[ The following post is archival material, written for another site/platform, but never published until now. It is a follow-up to the previous SuperFan Diaries entry. While the text has been reviewed/proofread, it is presented here in its original, unexpurgated form. ]
The September morning had been bright and welcoming, if somewhat brusque in its temperature, when Mrs Blackout and myself left Oxfordshire. The locomotive engine of Mister Brunel's own Great Western Company which ferried us toward London Town did so with the velocity and we had come to admire, and its counterpart which carried us from the Euston station did so with a comparable efficiency.
And yet the day as we found it when we arrived in Milton Keynes had a grey stillness to the air; not exactly an atmosphere of foreboding, but one of reluctance, certainly. Lest we forget, this is one of the realm's 'New Towns', commissioned in a drunken haze by His Majesty in 1819, then designed and built to completion by architects Frederick Milton and Broderick Keynes less than a year later. Alas, upon the day of the grand opening of the Central Station, the two had a spectacular quarrel regarding the refreshment concession in the forecourt (Milton citing his wish for a Pumpkin Emporium, Keynes professing his preference for The Caffeteria Nero brand), and the ensuing duel which many assumed to be naught more than a publicity stunt resulted in the untimely death of them both. And I fear that the literal clouds which hung overhead as we alighted our train were made all the heavier by this metaphorical one.
As to the purpose of our visit, I have for some time been a member of The Cineworld Motionography Company's subscription scheme, whereby for 1/6d per calendar month, one can view as many modern moving pictures as the heart desires in any of their screening-halls, theatres or booths (although this rises to the still reasonable 2/- if one should like to include London's 'West End' halls). As a valued customer and cine-fanatic, I (and a few select others, I hasten to add) had been invited, all expense covered no less, to attend one of The Cineworld Company's flagship playhouses, in the aforementioned New Town, upon arrival at which, we would be presented with a showing of The Hollywood Corporation's latest moving picture drama, complete with a new-fangled system of pulleys and bellows attached to each customer's chair, the motions of which purportedly accompany the storytelling on the screen.
This contrivance, "The Four Dee-Ex" as its creators have named it, was the first of its kind on our glorious shores, and had been dreamt up by those marvellous boffins in the Korean See-Jay Four Dee-Plex Corporation. Additionally, this was to be a three-dimensional presentation, utilising a scientifically engineered pair of spectacles worn by the viewer (supplied by the cinema at a surcharge of -/3d, coincidentally enough), which work in tandem with a series of shutters and mirrors to create the effect of complete visual cinematic immersion. Whatever will they think of next?
After being met at the historically pensive station by The Cineworld Company's delightful representatives, carriages were arranged to ferry us along the bustling esplanade and toward the veritable Mecca of leisure and entertainment which expectantly awaited our arrival. We stepped down onto the concourse and the day proper began.
Now, the programme's feature presentation, 'The Thermally Inclement Judiciary System' was in fact "a sequel", as I believe they are known; a second installment in an ongoing cascade of adventure tales, rather like the serialised stories which appear in penny dreadfuls. Unsure as to whether Mrs Blackout and I were familiar with its narrative predecessor, our benefactors had very kindly put aside an entire theatre for a private screening of the series' first cinematograph, 'The Labyrinth Expedient'. In fact reader, I had seen the reel before (although my good lady had not) and enjoyed it thoroughly, so this cognitive refreshment was a most welcome addition to the proceedings.
As was, in no lesser way, the banquet arranged by our hosts, prepared and provided by Mr Franklyn Benjamin's Brasserie Americana & Sausage Emporium (although the exterior signage would lead one to expect that Franklyn and Benjamin are the two cooperative partners of the business, this was an affectation insisted upon by its proprietor when a severe blow to the head sustained in an unfortunate kitchen-based accident lead to his developing two distinct personalities. Although the man's culinary skills are unparalleled, this is still very much a subject of some vexation, and should you meet Franklyn (or 'Benjamin') in person, for the love of God do NOT bring it up).
After luncheon, and as an additional (and pleasantly surprising) perk of our visit, my good lady and I were given, gratis, a shopping basket containing confectionery, a carbonated soft drink (one of the more deplorable items to come from The Americas independence, if one is being honest) and a range of branded 'merchandise' relating to The Thermally Inclement Judiciary System, so that we may outwardly express our appreciation for its entertainment value, whilst also acting as ambassadors - indeed, advertisements - for its continued availability and success. Whatever will they think of next?
And so it was with great trepidation that Mrs Blackout and myself were shown to our reserved seats in the centre of the auditorium, the braided rope being removed for our passage by the proud duty manager of the theatre. The house-lamps were dimmed to a respectful level and the show began. And what a show it turned out to be...
Following an initial period of bodily and psychological adjustment to the method of delivery, the audience was transported, in spirit at least, to a God-forsaken futuristic vision of The Americas, whereby a particularly virulent outbreak of Gout has all but exterminated the population, save for a smattering of spirited urchins who appear to be immune to the misfortune. Using naught but their wits, cunning and a series of progressively powerful firearms, the group endeavour to find the apothecary who can put an end to this madness and restore order, dignity and scheduled meal-times to what remains of civilisation (Mrs Blackout remarked on the lack of tea facilities in the film; I reminded her that this was a horrendous portent of humanity's future ailings, and American ailings at that).
Added to this engaging spectacle was the aforementioned system of sensory enhancements, which lived up to our expectation and then more. In scenes depicting thrilling carriage-pursuits, a parade of off-duty chimney sweeps beneath the screen were to waft large fans toward the audience, to create the sensation of air movement. Similarly, depictions of explosions and continued conflagration were accompanied by the ensemble's rapid inhalation and subsequent exhalation of Capstan Full Strength cigarettes, to create a layer of immersive smoke (and with the added bonus of being good for the health of both the little tykes and the audience alike!). At one point during a scene set in a storm, Mrs Blackout even marvelled at the effect of moisture flying toward the viewer from apparently concealed water-pistols. I quietly informed her that this was merely a fortunate co-incidence of the feeble collective's tears, projected as their gangmaster whipped their backs in synchronisation with on-screen gunshots. Whatever will they think of next?
Alas, with our cinematic duality at its conclusion and the return journey to Oxfordshire still to be endured, the time had come to bid farewell to our fellow revellers, thank our beloved hosts most humbly and make our way into the cool Buckinghamshire evening (although the hour was still light, the venue's programme contained no other cinematographs we wish to view at that juncture, nor did we wish to take our chances among the town's ruffians by leaving the hall once darkness had descended).
As a parting extravagance, carriages had been summoned for our convenience, but not before we were informed that the next gathering of our cinematic league was to be in December, whereby we would be excused from the church-services of the festive-season and convene back in our nation's wondrous capital (thank the Lord), to witness the upcoming moving-picture by Rev. Jebediah Jeronimo Abrahamson, entitled 'A Stellar Hostility: The Compulsion Enlivens'.
It appears, dear reader, that this is what they thought of next.
Our carriage awaited, as did our future festivities. Into the night we roared, over the moors, through the provinces and across county borders; our expectation and excitement matched only by the clattering wheels of Brunel's steel beast…
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
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