Look! It's my feet.
The Quiet Place
DO NAWT BUY POPCORN before watching "The Quiet Place." Save yer money. I spent eleventy-hundred dollars on a small popcorn and medium beverage and couldn't even enjoy stuffing huge handfuls of the buttery, salty goodness into my pie hole. Why? Because I didn't want to make noise. Why? Because you could hear a pin drop in the theater. Why? Because it was so durn quiet. Why? Because the characters in "The Quiet Place" can't make noise, consequently it's Q - U - I - E - T.
I love quiet, but I really, really wanted to eat my popcorn and gulp my drink (non-alcoholic, unfortunately). I kept waiting for some noise so I could make some noise. My fellow audience members didn't even make noise and how durn unusual is that???
The very handsome John Krasinski and beautiful Emily Blunt, his wife off the screen and on the screen in this movie, are receiving tons of accolades, as they should. BUT, I don't care so much about that. What fascinates me is who in the hell wrote this very, very unique story. It's my view that writers never get enough credit. Of course, I'm a writer so I would say that.
I'm a writer like I'm a chef and singer and interior designer and photographer. In other words, I sang "Don't Rain On My Parade" at the top of my lungs this morning while frying myself an egg. After eating, I artfully displayed MY MAJOR WRITING AWARD, aka honorable mention certificate, in a beautiful frame next to a picture I took of the haunted hotel I trespassed in, in Lake Como, Italy. Gordon Ramsay, Barbra Striesand, Vern Yip, and Annie Lebovitz are very worried at the moment.
I did all those things before being fashionably late for lunch (only 30 minutes, unlike yesterday when I was an hour and a half late). I met a fellow honorable mention winner and great writer at The Watering Well, a local artisan eatery, aka fancy soup/salad/sandwich joint. Gordon would've been super impressed. I can't believe my writer friend didn't just flounce outta the restaurant after waiting 15 minutes because that's what I woulda done.
Anyhoo, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, it turns out that Scott Beck and Bryan Woods wrote "The Quiet Place." HUH? I know, right? I've never heard of them, but, believe me, we will hear more about them come awards season.
If you don't have high blood pressure or heart trouble, GO SEE THIS MOVIE. It's good. I was basically laying in my recliner in the theater, but it wasn't relaxing because the story is so relentless. I felt like I couldn't breathe (or eat or swallow or fart) the entire time.
After the movie, it occurred to me that I have it so much better than Siskel and Ebert. Yeah, I'm not just Gordon, Barbra, Vern, and Annie. I'm also Siskel and Ebert. Well, mostly Ebert for obvious reasons, but I'm also a movie reviewer. Unlike them, I get to lay down on the job. Theaters didn't have recliners back in their day. Check out the picture I took of me working in the prone position. Look closely and you can see my feet, if you're into that kind of thing.
Today was such an Alanis Morissette day for me. No, I wasn't God (Dogma reference) but it was an ironic day. You know how some days are fabulous hair days and others just aren't??? Today, I had a fabulous hair day and I mostly sat in the dark all day. Also, today was free popcorn refill day, but I couldn't even eat the popcorn I bought because I didn't want to make noise. And another also, I consider myself to be a writer and grammar Nazi, but throughout this too long post I spelled quiet like this: QUITE. DUH.
One more ironic thing happened today. The escalator at the theater wasn't working. It was a black fly in my chardonnay because I love the thrill of playing on the escalator. And, isn't it ironic, don't ya think?