Flight

In no way was I particularly excited to see Flight, starring Denzel Washington - but sometimes there just isn't much selection. In this particular case, I was visiting my family up north, and I had agreed to go to a matinee showing of something. See, on Wednesday's at the Galaxy, they have "Stars and Strollers" which is geared towards going to the movie with your children where the lights are not as dim and nobody is going to get in trouble for having a screaming baby. What ends up happening is all the shows - including the adult rated ones - are empty save for a few people who are not chained to their desks. I imagine the children's movies would be busier, but Flight was empty, save for one other person, myself and parents.

My parents are avid movie goers. They will go see everything, and when the drive in was available they would quite often see the same movies two or three times, just for the sake of going. Going to the movies with my parents brought me back to a rich history of doing just such a thing. There's always a stigma about going with your parents and being embarrassed to be seen; this most often happens when you're a teenager. As a child you don't care, and now, being an adult, you don't care either. I didn't really hit that period during my teenage years where I was afraid to go: I recognized the benefits (they typically pay for the ticket and food) and I love movies. I want to go see these, so when friends are unable or unwilling, the situation becomes ideal.

I must have been seventeen when Lost in Space (1998) came out, and I found myself in the local multiplex with my parents. A couple of years later I would be out to see The Others (2001) and dozens of others throughout my time in high school and university. These two seem prominent in my mind, but not quite as much when I went to see Star Trek Nemesis (2002). Because North Bay had a terrible theatre at the time, the trio of us would often drive out to Sudbury to go to movies. The Silvercity there had stadium seating, big screens and good popcorn, all of which was lacking from the flat theatre in the local mall. I imagine we went at least twice a month, and without incident. But this one particular time, I had to urinate: a lot. I don't know what happened, as I was consuming the regular large soda, but for some reason my bladder decided to go into overdrive and just purge itself of any liquid about halfway through the film. I went for the pee break, rushed back in and was hit with another urge within ten minutes. It was confusing, but I tried to hold it until the end of the film, which was impossible. I ended up going two more times, for a total of three times within the space of thirty minutes (give or take).

This, was embarrassing. My mom whispered to me on my third trip "is everything ok?" Which clearly, it was not. But I know what it looks like: my stomach must have been upset and I was purging number two. I had to assume everyone in the theatre throught I had diarrhea, and I was compelled to announce to them all that it was not the case. It was perhaps the first time I was at the theatre with my parents and I was embarrassed, although not for the typical reasons; certainly, it was nothing they did. But I was affected, as every time I went to the theatre afterward I was paranoid that this urge to pee would hit me again, and I would need to keep getting up. I wanted to sit on the edges so that if I did, I wouldn't have to bother anyone. I didn't buy a drink for ages. After a while, I had anxiety about going to the show, and it began to include things other than bathroom breaks. I can't pinpoint what it was, but can only describe it as a weighty fear that pushed down on my shoulders. It would be present before the movie started, and often midway through. Suffice to say, my enjoyment of movies was being hindered, but I pushed through.

I thought about the anxiety before Flight, as I quite often do. But in the recent months I have let it go, and found peace. If I need to go in the middle of the movie, I would. It's no big deal. If we're five minutes late, that's alright too. Then it happened: about midway through the movie I felt the urge to pee, and recognized that this one was going to hit hard. There was no avoiding it, and I had to go. Instantly I was reminded of the past incident, and I sat back in the theatre worried that I would have to go again. But it didn't matter this time, and it didn't happen. I was able to enjoy the rest of the movie, with an empty bladder and no anxiety.

The movie itself? It was decent, but nothing to get excited about. Denzel does a decent job as he usually does, but I couldn't help but feel like he phoned this performance in a bit. The entire crash sequence is amazing, of course. But I loved the experience; going to the movies with my parents, in the middle of the afternoon, with not a care in the world. Relaxing without feeling like I have something to do at all times has been a struggle, and I think I got a bit of it during Flight.

War of the Worlds

As mentioned a while ago, War of the Worlds (2005) brings me about to face my fears. I casually caught the film just as it started on television the other night and was compelled to continue watching it; as it turns out this stands as one of my favourite films. Perhaps not top ten, but "up there" if you know what I mean - I fully expect that you don't (because I'm not certain myself). Inspired by seeing it on television I quickly switched over the media center so I could watch the movie in Bluray quality high definition, sans commercial breaks. Overall, it makes me appreciate the cinematic quality that Spielberg is so eloquently capable of delivering.

I want to talk about the fear that this movie drives into me though. I've mentioned before that the activities of the alien invaders is exactly what gets my spine tingling when they are able to turn people to dust immediately, and this still holds true. It's the finality, the suddenness of death and the inescapable aspect that really gets me. It's so easy to place myself on the street alongside all the others, watching in horror as those vibrant beams of doom come blasting along the sidewalk, killing indiscriminately. So this brings me to the first fear: immediate, unprepared death.

It's not uncommon for people to console themselves in the death of another when they justify that the person "went quickly" or "without pain." It makes us feel better, knowing that the process of dying - of letting go - will be a peaceful one. And we bring this desire to the most violent of deaths, as we reassure ourselves that the body will shut down the appropriate nerve centers, or will numb us until we simply "fall asleep." The deaths in War of the Worlds are instantaneous and violent: people explode in a flurry of dust. Instant cremation. But upon rewatching, I see that this is not necessarily the case: the most horrific imagery is the initial attack on the street. A woman is running toward us [the camera] when she is hit by the beam. We see her face contort in horror and agony as her cells are de-liquified. For the most brief moment she continues to move when her face is dust, then she explodes. It doesn't look good at all for that painless death, although it does happen relatively quickly. It's the same thing that Star Trek hints at in the episode of The Next Generation when a collector (who has kidnapped Data) is threatening everyone with these rare and in-humane phasers. These phasers function in the same manner as standard-issue ones on the "death" setting, in that they vaporize every molecule, nearly instantly. But they describe that this phaser, in particular, makes that process an agonizing one. The last second of your life will be spent in extreme torture as your body is turned inside out. The standard-issue phasers are somehow more humane in that they make your last second painless (I guess) but still quite final. As I watch people explode into clouds in War of the Worlds, I can't help but think how painful that must be, and I took no solace in how quickly that pain would be over.

This same scene brings me into my second terror: how inescapable death is. We can't outrun it, we can't hide from it: death will catch up with every single one of us, and that scares me. Those kill beams blast apart not only humans, but everything else too: buildings get blasted apart, cars are flipped into the air and generally, chaos ensues with anything the beam touches. Spielberg is quite literally showing us that you can't outrun death. But there are other instances where we see that you can't escape: no matter where Ray (Cruise) brings his family, the pods are there wreaking havoc. Just when you think they catch a bit of a break in the safety of a basement, they are forced to deal with the all-seeing eye, another literal device of the idea that the monster is always watching. They slink from room to room, avoiding the gaze of the eye, but it's practically relentless, and hyper-sensitive to the point where the slightest noise will get their attention. I can't help but think how quickly I would be caught as I'm not positive I could maintain absolute silence for so long. Not to mention that after the eye leaves, the tiny aliens march in out of curiosity, and to add insult to injury, little red veiny alien roots start covering the surface of everything.

When I was younger I would have the odd dream where I couldn't escape. In one instance, it was a giant tyrannosaurus is chasing me, and this rex is unstoppable. I run into a house and he just rips the roof off. In another dream, I'm sitting at my desk when a shadowy figure emerges from the wall and approaches me quickly; backed into the corner with nowhere to go, I await my fate at the hands of a supernatural beast. It's no wonder that War of the Worlds chooses a foe of unknowable strength and ability (as so often science fiction does). It may be weak to simply provide these aliens with the means to do as they please, but it works perfectly in the genre of horror films, which is exactly what Worlds is. Spielberg has returned to his roots of suspense with this adaptation, adding his masterful brush strokes to every frame. Indeed, I once read a critique of this movie years ago stating that Spielberg was a master of the scene, but in this particular case, a failure at bringing a cohesive movie together. I could never see it that way, as I now know that this is actually a horror film. Spielberg is able to bring his expertise in the creation of a scene and deliver to us an entire film that embodies our deepest fears - or at the very least, my own deep fears (aside from spiders and commitment, I suppose). A film could be judged by the emotion it brings out in the viewer, and this is no different here, it's just not the emotion that most people - I think - were expecting. Unlike Independence Day, this movie makes the death ray personal, and relateable. Not one of us is going to hide in Area 51, but we will hide in a basement.  None of us are ever going to fly to the mothership with a computer virus, but we would take a couple of grenades and sacrifice ourselves for our children. And it's these personal, human touches that Spielberg is able to convey perfectly on screen time and again; not just in War of the Worlds, but in all of his masterpieces.