Aug 07, 2006 13:15
It was a bright and hot Sunday, which made it a perfect day to go to the movies. Since I'd picked the last movie, it was dad's turn. One problem: he was having problems deciding. At first, he wanted to see The Night Listener because "Robin Williams is usually good in the small movies he does." After he read the reviews, he changed his mind--now he wanted to see The Secret Life of Words. Despite my slight dread of yet another Isabel Coixet movie, not to mention my desire to see Little Miss Sunshine or Talledega Nights, I was fine with it. Two for The Secret Life of Words. If we left the house around noon, we'd get there in either plenty of or just enough time. And so, the morning continued.
By the time we were on the verge of getting ready, dad had read the reviews of our intended movie, and came to a conclusion: the movie I wanted to see sounded like a better pick. Yeah. Shame that even if we left right then and there, we wouldn't make it in time. Was there anything else I wanted to see? Nope. I suppose we could have waited until the second set of shows, but that wasn't exactly something dad was keen on doing. So still two for The Secret Life of Words.
Sigh...
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Two medium soft drinks, a medium layered-buttered popcorn, and one movie later, we emerged from the theatre. One-syllable review? Meh. Even great acting wasn't enough to save a poorly-told story.
"I'm sorry," Cinemadad said.
"For what?"
"I picked the movie," he explained.
"You don't have to apologize," I said.
We stopped outside one of the theatres playing Talledega Nights. By Cinemagirl standard time, it was still in trailers. Dad was studying the poster, and I was studying him.
"You weren't thinking of sneaking in, were you?" I asked in my best stage whisper.
"Oh, nah, nah," came the reply.
"Well, I was."
daddy-daughter,
dad,
moviegoing,
me