Movie Night

My passion for movies has waned over the last couple of months.  I've seen a few in the theater and at home but really didn't comment on them like I used to.  I can tell that I'm not as focused on the movie any more when I can now tolerate the idiots around me in the theater, popping their popcorn in their mouth, rattling their candy wrappers, chit-chatting amongst themselves throughout, interaction with their cell phone... none of it bothers me as much because I'm not that interested in the process any more, I guess.  I seem to be an idiot magnet though, because with a packed theater last night, the only two that did anything was the guy sitting right next to me.  The only time that he wasn't talking was when he was shoving popcorn in his mouth and when he finally fell asleep near the end, no doubt lulled there by the sound of his own voice.

Last night, we went to see The Last Three Days with Russell Crowe and Elizabeth Banks.  I guess Pittsburgh has some sort of tax credit for Hollywood to shoot movies here because there have been a slew of them shot here lately, this being one of them.  The only thing wrong with seeing a movie in the town where the movie was shot is that the natives can't control their fascination with trying to figure out where each scene is and sharing their own experience in that spot while the movie is going on, whether it's that they threw up on that corner or their aunt lives in that neighborhood... it never stops.

Having said all that, the movie is about a family (husband, wife and newborn son) and the wife gets arrested for murder under circumstantial evidence and the majority of the movie is watching the son grow up without his mother, and the husband's slow decent into his desperation in breaking his wife out of prison when he realizes that she's never going to get out.  The prison that they used was the Allegheny County Jail which I know well (here comes my yinzer account of something that I related to in the movie).  With my brother being in there several times over time, I am eerily aware of the procedures from walking in the door and getting frisked to heading up to the visiting area like cattle, as I have done it several times.  Nothing makes you feel like a piece of shit in life more... I remember taking my Dad to see my brother and I felt so bad that he, as an 80-something father, had to sit in the waiting room with other foul-mouthed family members that looked like they were going to cut a bitch up for looking at them the wrong way.  I couldn't wait to get my Dad out of there and take a shower.  Just another one of the fine experiences provided by my brother... add that to having a Constable come to the house at 2 a.m., cleaning blood off the wall from his shooting up, finding needles stuffed in the living room chair and being dragged to undisclosed locations to make payments to a Constable that was really one of my brother's friends acting like one.

If my life is ever portrayed in a movie... I hope that Colin Farrell portrays me... or maybe Angelina Jolie... that bitch can tear a role up.