STAR WARS: BATTLE FOR THE LINE

Two and a half years of elated anticipation and careful planning culminated in perhaps the single most important moment in the long, long wait for STAR WAR: EPISODE I- THE PHANTOM MENACE... the long, long wait for tickets. Without tickets, of course, nothing else would matter. All our efforts in the past and our plans of the future would be for nought without one of those wretched little white rectangles that told us we could go in and sit down in the first place. Everyone else who ever wanted to see this monumental work realized this fact as well, of course, and so a group of loyal STAR WARS followers flocked to every theatre in the area in a sheer volume I am convinced totals one quarter the population of Albany. I sure as hell was not going to miss out on this opportunity, not especially after years of tantalizing magazine articles, vague-yet-promising photographs, jaw-dropping rumors, and two theatrical trailers that left my high brain functions paralyzed for a day or more afterwards. This movie would by mine. But, it wasn't just for me. I had others depending on me as well, all of whom were consumed by their own distinct passions for STAR WARS, others who would share the EPISODE I experience with me. Movies like this are always best enjoyed with others. Besides, I wanted opening day. I wanted it bad.

Thus, with high spirits and rock-hard resolve, I arrived at the Norma Jean Madison Theatre at 8 AM on Wednesday, May 12th armed only with a cell phone, a portable TV, and the Annotated Star Wars Screenplays to keep me company. I had spent long hours the previous night agonizing over when to show up. I had originally settled on 10 AM, then, in a moment of paranoia, pushed it ahead to 9 AM. But, when I heard that at least seven people actually spent the night to ensure first dibs, I resolved to show up at 8.

Good thing. There were already twenty-two people in line ahead of me. Still, it was a respectable position. In twenty-third place, I still had my pick of shows.

I settled into the hard concrete of Madison Ave., which had already warmed from the morning sun and was not altogether uncomfortable. Directly in front of me sat a young man in his early twenties whom I had never seen before, but by the end of the day I would know as Phil from Saint Rose College, just a stone throw away. He looked comfortable in a little deck chair, reading his book. It made me wish that I had brought some sitting implement myself. Gazing up the line which extended some 50 feet before me, making a hard left turn into the ticket window, I saw fellow fans with lounge chairs, stools, and even a couch right in the middle of the sidewalk. No matter. The best thing was that I really didn't mind. It didn't matter that I had nowhere to sit. It didn't matter that I was going to spend all day in line, doing nothing. It was STAR WARS. It was crunch time. And I was happy. So, I sat. Checked my watch. 8 AM exactly. Seven hours to go.

The first landmark of that day occurred about 45 minutes after I arrived. Two more people had filled in behind me at that point, but the next man to arrive caught my eye. He strode down the street in full Jedi regalia, including flowing brown cloak and lightsabre. Combined with his long brown hair and beard, he looked much like Qui-Gon Jinn. This was a real fan. I knew this not just because he took the time and effort to dress up, but because he looked so self assured and genuinely pleased as he walked past all the non-cloaked fans ahead of him. Later Phil comment to him, "You must be dying [of the heat] with all that on, man." To which Qui-Gon replied, "Well, at least this system only has a single sun."

The hours trotted on. I say "trotted" because, while they didn't exactly race by without notice, they did not drag either. I measured the day in increments of 45 minutes to 1 hour. I would find something to do for a while, and when next I looked at my watch it was always a good while "later". The people in line, who were almost all college-age, passed their time in a variety of ways. Some brought laptop computers to keep their mitts busy. Others tapped away on GameBoys. Some people read, or drew, or wrote. I dove into my screenplays for a while, but I eventually found the most entertaining activity to be watching passerby's reactions when they saw or little line and realized what we were all there for. By 11:30 or so the line had nearly doubled in size and it was becoming quite a spectacle. Their wide eyes and gaping expressions were a great entertainment and prompted the creation of a game in which the line tried to get as many passerbys as possible to honk or wave. Every honk or wave, after all, was endorsement; a sign or support, and we coveted them. Occasionally we would even get a yell like "May the Force be with You!" or "Star Wars Rules!"

As promised, at 11:30 I activated the cell phone provided by Mr. Stephen Pause and awaited contact from my allies at Bishop Maginn whom I was buying tickets for. They wanted an update. The call came at 11:48. Yes, I am in line. There are about 50 people here. I'm about 23rd in line. No, I don't want to talk to the teachers in the hall. Qui-Gon Jinn is here with me. Lots of college kids. Yes, some girls. I've been mostly watching the passerbys. I spoke to each member of the Security Council in turn and assured them that I was alive and having a great time. They were all jealous, but more excited than ever. I hung up, a new rush of excitement passing through me as well.

A lot of talking went on. I talked with Qui-Gon Jinn and with my cousin Dan, about 10 people behind me, who was skipping school to pick up his own tickets. I talked with a friesty twenty-something nurse named Laura who was reading Premiere Magazine with Ewan McGregor on the cover. We discussed lightsabres with Qui-Gon Jinn, and the phenomenon of why Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsabre caused massive blood spillage when it severed Ponda Baba's arm in EPISODE IV when Darth Vader's lightsabre neatly cauterized Luke's severed hand with no blood in EPISODE V. We concluded that lightsabres have an intensity / frequency adjust, and the Obi-Wan's was set to the lower "make 'em bleed" level while Vader favored the superhot "no mess" setting.

Time passed, and the line continued to grow. Three times we were forced to stack the line up or "double park" it two or three abreast so we didn't block the entrance to the neighboring CVS. This made me wary because people tend to lose their place in line when this happens. All day, however, the line was very informal. People left to use the bathroom or get food without having to worry about their space being snatched up. It was a mellow setting.

At times, there were low moments when the entire line just seemed to be muffled by the heat of the day and the sounds of the street. Few people spoke, even fewer gave off the whoops and cheers that had been apparent just a short while ago. But one man, perhaps a little past his college years, who was about tenth in line, had a unique ability to sense such low moments, and knew exactly how to remedy them. He would calmly step out of line and reach into his car, parked directly in front of the theatre. He would fiddle up front for a moment, then calmly walk back. As he took his place back in line, his mega-watt speakers began blasting the STAR WARS: EPISODE I soundtrack. The unmistakable trademark opening theme reverberated up and down the street, injecting new life into the line, picking our spirits up and reminding us just what we were all here for. For me, hearing John Williams's theme that day made me realize just how much of an experience this line was. STAR WARS transcended all grounded, tangible, visible aspects of our lives. It wasn't a movie or a series of movies. It was an entire multiverse of fable and myth and character and life itself. Now after more than 16 years, this multiverse was expanding again. The past, always a mystery in STAR WARS, would finally be revealed, and in a film so revolutionary, and so anticipated, it hardly could be done justice being called a "film". I, and the other people all around me in the line, were not just the loyalist of fans. We were historians, watching history happen right in front of us. This whole scene before me was, after all, a carbon copy of the scenes I saw of theatres around the nation on opening day of EPISODE IV in 1977. Yes... this was history. Morale returned to us doubly as strong.

Many times during the day Scott Goldman, owner and manager of the Norma Jean Madison, emerged from the cool of the theatre to converse with his dedicated patrons on the street. I had spoken with Scott many times before, being a frequent client of his theatre. He was an ardent fan of science fiction and an aficionado of cult movies and old television series. He created a midnight showing on weekends for films regarded by customers, no matter how obscure. He always had some compelling topic to bring up in conversation, usually emphasized with a dead-on reference from the science fiction genre. He also loved the disco remixes of the STAR WARS themes so much that he put them in the theatre sound system. Unlike the people at Hoyts who, from the lowliest part-time peon to the Aussie owner of the whole conglomerate, represent the fetid chum bucket of film presentation and charge tithe-like prices for tickets and their God-awful concession offerings, Scott and the Madison truly appreciate film and the importance of telling the story above all else.

We spoke twice that day, first about technical stuff like prices, maximum ticket purchases, and the final word on show times. He announced that he would present a 2:30 AM show if the 3:30 AM show sold out. I assured him that he would be getting five purchases for the 3:30 from me. Later, we spoke of the past... the hype of the original film, his efforts to see it once a day. We also got on the topic of Judaism and the Bible. Such things happen when you stand around for eight hours. Then some other people in the crowd learned that he had actually SEEN THE PHANTOM MENACE, prompting the usual barrage of hesitant, off-track questions from folks who wanted to know everything and nothing at all. I walked away, not wanting to hear anything.

Four news agencies covered the unfolding spectacle. News Channel Ten arrived early at about 8:10 AM to do a live report. Then, the Times Union arrived in the form of a young photographer who took some 90 photographs (including six of yours truly decked out in STAR WARS hat and shirt) then went from person to person asking names, ages, and reasons for spending eight hours in line. Wasn't that kind of obvious? FOX News arrived two hours later, sweeping the crowd with a camera and giving a great deal of attention to one Qui-Gon Jinn, who earned a full interview. Last to get in on the action was the Gazette who took another 30 or so pictures and again interviewed Qui-Gon. In truth, it made me feel proud to be part of something that turned so many heads for such a good cause.

The hours wore on, Theme music was blasted. Conversations were held. The line grew in size and life. By 1:00 PM, it had snaked around the corner, past the CVS. The drug store didn't seem to mind that its doors were blocked. It was getting probably twice as much business as it usually gets on a Wednesday afternoon. All of us in line, of course, were in constant need of food, drink, and reading materials. Make no mistake, just about everyone on that entire block made a profit from the line growing outside the theatre. Scott continued to stroll up and down our ragtag rank and file, a broad smile on his face.

"This is great," I told him. "This is all part of the experience, and it's priceless." He heartily agreed.

At no point did I find myself bored. I always had someone to talk to, or some pages to read, or just people to watch. Looking up and down that line which had now tripled in number from when I arrived, I was suddenly struck with how REAL it all was. For months and years past I had shared my anticipation and excitement with only my closest family and friends. Sometimes I wondered if any of it really existed beyond my own mind. But, looking at the line and every assortment of person present that day... men, women, black, white, old, young... I suddenly realized that all of it was REAL, and it went so far beyond just a single mind and a single goal. This was a universal experience.

Behind me, a tall black man in his early thirties was having a very deep discussion with a fourty-ish woman about BABYLON 5 and the Earth - Minbari War. I declined to join the discussion (though everyone who knows me knows I am VERY vocal about the Earth - Minbari War) because I was so enswathed in STAR WARS I didn't want to break the spell.

Two and a half hours before tickets went on sale, the Madison changed its marquee from "STAR WARS TICKETS - ONE SALE MAY 12TH - 3 PM" to "STAR WARS TICKETS - ON SALE - 2 HRS, 31 MINS". Everyone cheered. It was the home stretch. For the next two and a half hours, every half hours the marquee was changed, slowly counting down to 3 PM. The newest and most intense wave of excitement began to flow over the crowd, creating an almost physical vibration and audible hum on the street. I swear some of the passerbys could see us glowing.

At 2:30 PM, like clockwork, everyone folded up their chairs and card tables, sheathed their PalmPilots and stuffed their magazines in coat pockets and formed a single file line. This was quite possibly one of the single most impressive events I had ever witnessed. I never trust crowds of people, ever, and I never underestimate the depths of stupidity they are able to touch. I expected the line which had compounded even more so there were three or four abreast, to rearrange itself in a new configuration that would displace all the people who had been there for eight hours and leave them further back then when they started. Such things happen when you stand around for eight hours. For this reason, I clung to my little spot unwaveringly. But, at the stroke of 2:30 PM, everyone filed in and returned to exactly where they were supposed to be. Just another little miracle in a day that was already so full of them.

So, there we stood for the next twenty nine minutes, tension building. At 2:59 PM, the general manager, a stout man by the name of Chris, emerged for the theatre with a stopwatch, stood at the top of the line and bellowed, "Sixty seconds!" then "thirty seconds!" then "ten seconds!" Then tension had reached its peak. My God, after eight hours of waiting and sixteen years of anticipation, now our collective goal was just seconds away.

"Five seconds!"

The crowd counted as one.

"Five... four... three... two... one...!"

Then, an uproarious cheer and applause, then... then absolutely nothing. No one moved. The line didn't budge a single inch. I expected this, of course. There were twenty-two people in line ahead of me, all with a wide number of transactions to complete, and a lot of money to move. Still, the magnitude of this anticipation was almost more than I could bear. The line moved very, very slowly.

Twenty minutes later I could see the very edge of the ticket window. Here and there some fans in line ahead of me passed by, grins splitting their faces, cradling many little pieces of white paper like newborns. Ten more minutes passed. There I was, under the marquee. Only two people ahead of me, now. I could see that Chris, the general manager, and Scott, himself, were handling all of the transactions personally. One person ahead. Then, finally, it was my turn. I had approached that box office window so many times in the past, yet this time I was seeing it so differently. It wasn't just the tickets. The very box office itself had become a goal, and I had reached it.

Scott reached me and got right down to business. "What'll it be?"

I requested, as I had discussed with my comrades on the Security Council, five tickets for the May 19th 12:01 AM show in the DTS theatre, one of the two theatres featuring THE PHANTOM MENACE.

"No more tickets available for that theatre. Sold out."

For just a few seconds, my heart stopped beating and my breath froze in my lungs. I didn't think I would ever have to hear those dreaded words being twenty-third in line. But, the midnight shows were selling like hotcakes, and each person could by 12 tickets. I inquired about the 12:01 AM show in the SRD theatre, which was just as good.

"Yeah... still got sixty seats left in there."

I purchased five of those, my breath and blood returning.

"$33.75" he told me.

"And I would also like five tickets to your May 19th 3:30 AM show."

"Ok... $67.50."

"And I would also like two more tickets to the May 19th 6:50 PM show.

"You got it... $81.00 even."

I had reached my 12 ticket limit. Pulling out my wallet, which I had guarded very closely all day, I counted out the cash as it came.

"Twenty... forty... fifty... sixty... seventy... eighty... and one is eighty one."

Scott tapped a key and twelve tickets sprouted like magic from the booth. We exchanged out precious currency, money for tickets. Suddenly, they were in my hand. After so many months and years of speculation and promise and hope and fear, after so long of seeing THE PHANTOM MENACE as an intangible element, now, at last, it was solid. The tickets were mine.

I triple checked them to be sure they were all there, even though Scott had rattled them off for me seconds earlier. They were indeed all there. I thanked him.

"And I'll see you on the 19th," I told him. He smiled and nodded, no doubt preparing himself for the magical date and all the fans he would see there on that day.

I stepped out of line. Over. It was over. Eight hours later, I had reached the pot of gold. The Lost City. Nirvana. I had hit it big. Around me those who had been my companions for that day were milling about, triple checking their own tickets and just staring at them like the little white rectangles were going to start dancing. I tucked mine tightly away where they would be secure and out of sight. No sense flaunting my treasures to the hundreds still in line.

By now, my cousin Dan had stepped out of line, his four tickets for the 6:50 AM show firmly in hand. As per our agreement, I took one of those from him. The three he retained would be for him and his two friends, while the three I now had for the same show would be for myself and the two other members of the Security Council who could attend that show... Mr. Michael Keegan and Mr. Stephen Pause. I had them all now. I felt right. I felt fantastic.

Departing from the theatre that day and the hordes of people still assembled for the tickets, I felt very much like I was parting company with friends. We had been united in a common goal and forged a mutual appreciation for each other. Laura the nurse passes a baseball down the entire line for everyone to sign. A little later, the man with the soundtrack went from person to person with a pen asking everyone who had been in line to sign his shirt.

Finally, the big white sign label "THE LINE FOR STAR WARS TICKETS STARS HERE!" was also passed from person to person and signed.

Humans form communities. That is our greatest strength. In signing those various mediums we ordained ourselves as our own little community -- a community based on a mutual love for STAR WARS and a mutual elation at the approaching prequel. I shook the hands of those who had been nearest to me throughout the day, and assured myself that I would be seeing most of them again, in just a single week.

Yes, that single week. Perhaps, the longest week of the entire countdown to EPISODE I. The hardest week. But, it would be here soon enough. After all, if eight hours was utterly insignificant for my treasured tickets, another seven days for the real prize would be like nothing at all. It would come. It was as inevitable as the tides.

---

John Paige
8.19.1999