Look, it’s a new cinematic experience:
“Julian” is up on the screen and they’re hating
on him, two minutes strong, like there’s no tomorrow,
Tasmanian devils in their seats, to borrow
an expression never used before, berating
his call for crypto-privacy. Delerience
consumes the wretched theatre, 2 + 2 is 5,
when a leaky condom is displayed to shock.
And radical transparency of government
confirms that Julian is that rare aberrant;
the pretty blonde starts egging; someone pulls a Glock;
nobody’s ever seen such anger in the hive.
Then the feature begins with a rolling tomtom:
The Sorrow and the Pity, a romcom.
