I mentioned previously that my trip to see Frozen River was my second attempt to get to the West Newton Cinema. The first, which took place a week ago Thursday, was quite a fiasco, but had a happy ending thankfully.
Thursday is usually the day devoted to seeing all the flicks that are about to see town. It's "last chance day" for a lot of films, because the new schedules usually start on Friday. Religulous was at West Newton and according to web site, it was about to finish its run.
The day was a two-fer. I'd been in Worcester earlier seeing a different last-chance film before heading east towards Newton. Because I had a large gap of time before the sole evening showing of the Maher flick, I killed time by a pleasant detour to the great shining mecca of commercialism called the Natick Mall, which is located, of course, in Natick, just off the Massachusetts Turnpike.
The Natick Mall is not just any mall. It's one of those beautiful malls, with a fancy designed exterior and upscale stores. It was very easy to find, and I knew I was in consumer heaven when I had to drive past the valet parking entrance by Lord and Taylors to get to the parking lot for plebes like me. Being that it was a weekday afternoon, and in mid November, the mall was nice and quiet. I had a nice stroll down the luxury wing, surveying the winding contours of the ceiling that resembled an airport. To top it off, there is even a condo development attached right to the mall near Nieman Marcus. All the while I'm contemplating the report I had seen on the local Boston news about how the operators of the mall, General Growth Properties, were going bankrupt. The news anchors assured viewers that the mall itself would not be closing.
After lunch at the food court there, from a burger joint called Flamers, I got back on the Turnpike and headed east, thinking it would be an easy jaunt into Newton. Boy was I wrong. I found myself in a situation that Boston-area drivers know all too well, which is Mass Turnpike Hell. Even though it was not yet rush hour, and I was heading into the city, not out of it, I spent a good forty-five minutes crawling up to the line of toll booth collectors, just to hand them a dollar and forty five cents. It was absolutely preposterous. It set me back far enough in time that now I needed to hie it to get to the movie on time.
The directions in the Boston Globe movie section, which I carried with me, said the theater was at Highway 16 at the Mass Pike. I had located this on my road atlas, which has a not-too-useful map of the Boston area. Up until now, directions such as these had proven more than sufficient to find any theater. I figured it would be a piece of cake: all I had to do was get of the Mass Pike at Highway 16, which was supposedly only a few miles ahead.
A few miles came and went and there was no exit. Finally there was an exit, for Newton, but no mention of Highway 16. By this time it was dark and there was no way I could consult my map while driving (users of GPS devices are by now rolling their eyes). To make matters worse, the Turnpike in the other direction going out of downtown Boston was jammed solid in all lanes and barely moving.
So I got off at the exit and found myself at a jammed up standstill in a tangle of streets, unable to read the street signs at all. There were no signs for Highway 16, and no sign of any theater. Following the only path I could through traffic, I crawled in a line of cars along a winding road towards Newton center,which I knew was the wrong direction, but which I thought my lead me to an obvious landmark. I was wrong. There was just more traffic and more cars. Finally I stopped and tried to consult my map. But with no interior light in the BMW, a weak flashlight, and (worst) no magnifying glass for my 44-year-old eyes, the map was practically useless. So I did the only sane thing. I turned around, and headed back into the tangle by the exit.
Obviously I had gotten off at the wrong exit. So when I got back to the Turnpike, I got back on, heading towards downtown of course, and hoping for a second Newton exit to appear. None did. In a few minutes, exits for other suburbs appeared, ones closer to downtown than Newton.
A few minutes later, the outside of Fenway Park, all lit up for something, was looming along the the road. An advertisement for a gun sales outlet graced the Turnpike side for motorists to view. I knew my goose was cooked. Unprepared, I was headed right into the heart of Beantown in the thick of the evening rush hour. There would be no turning around, unless I wanted to spend a hellish two hours in traffic getting back out. Ready or not, I was driving into the center of the city.
Trying to keep my wits, I bailed off the turnpike at Copley Square, snaking through the underground viaducts and emerging amidst a cluster of tall dark buildings. It was like being back in Manhattan and immediately I summoned the best of my old NYC driving skills to cope with the sudden challenge. All I really wanted to do at this point was pull over and consult my atlas, but there was no place to even idle. Finally I found a spot, but it turned out to be valet parking for a restaurant (should have remembered from New York), a fact I learned while waving off the attendant who started sprinting towards my door. Like it or not, I was going to have to figure out what to do while driving in the dark through downtown.
Somehow while stopped at stoplights, I managed to maneuver the copy of the movie section of the Globe at the right angle to determine that Religulous was also playing that evening at the Loew's Boston Common multiplex, which was listed under Boston proper. The showing was not until 7:50, giving me plenty of time to save the entire evening, so long as I could find it. Then I saw the address: 172 Tremont Street, with no mention of highways or cross street. I knew I'd never find it on my atlas map, especially without my trusty magnifying glass. I contemplated calling my sister at home and having her help me find it, and even dialed her number before deciding it was a stupid idea. I got myself into this, and I'd get myself out.
Then by some miracle, the very next street was Tremont Street, and thanks to the quick turning radius of the Beemer, and a lucky guess, I found myself in the 400 block of Tremont, heading into the lower addresses. Once again the Lady of Fortune had smiled on me on my trip while I groped without a clue of what to do.
As it happened, I learned that streets in Boston are not always straight, but take right angle turns, a fact I learned as Tremont turned into Oak in Chinatown, the one quarter of Boston I knew quite well, from so many trips on the Chinatown Bus Lines when I lived in New York.
I had to backtrack and found Tremont again, but this time it was suddenly one way, going the wrong way. So I shadowed it on a nearby street, hoping the two streets would not diverge. Within minutes, swerving around double-parked cars, I came upon a large open space in the dark. On the other side, through trees, loomed the large well-lit marquee of the Loew's Multiplex. Fumbling almost without trying, I had found Boston Common and the theater. It seemed like a sign that I was meant to see Religulous here tonight.
After navigating around the the Commons, I suddenly became aware of the acute need for parking. I assumed I would need to find a garage or a lot. The first one I found said "12 dollars for up to two hours." Cripes. A second lot had nearly the same price. My heart sank. It didn't seem worth it, to shell out so much---nearly Manhattan Prices. At that point I wrote off the whole idea of seeing the Maher flick. Worst yet, I still had hours to kill before the traffic out of downtown would be thin enough to venture back home. And it was getting bitter cold, dipping below thirty degrees. What the hell was I going to do, unable to even pull my car over to rest, while the beautiful heavenly theater stood so close by?
Then, by yet another miracle, as I crawled down the alley-like confines of West Street just off Tremont, only a block from the theater, I saw an Asian girl climb into her parked car just ahead of me while I waited at a stop light. With the chutzpa of a New York, I pulled over as far as I could and put on my blinker. The girl took her time pulling out, causing the cars behind me to honk. But my thick skin was back. The spot would be mine---and it was.
Once the Beemer was resting my curb I let out a long breath. It was the first time I could relax since leaving the Natick Mall---and somehow I had wound up in the middle of Boston with a free parking space only a block from the theater.
Or was it free? I got out and inspected the sign. Unfortunately it seemed ambiguous. Read one way, it seemed to indicate that it was ok to park there after 7 pm. Read a second way, it seemed to indicate that there was a half hour maximum at any hour day or night. Since it was only six thirty, I hung out in my car until 6:50, just to be sure. During that time, another motorist, a young Asian man, parked in a newly liberated spot behind me, got out and inspected the same sign and seemed to have the same tentative conclusion.
I decided that the Lady of Fortune was on my side, and that it was ok to leave my car there for the evening. It simply had to be so.
I walked to the theater, getting a good glimpse of the well-lit gold dome of the Massachusetts state house nearby, and entered the lobby, which faced out over the dark Commons. The lobby was crammed and swarming with young people, probably college students from Suffolk University and Emerson College, both of which were close by. I bought my ticket, and with nearly an hour to kill, headed back out into the cold to tour the dark Commons and watch the ice skaters circle the Frog Pond to the theme from the Lion King. Somehow I always wind up walking around downtown Boston in the dark. Next time I have to come in the day time.
The Loew's Multiplex was a true marvel of contemporary cinemaplexes, like the kind they built in Times Square. It was three stories. One presented a ticket on the ground floor and mounted escalators to the upper floors, where concession counters awaited the hungry and thirsty. The auditorium was down a separate side halfway. A wall of glass allowed a view out into the darkness of the Commons. It was so, so beautiful. What more could want in a cinema?
I'm not that big of a fan of Maher---in fact he sort of turns me off and don't really watch him, even though I had HBO for several years, and I agree with his politics more often than not. But he is very intolerant on certain issues, in particular one I happen to care about a lot, but which I would rather not mention here right now.
The crowd was sparse, but ample enough for a last-night showing. The movie was very entertaining. I laughed outloud on many occasions, uncontrollably at times, even though many of the interview spots were fairly predictable in their attacks on Christianity. The interview with the Catholic priest in front of the Vatican was perhaps the funniest part.
I was all set to give the movie a full recommendation, when, towards the end of the movie, something about it began to bother me deeply. Maher had spent most of the movie attacking the silly things that Christians believe, all the while proclaiming that he was simply asking questions, being a seeker of truth. Towards the last half hour, he turned his attacks on Islam.
What bothered me was my insight that the theme of the movie could well have been "Everyone is crazy but the Jews." Maher was raised Catholic, but his mother was Jewish, and she had recently died. It was obvious that this had led to a huge blind spot in Maher's religious views. Yes, he had spent some time on a few of the crazy things that some Jews believe (mostly that Orthodox Jews can't light sparks on the Sabbath), but it was very soft criticism compared to the other religions, and very brief. The "craziest" Jew that he presented was a rabbi who believed (gasp) that Zionism was wrong. Unlike the other guests, Maher barely let him speak or make any points without interrupting him. Maher's message here seemed to be "You have to be crazy to believe that God didn't give the Land of Israel to the Jewish people." On top of that, throughout the film, most of the crazy stuff from the Old Testament was presented as stuff that insane Christians believed.
In other words, you're not going to see anything like this youtube video or this one (or any of the others found there under a search of "Israeli Settlers") in any of Maher's movies any time soon.
So yes it was funny, but in the end, Maher's assertion that he was an honest and impartial seeker of truth was, to me, entirely phony. I forgive him for that, but it doesn't mean that I can give the film an unqualified recommendation.
Yet I must say, I did much enjoy the idea of seeing such an irreverent film in the seat of the old Massachusetts Bay Colony, America's original intolerant "Red State."
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Bolt
Saturday afternoon I had the pleasure of accompanying my sister and her family on a family outing that included a movie. It was quite an experience, watching her and her husband herd their four children into the minivan, which my brother-in-law navigated down I-495 to the consumer paradise known as the Solomon Pond Mall (map) near Marlboro.
There's another mall named after a pond in Cambridge, and I joked with my sister, "So they name malls around here after the ponds they pave over when they build them?" That made her laugh, although she assured me that the ponds in question still existed.
The multiplex at the mall was on my list of theaters to visit, so I was thrilled to have the opportunity to go there. We had a couple hours to kill before the showing, which was spent perusing the mall for bargains and gifts. The mall itself was crowded with holiday shoppers, belying any economic downtown. The truth emerged when we got to Linens N Things, which was undergoing its liquidation. The two-story outlet was already half empty. It was my first trip to a Linens N Things, and I finally got to see what "things" were sold with the linens---turns out that it is lots of kitchen gadgets mostly. I was especially intrigued by the prices on the fixtures---the tables and demonstration bed platforms, since everything was for sale. The fixtures seemed like the best bargains in the store. It felt like a quintessential moment in 2008 America, walking amidst the collapsing ruins of the hypercredit Nineties economy.
The movie itself was in the Regal Cinemas multiplex next to the parking garage, attached to the building with a separate entrance outside the mall itself. It looked like a quintessential early Nineties-type, ample and large but before the real luxury stuff was implemented. The restrooms were horribly small for a multiplex of that size.
I almost always see movies alone, so accompanying my sister's family was a treat. We sat in the first row of the main block in the stadium-style seats, so my brother-in-law could lodge the huge double stroller in front of the metal railing of the lateral aisle. I sat on the end, and found myself being the jungle gym to both of my twin three-year-old nieces during the screening---an appropriate way to watch a Disney cartoon. At my urging, and with my sister's hearty concurrence, we had chosen the 2D version instead of 3D.
"I saw two 3D movies over the summer," I had told her. "They give me a headache for the first twenty minutes, then after that I get used to it and don't even notice the 3D effect at all. It's a huge waste."
That being said, Disney always makes a quality product, even if it is saccharine. I had been dreading Bolt for months, mainly because I could not stomach the thought of John Travolta doing the voice for the main character. I absolutely hate celebrity voices for animation flicks---often I can only picture the actor in the studio talking into the microphone. With so many great voice talents out there, it seems a shame to have to land a marquee "name."
But it was a better movie than I feared. The story was an adaptation of Plato's Cave (for the dog protagonist character specifically) shoehorned into the old Incredible Journey animals-across-the-country story that has been redone so many times. It was glossed with a Tinseltown-oriented story for good measure(even our cartoon animal movies are now about fake cartoon Hollywood celebrities).
The most negative thing I can say is that although it had a sympathetic feline character, it nevertheless included plenty of sadism against cats and anti-cat messages. This is a huge trend lately in movies, one that has exploded in our neocon fascist times. One cannot make a movie about cats without catering to those who despite cats. To me this is on par with Barack Obama catering to the Sarah Palin voters in choosing his cabinet. Just say F-off to these people.
It is almost certain that the movie will be among the three Oscar nominated for Best Animated Feature (along with Wall-E and Kung Fu Panda) and will also most certainly receive a nomination for Best Original Song for "I Thought I Lost You", which appears over the closing credits. This means that Oscar viewers will be treated to a Miley Cyrus performance next February, reprising her performance in this year's Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.
There's another mall named after a pond in Cambridge, and I joked with my sister, "So they name malls around here after the ponds they pave over when they build them?" That made her laugh, although she assured me that the ponds in question still existed.
The multiplex at the mall was on my list of theaters to visit, so I was thrilled to have the opportunity to go there. We had a couple hours to kill before the showing, which was spent perusing the mall for bargains and gifts. The mall itself was crowded with holiday shoppers, belying any economic downtown. The truth emerged when we got to Linens N Things, which was undergoing its liquidation. The two-story outlet was already half empty. It was my first trip to a Linens N Things, and I finally got to see what "things" were sold with the linens---turns out that it is lots of kitchen gadgets mostly. I was especially intrigued by the prices on the fixtures---the tables and demonstration bed platforms, since everything was for sale. The fixtures seemed like the best bargains in the store. It felt like a quintessential moment in 2008 America, walking amidst the collapsing ruins of the hypercredit Nineties economy.
The movie itself was in the Regal Cinemas multiplex next to the parking garage, attached to the building with a separate entrance outside the mall itself. It looked like a quintessential early Nineties-type, ample and large but before the real luxury stuff was implemented. The restrooms were horribly small for a multiplex of that size.
I almost always see movies alone, so accompanying my sister's family was a treat. We sat in the first row of the main block in the stadium-style seats, so my brother-in-law could lodge the huge double stroller in front of the metal railing of the lateral aisle. I sat on the end, and found myself being the jungle gym to both of my twin three-year-old nieces during the screening---an appropriate way to watch a Disney cartoon. At my urging, and with my sister's hearty concurrence, we had chosen the 2D version instead of 3D.
"I saw two 3D movies over the summer," I had told her. "They give me a headache for the first twenty minutes, then after that I get used to it and don't even notice the 3D effect at all. It's a huge waste."
That being said, Disney always makes a quality product, even if it is saccharine. I had been dreading Bolt for months, mainly because I could not stomach the thought of John Travolta doing the voice for the main character. I absolutely hate celebrity voices for animation flicks---often I can only picture the actor in the studio talking into the microphone. With so many great voice talents out there, it seems a shame to have to land a marquee "name."
But it was a better movie than I feared. The story was an adaptation of Plato's Cave (for the dog protagonist character specifically) shoehorned into the old Incredible Journey animals-across-the-country story that has been redone so many times. It was glossed with a Tinseltown-oriented story for good measure(even our cartoon animal movies are now about fake cartoon Hollywood celebrities).
The most negative thing I can say is that although it had a sympathetic feline character, it nevertheless included plenty of sadism against cats and anti-cat messages. This is a huge trend lately in movies, one that has exploded in our neocon fascist times. One cannot make a movie about cats without catering to those who despite cats. To me this is on par with Barack Obama catering to the Sarah Palin voters in choosing his cabinet. Just say F-off to these people.
It is almost certain that the movie will be among the three Oscar nominated for Best Animated Feature (along with Wall-E and Kung Fu Panda) and will also most certainly receive a nomination for Best Original Song for "I Thought I Lost You", which appears over the closing credits. This means that Oscar viewers will be treated to a Miley Cyrus performance next February, reprising her performance in this year's Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.
Frozen River
As I mentioned in the previous post, Synecdoche, New York was the first of a two-fer I had planned that afternoon. Heading out back out in the rain of Waltham, I bought a burger and fries at a diner beside the commuter rail station, then got back in my car to navigate the back streets to nearby Newton.
My destination was the West Newton Cinema. From my stay in the Boston area, I had learned it was one of the places were indy films got a showing. It has a nice website online with a schedule posted far in advance, but annoying during the Thanksgiving week, they had failed to update it. I had to resort to a tool I rarely use lately---the telephone, to find out that the movie I had been tracking for weeks---Frozen River---was finally leaving. The short Thanksgiving week meant that the schedule would roll over on Wednesday instead of Friday. According to my rules of engagement, Frozen River went straight to the top of my priority list.
This was my second attempt to reach West Newton Cinema. The week before, attempting to see another last-chance showing of a different movie, I had failed miserably and wound up in downtown Boston (but that's a different story). But Frozen River was a must-see film for me. It had won at Sundance the previous January, and I had wanted very much to see it. Before getting to Boston, I had resigned myself to seeing it on DVD, and I was thrilled to have the chance. But according to the manager on the phone, it was the 6:25 showing that day or never. No excuses this time.
Fortunately it was fairly easy to get from Waltham to Newton. It only took ten minutes on the back streets, and I recognized the neighborhood once I found it. Parking was easy along Washington Street. I had an almost an hour to kill, and spent time in a nearby Dunkin Donuts reading my battered copy of The Ugly American.
The West Newton Cinema did not disappoint me. It was a real historical gem---an ancient multiplex, at least six decades old, frayed, and unrenovated. These kind of old city multiplexes are a new phenomenon for me---out west, all the old theaters are single auditorium establishes. From the street you would not know how big it was, just a single entrance amid a row of gift-shop boutiques. Once inside, one could see its expanse. The men's room door in the basement made a hideously loud clack as I let it shut.
The auditorium had about a hundred seats---the old kind, some of them broken and unusable. The screen was small but still large enough for a good enough. About fifteen people showed up for the last showing of the prize winner.
It did not disappoint me. The movie is set in the North Country of New York State, around the town of Massena, a place I had camped four years ago during my cross country trip, as well as on the nearby Mohawk reservation. The theme centered largely on White-Mohawk relations, as well as on the grinding soul-crushing poverty that affects both populations, and the desperate acts that it drives people to do.
The story was fresh and original. The characters, played by unknown actors, were very compelling. There was nothing about the movie I could fault, although the print was a little scratchy at this point.
I particularly liked the way the story unfolded based on the moral choices of the characters. In this way it was a very classical. One of the things that drives me crazy about many contemporary movies is that the abandonment of cause-and-effect when it comes to the fate of characters. Frozen River was the kind of movie I really enjoyed.
My destination was the West Newton Cinema. From my stay in the Boston area, I had learned it was one of the places were indy films got a showing. It has a nice website online with a schedule posted far in advance, but annoying during the Thanksgiving week, they had failed to update it. I had to resort to a tool I rarely use lately---the telephone, to find out that the movie I had been tracking for weeks---Frozen River---was finally leaving. The short Thanksgiving week meant that the schedule would roll over on Wednesday instead of Friday. According to my rules of engagement, Frozen River went straight to the top of my priority list.
This was my second attempt to reach West Newton Cinema. The week before, attempting to see another last-chance showing of a different movie, I had failed miserably and wound up in downtown Boston (but that's a different story). But Frozen River was a must-see film for me. It had won at Sundance the previous January, and I had wanted very much to see it. Before getting to Boston, I had resigned myself to seeing it on DVD, and I was thrilled to have the chance. But according to the manager on the phone, it was the 6:25 showing that day or never. No excuses this time.
Fortunately it was fairly easy to get from Waltham to Newton. It only took ten minutes on the back streets, and I recognized the neighborhood once I found it. Parking was easy along Washington Street. I had an almost an hour to kill, and spent time in a nearby Dunkin Donuts reading my battered copy of The Ugly American.
The West Newton Cinema did not disappoint me. It was a real historical gem---an ancient multiplex, at least six decades old, frayed, and unrenovated. These kind of old city multiplexes are a new phenomenon for me---out west, all the old theaters are single auditorium establishes. From the street you would not know how big it was, just a single entrance amid a row of gift-shop boutiques. Once inside, one could see its expanse. The men's room door in the basement made a hideously loud clack as I let it shut.
The auditorium had about a hundred seats---the old kind, some of them broken and unusable. The screen was small but still large enough for a good enough. About fifteen people showed up for the last showing of the prize winner.
It did not disappoint me. The movie is set in the North Country of New York State, around the town of Massena, a place I had camped four years ago during my cross country trip, as well as on the nearby Mohawk reservation. The theme centered largely on White-Mohawk relations, as well as on the grinding soul-crushing poverty that affects both populations, and the desperate acts that it drives people to do.
The story was fresh and original. The characters, played by unknown actors, were very compelling. There was nothing about the movie I could fault, although the print was a little scratchy at this point.
I particularly liked the way the story unfolded based on the moral choices of the characters. In this way it was a very classical. One of the things that drives me crazy about many contemporary movies is that the abandonment of cause-and-effect when it comes to the fate of characters. Frozen River was the kind of movie I really enjoyed.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Synecdoche, New York
As far as movies go, I might as well start with this one. Right now I'm in Massachusetts, staying with my sister andher family at their place outside Boston. During my stay, I've been busy catching up on movies that have been released during my extended travel, and exploring the area cinemas.
Synecdoche, New York has been in theaters a couple weeks now, listed in a few of the area independent movie houses. I had no idea how long it was going to be around, so I made a point of seeing it this week. The nearest place was in Waltham, which is about forty minutes drive.
I saw it on Tuesday, which was an extremely rainy day in New England. A storm front was passing through. Luckily it brought a bit of warm air, so it wasn't bitterly cold.
Since I'd never been the particular theater before, and had already gotten burned on getting lost a couple times from not checking Google maps well enough in advance, I went in early. The theater was on the south side of the Charles River. There was a covered municipal lot. I braced myself for the price, but it cost only a dollar for twelve hours. With a little time to spare, I grabbed my umbrella and crossed the Charles on the nearby pedestrian bridge to inspect the Charles River Museum of Industry. It turned out to be closed that day, but the outdoor plaques were verbose enough to give the gist of what I was seeing. The entire riverside brick complex had been constructed in stages during the Nineteenth Century as part of the Boston Manufacturing Company, a cloth mill operation.
What surprised me was learning that the earliest part of the operation had been constructed in 1814---a very early date, and that it was (as the plaque claimed) the first-ever power loom operation in the United States (or the world, I can't recall, but should). That is, it was the first ever operation to manufacture cloth entirely automatically. The operation in Waltham was the prototype upon which later "model towns" such as Lowell were based. At one time, the entire flow of the Charles was diverted into the mill.
I felt exhilarated to learn all this---it fit like a puzzle piece right into my knowledge about early industry in the U.S., a subject that greatly fascinates me. I felt ashamed that I didn't know all this already. Waltham was now a huge name in my mind.
I spent about a half hour exploring central Waltham in the downpour before circling back across the river to the cinema. Even though I held my umbrella close, the walk around the town square left my shoes, socks and pant legs soaked. Thankfully the theater was well-heated, but I realized that it would not be good to sit my wet socks like that, especially since I was planning to see another movie later that afternoon.
The auditorium was empty but for me, so I took the liberty of shedding my shoes and socks, rolling up my pant legs, and lodging my bare feet into the sleeves of my coat during the screening.
I enjoyed the movie greatly, although at times it was excruciating to watch. It is not a movie I would recommend to a lot of people, because it is very postmodern-self-aware and surrealist. Samantha Morton is one of my favorite actresses, and Philip Seymour Hoffman seems able to pull off anything. The high concept of the movie was unique and interesting, and I liked that the movie never backed down from its accelerating premise, but kept upping it right until the end. Also, it got major points from me for explicitly addressing the culturally taboo subject of loneliness, but in an existential and societal level.
But definitely not for everyone.
The Landmark Embassy Cinema was clean, new, and very comfortable. By the end of the screening, my socks were slightly drier---enough to put them back on and feel comfortable going back out. The rain had mostly stopped as well.
I look forward to going back to Waltham again for another movie at the Landmark, and to visit the museum when it is open.
Synecdoche, New York has been in theaters a couple weeks now, listed in a few of the area independent movie houses. I had no idea how long it was going to be around, so I made a point of seeing it this week. The nearest place was in Waltham, which is about forty minutes drive.
I saw it on Tuesday, which was an extremely rainy day in New England. A storm front was passing through. Luckily it brought a bit of warm air, so it wasn't bitterly cold.
Since I'd never been the particular theater before, and had already gotten burned on getting lost a couple times from not checking Google maps well enough in advance, I went in early. The theater was on the south side of the Charles River. There was a covered municipal lot. I braced myself for the price, but it cost only a dollar for twelve hours. With a little time to spare, I grabbed my umbrella and crossed the Charles on the nearby pedestrian bridge to inspect the Charles River Museum of Industry. It turned out to be closed that day, but the outdoor plaques were verbose enough to give the gist of what I was seeing. The entire riverside brick complex had been constructed in stages during the Nineteenth Century as part of the Boston Manufacturing Company, a cloth mill operation.
What surprised me was learning that the earliest part of the operation had been constructed in 1814---a very early date, and that it was (as the plaque claimed) the first-ever power loom operation in the United States (or the world, I can't recall, but should). That is, it was the first ever operation to manufacture cloth entirely automatically. The operation in Waltham was the prototype upon which later "model towns" such as Lowell were based. At one time, the entire flow of the Charles was diverted into the mill.
I felt exhilarated to learn all this---it fit like a puzzle piece right into my knowledge about early industry in the U.S., a subject that greatly fascinates me. I felt ashamed that I didn't know all this already. Waltham was now a huge name in my mind.
I spent about a half hour exploring central Waltham in the downpour before circling back across the river to the cinema. Even though I held my umbrella close, the walk around the town square left my shoes, socks and pant legs soaked. Thankfully the theater was well-heated, but I realized that it would not be good to sit my wet socks like that, especially since I was planning to see another movie later that afternoon.
The auditorium was empty but for me, so I took the liberty of shedding my shoes and socks, rolling up my pant legs, and lodging my bare feet into the sleeves of my coat during the screening.
I enjoyed the movie greatly, although at times it was excruciating to watch. It is not a movie I would recommend to a lot of people, because it is very postmodern-self-aware and surrealist. Samantha Morton is one of my favorite actresses, and Philip Seymour Hoffman seems able to pull off anything. The high concept of the movie was unique and interesting, and I liked that the movie never backed down from its accelerating premise, but kept upping it right until the end. Also, it got major points from me for explicitly addressing the culturally taboo subject of loneliness, but in an existential and societal level.
But definitely not for everyone.
The Landmark Embassy Cinema was clean, new, and very comfortable. By the end of the screening, my socks were slightly drier---enough to put them back on and feel comfortable going back out. The rain had mostly stopped as well.
I look forward to going back to Waltham again for another movie at the Landmark, and to visit the museum when it is open.
Erstwhile Projectionist
The title of the blog also pays homage to a newspaper column I wrote as an undergraduate. I wrote movie reviews under the title "The Projectionist," because at the time I had a work-study position as the projectionist for the film studies class in which I was enrolled. I discovered that being the projectionist of a movie gives you a different view point on it, than as an audience member. I thought briefly about about using the same title, but I realized it would not be appropriate, since I am no longer a projectionist, but simply an audience member---and a collector of ticket stubs, of course.
The Ticket Collector
When it came to choosing a title for my blog, "The Ticket Collector" was the only one that came to mind. The title refers to my habit of holding on to the many diverse stubs from the movies I have seen. Up until now, it was one of the ways I have recorded my perigrinations and my visits to the cinema, two things which go together in my mind. That is, I like seeing movies in the theater, but I especially like travelling around seeing lots of different movies in as many different theaters as possible. That means my collection of ticket stubs is very diverse, with different colors and typefaces. I get annoyed when a theater doesn't give me a stub. One time in Fort Collins a teenager ticket-taker mangled the ticket as he tore, deliberately as if in some cynical manner of showing his contempt for his job. I stopped and chewed him out for it. I almost never chew anyone out, but that was an exception.
Returning to Blogging
This is my first blog post in many years. I used to have several blogs during 2001-2002, ones that I created through Blogger before it was bought by Google, and which I hosted on my own server. That was before blogging exploding like it did. Probably the growth in popularity of blogging kept me from returning. I always hate being in the thick of the crowd---except when I like it.
The reason I decided to return was that I could sense I needed an outlet for writing about the two things I have enjoyed doing lately---seeing movies, and traveling around the country visiting people I know, as well as interesting parts of the country. I probably am just writing this for myself, as a means of keeping track of where I've been.
The reason I decided to return was that I could sense I needed an outlet for writing about the two things I have enjoyed doing lately---seeing movies, and traveling around the country visiting people I know, as well as interesting parts of the country. I probably am just writing this for myself, as a means of keeping track of where I've been.
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