When Movies Matter Most

Those formative childhood years that lead us to adulthood are times filled with profound sensory experiences. New tastes excite, the air feels fresher, the sun-dappled days go on forever, and every new sensation feels like an extraordinary cosmic event. It's unfortunate that our youthful excitement fades into a flatter, more contemplative phase, one with fewer highs and lows. Although unrealistic, it might be nice to be able to feel emotions and experiences that deeply once again. A wonderful string of comments erupted over at Hollywood Elsewhere over a clip from Back To The Future IIIin which many of HE's frequent guests began debating about their personal favorite summers. In the course of the discussion, one commentator named LexG unearthed this sparkly little gem:

Man, 1990 has been TWENTY YEARS? I'm sure to guys older or younger than me (37 this spring), 1990 was just some other unexceptional year, but, damn, to me that was one of THE years of my life: 1983, 1986, 1990, and 1996 all had this fucking MAGICAL GLOW that I haven't really felt since. 1990 was senior year of high school, I was fairly popular, it was the (to steal an unfortunate phrase from DZ) the beginning of that early "wigger" era, when all the white suburban kids went apeshit for Vanilla Ice and Hammer and Young MC and Humpty Dance, driving around with rattails and mullets, giant turquoise hats floating on our heads, maybe ICE shaved into the back or some some STRIPES on the side, all the black guys rockin' fades, rocking the BUGLE BOYS and the PEGGED PANTS, smoking Newports and Saved by the Bell acid-wash. It was a MAGICAL ERA of early hip-hop, the last great blasts of hair metal (Poison SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN was a prom song, the Dr. Feelgood album by Motley Crue, Firehouse, etc)... And the movies that summer ROCKED. No one looks back on that as a particularly great slate, but the half-mulleted, rust-tinted, exhaust-fumed frizz-haired likes of DIE HARD 2, DAYS OF THUNDER, GHOST, TOTAL RECALL, FLATLINERS made for one of the most nostalgic, heartbreaking, chain-smoking, what am I gonna be? summers ever... BTTF3 was in there too, but, gotta say, compared to all that urban, gritty, sexy, sleazy 1990 verge of adulthood formative shit, poor Marty McFly seemed awfully flyweight.

Of course, as evidence by the films he mentions in that monologue, he remembers those films fondly because they were the films of his formation. Any reasonable critic will tell you that there is nothing magical about Die Hard 2, Days Of Thunder, or Flatliners, but they represent something special to him because they were the films that his heightened youthful senses thoroughly absorbed. They were probably the first films he went to see with friends instead of his parents, the first films that that felt like they were speaking directly to him rather than over his head. The entire experience probably held magic for him; standing around with his peers outside the theater, smoking those Newports, listening to Cradle Of Love blare out of a nearby car stereo. And it probably felt like it would never end. Unlike most of the commentators in that thread, I don't have any specific memories of films from my senior year in high school. The last two years of high school and the first few afterwards were consumed by baseball. My St. Louis Cardinals were thrill-a-minute heroes then. Being a pitcher, practice for my team's season started early in February, and last all summer. All of the non-stop partying in senior year only made my movie watching even more difficult. But, as a child of the Star Warsgeneration, I have memories similar to LexG thanks to my own rose-colored glasses of childhood. I can still vividly remember that Star Destroyer going overhead while the entire audience collectively gasped. I can remember the summer of 1982, when the world cried together over a rubber puppet. I remember renting VHS versions of Hitchcock films with my sister, or repeatedly watchingThe Four Seasons with her when we finally got cable television. I can remember the first film I saw with my friends instead of my parents - Ghostbusters- although I had to sneak out to see it because my parents were very religious, and wouldn't allow me to see movies with ghosts in it. These are all emblazoned in my memories of youth.

I was trying to think of the last time a movie moment felt that alive to me. I think it was the spring of 1997, when Lucas re-released the Special Edition of Star Wars. I brought along a bunch of teenaged guys from my church to the theater to experience the film the way I had so long ago. Their only understanding of the film to that point had been on television, and their reactions during the film was truly emotional for me. It was magical for them, as it was for me. Since then, there have been moments of near magic for me. The Phantom Menaceexperience promised magic - that premiere night was, in some ways, magical - but it quickly turned into a nightmare. I remember sitting with KC from The Rec Show during the premiere of The Dark Knight and feeling a whiff of magic in the air. But mostly that youthful exuberance has faded away, replaced by the critical eye of adulthood. There is a palpable feeling of loss. When I wrote this pained ode to the fans of Avatar, I meant it. I have a feeling that a new generation of children and teenagers just saw something exciting and fresh and exhilarating in Avatar, and those memories will last a lifetime. They will remember just where they were when they saw it for the first time, who was with them, and what it meant for their generation and beyond. I'm somewhat jealous as my time has passed. Likely those same kids would look at my generation's memories of Star Wars and scoff, and declare the film "too old" or "too boring" to be significant. And my generation, hardened by age, would simply reply: "It's all the same, kid. It's all the same."