Once a week I go to the movies. By myself. I'm probably going to do this every week for the rest of my life. I sit where I want, no one finishes my drink, and most important, I get to see whatever I want. For Grindhouse, I was definitely on my own. But for this one, I'm dragging everyone back with me.
I went Saturday night. I was expecting it to sell out, so I bought my tickets online. I also got there early to avoid sitting next to an old-school, genuine "grindhouse" viewer. Neither happened. There were maybe 20 people in the cinema with me. But those 20, like me, cheered and clapped at the end of the second film. The last half hour alone was worth the ticket price.
The first movie is quite campy — half homage, half spoof of B-movies. It's entertaining to see B-movie kings like Jeff Fahey and Michael Biehn alongside A-List Bruce Willis. Lost's Naveen Andrews was wonderfully slimy in a Miami-Vice-style suit and British accent. Otherwise, there are lots of zombies, cheap jokes, and a smokin' sex scene interrupted mid-way by a polite apology about a missing reel. Dang.
The second movie has two parts — I don't provide spoilers, so feel free to keep reading. I could care less about the first part — it was just the foundation for the end but with great music. I admit — I was bored. And I was thinking, "I get how this will end, chicks die, yadda yadda." Oh no. Instead, I am going to build a shrine to Zoe Bell, Tracie Thoms, and Rosario Dawson.
First I started smiling uncontrollably. Then I was laughing. When it was over, had there been a man sitting beside me, I would've made him my bitch. And liked it.
So I see the headlines about the movie's five-million-dollar, opening-weekend failure and think, huh? But...? Why? Why is Harvey Weinstein apologizing? My God, man, stand by your product. I do agree with him about the length of the movie. Three hours and 12 minutes is quite a stretch. They're toying with the idea of splitting the movies into two showings. My money goes to the second one. Yours should too.
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