Heightened Awareness

For many, movies are a reflection of reality. For me, it’s the movie theater itself.

     You see, my dad grew up in a time when spare change could afford you a full day of

entertainment – cartoons followed by a double feature. By the time I came along, ticket prices

had gone way up, but his love of the movies hadn’t faded. Neither my mother nor my brother

had much interest, so the movies became a place for just the two of us. That is until he died

unexpectedly when I was fifteen. The last movie we saw together was Men in Black II. Even

twenty years later, when I take my seat and the lights dim as the previews begin, I can almost

feel him sitting beside me. That’s real movie magic.

     In college, the movie theater remained a place of refuge. For my friends and I, who

weren’t interested in spending every weekend at bars, the movies were a place we could go to

get off campus with no fake ID required. Being broke, as college students often are, we never

wanted to spend money on concessions. We continuously pushed the limit of what outside food

we could sneak in. One time we managed to smuggle in full meals from Wendy’s, Frostys and

all.

     Then came an assault on my sanctuary. When a madman opened fire during a midnight

screening of The Dark Knight, the movies could never be the same. Now I scan the theater for

all its exits as soon as I’ve taken my seat. But I didn’t stop going. At least not until the pandemic

shuttered the theater doors. I couldn’t fill the void left by the inability to see movies in the

theater. It wasn’t the same on my couch, even with the lights off and a bowl of popcorn. I

couldn’t feel my dad’s presence in front of Netflix.

     But when theaters reopened, he was still there, in that twilight moment before the screen

came to life. It’s not all the same, though. Before, a cough or a sneeze was an inconvenience

that may mask an essential line in the film. Now such sounds seize me with fear. Fear of illness,

of being in too close proximity to others. The masks have come off, but the social distancing is

harder to shake. My routine has become more complex. Take my seat, find the exits, and scan

the distance from those around me. Life invading the safe haven of art.

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Jennifer Caputo-Seidler is a physician, educator, and writer. She is passionate about the intersection of medicine and humanities. Follow her on X: @jennifermcaputo.