Most frequently, my movie experiences are ruined by the movies themselves. On occasion, however, they are ruined by the people sitting around me kicking my chair, letting their doughy infant shriek like an alley cat with jock itch, or running a chainsaw for the duration of film.
During this particular movie -- a crime caper starring Edward Norton, Robert DeNiro, Marlon Brando, and Angela Bassett -- two large women sat down next to me. One was about six-foot two-inches tall and wore her shirt untucked in an attempt to conceal what looked like a pinkish-gray inner tube lodged around her midsection. The other one, who sat right next to me, wore jeans so tight that if she tried to pee in them, the urine would have shot out the butt-cleavage at the back of her pants like a little fountain. She also smelled like a flower shop that had been ransacked by incontinent dogs. What is it with some people that they need to spread their scent like dogs? While we waited for the movie to roll, the stinky fat one asked what I was reading. I showed her the cover of "A Confederacy of Dunces", to which she responded, predictably, "Ah never heard'a that one." This combined metric ton of womanhood then proceeded to crunch popcorn, smack Milk Duds, slurp drinks, and giggle and blither through the entire film.
Among the things they found especially amusing were these: Norton pretends to be a retarded kid named Brian so he can work in this Montreal government building and case the joint so he and Nick Wells (Robert DeNiro) can steal a valuable scepter. Retarded Brian made the corpulent duo giggle. Brando plays the guy who brings Nick and Brian (his real name is Jackie Teller) together. When Marlon Brando came on the screen, they giggled and whispered some more and Stank-Ass, next to me, said "Ah just looove him!" Nick consults a computer geek who lives in his mother's house in order to get the codes to break into the building. When the kid screamed at his mother to leave him alone, Madame Stench announced to everyone within five rows of her: "There's the future of American business!" They also giggled when DeNiro stuck his tiny little camera up through the grate and moved it around like a worm scouting for birds. I shudder to think why they found this so vastly entertaining.
My basic theory about "The Score" is that if it had been more exciting, these moronic women wouldn't have had reason to giggle and make noise. Also, director Frank Oz barely uses a score. If "The Score" had been a hell of a lot louder, it might have completely drowned out these two freakish perfume-drenched behemoths. Instead, the movie was slow, boring and quiet. Combine that with tiny brains and fat flopping maws, and it's a recipe for disaster.
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