There comes a time in every boy’s life where he must pick a hobby that slowly metastasizes and grows to devour every fibre of his being until he is a husk of a man (see: literally any board game shop or Arcteryx store as exhibits A-Z).

Since I’m neutral on trains, rock climbers scare me, and my face turns so cartoonishly red that I can’t legally attend hot yoga; somewhere along the way, I became the movie guy. Or at least a movie guy—a title to which I’ve never quite known how to earnestly shoulder or ethically advertise to the outside world.

Don’t get me wrong, what I lack in psychosexual obsessions with your Nolans or Tarantinos, I certainly make up for with plenty of other classics—I work in film, own multiple beanies, have ***shudders*** an active Letterboxd account with upwards of 52 followers (it’s 53). But while there may be few things worse than a loud, obnoxious film bro, being a bro with no self-awareness and unsupervised internet access is a fate worse than death. So to safeguard from falling too far up any one proverbial asshole, I try to throw myself random and often needlessly restrictive viewing challenges whenever I can. Do they work? Who knows? As much as it’s better to ignore, pretension is weird—sometimes you need to feed it and then forget it, in hopes it doesn’t swallow you whole.

This time around, after a fatefully desolate 9 P.M. screening of Sasquatch Sunset—a film in which Jesse Eisenberg plays the horny and flatulent father of a family of Bigfoots—my buddy Andrew and I, pacing between the Cineplex marquee and the shattered entrance to the Simons on St-Catherine’s, couldn’t quite answer these relatively two simple questions:

1. If even us sickos feel more hollow than not after the weirder, and (respectfully) most pseudo-Sundance bullshit screenings, why do we keep doing this to ourselves?

2. In a post-Barbenheimer world, on the heels of two union strikes and one of the weakest pandemic hangover-fueled release schedules in recent years, will 2024 be seen as the first theatrical domino to fall, or the final nail in the industry’s coffin? 

The challenge was born. 

The rules:

1. See at least 1-3 new releases in a movie theatre every week. 

2. Watch everything, the good, bad and all the mid in between.

3. Keep track of both the film and all external factors (projection, attendance, comfortability, etc…)

4. Try your best to quantify time wasted vs. time well spent.

Here’s how that quantification turned out.

At the time of this publication, an estimated $703.35 was spent at five theatres in the greater Montreal area—excluding gift cards, falsified student discounts, and the work of one nonchalant ticket tearer, to which I am eternally grateful. We sat in imitation pleather seats of fluctuating firmnesses for roughly 6248 minutes (also written as 104.33 hours or 4.3 straight days). This does not take into account roughly 1560 trailers and commercials, 2.5 early walkouts, and a single Kevin Costner-induced trip to the restroom. 

I bought six popcorn combo packs, a handful of burnt coffees, and one questionably refrigerated novelty milkshake. There were double dates, family outings, and therapy sessions. Smuggling subway sandwiches, whisky, and a Tupperware or two of homemade chili along the way, I was scared, occasionally moved, and often spiritually dumbfounded. I dozed off more times than I’d care to admit and let out unironic laughter far less than can be backed up in a court of law. 

Watched John Krasinski’s If on a Monday. The Garfield Movie three days later. 

We. Did. The. Work.

Beyond that, I learned pretty quickly that finding empirical data through the clusterfuck of capitalism, egos, and artistic self-expression was far from a year-long endeavor. And as I look back on the 1/25th of my life spent needlessly cataloguing the only known art form to waste most provinces’ GDP on hummus and Clif Bars, I can proudly say that I don’t think I’m certain about a single goddamn thing at the movies anymore. Which in turn might be just as beautiful, important and pointless as any to celebrate.

So to the best of my abilities, here’s the closest I got. A few guiding rules, rather than any one reason for it all:

• Find more cinematic third places: If the film business is going to actually survive, it’s important to steer into the skid of its grandiosity and ability to weaponize wasted time for good.

• The Brutalist was long, a little stilted and sometimes overwhelming. Yet seeing a sea of people spend a 15-minute intermission theorizing and talking with each other in an abandoned arcade was one of the most moving scenes I’ve seen all year. It made art for art’s sake the event and discussion or disagreement of that art, the currency.

• Treat awards season like a controlled substance: I’ve never known more about an upcoming Oscar race and never felt more unsure about what’s actually going to happen. 

• It’s fun to get invested in the storylines, but try your best to treat the Oscars like sports betting or Pilates: with caution and reverence. 

• Maybe keep your “Top 4” off your Hinge profile: Saying you like a good movie is like saying you like chocolate ice cream or a nice sunset or having sex. You’re not exactly breaking new ground here. Everyone does or thinks they do. Making it your entire personality has its limits and cannot be the only way you interact with the world around you. 

• Don’t shame people for not seeing what you have. But I understand it takes a lot of effort and money to stay “in the loop” and that loop can change its shape, size and gravity in the blink of an eye. Try to get really excited when people are on the same page and talk with earnest intent or, at the very least, authentic apathy when needed. 

• Understand your limits: What I did is nothing revolutionary but certainly should not be the standard. It can be incredibly easy to feel alienated from a passion or a hobby when your status is constantly being graded on an imaginary curve—challenged and judged solely on its own consumption. 

• Now more than ever, movies have a limited shelf life before they become intense personal artifacts. The streaming turnaround has leveled everything, be it a week or a decade old, into the same cultural soup of either instant disgust or sentimental attachments. Please don’t stop going out to the movies, but understand that it won’t stop there. Since everything will eventually become a hidden gem to somebody else, just don’t try not to be a dick when someone asks to take part in your collection.