A Rainy Day Movie Run
Disclaimer: Any resemblance between this theater and the theater I actually attended is entirely coincidental.
(Originally written for a creative nonfiction class in college in February of 2018)
I picked a hell of an evening to go to the movies, didn’t I? I’ve just returned to college after a four-day weekend, and it’s rainy and misty. But my professor has asked us to write a travel piece by this Friday, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to see a movie at the Roxy, Potsdam’s resident movie theater, which is within walking distance of the SUNY Potsdam campus. I check the online listings for films showing at the Roxy this week. There are four options available: 15:17 to Paris, which I’ve never heard of; Peter Rabbit, which looks like nothing more than bland juvenile nonsense; Fifty Shades Freed, which I refuse to touch with a 39 ½-foot pole; and finally, Black Panther, the latest entry in the much-lauded Marvel Cinematic Universe. Having already seen several other MCU entries, with my experience with them being mainly positive, the choice is easy for me. Besides, I feel like this would be an excellent time to get out into the world and get a good idea of what happens in town when I’m not looking.
I leave Bowman South by the west fire escape at 6:15 P.M. (mostly because I don’t feel like waiting for the elevator), wearing my green winter coat. The rain, fortunately, isn’t as bad as it looked from my sixth-floor dorm room. Being in a movie state of mind, I try to remember the types of rain Forrest Gump described during his service in Vietnam. I remember “big ol’ fat rain” and something about sideways rain. I think the latter best describes the rain over Potsdam this evening. It’s not quite a torrential downpour, but it’s not quite sprinkling, either.
I remember how when my mother drove me up two hours ago to drop me off, the mist hanging over the campus grounds was thick. Not quite “pea soup” thick, but thick enough to obscure the line of trees that stretches out behind the athletic fields. Now that the sun has set, the mist is hidden, except by the glow of the street lamps. As I traverse the sidewalk in front of Lehman Hall, I notice steam drifting off the snowbanks as the snow melts from under them, reminding me of sand blowing over the dunes of the Sahara. I check my watch—6:19 P.M. Thirty-one minutes to show time.
Speaking of steam, as I cross Barrington Drive and enter the courtyard in front of Brainerd Hall, I notice what I think is a layer of mist covering the ground that looks like someone dropped a large load of dry ice on the grass. I think, Wow, that’s so cool,… until I realize that it’s just unmelted snow. Then I think, “Oh… lame.” I also decide it’s too warm for my winter gloves, so I take them off.
My mind drifts back to movies for a while. I think of a film I saw with my mother and sister at the Roxy last August: The Dark Tower, based on the book series by Stephen King. My mother was an avid fan of Stephen King in the past, and I had just finished reading all eight books in the series that past December. So we watched it, and my reaction was ambivalent at best. While I liked the three main actors (Idris Elba, Matthew McConaughey, and Tom Taylor) and the action sequences, the script was confusing as all get out. For example, why does the Man in Black want to destroy the Tower? I thought the Crimson King wanted to do that, and the Man in Black wanted to simply seize control of it. And I’m halfway convinced that the writers misused several critical terms from the books, like “beamquake” and “Taheen.” I could go on and on about what the film did wrong, but I don’t have the space to do that here. While I don’t think the movie is quite as bad as Rotten Tomatoes’ 16% score makes it seem, I still don’t get why Stephen King himself keeps saying that the film is not that bad. Then again, maybe he and I are in the same boat: we both know that the film isn’t that good, but we really want the Dark Tower film franchise to be a thing. Maybe the TV series they’re making will salvage the sinking ship?
Never mind, I’m getting off-topic here. As I continue my walk, I notice the puddles of meltwater getting bigger and deeper, especially as I cross in front of an empty lot where that local guy who decorates toilet bowls with flowers used to keep one of his collections (What was that guy protesting again? Zoning laws? I don’t know). I remember the next house over for that one time where a full-size replica of the Iron Throne was proudly displayed for anyone on State Route 56 who happened to be driving past. The last house I see before reaching the intersection with Bay Street I remember almost always having trash in the yard, even though there are no less than four dumpsters lined up in the front yard. Come on, people, have a little respect for Mother Nature, dammit!
I decide to take the crosswalk here instead of at the intersection of Route 56 and Main Street. I’m always nervous at crosswalks in high-traffic areas. I mean, how could I not with the possibility of one careless driver not looking where he’s going, like Richard Horne in Episode 6 of the Twin Peaks revival. I keep walking the sidewalk on the other side of the street until I reach the crosswalk directly in front of the Roxy.
As I approach the next intersection, I remember to recheck my watch. 6:31 P.M. Nineteen minutes to go. Suddenly, the song “25 Minutes to Go” by Johnny Cash starts playing in my head. It definitely fits the situation, kind of. Catching the movie I want to see on time is undoubtedly an urgent matter for me. Still, I feel like knowing that you’re about to go to the gallows in 25 minutes would a much more pressing concern than this.
As I approach the crosswalk in front of the Roxy I hope that there will be someone there crossing with me, if only for safety in numbers. I notice a group of people in front of me, but they cross over well before I get there. Then another person crosses over even though there’s a car coming, but he makes it across just fine. Fortunately, though, I don’t have to wait long, as I notice that there don’t appear to be any cars coming from either direction. I sprint across and enter the theater.
There are a lot more people here than I thought there would be. Then again, many of them probably had cars to shield them from the rain, whereas I have yet to earn a driver’s license. And, of course, Black Panther is the hottest thing right now, so I imagine that has drawn most of these moviegoers. In fact, the line is so long that it bends at a 90 degree angle with the wall opposite the front desk and extends out past the foyer. I worry about whether or not the film will be sold out before I can get a ticket. Then again, the movie is being shown in both standard and 3-D versions, so that might take some of the load off. Sure enough, I get my ticket for the standard version of the film and order a small popcorn and soda. As I enter theater one, the trailers have already started. As packed as the theater is, I still find a spot easily enough.
The film itself is everything I hoped it would be. True, some parts of the plot feel a bit cliché. Still, the actors are great, the characters they play are fun to watch (especially the female characters), the action is thrilling, the special effects are good (even if they rely a bit too much on CGI, but that’s nothing new in modern Hollywood), and the way they blend the futuristic technology with the African aesthetic is very interesting. Black Panther easily earns an 8/10 in my book.
Approximately two hours and ten minutes later, I’m back on the streets. The rain has stopped, so I leave the hood of my winter coat down. However, I notice that the sign in front of the North Country Savings Bank says 59 degrees Fahrenheit. Maybe wearing the winter coat was a mistake. I get held up behind some slow-moving groups of fellow students on some of the icier parts of the sidewalk. I feel sorry for them. I’m wearing rubber boots, which gives me something of an advantage as I trudge through even the deepest of puddles. Then again, rubber boots would do nothing to protect the seat of my pants if I were to slip and fall on my ass. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen.
As I make my return journey, I consider other films premiering this semester that I am interested in seeing. As I am writing this, I notice that the upcoming sci-fi horror film Annihilation has racked up a 90% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, which definitely gives me incentive to see it sometime next week. I’m also excited about Cinema 10’s March 19th showing of The Breadwinner. This animated tale of a young girl trying to survive in Taliban-era Afghanistan comes from the Irish studio Cartoon Saloon, who made a big fan out of me with their two previous films, The Secret of Kells and Song of the Sea. I think it should be a good distraction from the widespread and idiotic assumption among many Americans that animation is strictly children’s entertainment. For now, though, I’m content to just return to my dorm room and waste the evening away.
Hello again, beautiful watchers! The Maine cryptids article still has a lot longer to go before its finished, and I haven’t even started the “best animated films of 2023” list yet, despite having seen all the films I wanted to (at least, the ones that are available to stream or rent). So I figured I’d introduce to to another one of my creative nonfiction pieces.
I will admit that I’m a bit apprehensive talking about where I went to college, especially since I’m still living in St. Lawrence County. I have this nagging fear that if I talk too much about where I live that some crazy stalker or far-right nut job with murder on his mind might track me down. Maybe I’m overreacting, though.
This will likely be my go-to strategy for the near future when one of my longer articles is still in the workshop: upload an old creative nonfiction piece to tide you over. I sure hope it works!
P.S.: I didn’t actually end up seeing Annihilation or The Breadwinner in theaters. I watched them on DVD and Netflix, respectively.
