I hate Pierce Brosnan. I hate his stupid hoarse voice. I think I might hate him because it was during his tenure that the quality of the Bond films declined like never before. I understand that the end result of the Bond films wouldn’t be his responsibility, and that my hatred is therefore unfounded and illogical, but isn’t that usually the case with hatred?
I spent the short running time (84 minutes) of Oceans trying to figure out who I hated more – Pierce Brosnan or the moronic family behind me. Fortunately we don’t have chavs in New Zealand, but they were perhaps the next best thing. Throughout the film, moronic daughter was asking moronic Daddy a whole raft of questions, to none of which moronic Daddy answered with a request to keep quiet.
At one point, a clownfish popped up onto the giant screen, and moronic daughter turns to moronic Daddy and says “Elmo!”. After giggling to myself for a few seconds, I thought that she would correct herself, or that maybe moronic Daddy would help her out. Instead she said again, “It’s Elmo!” Moronic Daddy probably thought the film was called Finding Elmo too. (You might question the motives of Disney, the studio behind this film – and coincidentally the owners of the Pixar films – of inserting a few shots of an innocuous clownfish into an otherwise remarkable visual film. Or am I just being cynical?).
I might be cynical but at least I can be considerate to other cinema patrons. As Bill Hicks would say, “A miracle is raising a kid that doesn't talk in a fucking movie theatre.” I understand that with parenting, you should encourage your child to ask questions about the world. How else are they going to learn? Well in this case, by listening to Pierce Fucking Brosnan.
Moronic Daddy must know best – who am I to question his parenting skills? – as he answered each and every one of her questions.
Maybe he hates Pierce Brosnan too.
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