By The Sentient Portrait of an Early 19th Century Gentleman
the morning's first light, I vacated my diggings and pointed my velocipede towards the
local theater, my intentions being to view the latest moving picture:
Clash of the Titans. Upon my arrival I was put into a fine pucker upon
discovering that a gape-mouthed boodle of border ruffians had seen fit
to congregate at the entrance. My first inciliation was to
absquatulate then and there, but as it had been a coon's-age since I
had attended a performance of this sort, I soon acquiesced.
I planked down the funds required (far from a pittance, I assure you!)
and made my way into the theater at full chisel, more than a bit wrathy at
the shine-cuttings of the soaplocks who filled the lobby.
It would be an understatement to say that I did not cotton to the film.
Immidiately upon the launch of the feature, I bore witness to a display
of vulgarity unlike any I have been heretofore been privy. To wit:
During one particularly troubling set-piece featuring a shirtless,
unkempt youth, I felt apt to swoon, as the creator piled agony after
agony upon my troubled countenance, offending equally the eyes, the
ears, and the Christian soul. It seemed apparent to me that the film
was naught but a husking frolic patronized solely by street rowdies and
whoremongers, which had been filmed and released to theaters with
little concern for the public welfare or good taste.
Indeed, so vile were the trappings of the film, that for
the briefest of periods my limbs began to shake in such a fashion that
I fear I had been afflicted with a particularly insidious dose of the
hectic fever. In retrospect, this may have been to my benefit, for were
I not indisposed in this manner I would have been wont to dash about
the theater beseeching any comely young woman I might happen across to
make haste to the exit at once, out of the fear (however irrational)
that viewing the crude and profanetory content upon the screen might
cause her to begin swilling Old Orchard and bandying her quim about
amongst the sailors and dragsmen in attendance.
"By the horn spoons!" I exclaimed at one point, shielding my eyes from
the screen, "Is there no escape from this depravity?!"
"Oy! Shut pan, and sing small," one of the other patrons admonished,
"or I've half a mind to put you down right off the reel with a
At this, I stopped up, for though this could have been naught but
bluster, the speaker was brawny fellow, with a plug-ugly countenance,
and I thought it foolish to invoke his ire over an event so picayune.
Nevertheless, I had been soured thoroughly on the film, and so made for
the egress like the all-possessed, staunchly unwilling to be subjected
to any further prurience from the dastardly forces which had thrown
this monstrosity before the masses.
In closing, I cannot help but feel that even the philistinical lowbreds
(to whom this filth was undoubtedly intended to cater) have been
hornswaggled by this film's producers beyond all imagining, and as such
should seek recompense from the governmental bureau of communications
in their area. This picture should be viewed as an affront to all
humankind, and I hold no doubt that many patrons would find that a dose
of the French Pox more desirable than even a momentary viewing.
I hereby confer upon this film a rating of cipher (which is to say,
I bid you good day.