FILM ME IN

They’re real.

Despite increasing ticket sales and advanced technology in home theatre systems, global box office records have consistently remained on the rise. As of 2014 the global box office reached 36.4 billion and appears to have been steadily growing one percent from the previous year for the last five years. No doubt 2015 results, once accumulated, will present an even further significant rise with thanks to Disney’s acquisition and production of its remarkably successful Star Wars film – its record breaking results will likely bleed into 2016. 90% of the world’s cinema screens are now digital and growth since the advent of 3D cinema is still consistent (comparatively 3D cinema has survived and managed to sustain throughout this new digital era and has endured long after its historical counterpart, which was subsequently abandoned shortly after it was originally presented in the 1950s). Typically, audiences are more inclined to visit theatres for the latest advancements in visual and audio effects. By and large the top grossing film of each year throughout the last twenty has fallen into the sci-fi or superhero category and studios have had no qualms catering to this trend, particularly as the primary growth has come from China where ticket sales for such genre pieces are greatly responsible for the global increase in sales.  Netflix may pose a threat as it intends to release films typically accepted as ‘anticipated’ with studio consent exclusively to its subscribers from the comfort of their homes much to the outrage of distributors, but as we saw with the similar ominous threat of DVD, exclusivity and visual quality in the home still can’t keep people locked indoors. Your home theatre will never compete with a 70ft screen, a plethora of speakers and most importantly the shared experience with our fellow man proving that the cinema by all accounts should never become a system rendered archaic.

Cinema withdrawals, it’s a thing and it’s real I tell you! Apologies for my incessant need for throwing a few stats out there to justify an ultimate need to return to the sacred church of celluloid and validate an affliction that I believe to be all too real. I knew when our baby arrived in November that I would remain bunkered down and denied the freedom to casually duck out to the flicks whenever I so freely chose but I was psyched, equipped and mentally primed to bunker down, submit and retreat in peace. I would ensure my housebound stay would be one met with comfort and like a doomsday prepper/ obsessive I took the necessary precautions for my going-to-ground – namely stockpiling DVDs.

Christmas vouchers fed Boxing Day sales and from bargain bins to 20%-off-all-DVD’s-this-weekend-only promotional incentives, all the way to the new release full-price must-have’s, you bet it was time to expand that old collection! Of course I didn’t fully expect to have the required time on my hands for an entire films duration in one consecutive sequence or at least this is what I had been lead to believe. Friends with kids had warned me that babies don’t allow for films and if anything now would be the ideal time to become the ultimate turn coat and surrender to HBO and Netflix, succumbing to this golden age of television with its epic tales to be viewed in twenty to forty minute increments. But I ignored their advice and insisted that I’m a film devotee through and through and that if time allowed for one iota of viewing pleasure then it would be with a full-length feature and I would persevere even if it meant patiently waiting to continue that feature when the next iota presented itself.

Don’t get me wrong, I marvel over the baby, it’s primarily what spare time is meant for and all the movies in the world can take a back seat to entertaining the little one and listening to her cooing noises and watch in awe as she thrashes her little arms and feet about. So with a come-what-may attitude to the next eight or so months, and should time allow for the for the odd movie at home, although it won’t be the latest blockbuster in 3D, I would still be granted the pleasure of trekking deep into the cinematic archives and familiarise myself with some classics that I had just never got around to seeing. In fact I dare say I was actually looking forward to putting any obligations on hold with the ease that I would have nowhere else to be for once. I accepted that all routines and pastimes would have to be altered and would most likely never be fully restored to the glory days of old and I whole-heartedly welcomed this adjustment.

Gone were the days where at a split second’s notice I could send a text and find myself tipsy in a beer garden with a mate in the space of fifteen minutes. It will be a good six months before I’d likely catch a live band at the drop of a hat, sit on a beach or actually dine in a restaurant rather than call ahead, arrive at precisely the designated-agreed-upon time and proceed to high-tail it back home, fling it onto a plate and inhale the meal before it gets cold/ the baby requires mine or my wife’s arms. But now, somewhere around the two to three month mark I’m getting the itch. This itch isn’t exclusive to beer, bands, sand or food either. Friends have been gracious enough to pay regular visits and family can’t get enough of our new bundle of joy – it’s the satisfying scratch of a movie on the big screen in the dark with a bunch of strangers that seems to have left the biggest void. This void certainly doesn’t discriminate either – be it a cinema chain within a shopping complex in some shanti-town deep in the Western suburbs or a still-standing majestic theatre alongside Melbourne’s main shopping meccas, I’ve become overwhelmed with the hunger for digesting films the proper way as they were always intended.

I won’t insist that I miss clichés like the smell of buttered popcorn or wandering the lobby halls to see what attractions are coming soon (although it’s true) but I also miss the anxiety of a ticket line when arriving too close to the start time, the carefully timed toilet run between securing a seat and the film’s introduction, the complaining of twenty minute advertisements even though once the trailers are playing I’ve forgotten what film I’m even there to watch, or I find myself reminiscing about the obligatory ‘cool!’ / ‘what did you think?’ to my wife or buddy once the end credits roll and then proceed to discuss and dissect what we did or didn’t like about the film on the car ride home.

The reason for withdrawals is simple enough, I perhaps went too often. My wife and I had something to check off our watch list week in / week out, and as I’m starting to discover now in the midst of such cravings, that I possibly took a trip to the cinema for granted. Like a lonely recently single bachelor reflecting on the good times, I don’t remember it ever seeming to wane, get old or reach a confessional point where I admitted to needing to do more with my free time rather than hide away in the safe confines of flickering light and sail the seas of escapism. If anything I was secretly chuffed with myself if I did happen to frequent the same cinema two days in a row. Sure I’d make haughty remarks like ‘back here again’ but inside I would be reeling in equal measures to the previous encounter less than twenty-four hours earlier.

I can attest to getting slight movie fatigue when the Melbourne International Film Festival rolls around particularly when it’s 10pm on a Saturday and you’re about to watch the fifth film that day. Then there’s the steady stream of late week nights and an entire festival-period dinner that consists of ice-cream or whatever fast food outlet happens to be open and /or close by. But then when I examine these periods I can’t help but be reminded of how I still went to non-festival screenings and watched the normal everyday features (clearly these external burdens only ran skin-deep). I remember this primarily because my understandably confused wife once acknowledged that I had been to the movies again and if memory serves judged that I had been to the movies quite enough times. So now that film-going is behind me for the foreseeable future and the cinema’s grand and captivating entrance taunts me upon weekly shopping trips, the withdrawal pangs are becoming dire. In hindsight it wouldn’t have hurt to have mentally wrapped my head around the sudden loss of Sunday sessions, date nights, films with friends, spur of the moment solo affairs and well-planned-in-advance-gold-class-events that had become part of the staple. A brand new cinema even opened up right around the corner that I’m still yet to become acquainted with because I figured I’ll get there one day and now that day’s nowhere in sight.

And so in the last few months the DVD player has had a major work-out with the baby’s consent of course! I’m ploughing through, and immensely enjoying, save-for-a-rainy-day classics from The Grand Illusion to Gaslight to The Defiant Ones and I’ve never appreciated my home theatre/ workstation more. My wife and I built a house over a year ago. We were accustomed to living in a pretty cool, accessible hub that has since become a certified hipster suburb and one of which we could never have afforded when the home owning time came, so we moved further out. I have no illusions that we live pretty far out from the city but it’s still close enough to our folks and friends, plus we get that sweet country air, a cow at the end of our street and the odd kangaroo pass by. But above all the best part of living out here is that you don’t move this far out without being afforded some space and by space I mean a theatre room. A designated room complete with reclining chairs, cups holders and a TV (purchased well in advance of the move) where I can continue my practice of escapism precisely when the mood strikes. Not to be mistaken for gloating as we’re living in the sticks, every home this far out of town should have a theatre room damn it, but try as I might, I can’t get used to the fact that it exists and that it’s all mine. It’s like an MTV Cribs fantasy on a minuscule scale.

In the course of remaining house bound I figure even if I got struck with severe cabin fever, I’d simply opt for another movie in the home theatre and attempt to heal whilst engaged in a brand new narrative. Cabin fever’s one thing, but boredom certainly isn’t on the cards. I’m reminded of this whenever I go outside the front door and see our neighbour across the road just sitting in his garage. My ultimate fear is that I’m glimpsing into the future whenever I see him. Occasionally he’ll be doing something semi-productive like watering the roses but nine times out of ten he’s just sitting there frowning at the world that’s literally passing him by. Perhaps the fact that I’m not out the front playing handyman or that my wife’s infinitely greener thumb doesn’t compute in his universe or maybe he’s just scared of my dog but for some reason I can barely get a nod out of the guy. I’ve since stopped trying and although I agree we don’t necessarily have to be friends (like the ones he seems to have made elsewhere in the street), I figure a nod wouldn’t go astray.

It makes me wonder with slight panic what it must be like to just sit there staring into space which I can guarantee he’s doing right this very second. At first I figured he needed some alone time but the time spent in his garage is border lining on strange. Perhaps his kids have occupied most of the indoors, and yet wouldn’t the constant free time be better spent with them? Has he been banished to the garage? Did he banish himself? Is the garage a philistine’s version of a theatre room? Am I going to end up banished there too when my kids rule the roost as I neglect films or books in order to focus on oblivion? I’d like to think that my healthy love of film will help prevent such a fate, and combat any situations that would otherwise force me to shuffle off and out beside the car surrounded by tools that I’ve never had any interest in. I declare that I’m man enough to read Charlotte’s Web or Matilda to my daughter when the time’s right, and that if my nasally voice doesn’t suffice then I’m man enough to sit through Charlotte’s Web or Matilda on DVD when the time is right rather than allocate such tasks to her mother while I seek refuge and stay hidden in plain sight as I focus on the road before my eyes. Perhaps then I’ll get that nod?

I have faith that all will be restored to normal someday soon, and to be honest I could probably go to the cinema right this very second if I really wanted to, be back in two to three hours and suffer little consequences but it just wouldn’t feel right. I like the idea of going with my wife and moseying around the area for a while beforehand. Walking along shopping strips or plazas with that fifteen minutes to kill between buying the ticket and the first preview, maybe stick my head in the arcade zones or browse through CDs in record stores –it’s all part of what makes the experience just that – an experience.

There have been two notable exceptions to this cinema draught. One was Star Wars: The Force Awakens which if I do the math I probably had the date set aside long before I even discovered I would become a Dad. The other was last Sunday afternoon to watch Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight in all its 70mm glory. I tried not to rub it in but even my wife seemed impressed that I was given a special picture book with my ticket.

Just when I was beginning to feel that a cinema withdrawal rant isn’t worth the laptop it’s written on and that I’m whining about something so ridiculously insignificant that must make me look like a spoilt child, my wife turned to me out of the blue and said ‘I miss going to the movies’. Then she elaborated and told me how much she truly misses it. I even laughed and wondered out loud as to whether she had possibly already read the above and once I revealed that I too miss it her reply was ‘you were at the movies last week, cry me a river’. She vowed to look into the mums-n’-bubs sessions which are offered at all the nearby cinemas, where kids can run wild and mum can hang out in the cinema while I’m at work. I have no doubt that once she gets in the swing of these sessions I may in fact take my wife up on her offer and cry her that river as requested.