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Famous Last Words of Video Customer |
 Video rental customer during main credits of the latest Sandra Bullock film |
 Video rental customer after first 20 minutes of the latest Sandra Bullock film. |
How a diehard movie fan
can blow it really bigtime
By PATRICK McFADDEN
of TheColumnists.com
Years ago a couple of friends and I were sitting around the house watching “Philadelphia,” when one of them popped off with an observation that I’ve never forgotten.
You know “Philadelphia,” right? Tom Hanks’s first Oscar performance, where he plays an AIDS sufferer pursuing a discrimination suit against his former employers, who had mercilessly canned him upon discovery of his condition. He’s represented by Denzel Washington, in a fine bit of “homophobe finds redemption” acting.
If I can tax your memory for a moment, do you recall the money shot for Hanks in that movie? The clip that was played while his nomination was being read at the Oscars? Well, Denzel’s over at Tom’s place talking about the case, and Hanks is playing some opera or other and waxing poetic about what it all means.
Suddenly, the light in the scene goes red. I mean, a shocking, vivid, do not adjust your screen, I haven’t seen this much red light since Amsterdam, they should have called this Phila-red-phia, type of red light, okay? The camera takes this high angle of Hanks who is really emoting away with everything he’s got, and BAM, he’s suffused in a red glow.
Anyway, after Hanks is done pouring out his soul on the beauty of the opera, the lights return to normal and everyone exhales and wonders what the heck the deal with the red light was. Guess the director decided he really had to show his chops or something, I don’t know.
So, at that precise moment, my friend turns to me and says, “You know the greatest thing about that scene? At the end, you don’t even realize the light has changed.”
Swear to God, that’s what he said. We scooped our jaws up from the floor, looked around at each other, and started throwing popcorn at him.
I bring this up not to embarrass my friend, whom I hope no one will tell about this column. This guy, trust me, is one of those achingly intelligent people who can do pretty much anything. He basically decided to go to medical school on a whim, as far as I can tell, okay? But sometimes even otherwise reasonable people can put something so stunningly goofy on the table that you just can’t keep quiet about it, and you have to reach for the popcorn.
My personal blind spot also tends to rear its ugly head regarding the cinema. Specifically rental decisions. For someone who really, really likes movies, I am occasionally capable of some truly astonishing floaters.
Let me give you a recent example. “Hart’s War.” Wow.
I mean, I was standing in the video store, looking at the huge display they’d put up (I’m such a sucker, I know) and I thought to myself, “Bruce Willis? W.W. Deuce? Prisoner of war camp movie? How can I go wrong?”
“How can I go wrong,” is usually a bad sign when it comes to my internal monologue. How wrong can I go? Let me count the ways. My friend, when the only character you’re rooting for by the end of a movie is the Nazi head of a POW camp, you know you need to ask for a mulligan.
I think my all-time turkey rental came upon thinking, “Burt Reynolds? Sylvester Stallone? The thrilling fusion of man and machine that is auto racing? How can I go wrong?” Yes, I rented “Driven.” Ouch. Go ahead, I deserve it. I think forcing your spouse to giggle, eye-roll and snicker her way through this entire movie is probably grounds for divorce in some states.
I’m not alone. One couple I know has a turkey rating system, where one person chooses a movie and, if it’s really bad, the other can apply up to three, um, stars to it. Each star gets the innocent spouse a no-questions-asked movie rental of his or her choice. This poor guy brought home “Con Air” one night, and, if memory serves, it was good for a full three turkey-stars. And I totally understand how it happened. He had a “how can I go wrong” with Nicholas Cage, John Malkovich, Ving Rhames, Steve Buscemi and John Cusack. That’ll be three chick flicks for you, buddy.
My wife and I do not use this system, which is good, because otherwise I’d still be paying off “Driven.” Words fail me.
If there’s any hope for redemption at all, it’s that at least I’ve started breaking myself of the masochistic need to plumb the depths of turkitude by sticking around to see how it all works out. I don’t know why, but when I’ve got a real stinker playing, I’m compelled to watch it to the end.
But I’m getting better about that. Twenty minutes into Sandra Bullock’s utterly unwatchable “Murder by Numbers,” I knew perfectly well that no good could come from this insult to schlock. We’d only been gone from the video store 30 minutes total when we came screeching back into the parking lot to try again.
Yes, “Murder by Numbers.” I know. What can I say, I didn’t even realize the light had changed.
© 2002 by Patrick
McFadden. The illustrations are from IMSI's Master Clips Collection,
1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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