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To dream in the dark: Scott Marks says, “That’s all, folks!”
Yesterday’s gears and aperture plates have been replaced by hard drives and digital touch screens
That's all folks!
After what management said, I found it impossible to continue any further as The Reader’s film critic. What did they say? “Scott, I’m sorry to say we’re laying you off.” The real shocker is that, at a time when print journalism is in greater need of a ventilator than Katherine Heigl’s career, I could until this week still be held in your hand on a weekly basis.
That’s All, folks!
The San Diego Reader had its origins as a sort of sister-paper to the Chicago Reader, a weekly that I grew up with, and one that had a tremendous influence on my cinematic sensibilities. I learned more about movies from their trio of critics — Jonathan Rosenbaum, Terry Curtis Fox, and my persnickety, auteur-fired pal Dave Kehr — than anyone short of Andre Bazan and Andrew Sarris. It’s been a great 12-year run, the length of which I attribute to not having a cubicle to feng shui. (If I had to report into the office, my meshugganah-kop would have been shown the door after two weeks.) Dear readers, whether we agree or not on a given film is of no importance. I’m as much a PR man as I am a critic, and my goal has always been to perpetuate the beauty and indispensability of theatrical exhibition. Even the shittiest movie smells better on a big screen.
My predecessor Duncan Shepherd had the good sense to get while the getting was good. The long-abstained-from union between movies and television had been forever consummated. Celluloid afforded audiences an opportunity to dream in the dark. Hollywood’s digital conversion put an end to that, rendering all that came in its wake little more than big TV. The lighting is brighter, the colors pop, and gosh only knows what aspect ratio they’ll come up with next. Visits to the lobby to complain about focus had been supplanted by treks to ask for assistance in getting the sloth in row nine to resist the urge to text in mid-movie. I’ll never forget that certain matinee at the Gaslamp, when the dunderhead seated four rows down took time out of the movie to watch a video on his phone.
My favorite audience exchange during my 12-year tenure occurred at the dreaded AMC La Jolla and it went something like this:
Marks: “You’re phone’s on.”
Neanderthal in Row Eight: “Fuck you!”
Marks: “Okay, but I like doing it in the dark. Please turn your phone off.”
Ther lug not only compiled, I got a laugh out of him!
One might think digital technology would have done wonders for older films in dire need of a facelift. A few years back, I took in a 4K restoration of Marnie. It’s a film I had the good fortune to experience several times in 35mm dye-transfer Technicolor®, and not once do I recall grain the size of golf balls bucketing down throughout the show. It wasn’t a projection problem; the picture that followed it looked just fine. Back in the day, if it was a projection problem, I knew enough about 35mm presentation to be help get a show or three up and running. Yesterday’s gears and aperture plates have been replaced by hard drives and digital touch screens that might just as well be written in cuneiform. Believe it or don’t, I have been sent packing from more press screenings canceled due to digital technology mishaps than operator error. In olden days, a seasoned booth op could get the show up with a few tightened screws or a spare part they were fortunate to have on hand. Today, if studios don’t provide exhibitors with the set of codes needed for a Barco to “ingest” a feature — or if slacking assistant managers fail to start the process — the show won’t go on.
I leave you with what has become a Holy Grail of cinema, a historical landmark that just years ago appeared to have as much chance of resurfacing as did the missing reels of Greed. My original intention was to post this on my birthday as a gift to my readers, but fate had other plans. I have yet to listen to them, and now find myself with a sudden surfeit of free time. Here are the original audio transcriptions of Francois Truffaut’s groundbreaking series of interviews that spawned the director’s indispensable interview book Hitchcock/Truffaut. You’re welcome!
https://gointothestory.blcklst.com/francois-truffaut-interviews-alfred-hitchcock-82624f1fda4c
In a little over a month, The Reader turns 50. Happy Anniversary! At a time when movie theaters were shuttered, Jim Holman continued to employ a full-time movie critic. Thank you, Mr. Holman, for leaving me the heck alone and for having the good sense to team me with Matthew Lickona. I don’t know which means more to me. All good things! And thank you, my readers. Follow me on Twitter (@scottmarks) to see where I land.
Here's something you might be interested in.
To dream in the dark: Scott Marks says, “That’s all, folks!”
Yesterday’s gears and aperture plates have been replaced by hard drives and digital touch screens
To dream in the dark: Scott Marks says, “That’s all, folks!”
Yesterday’s gears and aperture plates have been replaced by hard drives and digital touch screens
That's all folks!
After what management said, I found it impossible to continue any further as The Reader’s film critic. What did they say? “Scott, I’m sorry to say we’re laying you off.” The real shocker is that, at a time when print journalism is in greater need of a ventilator than Katherine Heigl’s career, I could until this week still be held in your hand on a weekly basis.
That’s All, folks!
The San Diego Reader had its origins as a sort of sister-paper to the Chicago Reader, a weekly that I grew up with, and one that had a tremendous influence on my cinematic sensibilities. I learned more about movies from their trio of critics — Jonathan Rosenbaum, Terry Curtis Fox, and my persnickety, auteur-fired pal Dave Kehr — than anyone short of Andre Bazan and Andrew Sarris. It’s been a great 12-year run, the length of which I attribute to not having a cubicle to feng shui. (If I had to report into the office, my meshugganah-kop would have been shown the door after two weeks.) Dear readers, whether we agree or not on a given film is of no importance. I’m as much a PR man as I am a critic, and my goal has always been to perpetuate the beauty and indispensability of theatrical exhibition. Even the shittiest movie smells better on a big screen.
My predecessor Duncan Shepherd had the good sense to get while the getting was good. The long-abstained-from union between movies and television had been forever consummated. Celluloid afforded audiences an opportunity to dream in the dark. Hollywood’s digital conversion put an end to that, rendering all that came in its wake little more than big TV. The lighting is brighter, the colors pop, and gosh only knows what aspect ratio they’ll come up with next. Visits to the lobby to complain about focus had been supplanted by treks to ask for assistance in getting the sloth in row nine to resist the urge to text in mid-movie. I’ll never forget that certain matinee at the Gaslamp, when the dunderhead seated four rows down took time out of the movie to watch a video on his phone.
My favorite audience exchange during my 12-year tenure occurred at the dreaded AMC La Jolla and it went something like this:
Marks: “You’re phone’s on.”
Neanderthal in Row Eight: “Fuck you!”
Marks: “Okay, but I like doing it in the dark. Please turn your phone off.”
Ther lug not only compiled, I got a laugh out of him!
One might think digital technology would have done wonders for older films in dire need of a facelift. A few years back, I took in a 4K restoration of Marnie. It’s a film I had the good fortune to experience several times in 35mm dye-transfer Technicolor®, and not once do I recall grain the size of golf balls bucketing down throughout the show. It wasn’t a projection problem; the picture that followed it looked just fine. Back in the day, if it was a projection problem, I knew enough about 35mm presentation to be help get a show or three up and running. Yesterday’s gears and aperture plates have been replaced by hard drives and digital touch screens that might just as well be written in cuneiform. Believe it or don’t, I have been sent packing from more press screenings canceled due to digital technology mishaps than operator error. In olden days, a seasoned booth op could get the show up with a few tightened screws or a spare part they were fortunate to have on hand. Today, if studios don’t provide exhibitors with the set of codes needed for a Barco to “ingest” a feature — or if slacking assistant managers fail to start the process — the show won’t go on.
I leave you with what has become a Holy Grail of cinema, a historical landmark that just years ago appeared to have as much chance of resurfacing as did the missing reels of Greed. My original intention was to post this on my birthday as a gift to my readers, but fate had other plans. I have yet to listen to them, and now find myself with a sudden surfeit of free time. Here are the original audio transcriptions of Francois Truffaut’s groundbreaking series of interviews that spawned the director’s indispensable interview book Hitchcock/Truffaut. You’re welcome!
https://gointothestory.blcklst.com/francois-truffaut-interviews-alfred-hitchcock-82624f1fda4c
In a little over a month, The Reader turns 50. Happy Anniversary! At a time when movie theaters were shuttered, Jim Holman continued to employ a full-time movie critic. Thank you, Mr. Holman, for leaving me the heck alone and for having the good sense to team me with Matthew Lickona. I don’t know which means more to me. All good things! And thank you, my readers. Follow me on Twitter (@scottmarks) to see where I land.
Commentsjoshuapotter
This comment was removed by the site staff for violation of the usage agreement.
Sept. 6, 2022