“Don’t look in that mirror!” I said to T as he wandered back from the Gents, “It’s a ‘fat’ mirror, and Lord knows I don’t need to add any extra pounds to the ones already gained over the last week.”
He looked into the mirror anyway – emblazoned with a superlative drawing of the movie we’d just seen: The latest in the Star Wars, um, series, it was perfect viewing for the middle bit – that bit between Christmas and New Year where no one knows what day of the week it is, much less cares.
We’d met at 8 to go to the local Everyman cinema. At the top of a bustling queue T requested the tickets: “I booked two for Rogue Nation”, he said to one of the Bartenders. I smiled standing beside him, noting the hot rum punch merrily steaming on the bar. “You mean, Rogue One” came the reply. We looked at each other, “Yes, of course, Rogue One.”
“I was sure it was called the former, T” I whispered, clutching my winter warmer as our eyes adjusted to the darkened theatre and we attempted to locate our small but perfectly formed sofa.
Special effects reigned supreme in a movie where the laughs came from K-2SO – all minute mannerisms coupled with a dry wit easily a match for C-3P0 – and Peter Cushing was raised from his rest via CGI to be morphed into some notable character or other.
As the lights came up I turned to my actor friend: “What was all that about the antennae not being aligned? Was that Leia at the end – if so what have they done to her face?! And was Princess Jen supposed to be Leia in an early life? And the big retro controls? I’m confused.”
T stood up. “Basically the guys in white are the good guys. Actually, no, they’re not. That sea bass directing the battle at the end was, together with the squid and all his second world war companions.”
“Oh, you mean those guys that looked like they’d gotten lost from the set of Apocalypse Now?” We grinned at each other.
“The thing is you need to watch all of them from start to finish so you can get the story in some kind of context and understand it” he advised.
“Yeah, but there’s no point T, because before you know it they’e made another one that sits at the beginning or the end, or the beginning of the end or even half way through someplace.”
The consternation continued in the car on the way home, and even in my head as I lay it down upon my pillow. I texted T: ‘The thing is they did mislead us, because Princess Jen had a bun in the back of her hair at the beginning so they were definitely making that link. And, also, there was a very significant James Bondesque moment. I can’t remember what it was now, but when I do I’ll let you know…’
In the morning I woke musing all things Star Wars; the French lead actor; the cockney accented soldiers and various slimy creatures. Reaching for my cup of tea and a mince pie, I checked my phone and frowned: no response. T had clearly moved on. I, however, appeared to be still luxuriating in the middle.
Thanks Wayne McSween for the lovely mirror pic.