The Girl Who Played With Fire

Made a return visit to Tampa Theatre to catch The Girl Who Played With Fire, a Swedish  film based on the novel by Stieg Larsson. The book was beyond excellent. A total page turner. The film however was okay, at best. The novel was jam packed with information making it quite difficult to replicate all into film. Thus, a lot of scenes/info were left out.  I was in a bit of a haze; massively hung over from the day/night before. So was my husband. Due to the fog, I was a bit more aware of my surroundings, occasionally glancing around to remind myself where I was and what I was sitting in a theartre for. Due to my lack of attention holding capabilities I was quickly reminded of what I hate most about going to the movies. I dislike  when other people find scenes comical, which, in my opinion, are completely not laugh worthy. I mean, it takes something to be pretty f-in funny to get me laughin-out-loud. So naturally, when I see laughter coming from the oldie sitting to my left, I can't not look over my shoulder with a turned up upper lip with the expression of "seriously, are you kidding me" written all over my face. If the guy did take notice, he would have gotten what I was trying to say without either of us having to utter one word. He could have, if he saw me, at least given a shoulder shrug, which I would have interpreted as, "I'm sorry?"  I took the risk of being a snot mostly because I thought I could get away with  by the mere fact the guy was really old, and obviously really enjoying himself. Yet all his attention was geared towards the movie, which was the very place my eyes and attention should have been and the above so-called scenario would ever have taken place. Just to clarify, I did curl up my lip at him and mutter "ew" under by breath..

wearing: staring at stars dress, seychelles boots, urban bag

~abby