How do press screenings work? There are two types of screenings, at least in D.C. The best type is during the middle of the day. These generally occur at a private room downtown fitted with plush chairs and are usually offered for smaller films or films that will be hitting theaters in a month or two and may have talent coming to town for interviews. These are critics-only affairs, which makes them infinitely better than the rest of the screenings, as critics tend to be much better behaved than you plebes.
The second type of screening generally takes place in the evening a few days before a film comes out. These are promotional screenings: the studio, through a public relations firm, has rented out a screen at a multiplex and filled it with contest winners and other folks who have signed up for sneak previews. Now, these screenings are better than your average showing—critics have a roped-off section of the best seats that keeps the normals out—but they are still a bit annoying. For some reason, folks who win their tickets over the radio tend to enjoy talking back to the screen.
In both cases, however, the experience is greatly aided by the lack of advertisements and trailers shown ahead of time. I used to be a big fan of previews, but the critics’ life has accustomed me to their absence. And now I kind of hate them.
The case against trailers is familiar and obvious and, most importantly, correct. A lazily constructed trailer does little more than give the plot away, spoiling any sense of surprise one might have in the theater. Comedic trailers are a million times worse in this regard, since large portions of cinematic humor are based almost entirely upon unexpected juxtapositions. The trailer for Trainwreck wasn’t the worst offender in this regard by any stretch of the imagination, but I must admit to seeing this trailer and thinking "Well, if those are the best jokes…"
Of course, the trailer is an art form unto itself, and even the most jaundiced and bored of film snobs can find beauty in trailers that are done well. The best among them leave you with little more than an impression of things to come, and play with imagery to tantalize the senses. I’m deeply enthralled by the trailer for Macbeth, for instance:
Now, sure, it helps that you can’t really spoil Macbeth. Shakespeare’s been around the block a few times. But note the way the trailer focuses on shots rather than on scenes, on camera angles rather than plot points. I’ve seen Macbeth, but I’ve never seen it like this.
I’m also a sucker for trailers that give clues about the themes of a film. The third trailer for Man of Steel hits on some of the aesthetic joys mentioned above—the discordant combination of a lone piano playing on top of a chaotic alien landscape creates an appealing sense of dislocation—but it’s Russell Crowe’s voiceover that sticks with me:
This is a movie about free will, about casting off the shackles of family and heredity and caste. But it’s also a movie about the need for symbols, for something bigger, a shining beacon for the rest of us to follow.
Similarly, the teaser for Interstellar hints that Christopher Nolan’s most recent film is more than a simple sci-fi space adventure:
"We’ve always defined ourselves by the ability to overcome the impossible," Matthew McConaughey intones over images of U.S. technological accomplishment. "But we lost all that. And perhaps we’ve just forgotten. That we are still pioneers. That we’ve barely begun. And that our greatest accomplishments cannot be behind us—’cuz our destiny lies above us."
It’s a speech that still, almost two years after its debut, chokes me up a little. Perhaps even more so now, with all the recent talk of making American great again.