Do y’all remember the days when I was a funny, snarky little blogger? Yeah, neither do I.
But seriously, I’ve felt a distinct lack of crazy running commentary in the last few...uh, Running Commentaries. I intend to work on this.
Okay, in the grand—abet recent—tradition of bringing sexy back, I’ve decided to also bring the sexy into the blog. What do you guys think about the new look? Not bad for a year-old blog, wouldn’t you say?
At the end of the day, I’m hoping to set it up so that Running Commentary, my MySpace, and the acting site are all visually similar. In order to do this I’m clearly going to have to do some serious “Blogger Tag” HTML learning and, since I’ve been so...ahem...on top of updating all my sites this past year, I have no idea when that will happen. Ergo, right now you get black/white and pinks for MySpace and the Blog. Hopefully, one day, my dream of having cohesive spaces of internet junk will become a reality.
Since, really, what more could a girl ask for? Yeah, I’ll just leave that one alone.
In other blogging news, I fixed some wacky text that magically occurred in the last few blogs, so you may want to reread...(Speaking of...none of my freakishly spell-checker happy friends noticed that I had lest favorite instead of least favorite in my profile??)...Which I’m only mentioning—the magic, not the spelling—because it ties in perfectly to my next little rant.
So Sunday I decided to treat myself to a movie. Do to the recent saving, I haven’t been doing so much of the movie-ing...which, really, is sad for all parties involved. Y’all know me, you know how I get when left to my own devices for too long. It’s scary how much I’m like a new puppy. I mean, not so much with the peeing on everything and ripping up used tissues from the bathroom trashcan, but yes with the trying to find creative ways to occupy myself. It's like that Purina comerical with all the cute widdle puppies doing all the cwazy widdle things they do...
Hang on, what was I talking about...?
OH YEAH! The movie. Well, actually, The Illusionist, but you know what I mean.
For reasons I still haven’t been able to determine, this flick is in limited release. I’m not too stressed about it, though, because I live in Toronto. It’s the Canadian equivalent to Manhattan and, like, the 5th largest city in North America. So wtf is up with this movie being played in only two theaters?? Seriously?? Yet Material Girls is playing in all four of the theaters within 5 minutes from my driveway?? It boggles the mind...
I go the theatre—notice the switching of the ‘er’ to ‘re’? That’s how you know it’s artsy—for the first showing...2pm, not that much of a matinee. At least I didn’t think so. Apparently, every person sixty or over disagreed. When I got to the box office, a line of silver-haired couples greeted me. Oh, sure, there were a sparse few who had another colour working for them...but this chickie knows when someone’s been hitting the Clairol Nice ‘n Easy #110. Regardless, the line-up was worse than most clubs on a Saturday night.
Thankfully, I spot the auto-ticketing machine blissfully empty. Bless the technophobe elderly. I know I do, every time I help myself into the self-checkout lanes in at the grocery. Teehee.
Anyways, as is sort of my par for the course, I’m about twenty, twenty-five minutes early. The theatre is empty save about seven seats, so I get my run of the place.
My first issue is the screen is too small. No, really, I’ve been seeing too many “big” movies lately...I don’t know what to do with myself in the smaller screening rooms now. My second issue, who the fuck decided it was okay to not have graduated seating? I’m sorry, but a 7* incline just doesn’t do it for me. (Oh dear, I just opened myself up for a snarky comment, didn't I?) This leads to issue number three, which is the freakishly tall man that sits a few seats over from me, two rows in front. I’m now hopping that there is no subtitles, because a large, baled head will block the beginning of whatever is there written.
None of this, however, compares to issue number four:
Now, I understand when you’re in a stadium theater with your boyfriend/friend/parent/whatever and you spot two empty seats on dividing three groups—and, speaking of, is movie seating really as sticky an issue as urinals in the men’s bathroom? What’s the big issue with sitting next to someone you don’t know? Can’t be any worse than Church...or public transportation, for that matter—and you ask one of the said groupings if they would mind shifting over to enable you and your boyfriend/friend/parent/whatever to sit next to one another. Having said that, Lord knows there’s been times that my mother and I have sat rows apart in order to catch a flick. Hell, the first time Chris and I went to a movie (accompanied by our respective “groups”) the girls and guys didn’t even get the chance to sit together. Which really sucks when you were hoping one of the guys was thinking about making a move on you.
Well, this was not a large theater...as I’ve mentioned, it was a small theatre. During the RACs (Really Annoying Commercials) that start before the previews, a couple saunters in. I swear to God, it was Leslie Jordan and Anna Wintour...that’s what they looked like, anyways...sounded like, too, forthatmatter. Of course, at this point, there are very few seats left. Of course, two that are, happen to be framing me. The guy doesn’t ask me if I can slide over so he and his wife can slide in...he says, “Which two can we have?” I looked up at them and gave them Lauren’s trademarked sloooooooow blink. Then I made sure to show off my multitasking abilities by sighing loudly, making a big production of moving my Louis, and rolling my eyes.
But wait kids! Because the fun didn’t stop here, ladies and gents! Anna Wintour...or whoever she was...actually started to snore during the first five minutes of the film. (IMHO, this has nothing to do with the quality of the film and I have reason to believe she was just about to pass into a coma, which I will detail shortly.) Not going to lie to you guys when I tell you that I seriously, seriously considered smacking her over the top of the head. What? She made me move and she was an armrest hogger!
Instead I said, “Wake up and go hog your hubby’s armrest there, missy, and back the fuck off before I go Donkey Kong on your ass.”
No I did not. But I did want to.
What I did say was, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Leslie Jordan heard this and woke up Anna Wintour. Oh, can we just call them LJ and AW? Actually, let’s not, because LJ is one of my Favorite characters on Prison Break and AW is the most standard colour of paint we use on orders at my office. I would like neither of those things to constantly remind me of these people.
So...about a half-hour past the snoring incident, I hear this snapping...like someone is clipping their nails. Low and behold, the noise is coming from Anna Wintour! I decide to see if staring at her does anything towards making her stop. Apparently not, but it does allow me to see that she’s got a nice green penlight or something helping her in her task—or so I thought. I get ready to actually say something I’m sure to later regret, when I hear the tell-tale beep of an electronic device announcing the completion of something. I recognize this, because the thermometer I’ve been sticking in my mouth six times a day makes the same sound when the temp regulates—of course, it’s in Celsius when it does, so I have to go and convert it and...never mind, you get the idea. She holds up the little device and I realize it’s a blood-glucose measurer. Anna, I decide, is about to go into an insulin induced coma and, oddly enough, I’m totally okay with that. Well...as long as she doesn’t snore.
All things considered, the movie was pretty good. I mean, it’s hard to go wrong with Edward Norton, Paul Giamatti, and Rufus Sewell...but even Jessica Biel did a worthy—if a little uneven—performance. The story, adapted from a short by Pulitzer wining Steven Millhauser, is entertaining. And the magic which, I’ve read was almost entirely done without the aid of special effects, is incomparable. Norton himself spent months learning the tricks of the ‘slight of hand’ and it shows. My only regret is that I search around so long trying to figure out where it was playing...because in doing so I stumbled upon many reviewers who seemed completely baffled by the—literally—trick ending. Afraid I might not be up to the mental challenge, I absorbed every detail I could. I needn’t have bothered...I saw the whole thing coming before I got the explanation.
I figure this was a nice little appetizer of what is to come, now that we’re rounding into awards season. Soon enough we’ll have one amazing flick after another...and I’ll be figuring out how much food money I can trade for movie money before I’m officially anorexic.
Certainly, a woman should suffer a little for her art?
Quote of the Moment: “So how are things up there in Northern Montana?”
Soundtrack of the Moment: I Hold Her, Bonnie McKee
TV/Movie Quote: From The Illusionist:
Eisenheim: Are you completely corrupt?
Chief Inspector Uhl: Not completely, no.