The Wes Anderson Film That Never Happened.

We were on a roadtrip to some destination faraway, but I still insisted that we stop.

I had found out about a special premiere of Wes Anderson's new film at a little theatre positioned at the end of a boardwalk on the East Coast in a special theatre which was better known for it's arcade games than the the little art theatre positioned behind the arcade, and dangling over the Ocean.

We were hurrying to the theatre to make it on time, after having to wait outside of a little cafeteria-style restaurant that just REFUSED to open in a timely manner so we could wolf down some fried chicken before heading into the theatre. (We were HUNGRY! We had been travelling for HOURS!) And getting to the end of the pier proved to be tricky. It was slippery on the pier and the pier was interrupted by cliff-faces that we had to scale, each parent with a kid.

We were glad that a few friends were with to help in the cliff scaling -- especially when I realized that I had left my sweatshirt jacket back on the beach. I would go back and get it alone, I suggested to Lynn, that way I could return to the theatre more quickly. They were almost there. They could buy my tickets. Get settled in. I would just miss the previews.

By the time I got back to where the beach and the pier met, I was distraught to find out that a symphonic band concert had been set up, complete with vast bleachers staked into the cliff wall with a system of wooden railings, the narrow bars hard to squeeze between in order to even make it down to the beach.

I could see the sweatshirt from where I was: of course it was positioned precisely next to the conductor's stand. I recognized a few of the players in the orchestra as former students. I didn't know anyone in the audience, but they were already annoyed at me. I could tell from their sidelong glances. They were wearing pearls and linen suit jackets and propped against the steep hill in wooden folding chairs that had been pristinely preserved (I could tell) from luxury ships in the 20s.

I tried to be casual and make my way down the face the cliff, but it became apparent that in order to maintain any sense of decorum and too not put out the concert - goers too much, I would need to wait to move between songs. Even between the songs? I could tell? It was driving them crazy. Who is this fellow? - they were whispering to each other. So gauche. So not-one-of-us.

Once I had the sweatshirt in hand, conductors-gaze-boring-me-in-the-back, and was slipping and sliding my way back up the slope toward the arcade movie theatre, I realized that the concert was half over and the movie? At least one hour into the movie, I realized. If I was lucky.

By the time I made it to the arcade, Addison met me at the door. I was a little heartbroken that I had missed the film, but still glad that my kids had gotten to see it.

"Well?" I asked him.

His eyes were wide: "The Scariest Movie I have Ever Seen."

That's Wes Anderson for ya.