let’s go to the movies

By Jessica Lee

If you asked a younger version of myself to describe my perfect day, it would probably include a trip to the movies with my uncle. Every time I visited my uncle’s house, we made sure to go see a movie. Regardless of what was playing, we always had the best time escaping to another world for a few hours.

I had my movie theater set-up down to a science: popcorn, Dibs, and a soda (most likely a Dr. Pepper or root beer) for the perfect sweet and salty combo, and three seats in the very back row—one for my uncle, one for me, and, if the theater was empty enough, one for the American Girl doll accompanying me on the excursion (either Jess or Mia, based on who I preferred at the time).

Over the years, visits to my uncle’s house became less frequent and our movie theater trips were few and far between. However, when I was home for Thanksgiving last year, we made it a point to go see Wicked—partly to satisfy my inner theater kid, but mostly to take advantage of the rare occasion of my being back home. While my American Girl dolls are now packed away somewhere and no longer occupy the seat beside me, I can assure you that the trusty food and drink combo has withstood the test of time. Each carefully crafted bite of Dib and popcorn filled me with a sweet and salty balance of joy and nostalgia, and made me realize that even now, this still might be my idea of a perfect day.

behind the scenes 

by Katheryne Gonzalez

One of my favorite long-standing movie rituals comes after the credits roll. Once the conflicts are resolved, the plot holes are patched, and the happily-ever-afters ensue, I scour the internet for behind-the-scenes gems. Which Easter eggs did I miss? How did the actors prepare for their roles? How much was CGI vs. practical effects? This self-prescribed research is just as integral to my movie-watching experience as sitting in the theater itself. As someone who’s never desired to act on the silver screen, this practice comes from a place of curiosity—an appreciation of the massive, typically unseen, efforts that go into bringing stories to life. 

I vividly remember using my family computer—the one in the spare bedroom that we all took turns using because it was 2011 and none of us had laptops—to look up behind-the-scenes footage of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. After so many weekends spent on the couch watching all eight movies courtesy of ABC Family, I was still not ready to let go of that world. I held onto every tidbit of information I could find: how the set design team constructed the Chamber of Secrets, how the last scene they filmed was of the trio escaping the Ministry of Magic, how Emma Watson and Rupert Grint could not stomach having to kiss each other. It’s as if being privy to these details meant I was part of the crew myself.

It’s been well over a decade since that movie came out and yet, not much has changed for me. My YouTube recommendations consistently include different Actors on Actors pairings, press junket Q&As, and directors’ insights into how scenes are shot, among other film-related content. I’m sure that becoming invested in the process has influenced my perception of the final product; there have definitely been films where the final edit does not do justice to the work done behind the scenes, but I try not to let that discourage me from falling down these rabbit holes. In a world where there’s more media than one can consume in a lifetime, where we passively observe to fill the silence or kill time, there’s something so special about actively engaging with the stories we are told.  

family-sized 

by Emilie Guan

​​In my room that is now my brother’s room, there are two translucent green storage boxes. Inside each are probably around 20 DVD cases, some of which will have around 10 discs in them. When we were both in elementary school, this was how we used to watch all our movies and TV shows: taking up one bunk each, facing the small TV screen above the dresser, neon-orange Dorito dust coating our fingers. My dad taught us to slot the DVD into the player, to put them back into their protective sleeves and avoid scratches. And so we had a whole little movie theater for ourselves, where we could watch maybe eight seasons worth of SpongeBob SquarePants and the entirety of Jessie under the covers of linen and childhood. In hindsight, it makes sense for kids’ movies to be centered around family, yet when I think about the movies and shows we watched, it becomes inescapable. The Croods? Grug and his prehistoric family. Wizards of Waverly Place? Alex Russo and her magical family. The Incredibles? Bob Parr and his superhero family. Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses? I mean, in this one she literally has 11 sisters. Sometimes my brother and I would squabble over which show or movie to watch that day. I remember winning most of the time. But I hope he thinks back on our bunk-bed-junk-food-DVD days with the same fondness as I do—to see all the families scream and laugh and cry and stretch and repair together on the screen, and feel a little closer as siblings ourselves.

salt and ice challenge

by Elijah Puente

The first time I watched Saltburn, I was sandwiched between two of my closest friends in a crowded Providence Place theatre. We had narrowed our movie choices down to this or Wonka, but I insisted on Saltburn because I vaguely remembered hearing it included something gay. What I imagined was something like Young Royals or Heartstopper. No. This movie puts the erotic in homoerotic. Like the salt and ice challenge, the feeling is not pleasant, but you carry on to see what happens next. I wish my community building skills were as effective as this movie (maybe then ResLife would give me a raise). The theater erupted several times with communal gasps, groans of disgust, and even a few blatant what-the-fucks. These reactions sparked curiosity around how my friends and family would react to the movie. I started recommending the movie to everyone–even my grandparents. I’ll spare the spoilers, although I am sure they reached your TikTok “For You” page. As interesting as this movie was, I would still call it one of my favorites. Its peculiar plot paired with vivid production makes Saltburn a true work of art.

inconceivable 

by Tabitha Lynn

I come from a movie family. While other parents introduced their kids to timeless musicians like Michael Jackson and the Beatles, mine educated me in movie classics. I spent my childhood learning the basics: Back to the Future, Star Wars, and The Matrix; all series released in the 80s were a given. During Covid, my parents and I spent nearly every evening studying each decade of rom-coms—spanning from 80s classics like Pretty in Pink (meh), to 90s Tom Hanks films like Sleepless in Seattle (didn’t like them), to 2000s comedies like 10 Things I Hate About You (my favorite). As we got older, my brother and I’s love for movies expanded beyond the home theater. We watched Marvel movies in theaters on their release day, waiting among the superfans in Spiderman onesies and Iron Man face paint. We found comfort and togetherness in the dim light of the theater and the aroma of artificial butter. On the rare occasions now that my family is all together, you will find us huddled together on the couch, a movie playing on the big screen. Now, when I’m away from home, I find comfort in rewatching. There’s a certain joy in watching people watch your favorite movie—to wait for their reactions to your favorite scenes, to see them laugh right when they should, and to fall in love with the movie yourself time and time again.

great white sharks and movie arcs

by Susanne Kowalska

Under a canopy of mosquitoes and fairy lights, my sister and I sit outside, projector flickering steadily. On the screen plays Sharknado—sharks pirouetting in the sky, defying all laws of physics to terrorize the city of Los Angeles. A man jumps inside a shark, diving headfirst into its unhinged jaws and emerges unscathed, having chainsawed his way out. It’s a grotesque approximation of a story—and one of my favorite films of all time. My standards, typically high, fall away if there’s a shark, shoddy production, and a questionable storyline. I’ve watched shark films with budgets so low I could replicate them on iMovie, seen sharks mutate into gruesome creatures with legs, and gone to bed after hours of laughing at the political ramifications of worldwide shark invasions. I wish I had an explanation for the obsession; my sister’s favorite animal was once a shark, but that alone can’t explain the fervor with which I will watch a shark film. Maybe it has to do with a summer camp I once attended where they’d let us loose in the computer lab to watch clips from Sharktopus vs. Pteracuda, but all the same, it’s one of the inexplicable, arbitrary quirks that I’ve chosen to stake my personality upon. It’s a reason to invite my close friends over, armed with popcorn and sharp tongues, ready to make mountains out of molehill details in movies that by their very nature lack logic and plot. Huddled under blankets as if the sharks can reach our dangling toes, there’s joy in the banal.