Odd-Time-to-See

I’ve had plenty of movie theater “firsts.”

First time I went to a movie of any kind (I don’t recall what I saw).

First drive-in movie experience (again, no recollection of what was playing).

First time I recall being utterly dazed and confused at the movies (Led Zeppelin’s “The Song Remains the Same”—I was eight years old, for crying out loud. What was I doing there?)

First time I saw a movie while on a date (Rambo: First Blood Part II; there wasn’t a second date.)

First (and only) time I saw a movie in which I appeared (the “Return to Me” premiere).

And so forth and so on.

To that list, this past week, along with Bridgett, I added a first that I never imagined would occur: the first time ever going to the movie theatre at a certifiably insane and inappropriate time.

What would move us to set our alarms for 1:30 a.m., get up after a few meager hours of fitful, stressful sleep1—we were both concerned we’d sleep through our alarms—and then straggle our way to the theater?

It was the same thing that prompted a few hundred other people to join us at the Cinemark Seven Bridges and IMAX in Woodridge: “The Odyssey.”

Virtually overnight, this much-ballyhooed movie went from barely on my radar to a rabid “I gotta-see-it!” I’m usually not one to get caught up in the hype, but it seemed to be everywhere for a few days. That set the stage one night last week when Bridgett informed me that the theatre with the one and only super-duper-screen feature in our entire state had added a 2:40 a.m. screening.

I was emphatic that we should do it.

“Really?” she asked, more than once, giving me ample opportunity to come to my senses.

I didn’t budge and coaxed her to make the $25-per-ticket purchase. That price didn’t seem so steep, since this is the only venue in Illinois showing The Odyssey in the most glorious way director Chris Nolan had intended it. Precisely what way is that, you ask?

Here’s a cut-and-paste from the film website:

Every frame of The Odyssey was shot with IMAX Film Cameras. In IMAX 70mm locations, the film will be presented in IMAX’s 1.43:1 Expanded Aspect Ratio. Each film frame has 15 perforations and runs horizontally through the projector. It is the largest and highest-resolution format available and gives you an unparalleled sense of immersion as the image fills IMAX’s signature floor-to-ceiling screen.

Well, all righty, then. Sounds cool.

So that’s how it came to be, at 2:07 a.m. Tuesday, that we hit the road for our 30-minute trek. (Bridgett had spoken with a theater staffer to confirm that the actual start time would be a little past 2:50 a.m.; it turned out to be 2:55 a.m.)

The verdict on this adventure? Some take-aways:

1. It was an outstanding film, and I’m glad we made the extra effort.

2. We never came close to falling asleep. Good energy!

3. All the hoopla about “perforations” and “aspect ratio” lifted my expectations to an unreasonable level. I half-expected Matt Damon to seem like he was in the row just in front of me.

While, sure, it looked quite vivid and the sound was terrific (I guess?), the technological marvel I beheld was largely lost on me. Visually, I think I’m fine with a good, juicy burger…no need for a filet mignon.

4. There was light applause at the movie’s conclusion, but I’m guessing it was more subdued than other showtimes.

5. We’ll never, ever, ever do anything remotely like this again. I’ve rarely been more exhausted than I was battling the early stage of rush-hour traffic to get home shortly before 7 a.m. And that was just the start of the consequences.

We napped—“passed out” is more like it—for two hours, then forced ourselves back on our feet because we had this thing called “work” that beckoned.

While I’ve been able to get my days-and-nights pretty much back in order, Bridgett’s night owl tendencies have been severely triggered. As a result, although she did have one 11-hour snooze-bordering-on-coma from Tuesday evening into Wednesday morning, she’s otherwise been getting patchy, short sleeping stints. If I were in her shoes, I’d have been a wretched basket case by now.2

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In short, we’re far too old for this kind of gesture—a point underscored by the fact that we were clearly among the most senior patrons, and possibly the most senior, inside the theater Tuesday morning.

Seven Bridges Cinemark is no dummy. Alert to the supply-and-demand scenario, with the nearest rival 70-millimeter spots in Indianapolis and Grand Rapids, they’ve continued to roll out Crazy Time showings.

You can catch one on Saturday night/Sunday morning at 2 a.m.—and ditto for the next night/morning. The following two nights/mornings, the start time creeps a half-hour later. Nothing is showing up at that whack-a-doodle time thereafter, but I noticed the Chicago Tribune had a feature about the theater yesterday, so that could sell some more tickets. Maybe the demand will grow enough between now and then to prompt it?

As I’ve already noted, I certainly won’t be going back at that ridiculous hour. And neither should you, unless you’re willing to roll the dice on having an extended messed-up-body-clock hangover.

I will note that I am seriously considering achieving another “first” in the annals of my going-to-the-movies experience: seeing the same flick for a second time. But with a perfectly fine screen right down the street with multiple showings at regular waking hours, it just won’t be of the Odd-Time-To-See variety.

On Monday evening, partly curious and partly a bundle of nervous energy, I started texting friends about our plans. One by one, to around 40 folks, I set the stage by noting the movie we’d be seeing and the unorthodox hour:

“This ballyhooed film is in such demand that several days ago we jumped at the chance to book reservations at this wee-hour time. I have no idea if our plan to get a nap in advance is going to work. I’m feeling a mixture of keen anticipation and severe dread at our potentially wiped-out physical state.

With that as preamble, I am soliciting the universe’s opinion. This plan is…

a] crazy

b] admirable

c] both A & B

d] something else---insert your word

Texts flowed back, with decent representation across all four choices. Among the replies:

“Insanely awesome and incredibly memorable.”

“Needless to see it at that time when there are plenty of tickets available at ideal times on plenty good theaters.”

“Nuckin Futs.”

Along with those responses was a recurring observation: this was sure to become a story that we’d have—to share with each other, with others—for the rest of our lives.