Formative cinema experiences

Nothing beats the thrill of the forbidden and one thing that was great as a young lad was getting to watch the films that you weren't allowed to. That of course meant 18 certificate films. They were the ones with all the good stuff. Violence, naked folk, all the swearing. You'd walk into Xtravision to rent out The Mighty Ducks and there would be True Romance, high up on the shelf, calling your name, taunting you. It was a headmelt. Very occasionally if you knew the person behind the counter you'd get away with renting one out but then you had to deal with the pain of hiding it from your parents. Once I had to hide a VHS copy of Basic Instinct under a load of books for 5 days before I got a chance to return it. Needless to say 27 years later those late fees have never been paid. But the vast majority of the time you'd just be told to piss off.

But then comes a day when your parents decide you're mature enough to see an 18 cert film. Mine came when I was 15. We were on holidays in Clare and had rocked up to Limerick for the day when my father told us we were going to the cinema. I was delighted. 

"What film?" I asked. 
"The time travel one" said Da. 
"The time travel o........do you mean Timecop???"
 "Ya with the lad with the hair."

I was over the moon. Not only was I getting to see my first ever 18 cert film in the cinema but I was going to get to see my first Jean Claude Van Damme film too. I'd seen Bloodsport and Kickboxer and Universal Soldier on the shelves of the local shop but they'd always been denied to me by the grumpy wagon behind the counter. Oh it was going to be excellent. I was giddy as hell and Da was laughing away to himself. The only hurdle between me and the film was going to be the smaller matter of being allowed in.

But I had a cunning plan.

We strolled into the Savoy on Bedford row. Tickets were purchased by him and I found myself ordering popcorn in a deep put on voice as I was terrified my real age would be copped and I'd be out on my ear. I wasn't taking the chance so did my best Barry White. I'd say I sounded ridiculous but somehow it worked and soon enough we were in our chairs. It felt like I'd just completed one of life's big rite's of passage stupidly enough.

The film started. 15 year old me was in cinema heaven. The film was ropey as hell (and it really hasn't aged well) but I loved it. Bloody violence, gratuitous nudity and the brilliantly silly moment where Ron Silver gets bounced off his younger self and they both explode in a shower of goo. I remember it well 25 years later. It was one of those trips to the cinema that cemented my love of it all. And it was all down to my Da being sound.

Cheers Pop.