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CINEMA SEEN - "The Door" by Bill Margold So there is this door that I have been going to see each year on the Friday before the National Football League season begins, because the date of the season openers invariably falls near enough to September 12, which makes my annual pilgrimage doubly intensive as well as remarkably therapeutic. Indeed, expending tears has a way of reenergizing the soul. And now for the back story: around 4am on a Tuesday morning in January 1994, Southern California was shake, rattled and rolled awake by a pretty severe earthquake. My roommates at the time, the luminous Danyel Cheeks and her fun-loving husband Sam, were tremendously unnerved. Their cat, a hyperactive Himalayan named Samson, we all learned later, managed to wedge himself headfirst into a space a quarter of his size. My cat, the legendary Pogo, simply yawned, and went back to sleep. I staggered from my room, tried to calm down my roomies panic with a glib "Welcome to California," and then heard myself utter "Coldwater Is Dead." In unison, my friends responded "Geoff Coldwater?"---a redoubtable associate, who had acquired the location name because he had once caught six touchdowns in one game on the famous "field of dreams"located next to the fire station at 1100 Coldwater Canon Blvd., in Beverly Hills. "No," I replied, hearing myself speak in what felt like an out of body experience, "the field has died." And then nothing more was said, as Danyel noticed that the easily addled Samson was missing, and I had to rouse a rather annoyed looking Pogo, and instruct the massive Siamese, who had been my beloved Viper's feline friend from 1988 until she left in 1991, to go find his buddy. The next Saturday morning, I showed up around 10am at Coldwater, fully prepared to set out the cones for the weekly touch football game. But something was wrong! The entire field was cordoned off with that bumble-bee (yellow and black) colored police tape usually reserved for crime scenes. Quite frankly, a taped-off area is always an open invitation for me to cross over it. I couldn't see anything wrong with the field at first, but then as I walked toward the center of the playing area, I noticed a few cracks in the ground. And then I noticed a real BIG crack, and I looked into the reservoir that I knew sat under our sacred playing area. And before I could take another step, a fireman appeared and asked me "if I wanted to get killed." Considering that my affection for 1100 Coldwater Canon was such that I figured my ashes would be tossed there so that future generations of touch football players could trample my remains into eternity, I said "absolutely." But that answer didn't seem to work on the fireman, who demanded that I "get off the field." So I reluctantly exited about mid-field, with stinging tears streaming down my unshaved cheeks, and came upon a utility door that was just begging to be written upon. Shattered by the experience of losing my "laughing place," I printed, with a combination of my spit and my tears, the words VIPER LIVES! I can't really tell you what made me finger out that sentiment (although I would guess it would have to do with acknowledging one great loss with another), but I can tell you that the words have survived for a decade. Oh, by the way, Viper's birthday is September 12. This year she turned 45, and while I could use the excuse of 9-11-01 for not being too depressed over her that year, and I guess that last year I was too damn busy to feel much pain, this year I really, really REALLY ached for her. Which made my trip to the door this year even more emotional. Speaking of a "Door"…I guess that it's time to justify the fact that this IS a movie review page, so I will offer up my feelings about a recent trio of human-relationship based movies. DOOR IN THE FLOOR (Focus Features)---A very slight study of a very troubled relationship, featuring a painfully lovely Kim Bassinger, and a way-too-tolerant Jeff Bridges. Gorgeous Mimi Rogers steals the show by baring all, which should suggest where this viewer's mind was wandering throughout the torturous tale. WE DON"T LIVE HERE ANYMORE (Warner Independent Pictures)---A four some (Mark Ruffalo/Laura Dern and Peter Krause/Naomi Watts) becomes rather bore some, when the couples re-couple (Watts gets Ruff's and Krause is Dern's). However, in spite of the dullardry (a compounding of dull and dreary), Dern does manage to emit some Oscar nomination-worthy angsting. I thought that it was appropriate that I saw the film on the Sunday that the Krause-starring "Six Feet Under" didn't air on HBO. THE NOTEBOOK (New Line Cinema)---A genuinely moving, without being manipulative, study of a life-long adoration-ship. While the kids (Ryan Goosling and Rachel McAdams) are pretty good, it's the grown and groaning ups: James Garner, who may well garner an Oscar nomination, and Gena Rowlands, who own the sweet show. Director Nick Cassavetes (Gena's son) has crafted a supremely satisfying, warm tear-inducing study of what truly validates one of Viper's most indelible statements: "It is far more important to find someone to sleep next to, than it is to find some one to sleep with, because you've got to trust the person you sleep next to." So maybe now you understand why I needed to write about "my" door. Printed in LA Xpress, 10-04-04 issue. end |