It's A Wrap

Watched The World’s Fastest Indian on Saturday night, which was a bit of a surprise.

I thought it was going to be the sequel to Slumdog Millionaire but it turned out to be Anthony Hopkins, playing Anthony Hopkins with a… with a… what the hell was that accent?

I’m not fooled, Tony. You might have Hollywood believing that you’re one of the great actors of your time, but I think you’re a one-trick-pony.

The Scene: Office of Non-Specific Production Company - Hollywoodland.

“The studio just rang and they’ve worked the figures. Apparently, we need a new vehicle for T. Hop. They say the public are ready to go for his brand of emotionally repressed, wooden thingy... you know. His schtick. Got anything in mind?”

“How about an emotionally repressed butler who works for a Nazi?”

“Good, but done it.”

“How about an emotionally repressed guy brought up by gorillas?”

“Crazy, but done it.”

“How about an emotionally repressed guy who goes into the wilds with his hot wife and young rival?”

“Embarrassing, but done it.”

“How about an emotionally repressed guy who just wants go really fast on his motorcycle?”

“Hey I like it. What’s the grab? Where’s the angle?”

“He’s from New Zealand.”

“We want emotionally repressed, not unintelligible.”

So, anyway, despite the fact that you’ve just got through 200 words of me sniping away at it, I actually enjoyed the film. I’m not saying rush out and rent it, but don’t avoid it, it’s really quite… nice.

But the film review isn't really why I'm here. What I really want to address is the alarming thing I learnt from it.

The film is set in the not-so-distant past and, without giving anything away, our hero Burt, is getting burnt by the bike’s exhaust pipe when he’s in full record-breaking mode. His answer is to wrap his leg in asbestos. Where does he scrounge the asbestos from?

An electric blanket. To anyone over the age of thirty who reads this - How the hell, have any of us survived?