When Wonder Woman barged into a small French village, deflected gunfire from German bastards with her magic bracelets and then punched the steeple off a church to take out one bad guy, I got so excited I was sick all over the child sitting in front of me. The scene was so enthralling that their parents waited for it to finish before cleaning up the mess. We just sat there, basking in the stench of my pesto pasta infused-bile as the Amazonian princess tossed tanks on top of people and flipped around like a possessed gibbon. I was quite clearly watching the best film ever made.
Just moments before this, the men who aren’t German and therefore the good guys, tell Wonder Woman it would probably be a bad idea to step out of the trench and walk directly into the line of fire. She does it anyway because she’s a strong, independent woman who can’t be hurt by bullets, even though she’s only protected by a corset and mini skirt. It’s an inspiring piece of cinema that I’m sure will convince thousands of young women that they can achieve anything, as long as they’re incredibly attractive and dress like an ancient Greek strippergram.
Messages like these are why this film is so important. Even I couldn’t help but get emotional when an army of half-naked women heroically took out scores of gun-wielding men with their bow and arrows. And watching Wonder Woman leave her paradise island to fight for what she believes in was so moving that I now resent my own sex and go by the name Jennifer. It didn’t even bother me that, for the majority of the film, she’s told what to do by Chris Pine, broodingly flaps around when she sees a baby and all of her heroic moments are either assisted or enabled by men.
It’s during the final sequence, however, that I really lost my shit. Wonder Woman takes on a demonic gimp in a lightening battle so monumental I had to stand up. It reminded me of the time I used to pretend I could shoot energy beams out of my fingers to disintegrate people around me. A bloke in Tesco gave me a funny look when I did it to him yesterday, so I’ll probably stop doing it now. But anyway, this scene really shook me to my sphincter, especially when she leapt five hundred feet in the air, rubbed her wrists together to generate some static and then vaporised the cunt. I immediately broke into tears.
After the film, I bumped into the little girl who sat in front of me. While helping her pick chunks of my vomited penne out of her hair, we agreed that Wonder Woman was revolutionary. I asked her what she thought of the plot, but she couldn’t remember any of it.