The Social Network

          Ah, college. My time at University shall be remembered fondly. It was a time of fastidious study and rapscallious waggery. Those who are of satisfactory intelligence, possess sophisticated erudition, and are of the good mind to be a white male,  doubtlessly share many like experiences of their time at study. Thus, it is truly a grand setting for a picture. "The Social Network" is set at one of the country's most prestigious and vainglorious such establishments: Harvard University.
   An acquaintance of mine who shall heretofore remain anonymous (though his names does rhyme with 'Planklin Delano Froosevelt') attended Harvard University and on the occasion of my visits we would have the merriest times, riding about the cobbled streets on trolly, train or the occasional penny farthing bi-wheeled cycle. We would follow that with a spot of polo or entertain ourselves by ordering servants to dance for our merriment. Planklin and I got into our fair share of rowdiness as well, such as sneaking whiskey and pudding into debates or sending prank telegrams to the Dean of schools ("may we inquire as to if your ice box is running? STOP Well than you have no better recourse than to retrieve it STOP").
         One thing that was a bit beyond our time as scholars, however, was the advent of a type of ultra-luxe sewing-circle referred to colloquially as the Face book. This is a strange periodical in which you can advertise to others which novels or picture shows you fancy, send in and display photograms of yourself wearing humorous hats, and hard working men can escape the horrors and back-breaking labors of daily chores on the farm by playing a game entitled 'farmville'. I myself used the Face book to sign a popular petition to have Mary Todd Lincoln host a vaudeville show live the following Saturday night.
      This particular picture I shall review concerns the inventor of the Face book, a young man named Marcus Zuckerberg, play'd in the revue by the young actor Jesse Eisenberg. A tale of friendship lost, fortunes found, and barons robbed, this picture addresses the Universal truths that invariably come with greed and the quest for the almighty shilling
      In the picture, two strapping young lads by the name of the Brothers Winklevoss accus'd Mister Zuckerberg of stealing their idea, which sets into motion the events of Mister Zuckerberg's betrayal of his closest friend Eduardo Saverin. To this I say "hogwash". Why, if every brilliant man were to care about friendship over capital, we would never have had the creation of the stately, reliable Model T, the revolutionary, stalwart Aero-plane, or the impregnable and impervious Zeppelin.
      In truth, viewing the picture made me extremely nostalgic about my past as a scholar. In longing for times past, I wandered out of the theatre early to hop aboard my old bi-cycle for a jaunt. My balance was lost and I had quite a nasty spill, resulting in a bruise upon my leg and serves nicely as an allegory for the picture as a whole: trying to change the world may result in a fractured tibia

Judgment Being:
4 of 5 Top Hats


Easy A

      A wanton celebration of harlotry and trolloptude, "Easy A" is a picture which purports to reference modern literature, to middling success. It bases itself loosely on "The Scarlet Letter", a new novel which I have not yet had time to read but which I have been assured concerns the themes of adultery and calligraphy. "Easy A", in contrast, devotes itself to an exploration of strumpets and tall tales.
       As an author of note and influence, I must take it upon myself to ask of you all, my simple readers, where have our heroes gone? Who are we idolizing in this age, that a picture trumpets the value of falsities and fallaceous fabrification? When I was a lad, I venerated such pillars of truth in our society as George Washington, 'Honest' Abraham Lincoln, and Millard 'Indubitable' Fillmore. Why, if I would have told a lie as a stripling I would have had my ears boxed, whereas the main character (play'd by a Ms. Emma Stone) not only remains woefully unspank'd, but becomes the talk of the town.
     The conflict in the picture occurs when the young tart runs afoul of a pleasant group of chaste, God-fearing youngsters. Led by Ms. Amanda Bynes, these moppets attempt to do the lord's work and convert Ms. Stone of her heathendom, to no avail. It is strange, but the picture seems to be presenting the group of Christian zealots who will stop at nothing short of destroying a young wastrel as a bad thing.
    Had I stayed to see the picture's end, I am sure that Ms. Stone would have learned to see the error of her ways and embrace religion and the virtues of truth and honor. Unfortunately, I could not stay for the entirety as it is the only time I am able to attend the horse races. Be sure not to mention that to Mrs. Von Copperpot however, as I told her I was under the weather this past week-end to avoid escorting her to buy a new hat.

Judgment Being:
2 of 5 top hats



Piranha 3D

In attending the moving-picture house, an upstanding gentleman must remember to dress himself and his wife in the most appropriate attire, lest they seem unfashionable or out-dated. Your humble author prefers a straw boater, a vest, my trusty whipping-cane and elegant sleeve garters. It seems it is fashionable in these current times to add another accoutrement to this list; peculiar eyewear apparently needed to see an elusive third dimension; eye-glasses I shall call Trifocals.
The newest picture, entitled 'Piranha 3D' unfortunately requires the application of the clumsy frames directly to the face, a notion which initially  I heartily resisted because they refused to fit comfortably over my monocle. However cold I was to the notion at first, I quickly warmed once I spoke to a learned professor, who helped me to understand the invention. Having a worldly background, I naturally understood, and as a service I shall now explain to you, the simple reader, how they work, thusly:
The theatre-goer affixes the glasses to their person and faces directly towards the screen, onto which an image (the picture-show) is projected. Through a complex process of alchemy,  each eye-lens is treated with a contrasting layer of colored film, allowing certain brightenesses and colours of light to pass thru. Then, during the course of the actual show, an indentured farmhand crouches beneath the stage and dangles several fish on a rod in front of the screen. The uniquely-treated trifocals filter out the images of the rod, the line, and the farmhand and thusly the illusion of free-floating piranha-fish is attained.
It is with regret that I must report the actual content of the picture was hardly as novel as the process thru which it was assembled. In my humble opinion, 'Piranha 3D' is nothing more than a boorish husk of mindless ichthyo-blabber disguised as a risque delight through liberal doses of blood and bare bosoms.
Regardless, as an author, it is my duty to respect all viewers and their opinions with the utmost, highest regard. Therefore, if you found this picture to be enjoyable I understand completely and merely humbly suggest you seek the appointment of a skilled physician immediately to prescribe medicine for your apparent brain-rot brought on no doubt thru rampant, untreated syphilis.

Judgment Being:
1 of 5 Top Hats



Russia- a wild land of serfs, furs, and potato liquor. But a world power? A threat to the liberties, apple pies and hearty ales of America? Poppycock. Why, this is a peoples who lack even the wherewithall to think of heating up their beet soup.  
The reason, then, that this picture proposes the portent of this placid populace perplexes me. What have we to fear from fluffy hats and nesting dolls?
Regardless, this picture show is entitled 'Salt', named for the main character and for the spice used to keep their herring fresh. Played adequately by a Ms. Angelina Jolie, Madame Salt works for the United States Government under our current president, William Howard Taft, whose sole connection to Russia is undoubtedly his fondness for vast amounts of Beef Stroganoff. 
Ms. Salt is accused thusly of being an agent of espionage for the aforementioned slavic country, and must either prove her innocence or thwart her captors. Through a serious of twists and turns in the plot we find the true nature of Ms. Salt, of which I shall not spoil for you, my faithful readers, herewith. Somewhat because myself as an author has utmost respect for the untarnished viewing experience, and partly because all this talk of Russian cuisine caused me to leave the picture-house early in search for a hearty Chicken Kiev.  

Judgement Being:
2 of 5 Top Hats


Scott Pilgrim vs. the World


        Understand, dear reader, that picture shows are a new novelty, created primarily in order to sell molasses treats and soda water to those who humbly seek temporary refuge from- thusly- the heat, the cold, the rain, and the Irish. As being such a newly invented curiosity, there is a dire need for the puveyers  to develop and learn a way to teach prospective audiences about the picture, specifically of what to expect from the viewing experience; a type of marketing or advertising I shall now refer to as picture-hucking.
       For if it existed, as this author is in no doubt it soon will, picture-hucksters would ensure that the subject matter would be known ahead of time. For this picture is not, as one might understandably surmise by the title, the tale of a religious traveler seeking pilgrimage to America from Scott-land in Europe. Rather, it is some extremely frivolous trifle concerning a moppish young fop and his quest to bestow a good thrashing on several of the former suitors of some scarlet-coiffed strumpet.
   In the story,  the titular young master Pilgrim hails from the savage and barren lands of our neighbors to the north, 'Canada'. He lives in a small shack, has no apparent line of work, and is a member of a mistril show which lacks any perceivable talent. He has a hearty, healthy celibate relationship with a young oriental, but the plot is thusly complicated as he falls in lust with a young hussy of whom he has nightly visions.
     In order to win the hand of his harlot, he is told he must best seven young men in fisticuffs. The reason is unclear, but I believe it is a complicated methapor, where the seven suitors represent the seven diseases which plague gentlemen in this day and age; dropsy, impetago, vertigo, pox, ricketts, scurvey and the vapors.
    The creator of this picture show would do well to take a lesson in editing from Messrs. Eisenstein and  Lumiere, as the person in charge of piecing together the film in this case either suffers from an unfortunate case of blindness, or was raised in the wilds of Africa by a family of apes. Words, nonsensical diagrams and strange drawings appear on the screen throughout, thoroughly confusing the viewer and drawing undue attention to the fact that it was put together by someone who has never seen a picture-show before.
     Predictably the young pilgrim whines, fusses, gripes and groans his way through the skirmishes, besting scores of far superior pugilists, apparently despite the sheer detriment of his lackluster knickerbockery.
      Throughout his trials he is sure to have learned the power of love or friendship or somesuch other nonsense, but after seeing so many uninspired ruckuses, it inspired me to leave the picture house early to find a tavern and start a brawl of my own with an Irishman.

4 of 5 top hats

A brief note on the author's glorious return

As an upstanding gentleman of the arts, it is sometimes unavoidable to be overtaken by the rigors of the vital work I provide to you, my fair readers. In such I am occasion'ly overwhelmed, and must take a brief period of rest, as may any author of noble lineage and fine breeding. 

After providing my most recent revue review in September last, I, your humble author, took it upon myself to rest my pipe and monocle and take a quick nap. I awoke recently, re-freshed, re-newed and re-vitalized, ready to return with gumption and vigor to my trusty ink and quill. 

Imagine, dear reader, my surprise upon learning of the outcry at my absence! I was gone but a short while. I submit a query: which of you has had time to see more than one picture show since September last? Do you fellows really attend the cinema-house that often? Do my readers demand of me my opinion more than once yearly?

Alas, it is so. And so I pledge to make a triumphant return. Once weekly I shall provide you, my simple readers, the pleasures of my quill, to be stopped not by rain nor hail the the absolute foulest of weather.

Unless of course, I feel another nap coming on.



Sincerest apologies for the lack of a revue review this previous week, your humble authour came down with a rather unfortunate case of dropsy-pox. Having recovered a bit and regained a hearty appetite, I am now ready to fulfil my duties in reviewing. In all likelihood, there weren't any quality films last week's-end anyway.
This week's picture, called "Extract", concerns an industrialist fellow named Joel (as play'd by Mr. Jason Bate-Man) who owns a whiz-bang foodstuffs-essence extractor machine plant. Rather than entering it in the world's faire, he fancies selling off his wondrous' facilities to John D. Rockefeller and achieving status as a true robber-baron.  However, being a hum'rous picture, situations thusly go awry; Joel's spouse (Kristen Wiig) neglects to sate his marital needs, a mysterious young crumpet (Mila Kunis) weaves her mischief at the plant, and lastly, a lamentable happenstance causes a laborer to lose a certain pair of consequential anotomical organs. The bindles to his stick, as it were.

With so many disastrous events  befalling him, our hero turns to a local bar-tender who happens to be his trusted friend and confidant (Benjamin Affleck) for assistance. Mr. Affleck in his ragged appearance and utter lack of grooming seems to be a shiftless hobo, but no mention is ever made of his position as such. Mayhaps the director chose to portrey him with an honorable position peddling booze to show that penniless winos can be reformed, but in my humble opinion, they cannot.   
Follies ensue, naturally, and in the end Joel finally learns the true meaning of wooden nickels and exploiting endenture servantude. Or something along those lines. 
A problem with this picture is that with the exception of Joel, none of the other players were very agreeable to my admittedly sensitive palate. We are sup'posed to enjoy the antics of a shiftless tramp, a eunuch slubberdoffer and a swindling trollop? I submit that we do not. What happened to simpler pictures concerning stand-up gentlemen and great train robbers? When the Lumiere brothers made a similar picture concerning a machine-plant (Workers Leaving the Lumiere Factory), it wasn't boggled down with plots about bollocks-disasters. 
If anything, I left this picture with a worse imbalance of the humours than when I entered it. If there were more characters on screen like Joel, I might have even been persuaded to stay for the end. 

Judgment Being:

 2 of 5 Top Hats