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Cloverfield Redux
Feb. 28th, 2008 03:38 pmIt was with great joy that I went with Tabby last night to my second viewing of Cloverfield. Because she has gone back to school and is terribly, terribly busy, I agreed to a theater on her side of town (30-minute drive) (also because apparently this week the film is old news and not playing at very many locations anymore. Had to make room for Step Up 2 The Streets (when we saw the trailer for this, I solemnly vowed to Tery that I would never watch a movie that substituted a number for a word in the title. It can never lead to good)).
It was playing at the Elvis Cinema, which looked classy enough from the outside but turned out to actually be a dollar theater (or in today's economy, a $3.50 theater) -- the appearance of the long-departed Sweeney Todd on the marquee should have been a giveaway, but I was too giddy at the thought of watching Cloverfield again.
I've never really had a problem with dollar theaters before. They're a great place to see things on the big screen that no one else cares about anymore, at a price cheaper than renting. And as I said earlier, it wasn't like we had a lot of choice in the matter. However, in this case the admission price included wall surround speakers that were apparently purely decorative, and a 50-year-old motel air conditioner in the ceiling that rattled and wheezed so loudly that the screen-confined soundtrack had no hope of competing with it. I'm afraid these things, combined with knowing what to expect, greatly diminished the experience for me.
It could have been worse: Whoever started the film immediately took a smoke break, so didn't notice that the picture was only half on the screen. I've seen enough trailers to know that the text on the green preview screen shouldn't be at the bottom. Nor should we only be seeing the actors from the lips up. I gave them a preview and a half to remedy it, then went out to the lobby and approached the first employee I saw.
"Can you help us out? The projector in the Cloverfield theater isn't aimed properly."
The girl seemed skeptical. "We might not be able to do anything about it. Our theater is a little smaller..."
"Could you just come take a look? I can't believe this is how it's supposed to look."
She accompanied me back inside, where thankfully the scene had a very obvious large black space on top and was even more severely cropped. She ran up and fixed it immediately, but not before rolling her eyes to the same degree I often roll mine after encountering a similarly stupid situation left by my co-workers. Your theater is a little smaller, but it wasn't built in the 1920's -- I'm pretty sure your screens should be able to handle most modern films.
There were only four other people in the theater with us, two of which came in 5 minutes late and sat directly in front of us (we moved), and the other two, a father and son duo (presumably), the father of whom kept repeatedly flipping his cell phone open and blinding us. Checking the time? Checking messages? I'm not sure, but for Christ's sake, the film is less than 90 minutes. If you're THAT impatient then why go to the movies at all?
Tabby claimed to like it, despite maintaining a very bored and stoic-looking body posture throughout. She said she needed time to process the intensity of it and would get back to me later. Which could just be a delay tactic after I warned her how much I loved it, but I still appreciated the gesture. As for me, here were some things I noticed the second time: ( ::cut for those of you who insisted on ignoring my resounding recommendation the first time:: )
The story doesn't end there though. I got all the way back on my side of town and stopped for gas. It was then I noticed my wallet missing. GODDAMMIT. I blame all the moving around of my coat, between the fixing of the projector and getting away from the late people. Also I realize if I had stopped to buy popcorn for Tery like I normally do I would have noticed immediately. Karma, you are a cruel mistress.
I called the theater as soon as I got home, and was relieved when they found it. However, retrieving it proved a bit more challenging. I explained that I lived on the opposite side of town, but could my friend stop and pick it up? They suggested I call back the following day and speak to the manager to arrange this. I did so this morning. First obstacle was she hadn't been told anything about my situation, which reminded me a bit of the communication problems that plague the hospital. The second obstacle was her insistence that if I couldn't pick it up in person, my friend would have to be able to describe the wallet (yeah, THAT'S a sure-fire security measure). I asked if I could just give her name and then she could provide ID. Better yet, Tabby obviously knows my name, can even spell my last name (a password in itself) -- how many random strangers off the street would be trying to claim Elaine A-damn-sea-witch's wallet? And how many lost wallets do you pass out on a given day?
Tabby just called me. She asked for the wallet and they handed it over without even asking her name, let alone for a description of it. So much for Elvis Cinema's much-touted security. If she'd arrived a little later they might be giving it away with the purchase of a family snack pack.
It was playing at the Elvis Cinema, which looked classy enough from the outside but turned out to actually be a dollar theater (or in today's economy, a $3.50 theater) -- the appearance of the long-departed Sweeney Todd on the marquee should have been a giveaway, but I was too giddy at the thought of watching Cloverfield again.
I've never really had a problem with dollar theaters before. They're a great place to see things on the big screen that no one else cares about anymore, at a price cheaper than renting. And as I said earlier, it wasn't like we had a lot of choice in the matter. However, in this case the admission price included wall surround speakers that were apparently purely decorative, and a 50-year-old motel air conditioner in the ceiling that rattled and wheezed so loudly that the screen-confined soundtrack had no hope of competing with it. I'm afraid these things, combined with knowing what to expect, greatly diminished the experience for me.
It could have been worse: Whoever started the film immediately took a smoke break, so didn't notice that the picture was only half on the screen. I've seen enough trailers to know that the text on the green preview screen shouldn't be at the bottom. Nor should we only be seeing the actors from the lips up. I gave them a preview and a half to remedy it, then went out to the lobby and approached the first employee I saw.
"Can you help us out? The projector in the Cloverfield theater isn't aimed properly."
The girl seemed skeptical. "We might not be able to do anything about it. Our theater is a little smaller..."
"Could you just come take a look? I can't believe this is how it's supposed to look."
She accompanied me back inside, where thankfully the scene had a very obvious large black space on top and was even more severely cropped. She ran up and fixed it immediately, but not before rolling her eyes to the same degree I often roll mine after encountering a similarly stupid situation left by my co-workers. Your theater is a little smaller, but it wasn't built in the 1920's -- I'm pretty sure your screens should be able to handle most modern films.
There were only four other people in the theater with us, two of which came in 5 minutes late and sat directly in front of us (we moved), and the other two, a father and son duo (presumably), the father of whom kept repeatedly flipping his cell phone open and blinding us. Checking the time? Checking messages? I'm not sure, but for Christ's sake, the film is less than 90 minutes. If you're THAT impatient then why go to the movies at all?
Tabby claimed to like it, despite maintaining a very bored and stoic-looking body posture throughout. She said she needed time to process the intensity of it and would get back to me later. Which could just be a delay tactic after I warned her how much I loved it, but I still appreciated the gesture. As for me, here were some things I noticed the second time: ( ::cut for those of you who insisted on ignoring my resounding recommendation the first time:: )
The story doesn't end there though. I got all the way back on my side of town and stopped for gas. It was then I noticed my wallet missing. GODDAMMIT. I blame all the moving around of my coat, between the fixing of the projector and getting away from the late people. Also I realize if I had stopped to buy popcorn for Tery like I normally do I would have noticed immediately. Karma, you are a cruel mistress.
I called the theater as soon as I got home, and was relieved when they found it. However, retrieving it proved a bit more challenging. I explained that I lived on the opposite side of town, but could my friend stop and pick it up? They suggested I call back the following day and speak to the manager to arrange this. I did so this morning. First obstacle was she hadn't been told anything about my situation, which reminded me a bit of the communication problems that plague the hospital. The second obstacle was her insistence that if I couldn't pick it up in person, my friend would have to be able to describe the wallet (yeah, THAT'S a sure-fire security measure). I asked if I could just give her name and then she could provide ID. Better yet, Tabby obviously knows my name, can even spell my last name (a password in itself) -- how many random strangers off the street would be trying to claim Elaine A-damn-sea-witch's wallet? And how many lost wallets do you pass out on a given day?
Tabby just called me. She asked for the wallet and they handed it over without even asking her name, let alone for a description of it. So much for Elvis Cinema's much-touted security. If she'd arrived a little later they might be giving it away with the purchase of a family snack pack.
