It was going to be a delightful nature documentary about lions filled with dreadful puns, but I had a slight problem - lions are frickin' hard to draw on paint. Maybe I should invest in some real sort of drawing package for this laptop, or, indeed, a mouse which is vaguely the right size for my hand. My MS Paint David Attenborough antics will have to wait.
It should probably be known, though, that I'm writing this post listening to the Broadway version of The Lion King - truly one of the cinematic greats of our history. The original film, obviously, not the Broadway musical as that's pretty obviously a musical. Anyway, this opinion can get me some odd looks. Imagine, if you will, that I'm at a posh dinner party. This has never happened to me, but you never know. The conversation turns to the wonderful art of cinema, and the host, a portly gentleman with a huge moustache and a monocle, begins to talk.
"... I mean, it's really gone downhill. I remember when we had real films worth waiting for. I remember The Dambusters - that was a damn good film, damn good." At this point, the rest of the room makes those particular strange noises posh people do when they agree with each other. (I wonder vaguely if it has a theme tune which goes "Who you gonna call?")
"Ayaaaaars, yaaaars" - that's the nearest I can get to notating said noise without making them sound like a drunken pirate - and, sadly, it's not that kind of dinner party.
"For instance," he says, waving his half full glass of port vaguely, and warming to his theme, "That recent 'Avatar' film. I mean, it's all very pretty, but it's hardly high art, is it?"
At this point, I feel I have to interject in this world of dinner jackets and cigars. "Why, yes," I sycophantically add, "it left me feeling a little blue." Sadly, my fellow party guests evidently have a less highly honed sense of humour than me, and my joke receives only a stony silence instead of the applause, slaps on the back, and offers of marriage from the classier sort of socialite I feel it deserved. Such is life.
At this point, I feel I have to interject in this world of dinner jackets and cigars. "Why, yes," I sycophantically add, "it left me feeling a little blue." Sadly, my fellow party guests evidently have a less highly honed sense of humour than me, and my joke receives only a stony silence instead of the applause, slaps on the back, and offers of marriage from the classier sort of socialite I feel it deserved. Such is life.
Desperately trying to recover my standing in the room, I play the pseudo intellectual/complete snob card. "I mean, although it's good entertainment for the proles, it's hardly high art. It hardly stands up against the classics - Citizen Kane, Vertigo, The Lion King..."
You can imagine the reception this would have - this might be why I'm not invited to posh dinner parties like this.
You can imagine the reception this would have - this might be why I'm not invited to posh dinner parties like this.
On a final note, my own personal reason for avoiding Avatar is that, on getting back from watching it, I spent the next two weeks ill with Swine Flu (some time after anyone took it seriously). Now, I definitely don't want you to think that James Cameron transported me to another world where strange alien diseases infected me. That's not what I'm saying at all.
Nope, not remotely.
Look at their filthy diseased bodies.
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