I arrived early to see a movie at the Arclight in Sherman Oaks. I went alone. It's one of my favorite things to do: disappear into the back row (or a nondescript middle seat if the punk kids have already commandeered the back row), dig into the popcorn and savor the solitude. It wasn't about the movie so much tonight; it was about taking advantage of having a babysitter. My wife has about three separate Sex and the City nights planned in the coming weeks, and tonight was her first. Since I didn't know what my schedule would be when she was blocking her movie dates, I told her to call our babysitter just in case. "Worst case, I'll just go see my own movie," I told her.
Yeah, right. More like best case.
I just needed a reason to go see The Strangers. So at 6:30, we gave the babysitter final instructions and headed off: Me to a movie that proclaims itself a "Terror Movie," and her to see Sex and the City.
Pffft. Sex and the City. There's a big part of me that wanted desperately to scoff at her for getting sucked in by such tripe, but as they say: let he who is without scoffability cast the first scoff. The scoffing she could do at me and my interests would set records and rattle the very backbone of the scoffing community. Every now and then I'll give her a "you're watching the episode where Carrie and Big break up AGAIN?" smirk as I pass through the living room, but it's really as innocuous as the "Why is the guy from Boston Legal fighting a green alien with a bad mask again?" glint I sometimes spot in her eyes.
I got to the theater early. The Arclight serves alcohol, so I picked up my ticket to the 7:30 movie and headed directly to the bar. "Sierra Draft," I told the friendly bartender. I was her only patron at that moment, so she poured it immediately. "Something tells me you're not here to see Sex and the City," she said as she handed me my tall beer. "How'd you guess?" I asked her. "Because you're not with two or three other girls ordering cosmos," she answered, wearily.
As she finished her sentence, a foursome of thirty to fortyish ladies took a seat at the bar. They were giggly and boisterous. The friendly bartender sighed, and walked down to help the women. The loudest one took charge: "Can we have four cosmopolitans please?" The bartender nodded, and had actually already rinsed out the drink shaker before the woman had opened her mouth. The loud one continued, annoyingly: "And can you make them in martini glasses instead of those tall glasses?" The bartender nodded again and told her, "That's how I make them. Cosmopolitans are served in Martini glasses." A different loud one, wearing a pink hat (I'm not kidding) piped in, "Well, we came over the weekend and the um.. guy that was here made them with the tall glasses instead of the martini glasses." The bartender continued pouring vodka into the shaker and assured the women that they would receive their drinks in the appropriate martini glasses. I subtly glanced over at the gals, unnoticed. I was not shocked to discover that they were vaguely dressed like the women from Sex and the City. They started talking almost exactly like Charlotte, Carrie, Miranda and Samantha do when they go to that diner or whatever that place is they go to talk. They clucked and giggled about their boyfriends and ex-husbands much too loudly; almost like they were doing it for cameras that only existed as part of their Darren Star fantasy.
I looked around the bar, suddenly aware that there were at least 2 other groups of women performing similar versions of the same thing. One woman was wearing a necklace with her name in cursive writing, just like Carrie. Another woman had a GIANT hand bag. I looked at the shoes. I couldn't tell if they were Manolos, but I could tell that they were too fancy for an evening movie. Apparently, these women really love this show, and are giddy about seeing this movie. They are dressing up as their favorite characters and acting the parts. They are essentially role-playing.
And then, it hit me.
They're geeking out. I know it's not exactly the same thing, because Sex and the City in not traditionally associated with Geek Culture, but tell me it's not akin to dressing like a Jedi to see Star Wars. Or wearing a Browncoat to see Serenity. Or cheering when Sam Jackson tells Robert Downey Jr. he wants to talk to him about the Avenger Initiative.
It's fandom taken to an exuberant level.
And then I panicked. I feared making eye contact with any of the women because if they were in the middle of some Sex and the City fantasy night out, surely it wouldn't be long before the average-looking guy at the bar drinking a cold Sierra Nevada became one of their conquest targets. I saw the scene play out in my mind. The bartender would bring me another cold beer, hand it to me and point down the bar where a hottish, fortyish woman would be coyly waving at me. Frozen, I'd desperately try to find a polite way out. Thinking quickly, I'd point to my wedding ring and shrug my shoulders as if to say, "Sorry, maybe in another life!" I'd then smile, pretend to think about it for a moment, and then shake my head and get up from my stool and walk away. Then out of nowhere, a Sarah Jessica Parker voiceover would narrate the lesson of the evening, "I realized that even though a good man may be hard to find, I had actually found one that night. It just so happens, I found him after someone else already had." Then I'd have to walk in slo-mo out the door as the credits rolled and her longing look followed me all the way out.
Like I said, I panicked.
So I had to get out of there. I basked in my epiphany that these women love Sex and the City in the same irrational, but perfectly sensible way that I love lots of dumb (Sci-Fi) things. I downed the rest of my Sierra Nevada and headed for the snack bar. I ordered the usual: homemade caramel corn (We Make It On Premises, FRESH!), and a big Coke. I thought about ordering the chicken-apple sausage, but I felt like caramel corn was enough of a deviation from standard movie theater fare. I slunk into the empty theater and found my seat, far enough away from everyone.
In the middle of the theater, at the place where the crowds would trickle in (if there were crowds for a 7:30 PM showing of The Strangers on a Thursday), the Arclight employees talked in a hushed group about all of the recent movies. Of course, since there were only five of us in the theater, we could hear every word they said. A loud, tallish one with red hair (not unlike the woman who was the head of the pack of fancy cosmo-drinking girls at the bar) started proffering his opinion about the current state of movies.
He began, "The thing about movies is, you know in the first ten minutes if the movie's gonna suck. And Zohan? First ten minutes were HORRIBLE."
His co-worker minions nodded and tittered in agreement. I couldn't help but agree with him that Zohan was probably terrible.
He continued, "Love Guru? HORRIBLE."
Again, I could find no fault in his assertion.
"Prince Caspian? Come on, HORRIBLE."
Whoa...Wait a minute, I liked that movie. I loved it, actually. Unbeknownst to Red, he and I suddenly became enemies. He continued:
"Ironman? Horrible. Indy? HORRIBLE. Sex and the City? Please. Friggin' HORRIBLE."
I munched on some caramel corn, watching the fellow blue-shirts nod and agree. I assumed they had heard lectures like this before, and were forced to listen to him because he ranked higher than they on the Arclight Usher food chain. Red excused himself from the group, walked to the front of the theater, and entered the meager spotlight shining on him from above:
"Hello everyone and welcome to the Arclight Theater. We do ask that you take a moment to turn off all cell phones and we would also like to remind you that we'll be monitoring the sound and picture quality throughout the show to make sure they meet the Arclight's strict standards. I do also want to mention that you should save your tickets, because we had a few audience members from the last showing who literally got scared out of their seats. If that happens to you, you'll want to remember where you were sitting."
...HE PAUSES FOR A LAUGH, REALIZES HE'S NOT GETTING ONE, DECIDES TO QUICKLY MOVE ON...
"Anyway ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the movie and remember if it's too scary you can always sneak into Sex and the City.
As the lights went down, I had my final epiphany of the evening. If I were single and maybe a little more rugged, I could do some damage at a showing of Sex and the City. A room full of women anxious to have an evening just like their favorite four gals from the show? Tell me there's not always some random hookup that one of the famous foursome has with the average loner guy that's probably kinda dumb, but has a decent sense of humor. Remember Steve? Average looking dude, terrible job, no prospects, and he STILL landed Miranda. Or how about the guy from Northern Exposure? He was able to sleep with Carrie for a while. Listen up single guys, get your ass out to a Sex and the City showing. Something tells me that even a normal looking straight guy could easily find a willing Samantha or two in the crowd. Wink wink, nudge nudge...
Oh, but do me a favor: If her name is Elisa and she mentions a dumb husband at home and a couple of cute kids? Move on to the next one if you don't mind.
That one is taken.
