What started out as a nice evening at the movies recently turned into a confrontation night.

A friend and I decided to catch the 7:25 p.m. showing of "No Country for Old Men" over at my favorite theater, The Magnolia in Uptown.

I always go to the Angelika at Mockingbird Station or the Magnolia because people don't talk during the film. Seriously. Not to sound elitist or anything like that, but the folks who go there for the most part are serious movie watchers. The kind who gather in the bar afterward and discuss the film.

The simple fact that there is a bar is a beautiful thing.

I've never had an experience of teenage hooligans running up and down the aisles or inconsiderate idiots talking back to the screen erroneously thinking they are at home in front of the plasma at those two theaters.

During the last 15 minutes of the movie, a woman parades by with her 3-year-old — a 3-year-old. My attention for the rest of the film was not watching Anton casually slaughter the people in his way with a cattle gun but in trying to figure out just what is wrong with people.