It’s funny – I’ve never actually wished anyone dead before. Sure, there have been a handful of people I’ve met who I wouldn’t necessarily jump on the subway tracks to save, but the amount of energy I spent trying to mentally will laser beams to shoot from my eyes into your face until you literally burst into flames was staggering.
Like the majority of the other moviegoers in the packed theater, my husband and I slowly lowered ourselves into our seats, our ham flowers still tender from being taken advantage of at the box office. Movies aren’t cheap. Neither are babysitters, which probably means nothing to you because that is a concept as foreign as “consideration”, or “other people”.
Settling in, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me as I heard the familiar noise of a fussy child reverberate from the walls throughout the previews. I buried my face in my popcorn and prayed it was just how the brain rids itself of the residual noise I’d been hearing all day. When the movie started, however, I turned around and realized it was very, very real.
Interstellar is every bit of a three hour movie. And we’re not talking Dances With Wolves three hours, with 90% of it being B roll of amber waves of grain and Kevin Costner talking real slow. This movie is three hours of intense, action packed complex quantum physics shit crucial to the plot that becomes exponentially more difficult to understand as you are trying to tune out a bored toddler.
“We have to do it now because spacetime relativity gravity worm hole fourth dimen- MAMA! MAMA! MAMAMAMA!!! WAAAAAAH!”
[I’m paraphrasing here, because I don’t want to reveal any spoilers, and also because I barely passed physics and still have no idea what was going on.]
I waffled. To get up and find an usher would mean missing at least ten minutes of the film. Plus what if he just gave you a warning or something and it was all for not? But to do nothing meant that every few minutes would be completely lost to your toddler babble/my accompanying seething anger. I spent the movie hoping you would just do the decent thing and not be a selfish sociopath.
I just can’t wrap my head around why you thought this would be a good idea. Trust me – there have been several times (today) that I felt like it was crucial to my sanity to have a family outing. The need to get everyone out of the house is primal. But that’s why God invented Target, sir. Download the Cartwheel app and go get yourself some cute new dish towels where nobody cares if your baby is screaming because theirs is too.
Maybe, as the movie suggests, some day we will discover how to harness gravitational time dilation and I’ll get to experience the movie for the first time in the theater again. But I guess that means you’ll be there too so maybe I’ll just wish chronic lice upon you and your home.