Juno what I mean? Innit...

So Juno rocks – how this managed to avoid soppy, cliché sentimentality I still don’t know. What weird spells employed? What sorcery was this? A film like this ought to have my cynicism gland oozing puss from my ears and crying tears of hatred…but no. I…liked…it. Actually (say it quietly) loved it. And it certainly wasn’t the venue – any film that can ‘play well’ in the wind-swept industrial wasteland of the Oxford-ring-road-to-hell (special guest appearance: Oxford FC’s Kazam Stadium, an slap in the face to even the most foaming at the chops fascist architect) must be doing something right. The ‘magic’ of a full-on night-out cinema experience was naturally raised to new heights both by the reel changes - clearly being undertaken by a one-armed epileptic wearing an oven mitt – and by the woman seated by my side (not Mrs B) whose cinematic tourettes disorder included the impulse to ‘conduct’ the Fox Searchlight fanfare at the start of the film. This, this! is why home cinema is the only way forward. In fact if home cinema was really trying hard to recreate the genuine article then the left-hand satellite speaker would generate a noise approximating the crunching of a nacho over your shoulder.

Hmmm yes back to Juno – it rocks! Great performances – though, as good as she is, Ellen Page stands as much chance of winning the Oscar as the tourettes-fanfare-woman from the cinema – fantastic script (again, no hope for an Oscar though, my money is on The Savagaes), catchy little soundtrack, blah, blah. Go see, just not at the Vue cinema in the arse-end of Oxford….