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Okay, let me start out by apologizing. The Star Wars line-up thing has been promised for a couple of weeks, and faithful HTD readers (both of them ha!) are scratching their heads. Let me just say this: Warren and I have had a lot of talks about this, and we are going to do it right, or not do it at all. We're going to figure it out this weekend, and probably head up there sometime next week. In the meantime, here's a thing... I was just sitting here, lamenting the fact that I have to see Murder by Numbers (Or as the poster lists it: "Murd3y 8y Unint3resting Movi3, So W3 Hav3 to Giv3 it a Lam3-Ass3d 6immick For Its Titl3") tomorrow for review, and I started thinking about last weekend's experience with the worst movie I've ever seen, The Sweetest Thing (Th3 Sw33t3st Thing). Here was the weird thing: The Crazy Guy wasn't even laughing that much, and The Crazy Guy laughs at everything. Seriously, The Crazy Guy usually laughs himself into a stupor by the third act, and often times shouts things back at the screen like "You tell 'em," or "Dat's Right," or "I made some poor choices! Don't end up like me!" But he was relatively quiet during the showing. I almost got the sense that he was laughing to be polite, not to the film, but to the rest of the theater. You see, we all expected him to be crazy and act accordingly, and if he didn't we might suffer a disappointment. Maybe I'm reading something into nothing, (not uncommon. I once had myself convinced that my college roommate was making noises that, by their very nature, "were designed to wake me up." At the time, I felt like I was in the right. He had to wake up much earlier than me, so I thought he resented it, so he wanted to sweeten the noises he made, hoping I'd wake up, so he wouldn't be the only one. See?) But The Crazy Guy seemed like he had somewhere else to be, but didn't want to leave because... well, The Crazy Guy never leaves. Can you imagine if he did? "How was it?" Anyway, the crazy guy stuck around, and, as he is required to do, only left when there were about twenty seconds left in the film, so he could have time to get out of the theater, stand near the exit, and stare at everyone else leaving. Nothing like a Friday morning is Los Angeles! But Crazy Guy got me thinking. He's always there at a matinee. He may have a different face, or a different thing that makes him Crazy, but he's always there. Hell, I even ran into a crazy guy at a screening of Evolution last year. A fellow writer from a site I had worked for was set to interview Ivan Reitman, so he got a pair of tickets for the screening. We went in, took our seats, and were immediately locked onto by Crazy Guy radar. This weirdo came over to us, stood next to my seat, and just stared for a second. M friend and I had press packets for the film, and his eyes started to wander toward my packet. In a voice I can only describe as a cross between Lurch from The Addams Family and some sort of freaky yelling circus barker, he asked: "Can I see one of those?" I handed it to him as quickly as I can, hoping that he'll take it as a peace offering and go away. At that point, I was willing to part with a useless press packet just to get him to leave. He didn't. He stood over me and read it for what felt like a geological age. My friend and I looked at each other, and it's too funny to laugh. There's that moment when you're with a friend, and you both just know that this is going to be so damn funny later. So Crazy Guy handed me back my press packet and decided it's time to chat. "Did you guys see Jurassic Park 3?" Whether or not we had isn't important, is it? "No." I'm not a religious man, but Dear Lord, this guy is like seven feet tall, and he's hovering over me. His crotch is right in my face, and he is Crazy. He's unshaven, unwashed, and he has a funny smell to him. "Well, you should. You know, I saw it at a screening in..." He went on for five minutes, talking
about all the screenings he had been to in the last month, what
he thought of them, and what freebies the companies had given
him. We were only saved when one of the publicity people walked
by with a box of Evolution cups. He was in mid sentence,
and I swear, he just stopped. He didn't excuse himself; he didn't
even acknowledge us as beings. He simply turned and sprinted
after the box. Much to my delight, he didn't get anything, and
sulked back up the aisle. Do I need to mention that both my
friend and I pretended to be engrossed in a heated conversation
on the politics of third world banking? Out of the corner of
my eye, I saw him look at us, then sit down in his seat a few
rows up. He sat still for maybe a second, then reached below
his seat and pulled out a wad of tin foil. He opened it, and
started eating Buffalo Wings. Now, I know that he probably brought
those with him, but I still can't shake the idea that he shuffled
his feet, heard a weird sound, and then peered down beneath his
seat. After the film, I avoided him by staying behind him as he rushed out the door, looking for free stuff. He tracked down a PR guy, who, I swear on my eyes, have him ten bucks to just go away. That man, of course, was Roger Ebert. I'm kidding, of course. It was Leonard Maltin. Well, I was going to go on about all the different types of moviegoers one can find on a Friday matinee, but I guess I had too much to say about the Crazy Guy. Have a nice weekend. |
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