- The Queen Father
- Se avete voglia di parlare o se sentite che qualcosa che scrivo vi tocca da vicino, non siate timidi e mandatemi due righe... Mi fa sempre piacere!
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For an avid cinema goer such as myself, almost two years of servitude at the mercy of my ever-so-demanding 19 month-old son is an eternity of cinema-free-dom.
I missed big movies like Avatar, several Harry Potter installments, the second Sex and the City film, Twilight “New Moon”, Twilight “Eclipse”, “Transformers, Revenge of the Fallen”, “Terminator Salvation” and some other blockbusting movies and minor titles of interest.
Please allow me to open a parenthesis about the Twilight saga.
I mean, ok, it’s supposed to be about vampires and werewolves, but, last time I checked, vampires were fairly voracious nocturnal creatures with a penchant for virgin blood and coffins.
Werewolves were totally unreasonable hairy monsters that couldn’t help but shred everybody in their path to shreds.
What does “Twilight” give us instead?
A bunch of sanitised teenage-monsters that spend a lot of time sulking and looking positively hot. Not a canine in sight (I mean the teeth, not the mutts...), not a ripple of blood (unless poor Bella decides to accidentally crash-land on a glass coffee-table and open a vein, or two...).
Furthermore, with the advent of HD television, even the actors’ make up leaves a lot to be desired. I could swear I saw Mr. Cullen’s white foundation gather up in little lines under his eyes every time he smiles. Hence the perennial sulking.
And, finally, for crying-out-loud! What’s so special with Bella uh?
I mean, the girl has only recently learnt how to use makeup and brush her hair. Why is every dark creature on the planet obsessed with her?
And all this intensity about love, death, revenge... I mean, the folks are supposed to be only 17 (with the exception of Edward that is probably 217...), so my theory is that with all that stress, by 30 they’ll all be dead.
Ah yes! You ask me, rightfully, “Why on earth do you watch the Twilight movies then?”.
Because Jacob the Gym-Bunny turned Mutt-Boy likes to wear just denim shorts.
And if this doesn’t sound like a good-enough reason for you, then sorry to have disappointed you. I’m just honest.
Anyway, when “The King’s Speech” opened in London last week, I decided I was not going to miss it.
The fact that both my mum and dad are still here with us, helped a lot with Gabriel. So, me and Steven decided to live a little and go out, just the two of us, to the cinema, like we used to do when we were a childless couple.
Oh, the bliss of sitting down for two and a half hours to watch a movie with no interruptions! The sheer pleasure of holding a huge bucket of popcorn in your lap and a fizzy drink in your hand whilst your husband feeds you a hotdog....
We decided to go to the Cineworld Fulham Road, which is a short walk from home and generally attracts a more educated Chelsea crowd. Last time we went to the cinema at the Fulham Broadway, a little teenage-gang decided to start smoking ganja right in the middle of “Brokeback Mountain” and once they realised the movie was about two gay cowboys, they started with the name-calling, the whistling.... Not nice for Mr Gyllenhaall and the late Mr Ledger... Or for us.
The auditorium was empty when we arrived, but, by the time the movie was about to start, there were nearly no seats left.
This middle-aged couple ends up sitting right next to me. He looks like your average retired lawyer, she looks like your average Chelsea lady: grey bobbed hair, hairband, olive green roll-neck and cardigan, string of pearls and some rather expensive-looking spectacles hanging around her neck by a glittering chain.
I looked around, caught her eye and smiled politely whilst chewing on my hotdog.
She didn’t return my smile.
The movie started and, as I attacked the popcorn on my lap, the old guy sitting with the lady taps me on the shoulder saying:
“Could you please stop making that noise?”
I was sincerely nonplussed.
“What noise?” I asked smiling
“That noise there!” he replied sternly, pointing at my popcorn.
“Oh... But it’s a paper bag! I can’t help it...” I tried to reason, and at that point the lady butts in:
“Well, you don’t need to eat throughout the movie do you?” she said icily, clipping every word with a patronising tone that sent a flow of blood splashing through my brain.
“Well, it turns out that, as I paid a ticked, probably much more than you two pensioners, and I paid for my popcorn, then hell yeah! I will eat it until it’s finished...” I replied mocking the way she clipped out every word at me.
“Un-be-lievable!” she snapped back, hissing from behind her stupid glasses:
“People like yourself are precisely the reason why I never go to cinema...” and she turned away, swapping places with her husband.
My eyes rolled into my head like the wheels of a slot-machine. “ATTACK-----ATTACK” was the red writing that flashed into my brain.
“Oh yeah? I’ll have you know that women like you are PRECISELY the reason why I’m so glad I’m gay!”. General laughter from the row behind us. Perhaps my voice was a bit loud.
Then I stood up.
“What’s happened? Where are you going?” Steven asked, still engrossed in the movie.
“I’ll be back!” I just said, and got out of the auditorium.
When I got back, I was carrying two more bags of popcorn and I sat down.
“What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy? You don’t even like popcorn so much...” Steven remarked.
“It’s not only for me, you are going to have some too, throughout the movie OK?” I replied, looking angry.
After whispering the whole drama to Steven, I must admit, I had to restrain him. He just wanted to throw the whole popcorn bag over the bitch’s head, but that wouldn’t have been appropriate or polite. He resorted to call her names a couple of times under his breath.
I could hear paper bags crackling all over the auditorium, fizzy drink bottled hissing as they were opened, nachos crunching under the voracious jaws of the spectators, some coughs, some sneezes and even a mobile phone ringing in the distance.
And yet, that old sausage-bag could only hear my popcorn paper bag.
Now, I know that to the gentile crowd among you, I must sound uncouth, but for goodness’ sake, a total stranger getting into your face telling you no to eat your popcorn because the bag is too noisy it’s a little too much to bear.
I made well sure I munched throughout the movie, giving a good rummage to he paper bag every time I was reaching for a fistful of popcorn.
Every once in a while she would glare at me from behind her husband’s neck, shaking her head in a disapproving manner so shocking for the english.
But hey! I’m Italian! I don’t give a shit of your head-shaking antics.
Just be glad I kept my husband on the leash, or you’d have had his foot so far up your arse you could have tasted the leather of his Berlutis.
The movie was absolutely brilliant though. I will definitely buy it on DVD.
Next week, before mum and dad return to Italy, I must go and watch “Black Swan”.
I will ask at the cinema-bar if they have silk bags for the popcorn, or maybe just something blunt and hard to bash people over the head with.