Approximate read time: 5 minutes
I don't remember where or when exactly I learned about it, but I would probably be least incorrect to say one of my friends Dwayne was the reason I first learned about the new Guy Ritchie movie, RocknRolla. To the best of my recollection he's the reason I have any awareness of the movies Snatch, Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, and Revolver. These movies, and an enjoyment of Jason Statham (who has a starring role in all three) gave me a suitable level of enthusiasm for Guy Ritchie's works -- at least around that time. RocknRolla looked like it was going to be a great movie, and I was excited for its release, I didn't have anyone relatively close to me at that time of my life, so it meant I was by myself in that excitement, and if I wanted to see it in theatres I'd be forced to do it alone.
It was released in Canada on October 31, 2008. I don't recall any fanfare or specifics about it, so it probably had lower acclaim and anticipation, or I wasn't connected to contemporary media spaces enough at the time to remember -- this is most likely the case. (Trying to look back and find out how long it lasted in theatres in Canada comes up empty, so maybe theatrical reporting at the time was lacklustre in general.) The date is mostly meaningless beyond it being Halloween, and incidentally, my friend Dwayne's birthday, The date is mostly meaningless beyond it being Halloween, and incidentally, my friend Dwayne's birthday, but more significantly for me, it was the last real time that my girlfriend and I did anything together, in this case, attending a Halloween party at a nightclub with a few friends of hers.
We broke up a few days later, and my social circle went from meager to empty overnight.
But I wanted to see RocknRolla.
I think most people would agree that the idea of going to a movie by yourself isn't so unreasonable, but the likelihood of them actually doing it is probably pretty low. I can't find any sources or statistics to back this up, so feel free to disagree with me here, however. With someone else joining me, going to see RocknRolla in theatres would've been a no brainer, but the idea of going by myself at the time was terrifying. Over the first few weeks of our breakup she had been spending a lot of time with friends, and had started dating (I don't begrudge this). It left me feeling like I needed to do the same, but I really didn't have the drive or availability to do much about it. I think what drove me to decide to go to see it on my own was less of a scenario where I was stepping into solitude willingly, but rather, reluctantly accepting that this was how my life was destined to play out. It was more of a dejected acceptance than an anxious opportunity for accomplishment.
Regardless of what finally pushed me to do so, I went to see RocknRolla on my own. Not because I recognized it as an important milestone for me, and wanted the chance to reclaim some of the individualism I'd foregone while I was in a committed relationship. Nor because I wanted to eschew some societal norm and disrupt the stigma of doing such a thing independently. In truth, all these years later, I'm not entirely sure why I did it, other than for the fact that I wanted to see it in theatres, regardless of how frightening an idea of doing it alone was.
Even now I can recall the vivid fear as I walked into the theatre. All eyes turned to evaluate me as soon as I entered the room. Casual chatter stopped and in their place sprang barely audible whispers trying to identify who this obviously psychotic 20 something wandering aimlessly into the movie was. Such an act could only be met with mockery and harsh ridicule. Each step I took was echoed and amplified by the size of the room and followed by the sound of a shoe being slowly peeled off the sticky floor. An audible thump and thrum coming from my heart as it raced to keep blood flowing and to keep me conscious while my nerves and brain screamed in protest. Scanning a sea of unfamiliar and terrifying faces to find an opening. Pleading with the universe to avail me a single seat. Any refuge from the searing spotlight bearing down on me, highlighting my agonizingly slow pace for all, while visibly weighing me down. Few things prior or since have ever caused such a visceral reaction for me.
The perspective of anyone else in the theatre at the time would be, understandably, vastly different. If they even noticed they would've seen someone walk in, find a seat not too close but not too far with popcorn and drink in hand. He took his seat, stared straight ahead at the preshow, while waiting for the movie to start. The keenest observers might've noticed he looked a little glassy eyed from the drugs he'd smoked shortly beforehand.
And then the lights went down. The movie began, and most of my focus was attuned to the screen. I spared a small amount of focus to make sure that anytime I saw someone look around I could agonize over the fact that they were obviously watching me -- still fixated on the ludicrous premise that I was here on my own, and making a special point to mention to their friends just how pathetic I must be. I made concerted efforts to keep my laughter and enjoyment to a minimum so as not to encourage more attention to be cast my way. I avoided sipping too loudly at the melting ice and dregs of pop or reaching too deeply for the kernels and particle small pieces of remaining popcorn. I sat as still as I could manage from start to finish. Shifting or making noise only as the volume permitted me. Chuckling softly to myself, far less transfixed on the story than I would've preferred.
The final scene concluded. The main character, fresh out of rehab, approaches one of the other characters in the film and proclaims, “I'm gonna be a real Rock n Rolla”, then lights a cigarette with a lighter shaped like a gun and takes a drag as the music peaks. Roll credits.
As they begin I'm already on my feet moving towards the door. I allowed myself no time for reflecting on the satisfactory ending of a movie I'd been awaiting. No opportunity to sit a moment with the ups and downs of the story, woven wonderfully in Guy Ritchie's signature style with twists and turns. I couldn't be seen again. I fled the scene as if the room had been vacated of air and it was my only chance at survival. I flung myself out of the theatre entrance, partially struck and feeling exposed by the fact that it was still light out, and reached hurriedly into my pocket for my own cigarette. With a normal lighter I lit it and took a drag -- savouring the mixture of smoke and oxygen failing to really calm my nerves and bring my breathing back under control. I felt small and weak in contrast to the confidence exuded in the final moments of the movie. Mouselike and exhausted, I made my way back to the couch. Where I could once more numb my senses and shy away from the world. My self prescribed cure for the feelings of agoraphobia that had taken root.
But a different cure existed, and I had just learned of its existence. While imperceptible to me at that time, I'd later become aware that I had just broken ground on laying the foundation for it. Over time I'd use this experience to become my own sort of rock n rolla.
<3 flurp