The Season of Schlock

“We all need illusions, that’s why we love movies.”

---Monica Bellucci

When you walk into a movie theater there is something magical about that environment. Whether it’s a multiplex at a mall or a local theater, the combination of the smell of hot popcorn, smothered in some chemical oil that’s probably deadly, the squishy lump of smashed Junior Mints on scratchy polyester seats, and that feeling of anticipation as the lights go down is why people are still willing to pay $15 bucks to see a movie. It’s the whole experience.

Things have changed a lot however. The first movie I remember going to was a drive-in. It was a huge treat for our family. My dad took my brother and I, and my mom got to stay home, unburdened by screaming kids and a hungry husband. My father, always in search of a snack, let us have popcorn, candy, and soda and then got us ice cream on the way home. Not long after climbing into my upper bunk bed, I was hanging over the side puking on my brother. It’s been a family legend for years. Hurl on a sibling just once, and they never let you forget it.

Movies are still a fun outing for me, but honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve gone to the theater and seen something. I always mean to, especially when I pass by the Warwick and see the coming attractions and times on the sign. Somehow, though, there never seems to be the time; I need work on that. What there is time for, however, is bingeing movies online.  I need some kind of video Valium the background while when I’m working, it helps me focus. 

Since the holidays are approaching, many of my friends are eagerly awaiting what I call “The Season of Schlock.” I get that Lifetime, Oxygen, Hallmark and others put out Christmas movies around now and, #SorryNotSorry it must be said: some of these movies are just awful.

Seriously there should be a drinking game to make up a plot for these. Essentially, most of them are some variant of an abused or otherwise traumatized woman arriving in a small town where she knows no one and trusts no one. She can magically survive and pay all her bills by working part-time at the local diner that gets six customers a week. One of whom is a local rancher, who is often lost in thought and doesn’t say much. She and the rancher fall in love over both being lonely at Christmas (insert flashback of holiday related past trauma) and in a holiday miracle, the rancher is revealed as a multi-millionaire who whisks Diner girl off to his palatial “farmhouse” to raise orphaned ponies. The end. Change a few details, insert a lost child or a natural disaster and you have six more movies just like it. The networks wouldn’t keep making these movies if they didn’t pay off, but maybe there’s some gene missing in my DNA because they’re not my cup of cocoa?

The concept of escapism in movies is valid. Sure, we all want to watch something that makes us feel we could be someone else for a couple of hours. For me, however, the magical movie fantasy doesn’t involve a small town, mountain cabins, or working in a diner. I’ve been lucky; I’ve already gotten to do that. I want to watch a movie where the writing leaps off the screen it’s so well done. Where the actors get each nuance of their character exactly right. Where the locations are real and not just some soundstage.

 It’s not a snob thing; plenty of my favorite movies are light hearted and not really “deep” at all. Example? 

The Birdcage. One of the best movies ever made because it has slapstick, politics, love, family, and drag queens. What more could you want? Oh, Pierce Brosnan, my secret boyfriend. He’s not in that one, but I’ll watch any movie he’s ever in, silly or serious. I’d pay $15 to watch him tie his shoes. He doesn’t need to speed around in an Aston Martin or steal a painting, or sing…wait, alright, I got a little off-track there.

So, yes, I can see why in the midst of the holiday stress, these movies are pretty popular. Don’t we all just want to zone out every now and then? Just don’t look at me like I’m some disgrace to the sisterhood for not hopping on the movie of the week bandwagon. Mind candy is completely fine, we all need it. I’ll pass on the candy cane cinema, but if anyone wants to have a James Bond binge party, let me know!

Here We Come A-Caroling

"I think you should take your job seriously, but not yourself - that is the best combination."

--Dame Judi Dench

Who doesn't love Dame Judi Dench? I'm still ticked that she was killed off in the Bond movie Skyfall. First, they came for my boyfriend Pierce Brosnan and replaced him with some blond guy, and then they burn the infamous M? Even though she isn't a Bond girl anymore, Dame Judi has always been smart, determined, and talented; she also does it all without having to look like a walking X-ray that's been Botoxed into something resembling a goalie mask without the air holes.

While I am not a professional actor, I was lucky enough recently to be cast in the local production of the Dickens classic, "A Christmas Carol" and let me tell you, acting is hard. It's not just memorizing lines and reading them with some emotion. If it were just that, we'd all be walking around with sacks of Emmys and Oscars. The lines are only the first part of it. Memorization is vital, but it's more than that. It's not simple recitation; it's becoming the character who is speaking the line, walking into their world and taking an audience with you. Sure, no pressure, right?

In the case of Dickens, his characters all have British accents. I struggled with this. In the first few reads, my accent was somewhere between Masshole, the Mason Dixon line and a Manchester United fan. I was convinced seventeen dead Irish relatives would leap out of the graveyard to haunt me for pretending to be a subject of Queen Victoria. Hey, it's a ghost story, it could happen.  

My roles were that of Bob Cratchit's daughter, Belinda, Fan Scrooge, the doomed younger sister of Ebenezer, and the kid at the end who buys the turkey. They call him, oddly enough, Turkey Boy. The show was produced by local director Peyton Pugmire of Creative Spirit, and it wasn't a full-on play, but rather a staged reading. Characters are costumed but have scripts, so it's dramatic, but there's no colossal set with dozens of props. The production was performed in the Jeremiah Lee Mansion, so really, what else is there to add?

My acting talents so far have been limited to some improv, high school, and college plays, and lying to my children about certain holiday icons which will go unnamed here. I found it difficult to believe that in less than two weeks, and only seven short rehearsals, that I could accomplish anything without tripping over something or setting something on fire. Thankfully, the candles were battery operated, and I did not land in a heap at the bottom of the impressive mahogany staircase. That is a massive win for me; often just getting across the room whilst remaining upright is a struggle for me.

After the first rehearsal, which was just a read through by the actors, I drove home and my face hurt from smiling so much. The experience of meeting new people, doing something I'd always dreamed of, and learning more about acting put me over the moon. The cast was amazing; on the first night, everyone there was already in character, with perfect accents and expressions. I was furiously highlighting all 10 of my lines and scribbling notes like "Get a notebook" and "look solemnly at Ebenezer." Oh, and there was singing too. Holy Wassail, Batman, bring out the figgy pudding and don't forget the cup of good cheer. What could be more fun than that?

 (photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire)

Costuming, that's what. The costumer was nothing short of a miracle worker. It's not easy making a big, loud, Irish redhead look like a male Victorian child, but she had it under control. Finally, we got to use the Jeremiah Lee space for two dress rehearsals before the performances. It's very authentic in there, right down to the balmy 40-degree temperature on a windy December night. Jeremiah Lee died of pneumonia after spending hours in a cornfield evading British troops, and I was definitely channeling his shivering, despite some very modern Cuddle Duds under my Victorian garb.

This is a weekly paper, so allow me to step into the role of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and report that all performances were top-notch, got rave reviews, and played to a sold-out house. I'm sure that will happen, but I'm writing this ahead of opening night. Dame Judi is right when she says to take the work seriously, not yourself. I had moments of sheer terror during this process, as well flubbed lines, missed cues and one wardrobe malfunction, but all there is to do at those times is to keep going and not let it get at you. Stuff like that happens to me every day, at least in the play there were actors around me who had the same experiences. Is all the world a stage? Thankfully no, most of us do not dress up like one of those strange Christmas dolls, frozen in song, but if you get the chance to try it? Do it. It's transformational, at least for a few days. You can go back to your real life anytime, spend some time in another world, you'll be glad you did. Cast photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire.