Popcorn warrior

So last week, some girlfriends and I decided to go see "The Wrestler," because nothing says "chick flick night on the town" to me and my posse quite like Mickey Rourke shooting the juice into his naked butt in a VA shower stall. A few moments before the movie started, an older, heavily accented woman in the row in front of us turned around, glared at my friend who was quietly eating popcorn, and said, "You cannot eat popcorn during the movie!"

My friend replied, sensibly enough, "Yes, I can."

The woman went on haranguing her about the extraordinary rudeness of eating popcorn during a movie until--and this didn't take very long--the rest of us recovered from our shock and started laughing hysterically, at which point she shifted to berating us for laughing and informed us that our parents did not learn us good manners at home. She stopped yelling at us with really impeccable timing, just as the movie proper began, at which point of course she would have been the rude one for talking loudly during a movie.

Popcorn friend took that opportunity to scoop up a big handful and crunch it noisily, and then went back to her normal, sedate grazing pattern.

This interaction fascinated me, and colored my whole viewing of the film. Maybe, just maybe, this was the first time this woman had ever gone to a movie in America and she didn't realize that eating popcorn during a movie is an American tradition, although you'd think that the fact that popcorn is vended in the lobby would have twigged her to that fact. I don't think that was it, though; I think she was, as we psychologists like to put it, "nutty."

But this is what got me--we were there to see "The Wrestler."

Spoilers follow, so I'll continue after the jump:

I mean, if you can't handle popcorn, good luck watching Mickey Rourke stick his thumb into a meat slicer on purpose, or a guy staple-gun a dollar bill to his head. Good luck with the whole "party like a fireman" scene, too. And the clubbing of a wrestler with a fan's prosthetic leg.

It made watching the movie an even more interesting experience than it would otherwise be. Normally, I watch movies (and television, and plays) with two levels of consciousness. The first is the sort of untutored, automatic reactions of feeling sad or happy for the characters, enjoying the pretty visuals, and so on. Then there's my educated, critical intelligence that can analyze themes, assess acting techniques, note visual references and symbolism, and the like. I enjoy shifting back and forth between these modes.

With "The Wrestler," I got not only my normal double consciousness, but also got to imagine, all the way through, what this relentless portrayal of a man's physical and spiritual destruction must have looked like to a woman capable of being offended by popcorn. Which put the movie into the realm of science fiction, almost.

So, thanks, Popcorn Warrior lady. Your outrage was as ridiculous and heartfelt as pro wrestling itself, and you added an incomparable dimension to what was already a satisfying cinematic experience. If I ever get a chance to do film reviewing professionally, I want you as the Siskel to my Ebert, okay?