Young lass about town Eve is rescued from some ruffians by a man in a mask.
V (for it is he): Valiant vague vacuous vaporous vapid violence.
EVE: Oh don't talk like that. It's wearisome.
V: Would you like to see a building explode?
(The Old Bailey explodes.)
V: I shall blow up another building at the very end of the film.
EVE: How ripping! But isn't that a bally long way away?
V: Yes, but I don't want to glamorise terrorism. Right. Just off to fight with knives in slow motion. Lovely shiny knives.
EVE: Can't you blow up something?
V: Would you like to see Stephen Fry beaten about the head?
EVE: Most certainly not! He's a national treasure.
V: Ah, but he is also but a shallow symbol. And a mere mask.
EVE: Please just blow something up.
V: (sighs) No.
END CREDIT: Screenplay by the Wachowski Brothers
On the escalator out, I stood behind a couple. The girlfriend was saying, "Did you like it? Tell me what you think. Please tell me what you think? Did you enjoy it? I won't know what to think until I know what you think."
I knew *exactly* how she felt.