Dolittle smiled, pocketing the mysterious disc. He didn't have a Bluray player—those wouldn't be invented for another century—but he liked the idea that somewhere, in a distant future, his adventures would be preserved in a light so bright and clear that even the smallest mouse could be seen in the back of the frame, finally getting its moment in the sun.
"1080p?" Dolittle muttered, stroking his beard. "Sounds like a very specific dose of medicine. Or perhaps the number of times Plimpton the ostrich has tried to outrun his own shadow." Dolittle [HD] (2020) Bluray 1080p
"But John," the parrot squawked, "if they can see us in 1080 lines of vertical resolution, perhaps they’ll finally see that we’re not just animals—we’re a family." Dolittle smiled, pocketing the mysterious disc
Tommy jumped. Standing in the doorway was John Dolittle himself—disheveled, bearded, and currently arguing with a macaque over a stolen piece of toast. "Sounds like a very specific dose of medicine
Tommy, an apprentice to a naturalist, had never seen anything so polished. When he pressed a small latch on the side, the box didn't contain a manuscript or a specimen. Instead, it held a shimmering silver disc that caught the light like the scales of a tropical fish. "What have you found there, Tommy?" a voice boomed.
In the cluttered backroom of a Victorian-era London shop, young Tommy Stubbins stumbled upon a peculiar find. Tucked between a tarnished brass telescope and a stack of moth-eaten maps sat a sleek, strangely modern steel case. The label, written in a curious, shimmering font, read: