Well, thank-you kindly, all. I had a great day, in which I enjoyed (Hm. I say “enjoyed”; not sure if that’s quite right… “I was pleased to have experienced…” might be more apt) Four of the Apocalypse. Strange stew of contradictions, that film. Slow, a little disjointed, but incredibly violent and with an all-time great villain in an almost unrecognisable Thomas Milian, although said villain, as brilliant as he was, was a) frustratingly underused and b) a shade too close to a modern(ish) era Charlie Manson-type villain who might’ve been more at home in a Dirty Harry pic than wandering the badlands of a century past. Still, I have to doff my cap to anything attempting a bit of different. F*ckawful score, though. Really, horrible.
Sir, I’ve just decided that 41’s the age of the Goddamn Sexual Tyrannosaur, as I’m going to be explaining to mrs.caress shortly. Although, that celebratory chinese takeout I wolfed down earlier is laying on me rather heavily now. Vexing me, it is. Maybe I’ll just take some antacids and have a lie down. Ah, middle age. We are the kings of all we survey, when our bellies aren’t obscuring it all.