That’s it. Seriously. I’ve had it with 3D films. For months, solid months I’ve grimly sat through otherwise adequate films with a rapidly decreasing patience for stupid plastic goggles, wobbly visuals and hyperinflated ticket prices. Like a child insistently shoving their latest mangled, godawful finger painting in your face, there’s inevitably a point at which the politeness ends and you have to just demand that someone gets this shit out of your face, and fast.
Is it me or has it all been done before? Memories of free 3D goggles with the latest 90’s dinosaur magazine spring to mind in which you’d look briefly, think ‘Ah. Yes. It’s marginally less confusing with the glasses on. Kind of like a normal picture of a dinosaur, sans-3D, except this one gives me a headache.’
But surely it’s worth the price hike? Right? Although in theory you could actually recreate the experience for yourself by buying the DVD, turning the brightness down to ocean-floor levels, smearing vaseline on the screen, downing some ipecac and then borrowing a pair of your granddad's old NHS glasses (making sure to have a cohort of aids-ridden tramps wear them before you of course) with the lenses replaced by shit-smeared tracing paper. But hey, what’s the good of the latest summer blockbuster without that one point in the film in which some ZANY anthropomorphic marsupial swings through the air and momentarily messes with your depth perception? ‘Wow, it’s like he was coming RIGHT AT ME!’ No. Just no.
