The Knockdown

Yesterday, I’m not going to lie; I had a terrible evening and took one for the team it seemed as I didn’t just get absolutely panned for my poetry but also got labelled as something that deeply offended me after a small miscommunication in one of my poems offended another poetry night non-performer. And it kind of worried me as I reflected on her comments and thought to myself: Is this really how people are going to see me?  I mean, it was hard to get up and perform in the first place, it always has been and unfortunately always will be. But for some reason the low scores and my apparent comment that lent rape “support” is something that’s really knocked my confidence a little bit.

I mean, it’s not what I meant and I didn’t mean to offend. It was a slam and I slammed and well, I was angry a little bit; that the misconception was at the time, that Uni of girls just always seemed to get raped by Hallam guys or that no matter how much I go on to achieve in life: I’ll be from Hallam. And that will forever go against me. Which is sad because some of the smartest and most lovely people I have ever met have now been tarred with the same polytechnic stigma that I myself have been subject to a little. My parents, will never understand because they were never forced to sit in the corner of a junior school class and made out unable to read. Or that I just didn’t really seem to be going anywhere. And it makes me red in the face with anger to know that there are just some people out there, somewhere and for some reason seeing it as funny to go pick on the little guy when there are more important and pressing issues to talk about. I get angry. We all do and I suppose in all, I learnt the line of where I can and cannot take my poetry but still…

Accusing me of supporting rape and the lowest score of the night?

Shit…

I must have really turded up and with these two things and how I feel in the moment, I’m coming real close to giving up poetry and the performance side of things to instead keep up my efforts with the other parts of my course which I seem to be falling behind in too. I don’t know if it was the fact I hadn’t written all summer or whether or not I was rushed to produce a poem, but I am largely uninspired and rather tired all the time. I feel so out of shape it is unreal and even as I write this now, I can feel the once great raw talent of my mind peel away and look back and realise I’ve kind of written a poetic prose verse about how I’ve been knocked down by two things or maybe even three.

First: We lost the slam by 0.19. If  I had just got a bigger score. We could have at least pushed the tie.

Second: I got really low scores when I tried really hard to put the poem together in a short amount of time. I can either use this as a time to choose a path or better yet try to use it as a humbling experience. I know its only opinion but it was a popular opinion; y’know? When it’s all against one then I don’t see how I can really justify myself. I did shit. Now is a time to either work, or give up on it unfortunately. I’m not sure as to what’s a good idea or not at the moment; it’s still weighing quite heavy on my heart that I may, if this melancholy continues, have to give up an art I have come to love. What happens, happens though. Am I right?

Thirdly: Who supports rape? Really? And I know you can cup my face and ask me to look at you in a really annoying patronising way and ask if I know its alright but you know what? It isn’t. It never has been, I stumbled because I was trying too hard and I got crossed wires and I meant to say something completely different, especially considering the whole passage [in context] was about the fact of not having sex at all… So, I can see where they’re coming from. I knew what I meant. But to come up to me with a patronising toff voice after I’ve just had a shit time is a little annoying. I know it’s ‘a political issue’ but we’re talking morality here and if you have any sense of morale compass at all; you will know that there is no supporting or justifying an act that is so evil as rape in itself. Taking control of someone’s very being away from them is wrong. No means no. So hopefully, the message rings clear that I am very much against any type of sexual, physical or even psychological abuse. People deserve the best in life. And that is all I will ever ask of them is to go out and live the best life they can because what else is there to do?

I know this may sound a little rant-ish and a bit weird to randomly come on and blog about after my silence but these things have deeply affected me to the point where I may not perform again for the longest time. Or even ever. Even with the support of people I deeply admired and hold in high regard, their words of encouragement cannot really remove the seemingly growing black spot that its creeping its inky self throughout my heart. I feel different. I feel changed. And if I’m losing my faith in poetry and the written word, well, the end is not far off at all…

My confidence has really been shaken and with that being an apparently huge part of why people like me, I don’t know if things are really going to be the same after this.

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A reflection on my summer…

When people ask me what I did this summer, I’m really not sure as to what it is I’ll actually say. I mean, I know I’m going to go back to University and my friends will probably tell me all about the amazing summer they had doing cool things like skiing or going on holiday or maybe going to work.

They’ll say all this, whilst I now realising my summer is over have finally come to terms with the fact that for the last three months due to both lack of funds and lack of motivation have just coasted through my summer holidays enough to avoid boredom. I mean, when I look back the early morning of the date I go back, I did nothing really too interesting. I just did. I lived. I loved. I just was. I don’t know why but in this summer time I have had no motivation to write but instead wanted to feverishly grind my way into becoming Pokemon league champion or holding out with my dad against a horde of angry terrorists.

Apart from that, the occasional walk or read has been enough for me between any other real ‘extremes’ in change such as having to go see my mother to fix our somewhat tempestuous relationship or having to house-sit and look after a few cats. Even my birthday was seemingly coasted through on my part. It all just happened and where some points seemed to last forever some were as fleeting as a thunderclap.

I’m honestly not sure whether or not it was the fact me and my mum fell out during my time at Uni that sealed my seemingly slumber like existential fate. I found my self living in Kettering, something I hadn’t planned for without transport and money. I couldn’t really get anywhere and unable to get a job could not really fix the situation. I don’t regret being here though. I’ve done some good stuff whilst I was here: I helped my nan out as best I could (I.e when she’d let me); seen and aided my dad slowly out of his depression (even if at a slower pace than I was wanting to); and finally, I managed to fix what I had deemed at one stage unfixable and that was the relationship with my mother. It wasn’t easy to do but I think both of us have learnt from the experience a little.

Now these things, although trivial have made me do a few more things like talk and meet people once again; made me lose my temper and even cry. I also learnt some valuable lessons along the way about family and myself. I have changed since going to Uni, there is no denying that and returning from Uni has been hard on me; I feel like sometimes I’m balancing on two ever drifting stones and the more these two lives drift apart, the sooner I’m going to take a dip and be swallowed up by this imaginary river both places reside in my mind. Even if I felt slightly lost and alone, my family was there to support me and that was what was important during the adventure.

Even though I’ve had what some will call a boring summer. I think it may have been one of the best yet in helping me grow and develop as a person.

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It seems whenever I do something wrong, it’s almost cataclysmic.

We all make mistakes. People say that it’s because we’re only human. However, sometimes I think I must be superhuman; everybody makes mistakes I know but sometimes it just seems as though,  every time I make a mistake it’s somewhat end of the world like.

For example, yesterday. Yesterday I was supposed to be backing up my laptop onto the main home PC; I looked through my files and thought to myself that I had a hell of a load of .exe files. Now, these files are useful for my computer because well, they install programs but to back up it seemed pretty stupid. Why back-up a file which you could easily get right? So, I thought to not take up so much space on the hard drive of the main computer I’d delete the .exe files; I was trying to be considerate. But it didn’t quite work out the way I wanted it to. In fact, it went a whole lot worse…

Whilst highlighting the seemingly millions of .exe files; I accidentally highlighted a file that contained my creative writing folder inside it. Now, I know what you’re all thinking at this point, well surely you had back ups right? The simple answer would be, no. No I didn’t. Which was stupid but you know what? I never thought I would need to.  because I loved my work and thought I’d be more careful with it but obviously, that’s not the case. I deleted the folder and try hard as I might to get it back, it seems as though it’ll never be recovered from the fragments of data still around on the disk. I could probably compile about 60% of my work through physical and digital copies on the internet probably.  I think the thing that gets me most is this sort of disaster follows me around. If I break a bowl, it’s one of a kind. If I fail my driving test,  I fail it 10 seconds away from the test centre and passing. It just seems as though, when I think about it, the mistake factory are working way too hard in my department sometimes. Then again we all feel that way sometimes. We want to scream at our luck sometimes and wish they’d hand some of the bad stuff over to someone else for once. It’s true. I think I never thought about it until I messed up in this way.

My writing, if anything, is one of the most precious things I have. it’s what I strive to do when I roll out of bed in the morning; it’s the thing that keeps me awake at night as star ships and fairy princesses run through my mind; and it’s one of the things that I really put myself out there with. Sure I beat myself  up about my writing but I always tried to be careful with it and now… It’s pretty much gone. Which is sad.

However, there’s two ways I can see this disaster. Two ways in which I can move forward.

The first way is, if I want to, is to let the past shackle me down. Let myself think that I will never be as good as those lost files which in a way will destroy me when you think about it because if I think I’ve already hit my peak well, what else is there to aim for?  Nothing. Which is sad, may as well hang up my thinking cap if that’s the case.

Or

Option two,  I could move on. Get some new ideas and make a new generation of work. I wouldn’t complete forget my old work, no I’d never do that and I’d definitely try and compile as much of it as I could. However, I wouldn’t let it run my life. I’d start a fresh do something different, use some new ideas. It’d be pretty cool.

I suppose, that’s what my freaky dream was trying to tell me. After a mad dash to try and recover the work and slugging through website after website with programs and helpful but not so helpful hints as how to recover data. I finally crashed out at like 5.00am when all hope seemed to run dry. This is when loads of weird fever dream like visions started coming to me. It was odd. There were a few, all fragmented and jumbled up in sporadic bursts. The first was unimportant, something about me and my friend Will Jeff Banks. My bank card was involved too. Something about every time I put my card in the machine it came out in pieces and I kept having to put those pieces together and feed it back into the machine. I have no idea why, it was odd. Money worries? Maybe but that wasn’t even the weirdest of these episodes of my dream life…

The weirdest thing found me in the Riverside Bar in Sheffield. Somewhere I love actually, spot light on me and black book in hand. I was reading,  something. I’m not 100% sure. But I was definitely reading something but then people started asking me forr some of the stuff that had been deleted. Stuff I hadn’t even shown my girlfriend, who I actually show a lot of my work.  I panicked when people started standing, shouting and I kind of just stopped.  I didn’t know what to say or do and it made me wonder…

Had I reached my peak?

I woke up in a cold seat by then and rubbed my face, what was I going to do? I messed up, yes. But is it worth it? Is it worth giving up on writing? No way. I just need someone to take my bad luck from em. because being Superhuman by making epic mistakes is not as epic as being Spiderman.

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Warriors Orochi 3

 

UK Release Date: 6th April 2012

Publisher: Koei

Platform: Xbox360

Review:

I’ve been a fan of the Koei Warriors series for a very long time; I remember first being introduced to Dynasty Warriors 3 on my friend Luke’s PS2 and falling in love with the Franchise then, we sat in that dark room for hours conquering Ancient China in the name of our favourite Three Kingdoms. Luke wasn’t as in to Samurai Warriors as I was. However, when Warriors Orochi; the first one was announced it was about bloody time!

I mean, everyone wanted a cross-over game it was just a matter for the developers to give us it and find a way to give us it. It wasn’t that hard by the looks of things and for the first game they did it well, the cast was smaller and there were less variables in those games as there were in the next renditions. Less weapons, less stages. It wasn’t as big as it soon became in the second rendition of the series and this is where things began to go downhill for the series as a whole.

Warriors Orochi 2 saw a quite significant boost in the character roster; mostly on behalf of the Samurai Warriors cast and the expansion toward Sekigehara in the stages. Those famous in these battles, joined the rosters as well as some other characters. It was quite cool to have them all together but things seemed to suffer due to the heavy casting.  Graphics became poor even on the XBOX 360 edition of the game and because there was little room left for animation, some characters weren’t eve given their proper weapons but rather, re-worked versions of already existing ones. It was sad and greatly shook my confidence in the series. I wasn’t really up to considering buying the third installment I knew was coming.

However, I then saw Warriors Orochi 3 and fell in love.

Warriors Orochi 3 even in the trailers and from the reveals of some of the newer characters to join the roster looked pretty darn impressive. As well as interesting. What was also quite interesting was the fact that Warriors Orochi 3 was using the Samurai Warriors 3 latest character models that had been exiled to the Wii.  So, with that I was determined to get the game, saving and scrimping in order to order it online after failing continually to get it in store. And I wasn’t disappointed, the game had definitely worked on its faults.

The graphics had been improved immensely and the characters looked amazing, even if some of the terrains did look basic. I was rather appreciative of the mish-mashed levels that included factors from Bladestorm, Ninja Gaiden and some other different games. It was nice to see and it was cool that other games associated with Koei were getting to use the Warriors franchise’s fame in order tor aise their profile. Koei is a great company and I think they used Warriors Orochi 3 well.

Another thing they did well with the game was to abolish multiple campaigns for one rather interesting storyline. A problem with the multiple stories was that even though they went together, even crossed over but sometimes continuations did emerge. With this singular story, which went well with the thjemes of the game and was rather interesting; Warriors Orochi 3 had quite a nice play through experience even for people who hadn’t played the game before.

A small thing though, was that there was no English dub; which made it hard to do certain things when people told you because of the fact whilst slicing your way through scores of enemiesyou suddenly had to read subtitles.

Review: AAAA

I think that, even though it is simple and Koei does simplicity well; the Warriors franchise and Warriors Orochi 3 are a good set of games. They aren’t stressful with prestige levels and they aren’t too mentally tasking, their just games you can sit down and play without too much forethought about how you’re going to best your enemies. They’re literally just a game which you can button bash your way through and do some cool stuff between battles with. With a good story mode, which a lot of games are missing nowadays; Warriors Orochi 3 can do nothing but score high with me I’m afraid.

 

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The Blackground… A Preview

It was my sense of hearing that first confounded me.  My eyes were tightly shut and my body couldn’t feel a thing. I could hear though. I could hear the scuttling of something small across some sort of surface; it was funny really because it kind of reminded me of the sound I imagined sand to make as it made its way out of one side of an hourglass into the other. I’d often used that sound as a way to calm myself, something that I wasn’t able to do now. I panicked, as the rest of my sense failed me all I could do was hear. I couldn’t see anything, my eyes were tightly shut unmoving, heavier than the boulder that formed the impenetrable barrier of Christ’s own tomb.

 

At first I thought I was paralyzed, that I had had some sort of accident. Maybe I’d been hit by a car; maybe I’d fallen off a ladder; there were so many maybes and questions but so few answers. And then I realised, I realised that the underlying numbness of my body was so complete and so perfect that it was almost as if I couldn’t feel my own soul. ‘Soul’ may have been a strong word or even the wrong word but I know what I mean. What I mean is that feeling, that feeling that you have right down in the centre of your body, which if anything, let’s you firmly know you’re alive. Which then made me question, am I dead?

 

I couldn’t be dead. Right? I can hear and my eyes work, their just shut, right? RIGHT!? I felt my heart suddenly race as the possibility that I might be dead began to swirl around in my half-awake brain. I hadn’t noticed the effect this experience was having on my mental capacity. I couldn’t even function half sharp; I could remember trying to tell my fingers to move. To grasp at the ground, that hopefully, I was lying on.  Yet, my fingers lay still. Or so I believe. But as the fog of my body’s collective sense of touch began to reawaken; my faith I was alive slowly rekindled.

 

Why?

 

The reason why I had new found hope that I was alive was simple: I’d never believed in an afterlife. I’d never believed in a kingdom of clouds or a burning pit that floated by so precariously without our noticing. To me there was only one lease of life and no matter how short it is or was, there was only one. So, once you’re dead. You’re just that, dead.  There’s no spirits, no messages from the far beyond and most of all there’s no you. You can’t feel anything. You can’t hear anything. That’s because you don’t exist anymore. So the reason that I have a new found, albeit desperate, hope in my life came from the fact I could feel. I could hear. Even if I can’t see, those two were enough to let me know that my heart was still beating; I could feel it in fact, rattling my entire core.

 

Now that I had confirmed I was alive, it was now a matter of re-taming my body to work under my brain’s rule. I thought that starting small would be best and with all the effort in the world I tried to clench my fists. My fingers twitched a little. It may not have been what I had originally hoped for but it was enough for me to get a feel of the environment around me.  They had made contact with something solid. So this ruled out that I was being suspended in the air, I was definitely on the floor. Which was kind of a relief because that also ruled out that I was at anyone’s mercy.  I could have been on my kitchen floor, outside my front door, I could have been anywhere. Anywhere at all. Which then made things a little more worrying; I could have been in the middle of a road or in some strange place which would have been frightening.

 

I can remember telling myself that I didn’t belong here. What I felt with a further twitch of my fingers made that fact all the more obvious.  The floor felt strange, there were many different indents and embosses kind of like when you ran your hand across a jigsaw puzzle. It felt as if it was made up of many different parts; which like I said, reaffirmed my convictions that I did not belong where I was. Even with the slight control I had over my facilities, my mind and my sense there was no comfort to be found in my predicament.

 

The sound that had first stumped me was growing louder, my ears were slowly dragging themselves out of their apparent slumber and that slow sandy scuttling sound was joined by a chorus of other noises.  I thought it was just me at first. But from what I could remember, none of the many groans I could hear matched my voice; especially the slightly feminine ones that sprang out the darkness every now and again.  I tried my hardest to speak, to call out to the other people that were apparently around me. I couldn’t open my mouth. It was tightly shut, not forced shut but just not operational.  I suppose it stopped me screaming. I was scared.

 

When my eyes finally decided that it was a good time to open, they couldn’t have picked a worse time or a worse place. The weight that had almost welded them shut seemed to lift in an instance giving way to a fit of blinking.  I could hardly see it was just as dark as it’d been with my eyes shut and my vision was slightly blurred. It wasn’t getting any better for me and for a couple of seconds I wished that I was still comatose.  That I couldn’t feel and I couldn’t hear and for what it was worth, that I couldn’t see.  My heart sank as I realised the hopelessness of my situation.  I was trapped and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I soon realised I was not alone.

 

“Hello?”

 

I panicked.

 

“Hello, is there anyone there?”

 

It was strange.  I’d been actually craving some sort of voice to call out to me. A guiding light in this apparent darkness, as corny as that was, to help put me at ease.  I wanted to say something back but being unable to see, I was scared now of a voice that I’d wanted only moments previously. I didn’t know whose voice it was, who I was talking to. It could’ve been the devil for all I know.

 

“Hello?”

 

Just shut up! It killed me to think that. But I wanted them to be quiet. I didn’t know what was going on, who I was with, who was listening and there was this annoying voice nagging at me even though I couldn’t speak.  It was then that my own voice croaked, out into the darkness.

 

“Hello…”

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After a Week without my phone

So, how did I manage to end up not having my phone for a week?
That’s a funny story actually, one that is definitely worth telling before I talk about what I learnt about myself during my phoneless week; I suppose if anything this is a fable, a cautionary tale to which I hope you all take heed and learn from.
So, okay on the 8th of June I was set to come back to Sheffield in order to pack my life away once again so I can move out of my student accomodation and back to the sunny climes of Northamptonshire. Which, in itself should be fun, right? With the irony and all but yeah, so I ordered a taxi from my Nan’s house in the lovely town of Kettering and made my way to the train station.
It was during this time me and Jen kept looking at our phones to see if we were going to get to the train on time and all sorts. Phones in general were coming in and out of pockets faster than a slut in her underpants. And this is where the story gets interesting, so bear with me…
So, we get out of the Taxi, pay the guy (whom we can hardly understand as he tries desperately to communicate) and get in the station. We found out our train was delayed which is a pain in the ass but no biggie, I mean, it gave us more time for nostalgia. Which if anything, is always nice before you get cooped up on a train for two hours.
So we go to platform, wait patiently and then it’s announced that our train has changed platforms. Which then makes us shimmy along to the newly assigned platform, at which I shoved my hand deep into my pockets and realised that I don’t have my phone…
Now, as all teenager, parents; actually, as I bet all people know, when you think you’ve lost your phone you kind of have this sort of mini heart attack but then eventually you find it and the crisis is averted. Well, I didn’t have that this time. This time I didn’t find my phone and the heart attack didn’t go away but went from mini to massive in a matter of seconds; our train was coming in, the lady over the station radio said so. So, everyone can imagine how I was, running around like a blue ass fly asking person after person if they’d seen a blackberry anywhere and my girlfriend ringing it on her fritzed out phone to no avail either. Angry I got on the train and continued trying to ring it when I could, half annoyed, half worried, all pissed off.
Then suddenly my girlfriend got a message on BBM saying ‘hello’. Now both of us were looking at each other trying to get through to our mysterious message sender. Was it a really dumb thief, boasting about their crime? Was it a good samaritan, trying to reunite me with Berty (my phone)? I had to know, so I snatched my girlfriend’s phone from the table and called my phone hoping to God that we wouldn’t lose signal and the anonymous on the other end would pick up.
I pretty much recognised the voice straight away, it was one I’d tried to decipher earlier. It was the Taxi driver. Somewhere in the chaos of our journey to the station with all the panicking and worrying; my phone must have fallen out of my pocket. I also realised it was on loud, so every time I had rung it I’d probably scared the poor bastard to death as Bring Me the Horizon blasted out of the back of his Taxi at almost maximum ringing volume. But at least he had my phone and he was going to hand it in to the KLM Taxi office.
So, at our connecting station platform; I phoned to make sure that my phone Berty was safe and sound in the hands of a receptionist so I could get my Dad to go get him. They were really nice now that I think about it and if anything, I owe them a great deal because my ass would be grass without my phone.
So later that evening my Dad went and got the phone and my Nan sent it to me over the next weekend, near Father’s Day and I got it recorded delivery on the Tuesday pissing off the front desk to my apartment building due to the fact I didn’t sign one of the forms I should have because I’d forgotten completely. However soon Berty was home with me and that’s how I liked it.
Now, there’s the story and now for the observations of myself during the time in which I was Bertyless.
I realised that without my phone, I actually relied on it a hell of a lot more then I thought. I’m not even talking about the cool stuff like tweeting or using it to post on wordpress because even though I did miss that I still had that on my computer and was more jealous of people who could do that. It was the more mundane tasks like checking the time, which should be simple but because you don’t have a clock you rely on your phone which you now don’t have; or the calendar function which stops you trawling through pages and pages of an actual calendar; or the most annoying a calculator because spelling the word ‘boobs’ with numbers is nowhere near as fun when you have to dig your scientific calculator out from underneath mountains upon mountains of useless crap.
So, kids if I want you to take anything away from this post it’s that you rely on your phone far too much to do the little things; so don’t lose it.

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Snow White and The Huntsman

Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Who’s the most Badass of them all?

UK Release Date:  30th May 2012

Director:  Rupert Sanders

Cast: Kristen Stewart, Charlize Theron, Chris Hemsworth, Sam Claflin, bobhoskins, Ian McShane, Nick Frost. Ray Winston and Eddie Marsan

Review:

So apart from the obvious casting mistake of Kristen Stewart apparently being hotter than Charlize Theron (whom by the way is beautiful just to get that out-of-the-way) and the notion that Chris Hemsworth could possibly play someone other than Thor; Snow White and the Huntsmen interested me for many different reasons.  I think it’s the whole ‘dark fairytale epic’ trend that’s going on in movies nowadays. They are all pretty interesting takes on classic stories and with the benchmark set by Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland epic and how well it did, it’s obvious to see that this trend is something the movie going public are embracing. Films like Red Riding Hood, which was alright and soon to be released Jack the Giant Killer have all been given massive hype in their time and are hopping on the back of this trend. Snow White and the Huntsman has received no less acclaim and has been tipped as one of the years best movies. Maybe it’s the whole appeal of these darker fairytale  that attract both adult and child audiences; these tales have a more ‘realistic’ morale compass then the conventional that we’re used to. making them both a little more interesting and thought-provoking for older audiences.

I think it’s pretty what they did with the story honestly, it’s not the whole pure and wholesome image of Snow White we usually have where she can sing to birds and talk to animals. it’s a more gritty darker version of a character we know and love and her journey from prisoner to queen. The whole Joan of Arc image they gave Snow White in the film was quite refreshing; the strength she displays is cool and how the Witch isn’t overthrown as easily as kiss and still requires some amount of force is also something someone doesn’t consider when it comes to fairy tales, I think.  There are other aspects other than Snow White’s characteristic changes that were quite good and often left out of the original tales like that of the Evil Queen and her story. The introduction of this into the narrative and how she came to grow more powerful and what her powers do finally get us as an audience to understand her motives for doing what she does. In the original Snow White story, it just seems as though she’s not a big fan of Snow White because she’s more pretty than her but in this film there’s motive and rive to why she wants Snow White gone and as misdirected as it maybe; it makes for good drama.  The insertion of the character William Tell was also quite clever, the whole apple motif of Snow White fits into his story and that introduction and realisation made me feel really clever when I got it. I can be slow on those sort of things normally. So, when I do realise I have to point it out.

Although the story was cool and stuff, it’s nothing unless someone can bring it to life and with such a star-studded cast it was always going to have some blinding performances. I mean, Theron excelled herself as the evil Queen, brining me to goosebumps at sometimes with how eerily well she played the role and even the smaller parts played by the likes of Ray Winston and Ian Mccshane were pretty darn amazing. I can even go as far to say that Chris Hemsworth and Kristen Stewart were pleasant surprises. Even when the two slipped into their more famous roles as Thor and Bella Swan they managed to pull it back  and seperate their current roles from them despite the similarities. I mean, the Huntsman was basically a more emotionally capable/ broken hearted version of Thor and there were many traits from Snow White which one could link to Bella Swan. Yet, the roles stood out on their own and didn’t seem as if they were type-cast.  Which is nice, I do hate to see someone play pretty much the same character in every single film unless they’re really good at it.

The story coupled with the acting was a pretty amazing combination. Yet there was still one thing the film did very, very well in order to pull off an amazing tri-attack of excellence and this was the visuals. The scenes and the sets and the visual effects were amazing giving life to a magical and deep world; whether it was the charge of many horses or the Dark Forest itself. Every single camera angle and every single detail seemed to have been thought out with a startling precision.   It all looked stunning which like already said, coupled with everything from the story and the actors brought to the screen it made the whole film well rounded and amazing. If ine oif these three things was off, it could have led to the film being a flop in my eyes because I mean if you have such amazing elements you need the rest of the elements to stack up with it or you as an audience member aren’t able to get passed the fact that, the one element that isn’t as good at the rest is bringing the film down.

RATING: AAAA

Even though it was good and I was pleasantly surprised by even Kristen Stewart, there was something in the film that just didn’t quite sit right with me. At some parts it was amazing and at some parts it just wasn’t, it was pretty average for a fantasy film.  And then with the brief flashes into characters that you’ve already seen the actors act out like Stewart with Bella and Hemsworth with Thor. It kind of distracted you from what film you were watching. What was also really annoying is that Kristen Stewart really can’t smile, which I always thought was kind of an acting essential. The film was great but with peers like Avengers; it has a high standard to follow.

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