I was just about 9 when "Star Wars" came out. We waited in line to see it, because that was the only way to get in. Pre-buying tickets was unheard of. And reserved seats? No sir. You're lining your ass up pretty early if you want a decent seat.
I was a kid; I went with my parents. They liked the movie well enough, but were not overwhelmed. "I don't get what the big deal is," my mom said, "It was just like the serials we had growing up."
Yeah, mom. But this one was OURS.
I was prime movie-going age for the original trilogy. By the time "Return of the Jedi" came out, I was pushing 15. This time, I waited in line without my parents. (But my mom will ALWAYS get points for taking me out of school for that "orthodontist appointment" and then dropping me off at the mall to meet my friend in line.)
I couldn't tell you how many times I saw those movies. And when I wasn't watching them, my friends and I were obsessing over them. We did a scene from "Star Wars" in Drama class. (I made an exceptional trash compactor monster.) I wrote an erudite paper on how "Star Wars" was really about the power of an individual to bring down a tyrannical government. (A common theme in science fiction, to be sure, but I supported my thesis with parallel quotes from "A New Hope" and Machiavelli's "The Prince." In retrospect, my High School Social Institutions teacher put up with a lot.) When my friends and I passed notes in class, they were generally Star Wars quizzes where the answers would be quotes from the movies. It was our thing. Our shared language. Our inside jokes. ("I'm a sadist, not a mathematician." Anyone?) It was dominant in our lives.
When the movies were re-released in 1997, I was an adult. I waited in line. Partly out of respect to the originals, partly out of nostalgia, and partly because, by then, I'd discovered that an opening night audience makes any movie better. The crowd is involved -- the jokes get bigger laughs; the tense bits are ... well, it's pretty cool holding your breath with 600 other people just as caught up in the moment as you are. (Groupthink can be a good thing.) So, yeah, I lined up for the re-releases.
But, 20 years on, something had changed. I wasn't the 9-year-old any more; there was a new crop of 9-year-olds. People were bringing their kids to introduce them to OUR movies. And we were excited to share with them. We kept telling the kids how lucky they were to be experiencing these movies for the first time -- thinking about how cool it had been for us, but also initiating them into the club. If pop culture is my generation's culture, taking kids to Star Wars is sitting around the campfire and telling the next generation the myths of our people. Look, we'd had VHS for a decade by then -- and I'm sure we all had copies of the trilogy on tape -- but people felt duty-bound to bring their kids to see Star Wars in a theater as a rite of passage. It isn't enough just to watch Star Wars on your living room TV, you have to see it with the community if you're really going to be part of our club.
Skip ahead past some years (I'm still in denial about Jar Jar Binks) and I'm invited to a Halloween party by Val, who, at this point, I barely know. When guests ask me how I know her, I mumble something about "Internet message board" because I'm too embarrassed to actually say, "Doctor Who message board." When I ask how they know her, most people respond, "The Line." As if I know what that means.
I do not know what that means.
I finally ask someone what that means.
They had lined up for the Star Wars prequels. ("Oh thank goodness," I thought happily, "they're geeks!")
Most of them are younger than I am. The prequels were their only chance to get the lining up experience with a newly released Star Wars movie. I get that. (And I also feel a little bad that they didn't have better movies at the end of their wait.) They REALLY lined up, though. Sleeping-on-the-street lined up. They didn't just bond over the Star Wars line experience; they survived shared adversity. Of course they've remained friends. I understood THAT immediately.
And then ... "The Force Awakens." Now you don't need to line up at all. Now you prebook your ticket on the internet and pick your seat in advance like civilized people. (If you have any sense, you still go as close to the opening as possible, because you want to be in a crowd that lets out a huge cheer when the Lucasfilm logo comes up. And a massive one when the main title theme starts.) But it's not the same -- getting excited about the movie in the comfort of your living room, when you wait for the day to arrive.
So "The Line" gang lines up anyway. They raise money for charity. The theater is happy they're there -- and is now supportive of the line. (They can use the restrooms in the theater, validate their parking....) The tickets have been prebooked for the group -- the line is now ONLY about the EXPERIENCE -- the shared excitement about the movie, the reconnecting with friends, the passing it on to their kids. Liningup.net -- check it out.
I put it on my 50 for 50 list.
Today
The takers are Ric and Lisa. Part of the Halloween party crowd -- although I got to know them, and their then-infant daughter, when a group of us would get together to watch "Doctor Who," back when you'd have to *cough* use technology *cough* if you wanted to watch the new episodes shortly after they came out in Britain. We'd get together at Matt & Val's every two weeks and bring food and watch the episodes and talk sci fi and-- crap, all of that was gone once BBC America got its shit together and started airing "Doctor Who" promptly on THIS side of the Atlantic and we'd all just watch it at our respective homes. Sumbitch, it's the same damn thing. Communal viewing as a basis of friendship -- and it utterly went away when the viewing became easier.
Kept up with Ric and Lisa on Facebook, though. Nice peeps. And I love how they're raising Eliza. She's, like, nine now. (The time, it flies.) She likes hockey and dancing and STEM and Lego and BB-8 and hiking and "Mythbusters" and Girl Scouts. She's a girl who isn't just being TOLD that girls can do anything, she's LIVING it. She's a good kid. I know this because she told her parents that she didn't want to miss school for the movie next week. (Lisa said the note is going to say that she has to go to a "family event." Which is actually, y'know, true.)
I planned to meet them at the line at around 2:00 -- but driving to Hollywood is more art than science, so we were both quite late.
I get there maybe 2:20. The line is in the forecourt at the Chinese theater. That's a tourist attraction, which means that, to get there, I have to walk through some loud people carrying "Repent!" signs and being very pushy with the Jesus pamphlets. There is also someone selling bottled water, with a recording endlessly playing a little song, the chorus of which is "Ice cold water, for just one dollar." That may be the verse, too. It isn't a very creative tune. But catchy. Wayyyy too catchy. "Ice cold water, for just one dollar." (My non-SoCal friends may be unaware that it was over 80 degrees today.)
I enter the forecourt -- it's where all the handprints are. The line itself is more of a small crowd (in non-linear form) off in a corner. There are rules about letting the tourists access the handprints -- so the line has their sleeping bags and suitcases all piled up off to the side. It isn't a large group. The line has a minimal time commitment (6 hours gets you the ability to buy two tickets) and you can do your hours at any time over the week of the line. (Stay longer and you get better seats.) It isn't really standing in a LINE and holding a place in it; it's just about BEING THERE for your hours. So there aren't a ton of people there when I get there.
I know some of them. There are several others I don't know. A handful I put in the category of "don't know if I know them or not." (Were they at Val's Halloween parties?) It literally does not matter. I drop Ric's name at the sign-in table and am welcomed. I talk to strangers, knowing that we have, at least, THIS in common. Someone gives me a chair. We talk. Every so often, someone starts quietly singing along to "Ice cold water, for just one dollar." I'm not even sure they're aware of it.
We are sitting in a tourist attraction. The "Repent" people cross by every hour or so. A parade of, say, 40 Santas goes by. A drunk female Santa in a (very) mini-skirt leans down into a set of handprints and I'm pretty sure she's going to throw up on someone's signature, but she's trying to take a sexy picture. She leans forward and gives the assembled an accidental show.
I'm told the line is actually the first group allowed to camp in the forecourt -- they have to be packed up in the mornings, but they get to spread out and sleep on the handprints. One woman jokes, "I woke up on a rock hard Jack Nicholson." I concede that this is an added bonus to the whole line thing which I had not considered. (Which is good, because "Ice cold water, for just one dollar" is definitely an unanticipated downside.)
Ric and Lisa (and Eliza, and grandma) arrive. More sitting, more talking. Lisa is an English teacher; she's brought papers to grade. The whole thing is very laid back. Someone made little headbands with Leia buns and hands them out to a bunch of the women and girls there. Super cute. Someone else put together giant saran wrap balls full of Star Wars trinkets and groups play the unwrap-the-saran-wrap-ball game. (She has one for kids and one for adults. The adults are just as happy to win little toys as the kids were.) As it gets dark, a light saber duel breaks out. It looks really cool in front of the lit-up theater.
The theater does a light show on its walls at night. My first reaction is a cynical one, but I realize the people around me are all appreciating the light, the colors, the artistry. I am reminded of the first time I enjoyed fireworks as an adult -- I'd spent so much time in grumpy teenager mode responding with an underwhelmed "Ooo. Ahh. Wow." that I'd actually forgotten I genuinely like fireworks. I go with the groupthink and enjoy the light show. "This is important," I think, "This is who the Line people really are." Optimistic. Unabashedly enjoying life's experiences. Indeed, the Line is one they sought out.
I start feeling thirsty. Perhaps there is a reason for this.
"Ice cold water, for just one dollar."
Ric, Lisa and Eliza log out of the line and we go over to Johnny Rockets for dinner. I realize I've sat in the line for half the time it would've taken me the earn the right to buy a pair of tickets myself. It was easy and fun -- just hanging out on a beautiful December day with a nice bunch of people.
We come back to the theater and they log back in. I pick up my T-shirt (proceeds go to charity -- Starlight Children's Foundation), take advantage of the line's access to the lovely restrooms inside the theater, and head off home, leaving the campers to sleep on their movie stars.
To be continued next Thursday.
Today
The takers are Ric and Lisa. Part of the Halloween party crowd -- although I got to know them, and their then-infant daughter, when a group of us would get together to watch "Doctor Who," back when you'd have to *cough* use technology *cough* if you wanted to watch the new episodes shortly after they came out in Britain. We'd get together at Matt & Val's every two weeks and bring food and watch the episodes and talk sci fi and-- crap, all of that was gone once BBC America got its shit together and started airing "Doctor Who" promptly on THIS side of the Atlantic and we'd all just watch it at our respective homes. Sumbitch, it's the same damn thing. Communal viewing as a basis of friendship -- and it utterly went away when the viewing became easier.
Kept up with Ric and Lisa on Facebook, though. Nice peeps. And I love how they're raising Eliza. She's, like, nine now. (The time, it flies.) She likes hockey and dancing and STEM and Lego and BB-8 and hiking and "Mythbusters" and Girl Scouts. She's a girl who isn't just being TOLD that girls can do anything, she's LIVING it. She's a good kid. I know this because she told her parents that she didn't want to miss school for the movie next week. (Lisa said the note is going to say that she has to go to a "family event." Which is actually, y'know, true.)
I planned to meet them at the line at around 2:00 -- but driving to Hollywood is more art than science, so we were both quite late.
I get there maybe 2:20. The line is in the forecourt at the Chinese theater. That's a tourist attraction, which means that, to get there, I have to walk through some loud people carrying "Repent!" signs and being very pushy with the Jesus pamphlets. There is also someone selling bottled water, with a recording endlessly playing a little song, the chorus of which is "Ice cold water, for just one dollar." That may be the verse, too. It isn't a very creative tune. But catchy. Wayyyy too catchy. "Ice cold water, for just one dollar." (My non-SoCal friends may be unaware that it was over 80 degrees today.)
I enter the forecourt -- it's where all the handprints are. The line itself is more of a small crowd (in non-linear form) off in a corner. There are rules about letting the tourists access the handprints -- so the line has their sleeping bags and suitcases all piled up off to the side. It isn't a large group. The line has a minimal time commitment (6 hours gets you the ability to buy two tickets) and you can do your hours at any time over the week of the line. (Stay longer and you get better seats.) It isn't really standing in a LINE and holding a place in it; it's just about BEING THERE for your hours. So there aren't a ton of people there when I get there.
I know some of them. There are several others I don't know. A handful I put in the category of "don't know if I know them or not." (Were they at Val's Halloween parties?) It literally does not matter. I drop Ric's name at the sign-in table and am welcomed. I talk to strangers, knowing that we have, at least, THIS in common. Someone gives me a chair. We talk. Every so often, someone starts quietly singing along to "Ice cold water, for just one dollar." I'm not even sure they're aware of it.
We are sitting in a tourist attraction. The "Repent" people cross by every hour or so. A parade of, say, 40 Santas goes by. A drunk female Santa in a (very) mini-skirt leans down into a set of handprints and I'm pretty sure she's going to throw up on someone's signature, but she's trying to take a sexy picture. She leans forward and gives the assembled an accidental show.
I'm told the line is actually the first group allowed to camp in the forecourt -- they have to be packed up in the mornings, but they get to spread out and sleep on the handprints. One woman jokes, "I woke up on a rock hard Jack Nicholson." I concede that this is an added bonus to the whole line thing which I had not considered. (Which is good, because "Ice cold water, for just one dollar" is definitely an unanticipated downside.)
Ric and Lisa (and Eliza, and grandma) arrive. More sitting, more talking. Lisa is an English teacher; she's brought papers to grade. The whole thing is very laid back. Someone made little headbands with Leia buns and hands them out to a bunch of the women and girls there. Super cute. Someone else put together giant saran wrap balls full of Star Wars trinkets and groups play the unwrap-the-saran-wrap-ball game. (She has one for kids and one for adults. The adults are just as happy to win little toys as the kids were.) As it gets dark, a light saber duel breaks out. It looks really cool in front of the lit-up theater.
The theater does a light show on its walls at night. My first reaction is a cynical one, but I realize the people around me are all appreciating the light, the colors, the artistry. I am reminded of the first time I enjoyed fireworks as an adult -- I'd spent so much time in grumpy teenager mode responding with an underwhelmed "Ooo. Ahh. Wow." that I'd actually forgotten I genuinely like fireworks. I go with the groupthink and enjoy the light show. "This is important," I think, "This is who the Line people really are." Optimistic. Unabashedly enjoying life's experiences. Indeed, the Line is one they sought out.
I start feeling thirsty. Perhaps there is a reason for this.
"Ice cold water, for just one dollar."
Ric, Lisa and Eliza log out of the line and we go over to Johnny Rockets for dinner. I realize I've sat in the line for half the time it would've taken me the earn the right to buy a pair of tickets myself. It was easy and fun -- just hanging out on a beautiful December day with a nice bunch of people.
We come back to the theater and they log back in. I pick up my T-shirt (proceeds go to charity -- Starlight Children's Foundation), take advantage of the line's access to the lovely restrooms inside the theater, and head off home, leaving the campers to sleep on their movie stars.
To be continued next Thursday.
No comments:
Post a Comment