|Margaret's taste in film may well have been more eclectic and diverse than mine. I remember when the Italian gore classic "Cannibal Holocaust" played a midnight show at Cinema 21 in NW Portland. (For those who don't know, it's about cannibals in the Amazon jungle and the people they eat. Okay, that's a serious over-simplification, but this is a parenthetical note, please forgive me.) I asked her if she wanted to go. Not only did she want to go, but she had recently read about it and was fascinated. I'm thinking, "She's super cool," and she drove.
Well, the movie was just jaw droppingly insane and brilliant and we both loved it. The credits rolled and we walked out into the chilly Portland night chatting about the film when a drunkard lurched toward us.
He wanted to know if we'd just seen the movie. We said we had.
Exhaling his beery breath, he asked if we liked it. Again, we agreed we had.
He just shook his head and stared at the sidewalk as he replied, "It wasn't even about the holocaust." Then he lurched and burped off into the night. Boy did he have the wrong ticket!
We laughed about that the whole ride back.