I have a problem. I like going out to see movies. This is the first step of my recovery: my acknowledgment that I am powerless over cinema…
I believe it started with Aladdin. That’s the first memory I have – well, my first memory is almost drowning in the Pacific, somewhere along the Northern California coast – so, I ought to clarify. That is my first memory of going to the cinema. It was Armistice Day, 1992. It had been a dry November, but it was still cold. I was five and had recently discovered watching my breath condense into vapor. I recall watching this phenomenon many times while I waited for my father to unlock the car. I was sure this breath-fog was the most amazing thing that I would witness that day.
We get in the old Vista Colt, cruise north on Blackstone Avenue, probably hit every red on the way there (those lights have always been poorly timed). We turn in to the lot of the long since torn down Broadway Six Cinema. My father parks the car in the first spot he sees and we begin what seems like a half-mile walk to the theater entrance. This hasn’t changed. My dad will still park further than necessary from any destination (and when someone pointed this out as a habit of mine was my initiation into the timeless “I’m becoming my father” drama that man has observed since that one Australopithecus used an underhand grip on a primitive knife it was using to eviscerate a prehistoric leopard and mused, “My dad used to hold it this way…”). I didn’t mind the walk. He was the one carrying my sister, so it was no burden on me. And this gave me more time to exaggeratedly exhale and ponder.
Cut to: Int. Theatre. Later. On the screen, Aladdin is warning Abu not to touch anything. Then Abu swipes a ruby. Then shit gets real. (I was looking for this scene and found this. C’mon dude. Stop cluttering the internet.) By this point, my then one-year-old sister had begun to cry hysterically and my father had to take her to the lobby. I was alone in a new place, seeing something I had never scene. It was like a waking dream, these images on the screen. I got up and ran to claim a seat in the front row and proceeded to have my mind blown for the next eighty-five minutes.
The next theatrical experiences of merit are Jurassic Park in 1993, which I convinced five different adults to take me to (JP ties with Fellowship of the Ring, Jaws, and Alien for movies seen the most times in theaters. No. Wait. If we’re counting revival nights then Jurassic Park gets two more tallies), and Stargate in 1994. The initial time I saw Jurassic Park, I drew my feet up onto my chair when the velociraptor jumped at Lex’s dangling legs. My memory of Stargate is making myself vomit by overindulging in candy and soda pop. I had to see the rest of that film the following day.
These were all fantastical films. In three years, a habit had developed that has lasted me to this present day. I have kicked it a few times when I was too broke or too busy, but I always come back. I like to sit in the dark with strangers and watch larger-than-life images flicker on a screen. I prefer my projectors to be film rather than digital, and for my seating to me flat rather than stadium, but sometimes the need for the score outweighs my tastes. This goes for the movies as well. Sometimes I find myself seeing something I have no interest in. I find myself squirming in the seat, my brain talking over the film:
“This isn’t right, man. Calm down. No. This doesn’t feel right. We’re only three minutes in. Why is everyone wearing suits and talking about pop culture? If I wanted to see Reservoir Dogs I would have fucking rented Reservoir Dogs. We own Reservoir Dogs. It’s in a box in your mom’s garage, bro. Probably melted into a puddle by now. What’re you talking about? Fresno summers. Be quiet. I’m trying to – You fool! You fool! They got you with a decent trailer. Go get your money back now. Before it’s too late. It’s my day off. I wanted to see a movie today. Then sneak into the next theater, man. This is all cutter, no pure. You’re gonna leave worse than you came. We’re being hunted. In the bushes. Straight ahead. I’ve got her. Go! Run! Now!”
I’m going to cut this short. I need to plug JanJag and review a list of equipment for rent. Let it be known: I like my theaters. I like them dingy. I like their content eclectic. I like their patrons old. Or at least dedicated to watching whatever film is showing. These dirty venues feed something in me that I haven’t been able to kick for the streaming home experience that so many of my contemporaries are fine with. I like to stare at a large image and feel committed to experiencing it. It feels sacred to me. And a good screenplay does more for me than a sermon.
JanJag. Check it out. We’re at fifteen percent. We need your contributions and visits and shares ( igg.me/at/janjagfilm ) to keep this dream afloat. Cassani is a sweetheart. A dreamer. He likes to tell stories. This one is good. Let’s make this story into a thing. Then we can put it out there. And it might be playing on a big screen. And I can go see it. And, for its running time, be a guileless little five-year-old again.
sterlingworth 