by Thomas M. Pender
Some – like You’ve Got Mail and Antz – may never come to mean much, but others – like the 50th Anniversary showing of Citizen Kane at Detroit’s legendary Fox Theatre – may just be a piece of history. Still others – like Holes, the very first film my son Garrett saw in a movie theater at the age of 3 – are personally historical.
At some point in my 45-year love affair with movies, I decided to start saving the ticket stubs of each film I saw in the theater. I knew most would never amount to anything, but my thinking was: Who knew back in 1982 that E.T. would become such a historical phenomenon? And how exciting would it be to have an original ticket stub to that iconic film? So, never knowing which movie would turn into a classic in the future, I saved stubs from every blockbuster and every turkey I paid to see.
Some don’t so much cause me to reminisce about the film itself, but rather the time or place. I saw A Bug’s Life, The Siege and about a dozen other films at The Odeon Theatre (just around the corner from my flat in Kenosha, Wisconsin) from the fall of 1998 to the summer of 1999. The films themselves don’t stand out as masterpieces to me, but they remind me of a short time in my life when I was in love with the place in which I lived, and the events that happened there. I was renting the second storey of a turn-of-the-Twentieth-Century family home that had been converted into four flats. Mine was the largest, being the entire second floor, and included two fireplaces and a small chandelier in the dining room. The house was situated in the Library Park section of Kenosha, and not only was it a few short blocks from Orson Welles’ birthplace home and from Lake Michigan, but the home itself was listed as a historical structure.
None of this would likely matter to many other people, but to me, it was a wonderful place to live, and I’m reminded of that whenever I see the ticket stub for Affliction, and all the other shows I saw at the amazing little Odeon Theatre. Affliction itself, lauded as it was, was probably one of the most achingly boring films I’ve ever seen, yet the time and place remain with me in the stub. It happened to be the film that was showing at the Odeon when I left Kenosha. I took a picture of the theater itself, and the marquee blares the boredom proudly.
I’m not really one to run out and see the “artsier” films, or the “Oscar buzz” shows. I see what interests me. Will Sotheby’s someday auction off my antique ticket stub to the showing of Green Lantern? Doubtful. Still, by keeping all of the stubs, however dubious their place in history may be, there is a chance that I’ll end up with a piece of cinematic history. Even if I don’t, I’ll still have the stub to the film where my son fell asleep holding onto my arm, and woke up to climb in my lap and say, “I love you, Daddy.” I’ll still have the stub to the film I went to see with my fiancée on her first trip to see me in America.
In the end, these are the historic events I wished to chronicle.
