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10 September 2000
I didn't plan to review BRING ME THE HEAD OF MAVIS DAVIS, much like I didn't plan to watch it. It was a Sunday night thing, you see. It is a sad consequence of the day of rest: you fill in time however you can, even watching awful films like this.

The film tells the story of a scheming manager who plots to kill his faded pop star, and in doing so increase her album sales. Years ago, in a rush to complete a first-year Screenwriting assignment I hatched a similar, lazy plot.

I never thought it was particularly astute, because everybody knows that the legends of rock stars are built on their deaths. The makers of this film think it IS astute, even if their execution is excruciatingly sloppy. Worse still, where I made the point in ten minutes, this film runs to ninety.

Ninety minutes. Ninety horrible minutes. Ninety minutes, no jokes.

I could hardly feel angry that I watched this film: it was on television and it was my own fault. I felt no malice or ill-will towards the cast and crew. I foresaw the inevitable lameness of their poorly-made product and yet I watched it anyway.

In the end I just felt like a bit of a loser. Ninety minutes I could have spent stimulating my brain or collecting for the worlds poor, but no. I watched a bad film.

Don't make the same mistake I did. But then again, Sundays make people do strange things.
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