Whay are videogame movies so bad? That's one of those questions that reverberate around the brain every few months. Like 'why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?' and 'would any judge in the land truly convict me for the torture and murder of Chris Moyles?'
Take Doom for example. Please. And keep it. Pickle it in formaldehyde, lock it in a chest, bury it in the centre of the earth and then wee on it. For it is one dumb movie. It doesn't just sit there and let you realise it's dumb. It parades its dumbness like a badge of pride. It runs up and waves it in your face like a drunk auntie with her tits out at a wedding. Doom is so stupid, it sits at the back of the class, lips moving while it attempts to read, then gives up, shits itself and eats the result instead.
The worst thing is that throughout the press screening, people from The Guardian and The Times kept tutting in my direction, because they felt that, as I've done telly shows about videogames, that this bucket o' pish was somehow my fault.
We'll never ever get a great videogame movie now, because the boundaries between games and movies are more blurred than the rude bits on UK hotel porn. Any other kind of game that lends itself to a decent plot is stuffed to the gusset with cutscenes: the movie is already in there.
So, I would introduce a ban on any movie being made about a videogame that's been released since 1990. When graphics were invented. Spielberg has already thought about Pac-Man The Movie. Originally, John Candy was pencilled in for the role of the large-mouthed hungry sphere, but now as a casting coup, he's going for the fat guy from Lost. With former Take That skeleton Jason Orange playing all four ghosts.
FLY HORACE, FLY!
I fancy Ron Howard to make a super emotional melodrama out of 1980s ZX Spectrum game Horace Goes Skiing, with a sweeping orchestral score marking Horace's safe crossing of the road before a foreboding cello signals his attempt to get down the mountain.
Woody Allen turns Q*Bert into a sex comedy, with the neurotic Q*Bert himself being chased around his interstellar-tiled shelf by balls desperate to jump on his cock-nose. David Mamet turns Pong into a classic plot-rollercoaster, where you're never sure which bat is good and which is evil. Or who will get to 15 first.
They only make movies of videogames because some Hollywood bigwig wants to fund his coke habit by cashing in on a mass form of entertainment. Well, I beg thee: leave videogames alone and look elsewhere for inspiration. Like Sudoku. DIY. Or happy-slapping.