Revenge of the Whiff

With the world twitching in the throes of the latest instalment of the Star Wars saga, I felt compelled to write down something that is in some way relevant.

I’m going to see the movie tonight. To be honest, the idea of cramming myself into a cinema with 200-odd wookie-dressed, bad BO’ed, anal retentive, nerdy looking Star Wars nerds fills me with a sensation not unlike when I copped a whiff from my car’s air-conditioner after a cat had pee-ed on the bonnet (hood).

ie A little nauseous.

I’m hardly enamoured with the idea, but friends want to go, and I can’t think of a decent enough excuse to get out of it.

It’s hard to find an excuse when my hair is washed, I don’t have pets to feed, have no sick elderly relatives to visit in hospital, and I speaka da English just fine.

Although I’m sure that my sinuses are starting the clog a little, but then again I’m sure that if there’s ever a time to hang around throngs of nerds with terrible body odour, then the timing of a blocked nasal tract seems to indicate that somebody “up there” likes me.

Because if my memory serves me correctly, the last time I went to a movie that stretched for more than two hours, I was parked in a lonely theatre between one gassy friend, and another one with terrible breath wielding a can of Coke.

That kind of putrid torture would have cracked the Rock of Gibraltar.

In fact, my experiences with movie theatres has been less than favourable.

I cast my memory back to the opening day of Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring, which seemed like a relatively normal affair. No costumes, no oddities.

Well, until I sat down.

I had managed to pull the seat next to the 50-odd year old boffin who had read the entire series, including the other novels, some 30 years ago. This wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t decided to interrogate me on the saga, and queried as to which part I was most looking forward to.

He was like a kid who just discovered that M&M’s and cookie dough make a great combo.

You should have seen his face when I told him that I hadn’t read the books. I could’ve sworn in a church and not receive the level of scorn this man shot at me. I felt as though I had robbed a seat away from another, more deserving, LotR aficionado.

After that wore off, the movie began. He then began to critique the movie as it progressed through.

“Oh I didn’t think it would have looked like that”, “Ooh, that was well done.” He quipped constantly.

I would have throttled him had he not been so fragile, and if only I had brought my brand new, leather, throttling gloves.

Something similar happened during Spiderman 2, except on the other end of the age spectrum. A screaming kid who questioned everything happening on screen, and had bouts of yanking my (then) wife’s hair.

Where was I? Oh yes, I’m going to the movies tonight. Good ol’ Arndale Greater Union, a source of numerous nutbags displaying odd behaviour… and if you’re reading this blog, and you go to that cinema… I’m not talking about you…

There is a lot to be said about home theatre, I reckon.