It was like being pinned to the ground while an angry dishwasher shat in your face for two hours.

Two useful takes on the currents and not-so-secret undertows of Hollywood these days: Charlie Brooker on the glittering dregs and the FT on why the movie industry is wishing it could resurrect William Castle's "Illusion-O." In short, kicking back against its continual trendline toward ancillary distribution, an attempt to make the theater itself a singular experience, which apparently these days means the drooling shit-sheen scatter of Transformers and the excuse to feel invaded as a collectivity again: strap on your 3D glasses all at once and wait for singing fish to break the fourth wall and splash around your nether regions.

Castle's false warning may start to be the last refuge available: Don't be embarassed about opening your mouth and letting rip with everything you've got...

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