A Kong-sized disturbance

Let's do some roleplaying.

I'm a SWM, 25, blonde hair, blue eyes, athletic build, thick 11", cut, I get off on chunky peanut butter.

For all of those who navigated to my blog by googling "roleplay + chunky peanut butter," you are excused. I just Nexxt'ed you. Freak. Don't give me a virus on your way out, cyber-nerd.

This is a different kind of roleplaying. You're me. You love King Kong. The mythical beast was a part of your childhood for as far back as you can remember. You grew up watching the 1933 original religiously. The tepid 1976 remake was required weekly viewing. You watched 1962's King Kong vs. Godzilla so consistently that you wore out your VHS tape and had to buy a new one. You even enjoyed (relatively speaking) the 1986 sequel King Kong Lives, where Kong, despite being shot roughly 179 times by helicopter-mounted robotic machine guns AND falling off Tower 2 of the World Trade Center, lives (the title is pretty dead-on) and is transported to some jungle facility where he starts nailing a female version of himself. He also has a heart problem...I think. I vaguely remember Linda Hamilton being prominently involved (this was in the awkward five-year gap where James Cameron wasn't returning her phone calls).

"Hey Jimmy, yeah, it's Linda...again. I just heard Arnold wrapped up shooting on that jungle alien movie with Carl Weathers. You...you think we can get rolling on T2 now? I know you're there Jimmy, please pick up...we need to talk about this. My agent just handed me this ludicrous King Kong script and I know it's horrible but...I'm...so...hungry. Jimmy?" (dial tone)

Anyway, you're me and you love King Kong. When news come down that Peter Jackson in remaking the original, you're pumped. You're not a dork so you don't know much about the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but you do know that PJ seems to be rather qualified. The film finally premieres and you and six of your fellow Kong-loving family members buy tickets for the opening night. You haven't seen a movie on its premiere date since the Drew Barrymore romantic comedy 50 First Dates -- which was nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence. This clearly is a big deal for you. Coincidentally, you are single at the time.

You settle into your seat and the three-hour epic begins. You're enjoying the movie quite a bit. Naomi Watts is a comet, you're glad to see that Jack Black will be able to put his great-grandchildren through college, and you snicker unmercifully at Adrien Brody's nose to the point that you whisper amongst your cousins that a Kong vs. Adrien Brody's Nose battle would garner even-odds in Vegas.

Then it happens. About 20 minutes into the film, a small child to your right lets out a squeal. Uh-oh. Then another little critter in the same area pipes up. Ten minutes later the two hell-raisers are walking up and down aisle directly to your right, talking to themselves. Why? Because little kids are stupid and they talk to themselves (I did it and so did you).

Understandably, I was filled with rage. SOME MORON BROUGHT THEIR PRE-SCHOOL AGED CHILDREN TO THE THREE-HOUR FILM, KING KONG? Seriously?

I mean, you have to be a mental zero to do this. First of all, these two children were both six years old tops, hell they could have been twins, it was dark. You can't expect for them to sit quietly for a 180-minute movie. Secondly, while Kong isn't exactly Child's Play, Friday the 13th, or Ocean's 12, it ain't Babe: Pig in the City either. The movie had some scenes that would have scared the shit out of the five-year-old version of myself. Finally, the father, a Latino-gentleman in his 20s, seemed to be perfectly content with letting his children ruin the movie experience for the rest of the sold out theater. My own father, who would have never stood for this shit back in '85 (without a doubt, he would have threatened me with the now legendary "Moroccan Belt"), was sitting right in front of me, his jaw bone clicking -- a sure Dad sign that he's about the flip the fuck out.

Finally, after about 45 minutes of this nonsense, the audience openly revolted on the guy -- clearly one of the funniest things I've ever been a part of. First a random woman piped in with a "Find a day-care!" (a B- comment) to which the audience chuckled. The ice broken, in came a few "Get them out of here!" grunts followed by my cousin Matt blurting out "I hate kids!" The line of the night came from some dude in the back row who yelled out "Use condoms!" That incurred hearty applause. I even impulsively chipped in with a random "Jesus Christ!" -- presumably in the spirt of the holidays -- to which Latino Dad shot me a look either designed to frighten me or just because he's not down with the Lord's name being used in vain.

Defeated, the guy gave up, dragging his two adorable scants out of the theater. The audience broke into applause, although that may have been more due to the extreme closeup of Adrien Brody's nose. Man, that thing's big.

So that was it. The movie was a tad long but mostly incredible (it gets the Apple Pop Life stamp of approval) and the night was salvaged by the departure of the world's most most selfish film patron.

Bringing your kindergartner to movie theaters...the true eighth wonder of the world.