By ALEXANDER HULS
These are challenging times for cinephiles. The sanctity of our natural habitat — the movie theater — is disappearing amid the dynamite blasts of lighted phones while people text and tweet in the dark; the chain-saw buzz of disruptive conversation; and the slow erosion of common courtesy in communal spaces. As a committed moviegoer who once treasured the cathedral-like atmosphere of the movie house, I now find myself entering the auditorium anticipating a bad experience — sitting and nervously profiling every person who walks into the theater for their yet-to-be-committed misdemeanors. (Is he a talker? She definitely looks like a texter.) In fact, given the round-the-clock accessibility of movies, the advent of oversize HDTV screens and the quality of high-end home-theater sound systems, it’s more and more tempting just to hunker down and erect a cinematic temple in your own home.
But there is still one event that makes it worthwhile to trek out to the theater; a ritual that represents for me a near-ideal cinematic experience.
The midnight show.
For the uninitiated, or those who don’t see movies past the stroke of 12 unless it involves cozy pajamas or a bout of insomnia, the midnight show is the first chance to see a highly anticipated movie, usually of a very particular type. (Think “The Avengers,” not Terrence Malick.) These screenings are the spiritual descendants of the famously rowdy midnight screenings of yesteryear, which formed around cult flicks like “Eraserhead,” “Pink Flamingos” and “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Because current midnight shows almost always involve sequels, reboots, remakes, genre movies or adaptations of popular books or comics, they draw a very specific brand of hard-core audience. Rather than conceive of the theater as a cathedral, these die-hard fans turn the midnight show into a frenzied jamboree. The auditorium is stuffed with noisy, agitated true believers, ready to explode in thunderous cheers; they elatedly chatter at the slightest eyebrow twitch of a beloved character on-screen. This audience is loud, interactive, pumped up and ready to geek out. To the dedicated cinephile, the midnight show might sound like a nightmare.
It’s not. I have learned to adore the midnight show as a moviegoing experience. It has become the one lure that draws me unhesitatingly back to the theater. It’s not just a raucous party to be endured. It’s the one way in which movie theaters can still reliably fulfill their most sacred function.
Moviegoing is, at its core, a social experience. The moment those lights dim and the film reel rolls, you’re no longer an individual sitting in an auditorium; you’re part of a mass of people who are connected through a shared event and the desire to be entertained and transported. In that moment, when you turn from a solitary viewer into an audience, you form a trusting and reciprocal relationship not only with the movie but also with those around you. Every person in the theater contributes to the experience. Usually, this means reverent silence. But I’d argue that there is no theater audience that contributes more to the experience of seeing a movie than one at a midnight show.
I was skeptical until I decided to attend one for the first time. The film was “The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers” in 2002. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being up until 3 in the morning, and I was unsure and a little worried about the kind of crowd I would have to put up with — especially given that when I saw an opening-day screening of “The Fellowship of the Ring,” I shared the theater with fans dressed as Gandalf or wearing “Frodo lives!” T-shirts, all losing their minds audibly throughout the film. And that was just a matinee.
But what I learned from seeing “The Two Towers” is that a midnight screening is not something you attend but something you do. That’s why, ever since, I have developed the habit of turning “midnight” into a verb. As in, “I’m going to midnight ‘The Dark Knight Rises’ ” or “I’ll definitely midnight ‘Prometheus.’ ” Midnighting a movie is more than just seeing the movie — it’s an act of dedication and enthusiasm above and beyond what most people are willing to give.
The people at a midnight show aren’t there because they want to be but because they have to be. They literally can’t wait to see the movie. That degree of committed anticipation and excitement is something you cannot recreate at any other screening. And it burrows into you. Lining up early turns from a painful experience to a kind of inebriant. You absorb the excitement around you, and you watch the line expand in perfect proportion to your own anticipation.
When you finally get into the theater, you’re drunk on the energy that is being poured into the room by every person there. One time I midnighted “Snakes on a Plane,” and “The Devil Wears Prada” came on the screen by accident. Rest assured, the reaction was not kind or contained. Woe be the projectionist who mistakenly gives Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway to an audience that is frothing for Samuel L. Jackson and snakes.
That incident made me realize, though, that there’s a palpable sense of want at these shows. And in the audience, you can’t wait for that need to be met — not just for yourself but for everyone in the room, because you want to share the rush together. When the lights go down, the energy that seizes that crowd on the precipice of fulfillment is like a roller coaster cresting its highest point, just before it plunges. From the moment the studio logo goes up, people cheer, applaud, laugh, moan, scream, explode into “That was awesome!” Movie titles, character entrances, one-liners, epic action sequences, unexpected deaths, violent creative deaths, bad-guy comeuppances, twists — they all elicit vocal and passionate responses.
One of my favorite excursions was when I midnighted “Freddy vs. Jason” and there was a group of guys who enthusiastically yelled “Boom!” every time the two horror icons dispatched a victim. These guys got so into it that at one point, one of them actually leapt out of his seat and ran up and down the aisle cheering.
Yes, they were probably drunk, and yes, I know that story may deter you from ever seeing a midnight show. But their enthusiasm was such that the whole theater connected to it. By the end, you would have thought we were watching the greatest movie ever made.
The thing to understand about the ruckus of a midnight screening is that, unlike the usual noise you have to filter out at a movie theater, it never feels disruptive, because it’s never disrespectful. The noise isn’t about people distracting others (and themselves) from the movie. It’s directed at the movie. It comes from an irrepressible desire to celebrate what’s being seen. It comes, at its heart, from the greatest emotion a movie can give you: Joy.
That joy also ensures that you will never, ever see a cellphone light up or hear anything but deathly stillness during scenes that don’t merit enthusiastic responses. In fact, midnight movies — when they’re quiet — are some of the most reverent movie experiences I’ve ever had. People will literally shush you one second into the movie. What more could anyone ask from a moviegoing experience than an audience that actually both quietly respects and vocally worships the movie you’re collectively seeing? Being surrounded by that always swells my movie-buff heart as I think, This is why I go to the movies.
I suspect there is a cadre of cinephiles who will contest the notion that a loud midnight audience could ever trump the experience of watching a serious film with hundreds of people sitting quietly captivated and engaged. There’s no doubt that the theater-as-cathedral experience can be just as affirming of our cinematic faith as a midnight show. And I love sitting in a theater where I feel the comforting weight of an audience engrossed in a film; of being among people who understand the quiet idolization and respectful attention that great movies deserve.
The problem is that the decline of cinema etiquette has made that experience an elusive and endangered one. I often wonder whether it’s even worth going to the movies anymore. (I’ve definitely wondered how I can track down people who use smartphones at movies, then ruin something they really care about.) For most people, the moviegoing experience now has to deliver more than just a great movie on a big screen in the comforting cocoon of a silent, dark theater. Every time we go to the movies, we need to be reminded again why we love to do so; otherwise we might stop bothering to go to the movies at all.
The hushed theater, assuming you can find one, can only rarely achieve that. A midnight show does it every time. A hushed theater reminds me why I love movies. But a midnight show reminds me why I love going to the movies. It’s an event I can’t recreate anywhere else. A great movie is a great movie whether you see it in a packed auditorium or on your own couch, but at the midnight show, a great movie is enhanced by the experience around it. The midnight show might not be the future of the moviegoing experience, but it may become the only place in the future to really enjoy it.
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