Er, it wasn’t the worst movie I have ever seen. But put it this way – every clever part is in the previews. It was exactly like watching a video game.
Suffice it to say, my 5-year-old daughter, Sandy, had a completely different reaction.
“Does Super Mario come out today?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Holy shit,” she said.
But she said it like “Hooooly shit.”
When I recounted Sandy’s reaction to my father, he questioned with a self-righteous inflection, “And where, pray tell, do you think she learned such vulgar language?”
His words were designed to instill a sense of guilt in me, as though the mere utterance of a profanity was a scandalous affront to his sensibilities. This, coming from the same man who, in his younger years, would remove a malfunctioning toilet from our home, hoist it above his head, and hurl it down the street. A similar fate befell the lawnmower.
“Do you think it’s acceptable for her to employ such language?” he pressed, his voice grating like nails on a chalkboard, reminiscent of a Catholic nun smacking your hand with a ruler.
“I appreciate your line of inquiry,” I retorted. “However, she is on the accelerated program. She’s advanced.”
At this juncture, Sandy chimed in, having overheard our exchange.
“Dada. Dada taught me,” she declared. It was a rarity for her to use “Dada.”
Typically, it was “Daddy” or “Dad.” “Dada” was reserved for the “I’m a mere infant, and thus, I know no better” persona.
Truth be told, the swearing didn’t perturb me much, as long as she didn’t devolve into a foul-mouthed caricature like Eddie Murphy. We instructed her, “You may use profanity in our presence if it’s amusing.”
“You mean if it’s funny?”
“Yes. You can cuss around us if it’s funny. But you better make us laugh or you’ll get in trouble.”
The last thing I want is for her to be that one kid at school who is cussing around her friends. And then her friends go home to her parents and say, “Sandy taught me. Sandy taught me how to say these cuss words. She says her Dad taught her.”
Okay that’s not the last thing.
There’s one thing that she could take home to the other kids that’s even worse. And you might know what I’m going to say!
Sandy is really asking “Where do babies get made?” lately. Like not letting up on it. And this is Dad’s fault.
Why is it Dad’s fault?
Because one day she asked, “So I came out of Mommy’s belly?”
“Yep,” I said. I should have stopped here. But then I said, “And from a certain perspective you also came out of Daddy.”
She stared blankly, perplexed. “What?”
I just didn’t think it was fair that Mom gets all the credit. It’s always the mom.
So now she’s asking, “So let me get this straight – how did I go from your belly to Mom’s belly?”
She’s asking this all the time now.
And there’s only one answer I can give. “Magic,” I say. “And I will tell you the rest when you’re older.”
Back to the Movie
Anyway, let’s get back to the movie. Or rather, let’s not. There’s nothing to talk about here. The movie is a video game. I give it zero stars. Again, I was going to review the movie but there is nothing to review.
So let’s talk about the experience of going into the theater!
We Entered
Upon entering the establishment, the AMC theater, I couldn’t help but notice the solitary attendant behind the counter. A curious sight, don’t you think? Can you recall the days before the pandemic, when a veritable battalion of workers manned the concession stands? Alas, now there remains but one harried soul, dashing between dispensing tickets and crafting pretzels. Smoke flew out from the machine.
It was at this moment that my gaze fell upon the popcorn. The supply was woefully scant, appearing as though it had been languishing there since the previous evening.
“Popcorn, anyone?” the beleaguered worker inquired.
“YES!” Sandy cried.
We were presented with two sizable tubs of the snack – one extra metal container with a question mark on it like out of the video game – and with great delight, she perched it atop her head.
Navigating the dimly lit corridors, we paused for a brief sojourn to the restroom. To my amazement, the lights flickered to life upon our entry, seemingly of their own accord. The toilet, too, displayed a similar autonomous functionality, yet its performance left much to be desired.
As we neared the entrance to the theater, we were struck by the cacophony that awaited us within.
“It’s too loud,” Sandy observed.
Now I always love loud movies, but for kids, their ears are super-sensitive. So I told her, “Hey if it’s too loud, I’ll tell them to turn it down, okay?”
“Okay, Dad.”
Chapter 2
When we got into the theater, there was a maintenance man on a tall ladder, who was right in front of the screen. He was changing lightbulbs.
“Are there always men changing lightbulbs?” Sandy asked, seeing as it was her first time in the theater.
“No,” I said.
And as the previews started, he was still on that ladder, changing lightbulbs. I was kind of hoping we could watch the previews.
And geez those lightbulbs were really flickering.
Totally annoying!, I thought. I wanted Sandy’s first time watching a movie in the theater to be magical! Even the previews!
So I went up to the guy and asked him what was going on? Or could I give him a hand with those lightbulbs?
“I don’t know,” he said. He came over and sat next to us in the movie theater. “It appears that the lights go on and off in sequence with the bass of the movie.”
“Huh,” I said. “What about turning the lights off so we can enjoy the movie? Or will the whole movie be like this, with these lights blinking on and off?”
He took a deep breath. “They’re on a whole different circuit so we can’t control them,” he said, and then added, “They’re automatic.”
“Wait,” I said. “So you’re telling me, that these lights are controlled by someone else in some other city like Cincinnati? And you can’t turn the lights on and off?”
“Yes,” he said. “The lights are controlled from headquarters, and everything here is now on automation.”
I looked back at the lights. I was reminded of the guy behind the counter, running the whole thing himself. And the lights, how they went on by themselves in the bathroom all by themselves and the water that turned off by itself and even the toilet which ran on autopilot that didn’t work.
I was going to ask him if he could turn the sound down, but then I realized that this must be automatic as well. Controlled from headquarters. No doubt, by some Oz-like character.
“Can you tell them to turn the sound down?” Sandy whispered.
“I don’t think they can. Everything’s automatic,” I whispered back.
I wonder if they turned up the sound for a more powerful experience? Since I’m a musician, I thought of my sound engineering days, and how something that is loud always sounds better than something that is soft. If you want to make an impression on somebody, make it loud.
That’s why everyone is using buttloads of compression on their mixes, like when you turn on Spotify lately.
With this said, when we would mix the track – we would turn it all the way down so we could barely hear it. This is because when you’re listening at low levels, the human ear is less sensitive to bass and treble frequencies. This forces you to focus on the essential elements and ensure that they are well-balanced in the mix and to avoid frequency conflicts.
It also didn’t blow our ears out. Listening to something loud over a period of time, like a movie, or going to a concert, exhausts the ears and makes everything become sort of muddy by the end of it. I imagined us coming out of the movie in a couple of hours with the same ear fatigue one might have in mixing a rock and roll track.
Let’s get back to the movie
So where did this cinematic endeavor falter? Pacing, for one. As previously mentioned, it possessed the frenzied velocity of a video game, but sorely lacked the elegance of a “Toy Story.” It seemed as if the creators endeavored to emulate that charm, at times attempting to capture the contemporary spirit found in “The Croods Part 2” – a film that, for those unfamiliar, set a high standard of hipness.
Same with “Luca”. It’s just hard to keep up with those Pixar movies!
Given that I have children, I found myself privy to the lore upon which this “Super Mario Bros.” was based. Sandy and I identified familiar faces, such as Bowser, Princess Pea, and the Mushroom Kingdom. We had engaged with the video games, appreciating them, save for their tendency to begin with deceptive simplicity before escalating to infuriating difficulty.
The Videogame is Better
In our household, Nintendo gaming sessions often culminate in a cacophony of shrieks and exhortations to cooperate as a team. However, teamwork proves somewhat elusive when our youngest, Charlie, all of three years old, believes he’s an active participant. To keep him involved, we hand him a counterfeit controller – a PlayStation one, no less.
Blissfully unaware of what has happened, Charlie assumes victory at every turn. When his supposed triumphs occur, he leaps to his feet, dancing and swaying his hips. Little does he know that it’s his father, the real victor, that he’s celebrating. “You’re the green guy,” we assure him.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” he exclaims, gyrating with glee.
But when his fellow players, unbeknownst to him, fail to maintain the pace set by his father, Charlie’s mood sours. He chastises them for their perceived ineptitude, unable to comprehend why they can’t keep up.
“Be nice,” I say, “Because not everyone can play as well as you can.”
Back to the Movie
I’d like to report that the film improved as it progressed, but alas, it remained stagnant, leaving my mind to wander and my eyes to roam the ceiling, marveling at the light fixtures. It struck me that the maintenance worker must be a man of considerable skill, tending to what some might describe as a dying art house. Operating a cinema in 2023 must be a Herculean task.
At home, we boast a modest 7.1 sound system in our own makeshift theater. Yet it pales in comparison to the sonic experience at the AMC. The audio in the Big D was nothing short of astounding. I confess, as the sound swept from speaker to speaker before the film commenced, I found myself on the verge of tears, so deeply moved was I by the aural ambience.
That being said, the visuals left something to be desired. The projection was dim, the colors lackluster. I mused on the statistic that 1 in 12 men suffer from color blindness and pondered whether I might be among their ranks. As of late, the hues in my life seem less vibrant than they were in my youth.
Despite my critiques, Sandy reveled in the experience. She was launched back in her seat, hands clamped over her ears—something I’d never witnessed her do—during the more suspenseful moments, all the while exclaiming, “Dad! There’s the Princess!”
Glancing at my watch, I questioned whether only a half-hour remained. What rating would I bestow upon this cinematic endeavor? A single star or a turkey? Perhaps a symbol of a malfunctioning toilet, a flickering lightbulb, or a piece of stale popcorn?
But in the end, I dismissed those thoughts. For the quality of the film mattered little when I was sharing the experience with Sandy at her very first movie.
As I peered down at her once more, she beamed, “This is amazing! I can’t wait to come back!”
Kerry Heffelfinger co-founded Sunflower Counseling MT with his wife, Marie, and their three spirited children. In the scarce moments of respite from running the business, Kerry indulges in his passion for the electric guitar, which he keeps, rather unconventionally, in the bathroom. Aside from his musical pursuits, Kerry finds solace in the seemingly mundane: wandering the aisles of Target, browsing the colorful array of La Croix cans, and examining the various textures of toilet paper. These simple pleasures, however ordinary, offer him moments of tranquility amidst the chaos of family and work life.