The Number 23

I met with Ann Saturday night to grab some dinner and catch The Number 23. Holy crap, P.F. Chang's at Bridgeport Village still has a frickin' outrageous wait. I had thought this would die down after the initial opening but apparently it hasn't. Want to know how long it was? One hour and forty-five minutes. Holy schnikes! The other restaurants weren't quite as bad but in order to hit the movie time we wanted (7:55pm) we had to leave and go eat at Stanford's. The movie was interesting but the variances between the filming of the main storyline and the alternate storyline were almost distracting. Carrey does an adequate job playing a man that slips into paranoia as he reads this book seeming to parallel his own life. What I found less believable were the wife and son, who pretty much jump on board the crazy train. At one point, the son is busy helping dad dig up skeleton bones while mom is walking into an abandoned mental institution in the middle of the night. The most intriguing piece of the movie was the madman's ability to see the number 23 everywhere and in everything. I found myself counting the letters in my name - 19 - to make sure I couldn't get sucked into the madness.