I, cinema hermit.

I'm not sure how it happened, but I've become one of those people who tell other people off. Or at least get pissed with other strangers for doing small, yet intensely irritating things. How did I get like this?

I think the 'inciting incident' (film wank terms abound - what do you expect?) was when I went to a movie with Marc and Sasha (who isn't a native NZer), and some teenagers kept talking loudly well into the opening sequence. Sasha, quite casually, told them to please shut up... and lo and behold, they did! And for the whole session, as quiet as leetle meeces! I was amazed, and quite frankly a little envious that I didn't have Sasha's chutzpah. Noone - and I mean noone - does this here. New Zealanders tend not to want to rock any sort of boat, we're so scared of having to connect to strangers, we'd rather suffer and try and bear most things for 'a little while'.

Case in point a few years later when the much awaited sequel to The Matrix came out - some friends, Stephen and I had managed to get tickets to the sold-out midnight session at the huge IMAX screen, the kind of screen you have to turn your head to see from corner to corner, eagerly waiting with hundreds of other people for the utter disappointment that was Matrix Reloaded. Sigh. Let's not speak of that again. Anyway, some COMPLETE PRICK had brought a laser pointer, and started circling Carrie Ann Moss's boobies and Keanu's butt cheeks (and let's face it, it was a him - girls don't find utterly unfunny shit like that funny. What's funny is that some misguided folk accuse women of having no sense of humour. Go figure). It was like some horror version of the Seinfeld episode, I heard some other BUM-SHITS laughing (probably his FART-AIR-HEADED friends), and it made my blood boil. Pretty soon I wasn't watching the movie, I was steeling myself and clenching my fists in readiness for the next time DICKFACE-COCK-WANKER deemed it time for yet another puerile laser light show, willing myself not to charge through the cinema helter skelter, screaming "DO THAT ONE MORE TIME, AND I SHOVE THIS STRAW DOWN YOUR URETHRA!". By the end of the film, I was shattered. Shaking with anger, I think Stephen had to murmur 'calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean' into my ear as he gently chaperoned me out.

From that moment on, I made a pact to myself. The next time anybody impinged on my cinema experience like that, by golly I was going to do something about it. Stephen said something like "What good will that do? What if they don't stop?". I think I screamed back "Well at least I'd have bloody tried! Nobody else did a fucking thing, did they! Stupid New Zealanders!".

And I think that's what got to me. In an audience of 800 or more, noone told BABOON-REAR-PIMPLE-ASS to can it. I was sure I wasn't the only person getting pissed off at this - some friends on the other side of the theatre said they got annoyed, but like me, they didn't do anything about it. Never again. I squinted my eyes and growled it. Never again.

So I waited. I watched, and I waited. Next time anybody even dared to snigger to their friends about something, I was ready. It started extending to cellphones - idiot hair-flicky girls checking their messages every 2 minutes, the cellphone screen light blinding my peripheral vision. People crackling their popcorn bags. The disgusting sound of saliva shucking around their mouths as they chewed gummy lollies. I was there - oh yes, I was there. I was there to shoot them evil glances down the row. I was there to tell them to please put their cellphones away (YOU SUPERFICIAL AIRHEAD, WHY EVEN COME INTO THE MOVIE IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO WATCH IT???). I was miss cinema crabby and boy did I have attitude enough.

One fateful day it was the advertisements before Russian vampire flick NightWatch and I was talking to Vishakan. He looked at the screen and made a face. "Oh no, laser pointer". I bristled. What? A laser pointer? I looked at the darkening screen. Sure enough, there was a little dancing red dot. Aha! Here was my chance to rectify the exact same offence that had so irritated me so many years ago! Yes! Redress at last! All I had to do was wait... and if they dared do it again.... I cleared my throat...

"Could whoever's doing that please stop?"

Silence. Then sniggers from the front. Giggles rippled through the audience and turned into a few brays of laughter. I froze. I looked closely at the screen... and then I wanted a hole in my plush seat to open up and swallow me.

The dancing red light was part of the fucking film. That's right. Some sadistic Russian dude had actually made little fly demons in his opening sequence look exactly like a dick in the audience with a laser pointer. I mean, what kind of sick person does that? Seriously? Who? WHOOO!!? The whole movie was ruined because I felt like such an idiot. I sunk low in my seat when the lights came up so nobody would 'recognise' me. Pity that my friends were there with me and will never let me live it down.

Anyway, since then, I've tried to mellow a bit. Or something. What I've really done is find some non-intrusive defence mechanisms to employ when another cinema goer is bugging me.

Problem: bright in-movie cell-phone usage?
Solution: identify location of airhead dick or dickess, and move to different row.

Problem: noisy crinkly snack food wrappers?
Solution: bring own crinkly bag 'o' snacks (this is a recent discovery, and works suprisingly well! Not for a crinkly-noise-making competition, but for bearing the other crinkly noises. Somehow I don't care as much when I'm munching on my own snacks! Try it! It works!)

Problem: talking peeps?
Solution: identify location of blabbermouths, and move far away. If they don't stop, tell them to politely shut their fat stinking gobs.

Problem: laser light show?
Solution: Make sure it's a laser pointer, and not some idiot Russian vampire effect. Identify location of POO-FOR-BRAINS, and if they do it again, put on latex gloves and shove straw down urethra. Drink may have to be subsequently drunk without straw, but it's a price one has to pay.

Perfection? That rare occasion when you are the only patron in the theatre. Ahhh, bliss. I think I've always cherished this. One of my film tutors once said that he actually seeks out full house sessions because he enjoys 'feeling the audience reaction'. I think he's mad, but then again, I'm a crotchety old cinema hermit. Bah humbug.

Breakfast:
Milo and my brother-in-law's home-made muesli with organic full-cream milk.

Verdict:
Lovely stuff. I actually think I could get used to it, but the muesli often runs out too quickly. And oh, I don't care if nobody cares what I have for breakfast, I care. Raspberries and "go aways" to them 'nobody's'.

I no slow!

I went to see The Lake House a few months ago with my friends, and when we came out, I was roundly ridiculed for not realising that the guy who died in the middle of the movie was Keanu Reeves. If you haven't seen the movie, then I apologise for the spoiler, but apparently it was transparent to everyone except me, so now you can feel good that when and if you see the film, you definitely won't feel dumb like I did (not that you would have anyway, because it's so obvious, stupid).

The genre of movie with the huge-profound-secret-that-isn't-revealed-until-the-big-finale (let's call it a 'puzzle film') works on me because I'm a bit slow. OK? Fine, I admit it. There's a certain film nerd machismo about seeing these films, knowing there's a secret, and working it out before the film decides to spell it out for you. I tried with The 6th Sense. I didn't make it. Obviously The Lake House was a bust, though I wasn't really looking for one. I tried with Fight Club. Now there was a hard one. The person who saw that coming is either lying or has insomnia that manifests as (among other things) an anarchistic imaginary friend. Who may or may not look like Brad Pitt. We should all be so lucky. Or not, on second thoughts.

Anyway, I tried with Memento. No dice.

And I just saw The Prestige.

Dear Mr Nolan, thank you for making me feel I no slow. I saw it coming a mile away! I watched it inch towards me, and I yawned in exhilaration! Hah! Never before have I felt such film nerdy happiness, and with the added bonus of Christian Bale... times two! Swoon! Swoon again!

By the way, I have thought about the possibility that maybe The Prestige was a film that hid its secret poorly. I don't agree. Even if the secret was obvious, it had extra layers to it that made it rich. Christopher Nolan is still a king of puzzle films in my book, and I didn't care that I saw it coming, it was still a fine film. If you don't believe me, ask the reviewers at The Onion, whose opinion I will always trust. And if you think I'm biased because of the Bale factor, you'd be wrong. One shit film can destroy any solid crush forever - it's happened before, and it'll happen again. (Please not to him though).

Breakfast:
Milo and Peanut Butter Toast.

Verdict:
I think this is my standard breakfast. It's alright - it's still not what I'm really into, but most days, it'll do. Milo, though not the most fancy drink in the world, tastes good to me for sentimental reasons.