Last night, the girls and I went to see Sex And The City. Like most women, I simply adored the TV series. And I have so many positive memories associated with it. I can remember watching the series finale with all of my roommates during my senior year of college. And I can recall this really relaxing day I had during my first year in LA when my friends and I spent the whole day eating chinese food and watching episode after episode of SATC.
I can't offer you much of a review of the movie, but I will say that I got the sense that it was mocking itself. However, since I am so enamored with the whole Sex and the City franchise, I still really enjoyed myself.
I do, however, have a very bad review of the audience at last night's 8:15 show. At The Grove. I hope some of you are reading this because I'm really disappointed in you.
Now I knew going into this that the audience was going to be groups of girlfriends who would squeal with delight as they entered the theatre and while the opening credits rolled. But I guess I underestimated just how aggressive such a crowd would be. As we waited in line to be let into our theatre, there was a terrifying electricity in the air. And then as soon as the velvet rope was moved out of the way, it was like a stampede. It reminds me of news footage I've seen of wedding dress clearance sales where women line up outside the doors of Filene's Basement, standing there for three days, drooling with the anticipation of big discounts. And then when the doors are released by some poor, wide-eyed store employee, the women run in screaming and pushing one another aside and the clothing racks are emptied in a matter of seconds except for one hideous, poofy sleeved gown swinging back and forth on a hanger.
It was like that.
Fortunately, we were in the front of the line and able to grab seats right away because the theatre filled up almost instantly, sending everyone into a panic.
I went back into the lobby to grab snacks, but didn't time this well because now I was fighting the tidal wave of women pouring into the theatre. I bumped into no fewer than 4 women, none of whom said "excuse me" or "I'm sorry." I literally threw myself against the wall and slid along it through the rest of the corridor, like how cops do on TV, only I unfortunately lacked the loaded weapon.
I started to feel really embarrassed for the whole group. What if there was a straight guy here? We are confirming his beliefs that we're all a bunch of caddy psychos. Ladies, please!
And as if these nasty women weren't bad enough, nearly every pack of them came with the requisite bitchy gay man who was really protective of his friends' personal space. Look, I love gay dudes, but their shouting "You need to move" and "She needs to sit her ass down" was only worsening the already stressful situation.
Shortly after the movie started and the chaos died down, a woman in her 50s appeared at the end of our row and asked if we were saving the free seat next to Kristen. We were, of course, for our friend who was running terribly late. If I'd been the one sitting next to the empty I'd be tempted to jut give it to this lady out of sympathy.
When we told her that she couldn't take the seat, she made a frustrated, desperate "hrrmph," and then she sat down on the steps of the aisle. I was at the end of the row, so this meant that our new friend was just sitting on the floor next to me. I looked over at Anne, seated to my left, with a "what the hell" face. I figured that after a few minutes, this woman would feel stupid and stand up again, or that an usher would come along and shoo her away.
But she stayed there. For the whole movie. And I don't know why it made me so uncomfortable -- it wasn't like she smelled of onions or tried to touch my knee or anything-- but I didn't like her being there. Why did she pick my step, of all the steps in the theatre? Where oh where was my bitchy gay man to look after my personal space? So I spent the whole movie leaning so far away from her that I was practically resting my head on Anne's shoulder.
Oh, and then the woman on the stairs got all friendly. She'd look over at me every time she laughed (she was fond of dick jokes), hoping I'd laugh with her. I felt bad that I wasn't warming up to her. After all, she was harmless. She just needed a place to sit. I debated offering her some of my m&ms, but that would mean fewer for me, so...
And anyway, she was the least of my worries because there was some kind of blonde three-headed monster sitting behind us. All three heads laughed, sighed and cooed simultaneously. And the sobbing. Oh the sobbing! The slightest hint of sadness from one of the characters on screen would send this beast into hysterics. I could hardly concentrate with all the sniffling and snotting and staccato breathing behind me.
So in conclusion, if anyone asks me if I liked the movie, I guess my answer is, "Yeah sure. But I'm beginning to hate women."
And also, "My popcorn was stale."