Movie Heist

The very funny writer Eric D. Snider once wrote about going to the movies and watching a crime take place. A lame, gross, petty crime. He saw a group of teenage boys dig three large drink cups out of a theater trash can, rinse them out in the bathroom, and take them to the concession stand for free refills - as though these were drinks they had paid for and already emptied while waiting for their movie to start.

When I read his story, I was simultaneously grossed out and fascinated.

Grossed out because, uh, those cups were garbage. Garbage.

But I was also fascinated because who does that? There’s no question that movie theater prices are obscene. In fact, I'm pretty sure that when oil company executives retire, they shift careers and take over movie theater chains. They have the same morals and profit margins. Popcorn costs literally next to nothing to make, and so the profit margin on an oily eight dollar bucket is astronomical.

Because concession prices are practically criminal, I've never had a problem with bringing in my own candy, soda, popcorn, and occasionally sandwiches. (In winter, you can easily tuck a footlong sub into your coat.) But bringing in your own stuff is very different than scavenging cups out of the trash and bilking the theater out of pop. Not giving the theater unfair amounts of money is not the same as just flat-out stealing from them.

So I think poorly of these random teenagers I've never met. I judge them - that's right, judge them.

But as I condemn these little weasels, I am reminded of myself in junior high. A couple of my friends, Rusty and James, had a whole scheme to sneak into the movies and they wanted me in on their plan. The main theater in town - the Westwood -- had two exit doors at the back that opened up onto an empty parking lot. The plan was for one of us to pay to get in, pop open the back exit, and let the other two in.

Now, I was a good kid - not interested in making waves and seriously scared of my dad's white hot wrath. I stalled and tried to blow it off - but eventually caved. I agreed to sneak them into a late show of Beetlejuice.

The thing that allowed me to justify it was that I actually paid to get in. I figured as long as I paid, I was close to blameless. (I overlooked the fact that I was helping two other people not pay.)

Timing was crucial. If I went too early, it would look suspicious. If I went too late, there would be other people there who would see what I was doing and report it to the Man.

The night of our heist, my heart thumped and clammy nerve sweat collected under my arms. In the Westwood, there was a curtained hallway between the theater and the actual exit door. I slipped behind the curtain, tapped quietly on the door, got the signal tap in return, and pushed it open. Rusty and James hustled in, and we rushed back to the empty theater.

I enjoyed the movie. It’s actually one of my favorites, but I felt bad about my crime for a long time. I know never helped anyone sneak into the movies again.

Happily, I managed to grow up and not be a felon. James and Rusty both grew up to be good guys, each of them married with a bunch of kids. They spend their weekends fishing rather than sneaking into theaters.

So maybe there's hope for the kids Eric Snider saw. Maybe drinking trash soda isn't the end of the line for them as human beings. More likely than not, twenty years from now, they'll be grown men with lives and responsibilities, and they'll laugh about the days back when they were willing to root through trash to get free refills.

A Bad Night At The Movies

It was 1998, and my girlfriend had just broken up with me. I was 23, attending Idaho State University, and living in my brother's basement until I could find a cheap apartment. In other words, life was bad. I spent my days half-paying attention to my professors and my evenings feeling sorry for myself because my ex-girlfriend was already engaged to some other guy. It was a sad existence.

 Just a few blocks from my brother's house was a second-run movie theater called the Reel. You know the type of place I'm talking about - a slightly run-down theater in an older part of town that shows movies that came to big theaters six months before. The big summer blockbusters turn up at the Reel around September. You pay two or three bucks for a ticket, two bucks for popcorn and a soda, and you get to watch a movie in the theater that you could probably buy on DVD.

During that first year in Pocatello, I practically lived at the Reel.

Every chance I got, I'd scrape together five bucks and head to the theater. Armed with a cardboard box of popcorn and a waxy, sweating cup of Pepsi, I sat in the janky bucket seats and let the movies make me happy for a couple of hours. When I look at a list of movies released in 1997 and 1998, I'm surprised at how many of them I watched or re-watched at the Reel. Titanic, Gattaca, The Fifth Element, Liar Liar, Men In Black, Air Force One, The Saint, In and Out, My Best Friend's Wedding, and plenty of others. (What strikes me about this list is how many of these movies are now on cable every weekend. It's like that period of my life has entered reruns or something.)

Anyway, my brother still mocks me over the night I went to see Spiceworld. If you don't know what that is, good for you. It came out in early 1998 and was the big screen debut of The Spice Girls, a cruddy, manufactured pop band from England. They were kind of the female One Direction of their day. Someone let them be a movie - a wacky, zany, terrible movie that isn't worth the film stock they shot it on. But I went. It was February in Idaho and I went, fully aware of the fact that it was probably going to be terrible.

To this day, my brother asks, "Why would you pay money, any money at all, to see something that you knew was going to be awful?" At the time, I think I just wanted out of the house and a movie was better than nothing. Looking back now, I realize the answer to why I went has a lot to do with why I love movies in general: for me, a bad night at the movies is better than a good day at work.

I love the act of going to the movies. From really early on, going to the theater was a treat. If Dad was willing to spring for movie tickets, it was a big deal. I loved waiting in line for tickets, the sound of the popcorn machine, examining the posters for all the coming attractions, waiting for the lights to dim, the previews, everything. For me, it is a transportive experience. It's like a mood-enhancing drug that doesn't cost much and doesn't leave a hangover. Going to the theater makes me happy, even if the movie isn't much good.

Movies can take you out of the smallness and banality of your own life. They can shift your focus off your own story and onto another. They can show you great and terrible things. They can lift you when you feel as flat as the gum on the floor of the Reel. They can thrill, provoke, soothe, and teach. While I don't believe it is necessarily their goal or point, movies can occasionally make you want to be a better person. That's powerful stuff.

All that and giant vats of popcorn and diet Pepsi? Sounds like a good way to spend the evening to me.

RIP - Christopher Lee and Rick Baker's Career

There’s sad news in the movie world this week. First, veteran actor Christopher Lee passed away last week. Younger movie goers might recognize him as Count Dooku in the Star Wars prequels, as Sauroman the White in the Lord of the Rings films, or maybe as Willy Wonka’s terrifying dentist father in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Despite these relatively recent screen credits, Lee worked steadily as an actor beginning in 1947. He started off as a bit player, but went on to play iconic characters like Sherlock Holmes, Rasputin, and, of course, Count Dracula. 

Lee found his niche in the 60s and 70s playing various ghouls, villains, and monsters in Hammer Films. Hammer Pictures was a British production company that specialized in cheaply-made Gothic horror films that were heavy on fake blood and scantily clad ladies and light on believable special effects and well-written dialogue. One look at Lee’s filmography from that period gives you a sense of the kinds of movies he made – Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, The Vengance of Fu Manchu, The House That Dripped Blood – you get the idea. 

Despite these schlocky entries on his resume, Lee was a class act and a really interesting person besides. He played in a heavy metal rock band, was an expert swordsman, and long before starring in the films, was a Tolkein fan who re-read the Lord of the Rings series every year. Lee was still working on film projects when he passed away last week at the age of 93. Of course, it’s sad to see talented performers take their final bow, but for someone like Christopher Lee who worked so long and did so much, his rest is well deserved. 

 

The other piece of sad Hollywood news this week is about a much more premature departure. Master makeup artist and monster maker Rick Baker is closing up shop. If his name sounds familiar, it’s probably because you’ve heard it on the Oscars – like seven times. Baker is responsible for the makeup special effects that led to ultra realistic gorilla suits in Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan and Gorillas in the Mist, the terrifying werewolves in An American Werewolf in London and The Howling, and the ridiculous menagerie of aliens in the Men in Black trilogy. He’s responsible for Harry and the Hendersons, The Nutty Professor, Hellboy, King Kong, and Maleficent. He’s the guy responsible for Michael Jackson’s transformation from werewolf to zombie in the “Thriller” video for crying out loud. And now he’s retiring and shuttering his 60 thousand square foot facility. 

He’s not leaving movie making because he’s old or bored, but because CGI – computer generated imagery – is taking all the work he normally did. It’s cheaper to have a new design school graduate design a monster on computer than to have a seven time Oscar winner build one with foam and latex. Pixels are cheaper than paint, and Baker’s art is largely becoming a thing of the past. Recently auctioned off some of his more notable creations including Jim Carrey’s Grinch costume, Vincent D’Onfrio’s Edgar suit from Men in Black, and Benecio Del Toro’s animatronic head from The Wolfman. It’s a great opportunity for collectors, but a sad sign for filmmaking. 

Cheaper isn’t always better, and while CGI can create miraculous images, there’s a loss of tactility and craftsmanship that movies shouldn’t lose. We go to the movies partly for a visceral, you-are-there experience and GCI is so smooth and so perfect, it’s often more like watching a cartoon than a live action film. It lacks that real world punch that comes from well-designed practical special effects and makeup. If Rick Baker sees fit to retire, he’s certainly entitled. He has nothing left to prove, but movie makers and movie goers will be poorer for his absence. As new filmmakers come up, I hope they find a way to use CGi to augment rather than replace important artists like Rick Baker.

This review originally appeared on Q90.1 Delta College Quality Public Radio. Go to www.deltabroadcasting.org for more information.