Today, my friend and I went to see "Oldboy." Okay. First of all, when did Josh Brolin turn into Nick Nolte on a bender? Second? Movie-going has changed.
Bought the tickets, automated. A human (yay!) ticket tearer tore our tickets, asked how we were doing. At first my friend replied, "Just fine." But,since he's going through a divorce, he changed his answer. He came back with, "No, I lied. Nothing's fine. Everything's terrible." The ticket-tearer did her job, tore paper like the wind, stared at us dumb-facedly, ignored my friend's impassioned plea for humanity, and handed back our worthless half-tickets. But we were on target. Still plenty of time to urinate. Twice.
But then trouble hit. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out how to put ice in a cup. Everything's automated now. No more pimply-faced staffers willing to help you out. You gotta' do it on your own. Overwhelming to a point, I felt like raising my fists to the Heavens and screaming, "How do you get frickin' ice?" I tried several different machines, none of them worked. Just push buttons. That's what I was supposed to do, still couldn't get ice. There was even a "wheel-chair button" on the automated soda machine and, desperately, I pushed that. Nothing happened. Why is there a "wheel-chair button" on the soda machine anyway? I mean, it's not like handicapped people can't push a button. But, apparently, you need to be a rocket scientist to figure out these damn things. Some guy next to me gave me an understanding "been there, haven't done that" nod. In times of movie-viewing crises, friendships are born.
At first my pal and I were ecstatic to have a private viewing, being the only ones in the theatre. He felt free to drop loud "eff-bombs." Liberating. Then another guy shuffled in, smelling like a bag of potatoes. Okay, the theatre's empty, did he have to sit DIRECTLY behind us? Apparently so. Felt his breath on the back of my neck through-out the movie.
Finally, two others entered the theatre. A big dad with a kid. Really. Even though the movie's known to be uber-violent, it's perfect for a nice father/son outing.
The movie's good, gripping, disturbing as all get out. But we ended up cracking up at one of the most outlandish plot twists. We really shouldn't have. But we did. If there were more people in attendance, I'm sure we would've been kicked out. The father in front of us actually moaned, tossed out a "Good Lord!" at the plot-twist while we giggled like sorority sisters. The serial killer behind us remained frighteningly quiet.
Well. A fun day for all (except for the other three film-goers who probably hated us). But it's like vomiting. If my friend cracks up, I do it, too.
We saw an awful trailer for "Grudge Match," some stupid boxing film with Sylvester Stallone and Robert DeNiro. Chock full of old people unfunny jokes; a youthful, vibrant, "hilarious," wise-cracking black sidekick; Alan Arkin standing in for the Burgess Meredeth role; and bombastic music. Comedy of the year, even if it's supposed to be a drama. Can't wait.