The Revenge of the Sith Experience

I slept late Wednesday night, and by the time I dragged myself out of bed Thursday morning and arrived late at work, I was not in the mood to later wait in line and watch what I knew was going to be a mediocre movie. Why, oh why had I already bought tickets for the 3:30 pm show on opening day?

I left work at 12:45, and I headed over to the Emeryville Bay Street theatres. The 3:30 line had been set up, but only eight people were in line before me. I plopped myself down, opened my Ovid book, but could not concentrate on the text because the girl in front of me was engaging in an inevitably stupid conversation with some other similarly-dressed hipsters.

I had sworn that I would only drink one cup of water so I would not have to use the bathroom while in line or in the theatre. Since I was there alone and would have no problems finding a seat, I decided to leave the line and kill some time going to the bathroom and calling my friends who were not at work (except I called Erik--he's exempt from certain considerate thoughts due to my neediness).

When the line grew longer, I decided to return. However, this time an ugly guy stood behind me and kept humming a horribly repetitive tune. I would step away from him, only to have him follow me over, perhaps illogically thinking that the line had moved? I left the line once more and waited for more people to fill it up. I ended up standing behind some college kids, who were annoying, but considering my threshold for such things, they were perfectly nice and wholesome.

A couple then filed into the line behind me. They had brought two of their kids and three of their kids' friends; four of the kids were dressed up as either Anakin or Darth Vader, and they soon initiated a lightsaber fight. The couple asked me what I did for a living, and I returned the question. The mother told me that she was a stay-at-home mother. As the conversation progressed, she revealed that she had an architectural background. At that point, I lost it and kept asking her where she worked, even though she had told me she was a STAY-AT-HOME MOM. What embarassing idiocy on my part. They still offered to let me sit with them if I wanted. I thanked them, but I was there alone so I could have the freedom to move around, well, freely.

Though there was a sign labeling our line, people kept coming up to me around 2:25-2:40 to ask me if we were the 2:45 line. I suppose in a way it's convenient, and it's nice to have contact with strangers.

Our line was let in 40 minutes before to the show. As I approached my perfect seat, one of the hipster guys rushed to me, gesticulated--binder in hand--towards my seat, and stated, "We're trying to reserve some seats here." He wanted to drop his binder on my seat, but I put down my backpack first and shrugged. "Well, I'm here now." He looked around, saw that he had already staked his claim on 15-25 seats, and said, "I guess I saved enough already." I ignored him. This wasn't the first time someone tried to get me to move for their convenience. I'm perfectly fine with people consolidating, moving in to fill in empty seats, but no one can make me move to another section or to a bad seat--not if I was there first.

Johanna, whose phone was busy when I first called her, returned my call when I was already seated. I would not normally take a call inside a theatre, but

1. it was thirty minutes 'til show time;
   
2. people all around me were talking, albeit to their friends who were physically there; and
   
3. I was lonely.
   

The theatre was by no means full. The previews were good. The movie was as expected. The scenery and machinery looked beautiful. The computer-generated human/robot/alien/clone movements, however, looked exactly that. And let's not speak of the dialogue, plot, and burning questions that Lucas should have properly addressed (which I will post after most of you have already watched the film and/or have declared that you never will).