Daily Blague

On an impulse, I went to see Capote yesterday. I grabbed a tote bag and the the storage room key, because the theatre where it's showing is right next door, and lugging home a load of junk from the storage room would justify going to the movies in the middle of the day. Then I hopped on a bus, and, one-two-three, I was in my seat.

Five or ten minutes before the movie was finished, the screen went black and the house lights came up. The usual pre-show filler of ads and quizzes began to play. I ran off to the men's room, but when I came back nothing had changed. A few minutes later, a member of the audience nicely bellowed that he'd been unable to find the manager and that the ticket girl was giving refunds. So we all made our way to the lobby, where the ticket girl wasn't doing anything. She was one of those little creatures that completely collapses when asked to take initiative. The wonderful thing about being in New York is that we don't just accept stonewalling. We reply in kind. There were quite a few people in the lobby who seemed determined to occupy it until the management satisfied them in some way or another, and I myself actively discouraged an elderly couple from purchasing advance tickets on a nearby vending machine. I was inclined to stay, partly because I was in no hurry to visit the storage room, but largely because I was curious to see what would happen, which is the same as saying: how this blog entry would come out, for of course I was already sketching it. The moment anything out of the ordinary happens, I judge its blog-worthy properties and either move on or stay focused. This has the curious side-effect of relieving me of my habitual petulant response to frustrations and inconveniences. I'll let the other folks, most of them seniors, do the kvetching for me. It was with the strangest but also the loveliest lightheartedness that I stood in line - or, rather, in the clump of angry moviegoers.

Not that this euphoria would have lasted all day. Happily, the manager appeared on the scene and proposed to resolve the problem. He assured us that, if we went back to the theatre, we would see the rest of the film, and he would give each of us a "pass," a blank ticket to use at any Clearview theatre. Oh, the confusion between a sharp guy with the manner of Samuel T Jackson and a lot of querulous old folks. "What's going on? What did he say? What does the pass entitle us to? Do we go back to the theatre?" The machinery of complaint, having been set in motion, is difficult to halt.

We made our way downstairs to the theatre - this Clearview multiplex has six or eight theatres, two underground - and nothing happened for a bit. The the manager appeared after a while and asked us if we were all in our seats - the stupidest question. We called out yes, anyway. He said that he'd start the film. We applauded. Then we went back to nothing happening.

By now you're thinking that I'm going on about all of this because the film never came back on and I can't write about a movie that I haven't seen all the way through. But it did come back on - that's how I know we were five or ten minutes from the end. But I don't write about movies until they're available to all in DVD form, and I've had a chance to watch them several times. (I wouldn't write about a movie that didn't compel multiple viewings.) But since Capote is on the list of every serious moviegoer I know, I will say that Capote is a great film, one of almost unmatched quiet intensity, and that Philip Seymour Hoffman, Catherine Keener, and Clifton Collins Jr turn in award-worthy performances. Director Bennett Miller, whose first feature this is, certainly seems to know his onions.