This article is a guest post by James Gibson. James has absolutely no qualification to write about film, scant interest in the medium and hadn’t been to the cinema for two years. Until now…
I’m going to be up front about it: I have never really liked going to the cinema or, even, watching films in general. I’ve never got it. What’s the point of paying a small fortune sitting in front of the big screen for a couple of hours to see something that’s almost always over-hyped and underwhelming?
I live with one of the writers for this site, who has always been deeply mistrustful of my aversion to films. He’s forced me to watch all sorts of stuff in the hope that it will spark some kind of hidden passion. From Les Intouchables (boring, bad French jokes) to Dredd 3D (dreddful), I have remained resolutely unconvinced.
I’ve long believed that there are just better things to do with your time. You could do some exercise or actually have a conversation with your mates instead of sitting in the dark, awkwardly monitoring your own breathing in case you piss off the person sat next to you. There has always been literally dozens of things I would rather do.
Only constant pestering persuaded me to make my first trip to the cinema in two years, to see Mad Max: Fury Road at the Ritzy cinema in Brixton. The ridiculously impressive reviews won me round and convinced me that it was, at least, worth a go. At the very least, it would probably be fun. And it wouldn’t be in French – bonus.
Despite the glowing reviews, my expectations were set pretty low.
Those expectations were not surpassed.
They were smashed, pulverised, battered, obliterated.
The film is two hours solid of ridiculous, full-on, insane action. The plot is in there somewhere but it’s not particularly important. As soon as the title screen disappears, you’re in the middle of the desert with Tom Hardy and a bunch of messed-up lunatics ramming into each other and performing stunning feats of violent acrobatics.
I’ve seen things a bit like this before. Characters in films are always smashing stuff up. In Man of Steel, Superman managed to destroy the entire city (which I’m pretty sure he was meant to be saving) and it was one of the most boring things I’ve ever seen.
But Mad Max was different. It felt real and visceral, you could almost smell the petrol fumes. When some bald psycho leapt from one car to another, it was so impressive because you could tell that, somehow, a real stuntman had physically done something incredible.
The fact that I found the film itself so ridiculously entertaining was half of the surprise. I’ve never been to the Ritzy before and, I’ll admit, I’d never actually been to an indie cinema before. My very occasional trips out for a film were only ever to big multiplexes; I’d assumed that was basically all the cinema world had to offer. I was wrong.
From the beers in the bar before the film (which may have helped further my enjoyment…) to the beautiful, historic auditorium and its awesomely comfy chairs, and the very friendly, chatty staff, this was the best possible way to view.
The lasting feeling I came away with was that this was an experience. The kind of experience that I could only have had in a proper cinema where the people pay real care and attention to the product that they’re putting on screen. It could hardly be compared to forking out for the sticky floors, hard seats and cramped legroom you get in a multiplex.
Independent cinemas are far more welcoming and way more enjoyable. And I guess films like Mad Max are rare, but it’s shown me that I can get wrapped up and carried away in a film in a way that I’d not been before.
After two years without a cinema trip, I never thought I’d be scanning the summer release schedule for my next fix.
After that last visit, one thing is for sure – ‘I’ll be back’
(That’s a quote from a film, right?)
Popcorn and projector 