The first time I saw a movie alone in a theater, it was the summer of 2004, and I was interning at the Feminist Majority Foundation in Washington, D.C. Though I enjoyed the graphic design work and research into Title IX, my roommate and I had taken an instant dislike of one another, and I struggled to make friends with the other FMF interns. One week, depressed by the thought of a Friday evening in my rented room, I decided to buy myself Quiznos and see a movie: M Night Shyamalan's The Village.
This was in the days before smartphones, so when I arrived at the theater a little early, I could only sit and stare ahead, feeling intensely awkward. I tried to look expectant, like my cool boyfriend would be showing up any moment. I visited the restroom--maybe more than once. I imagined what the other patrons would be thinking. "Look at that twenty-year-old woman. What's so wrong with her that she has to go alone to a movie?"
Still, once the movie started, I relaxed. I liked Bryce Howard, though now I wonder how well she really played a blind woman. The film wasn't as good as The Sixth Sense, but I still fell for the "twist" ending.
It would be a long time before I'd visit the theater alone again, but it's become something of a habit recently. I've become more interested in film, and post-pandemic it feels important to see movies in the theater, not just on my TV. However, I hate spending money on a babysitter just so Jeremy and I can see movie, and if I'm going out with a friend, I want to chat, not sit silently. That means solo trips, usually when Jeremy and the girls are gone or I have an unexpected day off work.
In the last year or so, I've seen Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris, The Banshees of Inisherin, The Fabelmans, Oppenheimer, Killers of the Flower Moon, and last night, Godzilla Minus One.
Godzilla wouldn't have been my first choice, but the prestige movies of the season haven't opened in Ohio yet, and the film had such an unusually high score on the Letterboxd app (4.2!) that I was curious. The movie was fun, with an enormous pot-bellied Godzilla that made me chuckle appreciatively every time it appeared. It had a sweet message about family and the value of human life that, I'll confess, made me tear up a few times. An evening well-spent.
Jeremy has a phrase he sometimes says to Amelia when she worries about others' perception: "Literally, no one cares." It sounds mean, but it's said humorously, an acknowledgement that it's reassuring to know we're only a quick blip on most people's radars. I find it reassuring too. Twenty years after I first saw The Village, I'm far less self-conscious about how I spend my time. I can spend my Wednesday night reading subtitles of Japanese in a suburban AMC alone. No one cares.
[I've broken my essay streak! It wasn't intentional. I had planned to write this essay yesterday after seeing the movie, even musing over the topic in the car, and then, by the time I got home, I'd forgotten. But I'm writing it the next morning and pre-dating it for yesterday because I can do what I want.]
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