Let's Go To The Movies!

My daughter Victoria flounced into town, all excited about her acting career getting a bit of a boost. Usually she had been featured either writhing in agony -- Vicki was always a good writher -- or lying dead in some alley, covered in blood. Apparently she has been given a few lines of dialogue before being shot to pieces.

"Mum" she exclaimed, "this is HUGE."

"And just why would that be?"

"The pay scale rises. Big time."

When I peeled the onion on this, I found out that a non-speaking part in a movie was one thing; a speaking part was quite another, and much more remunerative. Aha, I thought. No wonder there are so many actors and actresses involved in kidnapping that are gagged. I might have known -- the almighty dollar wins again.

"Mind you," admitted Victoria, "it's only a few lines. But it's a start. I get to say, 'Stop it. please stop it! Then I scream.'"

"Not exactly Hamlet."

"Well," continued Victoria, "it beats what universities pay for history lectures. I worked on that Peloponnesian War paper for three months. All I got was $500 bucks. This latest film gig will get me $4000.00. Do the math."

This was inarguable, although I did think it was a waste of a fine mind. Well, I thought, she's not alone in that. Look at Ann Coulter.

"Now Mum," Victoria stated firmly, "I've got passes. We're going to the movies. I want to see Avatar."

"I don't think --"

"Oh, you'll like it. And it's in 3D. It' ll be awesome!"

No it won't, I thought, but from time to time I have thought it wise to humour the whims of my progeny. So off we went, accompanied by my minder and butler, Irving, who thought the whole thing insane. Theatres are public places, and, being necessarily dark, perfect for nastiness. Al Qaeda, he had said, will never forget that I offed Osama Bin Laden in Tora Bora. On the other hand, I have no wish to live like a hermit, so chances must now and then be taken.

In fact, nothing out of the ordinary occurred, other than my thinking that the time -- some three hours -- might have been more profitably spent. I tried to be enthusiastic for Victoria's sake.

"Well, Mum, what did you think?"

"It was...interesting."

"Weren't the visuals great in 3d?"

"They were...interesting."

"Right," stated Victoria, reaching a conclusion. "Now tell me what you really thought."

I put my courage to the sticking place and said, "The film really was a Western, and not a very good one at that. The Good Guys versus The Bad Guys, the White-Hatted Hero solving all. The plot has been much better done in Red River, The Good, The Bad And The Ugly, or even Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. Although I will admit the scenery was magnificent."

"Humph," muttered Victoria. Then she brightened. "But the 3D. Wasn't that impressive?"

"Actually, it was annoying. Those silly glasses irk. And when you take them off, the picture goes all blurry. Not good at all."

"Is there anything, O Wise One," asked Victoria, "that might have saved the film?"

I considered a bit, then spoke. "Actually, a different Director, and a different Hero. And they could be one and the same."

"Really," said Victoria. "I can't think of anyone who --"

"Try Clint Eastwood."

Enough said.