By Anne T. Donahue
This week, I watched the trailer for the Gladiator II twice. The first, I spent consumed by the fact that this was cinema; that two decades after I watched Russell Crowe scream at his Roman audience, I finally felt emotionally and mentally prepared to watch a bunch of dudes fight for their lives on the big screen. The second, I spent thanking whatever-higher-power-that-be that Denzel Washington chose to be an actor because goddamn, I trust him.
I say this as someone who, for the last few years, went to the movies maybe once. Was it the theatres’ fault? Absolutely not: the 2020-2023 stretch was (at least for me) ideal for streaming at home and barely doing that much, and the act of engaging with anything I couldn’t mindlessly scroll through simultaneously felt like too big of a stretch. Plus, I’d spent years absorbing movies and TV like it was my job because it was. Something I loved became indelibly tethered to work, and while “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” is a beautiful idea, it’s not reality in the slightest, and work will always inevitably feel like, well, work.
But that’s all in the past. The first half of 2024 has been plentiful with movies that deserve more than a digital stream, and the second half – see: the season in which award chatter really begins – deserves more than people like me claiming we’ll catch a screening at home, only to find clips on TikTok and consider that “enough.” I want to see Pedro and Paul fight on the big screen. I was born to watch Twisters in theatres. When Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield face love, grief, and whatever else made me cry during the trailer for We Live in Time, I want to revel in those feelings amongst a bunch of people, preferably ones I don’t know and won’t speak with. I want to go to the movies the way I used to – by myself, appointment-viewing style and/or with a pal whose enthusiasm for what we’re seeing is on the same level as mine – and train myself out of thinking that two hours it too long not to be watching a bunch of Instagram stories.
Plus, movie theatres are important, especially the ones in our own communities. When Toronto’s Revue revealed it was in jeopardy due to its landlord’s new business ideals last week, it was inspiring to watch a bunch of people rally around a space that’s historically opened its doors to everybody of all film tastes, and become a beacon in the process. We’re running out of collective experiences outside of sitting online and speaking through our tiny screens – the movies are a mainline to feeling like you’re sharing in something bigger than your own day-to-day narrative. Like feelings.
All of this reads as extremely idealistic, and I know that. But considering most aspects of our current realities are any combination of worst-case scenarios multiplied by a few thousand, it helps to think that appeasing our sense of escapism can also translate into supporting the people who make the movies we love, or the indie theatres that feel like being at a friend’s house. One of my favourite Mad Men lines is the Don/Peggy ethos of “If you don’t like what’s being said, change the conversation.” That’s how I’ve come to see “streaming” and “content” and whatever else we’ve gotten used and now started to be overwhelmed or disenchanted by. I don’t like my current relationship to something that made me so happy, so I’m changing it. Paul, Pedro, and Denzel deserve more than me half-watching them plan, plot, and fight to the death. And honestly? So do I. Life is short, and it’s often quite terrible. I want to submerge myself in somebody else’s story so that when I come back to continue mine, I’m feeling inspired, shaken, or just comforted in knowing a bunch of strangers I just took it alongside with are likely feeling the same way too.
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