I really should’ve written this yesterday instead of Saturday, when no one looks at their computer. But maybe I didn’t because I was taking my last unpaid furlough day and didn’t want to work on principle. Or maybe I was just too lazy to type after devouring an entire frozen pizza at 4 p.m.
That’s right … somebody was leading the GOOD life on their furlough day.
But because it was a furlough day, I decided to take a little solo vacation and go to a movie. I’ve been one of those freaks who likes going to movies alone ever since I lived in West Hollywood with four other guys in the same house and frequently needed a place to go for a few hours at a time, lest I commit violent crimes that would’ve sent me to prison for many years.
So I’ve been waiting to see “Watchmen,” to let the crowds clear and because, not wanting to hurt my feelings, my wife hedged on whether she wanted to see it. Which, I finally figured out yesterday, meant “Hell no I don’t want to see a confusing movie about a bunch of psychotic and violent freaks when I haven’t read the confusing graphic novel about a bunch of psychotic and violent freaks to prepare me for the movie.”
So yesterday was perfect. I didn’t have to worry about spending four hours trying to explain the story to someone. I could laugh at the gore and violence (and sex, which was good for a laugh) without worrying the person next to me thinks I’m a psychotic and violent freak (though my wife pretty much has that one figured out).
But because the move was pretty long, and I purchased a pony keg of Pepsi beforehand, about halfway through, I could no longer ignore the barking in my pants. I had to go.
Now, one of the most charming things about Concord’s Brenden Theaters (other than the endless parade of Johnny Brenden-is-awesome ads before the previews) is the fact that, when building this sprawling, ground-breaking cineplex a bit more than a decade ago, someone realized that, when finished, they forgot the rest rooms. So they quickly stuck one upstairs and figured they’d done what was required.
That’s great and all – except when you’re in the last theater on the other side of the building … down a ramp about a half-mile long. Downstairs. In fact, I’m pretty sure – while the bathroom was in Concord, the theater was in Pleasant Hill. They should run shuttles to the rest rooms to save time.
Why a cineplex can have 448 theaters, but one bathroom … on the other side of the building, upstairs, four miles away, is an absolute mystery to me. They sell you pony kegs of Pepsi to drink while watching a 7-hour movie … then they put the bathroom far enough away that you get leg cramps trying to get to it. It’s a good thing “Watchmen” is seven hours long, or I might’ve missed half the movie.
Well, if I didn’t duck into the handicapped bathroom halfway there.
Look, I know that’s wrong. But it was 1 p.m. There was hardly anyone was in the theater. And they have two handicapped bathrooms side-by-side. What were the chances two handicapped people were in the cineplex, having to go to the rest room at the same time?
Besides, I was about to explode.
And speaking of explosions, the movie was much better than I thought it would be. It just proved to me that patronizing comic nerds have infiltrated the ranks of film critics. Wait – isn’t that a requirement of being a film critic? Outside of the parts that were chopped out completely – lest they make a 12-hour movie – it stayed about as true to the comic book as a film could. And that’s really saying something because that was one weird, albeit great, comic book. At times “Watchmen” could make “The Exorcist” seem like a romantic comedy.