It was a slow night in the small city. Had a couple of beers at a friend’s house, and combed the local paper looking for an acceptable band at one of the three clubs where one could find live music – no luck.
Maybe a movie? Geez, we’ve been to the movies a lot…. Hey! Midnight showing of a concert movie by the band The Cure. We like music. We liked the Cure, enough. We were really bored.
So many of these tales involve those four words.
We
Were
Really
Bored.
So, off we go to The Cure – In Orange, probably with a beer in a coat or pants pocket. Three straight guys, no dates.
Great plan.
The audience ended up being far more entertaining than the movie, and we stood out a bit, to put it mildly.
We weren’t wearing black clothes, or eye liner. The androgynous goth boys and their uber-pale female friends stared at us like WE were the freaks. Cuz we were, basically, in that environment.
In addition to the aforementioned, there were small groups of younger (14 or so) girls lumped together throughout the theatre, with skin pigmentation and who looked fairly well adjusted.
We settled in to watch the movie, and…. It sucked. Sound wasn’t great; their song selection was obscure at best; and it sounded like the entire band had knocked back a bottle or two of cough medicine before they took the stage.
This was my impression of the first half of the movie. I have no review of the second half, perhaps it got better.
Why no review of the 2nd half?
We were already leaning toward walking out, mid movie, when it happened.
Robert Smith looked into the camera, and….smeared his lipstick with the back of his hand, and then smiled, just a little.
And we heard an “Oooohhhhhhhh..” as much of the crowd let out a collective sigh, sounding like nothing but a bunch of folks who maybe, just maybe, had just had their first sexual experience.
My two friends and I looked at one another, and without a word, all got up out of our chairs, and headed for the exit.
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