‘Twas an adventure. Father and ward braved distance, GPS malfunction, malaria, tetanus and more to fulfil their destiny – of watching Avengers: Endgame, *the* cinematic event of the decade, FDFS. That’s First Day First Show to all you noobs.
We woke up at 6:30 a.m, beating the alarm by a good half hour. We brushed, tensely discussed some wild plot theories (no, the Thanus theory was not one of them) and when we couldn’t wait anymore, left home at 7:15 a.m. to Vetrrivel Cinemas (unbelievable exaggeration) in Nanganallur, a suburb in Chennai not well-known for multiplexes.
“I think Captain Marvel will save Iron Man. I mean, think about…Ouch, ouch, ouch!” The bona fide MCU expert said 30 seconds into the movie.
His theory was interrupted by the rusty metal frame of his chair poking him in the arm. We looked up just in time to find out if he was right. And wished our 3D glasses were binoculars instead.
I’d forgotten, spoilt city brat that I’d become, that choosing the seat farthest from the screen is a crap strategy in an old-school theatre. My son glared at me through the glasses. I swear I saw an expanding red dot in his irises. Like a good dad, I went and bought tickets to a row half a kilometre further down, and we moved. On the screen, all hope seemed lost. Did they all die for nothing? Is the trailer a lie? And then, also on the screen…
A brilliant shaft of light! Somebody had just opened the door, conveniently positioned opposite the centre of the screen, so that every time some late idiot opened the door, the picture was bleached.
At all other times, it was 50 shades darker. Like we watched the entire movie through a twilight filter. And between the hands of a rabid fan who whipped out her phone every time she saw some superhero make an entrance, or every time a bit of the trailer played. Ugh.
Endgame for Class and Mass
But here’s the thing. All of us in the theatre had a wild time. Without exception, every single person was a true-blue Marvel fan. We cheered when Thor made a joke. We cheered when a bad guy’s ass got kicked in spectacular fashion. We whistled for Captain America. We ‘awwwed’ Banner. We lost our collective minds when…<Redacted due to spoiler content.>
In India, distributors bucket movies into A, B or C ‘center’. The earlier the alphabet, supposedly higher the class. Not many movies break this barrier.
Famously in the Tamil Industry, the director of Chinna Thambi, a village-based blockbuster from 1991 became ecstatic when he saw cars in the cinema’s parking lot. “Even the car people love the movie,” he supposedly said. There were a few others over the years. Standalone spectacles like Titanic or Avatar. But this was something else. You need to have watched these heroes over a decade to be able to punctuate your experience.
Vetrrivel was the first non-multiplex experience for my son. I noticed the mosquitoes, ground my teeth at the interruptions, cursed at the bad seating and lighting, and was tempted to kick in the head of the moron in front of us. When the credits rolled, my son looked at me and said, “Amazing, no?”
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