E and S are over for Pizza and Movie and Introduce-Your-Friend-from-Way-Back-to-Your-Girlfriend-and-Pray-to-Any God-Who-Might-Be-Listening-That-They-Get-Along Night (we did, swimmingly - S is nifty).

There's a knock at the door, and since we were expecting the pizza any minute and E was buying, he answered. I come out of the kitchen to see him talking to a guy with a clipboard but no pizza. I assume he is explaining that our pizza was plundered by pirates. In my world, this kind of thing happens all the time.

Turns out he was engaged in a get-people-out-to-vote activity, and since E was not the Lady of the House, I took over (I am not the Lady of the House, either, but I am the Chick on the Lease, and the only one around who's registered to vote in this precinct).

We talked politics for a while, and rather than provide a blow-by-blow account, this about covers it:

E: "It was funny to hear the Politically Aware Pissing Contest you two were having."
Me: "Sometimes there's a fine line between flirting and a pissing contest, mister."

Eventually the pizza arrives, and we settle down to watch the movie, which is Bartleby. I missed it when it first came out, and I'd been looking forward to it for a while. Which didn't stop me from checking the run time about 40 minutes into it, and heaving a sigh when I found out there was another 42 minutes to go. Yep, at mere 82 minutes Bartleby is about 30 minutes too long.

It would have made a good one-act play, and Glenne Headly was wonderful in all ways, but the pacing was too damned slow. Also, if you're trying to telegraph CREEPY + CAMPY to the audience, you can go with a theremin on the soundtrack, or Crispin Glover in the title role, but, really, both is a bit much.

Oh, and the design was nifty in an Appliance Colors circa 1970 way, but it was too relentlessly cheerful on film. Like the script, it would have worked fine in a black box theatre, where it could have floated free in its own surreal little world. I suspect most the performances, including Crispin Glover's, would have been more effective there.

Which brings me to Bubba Ho-tep. This is going to require a flashback...

While loath to use his cellphone when he's on a bus (and good for him), E will sometimes call when he's waiting for a bus and wishes to be entertained. I don't why he calls me, because instead of entertainment, he usually gets something like this:

What E Says: So whadja do this weekend?
What I Say: I finally saw Bubba Ho-tep.
What E Says in His Squeaky, "Isn't Bruce Campbell the Ginchiest!!" Voice: Wasn't it great?
What E Hears: Five minutes of deranged screeching about what was wrong with Bubba Ho-tep.

As with Bartleby, I was planning to see Bubba Ho-tep when it was in theaters, never got around to it, and was looking to forward to the DVD.

The first thing I noticed was that it was beautifully shot. Really, just gorgeous. In fact, maybe a little too gorgeous for a movie that features the afore-ginchy Bruce Campbell as an aged Elvis and the always-wonderful Ossie Davis as a man convinced he's JFK teaming up to fight the mummy who's been feeding on the souls of the residents of their rest home. Not that such a premise (and a damn fine premise it is) doesn't deserve to be beautifully shot. It's just a little distracting to have to reconcile a long shot of an artfully distressed corridor lit in amber and gold plus a touch of contrasting icy blue with a giant plastic scarab pulled along on a string.

Even more distracting was the fact that once I'd noticed the director of photography's lots-of-warm-amber-with-a-splash-of-blue one-trick palette, I couldn't unnotice it ("hey, look - now it's rusty walls lit yellow behind blue pajamas lit bluer!") Seriously, just about every shot. And the glacially-paced editing gave me plenty of time to appreciate each carefully arranged and ultimately distancing composition. It looked and moved like a knockoff of The Shining, only with amber and blue instead of white and red.

Oh, and in spite of the promising premise, the script was crappy. Exposition like you wouldn't believe. Bruce Campbell and Ossie Davis did what they could, but the pacing was so slow, even their considerable collective ginchiness couldn't salvage the thing.

Here's a useful directorial policy: if the dialogue sucks, get through it as fast as you can, and bring on the soul-suckin' mummy.

That's probably a good arbitration strategy, too.