"And I realize... I'm going home."
--I'm Going Home, The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Last night I did something that I never ever thought I would do in my entire life.

I walked out of a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Now keep in mind, aside from my incredible love of Rocky, that I've never walked out of a movie in the theater before. Not even when I saw The Score. So this was a freak occurrence in so many ways.

The night started off well enough. Sasha and I were supposed to meet Sam and Derek for fud, and then proceed to Rocky. We walked to the meeting place from Times Square, and before we got very far we picked up a giant Eeyore at the Disney Store. He's like half my size, and his tail comes off and everything. I won't tell you why we got it. National Security is at stake.

So we walk about 40 blocks with an Eeyore slung alternately over one of our shoulders. 'Twas rather amusing watching people's reactions. They would turn and stare, or yell "It's Eeyore!" in suddenly high pitched voices. One woman out with her man asked us where we got it, and I'm quite confident that either she owns one now as well, or those two are no longer together. One woman, once the rather tall Derek took the burden upon himself, stared wide-eyed and slackjawed, turning her head to keep the now 7'+ Eeyore in sight as she wandered into traffic. Eeyore = Sheer Chaos. Remember that for math class, kids. When we got to the diner, the guy doing seating looked us over, and quickly showed us to a table for five. Rock.

Things got even better at Rocky. He had the honor of being the first virgin of the evening, and got a great Rocky welcome - a nice big "Fuck You!" from the audience. We were so proud of him. Thanks Mad Man. Another no-longer-virgin who I'm all proud of is Deanna. Go you :)

So the bad stuff starts a bit later. There was a guest Riff Raff, which was not bad so much as dissapointing - Mad Man Mike can spin a candelabra like it was his job, and his father's job, and his father's before him. But the real bad stuff happens when no one throws rice. Uh oh. This means that the audience either a) is made mostly of virgins, b) doesn't care, or c) just sucks majorly, the same way that it does almost every time I go to see the New York Cast. It's not a good thing when I can judge an audience by what fraction of it arrived in my company. The coup-de-gracey last night was the Time Warp. Three people in the audience did the dance - me, Sasha, and Sam. Derek was excused due to his castness. Neither Sam and Sasha moving into the aisle and dancing nor Derek and I yelling at people got a single person to dance. I'm prone to exaggeration when I write these, but there's none here. Zero other people participated. That threw a sort of dark cloud over the proceedings. People laughed at my callbacks - its rather easy to know since at points I was the only one saying anything. But I mean, the four of us, one other crew guy, and exactly one other random person in the theatre were getting into it. If we had been the only people there it would have been better because it would have seemed less pathetic and hopeless. I don't know. Either way, we left right before the Roll Call, bored and dissapointed.

I did see two movies this week that did merit special mention here. And positive special mention, at that. The first was Finding Graceland, a movie all about a guy who picks up a hitchhiker who claims to be Elvis. You never do quite find out whether he's really The King or not, but in the end it doesn't matter one way or another. It was actually fairly moving. Just a really good movie. And for those of you wondering, yes, I like Elvis. Back when I listened to nothing but Oldies on 101.1 WCBS FM, the three artists I always wanted to hear were Elvis, the Beach Boys, and Simon & Garfunkel (or just Simon, wasn't picky). I really like Elvis - not the hooplah surrounding him now that he's dead, but the guy. The Elvis who used to stand around and listen to the old men play the blues on the corner, the Elvis who was so scared of performing in front of all those people that he never realized what his hips were doing. The Elvis that tried to tell people that it was black music he was playing, who was so naive that he thought people would listen to him. The Elvis that loved his wife so much that he bought her a church and named it Graceland. But I think I just tangented there.

The other movie was A Knight's Tale. Little gasp of shock there. I was fully prepared to never, ever watch this movie in my entire life. But fatefully, it was on TV while I had to eat a sammich. And since mayo and computers don't mix, I watched the movie instead. Boy am I glad that I did. Most of the reviews of the movie complain about its historical accuracy. "Blah blah blah, that's not 14th century France, blah blah blah." The best way to describe the concept (partly aided by the wonder that is The Self Made Critic) is this: "What if jousting was a sport enjoyed by modern sports fans, who liked music from the 70s, and dressed the way that 80s people would have hoped that people in 14th century France dressed?" As the SMC mentions, its a little difficult to deal with. But if you can suspend your disbelief (and anyone who's seen me watch The Muppet Show for 12hrs straight can attest to the fact that I can) this movie is nothing short of ninja. It opens to a crowd at a tourney chanting to "We Will Rock You." They're pounding their fists on the railing and clapping. The guards are thumping their halberd shafts in time. Rowdy drunken shirtless men are working themselves into a fury shouting the words. A hot chick in the stands is dancing by herself. The nobles are humming along and tapping their fingers, probably without realizing it. Too fucking ninja. At a ball later in the movie, the knights and their chosen ladies boogy down to David Bowie's "Golden Years." And the whole deal fades to credits to the strains of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long."

What happened, as near as I can tell, was that the director convinced Historical Accuracy to come back to his place under false pretenses. Then he drugged her, had the cast and crew come out and gang rape her, and then left the now naked and bleeding Historical Accuracy in an alley somewhere. The big shock was when Ms. Accuracy discovered that she had enjoyed the experience.

And then there was a riot.

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