(Photo from Roger Ebert's Chicago Sun-Times page.)

What kind of an idiot goes to see four movies in one day?

This kind of an idiot.

What kind of an idiot drags his wife on her birthday to see four movies in one day?

Yup.

On one Saturday every February, our local Mega-google-gaga-plex unspools all of the Best Picture nominees in a marathon showing.  (When the category was expanded to ten nominees, they broke it up over two Saturdays.)  Since I usually see few of the nominated films in the theater (this year, none), my immediate impulse is to go, but each year, that small sliver of my brain that isn’t obsessing about food, sex or sports shouts, “Seriously, dude?  You want to sit your fat ass in a movie theater for 11 straight hours?”  This year, as soon as the schedule was announced, I plied that sliver with a couple of belts of Stoli and a few hot pix of Scarlett Johansson and ordered my tickets before my conscience could regain consciousness.

For $35 each, you get admission to all five films (breaks range from 10 minutes to an hour) and a $10 gift card for the “healthy” goods at the concession stand.  (Note: we only saw 4 of the 5 movies.  We skipped the middle one, The Kids Are All Right, so I could buy my wife a proper birthday dinner. Cue the violins.)

I trained for the event as any marathoner would.  I practiced the important skills of bladder holding and butt clenching.  I adapted to a diet heavy in buttered popcorn.  Meanwhile, my wife mastered the all-important task of smuggling bottled water in her purse.  We were ready to go.

The theater had a bit of a party atmosphere, and many of the attendees seemed to be veterans from previous years.  The stadium seats were comfortable and allowed unobstructed sight lines. Bratty kids kicking the back of your seat were nonexistent.  Between showings, there were trivia contests. (Which of this year’s nominees were shown at the Sundance Festival? The Kids Are All Right and Winter’s Bone.)   Finally, the lights dimmed.

11:00 am: Toy Story 3

Frankly, after years of being dragged to every Disney film by my daughters, I’ve had my fill of animated films.  The sight of a talking bear makes me want to get a hunting license.  But Pixar is the exception.  In my eyes, they can do no wrong.  You can feel the love in every frame.  The stories are clever, the wit is never forced and the storytelling is grown up.  In the Toy Story movies especially, the characterizations and voices feel organic. Adding Ken and Barbie gives the humor here an extra goose (though I’m surprised Mattel didn’t object to the less than admirable character bestowed upon Ken). Switching Buzz Lightyear to Spanish mode for part of the movie was clever. Yeah, I cried at the end. Don’t be hatin’.

Favorite line: “Well, F.A.O. my Schwarz!” (though anything said by Senor Lightyear could qualify)

Number of amputations: With Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head, too many to count.

Oscar-worthy? Yes.

Bladder/butt status: Strong.  My training regimen worked.

Alternate takes: The Film Warriors and Scott Mendelson.

1:00 pm: 127 Hours

My questions coming in: How realistic would the amputation look? (Very, though not as bad as I feared.)  Could director Danny Boyle add context to a story so it wouldn’t be merely an extended “That’s a bummer, dude?”  The answer: Yes.  I admired the way Boyle filled the pre-accident scenes with kinetic energy to contrast the more static scenes when James Franco’s Aron Ralston is trapped, also establishing Franco’s character as an adrenalin junkie with a lust for life and freedom that got him into his predicament, but also spurred him to take a desperate act to get out of that predicament.  Franco fills every scene, even when trapped, with a physical energy that is remarkable. The 95 minutes zipped by.  My favorite of the films I saw – so much so that, during my break, I went into Barnes and Noble and bought Ralston’s book.

Favorite line: (After drinking his own urine) “It’s no Slurpee!”

Runner-up favorite line: (Me to my wife as she began squirming at Franco’s amputation) “Happy birthday, dear!”

Number of amputations: Do you know the story?

Oscar-worthy? Yes!

Bladder/butt status: Weakened, but we’re heading for our long break.

Alternate takes: moviegeekjn (who called it his favorite movie of the year) and Nick Leshi (on the films of Danny Boyle)

(For the record, the majority of people sitting near us seemed unimpressed by The Kids Are All Right. I’ll try to catch it on On Demand this week.)

5:45 pm: True Grit

Despite being a John Wayne fan, I’ve never seen the original.  However, I have seen a number of films by the Coen Brothers, which are always enjoyable but often seem more clever than deep.  So I’m a little underwhelmed by their version of True Grit – I even dozed off briefly in the middle, probably from a popcorn OD.  The story seemed a little soft for a Best Picture nominee and I was mildly annoyed by Matt Damon’s mannered performance.  Still, I was reasonably entertained, I enjoyed Jeff Bridges’ performance (when have I not?) and I especially admired 14-year-old Hailee Steinfeld as the daughter who relentlessly sought vengeance for her father’s murder and showed the real true grit.

Favorite line: (Jeff Bridges, after a shootout goes awry) “Well, that didn’t pan out.”

Number of amputations: An arm and a couple of fingers.

Oscar-worthy? The lead performances, yes; the movie, not so much.

Bladder/butt status: Bladder not happy.  Because I pigged out on popcorn, I drank a lot of water.  And it’s only a 10-minute break, so I don’t have time to grab a new water from the concession stand on the way back from the men’s room.

Alternate takes: Scanner , John Blumenthal 

7:45 pm: The Fighter

Since boxing seems to be a dying sport in America, I’m surprised at the number of films still being made about it, but The Fighter is less about pugilism than it is about family.  It contains the best ensemble acting I’ve seen in a long while. Christian Bale is considered a shoo-in for Best Supporting Actor for his jittery performance as the crack-addicted former boxer Dicky Eklund (seeing the real Eklund during the closing credits shows how close Bale came to the real thing).  Melissa Leo is a hoot as the possessive mother in the bleached blonde hair and too-short skirts, and Amy Adams is a pip as the take-no-shit girlfriend of Mark Wahlberg.  It’s the solid, unflashy lead performance by Wahlberg that is the glue that holds the film together. And if the happy ending is a little too predictable – hey, it’s a true story! 

Favorite line: (Amy Adams to Mark Wahlberg’s sisters) “Don’t call me skank. I’ll rip that nasty hair out of your fucking head!”

Number of amputations: Thankfully, only broken bones.

Oscar-worthy? Yes.

Bladder/butt status: Who cares? I’m going home.

Alternate takes: L in the Southeast, with whom I never disagree.

Sitting through the equivalent of two double-features turned out to be much more comfortable and much less taxing than I expected.  I actually regret that I can’t see the other five nominees next weekend.  However, I’m warning that sliver of my brain right now: next year, I’m in all the way.