Inglourious Basterds

As I took my ticket in the small art deco cinema in Hertfordshire, I should have asked "Where does the magic happen?". Why else would I voluntarily sit in an almost empty dark room on a summer's day?

The power in a larger screen, as opposed to the haunted gold fish bowl in you living room is to emote you into another dimension, and although I'm quite blasé about this media I found myself so transported. Alternately I was repulsed by the violence, enraptured by the close ups of Mélanie Laurent (the vengeful Jewess Shosanna Dreyfus) and had my heart racing in apprehension for the plot outcome. Perhaps I should get out more.

Some of the cinematography was a bit sixth form, with a kind of "Let's just try this..." attitude as cameras were plonked by steps or in the back of trucks, and the plot, like a lot of fantasy, is just a clothes horse for these cartoonesque characters.

Actually, that's the way to compartmentalise this film - think of it as a violent, witty, fast moving cartoon with Brad Pitt as Top Cat with a penchant for sadism and you're part way there - right down to the unjustified over-confidence and annoying American accent.

There's lots to recommend this film, and it was really my cup of tea. There was something special about Mélanie Laurent putting on her veil and observing her in her three beauty-spot allure. Oh, and a fancy dress party of guys in dress Nazi uniforms with waitresses in suspenders seems like the kind of party I want to go to.

Ultimately it's a romp, and probably not a harmless one. But hey, if you hate Nazis, it'll be your thing.