Cool. Of course, he doesn't really get to shoot McCarthy, but I'm gonna picture it that way anyway. "You have the right to remain silent." BLAM! Luther McCarthy.

Ha! That's a priceless image, and one I will treasure.

You know, last night I was feeling appreciative of Brokeback Mountain, but I didn't love it. This morning, I kind of love it. It's really sticking with me much more than I expected it to.

OMG, you're catching teh gay! This is exactly how it happens!

I'm gonna go make out with Anne Hathaway RIGHT NOW!

Can I come?

I just found this blog entry on Shakespeare's Sister; the poster had the same experience at her San Diego theater that I did at the San Francisco one: bizarrely inappropriate, extremely unsettling laughter in places she totally didn't expect.

In the completely emotionally wrecked aftermath of experiencing the whole tragic story, I'd forgotten about that one handful of jarring moments. But it was... just deeply peculiar. There were two points, somewhere in the first half, that flashed onto Alma in moments of revelation, moments when she saw the bottom fall out of the story she thought she'd been living in and caught a glimpse of the world of woe her marriage was spinning into. Those moments signaled to me that this wasn't just going to be a sad love story but a tragedy, that it wasn't just the thwarted lovers who would end unhappily but everyone around them who would be ravaged. This wasn't some cheesy City of Angels flick that would end with an extra-mopey Nic Cage and an entirely unaffected rest-of-the-world; this was Shakespeare, and everyone whose life was intertwined with anyone else's was going to end up either dead or brutally damaged.

At least, that's what I got from those moments. They were brutal and painful and big Bat-signals beaming BIG DAMN SORROW, and they made me gaspy, because at least one of them was a moment of such ferocious erotic joy for Jack and Ennis it made my heart leap with delight -- and then my heart slammed right into the look on Alma's face. Their joy was her unmaking. And it seemed to me like such a fantastic, brutal, heart-wrenching moment -- and then practically the entire theater burst into cheerful, boisterous laughter. Not embarrassed, shocked, uncomfortable laughter, but the art-house movie equivalent of Fuck yeah! It was an utter Bizarro World moment.

And then there was another one a bit later, and then a third, and then it all got too gruesomely miserable for even bitter laughter and everyone shut up. But, God, it was bizarre. I felt like either I was on crack or the entire rest of the audience (save my fellow Bitches) was. And it's slightly boggly to read that another entire packed theater somewhere else, the exact same thing happened.

What the hell is wrong with people?

It's not quite the same thing, but I had a somewhat similar experience with Narnia. My BiL (who had seen it early, through his church), said of the movie that the dwarf (Kiran Shah's Ginnarbrik) was only played for laughs. He emphasised that, as if the dwarf character was over-the-top slapstick only, Movie!Gimli^2.

I would say I wonder if he saw the same movie as me, because I didn't see that at all. In fact nothing I saw of the character seemed played up for laughs at all, at any point.

Except the row of big, frat-boy mentality guys in front of us were left breathless with laughter every single time the dwarf was shown on screen. And it was clear that they just thought a tiny man was funny. Funny because he was different, repellant, a horrible existance to be avoided if possible, and laughed at when able.

I have love and respect for him, but I am occasionally reminded that my BiL is a mean-spirited man, particularly when it comes to anything that deviates from his white, middle-class American norm.

I had the same experience when I saw Basic Instinct. The audience was laughing and laughing at some horrible, brutal, painful moments.

Somehow being the only person in the theater appalled or saddened by the violence or tragedy onscreen is worse than being the only person in the theater who is laughing at the joke.

The fuck, Sean? I mean, it's not that the dwarf didn't at times deserve some laughs with his dark snarky contempt for Edmund. But intrinsically comic just for his dwarfism, by full conscious intent of the director? Um, no.

Somehow being the only person in the theater appalled or saddened by the violence or tragedy onscreen is worse than being the only person in the theater who is laughing at the joke.

This. Individual humans = mostly loveable. Crowd behavior = frequently unnerving.