The Royal Theater was a seedy little movie venue in New Bedford’s south end where my expertise in movie reviewing began. Mom would give me a quarter, 15 cents for admission and 10 cents for popcorn. My friends Freddy, Jimmy and Jackie and I would spend all day Saturday watching great cinemas like “Captain Marvel,” “Atom Man vs. Superman,” “The Green Hornet” or “Flash Gordon” serials, plus a “Bugs Bunny” or “Mighty Mouse” cartoon.
I still love a good flick, but going to the theater is not for me. Now that I am old and crochety, sticky floors, rude people talking on phones that are smarter than they are while eating noisy orange snacks is not for me. I’d rather review my movies from the seat of my recliner in the comfort of my living room. Cable TV provides an ample source of quality motion pictures.
A good old horse opera is my cup of tea. There is a new one hereabouts that you all might enjoy. It is a western about the American frontier with an English cast directed by a Brit filmed in Spain.
I suspect the proper British director learned about the old west watching those spaghetti westerns with Clint Eastwood. So-o-o-o many cliches. It has a damsel in distress (spoiler … she turns out to be tough), who falls for a former Cavalry scout who is Native American. There are the prerequisite shoot-’em-ups, 10-gallon hats, a squeeze box playing sidekick of the villain. And they spit a lot.
It was just okay. I’ll give it two stars.
The film critics, however, disagree. One called it “… classic cinema.” Another called it “… a sweeping, glorious adventure. Superb. Five stars.” So much for my reviewing skills.
Let us mosey on over to another film I’ve recently watched. This one was about two life-long friends living on a sparsely-populated island off the coast of Ireland in 1923, who unexpectedly end their relationship. Consequently, bad things eventually happen to just about everyone in the movie. It was beautifully filmed with good acting and has garnered numerous nominations and awards from every film critic’s association … but mine, the Mattapoisett Film Critic Guild. I found the film depressing, a sad tale of human loss.
Not so the pro reviewers. One called it a comedy! “The comic dialog is dazingly …” Another compared the lead actors to “… a modern-day Laurel and Hardy.” While the dialog between the two protagonists is sometimes humorous, I think it was more a Shakespearean tragedy than a madcap romp. So much for my budding film critic career.
I was once in a movie. I was teaching acting at a high school at the time. I thought it was a good idea to prove my worth, so I answered a casting call for “middle-aged men over fifty.” I sent in a photo and amazingly got the part based solely on my mature good looks. It wasn’t long before I found myself sitting in a makeshift dressing room in a Boston bar at 5 o’clock in the morning having my hair combed by a large, burly gentleman. “You have fine hair,” he said. “You mean thinning,” I politely said.
My role was as a waiter serving the stars cocktails. After 10 or 12 takes (that is reshoots of the scene for the uninitiated in film lingo), removing the drink each time, the leading man jokingly complained “where’s my *@#$%&* drink?!” On the next take, someone’s phone rang, the assistant director pushed me into the scene, and I proceeded to spill the star’s drink into his lap. “There’s your *@#$%&* drink” I impulsively replied. Everyone laughed.
When the film came out, all you saw of me was my behind, but I was the star of the blooper reel, and my reviews were outstanding.
Editor’s note: Mattapoisett resident Dick Morgado is an artist and retired newspaper columnist whose musings are, after some years, back in The Wanderer under the subtitle “Thoughts on ….” Morgado’s opinions have also appeared for many years in daily newspapers around Boston.
By Dick Morgado