"Parting is... inevitable."

I am a firm believer that neither movies nor music nor the shows on T.V. are responsible for the corruption of our youth. That is usually the pathetic battle cry of an ignorant parent. However, if the child is already in pain… these things may very well serve to fuel a fire that was ignited long before.

It was sometime during 1987… A.D. (Just in case.)

The world was changing. As worlds often do. Aretha Franklin had become the first woman inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The Single European Act was passed by the European community. Our World population had reached five billion people with a baby who was born in Croatia. U.S. President Ronald Reagan underwent prostate surgery too. As far as films were concerned, I was about to receive my sanguineous induction into movie manhood.

During my pre-adolescent years, my mother had taken a fantastic job that unfortunately required her to travel quite a bit. I stayed at my grandmother’s house during her often lengthy trips. I actually enjoyed it. My Spanish was no longer an issue so I was able to make new friends. After a couple of years of hanging out with the neighborhood kids, I had grown from a shy little boy to a genuine little s**t. Yes! I had become a bilingual pain in the ass. I could piss people off in two languages.

My best friends growing up were Pito and Juan. Our passion for bikes, Legos and arcade games brought us together. We were as different as three people could be without hating each other. Juan was the jock. He played baseball and basketball with the greatest of ease. He was also good at picking fights. Thank God he was on our side. Pito had a massive brain. One time he built an actual full-functioning record player with his Lego set. Anything he bought, any gift, any toy, he would dismantle then put back together just to see how it worked. I was the artist. My talent with a crayon was unrivaled. We had been through many adventures and had survived many close calls but when the border between the ages of 12 and 13 was reached... priorities began to shift. For one thing, the girls from the next street over were starting to look a hell of a lot more interesting. Things were definitely changing.

One hot summer day while hanging out at the mall (the one with the big theaters), we decided to catch a movie. Unfortunately the movie we wanted to see was rated R. Dammit. This would have to be a “double feature” then. We had heard of such death-defying feats but had never actually attempted one. In theory it was quite simple. We would each pay for one ticket… a ticket for a film acceptable for our particular age group. We would then proceed to watch the film in its entirety. While the end credits rolled, it was just a matter of going to the bathroom, waiting until the lobby cleared then walking back into a different theater to watch the R-rated show. “Why sit through the whole film? Why not sneak out half way?” you ask. If we got caught… at least we would have seen a whole movie. No money lost. It was just the kind of thing little s**ts did. This might actually work. Let’s do it!

The ticket person was always some pimple-faced narcoleptic who barely paid any attention to the customers. The only other person inside who could pose a threat was the clinically depressed usher who was probably too busy fantasizing about the popcorn girl. Whether they honestly did not see us or were being paid way too little to care, we actually pulled the whole thing off. Good times.

  They were playing Superman IV: The Quest for Peace. That would be our way in. I had no problem whatsoever. I had always loved the Superman movies and was actually looking forward to seeing this one. Of the countless number of silver screen heroes I worshiped during my youth, Superman ranked high among the pantheon of my celluloid gods. Christopher Reeve’s interpretation of the man of steel was the perfect combination of strength and humility. There was a stern kindness in his performance. A role model for the ages. Unfortunately… the movie sucked. I felt so disappointed. The story, though noble, was unbelievably weak and the villain was ridiculous. Nuclear Man? Seriously? Whether I was outgrowing the franchise or the movie was actually bad, one thing was for sure... Superman was about to meet his match. Thump, Thump, Thump.

After the movie was over and we had executed our pitiful yet successful plan into the theater next door, we beheld a motion picture that would change my entire perception of heroes altogether. This was a new type of hero. All my original concepts had been obliterated by his gigantic semi-automatic pistol and the relentless thump, thump, thumping of his every step. “Dead or alive, you are coming with me.”

Robocop had almost obtained an NC-17 rating for violence. A rating usually reserved for highly explicit sexual content. It was that bloody. Apparently they had “toned it down” to receive its less disturbing “R”. They could have fooled me.

You know that feeling you get when driving by a gruesome car accident? While every nerve and muscle commands you to look away, there is a little voice that tempts you to take a peek. I was peeking. Hell, I was flat out watching! I had seen the campy horror flicks of the time but they always felt fake and a little bit silly. This was brutal! Gone was the good-natured hero righting the wrongs and bringing the bad guys to justice. This was a hard-core victim of the system punishing the wicked and beating the living crap out of the criminally inspired. It was the most visceral display of carnage I had ever witnessed. Heads were shredded, limbs were left dangling by a single vein and OH MY GOD! THE ACID! The guy’s flesh was hanging off the bone! Savage and terrifying… Robocop was awesome!

When it was all over and we sat down at the nearest eatery enjoying the fine Burger King cuisine, the question was finally asked. “Which one did you like more?” The answer was unanimous. Superman had lost. Had we just destroyed another layer of our innocence? Was something dark and ominous festering within our putrid souls? Had this vulgar exhibition of gratuitous violence nurtured any aggressive tendencies that would manifest themselves at a later date in the most despicable ways?

Nope.

We had a great time and aside from a little pre-teen mischievousness, nothing was permanently wrong with us because of the film. There among the rancid hamburgers and foul tasting milk shakes, we sat feeling wide-awake and victorious. It was time to go home. The girls from one street over would be waiting to see us and we would tell them the daring tale of how we snuck into an R-rated movie. And they would love it.

Seriously?