If you are a regular reader of this blog, you are probably well aware of my admiration for Miley Cyrus and her alter ego, Hannah Montana. My enjoyment of the Hannah Montana program is both genuine and pure and nobody in my life questions my motives or scoffs at my decision to fully embrace this sit-com for 11 year old girls. Sure, Miley's had her issues (provocative MySpace pics, poking fun at the Asian community), but at the end of the day I think those of us with a soul can agree she is a relatively good role model for young girls in a world full of Lindsey Lohans, Paris Hiltons, and Rock of Love Bus celbri-sluts. I think the Hannah Montana television show is both morally uplifting and, at times, more than slightly funny. Perhaps I should be, but I'm not embarrassed to admit that I DVR the show and watch it on a regular basis. While it is possible for me to enjoy most of Miley's entertainment output in the privacy of my own home (and iPod), it remains impossible for me to visit my local multiplex to take in a showing of her new film, appropriately titled, Hannah Montana: The Movie. Why is this? Well, here are a few reasons: 1) I'm a thirty year old, childless male; 2) Because I am a man in his 30's, society has deemed it inappropriate for me to watch the Hannah Montana film in a public movie theater by myself, and since none of my friends possess the same level of childlike whimsy that I do, seeing it alone is my only option; and 3) there are other movies that I'd rather spend $9.00 to see. Because of my age and the glut of quality films currently playing, I will never know what the hell is going on with Jackson and this ferret:
A ferret on a dinner table in a fine dining establishment? Jackson Rod Stewart, you goofball! Holy fucking shit, I bet that scene is funny. Sadly, I'll only get to experience it through spoilers posted on a little girl's blog. It's not fair!
A ferret on a dinner table in a fine dining establishment? Jackson Rod Stewart, you goofball! Holy fucking shit, I bet that scene is funny. Sadly, I'll only get to experience it through spoilers posted on a little girl's blog. It's not fair!Let's say I did decide to go see Hannah Montana: The Movie on my own. First, I'm certain to be surrounded by tweenage girls and their mothers. So there I am--balding, unshaven, probably dressed in my baggy jeans, scuzzy Chucks, and some kind of novelty tee--and I'm immediately thought to be some filthy pervert or a hipster douchebag keen on ruining everybody's viewing experience by yelling sarcastic comments at inopportune times and throwing Junior Mints at the screen. And God forbid I accidentally place a hand on my crotch for longer than three seconds. I'm not saying I would ever need to have my hand anywhere near my junk during the Hannah Montana movie, but I'm a guy and sometimes our hands just move in that general direction without us being aware. Maybe we have an itch or a quick adjustment is needed. Or maybe it's just comfortable. I'm not preparing myself for a vigorous round of penis pulling. Frankly, that's appalling.
Secondly, you just know everybody around me would be thinking, "What's up with that guy?" or "Aww, isn't that nice. Somebody dropped that special boy off at the movies. I wonder if it would be OK to buy him some Mike & Ikes?" (It's totally OK, by the way!).
The only solution is to bring a kid with me, preferably a girl. So, anybody out there have a little girl I can borrow for two hours? Listen, I'll buy her a ticket, even some popcorn, she just has to keep her mouth shut and pretend I'm her cool uncle or whatever. Hell, she can tell people I'm her mother's gay best friend, I don't care. She will, in essence, be my beard. She will act as a shield against the uncomfortable feelings that come with attending a Disney film intended for little girls by yourself.
I want to wrap this up by saying that I think it's bullshit I can't go see Hannah Montana: The Movie without being judged. Sadly, I know that this kind of judging occurs, because I've been a part of it before. Years ago, a girlfriend and I attended an afternoon showing of Peter Pan. The audience consisted of the two of us, a woman and her two children, and a single male in his mid to late 40's. I got my digs in the moment he entered the theater and before the coming attractions started we'd decided that he was a jobless pedophile on the prowl for fresh meat. I regret doing this now. He was probably just some guy who really responded to the story of Peter Pan. Maybe he was a fan of the director. Maybe he'd seen everything else at the $1.50 theater and Peter Pan would make his month complete. All I know for sure is that he sat quietly and ate his popcorn. And that is all I would do at Hannah Montana: sit still, laugh when appropriate, and tap my toes to all the new Hannah songs. I promise! Just give me a chance. Please?
