(A post rather, rather tardy.)
His pale, lives-in-a-basement skin. His sinister leer, topped with sanguine lips. Her frightened, deer-in-headlights eyes. their unnatural postures.
Your first impression upon seeing the giant billboard is that it is a PSA on child predators. It does not bode well for giggling prepubescents the world over.
Baseball
So far, your quiet quips and your friend’s heckling has gone unnoticed in the hushed, reverent crowd. The giggling of the schoolboys beside you makes your skin crawl, but you refrain from reaching over and socking them with your soda can. You keep mostly to yourself.
Then they bring out the baseballs, and a familiar song oozes out of the movie speakers.
Your scream of indignation echoes in the moviehouse.
Alphabet
The two protagonists—appropriately cardboard and/or smarmy beyond belief—attempt to talk, or what passes for it. You watch in puzzlement as their conversation, composed of hackneyed phrases and hard-sell flirtations, go from Point A to point W and back again to Point J.
“I’m dangerous.”
Seriously. Who talks like that?
Blood
Enter the lamb, see the pussycat.
That first meeting, as the supposed hero (or rather, two-century-something who routinely stalks delicious-smelling girls in their bedrooms) flairs his nostrils and tries his hardest not to prevent an orgasm in the classroom (you call ‘em as you see ‘em), you have a stray thought about menstruation.
Suddenly the direction of your mind takes a turn for the gutter.
Credits
It is the best part of the movie.
The cinematography is wholly different, and the music coolly seductive. No acting is required, therefore the actors posing like 50’s Hollywood stars actually look the part.
It is the best part, however, because it is over.
