Cotton Mary

Written by Lord Lansdowne

The other night my girlfriend took me to see "Cotton Mary". Despite the fact that the movie had one famous actor Greta Scacchi (assuming you know her and even if you do, still remember her), the movie was, to put it simply and very mildly, a waste of time. I could've added money to that list, but it was cheap Tuesday and my girlfriend paid for it.

At least I got to glance at Greta's breasts, which for a second, were the highlight of the whole two hours I sat there. I could perhaps add the "love scene" in there too, but the girl in question looked better dressed and the whole scene didn't last long, ending rather abruptly. I thought the reason people went to see foreign movies was for the shameless amounts of nudity. Either the director or I got that wrong.About 15 minutes into the movie, I was already taking one ice cube at a time out of my drink and watching the movie through it, then I'd put it in my mouth and crush it. The movie was that entertaining. My girlfriend gave me this disappointed look that sort of said "give the flick a chance". So I did. My ice crushing bothered someone eight rows behind me as she kept going "sssh". I kept crunching. I'm such an ass.

I started looking at the movie in an attempt to enjoy it, but I couldn't help it. It just sucked. The other people in the theatre, who seemed to enjoy the movie a heck of a lot more than I was, were intensely staring at the screen. Maybe they were staring at cinematography, the camera angles, whatever. I tried to look for this sort of stuff, picturing myself as one of them, but it was pointless. They were probably film buffs that would never let a foreign movie go unseen. Or perhaps they just wanted to get their $4.50 worth, no matter how bad this movie was.

About 20 minutes into the movie I could've told you the rest of it. It got so obvious at a certain point, I began guessing what would happen next, and be right about it.

I owe this ability thanks to that great establishment I owe all my learning to: high school's English class. In that course we were instructed on how earlier parts in a book would tell you what would happen next. While I never understood the total usefulness of such a skill (it seemed to ruin books rather quickly), I got pretty good at this. This is especially true of the majority of books that got shoved up my ass during English, which happily followed this trend. Introduce the characters, say something which will reflect what will happen next to the climax, build up to the climax, show the irony of what was said before, have the book's orgasm, and then slowly descend back into more boredom.

The disadvantage is that for every book I read, about a quarter of the way in, I know what is going to happen. (This of course doesn't count in Heart of Darkness. Joseph Conrad was a sick man). The advantage of this ability is that I can read the back cover, a little bit into the book, and ejaculate some pompous book report while still sounding like I had actually read it.

This movie was pretty much the same. If anyone asks me why I like George Orwell, it's his ability to talk about the most useless stuff and make it sound interesting. Orwell could make a movie about crossing a street interesting.

I digress.

I looked around. My girlfriend started to look bored but was determined to pretend she liked it. You can tell when she is not amused about something because her hand goes up to her face and one of her fingers presses against one side of her eyeball. Don't ask, I just date her and this is one of those things I noticed after a while.

I was thinking that perhaps I should've got down and dirty with the girl, considering that what was on the screen wasn't worth the attention. I could still see the movie despite my blank, out of focus, stare because my chair was pointing in that general direction. I looked around to check out the situation before making my move.

Other than my girlfriend, her sister and her brother, there must've been another six people in the entire theatre. Her sister was closely staring at me. I'm not sure if it was to stop me from what she saw in my eyes, or it was just a silent request for help. It's hard to tell. This sister has as many facial expressions as a brick wall. Either way I began to go back to staring at my ice cubes. I may be politically incorrect, but I still have some shred of morals.

After a while my girlfriend, clearly not entertained by this movie, especially since I'm basically staring at the ceiling and thinking about work, asks me if I want to leave. No, let's see the rest of the movie, says I, it's great. Was she trying to be nice and let me leave or was this a way for her to find a way out of this drivel? Cuz you know, the moment I step out, everyone else would follow my lead. So I decided to do what was right: be a martyr for a good cause, force everyone to finish this dreadful waste of celluloid they forced me to see to the very last frame.