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Not that I’m put off by this, since for the most part I eagerly look forward to trailers—the more of ’em the better. At the old, depressing Plaza Theatre (part of the former Plitt chain before reincarnating itself—twice—as a discount outlet store, now mercifully demolished) at Devon and McCormick just west of the North Shore Channel, there’d typically be half a dozen or more per show—a lot of ’em more technically accomplished than the B-movie flotsam and Canadian tax-shelter dregs that made up the weekly playbill. And why not? With everything unwatchable scrupulously edited out, all that remained was pure kinetic rush: accelerated mayhem, hysterical foreshadowings, cars inexplicably hurtling out of everyone’s control . . . . Though even then, Return of the Aliens: The Deadly Spawn couldn’t quite hack it: was it ever released theatrically anywhere in the world? Your guess is as good as mine.
As for trailers screening right now, the pick of the litter (save for Pan’s Labyrinth, which—I’m guessing—should comfortably one-up its own elegant stylistic tease) seems to be the one for Rocky Balboa, the retired blue-collar fighter’s comeback film, with our half-punchy, out-of-condition hero hurling 50-pound beer kegs against walls and punching out frozen sides of beef in meat lockers, the better to train for yet another inspirational march to the top. The trailer ends with some poor chump getting whaled, then it’s freeze and cut to an all-black screen with the single word “Christmas” staring you in the face. All in the spirit of the season, I’m sure … isn’t Boxing Day the 26th?
