View, Then Brew

The last movie I reviewed here was Macbeth on December 21 (B).  The film was delivered in old Shakespearean language which required the utmost concentration.  I was exhausted after two hours of trying to interpret the spoken words, keeping the characters straight, and following along with the plot development.  You might wonder, how could an old decrepit finance major manage such a feat.  The answer: It was a team effort, with Momma Cuandito helping me to fill in the blanks over a couple of tasty beers during our postmortem at the Pig & Fiddle.

Postmortems are a vital part of the movie-going experience.  Whenever possible, I enjoy discussing a movie soon after viewing it.  The more complicated or nuanced a film is, the more someone else's take is beneficial.  Even for straight forward stories, there are few times when you and your viewing partner share exactly the same recollections and impressions.  Thus Momma Cuan and I have developed a routine which results in most of our movie outings expanding into double features, i.e., the movie itself, followed by a beer or two at a nearby watering hole.

Almost all of the movies we attend are shown at one of five theaters, four of which are within a ten minute drive from the Quentin Estates.  As luck would have it, each of those theaters is located near at least one neighborhood bar, making our postmortems extremely convenient.  Here is where you will find us dissecting our films of choice, with a brief tidbit or two about each place.

1. Mann's St. Louis Park Cinema.  This is a very comfortable first run six-screen theater, with seating on two floors.   The same middle aged guy, Robert, has been selling tickets there for umpteen years, and the next time he greets me with a "hello" will be the first.  Granite City Food & Brewery is practically right next door.  Its Mug Club is the only club of any kind to which I belong (the only club that would have me?).  Before you turn up your nose at GC because it's a chain, you must try their Two Pull, a mixture of their Northern Light and Brother Benedict Bock beers.  Think "black & tan." If you join the Mug Club, you'll get a huge schooner for the price of a pint, plus 10% off on food.  Their maple pepper bacon flat bread is particularly good.

2. ShowPlace Icon.  Locally referred to as the "West End Theater," this fourteen screen behemoth in the Park is the place to see huge epics with sensational cinematography and Surround Sound.  (I plan to see The Revenant there.)  Of our five most frequented movie houses, it is by far the most modern state-of-the-art facility.  But I always snicker at the pretentiousness of Icon's practice of having you reserve a seat for a showing with only six or seven other customers in attendance.  Equally pretentious is the sixty second oration one of the ushers renders as a greeting before they dim the lights.  PUHLEESE, this isn't a Minnesota Orchestra concert!  There are any number of saloons in the West End to wet your whistle: Crave if you are a yupster, Rojo if you'd rather have a margarita instead of suds, Cooper if you think it's a great day for a Guinness.  The one I like best is Yard House.  Yes, it's another chain, and it can get noisy.  But their beer selection is limitless, and their food is better than its competitors.  Their outdoor patio is the only such space removed from West End vehicular traffic.  Caveat: The difference between Yard House's happy hour and non-happy hour prices is vast.

3. Hopkins Theater.  If you're looking for a cheap date, the six-screen Hopkins is the place.  They never charge more than $3.00 per ticket, and most of the time it's $2.50.  This is the last stop for films which have already played in first run theaters for awhile before becoming available on DVD.  There are two taverns within ten giant steps of the entrance.  The Big 10 has a small bar and little ambiance.  However, it is quiet and their limited beer selection is actually not bad.  Across the street, the Wild Boar is more of a blue collar sports bar with several TVs and above-average food.  The clientele is much younger than the Big 10's, which can mean more noisy and over-swerved customers, if you catch my drift.  I'm willing to put up with it because I am a chili snob, and I do like the Boar's version.

4. Willow Creek.  Located near the I-394/169 intersection in Plymouth, this is kind of a mid-level theater, similar to the Mann.  By that I mean it's not modern or equipped with technological bells and whistles like the Icon, but the films available there are often first run.  The advantage here over the Mann is that there are twice as many screens, hence a broader selection from which to choose.  Of course the obvious disadvantage is the longer drive to get to Plymouth.  The other disadvantage is the bar scene.  The only close place is Kip's, located a half-mile away in the Marriott Hotel.  Kip's calls itself an Irish pub, but without any nooks and crannies it's a far cry from the authentic Irish pubs I've patronized.  (For that matter, so is the West End's Cooper.)  If you have Guinness on tap and offer corned beef and cabbage, does that make your place an Irish pub?  Me thinks not.  I like GC much better.

5. Edina Theater.  It's true, the Cake Eaters do let Park riff raff like me cross their borders periodically to spend money.  The Edina is one of three Landmark Theaters in the area, and is where we usually go for foreign films, independent studio offerings and so-called art house movies.  The theater itself is the most uncomfortable of the five we patronize, resulting in the need for a drink afterwards even if I'm by myself.  Which brings us to the Pig & Fiddle, or as we prefer calling it, the Fig & Fiddle. (Momma Cuan and I like alliteration, I guess.)  Hands down, the Fiddle offers the most unique esoteric beer selection of any of our haunts, which apparently justifies their decision to overprice their menu.  The bar staff is well versed on the offerings, and they take their beer seriously.  The Fiddle also serves a five star pretzel appetizer, which goes perfectly with the suds.

In closing, here is a little reflection relating to this post.  When Momma Cuan and I made our way to the Pig & Fiddle after viewing Macbeth, the time was approaching 4:00, nearing dusk on a late December afternoon.  Mary ordered her usual, Tripel Karmeliet, while I started with an Unrated Rye IPA from local Nordeast brewer, 612.  Nothing unusual there, except we managed to cop two of the coveted window seats, partially illuminated by the pub's colorful neon signs. We savored our high ABV drinks and devoured our customary pretzel while we watched fluffy white flakes gently descend, illuminated by the headlights of cars carrying commuters home from work.  We shared our thoughts on Macbeth, proudly concluding -- possibly from the effects of our beverages -- that we'd squeezed about as much meaning from the story as any Shakespearean scholar could devise. For a moment I felt like this was an out-of-body experience. Why?

I thought back years ago to all the Christmastime bus rides I'd taken post-rush hour from downtown to my home. Too tired to read, I would peer out the window at the Uptown bars and restaurants filled with people celebrating the season.  They appeared to have been there for hours, and it was easy to feel sorry for myself.  I wanted to trade places with them so that I, too, could get into the holiday spirit.  Now, sitting with Momma Cuan by the Fiddle's window with the pretty winter view, the shoe was on the other foot.