I traipsed down to my local bijou, now with reserved seating, beer, wine, and trendy entrées, and ensconced myself into a leather (or faux-leather) recliner. Ah, capitalism that has such amenities. I must say, the Black Butte Porter on tap was tasty, even if served in a clear plastic cup. But I digress.

I was a tad concerned, before the new Coen brothers’ film began, by the gentleman seated next to me. He snickered, chortled, and guffawed at every obvious joke in every tedious commercial and trailer, including the M&Ms commercials. Good thing Dirty Grandpa‘s been relegated to the ash heap of cinema history, or he’d have split a gut. He fell silent during Hail, Caesar! Probably too subtle for him.

Sadly, Hail, Caesar!, set in Hollywood in 1951, has not been well-received. Perhaps because it’s not as broad a comedy as The Big Lebowski or O’ Brother, Where Art Thou? — though it does deploy George Clooney’s talent for foolish grins and wonderful expressions of confusion. Perhaps the in-jokes about Hollywood and the weirdness of Stalinist screenwriters are too rarified: