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June 14, 2000 The American Dream Ain’t ‘28 Days’ and This Film Ain’t fer the Kiddies
Let’s keep this simple. The film is about a rehab center that the main character is forced to go to after she has a car accident because she was drunk and high on drugs, and the story about the people she meets during her recovery. Now, there are some assumptions that one must make about the audience on a Saturday night in this particular movie in a small neighborhood theatre. One is that the audience isn’t going to be drinking or high (at least for the two hours that they are in the theatre). Another is that the audience will be adult—that is, that they won’t bring their children with them to this particular PG rated movie. Is this too much to assume or am I being unreasonable? The scene: a local neighborhood first run theatre (used to be one screen many years ago, then was cut it half into two auditoriums, then a third added downstairs in the basement, which is slightly larger than my living room, then the other two split making a total of 5 screens). It’s Saturday night at 8PM. I walk into the theatre with my friend, sit down, and 5 minutes later, a mother, a father, and their daughter, no more than 6 year’s old walk in and sit directly in back of me. I roll my eyes while looking forward and somehow know that it is going to be a long 2 hours. A few minutes later, I smell lots of different kinds food in back of me. I look back, out of curiosity. I see Tacos with melted cheese, a large hot dog, the biggest tub of popcorn I’ve ever seen, and two large sodas. Other than my first thought of “When was the last time this couple ate?” I think to myself, “This food cost at least $20.00—how much could it be for a babysitter for this child for 2 or 3 hours? What was this kid doing here? Does this couple think that this was a training film for her daughter about menstruation?” I consider leaving the theatre, but I’m with a friend on a Saturday night. On second thought, why should I miss the movie because of this inconsiderate, ignorant couple behind me? I look around. The theatre is filled. No more places to sit. I put a mental whammy on the kid hoping that she will fall asleep during the first 15 minutes. So much for whammies. The lights in the theatre went down. The commercials started (even the one about the Discovery Channel’s show of a week earlier). It was fine, except for the crunching of tacos, the slurping of the soda and the grabbing of the popcorn in my left ear. I figured I could live with that. Sandra Bullock might put me to sleep; maybe it would put the kid to sleep also. Coming Attractions were normal. No problems there, except that I didn?t see the Mission: Impossible 2 trailer that I was hoping to see. I’ll live. The movie started. So far, so good. I was actually enjoying this movie, except for some minor flaws, when, about 40 minutes into the movie, the child in behind me, decided that she needed to stretch her legs. She walked up and down and up and down and up and down the aisle from the first row to the last row stomping loudly as she passed my ears. She didn’t talk, didn’t cry—I don’t think she even ate—but just as I was really getting into the movie, there was this 6-year-old Godzilla with sneakers. It broke my concentration. I needed a drink. I needed a Valium! I needed a massage! Relax, Paul. Relax. There are more important things in life. True. Just not at that particular moment! This family was not lower class. They whispered softly, their child was actually rather well behaved and I don’t think they were stupid, but I have one question: What possesses parents to bring a 6-year old child to a movie about a rehab center for adult drunk drivers and drug addicts? They couldn’t afford a babysitter? No way. That 2-hour period, with the tickets, the food and the drink cost them at least $30.00. What’s the price of a babysitter for 3 hours, even in NYC? $25 tops? And forgetting about that, by the time the movie was over; it was after 10pm; already past the bedtime of the child. I take it back—this couple HAD to be stupid. I can?t think of any other explanation. Now, I don’t have kids—Hell, I don’t have a wife—and I know I wouldn’t be a perfect parent, and I’d make mistakes like any parent does—but I have to believe that, even on my worst days, I wouldn’t take my 6-year old child to see Saving Private Ryan or Schindler’s List or 28 Days on a Saturday night, any night of the week or any day of the week, for that matter. Oh, you want my review of the movie? “It was O.K.” Don’t you just hate when people say that? Well, don’t worry. I won’t say that. This is what I thought of the movie. Oh, wait. Hold on. Let me get some coffee and a doughnut. Be right back. Hold on. One more minute. Sorry to be distracting, but I’m trying to get in the mode of eating when I talk about movies. Everyone else seems to in a movie theatre. Tacos, hot dogs, and popcorn—probably the typical moviegoer’s only meal of the day. Ok. I’m back. Oh, yes. The movie. My first thought after the credits ended (YES, I typically sit there for the entire credits since they are part of the movie), was that Sandra Bullock isn’t quite yet—but is getting close to—becoming an actress. Then I thought about that a little more. Maybe she was only taking her queues from Betty Thomas, the director of this film. Yes, I thought, that must be it. Sandra Bullock was the only person in rehab who hit rock bottom physically and emotionally 24 hours after she checked in, and at her worst moments, was still wearing makeup and lipstick. The transition from check-in to rock bottom to getting her act together was about as artful as a first note played by a young violin student. (Hold on, I need another handful of popcorn). Even with that major flaw, I still cried at the end, even though I knew what was going to happen. I give it 1-¾ bottles of beer out of a possible total of 4 for movie-making qualities (nothing I rate gets above a 3 ½), and 3 ½ bottles of beer for societal importance. I finally see an important film reflecting society here and it’s marketed only for entertainment purposes. Sad. I should not be in a theatre watching this movie knowing it’s the only place to see it. I would like every student in every school in this country to see this movie in a classroom and talk about it. Is there a reason why someone needs to spend $6.00 to $10.00 for a night out in a movie theatre merely to watch this for entertainment? Maybe so, if, after the movie, half the audience goes next door to a bar for a few drinks and beer nuts. Come on Ms. Bullock—be bullish about this. Go on some talk shows—important talk shows —- and discuss drug abuse and drinking while driving. Take a stand. Make a statement, in between counting all your money. I’d like to see this: Even with the considerable flaws in the film everyone, and I do mean everyone, convicted of drunk driving should be forced to see this movie and take a test about it. There’d be some justice in that. If it saves just one life, it’d be worth it. Even if I were a drinker or druggie, I’d never complain if every theatre showing this movie gave out brochures about drinking and driving and drugs and what they can do to you. At least this film is important enough in that regard, but we simple schmucks will never know that because everyone involved just wants to make a profit! Man, this is what happens when I go to a movie on a Saturday night. I think I’ll stick to home videos. Paul Rosenblum is an author living in New York City. His father worked on The Patty Duke Show. Read Tony Liccardello’s Rant on M. Night Shyamalan Hate. Got a problem? E-mail us at filmmonthly@gmail.com |
I rarely go to a movie theatre at night, especially on a Saturday night, although recently I made the exception to see to the new Sandra Bullock movie 28 Days with a friend. Although I don’t drink or do drugs, I was curious about this film. I wondered if I was supposed to go drunk or high. I decided to do neither.