United Passions Pt 2 — Sepp Blatter’s Bahamanian Getaway — 08:33–17:52
It’s a cool morning in the Bahamas as Sepp Blatter wakes up in his beachfront lodge overlooking the ocean. He rises out of bed, feeling his hip-bones grinding after years of fois gras and truffle abuse.
He wanders over the the window and surveys the crisp blue ocean, the suns rays reflecting back up to the thin glass of his pristine RayBans, a gift from the Emir of Qatar that definitely were not a bribe. His robe swings open in the loose breeze, but Sepp does not look down. There’d be no point. He hasn’t seen his cock without horse-defying amounts of Viagra in 20 years.
He sighs as his phone rings. The screen suggests that the call is from one of his 40 accountants. Which is definitely an above board thing and in no way dodgy. He declines the call and continues to look out at the water, as several fishing boats drift pass with a gentle whistle.
Turning back to the somewhat grease-soiled sheets, courtesy of the BBQ Pheasant he was gifted by Jack Warner last night the whistle continues, growing louder by the second. He sticks a pudgy digit into his ear, and roots around the hairs searching for a stray 100 euro note or earwax. The whistling grows louder and louder until it becomes deafening and Sepp falls to the ground in a tinnitus induced agony before:
A Boeing 747 crushes the beachfront apartment. As we watch the embers burning on the beach, some of Blatter’s entrails land on a nearby turtle.
What I have just done is write a script for a short film that is about 7 thousand percent better than anything in this film. It has suspense, some truth, and we end on a great big laugh.
Anyway….08:33 into the film. I need all my concentration to give this film the critical bollocking its already had on several occasions.
We cut straight back to Mr Holland and Mr France talking in a bar. The Dutchman is warning the Frenchman that he will have to start taking his job seriously, to which he does the most French/FIFA thing imaginable and try and get off with a girl at the bar. The Dutchman then goes into an impassioned speech:
“I believe that the whole world should play football, under the same rules and regulations. And I believe that our federation is the only one that can get this done”
Its not exactly Martin Luther King at this point. I’ve seen this same actor in The Blacklist as Marvin Garrard and he was a lot of fun. At this point, he has a look on his face that suggests he has possibly been trepanned before filming. We then cut to outside the pub where they are both clearly pissed and the Frenchman says that they will get it all sorted and that the English will then join them, to whcih Dutchie tenderly touches his on the arm and says “That is our dream”, at which point they stroll off into the night as it fades to black. Presumably to play a game of hide the baguette.
We then move to Paris in 1924 where a man is giving a speech about the Olympics in Paris and he is talking about the football results where Uruguay have won the gold. However, some good egg has the decency to heckle the man who is trying to lather them in praise so thick you could baste a turkey with it. At this point, the French hype-man starts speaking with his hands so violently that he turns Italian, along with his accent, and we then see that the heckler is none other than Gerard Depardieu.
Now here is the thing. FIFA obviously needed a strong, confident man to portray Jules Rimet. So they picked a man who in the 5 years before this film came out:
- pissed in a bottle in his seat on a CityJet flight
- punched a motorist in Paris
- arrested for drink driving
- claimed he could drink 14 bottles of wine in one day
- moved to Belgium and renounced his French passport
- Claimed Russian Citizenship via Vladimir Putin
- Become the Russian cultural ambassador to Montenegro
I mean, what a life this man has had. At this point he has basically become the French Oliver Reed, if Oliver Reed smashed his head off a pavement repeatedly until he looked like a fucking potato. And this is who you pick for Jules Rimet? The Founder of the World Cup?!
Given its FIFA, I am in no way shocked.
Anyway, they start to argue about Uruguay, and Depardieu is completely unintelligible as Rimet. He sounds closer to Mr Creosote than anyone speaking the English language. He finishes with a “Now, I have finished” that resembles something a drag queen would hiss as opposed to a world leading football authoritarian. He berates then for not having any natural players, saying they are all from Colombia or Bolivia. I’m fully expecting this was improvised based on the actor’s own experiences with these regions.
We cut out of the press conference and Depardieu is wearing the same size of suit as David Price wore on Sky once. But, in good news, Mr Dutch is back! and he hasn’t aged a day! Remarkable what a steady diet of Chips, Mayonnaise and illegal cash can do.
At this point they start talking about the First World War and I look up the casting director of this drivel because there is literally no point in following the dialogue as its been written by a million monkeys with a million typewriters after they were all dropped on the head. I discover that Casting Director Mathilde Snodgrass has actually worked on numerous things since, I presume because production companies get some kind of grant for employing people who are clearly fucking mad. Honestly, at this point Depardieu seems to be reading lines like Marlon Brando with an earpiece, only the earpiece is on a delay and Depardieu makes noises that sound more like a million dogs farting than words. There’s something about creating the world cup here but I had to leave the room to vomit up blood. I come back into the room to see Depardieu getting into the back of a giant car, which is visibly creaking as it drives away.
We move to Depardieu’s house now where a girl is picking flowers and Gerard is quaffing Brandy whilst making more raspberry noises. Honestly, I can barely make out a word this guy says. I’m pretty sure at one point he was a relatively respected actor but this is grim by anyone’s standards. The World Cup idea is falling apart and all Gerard can focus on is how many cold saucisson are left in the fridge. The flower picking girl then gives them a letter from the ambassador of Uruguay, and the letter then cuts to a scene of the two sitting by Lake Geneva, Mr Uruguay drinking tea and Gerard eating two desserts. The Uruguayans want to host a World Cup and will pay for it, to which Gerard replies “mmmmfmfmmffmmfffmfmffmfmfmfmfffffmmmmmm”
We then get the first sign of possible corruption as they talk about making sure the Uruguayans do not bribe the referee.And then he starts asking about FIFA’s cut of ticket sales! Fuck me we are flying now, we’ve really kicked up a gear with the talk of finances and numbers of fans. I remember this bit in Lord of the Rings where Gandalf started running Frodo through his SAGE accounting projections for the Orc mines and how they could claim tax back via some loophole on this.
9 excruciating minutes later and we are 15% of the way through the film. And that’smore than enough for a month, let alone a full day. My eyes and eard are burning and I think I’ve got a kidney stone trying to translate Depardieu.
Kill me now. Like Blatter.