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

Salt

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.

JUDGEMENT BEING:

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.