Ben & Chris Blaine are the Joel and Ethan of a Short movie outfit called Charlie Productions. They are 21 and 19 years old respectively and are in that truly enviable position in their creative lives where they can do whatever they damn well please. These young chaps are cowboy filmmakers with the balls of a mountain ram. Honest, benevolent cowboys that is, like Henry Fonda before he did Once Upon A Time In The West, clean living, well groomed folk with their neighbours' best interests at heart. If you have the patience to read on through this turgid mist of literary indulgence (me, not them) you'll discover that they've just shot a great little short on the London underground called Russell Square for under £1000. (You all know how protective the LU are about that rank sewer) The members of the production team have an almost incestuous relationship with one another and I'd freely quit cigarettes for their enthusiasm.
But, sitting here with my leg cast incidentally erect like some shameless white phallus, I've a dilemma. I'm looking over what was said, wondering why I didn't get all dictatorial on Ben's prosaic arse. The piece is free with hyperbole, youthful, witty, humble and unabashed, in essence it defies the unwavering grain of my style in a manner that would normally prompt an introduction of such gross pomposity as to render this licentious. What's worse, I'm clean out of Bourbon and my editing scissors are blunt today. I shall leave it, it works and I like it.
Now don't get stroppy, I'm finished.