Screening Rooms I Have Loved

            I had that dream again last night. No, not, “ I went to Manderlay again,” like in Rebecca. And certainly not “I dreamed I was…in my Maidenform bra,” like that bizarre 60s ad campaign.

            No, in the dream, I was sitting in the front row of the old Broadway Screening Room waiting anxiously for the lights to dim. It always wakes me with a bittersweet taste in my mouth. And incredibly nostalgic for a time when I was lucky enough to be invited to scores of film screenings, and got to hate a movie months before you did.

            I remember getting the phone call from David Hershkovits of Paper magazine asking me if I would be interested in writing film reviews. “We don’t pay anything,” he added, which did sweeten the pot. Hell, I had a job at the time as nanny to Jack, the son of Willem Dafoe and visionary Wooster Group director Elizabeth LeCompte, so the money part didn’t bother me. Anytime I wasn’t with Jack I was at the movies anyway, so there was no end to what I could rant about. And it was good to be writing again. Years before I had a novel that was about to be published by Olympia Press– I’d come to NY and met with the lead editor and everything. But they went out of business suddenly and I moved to Provincetown and managed a movie theater for 10 years and barely looked at my typewriter.

            The years passed at Paper. Originally, I shared film reviews with the wonderful writer Angela Matusik (now the successful Head of Corporate Brand, Content and Creative at HP). Then I launched my crackpot Cinemaniac column and eventually did VHS and DVD reviews. When Jack was of age I became Senior Editor at the magazine and quite joyfully was there for over 25 years. You begin to form warm, great relationships with publicists who invite you to their films, too. Since Paper started out as a more “Downtown” art-scene publication we usually covered more indie movies- which was fine with me. And those were the films studios showed way in advance to garner interest and word-of-mouth. I will always be indebted to David Hershkovits and Kim Hastreiter, both at the helm of Paper, that they let me write about any damn thing I pleased, and review any movie I wanted to. I never realized how lucky I was until it was all over.

            I never took for granted what a privilege it was to sit in a plush, near-empty screening room and see a movie early on. No food was allowed, so the screenings were free of popcorn-chomping or the stench of noxious candy. There was always a giddy thrill that went with the exclusivity of it. I remember hearing a notoriously caustic critic wildly complaining of all the movies he had to see over the holiday season. Yeah, voice that complaint to a coal miner, Mary.

            But I have to admit there are many movies I still associate with the screening room I saw them in.

            There was an old Warner Brothers Screening Room near Rockerfeller Center. I remember only going there once. And it had one of those silky red curtains that rose up from the bottom of the screen. That’s where I saw the screening of Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas and I was nearly catapulted out of me seat I loved it so violently.

            The Warner Brothers Screening Room I mostly went to was on West 55th street on the ground floor. I remember the projectionist was the sweetest guy ever. And directors would show unfinished sections of films to get critical reaction which could be fabulous or frustrating, depending on what you saw. I do recall an early screening of Stanley Kubrick’s last film- Eyes Wide Shut, which I adored, and after the screening it was announced that we saw an uncensored version that would be cut later to get an R rating. There was a thrill to realize my friends would have to wait until the “Director’s Cut” DVD came out to witness the uncut film I saw. 

            Magno Review 1 & 2 was where I spent most of my time. It was 729 7^th Ave. and on the second floor. The projectionist there was just terrific and such a nice guy. I can vividly recall seeing an early morning screening of David Lynch’s Muholland Drive and going merrily out of my mind. Or watching Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia which astonished me. There were some directors that spoke personally to me. The work of Gregg Araki in The Living End felt dangerous and wonderfully transgressive. But to witness him mature into making a film as devastating and brilliant as Mysterious Skin was satisfying for me to realize I was right about him. Watching Jim Jarmusch’s wonderfully bizarre black & white western Dead Man, featuring an iconic Johnny Depp, and, feeling all around me that the audience just wasn’t getting how great it was. I recall being at an early screening for Kevin Smith’s Clerks, which made me roar with laughter, and critics kept turning around shooting me dirty looks. But then there were those transformative moments. Watching the provocative, jet-black-humored Todd Solondz film- Happiness, and afterwards seeing the horrified, shocked looks on the critics’ faces, which only made me love the movie more. Then there were those wonderful discoveries- directors like Larry Fessenden (Wendigo); Gaspar Noe (I Stand Alone); Kelly Reichhardt (River of Grass); Christophe Honore (Ma Mere); Catherine Breillat (Fat Girl); Eric Mendelsohn (Judy Berlin); Francois Ozon (Criminal Lovers) and Claire Denis (Beau Travail). I cherish those introductory memories.

            The Sony Screening Room used to be in the old Sony building up on Madison Ave. And I loved getting there early to grab a seat in the back where there were couches and big leathery chairs with ottomans for your feet. Scoring one of those was always an added treat. But I vividly remember being shaken to the core watching Todd Haynes’ Safe there. That perversely ironic tale starring Julianne Moore as a housewife with insurmountable allergies was so strangely funny and sad it blew me away. Then there was the screening of David Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers. I’d been a fan of Cronenberg since Rabid and The Brood, but this movie about loony twin gynecologists (both played by an electrifying Jeremy Irons) was so terrifying and lyrical it took my breath away. Or being unable to move after seeing All About My Mother– which was such a lovely distillation of everything Pedro Almodovar does so beautifully- the melodrama and convoluted plot twists and fabulous women- and delivered with a powerful punch too. I think that’s where I saw Wong Kar-Wai’s In the Mood for Love with its swooning, romantic mood and those elegant shots of Maggie Cheung in her high-necked dresses walking down streets, a trail of cigarette smoke following behind her. But one of my favorite memories at Sony was a screening where I watched Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward slip into the row in front of me where they cuddled and whispered to each other during the screening, which was so lovely I forgot to watch the movie.

            The newest Sony Screening Room, downtown, has those bright orange chairs and that new-car smell but I saw several great Almodovar films there, so anything can be forgiven.

            The Tribeca Screening Room on Greenwich Street was another place rife with memories (and thankfully still exists). An early morning screening of Neil Jordan’s The Crying Game really shook up the critics- especially when the Studio had us sign wavers not to reveal the surprise. I attended another early morning screening for Robert Egger’s The Witch, but I was the only one who showed up. I told the publicist that I could come at a later date, but they rolled it anyway. As I shivered through the moody, intensely creepy film I realized I could have taken off all my clothes and sat there nude if I wanted to.

            There was that Park Ave. Screening Room where I’ll never forget an early morning screening of Paul Verhoeven’s Showgirls. I had never heard an audience lose it like that. There was so much unrestrained laughter and hooting, even I was shocked. Not that I hadn’t joined in too- but to see those usually close-to-the-vest, stuffy film critics let their hair down and go nuts was a sight to behold.

            There were boutique screening rooms like Soho House, where there are little tables with lamps next to every chair and bowls of free candy for those inclined. And another screening room on Leroy Street that I loved because it was two blocks from my apartment.

            But my favorite screening room was always the Broadway Screening Room. It was up in the famous Brill Building (1619 Broadway) and I just loved the plush, over-sized chairs and the comfort level. I saw so many unforgettable films there. I remember sitting with another journalist during the Coen Brothers’ Fargo, a film so utterly perfect and uniquely funny that we kept squeezing each other in sheer delight. I even went to her wedding because of that screening. And I’d loved Gus Van Sant’s early films like Mala Noche and Drugstore Cowboy but nothing quite prepared me for My Own Private Idaho– with a heartbreaking River Phoenix as a male hustler- that movie just slayed me. 

            Now, I know many of these rooms do not exist anymore. But they exist so strongly in my memory because they represented such a major part of my life. I have to admit, I’ve worked a lot of crackpot jobs. I pounded pickles into glass jars along with immigrant workers in Colorado. I checked for cracks in the chocolate casings of Necco Sky Bars in Boston. I was lowered into a vat of cow intestines at a rendering plant outside Denver wearing a rubber suit and wielding a shovel to keep the sluice gates free. But all pale in comparison to being a film critic. Sitting in a movie theater is a religious experience to me. And there were many films and moments of watching them over the years that made me genuflect. And those screening rooms were my churches. 

            So, yes, the Broadway Screening Room does weave into my dreams from time to time, and while it wakes me up, slightly sad, I have to remind myself that no matter how you see movies these days, there are always new directors to discover, and new films to inspire, delight, terrify, annoy, appall, thrill and scramble your senses.