So I received an email from my dear friend Laney the other day. The subject line was:
Oh, you should SO be watching this…, and was an alert that William Wyler’s classic DODSWORTH (featuring Walter Huston and Madame Ouspenskaya, among others) was playing on TCM. And Laney was so right. We should all be watching DODSWORTH right now, especially since there’s not much being offered at the local Cineplex these days.
Maybe I’m getting cranky but it seems to me there is just more and more junk out there. I’m turning into my parents, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Twenty years ago they started in with the “they just don’t make movies like they used to.” I rolled my eyes and took off to see GREMLINS or COCKTAIL.
Scanning this Sunday’s movie listings, I must admit there was nothing that I cared to see, or at least nothing that couldn’t wait til it ended up on DVD at Netflix. OK, I do want to see SPIDER-MAN 3 on the big screen but must wait until the hullabaloo dies down. And despite its boffo box office this weekend, the so-so reviews might make this happen a bit sooner than anticipated. Actually I’m probably the only person who goes to the Spiderman movies in anticipation of another great turn by Rosemary Harris.
But who can possibly attend a big summer blockbuster anymore without resisting the urge to smack a few people? When did going to the movies stop being about the movie and instead, become a gathering place for half-witted yokels to have a family reunion while gobbling tubs o’ corn and guzzling buckets o’ Diet Coke? (And what good do these behemoths think they are doing, downing a gallon of diet cola, when their veins and vessels are already packed with sludge from the nacho cheese goo they have slathered all over their Jumbo Trough o’ Chips at the concession stand?)
Forgive the rant, but it’s becoming impossible to enjoy a movie any more without having to deal with compulsive talkers who, even when attempting a sotto voce whisper, sound like King Kong grunting at Naomi Watts. Then there are the boisterous gobblers attacking their Milk Duds and Twizzlers with a chomping desperation as though it were their last supper. And it’s bad enough when a cell phone goes off, it’s even worse when the person next to you answers it, like the nit witted hag at CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON who ---during the last magical moments of that movie--- answered her phone (with a ringer that sounded like an air-raid warning) and launched into a full-throttle gab session with her gal pal. And that was years ago, but the memory still scars me.
Oh, you should SO be watching this…, and was an alert that William Wyler’s classic DODSWORTH (featuring Walter Huston and Madame Ouspenskaya, among others) was playing on TCM. And Laney was so right. We should all be watching DODSWORTH right now, especially since there’s not much being offered at the local Cineplex these days.
Maybe I’m getting cranky but it seems to me there is just more and more junk out there. I’m turning into my parents, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Twenty years ago they started in with the “they just don’t make movies like they used to.” I rolled my eyes and took off to see GREMLINS or COCKTAIL.
Scanning this Sunday’s movie listings, I must admit there was nothing that I cared to see, or at least nothing that couldn’t wait til it ended up on DVD at Netflix. OK, I do want to see SPIDER-MAN 3 on the big screen but must wait until the hullabaloo dies down. And despite its boffo box office this weekend, the so-so reviews might make this happen a bit sooner than anticipated. Actually I’m probably the only person who goes to the Spiderman movies in anticipation of another great turn by Rosemary Harris.
But who can possibly attend a big summer blockbuster anymore without resisting the urge to smack a few people? When did going to the movies stop being about the movie and instead, become a gathering place for half-witted yokels to have a family reunion while gobbling tubs o’ corn and guzzling buckets o’ Diet Coke? (And what good do these behemoths think they are doing, downing a gallon of diet cola, when their veins and vessels are already packed with sludge from the nacho cheese goo they have slathered all over their Jumbo Trough o’ Chips at the concession stand?)
Forgive the rant, but it’s becoming impossible to enjoy a movie any more without having to deal with compulsive talkers who, even when attempting a sotto voce whisper, sound like King Kong grunting at Naomi Watts. Then there are the boisterous gobblers attacking their Milk Duds and Twizzlers with a chomping desperation as though it were their last supper. And it’s bad enough when a cell phone goes off, it’s even worse when the person next to you answers it, like the nit witted hag at CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON who ---during the last magical moments of that movie--- answered her phone (with a ringer that sounded like an air-raid warning) and launched into a full-throttle gab session with her gal pal. And that was years ago, but the memory still scars me.
I’m a nice person. Really. And I love movies. But I’m starting not to love people. At least the people who are, more and more, robbing me of the pleasures of a few hours in the dark staring at the silver screen. One of the very few pleasant experiences I have had in the past year was when I attended a 10:45 a.m. matinee of THE QUEEN. Perfect. Of course the entire audience was made up of me and about 200 genteel Rosemary Harris look-alikes. Now that was a lovely day.
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