300
Last night The fella and I went off to the cinema house to see Spiderman 3.
Now, being the media whore star fuckers we are, we had hoped that this spidie adventure around, we would once again happen to be in New York City to attend the premier, as we did for Spidie 1 and 2. Imagine our disappointment when not only did we not even KNOW that a third spidie adventure was on the way, but that we would have to watch it at the Trocadero in Leicester Square.
So fronting up there last night, hot on the heels of the Tobey and Kirsten show the night before (OK, who needs New York, let the stars come to us) we find that it doesn't even start until May 4. So totally unfair. It's been way too long between superhero lycra; we don't ever talk about Brandon Rouths performance in Superman returns, especially when Parker is in the room.
So to make the evening at least marginally enjoyable, we decided to see the gore and ab fest that is 300.
Despite the 3 highly irritating Japanese seat kicking freaks behind us who talked all the way through (you night want to see this at home in subtitles so you can understand it you nightmares) and the unimaginable amount of gore, blood, severed heads and limbs, the film is the most stupifying mind boggling visual feast of the male form ever conceived. The gym fees alone for all the actors on this movie must have been in the millions.
Though, good friends, are 300 good looking totally cut rippling ab chunky hot guys all getting their gear off and running around getting sweaty and blooded really an excuse for bad plot, bad script and even worse acting? It was a little hard to watch a Scot play a Greek, an Australian play his general with one eye (David Wenham should be hung drawn and quartered for his appalling performance) and some Russian play Xerxes king of the Persians.
Bad Bad Bad.
The cinema was full of we gentleman who enjoy the gym too much and probably not just for the workout. Hardly surprising.
Funny how gay men are so discerning when it comes to what wine to accompany a filet mignon, yet suddenly have no taste when it comes to cinema if you just add a bit of flesh.
Shame, England. Shame.
Now, being the media whore star fuckers we are, we had hoped that this spidie adventure around, we would once again happen to be in New York City to attend the premier, as we did for Spidie 1 and 2. Imagine our disappointment when not only did we not even KNOW that a third spidie adventure was on the way, but that we would have to watch it at the Trocadero in Leicester Square.
So fronting up there last night, hot on the heels of the Tobey and Kirsten show the night before (OK, who needs New York, let the stars come to us) we find that it doesn't even start until May 4. So totally unfair. It's been way too long between superhero lycra; we don't ever talk about Brandon Rouths performance in Superman returns, especially when Parker is in the room.
So to make the evening at least marginally enjoyable, we decided to see the gore and ab fest that is 300.
Despite the 3 highly irritating Japanese seat kicking freaks behind us who talked all the way through (you night want to see this at home in subtitles so you can understand it you nightmares) and the unimaginable amount of gore, blood, severed heads and limbs, the film is the most stupifying mind boggling visual feast of the male form ever conceived. The gym fees alone for all the actors on this movie must have been in the millions.
Though, good friends, are 300 good looking totally cut rippling ab chunky hot guys all getting their gear off and running around getting sweaty and blooded really an excuse for bad plot, bad script and even worse acting? It was a little hard to watch a Scot play a Greek, an Australian play his general with one eye (David Wenham should be hung drawn and quartered for his appalling performance) and some Russian play Xerxes king of the Persians.
Bad Bad Bad.
The cinema was full of we gentleman who enjoy the gym too much and probably not just for the workout. Hardly surprising.
Funny how gay men are so discerning when it comes to what wine to accompany a filet mignon, yet suddenly have no taste when it comes to cinema if you just add a bit of flesh.
Shame, England. Shame.
posted by Eddie Knittster at 7:12 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home