Summer Movie Memories (2021-2006)

2021

It’s my first real return to theaters after the lockdown, and I am extraordinarily grateful to be at the movies with some treasured friends. During the trailers, I observe moviegoers taking their masks off to eat snacks. Most don’t put them back on, and I don’t really blame them. This is a small source of anxiety in the much larger, oppressive anxiety of the COVID-era. One that, as of this writing, I don’t think we ever left. 

I find distraction and comfort in the pulpy thrills of M. Night Shyamalan's Old. It feels like exactly the type of junky b-movie I’d be seeing in a “normal” summer. My friends are divided on the movie, but I’m in the camp that likes it. 

Afterwards we eat on an outdoor patio situated in an ugly part of Toronto’s downtown. The afternoon is imperfect and uncanny. I desperately needed it. From the twisted mind of M. Night Shyamalan. 

2017

It’s summer 2017, and I have just completed my meager one year screenwriting program. It is, to date, the only post-secondary education that I’ve received. I’m returning to my native Toronto soon, and I'll spend the last few months of my west coast life adrift. A romantic relationship has ended, and despite a good group of friends, I feel isolated. As in most of my depressive periods, I’m watching a lot of movies.

The release of Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk is fast approaching. I hear from Twitter that the “proper” way to see it is on 65mm. At the time, I don’t know what 65mm is, but I make it my mission to see it anyway. Unfortunately, there is no option to do this in downtown Vancouver. 

In Canada, theaters are operated in a virtual monopoly by a company called Cineplex. Cineplex has bought out most other chains, including one called Silver City. Silver City was known for its suburban “Colossus” cinemas, which boasted massive Imax screens. I discover that one former Colossus is showing a 65mm presentation of Dunkirk in the Vancouver suburbs.

On a July afternoon, I make my pilgrimage. The journey takes two hours and involves a bus route that goes across the highway. 

As I sit down, I’m hypnotized by a trailer for Star Wars: The Last Jedi, which pops with vivid colour. I realize in that moment what “65mm” means. 

In the early 2010’s, theaters largely switched from film to digital projection, but I was too young to notice the transition. As soon as I see the Star Wars trailer I can tell the difference. This is how movies looked when I was a kid! 

During Dunkirk, It feels like my audience is having a similarly revelatory experience. There’s not a phone in sight and hardly a whispered comment. I haven’t watched Dunkirk since. Some experiences should be left untouched.

2015

In the summer of 2015, I have just graduated high school. Almost all of my friends are in university, and a good chunk of them have moved to Montreal. I am a lazy, unmotivated student, and I have not applied to any universities. Instead, I spend my evenings working at what was then known as the Rainbow Cinema Market Square. I am allowed to see anything I want for free, and I spend an unhealthy amount of the next year in Rainbow’s cramped, dingy theaters. 

I feel stressed and uncertain about the future, and the theater’s windowless basement location does not do wonders for my mental health. Still, I have a loving family, nice co-workers, and plenty of friends. All of them are sick of hearing about Mad Max: Fury Road.

I’ve never been a big movie rewatcher, but I’ve seen Fury Road twice in theaters already. One night, in late summer, the movie returns to Rainbow for a special screening. A manager tells me that I can watch the end if I finish my work early. For the first and only time, I work hard at the job. 

I skate into the back row just as Max and Furiosa begin their final assault on the Citadel. Perfection.  

2012 

In the summer of 2012, I am 14 years old. I am excitedly telling my grade nine French teacher that I have tickets to see The Avengers. He nods along politely as I explain that the movie is intended to launch an interconnected cinematic universe. At the time this is a novel and exciting idea, and has not yet led to the Death of Cinema. 

I am at the end of my first school year at an arts high school. Though the school is public, a series of invisible privileges has allowed me to nail my audition and gain admission to the school’s film program. Over the next four years, this program will give me an education that puts many undergraduate programs to shame. 

I will not repeat this achievement until my senior year, but in grade nine I’ve managed to complete both of my major film projects. I’m proud of these films, and they’ve made this summer vacation (and the accompanying year-end Marvel movie), feel especially earned.

A friend, (who I will refer to as Tony Stark for his own protection), is similarly excited. He spends much of French class drawing Iron Man armor on his hands in pen. As we make the long walk from our school to the suburban multiplex, Tony blasts passing cars with imaginary lasers. When we arrive, we see other classmates scattered around the theater. For any self-respecting teenaged nerd, this is an opening day event. 

In a gritty, post-Dark Knight blockbuster landscape, I am surprised by the volume and quality of the jokes in The Avengers. Quips have become the norm now, but at the time they were a novelty. And crucially, Joss Whedon was still writing them. The audience applauds and cheers at the big Hulk moment, but also explodes in laughter at “doth mother know you weareth her drapes” and “I understood that reference.” Gasps greet the death of a supporting character. After the movie, Tony mimes picking his brains off the floor, so blown is his mind.  

Even if it destroyed cinema, I’ll always have some affection for this one. I hope you understand. 

2010

My dad takes a friend and I to see Inception. It’s my second time. 

A group of teenage girls scream “WHAT?” and “NOOOO” at the open-ended final shot.

2008

In summer 2008, I am ten years old. For as long as I can remember, my parents have housed and fed international students. They are compensated by English Language schools that operate in Toronto’s downtown. 

In the summer of 2008, we are hosting a musclebound Colombian teenager who I will refer to as Fabian. Fabian is confident and charismatic, and like many of the students, he has been embraced as an unofficial, temporary family member. 

My mom drives Fabian, my dad and I to a suburban Cineplex to check out Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I am young enough to be completely unfazed by the fridge moment. I love the chase through the jungle, CGI monkeys and all. 

A  couple in front of us brings a pillow and sleeping bags to their seats, which I find funny. Fabian laughs derisively when the temple turns into a flying saucer. For the first time, I hear a cell phone go off in a movie theater.    

2007

In the summer of 2007, I am nine years old. It has become clear to both myself and my parents that I am interested in movies to an unusual degree. I am tapped into movie culture in the only way I know how: via Peter Howell’s columns in the Toronto Star. Peter is very concerned with the increasing reliance on franchises in Hollywood, and has christened 2007 the summer of threequels, pointing to the third installments of series like Spider-Man, Pirates of the Caribbean, Ocean’s Eleven, Shrek, and more.

Two of these threequels are the subject of debate for a family excursion to the multiplex. My older cousin, (who I will refer to as Matt Damon for his own protection), wants to see The Bourne Ultimatum. This has been deemed too intense for me, and my mother steers me to the PG-13 option: Rush Hour 3. 

It is decided that my great aunt, (who I will refer to as Donna for her own protection), will take her grandson Matt to see Bourne. Meanwhile, my mother will have to endure the loud, high-pitched antics of Chris Tucker. 

On the way to the theater, I play with a toy I collected on a recent trip to Burger King. It's Mr. Burns a tie-in to that summer’s Simpsons Movie. When you press a button on the back of his chair, Mr. Burns murmurs “Excellent.”

Writing this now, I remember almost nothing about Rush Hour 3. Though at the time I have a vague notion that Roman Polanski’s cameo is “controversial.” In an early moment of character actor appreciation, I note the performance of the film’s villain, Japanese actor Hiroyuki Sanada. I am a fan to this day. 

After the movie, my mom and I wait outside Donna’s car. Matt emerges from the theater with a smile on his face,  having enjoyed the Bourne trilogy’s narratively satisfying conclusion. Donna however, is visibly shaken. Having watched the Bourne films now, I understand her reaction. Ultimatum is particularly violent, borrowing heavily from War on Terror imagery and paranoia. Watching the movie on DVD years later, I’ll be shocked by the moment where Bourne is forced to shoot a man who has been bound and black-bagged. 

We drop Matt off, and Donna begins to drive us home. She tells us that though she was disturbed by the film, she thought it was well done. She describes one moment as “excellent.” I can’t help myself, and I hit the button on the back of my toy. 

“EXCELLENT” exclaims Mr. Burns, in a loud, sharp whisper. 

This startles Donna, who jumps and lightly swerves the car. My mother will later say “ she almost drove right off the road.” At the time, I don’t really understand what happened. My mother asks me to put the toy away.  

2006

In the summer of 2006, I am eight years old. On a family trip to Ottawa, my parents take me to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest. 

Like much of the world, I have Jack Sparrow fever, and I’m thrilled by his physics-defying adventures. I tough out a frightening scene where Davy Jones whips Will Turner’s father, and I’m blown away when Jack is eaten by the Kraken. This is the first cliffhanger ending I remember seeing in a new release. I didn’t know movies were allowed to do that. 

The movie's main highlight however, are its gonzo action sequences. It will be years before I learn that Pirates director Gore Verbinski also made MouseHunt, a childhood favourite of mine. There, he practiced his skillful Rube-Goldberg set-pieces in miniature scale. I like to think he was training me to appreciate his craftsmanship on Pirates. 

After the movie, my dad and I breathlessly discuss the three-way sword fight on the big wheel. 

Movies had never felt as big as they did that day, and they never would again.