“Glee” is one of my favorite shows on TV, somewhere below “Breaking Bad” and “Community” but above “The Office” and “How I Met Your Mother.” To many, any credibility I may have gained by sh*tting all over “Entourage” and praising “The Critic” has been lost with that statement—very few things are as loaded as “Glee fan”—but although I’m often times not proud of it, I am a fan of the show (not a Gleek, however).
That being said, Glee: The 3D Concert Movie, which opened this past Friday, looked TERRIBLE — like everything I enjoy about the show had been stripped away, replaced by loud, pointless guitar solos, thousands of screeching pubescent tweens, and an extra dimension for Artie the Wheelchair Kid to white-boy rap. (John Wayne Gacy would have loved it.) So, with a curiosity to scratch, I went to a screening of the movie on a rainy Sunday afternoon, in Times Square, by myself, and sat through the film not once, not twice, but thrice, as a sort of endurance test. [Let’s call it punishment for liking the show in the first place. –Ed.] And my hunches weren’t wrong. It only reinforced why I hate “Glee” co-creator Ryan Murphy so much.
I was one of about twenty people at the 4:15 p.m. showing, and surprisingly/sadly, not the only person who went by his lonesome. I counted at least five lonely hearts, both male and female, who attended the movie solo. I didn’t feel like a total creep being there by myself, because I was on assignment, but as for the guy in his 20s sitting in the back row, all the way against the wall, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to have to clean the theater after the mess he probably made during Brittany’s performance of “I’m a Slave 4 U.”
(One of the few highlights of the movie was Brittany (Heather Morris) admitting that her boobs must look amazing in 3D, and well, they did. I saw Crazy, Stupid, Love a few weeks ago, and the reaction that female members of that audience had to Ryan Gosling taking his shirt off was the same as male attendees of the “Glee” movie had when Brittany strips off her trench coat, revealing this outfit.)
The second and third showings had more people, and with more people came more singing, dancing, clapping, and even a sniffle or two after Kurt the Gay One and Rachel the Hot One sang “Happy Days Are Here Again/Get Happy.” I can’t think of a worse place to get footloose (the trailer of which I saw three f**king times) than in a movie theater, surrounded by dim outlines of other people, and yet a few stood up during Santana the Hotter One’s cover of “Valerie” (awkward). My favorite person was the woman who stayed in her seated the entire time but continuously shimmied and shook the entire film; she was having either a great time or a seizure.
(Semi-speaking of: is every movie theater in the country required by law to include Time Crisis, and its pre-game seizure warning, and Terminator Salvation in its video game arcade? Oh, the quarters I’ve wasted on Time Crisis, trying to shoot those robotic insects, money that could have been better spent on buying a full plate of Chinese food that’s always given away in free samples in the food court, rather than going back and forth dozens of time to fill myself up. Wonderful General Tso’s.)