Returning to the movies after five months was strange. My last outing, on March 11, had been a packed promotional screening of the Vin Diesel thriller, during which I’d sat elbow-to-elbow with the friend of another critic and – get this! – shook his hand by way of introduction. At the Fox, we entered wearing masks after showing our pre-bought vouchers to the man in the ticket booth outside.
And the valuable letters of transit that drive so much of the plot forward? Well, who these days can’t commiserate with the plight of someone unable to get on a plane to Lisbon if they so choose? It’s a superb script, delivered adroitly. But one’s enjoyment is also a function of the setting. In a darkened theatre, you have no distractions, no urge to get up and start dinner, no pause button to hit. The cinema demands your undivided attention, and rewards those who give it freely.Article content continued