As a resident of the surrounding area of NYC with a strange unstructured existence, I often find myself wandering through the city with hours to kill. I am blessed in that the compact and crowded island of Manhattan is a movie buff’s dream, filled with cinemas showing one of the best selections in the country. Textured underground indie theaters and massive vertical multiplexes are blocks from each other. The combination of all that is me frequently picking films based only on their titles and their starting times, then stumbling blindly into theaters with little idea of what to expect. It’s an activity I encourage you to try as well.
When I purchased a ticket for the virtually un-marketed and limitedly released Pawn Shop Chronicles, I had no clue what was about to happen. Oh boy. Talk about an excellent surprise of absurdism and depravity.