A night at the Grindhouse

If you’re going to see “The sleaze-filled saga of an exploitation double feature,” you might as well sneak into the theater a couple of 40's for you and your companion and share a large popcorn (with butter, because our theater uses real butter and she insists).
Trouble is, all that beer is gonna cause a problem.
Missing any part of Grindhouse just won’t do.
I’m running to the bathroom with another guy, and we’re having a public urinal conversation.
“Dude, ultimate guy movie, it’s killer,” he said.
“Oh, I dunno, the lady I’m with is totally digging it.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. Plus, there’s this young couple next to us and the girl is on the edge of her seat.”
“Cool.”
And we’re running down the hallway again.
“When’s the last time you ran back into a theater?”
Awhile.
(Usually, I can hold it. We didn’t actually sneak in 40's. I had a 24-ounce Old English 800 malt liquor – Crazy 8! – and the lovely Kimbolina had some weird-assed drink with both caffeine and alcohol.)
Grindhouse is Robert Rodriguez’s “Planet Terror” and Quentin Tarantino’s “Death Proof.” Mixed in are “fake” movie trailers done by Rob Zombie, Eli Roth and Edgar Wright (whilst taking care of bidness, I missed Zombie’s “Werewolf Women of the S.S.”)
It is not a movie for everyone.
Certainly not conservative fundamentalist Christians (they wouldn’t get a single joke).
Probably not a “first date” movie, either (unless your lady is totally on the cool side).
But it is the first film in a long time that I’ll pay to see in a theater again (and yes, I will purchase the DVD).
It’s bloody. It’s campy. It’s over-the-top. It’s crazy.
Pure fun.
Just keep your eyes open, because there's surprises everywhere (Johnny Reno, an old bud from my university days hanging out at The Zoo Bar, shows up in Planet Terror). And, well, I've developed a slight crush on one Zoe Bell, who plays herself (she's a stunt woman from New Zealand) in Death Proof. She totally steals every scene she's in.
ThomG says, “Check it out.”