The malls cometh to Costa Rica. Big ones and a few even bigger ones. Most have movie theaters. When I first arrived in paradise, new releases from Hollywood had this time lapse. See the new Batman? Wait six months. See a film other than something from the tanks of tinsel town? Forget about it.

There’s a theater called Sala Garbo where “artsy” films play. It’s downtown and not all that hard to get to. But I shy away from the films made in Spanish because my language skills are more on par with a seven year old rather than a spurned lover out for revenge. I’d never get it.

Now, new movies come out pretty close to when they are released in the States. Someone figured out that it’s easier to sell plastic, useless toys to children at fast food chains if the commercials - many on cable television - lined up with film’s release ALL OVER THE WORLD. In fact, Horton Hears a Who came and went so fast, we missed it.

Unfortunately, the theater close to my home takes no risks in showing films that are anything less than super-duper commercial. Big stars - you know - the formula that brings them in. If I watch closely, I can catch something that is either good Hollywood or a tad bit on the controversial side. The great thing is: it’s cheap. Half of less of what it costs to go to movies in the States.

My friend and I were the only ones in the theater for Charlie Wilson’s War. We had the best seats. Oh, how we giggled, like girlfriends do. Then, like the true mothers we are, instead of mulling over coffee or a drink, we went grocery shopping. The kids still got to get up in the morning. That means so do I.