Nov 3

I just invented a tongue-twister. It came about because Rach and I were discussing my love of choc-top ice creams, and how I can’t go to see a movie without getting one to munch on during the Coming Attractions.

By far the best choc-tops are at Dendy Cinemas in Newtown. They make them fresh each day in a variety of ever-changing flavours (my favourite is boysenberry), and the cones are always crisp and fresh. Unlike Greater Union choc-tops, which taste like they’ve been in the freezer since Star Wars came out. Generally speaking, the smaller the cinema, the better the choc-top. This I call “Snubian’s First Law of Choc-Tops”.

My Second Law of Choc-Tops pertains to the fact that no matter how fast or slow you eat your choc-top you will always take the last bite at the precise moment the lights go down and the main feature begins.

Anyway, there’s a film I want to go and see, but it’s playing only at the Chauvel in Paddington, a cinema I’ve never been to before. Naturally my main concern is the quality of their choc-tops, and how they might rate as compared to other cinemas. This led me to create the following tongue-twister:

Which choc-top tops the choc-top charts?

Not bad, huh?

Here’s another one I heard many years ago from a Dutch guy I worked with who seemed strangely obsessed with it:

The Leith police dismisseth us.

This is one I love to tease Rach with, because she can’t seem to say it at any speed. It doesn’t make a lot of sense – I think it’s actually part of a longer poem – but it gets extra points for difficulty. Leith is a town in Scotland by the way.

Then for sheer ridiculousness and impossibility, there’s this:

Blake’s black bike’s back brake bracket block broke.

Try saying that with a mouthful of choc-top.

Jun 12
I’m giving it five stars. Margaret?
icon4 Jun 12th, 2009 | icon2 Cinema | icon3Comments Off

Last night we saw Samson & Delilah, the new romantic comedy (just kidding!) from Warwick Thornton. It’s an impressive film for many reasons, but you must see it on the big screen. Don’t wait for the DVD for this one.

Although the cinema was mostly empty, we had to put up with the usual array of irritating patrons. Four elderly cinemagoers (from roughly two hundred empty seats they chose to sit directly in front of us) spoke in wheezy whispers at key points in the film, to our extreme annoyance. We had to “shush” them twice. They would also tut disapprovingly or groan with exaggerated melancholy at appropriate moments. (I’ve written about this before.)

[Warning, minor spoilers follow.]

Of the small audience, most stayed until the end of the credits. As the lights came on and people rose from their seats, it seemed that many felt something needed to be said about what they had just watched on screen.

“Well, now I’m depressed!” said one lady.

“But there was hope at the end”, replied another.

“Well, that was a different slant on it”, said one budding movie reviewer.

A different slant? On what?? This is the sort of thing you say when you don’t know what to say.

“You know there’s more than seven thousand aboriginals here on the Central Coast …”, said a voice to nobody in particular.

In the words of Molly Meldrum, do yerself a favour, and see this film! The “verandah band” alone is worth the price of admission.