strangers in the dark

As a shusher, movie going in Santa Fe has always been especially frustrating. Nowhere else I've ever been have people been more inclined to bring their own sandwich (covered in the most odorous of condiments and wrapped, of course, in loud, crinkly paper), answer their phones ("Can I call back, I'm in a movie...what...what...hang on...I'm...in...a...movie...") or chat openly with the person they came with about the movie, or worse, something else entirely.

So I was shocked on Saturday night when I hit DeVargas for The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. The small theater was packed, some of us straining awkwardly to get a good view of the screen. During previews people muttered about being uncomfortable, discussed whether the preview looked like something they wanted to see and asked their partners about other films the actors had been in. But then, when the movie began. Nothing. For the full two hours of the film: nothing. A man gasped at a scene that made him unnerved, but his reaction wasn't the inconsiderate chit chat that so often fills movie houses. It was heartfelt, neurotic, uncontrollable fear. When the film ended and the credits began to roll the silence continued. There was none of the clapping that often (and so oddly) follows a good film. Just a mesmerized audience who didn't quite have the bearings to go back out into the real world.

I would like to invite that entire audience to see every movie I ever go to. They were perfect and polite. And yes, the film was fantastic.

If only that little bubble of joy could have lasted forever. Alas, the very next night I tested my luck at Once Upon A Time In The West. Really, beer? I know it's a Western, but there's just no need for an audience to crack open cans of beer in the middle of a film, is there? The individually wrapped candies were a nice touch too. But the prize for worst theatergoer goes to the man who'd obviously seen the film a few times, probably one of his favorites, and ruined every ounce of suspense for me (having never seen it) by announcing each plot point aloud before it happened, interjecting his own commentary and identifying the next famous face to come on screen moments before the actor arrived. No amount of hushing or dirty looks would stop him, and he was loud enough that moving seats in the small CCA theater would have been useless. So my companion and I did the only thing we could think to do. We packed up our things and left.

It's a shame, as it was the last night and I'll probably never get the chance to see it on the big screen again. But, then again, if I choose to watch it I can do so by myself and enjoy the surprises the film has to offer all on my own, without the smell of cheap beer accompanying my stranger's soundtrack.

puttin' it out there

Saturday was a night to celebrate new artistic products. SFR's own Gabe Gomez had a signing for his book of poetry The Outer Bands at El Farol. Though Gabe didn't read he did have a great turnout of supporters and signed a few books. Radio la Chusma even rocked the party for Gabe. Go, go Gomez!

After El Farol it was down to the Brewing Company for the Santa Fe All-Stars' EP release. It was packed. The show started at 8 and well before 10 signs were hung up on the doors announcing that the show had sold out. I couldn't even get to the merch table to check out the EP because the crowd was too thick. The age mixture was great to see, a lot of young people and a lot of older folks jammed in together. No one had too much room to dance, but everyone tried. I'm surprised that the All-Stars have only an EP, but let's hope it's just a teaser for a longer album to come.

Congrats to Gabe and the All Stars for putting new art into the world and for drawing such great support. Good luck!

In the Shins

Albuquerque native and bassist for The Shins, Martin Crandall has been charged with domestic abuse against his girlfriend, model Elyse Sewell, also from ABQ. Or so, the Post-Chronicle reports...

... Wikipedia editors have their revenge:

Click to enlarge.

(Props to Luke Baumgarten for posting the story to Facebook)

funky font

Okay, so watching a movie about a font doesn't sound all that cool to most people. It does to me, but that may just be evidence as to my mental instability.

Anyway, we had a few days off over the holidays and I spent a lot of good quality time on my ass watching movies. Mostly rewatching old John Cusack movies that I've seen a thousand times before, because, frankly, High Fidelity never gets old. But after reliving the music snob world of Championship Vinyl it was time to move onto something even geekier. Helvetica, an 80 some odd minute documentary about a typeface. Sounds lame. It's not. People are crazy about this font. You're probably surrounded by it right now. And there are two, very different, schools of thought when it comes to the aesthetic of the font. School 1 is the lovers. Helvetica is one of three fonts they'll use. They find it crisp, traditional--though a touch sassy--and so clean that the eye reads it without thinking about its existence. School 2 is the haters. They find it boring, feel that the world is surrounded by bad taste and a few on the fringe are actually morally opposed to what it represents.

It's kinda insane. But it's fascinating.