Droughts

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you may have noticed that the "Most Recently Seen" section on the right-hand side of this page has not changed in ten days.

The one below it has changed -- I finally watched Bottle Rocket again on Sunday (after posting about it January 27th) -- but "Most Recently Seen" refers only to movies I'm seeing for the first time. Technically, "Most Recently Seen" should be whatever I saw most recently, regardless of whether I'd seen it before. But "Most Recently Revisited" covers repeat viewings, while "Most Recently Seen," for want of an equally succinct way of saying it more accurately, covers everything new.

That's right. I'm in the midst of a rare drought.

How rare? The last time I went ten days without seeing a new movie was April 25 to May 5, 2006. (Yes, I do keep track of stuff like this, but you should know that about me by now). That means that neither my trip to Australia in 2007, nor my wedding and honeymoon in 2008, featured a ten-day period in which I saw no new movies.

It's no coincidence that the circumstances of The Great Drought of 2006 and The Great Drought of 2009 have something in common: In both cases, I moved. The timing is a little different, though.

When I saw Wolf Creek on April 25, 2006, it was actually the first movie my wife (then-girlfriend) and I watched in our new apartment. I had never lived with a woman before, and I remember, as I was watching, not being wigged out by the sadistic freak terrorizing backpackers in the Australian outback, though he was good for a fright or two. Rather, I sat there wondering what I'd done, committing to this unprecedented level of intimacy. It must have scared the movie-watching right out of me, because it was ten days later when I finally watched a second Australian film, The Proposition, which was written by my wife's favorite musician, Nick Cave. Then again, organizing the apartment probably had something to do with the layoff.

This time, the drought started more than a week before we spent the first night in our new place this past Sunday. (I might have ended the eight-day drought then, since we had to wait until Monday for our cable to get hooked up, except that the whimsical Bottle Rocket seemed like a better choice to convalesce from our moving injuries than Control, which concerns the band Joy Division and its suicidal lead singer). I'd like to say I spent that week leading up to the move packing and doing other productive things, but I'm too much of a procrastinator, as my continued trips over to the old place for more carloads of crap will attest. Rather, I tried to clear as much stuff off the DVR as I possibly could, irrationally concerned that our saved shows might get wiped out when our service was relocated. And since we usually hover over 80 percent full (remember what I said about procrastinating), that involved a lot of work.

Since our new place is still chaos, this drought might theoretically have lasted until this weekend, when I hope to convince my wife we're in good enough shape around the apartment to take in a screening of Watchmen. Except tomorrow night I'm scheduled to go see Departures, which won the Oscar for best foreign film last weekend, at a critics' screening held in Santa Monica. Barring any unforeseen changes in plans, the drought should end at 11 days.

I don't like going this long without seeing a new movie, and having this blog only contributes to the sense of antsiness. As I check the blog each day to see if any of you have answered my poll question, or to update what reviews I've just written, I am still faced with "Confessions of a Shopaholic (2009, P.J. Hogan)," a constant reminder of the worst of the four movies I've seen this year.

But more importantly, it means I'm falling behind. Okay, not in any realistic sense. I'm as "caught up" on movies as anyone I know, and it's only my own ridiculously high standards I'm fighting. I mean, if I'm trying to see every film that was ever made -- in other words, if I'm trying to complete an impossible task -- a ten-day break isn't going to make it any more impossible.

More than anything, though, I just like watching movies. And the fewer I watch, the more grouchy I get. Me need feed movie now.

I'm going to update this page the moment I get home tomorrow night.

It's not a vacation without a movie

Call me crazy, but one of the things I like to do most when I'm out of town is see a movie.

I understand this is not normal. And just to show you how not normal I understand it to be, I'm including the poster of a movie I saw while spending a scant four days in Paris. That's right, I'm in the city of lights, surrounded by culture and history, and all I want to do is hear what Christian Bale sounds like in French. (Actually, we went to see the version original -- pronounce that with a French accent -- which had Bale's words and French subtitles.) My now-wife, then-girlfriend wasn't going to come, but then it started raining. It turned out to be the perfect thing to do, as our feet were totally destroyed from several days of museums and famous cemeteries.

This is the extreme example of a thing I like to do all the time. No, I don't like to sacrifice the meat and potatoes of a trip to see a movie I could see at home just as easily three days later, but I do love to squeeze one in. The circumstances might be similar to those above: it's raining, you're too exhausted to do anything else, or it's too late at night to do anything else anyway.

This last was my reasoning behind seeing Confessions of a Shopaholic in Yuma, Arizona this past weekend. We'd driven five hours that day, Yuma proved to be mostly strip malls rather than the charming Old West town we thought it would be (actually, all we really knew was that trains used to go there), and it was 10:30 on a Saturday night, so hell yeah I signed myself up. My wife passed -- it was all she could do to keep her eyes open through dinner. I kind of felt the same, but that wasn't going to rob me of a golden opportunity for a Vacation Movie. Heck, the theater was right down the street -- I didn't even have to seek it out.

So what's the fascination? The inside of a theater pretty much looks the same wherever you are, doesn't it?

Yes it does, and that actually gets at part of my reasoning. Seeing movies, by necessity, has a certain sameness to it. You usually go to one of a half-dozen theaters that are conveniently located to your house. You also tend to seek out the same kinds of seats, assuming they're available -- some people like it closer, so the screen fills up their whole field of vision, and some people like it farther back. You often even order the same snacks, and most people tend to go to the same kinds of movies. In a way, it's like you're trying to recreate the same experience over and over again.

Why not switch up the geography?

The fact is, I remember a movie a bit better if I see it out of town. You get different ads before the movie. Sometimes, the ads are even in different languages. And the world looks different when you exit. Maybe it's even similar to how Will Smith's character describes his reasons for having sex in Six Degrees of Separation. Paraphrasing: "When you're happy, you try to make it better by having sex." Maybe I try to make the happiness of being on vacation better by something else I love -- going to the movies.

Just to prove to you that seeing a movie on the road is more memorable, here's a selection of movies -- recalled purely from memory -- whose viewings I remember better because I saw them in a circumstance outside the norm:

The Black Hole (1979, Gary Nelson). Yes, this phenomenon stretches a long time back for me. It was Christmas Day, and we were in Bryan, Texas, where my grandmother lived. But we weren't celebrating Christmas, because we'd had it the day before -- my uncle had to fly back early for work. That left moviegoing for Christmas Day. (And may have started a tradition in that sense as well).

Breakin' (1984, Joel Silberg). In Columbia, South America, visiting a friend whose family had returned home to Columbia the year before. If this weren't exotic enough, we actually saw this at the drive-in, my first-ever such experience.

Jewel of the Nile (1985, Lewis Teague). Texas again, but I don't remember the circumstances of our visit this time.

Ghost (1990, Jerry Zucker). Watched this in a small-town theater in upstate New York while on a road trip looking at colleges with my mom.

She's So Lovely (1997, Nick Cassavetes). Saw this in an Atlanta mall while in town for my cousin's wedding.

Saving Private Ryan (1998, Steven Spielberg). On a rare day not totally consumed by driving, saw this with two friends in Park City, Utah, while on a three-and-a-half week baseball road trip that saw us visit 14 major league parks.

William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream (1999, Michael Hoffman). Saw this in New Orleans when in town for the wedding of a college friend. This one I regret a little -- I probably missed out on some good socializing time, and the movie itself wasn't good enough to justify it (even if that isn't really the point).

Pitch Black (2000, David Twohy). Saw this in the Atlanta mall mentioned previously with my dad and sister while visiting my aunt, uncle, cousins and grandmother.

Pay It Forward (2000, Mimi Leder). So as not to pay any more money forward to the casinos, I ducked into the movies to kill two hours on an extra day in Las Vegas. An already-long four-day business trip had been extended because the person who booked our tickets booked them for the wrong day, meaning we missed our red-eye home by 24 hours. I was getting killed at the tables. Found it kind of funny to watch this movie, which is set in Las Vegas, while in Las Vegas.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001, Chris Columbus). Saw this in the same Atlanta mall, yet again, when I arrived for Thanksgiving a day earlier than the rest of my family, and my aunt and uncle were trying to figure out something to do with me.

Robots (2005, Chris Wedge). Another Vegas business trip, this time only 24 hours, and this time much more successful. Met a friend who lived there for an afternoon matinee.

Batman Begins (2005, Christopher Nolan). Paris. As discussed.

War of the Worlds (2005, Steven Spielberg). Business trip to Secaucus, New Jersey, of all places.

Hot Fuzz (2007, Edgar Wright). Saw in a mall in downtown Melbourne, Australia. This was actually an advanced screening, as the movie wasn't due out until a week or two later.

Sunshine (2007, Danny Boyle). Saw immediately afterward in the same mall, when we realized the director (only two years from becoming an Oscar winner) would be present for a Q & A. Not only that, but the movie wouldn't be released for several months. This ended up being extraordinarily memorable for a number of reasons -- not only did actress Rose Byrne (who was in the movie) sit in the row in front of us, but they showed the reels out of order, and eventually had to stop after about five reels when they realized the damage was irreversible in the time they had. So we had the weird experience of a Q & A with Danny Boyle when we did not even see the entire film.

Charlie Wilson's War (2007, Mike Nichols). Actual viewing was in 2008, near West Palm Beach, Florida, on a business trip.

Atonement (2007, Joe Wright). Just a few days after Charlie Wilson's War, but this time in Chicago, with a friend, before the second half of the business trip commenced.

I could go on, but I'd just be wasting yours and my time. I think you get the point.

So if you haven't tried it, why not give it a shot on your next vacation? Don't miss out on the Louvre or the Sistine Chapel or the Grand Canyon or scuba diving. But when you're near that theater, and it's late at night, and a movie you kinda want to see is starting, ask yourself what you'll remember more: those extra two hours of sleep, or the exhilaration of a familiar activity in a foreign land?

As for Confessions of a Shopaholic? Yes, I'll remember it too. It was how I spent part of a Saturday night, exhausted from road-tripping, in Yuma, Arizona. And even though the movie itself wasn't that good, I wouldn't trade the experience.

Please stop confessing

I'm pretty fascinated with titles. I don't think a title makes or breaks a movie, but a bad title definitely hurts a good movie, and a good title definitely helps a bad movie. Fewer people will be induced into seeing the former, and more into seeing the latter.

I've noticed patterns over the years, some of which I may touch on in other postings. A couple years ago, for example, it seemed like every movie that came out had more than five words in the title, usually with a colon jammed in there somewhere. Then for awhile after that, as a market correction, every movie title was just a single word, or a single word preceded by the definite article (The). In fact, one could say that's still going on. (I really do have a post planned for this one. Patience.)

A lot of people don't notice these things, but I do.

But throughout all this, there has been one constant. (There's probably been more than one, but I'm focusing on one in particular today. That's kind like saying "My favorite thing is," when all you really mean is "The following is something I would like to discuss.") The constant is that cinema has seen a slew of films titled Confessions of a So-and-So. Yesterday, Confessions of a Shopaholic was released, continuing the tradition.

I was curious to see how wide and deep this tradition runs, so I searched IMDB by the word "confessions." There were 12 hits that were considered an exact match, some of them just called Confessions, some of them using Confessions as an abbreviation from the more common full title. (The fact that some movies have several different titles, often depending on the country in which they're being released, is also a subject for another post). Beyond those 12, there were 210 partial matches.

I know we're talking about all movies and TV shows that have ever existed, plus anything else that IMDB tracks (video games? plays? instructional videos?), but 210 still seems like quite a lot.

To name just those from this century, in the order they were listed from the search results (most searched?):

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2002)
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister (2002)
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen (2004)
Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber (2005)
Big Shot: Confessions of a Campus Bookie (2002)
Confessions of a Head Hunter (2000)
Confessions of a Superhero (2007)
Confessions of a Thug (2005)
Confessions of an American Bride (2005)
Confessions of an Animation (2004)
Confessions of a Burning Man (2003)
Confessions of a Late Bloomer (2005)
Confessions of a Pit Fighter (2005)
Confessions of a Porn Addict (2008)
Confessions of a Teen Idol (2009)
Flying: Confessions of a Free Woman (2006)
Confessions of a Dangerous Mime (2004)
Confessions of a Diary Secretary (2007)
Confessions of a Drag Queen (2006)
Confessions of a Gambler (2007)
Confessions of a Go-Go Girl (2008)
Confessions of an Action Star (2008)
Confessions of a Bondage Lover (2003)
Confessions of a Dog (2005)
Confessions of a Gangsta (2006)
Confessions of a German Soldier (2008)
Confessions of a Hustler: The Movie (2000)
Confessions of a Matchmaker (2007)
Confessions of a Memory Eater (2009)
Confessions of an IRA Informer (2004)
Confessions of an Italian American (2007)
Confessions of an Ivy League Bookie (2010)
Confessions of a Peep Show Junkie (2006)
Confessions of a Rat Pack Party Girl (2010)
Confessions of a Reluctant Bra Buyer (2005)
Confessions of a Slacker (2007)
Confessions of a Sociopath (2002)
Confessions of a Telecommuter (2004)
Confessions of a Wall Street Shoeshine Boy (2009)
Confessions of Captain Freedom (2006)
The Day I Turned Uncool: Confessions of a Reluctant Grown-Up (2009)
Stan Collymore: Confessions of a Premiership Footballer (2004)

Aren't you glad I restricted myself to only years that start with the number 2, and only titles using the construction "Confessions of" somewhere in them? Disclaimer: Some of the above titles may be porn movies.

So why are all these people confessing? Well, it would stand to reason, a person who has something to confess is a person who has sinned. That fits many of the people on this list -- though there are certain ones where it doesn't seem to (Confessions of a Superhero, for example). That's where the second meaning comes in -- a "confession" as a way of shedding light on a heretofore obscure or mysterious person/job, the details of whose day-to-day life would fascinate someone's socks off. Either way, when a movie is titled Confessions of ..., you're supposed to feel like you're getting the real skinny on the way that person operates.

So how did this tradition begin? It had to have its origins in literature, right? Well, even though the internet helped me out by finding all those movie titles, it failed me in terms of researching what inspired them. I tried all kinds of combinations of relevant search terms in google, but that brought me no closer to figuring out where this whole thing began. Amazon.com was no help either. My English professors would be so disappointed in me. However, this might bring back of their some pride: I can tell you that Thomas de Quincey wrote an autobiographical work called Confessions of an English Opium-Eater in 1821, because I read it. What I can't tell you is whether or not his title was paying homage to previous writers.

I think the question really is, can we retire this already? I understand that it's probably more interesting to call the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic than The Shopaholic or I Was a Teenage Shopaholic or Shopaholic: The Life and Times of Rebecca Bloomwood or just plain Shopaholic. But it should take no further evidence than IMDB's exhaustive list of confessional titles to realize that this is totally played out.

Of course, in this particular case, it was based on a book of the same name. But this blog is called The Audient, not The Reader, so I'm stuck pointing fingers at the movies.

Now excuse me while I go change my blog title to Confessions of a Frustrated Film Critic.