Just got home a bit ago from a sneak preview of North Country in Ye Olde Eagantowne. They were waving their metal detector wands around and searching bags making sure people didn't have recording devices. Thankfully they totally missed the 7 oz of heroin I had inserted into my rectum. But about halfway through the movie, I'd wished I had put the heroin in a baggie or condom or something. Evidently rectal tissue absorbs drugs quite quickly.
It's a joke, people. Lighten up.
Prior to the previews, I made my typical "preemptive strike". i.e. A preventative trip to the bathroom so I wouldn't have to manually clamp off the end to make it through the movie. I had quite a bit of water with dinner. On the way back, I figured they'd have to wand me again, and was resigned to it. Whatever. Well this old dude about 2 people in front of me throws a fit. "I'm not going through there again! You can't wand me." The security guy remained much more calm than I did, and explained that everyone had to go through the check every time they came back into the theater, but the old dude wasn't havin' it. "You can't make me go through again! Just let me by" ad nauseum.. I was thinking this guy is launching his little tirade fit in some sort of defiant protest of the eroding of his civil rights or some crap. But then a full 2 or 3 minutes into the argument, he says he can't be wanded because of his pacemaker and asks if they can just pat him down or search him. The look of exasperation on the security guy's face expressed what everyone within 15 feet of this argument was thinking: Why the FUCK didn't you just say that to start off with instead of making a scene and holding up the line, you old coot? What a dipshit.
That's really the bulk of my story, but North Country is good. Honestly, I probably would have had absolutely no interest in seeing it if it weren't for the fact it was based on something that happened in Minnesota and was also shot here. But I was more than pleasantly surprised. Mining, sexual harassment, and for some reason there was rampant smearing of feces. All the time with writing on walls with feces. Covering people in feces. Cleaning up feces. Did that part really happen or did the writers just like feces?
Oh, but be thankful you didn't have to sit through the live satellite interview they showed right before the movie. Charlize Theron and the director, Niki Caro were interviewed by some effusive, ass-kissing drip of a film critic whose name I don't remember and doesn't matter. But if this guy had is nose any farther up their collective ass, all you'd see was his shoes hanging out. Then they allowed some of the people in the various locations where the preview was playing to ask questions. Is it just me, or is everyone in America huffing paint? The questions coming out of these people's mouths were as dumbfoundingly pointless as the critic's existence. "Is it daunting to make a movie about true events?" "Do you like Pez?" "Can I touch your boobie?" Yes, no, and talk to me after the show.
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