The Alamo Drafthouse

I can’t even begin any kind of commentary about a movie at the Alamo Drafthouse without some kind of passing comment about seeing movies, back in the day, when the only Alamo Drafthouse was around the corner from the old Ruta Maya, between 3rd and 4th, in Austin. Upstairs. Over a gay club. Later, it was salsa bar, or something. The old Drafthouse. The original.

There was a spark, a kind of native ingenuity that was employed, a spunky, sparky essence.

So Xmas day, stuffed with Xmas day sugarary confection, I wandered into an Alamo Drafthouse that wasn’t sold out for the afternoon showing of The Interview.

I am firmly in the “not a fan of Seth Rogan,” camp; however, I admire cojones to go through with the film, apparently catching the ire of the real North Korean Goverment.

Fun film. Not much, like, a lot of bodily fluid jokes, kind of puerile, but still, it was my patriotic duty to see that film, on Xmas Day, in an Alamo Drafthouse.

When the film was not released, funiest story I heard, amazon sold out of Team America, with its tagline?

Nefver mind, not sinking to that level.

That The Interview caused such an uproar, seriously? I’ve watched as my Republican friends have said much worse things about our current preseident, and I recall, easily, when the Democrats were equally vile againt the previous president.

Wasn’t it Clinton who was called, “The Great Satan?” Bush Senior? I don’t recall.

I saw the movie. I recommend it, as an act of being an American. If one doesn’t?

There’s always coal for the naughty one.