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How the butterfly got her wings...
8 hours ago
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Friday, 25 December 2009
Christmas Short Story Competition - The Winner
“Hugh Beckett Never Was Much for Santa Claus and Ho, Ho, Ho”
By: Michael Bekemeyer
When Hugh Beckett was in his forties he somehow got the bright idea that it might be a nice idea to dress as Santa Claus and let all the kids sit on his lap and ask them what they wanted for Christmas. He wasn’t much for the idea of children, not even his own son, really. But, he owned a convenient store called Everything Convenient and thought it might be a good way to bring in some business. True, the idea of a convenient store Santa Claus seemed a little cheap, but it was his idea and his store, so stick to the plan he would.
He stood in front of the mirror in his upstairs office, half dressed in his Santa suit. He had been staring at himself, thinking about the emptiness in his life for damn near twenty minutes. He had a wife that he loved and a son that he loved. Or, did he? He thought he loved them, but it didn’t feel like the love he would see in movies, television and books. He felt like a shell, hollow and emotionless. He had always been a reticent man. But, he knew on the inside that he wasn’t just quiet, or soft spoken. He was withdrawn...to a fault. He knew it would one day be the end of what life he had.
There was a deep fear running through his blood. He had never taken the risks that others would take. Even his business was something he had inherited from an uncle on his Mother’s side. He spent all of his time wondering when life would fail him. He wondered when he would have to close the store and get another job. He wondered when his wife would realize he was a nothing and leave him for another man. He wondered how long it would take his son to grow up and decide to hate him.
He had journal after journal where he wrote about his thoughts and fears, but no one, not even his wife knew about them. He would never let her see them, or read anything he had written. In these journals could be found long, flowing passages about his view of the world and his true feelings about life and love. Hugh didn’t exactly know what these journals were, poetry or not. Either way he knew that they were the link to his own sanity and just writing about these things kept him feeling like maybe, just maybe, he was in fact a human being. He wrote to prove to himself he had a heart and a soul. He wanted to prove, even if only to himself that he was someone who actually did care, even if on the outside, it didn’t appear to be so.
He remembered one of these passages he had written years ago and was mumbling it to himself as he continued to apply the huge, fluffy, white Santa beard that would make his costume complete, so he could go dance his dance and lie to all the little children.
***
The Lies We Lead
By: Hugh Beckett
We lie to them their entire life and wonder why they do not believe us when we tell them the truth. We lie to them and pretend we are only playing games. But, what of the real things like love, hate and anger? When will they decide we are lying about those things too? When will it be our fault that the world is in denial? When will it be our fault that the children of this forsaken world give us truth instead of lies? When will they tell us we’ve fucked this planet beyond reality and thrown the byproduct of our Santa Claus game into the ocean of doubt and fear and loneliness and despair? When will this horrible race of people be honest with itself and admit they have no idea what they are doing here, or what they should be doing, or what they need to do to survive this evil thing called life?
***
He wondered if he believed the words he had written in his journal so many years ago. He actually wished, for once, that he could merely live for just one day as one of the blissfully ignorant. He wanted to smile with his eyes and not just his mouth. With this as his final thought, he donned his bright red Santa hat, flipped the top with the fuzzy white ball over to one side of his head, looked at himself one last time in the mirror and left the bathroom.
***
The store had not yet filled with eager children and parents, but the crowd was growing and people were buying things while they were there, so Hugh’s plan was actually working. As much as he loathed the idea of dressing up as Santa and selling the commercial brand of Christmas to unwitting kids, he had to admit that as a business gimmick it was a sound decision to do this.
The mothers and fathers and bright eyed children were lined up at least ten customers deep to talk to the begrudged Santa Claus, so the mothers and fathers could hear what the bright eyed children wanted to get for Christmas.
“Hello little one, what’s your name?”asked Hugh of the next little girl in line. She was an adorable little thing with strawberry blonde hair, round baby cheeks and while was not chubby in the slightest, she had a slightly pronounced pot belly poking out of her t-shirt. Something about this little girl in particular struck Hugh and he felt his checks brighten, at the first sight of her. He sat up, rigid back and perfect posture, for what may have been the first time in years.
“Abigail”, said the little one.
“Abigail? That’s a lovely name. Come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas.”
The girl moved slowly, if not shyly towards the Santa. Hugh grabbed her by the shoulders and hoisted her up on to his lap. He slowly put his arm around her and asked, “Have you been a good girl this year?”
“Yes, Santa”, she said quietly.
“Why yes, I’m sure you have. I’ve seen your name on my list.” He looked in to her eyes and felt his face smile at her again. He almost lost his breath, it was a feeling unlike anything he had felt in a long time, if he had ever felt this way. He caught hold of his emotions and spoke again, this time he leaned in and whispered softly. “Tell me Abigail, what do you want for Christmas this year?”
“I want-“
“Shhhh”, he stopped her from speaking, “It’s a secret. Tell me here.” The Santa pointed to the ear closest to the girl and tapped on it gently. “Whisper.”
Abigail leaned in closer to him, cupped her hand over her tiny mouth and whispered, “I want a…”
She continued speaking softly and he flinched at first because the sensation of her warm breath tickled. He smiled as she spoke and gave him her long list of gifts she actually wanted.
Still, there was something about this pretty little girl that made Hugh stop and think. He was unable to put a finger on what it was about her that had him so bedazzled. On the surface, she really looked quite a lot like any other one of the children that had come to see him. She looked no different than any of the children standing in line and he was certain that she was no more spectacular than he was when he was a child.
Then, as Abigail finished her list, the lightning bolt hit him. This little, unsuspecting girl was the splitting image of his sister, Jamie. She was two years younger than he was when she passed and he was just ten at the time. Hugh adored her and he never forgave whatever Godlike force there was driving the universe for taking her so young. It was the whispering that had finally flipped the switch for him. For the first time in all these years he remembered that she would come to Hugh and whisper into his ear, “I love you, bubba.”
When he lost her, he lost the one true thing he had known in his young life. It was a scar that had never really healed. Obviously, on the outside, he put on a masterful performance and pretended to be okay, but on the inside, where the real Hugh Beckett existed, he was not okay. He never had been since the day he had said goodbye to his precious little sister.
Hugh Beckett had never been one to cry. Even when he was alone, it never made sense to him to show any emotion whatsoever. Emotions felt like a weakness to him, so he never allowed them to take him over. But, on this day, the tears flowed. It started with one solitary salty drop and then another. If he hadn’t pulled himself together, before long, he might have been sobbing in front of all the mothers and fathers and bright-eyed children who had come to see him.
He held them back until Abigail finally finished telling him her secret wishes for Christmas. “That’s it Santa”, she concluded. He patted her on the head and hugged her. He squeezed her until he knew she must not have been able to breathe.
“There, there, Abigail. I’m sure we can make all of those things in my shop. Make sure your mother knows exactly what you told me, so she can send me a copy of the list. Okay?”
“Yes, Santa.”
With that he scooted the girl off of his lap and sent her back to her mother with a shiny smile on her face. “Thank you, Santa”, she shouted as they walked away from him. Hugh watched them leave and looked out at the line of children waiting to see him. He took a long deep breath and sighed.
He had not noticed until he had sat himself down again, who was next in line. His wife and his very own son were looking back at him with smiles and excitement. His son, Philip was just a little older than his sister Jamie was when she had died. Philip smiled at the Santa as he stepped closer to him.
“Well, hello there”, Hugh said to his son, “What’s your name?”
Philip smiled a shrewd grin and answered back, “Daddy, is that you?”
Hugh did not know if he was doing the right thing and he was uncertain of all the things he had been uncertain of at the start of the day. He had no idea how his life would change and figured that it probably wouldn’t. But, for at least today, he did not care. Today, he wanted to believe in Santa Claus and dreams come true. And even if he did not believe in those things, who was he to take that dream away from any one else?
By: Michael Bekemeyer
When Hugh Beckett was in his forties he somehow got the bright idea that it might be a nice idea to dress as Santa Claus and let all the kids sit on his lap and ask them what they wanted for Christmas. He wasn’t much for the idea of children, not even his own son, really. But, he owned a convenient store called Everything Convenient and thought it might be a good way to bring in some business. True, the idea of a convenient store Santa Claus seemed a little cheap, but it was his idea and his store, so stick to the plan he would.
He stood in front of the mirror in his upstairs office, half dressed in his Santa suit. He had been staring at himself, thinking about the emptiness in his life for damn near twenty minutes. He had a wife that he loved and a son that he loved. Or, did he? He thought he loved them, but it didn’t feel like the love he would see in movies, television and books. He felt like a shell, hollow and emotionless. He had always been a reticent man. But, he knew on the inside that he wasn’t just quiet, or soft spoken. He was withdrawn...to a fault. He knew it would one day be the end of what life he had.
There was a deep fear running through his blood. He had never taken the risks that others would take. Even his business was something he had inherited from an uncle on his Mother’s side. He spent all of his time wondering when life would fail him. He wondered when he would have to close the store and get another job. He wondered when his wife would realize he was a nothing and leave him for another man. He wondered how long it would take his son to grow up and decide to hate him.
He had journal after journal where he wrote about his thoughts and fears, but no one, not even his wife knew about them. He would never let her see them, or read anything he had written. In these journals could be found long, flowing passages about his view of the world and his true feelings about life and love. Hugh didn’t exactly know what these journals were, poetry or not. Either way he knew that they were the link to his own sanity and just writing about these things kept him feeling like maybe, just maybe, he was in fact a human being. He wrote to prove to himself he had a heart and a soul. He wanted to prove, even if only to himself that he was someone who actually did care, even if on the outside, it didn’t appear to be so.
He remembered one of these passages he had written years ago and was mumbling it to himself as he continued to apply the huge, fluffy, white Santa beard that would make his costume complete, so he could go dance his dance and lie to all the little children.
***
The Lies We Lead
By: Hugh Beckett
We lie to them their entire life and wonder why they do not believe us when we tell them the truth. We lie to them and pretend we are only playing games. But, what of the real things like love, hate and anger? When will they decide we are lying about those things too? When will it be our fault that the world is in denial? When will it be our fault that the children of this forsaken world give us truth instead of lies? When will they tell us we’ve fucked this planet beyond reality and thrown the byproduct of our Santa Claus game into the ocean of doubt and fear and loneliness and despair? When will this horrible race of people be honest with itself and admit they have no idea what they are doing here, or what they should be doing, or what they need to do to survive this evil thing called life?
***
He wondered if he believed the words he had written in his journal so many years ago. He actually wished, for once, that he could merely live for just one day as one of the blissfully ignorant. He wanted to smile with his eyes and not just his mouth. With this as his final thought, he donned his bright red Santa hat, flipped the top with the fuzzy white ball over to one side of his head, looked at himself one last time in the mirror and left the bathroom.
***
The store had not yet filled with eager children and parents, but the crowd was growing and people were buying things while they were there, so Hugh’s plan was actually working. As much as he loathed the idea of dressing up as Santa and selling the commercial brand of Christmas to unwitting kids, he had to admit that as a business gimmick it was a sound decision to do this.
The mothers and fathers and bright eyed children were lined up at least ten customers deep to talk to the begrudged Santa Claus, so the mothers and fathers could hear what the bright eyed children wanted to get for Christmas.
“Hello little one, what’s your name?”asked Hugh of the next little girl in line. She was an adorable little thing with strawberry blonde hair, round baby cheeks and while was not chubby in the slightest, she had a slightly pronounced pot belly poking out of her t-shirt. Something about this little girl in particular struck Hugh and he felt his checks brighten, at the first sight of her. He sat up, rigid back and perfect posture, for what may have been the first time in years.
“Abigail”, said the little one.
“Abigail? That’s a lovely name. Come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas.”
The girl moved slowly, if not shyly towards the Santa. Hugh grabbed her by the shoulders and hoisted her up on to his lap. He slowly put his arm around her and asked, “Have you been a good girl this year?”
“Yes, Santa”, she said quietly.
“Why yes, I’m sure you have. I’ve seen your name on my list.” He looked in to her eyes and felt his face smile at her again. He almost lost his breath, it was a feeling unlike anything he had felt in a long time, if he had ever felt this way. He caught hold of his emotions and spoke again, this time he leaned in and whispered softly. “Tell me Abigail, what do you want for Christmas this year?”
“I want-“
“Shhhh”, he stopped her from speaking, “It’s a secret. Tell me here.” The Santa pointed to the ear closest to the girl and tapped on it gently. “Whisper.”
Abigail leaned in closer to him, cupped her hand over her tiny mouth and whispered, “I want a…”
She continued speaking softly and he flinched at first because the sensation of her warm breath tickled. He smiled as she spoke and gave him her long list of gifts she actually wanted.
Still, there was something about this pretty little girl that made Hugh stop and think. He was unable to put a finger on what it was about her that had him so bedazzled. On the surface, she really looked quite a lot like any other one of the children that had come to see him. She looked no different than any of the children standing in line and he was certain that she was no more spectacular than he was when he was a child.
Then, as Abigail finished her list, the lightning bolt hit him. This little, unsuspecting girl was the splitting image of his sister, Jamie. She was two years younger than he was when she passed and he was just ten at the time. Hugh adored her and he never forgave whatever Godlike force there was driving the universe for taking her so young. It was the whispering that had finally flipped the switch for him. For the first time in all these years he remembered that she would come to Hugh and whisper into his ear, “I love you, bubba.”
When he lost her, he lost the one true thing he had known in his young life. It was a scar that had never really healed. Obviously, on the outside, he put on a masterful performance and pretended to be okay, but on the inside, where the real Hugh Beckett existed, he was not okay. He never had been since the day he had said goodbye to his precious little sister.
Hugh Beckett had never been one to cry. Even when he was alone, it never made sense to him to show any emotion whatsoever. Emotions felt like a weakness to him, so he never allowed them to take him over. But, on this day, the tears flowed. It started with one solitary salty drop and then another. If he hadn’t pulled himself together, before long, he might have been sobbing in front of all the mothers and fathers and bright-eyed children who had come to see him.
He held them back until Abigail finally finished telling him her secret wishes for Christmas. “That’s it Santa”, she concluded. He patted her on the head and hugged her. He squeezed her until he knew she must not have been able to breathe.
“There, there, Abigail. I’m sure we can make all of those things in my shop. Make sure your mother knows exactly what you told me, so she can send me a copy of the list. Okay?”
“Yes, Santa.”
With that he scooted the girl off of his lap and sent her back to her mother with a shiny smile on her face. “Thank you, Santa”, she shouted as they walked away from him. Hugh watched them leave and looked out at the line of children waiting to see him. He took a long deep breath and sighed.
He had not noticed until he had sat himself down again, who was next in line. His wife and his very own son were looking back at him with smiles and excitement. His son, Philip was just a little older than his sister Jamie was when she had died. Philip smiled at the Santa as he stepped closer to him.
“Well, hello there”, Hugh said to his son, “What’s your name?”
Philip smiled a shrewd grin and answered back, “Daddy, is that you?”
Hugh did not know if he was doing the right thing and he was uncertain of all the things he had been uncertain of at the start of the day. He had no idea how his life would change and figured that it probably wouldn’t. But, for at least today, he did not care. Today, he wanted to believe in Santa Claus and dreams come true. And even if he did not believe in those things, who was he to take that dream away from any one else?
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
The Last Post... before Christmas.
So I wanted to take a moment to wish everyone that stops buy to pay me a visit a very Merry Christmas. (Yep even you. But maybe not you.) Seriously everyone, what ever you are up to I hope you have a great couple of days with your family and friends.
The winning Christmas Story has been selected and I will post it on Christmas Day morning. So for now, Happy Xmas all. Have a good one, catch you on the other side.
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
The Clearance Grinch
Last day today to send me your Xmas stories so if any of you have one brewing now's the time to write and send it. Details here.
Monday, 21 December 2009
Top 3 Films of 2009
A little caveat before I write this. I haven't seen Avatar yet. So it might have made the Top 3. It might not. We'll never no.
3: Inglourious Basterds
Maybe it was about the day I saw it. Maybe it isn't a great film but for me the best day of 2009 wouldn't have been 'the best day' without it. Funny, violent, and utter fantasy, Inglorious Basterds rocked in all the right ways. Yes Tarantino probably has to grow up at some point if he's to go down as a great, but 2009 wasn't the right year for that. Basterds doesn't hit the emotional brilliance of it's opening through out the rest of the movie but it entertains in spades and it's wish fulfilment ending really does have to be seen to be believed.
2: Watchmen
You really have to be a geek to get why this is up there at number two. Yes it failed on some levels to capture the utter brilliance of a beloved comic book but it didn't damage that legacy, which was always the worry. I loved it for trying to get it right. Yes maybe Zak Snyder was almost too reverential but he'd have been slaughtered if he'd done anything other than bow down to the book.
They said it was unfilmable. He proved it wasn't. The ultimate super hero movie? For me yes. But you'll need your Phd in Watchmen to understand why.
1: The Wrestler
Ok Diary of a Ledger baters, I know it came out in 2008 in the States. But in the UK it was released in January and for me it was the best film I saw this year.
It was the only one to make me well up and Rourke's performance was the stand out of many a year.
Dark, depressing and no pandering. Despite my above choices, that is how I like my films.
3: Inglourious Basterds
2: Watchmen
They said it was unfilmable. He proved it wasn't. The ultimate super hero movie? For me yes. But you'll need your Phd in Watchmen to understand why.
1: The Wrestler
It was the only one to make me well up and Rourke's performance was the stand out of many a year.
Dark, depressing and no pandering. Despite my above choices, that is how I like my films.
Sunday, 20 December 2009
F*** you I won't do what you tell me.
Well done the internet then. Rage Against the Machine are the Christmas number one. I listened to the charts for the first time in roughly twenty years tonight.
I just can't help but feel this tinge of sadness that we haven't yet figured out how to achieve something truly wonderful through social media. Maybe next year twitter and facebook will step up to the plate and do something marvellous and I really believe, post tweetathon, that anything is possible. Ok so it is a great 'fuck you' to Simon Cowell and I heartily applaud that, but it's hard to believe that this has been discussed at greater length than Copenhagen this week. If anything it's buried what an appalling fuck up that's been.
I'm happy Rage Against the Machine are number one. But I would love it so much more if we grabbed hold of the moment and did something really constructive. But that said it's been fun to have a race for the number one spot this week, something that a generation of kids have missed out on, and we have a song that means a lot to a loads of us at number 1. And when was the last time that happened?
It is a start. Well done the internet. *raises glass*
And in particular well done @moogyboobles who I've been following for ages on twitter who started the whole thing with her partner. I only realised this about 30 seconds ago. What a mook.
Saturday, 19 December 2009
PS3 down.
So now on top of having a next to useless mobile I can't game. Expect to see a lot of me on twitter. 8)
The PS3 is going to have to wait, unfortunately, thank god for bonus in March. She's done me proud though the last three years and despite the occasional frustrations with slow downloads and the genuine disappointment of Home™ I've loved my 60gig model and the fact that I bought it in the first week they were released in 2007.
It's been a strange week, but Sarah's awful news on Thursday, puts things into perspective and if I have to go without gaming for a while then so be it. But I will be back. And I will be hungry. War won't be the same without me. Will it....?
Friday, 18 December 2009
#followfriday by @sean_boon and @RickHarwood
First up a new #followfriday vid by @sean_boon.
And three new twitter Top Trumps from @RickHarwood.
Click on the Top Trumps to view them properly.
Now I know I promised a vid and I have one ready to go. But it didn't really seem appropriate and it's about as Christmasy as an Easter Egg so I pulled the plug. For now. Which means there are two in the works... you'll just have to be patient and my New Years resolution is now, 'No more promises on the blog'. ;)
Ginger: dedicated to @KyeLani
Ginger wasn't your average domestic cat. In fact he wasn't a domestic cat at all, he was completely feral. He slowly wormed his way into our lives (we were a 'we' when I lived in London) shortly after Dotty's arrival. The ground floor flat we lived in had a small lean-to at one side that opened up to the garden and the boiler for our central heating was there. We'd often leave the door of the lean-to open in the evenings so that if Dotty was outside she could get in there and let us know she wanted to come in without leaving the back door wide open. It wasn't long before we started to spot that we were getting another visitor to the lean-to during one particularly cold snap. A very handsome ginger tom. He started to get more and more confident and quite often he could be spotted jumping up onto the boiler to keep warm. However initially every time we went out there to stroke him he would bolt so we assumed he was someone else's cat.
Gradually though we started putting food down for him and his confidence began to grow. He eventually must of realised that he was onto a good thing and started to let us close the door to the lean-to at night and he'd happily sleep on the boiler until morning. It was around this time though that we realised that he wasn't a domestic pet and clearly belonged to nobody as he would resist any attempt to touch him, usually with a hiss and a swipe of a paw. Dotty was completely submissive around him, this was one tough little bugger of a cat.
But slowly but surely he became part of the family and despite the lack of physical contact that you usually associate with a pet he was very much ours. Sometimes he would come right into the flat and one day he jumped up on my then wife's lap and curled up and went to sleep. I missed that little moment but he would rub up against my legs when I fed him and take treats from my hand.
He had to go to the vets three times when he was with us and each time was an absolute nightmare. The first time he cut his paw and we were concerned that he'd probably had no jabs during his life and might be susceptible to infections. We some how managed to get him in the cat carrier and get him there, where he exploded with rage and leapt around the vet's surgery like a cat possessed by a demon. The vet had never seen anything like it. The paw was ok, but it did mean we got him neutered, which I'm sure he was over the moon about.
The second time he went was when we moved to Southampton and got him sedated for the journey. Once again he went nuts but the vet put him into a drowsy state and he came with us. There'd really been no choice about that, he totally relied on us for food and was a huge part of our lives. He was a character and we'd slowly both fallen for his independence and the way he genuinely seemed to care for Dotty. He was this bright, grumpy, fierce cat that you couldn't help but admire. The vet guessed that he was between eight and ten years old when we started looking after him and we often wondered what kind of life he'd had before he'd stumbled across us.
There's that old adage about cats and how they don't really love you and just stay for the food and the warmth and I guess Ginger could be said to be one of the ultimate examples of that. But there was one time that we went away for three weeks during the summer months (this may have been when we bought him the hutch you can see in the picture) leaving our neighbours to feed him. When we returned I can remember walking out into the garden and him being on the fence staring right at me. And he meowed. And he never meowed, ever. He was just pleased to see us.
So Ginger came to Southampton with us and we kept him in during the winter of 2000 because we were so worried about letting him out and losing him.
One day in 200,1 whilst at work, I got a phone call saying that there was a problem with Ginger, he didn't seem to be able to move his back legs. I shot home and he was in a terrible state but let me pick him up and put him in the cat box. We gave the vet the usual warning that Ginger was a bit different but despite our warning and Ginger's obvious distress he tried to kill the vet. Like I said, tough as boots that cat. After about twenty minutes they got him sedated, invited us in and the vet explained what was wrong. Ginger had a blood clot in his back that was cutting off the blood supply to his back legs and that it was very unlikely that he could do anything to help him. It was crushing. I can remember standing outside of the surgery just feeling numb about the decision we had to make.
Of course we had to let him go, and as we lost him we were able to stoke him as we said goodbye. Something we'd never been able to do before. He had the loveliest fur I'd ever stroked.
We brought him back home that afternoon and buried him in the back garden, certainly one of the hardest things I've ever done, I think I sobbed through the whole process. The spot where he is has been marked by three stones and I often look at them and remember him and think about how lucky I was to meet such a character.
Everyone knows when they take on a pet that there will be a time when you'll have to face a moment like that. But that doesn't make it any easier. When you say goodbye to a cat or a dog, or any other pet that you've invested time in, it's a genuine loss and the grief is very real, they become a part of your life and your home. This was brought home yesterday when a good friend had to say goodbye to her husky Kye who was such an important part of her life. So today's post is dedicated to Sarah and Kye. We are all thinking of you both.
Go here to read Sarah's story.
Could the snow last night have ever had more poignancy?
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Avatar - Review by @maverick99sback
What Cameron has done is create an immersive world. Anyone not wanting missles flying out of the screen like a glorified thempark ride, need not apply. This is about aerial shots from helicopters, with holographic displays poking out at you, like you're IN the chopper.
Every review I've read says it takes twenty mins to "get into" the 3-D. I feel sorry for them. The first twenty mins were my fave. Droplets of water, astronauts floating around. There's just so much depth.
The shock and awe for me is secondary. The billed last battle I even found a bit underwhelming. I never thought I would prefer the scene of Sulley discovering what sand on his new feet felt like.
It's got me thinking what the X-Wing attack on the death star would be like in 3-D. Or the T-Rex attack. Or the first site of Jaws. The opening shot of San Francisco in Zodiac, or even the factory scene in I, Robot where the robots are lined up, in their thousands.
I hope it's a game changer. I hope Speilberg and the other Hollywood powerhouses get on board. Films are going to seem hollow from now on, for me at least.
See it in 3-D or not at all. Try and IMAX it if you can. But see it for the technology, or to see what subtitles look like in 3-D. If we want films to progress forward, this looks like the next logical step.
This is Adam Truscott, signing off.*
*** (without 3D)
***** (with 3D)
*And booking to go again Sunday.
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