I’ve broken my ankle, so I’m gonna dedicate the next seven days to watching random films on Netflix. As I have the worst memory for films - and to keep my mind active through a haze of Tramadol - I’m gonna review each one.


This was ‘recommended’ to me as I watched Magic Mike. Afternoon Delight also has strippers in, although it’s just one stripper, and it’s a woman.

That’s where the comparisons end.

I wasn’t too sure why the couple in it didn’t have sex, but they didn’t seem too bothered by it until he found out that she had invited the stripper in to the house to be their nanny.

The film just made me more certain than ever that I never want to have kids. In the last scene, the 5-year-old is having a hissy-fit in the back of the car as his parents are having a row in the street.

So. Fucking. Stressful.


I’d never had any urge to see this film until today as I fancied something with singing in, and I knew any movie starring Beyonce wouldn’t be too heavy, intellectually.

It turned out I knew some of the songs from last year’s X Factor, but seeing Eddie Murphy singing and acting reminded me of Party All The Time and my dead hero Rick James.


I always forget how much Michael Cera grates on me until I watch a film starring him. I don’t know if it’s his too-open eyes, lack of facial hair, weak jaw line or sing-songy-womeny-voice, but films starring him just go on and on and on and on….

In this film, he plays an awkward virgin (typecast?). The film promised to be quirkier than it is. I’d give it 6/10. It’s the sort of film some PZ would proudly declare was ‘arthouse cinema’.

The film hasn’t even ended as I’m typing this and I’m hoping he dies a virgin.