We’re all trying to figure out who we are and what we are doing, and sometimes, movies can help us make sense of those things. Red Cap Essays are about anything and everything under that general theme, written by people who love people, movies, and the magic that lives where they meet.
I used to not like going to the movies by myself
I was such a social butterfly that I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything outside my home alone. Why would I go to the theaters, a restaurant, or a park by myself and not share the experience with at least one other person? I’m sure I thought there was a particular kind of person who did these things alone, might have even passed judgment, but I think, maybe, I pitied them. I felt bad and assumed they didn’t have anyone to eat a meal with or enjoy the latest blockbuster. Or maybe I was afraid I was the person I projected onto these individuals, surrounded by people but going through life alone.
In 2017, I signed up for MoviePass with high hopes, but I was ready to be disappointed. For $9.99 a month, I could watch unlimited movies. It felt too good to be true. How could watching three movies in one day make this company any money?1 But it was too cheap not to try.2
I quickly learned that it was too good to be anything but true. There was a point where the average ticket cost me a dollar and some change because I was going to about six to eight movies a month. I convinced several of my friends to get MoviePass too, so we could go together—at the time, the average ticket price was around $9, and it wasn't easy to convince non-MoviePass holders to go as frequently as I did. We watched what felt like every movie that came out that year.3
My favorite theater, which is now closed, was the Regal UA High Ridge, located near the Hinkle Family Fun Center on Indian School and Tramway.4 For evening showings, I’d walk out to the moonlit parking lot and feel like there was a 77% chance I would be stabbed or mugged. But this theater would show all the indie, less-promoted mainstream movies that I loved, and it was five minutes away from a Waffle House. We would catch a movie and then hop over to Waffle House,5 the people’s film scholar roundtable, where we would talk to our favorite server, break down the movie, and share our film ideas.
Soon, I found myself in a situation where I couldn’t find someone to go to the movies with, and I had to make a decision: Wait for another time when someone was available or go by myself. I loved movies, and I had a magical all-you-can-watch card, so going to the movies by myself became a low-risk activity. I’d deal with my thoughts of myself and the opinions of others that they probably never formed. People don’t wonder about me as much as I think about them thinking about me.
Not only did I start going to the movies by myself, but I also started to love it. It’s challenging for me to make decisions that affect others. What if I pick a seat where they don’t want to sit? What if they are aisle people? Back row? Or, god forbid, people who love sitting in one of the first two rows?? Do I put butter on the popcorn? (always). Going to the movies by myself not only freed me from overthinking and over-stressing decisions, but also allowed me to engage with what I actually want, acknowledging I have wants, too. I could sit where I pleased. I could butter my popcorn. I could take my Birkenstocks off and not worry about being judged or harassed.6 Going to the movies by myself created opportunities for introspection, a level of participation with the film that would be different if I were with people I know,7 and interactions with strangers who don’t feel so strange after communally watching and sharing the same experience.
Knives Out: Glass Onion (2022)
I usually don’t fall for Instagram ads, but Vacier promised modern and minimal jewelry at an affordable price with a lifetime warranty. I’m a frugal person and not one to be flashy. I wear similar clothes, mostly solid colors—unless I'm given a free shirt during a film gig or some other event; If it’s free, it’s for me—to minimize decisions. Spending money on clothes, shoes, and especially jewelry is not a habit of mine. What’s the opposite of a habit? But I’m also a sucker for a deal, and Vacier had a deal where you could buy three items and get a free leather wallet. I have the back of a jellyfish.
I clip my newly purchased silver chain-link bracelet and necklace, and slide on a silver ring; all are surprisingly nice, modern, and minimal as promised, except for the free wallet. I’ve never used the wallet, but I enjoyed the jewelry so much that I would eventually place another order. I head to the AMC theater. It’s a ten-minute walk at most. The Eudora Estates was one of my favorite places I’ve lived, primarily due to its proximity to a theater. Knives Out: Glass Onion was slated to release on Netflix soon after the theatrical release, but I’m a fan of Rian Johnson. The crew was stacked once again—Janelle Monáe, Daniel Craig, Edward Norton, Dave Bautista, Kate Hudson, Madeline Cline, Hugh Grant, Leslie Odom Jr, and Jessica Henwick, to name a few—so a silver screening of this Murder mystery whodunit was in order.
Mid movie, my phone slid off my lap and down between the seat cushion and the armrest. I don’t use my phone during the movie (often shhh), but I place it on my lap because I don’t want it to slide out of my sweatpants’ pocket and fall between the seat cushion and the armrest into the abyss of what lies beneath those comfy AMC signature recliners. The irony. End credits, and I have my hand down the seemingly never-ending crevasse of D1 when my bracelet gets snagged on some metal. *CLINK* That’s the sound of my modern and minimal chain bracelet snapping off. This is why I can’t have nice things. But they do offer a lifetime warranty.
D1 is the first seat of the row that separates the bottom front rows from the top ones, and right next to the handicap sections. It’s right by the aisle that leads to the exit. “Do you need a light?” I hear from my right side. I turn around and see a young woman, phone in hand, and turning on the flashlight. “Thank you,” I said.
There is that damn phone. I reach a little further, grab this technological extension of myself, and offer another thanks to the Good Samaritan. She gave me one last look and the parting words, “See, now we just solved a mystery.” And with a smile, she turns, and I never see her again.
Banshees of Inisherin (2022)
I wanted a good cry. It had been a while since I had a catharsis cry because of a movie, and I was craving one. Martin McDonough has this ability to write and direct some absurdly dark but comical drama movies. He drives home the both/and of comedy and tragedy. In Bruges, Seven Psychopaths, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, and his latest work of art, Banshees of Inisherin, just hit the big screen. And it was starring Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson—who both CRUSHED in In Bruges–Kerry Condon, and Barry Keoghan. An incredible Irish line-up, only missing Cillian Murphy, Saoirse Ronan, and Michael Fassbender. Sold and sat.
It’s a movie about two lifelong friends living in a small town, on the Island of Ireland, during the Irish Civil War. They do their jobs, get off early in the afternoon, and meet at the pub for a pint. Every day. This was their routine, and they enjoyed it. And one day, one of them (Gleason) decides he doesn’t want to be friends with Colin anymore—no big reason or real justification for it other than it was time to move on. Colin is crushed. He’s devastated by the blindsided conversation that ends their friendship.
I sat there, immediately putting myself in their situation. The faces of my best friends, the ones who’ve known me the longest and the deepest, run through my mind, like one of those viewfinder toys with those picture wheels in them.
Pull down the lever.
Click.
Face.
Another pull.
Click.
Face.
Pull.
Click.
Face.
Pull Click Face, Pull Click Face, Pull Click Face, Pull Click Face.
What if one of them wakes up tomorrow and invites me for a drink? Or ask to FaceTime for a coffee and chat. Then proceeds to say, Hey, lifelong friend. This friendship we have, yeah, let’s not do this anymore. I thought about Colin’s broken-hearted face, and how mine would look. Maybe similar, but less handsome. But with the same deep, sad, and sorrowful eyes. I do have those on lock.
The end credits and tears rolled down, and I sat there. Watching the names and roles move up and off the silver screen. All the people who put in all that hard work to make this movie possible. Gosh, what a heavy and just depressing movie. A few years later, I would sit at a coffee shop across from someone I’d imagine would be grabbing drinks with me, old as shit, and still bullshitting about life, and be told I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.
Bullet Train (2022)
I received a text from my hair twin, Sarah:8
My hair was still long at the time,9 and I’d been toying with the idea of cutting it. Sarah knew this, and, like most people, including Sarah, she appreciated my long hair; she’s a supportive friend, which is why she kept an eye on a potential new look for me if I was ever to follow through with chopping the curls. Every person I met after 2016ish only knew me with man-bun-length hair. Short hair Josh was unimaginable until Bad Bunny hit the big screen for Bullet Train. I needed to find out what Sarah meant by “the wolf” era.
It turned out that this movie was Josh's catnip. A stellar cast portraying an eclectic group of characters who were all electrifying. Except maybe Joey King. I wasn’t buying the young child, psycho, I’m a mastermind villain with a master plan, and now everyone is my puppet. No offense, Joey. It wasn’t your fault; it was the writer’s. Or maybe it was your fault and you didn’t puppeteer well enough for me to be sold, but that’s okay! I have my own flubs, too. I digress.
The movie reminded me old Guy Ritchie, my favorite Guy Ritchie. Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) and Snatch (2000) kind of character building and storytelling. Where the characters have odd names—like Lemon and Tangerine—and have schticks—like carrying Thomas the Train stickers and talking about them throughout the movie to eventually be used as a plot device. Multiple storylines with intentions and obstacles for every character, interweaving for the duration of the runtime to come together in a beautiful hub10 at the end.
A funny bit in the movie is that Lemon and Tangerine are brothers, which might be hard to believe at first.
I was reminded of myself and my brother by these characters. No, neither of us is black. Neither of us is white, either. We’re Mexican. But I am significantly lighter than everyone in my family, and my brother is significantly browner than I am. In high school, we would often have friends over, like dozens at a time. There were always people coming in and out, weekdays or weekends, it didn’t matter. One day, a friend of ours said it was really cool that Desi’s family let me live in their home. He assumed I lived there as a friend, because the idea of me being family never crossed his mind. I was too light to be related by blood.
Nonetheless, my brother and I are actual brothers and were always together in high school. He is only sixteen months older than me, but he’s still my big brother. And even when I didn’t realize it, which I often don’t, he looks out for me. And I try to look out for him. I think he keeps things from me because he takes on his big brother role seriously. He wants to set a good example. But when he does let me in, I look up to him even more than I already do.
Lemon and Tangerine are brothers, too, but adopted brothers. The movie reveals this later on, which turns the funny bit into a sentimental one for me. They bicker and fight with each other as much as they protect and fight for each other. I fully did not expect to shed tears in this one, but sure enough, there I was, at AMC 9+CO 10, crying because of this brother-brother relationship.
By the way, this is Bad Bunny as “Wolf” and he looked cool as hell in this movie. He’s one of the characters with a wild backstory that is slowly revealed and woven into the overarching plot. It’s funny that Sarah texted me saying I could potentially pull this look off, considering I attended the University of New Mexico: home of the Lobos. Recently, I decided to get my first haircut by a professional since 2007. I used Bad Bunny’s photos as a reference.
Sacred Space
I wonder if movies reflect, distort, or imitate life; perhaps they prepare me for it, or help me handle and navigate it. Honestly, it’s probably all of the above and more. The act of going to the movies itself has an impact on life in unforgettable ways, even the small, casual interactions with others that leave an impression on my malleable memory. I see, hear, and feel myself on the screen—in the characters, in the music, in the performances, in the stories—in ways that only 24 frames per second can sift through the moments of my lived experiences, pulling out meaning, curiosity, and mystery.
Moviegoing has become ritualistic. Choosing a seat before the altar of the silver screen and opening myself up to participating in the art of film that will peer into my soul; the projector illuminating worlds unknown or ones I push beneath the surface with conscious and subconscious meet. When I go by myself, it becomes 127 minutes of pure honesty; cinema as a cathedral with auditoriums of liminality that shift and shape my orientation in this world. It’s in the crushing of perspectives and emotions, where my lived experiences ooze out to be stitched into something new, where I meet the divine embedded in storytelling and find the sublime and beauty of life.
Going to the movies by myself has become an experience I want to share with myself. It’s carved out, defining differences between going through life alone and being lonely. In the great wisdom of the beautiful bell hooks, “Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.”11 Movies aren’t an escape for me; they keep me from escaping harsh truths and realities, and push me towards the art of loving.
“Truly one of the best forms of self love”
—lefty buckplay, reply tweet to above
How could that possibly be profitable for Frito-Lay?
I am too cheap not to try.
2017 was such a good year for MoviePass members. Get Out, Phantom Thread, Blade Runner 2049, Dunkirk, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, Coco, Baby Driver, The Shape of Water, Call Me by Your Name, John Wick: Chapter 2, Lady Bird.
I lived in Albuquerque at the time.
Writing this is how I learn the Waffle House on Central is also closed. RIP.
I have learned that this is a wild thing to do in theaters, and that I deserve to be judged or even verbally scrutinized by strangers. But this has yet to happen in person. Comments and DMs on social media disparaging me for letting my dawgs out have definitely been made and sent.
Something along the lines of the Hawthorne effect, I’m imagining.
There would be times when I would let the luscious locks flow, and people would tap on my shoulder and say. “Sarah," and boy, were they in for a jump scare when I turned around. We worked in the same three buildings owned by the same entity, so we crossed paths a lot. Good times.
Josh’s Long Hair, Born August 11th, 2014, Died December 30th, 2024. Rest in Peace.
The center of an orb web is called the hub. I didn’t know this, I Googled it. I had the imagery going in my head, but didn’t have the words. I thought it would sound better and be a different word. But we got hub. I committed to it, though, and learned something new, so I decided instead of changing the word, I would leave this footnote for us all.
bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions (New York: William Morrow, 1999), 84.