First of all, let me start by pointing out that I’m something as rare as a rather moderate fan of Neil Gaiman. I think he’s an imaginative author and an excellent storyteller, but I wouldn’t tattoo any of his work on the inside of my foreskin, if you know what I mean. (It’d be a surefire way to get some steamy fan scrotal grating, but the drugs I’d need to mask the connotations would make it easier and considerably safer to just turn to prostitution and be done with it.) I’m also probably unusual in that I actually like his novels more than…

STARS! SCIENCE! BEARDS! ALWAYS WEAR A CONDOM WHEN SCREWING MAGICAL SLAVEGIRLS!

For those few lost souls out there who don’t know who Neil Gaiman is, I recommend turning to Wikipedia, because I’m not…

CGI WHUMPY-DUMPY! THE SINISTER SUCCESSION IN THE MAGIC ROYAL FAMILY OF NUMERALS!

The novel Stardust, for those of you who haven’t read it, is set as a sweet and quaint little fairy-tale, rendered relevant (or irrelevant, if you will) by the quirky details of Gaiman’s storytelling. It’s one of those books you keep trying to recommend to people, but everything you say to them about it has to be followed by the words ”...but it’s not like that at all!” and eventually they sigh and promise to read it, but…

WHAM! STAR COLLIDES WITH EARTH! CLARE DANES IN A FLIMSY SILVER DRESS!

Stardust is not a bad film. In fact, it’s a rather good film, in the vein of Willow and Labyrinth. The problem is that to anyone who has read the book, it plays rather like J.S. Bach as interpreted by Ritchie Blackmore; while the experience is enjoyable in itself, you can’t help but wince as the complexity of the original is mangle…

MICHELLE PFEIFFER IS A WITCH! GORY DETAILS! IMPLIED NUDITY!

To a certain age-group of those of us attracted to femmes, (you know damn well what I’m talking about if you’re one of us,) Michelle Pfeiffer – forty-nine years old and covered in fiendish make-up – still causes instantaneous sensual stirring, and when she magically sheds her added years as well as her gown in front of the mirror, libidinal perplexity tightens its soft little hand…

UNICORNS! PRINCES WITHOUT STONES! GOATS! TITTIES! EPIC TRAVEL SCENES!

Where was I? Oh, the film. Right. Got a bit side-tracked there. Eheh.

AIRSHIP PIRATES! ROBERT DE NIRO IS A CROSS-DRESSER! YARR!

The acting, directing and production are all grade-A Hollywood material. The cinematography sometimes leaves a little to be desired, but it’s certainly not bad, and most definitely epic. CGI blends well, sets are very nice and costumes are lovely. Overall, the technical aspects get good marks, even though they won’t be setting any new standards. The only bits I have complaints about are music and editing. The former is often annoying in its bland, horn-jerking attempts to impress, and the latter… well the latter stumbles over the fact that…

EVERYTHING IS ALL RIGHT! FENCING! DANCING! LEVEL-UPS! EPIC TRAVEL SCENES!

Adapting literature to the silver screen is a tricky process. There is no way you can fit even a tenth of the content of a moderately good novel into one feature-length film, and no matter how much adoration and respect you have for the original work, the cinematic version will come out higher-paced, more pompous and – let’s face it – shallower. Stardust does all right. Director Matthew Vaughn seems to have chosen the right elements to portray and makes good use of the possibilities of the new format. However, as you clever wombats have no doubt gathered from my oh-so-subtle hints, the pacing resembles that of a rave music video cut by an six-year-old meth…

ATTRACTION SWELLS! TITTIES DROP! GRAND BATTLES! CLARE LOVES A MOUSE!

You see, the devil – scrupulous, little goat-humper that he is – is in the details, and for 130 minutes, Stardust fires them at you in a rabid frenzy. It has to do so, because without Gaiman’s aforementioned narrative additions, it’s just a run-of-the-mill fairy-tale. Making that kind of story-telling work on the big screen is a remarkable enough achievement that I can forgive certain misgivings about the confused nature of some…

OH-NOES! OH-NAYS! NEVER TRUST A HEADLESS WITCH! EVEN MORE EPIC TRAVEL SCENES!

Perhaps due to my mild love for Gaiman, I’m a rather good audience for this film. That is, I’m not fanatic enough to cry “heresy” at every minor change and I’m not going to dismiss it as infantile tripe because of its fairy-tale setting or the inescapable reduction of content. It’s tempting to recommend that you read the novel before seeing the film, but since the latter can’t help being a cheaper version, I can’t really do so. All I can say is that for fantasy flicks, you can do a fuck of a lot worse.