Last night, I went to the movies …

and found myself bored brainless in a theater that had issues with soundproofing;  the issues being it was nearly nonexistent.  Never mind that, though, for without those outbursts from the theater next door, I likely would have fallen asleep.  I’m certain, from the even sound of their breathing, that half of the couple behind me was sleeping.

It’s the first time I can remember being at a movie and not hearing anything but the movie.  No laughter.  No gasps.  No ooohs or ahhhhs.  It was weird.  Besides myself, there were only ten other people attending the 7:00 pm showing of Side Effects in Norton. That number, however, doesn’t account for the complete lack of emotion or reaction from the attendees; myself included.  Like I said, it was weird.

The movie was slow.  It started slow and ended the same way.  The twists were predictably expected.  Jude Law was not spectacular, as a matter of fact, barely mediocre … but pretty.  Pretty, however, isn’t worth an eight dollar ticket.  This, you understand, is only my opinion.  I have heard many people, some I respect and others I even admire, rave about the film.  I likely, without their input, would not have watched it.

The theater itself was, at first, off-putting, then comforting, and finally, confining.  Upon entering, I was physically and mentally assaulted by a cacophony of loud, shrill, abrupt sounds and rapidly-blinking, strobe-like lights.  I was unprepared for that blast of over-stimulation and fully expected it to throw me into some kind of manic state, but blessedly, for a time anyway, that seems to not be an issue.  Praise God for that.  But, I digress.

I got in line for the obligatory bag of popcorn and diet coke then made my way to where I wanted to go.  When I opened the door and  walked into the empty theater, I was taken aback by the inexplicably soothing familiarity.  Though I had never been to this particular place, it smelled familiar.  My thoughts flew backward over three decades to The Terrace, the first theater where my sister and I ever went to a movie alone.  Pinocchio was the film.  There were, at that time, still shorts prior to the movie.  I’m certain, that if my sister reads this post, she, too, will remember that day.  It smelled just like now. It smelled like good times.   So then, the comfort measure of the theater becomes known.

I suppose the only thing left is the confinement.  That came about twenty minutes after the movie started.  That instant when I want to leave, but hoped it would get better.  It didn’t, and there-in lies the lesson, I suppose.  After the movie was over, I came out if with the realization that I had just sacrificed two hours of my life for nothing special.  Next time, I’ll follow my instincts.  Too bad there wasn’t a piano bar in the area.  Some eighty-eight key therapy, done right, would have likely washed the taste of a bad movie out my mouth.

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