I went to the cinéma last night to see Slumdog Millionaire for the second time with the second guy in two weeks. (It's a good date movie, what?) As we were waiting for the movie to start, this preview came on for the movie Ricky. (It doesn't matter if you don't speak French; just watch it and you'll get the general idea and tone of the film):
Unfortunately for everyone involved, the preview didn't stop there. And unfortunately for you, I couldn't find the extended version of the trailer anywhere online, so you'll have to allow me the liberty of describing to you what happens next. As the camera panned from the bloodstains in the crib to the baby happily hanging out on top of the armoire, the audience began looking at each other uncomfortably. Then, as the scene shifted to the mother cracking open large, leather-bound tomes in the library (Why are you doing research on wings, madame? a concerned library-goer inquires), the collective discomfort of the viewing public became visceral. A shot of the smiling baby with tiny flutterings under his shirt, and the audience began tittering. By the time the baby was swooping around the room, over the heads of his amazed and delighted family, everyone in the theater was positively howling. And for a movie that I don't think is supposed to be a comedy, I'm going to go ahead and say that this is probably not a good thing. For those hoping to make a profit off the movie, I mean. (François Ozon, what were you thinking?!) Because for me it was a very good thing, and I have to say it pretty much made my night.
The date wasn't half bad, either. So all in all, I'd have to say the night was a success.
Ok, I lied. I just found the full trailer online! This is for you, my dearies. Watch, and and just try not to laugh. I dare you.