"I’m an evil, evil woman; but I wanna do a man some good. I’m Gina Lollobridgida. I ain’t Red Riding Hood."
- Blossom Dearie
I am the evil woman of which Blossom Dearie crooned. I did a terrible thing. I dragged my Husband to see "Twilight." My Beloved – bless his heart – is many things, but he is absolutely not in the demographic for a teenage vampire love story.
There are two forces at work here. First: I don’t get to go to the movies as often as I would like. Oh, I have big plans. I see trailers, read reviews and say, "Ooh, that looks good. I want to see that." But the movie is almost always out on DVD before I can even get my coat on. Second: I’ve got a thing for vampires. I’ve read every Anne Rice novel, watched every episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (as well as the movie), enjoyed tax cheat Wesley Snipes in "Blade" and remember that long before "24" Keifer Sutherland was one of the "Lost Boys." I’m even a fan of the cool and culty "Life Force" which explores the extraterrestrial origins of the vampire legend. Yeah, that’s how I roll.
So for me it was only natural to get caught up in the "Twilight" hype. I read the book before hand and was well aware that the movie might not live up to my literary expectations; but like a moth to a flame I just had to see this one on the big screen and my poor husband got caught in the crossfire. I enjoyed the movie, flaws and all but for every familiar line, scene and action at which I swooned, my poor Husband groaned and checked his watch. As I filled in plot gaps from memory, he sighed and rubbed his temples with disgust and incomprehension.
As we left the theater – me with a delicious after glow and him with a headache — I said, "How’d you like the movie?"
"I have to pee," he said.
I guess we won’t be seeing, "Moonlight."
"Maybe you should read the book," I suggested. "I can re-check it out of the library for you."
"Dear God, no!" he said. "In the name of all that is good and holy, please don’t."
He didn’t actually say that. He just gave me a very pained looked and made an alarming choking sound that I have tried my best to translate. It was then that I realized I had sorely tested the "for better or for worse" portion of our wedding vows. This movie choice might actually be grounds. Do people divorce over irreconcilable movie choices? Had he ever been so cinematically cruel to me? Do the "Star Wars" pre-quels count? ("Damn you, George Lucas! You lost me at Jar-Jar.")
When we got home, as a peace offering, I turned on ESPN hoping an infusion of testosterone and sports scores would make him more communicative and forgiving. It seemed to do the trick. But this isn’t over. I fear there’ll be a mandatory Mike Myers movie in my future.
Thank you for reading The Urban Erma.
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