I
was mildly entertained during 45 minutes of the popular movie, Interstellar.
The physics was wrong, and the politics of its dystopian future defied logic,
but the production held my interest.
Then
my phone buzzed for a housecall. Theaters will refund my money at any time, but
I don’t ask unless the movie has just begun. Admission is cheap compared to my
fee, and I can always return. Half the time, I’m happy to leave. When I go to a
live performance, I ask a colleague to cover but never for a movie, although I
sit on the aisle so I can leave without disturbing the audience.
Doctors
agree that patients phone at the most inconvenient time, but I look forward to
calls, so I try to persuade the fickle God of Housecalls that I don’t want to
be interrupted. Going to a movie or restaurant or the dentist seems to
accomplish this. If I have no plans for the afternoon, I may lay down for a nap
in the hope, often fulfilled, that the fickle God will jump at the chance to
wake me up.
I
saw the final two hours of Interstellar a week later and remained mildly
entertained. I won’t give anything away, but when a Hollywood movie features a
conflict between science and love, only one outcome is possible.
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