J. and I saw "Iron Man" over the Memorial day weekend.
We went to Cinema 309, a suburban Philadelphia multiplex. Cinema 309 is like a walk-in time capsule or a museum dedicated to the broken dreams of the 1980's. Or perhaps, a slightly earlier time, when 1976 pajama party classic "Logan's Run" inspired mall shoppers to imagine they were strolling through the prototype of a futuristic wonderland. Many years have passed since Cinema 309's last upgrade (beyond whatever was necessary to keep the place reasonably rodent free and generally within code). The concession stand, obviously designed by the same guy who decorated your freshman year dorm room and first apartment, is lined with flickering Christmas lights. The Junior Mint shielding display glass is tinted from 10 million applications of the sinister and mysterious Formula 409.
The movie screen -- which you'd think might receive the most attention -- is as dull as the paint job on a 1975 Ford Pinto. The sound seems to be gurgling up from deep within the hull of a sunken ship.
Snacks cost as much as the down payment on a Lexus. Trailers, advertisements and ancient, scratched warnings against "piracy" and cell phone use roll on and on for what seems like an eternity before the movie finally starts.
This, MPAA, is why people download. The 'movie going experience' -- excepting the rare boutique cinemas, with their half moon seating, chardonnay servings and Vivaldi soundtrack between showings -- sucks as vigorously as Sasha Grey.
But the movie is like a really great party.
It's the sort of great that makes you -- and by "you" I mean me -- wonder why, unlike so many other movies based on flying underwear pervert stories (thank you, Warren Ellis), it works on a variety of levels.
Of course, Robert Downey Jr.'s take-no-prisoners performance blessed the project with a high gloss it would surely lack if a lesser, less seasoned and less acquainted with lost weekends actor had been given the Tony Stark role. But there's something else. I think it's the two sorts of super power on display: one fanciful, the other real but reserved for a small, privileged slice of the population.
The fanciful super power is represented by Iron Man's suit: a hyper-advanced, form fitting tank equipped with a variety of destructive toys and abilities twelve year old Dwayne would've garroted Mr. Spock to get his hands on. Come to think of it, I'd like to have the suit now (perhaps without the strangling). Some people need sorting out via particle beam and a well placed repulsor blast would be just the thing I think.
The other super power, the one that's real but rare, is represented by Stark's ability to glide through life with a I really don't give a marathon fuck glow: the ability to soar well above the harsh necessities imposed on most people by capitalism, culture, bad taste in clothes and other constraints.
To a middle class bloke riding on the subway, or sitting in traffic trying to get to work, or in a meeting watching yet another PowerPoint slide show, or in the gym trying to tighten up for that eHarmony date, the adventures of a man who can summon his private jet, date super models, drive a prototype Audi and invent a new form of reactor during a particularly bad weekend must appear at least as super heroic and fantastic as CGI battle suit antics at Mach 2.
.d.
-- "I keep trying to tell you people: The sharks are everywhere and they crave human meat! "
Ian Spiegelman
...................... http://monroelab.net/blog/