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All the crazies come forth for opening night ... me included[part three in a series of five articles celebrating the Star Wars prequel]
By Steve Lansingh
The movie-theater business has worked hard for more than a decade to eliminate lines -- by doubling the number of available screens, by extending hours of operation, and by selling tickets in advance. In all my years of movie-going, I have only once had to stand in line for an hour, in 1992 for "Batman Returns." So it would have been very easy to have avoided standing in line for "Star Wars: Episode I -- The Phantom Menace" and still scored tickets for opening weekend.
But where would the fun have been in that?
Most of us 20-something Star Wars fans missed out on the extraordinarily long lines of the late '70s and early '80s, so this was our chance to recreate the feeling of a bygone era. George Lucas helped us out a bit by banning advance ticketing until 2 p.m. CST on May 12, and by limiting each buyer to only 12 tickets (to prevent scalping). And I dutifully lined up on the morning of May 12 for 6 1/2 hours of oppressive heat and then pouring rain to land my tickets for the first public showing of the new film -- 12:01 a.m. on May 19.
Someone drove by my car and asked what was going on, and I hollered, "We're still standing around because they won't let us on the property yet!"
He looked puzzled and asked, "For what?"
Sometimes I forget that not everybody's May has revolved around Star Wars.
The official start of the line was announced rather haphazardly, resulting in a mad dash for the theater. Those who weren't in their cars at the time got much better position. I sprinted from our traffic-jammed, running car and left Amanda to hop over to the driver's side and navigate into the parking lot, but there were still 200 people in front of me by the time I got there. Some people behind me had been there two hours longer than I had, and some people in front of me had been there an hour less. But all of us were in pretty good position -- there were 600 or 700 people in line by the time they started selling the tickets at 2.
I had hoped to talk shop with some of these kindred spirits around me, but unfortunately there were two very loud, very talkative people who struck up a conversation behind me (and later in front of me, when they cut in line) and drowned out the rest of us. They talked excitedly for two and a half hours straight about 1) how hot it was, 2) how they were going to impress their friends with their tickets (first exaggeration -- they have friends?), and 3) how the Trench Coat Mafia was going to kill us all and take our tickets. (Um, we live in Indiana, by the way.) Fortunately, I had my "Star Wars: The Magic of Myth" book with me and had a chance to read instead of just staring at the sidewalk and trying to block the repetitious nonsense from my ears. (I took comfort in the fact that both of these creatures admitted to being only marginal Star Wars fans, mostly in line, so they said, to buy the full 12 tickets allowed to bribe employers and taunt coworkers -- most die-hards I meet are very courteous to fellow fans.)
May 18, 10:45 p.m.
I hadn't brought anything to do, so Amanda and I decided I should go back and get some popcorn and a Slurpee to occupy us. I held tightly to my ticket stub, as there were guards (and riot police again) all over the place demanding to see the stub and grant you passage. The line for refreshments was huge, but I had plenty of time to kill. A trio of people a couple lines over were dressed as Darth Vader, Luke, and Leia. Now that was the kind of fanaticism I like. I had toyed with the idea of dressing up, but I wear glasses and no one in the Star Wars universe does. Looking at the Vader guy, I wondered for a split-second if I could get a Vader mask with prescription lenses. And I knew I was getting close to losing it.
I made it back with our snacks, and the minutes dwindled. The crowd chattered away about what they hoped for the film, and what the critics had said about it. At 11:57 the lights dimmed and a surprised cheer shot from the crowd. Then the green preview notice came on, and everyone booed. Then the preview started: It was for "Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me." Everyone cheered. Then for "Tarzan." Everyone booed.
The screen went blank again, and the curtains at either side of the screen pulled back to make room for the film's extra-wide format. Cheering, hollering, stamping of feet. Then the preview notice came on again. Boos. "Big Daddy." Cheers. "Anna and the King." Boos.
Finally the Twentieth Century Fox logo came on the screen, followed by the Lucasfilm logo. It was 12:07 a.m., and the wait was over. The cheering grew deafening. The Star Wars insignia burst onto the screen with John Williams' trademark score, and the yellow crawl across space took us back to a galaxy far, far away.
May 19, 7:20 p.m.
When the kids laughed and giggled at Jar Jar Binks, the computer-animated cut-up who hadn't inspired much response with the audience of 20-somethings, I knew that this movie was going to be a success. The critics had poo-pooed the movie, but the die-hard fans loved it and kids loved it, and that's what mattered (actual but crass quote from the first screening: "The critics can blow me"). Both groups cheered wildly at the end of the film, and most people were walking away stunned and smiling. Seeing the movie with a huge group of people -- communally laughing, gasping, cringing, cheering, and holding their breath -- is the reason we go to the movies in the first place, the reason that TV and video and the internet and video games haven't yet put a dent in ticket sales. Events like "The Phantom Menace" are the reason movies are made.
May 12, 8:30 a.m.
Waiting in line didn't turn out to be quite as exciting as I thought, partly because theater management wouldn't let us on the property until 11:30 a.m. For the first three hours Amanda and I were there, everyone had just parked their cars on sidestreets and were milling about the perimeter and talking. Police surveyed the scene, fearing a possible outbreak of violence. Most people stayed in their cars for the air conditioning.
Tickets went on sale at 2, and Amanda and I finally made it up to the counter at 3, after getting caught in 20 minutes or so of rain outside. At first, the rain actually felt really good. I was developing a nice sunburn at the time, and the rain cooled me right off. But once you're cooled, more rain doesn't do you much good. We bought tickets for both the 12:01 showing and the 7:20 p.m. showing on opening day -- after six and a half hours of waiting I was going to see this thing twice.
I thought it was kind of risky to arrive to the premiere only 75 minutes before showtime, but Amanda and I both like seats in the third or fourth row center, and those are usually still open even in a crowded theater. Fortunately, our gamble paid off, and we got the seats we wanted. It took me 15 minutes or so to get reoriented to the excitement that I'd built up the week before; it was hard to believe that after years of waiting I was only an hour away from discovering the secrets of "The Phantom Menace." Those minutes dragged by s-l-o-w-l-y. The bouncy group in front of us left to smoke away the time. Two guys fought with Darth Maul double-bladed lightsabers in the aisle.
I wanted to see the movie again for a couple reasons. I knew that the first time watching it would be sensory overload, that I'd be struggling just to take in these new worlds and characters. The second time I would be able to concentrate on the more subtle interactions between characters, as well as watch what was going on in the background (e.g., the three members of E.T.'s species that appear in the Senate sequence). I also wanted to see it with some children and families, who were obviously absent from the 20-something-saturated midnight showing.