18th June 2003, 3:04 PM
(This post was last modified: 18th June 2003, 5:55 PM by LukeIsTerrified.)
Ah, Dark Jaguar. I used to be in your position. Three years ago, I was an adamant anti-clapper. Not just at movie theatres -- what was the deal, I thought, with clapping DURING music performances? "WE CAN KEEP THE BEAT WITHOUT CLAPPING ALONG, IDIOTS," I would yell, while keeping my hands firmly in place in my pockets. But then everything changed.
I had gone to my local movie theatre to see the critically-acclaimed film, "Before Night Falls." I was expecting drama; I was expecting emotion; I was expecting creative and innovative filmmaking. That is what everyone else got. I got nothing. "Scary Movie couldn't have been worse than this," I said to my movie-going companion, as the credits rolled. But, what was this?! To my shock, my utter dismay, everyone around me was putting their hands together in a hypnotic rhythm. Damnit, they were CLAPPING.
"What's WRONG with all these people 'round here?" I yelled, in the immortal words of Flava Flav. "That movie was the equivalent to a two-hour nap on a bed of nails -- just PAINFUL!" At this point, the clapping slowed and eventually came to a complete stop. My fellow film enthusiasts turned to stare at me, and just when I thought that things couldn't get much worse (I was measuring my odds of making a dash to the exit door), I heard a voice behind me. After enduring two hours of him, I identified the voice immediately, illogical as it seemed: it was the lead actor of "Before Night Falls," Javier Bardem.
"Hello, my name is Javier Bardem. You <s>killed my father</s> straight-up dissed my movie. Prepare to die."
That's the last thing I remember, though you can probably guess how it played out from there. Bardem was nominated for an Oscar; I spent two weeks recovering in a local hospital; and never again did I decline to clap in a movie theatre, celebrity guests in attendance or not.
The end.
P.S.: I also became a pathological liar. Later dudes!
I had gone to my local movie theatre to see the critically-acclaimed film, "Before Night Falls." I was expecting drama; I was expecting emotion; I was expecting creative and innovative filmmaking. That is what everyone else got. I got nothing. "Scary Movie couldn't have been worse than this," I said to my movie-going companion, as the credits rolled. But, what was this?! To my shock, my utter dismay, everyone around me was putting their hands together in a hypnotic rhythm. Damnit, they were CLAPPING.
"What's WRONG with all these people 'round here?" I yelled, in the immortal words of Flava Flav. "That movie was the equivalent to a two-hour nap on a bed of nails -- just PAINFUL!" At this point, the clapping slowed and eventually came to a complete stop. My fellow film enthusiasts turned to stare at me, and just when I thought that things couldn't get much worse (I was measuring my odds of making a dash to the exit door), I heard a voice behind me. After enduring two hours of him, I identified the voice immediately, illogical as it seemed: it was the lead actor of "Before Night Falls," Javier Bardem.
"Hello, my name is Javier Bardem. You <s>killed my father</s> straight-up dissed my movie. Prepare to die."
That's the last thing I remember, though you can probably guess how it played out from there. Bardem was nominated for an Oscar; I spent two weeks recovering in a local hospital; and never again did I decline to clap in a movie theatre, celebrity guests in attendance or not.
The end.
P.S.: I also became a pathological liar. Later dudes!