At long last the field trips, excursions, family outings and trade shows have ground to a halt and everyone in Administration is left looking at the Bunker in a complete state of upheaval and wondering, “Where are my pants?” Piles of rubble from various trips dot the surface of the living quarters, every bedroom, and most of the furniture. We are busy attempting to bring order out of chaos and there is a good chance we’ll be successful. You see, we drank a potion. We can see things no one can see; do things no one can do...
Arts and Crafts Update
I wrote a story for an anthology called No Ordinary Mortals, and it’s now available for you to order for yourself. It’s a super hero anthology on the lower end of the power scale—closer to Batman and Captain America than Superman and Thor. My character’s name and the title of the story is “The Boogeyman.” I’m excited that this book is finally published. If you dig pulp-style super heroes, please add this to your To Be Read stack.
Also, the Kickstarter for Ogre’s 11 has wrapped up and it was my most successful KS to date, both in terms of money raised and backers. I’m thrilled with the response and plan on building on it.
Field Report: CineShow 2022
All conventions are not fun and games. Some of them are trade shows in the more Puritanical sense of the word; that is to say, you kinda need to go, but you don’t really want to go. In the education world, this is called “In Service Training.” These types of conventions and conferences exist for just about every industry you can point to, including the theatrical exhibition industry.
This is where Janice and I found ourselves earlier this week, in beautiful, exotic, flooded Addison, Texas, where the hotels grow like malignant toadstools and all restaurant breakfasts are $23, no matter what you order. Toast and coffee? Two scrambled eggs and bacon? Nine grapes and an orange wedge? Everyone pays to play at the Renaissance Hotel.
This was the first of these shows to be held in Texas in three years, for all of the reasons you might think. Three days of networking, presentations about the strength of the industry, a trade show for either meeting people you are already doing business with, or meeting people you want to do business with. Lots of glad handing. Hotel food. That vague sense that you’re not fitting in around here as you watch people who clearly know each other, going back years and years, and wondering how you can ingratiate yourself.
It's an odd sensation for me, because, as you well know, I have never met a stranger. And yet, cracking past the shells of some of these nuts may be more than I can handle. I’m not one of the polo-shirt wearing people who just showed up to play golf; that’s the executives from the big theaters (and I wonder why they even need to be at a regional trade show in the first place). The medium-sized chains have sent every single one of their managers to this conference, and they are all clumped together, in groups of no fewer than seven at a time, talking earnestly to one another, with no room for anyone who is not on the team.
That leaves all of the independent theater owners, and a more skittish and hesitant bunch of people I’ve not seen in some time. Most of the indy theater owners in the area are either retired from some high paying job, or the town oddballs, who somehow lucked into the gig. I’d certainly fall on the latter end of the spectrum, but with that oddity comes all of the awkward social anxieties that you expect from being a small town oddball and suddenly finding yourself in beautiful, exotic, flooded Addison, Texas and being forced to interact with people you don’t know. I carried on a thirty-minute conversation with a theater owner and he never introduced himself to me, not once. Also, he never looked directly at me. And this guy owns two theaters in small towns in Texas.
Most of the time, I don’t mind being marooned out here in the middle of By-God Texas; I did it to myself, after all. There are certain advantages. But one of the things I sacrificed to be here is the kind of community that sub-culture engenders, communities like writers and artists and other creative storytellers, and theater owners. We should all be in touch with one another, but we aren’t. And before you say, “Why don’t YOU just put together a blah-de-blah group,” let me head you off at the pass and say that I don’t want to be a leader, here. I don’t speak for anyone but myself. And I learned years ago to let go of a lot of the lack of control problems that I have with the theater exhibitor business. Putting me in charge, or putting myself in charge of such a group, automatically promotes me to the position of problem-solver, and I’ve still got the scars and blood stains on my work shirts from all of the years I beat my head against the brick wall of the motion picture industry and I don’t relish reopening those wounds anytime soon. Right now, my personal health and wellness is taking priority. That other way leads only to madness...and death...much like when you try the wood beast in Flash Gordon.
Thankfully, Janice was with me and she kept me calm, and I kept her entertained. We did get to see a sneak preview of a film that I’ll be talking about on Monday called Three Thousand Years of Longing. That was my favorite part of the conference. The rest was a bit of a slog, offering up stuff I either already knew (like how to modify expectations from vendors and manufacturers in a post-Pandemic world), or stuff I didn’t need to know, like how to plan for your theater expansion in a post-Pandemic world). Many of the meals and presentations took place in the larger venues in the Metroplex, so it felt like I was an errant Christian, being given the grand tour of the Gladiator Arena I was about to die in: “And over here are the lions, and fun fact, we don’t feed them for a whole week prior to the games, isn’t that a caution?” Thinking about the cost of a family going to one of these modern-day cathedrals (well, more like mega-churches) and dropping a hundred bucks on movie tickets and food made me wince more than once.
All was not gloom and doom, however: most of the states in my region—Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, Colorado, etc. were showing massive returning numbers, outselling many of the urban markets. Texas was number two in increased attendance, right after Arkansas. And one of the messages from the statistics people in the crowd this year was essentially, “Nanny Nanny Boo Boo” to all of the naysayers who predicted the “end of movies.” Yeah, no, that’s not going to happen. As long as people can get a unified shared experience watching a movie on the big screen, movie theaters aren’t going anywhere. That experience has to be of sufficient quality, of course, but for many citizens, movies are their church.
Maybe the theater owners of the Southwest are a superstitious and cowardly lot, but the next strata of people, the vendors that help us do things, are not. It was great to meet the folks I’ve been dealing with, in some cases, for years, without a face-to-face conversation, before now. People from my booking office that have been a huge help to me over the years, caring reps who have become more than service providers but real friends and partners in this jacked up business. Joan, Anji, Tim, Randee, Jeff, Steve, and all the others, if you see this, you made the trip worthwhile.
That you have kept a theater open in semi-rural Texas is a feat all by itself. Just heard about the FB suspension (Thanks, Janice!) What did you say?
This trade show sounds very similar to when my company would fly us all in for various trainings. The glad-handing, pretending to care when someone mentions that they used to work with one of your coworkers 10 years ago, etc. It's all a bit much. If I never have to endure one again, it'll be too soon.