Drink Me.

Sooooo, sorry if you're coming off my twitter, this is pretty much what I've been saying all night since I got home, just all repeated in one place.

That said....

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, ALICE IN WONDERLAND WAS BLOODY AMAZING!!!!!

 [adopt me? please?]

Tim Burton does Wonderland. If you like the sound of that, you're gonna love the movie. There aren't any surprises, really; it does what it says on the tin. But it does it beautifully, and with such style & humor & poetry (literally, in the Jabberwocky sense) & Burtonian grace.... yeah. It was perfect. The 3-D was amazing, we were smack in the center front and it was engulfing.

It was what they called a "regional premiere," so before the movie started they streamed footage of the big Royal premiere in London, with all the fancy people arriving on the green carpet. Johnny Depp looks like such a lovely guy, he was standing in the rain for hours signing EVERY single photo, post-it-note, autograph book, magazine, boob, whatever, that was shoved at him. Everyone else did a few or didn't do any, did their interviews, and tried to get out of the (pretty much torrential) rain as soon as possible, but he was back in the trenches being sweet and humble and FUCKING BEAUTIFUL until the very last second. Seriously, how does that man do it? Better and better every day.

 [see that? he is secksing me with his eyes. he loves me and wants to have like, ten thousand of my babies.]

They showed Charles & Camilla (*gag*) greeting the cinema execs, the Disney execs, and the cast. It was really lovely, Tim Burton & Helena Bonham-Carter's 2 little (adorable and wonderfully dressed) boys gave Camilla flowers & it was precious.

And then, yeah. The movie. I'll try not to give away too much even though you already know the story. (I hope. If not.... go away. Forever.) It's updated, in the sense of Alice is 19 and is going back, and there are elements of both of the Wonderland books, and all.....

I spend most of my life in a state of spiritual-5-year-old-ness, so I just sat there with HUGE EYES, completely enthralled, swatting at rocking-horse-flies and shrieking at the ZOMG SCARY jubjub bird and giggling like a maniac and saying lines of poems along with the Mad Hatter under my breath.... OMG Barbara Windsor dormouse.

 

HEEEE!!! Tiny, feisty, rodent Peggy Mitchell FTMFW!!! And the loverly mad March Hare and the neurotic little White Rabbit and the Queens (oh god, can I just BE Helena Bonham-Carter, please? Forever? She has my same birthday, it seems like it could work) and the Tweedles and my darling hookah-smoking caterpillar and CRISPIN HELLION GLOVER, FFS!!!!! (He didn't dance, though. Disappointing.) And I can't praise Johnny Depp's performance enough. Really. There aren't enough words. Literally. The necessary words don't exist, and I'm not as good at inventing them as Lewis Carroll was. Hattastic. See? That's no good. And Stephen Fry as the Cheshire Cat? AMAZING. He didn't just phone it in and do a Stephen-Fry-voicing-over-an-animated-character, no, no. Our Stephen is too classy for that shit. He played the Cheshire Cat. With his talking. It was beautiful. And the girl that plays Alice is really lovely. Just a beautiful little creature. Kind of like Claire Danes and Kirsten Dunst had a baby that was somehow not weird looking like either of her mothers. I'd wager she's got rather an interesting future ahead of her.

OMG OMG OMG, yes, so, at one point during the pre-game, as 'twere, there was a shot of Alan Rickman having an intense conversation with Christopher Lee (probably the oldest man I would pounce) AND THEY WERE NOT MIKED. That is some sort of crime. I would give anything to have been privy to that conversation. I don't even care what they were saying. Those VOICES. The two most amazing voices in the world right now, and possibly EVER. Just.... chatting away. I was making grabby hands at the screen.

And when the Prince was doing his hand-shaking stuff, nobody was miked up either, so you couldn't hear a damn thing, except when he was chatting to Christopher Lee. Sir Chris laughed and you could hear it, from some far-off microphone. That booming, beautiful, deep laugh. I clutched at my Wicker Man pendant and nearly swooned.

Then we got home and I cuddled up with my plush Cheshire Cat to watch the ice skating, but my kitty decided that Ches was HERS and she pounced him like I would pounce Sir Christopher, and humped the life out of the poor thing.

 

Is he smiling or grimacing?

Aaaaand, she's spent. If only there was such a thing as kitty-cigarettes.


So, in short, Tim Burton retains his god status.


NOW EVERYBODY FUTTERWACK!