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Since the number one.
I didn't write about it beforehand and I got back too late after to say anything and today I busied myself with fruit and cover letters and cooking. Now I'm tired, and I still haven't said anything about what happened last night, and I want to, even if it's just to say it. I did something a lot of people have done. I did something I haven't done before that I've wanted to do for a while now. I was patient, and I got lucky, and I brought a friend with me who hadn't done it before, either.
I went to see Magnolia.
On 35mm filmstock.
All the way out in Brooklyn for a special repertory screening as part of a series of movies released in 1999.
I've seen it twice already, both times on DVD on a computer screen. But never in a theater and definitely never on film. My friend hadn't seen it at all, not even on DVD, and last night was her first time seeing it ever. As big an experience as it was for me, it nearly overwhelmed her. It pushed us both deep under the waves.
There's nothing like having the sound come out all around you, and seeing those colors so lush and vibrant. How the entire sold-out crowd laughed and gasped at the same time. Moments when the dark screen slowly lit up that were riveting on a computer screen were breathtaking in a theater. The way there were occasional imperfections in the filmstock itself, like lines along the screen, didn't distract from the story and immersion because it pushed the feeling of being told a story, and being able to believe in the story. And it's such a story - it's told with a steady, firm hand that understands how the format the story's told in can be used to best possible narrative and emotional effect, and my God, the narrative and the emotions are as rich and powerful as you could ever hope to find in any story.
We met for dinner beforehand. She couldn't decide what to have, so I gave her the advice to order something she couldn't make at home. I thought about a cocktail, then went with a ginger-lime mocktail and had just as good a time. After it was over, we walked to her car and for about a block, the conversation was just us saying "wow" and "ooof" and "woof" and "yeah" to each other because we needed to move and process before we could get words together. She had to drive and I took the subway, and for a few stops, I chatted about Paul Thomas Anderson and repertory screenings with two other guys who'd gone to see it, one of whom was from Sacramento. When they had to transfer trains, we wished each other well, and I told them if I was just another story in New York City, I could live with that.
When I transferred, someone came to sit across from me and started to sketch me. I figured I wasn't in danger and was getting off soon, and didn't say anything and didn't move to give him a steady model, and when I left the train, I wished him a good night. I hope he heard me through the mask. Even if he didn't, I hope he got home to a good night's sleep himself.
I got home and I crashed, high on art. I'd love to do it again sometime; it's three hours and there isn't a second of lag. I'll stay patient, keep waiting, and hope that next time, even though it won't be my first time ever again, I can bring someone else who'll come to it new.
I went to see Magnolia.
On 35mm filmstock.
All the way out in Brooklyn for a special repertory screening as part of a series of movies released in 1999.
I've seen it twice already, both times on DVD on a computer screen. But never in a theater and definitely never on film. My friend hadn't seen it at all, not even on DVD, and last night was her first time seeing it ever. As big an experience as it was for me, it nearly overwhelmed her. It pushed us both deep under the waves.
There's nothing like having the sound come out all around you, and seeing those colors so lush and vibrant. How the entire sold-out crowd laughed and gasped at the same time. Moments when the dark screen slowly lit up that were riveting on a computer screen were breathtaking in a theater. The way there were occasional imperfections in the filmstock itself, like lines along the screen, didn't distract from the story and immersion because it pushed the feeling of being told a story, and being able to believe in the story. And it's such a story - it's told with a steady, firm hand that understands how the format the story's told in can be used to best possible narrative and emotional effect, and my God, the narrative and the emotions are as rich and powerful as you could ever hope to find in any story.
We met for dinner beforehand. She couldn't decide what to have, so I gave her the advice to order something she couldn't make at home. I thought about a cocktail, then went with a ginger-lime mocktail and had just as good a time. After it was over, we walked to her car and for about a block, the conversation was just us saying "wow" and "ooof" and "woof" and "yeah" to each other because we needed to move and process before we could get words together. She had to drive and I took the subway, and for a few stops, I chatted about Paul Thomas Anderson and repertory screenings with two other guys who'd gone to see it, one of whom was from Sacramento. When they had to transfer trains, we wished each other well, and I told them if I was just another story in New York City, I could live with that.
When I transferred, someone came to sit across from me and started to sketch me. I figured I wasn't in danger and was getting off soon, and didn't say anything and didn't move to give him a steady model, and when I left the train, I wished him a good night. I hope he heard me through the mask. Even if he didn't, I hope he got home to a good night's sleep himself.
I got home and I crashed, high on art. I'd love to do it again sometime; it's three hours and there isn't a second of lag. I'll stay patient, keep waiting, and hope that next time, even though it won't be my first time ever again, I can bring someone else who'll come to it new.