What fresh cinematic atrocity awaits me this week? A recreation of a tennis match.
What appalling crime must have I committed in previous life to condemn me to this regular infliction of histrionic offal that is cinema in 2017.
Notwithstanding the need to go amongst the vile-smelling and grotesquely fat ‘public’ but I must do so in order in endure a treatise regarding sport.
Sport – the act of various intellectually stunted chemically enhanced cretins attempting to run, jump, throw or kick something further, higher or better than various other intellectually stunted chemically enhanced cretins.
I’d rather go and live in a hole than have anything to do with such foolishness.
Happily, Heaven smiles on me as I discover that youTube – that hive of racism and cat videos – also has recordings of sport. Thus negating the need for me to venture out to the ‘multiplex’ and listen to the lower orders masticate whotsits – and if you smiled at those last two words, you’re worse than all of them.
So, I pour a small glass of a delightful the Pineau des Charentes I acquired whilst wintering in the Dordogne, and watch the original tennis match with the sound down and John Corigliano’s magnificent Ghosts of Versailles issuing forth from the Bang and Olufsen.
The spectacle was wretched, naturally, but as I could endure it in the comfort of my domicile I almost warmed to the whole affair.
Screen Idle star rating
3 stars
One of the two men won and then everything stopped.
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