Alternating malt liquor with wine coolers: something I swear I would never do again. Once you've experienced certain thrills or seen some sights, you ought to have the sense to avoid re-experiencing or re-seeing them. Be careful, those plates are very hot. Sure, we want to reach out and see if that paint really is wet like the sign says, Somebody's bag will inevitably plop down on some unsuspecting traveler's head even though they have been admonished that contents may shift during flight. It doesn't rain in California, it pours. Man it pours.
And so on.
Like those Stephen King novels I continue to buy. And read. And end up feeling vaguely unsatisfied because the premise is always tantalizing and the characterizations are often brutally real but the ending never really seems to come. "Doctor, it hurts when I do this." Well, stop doing that.
All of this to say that I was lead down one more primrose path over the holidays. This time it was my son, with whom I have shared many glorious moments watching films of all stripes. We don't always agree, but I like to think that there are plenty of things I can learn from him just like he can see things for the first time with my help. Now tread lightly with me back to the year of our lord 2005, when I was still taking my son and his friends to movies because they needed a ride to and from. He was eight, like most of his friends, all of whom were intensely interested in seeing Madagascar, Dreamworks' latest entry into the feature animated film race. To make a short story even shorter, I fell asleep as Ben Stiller and Chris Rock voiced their animal avatars across the big screen. I had been tantalized by the notion of Sacha Baron Cohen, who would soon be unveiled to the rest of the world as Borat, but was already a cult figure in my world for his run as Kazakhstan's most clueless envoy and Ali G who never met a celebrity he couldn't confound. Even his inspired antics as a lemur weren't enough to keep me awake. I learned to drop kids off at the movies when it was "family fare."
Now, a dozen years later, I let myself be talked into going to see Sing. It told the story of cute cartoon animals having a singing contest. Synergy. America's barnyard's Got Talent, featuring the voices of Matthew McConaughey and Reese Witherspoon. And the reason my son wanted to go: Seth McFarlane. The oh-so-naughty genius behind Family Guy and American Dad, was going to be the voice of a singing rat. Oh boy! The comic possibilities abound!
I fell asleep. There were no tawdry bits. It was a pretty straight down the middle feel good holiday piece of fluff that gave me a chance to catch a few winks before we went out to dinner. Over that meal, my son confessed to me that he had thought he was expecting something a little rougher than the shiny happy film we sat through. Which made us both take notice that the trailer we saw for the third installment of the Despicable Me series features the voice talents of South Park creator Trey Parker. I suspect we will both be missing that one on the couch. Snoring.