Six storeys of grand spectacle, where the pool washes out in the scheme of Easter and finishing early with a dash into the city. Pot belly reddens in the coffee house and the roll over into the coins is over and toward that in the blues. Takes a quick pace up the stairs of the stadium of the IMAX theatre in order to stave the eyes and neck from blindness and rupturing.
Dead of centre is a few seats away and the line stretches out with eyes covering at the sight of webs. Fight of flights under weak lights above the heads.
Violence and choreography is a splendour, paying and playing visions of extreme fluidity. Taking one leg to shield another as the integration and cohesiveness of a battle unit as the 300 Spartans is impressive well into the splattering sight of the thousand nations of the Persian empire.
Black against white and blood red all over. A veritable feast of action and tactics with the small band of men taking on wave after wave after wave. Politics fashion a splint as the war rages on and the duplicitous nature of men knows only to tear a hole in the backside.
Glorious, absolutely glorious, and with a soundtrack of most intense marriage, there is a cut and dry stump standing left on the battle field that lies just beyond that of The Hot Gates.
Uplifting to a factor of entirety and whole raging infusion despite the eventual outcome.
Soon Van - Friday, April 6, 2007 - 11:11
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