My "Last" Movie Review

Front Row at the Movies by Shirrel Rhoades

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This is my “last” movie review. I am retiring my weekly column.

That’s not to say I will never write another review. Movies are an important part of my life. I’ve watched them since childhood. I’ve reviewed them since the mid ‘60s. But, for now, “Front Row at the Movies” is ending.

After all, I am growing older (nearly 84), tired of weekly deadlines, ready to watch films for my singular enjoyment.

So, I thought this last review might cover a lifetime of moviegoing.

Motion pictures are more than entrainment (although they are that too). To me, movies are like time machines that have allowed me to go to other places and other times, to see people I wouldn’t ordinarily meet, to observe and participate in other lives.

Keep in mind, fiction is merely a mirror of truth, a reflection of life.

Through movies, I’ve lived many lives. I’ve had a gin at Rick’s Café Américain with Bogey (“Casablanca”). I’ve ridden across the desert sands with Peter O’Toole (“Lawrence of Arabia”). I’ve spent Christmas Eve decorating a fir tree with Jimmy Stewart (“It’s a Wonderful Life”). I’ve wandered through the shadowy night streets of Vienna with Orson Welles (“The Third Man”). I’ve faced angry gunfighters having a showdown with Gary Cooper (“High Noon”). I’ve crossed the Red Sea with a robed Charlton Heston (“The Ten Commandments”). I’ve rescued a beautiful princess with the help of a swashbuckling Mandy Patinkin (“The Princess Bride”). I’ve been sequestered with contentious jurors alongside Henry Fonda (“12 Angry Men”). I’ve danced up walls and across ceilings with Fred Astaire (“Royal Wedding”). I’ve watched Sharon Stone cross her legs (“Basic Instinct”). I’ve explored outer space with a rebellious AI computer named HAL (“2001: A Space Odyssey”).

Through movies, I’ve explored human emotions and conditions. Greed (“Wall Street”), failure (“On the Waterfront”), anger (“Network”), fear (“Halloween”), poverty (“The Grapes of Wrath”), triumph (“Rocky”), wonder (“E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial”), bittersweet romance (“The Notebook”), self-worth (“Good Will Hunting”), empathy (“It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”), sadness and loss (“Terms of Endearment”), racial unrest (“Do the Right Thing”), haves and have-nots (“Sullivan’s Travels”), inevitable change (“The Last Picture Show”), finding joy in the mundane (“Amélie”), and embracing hope and inspiration (“The Shawshank Redemption”). I would never have known the nuances of those emotions simply by living my normal life.

Movies can be magical (“Hear My Song”); surreal (“The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie”); enigmatic (“Mulholland Drive”); surprising (“The Crying Game”); exotic (“The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel”); erotic (“Body Heat”); picaresque (“Forrest Gump”); picturesque (“The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”); pee-in-your-pants funny (“Airplane!”); whimsical (“The Grand Budapest Hotel”); mysterious (“Blow-Up”); awesome (“Interstellar”); inspiring (“The Sound of Music”); spectacular (“Ben Hur”); futuristic (“Blade Runner”); atmospheric (“The Old Dark House”); scary (“The Exorcist”); charismatic (“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”); angst-ridden (“Rebel Without a Cause”); visually stunning (“Days of Heaven”); imaginative (“Fantasia”); mythological (“O Brother Where Art Thou?”); dramatic (“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”); nostalgic (“A Christmas Story”); suspenseful (“Shadow of a Doubt”); even supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (“Mary Poppins”) – the whole array of human interactions with this world.

Movies allow us to experience these things without necessarily dealing with them in real life.

As a youngster, my parents would drop me off at the Liberty Theater every Saturday morning. For a dime, I could catch a double feature (usually Westerns starring Bob Seel and Ken Maynard or Tom Mix and Lash LaRue, plus a Woody Woodpecker cartoon, a G-Man serial, a March of Time newsreel, and a preview of coming attractions. I would spend the day watching (and rewatching) the movies.

For another ten cents I could buy a cherry sno-cone, for fifteen cents a box of popcorn, and have allowance left to pick up a comic book at Crest Five and Dime on the end of Main Street.

Whenever I hear the theme “Stardust” playing, I involuntarily gaze up, expecting to see the stars and planets that covered the ceiling of the Liberty Theater, that small-town Sistine Chapel that I held sacred. It was a babysitter, an educator, a creative stimulus, a portal to other existences. I’ve never stopped going, although the marquee has continued to change with my quixotic travels.

My most magical movie moment was when “The Wizard of Oz” surprisingly morphed from the sepia-toned landscape of a Kansas farm to the glorious Technicolor hues of the Yellow Brick Road, the color transition being a deliberate creative choice to symbolize Dorothy’s journey from the real world to the fantastical Land of Oz. I was hooked on movies. Thereafter, only one of my feet remained in the real world.

Movies provided many firsts for me. Here, I encountered my first superheroes (“Atom Man vs. Superman”). The first time I saw my father cry (the crucifixion scene in “The Robe”). Went on my first date (“Love Me Tender” with a screaming Elvis fan). Lost my virginity at Bob’s Drive-In (it took years for me to see the ending of “Thunder Road”). My son and I bonded watching Dracula movies in the Bahamas (“Dracula Has Risen from the Grave – You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down”). I hung out with Steve McQueen at the premiere of “The Thomas Crown Affair.” I visited Clint Eastwood on the backwoods set of “Paint Your Wagon.” I was Frank Sinatra’s guest for the weekend at the Fontainebleau Hotel. I co-produced official Fantasy Fest videos. Helped launch such mainstream films as “Men in Black” and “Spider-Man.” And I attended the premiere at Tribecca of my son’s first indie film (“My New Life”).

I learned about movies from movies (“Cinema Paradiso,” “Singin’ in the Rain,” “Hugo,” “The Player,” “Hail, Caesar!,” “Matinee,” “Day for Night,” “Sunset Boulevard,” “8 ½,” “The Fabelmans,” et al.).

Movies were invented in the late 1880s and early 1890s, with the Lumière brothers hosting the first public, commercial film screening on December 28, 1895, in Paris. Today, technology is forcing movies to rethink themselves. Drives-ins have all but disappeared; streaming videos have created binge watching. Artificial Intelligence is looming in the future. Holograms and immersive moviegoing experiences are around the corner.

Sure, movies are not real … merely shadows on the wall.

But according to William Shakespeare, so is life. As he put it, “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.”

Willie also said: “If we shadows have offended, Think, but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumbered here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: If you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.”

See you at the movies.

Email Shirrel: srhoades@aol.com