Marketing Clive Simpkins
GOING to the movies has always been a somewhat ritualistic event.
Right from my childhood, going to Johannesburg’s Yeoville “bughouse”, as we used to call it, was a great adventure. Buying “coolies” (cool drinks) and noisily wrapped sweets was all part of the entertainment, as was being daring enough to rest your feet on the seat in front of you, risking the wrath of the usherette. No political correctness was necessary in those days. Ushers were always female, equipped with intimidating flashlights and bossy as hell.
Today they may be “art cinemas” or even pretentiously named “Sandton Select” ersatz period pieces, showing exclusive films to elitist people, but the magic remains. Quite rightly cinema advertising boasts, “Always better on the big screen”.
I had a big screen experience recently. I had missed the movie A River Runs Through It on the circuit, so when I saw it advertised on television, I had to watch it. What a disappointment. You simply cannot watch a film which relies on grand-scale cinematography as a mood enhancer on “the box”. Imagine Katie Hepburn in On Golden Pond on television. One becomes acutely aware of the deficiencies in the movie because somehow the senses get cramped along with the space, and one becomes much more attentive to minutiae.
Some critics recently panned Legends of the Fall, yet sitting outside the movie house while it disgorged its weeping patrons was an experience which proved that the critic is way out of synch with the public. I heard only one silver-haired, steely-eyed old man bark, “Bah! Blasted tear-jerking blarney!” Maybe he was uncomfortable with the mellowing effect of the movie magic. Yet again, a frequent comment was, “Oh, the scenery!” Watch it now – – we already know it will be dreadful on the box.
My big-screen niggle is with the refreshments section of Ster-Kinekor movie houses, where you get to buy Henry Ford popcorn, which is any quantity you want, provided it’s jumbo size. If you enjoy the disruption of sharing a box, you’re OK. Otherwise, a half-full box sits under your seat, just waiting to be kicked over by passing patrons. Why can’t one get a medium-sized popcorn? After all, the Cokes and other “coolies” come in three different sizes.
Even advertising commercials preceding the main movie have an impact not achieved on the box. My guess is that it’s a question of focus and sensory deprivation plus the absence of kettles and loos.
Eagle Optometrists are running an unintentionally — one imagines — funny commercial for one-hour spectacle production.
The customer, having her new eyeglasses fitted on her face turns to camera and gives a wobbly-eyed, dreadfully self-conscious little smile. It cracks the audience up every time. I made no effort to remember the name of the advertiser, but the schmaltzy performance has etched it into my memory. It is either an out-take, or a Chaplinesque touch of brilliance on the part of the director which produces this memorability. Big screen impact survives. Bravo for the big screen.