In space no-one can hear you scream. Creepy as fuck until you realise that no-one can hear you not because you’re all alone but because space is a vacuum. There is no noise, even if a film does make it seem like a comet sings like a whale.
By now whoever is reading this has fallen into one of two camps: either sighing in exasperation at this pedantic fun sapping or screaming (silently) that comets do not make sound and anyone who says they do is a wanker.
I have a habit of collecting friends in the second camp. As a fellow slave to detail, discussions constantly meander towards little-known facts that few people would ever notice. As a teenager I learnt that tanks used in Bond films were frequently from the wrong era. Tube journeys rarely make any sense – that is clearly not Green Park, and you can’t get to Paddington on that line. Guns cannot be accurately fired one-handed flying through the air. Spiderman not appearing in the Marvel Civil War? Be still my joyfully geeky friends, it still may be. Shhhh now.
My personal bugbear is horses in films. “Hey Zac, what do you think of my A-rabian?” That isn’t an Arab you utter cunt; for one thing it’s fucking Palomino! Cowboy rides in on a chestnut; leaves on a bay. Multiple horses are painted to look the same, with what looks like wet talcum powder that starts to drip as the scene rolls on. Even writing this brings back memories and makes me fucking furious. Do they think I am fucking stupid? It is quite clearly a different animal. Before someone says “they all look the same” they really fucking don’t. That sort of comment is just like saying all Korean people look the same – come on Kim, shut me down!
There I go, the fact bomb explosion. I can guarantee that every single one of you are mocking, and yet there will be a single, tiny little bit of expertise in your head that if misrepresented in film, book or news article would send you mad. Henry VIII had five wives. Gary Lineker is England’s top goal scorer. The capital of Australia is Sydney. What’s that over their?
Come on, that last one must be killing you. You see, it’s hidden in there, that tiny little throbbing vein which makes a dodgy fact turn you into a raging torrent of red pen correction. Do it, let it out, be free with your knowledge. Embrace your talent at being fucking right!
With the volume of money spent on major films and publications, you would think that someone somewhere would pay a little attention to detail. Just one little apology or correction in the end credits, that’s is all we need. If only to prove we were right all along. In the cinema, everyone can hear you scream.