Thelma, Brad Pitt, Louise
Being the only person I know that has yet to see Prometheus it’s clear that I’m the one person capable of giving Ridley Scott’s latest blockbuster roller-coaster of a sherbet mushroom cloud a fair and impartial review. I approached not so far seeing Prometheus with some trepidation. Opinions have been widely divided from Paul Internet’s cutting endorsement I will hunt down Ridley Scott for this with acid-dipped kittens so as to literally sponge the affront he has personally made at me from his face to the less robust words of Cornelius P. Constantine I put aside an evening of foie gras painted pleasure where Kate and Kylie had intended to fly me to their secret pleasure-island in order to see this and it was better even than the Cote de Nuits shower that followed, plus I saw it on the plane.
I realise despite avoiding spoilers that it is intended to be a prequel to Thelma & Louise, the 1991 chick-flick for powerful, confident women tired of stereotyping – co-starring a semi-naked Brad Pitt in a cowboy hat. Personally whilst I like the franchise I’m one of those rare people that preferred T&L3 to the more gung-ho Thelmas & Louises that sat between the-then trilogy. Whilst I applaud the efforts to not simply retell the same story of two women on the run after rightly murdering a bastard, the second film rather drove the point home too hard for me with its pack of Colonial Marines being whittled down by a never-ending legion of shiny, biomechanical xenomorphic willies. Same message, but different and as I say I applaud making the second so different whilst remaining in the same mythos, linking to a over-arcing milieu. The third, T&L3, subverted the rape genre by using the setting of a space-gaol for religious-criminals. All bald, and all in polo neck jumpers. At the risk of digressing too far, the fourth in the series Thelma & Louise Serenity nicely rounded things off by having the (by-now) cloned Thelma & Louise end the film driving their massive space ship into the Earth.
So as an honest and impartial review I only have this to say from all evidence presented to me; it’s as pretty as Jonny Depp with a c-cup bosom made entirely of Glenfiddich malt that will see you hacking to ruin the neighbour’s puppies, with a rake, wrapped in barb wire, made of hate. Both splendid and vile, where you will in the pub afterwards be able to argue the pint away as to whether Thelma & Louise were actually nexus-series replicants too.
With aliens in it.