The Trouble With Muggles

On Wednesday, I'll be heading to Showcase Randolph to see Harry Potter 6 with no fewer than 10 friends. Yes, we are all in our early to mid (OK, late [fuck]) twenties, but that does not hinder our enthusiasm or dorkitude. In fact, I even created a Facebook invite for the trip to the movies (Tagline: Wingardium Leviosohmygod we are losers.)

Anyway, whenever a Potter movie comes out, I'm always reminded me of the horrible experience I had at the midnight screening of Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban.

First, these things, especially at midnight, are a spectacle. Young kids up way later than they should be otherwise, older people dressed like wizards, breathless anticipation for a movie based on a book everyone there has already read. It's a shitshow. The place, however, will get pin drop quiet the second the Warner Bros. logo appears and we are taken through the 3-D title screens and whisked away to Privet Drive.

The transition plays suit and everyone is enjoying themselves, the pre-show craziness a distant memory. Azkaban runs 141 minutes, and about 131 minutes in, something happens.

As Harry and crew are taking a ride on Buckbeak, the film melts. Not breaks, not rips, not comes off spool. Melts. It looked like the cover of Metallica's Loaded (minus the cow semen, hopefully.)

A head usher comes out to explain the situation, and people freak the fuck out. Adults in wizard robes hurling obscenities at a movie theater employee as their children wail. Yes, I've witnessed that. It's at least 2 a.m. and it's god damned bedlam.

Long story short, we get herded out, get free tickets and I end up using mine on Azkaban again.

Turns out after all that madness, we missed about 4 minutes total. 4 minutes, well worth it.

For the love of god this won't happen on Wednesday.