A Note from Our Programmer, John Moret

Omega Man (1971)

What is the nature of the search? you ask. The search is what anyone would undertake if he were not sunk in the everydayness of his own life. To become aware of the search is to be onto something. Not to be onto something is to be in despair. 

—Walker Percy, The Moviegoer

It is the strangest of times. So many of us are trapped in our homes, surrounded by endless entertainment—and yet, it all seems so limited and lonely. When I began to fall in love with movies, it was the height of the video store era. My parents were not huge movie people, but they liked going to the theater. My early cinema experiences (the Bambi re-release, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2: Secret of the Ooze, Return of the Jedi, Home Alone…etc) made a deep impression on me, but it was the video store where my mania took hold. In junior high, we moved to a small town in southern Minnesota, which left me melancholy and searching – what I found was the genre movies at Video Max and Cash Wise Video. I fell in love with the vast selection of horror, action, science fiction, war movies, and comedy. (I wouldn’t discover a true love of westerns or film noir until well into my adulthood.) It was the workers at these video stores who led me to the really interesting stuff—the “Staff Picks,” the 5 movies for 5 days for $5 deal, and more. In the store full of 4,000 films, I needed direction. I began to outgrow the video store near the middle of high school, and that’s when I found the kung fu collection at Suncoast Motion Picture Company. Through my love of Bruce Lee I made friends, and for a bit, only searched for the oddities of film. 

The point is, I know what being in solitude and loving movies is all about. I have had the joy of watching dozens of films to find one more you can fall in love with. 

But, this is different. In the past, I would have relished this moment and devoured the films stored on my shelf, the vast pile of movies yet to be watched. But, like most everyone, my world has turned upside down. Sure, my job is generally a dream of watching, thinking about, organizing, and writing about movies. But, for now, I am left astray. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending my time building LEGO castles, outfitting action figures, and playing baseball with my five-year olds. But I also miss the community I’ve come to rely on; I feel lost because I miss all of you, my fellow moviegoers. The rapture of seeing the long one-take in Hard Boiled or the fingernail-curling botched caper scene in Straight Time is exciting at home, but reaches an entirely different fever pitch when projected from a rare 35mm film print and surrounded by others feeling the same thing. In the theater scene in Omega Man, as Charlton Heston threads the projector and then goes to watch Woodstock for the nth time by himself in that epic wasteland, I used to see an existence of entertainment without responsibility. Now, I only see sorrow. The search for gems among the rough becomes null if there is no one to appreciate the gem once you find it. 

No doubt, in these difficult times, films are frivolous, and closing the theater for the moment is the right choice. But, when movies are a huge part of your life, and sharing them with others helps you to swallow the bitter pills of existence, it is a hard blow to sustain. Maybe Alex put it best in Clockwork Orange, “It’s funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen.”

I miss you all. Stay Strong. Can’t wait to see you again soon. 

—John Moret, Film Programmer

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