The Non-Review

True to my word I was at Lakewood Center South Theatre (where the film was playing on five of its nine screens) for the first show (11:30am), opening day. It was a smart move, for being at an earlier than usual show on a weekday I was able to "beat" the crowd. While there were quite a few other people in the auditorium, it was far from being packed. I wanted to be as isolated as possible, and, sure enough, I had a center row to myself.

Once the de rigueur 777-FILM and Los Angeles Times spots and the trailer cycle (the Star Wars Special Edition, Mars Attacks!, My Fellow Americans), the Warner Bros. Family Entertainment logo appeared, signifying the opening of the movie. Right away I was struck sad by the opening scene--a scene in 1973 where actors playing a ten-year-old Michael and his late father discuss his dreams in life. Seeing someone play the late James Jordan was much too bittersweet. Not helping matters was the fact that the scene played out to the strain of R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly"--an inspirational tune whose lyrics ("If I can see it/Then I can do it/If I just believe it/There's nothing to it") just served as a depressing reminder of all I had done to achieve my dream... and that I hadn't gotten anywhere.

It didn't get any better for me after that. Next came the frenetic opening credit sequence, featuring a montage of Michael's greatest moments in the NBA. It was a very well-edited compilation, but seeing these highlights blown up on the big screen didn't ease any of my pain. The scene which immediately followed recreated that day in fall of '93 when Michael announced his retirement. I remember that day quite well--I had just barely begun my senior year in high school, and I was in a major blue funk for months after that announcement.

Following a brief animated interlude came the first instance where I wanted to either walk out of the room or star crying uncontrollably--the first scene in which I had served as an extra. It was Michael striking out at the plate for the Birmingham Barons on their home field (in actuality Blair Field in Long Beach, California). There it was, half of the worst day of my life encapsulated in about three minutes of screen time. There is no way words can begin to describe how much it hurt to see all those very same scenes, moments, actions, people (including the faux salesmen selling prop popcorn) and camera movements (including the helicopter shot that zooms into Michael) I had witnessed firsthand over a year ago now playing itself out on the big screen. I remembered my state of mind back then, how I sat there happy to see my idol in person and hopeful that maybe, just maybe, my dream of meeting Michael would come true--with no clue as to how the day would ultimately turn out. At least I wasn't able to locate myself in the crowd. I would have really lost it then. I sat there with my lips quivering, trying hard to hold it back and surprisingly winning the fight.

That sequence left me in a daze for about the next hour. Numerous scenes with Bugs and the Looney Tunes gang, the animated alien baddies, and other NBA stars such as Charles Barkley and Patrick Ewing flew by; I saw them, but I can't say that I actually "watched" them. But whenever Michael appeared, my interest was captured. As punch line after punch line, sight gag after sight gag were delivered, the audience laughed--except for me. While I can't say that I didn't find much of it funny, I couldn't enjoy it; I couldn't laugh.

As for the big basketball climax, chock full of Bugs and the Looney Tunes' wacky antics, Wayne Knight's hysterics, and Michael doing what he does best, I was intrigued and not bored, but I can't say I was enjoying it. Not that the filmmakers and all else involved weren't getting the job done--it's just that with all the emotional baggage I had carried in I couldn't possibly have had any fun with it. With every second I'd think of that day and how Warner Bros. led me on a week later about how everyone involved in the production "cared" and wanted to make it up to me.

That baggage really weighed me down when a victorious Michael returns to the Birmingham field via spaceship, with Knight leading the way, announcing Michael's arrival through a bullhorn; once again playing in the background was "I Believe I Can Fly." I was there for the filming of this scene as well--it was filmed that night, hours after Michael made his handshaking rounds with the crowd, after that heartcrushing disappointment. About twenty minutes prior to the filming of that scene the Warner crew had told all outside, non-paid extras (of which I was one) to leave, and they did--but I stayed with the paid extras, waiting, hoping, praying that I'd still get my shot. As I saw it all unfold again before my eyes, I was reliving all the emotions I had felt fifteen months and five days earlier--and it was too much. I didn't cry; I don't know how I managed not to, and as much as my lips quivered and the bigger the lump in my throat grew, I didn't. But inside I could feel myself die all over again like I did that long August night--waiting, longing, holding on until long after it was too late, and Michael was long gone.

The film didn't last much longer beyond that. There was a scene with Michael and the other NBA players, and the film comes to its conclusion with his return to the NBA. The credits started rolling, not over a black screen but over stills from the movie. Everyone around me got up and made their way out of the auditorium, but I stayed there motionless, on the brink of tears, seeing a microcosm of what I had just seen--and felt--for the past 80 minutes. As the credits rolled the pictures changed every few seconds, as did the songs on the soundtrack--including another reprise of "I Believe I Can Fly." Eventually the still show ended, and the credits continued on the usual black screen. The only slight evidence of my participation in the film came during the "Special Thanks" credit, under which "THE CITY OF LONG BEACH, CA" was listed. Immediately following the credit roll was a "That's All Folks!" bit with Michael, Bugs, Porky, Daffy, and the aliens. As the blue MPAA rating screen flashed the house lights in the auditorium came back up, and I weakly got out of my seat. Everyone had already left, and I was the only one remaining in the room. I walked out feeling not unlike that August 10, 1995--or, for that matter, the world premiere on November 10, 1996--dejected, devastated... and defeated.

Next Page:
A Tale of Two Michaels

MJ & MD: Together Again, for the First Time

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