At the 2011 Cannes Film Festival, Drive was loved so much that, when the movie finally finished, everyone leapt to their feet to give it a standing ovation. A film. A standing ovation.

One can only assume that this ovation must have been like the tears cried by a hostage when they receive a rare moment of kindness. That’s because Drive is one of the most overrated films on Earth right now.

Only a complete, dithering simpleton would dare disagree.

If you haven’t seen Drive, what’s it about? Well, the short answer is ‘nothing‘. The long answer is ‘absolutely nothing. For ages.‘

The film is so insultingly pedestrian that it makes the woeful Eyes Wide Shut look like a high-octane caper.

Remember that Athena poster which showed a shirtless muscle man holding a baby? Imagine staring at that for nine hours while someone projects a particularly nice screensaver of night-time Los Angeles over the top of it while playing nauseating cod-80s music at you.

Imagine that, and just that. Long, sighing metres of film, containing the same shots… over… and over… and over… and over…

THEN SOME ULTRA-VIOLENCE.

Then nothing. Nothing at all. Coupled with a script that must’ve been two sides of A4, delivered by Ryan Gosling, a man who looks like Guy Smiley from Sesame Street. Only less alive.

It’s as if someone sat down and watched Vanishing Point and Bullit and thought “I know! I’m going to merge those films with the quiet, lingering boredom you get when you’re stood in an Apple Genius Bar while Air’s ‘Moon Safari’ is playing… quietly!” Throw in a whole load of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City (played by someone who doesn’t want to do any of the challenges, rather, simply drive around for hours toggling the camera angles) and you’re there.

THEN SOME ULTRA-VIOLENCE.

And nothing, nothing, nothing. So much nothing that, frequently, it feels like you’re watching the rushes of something that, with a huge amount of editing, could be an excellent 20 minute film.

It’s a real case of style-over-substance which will thrill the kind of people who say they really ‘get’ films, when really, they just enjoy hollow releases that think that substituting emotion for some vaguely nice cinematography is a good thing. Why bother with a story when you can sit there being preened at by a handsome object of vacancy?

It’s just one big polished Zen turd.

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Cars. Automobiles. Vehicles. Things with engines. On four wheels (sometimes three) that often get covered in ice during winter and, if you get leather seats, are too hot to sit in during the summer. Yes, our four wheeled friends are so much a part of our everyday life that it takes the release of Disney Pixar’s ‘Cars’ to actually make us consider the fact that cars might have feelings too.

Which they don’t.

And that’s a good thing because if certain cars had feelings they would almost certainly see themselves as hideous, nutrient-guzzling windbags with no friends either on the road or in the driveway. It would likely drive them to self harm, presumably by slashing their own tires while sitting in a puddle. Who knows? It’s rarely a good idea to personify inanimate objects too far as they are likely to take on a terrifying edge the next time you clamber into one to pop down to the shops.

It’s a real shame for cars. Assuming that cars do have feelings which- admittedly- might be a bit of a stretch for some of our readers who believe that Justin Bieber has a penis and that Tom Hardy can spell, it is easy to assume that being a car makes for an incredibly depressing life. You see, cars just aren’t that good looking any more. It used to be that cars were either sleek lines or grudging, grunting boxes with all the welcoming appeal of Theresa May naked in a jacuzzi but still, unlike Theresa May in a jacuzzi, one could respect the car for at least making the effort.

If cars did indeed have feelings, they’d realise how much the tone of advertising had changed. The focus is no longer on the car itself, its sleek line, its fuel efficiency or even how safe it is for the driver if you were to slam it into a child at fifty miles per hour. Now the car has become such a hideous pariah in its own industry that it’s better to focus on completely abstract elements of life instead of on the car itself. One need only look at the frankly ludicrous Renault Clio advert which stars almost every popular culture reference ever used to sell a car which is hanging from the ceiling in a state of impotent fury (more personification there).

It would be easy to suggest that the end of this advert shows the lynching of the car. The evil, putrid, spewing, belching demi-corpse of the car in a world where people passively snigger at Top Gear before complaining that their Prius doesn’t get enough miles to the gallon. People need to make up their minds. Do they hate cars or love them?

Funnily enough, it’s not just the car-buying public that have to decide what the hell they want from cars. Citroën, for example, have just released an advert which basically challenges people to buy their new DS4 model.

In the past we’ve been told that it’s rude to pick apart someone’s hard work for comic effect but to be fair, not everyone has to work this hard to produce an advert so full of preposterous misinformation. Let’s open with some yeses. Yes, you will work Sunday. Yes, you will take your hideously materialistic bitch of a wife shopping despite the fact that you’ve been working all day at your job and are knackered. Yes, you will buy coffee from Starbucks and meat from a supermarket because it’s just easier and you’re knackered from working at your job where your boss under-rates your contribution and exhausted from your home life where your hideously materialistic bitch of a wife complains because you’re ALWAYS BLOODY WORKING!

It’s little wonder that you end up conforming so much that when the opportunity arises to get fully naked in a jacuzzi with the Home Secretary arises, you’re too tired to do anything but give into the bubbles and those hard, calloused, Thatcherite hands.

Funnily enough, the Citroën DS4 is (in looks if not in policies) similar to a fully nude Theresa May in a jacuzzi. By conforming so much in life, you feel the need to break the chain and either engage in warm, wet… but still dry, disappointing coitus with a Cabinet Minister or buy a car that looks a bit like her. You know, all curiously smoothed lines where there was previously a jutting line.

It is easy to conclude that buying a Citroën DS4 is the lesser of two evils in this instance. At least in buying a hideously deformed car, so ugly that they only show it on screen for a few seconds, you are not committing an act of adultery. Although, you’ll never sell your tell-all story to a tabloid and bring down the government of the day in a whirlwind of sex scandal if you just buy a badly designed five-door coupé, will you?

That doesn’t mean that you won’t take our personification of vehicles too far and end up in a tabloid with your genitals enveloped in an exhaust pipe though. It’s all about headlines.

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Strength! Something that is always to be admired, right? We like our toilet paper to be strong enough to hold fruit while under a running tap and we really appreciate old Atlas holding the Earth up for us so we don’t plummet through space toward an icy death.

Naturally, with great strength comes huge responsibility. If you could lift a building up and lob it into the sea, while that would be fantastically impressive, it wouldn’t be a particularly nice thing to do, especially if there were people inside minding their own business, having their tea.

However, wilful destruction is sometimes a hoot! How about a car that can yank a chimney to the floor? That sounds like fun doesn’t it?

What brought all this on?

Well, Volkswagen have got this new pick-up thing out called the Amarok. And it is stronger than a strong thing. So much so that VW decided to show this power off by demolishing a 67m high steel chimney weighing approximately 140 tonnes (roughly the weight of Piers Morgan’s head) and standing at nearly the same height as Westminster Abbey (roughly the height of Cheryl Cole’s backcomb).

For no reason at all (the best reason – you didn’t buy all that ‘responsible’ business earlier did you?)

Of course, Volkswagen aren’t just going around pulling chimneys down. We assume that this one had to meet a thudding end.  You’d normally destroy a giant chimney with a 40 tonne excavator, but VW thought, ‘fat chance! We can go all top gear and hoik the thing Earthward with our pick-ups!’

And they have. More on the VW Amarok here.

That’s almost as strong as when The Fantastic 4′s ‘Thing’ had a massive punch-up with The Incredible Hulk. The Hulk, in the case of the video below, got all remorseful when some girl got upset. You wouldn’t catch a VW Amarok being that wet.

So there we have it. The Volkswagen Amarok – the car equivalent to The Thing from The Fantastic 4. Splendid.

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Presenter, pertrolhead, slipper wearer, tall chap and all round good egg James May has been hospitalised after a severe head injury while filming for Top Gear’s Christmas Special.

The floppy haired one took a tumble while filming Top Gear’s attempt to drive from Baghdad to Bethlehem, presumably an exploding caravan was involved, or an expensive supercar, or something phenomenally fast.  Or maybe just a bit of rope.

Yes, we’ve checked. It was a bit of rope.

The flowery shirted gent was rushed to hospital, given a brain scan, put on a drip and given stitches because he tripped over a rope.

No, wait, we’ve checked that too.  The rope attacked him, and had an accomplice rock.  Captain Slow was involved in some kind of towing manoeuver, attempting to free a car only to find himself becoming a human projectile;

“I stood in the line of where the tow rope went taut. I told the driver to move off and became part of a giant catapult.”

There are pictures out there of this wipeout.  But they do look as though May is pulling a truck up a hill using nothing but a very long foreskin. On Mars. Which would just be silly.

Of course, this isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened to a Top Gear presenter. Injuries, not using genitals to hoist vehicles on other planets, that is.

Remember Richard Hammond’s spectacular, skull busting crash in a 300mph jet car? You do? Good, because he doesn’t.  His brain fell out.

We’re not even going to bother checking that.  The point it May’s injuries were tiny in comparison.  Hammond’s injuries were devastating.  May’s were, well, less impressive;

“There was a lot of blood. It was all very worrying.”

But he still went to hospital, just to be safe.  And make sure his brain hadn’t fallen out;

“They gave me a brain scan, but to be honest I think the Syrians were just excited to be able to use their new scanner.”

May was jolly brave about it all and even had enough manners left to not cause a scene, after all his chums have had worse.  Hey what;

“I don’t want to pretend I had an accident as bad as Hammond. He bashed his head on the whole of Yorkshire. I just hit mine on a stone.”

So there you have it.  If you are a moderately famous Englishman with a taste for hideous shirts, constant references to “giving Jerry a good licking” and silly hair; go to Baghdad.  Apparently it’s perfectly safe as long as you don’t go near ropes.

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This is awkward. Despite currently resembling the bastard child of River Phoenix and Alanis Morissette it seems Ed Furlong has gotten himself married without anyone really realising. Not only that, but the straight-to-dvd ‘star’ has been howling-at-the-moon crazy for so long it’s a wonder he’s still at liberty.

And we’ve overlooked it. Give us a break. Mel Gibson and Charlie Sheen have been keeping us busy.

But it turns out he’s nuttier than the both of them, squared.

When not appearing as ‘Colin’ in Night of the Demons and ‘Chris’ in Warriors of Terra and ‘the Crow’ in some awful near-dead franchise cash-in Ed has been busy going batshit mental.

The restraining order of his estranged wife Rachael Bella carries a number of stipulations according to court papers. While Ed is not busy threatening to kill himself in the neediest manner possible [Can't help but wonder what that is? Asking someone else to hang you? - Ed.] he must stay away from her in her home and place of work.

Normal, we assume.

He must also stay away from her in her vehicle. What?! Has he been jumping into her moving car in the assumption that he’s still in Terminator 2? Or practising for his role in the destined-to-bomb upcoming Green Hornet movie?

Also, he must not contact her by phone or email. Again, we’re guessing this is pretty standard, even for a man who reminds us of a homeless hung-over woman who keeps asking strangers where her shoes are.

He must not own a handgun and has to enrol in a batter intervention program. And must abstain from drink and drugs 12 hours before any contact with his son. WHAT?!

Firearms, drink, drugs and ‘battery’? Vehicle-related tomfoolery? Meeting his three-year old son whilst still lit? This is awesome! Eat that Gibson! In your face Sheen! What the hell has Furlong been up to? We’ll let you know as soon as we do.

‘The Edster’ – as he’s known by us and no-one else – has kept it quiet with only three booze-related arrests in the past decade – although we’re pleased with the 2004 one in which he tried to liberate some lobsters from their tank in a Kentucky restaurant – but there’s obviously a potential goldmine here.

We’ll keep you posted on the ongoing antics of the pesky man-child as soon as we hear of them. At least he’s in the news again after 20 years.

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There are plenty of places you don’t want to see DMX – like in a movie, for example. Actually, mainly a movie. Seriously, have you seen Father Of Lies?

But one other place where you don’t want to see DMX is anywhere where he has access to a car. Because, by christ, DMX is a titting maniac when he gets behind the wheel of a car. DMX has already been arrested perhaps a million times in the past for driving like a berserk twonk, and now he’s flipping well at it again.

DMX has been arrested for bombing up and down an Arizona freeway at 114mph. There’s just something so warmly familiar about hearing that DMX has been driving like a dickhead again, isn’t there? It’s like putting on a comfortable pair of slippers, albeit a large metal and glass pair of slippers on wheels that are being driven by a monumental turdhole.

The thing we like best about DMX is his stunning versatility. It applies to everything in his life, you see – one minute he’ll be singing a song called Fuck Y’All, then he’ll flip reverse it and sing a song called We Don’t Give A Fuck. Or take DMX’s films – one day he might decide to make a hopelessly generic low-budget straight-to-DVD action thriller like Death Toll, then he’ll decide to make a hopelessly generic low-budget straight-to-DVD action thriller like Never Die Alone.

And this extraordinary versatility extends to DMX’s criminal record, too. You just never know which crazy way DMX will choose to break the law at any given moment in time. On the one hand he might refuse to wear a seatbelt in an aeroplane, but on the other the decomposing corpses of his inhumanely treated pet dogs might be burnt in an attempt to fend off animal cruelty accusations. You just never know with that crazy kid.

Mainly, though, DMX will break the law with a car if he gets the chance. He doesn’t care what sort of car, so long as it’s got wheels and can easily be used to do whatever cack-headed illegal whim he can think of. You name it – be it driving on a suspended license or hiding a gun under the seat or crashing it and then claiming he’s an FBI agent – if it involves a car and is deeply moronic, DMX can be sure to have done it.

And this time DMX has managed to get arrested for driving his car at almost twice the speed limit in Arizona. And he would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those pesky clearly-marked speed cameras everywhere. Reuters reports:

Simmons, 37, is accused in the January 21 incident of racing on a highway, reckless driving, two counts of endangerment, three counts of speeding and driving on a suspended license. “Criminal speeding endangers the lives of everyone on the road,” said Roger Vanderpool, state Department of Public Safety director, in a prepared statement. “Mr. Simmons wasn’t signalled out because of his notoriety.”

Although the sheer frequency of car-based arrests DMX has found himself with suggests that any punishment he receives will be harsh, hopefully it won’t involve DMX having his car taken away from him. Cars run through DMX’s veins. Literally, he has abnormally wide veins. Anyway, you know what DMX is without a car in his life? Ja Rule, that’s what. Terrifying.

And, besides, if DMX isn’t allowed to repeatedly break the law in his car any more, then what’ll he do? Get sleep-raped by more women? Come on!

Read more:

Rapper DMX arrested for racing car on Ariz highway – Reuters