I guess it’s no big thing to report (or, more accurately, to agree with everyone else) that Iron Man is one hell of an awesome flick. But, man….it really is. Thrilling, funny, immensely faithful to the source with great action and first-rate effects and a whatever-is-better-than-first-rate lead performance. The supporting cast is fantastic too, and I think Director/Cameoist Favreau probably would’ve made a pretty fine movie no matter what, but RDJ is what really makes the thing fly (no pun int–okay, yeah, pun intended.) I’m afraid that I have to insist that Mr. Downey Jr. put the entire rest of his career on hold until he’s made at least two more Iron Man movies and an Avengers spinoff. And this needs to happen immediately. I know he’s reading this so, fair warning: I am insisting.
And yet, as fun a time as I was having with Iron Man…I was troubled in that theater last night. I suppose it’s a bit like stuffing your hand into a roaring fire and coming away surprised that you were burned…you’d think that I’d know better by now, that I’d grown some thicker skin, that I’d lowered my expectations of my fellow man down abouts to gutter level where they might not be dashed so consistently…
But I am a slow learner. And after ten years in New York I am still astonished by the way you yowling pack of bastards behave in public….specifically, in movie theaters….specifically, sitting next to me….always, alllwaaays, next to me.
Lookit. I adore the collective energy of a receptive movie audience. We’re all there to laugh together, to gasp together, to cheer together, that’s part of the experience. So when Rhodey drops a hint about his future in the Iron Man franchise, we have a duty as nerds to acknowledge this, ‘Woooo! Fuck yeah! War Machine!” When Nick Fury appears out of nowhere to mention the Avengers, you can bet it’s a moment for thunderous applause.
That’s not what I’m talking about.
There were four, maybe five of them, to my right. I sensed that I was in for it the instant the movie started: Back in Black is playing and the one just next to me stands up…to play air guitar. Banging his head and playing air guitar. Okay, hmm, enthusiastic fella, I guess that’s okay, but…
Then came the dreaded commentary, which began at frame one and went until the house lights were up, at a perfectly conversational (if not competitive) volume, coming from the whole goddamned gang: Tony Stark got a drink in his hand. Tony Stark say ‘Don’t put it on MySpace.’ Damn, he got shot. Damn, that thing blew the fuck up. Uh-oh, bad guys got him. He building a Iron Man suit now, watch. See? Built the Iron Man suit. Flying like a motherfucker. They gonna kiss now. Oh wait, they didn’t kiss. She wanted to kiss him, though. Yeah, she did. Tony Stark a super genius. Now they gonna have a fight. Now they fighting. Now they done fighting. Iron Man!
One of them answers their cell phone, has a little chat. His buddy shouts “Silence your phone!” and it’s like it’s the funniest thing any of them has ever heard. I turn to my right and hiss “Silence. Everything.” (which is a big deal for me, as I am a confrontation-avoiding coward) and that, apparently, is even funnier. Big, big laughs all around. Tony Stark a genius.
Ugh.
Naturally, when I suggest that New York movie audiences should stab themselves in the throat, I don’t mean that allllllll of them should stab themselves in the throat. I’m sure a very high percentage of folks can watch movies like reasonable people. But you trogs incapable of keeping your cocksuckers closed would do well to stay away from The Dark Knight when it comes out. Because if you end up sitting next to me (and I have no reason to believe that you won’t) and you run your mouth through that one…?
THERE WILL BE BLOOD.
(Or urine.)
(Or a strongly worded complaint to theater management.)
(Whatever the case….it will be ugly.)