I went to a screening of JJ Abram’s much-hyped, long-awaited, top sekrit monster movie tonight.

What a spectacular film: a good, old-fashioned disaster flick which was everything 1998’s Godzilla should have been with a dash of 1955’s It Came From Beneath The Sea thrown in. Alright, so the plot was wafer-thin and you could see the ending coming a mile off, but hell, as far as “evil thing flattens New York” films go, it was a winner.

Shame about the hand-held camerawork, though. I started feeling sick pretty quickly and by the midway point I had to close my eyes and ponder whether my handbag would make a good receptacle for my vomit. Luckily I started feeling better after ten minutes (missing a rather gory death on the screen, apparently), and managed to make it through to the end of the film – before having to rush outside to gulp down lungfuls of fresh air.

Next to Arthur And The Invisibles (which was just terrible) and True Romance (which was great, but I started succumbing to a terrible flu bug halfway through it), this was the most miserable cinema experience of my life.

And yet I still enjoyed Cloverfield despite the nausea, so take that as a recommendation. Four outta five stars from me!

Bring your own sick bag.


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