I'm not sure I understand how people continually lump Melissa McCarthy into the same category of comedians as the likes of Kevin James (actually, I do understand, I just choose to ignore it), because she's so much more talented than him it's barely a contest. Comic timing? Check. Pathos? Check. A habit of making her co-stars appear funnier by proxy? Check. These are not qualities you typically associate with Paul Blart: Mall Cop. McCarthy, on the other hand, is the complete package, and she furthers her winning relationship with director Paul Feig in Spy, albeit to not quite so winning effect as previous team-ups The Heat and Bridesmaids. The most important stat for the non-believers? There is only one  pratfall in Spy; Paul Blart: Mall Cop had 25.
Most people whose lives merit a feature-length documentary are probably going to participate in only one, and so you suspect this will stand as the only one Paul Gascoigne will ever do. This is a shame, because while it gets behind the clowning and reveals his fractured psyche a little in flashes, it's a busted flush overall.
Uwe Boll's latest crowd-funding campaign crashed and burned, cruelly denying the world Rampage 3, a film Boll considers "an important movie". Reminder: a guy once made $55,000 on Kickstarter for making potato salad.
At this point in his career, Dwayne Johnson is stuck between The Rock and a hard place. He's already overcome an obstacle that has pinned many a man: a wrestling past that places him squarely in the same category as acting luminaries like Hulk Hogan, 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper and Jesse Ventura. Johnson has more acting talent in his pecs than these grapplers had in their entire bodies, but recently, The Artist Formerly Known As 'The Rock' has accepted roles that don't play up to his strengths - and when I say 'strengths' I'm not referring to his muscles. Dwayne Johnson is not an Action Hero, so can we stop treating him like one?
Hello, I am a man and I am rich and famous and a bit of a dick, but watch as I earn the right to be reappraised. You will know that I deserve it because I have one old friend who sticks by me unwaveringly, I harbour regrets about having chosen an easy path towards my fame, and children react well to me.
The modern disaster movie is at an impasse, and no amount of hurling Dwayne Johnson at it will succeed. There isn't a disaster you can think of - whether it's from the pit of the Earth or the darkest realms of outer space - that can't be rendered by a room-full of under-fed, under-paid GFX nerds in California. The only limit, therefore, is imagination, and sadly, San Andreas is a movie that's barely capable of coherent or rational thought. Director Brad Peyton borrows a series of second-hand set-pieces from the Roland Emmerich playbook; with buildings collapsing left, right and centre, San Andreas doesn't so much evoke powerful 9/11 imagery as it recalls entire sequences from other, better movies.
Tonight was one of those nights where there was literally nothing on so you go, look, we can either watch Alan Carr do fake-laughs about cheap alcohol with someone from TOWIE or we can watch Piranha 3DD. I wish somehow I could have closed my eyes and synergised the two together so I could have watched Alan Carr being eaten by angry fish. Here are my notes on Piranha 3DD which are only three years late.