One bonus of bingeing on Oscar-nominated titles each February is the discovery of arthouses and plush venues while crisscrossing the metro area like a madwoman. The other perk? Stumbling upon fellow crazies.
I don’t mean the guy who followed me out of the theater after the “Philomena” late show insisting on discussing religion and waiting to hold the door that exited to the deserted parking lot (I darted out a different way, Mom). I mean those kindred spirits also trying to knock down as many movies as they can in a single month.
At West End Cinema in D.C. yesterday, I met Jonathan; the mother-daughter team of Cathy/Cathi/Cathie/Kathy/Kathie/Kathi/Kathey (didn’t get the spelling) and Lauren (safe guess); and a woman who left before I could get her name (no, it wasn’t like that). We composed the entire audience for the showing of Documentary Shorts B.
I was unkempt, unwashed and unprepared for any socializing as it was the fifth movie of my week atop my day job. As we sat there in semi-darkness, I first heard the sniggering when I unfolded my old-school mobile app — a stapled, crumpled checklist of every movie nominated for any Oscar, with all manner of scrawling and check marks in the margins. It was a laugh of recognition and understanding, like those at the comedy club when the joke is on you.
The mother shared the secret of her same list, and then the five of us opened up to compare notes before and after the screening, swapping insights, histories, families, dreams. That’s what movies do — they are a coagulation of inspiration and reflection.
Impressively, the mother-daughter team hailed from Olney, Md., and Baltimore, respectively. Why come so far for one rare screening? “You can’t legitimately say which one is gonna win if you haven’t seen them all,” Lauren declared. She spoke for us all.
Jonathan was missing only a handful of titles — he didn’t have the list in front of him, so he wasn’t sure. We complained to sympathetic ears about the dirty trick Oscar pulls by nominating movies not released in the States yet, such as animated feature “Ernest & Celestine,” a British import, which none of us could see before the envelopes are opened; it comes out later this month. If it doesn’t win, we probably won’t bother.
And what’s with foreign films, indies and shorts being 2010-2012 productions but still qualifying for the 2014 awards ceremony? The distribution date is like a sell-by stamp on a canned good. Very iffy.
It was a rollicking good time with newfound friends, whom I hope to run into again next year at West End Cinema — a gem of a salon, which, incidentally, is hosting a special screening tomorrow, March 2, of a certain live event that shall not be named in a party atmosphere — if anyone is looking to commune with other cinema buffs.
Our little band of brethren chatted afterward — but it was only a little past 6 p.m., so on my way back to the suburbs to catch a 9:15 feature at Cinema Arts in Fairfax, Va., I wondered what else I could squeeze in. My phone had died and I could no longer check movie times. On the Metro, I spied a guy hidden behind the WaPo “Weekend” section with the movie grid nearly visible and plopped down beside him. As I leaned in for a better look, he scooched over. Oh.
So what the heck. I had time. At both Courthouse and Ballston, I hopped off the train and walked to the respective box offices to check whether there was anything I could see I hadn’t seen.
It wasn’t likely.