So, the Tattooed Man is thirty thousand feet in the air as he types this, on the way to a week in Hong Kong and the biggest film market in Asia. Which means, of course, that for the next week I will be the tallest person in sight – which is often true at home in Canada as well – and feeling awkward about that, but also that there will be no new releases for me this week. But, happy day! Thanks to the wonders of lax multiplex ticket takers and the waning moments of March Break this past Friday there was a rather schizophrenic double bill to be had.

Up first, it was theater six, where I took the (Temporary) Tattooed Boy to check out Horton Hears A Who. Which is an odd title to be mentioning in this column, I’ll grant you, but ol’ Ted Geisel was a bona-fide counter culture radical in his day – I strongly recommend that anybody who hasn’t checked out his not-for-children, not written as Doctor Seuss, political cartoon work to do so immediately - and encouraged children around the world to be the same so Ted’s alright with me. Plus, I’m a bit of an animation nut and for my money Blue Sky Studios are only a small step behind Pixar as far as technical chops go so I always check out their films even though I do tend to find them a little lacking in the story department. This one?

Well, it’s technically astounding but as you may surmise is greatly padded out from the original book, which means some significant changes. Unlike the last Jim Carrey-starring Dr. Seuss abomination, however, the changes here all stay within the spirit of the original work and it’s a very good time. Memo to Ron Howard, who I still have not forgiven for bastardizing the Grinch: What the hell were you thinking making the adult Whos have a key party (I’m always amazed how few people seem to have noticed that scene), and making an explicitly anti-consumer book into an explicitly pro-consumer film is just not cool. Remove your head from your ass as soon as possible.

Horton done, the lad was handed over to She Who Shall Not Be Named and it was into theater two for a good dose of the ol’ post-apocalyptic ultraviolence in the form of Neil Marshall’s Doomsday. Yes, kids, this thing kicks ass in all sorts of ways. Decapitations and dismemberments? You got it. Busty topless women with shotguns? Got that, too. A one eyed woman taking down a heavily armored medieval knight? You betcha. Not only does this film draw on the tradition of films like Mad Max and Escape From New York, it may just be the best of the lot – it’s certainly got the best production values and most extreme violence – though that’s a hard case to make for a film coming to this particular genre party so late in the game. I don’t just like this film, I bloody well love it and have said a lot more about it here.

And, finally, a memo to the asshole who brought his four-year-old daughter in to Doomsday because he was apparently too damn cheap to hire a babysitter: Are you really that fucking stupid? Good god, people, ratings exist for a reason and the simple fact that you can bring someone under eighteen into a film like this provided that you yourself are over eighteen doesn’t mean that you should. Apparently the people who created the ratings assumed that you’d be smart enough to know that but you’re obviously either too damn stupid or too damn selfish to care.