I want to write about my first movie in Nevada, Beauty and the Beast 3D at Regal Fiesta Henderson 12, and about hours spent at the Galleria at Sunset mall with Mom and Meridith while Dad went for a test and a job interview at the Clark County School District offices. As I read more and more books from my Las Vegas stack, that desire returns to describe the starship-hallway feel of the one corridor at the movie theater that contains the entrances to all 12 auditoriums. Yes, just one side of the building.
But not yet. Soon, though. I'm sure of that. For now, I've opened the .pdf file of the sixth issue of The Henderson Press, which is Vol. 2, No. 1, and dated January 13, 2011, which is strange because the previous issue, Vol. 1, No. 5, was dated December 30 - January 14, 2011. But considering that this is the sixth issue and can pretty much be considered still the beginning of The Henderson Press's run, that's understandable. Takes time for any new venture to establish a rhythm of sorts. I'm not a stickler since the writing's good and therefore there's more to occupy my mind than errors like that.
So let's see what this issue has on tap:
- I peeked at the latest issue and found that Jeremy Twitchell is no longer there. A search on Facebook finds him in College Station, Texas now. I only hope that there are writers now at The Henderson Press who can fill what would seem to be a gaping black hole after Twitchell's departure. Fortunately, Don Logay, my other favorite reporter, is still there, and I get to enjoy what there is of Twitchell from this issue to whenever he left.
- The U.S. Veterans Administration is planning to build "a new clinic on the east side of Boulder Highway." 38,000 square feet and "more than 100 parking spaces." I like seeing efforts like this in progress in my future community.
- I don't like Jennifer Twitchell's column because she doesn't have a firm line on what she wants her columns to be about. There is a purpose there, but it's mired in what feels like sentences that haven't been properly edited. However, when she has to focus entirely on one topic, and it's not part of her column, she's really good. Her article about unused airline miles being donated to the Nevada Partnership for Homeless Youth to help homeless teens is focused (finally), solemn, and caring. When her writing isn't about her, her husband Jeremy, and their son, she's a decent writer.
- For municipal elections, Henderson uses "vote centers," as it had in 2007 and 2009, which don't require precincts and permit residents to vote at any of 13 vote centers during early voting, and 12 on election day.
- Two months and "almost $88,000" to renovate the indoor pool at the Whitney Ranch Recreation Center. Aging tile, plaster, ladders and other fittings to be replaced. It's said here that the new materials will last 10-15 years. It seems small in the scheme of a city, but I like these kinds of stories. They show that nothing's too small in this city.
- Green Valley Ranch Resort and Spa has a show called Nashville Unplugged, hosted by country songwriters Aaron Benward and Brian McComas, with two invited songwriters, discussing their backgrounds and inspiration behind various hit country songs. If it's still there after we move, I want to see it.
- Julio Iglesias at the Grand Events Center at Green Valley Ranch Resort on January 15. Maybe. He's not one of the top names on my list, but still impressive.
- Henderson Farmers Market on Thursday, January 20 from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. Seems to me that a farmers market would be better on the weekend, considering how many people work, but maybe there's something more leisurely about doing it on a Thursday.
- There's a coupon for $9.99 winter jackets at Lakes Discount Center. I've got to see this place.
- In the transportation section, there's a listing for a 1997 Honda Accord. $1,400, the owner's moving and it has 200,000 miles on it. Oh, and the keywords "needs tlc." It means you're going to paying out your ass to fix it up.
- The back page of this issue has a full-page ad for Lakes Discount Outlet (where the coupon's from), showing off many discounts, including 2 for $10 on graphic t-shirts. I want to see what they've got.
This issue is a turning point for The Henderson Press. They've settled into a comfortable, informative rhythm, with much of the writing less self-conscious than it first was, and it helps that Jennifer Twitchell's column isn't here. That makes this issue much easier to read.
I'm hoping for more articles by Don Logay. In The Henderson Press at least, he writes strictly with the need to inform in mind. A true journalist.
This is starting to feel like a true community newspaper, since all involved clearly care about their community.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Sandwich #2: The Emmy at Junior's
A block away from The Landmark, where Meridith saw Jiro Dreams of Sushi and I saw We Have a Pope last Friday, is Junior's Deli, one of the very few authentic Jewish delicatessens in Los Angeles. The greatest is Langer's near MacArthur Park, which has retained its dignified feel through all these decades. It's small and it will remain that way, and it will always have the best Jewish food you will ever taste.
I would place Junior's second, but a very distant second. The food is decent, but they don't know what full-sour pickles are. Half-sour perhaps, but when we asked three times for a bowl of full-sours, they came back with the same pickles, what they apparently consider full-sours. If you're running a Jewish restaurant, you'd better know what full-sours are. Dad said that it's based on the population. Florida was populated with Eastern European Jews. Los Angeles has Israelis. Two very different belief systems in the way of pickles. It's hard to take, though, when you've grown up in one very particular way, when the passion for full-sours and really good kishka requires you to be exacting about your tastes. After that third bowl produced nothing of what we asked, we let it go. What else could we do?
When it came time to order, after I had quickly perused a fairly lightweight menu that felt disappointing, I ordered the Emmy sandwich, billed as "hot corned beef, pastrami, swiss cheese, and Russian Dressing." It's the kind of sandwich that needs fries, but no fries. Only cole slaw comes with each sandwich. Meridith had their Build-a-Burger option, choosing pepperjack cheese, and of course that came with fries. Fortunately, Meridith doesn't eat restaurant fries that often unless they're really fried, and these ones were, but I still got my chance at a few.
When I was a kid, I used to be impressed with the sandwiches I saw at The Rascal House in Sunny Isles, north of Miami Beach. They were huge! How could someone stack that much meat between two slices of rye bread and have it remain stable like that? What magic was there that kept the balance? And look at all that corned beef and pastrami and chopped liver! Amazing!
In my pursuit of my standard of perfect sandwiches, I'm a little incredulous now at sandwiches of that size. For Dagwood Bumstead, that size works because it's in a comic and that's his appetite. I know that there's Blondie's at Universal's Islands of Adventure, which Meridith and her friends searched for during their 8th grade end-of-the-year trip in order to try a Dagwood, but couldn't find the place. To me, that describes exactly what I think of such jumbo sandwiches: They're novelties. There comes a point when a sandwich becomes tall enough that it's more about the size than the sandwich itself. I believe attention should always be trained on a sandwich and the elements that make it so.
The Emmy is manageable with both hands, but you're just chomping into a lot of meat. The Russian dressing is slathered on both slices of bread, but never in between, I guess because to have it on any slice of the meat is to risk the balance of the reputation of sandwiches like these. One slice of meat has to cling to another. No sliding. And the Swiss cheese is only latched to the dressing on each slice of bread. Again, nothing in between, and again, just a whole lot of meat in your mouth. Stop giggling.
Fortunately, a squeeze bottle of Gulden's mustard was at our table and as my sandwich shrank, I thought to squeeze some on the meat. Oh god. If I had done it before, the sandwich would have surely fallen apart, but that combination of salty meat and Gulden's is a kind of heaven that can only exist in that moment. It counteracts the straight salt from the meat, elevating the flavors of the meat. It's as if the corned beef and pastrami stop trying to compete with each other in taste and just link arms and hum in peace. Gulden's is truly the United Nations of mustards, but more successful.
Tall sandwiches being a novelty that shouldn't be indulged in too often, I liked it in those moments of all that corned beef and all that pastrami. But separately, even though I know that's part of what Jewish delicatessens thrive on (the Carnegie Deli at the Mirage in Las Vegas does it too), it's still too much. Fortunately, the slices of rye bread at the top and bottom held really well, and that's how you know you're in a good Jewish restaurant. Rye bread needs to be strong for these sandwiches, but not too hard a crust. This worked.
The Emmy goes well above the egg salad hoagie I had from Pavilions, but probably lounges in the middle of my list. #5, I think. I'm saving the top spots for sandwiches that I'm sure will either come from Southern Nevada or New Mexico, or those cities I visit during my visits to presidential libraries. We shall see. I do know that I want to find a sandwich like The Emmy, but with some self-control, and more sandwiches that use hoagie rolls. I like the strength of those.
I would place Junior's second, but a very distant second. The food is decent, but they don't know what full-sour pickles are. Half-sour perhaps, but when we asked three times for a bowl of full-sours, they came back with the same pickles, what they apparently consider full-sours. If you're running a Jewish restaurant, you'd better know what full-sours are. Dad said that it's based on the population. Florida was populated with Eastern European Jews. Los Angeles has Israelis. Two very different belief systems in the way of pickles. It's hard to take, though, when you've grown up in one very particular way, when the passion for full-sours and really good kishka requires you to be exacting about your tastes. After that third bowl produced nothing of what we asked, we let it go. What else could we do?
When it came time to order, after I had quickly perused a fairly lightweight menu that felt disappointing, I ordered the Emmy sandwich, billed as "hot corned beef, pastrami, swiss cheese, and Russian Dressing." It's the kind of sandwich that needs fries, but no fries. Only cole slaw comes with each sandwich. Meridith had their Build-a-Burger option, choosing pepperjack cheese, and of course that came with fries. Fortunately, Meridith doesn't eat restaurant fries that often unless they're really fried, and these ones were, but I still got my chance at a few.
When I was a kid, I used to be impressed with the sandwiches I saw at The Rascal House in Sunny Isles, north of Miami Beach. They were huge! How could someone stack that much meat between two slices of rye bread and have it remain stable like that? What magic was there that kept the balance? And look at all that corned beef and pastrami and chopped liver! Amazing!
In my pursuit of my standard of perfect sandwiches, I'm a little incredulous now at sandwiches of that size. For Dagwood Bumstead, that size works because it's in a comic and that's his appetite. I know that there's Blondie's at Universal's Islands of Adventure, which Meridith and her friends searched for during their 8th grade end-of-the-year trip in order to try a Dagwood, but couldn't find the place. To me, that describes exactly what I think of such jumbo sandwiches: They're novelties. There comes a point when a sandwich becomes tall enough that it's more about the size than the sandwich itself. I believe attention should always be trained on a sandwich and the elements that make it so.
The Emmy is manageable with both hands, but you're just chomping into a lot of meat. The Russian dressing is slathered on both slices of bread, but never in between, I guess because to have it on any slice of the meat is to risk the balance of the reputation of sandwiches like these. One slice of meat has to cling to another. No sliding. And the Swiss cheese is only latched to the dressing on each slice of bread. Again, nothing in between, and again, just a whole lot of meat in your mouth. Stop giggling.
Fortunately, a squeeze bottle of Gulden's mustard was at our table and as my sandwich shrank, I thought to squeeze some on the meat. Oh god. If I had done it before, the sandwich would have surely fallen apart, but that combination of salty meat and Gulden's is a kind of heaven that can only exist in that moment. It counteracts the straight salt from the meat, elevating the flavors of the meat. It's as if the corned beef and pastrami stop trying to compete with each other in taste and just link arms and hum in peace. Gulden's is truly the United Nations of mustards, but more successful.
Tall sandwiches being a novelty that shouldn't be indulged in too often, I liked it in those moments of all that corned beef and all that pastrami. But separately, even though I know that's part of what Jewish delicatessens thrive on (the Carnegie Deli at the Mirage in Las Vegas does it too), it's still too much. Fortunately, the slices of rye bread at the top and bottom held really well, and that's how you know you're in a good Jewish restaurant. Rye bread needs to be strong for these sandwiches, but not too hard a crust. This worked.
The Emmy goes well above the egg salad hoagie I had from Pavilions, but probably lounges in the middle of my list. #5, I think. I'm saving the top spots for sandwiches that I'm sure will either come from Southern Nevada or New Mexico, or those cities I visit during my visits to presidential libraries. We shall see. I do know that I want to find a sandwich like The Emmy, but with some self-control, and more sandwiches that use hoagie rolls. I like the strength of those.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Dark Shadows DVD Reviews
In near-rapid succession (mainly because I wrote the second of these two reviews late last night and sent it early this morning), here are my latest DVD reviews of two Dark Shadows compilations released a month ahead of the Tim Burton movie, and also to highlight the 131-disc complete series set, which came out in a limited edition on Tuesday (and probably sold out quickly), and a deluxe edition which will be out, oddly, in July.
Here they are:
Dark Shadows: Fan Favorites
Dark Shadows: The Best of Barnabas
Here they are:
Dark Shadows: Fan Favorites
Dark Shadows: The Best of Barnabas
Monday, April 9, 2012
Reunited with a Crush
In 2001, I had a crush on Alyson Hannigan because of American Pie 2, and saw it seven more times that summer. Last Saturday, which turned into a few errands rather that pushed our Passover dinner to Sunday, I went to see American Reunion at Edwards Canyon Country 10 while Mom, Dadm and Meridith went on those errands. It was the first time in such a short span of time that I saw two movies at the only two theaters in this valley. Mamma Mia! comes closest to that, even though we saw it at that same Canyon Country theater. We saw it one day and then went back the next day to see it again.
The same feelings I had about Alyson Hannigan, or at least her role as Michelle Flaherty (now Flaherty-Levenstein after American Wedding), welled up again while I watched this fourth installment in the series. Whereas Michelle had an unabashed quirkiness in American Pie 2, it's matured into a subtle, understated quirkiness, since she's a mom now. It's still very attractive to me, and Hannigan still has the talent of attracting much sympathy, this time for Michelle's marriage problems with Jim. Oh, I feel for Jim too, but considering that he's married to Michelle, why the hell does Kara, his former babysitting charge, matter in the least? Yet, this is what the plot hinges on, so we must watch. I didn't mind it though because American Reunion lifts the franchise up from the problematic American Wedding. The gross-out humor is here again, yet done with, ironically, more grace.
And good god, the number of times I wanted to be with Michelle while watching American Pie 2 zoomed past millions. It was still in the millions during American Reunion, but times have changed not only for these characters, but also for me: I can't see this one seven times because I can't afford these damn ticket prices all the time! I paid $9.50 to see this at a 4:15 p.m. showing. At the time of American Pie 2, I think I paid $4 or $4.50. And the movie industry wonders why box office totals drop off after the first weekend.
The same feelings I had about Alyson Hannigan, or at least her role as Michelle Flaherty (now Flaherty-Levenstein after American Wedding), welled up again while I watched this fourth installment in the series. Whereas Michelle had an unabashed quirkiness in American Pie 2, it's matured into a subtle, understated quirkiness, since she's a mom now. It's still very attractive to me, and Hannigan still has the talent of attracting much sympathy, this time for Michelle's marriage problems with Jim. Oh, I feel for Jim too, but considering that he's married to Michelle, why the hell does Kara, his former babysitting charge, matter in the least? Yet, this is what the plot hinges on, so we must watch. I didn't mind it though because American Reunion lifts the franchise up from the problematic American Wedding. The gross-out humor is here again, yet done with, ironically, more grace.
And good god, the number of times I wanted to be with Michelle while watching American Pie 2 zoomed past millions. It was still in the millions during American Reunion, but times have changed not only for these characters, but also for me: I can't see this one seven times because I can't afford these damn ticket prices all the time! I paid $9.50 to see this at a 4:15 p.m. showing. At the time of American Pie 2, I think I paid $4 or $4.50. And the movie industry wonders why box office totals drop off after the first weekend.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
This Feels Like Home to Me
I've described Las Vegas many ways, but this one sentence at the end of chapter 34 in Sin City by Harold Robbins easily encapsulates everything I've written about it:
I loved Vegas. It allowed people to be themselves.
You can truly be anyone you want to be in Las Vegas. If you're moving there, you can reinvent yourself. If you're staying for a few days, you can find your pleasures (it's always plural in Vegas) in a reasonable amount of time. Whatever you want, you can have it. It can be found somewhere. Now, that may not seem like people being themselves, but in Las Vegas, you can tap into your true nature, what you've always wanted to be but perhaps can't where you live or in the job that you do. Who you truly are is what Las Vegas wants.
That sentence reminded me of the title of Marc Cooper's book about Las Vegas: The Last Honest Place in America. It truly is. I know it.
I loved Vegas. It allowed people to be themselves.
You can truly be anyone you want to be in Las Vegas. If you're moving there, you can reinvent yourself. If you're staying for a few days, you can find your pleasures (it's always plural in Vegas) in a reasonable amount of time. Whatever you want, you can have it. It can be found somewhere. Now, that may not seem like people being themselves, but in Las Vegas, you can tap into your true nature, what you've always wanted to be but perhaps can't where you live or in the job that you do. Who you truly are is what Las Vegas wants.
That sentence reminded me of the title of Marc Cooper's book about Las Vegas: The Last Honest Place in America. It truly is. I know it.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
The Endearing Harold Robbins
Sin City isn't by Harold Robbins, since he died in 1997, but by a writer who was chosen to hew closely to Robbins' writing style. The writer for this one was apparently Junius Podrug, according to Fantastic Fiction.
Nevertheless, Sin City makes me want to read the novels written by Robbins himself not only because Las Vegas is evoked so well here that I feel like I'm home already, but because of a line in Chapter 3. It encapsulates what I've come to realize about Los Angeles, after years of trying to extract some meaning from it, starting from 2003 when I was a new student at College of the Canyons and read every book that I could find about Los Angeles, including literary anthologies. But here it is, the meaning that shows that there isn't any meaning; there never was meant to be a meaning:
"She didn't like L.A. It didn't seem like a real town, just endless streets and rows of houses."
It sure felt like that yesterday when we drove back to Santa Clarita from the area where The Landmark was. Dad knew that Mom didn't want to go back by way of the 405, so he took local streets, which weaved us past houses high up on mountains, houses nestled in those mountains close to the street, houses on stilts, houses that cost more than I'll probably make in my entire life. It took so long to get past those houses, though there was a nice large yellow one I liked with a fountain in the front driveway. Endless streets and rows of houses is correct. In fact, a year and a half ago, I bought from The Library of America Writing Los Angeles: A Literary Anthology for the sale price of $9.95, a perpetual sale price since it's still listed in the section of that website. I saw it at College of the Canyons, skimmed through it, but at that point, I wanted to read it to see if there was anything revealing about Los Angeles that could make me understand it. That one line in Sin City has made me seriously think about putting Writing Los Angeles in the Goodwill box. It's never been my city, it never will be my city, and I've found that meaning. Some like Los Angeles and perhaps to them it feels like a real town, but not to me. It never has.
The first paragraph of Chapter 10 in Sin City also has a perfect description in one of its sentences:
"To me, Vegas was like Hollywood, bigger than life, but even better because Betty told me that there really wasn't any place called Hollywood, that it was just a cheap and dirty street in Los Angeles and "Hollywood" was really movie studios and thousands of people scattered all over the L.A. basin."
Exactly. And now I can go home to Henderson and Las Vegas with this chapter of my life shut tight. I've nothing else to seek about Los Angeles. It's all right here.
Nevertheless, Sin City makes me want to read the novels written by Robbins himself not only because Las Vegas is evoked so well here that I feel like I'm home already, but because of a line in Chapter 3. It encapsulates what I've come to realize about Los Angeles, after years of trying to extract some meaning from it, starting from 2003 when I was a new student at College of the Canyons and read every book that I could find about Los Angeles, including literary anthologies. But here it is, the meaning that shows that there isn't any meaning; there never was meant to be a meaning:
"She didn't like L.A. It didn't seem like a real town, just endless streets and rows of houses."
It sure felt like that yesterday when we drove back to Santa Clarita from the area where The Landmark was. Dad knew that Mom didn't want to go back by way of the 405, so he took local streets, which weaved us past houses high up on mountains, houses nestled in those mountains close to the street, houses on stilts, houses that cost more than I'll probably make in my entire life. It took so long to get past those houses, though there was a nice large yellow one I liked with a fountain in the front driveway. Endless streets and rows of houses is correct. In fact, a year and a half ago, I bought from The Library of America Writing Los Angeles: A Literary Anthology for the sale price of $9.95, a perpetual sale price since it's still listed in the section of that website. I saw it at College of the Canyons, skimmed through it, but at that point, I wanted to read it to see if there was anything revealing about Los Angeles that could make me understand it. That one line in Sin City has made me seriously think about putting Writing Los Angeles in the Goodwill box. It's never been my city, it never will be my city, and I've found that meaning. Some like Los Angeles and perhaps to them it feels like a real town, but not to me. It never has.
The first paragraph of Chapter 10 in Sin City also has a perfect description in one of its sentences:
"To me, Vegas was like Hollywood, bigger than life, but even better because Betty told me that there really wasn't any place called Hollywood, that it was just a cheap and dirty street in Los Angeles and "Hollywood" was really movie studios and thousands of people scattered all over the L.A. basin."
Exactly. And now I can go home to Henderson and Las Vegas with this chapter of my life shut tight. I've nothing else to seek about Los Angeles. It's all right here.
Friday, April 6, 2012
A Tale of Two Movie Theaters
There we were on Thursday afternoon, a foursome, sitting in theater 8 at Edwards Valencia 12, waiting for the 3:10 showing of Titanic 3D. When Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace came out, I toyed with the thought of seeing it, but decided to save my money for this one. It turns out I didn't have to spend my money, because Dad wanted to see it chiefly because of the song, Meridith hadn't seen it in theaters (It was my birthday, March 21, 1998 when Mom, Dad and I saw it, and there was a babysitting place near the movie theater where we dropped off her eight-year-old self, since it wasn't likely that she could sit there for over three hours), and Mom decided to join us because there's just such a great deal of things to do in this valley that she could have become totally indecisive over what to do first, so this was best. *Overreacting Sarcasmotron off*
At Edwards Valencia 12, you buy your tickets at the box office outside, walk in and to the guy standing next to the ticket receptacle, give him your tickets, take them after he rips them, and go find your theater. It's an average-person movie theater, and I like it, though I don't particularly like this one. I tolerate it because it's one of only two theaters in this valley, and you work with what you have.
Since Edwards is owned by the Regal Entertainment Group, the screens light up with Regal First Look 20 minutes before the feature, beamed through a separate projector. I used to be against commercials being shown, and making-of segments about upcoming TV shows, but it's what's at the movies now. It's not going to change. If you don't want it, then you have to find a theater that still preserves what the moviegoing experience used to be, where it's all about the movies and only the movies.
That would be The Landmark in Los Angeles. Ever since seeing the trailer for We Have a Pope early last month, I desperately wanted to see the movie. It's about Cardinal Melville, who's elected Pope by the conclave, but right before when he has to address the faithful, he cries out, and runs away from the world outside and the Cardinals gathered around him. He can't do it. The Cardinals and the Vatican spokesman are worried, because how is it going to look to the faithful when they've announced "Habemus Papum," and there's no Pope present?
The Cardinals decide to try psychoanalysis, and invite a psychiatrist (director Nanni Moretti) to try to figure out what's disturbing Cardinal Melville. He can't ask about the Cardinal's childhood or anything about his mother, but he tries. This leads to a visit with the psychiatrist's estranged wife, who he claims is "the second best after me", but is obsessed with "parental deficit." After Melville visits this psychiatrist, he slips away from his security detail and walks among the people of Rome for the next few days, trying to figure himself out, and this is part of what made me want to see this movie. This Cardinal does not feel he is above the people. He is among them. I have great respect for that. The ending was quite a surprise, a little disappointing, but understandable, and I liked the message that I perceived in it: Someone who is staunchly himself or herself is more holy than any religion.
From the outside, The Landmark is a steel-and-glass building, with shiny white tile flooring after you reach the second floor by escalator or stairs. You go to the ticket counter, and after choosing the movie and showtime, you lean over a flatscreen monitor looking up at you and choose which seat you want. Then after you pay, depending on when your movie is, you either go right in, or wait until it's time for seating in your theater.
We nearly didn't make it on time for the 11:15 a.m. showing of Jiro Dreams of Sushi, a subtitled documentary about an 85-year-old master sushi maker in Tokyo. I saw it on the schedule, showed Meridith, and she wanted to see it. As soon as we got our tickets, she went right into her theater and I had some time to wait, because through the wooden slats of the closed wine bar (I'm sure it opens later in the day), I saw a vertical monitor behind the bar that counts down the minutes until seating begins for each theater. For We Have a Pope, the monitor said, "Seating Begins in 18 Minutes," so I had time to start reading Sin City by Harold Robbins (written by someone else under his name since he died in 1997), which takes place in Las Vegas, and which I've had in my Las Vegas stack for a while. Since I'm working on shrinking it, it was next in the stack.
18 minutes later, I got up, walked to the first ticket guy, who ripped the side of my ticket that belongs to The Landmark, and then I walked to theater 7, handing my ticket to the guy at the door.
It wasn't enough that the theater looked upscale by the architecture alone, or that the digital board showing what movies were playing and the showtimes at the box office counter was crystal clear. The guy looked at my ticket, saw that I was in seat D3, and escorted me to that row, floor level, three rows back from the screen. I found the seat in that row, sat down, and the screen loomed like Godzilla above me, but I was ok with that. At least it wasn't Titanic 3D, which wasn't one of the movies being shown at The Landmark, since they show some Hollywood movies, but mostly independent and foreign films, We Have a Pope being an Italian film.
Seated where I chose, I opened Sin City again, and listened to The Landmark's own music program which plays before the movie begins. I remember there being a music program that played before the movie at Muvico Paradise 24 in Davie, Florida, but it was a national program, not customized like it was for The Landmark. They can afford it.
Before the movie started, the guy who had escorted me to my seat walked to the front of the theater, welcoming everyone, and announced the movie, giving us the running time, as well as when it would end. He then said that if we had any questions or needed anything (probably if the film suddenly went out of focus, which didn't happen), to find him or someone dressed like him, "in this lovely shade of burgundy," he joked, holding out his shirt a bit with two fingers. "And now: We Have a Pope," he announced, and then walked out of the theater. Right at that point (because before the guy made his announcements, he told the projectionist over the radio to start theater 7's projector in two minutes), the lights went down and there were trailers for Darling Companion, Bernie, Monsieur Lazhar, and Trishna. Then the movie began.
I'm tempted to consider The Landmark great luxury in moviegoing because they have great respect for movies in general, but it feels too cold to me. The glass-and-steel design doesn't help it much, and though I do like the organization involved in presenting a movie on time with announcements to boot, I'm happy with a regular theater. It feels like this movie theater is for what I'm sure The Landmark perceives as a higher class of people, but I'm not part of it. I don't like class distinctions and I don't observe them. But considering that The Landmark connects to a Nordstrom which then leads into the high-end Westside Pavilion mall, well, that's a world that doesn't fit me. For sheer respect of movies, I love that dignified treatment, but it's not my kind of theater, even though the guy introducing the movie requested that there be no talking or cell phone usage during the movie. That was nice. However, I can ignore such things. At one point during the sinking of the Titanic yesterday, I heard sirens on the road outside the theater (the walls are that thin, though not between auditoriums), and ignored it. I'm there to see the movie, and it matters nothing what's going on around me. That's other people's business.
I'm sure there are theaters just like The Landmark in Las Vegas, but I hope they feel more accessible than this. Same dignified treatment, but more welcoming to all. I think that balance can be achieved.
At Edwards Valencia 12, you buy your tickets at the box office outside, walk in and to the guy standing next to the ticket receptacle, give him your tickets, take them after he rips them, and go find your theater. It's an average-person movie theater, and I like it, though I don't particularly like this one. I tolerate it because it's one of only two theaters in this valley, and you work with what you have.
Since Edwards is owned by the Regal Entertainment Group, the screens light up with Regal First Look 20 minutes before the feature, beamed through a separate projector. I used to be against commercials being shown, and making-of segments about upcoming TV shows, but it's what's at the movies now. It's not going to change. If you don't want it, then you have to find a theater that still preserves what the moviegoing experience used to be, where it's all about the movies and only the movies.
That would be The Landmark in Los Angeles. Ever since seeing the trailer for We Have a Pope early last month, I desperately wanted to see the movie. It's about Cardinal Melville, who's elected Pope by the conclave, but right before when he has to address the faithful, he cries out, and runs away from the world outside and the Cardinals gathered around him. He can't do it. The Cardinals and the Vatican spokesman are worried, because how is it going to look to the faithful when they've announced "Habemus Papum," and there's no Pope present?
The Cardinals decide to try psychoanalysis, and invite a psychiatrist (director Nanni Moretti) to try to figure out what's disturbing Cardinal Melville. He can't ask about the Cardinal's childhood or anything about his mother, but he tries. This leads to a visit with the psychiatrist's estranged wife, who he claims is "the second best after me", but is obsessed with "parental deficit." After Melville visits this psychiatrist, he slips away from his security detail and walks among the people of Rome for the next few days, trying to figure himself out, and this is part of what made me want to see this movie. This Cardinal does not feel he is above the people. He is among them. I have great respect for that. The ending was quite a surprise, a little disappointing, but understandable, and I liked the message that I perceived in it: Someone who is staunchly himself or herself is more holy than any religion.
From the outside, The Landmark is a steel-and-glass building, with shiny white tile flooring after you reach the second floor by escalator or stairs. You go to the ticket counter, and after choosing the movie and showtime, you lean over a flatscreen monitor looking up at you and choose which seat you want. Then after you pay, depending on when your movie is, you either go right in, or wait until it's time for seating in your theater.
We nearly didn't make it on time for the 11:15 a.m. showing of Jiro Dreams of Sushi, a subtitled documentary about an 85-year-old master sushi maker in Tokyo. I saw it on the schedule, showed Meridith, and she wanted to see it. As soon as we got our tickets, she went right into her theater and I had some time to wait, because through the wooden slats of the closed wine bar (I'm sure it opens later in the day), I saw a vertical monitor behind the bar that counts down the minutes until seating begins for each theater. For We Have a Pope, the monitor said, "Seating Begins in 18 Minutes," so I had time to start reading Sin City by Harold Robbins (written by someone else under his name since he died in 1997), which takes place in Las Vegas, and which I've had in my Las Vegas stack for a while. Since I'm working on shrinking it, it was next in the stack.
18 minutes later, I got up, walked to the first ticket guy, who ripped the side of my ticket that belongs to The Landmark, and then I walked to theater 7, handing my ticket to the guy at the door.
It wasn't enough that the theater looked upscale by the architecture alone, or that the digital board showing what movies were playing and the showtimes at the box office counter was crystal clear. The guy looked at my ticket, saw that I was in seat D3, and escorted me to that row, floor level, three rows back from the screen. I found the seat in that row, sat down, and the screen loomed like Godzilla above me, but I was ok with that. At least it wasn't Titanic 3D, which wasn't one of the movies being shown at The Landmark, since they show some Hollywood movies, but mostly independent and foreign films, We Have a Pope being an Italian film.
Seated where I chose, I opened Sin City again, and listened to The Landmark's own music program which plays before the movie begins. I remember there being a music program that played before the movie at Muvico Paradise 24 in Davie, Florida, but it was a national program, not customized like it was for The Landmark. They can afford it.
Before the movie started, the guy who had escorted me to my seat walked to the front of the theater, welcoming everyone, and announced the movie, giving us the running time, as well as when it would end. He then said that if we had any questions or needed anything (probably if the film suddenly went out of focus, which didn't happen), to find him or someone dressed like him, "in this lovely shade of burgundy," he joked, holding out his shirt a bit with two fingers. "And now: We Have a Pope," he announced, and then walked out of the theater. Right at that point (because before the guy made his announcements, he told the projectionist over the radio to start theater 7's projector in two minutes), the lights went down and there were trailers for Darling Companion, Bernie, Monsieur Lazhar, and Trishna. Then the movie began.
I'm tempted to consider The Landmark great luxury in moviegoing because they have great respect for movies in general, but it feels too cold to me. The glass-and-steel design doesn't help it much, and though I do like the organization involved in presenting a movie on time with announcements to boot, I'm happy with a regular theater. It feels like this movie theater is for what I'm sure The Landmark perceives as a higher class of people, but I'm not part of it. I don't like class distinctions and I don't observe them. But considering that The Landmark connects to a Nordstrom which then leads into the high-end Westside Pavilion mall, well, that's a world that doesn't fit me. For sheer respect of movies, I love that dignified treatment, but it's not my kind of theater, even though the guy introducing the movie requested that there be no talking or cell phone usage during the movie. That was nice. However, I can ignore such things. At one point during the sinking of the Titanic yesterday, I heard sirens on the road outside the theater (the walls are that thin, though not between auditoriums), and ignored it. I'm there to see the movie, and it matters nothing what's going on around me. That's other people's business.
I'm sure there are theaters just like The Landmark in Las Vegas, but I hope they feel more accessible than this. Same dignified treatment, but more welcoming to all. I think that balance can be achieved.
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