Dunkirk Is Why We Need to Save the Movie Theater
The meta comment to be made about Dunkirk is that it’s a war movie in which the audience has to join the battle. Seeing this movie in a theater is so gripping, so intense, so encapsulating that the primary reaction upon its conclusion is jittery, adrenal relief. It’s an un=ignorable force that leaves you exhausted. It’s worth it.
Dunkirk is about the WWII battle of the same setting and name. Historically, the battlecarries a simple label of local heroism. As Allied forced were surrounded by German troops on the coast of France, a British civilian fleet sailed across the English Channel to save the 400,000 stranded men. Dunkirk covers these relief efforts with an intricate narrative structure and a fully-loaded chamber of high-powered set-piece ammo. There’s a story to follow on the bomb-riddled Dunkirk beaches, another in one of the British fishing boats sailing to the rescue, and a third within the cockpit of a Royal Air Force fighter plane (piloted by Tom Hardy, seldom better, never cooler). The three threads braid themselves into a definitive, awe-inspiring whole, creating an experience that can’t be presented anyway else, and thus can’t be experienced anyway except a theater. Dunkirk doesn’t only require your ticket purchase, it deserves it, too.
The case for Dunkirk-in-a-theater is simple and perhaps obvious: This is a movie you wind up participating in. It’s not designed to be rented and watched at home and paused and taken in with Domino’s pizza. You’re not meant to take a break from this movie, and that dynamic between itself and the audience is central to its success and technique. The sound—constant, abrasive—isn’t something to be adjusted or escaped. The visuals—vast, imprinting—aren’t something to be shrunken or diminished. The story—considered, creative—isn’t something to be sampled in fits and starts. Dunkirk in totality makes you feel as if you were under attack. You might shrink into your seat or lean toward the screen or clench your hands or grab at your head: Good. The movie’s working.
Christopher Nolan, Dunkirk’s writer and director, has been making movies like this for some time now, which is to say he’s been making movies oriented toward a theater-going experience. Interstellar might have hiccupped a couple times, but it’s still a movie-theater venture that many would say is among the best they’ve ever seen. Inception’s puzzles, swells, and still-unbelievable practical effects similarly demanded the greatest presentation possible, and even the Dark Knight trilogy carried a weight that compelled audience to treat them like some kind of occasion. We need to leave the house for this one. Nolan is acknowledged today as one of our greatest spectacle directors, but soon, Hollywood veterans of his ilk and sensibility might disappear, and that makes Dunkirk feel vital and exciting.
In the February issue of Vanity Fair, Nick Bilton wrote a terrific piece on the end of Hollywood (here it is). One section of the story talked about how the rise of streaming services, coupled with social media’s promotion of on-demand entertainment, will soon render movie theaters, and all the connotations contained therein, obsolete or extinct entirely. It’s a plausible idea. Netflix and Hulu are already outbidding traditional production companies and distributors for the rights to Hollywood scripts, so it’s not-far-fetched to think that in the future we’ll be able to watch most new releases right from our televisions at home. In other words, movies in 20 years might not see a theater release at all.
Netflix has already co-opted movie stars: Brad Pitt, Idris Elba, and John Boyega have each appeared in flicks exclusive to the platform. Martin Scorsese’s next movie, which reportedly stars Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, and Al Pacino, was acquired by the platform for over $100 million back in February. Who’s to say this doesn’t become the norm? We could be queueing up the next Aaron Sorkin screenplay on Hulu, or the next DiCaprio vehicle on HBO, or Netflix might nab Meryl Streep’s directorial debut. We might have to start “catching up on” the late-career works of Clint Eastwood; it’s nuts to think about.
In some sense, this is neat to think about in a convenience or cost-effective sense ($10 for one movie vs. $10 for one movie plus a month’s streaming subscription), but like self-driving cars or speak-to-type technologies, the convenience and modernity comes at the cost of something old-fashioned and romantic: a starry-eyed night at the movies. Cinemas still feel special, in a way. They’re massive, but still intimate. They’re group experiences that feel personal. They isolate you with the picture, but you’re still aware of being a part of a group. Plus, there’s the comfy chairs and the great snacks (truly, no one can replicate the taste of movie-theater popcorn) and the hallways full of teasing, coming-soon posters. As we opt more and more for instant gratification from the living-room couch, our movie theaters will grow to become novelty items, antiques. It’s a shame.
Directors like Christopher Nolan, though, and movies like Dunkirk, still capture the thrill of “that was something else” upon leaving the theater. It’s rare sensation, a feeling that when you follow the lighted rows and duck back out into the lobby, past the pimply teenagers with their plastic brooms, you’ve taken a small part of the movie with you. Maybe just an image or a sound or a little moment in the performances, but it’s yours now. Only theaters provide that “back to the real world” crossing, and Dunkirk is a particularly spectacular path before that bridge.
Buy yourself a ticket to this movie, because it won’t be the same anyplace else. No other atmosphere or environment can capture Dunkirk’s scope and motion and pure, racing pulse. Yes, the movie legitimately deserves to be seen—it’s excellent—but even if you disagree with that opinion, there’s a chance here to reward Christopher Nolan and crew for crafting something that caters to the biggest screen and best sound system your 10 bucks can buy. Show up early, pick your favorite spot, and treat yourself to the box of candy you always consider but never actually buy. This is a movie-theater movie. Soon, we’re going to miss those.