Words from a Bird. Day 39
So, Dad's Army on a west and windy Sunday afternoon - let me set the scene for you dear reader...
As I knew we would be, we were the youngest people in the cinema, apart from the pre-pubescent cinema staff (probably management). The vast majority were 75+ with most of the men wearing flat caps, and the women lightweight raincoats in a pastel hue which matched their hair. The whiff of formaldehyde from the better preserved ladies almost disguised the underlying smell of wet wool and Rennies, and looking round the cinema, I noticed that I was the only one eating popcorn. Perhaps it's not the best thing to munch on when you have dentures? Soft fudge was probably that afternoon's best seller, along with hot chocolate and vanilla ice cream (none of that exotic stuff for this discerning audience).
As the lights dimmed, the caps were whipped off, bald pates gently reflecting the green of the Exit signs, and macs were folded neatly and put into inappropriately logo'd hessian shoppers.
A couple of adverts before the trailers are worth mentioning. One for funeral planning courtesy of the Co-operative and another for joint mobility. Those marketing bods really knew their audience. However, it was the trailers that finished me off. Several films were pushed onto the unsuspecting audience, and the same line came up in two separate trailers, which was, 'I think I let a little bit of wee go then'. Of course, the husband and I thought this really funny, but there was a lot of sympathetic tutting from the audience, along with a stunningly muttered 'Are they taking the piss, or what?'
The film itself was diabolical. However, I think I was the only one to think this as the rest of the cinema was laughing its knee-high support socks off. I don't include the husband when I say this as he fell asleep 17 minutes into the film, and woke up as Mainwaring saved the day 9 minutes from the end.
The elderly gentleman next to me was laughing so much, I wondered whether I should be ascertaining the whereabouts of the nearest defibrillator, or a pack of Tena Lady at the very least. A lady three rows in front kept insisting, IN A VERY LOUD VOICE, that the film was better than the TV programme. Obviously she had not put her hearing aid in, which would explain the shouting. However, it didn't explain the sheer idiocy of thinking that this film was better than anything at all, except perhaps leprosy at a push.
As the film drew to its predictive and thankful end, the audience started to get their things together. Caps on, macs on, ready to brave the rain. It was the slowest cinema exit I have ever seen. What made it even funnier was that there were out-takes as the credits were rolling. Of course, this was very confusing, as a lot of the departees simply stopped shuffling down the stairs and watched, while those sensible ones who were still sitting comfortably, were saying in rather too loud voices how stupid people were to 'rush' off at the end of the film.
You may remember that this was not my choice of film. It was the husband's. Yes, that husband who slept through the whole bloody thing.
I may forgive him by April...just not sure which year...