When I was growing up, I had an unnatural disdain for Sundays. It marked the end of the freedom that went by too fast and started the week that would slog by too slow.
The only exception was a period that must have lasted two or three years where my dad decided we didn't need to go to church anymore. With at least a couple more hours of sleep and free time, my stepsister and I needed something to do. One Sunday, while we were sitting at the dining table, she looked up from the Gallup Independent and asked if I wanted to go see Toy Story 2. From then on, more Sundays than not, she would take me to the local five-screen theater to watch something. Whether there was a good movie to see or not, we went.
When I first met my wife, we would use what little spending money we had to go to the local 24-screen movieplex to watch a movie every Friday night. Whether there was a good movie to see or not, we went.
When I became a father, going to the movies was one of the first things we stopped doing. We would do our best to watch movies once they hit Redbox, but even then, being a new parent, I would find myself falling asleep on the couch by 8pm.
It wasn't long before movies started to feel like a luxury or (at worst) like a frivolous waste of time. There were more productive things I could be doing. I didn't have two hours to watch Leo's latest performance in a Scorsese movie. I had a life to live, and a life to take care of. The most irresponsible thing I could do would be to try and escape it through movies.
In the years following, that feeling became a belief. I bought into the popular narrative that Hollywood was nothing more than a giant profit machine churning out mindless entertainment.
In spite of what I told myself, I still loved movies and felt a deep connection to some of them. I would catch myself sheepishly starting a conversation with my wife or a friend with "I know this is going to sound silly, but I feel like that movie gave me words for a feeling I've had for a long time but couldn't explain." I was embarrassed by the thought of a movie helping me understand life in a deeper way.
As with so many things in my life, getting older and letting go of nonsense ideas helped me see where I was wrong.
The more I learned from people far smarter than me about their love for film, and the more I learned from people far smarter than me in my life, I came to realize that movies are not merely for mindless consumption. They are invitations to participate in life.
In my quest to convince myself that movies are beautiful and integral to life, I have found that movies invite us to participate with life in three ways - watching the film, sharing the film, and processing the film.
WATCHING
Most people, even professional film critics, judge movies as either being good or bad. If anyone starts a conversation about a movie with "plot holes" and "pacing", you should be skeptical (I was once an over-eager cinema zealot that denounced movies as trash and praised others as masterpieces based on what Rotten Tomatoes said before I even saw the movie).
The most exciting way I've found to approach watching movies is to see them as an invitation to participate with them as a viewer. This more expansive view allows us to pick out the good in terrible movies, and appreciate the genius in great movies. We don't have to throw the baby out with the bathwater simply because the movie didn’t work for us overall.
The tools of the filmmaker - story, music, acting, sound design, costume/set design, camera work, etc. are all ways they can invite us to participate with their film. It might not be enjoyable, but that's not a prerequisite to participation.
When I watch a movie for the first time, I do my best to let myself be taken on a journey. Try as I might, my subconscious is working – seeking order, searching for structure, familiarity, cueing expectations and waiting to see if they are met. My mind is wired to find form. The best filmmakers know this and use it as another tool to draw us into their story.
I could ramble endlessly on how watching films is an act of participation but for now, here are a few examples.
Love Lies Bleeding - filmmaker Rose Glass uses sound to make what we are seeing on screen a visceral experience. Extreme close ups of Katy O'Brian's massive muscles paired with unnaturally loud sounds of them flexing and growing cause an uncomfortable experience (both my wife and Josh made reflexive gagging faces every time). But again, it is an invitation to participate in the story – to feel something Rose Glass is telling us is important. In this case, O’Brian’s character growing physically and metaphorically before us.
Titanic - When Jack (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Rose (Kate Winslet) are at the bow of the ship, he encourages her to climb the rail, close her eyes and stretch out her arms to the side. While this is taking place, Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" plays in the background. The music invites us to feel the love Jack and Rose are beginning to feel for one another.
Black Swan - Usually, film editing is supposed to help us make sense of the action/story taking place. But it can also be used to disorient us and help us feel what some of the characters in the story are feeling. Nina (Natelie Portman) slowly slips into a more confused and paranoid state throughout the film and the fast cuts (going from one shot to another quickly), and use of dream sequences keep us guessing what is real and what is fantasy.
Dune & Dune Pt. 2 - To capture the enormity of the desert on Arrakis, Director Denis Villeneuve and Cinematographer Greg Fraser chose to use anamorphic lenses (think as wide angle as you can get) to take up as much of the screen as possible. This allows us to be immersed in the shots, to make the desert feel huge, and make it believable that the planet itself is a central character.
Blair Witch Project - The entire movie was filmed on one handheld camera that could have been found at any Walmart in the nineties. This creates the illusion that the entire movie is found footage from students who went missing in the woods of Maryland. Many shots are so shaky and spastic it feels like your kid cousin got ahold of the recorder during a family holiday. If every camera shot looked professionally done, it would have broken the spell and ruined the gimmick (and that’s just not scary).
SHARING
If you've seen any of the movies I just mentioned, I would wager that you've talked to someone about it at least once. As social creatures, we love to share. Especially when something is particularly good or bad. What comes up at work, around the table, or when you catch up with friends? The movies and shows you've seen recently are always a top contender.
For some people (who wear the badge "nerd" with honor) we like to talk about movies right after we watch them. In the parking lot of the theater, walking home from the theater, or on the couch as the Netflix "what did you think?" screen glares back at you.
Hearing my friend's takes and impression of the movie is just as much a part of the viewing experience for me as is the opening scene. Hearing what they loved, hated or what stuck out to them reminds me that we are wild, weird, and wonderful humans.
When an amazing movie or show finds me, it's like a gift. It is like walking along a path and finding a beautiful ruby or emerald off to the side. It's too special not to share with as many people who are willing to humor me and look.
Whether a dear friend or total stranger, when I find out that someone has had an experience similar to mine with a movie, and we get wrapped up in "What about the part where the guy finally stops being an idiot and walks back into the door?!" and their response is "RIGHT!?", I feel seen and I feel real. We've both participated in a movie experience and now we are participating in connection and bond.
PROCESSING
Finally, movies invite us to participate in life by how they affect us personally. How we process the movies we see can help us understand, grow, and learn.
I grew up surrounded by classic machismo manhood. Guys were strong, always seeking to be the alpha in whatever setting they were in, and they didn't have friends. They had bros and buddies. Their bond was entirely around a violent sport, grown man toys, or womanizing.
Watching RRR gave me a beautiful new picture of masculinity. The two main male characters, Bheem and Raju, are strong, loyal, vulnerable, emotional, joyful, but most importantly for me, they have a deep love for one another that is not romantic in nature. Seeing it on screen gave me an idea that I've clung to and shed light on a question I've had for most of my adult life. How can I be a good man in today's world?
I'm under no illusion that there aren't bad movies out there, or that there's no occasion to turn on a movie and turn off your brain. That is the beauty of movies. They can be whatever we want them to be. And if we want them to, they can be a beautiful invitation to be an active participant in our own lives.
If they ever replace Nicole at AMC, I hope it’s with you.