Well, this is the weekend we separate the man-cities from the boy-cities, so to speak.
And I know where I am.
In the United States of America, of course, which I know because we get BBC's Sherlock weeks or months later than the United Kingdom does.
In Peoria, Illinois, as well, which I know because art films, independent films, and most documentaries don't seem to arrive here the same week they arrive in larger markets. And when they do, it's usually on the smallest screen at the smallest cinemaplex in town. Not that much larger than a good-sized flat screen TV.
We know how to wait in Peoria.
So, tonight, I'm spending my Sherlockian movie time watching Cedar Rapids.
Hey, it involves the ingesting of cocaine at one point. That counts.
Besides, I see a lot of movies, and Cedar Rapids is that rare thing I hadn't seem before. Kind of like a little film called Mr. Holmes.
I'm really curious about Mr. Holmes. Because, as regular readers of this blog may have noticed, I'm not in the "any Holmes is good Holmes" corner of our party. And the book Mr. Holmes is based on definitely hits one of my personal Sherlock-no-goes . . . a protagonist whose unique abilities are impaired for the sake of a story when those same abilities are what we look for in tales of that same protagonist.
Can a good script, a good director, and a good cast jump that particular hurdle for me? That's why I'm curious.
But for now, Cedar Rapids was pretty nice.
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