Today, I went to see the new George Clooney movie, Up in the Air. But this isn’t about the movie, which I enjoyed, even though Clooney’s middle-aged commitment-averse character hits a little too close to home.
Instead, I’m writing about the personal drama that ensued before and after the movie.
I saw Up in the Air at the Clearview Cinema on 23rd & 8th in
As a member of Cablevision’s Optimum Rewards program, I’m entitled to two free movie tickets on Tuesdays at any Clearview Cinema location. (Cablevision owns Clearview.)
This must be a well-known perk because an attractive, cocoa-skinned woman with long fake hair stood near the box office asking, “Anybody have an extra ticket?”
I was alone and OK with it (like the Clooney character, I would learn). I wasn’t looking to pick anybody up.
“Cocoa” looked to be in her twenties—young enough to be the daughter I don't yet have.
“I’ll get you a ticket,” I tell you. “What do you want to see?”
“What are you gonna see?” she asked a little too eagerly.
“Up in the Air.”
“Me, too,” she said with a beauteous smile. “I saw on TV today that it got the most Academy Award nominations.”
“Golden Globe nominations.”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
“No, you said Academy Awards. The Golden Globes are different.”
“No, you didn’t hear me,” she insists. “I said Golden Globes.”
I’m not going to see her again, I sighed. So why belabor the point?
But then she says she wants to see the movie with me.
“It’s better to watch a movie with somebody,” she says with way too much emphasis on the last word.
"Well, it depends on the 'somebody,'" I say.
“I really hate to see movies by myself.”
“Then why didn’t you come here with somebody?” I ask.
“What are the chances of two ladies getting free movie tickets?” she answers as if my question made no sense. “You gotta do this by yourself if you wanna get in.”
So, she’s done this before. I just happen to be the benefactor this week.
OK, I thought. Why not? Watching a movie with a young woman is something I’d want to do with my daughter if I had one.
Interesting that in Up in the Air, Clooney develops a friendship with a woman half his age. (I promise not to give away any other movie details.)
On the first of two long escalators that take us to the third level, she tells me she likes my name because it’s different.
She also tells me her name: Allison. I tell her it’s a pretty name because I think that’s what I’m expected to say.
Allison didn’t talk too much during the movie—a major plus with me. I don’t go to see movies in predominantly black neighborhoods anymore because of all the idle chatter from the audience, and the frequent scent of marijuana smoke.
“They’re gonna get together,” Allison whispers about Clooney and the young woman, referring to a carnal get-together.
“I don’t think so,” I tell her.
(I won’t tell you who was right.)
“Older men are such gentlemen,” she says, stroking my right hand. “Why can’t y’all be like that when you’re our age?”
I hate stereotypes. Some men in their 20s are perfect gentlemen. I used to be one. But I usually got overlooked by women in their 20s who only had eyes for bad boys.
When I told Allison that, she just shrugged and looked back at the screen.
So where am I going with this?
I’ll let you know.
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