Hwæt, we Gar-Dena, in geardagum

Saw Beowulf yesterday in glorious 3D-o-vision™. Got the nerd glasses and everything. Should have sat farther towards the back of the theatre, really, because the bit I was looking forward to was when everyone in unison slips on the nerd glasses and, in unison, goes oooohhhh.

Also, if I'd sat farther back, I would have been able to throw things at the junkie sitting behing me who thought that the entire film was an opportunity for him to provide a running commentary to his mates. I didn't say anything, because I was too busy going oooohhhh.

( Spoilers, but spoilers for a millennium-old piece of our common literary heritage )

Just as Beowulf is now a flawed hero, Beowulf as a film is flawed but heroic. The directorial shortcomings of the movie are the sort of thing that will be fixed when there is less starry-eyed obsession with the tech, and that will come as the tech matures. It indicates to us—and, hopefully, to Hollywood—that there's still no substitute for a rattling good story and a process of catering to the audience's expectations, or subverting them as required.

And it demonstrates that there's hope yet for my career as a prettyboy action-hero starlet.

And it has Angelina Jolie, dripping wet and naked as the day she was born, lasciviously schmoozing the camera in glorious 3D-o-vision™. And the film is a 12A. If I was twelve years old when I watched this, I would have died on the spot. I'm still feeling a little bit wobbly as it is.