The promo atop the page referred to me as “The waggish Jack D. Welch…”
Now imagine you are a crazy prospector who thinks he is a dog. “Waggish?”
My disguise must not be totally working. From February 8, 1989. – JDW
“IT’S A WANDA-FUL LIFE.”
Norma Louise is still out of town and I’m still on it.
Jerry Rigg and I went to the Mission Theatre and Pub (1624 N.W. Glisan) to see A Fish Called Wanda. At the time it seemed like a safe thing to do.
It can be cheap, too. There’s no admission charge.
The Mission is the kind of place where you walk in, take one look around, and say respectfully, “Now this, this would be a good place for my next wedding reception.”
It’s cavernous, cathedral-like, rather large. It used to be a Swedish tabernacle; later it became a longshoremens’ hall.
None of that matters.
The main level now includes a bar and a vast floor of tables for the consumption of burgers and chips and other stuff you promised to cut back on during the new year.
Upstairs, there’s a balcony which is generally considered the best place to sit if you’re actually here to watch the movie.
Loser.
Ignore the couple of transients who sometimes sit in the uppermost corner.
They deserve shelter from the storm, and it’s got to be more fun than Baloney Joe’s.
If you’re here to drink, stay close to the refreshments.
Since this is a tavern, one must be twenty-one or older, and ID is scrupulously examined. As this place is owned and operated by those brewneister brothers, the McMenamins, you can count on the suds. There are about twenty (20) beers on tap from Northwest microbreweries. Homogenized proletarians can purchase a pitcher of Bud or Henry’s for $3.75.
By the way, one rule of etiquette: don’t trip a big guy carrying a load of imported beer and two tubs of popcorn. I’m just sayin.’
Another good rule is, neck with your own date.
Jesus, some guys are so possessive.
Wanda has a great cast. Jamie Lee Curtis makes me happy to be male. Kevin Kline will play the role of Jack D. Welch in the movie of that acclaimed columnist’s epic life story.
Unless Kevin Costner accepts the part. Or else Mel Gibson. Yeah. Mel. That’s the guy. Who else has both the panache and the elan not to mention the sufficient je ne sais quoi? Who else doesn’t understand French?
And, of course, there’s John Cleese, whose movie this really is.
The Mission is not the optimal venue in which to appreciate, to its utmost, a British accent. You know they’re speaking English, but it just sounds so foreign. The place is also a little noisy with the coughing and the chairs squeaking and the rude young boys trying to impress. The sound system is not ideal. But, don’t misunderstand me. We’re talking big screen here and great beer at a price cheaper than in your own home.
Also, with a movie this funny, some lines are obscured by all the laughing. People actually hooted.
Here are some highlights.
“Speak it, speak it!,” she screamed.
“Not here, Otto! Yes, yes! No, no!
“Just call me if you need me.”
“Cure my stutter!”
“I don’t want you for your conversation.”
“What would so-superior England be without the good old U.S.A. to protect it? I’ll tell you. The smallest f*ckin’ province in the Russian Empire.”
The biggest laugh, a collective roar actually, arises when a Doberman Pinscher rushes up, clutches the petite prissy pooch in his vise-like jaws and disappears screen right.
Another dog is eliminated when a car leaps out of control onto the sidewalk. “To call you stupid would be an insult to stupid people.”
A third scruffy diminutive canine rodent gets nailed. The audience howls its unanimous approval.
My cheeks hurt and I wonder if the ASPCA knows how much fun we’re having.
I love dogs. Truly.
But there is something distinctly amusing about this continuous theme. Dead dog after dead dog.
I want to feel guilty, then I think if these furry runts had been a movie’s human victims, no one would’ve blinked an eye.
It’s only make-believe, right?
Okay, but, is it good karma?
Another night. FIRST THURSDAY.
To be continued…