CHAPTER 14: THE PROMISE
“I…” he paused for dramatic effect “have a theory.”
“What is your theory, Virgil?” she asked.
He was sitting on a rocky outcrop a few hundred feet outside the city limits, staring at the glinting black
mountains in the distance that erupted from the earth like solid night.
She had her back to him, and stood bent over with a black, charred stick in her hand, writing words in the
fine grey sand.
“You may not like this theory.” he warned her.
“Oh really?” she noted, not looking up “Is it controversial?”
“All the best theories are.”
“Go on then. Shock me.”
“My theory…” he said turning and walking towards her over the outcrop, and nearly tripping over a jutting
rock “…is that you are absolutely insane.”
He stood and looked at what she had written. Words stretched off in a good thirty foot radius, variations of a
single sentence repeated over and over again.
STRANGE DAY TO GREET ANOTHER
STRANGE WAY TO SEE ONE OTHER
STRANGE GREY TO MEET OLD LOVER
STRANGE WAY TO SEAT A PLUMBER (This one had been crossed out with repeated angry strokes.)
“Really?” she said, looking up with genuine puzzlement “Why’s that?”
Virgil decided that if she had to ask the question, she was beyond help.
“You do realise.” he said “That the more you try, the less sense it makes.”
Marie gave an angry grunt and threw the stick down. She reached for the bottle of Red Marie that she had
left half buried in the sand and was about to raise it to her lips when Virgil grabbed her wrist.
“Hey.” he said “Enough for one day, day don’t you think?”
She looked at him for a second, and the nodded.
He nodded in return and let go of her wrist.
Quick as a flash, she had raised the bottle to her lips and drunk.
CHAPTER 13: THE TRAITOR WAITS
Eamonn closed his eyes and breathed in, letting the night air tell him it’s story.
He could smell car exhaust, sweat and fast food, all grace notes against the crescendo of alcohol and gunpowder smoke. He opened his eyes.
Dublin on Halloween night, halfway between a party and a warzone. Same as it ever was.
Good to be home.
Never pick a fight with an Australian. Lesson. Fucking. Learned.
This one hurt, folks. Space Chimps manages to encapsulate so much of what has gone wrong with 21st century animation that I almost feel like if I burned the DVD all those sins would just evaporate as the spell was lifted. It’s awful, but it’s awful in so many different ways at once that it has inestimable value as a teaching tool. I feel like you could teach an animation course on what not to do based on this movie alone. This is the first movie by Vanguard Animation that I’ve reviewed on this blog as I’ve not had the unalloyed pleasure of viewing Valiant, Happily N’Ever After or Space Chimps 2: Zartog Strikes Back….
Sorry. When I typed that last one I felt an ice-cold shudder and had to go check that all the doors and windows are locked. Anyway, Vanguard is at the rearguard of modern American animation and was founded by John H. Williams who is, as the DVD cover is quick to remind us, one of the primates who brought us Shrek. And I have one question. What the hell is Shrek? Shrek? Sounds like an Eastern European currency. Boris bought a red cabbage and a bottle of vodka for three shrek.