To Zig or to Zag

My inner film geek kicked up her heels at the FB news.

The new Criterion Cinemas at Movieland was opening tonight and why would I not want to be there? A theater complex devoted to art and independent film? Yes, please.

And I'm sorry, Westhampton, but I need more options. Forgive me my infidelity.

Once I heard they were open, it was time to decide which film to go see. Interestingly enough, I'd already seen one of the four offerings, "The Comedy" by local Rick Alverson.

That left me with a social documentary, a Danish historical drama and a film by a comedian I'd once seen in Short Pump, here. Mike Birbiglia's "Sleepwalk with Me" won out.

Arriving at the new theater located in Movieland's parking lot, I found a familiar face behind the box office. She'd been as surprised as I'd been to learn that the new arthouse was opening tonight.

"I got a call saying I needed a white shirt so I went straight to the boys' department at Walmart and got one," she grinned. "I'm a boys' size 18."

Walking into the 70-seat theater, I was overcome with the "new car smell" it exuded. That and the pleasure of being the first person in there. Settling into the rocking stadium seats in the center of the theater, I felt like I'd died and gone to movie geek heaven. Only four other people joined us, but I've no doubt that the word of their opening just isn't on the streets yet.

The sweet movie told the story of a budding comedian, his inability to commit to his terrific girlfriend of eight years and the sleep condition he had that caused him to act out his dreams in the real world instead of just in his head.

You know, the old "man-child can't get his act together" story. Where 30-something men still think things like, "Love is a mountain of pizza-flavored ice cream. And delusion."

But Birbiglia is an endearing type (despite having to remind us at one point that we were rooting for him), so you end up caring about his dilemma as he starts getting comedy gigs that take him on the road while not being quite able to be straight with his girlfriend about how he feels about their relationship.

I got a double blast from the past seeing Carol Kane as his mother (Simka, anyone?) and Loudon Wainright as a musical uncle. His parents, married for 40 years and constantly yelling at each other, provided little motivation for the comedian to want to get his relationship on.

Or as he said in narration, "In the future, marriage will be the new divorce." Hard to imagine, isn't it?

The film was fascinating for its depiction of REM sleep behavior disorder, a condition where repressed feelings cause anxieties to manifest themselves in unsafe nighttime behaviors. Like jumping through a hotel window.

His father, impatient with his son's arrested development, tries to give him advice about commitment, saying, "At a certain point, you gotta zig or zag."

And as we all know, when it comes to relationships, ain't it the truth? Because love is so much more than a bowl of pizza-flavored ice cream.

It's delusion, pure and simple.

And god knows, it makes for great comedy.

Laughing at Short Pump

April Fool's Day seemed like a good night to spend the evening being amused.

I can't remember the last time I went to a comedy club, but I don't think the year began with a 2, if that tells you anything.

And it's not like I don't love to laugh, either, because I do; for years, friends have told me that they try to make me laugh.

So when a friend's favorite comedian was coming to town, she practically begged me to go with her to see him.

Which was unnecessary since I knew if she liked him that much, I would, too; we laugh at a lot of the same skewed stuff.

It's one thing to go to a comedy club for comedy and quite another to go for food.

Knowing this, we made our first stop the Belvidere at Broad, keeping it close to home before hitting the highway for the far reaches of suburbia, not a frequent or favorite destination for either of us.

The door was propped open as we arrived, letting in the sounds of rush hour (such as it is in RVA) and the smell of warm springtime air.

The place was already hopping with an after-work get-together and a few early diners.

We planted ourselves at the end of the bar, ordered a couple of glasses of Orvieto and tried to decide what we were hungry for.

Unable to nail it down, we both went the variety plate route, she with the vegetable platter (roasted spaghetti squash over marinara, sauteed spinach, roasted sweet potatoes and crispy potatoes with creme fraiche and chives) and me with the trio of a crab cake, smoked salmon and hummus.

Lots of tastes, so any and all cravings could be satisfied in the Belvidere's usual extremely well-executed way.

There's a reason everybody who works there knows me.

After fortification, we were able to make the drive westward ho to downtown Short Pump.

Honestly, I will never understand living so far out.

Where are the corner bars? The neighborhood markets? The people on bikes? The non-chain restaurants?

Any sense of human connection?

The Funny Bone itself was in the giant mall and already full of people who doubtlessly had had a much shorter drive than us.

We were seated in the back row in the center, but away from the possibility of being part of anyone's act, much to my shy friend's relief.

The first opener was a local, having recently completed a tour of Mechanicsville, who talked about his pregnant girlfriend and his large belly, which kind of says it all.

The second made us laugh with his tale of how people always seek him out for partying. "I don't know why," he claimed, "My idea of partying is standing in a corner drinking myself into a stupor while judging people."

He also referenced his large belly.

And then it was time for the main attraction, Mike Birbiglia, a master storyteller and a charming self-described loser.

At one point, he mentioned growing up in Massachusetts and a woman let out an ungodly shriek.

He challenged her on its pitch and volume and she gave a garbled response.

"I feel like you've been drinking," he shot back, though she continued to make more noise than was necessary.

While the audience had been instructed not to talk during the performance, given her state of being, she may have thought that her sounds didn't qualify as talking.

It's true, the words were barely intelligible English.

You may be impressed (or not) to know that a large group of the Flying Squirrels were also in attendance tonight, so naturally baseball humor ensued, as did stories of puking on the Scrambler, making a 7th grade crush pee in her pants and bladder cancer.

It was indeed a raucous, smart and hilarious performance; my friend was in comedy heaven and I got introduced to a true comedic talent.

And, yes, even a comedian like Birbiglia, one with two CDs and an off-Broadway show, talked about his belly.

It must be a guy thing.

We didn't stick around for Doo Doo Brown's late show, but I'm willing to bet his midsection got a comedic mention, too.

It's been so long since I went to a comedy club that I guess I hadn't known the basics of 21st-century humor.

Apparently, big belly humor is a crowd pleaser. Duly noted.

But doo doo? Seriously?