Something terrible happened to me last weekend.
Something that should never happen to anyone. Something so vile, disgusting, and
unclean that I never want to go through it again. I was coerced into watching a
chick-flick. And that’s not all, folks. I was coerced into watching a
chick-flick IN THEATRES…INSTEAD OF STAR WARS III. The horror, the horror…
Foiled Again
I’m the only one in my group of friends with
access to filming/film editing equipment. And I’m also the only one willing to
film a French skit for hours on a Sunday afternoon when there’s much better
things to do. Ah, so thus for the sake of film, I sold my soul…
Unbeknownst to me, they had planned a trip to the movie theatres before starting
on the French. Once at my friend’s house, (I prefer to call it “shooting
location”, but hey…) I’d set up the various tripods and camera equipment, tucked
a No. 1 pencil behind my ear and said, “and…ACTION!” Turns out there wasn’t
going to be any filming for a good three hours.
To my utter dismay, my friends got in a car, with a dad at the wheel who
obviously didn’t know what he was in for. He was smiling. “We’re going to see
‘Sisterhood’, Alice!” I heard. “And you’re coming with us!” Great.
Execution Rites
Typically, I moped throughout he duration of the half hour
trip to the Solomon Pond Mall movie theatre. I was reminded of A Tale of Two
Cities, when Sydney Carton is taken to the guillotine. Except it wasn’t “… a
far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done…” It was one of the worst
things I’ve ever done. Having recently watched “Road to Perdition” for the first
time, I knew this would be a major leap to rock-bottom. As they chattered on
about various topic that I really didn’t feel like participating in, I engaged
in a sort of self discussion. Who did they think they were? Forcing me to a
chick-flick? A chick-flick about f_ _king JEANS?! When I could be at
home…uh…writing…um...an article for The Fedora Chronicles..? ANYTHING but a
chick flick...Even the word sounds terrible. Chick flick, chick flick, chick
flick…Yeah. I was doomed.
All too soon, we arrived at the movie theatre. Instinctively, I headed toward
the “Star Wars trilogy” arcade game. I didn’t play it, but it was enough to
merely stare and listen to he incomparable John William’s theme.
“Alice, come on!” I gave the “Star Wars” game one last
longing look, and reluctantly trudged after my friends. Some friends. One the
way to the lone accursed theatre playing the chick-flick, there were posters of
movies that I actually wanted to see…”Cinderella Man”, “Kingdom of Heaven”, and
a fourth screening of “Star Wars—Episode III: Revenge of the Sith” would be a
definite choice…But cinematic bliss was not mine to grasp at that fateful day. I
walked into the darkened theatre, and heard the ominous click of the door
closing behind me…
And…Coming Attractions!
I love movie trailers. The best part of a movie packed into a teasing five minutes or so. Awesome. So I sat up in my seat, eagerly awaiting for the arrival of the trailers. Turning to the mastermind of my torturous ordeal, Teresa, I whispered sardonically, “The trailers are going to be the best part of this…chick flick…I can tell. I f—”
She finished it for me, with an unnecessary roll of her
eyes. “You felt a tremor in the Force. Alice, shut up, relax, and enjoy the
movie. Admit it, you’d watch anything that’s vaguely film.”
“With emphasis on the word film. This isn’t a film! It’s…it’s...um...IT’S A
CHICK FLICK!!!” Ha. I always get the last word. But quiet, no talking please,
the trailers are starting.
The second the started, I knew this wasn’t your everyday
nightmare. This was a whole new genre of terror. Since I’d never watched a pure
chick flick, (“Moulin Rouge” is not a pure chick flick!!!) in theatres, I didn’t
know what I was in for. But I reached a conclusion in record speed.
Chick flick trailers are for other chick flicks. No “Batman Begins”, “War of the
Worlds”, not even the “Fantastic Four”. Oh no, instead, we’re got “Bewitches”,
“Herbie: Fully Loaded”, and OH MY GOD, two movies about finding the perfect guy.
Ha. Hahahahahahaha. Laughing in desperation usually means you’re in a deep pile
of defecation. I was.
I must have unconsciously whimpered, because Teresa poked me in the arm. “Shhhh! The movie’s starting!” I dutifully obliged, although more for my arm’s sake than for her cinematic experience.
And boy did I pray for the film projector guy to have screwed up and accidentally put the wrong reel in. Any other movie…
No such luck. The Force isn’t always with me.
The opening credits started, and I braced myself for
terror…
