I think I can surmise why movies may lose, can lose and will lose their magic: Age! Nothing inside my dust-filled shell of a brain compares to the infinite imagination of a child–a world of wonder swirling from morning to dusk; from waking hour up to the very second before a movie hits the screen. In the 1980s, during my pinnacle status of childhood empowerment, movie-going was routine. My mother and I would arrive early in the afternoon when the crowds were tepid, sit in the dark…and stare at a black, empty screen. When we weren’t engaged in discussion, my head would conjure a wave of ideas and predictions–usually pertaining to the film I was about to watch. Oh, how I miss being bored sometimes.
The excitement would build with each passing minute while the large screen glared back with one giant white void. Suddenly, without much warning (sometimes the lights would dim seconds before) the screen sprang to life. I would recompose my full attention and soak in the plethora of previews and, finally, the main attraction. Today, kids who arrive early to the cinema have little opportunity to ponder or talk. There are simply too many distractions. In fact, there are so many that viewers are in danger of forgetting what they came to see in the first place.
Most theater chains now want to engage audiences well before the show begins. Even before they find a seat, they’re engulfed with information. When staring at utter blankness was no longer in vogue, multiplexes first unveiled quiet, leisurely-paced slide shows filled with movie trivia and complemented by light music. It was actually a nice distraction, especially if you didn’t feel conversational–or sat alone. If you were quiet enough, you could even hear the faint clicking of the slide projector as cute cartoon animals quizzed you on the identity of faces in before-and-after photos of famous people.
But now theaters use the film’s prelude as an opportunity to cash in on a captive audience and unload numerous advertisements for television shows and products. If you want to beat the opening-weekend rush, you will be penalized with a nauseating amount of unrelated media. The best multiplex for this is the Regal Cinema which not only offers a long-winded series of infomercials, but even concludes with a re-review montage. You would think you were being tested later.
Initially I had expressed no displeasure. However, now that I’ve soaked in hundreds of television show previews and armed services ads, I began to recognize the issues.
For one, if you’re going to shelve an uninterrupted wave of media down my throat, why must it be unrelated ads? Pure financial gain. In fairness, theaters only make a small fraction of ticket sales (especially during the coveted opening weekend). The ad time comes at the expense of the audience. We aren’t spared one red cent. Thankfully, the ads have been pushed back to conclude at the scheduled showtime. I guess we should be grateful that the ads no longer eat up 20 minutes after our expected start time. Ah hem.
This protocol is not new. During the golden age of cinema (birth to 1960s), films were always preceded by a live action short, newsreels and at least one cartoon. Imagine going to see a comedy and being treated to a Little Rascals or a Bugs Bunny included in the admission price. Some of these were so popular that they actually were the chief reason why film-goers purchased a ticket.
Such bonuses still exist, albeit in kiddie fare, where a bonus cartoon is usually offered. I would argue that Pixar’s long-kept traditional bonus short is one of many reasons the brand has become ingratiated in the public conscience. It’s unfortunate these little bonuses aren’t afforded to more adult-oriented fare, but with films already running well over two hours, that aint happenin’.
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| Leave it to Pixar to entertain us with something special before the actual movie |
My real complaint comes from my own, admittedly, out-dated romantic perception of movies–their romantic, magical, ethereal quality. Sitting and, more importantly, waiting added a sense of something special looming on the horizon. I remember my delight when the screen suddenly came alive with images. The lights would dim. The show was starting! It’s the same rush you may feel as you waiting for a Broadway Show to begin, which, as far as I know, doesn’t include any advertisements–unless you read the playbill.
Today’s theatrical experience feels more like you’re walking into somebody else’s living room: The TV is already on, the owner is watching something you don’t care about, and the remote is far out of your reach. There’s no build to any excitement. There are even moments when I don’t immediately know that the actual feature has begun until the title literally rolls across the screen. After seeing five WB logos, I had to ask my wife and friends if this was Harry Potter or the ad for the video game tie-in.
I understand that theaters would struggle without the added revenue of advertisements, but why not make ads geared towards the actual film? No one ever complains about seeing trailers. Why not defer back on the original slideshow format and squeeze in a Reese’s peanutbutter cup logo onto an occasional slide? It wouldn’t be my ideal precursor to a theatrical experience, but I’m willing to make compromises for the Iphone/Youtube generation.
This constant stimulation seems to be an appeasement geared mainly for children. Perhaps the reason family fare does continuously big business is that parents recognize the distraction factor the moment they unload the weight of two toddlers and a respectable 72 oz soda and popcorn from their tired arms. But I’ve never seen one child content with watching a Sprite commercial without offering a petty, premature version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I actually don’t mind overhearing their vehement obsession over the upcoming Spongebob video game, but I’m sure the parents were hoping for a half hour of sanity on top of an appealing seating position. Also, given that the kiddies are not discouraged from talking during the 30-minute ad precursor, it’s understandable when they feel puzzled once they’re ordered to suddenly shut up when The Amazing Spider-Man plays. God forbid the parents would want to talk to their tots during the tranquil moments beforehand or condition their little munchkins to become instantly laconic once images and sounds emote from the magical screen in front of them.
Just to show you how obsessive I can be, when I purchased the Ben Hur special edition on DVD, I began the four-hour epic at the Entr’acte’. Let me explain: Some of the big scale movie epics–generally from 1950-1960–included musical interludes which include an overture, and intermission and exit music, which played while spectators entered and exited. Sometimes directors would give special attention to when and how the music should play. Director David Lean specified when the theater was permitted to pull the screen curtain back during the opening music for Lawrence of Arabia. These kinds of little details were part of the movie experience.
For Ben Hur, I played the disc at Chapter 1 and just sat and stared at a blank screen for five or six minutes and just let the music flow over me. (If you peeked inside my window, you would say I was blind.) When the credits finally began–I sat and absorbed another four minutes of nothing but credit and classical tunes. You know what? I think it actually enhanced the experience. I felt deeply involved in the film.
Prologues enhance certain films. Imagine Star Wars without the long-quiet pause between “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…” and the title’s sudden appearance. There’s also the three paragraph crawl across the screen. John Williams’ score immediately preps you for what’s ahead. Before the star destroyer even rampages across the screen, you’re in the movie.
I know I’m the weird one and most groups would feel more comfortable with something happening in the background. But I believe folks were meant to converse before and after the film without any additional distractions. The barrage of ads (which are very loud by-the-way) make conversation extremely difficult. Sometimes they will sway the discussion to address to the actual ads themselves. I always talk and I’ve never ever heard any neighboring film-goer complain for being unable to hear the ads. We simply don’t want them!
Perhaps the best distraction I ever experienced is at the Carolina Theatre in Durham, NC. Every other Friday, director Jim Carl presents a double feature. Both films are preempted by a series of clips from movies of our youth. Some of the films are not classics or recognizable, but they instill a sense of nostalgia; a mood that’s pertinent to the event. He also offers introductions and door prizes. It gets the audience involved and serves as a reminder that movies are fun, safe and a collective experience that’s a different breed from our living room high definition televisions. And the experience looks just as grand when the film finally flickers across that beautiful black screen.
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