The Royal Consort and I were once at loose ends in New Jersey (imagine!), so we wandered over to a movie theatre. Our choices were Lilo and Stitch (my suggestion) and Minority Report (his.) We arrived a bit too late for Lilo, so we went to see that grim piece of Spielberg-does-Kubrick futurama instead. Right around the time that Tom Cruise was getting his eyes cut out, I leaned over and whispered in the R.C.'s ear, "Next time I say, 'Let's go see the movie about the little blue alien that sings Elvis Presley, let's go see the movie about the little blue alien that sings Elvis Presley.'"
Upon reflection, this may be the last time the R.C. got to pick the evening's entertainment.