I've been talking about it for a while and now here is where I lay it all out and explain- by way of a list- the sort of movie viewing experiences that meant a lot to me. This is a group of pictures that helped make or further reinforced my love of going to the movies. Mind you, I may not love each of these movies but the experience of seeing them the theater in some way made me more aware of how and why I value the cinematic experience. In some cases the big screen helped me more clearly see the artistry of these specific movies and the magic of the cinema in general. Whenever possible I have included dates of the events for reference purposes.
#1 ET: The Extra Terrestrial (1982) The first movie I remember seeing in the theater starring "real people." It is not that I hadn't been to the theater prior to this, but E.T. is the first movie I remember seeing that was not animated. I had seen and loved several re-released classic Disney animated features already, but E.T. was real! The people were not cartoons. They looked and talked like people I saw everywhere. The boy, Elliot, played with Star Wars figures just like the ones I had at home (this, perhaps more than any other fact, linked the diagetic world of E.T. with the world in which 5 1/2 year old me lived in). But somehow I quickly came to relate and understand the very frightened-but friendly- alien creature. Somehow I still knew that the alien was a product of movie magic as much as I knew that the little boy and his family were not. But I didn't disbelieve anything the story showed me. I rooted for E.T. to get home, to feel better and find his people. I rooted for Elliot's pain to hurt, for him and his brother and sister to comfort their Mom in her tough time as a single parent. And still, and perhaps most importantly, E.T. scared the crap out of me. When Elliot first encountered the alien behind the house I yelped with shock and horror. Maybe it was that my own house had a field out back; Maybe the scene was just filmed perfectly by Spielberg, but I did then and still do jump every time Elliot and ET first meet. This scare is also one of the first things I looked forward to seeing when I saw E.T. the second time.*
*This occurred several weeks after I first saw the movie. I begged my parents to take me back, despite and because of the joys and horrors of my first viewing. Why would a young child want to expose himself again to that emotional roller coaster? I felt deep down that E.T. was more than just an afternoon of fun. I just knew that there was something there that Ihad to see again. Suffice it to say I went eagerly to the 2002 20th anniversary re-release. Frankly, I think kids are strong enough creatures not to be scared, worried or scarred by a few federal agents holding guns when you consider this movie's emotional toll on a person, especially a young person. Hooray for tough and determined kids. Future filmmakers and members of the Ratings Board, please take note.
#2Star Trek II: the Wrath of Khan (1982) The second "real" person movie I remember. Again, real actors. My Dad and I watched reruns of the original Star Trek each Saturday night so I was a little bit familiar with the series' characters by this point. But I wasn't prepared for what could happen on the big screen.
Wow! I can't describe the excitement that a young boy feels when he has seen his first glimpse of the worlds beyond our own. Not to mention getting a full screen view of some of his greatest heroes. James T. Kirk was one of the greatest heroes I had seen in 1982. With little understanding of military procedure, damn, did I know that Kirk was the man to follow. He wasn't perfect but that clearly made him better than those that were. Despite his troubles his exciting and loyal crew/friends braved anything to save everybody from a really neat guy, a mean guy with cool long grey hair and a weird leather vest. That guy was bad but I couldn't take my eyes off of him. But, I still knew that Kirk from night Saturday TV should, and would win.
-Important dramatic lesson: Evil is bad, but villains can have lots of fun. In fact, they can have more fun than the heroes. Part of this is that villains are often conflicted less than the heroes, and this was long before the days of emo. I sort of knew that what I was seeing was beyond the ultra-coolness of watching the Space Shuttles launch from Cape Canaveral, but it was obvious to me that it was connected to things like the Sinbad the Sailor stories tI loved hearing at bedtime.
To this day, I still get chills from the words "Botany Bay". And earwigs.
#3 Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984) Caught between a rock and a hard place: One fateful summer Saturday afternoon I was given a choice between going to my Little League picnic or a matinee of this movie. Over two decades later I realize this choice existed only because that afternoon presented my Dad with his best opportunity to see the movie. Also, having already seen Raiders of the Lost Ark on tv or, possibly, home video, I realized a valuable lesson: There will be another Little League picnic next summer but the movie is now.
I don't think either Dad or I regret my choice.
And while it didn't happen to us, I think this movie gave parents more nightmares than it did children. Despite the hype of the horrors of the Temple of Doom's bug eating, heart pulling and monkey brains not only did I play baseball the following summer, but so did all of my friends who also saw the picture. Though I wouldn't begrudge a Thuggee if they served it when I was a guest at their palace...
#4 Raiders of the Lost Ark (released 1981, theater ca. 2000 and several times since) Finally. Remember your first kiss? Now remember the first kiss that was better than your first. Like making out with that high school crush at a friend's wedding and thinking "Finally! Everything is as it was supposed to be!!"
What can I say. Pure escapist and fun that could only be created in America because it is truly an American adventure. So pure and fun, so dangerous, so exotic and yet after a whirlwind around the globe in record time before winding up back in the the States where you started and just as much in love as you were when you left an instant before.
Since then and forever. This movie made it work. This movie will always work. The electricity will never fade.
#5 Chinatown (ca. 2001, 2003, and ca. 2005) I first saw this on home video on the recommendation of my parents who, appealing to the budding film major in me, rented the tape and said, "You should watch this if you like movies." I watched it. I liked it. Or I thought I did. I just didn't fully understand it.
Later, in college, I saw the movie for a class. The subsequent lecture went into detail about the symbolism, the layering, the performances and so much else. This was when I started to realize that the term 'art film' did not need to mean black and white silent or foreign language pieces involving jarring cuts jumping to shots of eyeballs, waves, knitting needles, razor blades, hooded figures, llamas, or whatever else punctuated by only jarring chords of violin or major chords on piano.
This reminds me of a documentary or interview or DVD bonus feature where Spike Lee was asked to name his favorite or most influential movie. After moments of pause he said something like, "I don't know. I always have to say... Chinatown. (pause and then breathlessly adds) Chinatown!" Like Spike, I remain awestruck every time I see this movie. Especially on the big screen. The larger the screen the more the movie highlights how everything about it is designed to show how limited vision can be. Odd that this can lead us to see more.
#6 Goldeneye (1995) My first James Bond movie in the theater. Movie is just ok. Opening sequence: Bond infiltrates enemy espionage center inside a giant dam. Bond blows it up and escapes. Bond flees for his life. Bond skydives after a runaway airplane, catches up to plane and climbs in. Bond pulls plane out of nosedive an instant before the plane smashes into mountain. Audience GOES WILD. I GO WILD. Not yet having seen Raiders on screen as an adult my adrenaline flows and I remember why screen heroes exist.
#7 Star Wars, Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999) Months of anticipation. The day draws near. My friend Mad Jack waits practically overnight in line to get tickets for a group of us. We can't wait. We couldn't because we all had finals. This is our senior year of college. We have waited an entire lifetime to see this movie. A plan is made and the dream becomes reality. We'll see the movie and then go to Buzzy's Roast Beef, a 24 hour Boston food landmark. The screen light up! The fanfare blares! The crowd cheers!! The movie exists! The movie plays. The movie happens. It ends. People leave. It ends up just Mad Jack and I go to Buzzys, talking about the movie the whole time. We have roast beef sandwiches. We go home. In all cases the anticipation was better than the result. I wouldn't have it any other way.
#8 Jaws 3-D (1983) Giant shark. Eats people. Blows up. All in 3-D. I was almost seven years old and loved it. What can I say? I haven't yet seen some of the new wave 3-D stuff since Captain Eo in 1987 so I'll reserve judgment. I have since 1983 seen the original Creature From the Black Lagoon and It Came From Outer Space in 3-D, as well as the original House of Wax, so I'll wait before I talk about how the past has transferred to the present.
#9 There Will Be Blood (2008) Early January I go to the theater. The movie ends after about two and a half hours. It seems like instants since it began. I didn't expect it to stop. I've seen the proof that masterpieces still exist. I call Mad Jack. I tell him to see it as soon as he can. I float home on a movie high. I've watched it again since I bought the dvd. I feel that my initial impression is still right.
#10 Black Book (2007) A rainy day in spring. Badelaire and I see this at our local independent Art Deco theater. We realize that Paul Verhoeven is not dead. Like Chuck Norris, he was just waiting. Drama, intrigue, war, sleaze, violence and something close to perfection. Finally, just like TWBB, a movie made by somebody who cares about delivering a movie and not a product. This movie was made to be seen and made to be felt. In the gut as well as in the mind. It works brilliantly. Puzzles, wonders, horrors, and grotesques. Everything that cinema could possibly be.
#11 Undisputed (2003) Amazing! A great B movie. I didn't know they still made them this good. I'd see it again in a heartbeat. You'll like it more than you think you will, you snob!
#12 Pulp Fiction (1994) I was one of probably ten people in the hometown theater. None of my friends save a few wanted to see it and none of those who did could go that day. I went alone. I may not have had a better time in the theater for the next five years because suddenly, I felt I was in on something hip and new and fresh and exciting. I chuckled here and there, I grimaced then and again, I burst out laughing more times than I can count. I seemed to be the only person in the theater who was having those reactions. At one point, one of the more grisly moments, actually, I was jolted to silence when I realized that not only was I the only person laughing, but the other patrons were looking at me. Chagrined, I sat back silently and cursed them for not being in on the joke and yet I was smugly glad they were not. If they did not want the movie I would embrace it. And I did. A week later I saw it again with my pal Mark and not only did I laugh and wince and sit on the edge of my seat as I did the first time, but Mark did as well.
In your face, other folks!!*
*A year and a half later when I went to college and found that everybody there loved Pulp Fiction as much as I did. I felt less special and I begrudged myself for buying what I thought was a way cool John Travolta as Vincent Vega poster for my dorm room wall. Oh, youth. I saw it again in the theater this past fall. I was overjoyed- the movie holds up.
#13 Robocop (1997) First semester of my junior year of college I was passing through a hallway on campus and ran into several classmates. We got to talking and, as we were all in film classes, got to talking about movies. These guys, they were what I considered the cool kids. They seemed to eat, sleep, eat and talk movies. And they knew their stuff. I looked up to them. It felt great to talk with them. As it turned out two of them were going to see Robocop out at the Harvard Film Archive. I didn't know the place was but psyched when they invited me along. I jumped at the chance because Robocop was a movie I knew and loved. And now I could see it with the real movie crowd!
We trucked out there, me, Cat, and Mad Jack. The movie began. Early in, when newscaster Casey Wong pumped his fist and said "Good luck, Frank!" I mirrored the motion out of habit. As I did out of the corner of my eye I saw Mad Jack do the same. Wow! I was with the right crew!
After the movie, in between bursts of laughter, Cat recounted his amusement seeing MJ and I do that (Cat was sitting between us) and while we all laughed I realized that art can not only bring people together but it can lead people to do silly things. Thus, great friendships were born and I gained a great memory.
#14 Cape Fear- the 1962 version (1998) I'd seen this movie on video and wanting to see it again, I enticed my pals Mad Jack and D to see this with me. MJ and I, as described above, had found we shared many similar tastes in movies. D did as well and is still one of my great friends. However, his tastes also included pictures that were more heartfelt and emotionally wrenching, like Hud, Jules et Jim, and anything with James Dean. Anyhow, we went to see Cape Fear because I somehow convinced them it was a good idea.
Gregory Peck was never a bad actor. To boot, he was always commanding and nothing if not respectable. How was it then that Robert Mitchum could play a reprehensible, oily- no, that's too good- base villain and still steal the show?
Because Robert Mitchum was one of the most believable actors of all time. Good, bad, drunk, sober, virtuous, base, kind, cruel, you always got Robert Mitchum. The man played it all without coming across as anything less than a real human. Even as a villain he could be comical, but you knew that he was only daring you to laugh at him. Nobody was fool enough to take that dare.
The movie plays. We were silent and taken by it. I didn't realize how much until we left and D says this to the best of my memory and paraphrasing:
"He was completely outmatched. Peck."
MJ and I: "Huh?"
D: Mitchum just...outdid him. By doing nothing. Peck'd talk...and... (D is one of the best Good Guys I've ever known. I don't think he rooted for the bad guy but here I know he knew why people sometimes could.)
Us: He just let him.
D: YES! You, he, Peck tried so hard and there was nothing he could do. He shouldn't have won..."
I think that that movie ended as it did only because in those days the good guys had to win. But I think they wanted to show what we all come to know. That is, the bad guys often have not only the charm, the smarts, the strength and the tools to win, but the most dangerous of them have the ability to make us think they'll win. And what's worse, we start thinking that we not only can't stop them, but that we want them to win.
To this day I hope D has seen Mitchum in Out of the Past and The Yakuza, playing noir heroes who we root for and yet know will never win. I still sometimes feel bad for taking him to see something so evil and so wonderful.
#15 7 #16 The Sixth Sense (1999) and Fellowship of the Ring (2001) I saw each of these movies with a group of friends. Each movie contains a scene that made me leap out of my seat in fright. Each time I was laughed at, I laughed at myself, and still realized that the movie had so perfectly pulled me into its world that I reacted as I was inside it. Wonderful times.
#17 Matinee (1992) Siskel and Ebert recommended this movie and I dragged my Dad and brother. Best movie nobody ever saw. My Dad is a harsh critic as well. I was entranced when I left the theater. I asked Dad what he thought (and he was my ride home as well!) Suddenly I was shocked to hear Dad say "That was a GREAT movie!" Whaa? What did I miss? I caught everything and yet it wasn't until repeat viewing after repeat viewing that I saw the movie for what it was. This was my taste of symbolism before I got to appreciate Chinatown. To this day Matinee's final shot of the helicopters sends chills down my spine.
#18 The Mummy (1999) The film stuck in the gate and melted. The only time, to date, that this has happened. In the middle of the climactic sword fight. I was shocked because until this point, this was only something I'd seen happen in the movies. But there, before the eyes of me and my friends and the rest of the audience, the film discolored and then melted into an orange molten goop that suddenly vaporized. Jolted out of the moment by the flickering white light I realized that my shock was shared by two hundred other people. Suddenly we all wanted our movie back! Feed us! we cried to the projectionist. Within ten minutes the film was spliced back together and the movie ended. We got free passes to another show. I enjoyed seeing The Mummy but I enjoyed more how completely it had sucked all of us in until the film on which it was printed literally died.
#2 Pinocchio ....whatever size screen the emotions can't be contained...too big to be contains
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
A Recent Viewing That Mattered
Yowza! Tonight was one of those nights. This was a night thirteen years in the making, actually. I saw a picture that I'd first heard of when it was just the idea of a college professor whose enthusiasm for the actor Brad Douriff and fascination with myth inspired him to write a script with Douriff in mind for the lead role. The thought excited me because as a college sophomore and soon-to-be film major here was a man, lecturing me and my classmates, who was on his way to making himself a real filmmaker. Hot dog, was I excited! Little did I know then of the vagaries and trials of landing a production deal and securing interested collaborators, cast and crew and the pocketfull of miracles that it takes to turn a script into a movie. Yup, just a thirteen year wait.
And the movie wasn't all that good. It was memorable. The whole piece is not something I will ever forget that I have seen. While its content might be shifted to the back recesses of my mind from this day on if I hear "My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?" I'll recall the whole movie. I just wish I liked it more. I just wish there was more powerful material to make me want to recommend the movie for being great. Of course I still want you to see "My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?" because I want the filmmakers to make more. (By this I mean the writer and co-producer since the director you can look up and see that he'll be just fine.) This movie was fascinating not because of what it was but because of what it could have been. Because of what I had expected from it, namely, a richly layered examination of mythic themes of death, drama, matricide and the glory of crazy and weakness brought about by hubris. Instead was a long feeling movie that wasn't that long and a thing that didn't feel like it was what it could have been.
But I was able to see this movie with two friends who were as ready to see it as I was. And one of them had already seen it and was more than ready to see it again with me and our friend Sean.
Following the movie we spent the drive home talking about the movie and praised the successes and examined all the ways in which we thought it failed. Not because was loved the failure but because we really, really wanted this to be a success. To paraphrase "Swingers" we hoped this movie would be the here of the PG-13 movie. We were reeeeeally rooting for this one. And yet the experience was enriched because the viewing was so perfectly cast and attended by the writer himself. Everything about this evening made the experience of seeing it and responding to it afterward perfect. I'll never forget it because in the long run, this helped me appreciate previous movies much better and will help me think critically about future movies. And I shared both the viewing and the analysis with friends.
This is not to say that just seeing a movie with friends equates a good viewing experience. Nor, I would argue, does just seeing a great movie in the theater equal a great viewing experience. The best movie experiences in my life have occasionally had nothing to do with the quality of the picture but rested in the analysis afterward or the people who were there and what and how we deal with what we see with who we see it with.
I'm going to refrain at this time from commenting more about "My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?" because it is so new to me and because I have not set out here to review it, but to touch upon the experience of seeing it. I hope that I have made clearer some of my feelings about the experience of dealing with it. (And I have mentioned a few of my thoughts about the work, but with any piece art, regardless of the piece's success, I think feelings are the most immediate response to the work. I can't think anything about it if I don't first feel something. And yes, this means I don't equate a number of movies with art since they don't create any true feelings in my gut and create nothing lasting more than the thought "Oh, I've seen that."*)
"My Son, My Son..." is not a successful work of art, but if you have a chance to see it I beg you to do so. I don't predict that it will rock your world though parts of it might weird you out. But I do know that I provided me with a great night of discussion about the nature of drama and what makes great- and even good drama. This is the treat of making the effort to see those attempts and to see them with people whose opinions and ability to think freely and critically. This is why nobody should ever forsake going to the theater, no matter how big your television screen and no matter how busy you and your friends are. Get together. Watch, think, talk, think some more and reflect. You'll come out wanting to see more movies so that you can more fully examine all the theories borne of that latest experience.
*I do not consider artistic movies that create automatic feeling such as oh, say, "Transformers", which make me feel the desire to never see anything so terrible ever again. And I'll admit that I know that despite my best intentions I'll feel the desire to again see a terrible movie, if only for an hour or two of escapist pablum that won't do anything other than remind me of the works of art that I truly cherish.)
And the movie wasn't all that good. It was memorable. The whole piece is not something I will ever forget that I have seen. While its content might be shifted to the back recesses of my mind from this day on if I hear "My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?" I'll recall the whole movie. I just wish I liked it more. I just wish there was more powerful material to make me want to recommend the movie for being great. Of course I still want you to see "My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?" because I want the filmmakers to make more. (By this I mean the writer and co-producer since the director you can look up and see that he'll be just fine.) This movie was fascinating not because of what it was but because of what it could have been. Because of what I had expected from it, namely, a richly layered examination of mythic themes of death, drama, matricide and the glory of crazy and weakness brought about by hubris. Instead was a long feeling movie that wasn't that long and a thing that didn't feel like it was what it could have been.
But I was able to see this movie with two friends who were as ready to see it as I was. And one of them had already seen it and was more than ready to see it again with me and our friend Sean.
Following the movie we spent the drive home talking about the movie and praised the successes and examined all the ways in which we thought it failed. Not because was loved the failure but because we really, really wanted this to be a success. To paraphrase "Swingers" we hoped this movie would be the here of the PG-13 movie. We were reeeeeally rooting for this one. And yet the experience was enriched because the viewing was so perfectly cast and attended by the writer himself. Everything about this evening made the experience of seeing it and responding to it afterward perfect. I'll never forget it because in the long run, this helped me appreciate previous movies much better and will help me think critically about future movies. And I shared both the viewing and the analysis with friends.
This is not to say that just seeing a movie with friends equates a good viewing experience. Nor, I would argue, does just seeing a great movie in the theater equal a great viewing experience. The best movie experiences in my life have occasionally had nothing to do with the quality of the picture but rested in the analysis afterward or the people who were there and what and how we deal with what we see with who we see it with.
I'm going to refrain at this time from commenting more about "My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?" because it is so new to me and because I have not set out here to review it, but to touch upon the experience of seeing it. I hope that I have made clearer some of my feelings about the experience of dealing with it. (And I have mentioned a few of my thoughts about the work, but with any piece art, regardless of the piece's success, I think feelings are the most immediate response to the work. I can't think anything about it if I don't first feel something. And yes, this means I don't equate a number of movies with art since they don't create any true feelings in my gut and create nothing lasting more than the thought "Oh, I've seen that."*)
"My Son, My Son..." is not a successful work of art, but if you have a chance to see it I beg you to do so. I don't predict that it will rock your world though parts of it might weird you out. But I do know that I provided me with a great night of discussion about the nature of drama and what makes great- and even good drama. This is the treat of making the effort to see those attempts and to see them with people whose opinions and ability to think freely and critically. This is why nobody should ever forsake going to the theater, no matter how big your television screen and no matter how busy you and your friends are. Get together. Watch, think, talk, think some more and reflect. You'll come out wanting to see more movies so that you can more fully examine all the theories borne of that latest experience.
*I do not consider artistic movies that create automatic feeling such as oh, say, "Transformers", which make me feel the desire to never see anything so terrible ever again. And I'll admit that I know that despite my best intentions I'll feel the desire to again see a terrible movie, if only for an hour or two of escapist pablum that won't do anything other than remind me of the works of art that I truly cherish.)
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Why Watching Matters
Before writing more about movies I've watched and what I think about them I realized I wanted to examine watching movies because I believe that the experience of seeing the movie is as vital to experiencing the movie as it was meant to be. Sure, home theaters are great. And if you have a nice big flatscreen television or have been over to a friend's place and watched a movie on one, you know that is sure beats whatever tv you had at home growing up and that tiny set you had in the college dorm. But I hold that no matter what a movie at home is still like looking at Van Gogh's "Starry Night" reproduced in a magazine.
Of course, with "Starry Night" in the Museum of Modern Art in New York and many movies at you local theater there will be a crowd. But darn it, that is part of the experience. The difference is that the painting must be viewed amongst a crowd because it is world famous and hangs in only one spot where interested people come to view it. Movies can be played in multiple theaters at the same time so the crowds might vary from venue to venue, but almost always there's somebody else there with you. That's the whole point!
A painting or a sculpture does not necessarily gain anything from being viewed with a crowd. In fact, the viewing can be diminished if there are too many people since, as with when I went to the MoMA and saw Van Gogh's wonderful painting, I had to negotiate a throng of ogling people who were also trying to view the painting. Some people were holding aloft their cameras to snap a digital photo of the piece (Besides being rather rude, folks in this case you're definitely better off with that quality magazine print of "Starry Night"!). So I saw the painting and while I can't put to words how fantastic and awe inspiring it was, there was no collective experience, just a mob of people trying to grab for themselves a little bit of inspiration while avoiding trampling or being trampled by their neighbor.
Movies were designed for that collective experience and yet the lovely dark of the theater gives each member of the audience the chance to disappear into that happy place in their mind where they become immersed with the experience of what they see all while taking part in a group experience as the other audience members react to the movie in their own way. That simultaneous solitude and collective experience really makes movies special. You could say that the same hold true to a sporting event but honestly, I think the darkness of a theater makes only a symphony performance or a live play the only thing close to the movie experience.
I do hope you think that I don't enjoy art galleries- or sporting events- because that couldn't be farther from the truth. I just agree with all the critics and film writers who have analyzed and lauded sitting in a darkened theater and watching a series of images projected at 24 frames per second with a group of anonymous people. They said it better than I can, I'm sure, but there is such a great immediacy of the work when you hear yourself gasp or laugh or cry and suddenly realize that you are not the only one making that response. Similarly, for me there is nothing better than bursting out with laughter or yelping in terror and realizing that I was the only person within ten rows who did so. To me, this either increases the humor of the humor because I decide that everybody else missed what I saw or adds to the scare because I realize how completely I'd put myself in the hands of the filmmakers and allowed them to scare me. I absolutely love that.
I also cherish sitting back at a key moment of a movie I know by heart and being able to listen to the audience so that right before an unexpected scare, horrific reveal, shocking twist, hilarious line, comic double take, astounding stunt, gorgeous shot or some astounding work of filmmaking I can feel the movie's power by focusing on the audience's reaction. Watching people suddenly realize that Groucho and Harpo are actually mirroring each other or knowing that that fellow with popcorn in his hair did not know the shark was coming to the surface at that moment is worth the price of admission.
There is a thrill that I get meeting friends at the theater to watch a movie. It is a chance to share anticipation and then submit ourselves fully to the movie without all the distractions that go along with watching a video in somebody's living room. Sure, home viewing can be great but there we're meeting for a group activity in which we include a movie. At the theater we meet for a movie watching experience that includes group activity. I look forward to the moment the lights come up and we can all finally share our response with each other. The end of the movie brings with it the much anticipated "What did you think?", "Who was that woman in that scene?" "Remember when that thing happenend? I absolutely hated everything after that point!" and any number of immediate responses which we share and elaborate on in an attempt to analyze the movie experience.
I can't say enough about seeing movies in theaters. I know I could say more but film theorists have done so much more before me that there's little point in rambling on. However, I'm going to follow up shortly with a quick list of some of my favorite movie theater experiences. Perhaps they'll remind you of some of your own. Perhaps a same movie gave you a similar- or completely opposite response. Those are the sort of things that help bind all of us who love movies and appreciate the joy of the theater.
Of course, with "Starry Night" in the Museum of Modern Art in New York and many movies at you local theater there will be a crowd. But darn it, that is part of the experience. The difference is that the painting must be viewed amongst a crowd because it is world famous and hangs in only one spot where interested people come to view it. Movies can be played in multiple theaters at the same time so the crowds might vary from venue to venue, but almost always there's somebody else there with you. That's the whole point!
A painting or a sculpture does not necessarily gain anything from being viewed with a crowd. In fact, the viewing can be diminished if there are too many people since, as with when I went to the MoMA and saw Van Gogh's wonderful painting, I had to negotiate a throng of ogling people who were also trying to view the painting. Some people were holding aloft their cameras to snap a digital photo of the piece (Besides being rather rude, folks in this case you're definitely better off with that quality magazine print of "Starry Night"!). So I saw the painting and while I can't put to words how fantastic and awe inspiring it was, there was no collective experience, just a mob of people trying to grab for themselves a little bit of inspiration while avoiding trampling or being trampled by their neighbor.
Movies were designed for that collective experience and yet the lovely dark of the theater gives each member of the audience the chance to disappear into that happy place in their mind where they become immersed with the experience of what they see all while taking part in a group experience as the other audience members react to the movie in their own way. That simultaneous solitude and collective experience really makes movies special. You could say that the same hold true to a sporting event but honestly, I think the darkness of a theater makes only a symphony performance or a live play the only thing close to the movie experience.
I do hope you think that I don't enjoy art galleries- or sporting events- because that couldn't be farther from the truth. I just agree with all the critics and film writers who have analyzed and lauded sitting in a darkened theater and watching a series of images projected at 24 frames per second with a group of anonymous people. They said it better than I can, I'm sure, but there is such a great immediacy of the work when you hear yourself gasp or laugh or cry and suddenly realize that you are not the only one making that response. Similarly, for me there is nothing better than bursting out with laughter or yelping in terror and realizing that I was the only person within ten rows who did so. To me, this either increases the humor of the humor because I decide that everybody else missed what I saw or adds to the scare because I realize how completely I'd put myself in the hands of the filmmakers and allowed them to scare me. I absolutely love that.
I also cherish sitting back at a key moment of a movie I know by heart and being able to listen to the audience so that right before an unexpected scare, horrific reveal, shocking twist, hilarious line, comic double take, astounding stunt, gorgeous shot or some astounding work of filmmaking I can feel the movie's power by focusing on the audience's reaction. Watching people suddenly realize that Groucho and Harpo are actually mirroring each other or knowing that that fellow with popcorn in his hair did not know the shark was coming to the surface at that moment is worth the price of admission.
There is a thrill that I get meeting friends at the theater to watch a movie. It is a chance to share anticipation and then submit ourselves fully to the movie without all the distractions that go along with watching a video in somebody's living room. Sure, home viewing can be great but there we're meeting for a group activity in which we include a movie. At the theater we meet for a movie watching experience that includes group activity. I look forward to the moment the lights come up and we can all finally share our response with each other. The end of the movie brings with it the much anticipated "What did you think?", "Who was that woman in that scene?" "Remember when that thing happenend? I absolutely hated everything after that point!" and any number of immediate responses which we share and elaborate on in an attempt to analyze the movie experience.
I can't say enough about seeing movies in theaters. I know I could say more but film theorists have done so much more before me that there's little point in rambling on. However, I'm going to follow up shortly with a quick list of some of my favorite movie theater experiences. Perhaps they'll remind you of some of your own. Perhaps a same movie gave you a similar- or completely opposite response. Those are the sort of things that help bind all of us who love movies and appreciate the joy of the theater.
Who retires in spring training anyway?
Ah, best intentions.
I began this writing project with the best intentions to put to print (or to Web) thoughts about what I consider an intriguing and important medium of art and entertainment.
Yeah.
Best intentions are worth about as much as the Red Sox organization's sudden re-welcoming and symbolic retirement of Nomar Garciaparra. Sure, they signed the former Sox shortstop to a one day contract so he could announce his retirement form pro baseball nearly six seasons after the Sox traded him away. They traded Nomar because he was miserable in Boston and though he was still loved, so many fans were glad to see him go since it seemed nobody could tolerate any more his public disenchantment with the Larry Lucchino/John Henry/Terry Francona team. But more than that, the once eager and agile Nomar seemed to be looking for excuses to sit back and watch the game from the sidelines while his teammates and competitors busted their humps to win games and make the playoffs. The Nomar of April through July of 2004 seemed like he'd become sick of the work involved with playing and winning. Yeah, it was work because while just a game to us, he was being paid vast sums of money and like even a lowly cubicle worker at a nameless company, people who paid Nomar and those who paid to see him play expected a certain effort from him on the field. Not that he didn't put on some good performances the first half of the 2004 season, but more noticeable was Nomar's annoyance with the effort involved.
No matter what the reasons, he was visibly tired and the fans and Red Sox office were even more tired of watching him be tired of doing his work. So in July 2004 the Sox traded him to the Chicago Cubs. Then, once he was gone a bunch of people grumbled that he was gone. But when the Sox won the 2004 World Series without Nomar, few said that they could've done it with him. So, despite the public's grumbling by fans about Nomar's departure Red Sox fans rejoiced that Nomar returned (briefly) to leave baseball as a Red Sox. It was more than a little silly but I guess time heals wounds. Nomar was back and ended his career where he began and since he'd left the Sox had won one and then another for two World Series titles. Yaaay! Everybody wins!
Bah.
What does all that mean? It means that I am familiar with the sentiments on all sides of yesterday's Red Sox mini drama. More than two months ago I vowed to myself that I'd finally start writing things down and hopefully create my own little pile of writings about mostly movies and some other stuff that intrigues me. Like baseball, my thoughts and interests might interest others and leave many more unmoved in any way. At any rate I figured it was a good way to keep myself somewhat mentally limber or at least tell a few friends, "Oooh! That was cool, me like big 'splosion movie!!" However, I got a few pieces written, made some notes for a few more and then sort of drifted away from the whole process after about three weeks of unfocused attempts to pick up with my pet writing project.
But now I'm back. I've resigned with Team Repeat Offender to continue what I started. I'm looking back at my Nomaresque disenchantment with the time and effort that it takes to sit down and write something and I find it amusing and rather lame. After all, what is more self-indulgent than to find excuses to think one's own self-indulgent pet project too difficult and time consuming to evenings mostly spent watching television, movies or reading books? If I'm slothful enough to do that I think I can spend a larger fraction of my sitting time trying to write something that involves organizing thoughts into hopefully coherent observations about cinema.
A good friend of mine has also mentioned his recent attempt to get back to his own writing. He mentioned that he'd gotten sidetracked again and again from his writing because of this that and the other. And because, ugh, it is hard and takes up time that could be spent doing other things and hey, I should do some laundry and oh, what did Netflix send me today? Oh, don't want to watch that right now but maybe I'll catch a few episodes of Dexter on the Internet. Yeah, it's just such a pain when the effort of doing something we decide that to do full or part time becomes such a drag. Heh. But isn't that the rub? Anything worth doing takes some effort and sometimes the most rewarding things take the most effort. Especially if it is a new skill. Few people start a thing and are really good at it. They might find a certain aptitude or intuition toward what is right or what works better than another method but there is a great deal of effort needed to get beyond that hump.
So, like my friend who just wrote about trying to write in order to get back to writing, I hope you'll forgive me my little piece about how the difficulty of doing something can make the effort needed to do it. It'll might get us traded right before we might've won the World Series.
So, that said, let Nomar and Red Sox fans everywhere enjoy the fact that Number 5 came back in time to leave. I'm going to try to stick around rather than force myself into retirement.
And anyhow, if I quit this writing project I'll at least walk away after the season ends rather than in the middle of spring training. Now, back to the batting cages I go...
I began this writing project with the best intentions to put to print (or to Web) thoughts about what I consider an intriguing and important medium of art and entertainment.
Yeah.
Best intentions are worth about as much as the Red Sox organization's sudden re-welcoming and symbolic retirement of Nomar Garciaparra. Sure, they signed the former Sox shortstop to a one day contract so he could announce his retirement form pro baseball nearly six seasons after the Sox traded him away. They traded Nomar because he was miserable in Boston and though he was still loved, so many fans were glad to see him go since it seemed nobody could tolerate any more his public disenchantment with the Larry Lucchino/John Henry/Terry Francona team. But more than that, the once eager and agile Nomar seemed to be looking for excuses to sit back and watch the game from the sidelines while his teammates and competitors busted their humps to win games and make the playoffs. The Nomar of April through July of 2004 seemed like he'd become sick of the work involved with playing and winning. Yeah, it was work because while just a game to us, he was being paid vast sums of money and like even a lowly cubicle worker at a nameless company, people who paid Nomar and those who paid to see him play expected a certain effort from him on the field. Not that he didn't put on some good performances the first half of the 2004 season, but more noticeable was Nomar's annoyance with the effort involved.
No matter what the reasons, he was visibly tired and the fans and Red Sox office were even more tired of watching him be tired of doing his work. So in July 2004 the Sox traded him to the Chicago Cubs. Then, once he was gone a bunch of people grumbled that he was gone. But when the Sox won the 2004 World Series without Nomar, few said that they could've done it with him. So, despite the public's grumbling by fans about Nomar's departure Red Sox fans rejoiced that Nomar returned (briefly) to leave baseball as a Red Sox. It was more than a little silly but I guess time heals wounds. Nomar was back and ended his career where he began and since he'd left the Sox had won one and then another for two World Series titles. Yaaay! Everybody wins!
Bah.
What does all that mean? It means that I am familiar with the sentiments on all sides of yesterday's Red Sox mini drama. More than two months ago I vowed to myself that I'd finally start writing things down and hopefully create my own little pile of writings about mostly movies and some other stuff that intrigues me. Like baseball, my thoughts and interests might interest others and leave many more unmoved in any way. At any rate I figured it was a good way to keep myself somewhat mentally limber or at least tell a few friends, "Oooh! That was cool, me like big 'splosion movie!!" However, I got a few pieces written, made some notes for a few more and then sort of drifted away from the whole process after about three weeks of unfocused attempts to pick up with my pet writing project.
But now I'm back. I've resigned with Team Repeat Offender to continue what I started. I'm looking back at my Nomaresque disenchantment with the time and effort that it takes to sit down and write something and I find it amusing and rather lame. After all, what is more self-indulgent than to find excuses to think one's own self-indulgent pet project too difficult and time consuming to evenings mostly spent watching television, movies or reading books? If I'm slothful enough to do that I think I can spend a larger fraction of my sitting time trying to write something that involves organizing thoughts into hopefully coherent observations about cinema.
A good friend of mine has also mentioned his recent attempt to get back to his own writing. He mentioned that he'd gotten sidetracked again and again from his writing because of this that and the other. And because, ugh, it is hard and takes up time that could be spent doing other things and hey, I should do some laundry and oh, what did Netflix send me today? Oh, don't want to watch that right now but maybe I'll catch a few episodes of Dexter on the Internet. Yeah, it's just such a pain when the effort of doing something we decide that to do full or part time becomes such a drag. Heh. But isn't that the rub? Anything worth doing takes some effort and sometimes the most rewarding things take the most effort. Especially if it is a new skill. Few people start a thing and are really good at it. They might find a certain aptitude or intuition toward what is right or what works better than another method but there is a great deal of effort needed to get beyond that hump.
So, like my friend who just wrote about trying to write in order to get back to writing, I hope you'll forgive me my little piece about how the difficulty of doing something can make the effort needed to do it. It'll might get us traded right before we might've won the World Series.
So, that said, let Nomar and Red Sox fans everywhere enjoy the fact that Number 5 came back in time to leave. I'm going to try to stick around rather than force myself into retirement.
And anyhow, if I quit this writing project I'll at least walk away after the season ends rather than in the middle of spring training. Now, back to the batting cages I go...
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