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The past is history
Actually, I wasn't quite expecting the double digits per ticket. It had been a while since I'd gone to the cinema, even though Mrs. Funk periodically suggested we take in a film.
"I'll fall asleep," was my excuse. "It's dark and comfortable in there."
That's happened a few times, like when my sons talked me into seeing one of those comic-books-turned-action-flicks, called "Iron Man." I missed most of whatever the heck Robert Downey Jr. was doing, until I awoke for his big showdown with Jeff Bridges.
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Anyway, we celebrated our 29th anniversary over the weekend, partly by taking in Woody Allen's new movie, "Midnight in Paris." Mrs. Funk likes Owen Wilson, and I remember liking Woody's work back in the day.
Plus I wanted to steer clear of stuff that might trigger my narcolepsy: X-Men, "Thor" and/or Pirates of the ... oops, I'd better stop before Disney demands royalties.
"Midnight in Paris" turned out to be a good choice, with its subtle humor, suitable soundtrack and sundry scenes featuring French first lady Carla Bruni.
It also offered plenty of food for thought.
Not to dwell much on the plot, but basically it questions the validity of nostalgia: Was the past really any better than what's happening in the present?
My answer always has been an unequivocal yes. You might have noticed that in my references to the Paxtang Theater and Woody Allen's earlier movies. And anyone who's heard me talk about music knows I'm stuck in sort of an "Age of Aquarius" time warp.
But would I really want to go back there?
In "Midnight in Paris," a vintage Peugeot picks up Wilson's character nightly and whisks him off to the '20s, his romanticized version of the Golden Age.
Maybe I could do "Midnight in San Francisco," with a VW microbus whisking me off to that city's concert venues of the '60s, perhaps with a cross-country trip to Woodstock.
Cool, huh?
I know better. My personal memories of that era are a bit hazy, but I've seen enough footage to realize it was far from idyllic, even the music scene. Watching the Maysles Brothers' "Gimme Shelter," the film documenting the Rolling Stones' disaster at Altamont, serves as a particularly rude awakening.
At any rate, I'm here in Western Pennsylvania in 2011, at least until it turns 2012. And as Woody has me thinking, that's quite OK.
Hey, that was worth my $10.50. Plus, I stayed awake.
Online editor Harry Funk can be reached at hfunk@observer-reporter.com. Visit http://www.facebook.com/or.harryfunk.wednesday.
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