A couple of weeks ago we decided, with our friends Gill and David, to go to the Second Most Exotic Marigold Hotel, in the Showcase Derby Cinema de Lux in Westfield (only – to add the any possible confusion, Westfield is now called Intu). Gill confessed she never had much success booking online so I over-confidently as it turned out assured her I’d do it, no bother…
So without any problem I booked and paid for the tickets online and off we all set. The first indication that all was not to go smoothly came when the ticket machine would not release our tickets. I tried all of my bank cards in turn, to no avail, so off I trotted to ‘complain’ to the young man behind the desk, who was actually personally selling tickets to a queue of those who presumably prefer not to do it online.
He took one look at my confirmation email, and pointed out very gent;y, n words of one syllable, that I had actually booked and paid for seats at the Odeon, two or three miles away. He was polite enough to say this was always happening, and with luck the Odeon would refund our payment without a quibble, which they did. They too said it happened quite often.
Anyway, having duly purchased tickets for the correct cinema, the young man pointed along the corridor indicating the screen we wanted. As we filed in, we were greeted by acres of semi naked buttock across the screen, and some strange noises. ”This looks more like Fifty Shades of Grey’ said John, rather too loudly for my comfort. How would he know, anyway?
‘Don’t be silly, it must be a trailer’ I said, semi confidently, and in we all trooped. Fifteen rather repetitive and frankly dull minutes later the trailer seemed to be going on an awfully long time.
‘I’m going to check,’ said Gill, even more bored than the rest of us.
Eventually Gill returned. She did not bother to climb up to our seats, but announced in ringing tones from the doorway that we were in the wrong room. There was a roar of laughter, and at least half the audience of about 30 leapt up with us in relief.
After all that excitement, we loved the Second Marigold Hotel. You could hardly fail to, with such an illustrious cast, set in a Bombay which to John and me was nostalgically familiar. We did not feel that the injection of Richard Gere was necessary or even helpful but could understand – without agreeing with – the feeling that perhaps an injection of some new (?) life was needed.
A lovely dose of pure, silly, entertaining nostalgia…
