Remember Suede? That’s right. They were a vaguely noisy band with an obsession with Bowie and women’s blouses. They were at the forefront of Britpop and, for the most part, Britpop was rubbish. So thanks for that.

Apparently, they’ll be making a comeback. Just great.

Of course, there’s a plethora of middle-aged men with pink faces who are just as thrilled as their velvet blazer wearing girlfriends who will be pleased about the return of one of the most average bands in existence! Dust down your Doc Martens now! Start brushing off your best Indie Nightclubs Of The 90s anecdotes now!

The band are going to release a new DVD Box Set of their comeback performance at the Royal Albert Hall on 24th March, a show that was described by Brett Anderson “The best gig ever.”

Or, if you prefer, ‘the gig I can remember best because I my head was completely inserted into my colon throughout the 90s.’

This new limited edition boxset (limited to THOUSANDS of copies, of course) contains a DVD of the entire concert featuring twenty-one dreadful, pompous, overblown songs about nothing, as well as thrilling backstage footage (Toilets! Dressing rooms! Team prayer! All in black and white no doubt!) and two audio CDs of the show and a grotty 48 page book.

There’ll also be specially written individual notes by all five band members and photos documenting the event.

This all signals the intent for Suede to make a comeback, just so fans can hear the most dreaded words on the nostalgia circuit: “This one’s from our new album…”

Apparently, Anderson says that, if the new material isn’t amazing, they won’t release it… not that this ever stopped them in the past.

Excuse us. We’ve got 8 litres of snakebite to puke up.

Here at hecklerspray, we like to interview people. It gives us the opportunity to show celebrities that we have the temerity to be more intelligent than they think we are and, of course, it gives us a chance to show you readers that we have the gall to be rude to someone’s face.

There’s no hiding behind a computer screen here.

And so, we got the chance to interview Andy Parsons – you’ll know him as the bloke with the baldy heid from Mock The Week won’t you? Well. We ballsed up.

Thing is, we love hating people. We were all set to be needlessly snarky with a stand-up comic off the tellybox. As usual, we jogged on the spot without any food in our belly for a hour before the interview, just to get the right level of hatred, weariness and anger at the entire world…

…and then Andy Parsons spoiled it all by being erudite, affable and smart. It just isn’t fair.

And so, the interview breezed along nicely, talking about the innate jealousy and competitiveness between comedians, rape jokes (Parsons, not a fan- Team ‘Spray, not a fan either), the miracle that is turning boredom into something funny and a whole lot more.

Parsons showed himself to be a rare thing in the comedy world – someone who actually listens to an interviewer. And how did we repay him? By not actually recording the interview.

You heard. We spoke to Andy Parsons for an hour and didn’t check whether our equipment was working properly, thereby ensuring that the greatest interview anyone has ever held (miles better than Frost/Nixon) was consigned to the ether.

You shoulda been there. It was amazing. It was enlightening. It would have absolutely changed your life for the better. Alas, our ineptitude will see to it that you remain as loathsome and plebbish as you ever were.

Sorry.

So, to rectify this with Parsons’ People (not a dance-troupe, but rather, the people who have patiently waited for us to fail in our interview-rescue attempts) sent us a pre-recorded interview he did with someone else. We normally charge for including people’s videos on these pages, but in this instance, this is the least we can do.

God, we’re idiots. Go and buy his ‘Gruntled’ DVD or something.

We Need To Talk About Kevin is one of those films where everybody says they loved it for its gritty portrayal of a mother coming to terms with the fact her misunderstood son killed a load of people at school for no apparent reason, making everyone throw their hands in the air and scream ‘WHY GOD??’, even those who haven’t seen the bloody film.

The truth is that it’s as tedious as a GCSE drama piece about growing up in North Wales.

The translucent skinned, Tilda Swinton, was the only woman that could have played the part of Eva, Kevin’s mother, as she plodded about town looking like somebody with Dutch Elm disease.

It’s a film filled with terrible and obviously dumbed down metaphors. The trailer, of course, gives none of this away. It portrays it as a tense thriller, nay horror, which goes something like this:

There’s a boy. He looks a bit shifty. His hair is so emo it probably cuts itself. He doesn’t do what his mum tells him. He kills his schoolmates. HORROR ENSUES!!!!

And, no, it doesn’t. The only part where the audience actually gasped at such horror was the scene where Tilda Swinton was seen wearing make-up, and even then, you still wouldn’t.

There are three Kevin’s in this film. Toddler Kevin, played by Rock Duer, a kid with the most evil stare in history (we’ll probably end up seeing him on the news having strangled his entire family with a pair of Huggies pull-ups soon); Jasper Newell, the child Kevin (if only they’d have called in Super Nanny, all this death would have been avoided); and Ezra Miller, who plays the teenage Kevin (Twilight written all over his pale, stupid face).

The film trudges through on apparent shock scenes where a toddler won’t do what he’s told, a small boy refuses to eat his greens, and teenage onanism. All of which can be seen in the hecklerspray flea-pit on a day-to-day basis… and you don’t see us massacring everybody.

If you’ve read the book, then you will know that it’s supposed to all be written as letters to the estranged father, played by John C. Reilly. A man who does not appear to be in any way estranged throughout the entire film. Unless ‘estranged’ actually means ‘there throughout the entire film’.

The tedium is the theme. In one, long scene involving red paint removal, the audience is left wondering why Mum didn’t just use Dulux One Coat and have done with it… but of course it’s all about the bloody metaphor isn’t it? She struggles. WE GET IT! STRUGGLES WITH DECORATING!

This film is, however, beautifully shot. It’s like director, Lynne Ramsay, has seen every episode of Grand Designs and molded it into a nearly two hour-long jerkathon for anybody that likes-that-sort-of-thing. Like Kevin McCloud, everything about this film feels incredibly forced. Like a bad Crimewatch reconstruction. Only sponsored by Barker and Stonehouse.

Tilda Swinton will probably get an Oscar for her performance. But nobody will know why.

This was a guest article by Jamie Rothwell who looks like crap warmed up

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Welcome once again, to ‘Movies From Beyond’ your weekly celebration of the good, the bad and the ugly of films! We love horror and gore and all things drenched in blood and can only assume you’re the same, so sit back and relax, oh, and feel free to use the sick bags…

As a rule we like films set on planes; (‘Redeye’ and ‘Snakes on a Plane’) and we REALLY like horror movies set on planes.

So imagine our delight when we got our sweaty little paws on the recently released ‘Quarantine 2’ which combines air travel and zombies in a blood drenched spectacular we haven’t seen the likes of since ‘Flight of the Living Dead’ dragged it’s rotting corpse through passport control.

This is, of course, the sequel to 2008’s ‘Quarantine’ which is a remake of the excellent Spanish shocker ‘REC’ and the action takes place high above the rampaging infection that is changing normal folk into ultra violent, dribbling, cannibals.

The passengers get on board and before they can open their peanuts, Ralph the Golfer starts to feel a bit Tom Dick and inevitably turns into a flesh muncher and starts to gobble his way through the rest of economy class.

When the plane finally lands (a little lighter than when it took off), the terminal is on lockdown and the remaining band of survivors have to try and get out, you can imagine what happens next… but it is good fun watching it.

If you like this (and you will), we recommend you check out the original ‘REC’ movies, both of which are easy to find on DVD, don’t be put off by the subtitles, your Mum will read them for you.

Moving on, we thought we’d continue our theme of travel and so took the opportunity to watch ‘Christine’ from ’83.

Written by Stephen King (‘The Shining’, ‘Carrie’ et al) and directed by king of horror John Carpenter (‘Halloween’ ‘The Thing’), this time the star of the show is a possessed car that takes liberties with it’s teenage owner , changing him from a jolly nice young man to a moody type who is a cross between Danny Zuko (‘Grease)’ and Peter Parker when he goes all emo in ‘Spiderman 3′

The car creeps out at night and dispatches people it doesn’t like in more and more gruesome and pretty imaginative ways.

Of course, it always returns back to the garage as good as new.

We love this film and one of the best things about it is that no sanitised bozo has tried to remake it…

…yet.

Welcome one and all to the much anticipated return of Movies From Beyond. It’s been a while and in the last year or so we have continued to watch some of the best worst b-movies, cult classics and horrortastic exploitation so you don’t have to…

…unless you want to see what happens when a man with a voice like a duck goes mad with a knife (‘New York Ripper’) or when an Army experiment escapes and eats a load of people (‘Sharktopus’) yes, you read that right, it’s a shark crossed with a octopus!

Now, what would you do if you saw a sex offender, dressed like Santa, knocking one out whilst watching kids in a playground? Oh, what’s that you say? Blow his face off with a 20 gauge? Well that’s exactly what screen legend Rutger Hauer (‘Blade Runner, The Hitcher’) does in the fantastically bonkers ‘Hobo With A Shotgun‘, the latest fake trailer (and SXSW winner) from ‘Grindhouse’ to get an expansion after ‘Machete’ saw release.

The story is pretty simple: a town is being terrorized by a crime lord and his two sons, one of which looks a lot like Tom Cruise circa ‘Risky Business’. Our anti-hero just happens to roll up on a freight train like Seasick Steve and after a few days bum-fighting.

Of course, he decides to go all ‘Death Wish’ and sort this mess out.

Naturally, if a town is going to be cleaned up, we need lots of violence and, in this grot-fest, the level of gore is particularly impressive in it’s cartoonishness. Did Jason Eisner watch a lot of Roadrunner cartoons as a kid?. Even accounting for our warped taste in movies, we were NEARLY put off our kebab when a school bus full of kids were incinerated with a flamethrower… not to mention the section which sees a tramp’s head becoming the meat in a bumper car sandwich.

It’s gloriously dumb and gets two severed thumbs up from us.

Also in the tape deck is a bit of cult classic in the style of ‘The Goonies’ and ‘The Lostboys’ which, if you are a child of the 80′s, will hold a place in your black, black, heart.

We settled down with ‘The Monster Squad‘ from ’87 (think ‘Super 8′ but better… MUCH better). The set-up is pretty standard – a bunch of kids are in their tree-house and they’ve got a club and a cause. No, they’re not saving the Goon Docks but rather, saving their town from some classic cinema monsters.

The usual suspects like Dracula, The Mummy and ‘Frankenstein’s Monster are in town, but of course the stupid grown ups don’t believe them until it really kicks off. The kids step up to the plate and display some of the ghoulish skills they learned from wasting their time with ‘those damn horror magazines’.

It’s a little tricky to find on DVD but is often hiding on movie channels and worth seeking out, only to hear the classic line ‘Aww, man, fat kid farted!‘

‘Til next time, creeps.

This article was tapped out by the depraved imbecile Simon Woodley with one scabby finger.

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When E4 had eventually grown tired of showing endless repeats of Friends and Scrubs, the channel eventually spat out its own unique programming, aimed at the sort of person that hecklerspray writers aren’t; the young, the cool, the hip and the trendy. Arseholes, basically.

On one end of the spectrum, there was Skins, a programme which captured everyone’s dream college lifestyle, in a show which frequently used drugs, booze and sex, but portrayed them in the most extreme way to great effect.

Skins was escapism for most whilst The Inbetweeners offered a firmer dose of reality, especially for hormonal teenage boys. These are the sort of people who couldn’t quite make that move from fingering a girl to using an empty packet of Space Raiders as a makeshift condom when that first awkward sexual experience arrived.

The show has, like many of its Channel 4 predecessors, made the leap from small screen to the cinema, or a dodgy DVD off someone in the pub. The Inbetweeners Movie has broken UK box office records, even though it feels like a watered down version of the TV series.

We don’t have a total feeling of hate towards The Inbetweeners. If anything we truly admire something that was able to last an impressive three series, despite having the same jokes more or less each week. Whether they’d be about Will’s mum, mocking Jay’s supposed conquests, alternative words for the female lady garden or generally being rejected by women when a vague opportunity arose.

After series three finished, it almost seemed like the natural place to finish. For once, a TV show wasn’t going to finish with flashbacks, somebody waking up in the shower or a gathering of ninjas bursting into kill everyone. Instead, the main characters went on a camping trip following on from taking their A-Levels. As per real life, this is the time that most people take their first independent holiday abroad and this is where The Inbetweeners film takes us.

In a nutshell, the film goes along these lines of all four characters going to Magaluf one of them keeps on seeing an old flame, four new women enter the scene, they all fall in love and make a mess of it, all before patching things up at the end. Suffice to say, it’s a run of the mill plot which could be applied to any situation in life, such as moving to a new city or starting a job, all be it with minor script changes.

Sitcoms like The Inbetweeners always do well as people incessantly latch onto and copy the catchphrases. These are the same people who delight in posting the term “lol” on your Facebook status. Choice highlights from the TV show include “bus wanker”, “clunge” and mocking anyone who says the word “friend” in a tone similar to someone who’s just experienced a stroke.

In this movie however, there doesn’t seem to be any memorable moments that stick in the memory once you’ve left the cinema. Of course there are moments of humour but based around a lad’s holiday abroad, most people have been there and done it, making the viewing experience nothing out of the ordinary. Erratic drunken behaviour and unexpected surprises? Not particularly groundbreaking or imaginative.

But the people of Britain have flocked to the flicks, catapulting it in to the record books for a UK comedy. Whilst the movie industry will be celebrating high visitor numbers, we’re sure that pissed off cinema staff won’t be happy when they have to clean up spilt drinks and thrown snacks after pack screenings finish. Unless you’re a cinema buff, you probably won’t know this little snippet:

“Between Wednesday and Sunday The Inbetweeners Movie took £13.2m, putting it comfortably on top of the UK and Ireland box office chart. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason held the previous record for highest opening by a UK comedy. According to the producers of The Inbetweeners Movie, that film took £10.4m in its first weekend in 2004.”

If movies based on real life experiences are going down a treat at the box office, then we’ll be working on a script over the next few months in which three people have an awkward conversation in a launderette. Eventually, one of them will realise that they’ve mixed their colours with their whites… with hilarious consequences.

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When Jonathan Swift asserted the logic of cannibalism in his satirical essay ‘A Modest Proposal’, he suggested that the poor sell their children to the rich for food. In Jorge Michel Grau’s debut feature-length We Are What We Are the poor have already started eating themselves. This Mexican drama/horror focuses on a family whose principal dysfunction is the killing and eating of people.

The film opens with the family’s patriarch staring dead-eyed into the window of a department store, before falling down dead on the pavement. Street cleaners then move the body and clean the disgusting liquid that the man coughed up.

It’s not a subtle statement on poverty and class but it’s certainly one that is visually arresting. The man’s zombie-like appearance is at odds with the spotless surfaces of his consumerist surrounding, a juxtaposition familiar with Romero’s Dawn of the Dead.

The film then focuses on the man’s wife, two sons and daughter as they struggle to come to terms with their own roles, their relationships with each other and the small issue of how they are going to cope with the killing and eating of strangers now that daddy’s no longer bringing home the er… bacon. Mum is still angry at everyone for dad’s ‘addiction’ to prostitutes, an anger that she expresses at one point through a vicious saucepan-based attack on a hapless hooker.

It is the family politics which engage the audience. They are not monstrous in the same way as Leatherface’s similarly flesh-inclined clan in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but neither are you able to relate to them, each simply representing different roles within the family dynamic. The film’s trick is portraying the cannibals not as invincible predators but as victims. This is seen in their clumsy coming of age as hunters and social naifs, but also in their roles as personifications of the underclass.

Their world is a maze of shacks and alleyways completely at odds with the metropolitan areas, although it is a maze which all the characters are able to find their way around a little too easily. The film is filled with shots designed to conjure images of meat and hunting- their subtlety making them all the more effective. In one scene the oldest brother takes a bus surrounded by people holding on to the rails being jostled around like carcasses hung up in a butcher’s window.  Stylistically as well as Romero, the film also drops in a scene involving a coroner that is not so much inspired by, as nicked from fellow Mexican Guillermo Del Toro’s Cronos.

Where the film wastes its time is in its attempts to humanise the policemen whose paths eventually cross those of the family in the final act. The film may have made a stronger statement if they had remained faceless authority figures. These are minor complaints for a fascinating film that sets its tone so successfully and manages to say interesting things through its social realism while keeping you engaged with its atmosphere of approaching tragedy.

We Are What We Are is to buy on DVD and Blu-Ray from March 21st.

hecklerspray has three copies of We Are What We Are to give away! To win a copy just answer to following easy peasy question.

Which British ’90s indie-rock band were named after the word given to human flesh by Polynesian cannibals

1) The Longpigs

2) New Fast Automatic Daffodils

3) Mariah Carey

Enter via our twitter or Facebook pages (links below) while screaming #WEWANTFLESH at us with the answer.

We’ll arbitrarily pick you out of an imaginary hat and then get in touch with you to ask for your contact details so we can send your prize in the post in a jiffy bag that you’ll deem initially suspicious. Hurray for that!

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This week’s filthy likes and dislikes.

Folded:

• Scott Mills (annoying as you like on the radio, but fair play to him for making that difficult The World’s Worst Place to Be Gay? programme. Slapped repeatedly with a chicken for goodness sake)
• National Express’ profits are up nearly 40% (great news for them, though undoubtedly means we are all too poor and undignified to get the train)
• Colin Firth not winning Best Actor at the Academy Awards (c’mon let’s get behind this idea and see if the world really does end)
• Born This Way by Lady Gaga (yes it sounds like Express Yourself and yes we don’t care)
• The Social Network, out this week on DVD (populated entirely by characters you won’t give a stuff about. Still worth borrowing a copy off your mate)

Creased:

• That new Radiohead Album, The King of something or other (one step forward, two steps back)
• Jesse J (looks a bit like Katy Perry, sounds a bit bus stop)
• Talking to celebrities (what would you say to someone in the biz you actually admire if you met them? Exactly, your question is pants and/or offensive. He/she has now left and you’ve been escorted from the building)
• Martin Sheen on BBC’s The One Show (seemingly confused but still ace Hollywood megastar meets the very worst UK TV has to offer. Proud)
• Virgin Media’s ‘A More Exciting Place to Live’ advert (so painfully up its own passage that BT almost seems like a better option)

We have a winner for that competition where you could win The Town DVD and a boxset of The Wire! Isn’t that great? You wish you’d entered now didn’t you? Well, if you were following us on Twitter or Facebook you probably would have won!

And our ravishingly attractive competition winner is Sarah Harman from That London. She’ll now be able to sit in bed with her poindexter hat on and Mr T gold chain watching DVDs on her laptop, not quite able to find a way of being comfortable as she lies down to get optimum viewing angles. Hurray for that!

The internet is full of dicks (hecklerspray excluded, of course). Just take a look around: there’s that kid over there, blogging about his pathetic existence; that tweeting celebrity, moaning about their insufferable riches; and what about Justin Bieber? Ergh.

The internet is a horrible cesspit of words and pictures, never more aptly demonstrated than in social hub Facebook.

It’s also appropriate then that the story behind the invention of the 21^st Century’s most dominating stalker tool, The Social Network, is as full of nauseating idiots as its millions of inhabitants.

Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) is rich. This is a fact that he lets us know almost immediately as the non-linear nature of the film flitters to the Facebook creator’s later court cases surrounding the site. Yet, his ascension from mumbling genius to curly-haired billionaire isn’t about the money; it’s about notoriety.

It’s an interesting contrast to the virtual, faceless nature of electronic communication that Zuckerberg’s fascination with gaining access to exclusive university clubs and his reputation are the only measures of success he requires.

However, it’s not always Mark at the centre of the drama.

Facebook co-founder, Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield), open wallet to Zuckerberg at Facebook’s inception, feels as if he’s being pushed out of the business he helped to build, when Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake – proving his acting chops) enters the frame. Parker, co-creator of Napster, is everything Zuckerberg wants to be: effortlessly hip, attractive and the inventor of technology that changed how we live our life – he’s probably got a big penis as well. Clearly, he’s important.

However, this isn’t just a simple tale on Facebook’s invention. While Saverin sues Mark for his mistreatment, frat-boy rich kids, the Winklevoss twins and their cohort, Divya Narendra, also jump on the legal bandwagon, suing Zuckerberg claiming to be the originators of Facebook. Nothing is clear-cut, as the film doesn’t concern itself with taking sides, instead allowing for each performance to speak for itself.

Eisenberg and Garfield are the standouts, with the former latching onto quirks, quick witticisms and vomiting intellectual babble with impressive momentum. Praise also has to be shouldered on the insufferably likeable Timberlake and the impressively named Armie Hammer, the latter playing both twins with some cunning technological wizardry.

Director David Fincher has a masterful handle on the storytelling, jumping between the early days of Facebook and the ensuing court cases. It’s all helped by a fantastic script by Aaron Sorkin, former West Wing scribe, here transferring his talents onto a story people in the UK give a shit about. He takes his time to make each character resonate and sympathetic in each of their own struggles.

The Social Network is one of the finest contemporary dramas ever and will probably get marked as one of the defining films of the generation. It might even frighten some people to know that it’s not even about Facebook at all but a story about interaction. Friendship, romance, business, they’re all analysed through the invention of that cursed online portal.

It doesn’t matter whose side you’re on by the movie’s end, what you’ll walk away with in one of the most brilliantly told true stories of today.

If you don’t like it, we’re going to unfriend you.

‘spray rating: 5/5

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Plenty of the rich and fabulous have been buried in recent memory: Diff’rent Strokes actor, Gary Coleman, stroking kids musician, Michael Jackson and one of those Corey kids from the ‘80s.

Yet, it’s hard to imagine anyone whose managed to do it in such a captivating way as Ryan Reynolds in the suffocating thriller, Buried.

Hitchcockian in its nature, Buried has a premise that can’t help but intrigue, as one truck driver, Paul Conroy (Reynolds), finds himself waking up in a coffin buried six-feet under in the Iraqi desert. What ensures is a taut, gripping and, needless to say, claustrophobic film, that ensnares the audience up until its breathtaking climax.

It’s hard to imagine any film to enthral when confined within the inches of a deathbed for its duration, so it falls to Reynold’s performance to propel the film through a lot of not much happening. Reynolds – whose CV previously sported rubber-faced buffoonery, crappy comedies and snarky wit – plays a relatively straight role here but his undeniable charisma and familiarity that an unknown couldn’t muster is exactly what propels this film beyond its showboating conceit.

Reynold’s completely convinces of as a blue-collar truck driver in an unenviable situation. With just a mobile phone and a lighter (there’s no point hiring a pretty face if we can’t see it), he struggles to reach out for help as a man who has no idea where he is, trapped underground with just the worms and the thoughts of his encroaching death keeping him company.

It’s not exactly easy cinema, often bold and not afraid to pull punches.

It’s within the pacing and script that director Rodrigo Cortés manages to balance the action, unravelling each beat methodically, managing to heighten the tension of each phone call and every creak of Paul’s wooden box. It rarely falters and even when it does – a brief visit from a less-than-friendly snake appears nothing but filler – it still proves nail-biting stuff.

Technically, if we’re to indulge in such things, the setting doesn’t impound the direction. The camera moves inventively in and outside of the box, without substituting the constant sense of constraint. Cortés continually pours further bitter ingredients into the mix, whether trickling sand or insufferable bureaucrats on the end of the phone,  every new flavour adding to the dry dirt filling that is Buried’s sandwich – by closing credits, it can all get rather hard to swallow.

However, Buried is a brave film. On paper, it sounds as boring as…well paper. Reynold’s delivers the performance of his career in an action movie set inside a box. It can get a little preachy at times but Buried proves that war is hell, even if it’s only seen from inside a box.

‘spray rating: 4/5

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Do you like fictional crimes being solved by actors portraying the kind of folks who like solving crimes? Well, you’re going to drench your gussets with excitement at this competition where you can win a copy of The Town and a Wire boxset!

And you don’t really have to do anything! Just answer some stupid question!

Of course, the world doesn’t normally work like this. You normally have to earn things with graft, but with this easy chance to land some free stuff, you can feel what it must be like to be Paris Hilton or something.

You’ll invariably know what The Wire is because almost every single human on Earth couldn’t stop talking about it for a period of time which, mercifully, has now passed.

But what about The Town?

Well, The Town is a surprisingly good film which stars Ben Affleck ( y’know? The one from Good Will Hunting). Affleck also directed in the film, as well as starring in it. That sounds dangerously close to hard work.

Well, The Town is now out on DVD and a Blu-Ray Triple Play (loaded with extended cut and extra features). If you fail miserably in your quest to land it for free, you can order yourself a copy here.

You can watch the trailer for The Town here.

To be in with a chance of winning this great prize just answer the following question…

Ben Affleck made his directorial debut with which film?

a. Good Will Hunting
b. Gone Baby Gone
c. Mystic River

You can give us the answer over at our Twitter account or join our Facebook group. Hell, you can even email us by clicking that green envelope icon in the header banner. Make sure you live in the UK and that you yell BEN AFFLECK HAS A SQUARE HEAD! or we’ll not know what you’re talking about. We’ll arbitrarily pick a winner and send you your goodies at some point next week, when we remember that we offered you free stuff.

© 2011 Warner Bros. Ent. All Rights Reserved

It was only a matter of time until Mark Wahlberg embraced the fact that he was fast turning into bumbling platypus that Tinsletown pointed and laughed at.

Firstly, he had the indignity of dubbing himself ‘Marky Mark,’ affiliating himself with the hideously named Funky Bunch, starring in numerous so-so movies (under the guise of serious acting), and finally topping it off with a verbal joust with a resolute plant. Which, the plant won.

Its these previous overly po-faced performances that probably make him such a joy to watch throughout the latest Will Ferrell chuckle-fest, The Other Guys. That and the script, direction and all the other actors, obviously.

Playing partner to the curly-haired comedian, Marky Mark’s Hoit is a fiery, pent-up detective, to Ferrell’s accountant-like Gamble. They both share duties playing the straight man and the loony one, so there’s equal yuk-yuks between the two throughout.

Unfortunately, while previous collaborations between Ferrell and director Adam McKay has placed puerile, simple-minded caricatures into straightforward storylines, The Other Guys fails only by having a ridiculously bewildering plot. It doesn’t sound complicated on paper, with the two of them on the trail of some shady capitalist (Steve Coogan), while trying to prove that they’ve got the chops to be cops, but it’s all a pile of steaming guff. But hey, at least the cast are top notch.

Michael Keaton, Samuel L. Jackson, Steve Coogan, Eva Mendes, a Wayans brother who’s actually tolerable. They’re all here, along with other recognisable faces that you barely care to think about. But, as you can imagine with such an overwhelming amount actors, they’re all crammed into the movie, smacking elbows, butting heads and exchanging penis jokes with barely any room to breathe.

Thank god they’re all a bunch of funny people, then. Ferrell and Wahlberg banter with the best of them, indulge in the odd action scene and don’t skimp on the profanities. If your idea of hell is two grown men jumping through the air firing guns, discussing deer vaginas in disturbing detail, while Alan Partridge sits around looking smug, then stay away.

And get a sense of humour.

And we’d be remiss if we didn’t mention the features thrown into the Blu-ray, spooning hot supplementary goodness into our comedy-hungry gobs. The Mom-mentary is an amusing alternative to the standard yak-track, with director McKay and Will Ferrell selling their own mothers to have a day off. Elsewhere, Walhberg brings his fat friend on set to eat flowers, the gag reel can’t keep a straight face and Michael Keaton is…well he’s Michael Keaton.

It might not reach the lofty heights of Anchorman or Step Brothers but The Other Guys is consistently entertaining. And even Mark Wahlberg comes out of it looking good, which is something.

‘Spray Rating: 4/5

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No matter where you go, we are constantly told that Cheryl Cole is the nation’s sweetheart. Newspapers convey this to us and even the butcher will inform you as he’s tenderising a turkey’s face.

It seems that if you release a couple of pop songs, smack a toilet attendant in the face and catch malaria, you’ll capture the hearts of the country. She is basically Princess Diana 2.0.

On the other side of the coin is Kerry Katona, a woman who has seemingly had every possible trauma happen to her. From messy divorces, drug busts and exaggerated medical conditions surely it would been irresponsible for a major TV network to film someone having potential nervous breakdowns? Oh, hold on, people like watching that? Based on that argument, Kerry Katona will soon be dubbed ‘the nation’s tragedy.’

The only TV work Kerry Katona got was when she performed in girlband Atomic Kitten, that program where a load of non-famous people went in to the Australian jungle, dire Iceland adverts and most recently, a fly on the wall documentary for MTV. Featuring her ex, Mark Croft, it was a confusing show which didn’t really have a narrative, just thirty minutes of annoying bickering and arguing.

ITV2 are responsible for a number of shows which really makes us think that we’re destined to be getting our own series. After all, Katie Price, Peter Andre and Alex Reid have already been given a TV crew to follow their every move. Most of the time, the series featuring these individuals are only broadcast when they are due to open a library or have some sort of product to plug.

If hecklerspray was given its own reality show, we wouldn’t expect a three year contract. Instead, a lifetime opportunity would be thrust our way in order for us to entertain people via the medium of TV. Viewers would get to marvel at us struggling to complete basic day to day tasks such as making a bed, getting locked out the house and accidentally grating the skin off our fingers when attempting to make one of those food things you lot call ‘a salad’.

Kerry Katona has nothing on us, however Now Magazine report:

“She’s just signed a three-year deal with ITV for the reality show and is loving filming the shows. They’re getting brilliant ratings and she’s had so much support. It’s really real and watching it back even shocks her, she can’t believe how much she’s changed.”

If anyone would like to find out how many members of the hecklerspray writing team it takes to change a lightbulb, then you’ll be able to find out in the first episode of our new series, “Blog, sweat and tears.”

Now all we need is a production company with more money than sense.

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Christmas is a time for families to come together, drink copious amounts of alcohol and eat sweets all day without feeling guilty. Oh, and remember the birth of Jesus H. Christ our Lord and saviour. Come Boxing Day, everyone suddenly realises they’re half a stone heavier than they should be and they need to lose the flab.

Time to dust off that gym membership and hit the treadmill early? No, all we need is an unqualified famous person to educate us via the medium of DVD.

Hooray for Kerry Katona, the woman who has clawed her way back from celebrity abyss to once again annoy the living heck out of us. Her Real Fitness DVD is due to hit shops at the end of December. How disappointing it won’t be in our stocking on Christmas Day. Our Yule is ruined.

If we were genius marketing types, then we’d cash-in by flogging the DVD during the Christmas period which is when all comedians and tinpot celebrities release stuff. Oddly, December 27th is when this bugger is coming out.

Kerry said:

“I’m delighted to be releasing this fitness DVD. I have struggled with my weight over the last few years but this year I have stayed totally focused on maintaining a healthy body and mind.”

We’d like to point out that when Kerry Katona was previously unhappy with her body, exercise and salads weren’t on the top of her list. Instead, she was hacked open by a surgeon who sucked out litres of fat from her. Subsequently, she then did a shoot for a lad’s mag. We assume that users won’t be guaranteed similar results. That’s unless the first thousand copies of the DVD come with a free scalpel for DIY surgical fun.

It seems that we’re on for an onslaught of Kerry Katona in our lives. Whilst a chain of kebab shops would be the ideal advertising coup for the former Atomic Kitten singer, following her cringe worthy Iceland adverts, food isn’t where she’s turning to.

Instead, some naïve production company want us to see the real Kerry Katona. So that’ll be the opposite of the one featured on MTV when she was off her nut on booze, prescription drugs and illegal substances?

ITV2 are certainly keeping in with its decision of filling their dead air space with shit programs with yet another fly on the wall program featuring Katona. Titled ‘Coming Clean’, we assume it’ll be her blaming her ex husband Mark Croft.

It’s a tried and tested formula with tangerine lookalike Katie Price doing the same in her program as Peter Andre is doing in his. Expect Alex Reid to blag his own if his marriage goes tits up.

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