LET’S not f**k about. There are no nightclubs open. The bars are empty. Tired old pantomimes dominate theatres. It’s just you and me now.`
Other films? There are no other films. I’m on in ten screens of your 12-screen multiplex. You don’t want to know what’s on the others, but it was contractually obliged.
Telly? You didn’t fall for that ‘Golden Age of Television’ shite, surely? They all banged their big shows out last week, even Netflix. It’s a trickle of sewage from now until February.
Friends? Family? You’re sick of the lot of them. And forget the pub. Nobody’s there. Even cool bars on a Saturday night are like a Tuesday morning in Wetherspoons. You don’t like to think of yourself among those kind of people.
No, it’s just you and me now. It doesn’t matter that you can’t remember anything about my first instalment. In fact it might help. It doesn’t matter that 3D’s over or my reviews are shit.
I’m here and waiting, all three hours and six minutes of me, with my $1.5 billion worldwide takings. Don’t you want to know why? Aren’t you intrigued?
Put on the glasses and marvel at my spectacle. Drink in the tropical sunshine and the clear blue oceans. Forget that it’s January and you’ve paid £30 to see a film you weren’t bothered about. None of that matters.
Come. Slake your bottomless boredom. Make me the most successful film of all time. I am Avatar: The Way of Water, and I am all there is left.
