Saturday, February 23, 2008
Life's Little Ironies, Part I
In order to have the energy to go to the gym, you have to go to the gym.
The Second Time Around
It took me two times to see No Country for Old Men all the way through. I wanted to watch it all in one sitting, don't get me wrong. I was actually completely engrossed in the movie during the first screening of it that I attended. And it had almost gotten to the final 15-20 minutes that everyone has been talking about in terms of how confusing they are, and I was becoming increasing fascinated as to how the filmmakers would resolve some of the issues in the plot. That's when it happened.
I went to see No Country for Old Men at the Arclight. I know I've talked elsewhere about my distaste for other moviegoers. Since I've been going only to the Arclight or to the Landmark (both feature reserved seating), I've had almost no reason to complain. That is, until last Sunday, the day before Presidents Day, the last Monday holiday we'll see for a while at school. I had decided that I would try to catch up a bit on my moviegoing experiences, and since I was doing The Oscar Project on my other blog, it was time to see the Coen brothers' movie. It wasn't too crowded, being early Sunday morning and all, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be impediments. If you've seen the film, we had made it to the part where Tommy Lee Jones's sheriff is sitting on the bed in the motel room when the film stopped. Just stopped. Black screen. No sound. Then lights started flashing, and alarms started to sound. I've been through enough emergency drills to know when it's time to evacuate, so I got my jacket off the seat next to me and walked to the lobby upstairs along with several hundred of my closest friends from all of the other screening rooms. We were then hustled outside where, thankfully, it was not raining for once. After about half an hour, ushers appeared with complimentary tickets for future screenings. I took mine, paid for my parking, and left feeling very disgruntled. I realize there was no point in staying. The fire engines were there, the "fire" was apparently put out in the kitchen, but the firefighters had to inspect every single screening room (and other rooms) to be sure before anyone could have been let back in. The next screenings would have started by then (although I suspect they too were delayed or canceled).
I managed to return the following day, Presidents Day itself, and used one of my complimentary tickets to find the exact same seat that I was in the day before. This time I watched just as intently (it's a very engrossing film, I tell you) until the scene began that had been interrupted. I looked at my watch to check the time remaining. Nothing happened. The film continued on, and I got to see all of the rest of what the Coen brothers had created.
I tell this story only because it illustrates just what a true movie lover might do. I would have been willing to wait that Sunday if the folks at Arclight would have only guaranteed us that we could have seen the end of our movie. I would have returned the next day just to watch the final 15-20 minutes by themselves if I had been allowed to do only that. Instead, I watched the entire thing all over again, just because I love movies that much and wanted to see how it ended.
This is not my first encounter with such problems in a theater, by the way. The first time a screening was interrupted by outside forces was back in 1978. I had gone to see Death on the Nile with my grandparents during some Christmas shopping in Alabama. I always loved the Agatha Christie mysteries, and I always enjoyed the film adaptations of them too. Just as Hercule Poirot (played by the grand Peter Ustinov) had assembled the potential suspects and was in the process of explaining how he had deduced the identity of the real killer (you know how he does that if you've seen any one of the films), all of the power went off. Seems like a thunderstorm had knocked out all of the electricity in the area. The people at the theater were nice enough to offer us free tickets to return another day to see the film again (or some other film), but no one in the theater--not even my elderly grandparents--took them up on their offer. We just wanted to find out who the killer was, so we all stayed until the power came back on about 45 minutes later. We ran from the lobby back into the theater, and they restarted the film a few minutes before the part we had seen before. Nice of them to do that. Satisfying, really.
I should admit that I've had the opposite reaction as well. My mother and I went to see A Fish Called Wanda in 1988. There was a big storm that night too, and we were left in the dark before that movie ended as well. However, this time when we were offered free tickets, we took them and went to get some dinner. I think there was also pie involved. I don't know how long after that it was before I found out how that movie ended. Needless to say, it wasn't quite as fascinating to me as Death on the Nile or No Country for Old Men.
Lest you think it's only the endings of movies that are ruined for me when something like this happens, I should tell you about going to see A Passage to India, that marvelous David Lean epic of 1984, still one of my favorites. This time, the film broke during the beginning of the screening, during the opening credits, to be exact. What we missed was the scene with Judy Davis as Miss Quested buying her ticket to India and seeing a drawing of the caves which will play such a significant part in the film later on. Now, that wouldn't seem to be such a big deal to have missed such a small moment early in a movie, but one of the its great themes is first raised there. I recall taking a Film and Literature class the following semester and having the professor ask if anyone had seen A Passage to India during the one week that it played in Starkville. I raised my hand, alone, apparently, in my love of Forster novels and Lean films. When the professor asked me about the opening scene, I was, of course, unable to answer. You can never really know what the consquences of an event might be, can you?
Here's to no more interruptions in the moviegoing experience, whether at the beginning, middle, or end.
I went to see No Country for Old Men at the Arclight. I know I've talked elsewhere about my distaste for other moviegoers. Since I've been going only to the Arclight or to the Landmark (both feature reserved seating), I've had almost no reason to complain. That is, until last Sunday, the day before Presidents Day, the last Monday holiday we'll see for a while at school. I had decided that I would try to catch up a bit on my moviegoing experiences, and since I was doing The Oscar Project on my other blog, it was time to see the Coen brothers' movie. It wasn't too crowded, being early Sunday morning and all, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be impediments. If you've seen the film, we had made it to the part where Tommy Lee Jones's sheriff is sitting on the bed in the motel room when the film stopped. Just stopped. Black screen. No sound. Then lights started flashing, and alarms started to sound. I've been through enough emergency drills to know when it's time to evacuate, so I got my jacket off the seat next to me and walked to the lobby upstairs along with several hundred of my closest friends from all of the other screening rooms. We were then hustled outside where, thankfully, it was not raining for once. After about half an hour, ushers appeared with complimentary tickets for future screenings. I took mine, paid for my parking, and left feeling very disgruntled. I realize there was no point in staying. The fire engines were there, the "fire" was apparently put out in the kitchen, but the firefighters had to inspect every single screening room (and other rooms) to be sure before anyone could have been let back in. The next screenings would have started by then (although I suspect they too were delayed or canceled).
I managed to return the following day, Presidents Day itself, and used one of my complimentary tickets to find the exact same seat that I was in the day before. This time I watched just as intently (it's a very engrossing film, I tell you) until the scene began that had been interrupted. I looked at my watch to check the time remaining. Nothing happened. The film continued on, and I got to see all of the rest of what the Coen brothers had created.
I tell this story only because it illustrates just what a true movie lover might do. I would have been willing to wait that Sunday if the folks at Arclight would have only guaranteed us that we could have seen the end of our movie. I would have returned the next day just to watch the final 15-20 minutes by themselves if I had been allowed to do only that. Instead, I watched the entire thing all over again, just because I love movies that much and wanted to see how it ended.
This is not my first encounter with such problems in a theater, by the way. The first time a screening was interrupted by outside forces was back in 1978. I had gone to see Death on the Nile with my grandparents during some Christmas shopping in Alabama. I always loved the Agatha Christie mysteries, and I always enjoyed the film adaptations of them too. Just as Hercule Poirot (played by the grand Peter Ustinov) had assembled the potential suspects and was in the process of explaining how he had deduced the identity of the real killer (you know how he does that if you've seen any one of the films), all of the power went off. Seems like a thunderstorm had knocked out all of the electricity in the area. The people at the theater were nice enough to offer us free tickets to return another day to see the film again (or some other film), but no one in the theater--not even my elderly grandparents--took them up on their offer. We just wanted to find out who the killer was, so we all stayed until the power came back on about 45 minutes later. We ran from the lobby back into the theater, and they restarted the film a few minutes before the part we had seen before. Nice of them to do that. Satisfying, really.
I should admit that I've had the opposite reaction as well. My mother and I went to see A Fish Called Wanda in 1988. There was a big storm that night too, and we were left in the dark before that movie ended as well. However, this time when we were offered free tickets, we took them and went to get some dinner. I think there was also pie involved. I don't know how long after that it was before I found out how that movie ended. Needless to say, it wasn't quite as fascinating to me as Death on the Nile or No Country for Old Men.
Lest you think it's only the endings of movies that are ruined for me when something like this happens, I should tell you about going to see A Passage to India, that marvelous David Lean epic of 1984, still one of my favorites. This time, the film broke during the beginning of the screening, during the opening credits, to be exact. What we missed was the scene with Judy Davis as Miss Quested buying her ticket to India and seeing a drawing of the caves which will play such a significant part in the film later on. Now, that wouldn't seem to be such a big deal to have missed such a small moment early in a movie, but one of the its great themes is first raised there. I recall taking a Film and Literature class the following semester and having the professor ask if anyone had seen A Passage to India during the one week that it played in Starkville. I raised my hand, alone, apparently, in my love of Forster novels and Lean films. When the professor asked me about the opening scene, I was, of course, unable to answer. You can never really know what the consquences of an event might be, can you?
Here's to no more interruptions in the moviegoing experience, whether at the beginning, middle, or end.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Too Soon
Yesterday I went to see Michael Clayton at the Arclight in Hollywood. (Yes, I guess it is worth $12 a ticket plus $2 in parking to avoid the rabble; this was a much better movie-going experience than I had last week.) The usher introduced the film as two hours of George Clooney, which it is. (Someday, I have to write a blog about the Arclight ushers.) However, before the film itself began, we in the audience had to watch half a dozen trailers. The first one disturbed me so much that I still haven't quite come to terms with it.
It's for the film The Dark Knight, the latest Batman movie. The movie doesn't open until this summer, but the trailers are already on the screens. Thankfully, I haven't seen one on television yet, but can it be long before that happens too? I did see Batman Begins, the first of the series to feature Christian Bale as the title hero. However, what sets this new film apart from the rest is the actor playing the main villain. It's Heath Ledger as the Joker.
Now, perhaps it's a coincidence that the trailer was shown the same week as Ledger's funeral in Australia and just one day after the release of the toxicology report that led to a ruling of accidental overdose in his recent death. But I couldn't help but think this was an attempt by Warner Brothers to capitalize on the news coverage, to get themselves some publicity while one of the actors was being discussed so much. There's no pressing reason to advertise a film in February that isn't scheduled to open until July. Couldn't the studio have waited, say, another month before starting to show advertisements for it? I hope that I'm wrong because I don't want to believe that a studio could be so uncaring about the feelings of the Ledger family, so unsympathetic even to the feelings of the moviegoing public who perhaps haven't yet come to terms with the young actor's sad death. As little as I often like the studio system nowadays, I don't want that to be the case. But the trailer is an intriguing one. The image of Ledger in his Joker make-up is withheld for a long time, building the suspense for the revealing of his face. It makes me a little suspicious that it's been edited that way.
Maybe it's just too soon to be seeing Ledger in his final performance as an actor. I'm certain the reviews are all going to mention his death. I almost wish the studio would pull the film and reshoot it with someone else in the part. I know that isn't financially sound advice, but it seems that the release of the film is likely to engender a couple of expected responses: people who are going out of some sort of morbid fascination to see the performance "that killed him" or people who are upset with the studio for exploiting the death of an actor in order to make more profits. I think you can tell which camp I am in at this point.
It's for the film The Dark Knight, the latest Batman movie. The movie doesn't open until this summer, but the trailers are already on the screens. Thankfully, I haven't seen one on television yet, but can it be long before that happens too? I did see Batman Begins, the first of the series to feature Christian Bale as the title hero. However, what sets this new film apart from the rest is the actor playing the main villain. It's Heath Ledger as the Joker.
Now, perhaps it's a coincidence that the trailer was shown the same week as Ledger's funeral in Australia and just one day after the release of the toxicology report that led to a ruling of accidental overdose in his recent death. But I couldn't help but think this was an attempt by Warner Brothers to capitalize on the news coverage, to get themselves some publicity while one of the actors was being discussed so much. There's no pressing reason to advertise a film in February that isn't scheduled to open until July. Couldn't the studio have waited, say, another month before starting to show advertisements for it? I hope that I'm wrong because I don't want to believe that a studio could be so uncaring about the feelings of the Ledger family, so unsympathetic even to the feelings of the moviegoing public who perhaps haven't yet come to terms with the young actor's sad death. As little as I often like the studio system nowadays, I don't want that to be the case. But the trailer is an intriguing one. The image of Ledger in his Joker make-up is withheld for a long time, building the suspense for the revealing of his face. It makes me a little suspicious that it's been edited that way.
Maybe it's just too soon to be seeing Ledger in his final performance as an actor. I'm certain the reviews are all going to mention his death. I almost wish the studio would pull the film and reshoot it with someone else in the part. I know that isn't financially sound advice, but it seems that the release of the film is likely to engender a couple of expected responses: people who are going out of some sort of morbid fascination to see the performance "that killed him" or people who are upset with the studio for exploiting the death of an actor in order to make more profits. I think you can tell which camp I am in at this point.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Going to the Movies
In recent years, I've seen an increasing number of articles on the decline in the number of movie tickets being sold. Fewer and fewer people, it seems, are venturing out to see films in the theaters. This, of course, is a cause of some concern, even though most films make most of their money on DVD sales and rentals anyway. Such concerns periodically spawn articles about what has led to this downward trend. Whenever I hear people discussing why movie attendance is down, I have to wonder if any of them have actually been to the movies lately. One trip to the local theater will give you all the insight you need as to why people might prefer to stay home and watch movies on TV or DVD instead.
I went to see There Will Be Blood this afternoon, sort of my alternative programming for the Super Bowl. Thinking that most people who want to see it had already done so, I confidently waited until almost the last minute to leave the apartment and make the walk to the Grove. The ticket was still under 10 dollars, a minor miracle in Los Angeles these days. (Check out the peak time prices now. I can recall paying $2.50 for movies when I was growing up. Am I really that old?) I walked to the theater where the movie was screening to discover that with five minutes left before the film began, almost every seat was taken. Yes, almost every one, certainly every one in the upper tier. I wound up in the second row all the way on the left side of the screen. That's a bit close for my taste, and my neck is going to pay the price for it tomorrow, I'm sure. I haven't sat so close to the screen since an ill-fated attempt to watch Honeymoon in Vegas many years ago with my mother, my brother, and his then-girlfriend. Thankfully, There Will Be Blood is a better movie and holds your attention even if you might be a bit too close.
After I found my seat, then the fun truly began. Others came late to the theater as well, and after giving up on finding a seat elsewhere in the room, they came to my row. I had no fewer than five people attempt to sit next to me at various times during the previews. After a few seconds or minutes, most got up and went to find somewhere else to sit (where, I have no idea), muttering about "being too close." Finally, someone parked in the seat and stayed there. He was not, unfortunately, alone. He had brought with him a large bag of popcorn, which he proceeded to munch throughout much of the 2 hour, 39 minute movie. I guess you don't want to eat all of your goodies during the previews. That wouldn't allow you to annoy the people sitting around you during the particularly quiet scenes of the movie (like the first 15 minutes of There Will Be Blood, which are wordless). He was probably the same guy who sat behind me years ago when I went to see Mimic (a truly stupid movie); that popcorn muncher was so loud, I actually checked my watch to see how long he had been eating (1 hour, 25 minutes, if you're interested, and that's constant chewing, by the way).
Then, 25 minutes after the movie had started (yes, the actual movie, not the trailers), a family arrived to sit in the front row. Seven of them. The youngest might have been 6? The oldest child might have been 12? Once again, I began to wonder about the parenting skills of moviegoers. It reminded me of the time I saw Pulp Fiction in Burbank, and a mother brought her three daughters (the youngest one might have been 6 as well, and the oldest wasn't even 12, I don't think). Do people not pay attention to movie ratings at all any more? Who wants to take young children to a movie with as much violence as There Will Be Blood? Have they not even read the title of the movie? Have all of the torture porn movies (Saw, Hostel, etc.) sold out? Of course, this being a somewhat intellectual movie, the children got bored very quickly. They didn't seem to be too intrigued by the acting or cinematography or the movie's examination of religious fanaticism or anything having to do with the movie, really. They proceeded to walk around the front of the theater or to walk in and out of the theater to buy more food. I was pretty sick of the smell of hot dogs by the end of the film.
I don't even know how to begin on the topic of cell phones. Three of them went off during the movie. Three of them. Shouldn't the owners of the second and third ones have taken a hint from the first one? I keep my cell phone turned on silent or turned off almost all of the time. Perhaps I'm not as important as these people who can't afford to take a couple of hours of free time on a Sunday afternoon. No, they need to be tethered to the outside world, even though they're in a movie theater. At least, no one answered the phone and started talking. (Yes, that really happened once when I was at a screening in Century City. The woman told her friend about everything that was going on in the film. Several of us had her removed by the usher because she wouldn't stop talking.) And if people weren't letting their cell phones ring, they kept opening their phones to check the time. Doesn't anyone wear a watch any more? Do the rest of us need to have the blue glow of your cell phone distracting us from the movie? Are you really that bored? Why don't you just leave if you are? At least, no one around me was texting someone else. (Oh, yes, happens all the time nowadays. I saw someone sending messages during a screening of Atonement recently.)
So I endured sitting in the second row, so close that I think I could feel Daniel Day-Lewis's mustache brush against me from time to time. I endured the high ticket prices and the hyperactive children and the cell phone lights and the popcorn stench and noise. I even managed to survive the inappropriate laughter that emanated at the oddest times. Some of the most serious dialogue got laughs. Go figure. I had no idea There Will Be Blood was a comedy. However, I almost didn't make it out of the theater without causing a scene. As the end credits began to roll and most of the other patrons ran for the door as if a fire had broken out, three women behind me decided to start a conversation. It was somewhat related to the film, but only tangentially and only at times. What was most intriguing was how, as the music that plays over the credits would swell, they would talk louder so as to be heard over the now-almost-deafening music. Is it just me or should you go outside if you're going to talk rather than watch the end credits? And if you're going to have to keep raising your voice because the movie is interfering with your conversation, maybe you shouldn't be in the movie? Naturally, they were oblivious to the other people around them who were still trying to pay attention. I gritted my teeth and walked out just before they did, thus avoiding the overwhelming need I had to point out their rude behavior.
I realize this is quite a rant and that you were probably unprepared for the depth of my outrage, but in recent years, I've gone to fewer and fewer movies in theaters. I used to love seeing films on the big screen. There really is no substitute for it. It's an experience that cannot be duplicated at home, no matter how big your television screen is. But each time I go nowadays, it seems there is some new indignity that is foisted upon me. People used to have manners when they went out in public, and I'm not seeing much evidence of that any more. I really don't relish the thought of having to pay Arclight prices each time I want to see a movie, but it does guarantee you a specific seat, and the people there do seem to be somewhat better behaved overall. What is a movie lover to do? Is it time to abandon going out to the movies?
I went to see There Will Be Blood this afternoon, sort of my alternative programming for the Super Bowl. Thinking that most people who want to see it had already done so, I confidently waited until almost the last minute to leave the apartment and make the walk to the Grove. The ticket was still under 10 dollars, a minor miracle in Los Angeles these days. (Check out the peak time prices now. I can recall paying $2.50 for movies when I was growing up. Am I really that old?) I walked to the theater where the movie was screening to discover that with five minutes left before the film began, almost every seat was taken. Yes, almost every one, certainly every one in the upper tier. I wound up in the second row all the way on the left side of the screen. That's a bit close for my taste, and my neck is going to pay the price for it tomorrow, I'm sure. I haven't sat so close to the screen since an ill-fated attempt to watch Honeymoon in Vegas many years ago with my mother, my brother, and his then-girlfriend. Thankfully, There Will Be Blood is a better movie and holds your attention even if you might be a bit too close.
After I found my seat, then the fun truly began. Others came late to the theater as well, and after giving up on finding a seat elsewhere in the room, they came to my row. I had no fewer than five people attempt to sit next to me at various times during the previews. After a few seconds or minutes, most got up and went to find somewhere else to sit (where, I have no idea), muttering about "being too close." Finally, someone parked in the seat and stayed there. He was not, unfortunately, alone. He had brought with him a large bag of popcorn, which he proceeded to munch throughout much of the 2 hour, 39 minute movie. I guess you don't want to eat all of your goodies during the previews. That wouldn't allow you to annoy the people sitting around you during the particularly quiet scenes of the movie (like the first 15 minutes of There Will Be Blood, which are wordless). He was probably the same guy who sat behind me years ago when I went to see Mimic (a truly stupid movie); that popcorn muncher was so loud, I actually checked my watch to see how long he had been eating (1 hour, 25 minutes, if you're interested, and that's constant chewing, by the way).
Then, 25 minutes after the movie had started (yes, the actual movie, not the trailers), a family arrived to sit in the front row. Seven of them. The youngest might have been 6? The oldest child might have been 12? Once again, I began to wonder about the parenting skills of moviegoers. It reminded me of the time I saw Pulp Fiction in Burbank, and a mother brought her three daughters (the youngest one might have been 6 as well, and the oldest wasn't even 12, I don't think). Do people not pay attention to movie ratings at all any more? Who wants to take young children to a movie with as much violence as There Will Be Blood? Have they not even read the title of the movie? Have all of the torture porn movies (Saw, Hostel, etc.) sold out? Of course, this being a somewhat intellectual movie, the children got bored very quickly. They didn't seem to be too intrigued by the acting or cinematography or the movie's examination of religious fanaticism or anything having to do with the movie, really. They proceeded to walk around the front of the theater or to walk in and out of the theater to buy more food. I was pretty sick of the smell of hot dogs by the end of the film.
I don't even know how to begin on the topic of cell phones. Three of them went off during the movie. Three of them. Shouldn't the owners of the second and third ones have taken a hint from the first one? I keep my cell phone turned on silent or turned off almost all of the time. Perhaps I'm not as important as these people who can't afford to take a couple of hours of free time on a Sunday afternoon. No, they need to be tethered to the outside world, even though they're in a movie theater. At least, no one answered the phone and started talking. (Yes, that really happened once when I was at a screening in Century City. The woman told her friend about everything that was going on in the film. Several of us had her removed by the usher because she wouldn't stop talking.) And if people weren't letting their cell phones ring, they kept opening their phones to check the time. Doesn't anyone wear a watch any more? Do the rest of us need to have the blue glow of your cell phone distracting us from the movie? Are you really that bored? Why don't you just leave if you are? At least, no one around me was texting someone else. (Oh, yes, happens all the time nowadays. I saw someone sending messages during a screening of Atonement recently.)
So I endured sitting in the second row, so close that I think I could feel Daniel Day-Lewis's mustache brush against me from time to time. I endured the high ticket prices and the hyperactive children and the cell phone lights and the popcorn stench and noise. I even managed to survive the inappropriate laughter that emanated at the oddest times. Some of the most serious dialogue got laughs. Go figure. I had no idea There Will Be Blood was a comedy. However, I almost didn't make it out of the theater without causing a scene. As the end credits began to roll and most of the other patrons ran for the door as if a fire had broken out, three women behind me decided to start a conversation. It was somewhat related to the film, but only tangentially and only at times. What was most intriguing was how, as the music that plays over the credits would swell, they would talk louder so as to be heard over the now-almost-deafening music. Is it just me or should you go outside if you're going to talk rather than watch the end credits? And if you're going to have to keep raising your voice because the movie is interfering with your conversation, maybe you shouldn't be in the movie? Naturally, they were oblivious to the other people around them who were still trying to pay attention. I gritted my teeth and walked out just before they did, thus avoiding the overwhelming need I had to point out their rude behavior.
I realize this is quite a rant and that you were probably unprepared for the depth of my outrage, but in recent years, I've gone to fewer and fewer movies in theaters. I used to love seeing films on the big screen. There really is no substitute for it. It's an experience that cannot be duplicated at home, no matter how big your television screen is. But each time I go nowadays, it seems there is some new indignity that is foisted upon me. People used to have manners when they went out in public, and I'm not seeing much evidence of that any more. I really don't relish the thought of having to pay Arclight prices each time I want to see a movie, but it does guarantee you a specific seat, and the people there do seem to be somewhat better behaved overall. What is a movie lover to do? Is it time to abandon going out to the movies?
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