Doctor Bristow’s Movie-a-go-go is showing only the best terrible movies, and invites the audience to relax, jeer and tweet along as he uses top-secret cold-war technology to project the tweets into the film itself. This has never been done in England before and he wants you to come and check it out.
The first movie is Showgirls, here, see:
Doctor Bristow is committed to serving you, the viewing public, only the finest fresh cut snark hand delivered from the Internet, this isn’t just twitter sarcasm this is Doctor Bristow sarcasm. Which is why he is bringing back Tweet Of The Week.
To guarantee only the highest quality tweeters the good doctor will be inviting the best tweeters that month to come to the next event FOR FRICKKEN FREE.
If you have seen a tweet that has the shine of the long knives, as brutal as a headbutt, or simply funny as all fuck and deserves to be nominated, simply retweet (old-style, you know so you can add stuff) with the hashtag #drtotw.
Dr Bristow himself will be checking the hashtag each week and before the next event and the three people deemed winners* will be given a free ticket to the next show. One lucky nominator (pulled from the virtual hat) gets a freebie too.
The Bristow Boys
*Doctors decision is final, he’s a doctor for chrissakes – he knows what he’s doing.
“FlixFixer is Social Cinema at the Custard Factory Theatre. It allows you to choose movies you love, find a venue to screen them and invite friends, family or other like-minded film-lovers to share in a screening where you set the rules – be it dress-up, dress down, no hats or no food. It allows you to build a community of friends around your shared love of movies and get together regularly to celebrate that. We screen here on Wednesdays… or you can screen here whenever you want.”
And so we’re taking advantage of it, we present the montly: Dr Bristow’s Movie-a-go-go.
Let’s be honest, the best thing about so called ‘event television’ is following the cruel, cynical Twitter crowd as they snark, shout, and shoot down the spectacle with devastating accuracy and sly humour. X-Factor, Eurovision and even the bloody Royal Wedding were all made, not only bearable, but endlessly entertaining by the techno hive-mind. Although Pippa Middleton’s arse helped the last one.
The good Doctor Bristow thinks that we shouldn’t have to wait for the next flavour of the week to fall onto the TV table, and the laser intensity of Twitter’s hard stare can be turned onto the Hollywood clunkers we all know and are mostly indifferent too.
Giving movies the collective gang-kicking they thoroughly deserve, the team behind Britain’s most inappropriately named magazine invite you to limber those tweeting fingers, sharpen those tongues, and come down to the Custard Factory where we will be dragging in a cinematic sacrificial lamb for you to tear apart.
Utilising our unique Tweet-o-vision the audience is invited to add its own commentary to the film offerings, with games, prizes and enough snark to sink James Cameron’s Titanic, Doctor Bristow’s Movie-a-go-go is the cinema that not only allows using your mobile when the film’s started, but demands it with craven fist.
Bringing together the joy of cinema and the cruel wit and wisdom of the crowd Doctor Bristow’s Movie-a-go-go is a movie experience of the future. Showing the very best, worst and oddest cinema the last hundred years has to offer; forgotten classics, shoddy blockbusters, and vintage screen burps all get the thrashing of their life from you the viewer and the rest of the crowd of equally-cynical culture junkies.
It’ll be a bit like this:
Our first victim will be Showgirls—Robocop Director Paul Verhoven’s tale of tits and tails in the *murky* world of Vegas dancing. There’s stripping, fighting, Wall Street-esque greed and Agent Cooper from Twin Peaks tupping Jessie off of Saved By The Bell in a jacuzzi.
Winner of 8 Razzies: Worst Actress, Worst Director, Worst New Star, Worst Original Song, Worst Picture, Worst Screen Couple, Worst Screenplay and 2000’s Worst Movie of the Decade.
“As someone who really, really wants a pig, I loved Hamish Dolphin’s How To Cook A Cassolet. If I had pigs I’d name them, tho’.”
Julia Gilbert, who braved a My Little Pony convention for us loved Mark Steadman’s A Love Story In Large Print:
“A painfully honest account of the embarrassment of falling in love. The author may be surprised to learn that we’ve all all done many cringe-worthy things in front of someone we fancy, blind or not. Single ladies queue here.”
Co-Editor Jon, who turned in a piece confusing ‘the English disease’ and the Spanish Civil War that was so long the accompanying illustrations didn’t fit, picks Cam Docherty’s Bawjaws:
“It’s the sweetest, most gentle, thing we’ve ever published and combined with Shona McQuillan’s soft artwork style it’s beautiful. On first read it might be mistaken for a children’s story, and maybe it is but it has a real depth. It’s a tale of loss, loneliness and libraries—add love in there and it may well make you weep.“
Danny found his interview with an Otherkin was relatively easy to write but tracking someone down willing to talk to him was in his own words ‘the ballache of the year’. His pick is Tom Lennon’s Mythical beasts of Birmingham.
“It’d be a cliche to say how difficult it was to pick my highlights because they’re all so good wouldn’t it? I’ll just say that Tom’s piece is top quality funny and writing from a fresh local talent given room to write something that probably wouldn’t fit elsewhere. With frankly jaw dropping illustrations from Nigel Lowery, it’s why we started the magazine in the first place”
And tutor on the Facebook Degree™, Jon Hickman just gets it for the pictures:
“I thought the illos were amazing this time around. Great last time too but next level issue two”
The Most Notorious Firm In UK Poetry invite you to come and have a knock.
We at Dirty Bristow have a complicated relationship with poetry, I give you the appropriate passage from our submission guidelines:
“We don’t really understand poetry. There’s poetry we like, Rambaud, Wordsworth, Byron, Morrissey and some others, but we’re not quite sure how it works—which means that we can’t tell if poetic works submitted to us are ‘any good’. We don’t have the training to offer feedback, so all you’ll really be able to get from us is a yay or nay. And that decision will be based purely on our prejudices and whims, so bear that in mind and don’t take it to heart.
Except for haiku. Haiku seems to be a middle class trope that when used badly does nothing but attempt to showcase “education” and a smug-zen anti-materialistic attitude. Whatever vision they’re trying for we see nothing but a slow wank into a John Lewis pestle and mortar, Jamie’s recipe for organic cock juice pesto.”
So we’ve come to an agreement that the BPU firm can take a stanley to poetry submitted for issue three and we’ll print it in a special supplement as fits their athletic aesthetic.
All work — somehow connected with the theme Break (full details here) — email firstname.lastname@example.org.
The first music I ever owned was a C90 tape with Ray Parker Jnr’s Ghostbusters and Thriller by Micheal Jackson on—I was a little obsessed with ghosts and monsters at the time. My mom picked up an old Walkman from a jumble sale and I listened to them over and over, each time listening to the whole tape just in case there was something else on there. There never was.
Bristow is many things and exists for reasons other than the vanity of its editors. One of them is exploring a format that while will still survive but has probably seen its seen its glory days as important cultural artifact. One of the funny side effects that the internet has is that it brings together creative types who pick up the old tech that its replaces and allows them to look at it afresh wander ‘what can we use this for?’. Hopefully somebody will do this for the cassette tape: we’re having a bash.
The durable tape was a small robust object that played everywhere, as opposed to the flat delicate record. Where every record was valued, dusted and its notes poured over, a cassette was almost disposable function and ubiquitous but by being so endlessly customisable. If you really tired even of a pre-recorded tape you could always fill up the holes on top and press Play and Record.
The cassette tape took some of the power back from the record companies. It was the first pirate tech where you could share your favourite songs, make mix tapes and not only own the music but take ownership of it. The quality tended to be a bit hit and miss but, hey, it was coming out of two tiny speakers encased in bright orange cushions while you walked down a busy high street. Of course after this came the the compact disc, a once again delicate, flat, unlock-able platform – unless of course you transferred it to tape.
Now the humble tape we’ve attached to the front of our magazine isn’t exactly re-inventing the wheel. It’s more of a homage to the magazines we bought as a kid. But we hope by making some take out their old Walkmans, car stereos or the old clock radio we will spark someone to look again at a the humble tape, a format that shaped our musical tastes, got us through long car journeys with our siblings and sound-tracked our teenage lives.