theater experiences

Every once in a great while I have a perfect theatergoing experience. This means the film is epic, the setting is epic; basically the film was made for the big screen. A few that have reached this bar are "2001: A Space Odyssey," "Taxi Driver," "There Will Be Blood," "The Departed," but there are few others. Most of these had the advantage of being screened in the historic Castro Theatre in San Francisco. They just don't make them like they used to. This theatre is all class and old-fashioned glamour. This evening I once again experienced a worthy theater going experience. "Manhattan" was screened in all its black and white glory. Now, I'm a bit biased as Woody Allen is my favorite of all favorites, but even still, of all his films this one screamed "Big!" more than any other. This is Mr. Allen's love letter to his beloved city. Gordon Willis, the Director of Photography, captured this love in every frame. It's anamorphic, giving it an even more panoramic feel. The print was actually quite good; very few scratches. But, oh the shivers! The opening sequence, with Mr. Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" pulsating the very innards of the theater, brought celluloid tears to my eyes. This is why films are made! This is why we can never rid ourselves of the theater; a group of people experiencing the exact same thing with complete individuality; nothing can replace that. And when a film as brilliant as this flickers across a stretched-white screen we remember the power of the movies.

another walk home

Work kept me out late. I don't usually walk home this late. Yet it was one of the better experiences I've had as of recent. It had rained earlier but the sky was now clear with spots of clouds. The moon and stars shown bright, reflecting off the silent streets. A car passed occasionally, but it was mostly quiet. Now even when it's late, it's rarely quiet, but tonight was an exception. It was past the time when the trolley track ran, which meant an ear-piercing silence that made me smile. The air was clear with hints of fireplace smoke. The slight breeze was crisp and cut easily through my fleece. The trees moved playfully with the wind; and I could hear everything because there was nothing. The silence would be interrupted rarely by an obnoxious sanitary truck or the audible beeping of a delivery truck in reverse; but I kept looking at the sky and the empty streets resting beneath it. The setting was like a dream, everything slightly comfortable and yet still unknowable. The city slept as I watched and it made me happy to know that I was experiencing something most people missed out on. I sat on the steps of my apartment building and breathed deeply; and I could hear it all!

Now I'm listening to Bob Dylan's "Boots of Spanish Leather," and the lyrics only punctuate the scenes I had just experienced. The words comforted the sleeping and I comforted the words and the words comforted me.