Movie-Watching-Model 31 July, 2006

[Subtitle: Who refunded his ticket and fled the theatre quickly]

As I work on what will be my latest opinion article to post, “Why Right-Wingers Are Gay”, I thought I’d give a brief look into all that is relevant and worth knowing, namely – my weekend.  Friday night I had a small photo shoot scheduled with a photographer who was doing some art pieces for a gallery in Santa Monica, California.  The exhibit featured a person sitting in the darkness.  For more things dark-sided, please click here.  Anyways, the photographer decided to conduct the shoot at a movie theatre in downtown DC.  The movie-watching-model was to sit in the theatre, in the darkness, and be photographed.  I was to be that model.  I asked my friend Brendan to come with me because I didn’t know what to expect with taking pictures in a movie theatre and because I wanted to go out afterwards.

In any event, we arrived at the meeting place at 9:00pm and looked around for our photographer… let’s call him Huckleberry.  He had been described to me as “6′4″ with long hair – looks like an artist”.  After spotting a tall, slender man standing alone with a carrying bag who fit that description, Brendan and I approached him and introduced ourselves.  He smiled big, gave a greeting and asked which film we’d like to see.  Part of the deal, besides compensation and mild exposure at the California gallery, was being treated to a movie I wanted to see at the time I wanted to see it… call it a perk.  I chose The Devil Wears Prada at 9:00pm. 

Huckleberry bought Brendan and me a ticket and we went upstairs to the theatre floor.  What followed within the next twenty minutes resulted in my departure from the theatre by 9:30 that evening.  Despite the fact that both my friend and I were given tickets to the movie we requested, our dear photographer had bought himself a ticket for Miami Vice.  For those unfamiliar with either film, they’re not easily mistaken for the other.  The problem with this was that Vice had an enormous line because it was its opening night.  When checked at the ticket-holder desk, Huckleberry was told to get in a line that even Polish people wouldn’t tolerate to get their bread for the week.  At this point, I began looking around agitatedly, not expecting to be in the middle of the Friday night movie-going crowd for as long as I had been.  When I looked at Brendan, he just mouthed the words, “what the f**************ck?”  Instead of having us wait for him while he stood in line with the herding cattle, Huck had an idea.

“Hey – I’m going to *inaudible*.  Ok? Jameson?”
“… What?”
“I’m going to just go to the bathroom.  That way I’ll be in the theatre.  You guys just come right in and I’ll meet you in the hall.”
After looking at Brendan and straightening my shirt, “OK, marvelous.”

We proceeded to be told that the theatre wasn’t ready for us, and we waited in the hallway while Huckleberry went around looking for one that was empty or at least between films.  He tried one that was screening a strange looking French film.  Finally he found the winner – a theatre playing The Ant Bully.  We walked in, still holding our Devil Wears Prada tickets, and I received instructions from him to be photographed.  Afterwards, he took photos of Brendan as well.  It only took around fifteen minutes.  We both signed releases and walked back into the hallway, where Huck started saying his thanks and telling us to enjoy our film.  “I have to pee,” I said and disappeared into the men’s room.  I realized I was no longer in a movie mood.  Upon Brendan’s recommendation, we decided to go out.  There were people we had to meet up with and places we had to be seen.  We waited for about five minutes until we thought the photographer was gone, then carefully made our way towards the exits downstairs, looking around to make sure Huck wasn’t watching.

I do not often see films in the theatre, but I wanted to go out and Brendan had already seen The Devil Wears Prada.  So, instead of staying and watching The Ant Bully, some bazaar-looking French film, or the one I had originally chosen – we cashed in our credit-card-bought tickets with Guest Services and left having an extra twenty bucks.  Dolce, we decided.   The entire walk back to the car we were vigilant of being watched, thinking that Huckleberry might be offended if he thought we just wasted the tickets he had purchased.  Speaking of things French, I’d like to take this opportunity to shout out to a certain Frenchie and say how marvelous it is that he is back in my life.  Puanteur Bout Fromage.