Last weekend, Cindy and I got away from the kids for an evening, and we took in Water for Elephants. I’d read the book last fall. Well, sort of. I’d listened to the audiobook.
We arrived a little early, even after stopping at Kroger for some Red Vines. Now, sneaking in snacky contraband could very well be a sin, but we reasoned that the movie theater only carries Twizzlers, a far inferior licorice product. We still dropped $11 on root beer and popcorn and $20 for the tickets.
Since we were early, we actually saw some of the coming attractions. (For those who, like us, usually arrive to the movies late, coming attractions are previews of movies releasing soon.) After half a dozen or so trailers, I whispered my bewilderment to Cindy. (I really didn’t need to whisper. We’d chosen the back row in case we wanted to make out—like Jerry Seinfeld during Schindler’s List.) A handful of Nicholas Sparksish previews got me wondering if I’d bought tickets for a chick flick.
I probably should have done a little research. The movie’s headliners are Reese Witherspoon and that guy from those vampire movies—a chick draw if there is any. I don’t know whether he’s the vampire or werewolf. He didn’t look like either in Elephants.
Actually, it was a great movie. Not very chick flicky, except that the movie, like the book, promotes adultery when the one’s husband is a jerk. Well, this guy was psychopathic (the best acting in the movie), which makes an extramarital tryst all the more permissible. I suppose we can rationalize most anything, including smuggling favorable Red Vines to waxy, artificial licorice knockoffs.
Despite that I don’t care for circuses nor do I like animals much—I think I’m slightly afraid of them—I recommend Elephants. It has enough violence to keep it from being all romantic, and there’s plenty of bootlegged liquor.
Prohibition, always a fascinating time period. Just be careful if you try to sneak in a box of Whoppers. You never know when they might raid.