It was one of my aimless summer evenings with nothing to do. At the end of the night, I am once again bemused and confused by the human sideshow around us all. I've discussed these types of evenings before. Baseball is done early. Nothing really compelling me to stay home. And I have a myriad of multiplex movie outlets within either walking or short driving distance. I choose the Century City mall theater, primarily because there is a nifty Chinese restaurant now in the food court. I scan the pages for the start times of some mildly diverting films. You know the kind. The stuff you don't necessarily want to see with another person, but one that could hold your limited interest for two hours.
Knocked Up. 6:40PM. Perfectamundo.
Knocked Up is one of those movies that got mystifyingly good reviews. It is heralded as a great comedy. I am always suspicious, since critics also hurled the same platitudes at crap like "Anchorman" and "Blades of Glory." The former did incredible damage to my retinas. Knocked Up is also coming in at 2 hours and nine minutes, which is five minutes longer than the greatest film comedy of all time --- Some Like It Hot. Is Knocked Up worth five more minutes of screentime? I doubt it. But, I head into the theater nonetheless, knowing fully well that the just ingested BBQ pork and fried rice might be the highlight of my night.
Okay, great screen comedy? Not by a long shot. It had its amusing spots. I don't see this Seth Rogan as the fabulous comedic actor that the reviews would purport him to be. Indeed, the whole story was rather slight and sitcomy. And very, very, very R-rated.
There are two pretty graphic sex scenes. There are numerous scenes of bong hits. And the F-bomb is dropped so much, I was convinced that the screenwriter was getting a royalty every time he used it like those two sisters who wrote the song "Happy Birthday to You." Most of the toilet humor above was totally unnecessary.
So, what's the big deal with all this? Well, the theater was jammed with parents and their 10 year-old children. I had to doublecheck the poster in the lobby. Yep, Rated R for drug use, language, and sexual content. There was a little girl seated next to me. She fidgeted through all the sex scenes, as her mother laughed liberally throughout many parts of the film. Two 12 year-old boys in front of me highfived each other with glee everytime the F-bomb was dropped. It was like they just scored big time on Asteroids. I wish I knew what the adult with them thought of the film. She conked out about ten minutes in.
This was the most R-rated of all R-rated films. And, yes, a parent can certainly accompany their children to such a movie. That is what I guess they call "parental guidance." I'm sure most of the adults there went home with their charges and had very frank conversations on the proper way in which you can get drunk and then have a one night stand. And I can imagine the lessons in grammar that ensured. "Hey, Mom, is the F word a noun, an adjective, a verb, or a participle?" From this movie, they wouldn't be able to tell.
Maybe I'm being too hard on these parents. Perhaps there was just some mass confusion in this movie theater. Knocked Up. Surf's Up. It's easy to mistake one for the other. I frequently can't tell the difference between a bunch of bong-hitting slackers and a few penguins surfing in Maui.
No, wait, maybe the title was misleading. Knocked Up. Folks might think it's a documentary on the history of alarm clocks in England. Isn't that the expression they use across the pond? Knocked up is akin to being awakened out of a sound sleep. Sure, that has to be the explanation. Because parents can't be that stupid.
Maybe the joke's on me.
Dinner last night: grilled bratwurst at the Dodger game.