Leaning, against the wind, on the concrete brim of a water feature in the middle of the Brunswick Centre’s concrete plaza, Henson scratched his recently-bearded chin. Spray, whipped by the breeze, dotted his cheek. Honoria the Dentist was late; the film started in five minutes.
Well, the ads started in five minutes, after the lights dimmed and the screen glowed briefly, an enormous Rothko. And then there were the trailers, ten minutes after the start of the ads. Ten more minutes of trailers, then, and then the click and hum of the curtains, the pitch into blackness and the BBFC title card. The first chords. So, the film started in twenty-five minutes. Still, Honoria the Dentist was late.