Revenge of the script

My wife invited one of her chums to have tea on Saturday afternoon and she chased me out of the flat so they could do some female bonding – or bondage, I forget which. I was quite relieved to have some time to myself, because I’d spent the morning babysitting a rather disgruntled sprog (not that the job is much easier when the sprog is gruntled, but every little bit helps). The youngster was unhappy because her evil sire had decreed that she didn’t have to finish breakfast if she didn’t want to, but the next meal was at lunch time and no sooner.

It almost goes without saying that she elected not to finish breakfast and was consequently ravenous and difficult by mid-morning. I stood firm, but my ears were ringing and my resolve was in a state of serious disrepair by the time the sun finally crossed the meridian. Lunch was gone before you could say “Hoover” and she was again content, but I was feeling a bit shredded when my spouse returned home. I decided to spend my time off wisely and headed off to Canal Walk to see Star Wars III. Okay, so perhaps I didn’t use the time so wisely, after all.

I’ve always been mean-spirited and this charming aspect of my character often seems to come to the fore when I go to the movies. While the film’s visuals were astonishing, there were a few things that really, really bothered me. One of them was Natalie Portman’s nightie. It was very pretty, with pearls and dangly bits and so forth, but to sleep in? You’d have to have skin as tough as rhino hide to drop off in a number like that. The other thing was the utterly cringeworthy dialogue. Atrocious does not even begin to describe it. Your average Richie Rich comic has more emotional depth and realism than ‘Revenge of the Sith’.

George Lucas can certainly afford to hire a competent script writer. If only his ego would let him.


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