Immortals, the latest mind-blowing Tarsem Singh extravaganza produced by the same guys who made 300, is the most brutal, bloody, violent movie I’ve ever seen. It is also, by far – and I mean, far – the most phenomenal fight choreography I have ever seen too. The styling and art direction and costumes are astounding, sublime even, and it’s so damn beautiful to look at it fails to matter that the plot – a re-telling of the Theseus and the Gods myth – is wafer thin.
But that’s all kind of irrelevant because of Henry Cavill. Henry Cavill in a skirt. Henry Cavill shirtless. Henry Cavill shirtless in a skirt. Did I mention shaggy, doe-eyed Henry Cavill shirtless? Henry freakin’ Cavill. Sometimes he reminded me of a chipper public school hockey captain leading the First XI into a county championship, but most of the time I was just speechless.
Immortals. Henry Cavill. That’s all.
