We love the concept of a quality movie theatre experience – we’ll buy it so long as people shut up during the film.
About halfway through the fun but middling film “The Men Who Stare at Goats,” I sat up in my enormous puffy orange recliner at the new Gold Class Cinemas and made a promise to myself. “I will never see a movie anywhere else,” I thought before sinking back into my seat, pulling my fuzzy brown blanket over me and reaching for my frosty Manhattan. Maybe I was woozy from staring at George Clooney’s chiseled jawline for too long, or maybe it was the warmth of the bourbon, but more likely it was the utterly self-indulgent, unexpected thrill of being coddled in the dark like a baby king that triggered my earnest declaration of loyalty. A crushing guilt hangover gripped me after the show, though, when the decadence of the experience felt out of touch with the sour economic climate. – From LA Times