I went to see this tonight.

Overall, I give it an
A-. The minus is because I think they forgot to throw some subtitles in, and then I had no idea what the hell they were saying. Me no likey.
But forget about the movie, let's talk about th
e serial killer who sat in front of us.The late show started out fine and dandy.
Jessie and I walked in and were totally stoked that we were the only ones in the theater. Great, we thought, now we can talk out loud, and no one can shush us.
So we chose the seats right smack dab in the middle of the auditorium. Wouldn't you? Of course you would. That's what everyone does.
Then... the serial killer walks in. Shaved head, black clothes,
creepy eyes. And he sits right in front of us. Out of all 76 seats that weren't occupied in the theater, he chose the one right in front of us. Who does that? Serial killers.
He kept turning around, twitching nervously, trying to start a convo about 4 times. Way uncomfortable. And then he spit out something to the effect of us being the only three people in the theater. (Nervous laughter from us) He's crazy, but at least he can count. Maybe he was counting to see how many people he was going to have to fit in his trunk. Two. (except that Jessie is about 10 months pregnant, so it would be like fitting 2 normal-sized people
and a midget in the trunk. Probably pretty hard... I'm guessing)
During the previews I decided I needed
another beef jerky, because I horked my first one so fast, and Jessie wasn't about to stay alone with s.k. so we headed out to the concession stand. I asked the kid that was selling tickets if the bald guy that purchased a Traitor ticket was a little...
unusual. He said he didn't get any weird vibes, but Jessie and I were getting weird vibes from the ticket seller, so that didn't do us a damn bit of good. So I asked the projectionist to check up on us periodically, to make sure that we were still alive. He laughed, but agreed.
We go back in to watch the movie. We move down a couple of seats, because who wants to sit behind someone during a movie in an
empty theater, and who is also a killa? Not us.
As the movie progresses, we get a little nervous every time he goes to grab his drink, or his candy, or his popcorn, because for all we know... he's got a knife, a gun or nun chucks. You can't be too cautious or flinch too many times.
I had to go to the bathroom about an hour in, and I asked Jessie if she was going to be all right while I was gone. She said she would, and I told her to tell me what happened. I go and do my business as fast as I can (because come on, what's she going to do, hit him with her belly?) I come back and sit down. She's alive. Thank goodness. So I ask what happened while I was gone on my lightning speed bathroom trip. She says, "I have no idea. After you left, he started rubbing his face and neck all weird, and it freaked me out and I couldn't concentrate." I just had to fill in the blanks on the movie.
Projectionist came in about twice, and we would give him the
2 thumbs up, and let him know that we were still breathing, but not letting s.k. see us, because then he would bust out his nun chucks on us. Projectionist would chuckle, and then leave.
To make a long story even longer, the movie gets out and we just kind of let s.k. get out before us. But it's the slowest exit ever. He stands up right as the credits roll, and moves .000001 miles per hour. It was torture. We thought this would be the last movie we would ever see. (And if I'm going to be watching my last movie ever, I'm watching something with Christian Bale. Or Ashton Kutcher)
Before we exit into the parking lot, we see s.k. get into his
gold convertible mini cooper. And I really think we were spared because he drove a mini cooper. And not a truck or an old Cadillac. Because really, has anyone ever fit 3 1/2 people in a mini cooper? I don't think so.
My husband tells me I'm crazy.
But I don't believe him.