CALVARY (2014)

Posted in JIMMY ON MOVIES: Thoughts on Films, The Folks Who Make Them, & Those Who Love Them, MOVIES TO LOOK FORWARD TO: Coming Soon or Now Playing In A Theater Near You... on August 31st, 2014 by Jim Delaney

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July 22nd at Landmark Theatres Kendall Sq. Cinema, Cambridge, MA.

Written & Directed by John Michael McDonagh, starring Brendan Gleeson, Chris O’Dowd, Kelly Reilly, Isaach De Bankolé, Orla O’Rourke, M. Emmet Walsh, and Aidan Gillen.

Regardless of the fact that I created this site to discuss movies that I like & love, and hopefully that you like & love as well, I make a pretty sincere effort to resist hyperbole. That said … I damn sure hope that Ireland recognizes Brendan Gleeson as a national treasure. As much as Toshirô Mifune has done for Japan, Marcello Mastroianni for Italy, or Max von Sydow for Sweden, Gleeson manages to embody the strongest and most honest and the weakest and most vulnerable in his nation. CALVARY is his second film with writer/director McDonagh. I was a big fan of their previous film, THE GUARD, but that movie left me inadequately prepared for their latest collaboration.

In the opening sequence of CALVARY, we meet Father James (Gleeson) in a claustrophobicly tight shot on his face in a confessional booth.calvary-brendan-gleeson-kelly-reilly-02-636-380 A man’s voice through the screen tells Father James that he had been molested as a child by a priest over several years. The voice will never have his revenge on is attacker, as that priest is now dead, so this voice has decided he will take his revenge on Father James by the following Sunday. Father James is nearly but not completely certain who in his small town had just threatened him. We follow Father James for the rest of the week as he attempts to reconcile with his estranged daughter (he had been married before joining the priesthood), shepherd a turbulent lovers’ triangle who do no want his help, and manage a potentially large donation to the church by a local banker. Among other things. Busy week for a condemned man!

The most immediate surprise of CALVARY, given the threat that overhangs every minute, is how damn funny it often is. This is by no means a comedy, it is a searching drama that takes a much more bleak worldview than THE GUARD, but Irish gallows humor erupts in the most unexpected moments. If you’ve ever been in a funeral wake, and shared some fond memory of the8099447410_f6cdda0651_c deceased that made yourself or others laugh just a little too loud, then you have experienced the sort of unsettling humor and intensity that this film evokes. Humor and scorn are drawn from the focus on individual characters, as well as the scope of larger entities such as the church, banks, local government, and your friends and neighbors.

CALVARY is that rare film about practitioners of faith that makes no attempt to offer you comforting platitudes disguised as answers. Its success is in its clarification of the questions. MV5BMjAyODAxMzQyMl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwODI0MjEyOQ@@._V1_SX640_SY720_ In what will probably turn out to be the most unforgettable sequence I’ll see in any movie this year, we see a pre-teen girl walking alone on a dirt road. Father James crosses her path and walks with her. She knows him and is not at all nervous about walking with him; we as an audience have come to know him, and we trust him on this road. And. Yet. Given the past few decades of sexual abuse scandals within the Catholic church, locally in Ireland and elsewhere around the globe, all we can think of is the myriad reasons that this scenario could go wrong. What if he says something the she misunderstands, repeats, and creates the illusion of impropriety? What if she is a flat-out liar and implicates Father James in some behavior. What if we don’t know him as well as we think we do, and the story is about to veer in a totally unexpected direction? What if neither of them do anything untoward, film2-1_7-31-14 but a witness with their own perspective (or agenda?) reports seeing something other than what happened? This scene was more riveting than anything I’ve seen in an action adventure or horror film in longer than I can immediately recall.

I was deeply fortunate to attend a screening organized by the Boston Irish Film Festival that was followed by a Q&A with Brendan Gleeson & John Michael McDonagh. The scene I just mentioned, and several others, were turned inside out by the audience’s questions and held up to the light by the guests. There was a realization on both sides of the microphone that respect for and trust in authority figures is in really bad shape, with really good reason, and that facing these questions head on in absence of political correctness as this film does may be a crucial tool in reversing this phenomenon.Screen Shot 2014-08-31 at 12.49.50 AM At the end of the film I was aware that I’d seen a unique and powerful piece of filmmaking. At the end of the Q&A I was aware that I had witnessed a social experiment, one whose impact I hope will grow over time if this movie can achieve a measure of cult status. Pretty impressive work for a film that was shot on the sort of abbreviated shooting schedule usually reserved for episodic television.

There is so much more I want to tell you about CALVARY, but this would require either spoilers of the film, or the revelation of way more personal information than you want from a movie review article. If you’ve checked the IMDb message boards then you’ve seen how divisive this movie has been.calvary02 All I should tell you is that I am firmly in the camp of supporters, and while I don’t expect that you will enjoy CALVARY, I think you will be moved by it. Sometimes movies can do more than entertain, or even inform; at best they can crystallize the human experience into an hour-glass.

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I CONFESS (1953)

Posted in THE LUNCH MOVIE CHRONICLES: The original e-mail announcements that were sent through our office the evening before we rolled a Lunch Movie on July 5th, 2014 by Jim Delaney

confess
From Tuesday, December 4th, 2007

Directed by Alfred Hitchcock, starring Montgomery Clift, Anne Baxter, and Karl Malden.

Montgomery Clift plays Father Michael Logan, a Catholic priest who hears the confession of a killer. When Father Logan is accused of murder, the sacrament forbids him to reveal the truth, even to protect himself.

Hitchcock is famous for celebrating the landmarks and lesser-known areas of San Francisco, London, and other great cities. I CONFESS was shot almost entirely in Quebec City. Since Quebec has not been featured in nearly as many films as some of Hitchcock’s favorite cities, he had free reign to explore and use the city as a character.

It’ll finish Thursday
Love, Jim

AFTER THOUGHT from July 5th, 2014

I was baptized Catholic but I fell away from the church when I was fairly young. As a movie fan, themes if faith and doubt and sacrifice and redemption appeal to me, as much in films with a religious focus as in more secular films. I have read The Bible, and I have paid a reasonable amount of attention to what separates one denomination from another, because I am often fascinated ConfessBaxterby how these issues and themes come into play in storytelling. I am no longer a Catholic but some of my favorite movies either would have been very different, or simply would not have existed, without Catholicism and/or Christianity.

Alfred Hitchcock was raised Catholic. He was also a master storyteller who could wring maximum dramatic intensity from a scene while still playing within the rules of his faith. Watching a religiously themed movie like I CONFESS with the lunch movie crowd was always amusing. I could count on most of the audience to be aware of the suits and trappings of faith even if it was not their particular denomination. But there were always those uninformed few who needed concepts like Catholic confession, the Passover Seder, or the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama explained to them. This film was no exception; thankfully the 95 minute running time permitted us to fit I CONFESS into 2 consecutive lunch hours, while still having time to pause it early at the end of the first day to address all the questions of the uninitiated. The film raised questions ranging from adorably naive to defiantly provoking, with some seeking to understand the confess-cliftconfessional process, and others looking for loopholes either in the Catholic ritual or Hitchcock’s film. If you think this is funny, ya shoulda been there for THE EXORCIST!

With all this dogmatic debate aside, we were able to get down to the core of this unique little thriller. This is not a standard whodunit, since the murderer confesses his crime in the first reel, and much of Hitch’s trademark gallows humor is also missing. What you’re left with is a sombre character study of a well meaning man caught in an impossible situation. Montgomery Clift is perfectly understated as Father Logan; in a standard murder mystery a man in this situation could desperately pursue his own ends, but the bonds of the priesthood create a layer of complexity here that would challenge a lessor actor. In a similar situation in a very different movie, Bob Hoskins rages indignantly ConfessMonty against a murder taking advantage of the confessional in the underrated A PRAYER FOR THE DYING. Hoskins’ reaction worked for that story, but I CONFESS needed a performer who would go the opposite direction, drawing ever inward and feeling more trapped.

Montgomery Clift was 32 years old when he played Father Logan. He was nominated for the Best Actor Oscar later that year for his heartbreakingly nuanced portrayal of the bugling pugilist Pvt. Robert E. Lee Prewitt in FROM HERE TO ETERNITY. We see him here at the dawn of an exemplary and tragically brief career of playing wounded men caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Father Logan has not only heard the confession of a murderer, but he stands to benefit, as the victim was aware of a potentially compromising secret about the Father. If this film were remade today, studio development execs would almost certainly make this secret far more lascivious, which would be a mistake. COnfessanne-baxterPart of what makes Father Logan a riveting hero is precisely that he is a good and honest man, and no matter which course of action he takes, he will be mistaken for the wrongdoing of another person.

As I mentioned to my coworkers in 2007, Hitchcock makes wonderful use of the city of Quebec, which had rarely been portrayed previously on film. He uses locations that would be familiar to tourists, or a draw to those considering visiting, such as the Parliament Building, the Old Quarter, and Hôtel Le Château Frontenac. Frontenac sits overlooking the St. Lawrence River like a glorious medieval castle, a hearty stone’s throw from La Citadelle de Québec. Hitch also follows Father Logan through parts of town that would not be found in your Michelin Guide: Eglise Saint-Zéphirin de Stadacona, where Father Logan hears the inciting confession, the Hall of Justice where Karl Malden’s Inspector Larrue questions Logan, and yet again the Frontenac Hotel, where a climactic chase takes us ConfessMaldenthrough areas of the hotel that no guest would see. This is an aspect of the rarely sung artistry of Hitchcock: he takes a location you have heard about, and makes you want to see it, or he takes a location you know, and shows you something unexpected.

I CONFESS is not regarded as one of Hitchcock’s high art masterpieces. Its initial release was a little contentious, with Hitch even joking that an alternate cut may be required to appease the Quebec Catholic community, and another cut for the rest of the world. This may be solely my agnostic point of view, but I find movies that feature spirituality tested by doubt far more faith affirming that movies about blind faith. This is a timeless story set in one of the oldest standing cities in the western hemisphere. The elements of I CONFESS that may upset some Catholics are exactly what makes this story resonate 60 years after the film’s release, and 110 years after the French play on which it was based.

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GLENGARRY GLENN ROSS (1992)

Posted in THE LUNCH MOVIE CHRONICLES: The original e-mail announcements that were sent through our office the evening before we rolled a Lunch Movie on June 30th, 2014 by Jim Delaney

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From Thursday, December 6, 2007.

Directed by James Foley, written by David Mamet, starring Al Pacino, Jack Lemmon, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, Jonathan Pryce & Alec Baldwin.

Times are tough at the Premiere Properties real estate office in Chicago. A sales challenge comes down from the main office — the winner gets a Cadillac El Dorado, the loser gets fired. Back-biting, in-fighting and crossed loyalties explode in the most incendiary dialog Mamet has ever offered.

It’ll finish Monday,
Love, Jim

AFTER THOUGHT from June 30,2014

I have gotten significantly off track with the original purpose of this blog in the past coupla years. What started with articles about movies that I love, with an emphasis on the movies that I used to show in the conference room at my old talent agency job in the mid-2000′s, has become co-opted by longer pieces on this site and shorter blurbs on social media. Time to get back to basics: an open conversation between you & I about a single film that I love, and hopefully that you either love, or that I can at least convince you is worth your time.

GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS
was one of the recurring classics GGBrassof the ol’ Lunch Movie days. Aside from this 2007 blurb above when we showed it on DVD in ICM, I showed it on DVD as well as VHS on my previous agency job at BKWU / BWCS, which merged with ICM in 2006. The parallels between this film and the talent agency business might be lost on the casual movie fan, but to those agent assistants, temp pool floaters, and other administrative pals who often joined me at lunch, there was a compelling similarity.

Adapted by David Mamet from his pressure cooker of a stage play, this film focuses on an office of real estate salesmen who specialize in barely legal semi-swindles. Though it was shot and edited with precision and style, and written with Mamet’s trademark gusto, this is an actor’s movie. This story lives or dies on its performances.ggLemmon Jack Lemmon as poor old Shelley “the Machine” Levene is the sort of keep-your-head-down-do-your-best-hope-The-Powers-That-Be-grace-you-with-their-notice fellow who has been a staple of salary-man stories since Arthur Miller‘s DEATH OF A SALESMAN and Rod Serling‘s Kraft Television Theatre classic PATTERNS. Al Pacino’s Ricky Roma is the sort of unreachable master of puppets that the movies hadn’t seen since Paul Newman as Frank Gallagher. Alec Baldwin threatens to steal the entire film with the most riveting monologue since George C. Scott in PATTON.

That Baldwin’s single scene probably rivals Gordon Gecko‘s business philosophy for quotability amongst Ivy League MBAs in the past generation speaks to the lasting impact of this film. We could argue that GLENGARRY created this Princes Of The Universe legion of greedy bloodsucking @$$holes in the halls of corporate power, or we could acknowledge that they were created by legal permissions, and this film merely galvanized them and made them easier for the rest of us to spot. Ed Harris, Adam Arkin, and Kevin Spacey play the sort of characters who embody truisms that predate 1980′s yuppie Successory posters: ggChinks “There are no second acts in American lives” and “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.”

So what does real estate have to do with the talent agency business? The administrative staff folks who used to spend their sunny Beverly Hills lunch hour with me in a dark conference room all understood the lives of the Premiere Properties gents to be a cautionary tale for their own chosen vocation. In Baldwin’s opening monologue, he makes it quite clear that Lemmon, Pacino, and company work in a satellite office, and thus not as valuable to the company or generally cool as the boys in the downtown office. Pacino’s Ricky Roma may be the big fish, but he’s in a small pond. These middle-aged and older men are pitted against each other for their jobs. My admin compadres all had the dream of being an agent, a showrunner, a development exec, or God forbid a few even had their own stories to tell and aspired to writing and/or directing. But how do they get there? The same way the salesman in Premiere Properties do: work hard, work smart, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, never say die, or some wannabe Lombardi-ism to that effect. The guys in the film hope to earn “the Glengarry leads,” sales leads that Baldwin dangles in front of them like the ggLeadscarrot before the whip, leads that are likely a ticket to a job in the downtown office. The folks in my office were either floaters hoping to get hired onto an agent’s desk, or agent assistants hoping to get hired onto a partner’s desk, or partner’s assistants hoping to become Coordinator during the next TV staffing season.

“I used to be a salesman, it’s a tough racket,” Baldwin berates the crew, right before miming a shot to drown his sorrows. Many of my coworkers went on to bigger and better things. Just as many gave up and moved back to whatever town they had moved from a few years earlier. One such agent assistant had worked previously selling used cars and in a similar real estate office; he promised me that the parallels were no great leap. That guy in particular was cut out perfectly for this work, and is doing quite well these days. I’ve seen hard asses give up and decent folks hang in and thrive, and vice versa,ggCar which also speaks to what makes GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS special: everyone has surprises in them. Each respond unexpectedly when truly challenged.

This is not a film with a lot of time for backstory, which is what makes it such a perfect actors’ film. The cast are called upon to flesh their characters out via the subtlety of mannerism and inflection to show us when they are in control versus when they are desperate versus when they are manipulating the game. An aspect of this film that has always fascinated me is that, while audiences have loved or hated it, they all seem to agree what it is. The backstory of these characters may be open to interpretation, but the rest of it is pretty damn cut and dry. Some people are repulsed by these characters, others are fascinated. It is my theory that anyone who has ever worked a year trying to sell something, whether it be million dollar homes to those aforementioned Princes of the Universes or t-shirts to tourists, will grasp what makes GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS resonate. Your job is to try to create a need in a person who may have been only wanting, or merely curious, at the moment you met them. It is that unique quality of confidence coupled with a defect of manipulation that makes these characters and this story compelling.

Now get back to work!!

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25 Years Later: Tim Burton’s BATMAN Updates The Adam West Generation

Posted in JIMMY ON MOVIES: Thoughts on Films, The Folks Who Make Them, & Those Who Love Them on June 23rd, 2014 by Jim Delaney

Twenty five years and one week ago today my brother Ed returned home from Germany. He had been in the U.S. Army stationed outside of Frankfurt, West Germany, back when we still had to specify East or West Germany. Ed was a lifelong fan of comic books and science fiction, and had played a major role in my interest in the same. His honorable discharge could not have come at a better time, because twenty five years ago today, Ed & I stood in a 3 hour line for the most hotly anticipated film of 1989: Tim Burton’s BATMAN.

89MkTbIf you clicked this article seeking movie trivia or comic trivia readily available via IMDb and numerous other sites, you might be in the wrong place. I’m operating on the assumption that you have already seen this film, that you are aware of its significance as the highest grossing film of 1989. This is about a longstanding relationship between Ed & I and one of our favorite heroes. We grew up on Adam West as Batman on TV and Neal Adams‘ interpretation in the comics, and Olan Soule as the voice of Batman on Saturday mornings. Ed was welcomed home by Burton’s Batman as played by Michael Keaton. Ed visited me in Los Angeles following the opening weekend of BATMAN BEGINS to see The Tumbler Batmobile in front of the Chinese Theater before we ventured inside to see yet another revision of our childhood hero on the most massive screen available. A new incarnation of Batman is an event that never fails to unite Ed & me.

Tim Burton’s version opened way before online ticket sales existed, even before Moviefone had ventured outside of New York and Los Angeles. On the morning of June 22nd, 1989, I drove east from our home in Acton, MA and took the Red Line “T” train from Alewife Station to my summer classes at Emerson College in Boston. Prince‘s Batman cassette, released 72 hours earlier, played for probably its dozenth time on our Chevy S-10 Blazer’s radio during my morning commute and joined me in my Sony Walkman on the train. I got off the train at Harvard Square to pick up 2 tickets for a Thursday night midnight show at the Harvard Square Cinema in Cambridge, MA.89TmJn I couldn’t wait until later to let Ed know that we were all set, so I called home before I got back on the train bound for school. My Mom answered. She told Ed that I was successful, and I could hear him in the background laughing and generally being as thrilled as I was.

After classes I met Ed in Harvard Square. We made what would soon become traditional as a weekly pilgrimage to The Million Year Picnic for our pickup of that week’s new issues. By shortly after 9pm, we were about 20 people back in line outside the Loews Harvard Sq. The ’round the block movie line is a phenomena to which there is a vague equivalent these days, but no true equal; when STAR WARS 7 opens there will be lines, but everyone will already have their tickets in hand.89TbKb While Moviefone would eventually diminish the necessity to queue up like cattle, that modern convenience would have unintentionally deprived Ed & me of some unforgettable experiences. Ten years before this evening, my dad The Fats stood in line with Ed & me for the first STAR TREK film hours before the box office opened. Standing in the snow with fellow Trekkies who had awaited this day since Star Trek went off the air ten years earlier was a moment as memorable in our upbringing as most people’s recounting of birthdays, anniversaries, and other family events. The Batman line on Church Street that threatened to turn into a Bat Block Party and the movie that followed were similarly auspicious occasions.

89TbMk While Ed & I waited in that line, we had a lot of time for conversations that might have not taken place anywhere else. Ed was not only fresh out of the regimented and orderly Army and facing the prospect of enrolling in the intentionally unregimented and half-assed organized experience of a liberal arts school like Emerson College, he was also fresh from the Cold War and now living in the state over a thousand miles from where he left when he enlisted. When Ed had joined the Army, my family lived in Cleveland, OH. He came home to a neighborhood he didn’t recognize, and did his best to adjust to the significant differences in time for the Fall semester. An awful lot was going on in Ed’s world, and waiting in line for BATMAN gave him more time to process that than any other time in the previous week. Any time that he felt like pausing that processing, we had a legion of similarly minded nerds around us to remind him that not only was he home, he was amongst friends. We also had one hilarious usher who looked like Hyde on THAT 70′S SHOW who worked the line with snarky swagger. Hyde the usher admonished89TbJnthe crowd to “get the fuck out of the street! Get your ass on the sidewalk! I don’t care who you are, I don’t care who your friends are, if you’re not against the bricks you’re not in line, and you’re not seeing fuckin’ Batman tonight! No, there are no tickets, we’ve been sold out since this afternoon!”

For most people, family events mark the time: weddings, funerals, anniversaries, births, 89TbKbirthdays, and other assorted reunions. For Ed & me, most of our growing up took place far away from both The Fats’ & Mom’s extended families. Even when we were near them, I was younger than most of our cousins, and didn’t grow up with that close kinship that many families share. Different events marked Ed’s & my time: opening weekends of movies, comic conventions, Tuesday afternoons when comic shops had the new issues and record stores had the latest movie soundtracks, and of course anytime we got a new dog.

What does one do when they are in an unfamiliar situation? Huty1792633 One seeks commonality, one seeks something familiar, common ground on which to build a new home. Movies in general and BATMAN specifically were that common ground, as much for Ed as for me. I recall pointing out while we waited in line that the movie summer he had returned home to was similar to one before he left. Ed had graduated high school in suburban Cleveland in 1984, and he had taken me to every movie a kid would want to see that year. We saw GHOSTBUSTERS, INDIANA JONES & THE TEMPLE OF DOOM, STAR TREK III: The Search For Spock, THE KARATE KID, POLICE ACADEMY, and the first of Jason Voorhees’ multiple deaths in FRIDAY THE 13TH IV: The Final Chapter.

In the summer of 1989 we would see 1984 rematches with GHOSTBUSTERS 2, INDIANA JONES & THE LAST CRUSADE, STAR TREK V: The Final Frontier, KARATE KID III, POLICE ACADEMY 6: City Under Siege (ok, we didn’t pay for that, we waited for HBO) and FRIDAY THE 13TH Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan (we saw that in Boston’s grindhouse classic venue: the Beacon Hill Cinema, wherein we could hear the Green Line T trains entering Government Center literally feet behind the underground screen).89MkBk None of these films would match the degree of anticipation with with Ed & I awaited BATMAN, which had been building in us since 1983. Ed had scored one of Warner Bros earlier attempts at a Batman feature script in our then local Norwalk, CT comic shop. We didn’t know what we were in for tonight, but we were thankful that it was not that earlier script. It was a moderately amusing continuation of the vibe from late 1960′s campy Adam West show. This script featured Batman & Robin versus The Joker, Catwoman, The Penguin, and The Riddler. Someone clearly wasn’t thinking about building a franchise! That story culminated in a heroes vs. villains brawl in a museum exhibition that included a gigantic walk-in typewriter as an action set-piece.

I don’t know about you, but I can still vividly recall the first time I witnessed the opening sequence of Tim Burton’s newer, darker version of the hero who had come in the 1980′s to be known as The Dark Knight.89TbMiK I remember the sweep down into the canyons of what would eventually be realized as the bat symbol, the swells of applause at the names of Burton, Nicholson, Keaton, and the half-assed nerdy catcalling when Kim Basinger‘s name emerged on screen and the thunder of Danny Elfman‘s score. I recall the 5:1 ratio of applause to Booos when Prince’s name appeared, and that I actually rose from my seat to make sure my rampant approval was noted by whomever was taking minutes of this meeting of BatFansUnited. The credits sequence alone was transformative. Ed & I were exactly in the world in which we wanted to be.

Sure, many diehard comics fan has their problems with this film,89KbRw chief among which was the tying up of Bruce Wayne’s parental vengeance by shifting who had been responsible for the murder of his parents. Secondarily, the fact that Basinger’s character is nearly as close to Silver St. Cloud as she is Vicki Vale caused a little consternation from old school fans. Y’know what? I don’t give a rat’s ass, and I don’t think Ed did either. My brother was home, and while my folks & I sometimes come up short in what he needed to make the shift from the Army to liberal arts school, Batman did his job. All he had to do was show up and be Batman, and Michael Keaton nailed that to a T, way more than many folks who only knew him as Beetlejuice thought possible.

Burton was said to have cast Michael Keaton because he thought Keaton would make the best Bruce Wayne. This unusual way of approaching the nucleus of the story still sets Burton’s Batfilms apart from all others. 89MkJnFans have debated and argued for years and will for years to come, who is the coolest Batman; just as we do with the coolest James Bond. You very rarely hear a debate about who played Bruce Wayne best. This aspect almost creates a photo negative companion to Richard Donner‘s SUPERMAN. Donner took a pretty normal approach to Metropolis and most of the supporting characters, envisioning a location as recognizable as New York via Sidney Lumet, and then inserted two fantastical elements: Superman & Lex Luthor. Burton’s Bruce Wayne is comparatively normal in an over the top fantastical rust and wrought iron hellscape of a city. If situations in Gotham City require an extraordinary response, then the low key millionaire transforms himself to meet the challenge. It takes a director as well-versed in classic horror films to so lucidly draw out the Jekyll & Hyde aspect of Bruce Wayne & Batman. It also takes a director as enamored with the macabre to maintain that the Mr. Hyde of his story is the hero!

Today is the 25th Anniversary of one incarnation of BATMAN, the version that American culture demanded in response to the decade that had preceded it. The past decade has given us another version, and the next decade will give us yet another. Every one of these incarnations has its merits. The best of them, whether it’s BATMAN or STAR TREK or SHERLOCK HOLMES or 007 or any other recurring and enduring character, will stand the test of time with us. Thanks heroes, for keeping fandom alive. Thanks fandom, for keeping heroes alive. Thanks Batman & Tim Burton for marking a significant era in my brother’s and my life, and for contributing to the enduring legacy of The Batman! 89Coffee

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Mother’s Day: 3 Cinematic Moms Who Changed My Life & My Mother Who Shared Them With Me

Posted in JIMMY ON MOVIES: Thoughts on Films, The Folks Who Make Them, & Those Who Love Them on May 11th, 2014 by Jim Delaney

My mom did not support my early compulsion for movie-going to the degree that my dad did, but her support was nonetheless crucial. During a very formative era for both of us, Mom used to drop me off at the movies on Sunday afternoons while she went to the library to study for her law degree. There was a brief shining period where I got to see a lot of cool movies that no one else in my family wanted to see with me, purely because I was able to hop a ride into town with Mom. Among the early 80′s gems I saw solo were VICTOR / VICTORIA, TEMPTEST, BARBAROSA, MY FAVORITE YEAR, THE KING OF COMEDY and A CHRISTMAS STORY all because Mom & I were simpatico on our need to get the hell out of the house. We also saw some great movies together under similar circumstances, including a rerelease of LADY & THE TRAMP (we had those in the pre-home video days!), THE DARK CRYSTAL, INDIANA JONES & THE TEMPLE OF DOOM, and JFK.

Mom and I saw another Sunday afternoon classic together that turned out to be a watershed moment in my understanding of motherhood and how film expresses motherhood: Steven Spielberg‘s adaptation of Alice Walker‘s novel THE COLOR PURPLE. Whoopi Goldberg made her major studio debut as Celie Johnson, who grows from adolescence to motherhood to arbiter of her own destiny, all in the deep south in the years before and during the Great Depression. Even as a kid I was aware of this film’s detractors, most of whom took it to task for blunting the edges of Walker’s novel. What these folks failed to recognize is that a Hollywood version is a perfect gateway experience for a teenaged boy who might not have otherwise read the novel. Mom and I had seen more movies than I can easily recall, but never one that made both of us cry like THE COLOR PURPLE. This was such a new experience for both of us that we both kept impossibly still trying to keep each other from knowing that the movie had made us … weak? Meanwhile we heard the sniffling and whimpering and outright sobs of dozens around us. color_purple

There was one simple thing about Miss Celie’s odyssey, that I’d never seen in any movie, that made THE COLOR PURPLE unforgettable. We follow Celie from her early teens, abandoned into a young marriage by her own family, abused by her husband, ignored by those to whom she reaches out for help. The amazing thing is that Celie does not repeat any of her past upon her children. Growing up in the 80′s, I had friends whose parents raised them with echoes of the wholesome 1950′s or the free-spirited 60′s. I imagine the same is true today, with teens being raised by parents who grew up in the Gordon Gecko/Tony Montana Generation-X 80′s or the nothing-matters-and-what-if-it-did 90′s. In all if the kids I grew up with, and kids today, you can spot echos of their parents’ past that has manifested itself in their kids. Celie does not repeat the sins visited upon her in her past, she goes the complete opposite direction, providing the compassion and discipline that were missing from her own upbringing.

Celie Johnson rejects the “I raise you this way because it’s how I was raised” school of parental thought. She becomes the mother, sister, woman, friend who had been absent in her own life. I had never seen any movie character transcend his or her past to this degree. In doing so Celie fomented a conversation that continues to this day between my Mom & me, about how she and I were raised, and which aspects of our childhood were detrimental to our own happiness and well being. Sure this conversation between Mom & me may have come about organically some day, but thanks to the push from THE COLOR PURPLE, this reflectiveness came at a perfect time for both of us. For the record, I feel like Mom did pretty damn good, though she’d probably prefer I say “pretty damned well.”

Mom and I saw another, far more fantastic surrogate movie mother a few years later: Sigourney Weaver as Ellen Ripley in ALIENS. This was not the type on movie my mother would normally see. I saw ALIEN with my brother Ed and my dad in 1979; my first viewing of ALIENS was with Ed on opening weekend. That same night, my family watched Gene Siskel & Roger Ebert colorfully disagree over the film on their show Sneak Previews, with my folks becoming intrigued by Roger Ebert’s favorable impression. The following weekend we saw it as a family. Mom & Dad thoroughly dug it, and Ed & I found all new things to like about it.

Before James Cameron gave us ALIENS and Spielberg brought THE COLOR PURPLE to the screen, the 80′s gave us a few stand-out moms in other genre films, most notably two from Spielberg. In the Spielberg directed sci-fi themed family classic E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Dee Wallace stars as a single mom, which made her quite unusual amongst movie moms and more similar to many of the moms who brought their kids to see E.T. Wallace’s Mary was no superhuman heroine, just a doting and diligent mom in an era when single mothers were often portrayed on film as pariahs. My Mom not only took me to E.T, she also took me a second time with a few friends who’d come over to play after school. One of those friends was from a single-mom home. He had never seen a single mom portrayed in this even handed manner by a movie, which led to as introspective a conversation about Moms as a group of 6th grade boys could manage during our ride home.

In the supernatural horror film POLTERGEIST, produced by Spielberg, JoBeth Williams created in her character Diane Freeling what would soon become an 80′s cliche: the post-hippy mom facing middle-age in suburbia. Diane was only that for the first half of the film; in the second half she may as well worn a cape. In the nerdy notorious summer of ’82, we had never seen a mom do anything as brave and cool as following a rope into a spectral dimension, with the hope of rescuing her supernaturally abducted daughter.

aliens-crashHad it not been for ALIENS, nerds might still regard Diane Freeling as the most bad@$$ mom in speculative fiction. Ellen Ripley becomes a surrogate mom to Newt, a young girl who had managed to survive an alien invasion of a terraforming station on the planet LV-426. Ripley had been brought to LV-426 with a detachment of Marines to help rescue terraforming colonists, but by the time the Marines arrive, young Newt is the sole survivor. Under these circumstances, a maternal element of Ripley never hinted at in the first ALIEN film emerges, making her such a dynamic hero that she became the highest ranking woman in AFI‘s list of 100 Heroes & Villains.

Perhaps the most unexpected aspect of Ripley & Newt’s adventure is that their chief nemesis is a mother in her own right: a giant alien queen as ferociously protective of her eggs as Ripley is of Newt. Calling Ellen Ripley an ideal mom is a bit like calling the Cortez family from SPY KIDS and ideal family; no mom or dad or kids are ever going to face these situations, so it’s a little unfair to compare ones own family to these type of cinematic heroes. And yet, Ripley’s most heroic moment is how she protects Newt in that all-hope-is-lost moment that must come in all great adventures. Every parent will at some point need to explain death and all sorts of other terrible things to their children, and in those moments, moms & dads could do well to recall the resourcefulness and perseverance of Ellen Ripley.

A final movie mom who resonated deeply with me was Sarah Carraclough, played by Samantha Morton, in Charles Sturridge‘s deeply underrated 2005 adaptation of LASSIE. Most Americans know Lassie from a long running 1950′s & 60′s TV show wherein the noble collie belongs to a boy on an American farm. Few Americans under retirement age are aware that Lassie began as a 1940 novel by Eric Knight, which was set in Scotland, and previously filmed in 1943 under the title LASSIE COME HOME. The original cast featured a very young Roddy McDowall and Elizabeth Taylor, and the monster‘s bride herself Elsa Lanchester plays the same mother that Morton plays in this recent version. Lanchester’s credit in the 1943 film was credited merely Mrs. Carraclough, while her son Joe (McDowall) and husband Sam are graced with names. Sturridge’s LASSIE is notable for many reasons, including Morton’s mother receiving the name Sarah. Sarah and her family live in Yorkshire and make just enough of a living to scrape by. Another notable aspect of this film is that it remains set in the pre-WW2 era of the novel rather than being updated.

Sarah Carraclough may not be the mom Joe wants, but she is the mom he needs. Faced with the starvation during the oncoming winter, Sarah and Sam make the unhappy decision of accepting the offer of a wealthy Duke (the inimitable Peter O’Toole), who wants to buy Lassie as a gift for his granddaughter. Lassie of course rejects this arrangement and makes relentless efforts to return home to Joe. Sarah becomes the mom Joe wants when he is able to show her that Lassie is not only his best friend, but also part of their family. When Joe makes it clear that he loves Lassie as he would a sibling, Sarah revises her priorities, and does all that she can to help him. A parent cannot always be expected to differentiate between what their child really really wants this hour, week, or season … versus what they need. Children have needs that are so great that they become a part of their identity. A child who will not back down from a sport no matter how many times it knocks them on their ass is a child who doesn’t simply want to play, they need to be a part of that team. Joe Carraclough’s team is his family, of which Lassie is an inseparable member.jef3fhux2z7tuh2f

Sarah comes to understand that Lassie is as much part of Joe’s identity as his folks are, that he is as much Lassie’s friend as he is their son, and cannot fully be one without the other. We’ve seen Samantha Morton play a similar mom, coincidentally named Sarah, in Jim Sheridan‘s IN AMERICA. She was also this devoted and protective a wife as Debbie Curtis, the wife of Joy Division front man Ian Curtis in CONTROL. Morton can so seamlessly inhabit her characters that she makes a reversal like Sarah Carraclough’s expanded understanding of her son’s needs seem like the speed of life unfolding before your eyes.

I watched Sturridge’s LASSIE last Thanksgiving with my Mom and my brother Ed after dinner. My great affinity for dogs, be they biggest & most beautiful or scrawniest and mangiest, comes from my Mom. We always had a dog when I was growing up, and in recent years she’s had 2 or 3 dogs at all times. Neither Mom nor Ed would want this photo floating around the internet: watching LASSIE on the most family oriented of American holidays with my family while Ed’s pomeranian Rachel and Mom’s papillon Millie begged for pumpkin pie, and Mom’s American Eskimo Daisy reacted to every dog sound coming from the TV was the closest my family has come in years to a Norman Rockwell holiday image.

My Mom is not a huge movie fan but there are a handful of movies that resonate with her. She has shared a few with me, and I have shared as many with her as I can get her to watch.

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IS MOVIE-GOING DEAD? Notes from #TheBigMovieSneak

Posted in JIMMY ON MOVIES: Thoughts on Films, The Folks Who Make Them, & Those Who Love Them on March 2nd, 2014 by Jim Delaney

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This is the time of year when movie bloggers have finished chiming in on our Top 10 films of the previous year, and we’re knee deep in Awards season prognostication, or pronouncing our own personal award categories. I’ve done that before and I’m sure I’ll do it again next year, but right now something else is weighing on me: in short — Is movie-going dead? Is all that was good about sitting in a darkened cinema with a crowd of strangers simply vanishing?

Here’s what put this all-in stack of chips on my shoulder: I’ve been sneaking into movies for years. Not sneaking through the door without paying, but sneaking into a second movie when the first one leaves me hungry. I fancied myself so adept at theater hopping that I must have perfected the ninja secrets of invisibility. The truth from my years of working in movie theaters is this: on my first day my new coworkers taught me that unless a theater-hopper is being disruptive, minimum wage isn’t enough to risk potentially picking a fight. I have carefully heeded that advice ever since. I plan when one movie stops and the next starts, so that I could see the entire show without disrupting the paying audience, and because any proper nerd wants to see the whole movie! Recently I have pondered whether a significant portion of paying audiences have become complacent with a theatrical experience compromised by fellow patrons who are incapable of (or unwilling to) differentiate between our cinema and their living room.TwLeadIn

Last November I set out to break my personal sneak record by seeing 6 movies in 1 day. I tweeted weeks in advance that I would be attempting this, and tagged several theater chains, daring them to catch me. In hindsight that was probably a stupid idea — God forbid anything terrible should happen in one of the tagged chain’s venues, my Tweet might have been investigated as a threat! I also decided to live-tweet throughout the day, a choice that I was conflicted about, given my hatred of cellphones in movie theaters. I sat in the back row of each screen I visited to minimize my light-casting distraction to others. This had two unexpected benefits: first, several screens had electrical outlets on the back wall where I was able to charge my phone. The second benefit stems from my habit of usually sitting in the front few rows; by sitting in back, I was better able to see how moviegoers conduct themselves.

That back row perspective put an exclamation point on my recently pondered questions. For example … Has the effort it takes to read a movie’s reviews, become aware of its pedigree, and the skill to parse its marketing to arrive at a reasonable expectation of quality been lost? Have informed viewers become outnumbered by patrons who buy a ticket to ONLY GOD FORGIVES because they thought Ryan Gosling was so sweet in THE NOTEBOOK, or Kristin Scott Thomas was so tragic in THE ENGLISH PATIENT? You’ve seen these folks, they’re the ones who walk out and demand their money back after 45 minutes of good ol’ Refn-esque sleaze and soft-spoken rage leaves them feeling liked victims of false advertizing. Never mind how little attention they paid to advertizing, reviews, and other readily available information.

The first two TwBadGpa films I saw provided perfect examples of this. Jackass Presents: BAD GRANDPA featured Johnnie Knoxville using impressive Oscar-nominated make-up to disguise himself as a cranky geezer on a roadtrip with his pre-teen grandson. Knoxville had done the dirty old man schtick before in skits for the JACKASS films, but this was the first time we see him carrying a whole story with unsuspecting real-world victims of his vulgar pranks. Sure enough about 20 minutes into the film, an elderly man sitting a few rows ahead of me got up and mumbled “This is fuckin’ sick” as he walked out. It is very likely he was unfamiliar with the Jackass show on MTV, and instead expected raunchy but comparatively safe entertainment,Bad-Grandpa like BAD SANTA or BAD TEACHER. Never mind that there have been three Jackass films in the past decade. The information was out there, if he cared too look, as it was for the audience with whom I saw the first movie I sneaked into.

THE DALLAS BUYERS CLUB tells the true story of Ron Woodruff, a straight man who contracted AIDS in the early 1980′s and became a sort of drug runner. Woodruff transported AZT across the border from Mexico when the American Food & Drug Administration was slow to approve the medication he needed, and he did so in distribution level quantities, to subsidize his own treatment.TwDallas Matthew McConaughey delivers a career highlight performance as Woodruff, but some younger women in the audience seemed to have bought a ticket for the likable and charming McConaughey of romantic comedies. They didn’t want to see an emaciated redneck McConaughey forging a reluctant friendship with a transgender man played by Jared Leto. I can’t make this up: shortly after Woodruff began losing weight and looking gaunt, I heard these girls wondering if McConaughey’s muscular definition in MAGIC MIKE was CGI. matthew_mcconaugheyOthers in the theater asked them to be quiet numerous times, especially when they responded with homophobic slurs and giggles to Leto’s poignant character. One girl wanted to walk out within the first act; thankfully she got her way eventually, and took her friends with her.

Another chip in my stack: Have we as an audience also lost the awareness to find a theater where we are comfortable? Has it been replaced by people who hate seeing a movie in a theater full of children,TwLeadin3 and yet choose a Saturday matinee in a shopping mall theater, right between Toys-R-Us and Chuck E. Cheese? Have audiences lost the openness to live in the moment long enough to give ourselves over to the movie for 112 minutes? Are we so enthralled with the 4 inch screen in our pocket that we couldn’t conceive ignoring it for the duration of a movie? Yes, I’m aware of my hypocrisy on this particular day; more on that imminently.

The next film on my agenda was Gavin Hood‘s adaptation of Orson Scott Card‘s cold-war era sci-fi classic ENDER’S GAME. This is the story of an adolescent young man named Ender Wiggin, played by Asa Butterfield, whose unique intellectual skills are dismissed and ignored by all around him. Harrison Ford plays Colonel Graff, a military recruiter who recognizes Ender’s thought process as perfectly suited to organizing battle strategies. We follow Ender through a science fiction version of FULL METAL JACKET, first surviving his training for war, and then then discovering that he is prepared to take action that the first-act version of himself would never have imagined possible.Enders-Game-10 ENDER’S GAME is a stunning looking movie that both embraces and up-ends cliches of the sci-fi and war movie genres … and yet that was not interesting enough for the guy across the aisle from me. Here I am making an effort to sit in back so the light of my tweeting phone doesn’t annoy anyone … and this guy literally takes a friggin’ iPad out of his backpack and plays a videogame anytime an action sequence ends!! Was I distracted? Hell yes! Did I say anything to him? …Thought about it, chose not to. I’m 3 movies in, I already got my $7 worth, this was experiment time. I wanted to see how long he’d actually do it. And he didn’t stop; anytime a dialogue sequence with exposition and character and nuance and story and whatnot distracted from the fiery explosions and thundering booms, out came BackpackBoy’s Game. TwEnder

The distraction of his iPad accentuated how distracted I was by my own Tweeting. Y’see my phone isn’t quite 100% — it has these annoying glitches with the U-I-O region of the keyboard. I don’t know what the problem is, but it hampered in my ability to Tweet without occasionally turning off and restarting my phone. So I’m distracted from ENDER’S GAME by BackpackBoy’s Game, and by my wanting to Tweet, and by my phone’s inability to Tweet, and next thing you know I’ve lost more screen time than I would have missed if I’d left the theater for a soda refill. I enjoyed ENDER’S GAME, though I knew that I was reaching a threshold with not only allowing myself to be distracted from movies, but with willfully contributing to my own distraction.

I recognize that I am pointing out a few bad apples and describing the whole barrel as rotten, as I’m aware that lacking audience civility exists anywhere there are audiences, but that should not excuse these same apples from souring the sauce. I’ve seen and heard it in a London stage production of Conor McPherson’s THE WEIR, where multiple patrons implored two oblivious people to stop debating which flavor went with which wrapper in their crinkly candy bag, and a Broadway production of Arthur Miller’s THE RIDE DOWN MOUNT MORGAN where three elderly women swooned relentlessly over Patrick Stewart’s legs in a hospital gown. I’ve heard it in symphony halls, jazz clubs, poetry slams, and gallery performances. In my estimation it has gotten worse in direct proportion to the rise of cellphones.

The next film I went to was Steve McQueen‘s 12 YEARS A SLAVE, adapted from Solomon Northup’s memoir by John Ridley. It stars Chiwetel Ejiofor as New York composer and musician Solomon Northup, who was abducted twenty years before the Civil War, and whose memoir of Louisiana slavery helped fuel the northern abolitionist movement. As I Tweeted during the movie, I’ve been a big fan of Chiwetel Ejiofor, ever since his flawless lead performance anchored the equally flawless DIRTY PRETTY THINGS. I was extra sensitive to anyone not giving 12 YEARS A SLAVE due focus, this being the most serious movie in my lineup; it became the most distracting experience of the day.

It’s almost difficult to decide where to begin — but let’s go with the red herring. DF_03069.tifAs the trailers were on, a group of roughly a dozen teenaged students came in together, with a woman who I’d guess was their teacher. My immediate reaction was that these kids would talk through most of the movie, but I was only semi-right; their singular nemesis spoke more than all of them combined. And here’s where this becomes really unexpected. Remember our elderly “fuckin’ sick” gent who walked out of BAD GRANDPA? He must have been rivaling me for hopping because he showed up about 15 minutes after 12 YEARS began. Lateness, by the way, is an egregious violation of my personal code of hopper etiquette! An equally egregious violation was his frequent mumbling and “Shoosh”-ing of these kids more loudly than any noise they made. He may have well used a shotgun to silence a housefly. I was aware of their conversation, but in fairness they were whispering, and what I could hear from them were reasonable questions that related to the movie. Sure I’d prefer those questions wait until after the movie, but at least they were engaged. Bad Grandpa was paying more attention to the students than to the movie; after about 45 minutes of Solomon’s ordeal, the old fella gave up shooshing and walked out. I’d be willing to bet this guy saw 20 to 45 minutes of every movie in this theater!

Tw12yrsFrom my usual front row vantage point, this would have been the only interruption to 12 YEARS OF SLAVE, and I’d be ready to discuss my next film. But shortly after Bad Grandpa showed up, a couple came upstairs and sat a few seats away from me in the back row. They watched about 15 minutes of the film before she decided there was something else she’d rather see. Thankfully these two were not as joined at the hip as the gaggle of homophobic girls in THE DALLAS BUYERS CLUB. They fairly quickly agreed that she was going to another movie, and that they would meet afterwards in yet another movie. Between this couple and Bad Grandpa, I’m beginning to realize that there is nothing special about me wandering from screen to screen. It seems more people do it here than in any theater where I’ve ever worked. But wait, there’s more… right after Bad Grandpa and half of the back row couple left … a woman showed up and sat directly in front of me, I guess because none of the other 200+ available seats were just right?

That in itself was fine … until she unwrapped a full-on picnic that smelled like Chinatown via McDonalds. Yes, movie theaters hijack patrons for far more than concessions actually cost to produce. I’m well versed in the mark-up in popcorn & soda after working for three different chains, in three different markets, one of which I rose to a management level. I’m all for sneaking in a little something, but grazing from multiple smelly and noisy packages creates a multi-sensory obstacle from which no one could remain focused on any film. This perfect storm of distractions reenforced my affection for the front row. Anytime my back row neighbor or I shifted in our seats, buffet lady would shoot us a glaring stink-eye; how dare we disturb her feast?!

But I had not yet learned my lesson, because I went directly to the back row for J.C. Chandor‘s ALL IS LOST. I am a lifelong fan of Robert Redford. AlLost The first movie I ever saw more than once was THE STING; Redford taught me that, when you see a film the second time, it’s still the same story! Johnny Hooker in THE STING did not remember from my previous viewing that Lieutenant Snyder was waiting around that corner for him. Through Robert Redford I learned to dive deep into repeat viewings of movies and search for elements that I may have overlooked on first viewing. During the first half of ALL IS LOST, a story of a lone yachtsman adrift in a storm, I was not as emotionally moved as I hoped. Around the mid-point though, it revealed itself as more of an existential metaphor than a character driven story, and then I began to thoroughly dig it.

Still another chip: Has the communal experience of sharing a movie with a room full of like-minded (and even not-so-like-minded) strangers, and letting that movie resonate deeply enough that you ponder it for the rest of the weekend, TwAllLost and devise some original thought of your own to drop on your coworkers come Monday morning — is that all gone? Toward the end of ALL IS LOST I fell in love with going to the movies again. If I allowed this day to do its worst, I could walk away bitter with the theatrical experience, and finally join Netflix. Instead it actually became amusing to listen to this audience vociferously scratch their head and wonder when some tired voice-over or overwrought flashback device would provide us the context to weep for Redford. Some movies rely on how much of your own mind and soul you bring to the experience; some audiences deserve to be bewildered if they arrive ill-prepared. A few at a time they walked out, and toward the end all I heard was the rusty creaking of another person’s seat, which married very well with the sound design of Redford’s slowly disintegrating vessel. Yes there were distractions in ALL IS LOST, though not as loud as in the earlier films; eventually my communal experience here whittled down to just me and the person with the creaking chair and a couple who took turns falling asleep and loudly snoring. The snoring couple, by the way, had also been in my earlier screening of THE DALLAS BUYER’S CLUB. I might have become so saturated with distraction that they barely registered.

I seriously weighed whether or not I had a sixth movie in me, given that my train might stop running before I get out of a late show … but THE COUNSELOR was right there, right when I needed it to be! And here’s where the tables turn: there were virtually no audience distractions in Cormac McCarthy‘s tale of wealthy and connected backstabbing drug dealers and partying hangers-on. There was just Javier Bardem doing his level best to keep a muddy story interesting,TwCounselor plus Cameron Diaz with the most auto-erotic moment since Cronenberg‘s CRASH, but they were not enough to counteract Ridley Scott‘s stylish looking, derivatively written, and ultimately dull film. I almost longed for a true master of audience participation to toss out some one liners to make THE COUNSELOR more interesting.

Still from The Counsellor, the new film from director Ridley ScottMy first real experience with audience participation on the level of stand-up comedy was when my Dad took my brother & me to see CONAN THE BARBARIAN at the long-gone Rivoli Theater in Times Square. I’m not opposed to all audience interruption; if you’ve got something hilarious to contribute, then please by all means let it rip, and loudly enough to share with the entire class. But no one in any of today’s agenda had anything hilarious or interesting to say, nothing on the level of the two weed-infused gents behind me in 1982.

This leads me to my final conundrum: have movies become so accessible on so many platforms that we now regard the theatrical experience as disposably as a daytime talkshow or a SuperBowl commercial? Some students in one of the top 10 film schools in the country regard attending free movie screenings as a burden. [Full disclosure: Emerson College is both my alma mater, class of '91, and my current employer] If even those who want to be tomorrow’s filmmakers can’t be bothered with ol’ fashioned movie-going, what does that say for tomorrow’s audience?

Given that movie-going audiences are often as bland as the marketing plan driven tent-pole event movies they turn into hits, the future of the theater-going experience may be as homogenized as Hollywood and the increasingly formulaic “independent” film scene. Sadly this situation endures while one of the most ambitious and impressive American movies of 2014 barely limps from the red into the black. When I first began working with my podcast compadre Craig Jamison, he granted me carte blanche to write a guest article for his film site The GullCottage / Sandlot. I opted to examine 4 movies that were simultaneously available in theaters in via Video OnDemand after seeing all 4 both in local theaters and at home. I thoroughly expected to prefer the theatrical option, and was somewhat surprised by the results.

Happily, pockets of hope do exist, balcony though you may have to go to the fringe of the theatrical spectrum to find them. Recently I attended the 39th Boston Sci-Fi Film Festival, the oldest running genre festival in the US, which concludes each year with a 24 hour marathon over Presidents’ Day weekend. The festival itself is always a pleasure, as are the dozen or so other fests I’ve attended around the country. But the ‘Thon is a horse of a different color. This is the ultimate communal experience: 500 or more nerds filling up the orchestra and balcony of the Somerville Theater for a dozen science fiction films, some classics and others yet to be discovered. I’ve seen this show a few times now, and it is always a bargain at twice the price; only about half of those who arrive at noon on Sunday make it all the way to noon on Presidents’ Day. Those who do make it are united by shared thrills and jolts and laughs and beer on tap and bottomless coffee and New England winter outside and audience participation that borders on call-and-response symbiosis with the screen. Yeah, downstairs gets to smelling a little like coffee farts, Dunkin Donuts, and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, but you can escape the con-funk in the chilly balcony.

It is likely that I am part of the problem. My early question about theater location may simply be something I need to accept when I go to a mainstream cinema. Aside from the Boston Sci-Fi Marathon and the Somerville Theater, I can think of several film festivals and revival and independent theaters that consistently give me hope for movie-going kind. can Any theater that still promotes a film as being presented in 35mm (or even 70mm!), and any audience who actually responds to that as a positive thing, that’s where I find my happy place. For folks who live in an area where these options are in short supply, it makes perfect sense that they would embrace home video over a movie theater; movie nerds go where other movie nerds go, where we can all respect the film and each other. Sometimes that’s in an all-night balcony, some days its on your couch with a DVR loaded with your own personal festival.

Between my initial pondering for the GullCottage/Sandlot and these recent experiences, I think it’s safe to say that I prefer the big screen theatrical experience, albeit from my semi-solitary front rows. Movie-going may not be dead, but like Our Man in ALL IS LOST, it thrives best under very particular circumstances. Now that I’ve actually tested whether or not I like dividing my attention between a movie screen and my phone, I have no intention of repeating that … unless I try to break my record and go for 7!

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Father’s Day: 3 Cinematic Dads Who Changed My Life & My Father Who Introduced Me To Them

Posted in JIMMY ON MOVIES: Thoughts on Films, The Folks Who Make Them, & Those Who Love Them on June 16th, 2013 by Jim Delaney

One of the great gifts given to me by my dad, Robert Vernon Delaney aka The Fats, was a love of all kinds of movies. When I was between the ages of 4 and 14, The Fats probably took my brother Ed & I to the movies every other Saturday afternoon, or every Saturday if it wasn’t baseball season. He often took us to movies that my classmates’ folks would never take them too, either because the subject matter was too risque or violent, or else they just assumed kids would be bored by something without fart jokes or laser fights. He used movies to show us how life works, or fails to work; conversations during the ride home and at the dinner table laid the foundation for my need to lose myself in a movie and find my way back out of it.

Through Fats’ and my love of movies, I have encountered three cinematic dads who have resonated with me above all others. First and foremost of those is Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch, in Robert Mulligan‘s TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, adapted from Harper Lee‘s novel by Horton Foote. This may seem an easy choice for one of the great movie dads, but I’ve had this awestruck feeling for the widower Atticus since long before he topped AFI’s list of Heroes & Villains. The most obvious reason that Atticus is an exemplary father is they way he treats his 10 year old son Jem and his 6 year old daughter Scout. He never speaks to them as children who would not understand the ways of adults; he speaks to them as young people who can understand anything he cares to explain to them, and Atticus is a master of explanation. Atticus-Finch In one of the signature scenes of the film, Atticus makes a gift of a rifle to young Jem, and repeats to him the same instruction that his own father had given him: that it was acceptable to kill blue jays but never a mockingbird. He offers to Jem the sense that “Mockingbirds don’t do anything but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat people’s gardens, don’t nest in the corncrib, they don’t do one thing but just sing their hearts out for us.” Atticus uses a simple instruction to expand his childrens’ appreciation of simple pleasures, but does so in way that leaves them time to figure that out for themselves.

Atticus Finch is more than a great dad within his own home. He is a pillar of his community, in a sense that puts him a position to be that master of explanation to his entire town, a shepherd to a sometimes resistant flock. For a story set in the dawning days of the 20th century, Atticus leads by example, in a manner that is sadly still ahead of his time now. He is a country lawyer who defends a black man against a charge of raping a white woman. I could tell you more about that, but if you have already seen the film you know how that turns out; if you have not seen it I would never deprive you of the lessons in basic human decency that I learned from Atticus Finch one humid summer night that the Fats allowed me to sit up way past my bedtime to watch TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD with him.

A movie dad whom I found on my own, in a place that I wasn’t even looking for him, was a man named Jason “Furious” Styles. Furious, played by Laurence Fishburn, lives, works and raises his son in South Central Los Angeles in BOYZ N THE HOOD. This film was the feature debut of writer & director John Singleton, who took from his own family the inspiration to make Furious determined to see his own son Trey go to college. My affection for Furious emerged early in the film, when he is driving Trey through their neighborhood, and “Ooh Child” by The Five Stairsteps comes on the radio. furiousIn this brief moment Furious sings and shares with his son a song that he had loved since Trey was a toddler. Trey does what most kids would do: he reacts as if his old man is sentimental, embarrassing, and patently uncool. This scene shows us Furious educating Trey in the difference between temporary cool, the things that Trey thinks are stylish and important this week, versus time-tested cool that will always be impressive long after fads fade.

As with Atticus Finch, we also see Furious Styles emerge as a pillar of his community, although in a less official capacity. In one of the most powerful scenes in the film Furious, who works as a real estate agent, stands at a crossroad and shows Trey and his friends what comprises their neighborhood. He observes mostly gun stores, convenience stores, and liquor stores, and ground zero for a misguided war on drugs. At the conclusion of Furious’ thoughts, one of Trey’s friends remarks how Trey’s dad “can preach.” Furious is not an important man in his community because of an office he holds or a job he does; he is important because he is a man who raises his son, when all around him he sees other men not taking that responsibility. Furious even manages to instill his values into Trey when it seems he has failed. Both an early and a late incident in the film concern guns; though I have not actually seen BOYS N THE HOOD in several years, I can still hear Furious’s advice to Trey as if I’d just seen the film yesterday. If you believe Trey Styles’ mother and Furious’ ex wife, he is not a perfect man, but his dedication to his son and his resistance in the face of the decline of his neighborhood make him a powerful force to be reckoned with. This is also my personal favorite performance by Laurence Fishburn, who is one of that rare breed of actors who elevate every project they take on, making good films special and the excellent films unforgettable.

The final movie dad who has left an indelible impression on me is Seibei Iguchi, played by Hiroyuki Sanada in THE TWILIGHT SAMURAI. Seibei is fascinating in that he is downright flawless in his job, but he has very little opportunity to show that, given that the film takes in the late 19th century place toward the end of the Samurai era. Seibei is nicknamed Twilight Samurai by his coworkers, his Samurai clan; what they do not realize as well as Seibei does is that their centuries-old way of life is drawing to a close. Twilight SamuraiThe story opens with Seibei attending the funeral of his wife, and then returning home to care for his two young daughters and his increasingly senile mother. He does not have the aloof pride of most movie Samurai; he regards his job as little more than a way to make ends meet, and really only comes alive for his family at the end of each working day.

Seibei is not a pillar of his community. No one around him looks up to him. At the end of the day, Seibei is that unsung father who does the best he can, and more, with little acknowledgment from anyone but those closest to him. This is at the core of being a great dad, a great parent, a great mentor; you exemplify excellence when no one else is watching. Even when Seibei is put to the test, both as a family man and as a Samurai, these tests are met with no witnesses. I saw TWILIGHT SAMURAI one week after my father passed away. I knew the my dad provided me a more comfortable life than most of my peers because he worked hard, and he worked smart; I never properly thanked him or acknowledged that I understood this. It is perhaps due to this realization that the unassuming grace of Seibei Iguchi resonated so deeply. Nonetheless, this character has stayed with me, and shown me the true measure of a man.

Hollywood has given us many good dads, and more than a few good moms as well, but the great ones are few and far between. International cinema may be a different story, but I am still learning my way around that arena. If you have a favorite Movie Dad or Movie Mom, please feel free to comment below; I love it when fellow movie aficionados hip me to something new. I’d also love to hear your thoughts on Atticus, Furious, and Seibei if you have met any of them. Happy Father’s Day.

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10 or so FAVORITES OF 2012

Posted in JIMMY ON MOVIES: Thoughts on Films, The Folks Who Make Them, & Those Who Love Them on January 31st, 2013 by Jim Delaney

Would you prefer to have another year with a few outstanding films adrift in a sea of mediocrity, or a year where a rising tide of passion and skill lifted many filmmakers to high watermarks in their careers? Only one film truly blew me away this year; some may find that reason to complain, but I am reminded of Crash Davis’ advice to Nuke LaLoosh in BULL DURHAM: “Don’t try to strike everybody out. Strikeouts are boring! Besides that, they’re fascist. Throw some ground balls – it’s more democratic.” 2012 was not a great year for movies, but it was a very good year.

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10. Skyfall and The Dark Knight Rises

We’ve had 50 years of James Bond films, and numerous incarnations of Batman, but both of these films are unique in their series in that they each complete a trilogy. SKYFALL and THE DARK KNIGHT RISES arrived with heavy expectations, and were greeted with commercial and mostly critical success; both also had every lose thread tugged at by detractors during the inevitable backlash. Despite the flaws, or sometimes in complete rejection of them, I enjoyed both finales. The thing about Bond and Batman is that fans from multiple generations can claim to have grown up with them. But who may lay claim to their interpretation of each hero being the one true version? I’ve heard it said that SKYFALL diminishes 007 by giving him too much back story; aficionados Ian Fleming’s novels know that Bond comes with enough history to be explored by no less than Kingsley Amis. As technology and gadgets became more of a staple of Bond’s arsenal, the films lost sight of his three close-quarter combat skills from the novels: pistol shot, boxer, and knife thrower. I’m probably making too much of this moment, but one of my biggest smiles in the movies this year came when Daniel Craig vanquishes one key opponent with a thrown knife, a skill that I’m pretty sure we have not seen since Roger Moore in OCTOPUSSY. The Bond films starring Daniel Craig have served a purpose similar to D.C. Comics Crisis on Infinite Earths: they smoothly reconcile all those stray threads and different generational interpretations of Bond in one handshake. All that has past is prologue; Bond now belongs to the ages, as much as King Arthur or Sherlock Holmes.

THE DARK KNIGHT RISES is one of those films that could have been shorter, but I’m glad I wasn’t the guy who had to make the decision what to cut, because so much of it resonates exactly because of its operatic grandiosity. Even moreso than in Christopher Nolan‘s first two Bat films, I loved the elevation of Gotham City to a battleground as epic in scale as Middle Earth, and as American as a litany of road movies. I saw Yvonne Craig (Batgirl in the 1960′s BATMAN TV series) at a comicbook convention shortly after Tim Burton’s BATMAN opened in 1989. She remarked that she had trouble buying Burton’s Gotham as a place in America. I’ve lived in Los Angeles and New York, and I know my way around London, Pittsburgh, and Newark. I loved that chases through Gotham in 2012 would begin in one city, turn a corner into another, and collide in yet another. Gotham in Nolan’s hands became like an expertly mixed DJ mash-up: a cohesive location comprising other cities. Nolan’s singularly desperate image, right before all hell breaks lose, of two stained and frayed American flags hanging over the Gotham Stock Exchange may be the most powerful political image I’ve seen all year. Batman and company hail from a divided America where both sides are beaten and battered and neither is the better for it. The full immersion into this world is what makes THE DARK KNIGHT RISES a fitting conclusion to Nolan’s Bat trilogy, and also makes this trilogy the 2nd most ambitious achievement in comicbook adaptation we have yet seen.

9. Excision

excision-1I dropped the ball earlier this year. In the past few years, I have written summations of two of my favorite local film festivals, but this year I allowed myself to be distracted. For me the biggest surprise of the 2012 Boston Underground Film Festival was Richard Bates Jr‘s EXCISION. This film is the sort of unsettling, deviant, macabre trip that makes me look forward to BUFF. AnnaLynne McCord plays a geeky high school outcast who fantasizes herself a mad doctor, and who endeavors to use her fantasy life to rescue her little sister from Cystic Fibrosis. The film pulls off a potentially ridiculous story largely because it is grounded by a strong cast, including camp veterans John Waters, Traci Lords, and Malcolm McDowell, all playing their roles completely straight. Keeping hipster irony in check, they manage to tease layers of sorrow and fear that would have been smothered had they gone more tongue in cheek. I spoke briefly with Traci Lords (you get to meet a lot of cool people at comic shows!); she is very proud of this film, and feels it is her best work yet. I have to agree. Her collaborations with Waters and Kevin Smith revealed her to be an under-rated comic actress; here she shows equal dramatic range. This film never made me jump from my seat, but it got under my skin more than any other horror film in recent memory.

killing-them-softlyDjango

8. Killing Them Softly and Django Unchained

Late 2012 gave me two very cool flashbacks to films of the 1970′s, though technically they recalled genres that I did not become familiar with until the ’80′s. Andrew Dominik‘s KILLING THEM SOFTLY reminds me of badass 70′s crime movies like THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE; both films were adapted from novels by Boston crime writer George V. Higgins. KILLING THEM SOFTLY also recalls Cassavetes films like THE KILLING OF A CHINESE BOOKIE and GLORIA. The characters of this film often have the same flaws that doomed Eddie Coyle’s crew, while Dominik invokes Cassavetes’ exploration of downtime amongst the underworld to further flesh out his characters. You are told a little, but shown everything you will need to know, about how and why each of these men kills and dies. My inclusion of this film amongst my favorites of the year is something of an investment; much as I enjoyed it when I first saw it, I expect it will grow on me over the next decade.

My awareness of the films Quentin Tarantino channeled in DJANGO UNCHAINED began with the another great film born from westerns and blaxploitation films, BLAZING SADDLES. This is Tarantino’s second opus wherein audiences and critics mistake it for a revision of revisionist history. As with the fantastic historical inaccuracies of Tarantino’s INGLORIOUS BASTERDS, his DJANGO succeeds when you consider it a revision of cinema history. It’s as if he’s toying with our acceptance of cinema legend rather than genuine history, and taunting us to accept an even more slanted expression, one with no pretense of telling you “how it really was” through a veil of the studio development process. Tarantino unapologeticly and proudly makes fiction with a capital F. Mel Brooks challenged generations of American myth building with BLAZING SADDLES by shattering the fourth wall with Marx Bros style slapstick. Tarantino has taken some heat for presenting a film that seems less comedic and more dramatic than BLAZING SADDLES, though I could argue that it is only the violence quotient that makes anyone regard this film any more seriously than Mel’s.

7. Lincoln
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Steven Spielberg‘s examination of the final season of the life of Abraham Lincoln is not without its flaws. Some have gone as far as to hate it for the fact that it blows a perfect ending by continuing for another 3 or 4 scenes. To them I must respond “don’t let perfect be the enemy of pretty damn close!” This is not a movie for people who want to hear Abraham Lincoln’s most famous speeches read by Daniel Day-Lewis. This is a behind closed doors story of a common man, where in his closed doors happen to be the office of the President, and the bedroom of a husband and father trying to hold his family together following the recent loss of a son. This is not a biopic full of all the major moments we’ve all heard about since elementary school. This is a political nailbiter for anyone who sees the drama in Sunday morning news shows, for people who understand the difference between common language and the letter of the law, for policy wonks who thrill to a well reasoned and well stated argument. And yes, it is thrilling the hear Daniel Day-Lewis, Sally Field, Tommy Lee Jones, David Strathairn, James Spader, and Hal Holbrook whisper and thunder in these divergent halls of power.

6. Life of Pi
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Your average movie fan acknowledges AVATAR as the first masterpiece of the most recent wave of 3-D films. Cinefiles gave hesitant respect to 3-D as a legitimate tool for serious filmmakers after it was used by Martin Scorsese, Werner Herzog, and Wim Wenders. For my money, Ang Lee‘s THE LIFE OF PI is the most significant advance in special effects since the motion capture work in THE LORD OF THE RINGS, and it is the first modern movie that absolutely had to be in 3-D. This is such an internalized story that it had to feel like you could reach out and touch it, and such a challenging tightrope of perspective that it needed to be this explosively vivid to make us believe, doubt, and believe again in all the possible interpretations. We go to the movies to see something we have never seen before, something we’ve never imagined and didn’t even know we hungered to witness; in achieving this THE LIFE OF PI elevates 3-D to its own art form.

5. Les Miserables
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I have never seen the stage musical of this story. I read the book in high school, but we had to read it too quickly for it to impact a slow reader like me. I loved this movie because it is a timeless example of what big studios with big budgets can do when they hire big talents to express big ideas and emotions. At first glance the immenseness of this production may seem to drown out any trace of subtlety. Closer inspection reveals it to be one incisive subtlety after another. Much has been written about the live singing on set with live accompaniment, and the unpolished immediacy that lent to the performances. Anne Hathaway‘s singing in her heartbreaking rendition of the staple “I Dreamed A Dream” is only half the reason this scene is one of the signature moments in musical history. Watch carefully: this was shot in one take. We never cut away from her face. If Hathway moved a few inches to her left or right, or made any of the grand gestures that this song might engender, she could slip out of the frame and the artifice would become obvious. In the medium of live theater musical this would have looked underplayed; in the film musical medium she is explosive. Expand this minute attention to physical detail and emotional authenticity to Tom Hooper‘s entire film, and you will understand why this story that had never mattered much to me before managed to blow me away this year.

4. Comic-Con Episode IV: A Fan’s Hope
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At first glance you may think “there goes the nerd, naming the Comic Con doc as one of his favorites.” And that may be true, but Morgan Spurlock‘s film reminds me of a phenomenal and underrated graffiti doc called Next, plus some of the better hip-hop docs. Spurlock laughs more with people than at them. His are films made by a searching soul seeking to connect, which is why he examines each issue from multiple angles. Here he meets aspiring comicbook artists, costume cosplayers, collectors, vendors and fans. Any of these groups could be the subject of an entire movie, but like hip-hop docs that touch on DJing, MCing, dance, and graffiti, I think Spurlock explored the humanity of each group without going so far into the minutia as to lose those not within this culture. I literally heard an audience burst into action movie-level applause for one aspiring artist in the film when they receive a job offer from their dream employer. Don’t discount how special an experience it is for a nonfiction film to capture that moment.

3. Headhunters
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We get a couple of these per decade, if we’re lucky. Like The Square and A Simple Plan, this is a tight as a drum thriller with delicious twists of fate punctuated by believable but shocking character moments. Like CABIN IN THE WOODS, the less you know, the better. I love how many buttons this movie pushes in its first act. Half way through the second act when you think you might know where it’s heading, you’ll be reminded of another wrinkle established at the opening. I’m already telling you too much! Just bring a strong stomach, and be ready to see a absorbing mystery, before it’s diluted by a Hollywood remake.

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2. Burn and Detropia
I’ve already mentioned dropping the ball earlier this year on summarizing my experience with the Boston Underground Festival. I also failed to discuss the Independent Film Festival of Boston, where I saw these two fantastic films, both focused on Detroit. BURN was produced by Denis Leary, no stranger himself to stories about firefighters. The unprecedented stylistic choice this film makes is the use of the same cameras attached to the helmets of NFL players to follow Detroit firefighters straight into infernos we can only imagine from Backdraft. Going deeper still, the film illuminates the lives of firefighters from several ladder companies, as they face city politics and community needs over the course of one year.

DETROPIA makes Detroit into a microcosm for the country, possibly the whole world, for the financial downturn of 2008 and 2009. It briefly addresses challenges faced by police and BURN’s firefighters, as well as a local symphony facing the drying up of benefactor resources. As much as Spurlock’s Comic-Con film could have focused diligently on one aspect as BURN did, DETROPIA benefits from a similarly wide-cast net. For all the loss of the Detroit that was, equal time is given to the stalwarts who will not be moved, though they are the last house on their block not foreclosed upon. With hesitant enthusiasm, the IFFB audience embraced the artists and bohemians (and heralds if gentrification) who migrated from New York and other art hubs where rents have out-priced the artists who create the next wave of design and perception. As much as DETROPIA gives us hope for the Detroit of tomorrow, BURN puts us in touch with those in immediate need to build that future.

1. Beasts of the Southern Wild
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I can’t say much more about this than I already have written. This film has become like a prayer for hope. I can barely speak the title of this film without a lump emerging on my throat. 10,000 years from now, scientists in the future will find filmed evidence of HushPuppy who lived in the Bathtub, but you can see her now, before she’s gone.

PLUS A FEW OTHER FAVORITES:

Argo – This movie reminded me so much of Cold War-era thrillers like THREE DAYS OF THE CONDOR and GORKY PARK that it made me feel nostalgic for something that I couldn’t have possibly know about, because it was classified!


Cabin In The Woods
– Way to turn that title on its head and inside out. I won’t say more, because if you’re among the few nerds who hasn’t seen this yet, I don’t want to deprive you of the pleasure!

End of Watch – beat cops wresting with a criminal conspiracy worthy of a James Ellroy novel are given unexpected intimacy by some creatively used first-person camera.

The Impossible – Nevermind the flawless performances and emotionally wrenching story; the sound design on the sequence where Naomi Watts is swept nearly drowning through a tsunami is why movies matter.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower – Because it reminds you what it was like to be 19, and raises your appreciation and hope for those experiencing that period right now.

The Raid: Redemption – I gotta go back to THE ROAD WARRIOR for the last time a film made on a modest budget without big studio support redefined how we film and edit action sequences.

Rust & Bone – Love comes at times we are not prepared for and in forms we do not anticipate. Not so often that movies reflect that, and never as well acted or excruciatingly written as this.

Silver Lining Playbook – David O. Russell has a knack for slipping in extra dimensions into any genre he plays with. “The Fighter” could have been just a boxing movie, instead of one of the better movies in the past generation about dysfunctional families and addiction. This could have been just another romantic comedy, instead of a smart movie about emotional and mentally damaged folks that skillfully avoids most cliches and RAIN MAN cuteness.


Whore’s Glory
– The final film in Michael Glawogger‘s trilogy on globalization focuses on the sort of underground economy examined in books like Eric Schlosser’s “Reefer Madness: Sex, Drugs, and Cheap Labor in the American Black Market,” but too rarely in films. I love this movie for making people walk out of the screening I attended. This movie pulls no punches, and it shouldn’t; it will hurt you, and it should.


Zero Dark Thirty
– Truth? I expected a movie about the final weeks or months before the raid that assassinated Osama Bin Laden. I did not expect an espionage epic (such an overused word, “epic,” but thematically it fits here) about the decade-long search leading up to that mission. I do not mean to diminish this film by comparing it to a Wile E. Coyote vs. Road Runner cartoon, but that is what it is at it’s core. Rather than the immovable object, the unstoppable force so voraciously confronts such an ever-moving target that the film feels like you are trapped inside an atom smasher.

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My Favorite Movies of the Year … Special “30 Years Ago” Edition!

Posted in JIMMY ON MOVIES: Thoughts on Films, The Folks Who Make Them, & Those Who Love Them, MOVIES TO REMEMBER: The ol' favorites that The Lunch Movie kids might have watched had the tradition continued... on December 31st, 2012 by Jim Delaney

Everywhere movie fans turn this week, they will find a Best of 2012 article. With several of the Oscar-contender crop yet to open in Boston, it feels premature for me to discuss my favorites; after all what if Zero Dark Thirty turns out to be my favorite movie of the year? I could go ahead and close the book 2012 regardless, or I could do nothing, but I’ve written too much nothing for the past few months. Or I could write about something unique and personal.

A debate has raged for years amongst cinephiles regarding whether 1939 or 1962 was the greatest year in cinema history. If you’re a nerd, there is only one answer to this question: 1982. This being the 30th Anniversary of the greatest year in movie-nerd history, it feels like a good time to review a portion of the films that made me glad to have lived through that era. When I say it was a great year for movie nerds, you may assume that I’m thinking solely of genre movies. 1982 offered great genre and non-genre movies, but it was in the area of genre movies that ’82 shaped the generation that would follow. Let’s consider not one or two but five essential sci-fi films: E.T. The Extraterrestrial, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Tron, Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, and Blade Runner.

If you grew up watching Steven Spielberg‘s E.T. on video, you may not recognize what a juggernaut it was for theatrical audiences. Not only did it usurp the #1 box office champ spot held for 5 years by Star Wars, it took 11 years before E.T. was knocked from his perch. No one was prepared for how popular a simple film about a boy helping a stranded alien find his way home could be. One might expect that after the runaway success of Kenner’s Star Wars toys that E.T. dolls would be in toy stores a month before the movie opened. This did not happen, and when the first doll finally arrived, it was proportionately all wrong. E.T.’s stubby legs were made as lanky as his elongated arms, and his face was more pudgy and cute. When my Mom and I saw that inaccurate doll at Macy’s in Manhattan, a sales lady told us they were flying off the shelves. Kids embraced a substandard toy because it was the only option available. 15 years before throngs of high school girls saw Titanic multiple times to cry together, kids from 8 to 80 cried together with E.T., keeping it in theaters for a year. That was not a typo. Once upon a time when a good movie could last 3 or 4 months in theaters, E.T. played on some screens for an entire year. There was even an ad campaign in spring 1983: “After one year, E.T. is going home!” How does a movie last that long? We needed it. The Gordon Gekko ’80′s were years away, we were still trapped in the Patrick Hale ’80′s. We needed something new and different. We want to believe in magic and care about someone pure and innocent. This “poor bastid who looks like he crawled outta the sea and forget to go back in,” as my Grandma Delaney described him, fit that bill perfectly. I saw E.T. several times with friends, but my strongest memory is seeing it on two consecutive nights with my dad, The Fats. We had taken a road trip to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. There wasn’t much to do after dinner, especially in a hotel where the only TV was in the lobby, so both nights we went to see E.T. in the one movie theater in town. The first night was like any other movie night. The second night, The Fats had a few extra drinks with dinner, and introduced this pastoral small town bijou to the Times Square tradition of audience participation. No one told him to shut up or complained to management. They were too busy laughing. A few other folks even joined in, with everyone falling silent during the finale. When it was over, a few dozen emotionally exhausted people stood under the marquee with tear-stained eyes and laughing smiles, taking in a magical summer night that would have made Ray Bradbury feel right at home. Show me another movie that folks could laugh with, and then laugh at, and bond with strangers after sharing.

If you’ve seen Nicholas Meyer‘s Star Trek II then you don’t need me to tell you that it is one of the most meticulously crafted genre movies ever made. This was an all too seldom case of the big studio development system doing its job properly, by finding the right people for the movie, and trusting them to do their jobs. Personally I was a fan of the first Star Trek movie in 1979, but many found it too cerebral, or just plain boring. Star Trek II was produced for less than one third of the first movie’s budget, and was a bigger hit, because the story appealed to both core and passive fans. Admiral Kirk and the Enterprise crew do battle with a villain from their past who hijacks a scientific experiment with the intention of using it as a weapon. There was a more compelling tie to the original series than the first film offered to the core fans, and there were themes of family and aging (and ol’ fashioned revenge) that proved more accessible for passive fans than the 2001-esque existential quandary of the first film. I saw it on a rainy opening weekend with my brother Ed and my Mom. The theater was so full that we had trouble finding three seats together. Ed and Mom sat toward the back and I joined some classmates way up front. This may be the hardest I ever heard Ed cheer for a movie, and I was on the opposite end of the theater from him! He wasn’t alone; a moment during the ship battle in the Mutara Nebula is to this day the loudest I’ve ever heard an audience erupt in applause. Was there anything groundbreaking here? Not so much. It was just a conspiracy of cool the likeness of which no other sequel had ever aspired let alone achieved. There is not one thing you can change that would make Star Trek II a better movie; for the film they were making, this was as good as it gets.

Steven Lisberger‘s Tron was only a modest success at the time, perhaps partly due to its being considerably ahead of its time. Science fiction films had given us tales of people shrunken to Gulliver proportions, and further, but Tron was a distinctly ’80′s vision of this story. Jeff Bridges plays a videogame designer whose crowning achievement is stolen from him. When he tries to recover his game, he becomes sucked inside the world of his own creation. A few years after the arcade game Space Invaders ignited the competitive spirit of legions of kids, in the summer that Pac Man and Donkey Kong battled for gamer supremacy, Tron took us more deeply into that world than we’d imagined. The impact of this film is felt more with each passing blockbuster videogame; we have not be able to journey inside a computer as Tron suggested, but we have figured out how to surround a gamer with the game. Comparing contemporary video games to watching Tron in the summer of ’82 is an experience similar to considering your smartphone while watching Mr. Spock use a tricorder on a classic Star Trek episode. In what was a first for me, I read the script for Tron (purchased for $10 at a Star Trek convention) before seeing the movie. When you read Steven Lisberger’s script, you realize the immense imagination that went into the production. As a kid familiar with Atari 2600 and arcade games, I drew from a narrow visual reference as I read the script. The story is all in the writing, but the film’s scope needed to be conjured by people truly capable of seeing the future. This was my first experience reading a script by a director, where you can see that they had the full film in their head, even if it is not all on the page. The perfect creative storm of the uniquely qualified production designer Syd Mead and electronic music pioneer Wendy Carlos pulling out all stops on Lisberger’s story created a world with no precedent, a world every kid wanted to visit. None of us actually thought we could be zapped inside a video game, but damn if we didn’t spend that entire summer in the local arcade, hoping that it could happen. OK, not the entire summer; we needed some time for the movies!

George Miller‘s The Road Warrior was originally released in Australia as Mad Max 2 in 1981. While Miller’s original Mad Max had been successful in Australia and elsewhere around the world, it was mostly relegated to drive-ins and grindhouse dives in the U.S. and Canada. The Road Warrior featured Mel Gibson as an ex-highway cop who becomes a guardian to an outpost of survivors of a nuclear war. The retitling distanced The Road Warrior enough from its source that it seemed especially refreshing to American critics, who embraced the action and gritty tone of this film above just about any other adventure that year. There was even a re-release in January ’83 to give it an extra push during awards season. That push resulted in The Road Warrior winning Best Foreign Film from the L.A. Film Critics Association. From the opening montage sequence, I realized I was in a different world with The Road Warrior. I had seen montage in other films, and recognized some of the images of war and socio-political unrest here, but I had never seen montage so precisely evocative. As my movie education progressed, I understood that this sequence could be traced back to Eisenstein, but this was all new to me. By juxtaposing those famous images with scenes from the first Mad Max film, we see both how the world at large and Max Rockatansky himself came to such a desolate existence. I like Mad Max, but I remain in awe of the opening sequence in The Road Warrior; it is some of the finest editing in a trilogy known for its kinetic editing style. Max helped me define my idea of heroism and bravery. I grew up with Batman and Superman, but Max was something different. Rocky Balboa was my closest comparison, refusing to stay down even as his coach Mickey implores him to let Apollo Creed win their exhibition bout. In later years I learned this was a staple of spaghetti westerns, but Max was one of my earliest experiences with an anti-hero. I had never seen a hero get his ass kicked like Max, and had never seen one keep coming back, more for the benefit of others than himself.

The science fiction film from 1982 that has had the most extensive path from obscurity to quintessence would have to be Ridley Scott‘s Blade Runner. Harrison Ford plays a burned out detective tasked with hunting down 5 cyborgs in 2019 Los Angeles. It barely broke even at the box office, and was largely overlooked by all but the nerdiest of movie goers, but among those nerds it resonated deeply and quickly. Blade Runner is likely the film about which more has been written, studied, and derived from than any other, sci-fi or otherwise, from this year. The impact was seen most clearly in the production design of movies that followed, from Brazil and Batman to Dark City and The Matrix, plus a litany of anime films. Blade Runner‘s grungy and rain-slicked production design, by the way, was created by the same man who made Tron glow in the dark. There is more to this film though; artificial intelligence with this sort of character complexity existed in novels, but never on screen before Blade Runner. Before Bishop and Lt. Cmdr. Data, before Andrew Martin and David, Blade Runner introduced us to the full spectrum of the notion of a robot becoming sentient. The Replicants were fearsome and fearful, vengeful and noble, in short: they had soul. A few days after I first saw Blade Runner, I met up with the friends I saw it with at my school’s football field, waiting for or town’s 4th of July fireworks. I recall being stunned that I was alone in loving this movie. Everyone else liked it, but like most of the nation at the time, they were more focused on E.T. This was my first experience with being certain that I had witnessed something amazing and transformative, even if no one else around me recognized it. I had just seen the first movie that ever made me cry for a villain.

When you look back at what critics dismissed as Big Dumb Summer Fun, you might be surprised by how it stacks up to contemporary Big Dumb Summer Fun. We definitely had some crap, every generation gets their fair share, but most of ’82′s Big Dumb Summer Fun was comparatively impressive. Sequels were nowhere near as ubiquitous as they are now. Among that handful of sequels were the aforementioned Star Trek II and Road Warrior, and the aforementioned Rocky Balboa battling for his title against Mr. T in Rocky III. Mr. T’s electrifying debut made him an overnight star, and a hero to kids, which is all the more impressive given that he played the antagonist. Later in the fall, Sylvester Stallone would introduce us to the beginning of his other notorious franchise with the tight as a drum action thriller First Blood. We also had Jason Voorhees in Friday the 13th 3-D, one of the most successful ventures of the brief 3-D revival of the early ’80′s, and William Shatner showing his comedic chops in Airplane II: The Sequel.

Aside from sequels, movies adapted from comicbooks have also become inevitable, but 1982 only gave us two: Wes Craven‘s Swamp Thing and John MiliusConan The Barbarian. George A. Romero and Stephen King also gave us their homage to Max & William Gaines’ EC Comics in Creepshow. If you’re only going to have three comicbook related films, this is a strong collection: all three were dismissed as lurid and violent goofiness, but all were deceptively well made. Roger Ebert not only fawned over Swamp Thing during is initial review with Gene Siskel on their PBS show Sneak Previews, he revisited it later that year during a special episode focused on hidden gems that audiences might have let slip by. Conan the Barbarian kept comicbook fans happy, though it was occasionally derided by devotees of the Robert E. Howard pulp novels that inspired both the comics and the movies. A film aficionado’s reaction might be that Conan’s Hyborian Age is also a perfect canvas for Milius to explore his warrior poet ethos. A movie nerd’s reaction is that Conan the Barbarian is a perfect movie to blaze up a joint and have a few laughs. The Fats took Ed & I to see Conan at the long gone Rivoli Theater on Broadway. Aside from loving the movie, this was also my first encounter with the grindhouse audience participation that made my dad so popular during E.T. in Cooperstown. Much as I loved Conan, it still cracks me up at inappropriate moments, anytime I recall the disciples of Cheech & Chong who sat behind us in the Rivoli. Creepshow, which Ed & I saw with The Fats rather than spending Thanksgiving at the kids’ table with my Mom’s family, is that rare movie that absolutely lives up to its tagline: The Most Fun You’ll Ever Have Being Scared!

Horror was as well represented in 1982 as comicbook films, though two of the finest were remakes. Paul Schrader remade Jacques Tourneur‘s 1942 Cat People with Nastassja Kinski and John Carpenter remade Howard Hawks‘ 1951 The Thing with Kurt Russell. Considering these films together could trigger an interesting debate about sexuality in horror films. Schrader’s Cat People does not amp up the sexiness of the earlier film simply by showing more skin, he blurs the line between human and animal sexuality when his characters encounter their transformations. Tawdry sexy marketing? Maybe, but this also helped this were-cat movie stand apart from a crop of pretty good were-wolf movies in the preceding year. In his adaptation of The Thing, Carpenter chose to do away with the love interest of Hawks’ film, adhering more closely to the original John W. Campbell pulp story. To this day, Carpenter cites this as a mistake, which he feels hurt The Thing at the box office. Success is guaranteed neither by making a film chastened like Carpenter’s nor steamy like Schrader’s. Though I dig both immensely, both barely covered their production cost. The most successful horror film of 1982 is probably also the scariest PG-rated film ever made: Tobe Hooper‘s Poltergeist. Watch Poltergeist again, and you will find it like a book you can’t put down; its pace entices you with what could have been a standard family drama. By the time the supernatural element is introduced, you are already as engaged in the well being of this family as you would have been with the Jarretts or the Kramers.

A few films featuring military characters were amongst the year’s memorable dramas. The other surprising success story of the year besides E.T. was An Officer & A Gentleman. This love story between Navy aviator Richard Gere and smalltown girl Debra Winger took several weeks of word of mouth promotion before it hit #1 in its 6th week of release. Most movies are headed for second run theaters by then, but An Officer & A Gentleman spent most of Fall ’82 vying with E.T. for the #1 spot. I can’t speak for what drew everyone else to it, but I’ll tell you why it hit me like lightning: until then, every movie I’d seen that included nudity or sex made me eager to grow up so I could experience that for myself. This was the first movie I’d ever seen that showed me the responsibility that comes with, and the damage that can come from, relationships if they are not properly cared for. Wolfgang Petersen‘s Das Boot was monumental to filmgoers in general and to me personally. This intense submarine drama achieved what would have previously seemed impossible: it made us despair for WW2 German sailors, and recognize their positions as pawns to a Fuehrer they come to reject. It also made me grow up and start giving subtitled movies a chance. Clint Eastwood took a rare turn away from westerns and cop movies to play an Air Force pilot in Firefox. This cold war espionage thriller was based on the first of four novels. Had it been more successful, it would have been cool to see Clint reprise this shell-shocked character, but Firefox got lost in the same flood that swept up Blade Runner and The Thing.

Aside from stories of men in uniform, 1982 was a helluva year for drama in general. The most game changing, generation defining performances in the acting profession since Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire came via Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice and Ben Kinglsey in Gandhi. Before these two performances an actor could get away with playing another nationality or ethnicity as long as they were charismatic. No longer; after Streep and Kingsley in ’82, an actor will be taken to task if they cannot pull off a convincing accent as well as an emotionally compelling performance. Traditionally outstanding performances in exceptional films, like Jessica Lange in Frances, Paul Newman in The Verdict, or Jack Lemmon and Sissy Spacek in Missing, or the ensemble from That Championship Season were not enough to be rewarded by Oscar voters that year. Not that this would make them any less compelling, and worthy of your attention, if you have not yet seen them. A comedy-drama for which I have a soft spot, and which seems to have been utterly forgotten, was David S. Ward‘s adaptation of John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row. It was not the most faithful adaptation; it is more an adaptation of Steinbeck’s sequel Sweet Thursday, using Cannery Row as backstory. That doesn’t make it a bad movie, just different from its source, and still more faithful than many novel adaptations. The perennially cool Nick Nolte plays an over the hill baseball pitcher who becomes smitten with Debra Winger, the new lady in town, who takes up living and working in a brothel in Depression era Monterey, CA.

1982 was also a strong year for comedy. Despite Jessica Lange losing her Oscar nomination for her dramatic leading role in Frances, her supporting role in Tootsie provided her first Oscar win, and made her the sixth (currently of thirteen) actors to be nominated twice in the same year. Tootsie was loved by most, but reviled by a few, who were upset by Dustin Hoffman‘s character cross-dressing. This was not the only comedy of the year to address gender identity issues, or as some in my homophobic adolescent circle called them, movies that make you gay. Deathtrap gave us Michael Caine wondering aloud if Christopher Reeve was gay, as well as a magnificently underplayed answer delivered later in the film. This answer came as no surprise; I had already seen the Ira Levin’s play of Deathtrap on Broadway with my family. Victor Victoria was a surprise. Blake Edwards‘ masterful farce featured Julie Andrews as a woman pretending to be a man who pretends to be a woman, and James Garner as her suitor, who can’t tell if his affection for her means he is gay. Everything about this movie was so rambunctiously playful and positive that it made me begin to question whether I should be taking my queues about gay people from family and friends who don’t actually know any gay people. John Lithgow’s former football player going through a sex change in The World According To Garp was another well drawn character and fully realized performance that introduced me a larger world than I’d see in standard drama. One of the most successful comedies of ’82 was The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, featuring Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds in an adaptation of the Broadway musical. If I had any doubt that the information I was receiving about gay people, cross-dressers, prostitutes or anyone else not on the straight-n-narrow, I need look no further than Porky’s. My male peers were as ignorant about women as the chumps in this guilty pleasure skin-fest, which put their advice in proper perspective, and made me begin reading between the lines on movies a lot more closely.

One of my favorite comedic actors, Richard Pryor, had a great year in ’82. He released best performance film, Richard Pryor Live on the Sunset Strip, which also remains the best stand-up comedy film I’ve ever seen. He also delivered one of his finest performances hitting both comedic and tragic notes, as a Vietnam veteran trying to rejoin society after being held for 5 years as a prisoner of war, in the underrated Some Kind of Hero. Anyone who thinks of Lois Lane when they think of Margot Kidder will be impressed by the understated range she shows opposite Pryor as well. Personally I’m not a fan of The Toy, but I’m in the minority; this was one of the most successful films in Pryor’s career.

This was also a year for breakout comedic performances. Eddie Murphy single-handedly turned 48 Hrs from a violent crime drama to an action comedy. Ron Howard shed his apple pie image by directing the year’s third bordello-set comedy Night Shift, featuring his Happy Days partner Henry Winkler and an energetic new lad named Michael Keaton. Though he’d already delivered dramatically the year before with Taps, Sean Penn proved that he was equally adept at comedy with one of the iconic performances of the decade in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. A cast of actors with supporting credits in TV movies-of-the-week (raise your hand if you’re old enough to remember M.O.W.’s!) was turned by Barry Levinson into the most memorable ensemble of the year in the prototype for his Baltimore films, Diner. Making her feature debut in John Huston‘s extravagantly budgeted Annie, Aileen Quinn was hyped as a rising star in celeb magazines, but she chose a different path with her education.

In anything but a breakout performance, Peter O’Toole earned his 7th Oscar nomination for My Favorite Year. In my favorite performance of his career, and my favorite comedy of 1982, Steve Martin cracked wise with Humphrey Bogart and James Cagney and romanced Barbara Stanwyck and Better Davis in Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid. This deliciously conceived story, and impeccably edited and designed production, is the ultimate valentine to anyone who loves film noir mysteries and gangster movies.

As I mentioned earlier, 1982 was not without its fair share of crap, like the blight on the resume of the underrated Charles Bronson that was Death Wish 2. Somehow, even the crap then was more fun than the crap now. We had vulgar medieval fun like the blades-n-boobs fest The Sword & The Sorcerer and Don Coscarelli’s blatant rip-off of Excalibur, Conan, and the Dungeons & Dragons Handbook The Beastmaster. There was also Larry Cohen‘s Q: The Winged Serpent, which is memorable if for no other reason than that they fired live rounds from an automatic rifle on top of New York’s Chrysler Building. I guess they were counting on the bullets landing safely in the East River. The wacky part is they were firing at nothing; the monster was stop-motion animated in during post-production. Q took the term “guerilla filmmaking” to an absurd extreme. Garry Marshall‘s parody of daytime TV soaps Young Doctors In Love was an even guiltier pleasure comedy than Porky’s,i.e. it is just as vulgar, and even more dumb. Hands down the biggest pile of crap in ’82 has to be MegaForce. If you ever want to see how little you can buy for $20M, or what a movie about elite commandos by way of disco-land would resemble, check out MegaForce.

High art, low art, and no art aside, 1982 also gave us two of the most genre defying oddities ever produced by a major studio: Pink Floyd: The Wall and The Dark Crystal. If you can figure out which paragraph above either of these films would have belonged in, you’re a more decisive fan than I am. In a year full of surprises, a year full of movies that have inspired a myriad of imitators, Pink Floyd’s descent into paranoia and Jim Henson‘s philosophical adventure were such singular experiences that no one has attempted to copy them. There were also movies that I was too young to see at the time, but came to appreciate later: István Szabó‘s Faust-themed Nazi drama Mephisto and Jean-Jacques Beineix‘s wonderfully unpredictable thriller Diva opened in 1981, in German and France respectively, but opened in the U.S. in 1982. It take until just a few months ago before I finally saw Jack Nicholson in one of his lesser known performances in Tony Richardson‘s initially X-rated police thriller The Border. Jack plays a Texas border officer surrounded by corruption and racism, and conflicted by gnawing compassion for those he arrests. Two things immediately struck me about The Border. First if it were released today, times and tastes have changed enough that it would be rated R, and second that it would probably be even more controversial. It didn’t cause much of a stir when it was released, because the X-rating limited the theaters that would show it, and thus greatly limited its audience. With illegal immigration no less a hot-button issue today than it was thirty years ago, this film reaching a wider R-rated audience would elicit some entertaining and frustrating polarized debate. Three decades later, I am still engaged by and learning from the films of 1982.

I used to think that if I ever wrote an autobiography, it would be titled Godzilla Eats Junior Mints, following a gullible moment when The Fats took Ed & I to see Midway when I was 6. After taking a glance at these films, I think an equally viable title might be All I Really Need To Know I Learned In The Movies When I Was Twelve.

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An OBITUARY for the HARVARD SQ. THEATER, Cambridge, MA (1926 – 2012)

Posted in PALACES, ONE AND ALL: A Valentine to screens in small towns, big cities and odd corners of the country where I have received salvation at 24 frames per second. on September 19th, 2012 by Jim Delaney

Freshman students moving into Harvard and other Boston area schools this fall, and wandering through Harvard Square, witnessed something no freshman student has seen in this neighborhood for over 80 years: a blank marquee on the Harvard Sq. Theater. In 1925, construction began on the 1,800 seat palace, with doors opening in 1926 on Massachusetts Avenue as The University Theater. In the 1960′s it was stripped down, modernized and rechristened the Harvard Sq. Theatre. The entrance moved around the corner onto Church Street in 1982, a change that heralded a succession of theater chain ownerships. When I first visited it had become part of the USA Cinemas chain. In the summer of 1992, when I worked here as an assistant manager, it was The Loews Harvard Square Theater. The final incarnation since 2006 is the AMC Loews Theater in Harvard Square.

Its programming has been as varied as the theater’s name, from major Hollywood studio productions to European films to independent groundbreakers, plus an impressive slate of milestone concerts. Photographs featuring the marquee in Mo Lotman’s fascinating and fun book “Harvard Square: An Illustrated History Since 1950″ will remind anyone of the classic movies of their youth: the 1950′s featured Halls of Montezuma screening with a March of Time documentary short, and later the odd pairing of the medieval The Black Knight with the noirish potboiler Turn The Key Softly. The 1960′s saw David Lean’s epic Doctor Zhivago, as well as another odd pairing: Shenandoah with Bedtime Story. One shot of the multiplex in 1987 offers Raising Arizona, Swimming To Cambodia, Platoon, Tin Men and a Ken Russell retrospective.

In the 1970′s, films continued to show here, but so did some significant live events. Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, David Bowie and Bonnie Raitt have each performed on this stage. Bonnie Raitt’s opening act was christened “the future of rock & roll” following his performance that night. On January 15, 1974, when the Harvard Lampoon awarded John Wayne their first Brass Balls Award, Wayne entered Harvard Square on a tank riding up Mass Ave, arriving at the Harvard Square Theater to receive the award. From 1984 thru the theater’s final night this summer, the ’70′s continued to reign every Saturday with midnight screenings of the iconic musical The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

When I moved to Boston in 1988, the first theater I went to was the USA’s Harvard Sq. Cinema. Mom & I saw Robert Redford’s The Milagro Beanfield War. The building was a pastiche of different eras of movie theater architecture. The single-screen palace had been divided into 3 screens in the early 80′s, and subdivided into 5 by my first visit. The round concession stand in the middle of the lobby seemed like a holdover from the ’60′s refit. Where there had been a balcony, two smaller cinemas with seats at an awkward angle to the screen had been created. Two more small rooms were added where the backstage area stood from back when the theater could support live shows. Despite these modern updates, remnants of the gilded origins remained in the main theater, most notably in the ornamental moldings on either side of the screen.

My brother Ed was honorably discharged for the Army the week before Batman opened in 1989. To Ed, there could be no better homecoming than seeing one of the most anticipated films of the decade on this large screen. We waited in line for 3 hours with 500 other nerds to see the opening Thursday midnight show. Ed still laughs when he recalls the usher who corralled the line, yelling “I don’t care who you are, I don’t care who your friends are, if your ass ain’t in line, you’re not seeing Batman tonight!” I fell in fleeting lust the night I saw Tequila Sunrise in one of those awkwardly angled balcony theaters. I fell in lasting love the night I saw, believe it or not, Total Recall on my first date with Maria. And I was here on the final night for The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Between 1990 and 1994 I worked for 5 different movie theaters in Boston, St. Louis and Los Angeles. I had been promoted to assistant manager in the Loews Copley Theater before being transferred to Harvard Square in ’92. Copley was Loews’ flashship in New England; it had was a very corporate vibe, due mostly to our District Manager’s office being right across the hall from the Manager’s Office. Harvard Square by contrast felt like a small town theater that coexisted with its neighborhood. One of the other assistant managers was instrumental in finding work for a few people who the more corporate types might hesitate to hire in their theaters, including an autistic usher and an elderly doorman who was very friendly as long as he took his meds. I think I liked that manager a little more than she liked me; I suspect she saw me as one more suit from Copley. I thought her shaved head, tattoos, multiple piercings and punk jacket with flowing hippy skirts were emblematic of what made this theater like no other in the Loews chain.

I didn’t need to work in the Harvard Sq. Theatre very long before I found my own connection to the neighborhood. There was a middle aged couple who would come by once or twice a month who we would let in for free. I’m not certain of how down on their luck they were, whether they were homeless and living in shelters, or just damn close to it. They were sweet and friendly, had shared their first date in this theater in the late ’60′s, and all these years later still had the genuine affection of a couple you knew could survive anything as long as they were together. They made a point of coming earlier in the week when they knew we wouldn’t be sold out; they didn’t want us to give away weekend seats that others might buy, they just hoped we could spare seats that would otherwise go empty. Movies made them happy and gave them a few hours a month to not have to worry about what tomorrow might hold. Sappy as that may sound, make no mistake, these two were the kind of movie nerds who delivered my nerd education at a very impressionable age. Among the movies I let them into were Howards End and The Player; they engaged the ushers and I in an enlightening debate on Merchant / Ivory and period English films following the former, and Altman films and movies about movie-making following the latter. In short, we benefited as much from their company as they did from ours.

On the most memorable of those quiet summer days early in the week, one of the ushers and I shared an adventure that made us feel like The Goonies. Our projectionist had warned us that he suspected one of the projector bulbs would burn out very soon. Replacements had been ordered, but they were delayed in shipping. The projectionist thought there was a stash of spare bulbs, but couldn’t remember for the life of him where he’d seen them. So this usher and I went hunting, and before we knew it, we’d wandered into corners of the theater that neither of us ever would have imagined still existed. We went under the stage, where former dressing rooms were covered with a layer of dust that would choke a vacuum cleaner. The only other sensation I can compare to the decayed look, the moldy smell, and the ambient dull echo under the stage are the cells in the solitary wing of Alcatraz. As deep as we wandered, so high we climbed. We wandered up into what we suspected was the stage rigging; it was so broiling in the dry summer heat that it felt like the area could burst into flames. And we found our way to the roof. From up there I realized my ultimate Boston dream would be to own this theater and live on the roof. To show the movies I want to show all day, and retire each night to a perch with a nearly 360 degree view of Cambridge, Boston and Somerville, hell I couldn’t think of a better way to blow a winning lottery ticket. We even managed to find one spare projector bulb.

I hate to admit it, but since returning to Boston in 2009, I (and other fairweather fans) may have been part of the problem that resulted in AMC Theaters’ decision to shutter Harvard Square. AMC had not committed any noticeable resources to this theater since taking it over. When 3D projection was added, it was not put in the biggest theater, it was cautiously rolled out first in one of the upstairs balcony theaters. I saw Avatar on opening weekend in the theater where they would normally open movies not befitting any spectacle. Sure, 3D eventually worked its way downstairs, but by then I had already embraced other options. I saw most of my big Hollywood films in AMC’s sparkly new theater on Boston Common. I went to Coolidge Corner or Landmark’s Kendall Square theater for independent films. If I wanted a dose of the Harvard Square that I missed, I went to The Brattle.

I may have not have shown my old workplace the proper affection these last few years, though I did make it here for Where The Wild Things Are, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, Public Enemies, and two of the precious few movies Maria has joined me for since our return to the area, Julie & Julia and Captain America. I also made it a point to be here for its final night. Earlier in the week had been the July 4th fireworks, which if you’ve never seen in Boston, are a big friggin’ deal. Sometimes Neil Diamond even shows up — that’s how big a deal! But that didn’t resonate with me as heavily as the hourly countdown to the Harvard Sq. Theatre going dark. It had been 10 years since I’d seen “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” and 17 years since I’d seen it here. This evening’s performance was like a jazz funeral. This cast and crew had performed dozens of times, possibly hundreds of times in this theater. There were no tears; there were laughs and hugs and the most go for broke, balls to the wall, rambunctiously deviant and meticulously staged Rocky performance I’ve ever seen. With so many cast members all wanting to share in the final curtain, the principle characters were all played by multiple performers, making for an electrifying mash-up of the skills that each performer brought to each scene. I never dared hope I’d witness the seduction of Rocky & Janet played by two women, and yet there they were. Sorry, I don’t have any photos of that; everyone else was too busy digging the scene to take pictures, and I didn’t want to be the one guy ejected for that transgression. Suffice it to say: woman as Janet + woman in gold lame’ swimsuit as Rocky = a bargain for the price of admission! Another fun and impossible to ignore facet of this evening’s performance was the evidence via the jokes of just how long I’d been away! Between the audience at large, and once very animated gent right behind me, I heard jokes about Osama bin Laden, Donald Rumsfeld, Mormons, Scientologists, Mel Gibson, Bank of America and who can count how many other subjects that were not cultural sticking points during my last visit to Dr. Frank’s lab & slab. I thought I would take so many more photos, and maybe even video, bu I confess I was quickly overtaken by the spirit of the room, in a way that I have never been at any other Rocky screening in this theater or anywhere else. I made a conscious decision not to document the performance in photos, to only say that I wish you had been there with me to celebrate the defiling of the virgins.

The morning after: I’m hearing that the investment group who bought this theater from AMC did so within 4 days of the closing, for a sum in the neighborhood of $6.5 million. Please allow me to publicly state here that if I win my aforementioned rooftop perch lottery, I will offer these folks an immediate 20% return on their investment to walk away. I have no idea what they intend for this space, but I’ll tell you what should go here: an East Coast version of the Alamo Draft House. In my Hollywood ending dreams, the Harvard Square Theater would have 2 dozen beers on tap, wine shipped in from my small market compadres in Santa Barbara County, and the best L.A. street vendor style bacon wrapped sausage sandwiches with caramelized onions and peppers, beef and black bean chili, eggplant lasagna and thick bacon-gasmic clam chowder in town. I’d lose a significant amount of seating in order to allow patrons maximum foot room and comfort; a little trick that makes The Vista Theater on Sunset Blvd one of movie-nerd-nation’s premiere destinations. And while I would never presume to compete with my beloved Brattle, I would go out of my way to keep the Lunch Movie ethos that defined my old agency conference room screenings alive for the next generation of movie nerds. I’d dig out the old and seek out the new with a diversity of titles such as we’ve already discussed, plus others I saw here, like Stormy Monday, Aria, Indiana Jones, Zentropa, and Wonder Boys. Until that day comes, I’ll happily remember the Harvard Square Theater this way, with hundreds lined up and eager to visit:

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