Duck out of work, go see a movie

A few words about refreshment

“Mad Men,” dir. Chris Manley

Send an email to your boss. Let them know you’ve got some appointment, or maybe you’ve got to meet up with a contractor for a quote on your kitchen. It doesn’t really matter what excuse you give, just something that can get you out of work for a few hours. But instead of an appointment, or a meeting with a contractor, you’ll take a trip to a nearby movie theatre. Pick a movie, it doesn’t really matter which one, maybe something that looks more entertaining than weighty. Get yourself a matinée ticket. Maybe you go full Tom Cruise and grab a couple buckets of popcorn. Even better, sneak in a coffee and a pastry. Find your seat amid the vast emptiness of a midday, midweek movie theatre auditorium. Sit a little closer to the screen than you usually might, that way the other loners in the audience are all behind you. There’s comfort in knowing they’re there, that you’re not alone, but you want the screen to be your only distraction. A couple hours later, walk out into the beautiful sunlight.

I don’t work at an office, and I’m a freelancer with no set hours, but going to a movie during the day on a weekday is still out of the ordinary. I’m trying to work, after all. One morning few months ago, though, I woke up feeling restless. In truth, it was December 26, Boxing Day, but as a freelancer, holidays have become almost meaningless to me. I had work that needed finishing; my brain just wasn’t cooperating. In an effort at distraction, I took a look at what movies were playing nearby, thinking I might go see one later. That’s when I saw it. The Varsity, whose showtimes usually start after noon, had booked late morning shows, no doubt taking advantage of the winter break to reach all those patrons off work. September 5 was playing, a movie I’d heard was good, tense, and reasonably thrilling. So I ventured off, walking about 20 minutes through Queen’s Park and the UofT campus toward Bay and Charles. The skies were clear, the weather unseasonably warm. I bought a coffee and a croissant and I went up to the movie theatre. The screening started at 10:30am. Nearly 20 minutes later, the feature finally about to start, I tweeted.

We cinephiles like to get romantic about movie theatres. The big screen, the big sound, the popcorn. It’s a nostalogic experience, and often not just for the experiences we had ourselves, but also for the images of moviegoing that exist in our minds from their depiction in so many classic movies. Often, when we evangelize for movie theatres, we talk about the communal experience of sitting in a dark room with friends and strangers, collectively focused on the same piece of art playing before us, reacting together, laughing together, crying together, jumping in fright together. Without any words exchanged (seriously, you all better be shutting the fuck up at the movies, and cool it with the whispering, too, “Whispering is talking, it bothers people,”) community is formed.

But in the same way that going to the movies can be a social experience, it can sometimes be wonderfully solitary. I go to the movies by myself all the time, to be by myself. Even in a packed crowd, there’s a uniquely isolating quality to being in a movie theatre once the lights go down. Other people are there around you, but you’re still on your own, silently watching, thoughts bouncing around your mind unspoken. When some people argue against the value of movie theatres, saying the “social experience” factor is bullshit because it’s dark and nobody’s talking, they’re wrong at an experiential level, but they’re also wrong that there’s no value to be found in that particular kind of isolation. Alone, in public, with just a movie and your thoughts. Magic happens in that liminal space.

Most theatres don’t screen movies in the morning anymore, and fewer still on weekday mornings. An early afternoon matinée is the next best thing (though matinée literally means morning, so movie theatres need to get their shit together.) In older days, when moviegoing was still just a cheap, regular habit and single-screen theatres were dotted all over major cities, weekday matinées drew a particular crowd. The jobless, to be sure, but also your loners, and loafers, and door-to-door salesmen, and drivers. They weren’t there excited to see a specific movie, they just needed a place to while away a few hours. Whatever was playing was fine. The theatre was a place to nap, to be alone for a bit, to get some amusement amid the dreary day-to-day. It was an escape in a very real way.

An escape, though, is only as good as what you’re escaping from, and the amazing thing about seeing a movie early on a bustling weekday is the contrast: from light into darkness and back out into light again. It’s a regenerative experience, and a reorienting one. Rather than a nighttime outing, in which going to the movies is more purely recreational, the midweek matinée acts like an extended smoke break (unfortunately for Don Draper, they don’t let you actually smoke anymore.) It’s a space in which to collect yourself, to engage with yourself and a work of art, and to emerge refreshed and enriched, with new perspective, ready to tackle the rest of the day. Do yourself a favour. Re-read that first paragraph. Take it as instruction. Thank me later.