Nov 3, 2006
“Hollywoodland” is a stylish flick that examines the shooting death of actor George “Superman” Reeves. Although his death was ruled a suicide when it occurred in 1959, there have been rumors going around for years that Reeves was actually murdered. Growing up with “Superman”, I was anxious to see this.
Adrian Brody dresses in some pretty cool clothes as he plays a private investigator trying to find the real story of Reeves’ death. Bob Hoskins is great as the cold hearted movie studio executive, and George Reeves is played by Ben Affleck, who is… well, Ben Affleck. The female leads in it don’t get naked, so I’ll skip them.
My girlfriend and I went to a Sunday matinee, so it wasn’t very crowded. The theatre is one of those newer amphitheaters designed with comfy seats, tall backrests, and armrests that can be lifted up. We started our trek, as usual, at the candy counter, where we ordered a couple of sodas, some candy, and a medium popcorn to share. Even though this is an upscale theatre, they serve the popcorn in these flimsy little bags, rather than a nice cardboard bucket. On the other hand, you get to pump your own butter/ butter flavoring/ imitation butter/ or whatever that gunk actually is. While I held the drinks and grabbed some napkins, my girlfriend strategically pumped the butter-stuff into the bag so that some would drip down into the depths of the bag, and not just cover the top of the popcorn.
Grabbing a couple of seats in the middle of theatre, we comfy-upped as the movie started. As I said, the movie is stylish, but that often translates to a little slow-moving. I realized this was one of those types of flicks when about a half hour in, my girlfriend began to rub the inside of my thigh with one hand while eating a Red Vine with her other. My mind began to wander from the movie at that point, and within a few seconds I had my own “man of steel” straining to get out of my jeans. As I proceeded to unzip my pants like an out of control Pee Wee Herman, my always-ready-for-anything lovely girlfriend began to run her buttery-stuff covered fingers over my “Jimmy Olsen”. Losing practically all track of what was happening on the screen now, I unbuckled my belt and carefully yanked down my jeans a little lower to give my perverted Lois Lane more access. The entire, filthy incident quickly escalated to the point where the now full-force handjob I was getting soon caused me to cum faster than a speeding bullet as I yelled out “Great Caesar’s ghost!” After a quick cleanup with the napkins (which I simply tossed on the floor for the ushers to sweep up after the showing), we turned our attention back to the screen. Of course by this time we’d both totally lost track of the plot, so I guess you’ll have to see “Hollywoodland” yourself to decide whether it’s any good.
