Blue Movie

What? Posts on back to back days??? The hell you say! It’s true. You see, something has been gnawing away at me since Friday evening and I had to get it out. First, let me give you some background: I love the movies. The movies are my life. I’m not sure what that says about me (other than I don’t have much of a life), but it’s true. For me, nothing surpasses or even comes close to seeing a movie in the theater. It is the ultimate experience. I’m the guy who has to be there opening day and I see an average of 4 to 6 movies a month at the theater. It is not uncommon for me to see 2 in a day and I’ve even seen as many as 3, so yeah, I’m a bit of a movie junkie (or loser depending on your point of view). However, more and more people tell me they don’t enjoy going to the movies anymore, not because of the movies themselves, but because of the assholes with whom they must share the viewing experience. I get it, I do. I can’t stand these bastards either, but we can’t let them win. What’s so vexing is that there are but 2 simple rules to follow in a theater:

1.       Shut the fuck up.

2.       Turn off and leave off your goddamned cell phone.

That’s it. Why is this so hard for so many?

Anyway, I had a very bad viewing experience on Friday that I captured in the open letter below. Before you judge me for seeing Paranormal Activity 4 the day it was released, understand that I love horror movies above all else. Most of them aren’t very good, but I love them anyway. Why am I explaining myself to you, Gentle Reader? Just read and know my pain.

An Open Letter to the Douche-Lord Who Ruined Paranormal Activity 4 for Me

Dear Sir,

Wow. It feels weird calling you “sir.” That seems so formal considering the awesome time we shared together at the movies. Still, “sir” is the only apt moniker for you at this time because we never exchanged names. I’ll go ahead and assume yours is Dick. Wait, no, we’re not doing that. It’s too crass and frankly, a little on the nose. I bet your name is Todd, or Tad, Chad, or Sailor – something that appropriately captures your douchey essence. Maybe you even have a mega-douchey nickname like J-Dog or Gator or Barry Manilow.  To make it easy on myself, I’m going to refer to you as Dude-Bro.

Now, Dude-Bro, is it presumptuous of me to assume you’re a complete and total, not even Summer’s Eve, but more like a generic-ass CVS store-brand douche? It is a rather scurrilous accusation to make, but understand, Dude-Bro, you were giving off some serious douche waves. In fact, you broke my Douche-Dar™ (sort of a radar for detecting d-bags – patent pending) with a single glance. Even without that device, my fists knew. Your face practically called out to them, begging to be smashed, or at the very least to slap that stupid fucking trucker cap that sat so jauntily askew atop your fucking idiot head right to the floor. And seriously? A trucker’s cap? I’m about 15 years older than you (give or take a decade) and even I know that shit was cool for about 5 minutes 10 fucking years ago. It’s all about pith helmets nowadays, Dude-Bro. I thought you knew.

So why then did I sit a mere two rows in front of you knowing in my heart that you were absolutely the type of prick that couldn’t keep his mouth shut even if there were two, side by side dicks shoved in it? Well, remember, it was opening night; the theater was a bit crowded. My options were to sit closer to you or to the negligent monster who dragged his toddler (I shit you not – HIS TODDLER) to see this movie. I thought I picked the lesser of two evils; I was so wrong. Kudos to you for showing me that I’m not yet so jaded that I can’t appreciate a nice surprise.  

Speaking of surprises, you had quite a few in store for me, didn’t you? You gave me a preview of sorts during the previews when you shouted, “Hell yeah,” or “Bullshit,” after each one, sort of a less refined critique than perhaps Pauline Kael would’ve provided, yet effective nonetheless. I like how you waited until each trailer was over and silence had descended once again before giving voice to your feelings. It was really smart because it guaranteed that (1) I’d definitely hear your commentary and (2) it really built suspense. I caught myself during each preview wondering if this was to be a “Hell yeah” or a “Bullshit.” And then you waited until the last possible second to deliver your verdict – what a rollercoaster!

Then the movie started and it was on. The Paranormal Activity movies are about a slow-burn, atmospheric buildup punctuated by tension-relieving shocks. You soldiered through all the quiet though, Dude-Bro, like a motherfucking boss! You knew that I and the rest of the audience needed your commentary during all the boring-ass bullshit. You were only too happy to oblige us. I love how you made inappropriate sexual remarks about a 15-year-old girl and how much you wanted to catch a glimpse of her bare breasts. I mean, you’re like a modern day Lenny Bruce pushing the boundaries and absolutely not being afraid to go there! And then, when you again tapped that deep well of inappropriate sexual remarks when the 5-year-old little boy got in bed with the same girl? Pure. Comic. Genius. Seriously, fuck Oscar Wilde, Dude-Bro, his wit is nothing compared to the likes of yours!

Oh, but you were only getting started. I really enjoyed how every single time the family cat made an onscreen appearance you uttered a very loud, “Meow.” Your comedic brilliance truly knows no bounds. Seriously, Dude-Bro, you could be the next Gallagher! I mean it. I don’t throw such praise around lightly, believe me. I also really enjoyed how you LOL’d long, loud, and obnoxiously every time someone onscreen was injured or killed. I mean, talk about macho! Ricardo Montalban isn’t even fit to scrub your underwear. Quien es mas macho indeed!

But you saved your best, most soulful work for the REALLY intense moments. That’s when you uttered a confused, “What the fuck?” each and every time. I really feel like I learned about you during those interludes. Wasn’t it Plato or perhaps Aristotle who first meditated on, “What the fuck?” Dude-Bro, I had no idea you were such a deep thinker. Pondering life’s biggest mysteries with you in the dark like we did really bonded us. I felt a connection. I’m pretty sure you felt it too.

And then finally, as the credits rolled, you unleashed it – your final bon mot – as if you knew how much I longed to hear it: “Bullshit! I was soooo over these movies after part 2, yo!” What a beautiful ribbon to tie around a perfect evening at the theatre. I hope you find the proper medium and an outlet for your vast creativity because the world needs to hear more from you. You are an artiste, Dude-Bro, and I salute you.

In closing, Dude-Bro, if you ever read this post I hope it destroys your Sarcasti-Dar (same as the Douche-Dar™, patent pending, only for sarcasm). If you haven’t figured it out by now, you are a complete tool. You are the reason so many people stay home to watch movies rather than subject themselves to viewing them with the likes of you. Christ, even the asshole with the toddler had the good sense to take him out of the theater and not return when the kid inevitably and completely lost his shit.

Fuck you, Dude-Bro. Fuck you so goddamned much. I hope you get hemorrhoids.

Love and SOOPER big hugs,

Mike