This Monday, I went to the Main Art in Royal Oak to see “Beasts of the Southern Wild.” I’m in the midst of finishing pre-production on this year’s CFA short, and following that shoot, I’ll be heading to Chicago. Against my better judgement, I’ve become nostalgic. Monday may be the last time I go to the Main Art for sometime. I’ve felt a lot of things in this theater, and on Monday night, for the second time in my life, I couldn’t let go of things outside of the theatre. I couldn’t get wrapped up in the film as I was too wrapped up in my own dealings.
In that case, it may be unfair for me to say, four days later, that I think “Beasts of the Southern Wild” is, at its best, a very beautiful story about an anarchist community’s attempt to sustain themselves, and, at its worst, something many people will confuse as a quasi-documentary about poor communities and their willingness to go without aid. Or, as Ann Hornaday wrote, "a dilettantish piece of cultural tourism." Regardless of my feelings about the film, I found myself focusing quite a bit on my emotional vulnerability in that particular theatre. I recall several years ago having a panic attack while watching the Clerk Gregg’s disappointing adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk’s novel, “Choke.”
I’m not sure if it speaks to my own breaking down or the fact that this theatre has provided me such a comfortable space in which to break down in. There’s nothing truly special about the Landmark owned theatre. Though, I’ve always found it interesting that most metro-detroiters believe this is a one-of-a-kind theatre. Perhaps that’s the way all Landmark theatre’s are.
Either way, this is one of the things I look forward to as I head to Chicago. Will I be able to find another theatre that will allow me to be as vulnerable as I’ve been at the Main Art? I have a feeling I will. I feel kind of lame saying this, but the Main Art feels kind-of-maybe like a weird home to me.
Soon, I’ll be leaving it for new emotional adventures. I’ll be seeing you, Chicago, in just under a month.