Jack Kukoda

Last night, the lady and I went to go see Strangers With Candy at the Landmark Cinema. Oh man, was I excited to see the movie. I’ve been a huge Strangers With Candy fan since college when Comedy Central used to run the repeats late at night all the time. So this was the first movie I was anticipating all summer.

We got to the theatre early to make sure we got good seats, but by the time I had purchased a massive bag of popcorn, Coke, and nachos, the theater was already pretty full 15 minutes before the start of the movie. I scanned the crowd and spotted what looked like a half-empty row. “Ooh,” I squealed. “There’s some open seats over there. The lady and I quickly made our way over to the seats to find a man slumped down into one of them. We were already halfway into the row when we noticed him.

There’s a certain sense you develop once you’ve lived in New York for a while. I don’t know if you can call it extra-sensory perception or what, but anyone who’s lived here for more than a year or two has it. It’s the ability to sense a crazy person. And I’m not talking about the person on the subway, clad in garbage bags, yelling about how everyone’s out to get them. Anyone can tell that that person is crazy. I’m talking about the slightly more subtle crazy; the kind that doesn’t reveal itself until it’s too late. Like when someone asks you for a light outside a bar, then, instead of going about his business, decides to stand right next to you and make bizarrely racist comments while you just want to finish your cigarette. That kind of crazy.

I immediately sensed the crazy emanating from the guy slumped down in his sleep. He had short dreadlocks, an ill-fitting gold dinner jacket, and was wearing sunglasses in the movie theatre. But against my better judgment, I decided to sit in that row, one seat away from him. Right after we sat down I went to the bathroom. When I returned the crazy man started right in on the conversation. “Yo, this movie is crazy. It’s really funny,” he said in a cockney accent. No shit. Cockney accent. “Oh, good,” I said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” “Yeah, he replied. “I only saw the first half because I fell asleep the first time I saw it. So I came back to see how it ends.” “Okie-doke,” I replied. By the way, when I’m uncomfortable, I start talking like a midwestern house wife.

Even though crazy man’s banter seemed harmless enough, it was the way he was talking that tipped me to his craziness. It was really aggressive for no reason. He continued, “Damn, that’s a big bag of popcorn. Can I get some of that popcorn?” “Uh, okay,” I told him as I handed him a handful of popcorn. Crazy man took this as a sign of friendship. He told me is name and it sounded like he said “Sincere.” “Nice to meet you, Sincere,” I said. Then, to cement our friendship, he extended his arm. But he did that thing where you make a fist and then the other person is supposed to touch their fist to yours. I hate that greeting. I think it’s called “a pound,” but it always unnerves me when someone does it because I’m sure I’m going to screw it up and then people won’t think I’m as street smart as I really am. Which is pretty damn street smart.

I can’t remember everything Sincere said, but at one point, while looking at my nachos and popcorn(I’ve made no secret of my gluttony, he said, “Damn. Yo, you’re making me hungry. I gotta go outside and smoke a joint.” I have no idea why someone would want to smoke a joint when they’re hungry. If weed has any appetite-supressing properties, I’ve never heard of it. As soon as Sincere left, I contemplated moving to another seat, but decided against it. For one, the lady would have thought I was the biggest pussy in the world if I needed to change seats just because I was sitting next to a weird black guy. Not to mention a closet racist. And two, I earnestly believed that if Sincere came back and didn’t find us there, he would go looking for us.

It didn’t matter anyway because Sincere returned 30 seconds later complaining about the management. “Goddamn,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me go outside to smoke because I didn’t have my…my…” “Stub?” I offered. “Yeah, me stub,” he said. “They’re killing me! Bullshit.” “Uh, yeah, that’s too bad. That’s not…..” I trailed off.

The lights went down for the previews and I hoped Sincere would take this as a sign to stop yelling. Did I mention that his voice was a constant yell? I didn’t? Well, it was. And the previews only made Sincere louder. It was as if he were trying to be heard above the darkness. Sincere yelled all throughout the previews. Nobody did a thing. Pussies, all of us.

As soon as Jerri Blank appeared on screen, the theatre erupted. People were cheering and laughing. I thought maybe they would drown Sincere out. No dice! “Oh, shit! She is crazy!” Sincere kept saying. “This movie is crazy. Yo, it’s like this the whole movie!” And he kept doing that thing where he just repeats the last line of every funny scene. I hate that. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I noticed Sincere had quieted down. I looked over and discovered that he had fallen asleep. “Thank you, God,” I whispered. I prayed that Sincere would stay asleep throughout the rest of the movie.

And guess what? He did! Even after the movie was over and people were applauding and the lights were up, Sincere was still slumped over in his chair, dozing. He had slept through the second half of the movie for the second straight time.

It occurred to me that Sincere might just live at the Landmark Cinema, sneaking from theater to theater, harassing people until he falls into his drug-induced sleep. When I was a kid, a life like that would appeal to me in the same way that camping out overnight at the Museum of Natural History would. It would seem like endless fun. Living in a movie theater, getting to see all the movies you want, eating nothing but popcorn and candy all day long. So that’s how I’m going to choose to remember Sincere. Not as a crazy, drug-addled transient who acts like a batshit loon until he inevitably nods out, but as a whimsical character who lives the life most of us stop dreaming of once we reach adolescence. Although, most of us don’t dream of shitting in our pants, which is what I imagine Sincere does when they lock up the bathrooms in the theater at night.

P.S. If you’re a fan of Strangers With Candy, I recommend you go see the movie right now. Now!