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January 14, 2008

Stages of a Cinephile: Raph

Popcorn and Broomsticks

By Raph

1. Ages 3–4 Every single day after preschool, my father takes me to the Woodstock Video Store, which boasts a pretty sweet children’s room. I always gravitate immediately towards a. Disney’s Robin Hood, b. Disney’s The Sword in the Stone, c. Pete’s Dragon, which my parents put a moratorium on because I’ve seen it too many times, d. Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and e. the Faerie Tale Theater series: each one begins with an introduction by Shelley Duvall, and cameos include Vincent Price, Angelica Huston, Robin Williams, Jeff Bridges, Mick Jagger, Liza Minnelli… of course, at the time the only person I actually recognized was Paul “Pee Wee Herman” Reubens as Pinocchio.

2. Ages 5–10 Movies begin to get a strong reaction from me. I am terrified by The Goonies, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, E.T. , and, yes, my own shadow. The watched-too-many-times rule has been retired; otherwise, likely candidates would have included Freaky Friday, (the original, of course, with Jodie Foster), Guys and Dolls, the Sinbad vehicle Houseguest, and What About Bob?. My parents tell me they have a surprise, then take me across the Hudson to Rhinebeck, to an animation festival at Upstate Films, an independent/foreign/revival theater which was to play a major part in my cinedevelopment. At age eight, after an Epcot sausage pizza makes me vomit on a vacation to Disney World with my parents, we stay in our hotel room the next day and watch Rain Man, which launches my love affair with Dustin Hoffman.

3. Ages 10–13 A Golden Age. Discerning readers may have noticed that my tastes up to this point have been, shall we say, less than sophisticated. During these years, largely thanks to watching (then relatively new) movie channels on TV with my parents, I am introduced to The Graduate, The Godfather, and The Maltese Falcon. My first Hitchcock is Vertigo, on a dark rainy night with my cousin and her babysitter. I play one of the aunts in a community theater production of Arsenic and Old Lace and watch the Frank Capra original for research, which launches my love affair with Cary Grant. My parents get in trouble with other parents twice in one year, first for allowing me and Karen Cleary to rent One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, then for allowing me and Annie Planthaber to see the R-rated Varsity Blues at the mall. On a family trip to Paris, we see The Big Lebowski with French subtitles.

4. Ages 14–17 Every single time I go to someone’s house, I bring the family VHS of The Big Lebowski. My father takes me to a screening of The Bicycle Thief at Upstate Films. I catch him tearing up a little at the end, which changes my life a little. Junior year, Karen has her license and we go to Upstate Films every weekend; our English teacher gives us extra credit for writing reviews. Decide that popcorn is my favorite food. I begin reading Anthony Lane and David Denby in The New Yorker regularly, flipping through Pauline Kael compendiums about movies I’ve never heard of, decide she’s my hero. On another trip to Paris, we see Midnight Cowboy with French subtitles; it’s my favorite movie to this day. My first boyfriend and I discover our feelings during a camp trip to the town’s movie theater to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding, which we both hate. My lackluster AP US History teacher gives us extra credit for seeing the abominable Pearl Harbor with the whole class; Karen and I laugh the entire time, are severely chided and called un-American. I learn that the life of a critic is not easy.

5. Ages 18–22 In the fall of my freshman year at NYU, I find Film Forum. The first movie I see there is Singin’ in the Rain; changes my life a little. On my birthday, I settle into headphones and a carrel at the library’s video department, only to have The Big Sleep cut off right before the end. I take cinema studies classes and declare myself a cinema studies minor, with no authority to do so; write a paper on the Marx Brothers as socioethnic commentary. During my year abroad in Paris, I see four or five or six movies a week, in the city with the most movie screens per capita in the world, many of which are American revival theaters. I take two semesters of cinema studies with a brilliant, grumpy, discerning professor who gives a lecture on why Amélie is a bad movie, and changes my life a little. On a date, I see The Philadelphia Story with a Romanian guy who later tells me he missed the entire movie because he tried to practice his English by not looking at the subtitles. I learn that going to movies alone is not a last resort, but, in fact, preferable; now, I hardly do it any other way. Ben brings Lucid Screening into my life; soon, hopefully, I’ll be writing reviews for the New York Press. In Woodstock, our mom-and-pop place, Alternative Video, closes because of too much Netflix competition. It was responsible for many of the moments mentioned above. Rest In Peace.

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