The Greatest Movie Ever
Last night a movie was on the television.
Last night for me probably meant yesterday morning foryou.
Last night I had dinner with several new friends at anAsian-themed restaurant. This establishment had adelicious atmosphere, with carvings on the stone slabwalls, posters and wallhangings that gripped youreyesight, such as a grass-green poster with the shapesof red frogs in rows ready to leap to the next wall asif there were successive lilypads. The floors,wooden, produced an at-home cabin feel. The aromaspermeating the air consisted of the smells of thedelicacies, ranging from tortilla appetizers to cookedchicken in coconut. The music speakers subtlely mixedjumpy, fast salsa type sounds, then skipped to whatseemed like catchy, eastern-type swing. The volume,as my friends and I discussed, was perfect: not soloud that you had to shout, but not so low that youhad to strain to hear a new tune. Perfect. As thefood made its way into us, conversation continued, andone of the subjects turned to keeping up with worldevents. Among my friends, two Canadians, 2 Brits, anIowan, and a Montanan, some of my closest friends inJapan, several of us receive an English-language paperdaily, keeping us informed of the Tokyo night-clubexplosion 2 weeks ago, or the tragic 12-yr.-old foundmurdered next to a highway. Regrettably, our minds,like a kid who focuses not the birthdays on which shereceives the very Cabbage Patch Doll or bicycle shewanted but the painful birthday on which she didn'treceive that limited-edition Barbie Doll, seem to holdon to the more base examples, the ones that cause usto shake our heads and wish they didn't happen. I,not having touched an English paper in the last twoweeks, and thoroughly aware of the fate of thebaseball team in St. Louis but little else, thought tomyself, wow, I really am disconnected from life.
When I arrived home at my apartment, one of thetelevision channels featured a movie. Normally, mostmovies aren't shown on Tuesdays. There are specialeditions on Sundays of memorable American classicssuch as "Under Siege," where some terrorists wreakhavoc on a U.S. Battleship before succumbing to themanly might and mousely wit of Steven Seagal, or"X-Files, the Movie," in which Sculder and Mully, orMulder and Scully, attempt to solve supernatural casesof beings which, if not stopped and defeated, couldcontinue their terror unabated throughout society.
Yeah, there was a movie on, and I was entranced. Thislooked like an action movie with a similar theme,where some hero, as yet to appear on screen, isattempting to thwart the manic attempts of someone orseveral ones who are trying to right some wrong orgain some unfair advantage, feeling their cause isjustified and the unfortunate (or intended) bystandervictims are merely "collateral damage" in their quest.I felt a little bad, though, because as many of youknow, I love to take in a good flick. I love sittingdown, maybe with some friends, maybe not, and letmyself escape into a plot in which I have suspended mybelief in reality so that when Bruce Willis or KeanuReeves saves some person or people or city or nationfrom certain demise by unfathomable acts of heroism, Ican stand up, cheer, shake my head at the specialeffects, and marvel at the feeling that overcame me intheir Hollywood victory. I love absorbing a storyfrom the opening sequence to the closing credits.
I felt bad, because I walked in and this movie had allready started. I felt bad, because I didn't know theplot just yet. I felt bad, because I missed thebeginning. I felt bad, because I didn't know who wasstarring in it, and that deprived me of anticipatingnot only who the Darth Vader would turn out to be, butwhich character would be the Luke Skywalker, and bywhat means would he end up throwing the tyrant downthe infinite black hole? Oh, well. I was just gladto catch an action flick in Japan. Might as well sitdown and enjoy the rest of it.
Here we go, I might have seen this one before, thecameras are focused on downtown New York City, thepinnacle of Americana. Ha, I thought to myself, Iconquered that metropolis almost 2 years ago for theNew Millennium celebration, despite friends andrelatives' misgivings; they asked questions liked,"Have you heard that terrorists might attack?" Ha, Ithought to mysef, oh ye of little faith. This is NewYork City, America, New Years. What did they thinkthis was, A MOVIE???!!!
I definitely may have seen this one before, but I wasquite sure I hadn't. My mind searched through thevideo files, pressed play, and I saw the opening sceneof "Die Hard 3," when the Golden Oldie "Hot Town(Summer in the City)" is suddenly drowned out by anexplosion on Madison Avenue, the work of foreignterrorists. Then another scene appeared, thedevastating sequence of destruction in "IndependenceDay," when the foreign terrorists, i.e., alienintruders, center their gargatuan ship over downtownManhattan, and wipe away a city of panicked Americans.And who could forget the first few scenes of"Armageddon," seeing the errant asteroids accidentallysend the tops of buildings spiraling through thepavement, thoroughly disintegrating taxis, policecars, soccer mom mini vans, and working men's sedans,along with scores of humans, as downtown New York Citytransforms into a war zone.
Those movies, as familiar as the plot line seemed tobe in this one, did not jive with the activity of theplot unfolding before me. I must have missed thebeginning of this film by about a half hour or so. Ihad walked in on the bad guys' initial triumph. Nodoubt, there was New York City. There were the twintowers, the mighty World Trade Center, the "Heart ofAmerican Economy," as I heard them described later. Imissed the beginning by at least a half hour, becausenow some character's memory was skipping back to theintitial strike, when a hijacked passenger planeripped through the 60th floor of Tower 2 after anearlier kamikaze mission hit the 80th floor of Tower1.
Here were all the telltale signs of a great actionmovie. Smoke enveloping the early morning buzz thatwas The Big Apple. Ordinary citizens bellowing theirscared, frazzled, confused, bewildered, and fearfulaccounts of where they were, what they heard, how theyfelt. Their frightened countenances struggling toexpress the emotions and thoughts hurtling throughtheir minds, not to mention their breath careeningthrough their mouths, their throats struggling to geta grip on oxygen like a child isolated at the bottomof a well. Oh, wow, one of, no, both of the towershad collapsed, sending even more blinding rubble tothe street and complicating the view of the city.Scared rescue workers urging everyone out of harm'sway, whatever and whoever harm was.
The memory of the plane exploding into the everydaylives of unsuspecting, unconcerned, naieve littleworker ants, doing what they think they should bedoing, replaying over and over. As the crowdcontinues evacuating, several visions interrupt evenmore memory replays. A white man about 6 feet tall orso carries a teenage black girl in glasses, holdingher like a baby sits in a mother's lap dozing asFourth of July fireworks climax. "It's okay, it'sokay, you're all right," the man says, while the girlsworried moans of "No, no, no!!" render his words moot.A memory replay of Tower 1 or 2 collapsing in onitself, the banana peel outer shell unrolling steadilyand violently towards the city floor while the bananaitself simply lowers and vanishes quickly ingray-black dust. An exasperated redheaded man with abeard attempts to discuss the fire and the thunder inbetween incredulous shakes of his head and gaspingsqueezes of his water bottle. Yet another memory ofthe passenger vessel meeting its fiery demise near thetop of America's Economy's Heart, and one more view ofthe launching plumes of smoke rising from the streetsas if a chimney had opened up at ground level.
At this point, I am really feeling deeply about thisincredible plot. I mean, the special effects havebeen more spectacular in movies, but this scene isstretching into an hour, a long period even for thegood ones, and I still can't make heads or tails ofwho's who and what's what. I was determined to findout, because I can't be expected to know what theseJapanese T.V. people are saying, and even though Ihaven't used my remote, there must be a bilingualbutton. Here we go, now a delicate female Asian voicesorts out the details in English. Oh, now I see, thismust be towards the end of the film, because even asshe translates, the tone of finality in her voiceindicates that there is nothing more to be done.Well, maybe this movie is one of those interestingstories in which the suffering of so many is necessaryfor the good of all. Wow, what imaginative detail,what director or writer composed this script andfilmed this action?
11 planes hijacked simultaneously, 4 unaccounted for,2 smashed into America's left and right ventricle, athird chaotically pierced the rigid Pentagon, a fourthdowned somewhere in Western Pennsylvania, securitybeefed up at the White House, Embassies around theworld, and Military bases throughout the globe.
I can't wait for the sequel, I thought, these villainswill have to pay. Maybe I won't wait for the openingcredits, let's see what else is on. Wait, the samemovie is all ready replaying on the next channel. Andthe next. And the next. And I can't get the othersin Japanese. A tinge of tension pinches me to get myattention, and I hurriedly zip back to the movie forthe closing credits. What did I miss? Who was inthis? The hesitant female Asian voice describes adiagram of the Twin Towers, and the words ". . .apicture of the World Trade Center, excuse me, wherethe World Trade Center used to be. . ."
I frantically call home, long distance holes in mywallet be damned. "This is NTT, all lines are busy,please try again later." Next number, Dad's work."Try again later." Brother/sister's apartment.Cousin's. Grandma's. San Francisco. Chicago.Barnhart. "All lines are busy, try again later."
Tears ran from my eyes to my mouth's corners as Idesparately flipped the channels, seeking the Englishspeaking Channel.
Where on Earth are the closing credits?
