually mattered. (And yes, I will be calling those islands the Falklands for this article under that whole 'possession is ninth tenths' thing, as if you're sitting on it and not currently oppressing the hell outta it, it's yours to call what you damn want. Anyway...) Who owned what and when breaks down to who's sitting on it now. Kinda hard to move people outta their homes. I mean, do it without their consent, and according to Deep Space Nine, they'll turn into the Marquis.

Seeing the only tactic available Kirchner is to annoy us into giving it up, that windswept frozen rock is going to remain ours forever. I mean, they could try jumping in with the Argentinian military, but... yeah... that doesn't sound promising. For starters, their military is still using equipment from the 1970s, and flared jeans don't cut shit next to the British army's newest missiles that are so up to date they tweet obscenities to the troops it's about to land on. Secondly, it's a fight my country would love. None of this guerrilla tactics nonsense, did-we-or-didn't-we-shoot-a-civilian-moral-quandary, nope! No murky grey areas. You have a uniform, I have a uniform, you have a gun that has a near equal chance of firing backwards as it does forwards, I have a gun that fire eight hundred times a minute whilst uploading photos to Instagram, let's do this. The British love of the underdog does not extend when it is felt the underdog is acting like an royal arse. When you think about it, last time this actually went nasty and we had a real bloody war, they were invading an far-flung barely registered province, and we kinda only responded as we had a deeply unpopular Tory prime minister, desperately seeking a way to distract the proles from a bad economy with a jingoistic war, while today in charge we have... a deeply unpopular Tory prime minister... desperately seeking a way to distract the proles from a bad economy and OH DEAR.

In a show of colossal immaturity from both sides, we exchanged public letters in newspapers. Kirchner published hers in The Independent and The Guardian, which guaranteed it would be read by no less than eight people. So The Sun shot one back, and er... look, The Sun? From the first line, you looked along the path you were going to take, and perhaps you saw the far off lands of Tact and Class glittering in the distance. It would have been nice to proceed towards them at a brisk pace rather than doing your usual, which was an abrupt one-eighty, leaping off the Cliffs of Stupidity into the Sea of Embarrassment before impalement on the Rocks of Why Would You Do That. 'Hands Off?' Seriously? Seriously. That's what you went for. Just... just... ugh. Ugh. UGH. I ugh at you, good sir.

I don't even want to know how the first draft of that turned out. The sheer weight of racist terms probably broke the once-unfeeling computer into weeping.

But let's be all about the spirit of fairness here. We're not all jingoistic heathens, champing at the bit to give Argentina a bloody nose if they keep looking at the Falklands funny. What I'm about to do, is propose a one hundred percent guaranteed method for you, yes you Argentina, to get a hold of those delicious delicious penguin-infested windswept frozen rocks.

The tabloids will call for my public hanging.

First of all, you keep demanding for Britain to open negotiations about the dispute over the Falklands. Now, that's fine, but we keep saying no, yet you keep doing repeating the same demand without changing a beat. Sort of like a child trying to wear down a parent with stamina because they don't yet get logic. That is not a good tactic. So we've said, no, right? Now the thing is, that's not entirely accurate. We've said not a general, blank, 'no negotiations,' but the much more open in wiggle-room, 'no negotiations without the Falkland Islanders say so.' Those two statements are completely fucking different. You're immediate response to that said line should not have been to keep repeating yourself and stamping your foot, but to get Davy Cameron to repeat that, slowly, into a microphone, recording it carefully, before running off cackling manically.

Yes, my plan allows for some maniacal cackling. That's how you know it's gonna work.

The next step, I must admit, is pure genius.

It involves hookers, booze, lots of blank Argentina passports and several metric fucktonnes of cocaine, heroin, and anything those darn kids are snorting, huffing, injecting or ingesting these days.

Oh, yeah.

You take said things. You load them into a cruise liner. You charge it into the Falkland Islands beaches. You then jump out brandishing a megaphone, yelling, 'WHO LOVES ARRRRRRRR~GEN~TIIIINAAAA!?!'

That's pretty much it. You pass booze and pills out in a wave of good feelings. Don't have a drink good sir? Have five! Have attractive women wander the pubs, going, 'Gosh, you're really hot. Man, if it turned out you really liked Argentina, I would starting humping your lap right the hell now,' and, 'You know what really, really turns me on? So much I just have to do some terribly dirty things to whomever is closest? Telling me just how awesome Argentina is.' A week or so later, after you're cleaning up the mess, running low on booze and you're hastily burying the last OD'd hooker, tell everyone that you'd love to come back, every month or so, but only, gosh, just only, only if the damn paperwork wasn't so difficult. I mean, you're technically British, we're Argentinian, it's the borders paperwork, man. Ugh. It's a nightmare. It's like, forty pages of contradictions in triplicate. This was a one off. Well. Unless. You know. You were Argentinian. Then no forms. Then we'd be back every month. Hell, this party? It would never end.

I mean, come on. The Falklands is nothing but freezing wind and penguins. They'll go for it. And once they'd signed the referendum in your favour, you'd take that the Davy Cameron... who'd say no. Again. But this time, with an island full of people going into withdrawal desperate for their fix, Davy would lose his last moral standpoint, and he'd cave eventually once everyone started tsking at him and muttering. The sweet part is, once the referendum is in, you even have to to follow through with these promises once they've voted. Psst. Suckers.

Sure, it'd be expensive, but remember what started this in the first place? The oil. You want that oil. Gotta spend money to make money. Instead, what you've done is pissed of the locals. Whether it's your stupid  Olympics advert white-washing them out of existence, (classy touch, jumping up and down on the damn Falklands war memorial you morons) or the blockade forces them into egg rationing, every time those Islanders that hold your chances look down at breakfast and only see one poached egg, they think:

'If it wasn't for those Argie bastards I could have two poached eggs, like an actual human being.'

Yeah. You've kinda screwed the pooch on this one. Well, you got one, maybe two months left before the referendum. Still might be doable if you hurry.

So there. I have done it. I have solved the Falklands dispute, or now, the Las Malvinas dispute. So now is time to embrace True Neutral, and now discuss how to break the peace.

Look, Davy Cameron. I don't like you. No one likes you. But. You want people to like you. You need people to like you. You want to be in charge without the Traitor King cluttering up your cabinet room. So. What you need to do is this:

Pick up your phone. Call President Kirchner. Sing into the phone in a high pitched voice, 'I've got Falklands, and you do noooo~oooot.' Do this at three in the morning local time. Do it whenever you get bored in cabinet meetings. Do this whilst in the quiet moments you're being chaffered places. Here is a selection of things to say:

'Want the Falklands? Well you can't have it. 'Cos it's mine.'
'God your country sucks. You know what doesn't suck? Penguins. Which I have. On the Falklands.'
'You know, if you had the nerve, your army could probably take the Falklands. But you won't, will you? Wuss.'
'Las Malvinas? More like Las Notyoursnas! Ha! Did you get it? No? Ah, don't worry about it. Ponder it on your retreat on the Falklands OH WAIT.'

Basically take your cue from the average decorum displayed by The Sun. But most importantly; deny doing this. Deny, deny, deny. Even when faced by evidence, deny. Claim you'd never do something so immature.
And when two months of childish taunting breaks their will and they attack, have the army repulse them and ride into a new term on a wave of patriotic glee.












Huh.

That actually really could work, and I'd be responsible for a new term of Tory bullshit.

Crapbaskets.

Film review: Rise Of The Guardians

So I still got some ideas after declaring I was empty. Last week I ran out, and I turned to the news to prattle on about something... then I turned the fuck right back around and walked away. Fortunately, over the weekend I made a trip to the cinema and saw the new film by Dreamworks, Rise Of The Guardians.

It occurs to me without my lovely and very patient girlfriend this sort of film would be denied to me. Like Dreamworks previous outing, How To Tame Your Dragon, I was highly aware if I, an alleged adult who's just about closer to thirty than twenty, went into this film alone I would be led out in handcuffs and banned from ever going nearer than fifty feet from a school playground as a precaution. However, like before, I could grab my aforementioned very brilliant and patient girlfriend and bring her into the cinema with me, all the while going, 'SEE, THIS IS DATE NOW, I CAN GO IN, IT'S ALL GOOD, I AM NOT HERE TO RE-ENACT SAVILLE, GO ABOUT YOUR DAY.' Which is good, because when I saw this picture...

Coal? Nah, Naughties get beatings

...I had to see it. A gangland tattooed Santa voiced by Jack Donaghy? Hells yes.

Before we go any further, a brief discussion of the ads in the cinema they made me watch. That bloody dust-filled-empty-cinema-due-to-filthy-pirates advert. Ah. No. I saw the returns for Avengers Assemble, Dark Knight Rises, Skyfall and the heaving queue for the Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. I also saw how much you were charging for food. You're doing fine. Shut up.

The Rise Of The Guardians plays it's plot relatively simple; a group of folklore staples (Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Sandman and Tooth Fairy) learn of the return of a old evil and they must band together with new member wild-child who has a mysterious past. So bloody mysterious even he doesn't know it. Elaborated some more, we have Jack Frost (voiced by Chris Pine,) playing the winter trickster. He's the Jack Frost of folklore I barely remember; he nips at your nose, paints windows and creates fun around him. However, he's not all sunshine and rainbows as he cannot interact with the people of the world bar with his powers, even the children whom he spends a lot of time ensuring they enjoy themselves. He knows of other folklore figures, in a nice hint this world is bigger than what this film will get into, but holds little interest in them save from messing with them. However, Pitch Black, (voiced by Jude Law) a creature of nightmares returns, and North, (Santa Claus, voiced by Alec Baldwin) is instructed by the Man On The Moon to assemble the rest of the Guardians. So that introduces us to the silent Sandman, as well as the Bunny and Tooth (the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy, voiced by High Jackman and Isla Fisher respectively.) However the Man On The Moon further instructs them to take Jack. Jack begrudgingly goes with them, originally only because the Man On The Moon said so, who created Jack Frost, but later further motivated by the chance to get his memories back.. From there, it's a running battle of wits and swords as Pitch Dark seeks to create a world of fear by striking at the root of the Guardian's power; the belief of children, by sabotaging what the Guardian's are meant to provide. So, let's say you wanted to see Santa covering for the Tooth Fairy. They got that. They got that down.

From here in, it may get a wee bit spoiler-y, so... you've been warned. So. No bitching.

In terms of the plot, I went into it knowing it would be simple, and wondering if the novelty of Santa swinging a sword in each hand would get old. It doesn't. It's awesome. Santa Claus. With a sword in each hand. Awesome. Whilst staying out of major spoiler territory, there was the cliché 'new guy with troubled past is mistaken for betraying the group' scene which I hate, but it passed briefly enough. Also, minor niggle. Funny little flashback at the end of a scene we'd seen ten minutes early, tops. We didn't need that. Okay fine, it's targeted for kids, but the words enough would of sufficed. So yeah, a little predictable in places, but nothing offensive, and it's the characters and world that more than compensates.

Let's talk about the voice acting. I am not a fan of Chris Pine, who you may remember as Kirk in the recent Star Trek reboot, who bounced from wooden to a Kirk caricature. So let me be the first to say; he did a phenomenal fucking job. The opening monologue of his (even through a small child's shrieking behind me) was perfect, capturing the right mood of sombre, wistfulness and cheek, and he doesn't let up the while way. Brilliant and bravo. In fact, the whole cast deserves mention. Alec Baldwin goes nuts with a ridiculous accent for North which is very enjoyable (which I award bonus points for remembering that Santa isn't American.) Hugh Jackman seems to dial up the Aussie accent rather pleasingly for Bunny, giving him a distinctive lilt. Whilst I've mentioned I dislike the cliché 'new guys mistaken for traitor scene,' when Bunny vents at Jack... it's very clear he's venting, not truly meaning what he says, but is a person suffering a tremendous loss. He follows up with quiet, reflective monologue as he calms down really sells it. And when we come to Jude Law's Pitch... His best delivery is in on, scene, with one line. It's one word. 'No.' It's outstanding. No, no sarcasm here; with one word he displays so much about his character it's chilling. Hah! No. Wait. I meant ugh. Though he seems to be channelling Loki from the Avengers a bit. Not a problem, but I honestly thought I was listening to Tom Hiddlston for a while.

The world, as you would expect, is beautiful and interesting, with the team constant returning to North's workshop... because it's Santa's bloody workshop and while his film's time is set just before Easter, it's Christmas now, so yeah. Why not. The characters are such a joy to be around. North stands out with his accent, permanent enthusiasm and lack of indoor voice. Alec Baldwin is having the time of his life and it's infectious. He swings around two swords and lives in a toy shop crewed by yetis and useless elves, and in a joyful moment, acknowledges that they are bleedin' useless. He would be my favourite, apart from the fact Sandman is here. He's a mute, so he communicates with expressions and crafting sand into images. More importantly, this little guy?

Look at him! He needs cuddles! Yes he does!

Yeah. You don't fuck with him. Ever.

It won't end nice.

I will say however whilst each character gets their moments, there was a loser of the bunch. Tooth, unlike the others, I feel she didn't get enough defining moments. As the first to be weakened she was damsel-ing it up for a lot of the film. I don't ever remember a particular fighting style or big moment of badass, which was disappointing. The biggest 'Oh, cool!' moment for her wasn't even about her really; I really dug the idea that she collects teeth as they contain the best memories of childhood, and she keeps them safe to return later should adults need them. Very sweet and a nice twist, but ultimately, that's about what she collects, not about her. Sometimes Pitch's character confused me, as it was hard to gauge how powerful he was. It was strange to consider it felt plausible that all five together could pound him flat, but he had 'Can't Touch Me' annoyance powers and dicked around weakening everyone whilst he built up power, so he entered the final As Unto A God.

What left the cinema with me was mainly a memory of lots of little moments, lots of character interactions and reflections. With Jack it was the all details of his voice work, watching the sand come down at night and seeing his satisfaction that the children will sleep well tonight, or his brilliant come back proving he helps children, 'I make snow days.' For North it was booming compliments to his elves as they fuck up. The whole gang's face as they realise they took teeth for Tooth yet forgot to leave money. Sandman's conjuring of a little bowler hat so he can doff it in greeting. So. Many. Scenes. That I will not talk about, as you need to see them, so I won't ruin them for you.

Wrapping up? I really can't do better than Movie Bob's 'Like the Avengers, but with Santa' summary. It's a pretty film, with interesting, vibrant characters if a standard plot. I, an alleged adult, highly enjoyed it, and I recommend it... as long as you're not allergic to kids. Yeah. The ending will annoy you in that case. It feels like they want to make a franchise outta this, and I say go for it. I saw it in 2D, so I can't comment on the 3D.

That being said, you're probably going to skip this in favour of the Hobbit. Which is fair. But pick this up on DVD at least or you're missing out.

Christmas shutdown

Hello everybody! My updates until January will be sporadic at best. This is due to the business of this period, and not the complete lack of ideas that results me talking about a hat I don't wear for like a thousand words.

Honest. Really busy.

Busy busy busy.

Maybe a little lack of ideas.

Look, I'm down to talking about Mass Effect 3. And that'll hurt. Don't make me talk about Mass Effect 3. Please.

Oh thank god I have a tonne of shit to do.