Two For The Money: A Movie Review

I saw Two For The Money, starring Al Pacino, Renee Russo and that guy who messed with Jodie Foster’s brain about god versus science in the movie Contact. It was pretty good. You should go see it.

I went alone. I like going to movies alone. It’s easy to find a seat, I can concentrate on the movie without interrupting questions and comments from others, and people tend to feel sorry for me and offer me their Goobers. Free Goobers, now that’s livin’. Usually, if the theater has a good sized crowd, I’ll pick out the hottest chick next to an open seat and sit next to her. I’ll pretend she’s there with me. By the end of the movie, I’ll pretend we had a fight and storm off without her, so she doesn’t expect a good night kiss. That leaves them none the wiser, although at times a little freaked out, and I avoid any tiffs with annoyed boyfriends. This time the theater was pretty empty, so I sat right in the middle of an open row about two thirds up. There were some other loners there, too, a few sets of pals and a couple on a date.

I’ve noticed that when a man and a woman go to see a movie together, nine times out of ten, the woman will choose where they sit. The guy will hang back, holding the food and drink, and wait so as not to get reprimanded for not picking the ideal viewing spot. Sometimes I’ll see a man lead the way and sit somewhere, only to find that his woman is still selecting. Then he has to get up, pretend there was cheese on his chair, and cower back to her while she is interviewing already-seated-people to find out how the viewing experience is from their seats. Some women attribute this male behavior on a supposed inability for men to make a decision. In reality, it doesn’t matter too much to us where we sit, as long as there is no cheese on the seat and we aren’t getting yelled at.

I was set. I had my oil drum of popcorn, my 40 gallon Coke and the security of my own row. As the previews rolled, a few stragglers came into the theater and sat down toward the front. That is good movie going etiquette. If you get there during the previews, sit in the first available seat. Some people are watching the previews, and you don’t want to bother me, I mean, them. I felt comfortable. I had my own row. Until.

Right before the movie was about to begin, in walks this couple on a date. The man, holding three trays of food and the woman’s purse, beckons with his shoulder to sit down in the first row off the floor. But the woman was paying him no attention. She wore her night vision goggles scanning the seats for the optimal viewing location. I saw her look at my row, so I removed all of my clothes and placed them on various seats in the row as if they were being saved for someone. To no avail. She marched right up to my row, picked up my underwear, threw them in my face and sat about four seats down from me. Drat. And I mean DRAT! There were at least 9 empty rows available to these people, but they chose to invade my row of solitude. Oh, my poor row of solitude, revitalizing me with the life so wrung from me by a hard day’s staying awake at work, infiltrated by these callous comers. Would she dare pick up Superman’s underwear and heave them in his face at his Fortress of Solitude? No, she wouldn’t. I’m not sure if Superman wears underwear. I’ve never seen any panty lines underneath his tight red outer briefs. Maybe that IS his underwear. Maybe he’s the type to wear his underwear on the outside so as not to soil them. Maybe he wears a thong underneath. Ya know, I just don’t know. Regardless, I believe I deserve the same respect. I was even wearing a cape.

Without taking too much time to consider my possible streams of recourse, which is how I handle most adversity in life, I reacted by moving to sit in the seat next to her before her beau hunk could even finish unpacking their luggage. She was a bit startled. "Excuse me?" she asked.
"Why, did you fart?" I replied.
"Why are you sitting next to me?" she continued.
"This is my row", I explained, "and you are a trespasser."
"What are you talking about?" she exclaimed.
"Oh, I think you know, lady. What’s wrong with that row back there?"
"What?!" she stammered incredulously.
"This is my row," I reiterated.
"We are free to sit anywhere we like," she argued.
"Aha! And so am I. And if you choose to desecrate my row of solitude with your presence, I choose to sit next to you where I can keep an eye on you. And consider yourself lucky, baby, because you’re not even that hot (she was pretty hot, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of me admitting it to her), and there is no way I am kissing you good night!" I don’t know how I could have been more clear.
"Carl, do something!" she pleaded.
"I wanted to sit up there," Carl sighed.

Before long, we worked out an agreement. I agreed to return to my seat and put my clothes back on if they chose another row, and she agreed not to report me to the manager of the theater until after the movie was over. I wasn’t worried since I had already been banished from that theater and had managed to sneak by security. What could they do, double secret banish me? More importantly, I had my row back and the movie was only about half over.

Having missed the character development, plot building and any roots of parallel narratives taking place, I wasn’t sure what the movie was about. I did, however, get to see somebody pee on the religious guy from the movie Contact and see Al Pacino act as if he was doing an impression of Larry David doing his impression of George Steinbrenner on Seinfeld. Nobody was murdered, there were no car chases and I was pretty darned confused as to what was going on. In spite of that, I recommend this movie. Try to see it on a night Carl and his girlfriend stay home to fondue. The characters seemed happy and fulfilled at the end of the movie, which made me feel happy and fulfilled as well.

If you would like to hear a more thorough review of this movie, check out a Regular Guy on WXRT radio.