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Noooooo...I dont care, I want The Real RockNRolla.

I'm with Cody Johnny, Archie and The Wild Buch need to come back! #2 Ritchie planned to do two sequels to Rock n Rolla.

I hope it happens, there is so much potential in the characters and the story of RocknRolla.

i want Snatch oh wait... god i love the fuck out of that movie. ima watch it right now

Few words strike an icier cord of despair and sadness in the hearts of any film fan that the words “Hollywood remake.” Whatever film some inept bureaucrat, fawning director or cinema sycophant has chosen to remake is irrelevant, because it is always—100% of the time, without exception—a blundering desecration of the original. Okay, I am being harsh. I can think of five remakes that were worthy to be made. Five out of the entire history of film, so the math is in my favor. Because Hollywood has abandoned any claim to being remotely original, being run now as it is by accountants and unsophisticated directors, it is an industry caught up in the down-spiral of stealing from other media, or as is the point of this entry, remaking a film from a bygone age. Now, a quick word on mental health. I have to remind myself that getting angry at Hollywood for its demoralizing and culture-softening addiction to “remakes” and “re-imagined” franchises is as futile as chiding the thief of stealing, the liar for lying, the drunk for drinking, or the murderer for murdering. Judging lesser minds by higher standards is pointless because, by being lesser minds, they cannot be elevated to grasp higher reason, critical thinking, analytical prowess, or in this case, of fresh story telling. So, the rest of us have to endure another dull summer of knock-offs and re-hashed old plots, tired dialog and over-worked special effects. I suppose it was inevitable that Hollywood would eventually destroy my most beloved film of all time, John Boorman’s lush, mystic and erotic Excalibur. The very fact they are “remaking” Excalibur shows how unpardonable and unsalvageable their lack of imagination and education has become. The Arthurian romances are second only to Greek mythology in sheer volume and weight of impact to the western world. From as far back as the Annales Cambriae and Historia Brittonum, up through Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae, Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur to Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s Idylls of the King, you have hundreds of Arthurian additions and interpretations, island and continental, from which to choose: entries, poems, legends, folklore, stories and faux histories abound. All that to say, you could go into any library, find the Arthurian section, and pick a book blindfolded, at random, and have an entire librum of options for new passes at Britain’s most famous king. Oh, no. That might require reading. That might require having more than a fucking 4th grade education. This re-make has built into it its own test. Like the Holy Grail, no one to date mentioned or associated with this proposition is worthy of taking it up. “There are none worthy. No, not one.” Excalibur is too elemental, to primordial a work to be weakly half-grasped by the effete filmmakers and sterile scriptwriters at work in Hollywood today, where rampant political correctness has annihilated the verve of former ages. Furthermore, the complex nuances that form the vorpal meridian between the Old Faith and the New Faith that meet in the film lies far beyond the dull, empty-headed bong fog of most music video directors. The inevitable and uneven social phasing from the arboreal, carnal paganism to the idealized and chivalrous Christianity is far too intelligent and uncomfortable a topic of the American film industry to address. Add to this the supreme irony that the advent of Christendom in war-wracked, post-Pendragon England is made possible by Arthur’s use of the supreme pagan tool, Excalibur, and you have a beautiful cultural fugue of motive and counter-motive that, at once, disqualifies most modern movie makers. Excalibur is too balanced, too comfortable with opposites, almost too paradoxical (though only in appearance) to have any hope of being thematically remade in the lop-sided psyche of the West Coast. They do not see both sides. They see only their side. Excalibur, by design or by accident, is above such small-minded partisanship. We don’t have genuine filmmakers in America. In most cases we have powerful, biased, close-minded ideologues who use the visual medium of film to advance their dogma, and punish any dissent to their latest social and historical formulas. Absolutely no counter-arguments are permitted; disputes are not countenanced and free thinking is marginalized. Excalibur was made 30 years ago in a far braver and more imaginative America than the one we live in. Honestly, sometimes it is hard to bring myself to even associate with an industry this creatively bankrupt. I’m done caterwauling.