Faculty Feature: Movies are magic

By Zak Forkner

I’m going to tell you three things I believe to be true, and I hope you believe them, too. 

First, movies are magic. The fact that movies exist at all is a wonder. Scripts first have to be written, then rewritten, then pitched and sold to a studio, then rewritten again, and then a director has to agree to make the film, and then a cast and crew has to be assembled, and all the while, the script is continuing to be reworked, and then they have to actually make the film, which takes the combined work of dozens of specialists on a small project and thousands on something like a Marvel movie. It usually takes about two years to make a feature film, and that does not include all of the time the screenwriter spent creating and selling the script. Then there is all of the technology necessary to record, assemble, edit, and distribute the final product. Even the worst, most banal film is a miracle of human ingenuity and cooperation.

Second, movies are meant to be experienced communally. Films, like most art, are as much about the experience of being human as anything else, and we are often our most human in the presence of other people. When we watch movies in a group, we are experiencing not only the story and our own reactions to it, but also the reactions of the people around us: we are allowed a glimpse into what makes them laugh, or cry, or scream. Movies often teach us about ourselves and the society in which we live, and they can help us understand our relationships with others better. They remind us of our humanity, that other people are “fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys,” to borrow from Dickens.

Third, movies are best experienced in movie theaters. Films are meant to be larger than life—metaphorically, sure, but also literally: the images should be larger than the real world, not seven inches big and able to fit in your pocket. I love my iPhone and Bose headphones as much as the next person, but they simply cannot compare to a 40-foot screen and a professional surround sound system. Movies are meant to be grandiose, to be spectacles, to provide us with thunderous sounds paired with dazzling images of unreality, as well as unique perspectives of the world we cannot experience on our own; and we should experience these sounds and images in a space specifically designed for film exhibition, a space where the outside world and its problems melt away, if only for a few hours. Theaters demand that our attention be given over to the film, that our senses be immersed in the story, and too often these days we do not allow ourselves to be wholly given over to the task at hand—to be completely present. Movies give us that opportunity.

To put these beliefs together, films are magical and should be experienced in their intended form of exhibition—in a theater with a group of people.

Now, before you tell me I sound like Nicole Kidman in that AMC ad (I should be so lucky), let me address some of the inevitable pushback: yes, seeing a movie at a theater can be very expensive, yes, streaming services are cheaper (though not as much cheaper as they once were), and yes, going to the theater requires planning and leaving your home. But for me, seeing a film in a theater instead of seeing it at home is similar to going to the Art Institute of Chicago to see Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks instead of looking at a picture of it online or in a book: you are experiencing it the way the artist intended and having, dare I say it, a more authentic and curated experience.

I hope you’ll go see a movie this weekend, and I hope other people will be there with you, both friends and strangers. I hope the movie is memorable, for the right reasons or the wrong ones, and I hope you learn something about yourself or the world around you. And I hope you’re able to put aside your worries and concerns for a few hours and immerse yourself in a story worth experiencing.