We went to a very nice theatre, the kind that make you pick your seats in advance. The spot we chose was dead center, away from any others that were taken (the computer showed where the available sections were). Well, right after we got settled, one of the titular old men and his wife came in, sitting right next to me. Of all the free spots, they had apparently chosen the two seats to our immediate left, and because it was reserved seating, they weren't about to leave the customary empty chair between us.
No huge deal, except that apparently, the guy and his wife had decided on recording their own audio commentary for the film . . . without telling me.
But a strange thing happened: instead of irritating as hell, as the ubiquitous text messaging has become, it started to become amusing. The old dude would comment on the kind of vehicles, the kind of weaponry used, the colour of the sky, and explain what was going on in the movie ("That car's on fire" and "Wow, he's one mean sumnabitch," and "Looks like that guy got shot," that sort of thing). But there was something oddly endearing about the way he did it, and instead of infuriated, I found myself smiling to hear it. And every time he made one of his comments, often with lovely down-home profanity that was impossible to hate.
At one point during the film, the woman's cellphone began ringing. She got it out and her husband said, "Just open and close it." She did. "Now put that goddamn thing away," he grunted, and I just laughed and laughed. Jeff seemed to be enjoying it too, but it might've just been gas.
I'm not going to give my usual rant about insensitive assholes ruining movies for me and people like me. Yes, ninety-six percent of the time, it's about as uncool as me in the ninth grade, but every once in a while, it ain't so bad.*
Rish "Mister Brightside" Outfield
*By this reckoning, however, I have at least until 2013 before this happens again.
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