Eastside story.

One unbearably humid midsummer evening we foolishly decided to get together at my small un-air conditioned abode and take in some films broken up by our other hobby, drinking beer. Of course we don't simply quaff pints and watch movies, we've simply far too many opinions for that. We taste and critique, watch and analyse, like good snobs should.
Upon arrival Jules immediately de-shoes which after a 5-hour shift at Film Buff East smells somewhere between a ripe Stilton and hot garbage. The good news is he has a heavy looking bag and this week the beers are courtesy of him and his last trip over the border to Buffalo.
It’s my movie pick this week and I’ve gone for To live and die in L.A., a William Friedkin flick starring Willem Defoe as a counterfeiter. What can go wrong? Jules cracks the Unibroue ‘Quelque Chose’ dark/brown ale with cherries and we drink it over ice. It is sour, fruity, cold and cancels out Jules' feet immediately.
The movie starts really well. Great cinematography and music and there are a few killer montages of Willem Defoe screen printing cash in a warehouse. Counterfeiting is such a fascinating subject and showcasing some insider techniques is always gonna win the audience over. He ages the bills he makes by putting them in a laundry dryer with poker chips, dope!
We’re all enjoying it. I’m secretly thinking “This is going straight into my top 10 movies” and Joe reckons the woman on screen is one of the most beautiful he's ever seen, we discuss.

Next up is a sour cherry lambic from Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen in Belgium. It’s oak aged but Jules ensures us it’s “ache oajed”. The film is widening it’s net of intrigue as we’re introduced to the police tracking the counterfeiting ring. They are always one step behind. And sometimes they get shot, not good.
Just as we are dipping our eager proboscises into a super weird "Red & White" malt beverage from Dogfish head brewery I notice this man:

Apparently, you may recognize him from current CSI but I've been fortunate enough to never see him before. His name is William Petersen, he plays one of the main cops hunting down the counterfeiters and he is about to drop nuggets all over this film. He hails from the school of daytime TV soap actors and has all the on screen charisma of a genital wart. His presence is bothering me, must keep drinking. Our final beer is a Yeti Imperial stout from great divide brewery. It tastes like gravy filtered through the charred remains of a narcoleptic arsonist.
I can only think that Friedkin had only pitched the first half hour of the film and thought he would blag the rest. We’ve all lost interest. What am I doing here? By now Jules is drunkenly yabbering between extended stints of choking or coughing. I’m already home so I can’t leave. I wonder what Kris is doing tonight. I fall back on my old faithful, Cameron’s auburn ale and drink into oblivion, it was a beautiful evening, in a way. To be continued...