PRISONER OF AZKABAN

June 5, 2004

PRISONER OF AZKABAN

Yesterday I went to see “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” I had been looking forward to its release, it sounded really dark compared to the other two films. I went with Blaze. It was an attempt to make up for the play I got too drunk to see a couple of months ago. I had originally given him a pair of movie passes as an apology. The other day I was over at the house and I reminded him the passes expire in July. He said he was aware of that and he was trying to decide which movie to use them for. I suggested Harry Potter since he’s such a fan of the books. “I’ve thought about that, but I’m going to wait until the crowds die down.”
“We should go see it opening day. Friday is my day off, I can get us some tickets for an afternoon show.”
Blaze hummed and hawed, but I assured him the movie would probably be playing in all six theatres and the crowds wouldn’t be as bad as he pictured.
“Okay. This will repay me for the play I didn’t get to go see.”
I’m never going to live that one down. From Prisoner of Azkaban to Prisoner of Blaze.
Blaze called just after three to say he was out of work.
“Do you want to meet at the hotel or in front of the theatre?”
“I’m going to see if I can get a quick beer in before the movie, so why don’t you meet me in front of the theatre.”
I was smoking a cigarette in front of Golden Age Comics ogling all the cool stuff in the window. I was trying to figure out how many comic books I would have to trade in to buy the Enid, (from Ghost World) doll when I heard someone call my name.
It was Upchuck.
I had deliberately been avoiding Upchuck since I started smoking again. Upchuck gave me three patches to get me on my way. After the patches wore out after day two, I was right back to a pack a day.
David was with his brother-in-law. They were checking out the movie times at Capitol 6 where Harry was playing, but they must not have liked the movie times because they bolted across the street to the Cineplex Odeon. Blaze came out of the little café next to the Odeon just as Upchuck disappeared behind a bus.
Blaze got me stoned in the alley behind the theatre before we went in. He was too stoned to carry on a conversation. He did moan about his feet and that he wanted to see the new Catwoman movie because the cast and crew had stayed at the hotel here he worked. Then he started kvetching about the kids in the audience.
“Have you ever seen a Harry Potter movie in the theatre?” I asked him.
“No.”
“Neither have I, but I’ve been assured by people who have that the kids are so enthralled in the story that don’t make a peep.”
The lights dimmed and we were subjected to almost a half hour of trailers for movies I wouldn’t pay to see on DVD. The new Hillary Duff movie looked particularly sucky even by teenybopper standards. That actress from Best in Show looks really funny in it as the wicked stepmother. Of course they have to use Hillary Duff’s fucking single in the movie. Between the clothing line, the album and her movies, the chick just makes me want to puke.
The Thunderbirds looks like it’s going to suck the bag as well. Since when are The Thunderbirds about a family? Who cares about freaking families saving the world? Give me puppets!
I remember chanting for Jennifer Love Hewitt’s career to tank, and now that it finally has, I almost feel sorry for her. I used to hate her as much as I hate Hillary Duff now. She’s been reduced to playing a veterinarian in the new Garfield movie. Those years on Dawson’s Creek meant nothing in terms of her career; she might as well have done a season on Survivor.
I completely lost my patience with the trailers when snow started falling down the screen and the names Steven Spielberg, Robert Zemekis, and Tom Hanks faded in and out in gold letters. The trailer was for The Polar Express. I wouldn’t see that movie just because they’re advertising it in June! Aside from that, I’m sorry – Steven Spielberg doesn’t scream Christmas to me. And the sound bites they were using were so sugary you just wanted to pull the hair of the person and front of you and start pounding on them.
The pot caught up with me when the movie finally started. I had a good belly laugh the first fifteen minutes. I was so high I was beginning to convince myself that this could be the first Harry Potter to get an Oscar nomination. The movie never quite lived up to the opening, but it was enjoyable all the same. There was one line I couldn’t believe made it into the movie. One of Harry's textbooks was called, “The Monster Book of Monsters.” The book had teeth and eyes and attacked the reader when unlocked. When told to turn to a page in the book that blonde Malfoy kid asks, “How are you supposed to open it?”
“You stroke it,” Weasley tells him. There were several snickers in the audience.
I’m convinced that Emma Watson is going to be the next Kate Winslet. They have her wearing low-rider jeans this movie. She’s looking pretty hot. I can say that about a fourteen-year-old girl as a gay man. Blaze thought Daniel Radcliffe is looking kind of sexy, but I don’t see it. In fact, I can’t think of anyone I would like to fuck in the Harry Potter Movies.
The movie lived up to its dark expectations. Pats of it were reminiscent of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang where the world isn’t so perfect and adults aren’t necessarily nice to children. There were moments when I thought, “Is this really suitable for children?” But I dismissed the notion; kids need this kind of crap. I remember watching Jacob Two-Two and the Hooded Fang and being scared and awe struck at the same time. I’ve seen that movie once, twenty years ago, and I still remember it. Granted, there were homosexual undercurrents in that movie that struck a chord with me. I left the theatre knowing a couple of hundred kids are going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, and it warmed my heart.
After the movie we stopped at The Dufferin for a beer, which was as dark and creepy as the movie. “Hang on to you wallet,” Blaze said, as we entered.
I’m sure the bar makes a good chunk of cash of the unsuspecting post-movie homo crowd – at least for one beer, which was how long Blaze and lasted. Everyone in the bar eyed the door as if there ship was about to come in. The attire was strictly bargain basement, people coming back from their jobs in the mailroom or the reception desk of some seedy motel. Blaze wanted a cigarette with his beer so we went into the smoking room, which was freezing and smokey. The people in the smoking room were even more tragic than the people in the bar. Some of them appeared to be melting despite the air conditioning.
After The Dufferin, Blaze and I headed up towards the Gay Village and The Pumpjack. I had absolutely no money on me but Blaze had just got paid and offered to buy me a couple of beer. Whereas The Dufferin was fucking freezing, we were sweating buckets at The Pumpjack. The crowd was considerably better looking.
“I just came back from Harry Potter,” Blaze said to everyone he knew. He was so proud of the fact he saw it on opening day, something he would never considered in the past.
I didn’t spend a dime but managed to get fucking loaded. Upchuck showed up not long after we arrived. “I just saw the worst fucking movie,” he said.
“Let me guess,” I said. “The Day after Tomorrow?”
“You betcha! No fucking plot, no character development and completely implausible even for a disaster movie. My brother-in-law was snoring through it and said he liked it.”
I haven’t been to The Pumpjack when it’s busy in ages. I’ve been kind of avoiding the place actually. I’m bored of it, the same old faces, and the same old stories – my own included. I’m also trying to be more prudent with my cash and alcohol just doesn’t figure wisely into my budget at this point in time. There were a lot of good-looking guys but I’m too self-conscious to cruise them. I was also way too drunk to carry on a conversation with someone I just met.
I knew it was time to go when I turned into this sardonic bitch around this really cute guy my friend Baker was chatting up. The guy was in his early twenties, with the sideburns and the Abercrombie & Fitch shirt and the whole nine yards. It was probably the A&F shirt that got me going. The guy’s sister works at Muddy Waters in Yaletown. “I’m so embarrassed for her,” he said. That was when Greg introduced me as his co-worker at the Davie St shop.
For his part Baker kept forcing The Tokyo Lounge down everyone’s throat. It sounded really cool and everything but after the fiftieth person he described it to, it just sounded like one more name to drop if you’re anybody that matters in this town. I hate that crap, being defined by where you go. Granted, I’m a complete nobody, so I guess you could say I’m jealous.
I ended the night at Upchuck’s condo smoking a joint and drinking wine – not like we needed either. We sat on his white leather couch, our arms touching. I was tempted to rest my head on his shoulder and kiss him on the forehead. It’s almost better not having sex. I almost think it would spoil it. I basked in the warmth of our arms and legs touching, blabbering on incoherently. I staggered home close to midnight, passing out on top of my sheets and in my clothes.

GarpinBC