get back to where you once belonged

Although we pay nearly three hundred dollars a month for cable service from the good folks at Xfinity, giving us access to a wide variety of entertainment options in the privacy of our home, Mrs. Pincus and I sometimes do venture out to a good old-fashioned movie theater. While I certainly love movies, I don't care for people. And that's exactly what we encountered last Saturday.

My wife and I made plans to meet my brother Max and my sister-in-law (no, not that one... the other one) for a rare "double date" night, My sister-in-law purchased discount tickets at a local Costco and was surprised by the "pick your seat" option that was available. From my recollection, movie theaters never offered reserved seating, but it certainly makes sense. Reserved seats are available at almost every other venue where public seating is offered — Broadway theaters, concerts, sporting events, you can even throw airline flights into that mix. Actually, now that I think of it, we previously purchased reserved seating for movies on our several, ill-fated visits to our nearby Movie Tavern. So maybe other movie theaters are just catching up. And it makes perfect sense, too! With reserved seats, you don't have to rush to the theater and scramble for choice seats — especially if you need to find more than two seats together. (That is, if you don't want to split up your party.) With reserved seating, your seat will be waiting for you when arrive, no matter what time you arrive.

My sister-in-law scored four seats at the end of a row, selecting a location midway up in a theater that offered stadium-style seating. Perfect! We could meet early for a leisurely dinner and then make our way to the theater at our own pace and not worry about the hassle of scanning a crowded theater for four seats together. Our chosen movie was "Yesterday," the latest Danny Boyle-directed fantasy tale of a young, struggling musician who, after waking from an accident, realizes he's the only one in the world who remembers the Beatles. The movie, after receiving a modest amount of pre-release hype, had opened the night before our little "family night at the movies" and the suburban multiplex would likely be crowded. But, we had no worries. At least not yet.

We met at a Ruby Tuesday's* that occupies a pad site in the parking lot of the theater. After dinner, as we exited the restaurant, my sister-in-law distributed the tickets and I tucked our pair safely in my wallet. We got in our respective cars and drove over to the larger lot nearer to the theater. We met at the front of the theater and entered. We determined which of the twenty-two auditoriums was our destination and headed down one of the long hallways that branched off from the main lobby. My wife and sister-in-law excused themselves for a quick visit to the ladies room, leaving my brother and me to meet them at our pre-determined seats.

Reserved!

Max and I entered the semi-darkened theater. The enormous screen was alight with commercials for the concession stand and other commerce-enticing information. We took note of the large, prominent aisle designations affixed to the base of the end seat of each row. We mentally ticked off each one until we arrived at Row H. The end seat — Seat 12 — was empty, its padded cushion in the upright position waiting to afford comfort to its rightful ticket holder for the 7:30 showing. The next three adjoining seats, however, were occupied by three women. As showtime was fast approaching, there were only a few single seats scattered throughout the near-capacity theater. My brother and I exchanged puzzled glances. He had an expression on his face with which I was very familiar. It was a combined expression of exasperation and annoyance. I had seen it regularly in our youth — and I was usually the cause.

I spoke first. I said to the woman closest to me, "I believe you are in our seats." I tried to have no inflection of anger or accusation in my voice. Perhaps it was an honest mistake. Perhaps they were not aware of the reserved seating policy. After all, we were not greeted by an usher of any kind. We were not asked for our tickets and then guided to our appointed accommodations for the evening. The woman furrowed her brow and, with a raised, sweeping hand, gestured to the rest of the theater. "Oh, you can just sit anywhere," she bluntly stated in reply to my indictment. I think I could hear my brother's blood actually boiling in his veins. I could feel the anxious adrenaline coursing through my system in anticipation of a confrontation I did not wish to happen. I hate confrontation. I'm not good at it and I would rather remain silent. My brother, on the other hand, has never been one to stand idle while shit is forced in his direction. Perennially athletic and physical, he has always stood his ground in a calm, authoritative, and somewhat menacing, manner.

I told my brother that I was going to speak to a member of the theater's management. I started down the steep steps with my destination being the lobby. I tracked down a man in a mismatched suit gripping a comically-large walkie-talkie that looked as though he filched it from the set of "M*A*S*H." He sported a name tag engraved with "MANAGER" pinned to his too-wide lapel. I explained the situation transpiring right now in Auditorium 3. He assured me that a security representative would be there to assist momentarily. I felt no sense of urgency in his promise and no authority in his authority. Unsatisfied, I reluctantly returned to check my brother's progress.

Not actually my brother.

Again, I entered the theater and ascended the steps towards Row H. There was my brother, my sister-in-law and Mrs. Pincus sitting in Seats 9 through 11... with Seat 12 on stand-by for my derriere. I took my seat and leaned over to ask Max to fill me in on the chapter of this story that I missed. In a totally unaffected tone, he said, after I left, he went back to the woman and calmly stated that she and her friends were in seats that they did not belong in. "I asked you once nicely," he said, most likely in a slow and deliberate timbre and through clenched teeth, "You need to get up and go to the seats that are printed on your ticket. These are not your seats." After a few seconds, the three women rose and pushed their way past my brother, not offering any sort of apology or even glancing in his direction. 

Mr. Movie Theater Manager's security never showed up. We didn't really need them. 

We brought our own.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*I still have not published my rant about my awful Ruby Tuesday's experience that I wrote four years ago. Maybe someday...

This is the 500th post to this blog. Thanks for reading!

mary, mary

In December, with a house full of out-of-town guests, Mrs. Pincus and I were unable to fulfill our Christmas tradition of going to the movies followed by a dinner of Chinese food. We did, however, make it down to our son's house to feed his cat while he and his girlfriend celebrated the holiday with her family. But, alas, we missed our chance to see the highly-touted and highly-anticipated sequel to Walt Disney's 1964 Oscar-winning film Mary Poppins.

Until last night.

Nearly two months after its release, and with most of the excitement passed, my wife and I ventured out on a weeknight to see the film. We were enticed by an offer of five dollar admission — something we just couldn't turn down. When we arrived at the theater, it seemed that a lot of folks are not swayed by admission prices knocked down to below half off. The place was empty. That's not a compliant. Actually, that's a preference.

In 1964, my Aunt Clara took me to my first movie in a theater... and that movie was Mary Poppins. I loved it. It was bright and colorful, filled with cheerful songs and funny characters. Although I  was 3 years old, I actually remember standing up in my seat and clapping. In subsequent years, I watched Mary Poppins on television and later on a video tape that I purchased. I knew every scene and every song. My wife and I watched it with our son, who came to love it as much as we loved it. It was a bonafide, multi-generational family favorite.

So, when I first heard about the proposal of a sequel to Mary Poppins, I was very, very skeptical. Over fifty years had passed since the beloved original film. Many of the original cast members were too old to reprise their roles. Others were retired from acting while others were deceased. Of course, the new film would be recast. A new story would have to be written. And, with one of the celebrated Sherman brothers — the original's prolific composers — gone, recreating those infectious tunes would be a tall order.

When our opportunity to see Mary Poppins Returns at Christmas did not arise, I wasn't really that disappointed. I really didn't want to see it. I feared that it would tarnish the sparkling memories of the stellar original. But, when a five dollar admission to the movies presents itself, you don't think twice.

At the theater, Mrs. P and I sat through a number of trailers for forgettable films we decided we have no intention of seeing... not even when they are available on Netflix. Then the sparsely-occupied auditorium darkened and the familiar Disney Studio "castle" insignia filled the giant screen. 

I am happy to report that Mrs. P and I were held spellbound for the next 130 minutes. I wanted to dislike Mary Poppins Returns. I really did. But I couldn't. It was irresistible. It was a love letter to the original, loaded with nods and winks and subtle references. It was perfectly cast with the unflappable Emily Blunt capably filling the poised shoes of Oscar winner Dame Julie Andrews. Fresh from Broadway and settling nicely into his role as cheeky "Jack the Lamp Lighter" was the positively magical Lin-Manuel Miranda, whose put-on British accent wasn't nearly as distracting as Dick Van Dyke's attempt 54 years earlier. The supporting cast was spit-spot on. The sets were beautiful. The direction was snappy. The choreography was inspired (well, inspired by the original). The songs were jubilant when they had to be and sad when that was a requirement. Even the animation sequences were artistic homages to the style and characters of a Disney that wasn't out to sell you a time-share.

I seem to be gushing and you seem to waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sorry to disappoint, but not this time. I genuinely loved this movie. No snide remarks. No sarcastic asides.

No spoonful of sugar needed.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the second time around

Remember that story I wrote about our wonderful — almost magical — experience at Movie Tavern?

Well, we went back.

Prior to our last (actually, our first) visit to Movie Tavern, the brilliantly-conceived melding of movie theater, restaurant and bar, my wife had signed up for their "special perks" club. Periodically, the marketing team at Movie Tavern would send emails telling about upcoming films, special events and other information to entice us to come back — and come back often. So, taking advantage of a "Free Ticket on Your Birthday" offer, Mrs. P and I returned to Movie Tavern on a Saturday night, I can honestly say that we were excited to go back, having really enjoyed our first encounter,

Keeping with Movie Tavern's policy of seating one half hour before showtime, we arrived at 7 PM for an 8:30 PM showing of Disney's live-action remake of The Jungle Book, a film that had already been out for about a month. With other bigger and more-hyped movies opening the same weekend, we never expected to be told that the auditorium showing The Jungle Book didn't have two seats together. Disappointed, we opted, instead for a 9:20 performance of the new George Clooney-Julia Roberts thriller Money Monster, a film we knew nothing about. But we didn't care. We were happily anticipating an enjoyable evening that duplicated our previous pleasure at Movie Tavern. But now we had an hour to kill.

We scanned the suburban strip center of which Movie Tavern is the centerpiece. Most of the surrounding stores were closed at this hour on a Saturday. So we strolled down to a supermarket at the far end of the parking lot to buy a few non-perishables that I remembered I had scribbled on a shopping list I, of course, left at home. We slowly walked the supermarket aisles behind a nearly empty cart and ate up as much time as we could. We made our purchases and slowly headed back to the theater. I dropped our groceries off in our car and met my wife in the Movie Tavern lobby. 

Time crept by, but soon we queued up at the ticket-taker podium. We were informed that the theater was "not quite ready" and would be called "around 9 or ten of." I checked the clock on my phone. It was ten minutes to nine right now. A little after 9 PM, the announcement was made and we filed into Theater 8.

We scanned the menu and, with an over abundance of offerings for carnivores, we decided on the "2 for $30" special, which was one appetizer, two entrees and two fresh-baked cookies, all vegetarian-friendly. We closed our menus and settled into our reclining seats, watching servers busily scurrying about the theater. A young man passed by us, smiled and said "Hi guys! I'll be with you in a minute. " He disappeared down the entrance hallway. When he returned, he passed us by. Instead, he headed to the row in front of us. He took orders from every one in that row and, again, passed us by as he exited. He did smile at us again, though.

My wife and I exchanged glances that expressed our mutual disappointment. Finally, "Dave," as he introduced himself, came to take our order. Mrs. Pincus started off my saying, "We're gonna make this simple. We're gonna get the '2 foe $30' deal. We'd like the spinach artichoke dip and two portobello mushroom sandwiches." 

Dave furrowed his brow and pointed to the menu. "I believe you get two entrees." 

Mrs. P and I looked at each other and then back to Dave. "Yes," I said, "two portobello sandwiches." 

"Oh. Right.," said Dave. 

Curious about another item I spotted on the menu, I added, "I'd like an order of the fried pickles appetizer."

Dave frowned. "Uh," he stammered, "you only get one appetizer."

"Yes, I understand," I countered, "but, I'd like an additional appetizer. I'll pay for it. I brought money."

Dave smiled and entered my additional selection on his order pad and set off to, I imagine, the kitchen. "Well, this is a little different from the last time we were here." My wife and I uttered the same observed sentiment almost simultaneously.

The lights dimmed and the trailers for upcoming movies began. A few minutes into the preview of a new Ben Affleck film that I will never see, a different server approached us with a plate of two freshly-baked cookies. 

"Cookies?," he asked in a whisper, "You ordered cookies?"

Again, in the dark, my wife and I traded dumbfounded looks. "Well, not before our dinner.," she whispered back her reply,  "Why would these come out before our entire meal?"

He looked at us as though we were the first people to ever want dinner before dessert. What was wrong with us? He offered to bring them back to the kitchen and return with fresh cookies after we finished our main course. Still, he shook his head as though there was something wrong with our request.

Our appetizers arrived as the feature began. A minute later, another set of appetizers arrived. In hushed tones, we explained that we already had our appetizers. The server shook his head and disappeared into the darkness. Twenty or so minutes later, our sandwiches arrived. And a second set of sandwiches arrived moments later.

When the film was over, our server dropped a leatherette portfolio containing our bill on one of the swing-out tabletops connected to our seat. When the lights came on, Mrs. P scanned the printout and frowned. "Well, This is wrong.," she said in disgust.

The lengthy check included our "2 for $30" special and an additional fried pickle appetizer. Below that were two spinach dips, two more pickle orders and two additional mushroom sandwiches. This brought the total to more than double what it should have been. We summoned Dave over and, after several explanations, he finally understood our complaint. (Yes, it took a few reviews of the situation.) He took the bill and promised a return with an adjustment. As we waited for a corrected bill, we were visited by a young lady in managerial dress, complete with a walkie-talkie in her back pocket and an official-looking earpiece firmly in position. She listened to our tale of woe detailing our extreme disappointment as compared to our first visit to Movie Tavern. With sorrowful eyes and concerned expression, she offered apologies. She told a convoluted story about the ins-and-outs of their computerized ordering system. I was not interested in how their business is run and the shortcomings there of. This seems to be a pacifying tactic that corporations love to employ, not realizing that the customer honestly does not give a shit. We signed the corrected receipt and Mrs. P said, "We enjoyed ourselves so much last time. However, if this had been our first experience with Movie Tavern, we probably would not come back." The manager apologized again, very corporately, However, she did not offer any additional incentive or compensation. Not that we were looking for that, but it would have made for good customer relations. 

Will we return to Movie Tavern? Probably. But, not as anxiously.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

at the late-night, double feature picture show

The experience of going to the movies has greatly improved at the same rate that the movies themselves have declined. When I was a kid, in the 1960s, going to the movies meant paying a buck for admission to a theater jammed with other screaming kids on a Saturday afternoon. It meant buying a giant bucket of popcorn — some to be eaten, some to be thrown. It meant a shitty sound system with barely-understood dialog pumped through ancient, crackly speakers. And the movie? Well, in my neighborhood, we had to wait several weeks until the big Hollywood productions made their way out of the ritzy, downtown theaters and into the twin-screen cinemas in the so-called "Greater Northeast," a section of the city that, while geographically was "northeast" of Philadelphia, was, by no means "great." So, our entertainment was provided by a movie that the rest of the world saw a month earlier or a years old, third-rate K. Gordon Murray twisted child fantasy. Nevertheless, it was a memorable experience. 

By the time I reached high school, the first-run policy had been relaxed and movies would premiere just a short drive from my house, in theaters that had been expanded to accommodate up to four separate screens. Most times, this was accomplished by splitting existing auditoriums in half. Economically, this made perfect sense for the theater chains, but the viewing experience was akin to watching a movie in a bowling alley. The ticket prices increased, of course, to subsidize the renovations, but the seats seemed more comfortable and the concession stands seemed to offer a wider and better selection of food.

Although I love movies, I stopped going when the ticket prices skyrocketed and the quality of the actual films diminished. There was that glut of big-screen versions of television shows — mostly miscast and filled with contrived premises. Then there were the plotless action films with more attention paid to explosions than to an actual script. So, I stayed away. Also, thanks to the advent of home video,  people just flat out forgot how to behave in the company of other people. They'd talk loudly, text incessantly and parade up and down the aisles regularly. Some even brought screaming children to inappropriate films. My son and I watched a couple wander into a theater pushing, not one, but two strollers for a 9:15 PM showing of Hellboy. Really, Mom and Dad? Hellboy?

Then theaters began installing stadium seating and sophisticated, state-of-the-art sound systems. Concession stands were stocked with menus featuring deli-style sandwiches and side orders like french fries alongside the M&Ms and popcorn. The auditoriums were even cleaner. Shoes no longer stuck to the floor while walking to a seat. It was slowly becoming a welcoming experience again, albeit very slowly. My wife and I, however, could still categorize our movie-going frequency as "infrequent." 

Last night, Mrs. P and I took in the pinnacle of the movie-going experience. A local branch of the innovative theater chain Movie Tavern opened in late 2015 a mere twenty minute drive from our house. I had heard about how great it was, with a full-service bar, restaurant and movie theater combined into one big, convenient conglomeration. Not content with a package of Twizzlers and a bathtub-size cup of Sprite? Well, how about sweet potato fries, Margherita Flatbread pizza or a 1/3 pound bacon cheeseburger while you watch your choice of films on your choice of eight screens? Remember John Travolta's revelation in Pulp Fiction as he explained about getting a glass of beer in a movie theater? Well, Movie Tavern makes that reality. Yes sir, someone was doing some thinking and they hit upon a concept so simple, I'm surprised it took so long.

Yeesh!

Mrs. P and I were led to our reserved seats by Kyle, an overly-friendly and overly-attentive server. Kyle answered all of our procedural questions without once mocking us for behaving as though we had never been out of the house. He showed us the control to make the deep-cushioned seat recline to almost a flat position. He showed us the magical "call button" that would summon him at a second's notice. (Mrs. P immediately tried it out while he was still going through his explanation.) We ordered dinner and I anxiously pondered how disruptive the food delivery would be. Soon the theater darkened and, as coming attractions splashed across the enormous screen, a warm bowl of spinach-artichoke dip silently arrived at our seats. This was gonna be great! The main feature began. (Despite horrible reviews, we were seeing Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice. I hate superhero movies. My wife loves superhero movies, I love my wife, ergo...) Our main course arrived just as stealthily as our appetizer — a hefty and delicious roasted vegetable wrap for me and a grilled portobello mushroom "burger" for the Mrs. In the dark, we exchanged approving nods for the food, the seats, the service and the theater. We agreed that we may never go to another movie theater again. If we can get them to serve Chinese food on Christmas, this place could be as close to Heaven as one could get.

The movie, however, was another story. Jam-packed with convoluted sub-plots, faux-profound dialog, relentlessly lengthy fight scenes and a plethora of unnecessarily menacing characters (not to mention Ben Affleck's ligneous acting), it's no wonder this 151-minute mish-mash tanked in its second week of release. Even Mrs. P — who still enjoys 1983's misguided Superman III — shook her head in disgust at this mess.

Current movies still suck, but, damn!, if Movie Tavern don't got it goin' on.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

so ya, thought ya, might like to go to the show

Once again, Mrs. Pincus scored some free tickets. This time, she got four seats to a Wednesday evening performance of Pippin, the Tony Award-winning musical that recently enjoyed a revival on Broadway. The touring company of Pippin was stopping at Philadelphia's esteemed and opulent Academy of Music for eight performances wedged into four days. Although I love going to concerts, I am not a fan of live theater, musical or otherwise. But, I am a fan of free tickets, so Mrs. P met me after work and after a quick dinner, we made our way over to the Academy which is just a few blocks from my center-city office.

I've mentioned previously on this blog, that I love old movies. Some of the old movies I love are musicals, including Oklahoma, Yankee Doodle Dandy, Best Foot Forward and Singin' in the Rain, to name just a few. But, there's something about watching a musical on stage that just rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's the overly dramatic style that is so prevalent in stage productions. I don't like the exaggerated dancing and flamboyant gesturing. Yeah, I understand that performers were encouraged to project and enunciate to reach the folks in the last row of the highest balcony, but, these days, actors' voices are electronically amplified. They're wearing tiny microphones taped to their cheeks. They don't need to sing — nay screech! — at the top of their lungs. Yet, they do anyway.

We arrived early and stood in the small entrance area waiting for the doors to open. Other patrons gathered as well and, soon, the golden doors swung open with the help of a smartly-uniformed usher on the other side. The slightly larger (though still small) lobby was outfitted with a bar at either end and a makeshift merchandise table, already announcing that the soundtrack CD was sold out. This was only the second night of performances. I guess that's good for them, although, for the life of me, I didn't know a single song from Pippin. Not that I am an expert on Broadway musicals, but I know a few songs from a few shows. I asked my wife if Pippin was the one that featured "Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord"?

She answered, "No. That's Godspell."

"How about Day by Day?," I pressed.

"No. That's Godspell, too.," she replied.

She's the same age
as your grandma.

Well, I was fresh out of songs with which to associate the show I was about to see. In my defense, Stephen Schwartz composed both Godspell and Pippin, so I wasn't really that far off. Actually, the only things I knew about Pippin was it originally starred the multi-talented Ben Vereen and Irene Ryan, fresh off her nine-season run as "Granny" on The Beverly Hillbillies. Ryan had performed the role of Pippin's feisty grandmother until she suffered a stroke on stage and was hospitalized. She passed away six weeks later. Outside of that, everything I was about to see would be a surprise.

At the front of the lobby, between the two massive theater entrances, there was a large sign that listed the players for this evening's performance. Most of the names were unfamiliar, until I spotted John Rubinstein. I knew the name from the mid-70s TV drama Family, a show that made Kristy McNichol a household name. Turns out, John originated the title role of Pippin on Broadway and was now playing the character's father. A little further down the list was Adrienne Barbeau, the lovely costar of the controversial All in the Family spin-off Maude. Adrienne played star Bea Arthur's staunch feminist daughter "Carol." Although I hated the show, I watched it. I watched it for the same reason every teenage male watched it — and that reason was Adrienne Barbeau. She was a voluptuous 27 year old at the show's premiere and joined the ranks of Farrah Fawcett and Lynda Carter as TV sex symbols. Later, she made her motion picture debut in then-husband John Carpenter's atmospheric popcorn thriller The Fog. She followed that as part of the ensemble cast of Escape from New York, once again under the direction of Carpenter. Never one to take herself too seriously, Ms. Barbeau's campy tour de force came in the horror anthology Creepshow, a movie that poor Mrs. Pincus watched for the first time through fingers laced across her tightly-clenched eyelids. Adrienne played Hal Holbrook's shrewish spouse who, after a series of imagined slaughters at the hands of her henpecked husband, finally gets her blood-soaked comeuppance. There! — is that sufficient gushing about Adrienne Barbeau? Needless to say, I'm a fan.

"Just call me 'Billie.' Everyone does."

We had to take a tiny elevator up to the level where our seats were. We filed into the darkened third balcony and made our way down the narrow aisle to row E, where we (thanks to extra tickets) were able to stretch ourselves and our bulky winter coats across four seats. From our vantage, the theater was beautiful! White lacquered wood trim, deep red velvet seats, regal gold accents topped with dramatic gold statuary. The stage, however, was a small, distant speck, skirted by, what I thought was a collection of children's dolls, but turned out to be the orchestra.

We perused the Playbill until the lights blinked and dimmed and the show began. The opening number, "Magic to Do" (which, I admit, I had to look up because I forgot, as I did all of the musical numbers), kicked things off. It was everything I hate about Broadway musicals. It was loud, with overly-theatrical gestures and a paper-thin, yet unnecessarily convoluted story, bolstered by dancing and jumping and tumbling and actors trying to out-act each other, even walking into the audience at one point. The next two and a half hours progressed in much the same way. Was it horrible? No, not really. Was it unforgettable? Hardly. Was it entertaining? Sure! The current incarnation of Pippin has been enhanced with Cirque du Soleil-style acrobatics and elaborate stage illusions that didn't exist in its initial run. Was I glad the tickets were free? You betcha!

About midway through the first act, Pippin's grandmother was introduced. As "Berthe," Adrienne Barbeau looked stunning in a form-fitting bustier. She displayed the same irresistible exuberance that she did at the beginning of her career, sending everyone in the theater to secretively "Google" her age. She is 70 and she brazenly defies that age. (Am I gushing again?) Incredibly, Irene Ryan, who originated the role, was also 70. Apparently, "70" was different in the 70s. Not content with just belting out her featured solo with a strong, bravado-filled voice, Adrienne doffed her flimsy outer robe and joined a muscular young man ten feet above the stage, where she was inverted, her shapely legs entwined around her spotter's torso. She sang the last verse of her song while swinging upside-down, to the delight of the entire house. May I reiterate — this woman is 70! Of course, my seat was approximately six miles from the stage, yet from my perspective, Ms. Barbeau has still got it.

When it was all over, Mrs. P and I left the theater, braving a wicked downpour that was atypical for late February in Philadelphia. We hustled through what was essentially a car wash to the train station to head home. As we rode on the train, we talked about the show. I decided, while it was indeed entertaining, it certainly wasn't memorable. But, it was free.

The next day, in true celebrity-obsessed, Josh Pincus fashion, I left a message on Adrienne Barbeau's Facebook page, referencing her overbearing character in Creepshow. Within minutes, I can only assume while grabbing a few moments of rest in her Philadelphia hotel room, Ms. Barbeau replied. I rightfully interpreted a sly tone into her reply.

(click to enlarge)

Obviously, she's a good sport. (End gushing.)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I could while away the hours

I first saw The Wizard of Oz as a child in the mid-1960s, when (beginning in 1958) it was broadcast annually on network television. I watched it with my Mom, my Dad and older brother, the four of us gathered around the 19-inch black and white Zenith that was the centerpiece of our den AKA "the television room." I enjoyed the movie immensely, but it wasn't until my family got its first color television that I realized why Dorothy gasped when she opened the door to Oz and how much it indeed differed from Kansas.

Every year, my brother would tease me, convincing me that this year, the Wicked Witch was going make a surprise move to her left when Dorothy threw the fateful bucket of water. He told me as though The Wizard of Oz was a live event, like a boxing match. But every year, I'd fall for it, anticipating the trick move that would enable the Witch to nab those ruby slippers once and for all. (After all, technically, they were her birthright!)

From the time I was a kid, through the birth of my own son and later, I have seen The Wizard of Oz countless times. I continued to watch the annual network broadcasts and I watched nearly every showing since its exclusive move to cable in 2000. I also own a DVD copy, even following the Internet's instructions for syncing it up to Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" when the so-called "Dark Side of the Rainbow" craze was popular.

The Wizard of Oz became one of my favorite films. Not so much that it is a great movie, but more for the nostalgic memories that it stirs up. I still will watch it if I spot it in the TV listings. I know a load of trivia associated with the film. But, because its original release was 22 years before I was born, I never had the opportunity to see it as it was meant to be seen — on the big screen.

Until now.

This week, the good folks at Turner Classic Movies, the greatest cable channel of them all, presented a limited theater run of  the 1939 classic. Last night, Mrs. Pincus and I (and a couple of friends) attended one of only four showings at the same theater where we saw Big Eyes this past Christmas. We purchased our admission online, ($12.50 per ticket, a twelve dollar and twenty-five cent increase from its initial run) securing seats early, because we could not gauge the appeal that this limited engagement would have. 

When we arrived at the theater, our "crowd size" questions were answered. The darkened auditorium was sparsely populated with no more than two dozen patrons. Actually, closer to 20. We grabbed our usual spot — last row, just under the projection booth — and waited for the movie to start. After a brief recorded introduction by TCM host Robert Osbourne, the center of the modern wide screen flickered with the familiar image of the MGM lion. I was immediately surprised, then remembered that Panavision, CinemaScope and other wide-screen technology didn't exist in 1939. The film, for you movie buffs, was shot in 1:37 aspect ratio, which is basically, a little square. The title card, accompanied by the orchestrated strains of "Over the Rainbow," flashed across the screen in glorious sharp sepia-tone. 

My wife had preconceived plans to make this event a second coming of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, complete with reciting dialogue before the on-screen actors, and singing along with the beloved songs. No one seemed to mind when we questioned aloud with the Emerald City guard, "The Witch's Dorothy?"  And we definitely were not alone when we collectively answered the Scarecrow's directional query "To Oz?" with an emphatic "To Oz!" While a lot of the audience was quiet, it was a foregone conclusion that nobody was seeing The Wizard of Oz for the first time tonight. Or the second time. Or the twentieth time.

Yeah, we were all there for the same reason.

(By the way, the newly "brained" Scarecrow's statement: "The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side" — is not true of any type of triangle.)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com