Tuesday, October 23, 2018 • Afternoon Edition • "Memorial to dead childhoods."


Written by Ali Jaffery the Hunk on Monday, April 04 2016 and posted in News with Benefits


I...oof. I watched it an eleventh time.

Source: Regal Cinemas

I went into this thinking, a nice change of pace, that I would not have enough to dissect in a two and a half hour film to stretch thirty posts. I no longer have fear. This movie is batshit insane and I want to you to take my hand as I take a walk through the same film differently over and over again for thirty days in a row.


Because they offered it and I want to know why.

The following post carries plot spoilers for the film.

This is Day Eleven.


I went to take a bathroom break, which has been happening more and more with each screening. I caught two tweens making out by the sink. The girl ran into the stall hyperventilating and giggling. I stepped up to the urinal and did my business. (My business was peeing.) I then told them they should leave before more people start coming in and they giggled off. I saw them sitting in the aisle as i came back to my seat. Did I wash my hands? You'll never know. (Full disclo: I obviously washed my hands, I just look like an animal.)

This encounter made me think about the audience I sat with during all these screenings. During my first ever eleven in the morning screening, I walked in on two randy men fondling each other before the trailers even started. Wet flopping sounds in patterned motions. Speaking of wet sounds, at a night screening, two fully developed old ass white folks made out and did hand stuff loudly the entire time. Now, I'm no narc, but when I can hear you moan while your husband finger blasts you eight rows behind me for the entire three hour movie, I gotta tell some poor eighty-five year employee to bring a spray bottle to theater fifteen before all that passionate heat combusts us all, pronto!

Almost every single screening had screens lit up by the fight scene. One, two, eight times, but always a screen open. At one point on Saturday, a little girl behind me sighed in boredom during the fight. When that occured, what felt like the whole theater erupted in laughter. "I feel her, I feel her", said the man to my right. The audience was not on board. The film's so actively a mess, it's like they wanted people to hate it. Yet, there was maybe only a singular screening where I did not hear outright clapping for Wonder Woman's debut.

This film can't stay on a scene and rather jumps to something else before jumping back to the previous scene. The funeral scene has so many cuts in a poor attempt to keep the audience's focus, everytime it went back to the casket, I started to tense up in anger and agitation.

Even the final reveal of the dirt floating up from Superman's casket was cut so soon, you barely notice. Lex's interactions with the Kryptonian ship are spliced from different parts of the film into one part toward the ending and even knowing that, his interactions still make no sense. This film is outright trying to void Lex of any momentum or reason. Jim Carey's Riddler seems more of a tangible character than this dickweed.

I have been looking at this all wrong. I have been trying to make sense from what tried to make the sense. I need to, sigh jesus, I need to dissect the visions. Join me tomorrow to hear about my, sigh, twelfth viewing of Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice.




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