#mythofchoice

You ever notice how moviegoers are like victims of abuse in denial? 🤯 Every few months a new movie comes out, and everyone swears, “No, no, this time it’s different!” — like Cineplex suddenly found religion and discovered how to focus a projector. Some new director drops a film and suddenly everyone’s pretending they’ve got agency: “You have to see it in 70 mm!” “VistaVision will change your life!” No, it won’t, buddy — unless your postal code happens to match the three cities on Earth that even have the right projector and a person who actually knows how to operate the damn thing.

And we all saw this with The Hateful Eight. Directors act like they can just snap their fingers and bring back 70mm, like the whole world’s still staffed with master projectionists from 1962. Meanwhile it’s 2015, and these 70mm projectors show up looking like industrial war relics — all gears, torque, and metal older than your grandparents. These machines were so old and temperamental, they needed a guy who stormed Normandy and then fixed his rifle mid-charge. Instead, the theater hands it to a kid who panics when the soda machine beeps.

And these directors roll out these flow charts like they’re JFK declaring ‘We choose to go to the Moon.’ Full heroic-mission energy. They genuinely think theaters of the world are going to rally behind their grand plan to resurrect VistaVision — like the entire planet is suddenly going to rise to the occasion and deliver cinema at a level untouched by the Drabinsky-era megaplex steamroller of the mid-’80s. Meanwhile, the actual staff on the ground is a rotating cast of teenagers who can’t even get the pretzel warmer to turn on, overseen by managers who've already given up. It’s a moon-shot speech delivered to people still trying to find the on switch. It takes a village to botch movie presentation.

When everything did go wrong — and it did, repeatedly — the distributors just shrugged and said, ‘These issues were rare, and we had digital as a backup.’ Translation: you didn’t get the 70mm experience you came for, but hey, we still got your money, so who cares? And that’s the real joke: they were cashing in on the audience’s genuine hunger for a true 70mm roadshow, even as half the screenings never delivered it..

And the best part? You had theater managers openly saying, ‘This is why we don’t do film.’ Like the whole problem wasn’t their busted projector and zero training — no, no, the problem was film itself. That’s the level of commitment we’re dealing with. Directors are out here giving JFK moon speeches, and the boots on the ground are basically saying, ‘Yeah… we don’t do moon.’

Look — if you live in Canada 🇨🇦, the whole thing’s a dice roll. Cineplex owns everything, and presentation quality has never been part of their DNA. During the Oppenheimer run, people were literally told to leave halfway through — film jammed, focus gone, dreams crushed. But hey, directors keep posting their cute little flowcharts, like we’re all in control. “Pick your experience!” Sure — right after I move to London.

And while we’re at it — can we talk about that Nicole Kidman AMC commercial? She strolls into this completely empty theater like she’s entering a cathedral, delivering that line, ‘Somehow, heartbreak feels good in a place like this.’ 💔 Yeah — in that place, Nicole. That place looks like The Omega Man. It’s just her, a spotlight, and rows of seats that haven’t been touched by a human being since the Bush administration. Then she tells the world this is what moviegoing feels like. Danny McBride nailed it: outside the big cities, half these theaters feel like halfway houses — sticky floors, humming speakers, smells like burnt popcorn and regret. 🍿 These megaplexes were built in the ’90s and now they’re relics. You walk in, it’s like the fall of Rome, except the Romans probably had better sound.

And the first shot of that AMC commercial? Nicole’s designer heel stepping right into a puddle glowing red from the AMC sign outside. And you have to ask yourself — what is that puddle? Rain? Spill? No. It’s the tears of the last projectionist who ever tried to make cinema better before the megaplex era buried him alive. Nicole treats it like she’s walking into Casablanca, but really she’s wading through the runoff of crushed ambition.