Tipped for the Oscars, “Hamnet” was released on November 26th. When the movie showed at film festivals, the director, Chloé Zhao, invited the audience to join her in an act of collective meditation before the screening. Among her instructions: “Close your eyes,” “Feel your own weight,” “Take deep breaths with sound,” “Sigh out loud,” and “Gently say to yourself, ‘This is my heart. These are our hearts.’ ”
Would this ritual not have improved the viewing experience of many earlier films?
“Gladiator”
Close your eyes. Breathe in. Know that you are not alone. Three seats to your left, for instance, is a tiger. As you hear it noisily devouring the two moviegoers between you, sense how deeply you are tuned in to the rhythms of the natural world. Now reach beneath your seat. There you will find a helmet, a trident, and a shield. These will protect you, though not for long. Gather your peacefulness, turn to the tiger, and declare, “My name is Maximus Ridiculus Dave, buyer of an overpriced ticket, slurper of an outsized Coke, and I will watch my movie, in this theatre or the next.”
“The Lord of the Rings”
Close your eyes. Breathe in. Light a pipe. Breathe out. Rejoice in the hair that is growing on your feet. Open your eyes and wonder, in awe, why you are now too short in stature to see the movie screen. Reach down. Your hand will meet a buttery carpet of dropped popcorn, half a hot dog, and what feels like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor. It could be a turning point in your life. Probably best to leave it where it is.
“Titanic”
Close your eyes. Breathe in. Give yourself up to the waves of togetherness that lap at you and those around you. When the lapping reaches your knees, start to worry. Swiftly remove your clothes so that you can be sketched in pencil by the untrained artist sitting beside you. As the sound of Céline Dion unites the rest of the audience in harmony, their arms flung wide, you may choose to join in with the singing. Alternatively, drown.
“Ghost”
Close your eyes. Breathe in. Place one leg on either side of the pottery wheel in front of your seat. Take the large lump of gray clay that you purchased at the concession stand and place it atop the wheel. Lean back and allow yourself to be cradled in the naked arms of the person behind you. Feel enveloped in universal tenderness. Now tread lightly on the pedal. Use the palms of your hands to squeeze the clay inward. Caution: do not pedal too fast. This may cause gobs of wet clay to fly sideways into the hair of other moviegoers. If they’d wanted that kind of action, they would have attended the meditation session for “There’s Something About Mary” instead.
“Psycho”
Close your eyes. Breathe in. Feel your own weight. Do not feel your mother. Ask yourself whether, all things considered, it was a good idea to bring her along.
“The Wizard of Oz”
Close your eyes. Breathe in. Seek your heart, and try not to freak out when you discover that it isn’t there. Intone the mantra “I am made of tin, I am made of tin.” Open one eye. Look to your left, where you will see a moviegoer stuffing her ears with straw and batting off crows. Look to your right, where another patron, clad in the skin of a lion, will be cowering under his seat. Sigh out loud and chant, at one with the audience, “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” (Note: if you are in Kansas, this part of the ritual may be skipped. Customers at the Orpheum Theatre in Wichita will be offered a free bag of Candy Munchkins in compensation.)
“The Texas Chain Saw Massacre”
Close your eyes. On second thought, don’t. Put on safety glasses. Breathe in. Engage the chain brake. Keep your left arm straight. Depress the decompression valve (if your model has one). Pull the starter cord with your right hand. Repeat until the engine fires. If the engine is hard to start, apply half throttle. Access the half-throttle function by fully activating the choke. Release the chain brake. Gently say to yourself, “This is my saw. These are our saws.” Let ’em rip. Good luck. ♦
