The Talkies

There are only two reasons to talk to anyone while you're watching a film in a theatre.

1) You are on fire.
2) Your baby's head is emerging from the birth canal.

My BFF and I went to see the Coen Brother's most excellent film, No Country for Old Men, at the Varsity last evening.

Seated in front of us were two white hairs. Two CHATTY white hairs.

There wasn't anything that happened on screen or around them, that they didn't feel compelled to talk about, full voice, in the darkened theatre.

Most of it was completely obvious.

"The dog is dead," one would look at the other and say.

Or, "That's his wife."

Back in the 80s when I saw Gandhi, some guy used the film as an opportunity to recount the history of India for his wife. Let's just say, it's an old country.

Anyway, after about five minutes of waiting for them to wind down, my BFF leaned forward and asked them, quite nicely, to stop.

Didn't work.

More, "Where's he going?" "There's money in there."

Then, a few minutes later, I leaned in with the same request. They didn't hear me at first....because they were TALKING.

Then, finally, BFF used the tried-and-true seat kick. Worked like a charm.

By nearly propelling one of the chattier White Hairs into the screen, he managed to not only subdue her urge to talk, but probably fixed that problem she's been having with her third vertebrae.

With Granny Chatty Pants silenced -- perhaps for good -- we were left to enjoy the film.

Enjoy is an unusual word to use for this film. It's an incredible movie, but be warned. There's a high body count. But you'll be rewarded with some of the most stylish film work I've seen in a long time -- and incredible performances by Josh Brolin and Javier Bardem. Bardem, alone, is worth the price of the ticket.

If you see it, do me a favour. Don't talk about it until the movie is over.