What's Up With Being a Cinema Chicken?

Let me just get this right out in the open:

I'm scared to see the new Batman movie.

For a couple of reasons.

First of all, the Joker is in it and I'm anti-clown. That's right, I'm a rabid anti-clownite and I'm not afraid to say it. Why am I anti-clown? Because clowns are just WRONG.

They walk funny, they have a tendency to exaggerate, they have questionable hygiene and they travel in tiny cars. They are intentionally misleading. They allow themselves to be in way too many bad oil paintings. They are related to mimes. (Don't get me started on mimes.) They are forever linked to calliope music.

I know they mock me behind my back.

Mostly, they are big fat fibbers with those painted faces that mask what they're really thinking and feeling. (Hey, if I want people wearing tons of make-up to lie to me, I can visit the cosmetic counter at Neiman-Marcus.)

So, starting from this position on clowns, let's add homicidal intent and the big screen and Dolby Surround-Sound...and what have you got? Sitting at home on my sofa on a Saturday night, nibbling on a Pop-Tart and watching reruns of Mayberry, R.F.D. (That Barney!)

Reason #2 that I won't be seeing the new Batman movie: I can't handle scary movies.

It all started when I was a little kid in Houston, hanging out in the house during the summer while my babysitter Leatrice made fried baloney sandwiches and ate salt from the palm of her hand. I watched a lot of TV in the summer (90 degrees + 98% humidity = instant human troll doll), flipping through our four network and two local stations. Which was how I ended up watching the movie about the creepy, murderous little ventriloquist's dummy who, sure, looked quite dapper with his little tuxedo and monocle and sprinkling of freckles across his button nose and WAIT, HE'S KILLING ME WITH A GINSU KNIFE!!!!

Ventriloquist dummies: clown-adjacent.

No one in our house slept for approximately one week after that.

I've missed many "great" movies over the years, like Psycho, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Nightmare on Elm Street and, of course, the grand daddy of them all: Silence of the Lambs. [shudder]

Not long ago, I happened to sit next to Anthony Hopkins at one of my favorite little breakfast places around here. He was gracious, charming and, my goodness, that man has some stunning blue eyes. I have to say, though, that as he tucked into his meal, I was relieved to note that none of his breakfast meats were still wearing, say, a watch or a wedding ring. And I haven't even seen the dang movie.

Now, I'm not a chicken all the way around. I can do things. I can ride a horse, perform on a stage, go off the high dive, drive on the 405. You know, the usual stuff. But the movies just get to me...I get sucked in and worked over.

So, as cool as the new Batman movie looks, I won't be seeing it. I mean, I thought I might give it a try until my friend the kickboxing trainer - who can kill a grown man with his pinkie toe - said that after he saw it, he spent the walk home from the theater nervously looking over his shoulder.

That was all I needed to hear. I can't go back to that place of not sleeping for a week. There already are enough people in this house up walking around in the middle of the night.

Geez, don't get me started on zombies.