Britain’s had a rum old time when it comes to fictional alien invasions. They started early, with steampunk martians getting all up in our Victorian grills before idiotically sneezing themselves to their constituent pieces in War Of The Worlds.

We had a bit of respite in the ’50s as the fashion in the alien travel supplements was to take in the fabulous corn-filled vistas of mid-west America, do some light abducting, maybe probe a farmhand anus or two.

But then that Doctor fellow with the ever-changing, always-irritating face and voice and body and talking popped onto Saturday teatimes and suddenly Britain can’t move for psychopathic pepper grinders and shaggable supermodel siren doctorbots.

But what if the space-nasties happened upon the gritty urban underbelly of South London? When the monsters attack, who would you really want on humanity’s side; a clay-faced bowtied fop, stuffing 100 words into the time taken by 10, flailing his arms and legs around like a Thom Yorke marionette, or a gang of estate yoofs patrolling their block, never further than a text away from being seriously tooled up?

The answer, as explored in “Adam and” Joe Cornish’s enjoyable debut film Attack The Block, is most definitely and utterly the second one. Even if, in the case of nurse Sam, played with admirable swearing bile by Jodie Whittaker, the alien invasion interrupted them giving you a good solid urban mugging.

The potential saviours of the block are a gang of masked reprobates, led by blank-faced anti-hero Moses (John Boyega). It was a risky move by Cornish to introduce his main characters by having them robbing a lone woman, five against one, then spend the rest of the film expressing scant remorse, stealing police vans and pounding every alien intruder in sight. But then Attack The Block isn’t a gritty social commentary; in fact, the attempts to engineer empathy with the gang give the film its few bum notes. They’re little shits you’d tremble to be stuck on a night bus with, but in the end, if it’s them or the loping mess of hairy limbs and florescent teeth falling out of the sky and ripping people’s throats out, you’re going to side with the awful youth.

Where the film really excels is as a satisfying slice of horror adventure. The aliens themselves are subtly realised, menacing without being CGIsores, and Cornish proves his directing chops with some really suspenseful moments – ever thought about using smoke-creating fireworks as a weapon in a gloomy tower block corridor? After watching this, you’ll think twice now, you lunatic.

And there are a couple of laughs as well; the kids, all fantastically portrayed by unknowns, raise a few smiles with their mocking of each other’s gangster stylings and their processing of the alien threat through popular culture (“They’re like Gangs Of War shit!” “It’s raining Gollums!”) Luke Treadaway’s deck-shoed posh-boy stoner gets caught up in the block’s defence, and his attempts to get down with the kids will bring a familiar shameful shudder to anyone who’s ever tried to casually drop an “innit” in a conversation with incredulous 16-year-old.

And Nick Frost turns up briefly and does his amiable Nick Frost schtick as the block’s resident weed supplier. But despite his presence, and Edgar Wright being an executive producer, those expecting the next Shaun Of The Dead will be disappointed – this is not a chock full of belly-laughs film, it’s a running around with a baseball bat being chased by a load of screaming “bear wolf motherfuckers” film. And that’s no bad thing.

So a solidly entertaining first effort from Joe Cornish, even if it’s not what the most ardent Adam and Joe nutjobs will be expecting (though let’s face it, they wouldn’t be happy unless it was a full-length shot-for-shot stuffed-toy remake of The Phantom Menace). Maybe with a little less trying to make us cry rivers of tears for the poor deprived kids, and a little more letting them just be gits who saved the world, it could’ve been almost perfect. But still, an alien incursion with not a bastard bowtie or twattish tweed jacket in sight. Let’s just be thankful for that.

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Everyone knows who Simon Pegg and Nick Frost are right? You know, there the guys who beat the crap out of zombies with pool cues to Queen’s ‘Don’t stop me now’ and then had a shootout in a supermarket with Timothy Dalton. You know, Timothy Dalton! Him out of that James Bo- nevermind.

Ahh, so now you remember. That’s okay though we’ll forgive you, after all it’s a pretty reasonable response given the pairs somewhat floundering careers since 2007′s pant-stainingly funny ‘Hot Fuzz’.

The only difference here however is that Edgar Wright, their long time chum and directorial muse is no where insight; replaced instead by that bloke who gave us Superbad and Adventureland (the one where Kristen Stewart isn’t dying for a good vampire romp).

Pegg & Frost are back as a double act once again, like a crime fighting duo that disbanded and realized afterwards they were crap without their counterparts.

The pair play British sci-fi geeks Graeme (Pegg) and Clive (Frost) who are visiting Comic Con before setting off on a road trip to visit all the best UFO hot spots across New Mexico.

This may sound a little dull and that, in truth, is because it is. The opening 15 minutes lack spark and this period of the film is reduced largely to only a handful of geeky in-jokes and a rather tame stab at a homosexual undercurrent between the pair.

Yawn.

Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz excelled thanks to the intense friction between Pegg and Frost’s characters, but in Paul the polite relationship of Graeme and Clive is pedestrian, verging on boring and lacks any intrigue or insight.

Cue the Marmite loving, reggae dancing, bad mouthing, pot smoking alien Paul.

However, this isn’t to say that Seth Rogen who provides the voice of Paul saves the day, far from it; besides we wouldn’t want to give his already abnormally large head anymore reason to grow beyond the confines of (what we imagine is) his plush home.

That being said however, the introduction of Paul provides that all important catalyst for proceedings to get a little bit more racy and genuinely humorous – even if it’s talking about anal probes.

From here on out the film takes on a whole new dynamic, switching from a rather camp road trip to the thrilling chase movie, as Agent Zoil (Jason Bateman) tracks down our little green friend on behalf of the refreshingly badass boss played by Sigourney Weaver. There is a slight wobble midway through the film due to the forced inclusion of Graeme’s bible-bashing love interest Ruth Buggs (Kristen Wiig), but thankfully this isn’t enough to knock the film of its impressive momentum.

All-in-all, this love letter to Spielberg is far from perfect. The uneasy mishmash of both American and British humour, while undeniably broader and more accessible to audiences, clearly hinders the comedy duo who lack the potency of their previous collaborations. However, this shouldn’t detract audiences from a film with more than enough quality to warrant watching, for one outing at the very least.

This was a guest post from a chap called James Wright and, quite frankly, he’s a disgusting human being who should be locked away in a very, very dark, damp place. But we love him all the same. He may be a freak, but he’s our freak.

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Mike Myers has gone from a childhood hero of hecklerspray to being one of the worst ‘comedians’ on this planet we call Earth.

So what does any actor do when they realise their popularity is at an all-time low – even lower than it was when nobody even knew who Mike Myers was? That’s right – they sign up for a role in a Quentin Tarantino movie. Works every time.

So it comes as no surprise that Wayne Campbell has joined the increasing ranks for Tarantino’s newest hype-machine, Inglorious Bastards. It’s a war film and it’s by Quentin Tarantino, so expect it to be quite insane and bring about countless complaints from idiots, while other idiots just talk as if it’s the greatest film that’s ever happened.

When it’s clear to anyone with sense that it isn’t offensive, it is good, but it isn’t the second coming.

It’s the Tarantino formula.

It’s clearly something that Mike Myers has looked in to, as he has opted to try and save his flagging reputation by signing on to Bastards. The Canadian who seems to think he is British will play General Ed Fenech, “a military mastermind who takes part in hatching a plot to wipe out Nazi leaders,” apparently. Reports that Myers will adopt his utterly hilarious Scottish accent for the part are said to be ‘unfounded as of right now, but he probably will as it’s the only accent he’s done for the last fifteen years’.

Mikey boy will be joined by cast members such as Brad Pitt, Eli Roth and B.J. Novak on the film, though we aren’t too sure who that last one is (a quick check on IMDB shows he’s one of that lot from the American version of The Office, so… err… fair enough). The film was supposedly to have Simon Pegg attached too, but scheduling difficulties got in the way, meaning the one with the tiny ears is just going to go and do another film with Nick Frost.

Not that we’re complaining, of course. They’re actually funny. Unlike Mike Myers.

Inglorious Bastards is a Tarantino remake of Inglorious Bastards, which was a remake of The Dirty Dozen. Confused? Well it has Mike Myers in it now, so it’s unlikely to get any less confusing. Prisoners escape, French underground, difficult mission – that’s about it. Expect kitsch references, a soundtrack that will be all over the radio for years to come and the semi-revival of some careers to come from it, as is always the case with Quentin Tarantino movies.

Rather than casting Myers as the hero of the piece, some sense has fortunately been seen, and his role is thankfully just a small one. Surely not big enough for him to ruin proceedings, but at the same time probably the right size for some of his reputation to be restored.

Until he brings out Austin Powers 4, which will involve the same joke being made repeatedly for two hours, and ruins himself forever.

It’s the Myers formula.