Tales from the projection booth: Silence is Golden

Well I know you were all bitterly disappointed that I brushed over Big Momma’s House 3 in my last post so gather round friends, for I have a tale to tell.  A tale of something that happened at work today which gave more insight and a better review of the film than any critic could possibly provide.

I work as a projectionist and after starting the film (screen 1, 3.35pm if you’re interested, haha!  You’re not.  And you know what if you are, stop reading now, I don’t want you here.  There’s plenty more internet to explore.  Go look at Two Girls One Cup and then excitedly tell your dumb little friends how ‘hilarious’ it is.), I left the projection booth, sneering at the people who paid to watch such cinematic swill.  Later, while doing my routine screen checks, I waltzed in during the film and as one might expect, the auditorium was filled with young children and teenagers.  And guess what?  Apart from a single outburst from what can only have been a lone howler monkey enjoying the riotous larks...Dead.  Fucking.  Silence.

And while that seemed to sum up Big Momma’s House rather neatly, what I couldn’t help wondering is WHY CAN’T KIDS BEHAVE LIKE THAT WHEN I’M TRYING TO WATCH A FILM?  It just doesn’t seem fair.  Unfortunately folks, the situation seems to be this: If you want kids to sit in stony silence, allowing you a peaceful viewing experience, you may have to limit your cinema viewings to films  starring Martin Lawrence.  It gets me wondering if this wouldn’t be a better way to market his – ugh – ‘comedies’. 

‘Want to sit in a quiet cinema with nary a chuckle nor murmur to be heard?  Come see Big Momma’s House 3!  Yes it’s shit, but at least the kids keep their Cheesestring holes shut!’

I might watch it if I saw that on the poster.

No, I wouldn’t.

This week's releases. Ha! If only life were that simple.

In a year that, not yet into its third month, has already given us such cinematic gold as Black Swan, True Grit and The Fighter, I’m sure you’ll agree it seems a sad week for cinema when Friday’s two biggest releases were Big Momma’s House 3 and a documentary about Justin Bieber.  Yes, some genius decided that the lovable scamp with such delicate, feminine features yet the eyebrows of Dennis Norden has had, in his sixteen years in this world, a life interesting and inspiring enough to warrant a feature length documentary.  But you know what, no matter how tempting it may be to write the boy off as an irritating, weasely, repugnant, sickly monkey-boy slice of thoroughbred Americana who epitomises everything wrong with contemporary popular culture, I feel I have to constantly remind myself that he is not the enemy, and I implore you to do the same.  Put aside that hatred people, he’s just a boy.  And there’s something pretty messed up about grown adults hating a child.  The real villain of this piece is a man who for some reason goes by the name of Usher, and who I'm told ‘discovered’ young Bieber.  Now I don’t claim to know a lot about this character but I have no reservations whatsoever about focusing a direct beam of concentrated hate at a man who is knowingly using this boy to arouse naive pre-pubescent girls for his own financial gain.  Know your enemy friends, and target your anger accordingly.  

But shit, sorry, this is supposed to be a film blog sooooooooo...Big Momma’s House.  Oh, Lord.  I don’t know where to start.  So I won’t, you know the deal anyway. 

What a week.

Is it just me or does all the overblown hyperbole we are force fed about film piracy damaging the film industry and endangering future film production suddenly seem a strangely attractive notion?  If only any of it were true.

BAFTA night? Oh go on then.

Sunday night was BAFTA night and I thought I’d better write about it here, so here’s my rundown of the evening, as best I can remember it.

A misjudged opening to the event perplexes the audience by having some people dancing for a bit, and then some awards are presented by stammering fools who appear never to have spoken in front of other humans before.  People like Nicholas Hoult, who is presumably just completing his Key Stage 2 reading exercises.  Helena Bonham Carter talked for a long while, Colin Firth, who bears an odd resemblance to the BAFTA statue itself,  gave a curiously well planned and rehearsed acceptance speech for winning Best Actor (anyone would think he expected to get it), Samuel L. Jackson is the only non-white attendee on stage all night (no point to make here, just sayin’) and David Fincher couldn’t be there ‘cause he’s busy making a completely unnecessary remake that no right-minded person wants.  Or “his next gift to us”, as the thoroughly unlikeable Andrew Garfield puts it.  The most exciting part of the night came when Dominic Cooper and Rosamund Pike stepped up to present an award, coming across like a pair of giggling, babbling morons, and Pike opened the envelope and almost revealed the winner before the nominations had been read out, prompting host Jonathan Ross to jump in and stop her.  In fact the whole bumbling affair seemed to be brimming with such amateurish idiocy, Ross’ professionalism just about holding things together. 

There were however, a few moments which proved a delight to behold.  The viewing public did the right thing by voting for Tom Hardy in the Rising Star category, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo finally got academy recognition, winning in the unnecessarily wordy Best Film not in the English Language category and, much to my surprise and delight, Noomi Rapace was nominated in the best actress category.  I mean she was never gonna win, but still.  I was very pleased to see Chris Morris win Outstanding Debut by a British Director for Four Lions, which was far and away the best comedy of last year.  He wasn’t there to accept but come on, can you really see the misanthropic genius at an event like this?  I’d have been disappointed if he was.  And then there was the beautiful ending to a predictably underwhelming night when the Legend nay, the God, Sir Christopher Lee took to the stage to accept his Fellowship award.  Eloquent, humble, he spoke with a grace and humility that truly exposed the falseness and self importance of many of the younger, higher-paid ‘stars’ who graced the stage that night (Garfield, I'm looking at you).  One little complaint though: Why oh why oh why oh why did whoever put together the montage of Lee’s clips feel the need to throw in THREE clips of Count fucking Dooku?  Piss on the man’s big moment why don’t you.

On the first day he created 3D. And on the second, he had a tantrum because people weren't using it properly.

So this week saw the release of not very anticipated 3D caving thriller Sanctum or, to give it its full US title, James Cameron’s Sanctum.  Haven’t seen it, can’t imagine I will, and so I’ll reserve judgement.  To some degree.  I haven’t heard anything positive though.

It’s supposedly based on the true story of a group of cavers (one of them co-writer Andrew Wight.  Kerching!) who were stuck for two days when a cave collapsed around them.  It was shot with the same 3D techniques used for Avatar and is the second feature directed by Alister Grierson, but who cares about all that shit, I see James Cameron’s name on the poster!  Yes, the man who gave the world hope, the man who invented dreams, and children.  The man whose nickname I’m told is ‘Iron Jim’ (though I’m dubious anyone but himself has ever referred to him as such.  From here on in however, I’m absolutely going to).  He’s also the man who had a big old paddy over Alexandre Aja’s slap in the face of pretentiousness, Piranha 3D, last year declaring the film “exactly an example of what we should not be doing in 3D”, then babbling on about how a film of this type “cheapens the medium”.  Who the Sam Worthington is he to be instructing film makers on how they should be using their technology?  Well I suppose he did invent 3D.  And motion pictures.  What an utter prick.

See the thing is, 3D absolutely is a gimmick, and is best served with cheesy shocks and cheap thrills; that’s what it’s for.  Actually that’s not what it’s for, it’s to make film piracy more difficult and bring punters back to the cinema, where they will be charged a weighty mark-up on their already outlandish ticket price, before having it sheepishly explained to them that the glasses will cost them further.  Nevertheless, in my mind at least, 3D is best enjoyed with comedic shocks and over-the-top scares.  Indeed, the best use of 3D I’ve seen thus far would be in Joe Dante’s ludicrously enjoyable The Hole. 

I’m obviously mistaken however, as a far higher authority tells us that 3D is about immersion, drawing the viewer further into a film’s world than has ever been possible.  Again, I am forced into disagreeing with Iron Jim, as I find full immersion difficult with an ill-fitting pair of plastic specs sitting on my snout and ghostly double-images floating about in the space between me and the screen.  As I said, I do think 3D has its place, but to me it has the exact opposite effect to what Iron Jim is so keen on telling us.  3D has the somewhat Brechtian effect of distancing the viewer from the art, giving us something to enjoy and consider outside of the story we see unfolding and making us conscious of the mechanics behind the art.  What a complete and utter prick.

As I have said, I can’t really give an opinion of Sanctum, but I won’t pretend it didn’t raise a smile to see it underperforming at the box office.  After all, it’s made far less in its opening weekend than Piranha did.  And if you’re gonna take a true story of an ordeal suffered by several people (not just your co-writer), turn it into a 3D thriller and promote it as a horror flick , maybe you should also give some serious thought as to who’s really “cheapening the medium”.  You prick.