Want to know how to ruin the movie going experience, here are a few ways, 1) Idiots who talk during the movie. It’s like the only time they can get anyone to listen is when they have a captive audience, note to that person, people are trying to watch the movie, and no one finds you interesting. 2) People who bring their screaming children. To all who have kids who are still at the boogers eating stage, leave them at home. Chances are you are their trying to have a night out away from the little poop geysers, so it makes no sense why you brought them along. You say you could not find a baby-sitter? Helpful hint, children like dogs, take them to the kennel, tell them it’s a doggy hotel and they get to spend the night with their furry friends, they’ll never know the difference. For those parents who are afraid they’ll give their children issues, you will anyway, that’s what parents do so if anything, you’re getting an early jump on screwing them up for life. 3) It you have bladder control issues. If so, sit on the aisle, you’re allowed two trips in and out and then, FIX THAT THING! And that brings us to thew final thing. 4) Burn out your viewing audience with a fuck ton of advertisements before the movie ever starts.
Recently my wife and I decided to see the new Michael Keaton movie Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, you know him, the ghost so nice they named him twice. We both enjoyed the first one, who didn’t right? So, my wife formerly known as Poops Ahoy, (and will continue to be if I have to write another post regarding regularity) but now known as Persnickety Lane, suggested we attend at our local AMC theater, we had recently gone to the 70th anniversary showing of Rear Window and had enjoyed it very much, so we were both up for another outing. Here’s where it went wrong…
The movie which had been scheduled to begin at 1pm, broadcast an entire half-hour of different advertisements for one thing or other. One from Walmart about children’s back to school clothes with this one girl who I’ll call Little Gaga, taking over the schools PA system and broadcasting one song after another while the other kids danced. Wasn’t like any school I’d ever gone to. That particular commercial went on for five and a half minutes. God help us. Then came one from John Legend in his own mind, about taking the COVID jab, get stuck watching it once was not bad enough, the theater ran ir twice. I hope it worked and he catches it once for every time he was shown. Seriously, can anyone name a song by this hack? The only one I found even a little interesting is an up-coming documentary on Christopher Reeve, maybe the new movie about Bob Dylan. Don’t ask me the title, I don’t remember.
Wait! I know I said Poop Ahoy would now be known as Persnickety Lane, unless bathroom humor was involved, but an occasion just presented itself. Who could have guessed that would happen before even one post was complete? Persnickety Lane, for the moment again Poops Ahoy, told me she had to go the restroom while all of these advertisements were playing. Oh Hell, I thought. If you knew Poops Ahoy, she’s never in a bathroom for less time than it takes to watch an episode of The Big Bang Theory. If you think I’m exaggerating, I’m not, I’ve seen her do forty-five minutes in the bushes. Those people’s roses won prizes that year. Okay I am exaggerating…but only a little. Point being, it had been her idea to go to see this film and knowing her I was sure she’d miss the first twenty minutes of it….
And I was wrong.
The commercials continued ad nauseum for what felt like forever. I was checking my pulse to make sure I had not gone into a coma. In fact, Persnickety Lane, for the moment still Poops Ahoy had not only returned but sat through another thirty-seven ads, the grand total seventy-two in all. I’m not kidding, I was counting after the third one.
The movie was actually not bad. An enjoyable experience, although without the Maitland’s from the first one. No amount of makeup or CGI effects could make Alec Baldwin or Geena Davis look as young as they did in the first one. Speaking of old, Winona Ryder is fifty-two now but looks younger, ten minutes younger. In the film she plays Lydia Deets, now a mother to Jenna Ortega, who now hosts her own show about you guessed it, ghosts. Michael Keaton has not lost a step as the ghost with the most from thirty-six years ago, and I recommend the film. Just remember not to say his name three times. Or do, if he appears maybe he can make the torrent of advertisements stop.
Until next time, be good or be good at it.
A Fifth of Brian 