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pee is for "pirate"
August 08, 2006
when my friend suggested we see the new pirates of the caribbean movie a couple of weeks ago, i was considerably underwhelmed, and once again, i didn't really know why. granted, i have always believed that jerry bruckheimer is the cinematic Anti Christ. on the other hand, i'm a huge johnny depp fan (in a very straight way, of course) and there's absolutely nothing less than wonderful about looking at keira knightely, at least as she was before i broke off our short relationship and she stopped eating.
i have no feelings about orlando bloom.
almost all my friends, without exception, raved about the first pirates of the caribbean movie, and i had no cause to doubt them. i've even had the dvd for almost a year now, left at my apartment by a friend. i've thought about watching it, really i have, but it just never seems to have happened.
i never really thought about it, but i just haven't had much interest in pirate movies. i figured that maybe i just didn't like period pieces - i don't generally watch westerns, either, unless they're, you know, porno westerns. even then, i'd rather watch sci-fi porn.
it could also be that i'm not a great swimmer, and i get anxious about the movie theater sinking. i also imagine ships as very smelly places, and it's hard for me to get excited about characters with poor hygiene.
but, in the spirit of not so much compromise as martyred resignation, i agreed to go see the movie. we went to the alamo drafthouse at the vilalge shopping center, a theater that serves food and drinks while you watch movies.
we ordered a bucket of beer. the movie's opening was very Bruckheimerly overwrought and overstylized, during which i consumed most of my first beer. once things got going, though, i was pleasantly surprised and entertained, and i decided that perhaps bruckheimer may live, if he only does movies that are supposed to be patently absurd, that you expect to be filled with an exhausting chain of progressively more challenging and ludicrous events, and where the laws of physics do not apply. i'm not one of those critics that hitchcock called "the Implausibles," that fail to get that they're watching a fantasy, but people like Bruckheimer and Michael Bay, in their respective roles as producer and director, just go too far.
but i digress.
an hour into the movie, i realized all the iced tea was catching up with me, but i was still entertained enough that i didn't want to miss anything. i waited, and the longer i waited, i felt some ancient and anxious memory began to poke at the back of my brain.
i found a moment that was going to probably be more moot exposition than comedy or action, and made my break for the restroom.
while i stood at the urinal, a couple of kids came in, probably eight to ten years old each. the kid that stepped up to the urinal to my left was a little hyper, and was looking around and probably not paying a lot of attention to what he was doing. i drew my left foot in closer, and completed my own task quickly, flushed and stepped away. i think my caution was well warranted.
and then, it occurred to me, in a rush. i had never repressed the memory, but the only connection i had ever made was to navy blue dress pants, and not to pirate movies. suddenly, it all made sense.
in 1975, when i was six, my parents opened a short-lived little shop in the very same shopping center, selling imported antiques and wares from africa and asia. the village cinema was a four-screen quasi-tudor monstrosity in the shopping center's parking lot.
one summer day, the theater was showing Treasure Island, the old 1950 Disney version. i can't remember much from before or after the movie. i think my mom walked me over and got me in, and came to get me afterwards. i know it was the first movie i saw by myself. and, i remember i was wearing a pair of navy blue probably polyester pants. i think i sat in the front row.
i remember flashes of the movie. i remember johnny hawkins taking up with long john silver and his crew. i remember parrots and lots of old british guys with apparently poor hygiene. i remember the bluish tint of the aging film, particularly during the nighttime scenes.
most importantly, i remember having to go. really bad. i think i was enraptured by the movie. i remember seeing the ship tossed about in the storm. it was quite exciting.
water. lots of water.
some of it warm.
in my pants.
my navy blue probably polyester pants.
like i said, i don't remember the aftermath. i'm pretty sure i saw the rest of the movie. i guess i should ask my mom to fill in the blanks in my memory, but i'm not entirely sure i actually want to, not without a stiff drink in hand.
all my life, i've had an aversion to navy blue, particularly in materials that approximate that sort of wide-weave look of those particular probably polyester pants. i would never own a navy blue suit or pants. i have a pair of navy blue running shorts, and i wish i had gone for black or grey.
and, apparently, on top of factors like characters with poor hygiene, the inability to swim, jerry bruckheimer, russell crowe, etc., i don't like pirate or sea-going movies because i equate them with pee-soaked navy blue probably polyester pants, and all the quiet shame that goes with them.
it all makes me wonder why i don't like westerns, aside from the lack of air conditioning and characters with poor hygiene, but i'm kind of afraid of what i might discover.
Posted by Rob at August 8, 2006 10:06 AM