i watch a lot of movies.  i’ve noticed that there are times when i work that i need the reassuring hum of something vaguely interesting burbling through the background.  most people turn on the radio, but, because i’m a composer, i become too involved with music, and it ends up being a great distraction.  so i have one monitor set up so that, during the day, i can watch movie after movie, most of them bad.  curiously, there are some tasks that, though they don’t relate to language necessarily, overwhelm me if accompanied by a background track, so i’m frequently pausing the film for long periods, then settling back and resuming it.  the transition is seamless to me and i don’t even notice when i am or am not watching any more, but i imagine it’s damned annoying to anyone in the same room.

if i’m perfectly honest with myself, though, that’s only half of my movie watching.  i’ll often find myself in the darkness of a battery park theater on a friday afternoon, or the only person in a mall theater in burbank at 10am.  i’m sure there are a great many romantic reasons for these times apart – something about love for the flickering light that unites me with kubrick and godard and all the other cineastes – but it’s also that i don’t have many friends, and i get very lonely, and a good movie is the only way i can truly lose track of myself.  i’ve always been suspect of mid-century film theory and its reliance upon the idea of the audience’s gaze – some of the writers seemed to think film audiences no more than schoolgirls, truly obsessed with the larger-than-lifes that marked their only way out of the darkness, and that doesn’t ring true to me – but i will gladly cop to being filled with the feeling of community when the lights start to dim and everyone beholds.  for someone who is often made lonely in a city of millions, watching a film is my one time to feel their quiet company.  it helps.