I very rarely walk out of movies. If someone’s gone to the trouble of making a film–and I’ve gone so far as to decide to see it and pay for a ticket–I’ll usually sit it out. Unnervingly, I’ve walked out of 2/3 as many movies in the last two weeks as in the last 10 years. At this rate, by December, I’ll be walking out of more movies than I walk into.
Here are the exceptions (I might add to this list, but even after a 4-hour solo drive, I can’t remember any others):
Showgirls:
To be honest, I only went out for a few minutes, to chat with the old geezer at the concession stand and regain my composure. We went to opening night in East Hampton, and we were laughing so hard, it was offending the “serious” filmgoers. Can you imagine going to Showgirls and being more offended by something happening in the theater? You can? Then move to East Hampton.
Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil:
Kevin Spacey plays a queen with a thing for criminally minded hoodlums (there’s a stretch); John Cusack plays the invisible narrator, invisibly; and the court scene drags on for so long, you should’ve brought a book, or walk out. Hell, you should–and could–read the book in less time.
Dancer In The Dark
In an impulsive fit of slackness, I left a busy office for a noon showing. Within 15 minutes, I came to my senses, realizing I had a pile of stuff to do and didn’t have 3 hours to give over to Bjork and Lar von Trier at that moment. With empty hope, in my wallet, I still carry the emergency raincheck ticket the theater gave me upon my hurried exit. I’ve since seen this movie many times.
Hellboy
It was fine enough, but I just couldn’t care about the guy at all. And I had a splitting headache, a painfully empty stomach, and a harsh free-refill Diet Coke-induced caffeine/nutrasweet buzz going; I shouldn’t’ve gone in the first place.
Laws of Attraction
I know The Thomas Crown Affair. The Thomas Crown Affair was a friend of mine. (if only because I watched it on the plane every week when I was commuting to Paris for a deal). You, Laws of Attraction, are no The Thomas Crown Affair.
Actually, I saw this shameless chickflick for my other site, Daddy Types, at Reel Moms, a morning movie program with a thick-headed name for parents with babies. Parents who don’t care what movie they see, they just want to get out of the house.
[Update: I remembered another one. I left Richard Linklater’s Dazed and Confused early to make a NY Film Festival screening of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Blue. And because I was painfully Bored and Uninterested. Apparently, D&C became The Breakfast Club of its generation. Damn kids.]
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the making of, by greg allen