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Mar. 19th, 2012 12:10 amThis wasn't a movie. It was time travel.
I really mean that. Between the 3D wizardry, the stereophonic sound and the sparkling sharpness of the images, it was like being thrust magically back forty years in time. This had a particular resonance for me because in the summer of 1951, when this footage was being shot, I was curled up in my mother's abdomen, increasing body weight at a rate that I wouldn't match until I quit smoking thirtyfive years later. This was the world I was about to be born into, and what a delightful, happy, promising place it seemed.
Bill Bryson. Notes from a small Island
I really mean that. Between the 3D wizardry, the stereophonic sound and the sparkling sharpness of the images, it was like being thrust magically back forty years in time. This had a particular resonance for me because in the summer of 1951, when this footage was being shot, I was curled up in my mother's abdomen, increasing body weight at a rate that I wouldn't match until I quit smoking thirtyfive years later. This was the world I was about to be born into, and what a delightful, happy, promising place it seemed.
Bill Bryson. Notes from a small Island
