Over the past year, most of us have spent at least some time speculating on the ways in which the pandemic will change us.
In fact, the post-pandemic return to the theaters could turn out to be one of the most significant events in the history of watching movies: those of us who love the scale of the larger-than-life image, and the economy and completeness of stories told in one shot, will have a stronger sense of who our tribe really is.
And it doesn’t represent an easy cure for a battered industry, especially for exhibitors, some of which—notably Southern California’s ArcLight Cinemas and Pacific Theatres—couldn’t survive our lost year.
As convenient and cheap, at least in relative terms, as our television screens are, there will always be stark differences between the big-screen experience and the small one.
Leaving the house has always represented a kind of adventure, a willingness—or eagerness—to engage with the greater world, even if, in a way, the escape to the movie theater is itself a kind of scurrying between two safe havens.
Plenty of social media soothsayers are claiming that no one will want to go back to theaters now that they’re used to streaming big new releases at home.
Give me a big face any day! Brad Pitt, Viola Davis, Chadwick Boseman, Steven Yeun—the human face is magic, a spectacle of beauty and expression that leaves even the most elaborate special effects in the dust.
Though I believe wholeheartedly in the idea of movie love, I dislike the word cinephilia; it’s a word that drinks its tea with its pinkie up, one that clears a room rather than opening its doors to all.
Obviously, a return to moviegoing isn’t going to solve all of everyone’s problems. But for me—a person who has always preferred the big-screen experience, and who now realizes how much I prefer it—my Farmageddon excursion was revelatory.
We talk about surrendering to images, but maybe the act is more akin to completing a circuit, a way of sparking some interior electricity our brains and hearts didn’t know they needed.