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Bad Santa - George St Cinemas 10 November 2004

As always, when all good things are said and done, they must inevitably come to an end. After all, the movie was over and so was our reason for being together.

And so it came to be that four young men, satiated for the time being at least, found themselves lost on the streets of a city known only to fashion conscious 16-year old girls, purveyors of religions wacky and weird, and, of course, the ubiquitous poverty stricken.

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Bad Santa - George St Cinemas 10 November 2004

Peak hour bums around the clock, slicked guys and busted girls at the Greater Union Hoyts Village complex on George Street stand in a thick depressing queue transplanted from the banks not open during the night. Taking the usual wear of sweat and dead skin, that creepy guy tries to sell a wristband to the homeless man with a photo of the Virgin Mary smoking a cigarette.

Words in the digital stream signal free passes to Bad Santa waiting at the box office for collection. Minutes are spent standing wondering whether or not wipe-on goo-invigorate sends a shock to the digestive system. Jimmy fronts the counter and walks away empty handed, ushered to the usher ushering at the first entry usher point of the cinemas. Waving through with nary a check, the double pass seems to be a figment of decisive understudy. Atop the escalator, ahead of cinema 9 are two more girls, one in a popcorn uniform, the other with a wad of passes and sheets of type.

Rest of the review of Bad Santa - George St Cinemas 10 November 2004

Anacondas: The Hunt for the Blood Orchid

Just out of the carpeted area near the box office of the George street cinema complex is a man holding a sign desperate to sell a preview pass for the night’s feature, Anacondas: The Hunt for the Blood Orchid (a sequel of sorts to the Jennifer Lopez and Jon Voight monster movie, Anaconda). At an unabashed $15 not a single person paid a second look and nobody from the front of house staff bothered to usher his sneaker wearing feet from the area. Factor in the dress of the man resembling that of an unkempt homeless guy, the cardboard notice inked with as much stain, and a diseased look. Maybe they weren’t getting near for another reason.

Empty seats in a red sea of wariness filled cinema nine showing up the poor attendance of a free preview screening. Behind, two couples with mouths squeaky and in front, a woman writing a review in the dark with her two cracked up friends. To think again, most of the section toward the back were either on crack, freshly toasted or wanted to star in their own kind of Mystery Science Theatre 3000.

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Bloody Hands and a Shivering Spine; Identity

Walking up to the cinema complex on George Street, the line I was expecting for the preview screening of Identity was not to be found. There wasn't even much of a crowd to speak of, but then it was Monday and damn cold. While a small group of couples were fanning their faces readying themselves for View From The Top, Belvedere and I were pointed toward an intricate trail of carpet and metal. Down and down. Over my shoulder I noticed a vested man who looked like he was trailing us. But then we happened upon the open doors of theatre 5 and he just as soon disappeared. A dejected girl was also waiting outside the doors and commented on the lack of a line. Small was the gathering, a set up for the mood and tone of the movie awaiting to be eaten in lieu of the free flowing popcorn and soda that was not forthcoming.

I sensed hunger, and with it a sense of burning, like a piece of the stomach cannibalising itself.

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Overflowing Popcorn and Crazy Women; Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines

Freezing was the temperature on the journey toward the preview screening of T3. The line was milling and the people outside the cinemas were floating a full hour prior to the screen time of 19:00. With time in sweaty hand there was a need to find some way to lose the next thirty minutes before Jimmy was expected to show. Walking around the city blocks twice over and crawled to a slow did the trick. Spotting the other half of the "ADMIT TWO" I walked alongside and startled a steaming cup of caffeine. Joining the line the crowd of bodies moved quite smoothly into the carpeted carpets of the cinemas. A lot of people were ahead of us and they were lined up against the wall. We tried to make the break over but an usher named Lindsay held us up and siphoned us into the flank on the other side of the stairs. Dangerous was a case of beer and a beer they did not serve. What was served were a lot of fat blokes and hot chicks. They rivalled each other and easily overtook the many banners of a commercial radio station priding itself on the amount of commercials they run.

Nothing on the preview cards mentioned anything about kicking the air from the floor in an epileptic fit. But there we were, shuffling our shadowed feet past a line of flickering blue and violet lights toward a door guarded by more women. A valid question was raised, "can't I keep the damned pass?" and shot down with "you can pick them up afterwards from the box office." A rather flat answer, no more of a reason and yet a stinking smell of fear from the mooching patrons behind suggested we press on and into the seats without stalling any more than we need to.

Rest of the review of Overflowing Popcorn and Crazy Women; Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines

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