On what sort of screen should you watch One Battle After Another? Paul Thomas Anderson’s new film about revolutionary radicals in a ravaged United States comes in a plethora of slightly different, vaguely confusing formats.
It was originally shot in ultra-rare, 70-year-old VistaVision celluloid, but there are only four cinemas in the entire world that can actually accommodate this – one in London, three in the US. There is also an Imax version on 70mm celluloid film, the more common digital Imax format, and a 70mm film projection for some select cinemas. And, finally, there are the majority of current cinemas with more standard digital projection, which also happen to have quite big screens for you to gaze up at moving pictures in the dark.
With attendances falling and cinemas under threat, I understand why there has been a push to make seeing films more of an event in recent years. Since the pandemic, Tom Cruise has put himself front and centre of a campaign to encourage people into the cinema. Christopher Nolan has also made several of his films with the grand Imax screens in mind: his upcoming The Odyssey is said to be the first blockbuster made entirely with Imax cameras (screenings for the film in the highest-grade format sold out a year in advance). “Between the vision-filling screen and sound that chases you around the auditorium, it’s more like stepping into the movie than watching it at a safe distance,” purred the Odeon website for its Imax screenings of Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning. There is a clear desire to put the emphasis on an all-encompassing feast for the senses; inevitably, the cost of these special screenings is usually higher than a traditional cinema ticket.
I love going to the cinema and I try to see new films this way as much as is feasible. But I do think that the focus on seeing things in the cinema now is becoming over-egged – especially when it is given some sort of moral imperative, or if an idea forms that a certain premium version is the “true” experience. Cinema used to be a relatively accessible and affordable mass pursuit. Any move away from this, while potentially bringing short-term gain, may be a mistake in the long run. The fear lingers that by foregrounding limited and premium offerings – akin to going to the opera or a West End theatre – lesser cinemas could be further diminished, and audiences discouraged if a certain format isn’t available or is simply too expensive.
Anecdotal evidence from true believers (in the right locations) suggests that seeing One Battle After Another in VistaVision provides the greatest pleasure: the colours are more beautiful, the look and feel is purer, like seeing a painting in person rather than a reproduction in a book. Other cineastes (or Letterboxd bros, per modern nomenclature) say that it must be seen in Imax formats for the true thrill-ride. I personally find viewing at an Imax a little like you’re watching tennis – moving your head this way and that to follow where you should be looking, and the emphasis on immersive viewing a little too literal. A friend suggests that unless you have the perfect seat near the centre of an Imax room, the experience is actually inferior.
What is it that we love about seeing a film in the cinema? I don’t think it can be defined by the dimensions of the screen alone. It’s being in a dark room, free from distractions, with a reasonably comfortable seat, surrounded by others, watching the film on a big – or big enough – screen above: sometimes it’s in a vast theatre, sometimes it’s a room for 20 people. All have their merits. And as the host of one US film podcast suggested when asked what was the best place to see One Battle After Another: “In the movie theatre you like the most.”
In the end, I saw the film on an “XL” screen at my nearest multiplex: I can’t quite figure out if that meant a bigger screen, bigger seats, or bigger buckets of popcorn. I’ll admit the thrilling visual aspects must hit well on an even more souped-up screen, but they were pretty great from my vantage point, too. As were its kinetic energy and frantic score, dragging you through a story both compellingly strange and laugh-out-loud funny. Granted, there are also valid criticisms to be made.
One of my formative moments engaging with “serious” film was when I was aged about 14 and saw Rear Window. It made me instantly realise there could be more to a film than most of what I had seen up to that point. The fact that I happened to watch it on an early-1990s, medium-sized cathode-ray TV one bored Saturday afternoon, almost by accident, didn’t diminish the effect. A love for film can blossom in many formats. Under the right conditions, everything is cinema.
after newsletter promotion
Source link