Night At The Museum
I took the Zedettes to see last night. We were still in Glasgow so went into the city centre and joined the queue outside the big Cineworld tower on Renfrew Street. Once you have your tickets you have to clamber on to a dozen different escalators to reach the place where they’re screening your movie. This is a problem for me as I’ve always harboured a slight fear of escalators ever since my older brother told me that you have to jump off before the end or else you get sucked into a netherworld of goblins. I’m not sure why I believed him because I was 39 when he told me this.
Anyway, we eventually made it to the foyer of Screen 7 and almost got stuck in the snack area because the floor was so sticky with spilt cola. Then we picked our way through a corridor where the carpet was strewn with popcorn. Finally we made it into the actual auditorium and, of course, having arrived ten minutes after the advertised screening time the movie had not yet started.
The place was packed but we managed to find three seats just in front of the absolute charmer of a man who let us admire his Doc Marten boots by resting them on the back of chair next to us. He also provided a whispered (but audible) ‘directors commentary’ during the course of the movie which was let down only by its over-reliance on the F-word and its lack of relevance to anything happening on the screen.
As for ‘Night at the Museum’ well, the children gave it ten out of ten, but don’t place too much trust in their judgement. We’re talking here about the views of a nine year old and an eleven year old. They’re easily pleased and still laugh when I hold out an empty paper back, click my finger against my thumb and pretend to catch and imaginary coin.
The goblins taught me that one.
