That Was England

On a lonely and mildly humid August Sunday, I went to the movies by myself. I've always scoffed at this activity. Staring at solo patrons in various Manhattan theatres, I would think "You loser. We all know you don't want to be here alone. You should have stayed home and avoided our judgemental gaze. You. Have. Failed." Counterarguments have made sense. It can be quite a stressful chore to organize a group of New Yorkers who have different commuting, eating, working, blah blah situations, perhaps because its an activity where the shared experience is abstracted by the fact we don't communicate during the actual THING. And do I really need to listen to the fading chirps of relationship bickering as the lights dim?

The last time I had gone to a movie alone was 10 years previous at the Crossgates Mall Multiplex in Albany, NY. It was Contact starring Jodie Foster. There were aliens. Jake Busey. I am sure you're familiar. Somehow my friends wound up in the auditorium showing Spawn and stayed there. This time around it was This Is England by Shane Meadows, currently playing on an itsy bitsy screen at the IFC Center on 6th Ave. An Englishman two seats to my right began talking to me as soon as I sat down. Looking like a summery micro-version of the male lead in the Princess Bride, he mentioned he had been in a much larger theater the day before; a screening room in a Hamptons mansion where he had attended an all weekend party. Naturally, he was not unaccompanied. His female companion stared into the slate floor as we wondered aloud how this film would compare to the gloriously disturbing Romper Stomper.

The seat directly to my right remained empty until the opening seconds, when a woman, dark-haired and attractive, entered alone and grabbed the spot. She laughed and cringed at all the right moments, but after twiddling about with some texts, left about 15 minutes before the conclusion. Somehow her experience was more akin to watching TV on the couch at home; a passing of time activity easily disregarded when something better comes up. OK cool, it really is not a big deal to be here alone. It initially struck me as strange because the film was excellent in just about every respect. Sharp, doubtless performances and a heartbreaking story shot gorgeously around industrial ruin and claustrophobic, suburban malaise. Dare I say, a modern classic.

Oh and not to name drop, but a close friend of mine is credited as the Script Advisor. Stay for the credits.