Halloween II: The Wrath of Khan.

Tonight, for the second year running, I went to a screening of the stabby Shatner-mask-wearing horror classic Halloween, at the Prince Charles Cinema. 

‎The couple next to me consisted of a man who was clearly a huge fan of the franchise and his girlfriend, who'd never seen the film before. I would have liked to ask her what she thought of it afterwards, but they ran off before I got the chance; presumably to get a head start on any boiler-suited psychopaths in the Leicester Square vicinity. It would have been hard to spot them tonight, what with all the people in fancy dress. You couldn't move for slutty cats (the go-to outfit option for a Essex hen do). I saw one woman dressed as a sexy Mario from Super Mario Bros; a look that was as unsuitable for Halloween as it was confusing.  

As with last year, it was great to see it on the big screen. I didn't get to watch it first time around, unfortunately, on account of being minus three. It's an excellent example of a tension building screamer; everything its 1981 sequel isn't. It's no wonder that every teenager outside of Jamie Lee Curtis (1) gets knocked off, and (2) made little impact on the acting fraternity, on account of them being universally irritating. As my wife said while we watched it, "The one with the dark hair's so annoying I'd have killed her myself".

(I'm not even going to mention the guy in the big glasses, who looks like an early-Eighties Cliff Richard - except I just did.) 

I'm surprised I like the film so much, when I'm usually such a wuss. I guess it's because of my secret coping strategy: every time it got too scary, I reminded myself that Myers was sporting a William Shatner mask and it didn't seem so bad. You can't be frightened of Bill, after all. ‎
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