My cinephilia sprung not from breathless viewings swathed in the womb-like darkness of the theater but, first, in a high school classroom and, foremost, from offerings at the local Blockbuster (its opening in such a small market ushered along the quick death of the beloved corner video store, denying me even the satisfaction of renting independently).
I was raised in Hawaii, where an endless summer of big-budget blockbusters junk up the screens year-round, and you’re lucky to catch the occasional pop indie at the single art house down the street from the university. So, to be honest, I didn’t develop a wholehearted sense of worship around watching movies “the way they were meant to be seen” until I made my way to New York in my mid-twenties.
Growing up on an island devoid of film culture circumscribed my early viewing habits.
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