Category: reflections

Once upon a time, before the word “pandemic” was associated with anything but a board game in my mind, I visited a movie theater several times every month. Friends and I enjoyed blockbusters together, and I went by myself to my favorite independent theaters to see obscure movies no one else wanted to watch. I didn’t trek to the theater for the big screen or the sound system or the comfortable recliners or the snacks. Sometimes I chose to see a movie in theaters because the dark room and the etiquette of avoiding phone usage helped me give my complete attention to films that deserved it. Occasionally I went because I wanted to be one of the first to see a film, to avoid spoilers or to improve my cinephile credentials by seeing an indie movie before it reached wide release.

But, more than anything, I went to the theater to watch movies with other people. Even when the couple next to me whispered explanations to each other of every plot development, or kids behind me interrupted a horror movie to ask me to pick up the phone they’d dropped under my seat, or someone chose to crunch on a bag of chips during a largely silent movie….even then I’d always choose to be part of a crowd when I see a new film. Because for every one of those annoyances there have been a dozen moments of magic.

Like when I went to see an early screening of Game Night in a packed theater and we laughed so loud we couldn’t hear half the dialogue…

…seeing Phantom Thread for the second time and hearing the people around me gasp as they understood what was going on in the movie’s final scenes…

…sitting in a huge theater watching Serenity with a crowd of Firefly fans and shooting cap guns at the villains every time they appeared on screen…

…watching Annihilation for the first time in utter horror, feeling the shared tension and awe of the people around me…

…ducking plastic spoons being thrown at the screen during a rowdy and delightful showing of The Room…

…applauding with the three other people in the theater when Donnie wins the final fight in Creed II….

…practically living at the theater during the glory days of MoviePass when I could see a movie every day for $10 a month…

…seeing Avengers: Endgame with a crowd of euphoric fans on opening night and being carried away by the cheers as Cap showed up to save the day…

…convincing my family to see a movie on Christmas day and discovering that the Les Miserables adaptation was as beautiful as we’d hoped…

…waiting in line at the mall with my college roommate to claim good seats for the first Hunger Games movie…

…crying till I could hardly see the screen when Only the Brave unexpectedly turned out to be devastatingly sad…

…or following fellow audience members out of a theater into the bright afternoon or cold evening, eavesdropping on their opinions about the film we just saw.

I miss these moments. I miss movie theaters, and the shared experience they enable. I’ve been to the theater twice since March 2020, both times to see Tenet. And while it was certainly a film worth seeing on the big screen, the joy of that communal experience was absent as we sat, masked, in a mostly empty room. I haven’t been back since. 

But oh, I’m so excited for the day when I can sit in a packed screening room and laugh, cry, gasp, and shudder along with my neighbors. When we’ll complain about the number of previews again and I’ll get there way too early and someone will spill their soda and it’ll be magic. When the people next to me, whose faces I may never see as we sit in the dark, become my traveling companions for two hours, and we get to visit new worlds and live new stories together once again.

When social distancing suddenly became part of my vocabulary back in March, I had high expectations for the weeks ahead. With nearly every commitment erased from my calendar for the foreseeable future, I thought this might be an extraordinarily robust creative period. I would finally watch the films that have been on my list for years and would write long, eloquent posts about them. I might even venture back into the world of fiction writing. None of that happened.

I’ve hardly picked up a pen in the last three months. I could blame this on the absence of my favorite writing spots, busy coffee shops where I can set aside distractions and focus on the page in front of me. I could blame it on the global pandemic that has preoccupied my mind and sometimes made creativity a luxury I couldn’t afford. I could blame it on the strange and uncertain world around me, the new routines I’ve been forced to establish, the disappearance of social interactions that would usually inspire and refresh me. But, more honestly, I simply haven’t made writing my top priority–and I want that to change.

I still have plenty of days where I feel distracted and overwhelmed, but I miss writing. To ease back into the habit, I’m giving myself permission to write some briefer installments, to highlight some moments of joy with a little less formality. Because more than anything else, I want to return again to my original goal of finding delight and wonder on screen, to rejoice at beauty and laughter and truth wherever I discover it. I need that joy now more than ever.