I love movies. Love em. But my favorite, my favorite is
going to a movie in the theaters. I have experienced more moments of magic
sitting in a dark theater watching an incredible story unfold before my very
eyes, than I have had in my real, somewhat banal existence.
And I will admit that I am that rare loner movie go-er. I go
to escape, to take a break from the riggers of thinking about whatever seems to
be occupying my mind, or consuming my thoughts. I can become obsessive … and
movies help.
Last night I went to a movie that I had been looking forward
to seeing for some time. Last night I was not alone. Last night as I watched
one of my favorite superheroes battle one of the best super-villains ever to
grace the big screen, I sat with my little sister and my little brother. It was
special. It was. The whispering to each other when something cool or unexpected
happened, the laughing in unison at the corny one-liners … we shared it all
with a theater of like-minded individuals.
It was, as cheesy as it sounds, it was magic.
Meanwhile, some 900 miles away at a similar venue in
Colorado, a night that was supposed to be similarly magical, turned to horror…
to incredible, devastating tragedy as a real life villain took the theater by
way of a sickening siege.
There are no words, none. And one cannot compare tragedies,
that’s unfair. But I have only felt this way about one other tragedy, the other
tragedy. Where I now have this inability to think about anything else as I try
desperately to wrap my head around what happened. Was this movie targeted on purpose? Was it just because he
knew a crowd would be gathered there? Who would do this to people, to children,
just looking for a few hours of smiles, laughs and cheers?
That’s that obsessive side I mentioned coming out.
But this hit home. This hit me, to borrow a cliché, where I
live. As a hobby, I write
screenplays. I, literally, think about life through movies, in “three act
structure,” in “character arc,” in “cinematic scope.” I have found truths about myself and life generally both in
watching movies and in writing them. Movies are the first place I turn when I
need a friend, when I need to let go, when I need to escape.
Last night as I shared that with two people I love, that I
care about greatly, I briefly thought about how lucky I was, that I have this.
This house of wonder to go to and enjoy and live an amazing life vicariously.
That I can sit at a coffee shop for hours, where I can live and watch my own
movies unfold in my head -- And that I can share in it all with others, that we
can all share the magic together.
Today my obsessive demeanor takes hold and that’s all I’ve
been thinking about. Today I think about those that have lost that magic
forever, those that were taken too soon and that were marred, in all likelihood,
for life.
I can’t help but think and ask myself, could I go back?
Could there ever be some semblance of magic found again?
I don’t know. Maybe that is far from the most important
question. I don’t know. Maybe just having a life to live and to be grateful for
that, when others weren’t so lucky is the more important thing. Not being able
to enter a theater again, the PTS, all that … all that is second to being
alive, to having loved ones to hold and share life with.
I don’t know. My heart and my prayers go out to the victims
of this incredible atrocity. And more than that, I hope one day, whether it be
soon or a little ways down the road, one day I hope they all can rediscover
that which brought them, and all of us, there in the first place. I hope to
share in that magic with them again.
