I took a minute for to look around me, see what sortsa folks the world had coughed in these doors, anyhow. For sure, I had a glance or two earlier, but, truth be told, I was more interested in the conversation going on behind me. Turned out a few folks, including the attractive female from back in Episode IV, had booked a row of seats, only to find that one of the seats wasn't actually really a seat at all, more a bizarre metallic stump, and so all sortsa kafuffles went on with the management, all sortsa talk of "House seats" and "sorry" and "fuck your fucking stump-seat".

The rest of the audience turned out, for the most part, to be either young children and their parents / guardians, or gangs of youth-types. I couldn't see many other folks sat on their own thinking about hands they'd like to be holding throughout this fucking incredible battle with General Grievous.

Maybe in my head I imagined who I would like to be sat here, and I whispered to her now and again, maybe saying about "Y'know, this dialogue makes me wanna pierce my ear-drums with forks" or "Still, this is much, much better than I thought it was gonna be" or "Is it ok if I put my arm around you for a second? Just this is all rather grim, this bit right here, and I feel a bit sad, and I'd dig it if maybe you were a bit closer".

The last one I accidentally said out loud, but no fucker paid attention, or if they did hear, they pretended they didn't, terrified out their very skulls no doubt.

Above all, though, I just kept thinking how much fun this was. I went to see Phantom Menace more times than enough, but after one and a half viewings, it became more of a chore than anything borne out a desire to see the flick. You had to see it a million times, man, and if your mate's brother saw it a million and one, then nothing less than three billion would suffice.

This here, though, I'll come back to plenty, I decided. And cause I want to. Cause despite the shitty banter, there's just too much great, great stuff here, too many bursts of glorious eye-watering wackiness, too many brilliant characters, brilliant designs, brilliant set-pieces, brilliant moments of silence followed by brilliant screeches of cacophonous abandon.

And look how much plot's packed in here, would you ever for a damn second? The Phantom Menace tried to convince folks it was complicated just by having loads a scenes where folks talk for hours about a loada half-arsed balls. How much story was there? About a page, and it fucking sucked, I might add.

Here, you can't move for story. Don't turn that corner, you Sith bastard, there's gonna be more story waiting round there than I could hope to deal with in this state. Every road these bastards take, story story story. Folks trip over the damn story. Where'd all this damn story come from alla damn sudden, they're saying. Last six hours there ain't been nothing resembling a story, suddenly I can't raise my right nut without hitting a story the size a Canada.