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What.the.fresh.fuck.

Imagine you’re in drama school, let’s say The Brit School. You’re surrounded by the most deeply precocious people in the country. Let’s imagine that each of those obnoxious haircuts is given… like… I dunno, 100 grand a piece. Then the teacher says ‘OK, you’re on a post-apocalyptic train with, urmm… Tilda Swinton and John Hurt, take your 100k, make a scene.’

So thirty of the world’s most humourless, drivel-filled donuts spend a few million quid making a film.  At no point do any of them confer so the film they make is kind of like one of those pictures where you draw a section then fold the page and pass it on. Also each of these professional show offs think they’re a creative genius, because they’ve had a singing lesson and can do the crab. Also WHHHHHHHHHHA…

They call the film Snowpiercer.

The end.

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