[Editor’s note: This is more rant than review, but I was amused and hope you will be too.]
It is almost 2 A.M. I have a full-time job to wake-up to in the morning. My 9-month-old baby has been sick. Last night I did not sleep well. Tonight I will not sleep well. Theoretically, I can sleep until 7:30 AM and have time to get ready and out the door, but none of my 3 children will let me sleep that long. Knowing this, I still cannot sleep, for my blood is still boiling, my adrenaline is still up, and I must share my experience at the movies.
Don’t get too excited. I’m not really going to talk about the movie that much. David Fincher’s The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is a lot like the Swedish language version, only with better actors, better music, and a stellar command of technical form. You can pretty much just read my review of the original and bump it up a grade for good form.
The movie stars Daniel Craig as disgraced journalist Mikael Blomkvist. Blomkvist is hired by the wealthy Henrik Vanger, played by Christopher Plummer, to solve a 40-year old mystery. Vanger is convinced a member of his family murdered his niece Harriet. Mikael eventually teams up with the pseudo-autistic punk/hacker Lisbeth Salander, played full-tilt by Rooney Mara.
As I said in my review of the original, the story is chock full o’ rape, almost obsessed with it. The beginning takes way too long to get going. Once the mystery is solved, it takes way too long to end. The red herrings are half-hearted gestures. And both mysteries are way too obvious. There is still a nice crime solving middle section, but the story is so under cooked Fincher has to work overtime to make it interesting. And it is. He knows how to shoot the shit out of a scene, layer in wonderfully off-kilter sound design, and generally make everything slicker. This usually makes it cool. Here, not so much.
I will say the chemistry between Blomkvist and Salander is better here, and their relationship makes more sense. But like I said, there are only so many ways to polish a turd.
So, what has me so pumped? Glad you’re still with me. People are assholes. Yes, the movie has plenty on screen, but I mean in real life, and more specifically the couple who sat beside me tonight.
Let me be clear. My thing, the thing I do, after work, after time with the kids, after time with my loving wife, after whatever else there is to do, is go to the movies. I lose a lot of sleep doing this, so I don’t appreciate assholes when I’m at the theater. And let me say, this was the worst time I’ve ever had at the movies, my opinion of the film notwithstanding.
After a brief opening scene, the opening credits begin to roll. You might have seen them already, they’re online. They are fantastic credits. Sadly, they’re best thing about the movie. They are a little arbitrary, but really cool for coolness sake. It is at this time Ms. Fucktard and her boyfriend arrive, late. They shuffle loudly in front of me, blocking my view while looking for their seats (the theater has assigned seating). They eventually settle into the seats next to me.
Fucktard keeps her phone on, and even though it is in her purse, the bright glow is like a shining diamond in my peripheral. Just as the credits end, her phone stops glowing. Fine. No big deal.
Then, throughout the movie I see that same bright glow to my right. It is very brief but very distracting. Fucktard keeps checking her phone, not quite incessantly, but enough to keep me aware that I’m sitting next to a Fucktard.
Then, during the film’s tensest scene (we’ll call it the “Sail Away” scene), some 2 hours into the movie, the bright glow catches my eye once more. I look over and Fucktard is on her phone, scrolling her Facebook page with her boots off and feet up on her boyfriend’s lap, like she was relaxing in her living room. I don’t care if the movie isn’t doing it for you, show some fucking respect… to me, and the film.
Now, I am not confrontational, but this was too much. The theater is my chapel, and I am a monk therein, which should explain how I tried to handle Fucktard. I’d like to call her Trashy Whore or Stupid Cunt, but that might imply some female prejudice, especially considering the movie we were watching (original book title: Men Who Hate Woman). But she really was a stupid, trashy cunt/whore.
So, I lean over and say, “Can you turn that off, please?” I couldn’t really hear a response, but I could see that they weren’t a couple of dumb teenagers, they were in their 30’s and vaguely European. Rather than saying, “Oh, I’m sorry,” they reacted like I had barged into their private screening room unannounced. Then one of them says something to the effect of, “You don’t need to lean in so close.”
Then Fucktard adds, “You’re in my seat, by the way.” Now, I am not a fucktard; I can read my ticket stub and find J-10. Fucktard obviously couldn’t because when she arrived the theater was dark. So, I guess I must have offended her when they showed up late and I was in “their” seat.
So, I’m trying to get back to the movie, but now these two are in my ear about being too close and stealing their seats, doing exactly the opposite of politely turning off their electronic devices.
Finally, I say, “Fuck Off!”
Maybe I shouldn’t have, but fuck them. They’re a pair of fucking fucks. Well, Fucktard’s boyfriend took offense and I got an earful about not talking to a “lady” that way. Then he grabbed my wrist hard and asked me if I wanted to “take this outside and fight.” Apparently, I had insulted them. But really, once you text or check Facebook during a movie, I no longer consider you a “lady,” you become a dick.
Did I want to go outside? No, but not because I don’t want to fight you (I don’t). And not because I was scared (maybe a little). With Eurotrash, you never know. No, I don’t want to fight or argue or discuss why I’m in the right because I’m trying to watch a fucking movie. So I say, as I pull my arm away, “I’m trying to watch the movie,” and gesture toward the screen.
Fucktard scoffs a lot and shifts in her chair. Apparently, I’m the asshole who ruined their night out. I hear her put her trashy whore boots on, and for a moment I thought they were leaving, or maybe I should change seats. What to do? Alas, I was trying to watch the fucking movie, like I said, and I didn’t want to further disturb anyone else.
The movie still had 40 minutes of pointless wrapping up to do. I sat there awkwardly, next to two stupid cunts, the movie steadily declining and my adrenaline out of control. The film finally came to a weird forced poignancy ending. The lights came up and I waited for the Fucktards to leave first. I did not look at them because I avoid conflict. Any further talking or attempts at explaining their stupidity would only exacerbate things. And husbands and fathers shouldn’t be out fighting dumb fucks in movie theaters at 1 A.M.
But, Fucktard couldn’t let it go. She got very close to my ear and left me with this bon mot, “You’re an asshole, you know that? I hope the rest of your life is shitty.” Then they left. I maintained composure. I triple checked that I was indeed sitting in row J seat 10. I looked at the seats they were in and it was a complete pig sty, popcorn strewn about their chairs, and garbage haphazardly lying around. Now it’s almost 3 AM and here I am.
Maybe you didn’t need to read all of this, but I needed to share it. I think it ultimately had some effect on my movie watching experience, so think of my ranting as full disclosure. Sitting next to assholes who don’t realize they’re assholes will possibly alter your enjoyment of this movie.
Or maybe I deserve a shitty life? You tell me.