Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sure as the sun rises, I inaugurated the first true spring weekend with very little sunlight at all, tucked safely away from fresh air and clear skies at a 10 AM showing of Watchmen in a darkened theater. It seemed like a fun idea, when I decided on the showtime earlier in the week with the Cat, but it turned officially lame the day of, en route to a morning movie–based on a graphic novel, no less–when the weather was certifiably gorgeous. The nerdsweat was almost palpable. But the tickets were already bought.
In case you were considering spending hard-earned dough on the flick, don’t. Although the movie itself isn’t the main focus tonight, I’d be remiss if I didn’t warn you. My $7.50 would’ve died in vain, understand. I’ve heard it’s slavishly faithful to its source material, suggesting the printed work was a bloated patchwork of non sequiturs free from the constraints of editing or intelligible flow. It’s, like, opening scene, present day. Cut to fight. Suddenly it’s the 70s, with Vietnamese people exploding. Back to present day: prison riot. Shot of blue radioactive cock. Then it’s off to Mars, then back to a bar in Nam–in the past, of course–and then to Antarctica. More computer-generated blue wang. Because, obviously. Repeat for three hours, after which you’re left wondering what in fresh hell just happened.
It wasn’t about the movie, however, so much as the community attending the movie. What the Cat expressed mainly through pointing and snickering, let me describe to you with words: imagine all the denizens of your local comic book store. Now imagine them in your theater, drawn to one flick specifically. It was a clarion call to my social plan, a firm reminder to kick it into high gear, lest I find myself at a 9:30 AM showing of the sequel, alone this time, stained head to toe in Cheetos precipitate.
At the same time, I realized these people were likely more content than I was, at least during those two hours and forty-five minutes, based on the peals of communal laughter. They were part of a society, a confederacy based on unabashed geekery. Now, this particular group isn’t for me. Pretending to be a wizard in Dungeons and Dragons–on Second Life, naturally–is more my thing. But I’m beginning to see the value of community. Currently I’m inclined to disengage in situations. I’m trying to replace this with a need to belong, plant a stake in the ground, and claim my place.