New York Film Critics Honor 'The Artist'

On the heels of last night's Gotham Independent Film Awards, the New York Film Critics Circle has announced their annual end-of-year selections for the best achievements in motion pictures. The guild made their announcement via Twitter this morning. Along with the fresh crop of nominations for the 27th Independent Spirit Awards, it's a big day for movie news. Read the full NYFCC list of winners here.

Notable omissions include The Descendants, Alexander Payne's well-received adaptation of Kaui Hart Hemmings' novel, Hugo, Martin Scorsese's first family film, and War Horse, Steven Spielberg's highly anticipated World War I drama.

The next awards season event is scheduled for this Thursday, December 1st, when the National Board of Review casts their annual votes.

The Great Sacrament of Cinema

Since Charlie Chaplin performed his winning roll dance in The Gold Rush, film directors have used meal scenes to capture a host of emotions; celebration, romance, resentment, and reconciliation, to name but a few. These golden moments not only whet our appetite, but involve us with the story as closely as any character on screen. With Thanksgiving upon us, the time is ripe for a glimpse at that welcoming movie setting, the family dinner table. Pull up a chair, dear reader, and enjoy this blessed feast of treasures from years past that remind us why the dinner table scene is the great sacrament of cinema.

Avalon - Barry Levinson's heartfelt masterpiece follows three generations of an immigrant family in Baltimore. (Has the Jewish experience in America ever been captured on celluloid more movingly?) The first family gathering scene depicts the perfect Thanksgiving dinner to a tee.



Stagecoach - In this hallmark western, a group of discordant stagecoach passengers embarks on a fast-paced jaunt through hostile territory. Along the way, the riders pause to enjoy a quick meal. John Ford uses the humble setting to establish the personalities of the characters and to ignite a liking between a pair regarded as outcasts by the others. The scene in question begins at 27:47.



It's a Wonderful Life - Every scene in America's perennial Christmas favorite simply sings. Here, our kindly protagonist sits down with dear old dad to discuss his future before leaving to attend his younger brother's graduation party. This brief but warm exchange between father and so is made all the more poignant, we soon learn, because it is their last.



Close Encounters of the Third Kind - Just as it is in real life, dinner time in the movies is not always a happy occasion. In this memorable moment from Steven Spielberg's classic sci-fi adventure, a father becomes a man obsessed before his worried family's eyes.



The Godfather, Part II - The haunting finale from the second installment of the Godfather trilogy scores a triumph. At first, the flashback appears to be a remembrance of happier times. Soon, however, the true reason for the recollection is unveiled. Francis Ford Coppola brilliantly juxtaposes the young Michael Corleone at the dinner table and the elder Michael Corleone in his darkened Lake Tahoe living room to reveal his essence: a tragic figure doomed to a life of loneliness by his own doing.



The Deer Hunter - This controversial but galvanizing saga stands as one of the most powerful war films ever made. In this moving conclusion, a close-knit circle of friends comforts one another after a funeral. Like many veteran communities, the horror of war has torn them apart, but love of country has brought them together.



Young Frankenstein - Mel Brooks and company send up Mary Shelley's famous horror novel in this wildly amusing romp. Here, an attempt at hospitality ends in disaster. With precision comic timing, Gene Hackman sews the perfect button on the scene with his hilarious final line.



American Beauty - This Best Picture winner from 1999 has stood the test of time as a near-perfect suburban family drama. Upon its release, Kevin Spacey's rebellious anti-hero Lester Burnham inspired scores of miserable men to change their lives. In this scene, a fed-up Lester takes an overdue stand.



Babette's Feast - The joy of cooking is brought vividly to life in this winning gem from Denmark. In the climactic dinner scene, a respected general expresses his gratitude for the world class feast -- and unconsciously resolves the regrets of a misspent youth -- with an eloquent speech modeled on Psalm 85.

Mercy is Infinite




Babette's Feast

— MOVIECLIPS.com

Moonstruck - A colorful assortment of Italian-Americans in N.Y.C. weave a tangled romantic web in one of the best comedies of the 1980s. In this exchange from the flawless finale, a devoted but beleaguered wife forces her philandering husband to change his ways.

Have I Been a Good Wife?




Moonstruck

— MOVIECLIPS.com

What are your favorite dinner table scenes? Share your thoughts with a comment below. Until next time, may your Thanksgiving be filled with delicious food, precious people, and warm memories to last a lifetime.

My List of Epiphany Films

Blogging is like being in a relationship. Revealing too much about oneself too soon can scare away a potential match. Conversely, revealing too little can come off as a sign of cold indifference, and can drive someone away just as quickly. Since I've had this blog up and running for nearly two years, I think it's safe to say that we've come to the point in our relationship where I make some deep, meaningful revelations. Not about my personal life, but about my taste in movies. While I have given hints from time to time as to where my tastes on the spectrum of cinema fall, I have yet to come right out and tell you what kinds of movies genuinely move me...until now.


Normally, any blogger worth their salt would reserve this list for the sidebar or another such feature on the home page of their blog. Since I have so much to say here, I just couldn't squeeze this missive into a space that small. Before I get to the first title on the list, I believe it necessary to make an important disclosure. These aren't necessarily my favorite films of all time; rather, these are films that appeal to my Renaissance Man sensibility and make me examine what goes on in every frame with a refined eye. These are movies I discovered at a time in my life where I was beginning my emergence from the angst-ridden pit of adolescence and making my gradual transition to the exciting new world of adulthood. Every title on this list holds a special place in my heart because they all came along at just the right time, like a dismissal bell that saves you from answering a tough question. Movies like these, I find, need to be revisited and appreciated for different reasons. Too often, we only taste the grape when we drink our first glass of wine. It's only after years of growth and experience that the palate grabs the other, subtler flavors.

The Godfather - Some films you remember for striking imagery, gripping scenes, or bright dialogue. Others you remember for exquisitely drawn characters who etch a permanent place in your memory. Others still you remember for a catchy musical score. The Godfather is a movie you remember for all these reasons and more. For me, there isn't a moment in this film that isn't a tour de force. Everything about this movie represents the best in every discipline of the cinema. The script sizzles with delicious dialogue, every actor is at the top of their game, every shot is painstakingly composed, and every period detail is rendered to perfection. Francis Ford Coppola blended every part of his production to create a cinematic offering as irresistible as pasta puttanesca. One could throw a dart at any page of the script and hit an unforgettable scene. I first saw this film at the age of nine, and have not seen a single movie the same way since. The murder scenes gave me nightmares, and to this day I cannot stop at a toll booth or walk through a revolving door without getting caught in the chilling grip of anxiety. Never before had I seen screen violence captured with operatic vividness. In spite of my trepidation, the film has not lost its ability to fascinate me. Whenever I need a dose of bonafide inspiration, a single viewing of this masterpiece restores my creative faculties to their fullest vitality.

The Graduate - The spring of 1995 stands out in my memory as one of the happiest of my life. I was seventeen, my Renaissance Man sensibility was awakening, and the unusually hot weather made my hormones run wild for certain girls at school -- not to mention some of their mothers. My fleeting crushes on female grade school teachers, babysitters, and my mother's hair salon clients from early childhood made me realize early on that I have romantic gravitations toward older women. With that penchant in place, it was only a matter of time before I encountered The Graduate. After renting a VHS copy from Blockbuster one Saturday night, I sat transfixed in front of the living room television for two hours, and can remember feeling sadly disappointed when I saw Dustin Hoffman and Katharine Ross going down a road in the back of that bus. But alas, all the great movies end too soon. Hoffman stunned me with his career-launching performance in the title role. Though I had already seen him in Tootsie, Rain Man, Dick Tracy, and Lenny, he reaffirmed his status as an acting hero in my book. He didn't play Benjamin Braddock so much as he inhabited him. The standout feature in this film, however, is the direction of Mike Nichols. There were so many touches -- the cut from Hoffman emerging from his swimming pool directly into Mrs. Robinson's bed, the toast popping up just after Ben announces his plans to marry Elaine, the filming of Ben's backyard birthday party through the goggles of his wetsuit -- that just floored me. The Graduate is one of those rare American movies that captures the joy of moviemaking. Too often, the atmosphere of a film set is characterized by the mood of a somber, suffering artist who takes his work (and himself) far too seriously. When Nichols helmed this production, his skillful poise, relaxed confidence and youthful exuberance no doubt had an effect on workplace morale. Little wonder the film remains a joy to watch, even if it hasn't aged well.

Midnight Cowboy - Continuing on my Hoffman streak, I first saw this movie in the summer of 1995, shortly after I completed my junior year of high school. In an echo of my experience watching The Graduate, I was open-mouthed with amazement from beginning to end. Never before had I seen a movie edited the way Cowboy was cut. The nightmarish flashback sequences still pack a punch and the montages made me gape in amazement at the power of the human imagination. John Barry's score, polished to perfection by Toots Thielemans' plaintive harmonica, captured the essence of big city loneliness and broken dreams. With his heartbreaking portrayal of crippled con man Ratzo Rizzo, Hoffman blew me away. This film came at the height of his late-sixties hot streak, and after viewing his body of work from that time on, one wonders, "Is there anything this man CAN'T play?" To say that the film stayed with me for days afterward would be a gross understatement. How badly I wanted to go out and make a movie just so I could experiment with editing rhythms the same way John Schlesinger did. In spite of the movie's unflinching portrayal of The Big Apple's gritty underbelly, I couldn't wait to visit the city that never sleeps. My exposure to Midnight Cowboy, Taxi Driver, the works of Woody Allen, and countless other films painted a romantic portrait of a city that beckoned for my presence. When I paid my overdue virgin visit at the age of 27, the first step I took onto Manhattan pavement from the airport bus felt like I had reconnected with a missing piece of my soul.

The Virgin Spring - Ingmar Bergman's Oscar-winning drama is the first landmark foreign film I remember seeing. I saw this movie as a college freshman eager to hunt down any gem within reach. When not in class, I worked as a clerk at Hollywood Video, a job that allowed me a free rental for every completed shift. Night after night, I found myself wandering toward the Foreign Film section. Though the selection was paltry, I derived the most from my ad hoc education in the works of Kurosawa, Fellini, Wenders, Antonioni, Truffaut, and Bergman. This film had me hooked from its first image of a woman stoking a fire with three deep breaths. Thirteenth century Sweden was an environment with which I was completely unfamiliar and Bergman's adaptation of Ulla Isaksson's ballad brought it sharply into focus. In the hands of a lesser artist, the trial of a dour Lutheran household for whom God remains silent would have been frightfully dull. Rendered by Bergman, the story absorbed me, even the frightening rape scene. Spring served as the perfect introduction to the oeuvre that brought us The Seventh Seal, Smiles of a Summer Night, and Wild Strawberries. Thanks largely to the visual artistry of Sven Nykvist, The Virgin Spring achieves a stark beauty that, like many other Bergman works, haunts me in a way no other cinematographer can. Like Vittorio Storaro, the man does not shoot subjects; he paints with light. That Bergman was able to achieve a glow to this film nearly five decades ago that remains pristine to this day is nothing short of remarkable. From the night of that revelatory first viewing, I have regarded Ingmar Bergman as one leg of a worldly tripod who, alongside Federico Fellini and Akira Kurosawa, will always stand as a giant in the realm of cinema.

The French Connection - I've always been a sucker for a good action flick. The pulse-pounding stimulus of gun fights, car chases, hand-to-hand combat, and massive explosions rarely fails to hook me. Throw the cop-robber dynamic into the mix and the result is a winning combination. That was precisely the impression William Friedkin's Oscar-winning crime yarn left upon my first viewing weeks before I began my senior year of high school. From the opening fade-in of the French café to the closing shootout in the abandoned factory, I sat galvanized at the edge of my seat. Once again, I encountered a film where all areas of production clicked into place like gears in a Swiss clock. The performances are among some of the most realistic I've ever seen, the editing is breathless (especially during the famous train chase scene), Don Ellis' score fits the action like a tailored suit, and the writing crackles with streetwise attitude. As soon as I finished watching this movie, I returned it to the video store, drove to the mall, and bought a copy for myself. Since that day, I estimate that I've seen Connection fifteen times -- and each viewing brings a new discovery. (e.g., the action jumps back and forth between the heroes and villains comic book style, the editing is comprised totally of cuts save for the opening fade-up of Marseilles, the direction of movement flips many times during chase scenes to suggest how difficult it is to catch a criminal) As a side note, any friend who visited my house that year could not leave until they watched the famous chase scene. My attempt to screen the sequence at a cast party for a school play I directed was met with a scattered chorus of "Oh God, not again".

Yojimbo - This title shares a ranking with Ikiru as my favorite Kurosawa film. The story brims with despicable characters, deception, double-crosses, prostitution, severed appendages, murderous misdeeds, and close-ups of blood among other unpleasantries...and yet, it succeeds as a comedy. I first saw Yojimbo in early 1997, one of the many free rentals I enjoyed while working at Hollywood Video. Toshiro Mifune cast an immortal prototype of the laconic assassin for hire that Clint Eastwood would later use as inspiration for his "Man with No Name" hero of the spaghetti westerns that catapulted him to international fame. What struck me about the character of Sanjuro is that he possessed all of the fighting skills of a samurai warrior, but none of the Bushido values of compassion, loyalty, or humility. In spite of his arrogance, I couldn't help but be drawn to his dangerous, rugged charisma. The final duel between Mifune and Tatsuya Nakadai's pistol-packing villain is every bit as riveting on the tenth viewing as it is when seen for the first time. One would be hard-pressed to find a sequence where the music blends so perfectly with the action on screen.

Citizen Kane - I first saw the film often hailed as the greatest ever made in June of 1996, one week before graduating high school. Early in the day of that memorable viewing, I submitted the final draft of my high school senior project research paper, "A Brief History of American Film". To reward myself, I rented this film from Blockbuster...and to this day, I cannot believe that I omitted this indispensable cinematic landmark -- not to mention the career of its genius creator -- from my studies! Having been exposed to years of media parody growing up, the secret of Rosebud had already been spoiled for me (just as the shocking surprise at the end of Psycho had already been spoiled for me), and the film still astounded me. The techniques that directors use left and right today (sets with ceilings, deep-focus photography, the synchronization of rooms lighting up with orchestral cues) all seemed new, and that night when I watched Kane for the first time, I felt like I was seeing those "cine-tricks" for the first time. Whenever I watch the film, a part of me temporarily transforms into a giddy 1941 filmgoer witnessing creative barriers being broken.

Cool Hand Luke - Here is yet another entry from that seminal spring of 1995. I first saw this film broadcast on TBS, and then ran straight to the mall to buy my own copy. I was going through a non-conformist period of sorts, and found an instant hero in Paul Newman's Christ-like chain gang prisoner. Readers who recall my obituary post for Newman know that this film contains, in my opinion, the best performance he ever gave. For me, Cool Hand Luke proves a first-class example of a gifted actor vanishing completely into a character. The care-free gait in his walk, the easygoing rhythm of his speech, the way he jumps out of bed, the way he stares at the ground, and that irresistible smile all combine to form a complete character painted with masterful brushstrokes. Newman's rendering of the Virgin Mary song never fails to get me every time I see it, even after all these years.


Vertigo - I first saw this film during my freshman year of college in the fall of 1996, and it still irks me that the mood wasn't right. It was late at night, I was exhausted from a full day of studies and running, and I kept nodding off to sleep. One could liken the experience to going on a first date with a beautiful woman while fighting a merciless migraine. Too much of the movie simply flew by me. Then, I saw the film for the second time in my mentor's Hitchcock/Spielberg seminar in spring of 1998 and the experience wiped my prior viewing from memory. Though the room was a bit chilly and the soundtrack was muddied from age, the environment could not have provided me with a better opportunity to absorb the myriad subtleties of Alfred Hitchcock's quintessential portrait of obsession. The brilliant use of psychological color, the haunting score by Bernard Herrmann, and Jimmy Stewart's incredible performance as the tortured detective (the best he ever gave under Hitchcock's direction) all contribute to the film's haunting effect on me. For the record, Vertigo tops my list of Hitchcock films as my personal favorite, with North By Northwest and Psycho trailing close behind.

One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest - Though I first saw Milos Forman's adaptation of Ken Kesey's novel in its entirety in (you guessed it) the spring of 1995, I had seen bits and pieces of it as a kid whenever it was on TV. My folks made a point of watching it every Easter without fail. Just as I took an instant liking to Cool Hand Luke, I admired the cool, smiling confidence in R.P. McMurphy. I often adopted shades of this persona to hide behind at school whenever I was forced to cope with stress, laugh off criticism, or deal with bullies. Nicholson's performance aside, Cuckoo's Nest contains plenty of memorable moments that translate to movie magic. Among them, McMurphy's color commentary of a baseball game played on a darkened television moves the rebel in all of us who dreams of disrupting the abusive power structure of the Establishment. It is a simple scene that illustrates how a different point of view can open people's minds to new discoveries, and reminds us that those who dance are considered insane by those who cannot hear the music. Then, there is the staggering finale that begins on a note of tragedy and ends on a note of triumph. No matter how many times I promise myself in advance to keep it together when this scene plays, I always break down in tears. One would have to be made of stone to not be moved by the sight of a mercy killing followed by a daring escape. What One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest says to me is that there's a little bit of Randle McMurphy in all of us. It's a timeless story that inspires cowards to find courage they never knew they had, it makes burned-out workers quit their miserable jobs, and it turns apolitical citizens into activists. In short, one for the ages.

There you have it, dear readers. You have just caught a glimpse of a man who not only watches movies and not only reads movies, but consumes and enjoys movies as often as possible. Each of these movies kindles the curious adventurer in me. I hope I never lose that passion that makes my food taste better, the air sweeter, and the seventh art a part of my life. Now it's your turn to reveal what moves you up on that screen. What are your Epiphany films? As always, leave your comments and I'll be back soon with another treasure chest from my youth.

Oscar Broadens Top Field to Ten Contenders

The Academy Awards are getting an overhaul. In the most surprising news to come from Oscar headquarters in years, the Best Picture category is being expanded from five to ten nominees. This decision marks the first time that more than five Best Picture nominees will be recognized since 1943, the year Casablanca won the top honor. Read the bombshell news story here.

Although this comes as good news for producers, directors, and other artists involved with Oscar bait films due for release this fall, the change presents a number of potential problems. For one, doubling the number of nominees to present will increase the already long running time of the telecast. Since the Oscar ceremony is no stranger to bad ratings, this might not be a wise decision from a fiscal standpoint. Oscar organizers have to remember that American audiences have some of the shortest attention spans in the world. If a program fails to provide a consistent source of audiovisual stimulation, the viewer will tune out.

One does not have to be a Hollywood insider to know the reason behind the expansion. When the nominations for the 81st Academy Awards were announced five months ago, many awards trackers, among whom I count myself, found the following words escaping our lips when reviewing the five films nominated for Best Picture of the Year: "Where the hell is The Dark Knight?" Kevin Smith hit the nail on the head when he called the picture "The Godfather, Part II of comic book films" last summer. Of course, I made my displeasure at the Academy's elitist omission known shortly after the nominations were announced. For The Dark Knight and other great films released last year, the double-up comes as too little, too late.

This brings up another problem. 2008 was a sensational year for cinema. An output that strong in both quality and quantity does not occur every year. Should the worst case scenario unfold one year whereby five decent films stand out from an abysmal crowd as the best of the worst, would that leave the Academy to scrape the bottom of the barrel for five stinkers to fill the vacancies? On the other hand, suppose the world sees another banner year for movies in the near future. With the roster bumped up to ten competitors, can we really count on the Academy to find at least one film viewers would tune in to see win a few statuettes on show night? Ideally, the widening of the competitive margin would spur Academy voters to drop their snooty sensibility like a hot rock and recognize top grossing films that deserve to be in the running. I shudder to think that the Academy would deliberately omit another Dark Knight from the top category with the number of entries now at ten.

Nominating films for major awards is a balancing act. While it does require a discerning mind to point out efforts worthy of accolades, ("best" is the first word of every category for a reason) there is such a thing as taking that mindset too far. To dismissively regard all popular movies as those pictures simply because they perform well at the box office is a tremendous mistake. Even if the Academy is represented by a group of voters whose tastes do not uniformly align, the one fact on which they must all agree is that it is possible to make blockbusters with artistic merit. It's been done before and it will certainly by done again. In my lifetime, there has been no stronger exemplification of this rule than Raiders of the Lost Ark.

With this, I hereby enforce an ad hoc policy on the Academy: from this day forward, said voters must nominate no fewer than one top grossing film for Best Picture every year. It's only fair, it will bring good ratings, and it will help repair your reputation as an out-of-touch country club who consistently alientates the public. You've got your work ahead of you, AMPAS. If you can't find one popular movie to include among the top contenders from here on out, the rest of us will know you haven't got much sense.

Here is where I'll submerge my impulse to expound what the change will mean for other categories and will instead open discussion for your thoughts. What do you think about the Academy widening the Best Picture category? Do you think it's a wise decision or a foolish one? Had the Academy made this decision last year, do think The Dark Knight would have been nominated for Best Picture? Whatever your thoughts, feel free to sound off.

Au Revoir, Monsieur Jarre

1924-2009

The world of cinema has lost one of its most gifted composers. Maurice Jarre, the man who brought us the timeless melodies of many classic movies, died last Saturday at the age of 84. Dennis McLellan of The Los Angeles Times has a fitting obituary here.

Rather than using the written word to recall Jarre's life, this blogger prefers the only substitute that could ever summate the beauty and genius of his legacy, the music itself. Constantin Stanislavski once said that music is the only way to the heart. A simple listen to the creations of Maurice Jarre affirms the late Russian theorist's observation.

To close this tribute, I leave you with a sample of Monsieur Jarre at work. Here are a series of excerpts from the scores of Lawrence of Arabia, Doctor Zhivago, and Jacob's Ladder. Good night, Maestro.

End of the Road for the Oscars

1927-2009

In the saddest and most shocking movie news item of the century, AMPAS president Sid Ganis held a press conference this morning in Los Angeles, where he announced that there will be no more Academy Awards ceremonies once his term ends this September. Read the breaking news story here.

Movies à la Carte

Dinner and a movie has long been a popular way for people to spend a night out. For as long as movies have been around, millions of Americans have enjoyed countless evenings bookending these two dependable sources of recreation. However, a recent article in the city life section of MSN reports that a number of establishments across the country are starting to combine the two customs.

Let me begin by stating for the record that I am as opposed to this ritual as an old school film fan can get. This revelation no doubt comes as a surprise to many who know me. Since I am of Italian ancestry, one would think that my passions for food and movies would naturally merge. But alas, that is not the case. Granted, I do enjoy each of these activities, but separately. I'll elaborate on this later, but first I must recount a personal experience.

One Friday night eight years ago, I picked up my then-girlfriend from her apartment to take her out on a date. When we spoke on the phone earlier that day, she mentioned a place she had heard about called The Cinema Grill. This North Seattle establishment had only been in business a short while and had gained notoriety for serving food inside its theaters. Intrigued by the newness of the idea, I went along with her suggestion that we pay the innovative cineplex a visit.

Once inside, we took our seats on padded barstools and placed our orders. While waiting for our food, we talked about how the trend could very well sweep the nation given a few years time. I observed how it makes sense from an efficiency expert's point of view. By eating and seeing a movie in one location, I remarked, the trip to a restaurant beforehand or afterward is rendered unnecessary. People are growing busier with each passing day, and don't have as many discretionary hours as they once did. Thanks to modern technology, our lives have grown so busy that we feel the urge to combine certain activies. We drive while talking on the phone. We listen to life coaching programs on our iPods while exercising. Some of us even practice yoga and pilates while sitting at our computers. Dinner at the cineplex fits right into that multitasking fold.

While opining that those in the raging hormone demographic would no doubt appreciate having more of their evening available for bedroom recreation, the lights went down and the previews began. Our food arrived just as the movie started. Gaping at Guy Pearce's hand shaking a Polaroid picture, I reached for what I thought was a hot wing but instead plucked one of my girlfriend's nachos from her plate. Save for locating the napkin dispenser moments later, my eyes never left the screen.

Though I would later go on to select Memento as my favorite film of 2001, I wondered if dining on sports bar menu items added to my enjoyment of the picture. After giving the matter some thought, I concluded that the food was an unnecessary distraction and that I would have loved my viewing more had I seen it in a regular theater. Never mind the fact that Christopher Nolan's audacious detective story is an elaborately constructed brainteaser that requires the higher-order cognitive processing skills of the smartest viewer. I would take that position even if I had seen The Mummy Returns at The Cinema Grill. If I found the idea exciting going in, I found it obtrusive in retrospect. To me, having dinner in a movie theater was like joining The Century Club: it was an ordeal through which I put myself one time just to say that I did it. I haven't been back since, and I certainly don't plan on returning.

Whenever I dine on a special meal, the only accompaniment I prefer is jazz or classical music playing softly in the background, and even that's optional when I'm in the company of pleasant people. Conversely, I don't always like to eat while watching a movie. Due to my experience at The Cinema Grill, I find food a hindrance to a movie that demands (and deserves) my full attention. As a rule, the only foodstuffs I consume in a movie theater are popcorn and Coca-Cola -- and that's just when I see a summer blockbuster. I don't need chicken wings, fried pickles, miniburgers, onion rings, mozzarella sticks, jalapeño poppers, deli sandwiches, garlic fries, Waldorf salad, quesadillas, babyback ribs, bruschetta, rack of lamb, escargot, foie gras, shrimp toast, filet mignon, lobster tails, cole slaw, claw chowder, a sashimi plate, pączki, semla, strawberry cheesecake, tiramisu bars, flan, zabaglione, pistachio ice cream, or an oil drum full of pilsner to wash it all down. Just give me my popcorn and sugar water and I'm content. Like peanuts and beer at the ballpark, it's a satisfying combination. Anything more is distracting.

Maybe it's my ADD that keeps my mind from functioning on more than one track at a time. One of the best compliments I've ever received came to me during my undergraduate years at Pacific Lutheran University. A fellow student and I were sitting in a coffee shop when she broke her own train of thought to make a personal observation. "Do you know why I like talking to you? It's because you don't listen to people while their speaking. You consider them." After a slight pause, I retorted, "A rare benefit of ADD." She made my day with her words, and I remain flattered by them to this day. She was right. I don't just listen to people, I consider them -- and that goes for pretty much anything. If I'm genuinely in interested in a conversation, an idea, a book, a news article, a painting, a piece of music, or a movie, I give it my full, undivided attention.

Basic business sense dictates that movie theaters cannot survive on the sales of movie tickets alone. Concessions account for the majority of a theater's revenue, and it's been that way for as long as the communal movie house has existed. I realize that peripherals are necessary to the success of any product, but why did the trend have to get so out of hand? Increasing the quality of the movies would seem a viable response to this problem, but it seems that people would rather spend their hard-earned money on a ticket to an abysmal movie coupled with large portions of snack bar offerings than on a decent feature alone. I first saw trouble in River City when theater lobbies expanded their concessions menus to include ice cream, hot dogs, and bulk bin candy stands that allow patrons to load up on sugary vices by the pound. When I first caught sight of those atrocious provisions being cleaned out by a swarm of sweet tooth nursing moviegoers, I asked myself, "Are these people here to see a movie or to pig out on junk food?" To this day, I remain convinced that most people who bring vast quantities of food into a theater are lonely binge eaters who don't care what's on the screen; they just need a series of audiovisual stimuli to keep them company while they gorge themselves on garbage. Theoretically, one could argue that businesses like The Cinema Grill not only attract a classier cross-section of hungry fans but also enable nervous eaters.


The Grand Cinema in Tacoma, Washington has it just right. Their concessions stand serves popcorn with real butter, a handful of brand-name candies, a few fountain drinks, and nothing more. Their lobby radiates an unpretentious warmth and arthouse charm that reminds me of the dignified little theater in The Last Picture Show. It's a noble institution that refuses to be corrupted by the greed-driven, faceless machine of corporate America.

The advent of one-stop shopping clearly has a hand in movie theaters morphing into restaurants. While packaging products and services does have benefits for those on both sides of the cash register, the practice has its fair share of drawbacks. In the personal development audiobook Lead the Field, Earl Nightingale tells the story of an unnamed gas station owner in Arizona who grows his business from a humble truck stop to a multimillion-dollar enterprise. One day, the man saw a customer standing in front of a gas pump waiting for his tank to fill. Seeing the man with money in his pocket and nothing to spend it on gave the resourceful owner an idea. Inside his shop, he installed a refrigerated case of snack foods and beverages that customers could enjoy while pumping their gas. He then added a full service garage that changed oil, rotated tires, and gave tune-ups. Before too long, he started buying the contiguous properties around his original gas station to accommodate his expanding venture. He started selling lottery tickets. He started cashing checks on Friday. Eventually, he began to sell fishing rods, tackle boxes, tools, home improvement supplies, camping equipment, boats, rifles, ammunition, hunting licenses, and opened a photo processing lab.

While the story is an inspiration to any burgeoning entrepreneur, it raises an important question: did anyone remember the original gas station once the bonanza took off? One wonders how many customers walked into the new digs, took a look around, and with a confused expression, asked, "What kind of place is this, anyway?" If theater owners take their cue from the man in Lead the Field, cineplexes will eventually convert to faceless, generic service centers that cram a supermarket, health club, day spa, megachurch, and movie theater all under one roof. If we are to keep the Wal-Mart effect out of movie theaters, we need to remember why they exist in the first place: to specialize in the presentation of feature-length motion pictures. A theater manager's duty should entail keeping the facility clean, well-lit, and comfortable. The utmost care should be taken to ensure that the picture and sound quality of each film are excellent. As well, every customer should be treated courteously.

Another reason I reject this brand of filmgoing on principle stems from the increased potential for noise. It's bad enough that some couples use movie night as their time to vent about their day while letting their unruly kids run amok (and I'm not the least bit averse to shutting them up), but throw food and alcoholic beverages into the mix and the problem gets ten times worse. Some people act like schmucks when they have too much to drink, and these inconsiderate slobs do not belong in a movie theater. Like any other paying customer, the last thing I want is to hear is some fat, belligerent bricklayer sitting right in front of me scream, "YEAH! TAKE YOUR TOP OFF, HONEY! LET'S SEE THEM TITTIES!" before squeezing off a 90-decibel, nosehair-burning, upholstery-ripping, Blazing Saddles campfire scene, Miles Davis high-note fart.

Serving food in a movie theater could also pose a public health hazard. Suppose the movie playing is a comedy and someone starts to laugh just as they swallow a bite of fried chicken. Someone would have to perform the Heimlich maneuver to keep the poor soul from choking to death. Common courtesy dictates that the movie stops, at least until the crisis is averted. By that time, the evening would already be ruined for many viewers. Even if the poor soul lived to tell about his or her ordeal, he or she could sue the theater/restaurant chain and it would be goodbye to combining dinner and a movie. Don't even try to tell me that's not possible in this litigious culture. To avoid the unthinkable, the establishment could make each viewer sign a release form before entering the theater, much like the ones dance clubs hand you at the door on foam party night. Perhaps a flashing red light installed near the screen could warn the audience of a funny scene a few seconds beforehand, but that would take all the fun out of the movie.



One positive aspect of bringing food into a movie theater is that the actors have no idea that the audience is eating. Broadway would never hear of such a custom, much less tolerate it. In the world of the performing arts, live theatre is sacred ground. Many theater companies along the Great White Way (and across the country) enforce strict no eating or drinking policies not only because the artistic director doesn't want any stains on the seats and carpets, but because it's incredibly rude to the actors. One can only imagine how Katharine Hepburn, James Earl Jones, Kevin Spacey, Hugh Jackman, Brian Dennehy, or George C. Scott would react at the discovery of an uncouth audience member snacking on potato chips in the middle of a performance. True, there are such hybrids as cabaret and dinner theater, but the food served at these venues is often meant to distract you from the abysmal quality of the show. I can count on more than one hand the number of nights I've left a dinner theater performance and overheard someone say, "I've seen Oklahoma done better, but that chicken cordon bleu was delicious!"

Dinner theater is every live performer's worst nightmare. Silverware clinks. Lips pop and smack. Waitstaff dart in and out carrying trays. Glass is bound to shatter, which not only makes a distracting noise but also creates a safety hazard for other patrons and actors who use the dining area to enter, exit, and interact with the audience. What's more, there's almost always a conversation going on at every table. Giving a good performance amid this cacophony requires an actor to have the concentration of an ancient Zen master. I query all thespians: would you want to play a love scene opposite a dashing leading man or a ravishing leading lady in Tony & Tina's Wedding, only to have your precious moment of romance interrupted by the deafening belch of an overfed customer? If you want a cinematic example of how unpleasant it can be performing in a public dining area, watch the following scene from Annie Hall. The only thing missing is the flush of a nearby toilet.



For those wondering if there is any hope to be found amid my doom and gloom forecast, be assured. A restaurant attached to the theater just might be the best alternative to simultaneous eating and movie watching. Ideally, the exit doors would be placed so that outgoing foot traffic spills right into its entryway instead of the parking lot or corridor. Picture the exits of Disneyland rides leading straight into the gift shops for a clear idea of the blueprint. No movie theater in the United States is built quite like it (at least as far as I know; leave a comment if I'm wrong) and I think I have the perfect occasion for putting my idea to the test. In three years, Lawrence of Arabia will celebrate its 50th anniversary. The screening could be held at Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas. Damascus would seem a more appropriate location, but Sin City is friendly soil. If they're still with us, Peter O'Toole and Omar Sharif could arrive at the premiere on camelback.

After the movie, those in attendance would walk directly from the theater into a five-star restaurant serving a full menu of Middle Eastern cuisine. (Bobby Flay and Gordon Ramsay would jump at that gig in a minute.) Should find yourself crying foul at my idea on the grounds of commercial exploitation, remember that Lawrence of Arabia is a classic. This is the kind of treatment the film deserves. An evening like that would no doubt bring the film a new generation of fans. Besides, discussing a great movie fresh after a viewing among engaging people is so much more enjoyable when done at a restaurant instead of a cramped lobby or coffee shop.

This brings me to my last point, which is also my first point. Movies and food should be consumed -- and digested -- separately, not simultaenously. It's too much for the mind and body to take in all at once. It slows both metabolism and brain function. If you really want to appreciate all a movie has to offer, follow this advice. Work up a good appetite at the theater, then reward yourself with dinner afterward. Good food promotes healthy discussion. The solitude a quiet meal for one provides can be sublime, but dining in groups can be one of life's greatest joys, and it's certainly not meant to be a silent affair. Too much quiet in a dining environment can be awkward, and the tension can ruin the enjoyment of the food. I've always said that if people insisting on remaining silent while dining in groups, then how are they any different than prisoners, pigs, or cattle? If a rich pasta sauce glides across your palate with a seductive blend of flavors, then you have every right to vocalize your pleasure, but only in the right environment. On the other hand, if you find yourself moved by a particular moment in a movie, the best response (with few exceptions) is reverent silence.

I leave you now with a clip from The Last Picture Show. This scene features a small town movie theater that strikes my conservative sensibility as the perfect film viewing environment. Elegiac in its mourning of a tradition -- and an America -- lost to the winds of change, this masterwork certainly qualifies as what Robert Altman would call a sandcastle picture.