Gangway for Footcycle!

This is a great article that talks about a time when finding a rare film was something not unlike finding a treasure map to incomprehensible riches in your attic.

Read it here...

My reason for posting it is because it touched on something that I've been trying to deal with for so long: the idea that once a film exits the theatres, it ceases to be a big deal.

I've discussed this before, and it was a big reason why I stopped liking movies those many months ago. Today, almost every single film is at our fingertips, whether through Torrents, Netflix, Redbox, On Demand, or what have you. Sure, that freedom to watch something whenever we want allows us the privilege of leading half-way decent lives. It lets us schedule our viewings in our iPhones, because there's no need to interrupt our lives for a film.

But, looking back as a kid, going to a movie, or renting a movie was the highlight of my tiny existence. I would go out of my way to do my chores and be extra awesome to my parents so that they would oblige my wishes for a simple $3.50 ticket to see Hook, or to rent Suburban Commando (please, no jokes.) Sure, they saw right through my efforts, but that's not the point: I made a big deal out of it, and because of that movies became a big deal. It became something almost magical. In short, I was willing to do ANYTHING to go to the movies. Seriously. Anything.

But, then I became a teenager. My parents got lazier (or rather, we became more responsible), and they got more money, so going to the movies became a more frequent occurrence. We'd rent two movies or so a month (maybe four, if we had a coupon), and that was more than enough. I was satiated. I was complete. But I was also becoming complacent.

Now, after four years at university, films are never out of my reach. I have the means to rent one if I want. I can also buy one, go see one, or even download one, whenever I want. No chores to do. No big deal to make.

Last year when I had my epiphany about movies was the moment when I realized that a crucial part of my movie equation was missing: They weren't a big deal anymore. They weren't the highlight of my week. They weren't the one thing I looked forward to more than anything. What had happened was they had become my life.

And so I looked around. I saw that it wasn't just me who had lost out on the "big deal" portion of the equation. The advent of all things digital had also created a gap in the old-timey ways of viewing cinema. It was all too easy, and all too accessible. Before, we would have to stop everything to watch a film; now, we multi-task while watching films. We even have to show commercials about it at the theater to get folks to stop multi-tasking just watch the frakkin' film...

Ugh.

But seriously, what I wouldn't give for someone to take my movies away*, and hold them hostage. What I wouldn't give for someone to make movies a big deal again.

And with that, I offer some hope:

James Cameron did something close to miraculous (in this day and age) with Avatar. He made an event film. He made going to the movies a big deal. This wasn't a movie you could download, or rent or get on demand, because you'd be missing out on what makes the film unique. I'd always saw 3D as a viable means to get butts in the seats, but never did I expect it to become what it is becoming. It's making movies special again. Sure, it costs more, but when it's done right, 3D gives us something we can't (yet) get at home, or on our computer. And I'm all for it.

Now, a slightly different realm, but applicable nonetheless:

Some of you may know what The Room is. Most of you probably don't, nor should you. It's arguably the worst movie ever made, but that's not the point. This film, not unlike The Rocky Horror Picture Show, has created a cult following in New York and L.A., where midnight screenings of the film are a common occurrence. Apparently, they're amazing screenings. People yell things at the film, and they participate. In short, they make it a big deal. Now, contrast that with how I first saw the film: as an April Fool's Joke on Adult Swim. Alone. I later saw it on DVD with my brother, and that helped, but it didn't have the same chutzpah that a midnight screening with a crowd would have garnered. Part of me regrets seeing it this way. Part of me thinks it could have been a better experience (the movie is so horribly bad that it's hilarious. Like this. Or this. And especially this...) by seeing it with other people, in a theatre. Part of me wishes I had paid to see it, as opposed to simply chancing upon it one Sunday night. Can I be certain of this? No, obviously. But, what I can be certain of is that the actual act of taking time out of my life to attend something of this magnitude would instantly classify it as a bigger deal than simply picking it up at the Redbox after getting some milk. It's just a different beast.

And I'm almost 100% sure it's a better one as well.

So, a call to action: Let us all try and make movies special again. Let's make them something we are willing drop everything for, and take the time to savor. Let's make 'em a big deal. Again.

*I have actually had this happen. It lasted two years, and I really think it helped.