Every once in awhile, the opportunity presents itself to the movie going public to pack it up for a nice evening of dinner and a show.

Such an opportunity presented itself for yours truly and Wifey last evening, and we seized on it.  The last date we had partaken in involved an action adventure movie featuring the lovely and talented Scarlett Johansson in skin tight attire loaded for bear (or bare).  That was a week before your favorite blogger celebrated a birthday with custom embroidery.

After dining on a lovely chicken fajita salad which would produce strong swimmers a mere 12 hours later, we made our way to the local over priced googooplex where we produced discount tickets to get the admission price down to at least the stratosphere so that we could at least collateralize sufficient financing for a fountain soda.

Upon entering the theater, we couldn’t find two seats together in a spot conducive to the spirit of good comfort, theology, and geometry.

As a result, we located seats in the second row from the front, also known as the orchestra pit.

All of this to see a movie which had shown promise in the trailer.

When will I ever learn?

But of course, you can’t go catch a flick at the theater without catching some previews first.  On the roster last night was a preview of another Tyler Perry movie.  This, ladies and gentlemen, is just another key indicator next to America’s love affair with Jersey-chic douche bags that the end of the world will get here before the Mayans suggested.

Comfort, theology, and geometry continued to be compromised.

After another preview or two, the show started.  The strain in our necks started pretty early on.  It could only be expected when watching things at an 80 degree angle.

And then, the pain continued.

That being said, allow me to summarize.

Snow White & The Huntsman is a feature film deeply ensconced in the miracle of digital technology which has blessed us in the early years of the 21st century.  The backdrop of dark and evil forests, grandiose castles on the beach, lush green hillsides, magical and mystical creatures, dwarves played  by those not afflicted with achondroplasia, and a dress code memo consistent with that of one passed out to employees at the renaissance fair.

Sadly, it possesses actors attempting to make a go at it with a script and plot line consistent with the output ginned up by the proverbial gaggle of monkeys locked up in a room with an equal number of typewriters trying to fix what the screenwriters did.  It would seem that the particular writing session in question wasn’t completely free of airborne excrement.  Sadly, said projectiles didn’t emanate from the monkeys.

The dialogue was cheezy and uninspired.  There were holes left all over the grueling two hour assault on cinematic integrity which left a series of questions unanswered.  By the time all was said and done, I was more grateful to be out of there than to spend the extra time finding out the answers.  At this point, the only thing I’d really like to know is why the dwarves weren’t named Happy, Sneezy, Grumpy, Doc, Dopey, Bashful, Sleepy, Gassy, and Bob.