Have any of you guys gone to watch Mamma Mia on the big screen? Gone by choice that is, not dragged there by wives, girlfriends or daughters. If you have not, then let me tell you that it is a very girly movie. It’s full of happy, chirpy, pretty people with fresh faces and a Hollywoodian zest for life. There is no cosmic drama, guns, blood, violence, death or comedy. The only sex there is consists of “dot dot dot”. Also there is a lot of singing. Not Idlewild type songs either, but Abba songs. Lots of Abba songs. All the time. If my paragraph hasn’t caused you to cringe once, then the movie is probably your type. Meryl Streep and the other two ladies make the movie bearable by the way, and you might let out a laugh or two.
Talking about cinemas and the Majestic City cinema in particular, have you noticed how people dress to come watch a movie? It’s the heights (well, maybe moderately high) of Colombo fashion. You have the plunging necklines, the short skirts, splashes of rouge, mascara, all-the-other-stuff-girls-put-on-their-faces, shiny bags, and the most international of international school accents. Whatever happened to t-shirts and bata slippers? It’s just a movie after all. But, to give them the benefit of the doubt, most of them are teenagers, and teenagers treat every outing like a trip to Milan.
I was dragged to watch Mamma Mia by a bunch of ladies, and by the time I entered the cinema most of the seats were full and the lights were dimmed. Our seats were right at the end, and being the gentleman I am, I tread carefully past all those lady-toes so as not to damage all that sparkly nail polish. It was going fine until an odd sound disturbed the expectant hush inside the cinema. It went something like this:
But with more of an ominous undertone mind you. I wondered where on earth that sound was coming from and why people were turning towards me when i realised that my progress was impeded. I turned around to see that a sharp metal edge on the back of those chairs had a death grip on my trouser, and a part of my thigh (a fairly big part) was peeking out to see what all the fuss was about. A few embarrassing seconds later, I managed to tug my pants off the chair and hurry to my seat where I hunched down and tried to escape the craning necks and feminine giggles aimed at me.
A 2-inch long right-angled tear now exposing a good bit of hairy man-thigh, and the consequent loss of a nice trouser dampened my mood a bit, but it was dark so I survived the movie. I even managed to join in the fun when the audience started singing along. But it was walking around Majestic City with a Majestic hole in my pants that was the difficult part.