M and I went to the cinema last night, with a rough plan to see “Snow White and the Huntsman” after having a few drinks and the chance to chat. When we got there Snow White was sold out and so we had to think fast and make a snap decision (not our forté) or end up not seeing anything at all. We settled on “Killer Joe”, the basic premise of which is slacker son lets his debt get out of control and puts a hit out on his evil Mother to cash in on her life insurance. To do this he hires “Joe Cooper” played by a louche Matthew McConaughey in the first role I can think of where he’s not playing some smug smooth bastard who is trying to slime someone into bed by being charming and sporty. I vaguely remembered reading something about it being gritty but good and so thought it would make good date fodder – not too schmoochy, not too sexy, a subtle blend of good dialogue and shooty bits.
Which it was. Juno Temple was brilliant as the little sister and Emile Hirsch was very Jim Sturgess like as the fucked up son (which can only be a good thing *swoon*). It was nicely engaging so I didn’t fidget too much but also allowed enough brain space for a bit of whispering and mid film flirting, a winner all round.
Until they brought out the “K Fried C” as they insisted on calling it. At first I was repulsed as they served it because I couldn’t help but think that I really wanted some greasy fat chicken and the very thought of eating it made my stomach turn, then I was even more repulsed when MMc starting playing with his drumstick, sadly not a euphemism. I wanted to hide behind my hands as one of the characters ended up fellating his drumstick with some vigour – I couldn’t make eye contact with M as it was a bit embarrassing, a bit like watching a sex scene with your Mum and Dad. It was as if someone had flipped a switch on the film, or the “K Fried C” was laced with some psychotropic drugs, it went from being a fairly run of the mill but good violent film to being weird, fucked up and leaving me thinking “WTF?”
After another lovely evening though, even with the chicken. M dropped me home and as I was hopping into my bed with a smile on my face my phone bleeped, a message from M.
“Is it wrong that I went to KFC on the way home?”