I recently went to the movies.
At the tail-end of my junior year, when I had AP tests and final exams within the coming 48 hours, I found myself walking into the AMC Northpark 15 at 9:30 p.m. on a Saturday with two of my friends.
As we stood in the surprisingly long line for popcorn, I couldn’t help but feel like I was in some surreal situation. See, I haven’t gone to a movie with anyone in a while, and I haven’t been to one with my friends for years.
But there I was. Overworked and overly aware of the onslaught of tests coming my way.
The right thing to do was to stay at home. Review Pliny’s letters a few more times before going to bed at a respectable time. I thought about ducking under the line and going back home.
But then I saw TruFrus hanging in front of me.
Anyways, $7.50 later, I plopped into the worn leather throne that was seat F22 and silenced my phone. I thought we were a little bit too close to the IMAX screen, but I think there was something nostalgic about having to crane my neck to see anything.
As usual, I was enthralled by the teasers for upcoming movies. We’ve gotta see that one, I remarked after “The Odyssey.” I’ll be there opening night, for “The Mandalorian & Grogu.” My friends nodded in agreement, although I think all of us knew that we wouldn’t.
And then the movie started. Michael was one of the best theater experiences I’ve had. All the songs my dad used to play on the radio when we were driving to school flooded my ears, some for the first time in over five years.
The movie had my attention for the entire two-hour run time, but sometimes I caught myself getting distracted by my surroundings. While Jaafar Jackson twirled and turned and sang his heart out, I looked around at the strangers seated behind me.
Although I really hate to admit it, I was actually proving Nicole Kidman, the woman who has her soliloquy before every AMC movie, right. There was something magical about the theater, something beyond the giant IMAX screen and the killer set list.
When I sat in that theater, I felt like I was a part of something greater. That my upcoming finals didn’t matter. That for these two hours, my AP tests didn’t exist.
It wasn’t even some profound experience. I didn’t hike a mountain or meditate for six hours straight. It was, altogether, one of the most normal, everyday things you can do.
And that’s why I think it was so special to me. Going to the movies reminded me of a more innocent time, when I would have my teeth dyed by a blue raspberry Slurpee before gulping down a whole bucket of overly-buttered popcorn.
And, to some extent, I think it reminded me that that life, that feeling of liberation, was closer than I had thought. That, in reality, I was probably taking everything a little bit too seriously.
If there’s a takeaway in whatever I’m saying, it’s this: go to a movie. In the age of streaming platforms, when it’s way cheaper and way easier to put on Netflix and melt into your couch or scroll on TikTok, going to a movie is never the convenient thing to do.
But I think that, if you do find yourself sitting in the weirdly sticky, off-putting seats at your local theater and spending a few hours of your valuable time with Nicole Kidman and maybe your family and probably around 100 strangers you’ll never meet again, I promise you it’ll be worth it.
