Last night at nine o'clock,

Last night at nine o’clock, our flat was struck with a terrible choice. Would it be Brian De Palma’s Snake Eyes or Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums? Several nanoseconds later we had settled on the latter – citing only vastly superior quality and entertainment as our reason. Within ten minutes I had turned to my flatmate and said, “Mella, when this gets to the end can we rewind and watch it again?” She assented. But this delightful fate was not to be, as once the film had ended, we found ourselves woefully drawn to the pulsating breasts and buttocks of Baldwin Jnr and Crawford in tits’n’arse cinema car-crash Fair Game