Movie Audiences Are Movie Audiences

Some people might have the notion that film festival audiences are somehow different than your “normal” moviegoing audiences. Having just returned from the Toronto International Film Festival, allow me to disabuse you of that notion.

Once the lights dim, there are no differences: festival audiences, as a whole, are no more discerning, intelligent, thoughtful, or concerned than your typical megaplex crowd — even though, based on the conversations that can be overheard by gushing patrons, they certainly seem to think they are.

Exhibit A: There’s a moment near the end of Alatriste (a big budget Spanish period piece starring Viggo Mortensen as a 17th century soldier — my review) where the wife/consort of a man killed by the titular character arrives at his apartment. At first, it’s awkwardly humorous yet tragic scene, as the obviously grieving woman hands over her lover’s sword to his killer.

But as she turns to leave, she also says that she’s been told to offer herself to Alatriste, to essentially become his property should he so desire. It’s a depressing scene, if only because of the woman’s rather hopeless plight. She’s a woman in 17th-century Spain without a man — in some ways, she’s worse off than if she were dead. In that day and age, it’s highly likely that a woman in her position will have to whore herself out to make ends meet.

In spite of that, there were snickers and giggles throughout the theatre when the woman communicates her former man’s will. Fortunately, Alatriste, being the man of honor that he’s supposed to be, turns down her request. Would that the people watching the movie had been moved to a similar feeling of pity.

Exhibit B: The Exiled is a fantastic hitman movie by noted director Johnnie To that follows the exploits of a group of assassins as they attempt one last job for the sake of a dishonored colleague. In one of the movie’s most climactic moments, the wife of a murdered man is overcome with grief, and out of desperation, points a loaded gun at her one-month-old son. In that moment, the entire movie seems balanced on a needle’s point, and as you hold your breath, you hope the movie doesn’t take the obvious turn even as it seems like there’s nowhere else to go.

After the movie, Renae and I boarded the subway along with a group of guys who had also just left the film. One of them made this rather shocking statement — and I apologize for the minor spoiler — “If she would’ve killed the baby, that would’ve been the best movie of the year.” We sat there, shocked at the callousness contained within such a comment, and wondered what would make someone say such a brutish thing. Fortunately, his companions didn’t chime in, and I can imagine Johnnie To expressing some dismay at such a comment, given the themes that permeate The Exiled.

My only guess as to the reasons for his comment is that such a tragic, unexpected turn would’ve somehow made the movie even edgier and more extreme — as if that’s the sole criteria for a good movie. This is something I’ve often noticed in fans of cult cinema, and particularly Asian cult cinema, but I’ve also noticed it in the fans of the sort of lowbrow, dumber-than-dumb, schlocky Hollywood films that fans of cult cinema often thumb their noses at.

That is, an almost crazed, fetishistic drive to sing the praises of whatever film happens the push the envelope more than the last, regardless of any actual merit said film might contain. As long as it breaks taboos, pushes the limits of good taste, and promises to make most “normal” folks go bolting towards the exits, that’s really all that matters. I’ll confess that’s something I’ve been guilty of myself in the past when heaping hyperbole upon certain films, but ultimately, such an approach to cinema is hardly rewarding in the long run.

It’s the lowest, basest approach to film, treating it as mere entertainment that is intended only to shock and thrill (and granted, some movies exist only to do just that). It’s far from a challenging, engaging approach to film, which is something you might expect from the audiences flocking to a film festival.

But regardless of where you go, and regardless of the films that may be playing, movie audiences are movie audiences are movie audiences. They’ll laugh at fart and poop jokes, leer are naked breasts, cheer whenever people get shot in the face, and apparently, sometimes even hope to see an infant get killed onscreen.