Yesterday our Valentines Day treat was an outing to the movie theater. We narrowed our options down to a few films then B let me make the final cut. I chose The Book of Eli.
The story is pretty good, and there are a few intriguing twists thrown in at the very end. The kind that might make one quietly say “Wow! I can’t believe that!” or, if one is so inclined, “OMG Denzel, you did not just go there!” to oneself. Or, if a twist is shocking enough, the audience might all gasp or laugh or sneeze in unison, when the action occurs on screen. (Are you following yet?)
The lady behind us apparently did not mind loudly sharing her discoveries and realizations about the storyline. What’s worse, though, is that she was always a few paces behind the rest of the audience, so when we’d quietly put two and two together during a scene, three or four scenes later she’d loudly exclaim “OMG! It’s a ____!” or “WOAH! He’s _____!” ( <–That’s me not spoiling the ending of the story for you.)
I giggled quietly about it the first few times and shared a quick glance with B to make sure he was also following along with her bunny hop through the story, but after a few of her exclamations I couldn’t contain it any longer. We’d made it to the end of the movie and things were pretty intense. Gary Oldman was doing his bad guy thing, Mila Kunis and Denzel were trying to save the book, heads were being lopped off, gunfire was being exchanged, good guys were on the brink of death, Nancy Drew was supplying her obnoxious time-delay audio reel for anyone who might have napped through the handful of prior scenes, and I…was laughing.
But here’s the very best part: When it came time for our neighbors in the audience to deliver funny looks, instead of raising their eyebrows at the voice from the back row they decided instead that the maniacal woman who laughed through the gut-wrenching death scenes was worthy of their scorn. Sigh.