Jimmy ... Jimmy ... Jimmy ...
We hardly knew ya.
I was at the movies yesterday and had to choose between Gravity and Enough Said. Which seemed like a stupid title but did contain what I understood to be James Gandolfini's last feature performance. So, since I figured Gravity would be around for months to come, I bought a ticket for Enough Said. Because, as if I needed another reason, who doesn't like Julia Louis-Dreyfus? If that's even how you spell it.
The experience was bittersweet, though. The whole thing made me sad. Gandolfini was great. So was J L-D, in a role so far from her comedic sweet spot that I was amazed. And then I felt bad because around the time of Gandolfini's death I made a passing comment, on these very pages, that perhaps he wasn't as good an actor as everybody was making him out to be.
But he was really good in this.
I'll close with this:
I get in the theater. Walk down the left side. Come to the indentations in the seating that modern theaters frequently have to accommodate wheel chairs and such, and take a seat that, because of the indentation, has nothing in front of it. Maximum legroom, if you will. Amar'e Stoudemire would have been comfortable.
Unfortunately there's a couple sitting in the row directly behind me. So the fact of the matter is that, in a relatively empty theater I sat right in front of someone. At which point, even though I slumped way down, she started complaining in a loud voice to her husband and, shortly thereafter, they moved.
I felt like reading her the riot act, but by the time I'd pieced my speech together she'd moved to the other side of the theater. The gist of my speech being, what do you expect if you choose to sit directly behind the most desirable seat in the house? If it had been a sea of seats, all equivalent, I wouldn't have sat in front of her. But they weren't. Equivalent, that is. And I exercised the rights duly accorded me as the legitimate owner of one senior ticket to the movie.
Me? I continued to seethe in silence.
Tony Soprano? He would have said what was on his mind, then maybe beaten up the husband.
Adios, Campagnolo.
I was at the movies yesterday and had to choose between Gravity and Enough Said. Which seemed like a stupid title but did contain what I understood to be James Gandolfini's last feature performance. So, since I figured Gravity would be around for months to come, I bought a ticket for Enough Said. Because, as if I needed another reason, who doesn't like Julia Louis-Dreyfus? If that's even how you spell it.
The experience was bittersweet, though. The whole thing made me sad. Gandolfini was great. So was J L-D, in a role so far from her comedic sweet spot that I was amazed. And then I felt bad because around the time of Gandolfini's death I made a passing comment, on these very pages, that perhaps he wasn't as good an actor as everybody was making him out to be.
But he was really good in this.
I'll close with this:
I get in the theater. Walk down the left side. Come to the indentations in the seating that modern theaters frequently have to accommodate wheel chairs and such, and take a seat that, because of the indentation, has nothing in front of it. Maximum legroom, if you will. Amar'e Stoudemire would have been comfortable.
Unfortunately there's a couple sitting in the row directly behind me. So the fact of the matter is that, in a relatively empty theater I sat right in front of someone. At which point, even though I slumped way down, she started complaining in a loud voice to her husband and, shortly thereafter, they moved.
I felt like reading her the riot act, but by the time I'd pieced my speech together she'd moved to the other side of the theater. The gist of my speech being, what do you expect if you choose to sit directly behind the most desirable seat in the house? If it had been a sea of seats, all equivalent, I wouldn't have sat in front of her. But they weren't. Equivalent, that is. And I exercised the rights duly accorded me as the legitimate owner of one senior ticket to the movie.
Me? I continued to seethe in silence.
Tony Soprano? He would have said what was on his mind, then maybe beaten up the husband.
Adios, Campagnolo.
posted by Geoffrey at 6:02 PM
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