At the movies
Another round of focus aerobics, this time for 172 minutes
The theater is over a century old. The movie director said he’s been thinking about making this film for two decades. A friend’s neighbor worked on the movie, he was bound to secrecy and couldn’t describe it, I just remember him constantly traveling for several years.
I live in Los Angeles and don’t go to the movies very often. Several friends, especially ones who work in Hollywood, consider this weird. After all, we have good theaters, Quentin Tarantino runs two of them, and cinema’s in the water; practically everyone who makes movies professionally lives here or visits regularly, and you often see the famous ones in or near the grocery stores.
Daryl Hannah at the Venice Whole Foods, looking somewhat recognizable.
Christopher Nolan at a bar around the corner from Gelson’s, the one in Beachwood Canyon, recognizable for wearing a suit, sometimes just a vest.
Los Angeles even used to make movies, but now it mostly makes the deals that make movies. Anyway.
Recently, my local theater started advertising Nolan’s The Odyssey in “epic” 70 millimeters. Because it’s one of Tarantino’s theaters, the concessions stand serves White Castle burgers, also wine. And because it’s hot outside, I thought some time in the air-conditioned dark would be nice.
So, another round of focus aerobics, this time for 172 minutes, not sixty, because that’s how Nolan wants it to be.
—The exterior of the theater is Spanish Mission Revival, typical of this part of L.A. The interior is a bit more odd: Egyptian Revival, inspired by the 1922 discovery of King Tut’s tomb, decorated with golden pharaohs.
Waiting in line for thirty minutes in 90-degree heat: not odd, not typical, kinda Egyptian, kinda aggravating.
—It’s a single-screen theater, over 100 years old. And because it’s now a Tarantino production—he purchased the theater, restored it, and reopened it three years ago—there’s a preference for celluloid over digital.
Inside, the crowd is everyone, all types. Mainly adults, mostly middle-aged, couples and singles, groups of friends. A man in line says he’s there for the third time already, it’s everything from Nolan he could want.
Buttered popcorn, one order after another, and the odors are everywhere.
—I’ve only gotten sick once at the movies, and I blame Danish cinema, but also buttered popcorn.
In college, I wrote film reviews for the school newspaper, mostly so I could see movies for free. And going into 1996’s Breaking the Waves, I didn’t know anything about it. Didn’t know anything about Lars von Trier or his love for shaky cameras. But I knew the room was hot, and people sitting around me had big bags of popcorn, lots of melted butter. And due to the shaky camera work, maybe fifteen minutes later I ran out and vomited in the bathroom, and the smell of buttered popcorn has turned my stomach ever since.
—The beauty of watching a movie in a theater is the obvious: collective fun, collective unconscious, even when it’s a full-on freakout, like the time I was involved in a semi-riot during Babygirl.
What’s specifically beautiful about watching a movie for three hours in an old movie palace is a sense of age, tradition. The thought of people waiting in the same line outside over decades, for silent-era programming, vaudeville acts, adult films, and now whatever Tarantino wants to see.
Secular cathedral, half-anachronistic. Communal solitude, all of us consenting to be moved, and a layered presence of time. Plus my phone’s away for three hours (except one time when I check a text), and I get to sit still for three hours, rapt.
—Regarding The Odyssey: the film is incredible. Visuals are astonishing. The script and time-balancing are adroit. The practical effects are wildly astonishing. Sailing scenes, pig scenes, etc.
The sound’s also incredible. Unlike some other Nolan films, I don’t need to lean forward to decipher what people said. Was there shaky cam? Sure, but I didn’t puke.
John Leguizamo alone is worth the ticket.
That said, like many Nolan films, I walked out into the somewhat cooler night and it left me cold, awestruck but cold. People walked home, chatting. People caught ride-shares, silently. Nolan is the most impressive filmmaker. He is not my favorite filmmaker. I bought two slices of pepperoni pizza at a shop and looked at my phone, and Instagram served me an AI photo of Matt Damon smoking a bong with monkeys, Christopher Nolan looking on from around a corner, aghast.
Images in an iPhone, ephemeral things inside ephemeral things. I doubt Nolan is too scared.
—A final note regarding the filmmaker: A friend’s child used to attend the same school as some of Nolan’s kids here in L.A., and Nolan’s wife’s favorite banana bread recipe got passed around. Now, how Emma Thomas found time to bake bread when she wasn’t winning Oscars for producing her husband’s films, who knows, but reportedly it’s very good. Here it is.
Programming note: I’m going off the grid next week to report a story in the woods. I’ll see you back here in two weeks.
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A no-fuss, no-mistakes recipe for homemade aioli
Great books you can read and finish in a day
Some new gorpy trunks and shorts I’ve got my eye on
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What the what
“Meditations in an Emergency” is a weekly essay from author Rosecrans Baldwin about something beautiful. Paying subscribers receive a Sunday supplement with three-plus things to love, plus a monthly travel-lust ballyhoo.
Rosecrans is a correspondent for GQ, a contributor at Travel + Leisure, and the bestselling author of Everything Now, winner of the California Book Award. Other books include The Last Kid Left and Paris, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down. His debut novel, You Lost Me There, was a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice.
For magazine articles, bio, contact info: rosecransbaldwin.com.
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