Screen Time is a Hoot
Movie theatre-induced romanticism and the compulsion to apologize for everything
Recently, we attended the Minecraft movie as a family. My son was absolutely hyped beyond the usual - and he’s a kid who always loves and cherishes a good kid cinema experience. After school, we made the long drive into the only place a theatre exists: the city. The glaringly sprawling empty parking lot, and the empty theatre lobby, with its five grinning teenage employees (including one with a requisite beard net, lest we contaminate our soft pretzel oil), the in-house arcade and photo booth and overpriced candy just … got me.
Since the dawn of internet streaming, and especially since the theatre in our small town recently closed, I’ve felt extra protective of the movie theatre experience. The whole shebang; the fast food dinner beforehand, the laps around the neighbouring Chapters/Starbucks (back when that was a thing), the sneaking of snacks from the bulk store, the pre-gaming with drinks or psychedelics, the electrifying hand-holding first dates, the giant wax-coated cups of bright pink Fruitopia. The empty bathroom before the show. And, sure: the popcorn. This intricate concoction of a Movie Night experience always been more than a capitalist binge-fest. It’s a golly-gee, I’m such a lucky duck tradition. A rite of passage passed ineloquently from one teenager to the next (for me it was some high school excursions with giddy friends to see the masterpieces Scary Movie and/or Scream 3 that solidified the theatre as a hallowed space.)
Nowadays, I usually mop up the most joy from watching my son’s smile and kicky legs as he bounces in his iconic theatre seats, filling them out more each year and yet always maintaining the same level of enthusiasm for the collective big dark room with cartoons experience. Something felt different at this movie, though; it wasn’t the flick itself, though it was everything my kid hoped for and then some. In fact, I spent much of the runtime with my mind wandering as it often does during kids’ movies, but this time it was wandering back in time. Remembering how good this feels, and should feel, and how we should all get out into a theatre anytime we can afford it - holding hands, squirming in our seats, and reveling in the magic of good vibes before a big screen.
Photo by Marc Fanelli-Isla on Unsplash Do you ever bump into a piece of furniture and experience the overwhelming, irrational urge to apologize? Or worse yet, have you ever turned a corner on a busy street and had somebody walk directly into you, only to utter a hasty "Oh, sorry!" before the other, arguably guiltier party even has a chance to parse what just happened?
I've certainly been on both ends of these transactions, both as the furniture apologist (I recall once upon a time apologizing to somebody who ran over my foot with their shopping cart) and the accidental bumper.
Let me just say this: feeling sorry for merely existing in space is exhausting. Life is tiring enough without feeling guilty that you're living it. We need to let go of any sense of obligation not to make mistakes, or not to be the unwitting victim of an accident. Mishaps are what keep us learning and keep life interesting. We should own them unabashedly. A foolproof existence sounds excruciatingly boring.
I had an epiphany on the toilet today, while gazing out the window at the backyard/my neighbour’s parking lot: I’m tired of writing about myself. That’s why I’ve slowed down dramatically on publishing personal essays, particularly in light of my recent, voluntary commitment to write a small, monthly column in a lovely local newspaper. That output is rooted in my personal experience as a creative, and involves mining my psyche for little bursts of inspiration that might be helpful, - or at least, fun - for people to read over a cup of coffee.
I spent the morning listening to North American protest songs, folk songs, and their progenitors: African American spirituals. I have spent the majority of my time songwriting in my band Cursed Arrows writing, well, protest songs about people and events outside of myself - and I like it that way. I never run out of ideas or feel like I’m being too introspective because I’m often looking outward, sending truth-seeking tendrils out into the ether. Collective truths are often best articulated through a personal lens, but I’ve been having a much harder time simply writing about my own experiences lately. Time will tell if that is a good thing, a bad thing, a fleeting feeling, or something that is at all apparent or relevant to you, fair readers.
Yesterday, after waking up from a chronic illness nap to find my cats fighting on top of my shins, I heard an owl loudly hooting in the daylight from the trees beyond the backyard. Its hoots sounded so suspiciously like a dog howling that it took me a moment to discern that it was, indeed, a big, loud mysterious bird perched up high in a tree. Hours before that, I saw a seal floating lazily down the river out my front window. For those two simple facts alone, I feel truly privileged and grateful to be here. No apology necessary.