I currently work at a movie theatre. 

Alongside my written commissions and personal projects, I often spend my weekdays occupying the empty walls of an institution built on the capital of a plastered brand. In commemoration of the capitalist corporations which are dependent on the manual labour of our minimum wage staff; we wear paraphernalia as a pledge of allegiance to our suppliers. I cannot disclose the location or company of my employment, as it would breach my ongoing contract. However, the corporation (otherwise known as Canada's largest multiplex monopoly) currently owns 70% of the total stake of cinemas in my country. We are millions of dollars in debt; a building bound to collapse at our recession of showtimes. We have a fine print neatly pasted at the back of our name tags — ‘the guest is why I am here' is our main mantra for employment. We perform for people at an hourly rate, as my acquaintances clean the lonesome seats for a greater dream to come. 

For the cinephiles at my workplace, we ponder upon our own self-bestowed success in an industry built on the pillaging plight of newcomer talent. A once romanticised occupation — a man alone with his kernels and a saturated butter pump — revolves around a more sinister narrative. Even with our monotonous tribulations at work, cinemas are now in danger of being ignored from the public view. Our work will soon be forgotten. As we have since dismissed the precious tomb of home video, a film such as ‘I Like Movies' provides an earnest perspective to a familiar story. Chandler Levack's feature debut tells the tale of a young teenager's obsession with his local video store and his eventual revelations surrounding his deteriorating friendships. In a battle between his home life, his fanaticism with kino, and his naivety towards post-secondary academia — Levack examines the blatant nostalgia of the early 2000's with a commanding moral at the forefront of the film's honest conclusion. 

I Like Movies is unapologetically ugly; a film never afraid of demonstrating the darker shades of consumerist suburbia and the sheltered reality behind an industry built on the capital of abuse. One of the film's highlights is a simple three-hander; where Dan Beirne's quick-witted supporting role provides comedic coverage against the scene's flying verbal insults and sharp-blocking. At the crux of the middling conflicts, entombed in the crevices of Burlington, Ontario (out of all places), the film's lead protagonist Lawrence Kweller commands the screen in all of his unfiltered, manic glory. His greatest sin — alongside actions related to his obtuse narcissism and idyllic fantasies — is his prosperous disapproval against the Palme D'or Nominee Shrek. Outside of the character's annoyance against the aforementioned post-modernist animated masterwork, Lehtinen's unlikable role is expertly timed and choreographed. His spiralling speech sells the emotional vulnerability of his susceptible arc; a bumbling and explosive performance which radiates through the aimless aisles of used VHS tapes, newly price-reduced DVDs, and abandoned confectionery goods.

Levack's film is also unapologetically Canadian. We enter a grandiose Cineplex with our misguided protagonist — under-aged staff nervously squandering for the passing of an ongoing rush. The film's municipality is dependent on go-transit tickets and gentrified neighbourhoods; a looming Dollarama and Chapters daunts the local plaza. At one point, one of Canada's most renowned celebrities, makes a brief appearance. Tanner Zipchen, the retired host of Timeplay, briefly mumbles through a quick scene of flirtatious chemistry. In the film's opening act, the audience settles within the basic rhythm of a standard slacker-comedy. Levack heavily relies on buzzword references; constantly hurdling visual & verbal cues recalling the work of Solondz, Cronenberg, Schoonmaker, Egoyan, PTA, McKellar, and even Maddin. The film's musical accompaniment almost resembles the quirky melodies of Jon Brion, amplifying the semiotic relationship between Lawrence and his hyper-fixation towards the all-American indie. These moments of nostalgic recollections are occasionally slight; slowing the incoming tidal of substantial subplots against the film's journey of self-discovery.

With all said and done, the emotional core of the film is still dependent on the vulnerability of its cast of broken characters. I reflect back on my own experiences and find a different outlook, upon the naturalistic conversations and realist directorial-approach. In many ways, albeit the prior vilification of my workplace, I still admire the job. Somebody has to do it — for the love of art, the love of cinema, and the love of people. Once pulled from its red-curtain of nostalgia, Levack's film ultimately revolves around the empathy and tolerance of people. As with any film consumed at a lonesome multiplex, I Like Movies demonstrates a universal tale of coming-of-age resilience through work-place mundanity. What begins as a standard happy-go-lucky Canadian comedy, begins to eerily expand the cycles of trauma through a new sociological lens. I Like Movies is a delightful ode to cinema and the growing pains of life. 

I Like Movies screened at this year's Toronto International Film Festival as part of the Discovery program. The film is currently seeking international distribution.

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