So. The new Harry Potter film. Or HP7 as the experts would say, although personally I would prefer something that sounded less like the new generation of ink cartridge and more like the worldwide phenomenon Hary Potter is.
So I went to the showcase delux in Bristol, and paid all of £7.60 to do so. We arrived late enough for the only seats to be on the very front row. And I mean the front. So close I could have touched the screen with my little toe. So we chose a seat to the far left in the hope of diminishing any neck cramps. Mistake number one.
The perspective was offputting throughout, and in several moment a dwarflike Emma Watson spoke to a brooding, looming hulk of a Daniel Radcliffe. Something inside, probably my sixth sense, was telling me something was distinctly not right about this situation. It took untill I was running for a taxi later that night for it to dawn on me that maybe it wasn't the billion pound team of world experts who had been working on the film that had fucked up. Maybe I'd just chosen the wrong seat.
Despite the inapproppriately chortling 14 year old gang behind us (I say innapropriate not because 14 year olds shouldnt laugh, but because of the moments they chose to practise their cackles) the film was, well, good.
It was fine. Nothing incredible, but a good night and the chance to part of the "making of history", as warner bros. put it. Was it worth the £7.60? Definately. And the neck cramps that plagued me throughout the following day? I couldn't say.
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