Watching Movies By Myself

Essays

Oct 11

In law school, I used to see the newest movies on the first Friday they came out, at noon. Almost no one else was there because who goes to the movies at noon on a Friday in 1994? People worked. There were no multi-hyphenates. My classes were either early or late on Friday, so I could always go. It was magic.

I always had Twizzlers and a large soda. I haven’t had soda in more than ten years, but for a few ginger ales on airplanes when I travel. I don’t remember the last time I chewed the distinct texture of a Twizzler. Times have changed, but I have not. I only go to the movies with my son, but I watch a lot of movies at home by myself, in bed, on a laptop.

I find people distracting during movies, especially if I go with them. It’s hard enough for me to concentrate with Randy whispering to Ellen one row down, but with a chatty companion, I can't concentrate on the movie unless it’s my son. When I used to go on dates to the movies as a young buck, I remember how complicated it was to try to hold hands over the old-style arms of the barely cushioned movie seats. It was pretzel-adjacent.

My son and I saw Quiet Place at Alamo Drafthouse in Austin, and it was a conundrum. The Drafthouse is a dine-in, drink-in movie theater, but the entire movie is about being quiet. People who ordered nachos chomped lightly. We all understood the unique situation we were in. You can’t ruin the vibe; not in Austin.

I remember getting kicked out of a theater in the San Fernando Valley because we were a raucous group of teenagers with limited inhibitions and soda in our veins. We mocked the movie until they wouldn't allow us to mock it anymore. I walked out of Spaceballs. I just didn’t get it. My son and I hit a double feature a couple of months ago. I guess I don’t only watch movies by myself.

When I had mono in college, I would put on Stealing Home and fall asleep in five minutes. Then I would do the same with Bull Durham. Thanks to my dad, I had one of those early TV/VCR combos, and it was a revelation to have no wires strewn across the back of the TV. That TV saw more movies than any TV ever created. I watched most of those by myself.

Even before Missed Connections existed, I had this fantasy: I would go to the movies by myself, and a beautiful girl would come in and sit one seat away. We were two of maybe six people in the theater. It would be awkward. I wouldn’t be able to focus on the movie. She would sneeze. I would say, “Bless you.” She would smile. I would do nothing. Even in my fantasies, I did nothing. I wouldn’t remember the movie.