“As a result, viewings of Midnight in Paris on the big screen became events in the Smug Olympics of the urban iPad class, with audiences risking physical injury as they competed to laugh the loudest to demonstrate to all around that yes, they know who Gertrude Stein is. It was laughter directed at the audience itself, not at the screen. Laughing to show you get the joke. Or since there are no jokes, laughing to show you get the reference.”—I [Richard Rushfield] discuss my bafflement at the Midnight In Paris phenomenon over at The Daily Beast (via richardrushfield)
Co-signed. Though I’m obliged to add that the bothersome, knowing laughter at my viewing—at Lincoln Plaza months after the release, thankfully in a half-full theater—came from the grey-haired set. So, bad taste cuts across generations.
Earlier in the year I happened upon an art exhibit in San Francisco showcasing the Stein’s collection, and memories of that gallery walk made the movie nods pale all the more.
