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The theater is over a century old. The movie director has said he’s been thinking about making this film for two decades. A friend’s neighbor worked on the movie, he was bound to secrecy and couldn’t describe it—I just remember him constantly traveling for several years. I live in Los Angeles and don’t go to the movies very often. Several friends, especially ones who work in Hollywood, consider this a bit weird. After all, we have good theaters, Quentin Tarantino runs two of them, and cinema’s in the water; practically everyone who makes movies professionally lives here or visits regularly, and you often see the famous ones in or near the grocery stores. Daryl Hannah at the Venice Whole Foods, looking somewhat recognizable. Christopher Nolan at a bar around the corner from Gelson’s, the one in Beachwood Canyon, recognizable for wearing a suit, sometimes just a vest. Los Angeles even used to make movies, but now it mostly makes the deals that make movies. Anyway. Recently, my local theater, a fifteen-minute walk from home, started advertising Nolan’s The Odyssey in “epic” 70 millimeters. And because it’s one of Tarantino’s theaters, the concessions stand serves White Castle burgers, also wine. And because it’s hot outside, I thought some time in the air-conditioned dark would be nice. So, another round of focus aerobics, this time for 172 minutes, not sixty, because that’s how Nolan wants it to be. —The exterior of the theater is Spanish Mission Revival, typical of L.A. The interior is a bit more odd: Egyptian Revival, inspired by the 1922 discovery of King Tut’s tomb, decorated with golden pharaohs. Waiting in line for thirty minutes in 90-degree heat: not odd, not typical, kinda Egyptian and aggravating. —It’s a single-screen theater, over 100 years old. And because it’s now a Tarantino production—he purchased the theater, restored it, and reopened it three years ago—there’s a preference for celluloid over digital. Inside, the crowd is everyone, all movie types. Mainly adults, mostly middle-aged, couples and singles, groups of friends. A man in line says he’s there for the third time already, it’s everything from Nolan he could want. Buttered popcorn, one order after another, odors everywhere. —I’ve only gotten sick once at the movies, and I blame Danish cinema, but also buttered popcorn. In college, I wrote film reviews for the school newspapers, mostly so I could see movies for free. And going into 1996’s Breaking the Waves, I didn’t know anything about it, didn’t know anything about Lars von Trier or his love for shaky cameras. But I knew the room was hot. And people sitting near me had big bags of popcorn, lots of melted butter. Maybe fifteen minutes later, I ran out and vomited in the bathroom, and the smell of buttered popcorn has turned my stomach ever since. —Promos, ads, service journalism, then the movie. The beauty of watching a movie in a theater? What’s obvious: collective fun, shared emotions, even when it’s a full-on freakout, like the recent time I was involved in a semi-riot during Babygirl. What specifically about the beauty of watching a movie for three hours in an old movie palace? A sense of age and tradition. The thought of people waiting in the same line outside over decades, for silent-era programming, vaudeville acts, adult films, and now whatever Tarantino wants to see. —My phone’s away for three hours (except one time when I get a text), sitting still for three hours, rapt. Regarding The Odyssey: the film is incredible. Visuals are astonishing, and the script and time-balancing are adroit. The practical effects are wildly astonishing—sailing scenes, pig scenes, etc. The sound’s also incredible. Unlike other Nolan films, I don’t need to lean forward to decipher what people said. And was there shaky cam? Sure, but I didn’t puke. John Leguizamo alone is worth the ticket. That said, like many Nolan films, I walked out into the somewhat cooler night and it left me cold, awestruck but cold. People walked home, chatting. People caught ride-shares, silently. Nolan is the most impressive filmmaker. He is not my favorite filmmaker. I got two slices of pepperoni pizza at a nearby shop and looked at my phone, and Instagram served me an AI photo of Matt Damon smoking a bong with monkeys, Christopher Nolan looking on from around a corner, aghast. —A final note regarding the filmmaker: A friend’s child used to attend the same school as some of Nolan’s kids here in L.A., and Nolan’s wife’s favorite banana bread recipe got passed around. How Emma Thomas found time to bake bread when she wasn’t winning Oscars for producing Nolan’s films, who knows, but reportedly it was very good. Here it is. Programming note: I’m going off the grid next week to report a story in the woods. I’ll see you back here in two weeks. ð“€ Tomorrow’s 3+ things for members:
Join the community and enjoy great books, travel/fashion picks, new music and cool stuff generally. ❀ Hey, if you’re a writer looking for help—editing, coaching, brainstorm juju—I recommend collaborating with Rachel Knowles. Rachel has helped me significantly over the years, not to mention lots of other writers: novelists, screenwriters, Substack-ers, the gamut. Whether you’re aspiring or established, everyone needs an editor. More info at her website. What the what“Meditations in an Emergency” is a weekly essay from author Rosecrans Baldwin about something beautiful. Paying subscribers receive a Sunday supplement with three-plus things to love, plus a monthly travel-lust ballyhoo. Rosecrans is a correspondent for GQ, a contributor at Travel + Leisure, and the bestselling author of Everything Now, winner of the California Book Award. Other books include The Last Kid Left and Paris, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down. His debut novel, You Lost Me There, was a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice. For magazine articles, bio, contact info: rosecransbaldwin.com. Disclaimer: if you buy something using a link from here, I may receive a commission.
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