by Bill Chambers Pete and I exit off the highway and discover that parking at the Colossus will require turning the corner in the opposite direction, driving to the end of that street, making a U-turn, and keeping our eyes peeled for access to the giant lot. The name is fitting: the cinema is huge. One can see it from hundreds of metres away. From space, maybe. It's an eyesore, really. The building itself is the size of a shopping mall, capped by an old-fashioned, Day the Earth Stood Still-style spaceship with two antennas (antennae?) jutting out of it. No wonder they premiered My Favorite Martian here.
Although we're both anxious to get a load of the T. Rex movie–the Colossus is the first theatre in Canada capable of projecting 3D IMAX–we're not exactly excited about visiting the complex itself. Since November 20, 1998, Famous Players has opened three megaplexes in Ontario, and I've been to all of them. The SilverCity, which opened first (on Yonge and Eglinton–the second in a SilverCity series started in Mississauga), is the worst of the bunch. For starters, enough steps lead up to the main entrance to discourage senior citizens or the disabled from visiting. (No shocker, given Famous Players' history of anti-wheelchair policies). A second, and very convoluted, entrance is provided via the shopping centre next door. (Simply locate a custodian, follow him/her through multiple doorways and up a much smaller stairway to an elevator. Take the elevator down to a lobby. Follow the lobby to a corner, turn, keep walking, and, eventually, you'll wind up at the SilverCity box office!)
Once inside, you notice how un-movie theatre it is: children are screaming in the playroom; teenagers with attitude (i.e., teenagers) hoard arcade games (in "TechTown") and dis the movies that are playing; the popcorn counter serves baked pretzels in multiple flavours… There is so much abstract busyness going on that I imagine sneaking into movies there would be relatively easy. (Indeed, a women's washroom exit, it was pointed out to me, allows patrons to bypass the usher into one of the theatres–many of the SilverCity's twelve screens are un-ushered, anyway.) The nicest thing about SilverCity, and indeed the majority of these new places, is that every one of its screens is THX-certified, and their stadium-style seating is comfortable while providing an unobstructed view.
In December, Famous Players opened the Coliseum Scarborough at the Scarborough Town Centre. (It, too, is modelled after a Mississauga megaplex–the Coliseum 10.) This one's the best of the bunch, though not without its flaws. Its splashy, primary-colourful exterior looks goofy attached to the traditional gray and ivory mall. Its main box office is always congested–they need more ticket booths. (FastLane aisles–ticket-vending machines–do take some of the load off the cashiers.) If you're hungry, you can grab a Wetzel's Pretzel, a Baskin Robbins ice cream, a taco, a pizza from PizzaHut Express, or hot dogs, nachos, and popcorn from the plain old snack bar. (I'm not sure if one is allowed to bring the non-snack bar food into the individual cinemas, but people do.) Inflatable Mighty Mice and Small Soldiers loom over you from above–won't these decorations–particularly the small soldiers, from a recent summer tentpole that was ignored and forgotten–look ridiculous in a few years? (It's the equivalent of hanging Rocketeer posters in 1992.) Is this a lobby or the midway at the Ex?
The SilverCity, Coliseum Scarborough, and Colossus (which I'll get to shortly) have one big problem in common: the projection. I have yet to see a movie in crisp focus at any new Famous Players complex. Most people don't notice, but I am tired of blurry credits and hazy wide shots. Perhaps that's a problem with the new curved screens, but more likely the projectionists union's clashes with theatre owners have become an issue in this time of rapid expansion. I suspect this will be an ongoing problem until/unless Famous Players bites the bullet and converts to fully-automated digital projection.
The inside of the Colossus is spacious, but, seeing as how it's currently the second-highest grossing movie theatre in North America, it doesn't seem that way. I felt like a sardine from the moment we entered; attempts to find "Guest Services," where my reserved tickets were waiting to be picked up, proved frustrating. After a few bad directions (one employee told us the GS booth was "just around the corner"–there are three corners in the area he pointed us towards), an observant usher finally came to our aid. We waited in line at Guest Services for several minutes, which was ludicrous considering only one gentleman was ahead of us. Oddly enough, there were two different "Bill Chambers" who had seats reserved, which led to a somewhat infuriating who's-on-first routine involving my credit card. (Aside: the interior's sci-fi motif is silly. Generic alien heads adorn the FastLane machines; Borg suits, likely inauthentic, are worn by mannequins in glass booths…that sort of thing.)
We straightened everything out and filed slowly, languidly into the hall (apologies to Jim Morrison) of the IMAX theatre. This area filled up quickly after we got there; most of the waiting children were already wearing their oversize gray 3D glasses. The scene was a miniature Elton John look-alike contest. A blown-up review from the NEW YORK TIMES of T. Rex: Back to the Cretaceous–that title sure rolls off the tongue!–was placed strategically in this lobby. I had time to read it more than once…the writer, whose name escapes me, claimed it "outdid" Jurassic Park and The Lost World. (In what respects he did not elaborate.) Though the scheduled showtime was 4:40, we weren't let in until 4:50, and the movie didn't start until 5:00.
When it did, boy, oh boy, I thought I had accidentally stumbled onto a John Tesh concert. Laser beams darted all around the spherical theatre while public-domain (?) inspirational music blared. Most people, including me, had their glasses on by this point, which was unnecessary, as lasers, by nature, are three-dimensional. A booming voice praised 3D IMAX: "Images so life-like, you won't believe your eyes!" (More life-like than, um, life itself?) Later, a few facts about IMAX: "It's Canadian!" Cue the maple-leaf laser pattern. We are also shown the locations of the 40 speakers that deliver IMAX's startlingly clear soundtracks, and our heads pivot around the room to follow the panning sound effects like those early moviegoers who ducked to avoid the train coming at the camera.
Finally, an actual film starts: the far-too-long Famous Players logo. Then, a trailer for an upcoming 3D IMAX film about a mad scientist. His robot assistant dances for the audience. There was a collective gasp when its eyes bugged out of its head towards us. Ladies and gentlemen, this is an impressive technology. Or, at least, this trailer is an excellent demonstration of its potential.
Onto the T. Rex movie. Two minutes in, I've got a splitting headache. I discover that if your head is not perfectly aligned with the image, a ghosting effect occurs. (This ghosting effect is noticeable, tilted head or no, in underlit scenes. And its frequent dissolves–scene transitions in which one image overlaps another–caused both Pete's and my eyes to water. Too much stress on the average man's optic nerves?) I see the name "Brett Leonard" as director, and I'm instantly fearful. This is the same man responsible for The Lawnmower Man and the nigh unwatchable Virtuosity, movies ominously notable for how their reach exceeds their grasp.
T. Rex: Back to the Cretaceous ain't no Jurassic Park. It is the story of a teenage girl (future star Liz Stauber) whose paleontologist father (played by "thirtysomething"'s Peter Horton) won't let her join him on digs. She is obsessed with T. Rexes. One day, in a museum of natural history, after her father dismisses her theories that T. Rexes laid eggs and had maternal instincts, she is sucked back in time. (There is barely a motivating factor for such an occurrence.) She meets famous dinosaur painter Charles Knight, and at another interval encounters a renowned archaeologist who sates her curiosity. If you think there is little opportunity for 3D effects in showing a guy painting and another guy blathering on about bones, you're right. I forgot the film was in 3D until the brief climax involving a T. Rex and the destruction of Earth. (To be fair, the film does feature a few spiffy 3D effects; I especially loved the debris that spills towards us when one character nearly slips off a cliff.)
Ultimately, T. Rex: Back to the Cretaceous is as blandly educational as a traditional IMAX effort. It's a bizarrely pointless format, ultimately. A magazine of IMAX negative stock allegedly lasts about 4 minutes, and it takes hours to reload the camera. Translation: 3D IMAX movies are expensive. (But the big directors won't touch the format because of its inflexibility.) And they go to all this trouble to shoot an anti-spectacle, a giant, third-rate PBS special. So much of T. Rex feels overprepared, probably because it is, out of necessity. The acting is generally robotic and stiff. The camerawork is unimaginative. And the nifty bits are few and far between, not to mention derivative. (Leonard manages to ape several blockbusters at once: T. Rex: Back to the Cretaceous also features homages to Deep Impact and the aforementioned Cliffhanger.)
When we exited the IMAX theatre (after being warned to return our cheap glasses or an alarm would sound!), we contemplated going upstairs to visit what looked from the bottom floor of the Colossus to be a base similar to the interior of Doctor Who's Tardis. The lobby was still thick with people wandering aimlessly. Some were perhaps from out of town: more than one family photographed themselves next to the sci-fi artifacts with video cameras or disposable Kodaks. We decided to hightail it out of there before one of us hyperventilated. Never had the crisp February air felt so refreshing.
The inevitable backlash of these megaplexes will likely produce a wave of retro theatres. Imagine the lines for a single-screen cinema without clutter in the foyer. People live for novelty.
