Arthur Meiselman

april 2006

Going To The Movies

I saw a movie in Bangkok last year in a modern Cineplex with a huge screen, a fully-enhanced sound system, and comfortable seats. Not unlike the best in the U.S. or the UK or anywhere else where there is substantial investment in modern movie house facilities. The house was packed. About 15 minutes into the movie, I began to hear quiet, little beeps coming from different directions in the theatre. And quiet, little flashes. Then it increased, and all around me I could hear whispering and quiet, little giggles. When I finally pulled my head out of the screen, I realized that I was watching cell phones (mobiles) actively connecting people throughout the audience. Hello? They were calling each other and seemingly talking about the movie, at least that's what the people to my side and in front and behind were doing. Primarily teenagers but not limited to that exploratory age group. Though to my sensibility it was rather annoying, it wasn't totally disruptive. The Thais are outwardly a polite and quiet people (emphasis on outwardly), so the noise level was at a minimum, if you can say that about hundreds of mobile phones twitching and twinking.

It was an audience-participation experience, not unlike similar audience behavior in many other countries. Try seeing a film in China or Israel or Argentina or, ouff, Russia. Audiences there, with or without phones, truly "get into it!" They talk and shout to each other, to the characters in the movie, to the actors. If it weren't for the distance and limited access of the movie screen, some of them would jump right to screen and try to join the action. In fact, I saw that happen in an Italian movie house in Milano—and it wasn't just someone "showing off", it was a woman who was so moved by the story that she found a way to get there to talk to one of the characters in an effort to convince him not to divorce his movie wife. He did.

American audiences are apparently more passive (emphasis on apparently), so this type of experience isn't commonplace, except at screenings of Black movies for Afro-American audiences, and Latin movies, and other ethnic-oriented screenings. The same is true in the UK. Years ago, I saw the world premiere of Gandhi at a theatre in the Brighton Mews. Sir Richard was there along with many other celebritianos. During the entire screening, the only extraneous sounds I heard came from the tea-sellers, whispering to each other as they waited for the interval. I wondered: was the audience awake, were they alive, were they lost without subtitles?

For certain, going to the movies, almost anywhere, is wrapped in the anxious influence of television, video, email and text messaging—short spans of attention, multi-tasking with multi-pees and multi-snacks and multi-chit-chatting. Now with DVD and movies-on-demand, it's a matter of stand-up, sit-down, run around, throw it away, or look at it a dozen times and then throw it away. The great philosophical search of our time is not to achieve oneness with the universe—it is to find out how to sit still for 20 minutes. A two-hour movie? Not on the planet Earth!

My good friend, the filmmaker, Joe De Francesco, is an ardent believer in the movie theatre as the only venue for experiencing a movie. He resisted video cassettes and cable television for a long time. As embarrassing as it might have been among his colleagues, he adamantly insisted on absorbing a movie where it belonged: on the big screen. He wanted the quality of the image and the sound and the detachment of a darkened theatre. (He also preferred a good French wine over a California quickie.) Eventually, the pressures of family and industry forced a compromise in that resistance, though not in his belief. And he still drinks good French wine.

He was right. A movie should be seen as it was intended to be seen and as the dominant captor of all the senses in a place, a temple, dedicated to revealing its beauty. But if you're as misanthropic, rather, disanthropic, as I am, you find yourself, reluctantly and often remorsefully, dragging yourself to a movie house, less and less. You find yourself miserly hoarding your own time to recreate a movie-going experience, alone, in your own darkened room with a big tube and a big sound system... and not quite getting it. But getting closer every day.
Unless—you're one of the fortunate few who has their own screening room, their own personal movie theatre, which is the best of both worlds, mobile phones be damned!

Live theatre used to be a major means of mass communication, and still is in some remote places in the world. No more. Despite its entertainment and educational values, the only treasure that live theatre retains is the story-telling, the acting in real-time. It is a powerful treasure and one that movies cannot give. The closest I ever came to that real-time/live-theatre gift at the movies was on a warm, Tuscan night. I call it my "Cinema Paradiso" experience. I sat with a few hundred smoking, drinking Italians watching a movie outdoors,  projected on the side of a whitewashed church. Of all things, it was a Turkish movie with subtitles about immigrant fishermen. With all of the laughter, cheers, boos, singing, and, yes, chit-chat,  rather than a disturbing distraction, it all became one engaging, live experience. And the memory of that night has spurred me to search for the 'oneness' of that experience. I want to see a finished movie, shown at the location where it was shot, surrounded by the characters on the screen and the actors who portrayed them, and the director and crew, sitting and watching with me. I want to see that film come to life in real time on those faces of the people around me. That's what I call—going to the movies.

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About This Article

©2006 Arthur Meiselman
©2006 Publication Scene4 Magazine

Arthur Meiselman is a writer, playwright and
the zingaro editor of Scene4. He also directs
the Talos Ensemble.

For more of his commentary and articles, check the



april 2006

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