Caught Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Cercle Rouge at Austin's fancy-pants, old-timey Paramount Theatre last night. I couldn't believe how many people showed up late. C'mon jerks. Learn what time a movie starts. I wish they'd lock the doors as soon as a movie starts so jerks couldn't walk in front of you and sit right next to you or right in front of you or whisper to each other about where to sit or stand there forever looking stupid waiting for their eyes to get adjusted to the dark. Show up on time, jerks. If you can't, then piss up a rope. Eat it. Jerks. The movie was excellent, though. Something about French crime movies. The criminals and the police are elegant. Everything moves at a sweet, slow pace. Things are cool, but not hip. Jewelry is stolen. Expert marksmanship is displayed in a practical but exciting manner. Excellent cars are stolen and driven excellently. The nightclubs are everywhere you want to be. The policemen are sad when they have to shoot the criminals they've grown to admire. The ladies are sexy. Value for money, my friends. Value wasted on jerks who show up twenty minutes late for the movie. Show the film and the rest of us who got there on time a little respect, you turbo-douches.
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