There’s a phantom nag at the edge of my perception – a shadow moving in the periphery. If I could see it clearly, I’d deal with it – whatever comes. I ignore it. The silent treatment doesn’t work as the nag flitters back. It’s like a hole in a movie screen you notice when you’re just sitting there waiting for the previews to start. If you showed up late, you’d probably never notice. But since popcorn is $14 a bucket – you packed your pockets with snacks at the 7-11 down the street and you head right to your seat. You reach into your cargo pocket and pull out the can of Dr. Pepper and place it in the convenient arm-chair cup holder. It’ll be a few minutes before you can pop the tab without wearing it the rest of the night. They don’t sell corn-nuts at theaters for a reason; they’re loud and have a dry-choking scent that those around you abhor. Even other corn-nutters don’t like to breathe second-hand nut-dust. But, it’s Tuesday night at the cheap theater – you’re there to see the latest in a long line of cinematic remakes on a night most moviegoers stay in.
When talkies started, everything was new and original…and, frankly, quite racist. Fast forward to modernish times and scripts were sanitized and movies remade. First came the remakes of not-quite-classics. Then came the remakes of actual classics. Then a long line of cinimazations of TV shows. Then came the “live action” remakes of animated films that are still basically animated with bullshit CGI. Then in the recent yesteryear came the interactives, then the emersions, then Hollywood gave up after the prolapse era and went back to standard shitty remakes devoid of tactile sensory input. And here we are in present day ‘Merica. The copyright laws were decimated and remakes these days exclude any nod to the previous rights holders.
But, you gotta do something with your Tuesday nights and drugs aren’t as fun anymore now that damn near anything’s legal. Illegal drugs were the last bastion of the civilian’s attempt at subversion.
So, when I plunked down my $15.50 for the The Good Side of Bad Ugly, I was expecting a modernized western about three guys trying to rob an unmarked grave of all its gold. I wasn’t expecting a hole to fly about the action like a bumble bee. The bee flies into the Bad guys mouth and out his arse as he dives to avoid laser bolts. I sit there in the near-empty theater crunching my corn-nuts and drinking Dr. Pepper through a red-vine the way The Lord God Almighty intended. The bumble bee recedes to the background for a few scenes and I forget it’s there. The nag allows me to relax. Forget I’m here, it buzzes quietly. I’m very relaxed – almost like I’m high off the opiate-weed cigarettes – but I haven’t touched those in about year. I’m comfortable, relaxed, but slightly light-headed. I’ve forgotten the bee completely when it flies up and sticks to The Ugly guy’s central incisor. He’s laughing as the cyclopse strikes the Bad guy’s left cheek with a hammer blow from his three fists. The Ugly’s face slowly rises – his face a blood dripping pulp and I see he’s now wearing the bumble bee as a booger stuck to his philtrum. It makes me flash on my nag. My problem.
Oh shit.
I was shot in the face through the hole in the screen a few moments ago just as the theater was going dark. I’m dying now and what was playing through mind was denial delivering an epic hallucination – it wasn’t bad for a shitty remake.
The previews play. Nobody knows I’m near death because nobody saw or heard the shot. My body didn’t even move. I was fully extended in a legs-up position when it happened. I love those theaters with the reclining seats. The comfy sofa-like chair reclines and the legs are lifted. It’s fun to let gravity take your body fully a second or two before depressing the button that could just as easily be labeled “release all you cares and worries.” You hold down the button and for a very brief moment it feels like you’re a sleepy toddler being carried to bed. The familiar action triggers endorphins and fosters a sense of relaxation and wellbeing. You’re at the movies, now – relax. That’s why I always go to this particular theater every Tuesday night. And, I guess that routine is how they finally got to me. I press the panic button in my pocket. It beeps, but I know I don’t really hear it, how could I? Blood is leaving my body so fast all I can hear is the freight train in my ears. My vitals are dropping. There’s a light at the center of my vision and it’s getting brighter – I’ll be dead again in a few more moments. I hate this part – I always have. I try to say so but what gurgles out probably sounds like boiling corn-nut soup.
