On holidays, I seem to do things that I otherwise wouldn’t. This series of blog posts is about I’ve been doing that I don’t usually do.
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This Time, about Things I Do Alone.
I was surprised a while ago to read an article (again, in a glossy), about a woman “experimenting” with going to a bar, a restaurant, and the movies, alone. I’ve been to a restaurant alone, heaps of times. I’ve also gone to bars, gigs, debates, book launches, gyms, workshops, galleries, cafes, swimming pools, Italy and Scotland on my own, and although it’d all (probably) be worth writing about, it would not be for the “experimental” or “novelty” factor.
There are things that you might notice, or experience, or both, while traveling (as an umbrella term) alone which you mightn’t otherwise. Likewise, there are disadvantages in traveling alone, which need to be balanced out by the disadvantages of traveling with others. In Sydney during the holidays, I did something on my own which has so far, to me, been a strictly group-or-couple activity: I went to the movies.
None of my family wanted to come, but I went and saw War Horse, because Sam had told me about the children’s book. Ask me about it if you’re interested; this isn’t really a post about the movie. Instead, it’s a post in which I tell you that going to the movies on your own is completely pointless. Or rather, the only “point” to it would be if you had to see a particular movie within a particular time frame, and you could find no one else to go with. Baring those circumstances, I would advise you to just read a book, or go for a walk, or even – if you really wanted to watch a film – just hire something from Blockbusters. Then you can pause and get a bowl of icecream whenever you like.
My experience of going to the movies on my own, was that I missed out on all the advantages of going to see a film with friends, and gained none of the advantages of “being alone”. Sure, I observed other people more attentively than I would have, had I had company. But then the lights went down, and the father and son in the row ahead of me stopped talking about war and how “guitars get girls”. Sure, I was absorbed in the movie for the whole 2.5 hours it went for, and didn’t have to address any whispered interruptions from a potential companion. But then the lights came up, and I had no one to turn to and go “well…!” Being alone in a restaurant means extra attentive waiters. Being alone in a bar is simply fascinating, on all (most) levels. Going to a gallery on your own means being able to take your time, and yawn or laugh or frown without having to justify yourself to fellow viewers.
At the movies on my own… the experience simply revolved around the film. Had it been a terrible film, I would have needed someone to rant to. Had it been amazing, I would have been bursting to gush. I guess I was lucky, then, that War Horse was neither great nor terrible. It had its cringeworthy parts (the whole start, and the whole end), its great parts (that scene by the barbed wire – how deliciously absurd!), and its segments of dialogue that made me go “hoooold on a minute… isn’t this supposed to be an anti-war film?”, but on the whole, it was just fine. Since it nicely complemented my list of “things to do alone”, the outing wasn’t a complete fiasco.
Earlier this week, though, I went to the movies again. This time I had company, and we saw Hugo. The lesson of this post, then, is that if you’re going to the movies, take a friend. And even if you’re after something with an anti-war message, see Hugo, not War Horse. The destruction of art portrays the tragedy of war better than the eventual survival of a horse. Oddly enough.
