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Writing Carrier
Wander the Screen Land

I just watched Alice in Wonderland about fifty minutes ago, and it was a very wonderisting journey with my death metal guy; well, I got reimbursement.

My favorite actress, Anne Hathaway, was as white as a granite chess piece, until a red dot appeared on her forehead. Somebody— I would like to name him/her as someone who loved pointing at objects not only on powerpoint screens but also at the white queen’s forehead.

Maybe the pointer obsesses over pointing at random objects and wanted to let me know the invisible cat was on the white queen’s forehead. I would like to thank you for dragging my attention all over the screen and away from Tim Barton’s artwork.


I left the theater and talked to workers about the situation—how my first fifteen minutes were wonderfully ruined by chasing down management to stop the pointer. I even missed Alice’s fall into the hole.

The workers were wonderfully helpful. They came to the dark theater with a flash light and warned the audience. When they left, the pointer started pointing again. Why did the pointer have to be such a hard worker on a Saturday night landscaping the wonderland? The pointer must have a hateful life.


And then I wondered why the pointer person paid $10 (or more than $10 with dates) to get in the theater to avoid Tim Burton’s visual art work and annoy dozens of patrons. I looked around the theater; some audience members plugged their cellular phones into outlets on the wall, so they could continue texting people the entire duration of the movie (or tweeting, perhaps).

The lights were as vivid as the white queen’s eyebrows. I feel terribly sorry Burton, but after I watched the movie, I only remembered a red dot on the queen’s forehead, Alice who secretly stuffed a mini-blue ribbon dress under her regular London clothes (I was expecting that she shows her naked body in the first act and she made her own ribbon clothes like the mad hatter did,) and beautiful shiny cellular phone lights in the darkness.

I was angry during the movie; perhaps its just my age—I tuned 27 yeas-old last week— but I did not come to the movie to see waiving lights reminiscent of a rock concert nor to look at a moving luminescent pimple on the white queen’s forehead. I came to see a movie directed by one of my favorite movie directors.

I talked to a manager after I watched the movie. She simply gave two tickets saying “I am sorry. It happens a lot.” I totally understand my dissatisfaction was not the movie or the theater’s fault, (though I was expecting something more spectacular in Burton’s magic). Perhaps, I may not quite understand Burton’s art decisions in adapting the famous piece because I was totally distracted by the red dot.

At the customer desk I found us to be the only two people who seemed to have a problem with any of this. The theater was packed and the 8:30pm 3D show was sold out. Was the audience satisfied with that movie experience?

The audience maybe forgot about the disturbances because Burton’s movie was fantastic enough for them; perhaps no one wants to stand out in a quiet crowd and complain to the single laser pointer, though I can guarantee other people were annoyed. I might be a small humble Japanese girl, but I would like to stand up in the theater, point to the laser pointer guy and shout, “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!”

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