Paramount Drifter

There’s nothing like going into a movie expecting an uncomfortable two hour bore-fest, and coming out pleasantly surprised and even a bit moved. At the risk of sounding like someone who wears pink shirts, lotion, and hair product I’m going to go ahead and say it: I liked The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. The premise was a little bit weird to me, but then again I’m not a girl, and I’ve never had a magic bond with any of my pants…except for maybe my “green jeans” but that is another story entirely.

Three of the four plot lines worked well for me, and the weak link wasn’t so bad as to ruin it for me. Don’t get me wrong, there were moments of cheesiness, and it was too long, but overall this is a good movie, and I will recommend it to anyone who got a lump in their throat at the end of My Life and Old Yeller. If you didn’t, then you’re better off sticking with Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

There are experiences you get in the theatre that you just can’t replicate at home. Right before the movie started there was a particularly scruffy looking drifter that sat down on our row a few seats to the right of Christy. We noted him because he was alone and outwardly didn’t seem like the kind of guy that would be taking in a PG teen chick flick. During a particularly touching moment, when tears were starting to well in Christy’s eyes we heard a loud discharge come from the drifter’s direction. Luckily we didn’t smell anything, but the sound was enough to break the mood. Later still, and at an equally inappropriate moment, he proceeded to yak on something, like a dog on a chicken bone, or a cat working a hairball.

When the movie was over a teen girl squad in front eyeballed us in a funny, accusatory way. Perhaps they thought we were the perpetrators.

I’m anxiously awaiting the sequel. I’m sure it will be as Little Men was to Little Women. They should call it, The Brotherhood of the Traveling Briefs.