In 'honour' of the woeful poetry a little girl reads out at regular intervals in Way Of The West, or The Mountie, or The Ranger, or whatever they're calling it these days, I thought I'd compose my own dreadful little ode:
Clichés abound No Surprises in store This Film Is a plodding bore
Good guy with white horse Baddies on black Colour coding This movie doesn't lack
The hero here Is totally vanilla No personality traits Dialogue just filler
The tedium extends To the shoot outs Stay awake? I have my doubts
But before I take My blessed nap Let me warn you Of this piece o'crap
It's in the 99p shop Taking up space Just ignore it and leave With a smile on your face
There we go. Wordsworth, Hughes, Byron... you better watch out... 3/10
Clichés abound No Surprises in store This Film Is a plodding bore
Good guy with white horse Baddies on black Colour coding This movie doesn't lack
The hero here Is totally vanilla No personality traits Dialogue just filler
The tedium extends To the shoot outs Stay awake? I have my doubts
But before I take My blessed nap Let me warn you Of this piece o'crap
It's in the 99p shop Taking up space Just ignore it and leave With a smile on your face
There we go. Wordsworth, Hughes, Byron... you better watch out... 3/10