Tuesday, April 12, 2005

The Road to Mali

I have absolutely no interest in the death and subsequent funeral of the Pope. I have absolutely no interest in the nuptials of Charles and Camilla. Does this make me a bad person? Indifferent to current affairs and the mood of the world?

Nah. It just means I’m not too concerned with having my gaze forcibly directed onto events as proscribed by an unimaginative and deathly-dull world media.

So what? I still gots the movies!

Summer seems to begin earlier every year and, to prove it, the first of the Big, Dumb, Shouting, Exploding, Running Movies of the year has arrived!

In the dopey little village where I work, there is practically nothing in the way of entertainment, aside from a two-screen Odeon directly outside my work place. Last night, I figured I could duck in, watch a movie, and still get home in time to have something to eat, play with my daughter and cuddle up with my wife.

I walked in to a completely empty cinema. I can’t recall that ever happening to me before. But, damn, was that cool. A cinema just for me.

So I grabbed the centre seat in the centre aisle, plunked a tub of popcorn in my lap, stretched out, and awaited my Film #11 of the year, Sahara.

Sahara is B-list all the way, from the cast (Matthew McConaughey, Penelope Cruz) to the plot (a bit of Indiana Jones, a dash of James Bond, a sliver of Romancing the Stone, and a huge dollop of the old Road movies, with McConaughey and Steve Zahn riffing on Bing Crosby and Bob Hope, and Cruz as Dorothy Lamour).

But, it doesn’t matter. Because this is the kind of movie that the word “romp” was designed for. It was funny and exciting and as insubstantial as candyfloss, and damn good fun. I smiled non-stop for two hours, and that’s good enough for me.


b obhope said...

I've been in a cinema on my own before. Lousy blind dates.

But seriously, folks...


Bert said...


AKA said...

Dude, the Stockpot blows.