Casey teaches them about the modern world, showing them ice hockey on TV and taking them out to a bar.Īfter taking shelter with Mitsu, the leader of the smaller, less villainous clan, the Turtles attempt to build their own time travel device to send them home. However, without the time sceptre, they’ve no way of returning home to New York.īack in the Big Apple, Splinter has called in long time Turtle ally Casey Jones to help with the five Japanese warriors who have appeared in place of the Turtles and April. Landing in the middle of a samurai battle, the Turtles struggle to get to safety, losing Michelangelo and the time sceptre as they do so.Ĭaught up in a battle between two warring clans, with English traders instigating trouble further in an effort to convince Lord Norinaga, the aggressor in the clans’ dispute, to buy guns from them, the Turtles manage to rescue April and relocate Michelangelo. It’s not long before the Turtles have to travel back in time to rescue April, who has been sent to Japan in 1603. Unfortunately, wouldn’t you know it, the artefact she’s bought Splinter turns out to be a time sceptre, an ancient time travel device.
To help keep them occupied, April brings them all some nick-nacks from a flea market. With April O’Neil heading off on holiday, the Turtles are facing two boring weeks with no interaction with the outside world. A film that I’ve pondered for hundreds of lonely, sleepless, depressing hours, wondering just what the hell it was all about… A film that, even as a Turtlecore child, I never had any time for. On nights like those, nights where I lay awake for hours and hours, I find myself haunted by the memory of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III (occasionally subtitled Turtles In Time). I lay awake for hours waiting for the morning to seep in through gaps in the curtains. It’s happened often enough now that I know I’ll not be able to get back to sleep. My mind still feels cluttered and manic, not yet slowed down from the sudden influx of sensations. I slide back down and settle, as gently as I can be, trying not to wake her. Somehow, my girlfriend always manages to sleep through it. I’ll look over to the other side of the bed. My ribs ache a little, like they’ve been crushed by a great weight, but one that has been lifted. I take in my bedroom, placing my location and calming myself enough to correct my breathing. Unsure of where I am or what’s happening to me, I bolt up in bed and try to gather myself.
Not often, but occasionally, I’ll wake up exactly at the stroke of midnight, panicked and struggling for breath.
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