I've written this blog for over three years now. I think it may finally be time to break out an anecdote about flatulence. While many might not be willing share tales of embarrassment caused by an ill-tempered stomach in a public forum, I've suddenly found myself without that level of personal restraint.

So who wants to hear a story about a huge fart? Ok, here we go...

Last week I went to a screening of Black Snake Moan at the Fox Tower. If you've heard anything about this film, you'll know it's "controversial" and not the sort of thing you would want to bring a date anywhere near. Nonetheless, the screening I attended was filled with couples. As a result, nervous sighs and chuckles filled the air at a rate of once every 10 seconds. There's no telling how many break-ups director Craig Brewer's southern opus caused that night but my stomach wasn't eager to play love counselor.

Without giving anything away, the movie does have its tender moments and towards the end of the film, it happened. I was leaning forward in my chair with my feet rested on the seat in front of me. As one character professed their love for another, my stomach cut loose. The ensuing fart came out of nowhere. With no advanced warning, there was nothing I could do to stop it. The fart reverberated off the seat, tearing through the stale cinemas air with a sound somewhere between that of an airhorn and an enraged hippopotamus. It was the sort of fart that belongs in a '80s "snobs vs. slobs" comedy, something like one of the lesser Revenge of the Nerds sequels.

Was this my stomach's way of scoffing at Justin Timberlake's performance? Of mocking the over-the-top premise or the film's cliched depiction of a rural Tennessee town? When did my intestines become so opinionated? Or maybe it was the Crunch Wrap Supreme I had for dinner that was doing all the talking. That must have been it. The obvious culprit: Taco Bell.

I slid down in my chair. An elderly husband turned around in his chair to shoot my vacant headrest a disgusted glare. I could hear whispering from somewhere in the back. Someone laughed.

So what would you do? Stand up and apologize to the entire theater? Skip the ending of the movie and sneak out? I opted to stick it out and remained seated through most of the credits, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the lobby before hitting the exits.

My stomach may not have been able to suspend its disbelief but I didn't think Black Snake Moan was that bad, for a Biblical parable involving a poor farmer/bluesman chaining a nymphomaniac to his radiator in a misguided attempt to cure her of her psychosis. Now please enjoy this NSFW clip of Samuel L. Jackson's cover of a "Stack O Lee" from the film:

Labels: failings