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Aug. 9th, 2009 03:50 amI realized I love movies when I was at David "Lars" Lieberman's house watching Boogie Nights with Lars, David Miljoner, Brooke Dairman, et al.
These were the smart people. Well, these were the achievers. They were in the honors classes. Yeah, they were smart. I was not especially smart, nor did I achieve much.
And I was there with them, watching Boogie Nights... a movie we were watching who knows why, which we wouldn't be able to fully enjoy until we learned more in life. But we were watching it.
Up until the climactic "bell scene" we chuckled at the pornographic parts and giggled when reference was made to Dirk Diggler's big penis. We watched the brilliantly choreographed opening shot without regard for its precision. We watched Mark Wahlberg sob and drool as he divorced himself from his mother and father without acknowledging how we'd feel in a similar situation. Somehow we made it through Alfred Molina's dynamite unaffected.
Then came the scene. Where the frayed plot lines get tied back together by the repeated striking of a single tone on a bell.
Ding ding. Jack Horner lures a stud into his limo, a man on the street who will make film history on video tape with Rollergirl; and they end up beat the shit of him. Ding ding. Dirk gets jumped by a dude in a baja sweater and his gay bashing buddies. Ding ding. Don Cheadle is the last man standing in a shoot out at a donut shop, where all he wanted was to buy bear claws for his woman.
My eyes are wide open. My jaw is dropped. I've never seen anything like this before in a movie. I want to cry. I want to turn to the people with whom I'm sharing this beautiful moment and concur that this is a beautiful moment.
And they're somewhere else. They're nowhere near. And it'll be years until I join Nonsense and find film compadres.
It might have been Awakenings or Searching for Bobby Fischer or The Rocketeer, but might also have been Boogie Nights that made me love movies. I dunno.
These were the smart people. Well, these were the achievers. They were in the honors classes. Yeah, they were smart. I was not especially smart, nor did I achieve much.
And I was there with them, watching Boogie Nights... a movie we were watching who knows why, which we wouldn't be able to fully enjoy until we learned more in life. But we were watching it.
Up until the climactic "bell scene" we chuckled at the pornographic parts and giggled when reference was made to Dirk Diggler's big penis. We watched the brilliantly choreographed opening shot without regard for its precision. We watched Mark Wahlberg sob and drool as he divorced himself from his mother and father without acknowledging how we'd feel in a similar situation. Somehow we made it through Alfred Molina's dynamite unaffected.
Then came the scene. Where the frayed plot lines get tied back together by the repeated striking of a single tone on a bell.
Ding ding. Jack Horner lures a stud into his limo, a man on the street who will make film history on video tape with Rollergirl; and they end up beat the shit of him. Ding ding. Dirk gets jumped by a dude in a baja sweater and his gay bashing buddies. Ding ding. Don Cheadle is the last man standing in a shoot out at a donut shop, where all he wanted was to buy bear claws for his woman.
My eyes are wide open. My jaw is dropped. I've never seen anything like this before in a movie. I want to cry. I want to turn to the people with whom I'm sharing this beautiful moment and concur that this is a beautiful moment.
And they're somewhere else. They're nowhere near. And it'll be years until I join Nonsense and find film compadres.
It might have been Awakenings or Searching for Bobby Fischer or The Rocketeer, but might also have been Boogie Nights that made me love movies. I dunno.
