I saw Bad Teacher at the Los Feliz 3. If you haven't been to the Los Feliz 3, its defining feature is an upward-sloping floor (basically the opposite of stadium seating). At the Los Feliz 3, trends get bucked. Anyway, I'm alone in the mostly empty theater (Carrie has gone to the bathroom) when a 70ish-year-old man approaches. "Best seat in the house," he says, easing himself into the chair next to mine. "Is that yours?" (He is pointing at Carrie's purse.) I tell him no, pretty curtly, because a) the guy is shattering all kinds of personal-space rules and b) he has one of those smells that isn't all that bad, but it's so strong, you know it must be masking something truly heinous. Unfazed, the old man takes out his cell phone and starts telling someone, in excruciating detail, about his recent difficulties with uncontrollable foot bleeding. By now Carrie has returned and is very much enjoying my predicament. Just before the lights go down, a not unattractive middle-aged woman slides into the theater's only remaining seat, on the other side of the old man. "I have to go," he says. "A blonde just sat down next to me." He proceeds to hit on this woman for the entirety of the previews and most of the movie itself. Finally, during the closing credits (Carrie and I remain glued to our seats), he requests -- and is given -- her phone number.
Bad Teacher: B
Moviegoing Experience: A+