Beware “The Ides of March” (2011)

One journalist’s desperate quest to uncover the truth about ides.

Okay, I’m freaking out. Four different times during this morning’s F train commute, I overheard people quip “You know what they say, beware The Ides of March” in conversation. And then they’d smile this little wry smile. At first, I tried to block it out and concentrate on polishing my personal essay, “Snapchatting my ex’s Instagram Literally Saved Lady Gaga’s Life”. But it just kept happening. As a digital content producer, it’s literally my job to know what everyone is talking about, and then condense that public discourse into listicles of Bitmoji and Game of Thrones memes that help people understand and digest the complex world around them.

#journalism.

But here I felt the cold and clammy loneliness of being fully out of the loop. This wasn’t FOMO. This was just MO. I had no idea what they were talking about. Haven’t I heard that phrase The Ides of March…somewhere? It sounded so familiar.

I know I’ve heard that phrase somewhere.

Just as I reached the MTA booth to report this shady behavior because #ifyouseesomethingsaysomething, I suddenly remembered what The Ides of March is, and I felt like a real dope for getting so worked up: they of course were just talking about the 2011 movie The Ides of March.

Phew!

Except, hang on. That’s still weird.

A quick IMDB revealed that movie came out in 2011. And a quick Google didn’t show any plans for a reboot or sequel. I felt my stomach tighten again. Why is everyone talking about a seven year-old movie starring the husband of Eva Mendes and the husband of Amal Clooney that Rotten Tomatoes rated 85% fresh and called, “…a supremely well-acted drama that moves at a measured, confident clip”?

What am I not seeing?? I’m no conspiracy theorist but immediately understand that this is obviously a sinister global conspiracy. This has Russia’s social disruption handprints all over it. I immediately call in sick for the remainder of the week and set about my new mission: uncovering the truth about The Ides of March.

Now street level, I pull up my hood tightly around me and double my pace. I stop off at a neighborhood bar to think for a moment while calming my nerves with a caesar wrap and four screwdrivers. I’ll need extra vitamin C to stay sharp today.

Just taking the edge off.

I rack my brain for details from the movie I once saw in the theater solely for a hit of that Sweet Sweet Baby Gos. There was a lot of Paul Giamatti yelling. Always with the yelling that one! And maybe PSH was in it? The only other thing I remember is that The Gos drove Rachel Evan Wood to get an abortion (so progressive!) but then didn’t show to pick her up afterward (oopsie). Or wait, was that the plot of The Notebook? I’m getting nowhere.

Except pick you up from that abortion I urged you to get.

Instead I skim TIOM’s Wikipedia page for something, anything that might clarify its sudden proliferating significance before it’s too late. Is this a codename for a government operation? Oh wow, are we in real danger from these ides? I mean more than the daily shitshow of nuclear-penis-measuring peril we’re in daily? Another dead end. I feel woozy, so I stop by the bodega, buy three 5-Hour Energys and chase them with a Four Loko and a six pack of Pamplemousse LaCroix. I’m going to need at least 15 hours of energy to crack this case, and I have to stay hydrated.

Oh God, what are ides? Can I get it from a toilet seat?

I stumble back out to the street, the world suddenly spinning. It’s happening now, whatever it is. The ides. The march. It’s all starting. I can feel it. Can I solve this riddle in time to keep myself and everyone I love safe? Panicked, my hands barely obeying their directives, I try to stream the movie on HBO, Netflix, Hulu. Nothing. I am temporarily sidetracked watching eight minutes of the Friends episode where Ross’ sandwich gets stolen and he has a full-blown psychiatric crisis. Right now I am Ross. We are all Ross. And all our sandwiches are gone.

I stop near Union Square where a Dominican man sells bootleg DVDs on a sidewalk tarp. He may be the only person alive who can help me now. I must see the movie and connect the dots before time runs out. I try to play it cool but over the roaring ocean in my head I can hear myself shouting.

“COMO ESTAS!!!”

“Bien.” He nods cautiously and takes a step back. “Y tu? Bootleg?” (Though admittedly at the time, I mishear this for some reason as “et tu Brute?”)

“THE IDES OF MARCH! I NEED THEM! BEWARE! BEWARE! GIVE ME THE IDES OF MARCH! GIVE ME ALL THE IDES OF MARCH THAT YOU HAVE! I HAVE MACE! AHHHH”

I lurch wildly toward the man and the DVD cases in desperation, just as a group of NYPD officers who had been standing nearby surround me. They tase me, again and again, an angry mob. My caesar wrap leftovers fall limp to the ground.

My investigation ends here, in front of this Jamba Juice, but surely others will pick up my quest. They must. In the meantime, I’m off to Bellevue in a straightjacket. As all fades to black, I briefly wonder if they will have The Ides of March in the hospital’s DVD library. I’d settle for La La Land.