Hermetically Sealed

Perfect

Last week, under the commands of our hidden alien overlords beamed directly into our brain implants, The Duchess and I went to see Captain America: Civil War Why Not. This is not a review; the movie was fine for what it is, with my sole pedantic complaint being the incredible surveillance camera located on an isolated road in the middle of fucking nowhere that captured an assassination with perfect clarity, including several impossible camera angles. Other than that incredibly wonky detail, it’s a film with approximately 5,000 characters that somehow hangs together in something at least resembling sense, and for that I salute the filmmakers. Batman V. Superman had 90% fewer characters and plot threads (and laughs) and somehow made 100% less sense, so seriously, Civil War, congratulations on a job … done.

BUT! I have not come here to bury Captain America: Civil War, which if nothing else gifted me with the image of Paul Bettany in full Vision makeup dressed like Mr. Rogers on the Prowl. It’s just that as we walked to the movie theater I experienced what has become pretty typical anxiety, because seeing a movie in the theaters always carries a 50% chance that your audience will made up of Trash People and you will hate life for having joined them.

In other words, bring on the wall-sized TVs that never turn off, as long as they come with first-run movies on the same day as general release.

You All Terrify Me

In general I regard my fellow humans as potential murderers and suspected assholes. It makes my personal relationships fraught with drama. It also means I am always one step away from full-on Howard Hughesdom minus the money, which is the worst form of Howard Hughesdom you can come down with, my friends.

In my old zine The Inner Swine, I constructed a persona that was basically me in full-on Howard Hughes mode, swanning around an underground complex. This is, I have to admit, my ultimate retirement plan: To remain in my house at all times, preferably with blast shields down, and all personal contact with the unwashed masses conducted via video conference. Towards that end, please everyone buy 500 copies of my books immediately.

So, getting back to movies: The other day I was having a conversation about the appeal of going out to the movies, and my conclusions are that they mainly lie in the idea of getting out of the house and interacting with the rest of humanity — the social aspect, in other words. Yes, there’s still some superiority in the sound and vision department, as you don’t yet have the same sized screen at home, or (usually) the same sort of sound system. But we’re getting close, and, frankly, every time I find myself in a movie theater I invariably think you know what would make this even better? My house.

In other words, I picture myself sitting on my couch with a glass of bourbon and a remote control.

The $50 Question

Recently there was some news about a startup hoping to roll out first-run theatrical release movies (like, say, Captain America: Civil What the Ever Living Fuck) and charge people $50 for a 48-hour rental. And people went a little batshit about that price point; after all you pay Netflix somewhere in the $100 range (depending on when you signed up) and can watch as many movies as you like as often as you like. In that context, $50 a movie seems steep.

Others countered that four tickets for ~$20 apiece, plus popcorn and sodas made $50 seem like a bargain. For me there’s the extra, priceless bonus of not having to deal with the worst people in the world, a.k.a. everyone who is not me. Being able to put my feet up and get blackout drunk while watching? Worth it. Not having to listen to someone ask their date sixteen times who Ant Man is? PRICELESS.

So, to sum up, we all look forward to the glorious day when my personal resources and the available technology allow me to remove myself from society completely, including establishing my own distillery on the property so I won’t even need to truck in booze (food is not a problem as food just makes me sick). Until that heady day, my friends, I will continue to complain.