I have a confession to make: When I walked into the theater to see Bride Wars, I could barely contain my excitement. I don't see many movies in the theater. In fact, it had been a complete decade since my last excursion to see a film on the big screen. So, along with the unbridled excitement that accompanies a movie of Bride Wars' caliber, I was also, admittedly, just a little bit nervous.
The woman at the ticket window had a name tag that read "Margaret," and Margaret gave me a bit of a weird look when I sauntered in (alone) for the 10:45 AM showing. Yes, it's possible she remembered seeing me camped outside the night before as she was closing down the theater, and I now suppose that her expression was just the result of the wheels turning in her head. Nonetheless, she seemed a bit judgmental, and I didn't appreciate that (and just for the record I, too, was surprised that I was the only person waiting overnight to see the early showing of Bride Wars). Intent on winning back Margaret's trust, I reassured her that I was only going to the matinee so I could scout out a good viewing angle and return later that night to watch the evening show like a normal person. To put her still more at ease, I switched to my highest falsetto voice for the words "like a normal person."
Enough about Margaret, though. We need to backtrack a bit. It's true that in my excitement I slept in one of the planting beds outside the theater the night before the show. But what I haven't told you is that I didn't have many other places to go. My wife kicked me out of the house three days earlier. Apparently something about my constant newspaper-movie-ad scrap-booking must have gotten on her nerves. It's also possible that my being laid off from work had something to do with it. It's not inconceivable that all three of those are inter-related.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. This all happened previously as well - exactly ten years, another marriage, and a subsequent name change ago - during the build-up to The Green Mile (Ironically, I didn't even enjoy The Green Mile. I found it on the whole rather confusing, and a little too preachy).
A little trivia about me: when I'm nervous I draw on my forehead with hi-lighters. Is that relevant in any way? Probably not. But maybe.
So I'm finally in the theater, and thank sassafras, Bride Wars is everything I'd hoped it would be, and more. Kate Hudson is to die for, Anne Hathaway is unforgettable, and if Gary Winick is not holding the Best Director trophy in February then there is just no justice in this world. I alternately cried myself dry and laughed myself hoarse, and many of the other five people in the theater were so overcome by emotions that they walked out midway through to get ahold of themselves.
Would I do it again? Absolutely, no hesitation, yes. But will I get another chance? Immediately at hand are the matters of getting a name-change, moving cross-country, finding a new place to live and a new woman to marry. After that, though, I'll still have to come to grips with the reality that Bride Wars is really over (let's be real - Divorcee Wars is a pipe dream, kids).
I'm sure that in the days ahead there will be times when I wish I'd never heard of this film. I'll wish I could forget it forever. But my glance will invariably drift to the matching Kate & Anne tattoos on the backs of my left and right hands, and I'll wistfully smile at the memory of those gals mischievously pranking one another until, in their hysteria, they both realized that their bickering paled in comparison to the realization that one of the bridesmaids was in the country illegally, and to avoid any sort of aiding-and-abetting racket they mutually called off the weddings to focus on starting a low-key boat refurbishing business.
At least, that's the way I interpreted it. I suspect I'll have, say, a half-dozen more viewings to cement that theory.
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