The Movies by Kat Magendie

When I lived in the Big City, I went to the movies when there was some anticipated blockbuster, or summer sleeper, I was anxious to see on the Big Screen. For, after all, there are some movies that simply must be seen and heard in a movie theater experience. The bigger than life size, the speakers set on ear-drum shatter, the smell of popcorn, the rustling of bootlegged treats taken from purses or pockets, the excited chatter that is stilled once the previews begin. I was spoiled by the city movie theaters, with their plush stadium seating. But here in my little town, I pass the tiny theater and feel a little uninspired. I promise myself to actually go in one day, maybe I’ll be surprised.

There was a time I worried the theaters would price people right on out, especially as quickly as movies are sent to DVD and available for viewing in one’s own home, and the over-inflated egos of Hollywood “stars” demanding outrageous salaries that are obscene. I know it puts me off, going to a movie and paying far too much, just so some actor can add to their already bulging wallets, and egos (which is why I love the sleepers with little known actors). But, there is the child part of me who still feels the magic…with some movies, some of the time, and with some actors who still charm, touch, make me laugh, or take me somewhere I didn't know I wanted to go.

While recently visiting my sister in law in Houston, she and I went to the opening weekend of the new Indiana Jones movie—one of the aforementioned Blockbusters one must watch on the big screen. I stared with a country come to town grin. The theater was Huge, with sparklings and people and noise and color and light and sound, and as if that wasn’t enough, there was a Starbucks, and small eateries, and was that a gift shop? And I’m sure I missed seeing everything, as we were hurrying to get to our seats. Oh, and those seats! Plush and comfy as my own living room. We settled in, and the magic began. I won’t tell you what I thought about the movie itself, I’ll leave that to your own opinion, but I will say that Indiana Jones is just as handsome as he ever was, damn him for being a man and being allowed to age! Karen Allen was beautiful, but completely wasted in her role, dang it all. That’s all I have to say about that. Ah, here’s to the movies. Escape.

Dark Pleasures by Angie Ledbetter

"Loafing needs no explanation and is its own excuse." ~ Christopher Morley

I went to see a movie yesterday with my daughter. It was nice to spend time together since we haven't done much of that lately and I always enjoy her company. She makes me laugh and we have a lot in common. It was especially nice being in a dark theater in the middle of the day and getting tickets at matinee rates. The theater is nearby and wasn't very crowded because most people were still at work, so it felt almost like we were playing hooky.

There's really nothing like sinking into a plush comfortable chair in the cool darkness and sinking away into anonymity. The movie we chose was decently funny and captivating; enough so that I was able to forget the lists of things I could/should be doing and totally relax for a few hours.

Escape is important. It eases stress and relieves tension. I had a great afternoon doing something I don't get to do often, and with a person whose company I enjoy. I'm thankful for that time...and the buttered popcorn I had for "lunch."

William S. and Barbara G. by Kathryn Magendie

If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me—William Shakespeare
I forgive you William Shakespeare, and I love you for it, too. Oh, but it wasn’t always so. There was a time when I just didn’t get you, dear William. I’d hear your name fall from reverent lips. I’d attempt to read your plays, and attempt is a generous word to use. I’d watch adaptations of your plays with their modern themes and shrug, change the channel. I’d ask, “What? What does it all mean?” But then, before my move to the mountains, I took a class at Louisiana State University, taught by the ever-wonderful Barbara Gray. I remember worrying in that first week of Shakeybaby that I’d never figure out what the Bard was trying to say. But, through Barbara Gray’s talents, and a whole lot of patience, she led her students through the dense forest of words and phrases, the very brilliance and wonder and unique—the unique that ironically so much cliché has been formed—that is our William Shakespeare.

So much became clear, yes; and yes, some things are still hard to follow unless I pick apart the play limb by limb, but Barbara Gray opened Shakespeare’s skin and let me have a peek inside at his pumping heart, his running blood through throbbing veins. I have a bust of Shakespeare (and of another idol: Beethoven) on my computer hutch, and my Shakespeare sports a big red lip-print upon his ever-exposed forehead. My kiss of thanks. I’d give the same forehead kiss to Barbara Gray for opening that big fat creaking door I’d pushed against for years trying to gain entrance into a Closed Club of Shakespeareanites.

There are days I wonder if he’s peeking over my shoulder when I accidentally make up a word and later think, “Wait! That’s not a real word, but I like it. I think I’ll keep it,” or when I flop out a phrase that I read and think, “I wrote that? Yes, I wrote that. Huhn. Wow.” Oh, William! I adore you, and you, too, Barbara Gray; and demurely I bow to you both in thanks for who you are and what you have contributed to my life, to my writing, to the very particles of air you breathed out and scattered upon the winds for future generations to breathe in.