Ok, prepare yourself for a curmudgeonly rant. I went to 30 Days of Night last evening and was not impressed by the current crop of movie fans. Jeanne and I posted up in a nice quiet corner, hoping for a frightening experience that would match the quality of fellow graphic novel adaptations 300 and Sin City.
That, we didn't get. Too bad. More to come on the picture itself.
Then a pack of punk-ass dudes (smelly ones) closed in on us like vamps on an innocent child. They sat behind us and talked the whole time. Whenever there was a decapitation (and there are more than a few), the most eloquent among them would shout, "Shit!" for all of the theater's benefit.
Dude, we get it. You cuss. You're so edgy, man! You know the 's' word and (gasp) you'll use it in public. Loudly! Boy, the rules of society mean nothing to you! I wish I could be so free!
Then, when there was a brief marijuana joke in the film this group broke up laughing like a bunch of fifth graders making fart noises with their armpits.
Dudes, you know about marijuana? You're all so edgy, man! I can't believe I was in the presence of such genuine rebels.
Three rows back of this bunch of yahoos was a dumb-ass kid that broke out laughing with (literally) every new scene. Stuff that wasn't even remotely humorous sent this kid into gales of uncontrollable chortling. He laughed at the movie's only decent performance (Ben Foster, who has playing the dirty guy with bad teeth down to a science). It was damned eerie, let me tell you.
I hate to say it, but I think I'm going to only hit matinees from here on out. I used to give people the benefit of the doubt. I used to make up excuses to explain away their poor sense of social propriety. He probably has ADHD. Maybe she's surgically connected to that cell-phone. Maybe that's the only volume (screeching) at which he can speak.
These half-wits utterly compromise the movie-going experience. I used to toss candy. If you buzz the tower, they usually simmer down. I'm thinking I'll bring Whoppers on my next trip to the movies.
Oh, and 30 Days of Night? C+. There wasn't enough character development and Josh Hartnett is guilty of extreme over-acting. It could have expanded on where the vampires came from. It could have shown how they became such monsters. It could have even shown Billy's damned family, for heaven's sake. But don't ask me to care about his family and his dire situation (the murdering bastard--sorry about the spoiler) when I never see Peggy or the girls. The writing is so filled with cliches that I wanted to break out laughing when Stella tries to make nice with Evan via walkie-talkies in the show's final act. The final scene was ok and I liked the fly-over shot of things unravelling when the vamps go nuts. Two scenes. That's it.
And hell, I might have liked it more if it hadn't been for the smelly frat-group camped out behind me. Oh, and by the way, I know I was a punk-ass kid at one time. Maybe I still am (at thirty? I hope not). But I never fouled the sanctity of the movie house.
I mean, sheesh...