The Dundonian 'spider duck chase' scene was magnificent and worth the admission scrape alone, an outstanding performance that captured Edinburgh's parking problem with a tour de force worthy of 'Reynolds' or even, dare I say it, the great hairy bran flake 'William Oddie'.
Following this came the contrasting soliloquy that transponed it's locus to gently settle like a dew dappled leaf in the bosom of our souls, I am talking of the wonderful cameo by canine lothario 'Welard' of Eastenders fame. (Apoloigies gentle reader I do not know the dog's real name, though I am given to understand that the performing pooch does answer to 'Welard' as well.)
With breath taken away, nay, spirited, should I tell it thus? Of course came relentless as a critical cabbage Tuesday, the inevitable 'denoument'. Praxis of a cobbled dash notwithstanding onscreen, I have never left a mark on a cinema seat, in all my side slanted finger peeping views of terror, but gentle fair kind reader, let me tell thee this, that is the following - my hands engripped the enchanted febrile fabric until the under-palmed crushed 'menthol lozenge' (I shall not stoop to vulgar brand names, but I can assuredly impose upon you beloved and beguiling reader) left a sticky issue enslicked by the moist of my terrified hand area. 24 frames a second I captured them all in my private kino of bombastadon, each exquisite moment of terror and hilarity. Imagine being strapped to The Good Life but with Keith Baron and Sandy Toksvig stamping on a jackboot forever and the clocks striking thirteen, then you will know something of my psycho-vascular vault thresh of an experience of this particular filmic experienza.
Following this came the contrasting soliloquy that transponed it's locus to gently settle like a dew dappled leaf in the bosom of our souls, I am talking of the wonderful cameo by canine lothario 'Welard' of Eastenders fame. (Apoloigies gentle reader I do not know the dog's real name, though I am given to understand that the performing pooch does answer to 'Welard' as well.)
With breath taken away, nay, spirited, should I tell it thus? Of course came relentless as a critical cabbage Tuesday, the inevitable 'denoument'. Praxis of a cobbled dash notwithstanding onscreen, I have never left a mark on a cinema seat, in all my side slanted finger peeping views of terror, but gentle fair kind reader, let me tell thee this, that is the following - my hands engripped the enchanted febrile fabric until the under-palmed crushed 'menthol lozenge' (I shall not stoop to vulgar brand names, but I can assuredly impose upon you beloved and beguiling reader) left a sticky issue enslicked by the moist of my terrified hand area. 24 frames a second I captured them all in my private kino of bombastadon, each exquisite moment of terror and hilarity. Imagine being strapped to The Good Life but with Keith Baron and Sandy Toksvig stamping on a jackboot forever and the clocks striking thirteen, then you will know something of my psycho-vascular vault thresh of an experience of this particular filmic experienza.
