Django Unchained Review
Django Unchained is really, really, really good. I liked it loads.
The beauty of the location of Cornerhouse cinema is that in the evening when bus serves become less frequent you can stand outside it and see whether the 111 or the 10-buses are coming and still have time to get to the right bus stop in time to get it.
It is also quite a good place to be stood, as far places to stand with good views of multi-bus routes, go. You get a better person around the entry of Cornerhouse (I don’t mean the homeless – they are the same).
For example, three Scandinavians walked past me. And yes, after watching The Bridge fairly intensively I did automatically look down to below their torso for some text telling me in English what they were saying. LOLZ!! (I think I actually did do that.)
It wasn’t all members of the more likeable areas of Europe, though. A tall man walked past describing where he was to someone on the phone…then he said “I can see you now.” Wondering who he was meeting I looked for someone but it became apparent it was not a pedestrian he was meeting but that he was getting picked up by a person driving an automobile. The car wasn’t going anywhere, though: there was no rush.
Despite this the man seemed to ignore the traffic lights that are there (helpfully) to prevent that dangers of the traffic of Whitworth Street and Oxford Street crossing each other. His ignorance of the illuminated road safety devices and the fact that his direction had somehow drifted from alignment to the pavement meant that he was practically in the middle of the crossroads while the lights were on green when he….fell on his arse. He got up quite quickly looked a bit annoyed at the cars that were ignoring the green lights, thus not driving into his stupid-fuck-face and trotted off to his lift.
Had he been crushed by one of the cars the driver would have probably ended up severely traumatised with guilt probably deathing themselves up suicide river. They certainly would have been treated like a cold-hearted bastard if they’d just said that it was the dead bastard’s fault for valuing his life below making someone wait an extra 45 seconds to pick him up. (By extension do we wonder if he is in an abusive relationship? Is he worried about his boyfriend/girlfriend smashing his cheekbone because they had to wait slightly longer for him?)
By this stage I had been waiting for the bus long enough to be classed as homeless. Then a bus came. Who says you can’t turn your life around with a lucky break?