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Yet another comment that I wrote in someone else's journal (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks's) which I'm reprinting here so I can have all my stories in one place:
My father and I once decided to attend a film festival in our hometown of Santa Barbara. Since we both loved film noir and gangster movies and we'd seen Reservoir Dogs three times, it was an easy decision to choose one described as "Small-time crooks turn on each other after a drug deal goes wrong."
The movies were screened in theatres that still had the marquee up for whatever was normally playing, and Dad and I both averted our eyes in embarassment from the regular headliner, Booty Call.
The drug deal film was one of the worst movies I have ever seen. Not only did the plot make no sense-- at the end, when everyone's true identities had been revealed, careful consideration revealed that the chief drug dealer's big deal, around which the entire plot had revolved, had been to sell a hundred grand worth of heroin to himself-- but about halfway through the movie, when all the characters had been holed up in a cabin in the middle of the desert waiting interminably for the drugs to arrive, one of them suddenly said, "Hey, let's get some hookers!"
They picked up the phone and ordered in several hookers. And then, as I sat beside my father, both of us slowly sinking lower and lower into our seats, the hookers and the drug dealers proceeded to enact an incredibly graphic orgy complete with full frontal nudity. It lasted about twenty minutes, which in film time feels like about an hour and if you're sitting next to your father, feels like a weekend vacation in Hell. At times they orgied in slow motion. Just when it looked like it was all over, a third hooker arrived ("It's our friend Kristy! Hi, Kristy!), did a strip-tease, and joined the action. Then the hookers got dressed, the drug dealers paid them and said, "Thanks and good-bye!" and the plot proceeded along its deeply stupid course. Needless to say, there turned out to be no plot-related reason for the 20-minute orgy scene.
When the lights finally, blessedly came up and Dad and I slunk out of the theatre, he stopped below the marquee. "Look at that," he said. "I guess we went into the wrong theatre, because I'm pretty sure we just saw Booty Call."
rushthatspeaks's) which I'm reprinting here so I can have all my stories in one place:My father and I once decided to attend a film festival in our hometown of Santa Barbara. Since we both loved film noir and gangster movies and we'd seen Reservoir Dogs three times, it was an easy decision to choose one described as "Small-time crooks turn on each other after a drug deal goes wrong."
The movies were screened in theatres that still had the marquee up for whatever was normally playing, and Dad and I both averted our eyes in embarassment from the regular headliner, Booty Call.
The drug deal film was one of the worst movies I have ever seen. Not only did the plot make no sense-- at the end, when everyone's true identities had been revealed, careful consideration revealed that the chief drug dealer's big deal, around which the entire plot had revolved, had been to sell a hundred grand worth of heroin to himself-- but about halfway through the movie, when all the characters had been holed up in a cabin in the middle of the desert waiting interminably for the drugs to arrive, one of them suddenly said, "Hey, let's get some hookers!"
They picked up the phone and ordered in several hookers. And then, as I sat beside my father, both of us slowly sinking lower and lower into our seats, the hookers and the drug dealers proceeded to enact an incredibly graphic orgy complete with full frontal nudity. It lasted about twenty minutes, which in film time feels like about an hour and if you're sitting next to your father, feels like a weekend vacation in Hell. At times they orgied in slow motion. Just when it looked like it was all over, a third hooker arrived ("It's our friend Kristy! Hi, Kristy!), did a strip-tease, and joined the action. Then the hookers got dressed, the drug dealers paid them and said, "Thanks and good-bye!" and the plot proceeded along its deeply stupid course. Needless to say, there turned out to be no plot-related reason for the 20-minute orgy scene.
When the lights finally, blessedly came up and Dad and I slunk out of the theatre, he stopped below the marquee. "Look at that," he said. "I guess we went into the wrong theatre, because I'm pretty sure we just saw Booty Call."
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From:
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I went with my parents to see my friend Angela (whom my mom wanted me to date) in Sex Tips For Modern Girls. My friend's opening line, as her character is sitting in a bar, was "He's pretty cute. I wonder if I should fuck him." She then went on to discuss the pros and cons and what it would be like if she was fucking him here, fucking him there, fucking him everywhere.
I gradually dissolved into the seat's fabric. Weekend in Hell indeed!
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But I'm totally with you on the OMG sooooo Embarassing! aspect of being there with your dad. I had the same experience a couple of times with my mom and the memories are seared permanently into my brain in all of their horrifying glory.
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You can discuss and compare the cinematic quality of something named Booty Call?
You rock for the morning, let me tell ya.
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My husband and I often think there should be a more complex rating system that takes into account what movies are trying to be and whether they succeed at what they set out to do. For what it is, I'd give it a B- or C+.
Oh man, now I'm going to be known as the girl that likes Booty Call, aren't I? I can try to redeem myself by saying I'm reading Midnight's Children right now and really enjoying it, but that will never work, will it?
::Sigh::
If I had known I'd be sinking down this low, I really wish I'd picked something a little better to hang my hat on...say Van Wilder or Road Trip!
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I can see you, as you come out of the auditorium where you have been awarded your a)Oscar b)Pulitzer Prize c)Nobel Prize, d)any of the above e) all of the above, and the paparazzi and reporters cluster around. A hush falls as you smile graciously and indicate that one of them can aske the first question. He says,
"Hey, aren't you that chick what liked Booty Call?"
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((recovers))....oh, wait. I remember my parents brought home Betty Blue on video once because hey! it was European! and had won awards or something! And during the opening scene, I FLED, and refused to come back out of my room until they put something else in the VCR.
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Oh good, I'm not the only one who does that.
What it have been better to see it with a friend's father instead of your own? I inadvertently tortured a queer female friend. We rented Desert Hearts or some such and watched it while my mother was reading newspapers. My friend had a shirt with a hood; she drew it tight around her head. (That was a fairly tame movie; my friend was sensitive.)
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This itself would have been o.k., but at that moment, my mom decided to walk in and see what kind of ganster movie I had rented, and this was the first thing she heard. I think I laughed in mortification, and she just rolled her eyes and went away.
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I was riffing on penis.
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Me wishing the earth would open and swallow me, then and there.
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---L.