Ars Gratia Artis

I'm no longer allowed into certain movie theaters. No, not because I talk nor use my cell phone during the features, but because of what I do afterward. First, when I enter the theater, I sit in a seat at the aisle on the end of a row but in the darkest section; then I wait. The moment the last scene of the film fades, the final credits start rolling. At that moment, it's still dark for a few seconds in the seats. So I stick my foot into the aisle, and watch as a half-dozen or so patrons trip and tumble atop each other, then I quickly try to hide. If I'm still covered by some darkness, I cry out at that point, "You idiots! Look at the damn screen!" Movie-goers are so American: controlled by impatience and convenience, they have to rush out the theater and into their parked cars and onto their cell phones---just to find themselves in a traffic jam.

Look what they miss by ignoring the ending credits: The credits name those who made the film. We can begin learning a bit about their careers and talents. "Hey, so-and-so was the cinematographer for this movie. Wasn't he the one for that other movie I saw? No wonder this film had those odd-angle shots---that's his pattern. Ah, so-and-so was the director; now I see a particular theme running through the three or four movies of his I've seen. Hmm, interesting---guys of Eastern-European background, e.g., seem to excel in cinematography. I wonder if that has anything to do with the so-called melancholic spirit of their Eastern Christianity?" Where a movie is made is interesting for sociological and economic reasons. Many a movie I thought was filmed in a certain place because it was set there turned out to be made elsewhere. Learn the names of minor actors who in the near future often become major ones. "Hey, I remember that dude in his earlier flick, such-and-such." Ah, the music. Almost every movie ends with an interesting song which not only summarizes the film just shown, giving it additional meaning, but somtimes played for the first time for the public at this credits time, and, bingo, I've heard it before it reaches others on the radio. I grit my teeth and clinched my seat the other day at my latest theater adventure, seeing, er, "Nights in Rodanthe" (yes, the Old Doc has a soft side), as the most romantically sad and new song played during the closing credits---"In Rodanthe" by Emmy Lou Harris---and all the klutzes around me were walking out the theater babbling as if nothing more artistic was being presented to them. And so forth. Finally, now and then a movie's final credits and music have ground to a halt, I unbuckle my seat belt, scoop up to eat whatever popcorn the idiots next to me spilled to the floor, rise from my seat, and, lo, another scene unexpectedly appears on the screen, one which either adds addtional insight to what just played, or one which signals that a sequence to this movie is in the works---and my fellow theater patrons, who are by now sitting in their traffic jam, have missed this.

Well, I just hope that my closet of movie-going disguises doesn't deplete soon---the fall season of new, adult-theme movies is upon us. I wonder if Roger Ebert ever did this?

-Old Doc