Following a long, steady build-up, the wide release of Superman Returns yesterday came as welcome relief to fanboys (and girls) suffering from serious cases of Superblueballs. Most of them got in the old-fashioned, opening night way: buy tickets in advance, show up early, take place in line, make girlfriend buy popcorn. But as a Defamer reader who caught a Century City screening last night can attest, the famous can always find a way to skirt inconvenience:
So we were at the AMC 15 in Century City Wednesday night to see Superman Returns at 7:55pm. Nearly every seat was taken, except for four conspicuously empty ones dead center of the theater. Word was the seats were "reserved", but of course AMC has no reserve seating, so various people kept trying to sit there, only to be told by the increasingly harried staff that those seats weren't available. Needless to say, there were several disgruntled patrons. The worst moment came when a family of four - father, mother, and two young kids were told to get up and move. Word traveled quickly through the house - who could be important enough to block off these seats, and cause the staff so much trouble. Bryan Singer? Top Warner Brothers brass? Or would it be the Man of Steel himself, Brandon Routh?
Well, it turned out to be the Man of less than Steel, Matthew Perry, with three buddies. Matthew, as it turns out, went through quite some trouble to get these seats. We later overheard the theater manager addressing an audience member who was asking why Perry got reserved seating. The person was asking how other ("regular") people could get reserved seating and was being told "regular" people couldn't and then went on to explain how Matthew got his: Matthew had his agent call AMC Headquarters in Oklahoma to have the seats reserved. Now that's clout. Guess he couldn't have done what everybody else managed to do: find seats on his own. Despite the blatant display of elitism, we thought the movie was pretty damned good.
It's the little, concierge-like accomodations like this that really elevate a "good" agent to the blue chip representation afforded by an agency like Perry's home base, CAA. Once word gets out of the lengths the former Friends star's people have their assistants go to to please their client, other talent will start expecting the same treatment. It won't be long before the sound of Eva Longoria's voice is heard echoing off the same walls, barking through her agent's speakerphone that she doesn't care which fucking Pacific Theaters pencil pusher they need to talk to, and that steaming plate of low-fat soy cheese nachos better be waiting for her at her roped-off row for the 9:20 Devil Wears Prada.