wha? . . . is that pink floyd?

The theatre, as theatres of this sort often are, was tucked in a labrynthial corner of some mall hinged on odd angles, hidden behind a fortress of stores that survive but without any apparent reason: the bead bins, the Nancy's Fabrics, the Vietnamese-named salons that radiate the smell of chemicals used to preserve dead bodies.

They'd raised their prices from $1 to $2 in December.

"The Popcorn and Soda is still $1," said the too casual box office attendant, dressed in pedestrian garb--without the branded polo, and becacuse of his Bazaar-style bargaining tactics ("pay what you got. for you, $1 is enough"), he seemed like a fraud.

A brown bag of popcorn waiting on the warmer. A coke with two straws.

This frames the viewing experience. We sit, O and I, in front of a group of young anglophones, splayed out over two rows. we leave some distance, but hear their laughter and "this is the worst G.D. film ever" commentary throughout. Their stoner response hints at the strangely juxtaposed audience the film hoped to target--not just the small-minded "12 and under" subgroup that could not care less about the dreadful acting and story turns (and who incidentally still probably pay only $1 per film), but the baked and burned out Dead Heads that might like the message of peace, and the scene where Mimzy the stuffed rabbit communicates news from the future to a young, sheltered suburbanite.

"The Last Mimzy." Mimzy and borogroves, or some other Carroll-esque nonsense. That's all it is. Nonsense under the guise of morally-sophisticated hippy manifesto. [And we kind of love it. Even though we laugh when the whole business is tied to Homeland Security.] The children find a box. The stuffed animal speaks in demonic rattles, and the young girl listens. The boy summons power from the rocks, and learns to manipulate the movement of spiders simply by alternating the tone of his voice. Humans shed alien suits. Tibetan symbols find their way in dreams, and purity is discovered on the lines of childrens' hands. What? . . . wait, this is for the whole family? If you're lost, it's only because I am as well, and I saw the bloody film. The film ends with white-robed children sitting cross-legged in a field of flowers, learning about peace from a sage teacher. They float up into the sky when she dismisses them. But where do they fly? The credits roll and one of Pink Floyd's ex-member's sings a song, referencing the moon (the dark side), and givin' peace a chance. I think that was the moral of the story, the psychadellic and dark story intended for children, but mediated by horrible child actors and unfortunate quasi-famous accomplices.

What just happened?

At least we got the cute girl discount.