Take me to church

The year was 1994, probably a Friday or Saturday in August - it was still summer vacation, so everything was alright.
It was the Summer of Gump - my father & I visited the theater approx. 6 or 7 times to soak up the pop culture pinnacle of 90s Hanks, and when we weren't at the theater, we'd rotate the soundtrack album and Alan Silvestri's score in the car, on cassette.
And on this night - this night in August, which would be the last time I've seen it in a cinema - I committed a bold act of rebellion against my own strict discipline mixed with the comfortable familiarity of having seen it half a dozen times, and I left my seat to go to the bathroom during the third act. And it was on this journey when I stopped - either voluntarily or by some metaphysical force - and stood in the cathedral-like ballroom off of which the multiplex of theaters branch from. Surrounded by huge cardboard and vinyl promotional art for Timecop and Terminal Velocity while the muffled sounds of It Could Happen to You and The Mask permeated the air, I was struck with what alcoholics refer to as 'a moment of clarity.'

I've always been self-aware as "the movie kid": by my own proclamation and in social standing. And much like the way religious folks can become cured (or damned) simply by the power of suggestion, I too, in that moment, was overcome with the capacity of my own 'belief system.'
Standing there in this empty temple of Cinema, I absorbed my surroundings: in this time and place, all movies - past, present, and future - would show me The Way, and they would be housed in this dimly-lit sanctuary of butter and carpeting.

And like any religion, it required a child-like naivete - which any 11 year old still retains a bit of; most of my prejudices and cynicism had yet to blossom and I felt like I'd never be old enough to move out of this house.

This was 25 years ago. Eventually Shakespeare fell in love, the King returned, and God was dead. But it was the seed that was planted - long before that night - that offsets any critical hostility or conservative views that I have today against the medium.
Just about everybody will tell you they like movies, or even love movies, but how deep is your love? I really mean to learn. We take up plenty of space on this site talking about hamburgers, Halloween, and Hyrule, but it always comes back to film. It's that original passion for the art form that sparked this site, and we've always assumed its readers shared that passion beyond "casual distraction" - as movies are often dismissed. Where is the line between hobby & obsession? Between knowledge & wisdom? Subservience & faith? And which side of the line are you on?

I go back there occasionally - in my mind - standing alone in that lobby, age 11, full of Skittles and silence. And I stopped frequenting that particular theater soon thereafter - in the past 25 years, it'd changed management infinity times, resulting in a steady, vile breakdown in the quality of the prints, the sound systems, the staff, the seating, the overall decor and general upkeep. And I only mention this now for a coupla reasons...
One is that this was my theater for the most formative events in my career as a kid; going there and experiencing Batman, Ninja Turtles, Edward Scissorhands, Dracula, A League of Their Own, Tommy Boy, Braveheart, 12 Monkeys, Mrs. Doubtfire, Titanic, and countless, countless other examples of classic cinema forced me to leave my own deep metaphysical footprint prominently on the property.
Secondly, in some bizarre tangible metaphor, the steady deterioration of the multiplex nearly coincided with me distancing myself from mainstream movies as they gradually drifted into directions I'd had no interest in. It was like the barometric connection between E.T. and the flowers.
And lastly - I still go to the movies (a different theater, of course), less for the films themselves & largely for the salt & liquid butter. But wherever I go - big or small, multiplex or underground - I still get that tickle and I can't shake the feeling that everything's gonna be wonderful --even though it's not, and I know it.

- Paul