(Originally posted on my 1UP Blog)
Without warning, the nightmare faded, leaving dark stains on my soul that would never come off. I felt like I was flatlining. I was all shook up; my head felt two sizes too small for my brain. I woke up in a cold sweat, sick and tired to the bone.
In a nightmare, every decision you make is the wrong one. In the dream I had exploded from, that decision was to take up an offer I couldn't refuse; tickets for Halo: The Movie.
Penned by the talented hand behind 28 Days Later, Alex Garland. Produced by the king of epic, nerdcore films, Peter Jackson. Guided by the full creative control of my lord and masters at Bungie themselves. Backed by the bottomless pockets of Microsoft. There is no possible way for the film adaptation of the greatest shooter of all time to, as the kids like to say, suck.
So why, in this night terror, was I watching Jeff Bridges assume the role of Master Chief?
And I could see his face. .
I could see his
FACE. .
(This announcement pleases me. Hellboy may have sucked, but it was well directed)