An experiment which forced me to test my theory that I’d prefer to see an incredibly, irredeemably shitty movie with a friend than to watch something substantive and worthwhile alone. Results within.

So, I made plans to spend my Saturday evening at the theater with a friend who has historically horrible taste, who shall remain unnamed because I’ve vowed to protect the guilty. Now, in our defense, we had originally concocted a meeting for the sake of seeing The Signal, but that film was apparently so poorly marketed that it came and went within the span of a couple weeks, only briefly flashing on our radar long enough to get us to make a plan to see it, but not long enough to execute said plan. Hopefully there will be more to say here at MediaSlave on that subject at some point.

Apparently dead-set on a trip to the cineplex and scrambling for a backup plan, we initiated a desperate search. Having worn down my defenses with the suggestion of Jumper (supposedly jokingly, but I have my suspicions otherwise), 10,000 B.C. was dragged forth. Now, despite the enthusiasm of a surprisingly extant and vocal faction of mammoth fetishists within my circle of friends, I’d been able to intuit the degree to which this movie would be craptastic. I retorted with an attempt to resurrect a previously expressed mutual anxiousness for The Eye, but failed despite resorting to entering Rotten Tomatoes rankings into evidence. However, it being opening weekend for what was clearly an entire movie about those cavemen Er hates unrelentingly, and our theater of choice being located in Times Square meant that I could hold out hope that my fellow man would be so enticed by this offering that I would be shut out entirely from access to the experience and spared. Sadly, this was not a contingency upon which I could safely rely.

Now, I can only guess that my subconscious was willing to put the aforementioned theory of personal interaction vs. entertainment content to the test, and thus shut down my naturally fortified ability to resist anything that has to do with Roland Emmerich. Screw you, subconscious. The next thing I knew, I was handing my ticket to the admissions and paper ripping professional before me and settling down amidst a sea of popcorn bags and caveman connoisseurs. During our viewing of the film, I looked over several times in desperation to ask why such a fate had befallen me on this night, as if I were a professional ice skater who had been suddenly and unexpectedly assaulted with plumbing equipment. My companion continually offered up the reassuring theory that the situation could only improve. This optimism proved unwarranted. There’s not much to say about how much the movie sucked without trite similes involving chrome or the Flowbee, so I’ll just say that, unless you really, really like badly composited effects shots or are somehow aroused by the danger associated with giant killer Emus, you can go the rest of your life without seeing this film.

Now, here are the promised test results: Inconclusive. As with many experiments I’ve conducted lately, I’ve completely disregarded the need for controls and careful tallying of variables. As such, I can only say that it depends on the person who will accompany you for the whatever piece of cinematic filth you choose, and it depends on the degree of hideousness contained within the film. For this particular experience, I was glad I didn’t switch on hikikomori mode and start spinning DVDs. But this had nothing to do with the moviegoing experience. It had to do with the three plus hours of conversation that followed, during which the movie was only mentioned as an explanation for my slowing of brain functions and lack of coherence that evening. But if having to see that particular film was the price of admission for hanging out, it was certainly worth it. Still, it makes me sad when such quandaries present themselves, as I’m finding it more and more difficult to assert my preferences on others, so my media-based enjoyments are often limited to these lonely internet-based musings. Why do we all have to have such different tastes? Why can’t everyone just like the exact same shit for all the same reasons? That would be so awesome.

Don’t worry, I’ve enacted a temporary suspension of this person’s right to select movies, and the world is safer, for now.

This entry was posted by eugene on Sunday, March 9th, 2008 at 7:21 pm and is filed under american, movies. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.