Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

When The Gryphon and I went to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on Saturday, we expected it to be a popular movie, but we underestimated just how popular.

We went to our favorite theater, The Bridge, at the corner of 40th and Walnut Streets. You get to choose where you're going to sit, and then you're shown to those seats by an usher. So provided you buy your tickets early enough, you can saunter in as the previews are rolling and still get a great seat.

The Bridge also has a little cafe/bar where you can hang out before the movie, should you get there early.

While The Gryphon suggested getting dinner and then heading home to wait, I wanted to make an adventure out of it. After all, my dog, Una, tends to get really excited as soon as you come in the door, so it would only be that much more stressful for her when we left again after a short period of time. Plus, I figured that we could find plenty to do until the movie started.

We ate at a nearby Thai restaurant, a sit-down place with great atmosphere. I had a spicy salmon dish that was delicious. By the time we were done there, it wasn't even 8 p.m. yet, so we talked about what to do.

One option had presented itself to us in the form of a flyer somebody handed us on the street corner, for an AIDS benefit being held nearby. The flyer made it look like the music might be hip-hop, which is something neither of us know really well, and we weren't entirely sure where the venue was, so we opted, instead, for finding a nearby coffee shop.

The closest one The Gryphon knew of was several blocks away, and I was wearing dress shoes, so we asked the gentleman holding the door at the movie theater if he knew of any coffee shops nearby. He went and asked some coworkers, then came back and suggested two. One was about a block away. The other was just across from the movie theater. Naturally, we opted for that one.

The place, Manhattan Bakery, had very weak chai, but we also each got a slice of chocolate angel food cake that was very tasty. We nursed our drinks and talked about various things while sitting at one of the little tables. But I could tell that The Gryphon wasn't entirely happy with the situation, especially when we'd finished our drinks and had to decide what else to do. We still had three hours to kill, since it was just past 8:30!

I suggested that we try finding the benefit, and offered to pay for our tickets to get in. I'd figured out where the event might be happening. There's a building that's often used by the University of Pennsylvania students, just next to the movie theater. "The Rotunda sounds like the name of a student building," I said. "I bet that's it."

Sure enough, as we walked down the little brick path between the two buildings, we saw signs and arrows directing us to the event. We still weren't sure what to expect, so we figured we'd poke our heads in and see if it was something we'd be interested in.

Two people were on stage, delivering a poem they'd written. That's when it hit me. The event was called "Slam AIDS." Of course! A poetry slam! And with live music also promised, I was actually excited about attending. We bought tickets and squeezed our way into the crowded hall.

The first two poets were about college age, and they weren't terribly good. They had written a poem about being in a biracial relationship. He was African-American; she was Caucasian, and they sort of acted out their feelings about how people treated them when they're together. It was an interesting idea, but not well executed. They kept falling back on clichés and obvious sentiments, not taking it anywhere unique or unexpected.

Next up was another young poet, whose poem started out like prose, very long lines, very casual. But he began to cycle back on a refrain. He was talking about how someone had asked him why he spits when he talks. As he began piling up images, possible reasons that he spits while he talks, the lines got shorter, more frenetic. An assault of words. You could almost imagine spit flying out of his mouth all over the first few rows as he talked. And after bringing in a host of big issues, such as racism and poverty, he ended with a simple punchline: "Why do I spit when I talk? Because I've got too much saliva in my mouth."

I've been to poetry slams before, and for those who haven't been to them, the style of poetry is different than you'd hear at, say, a poetry reading. These are poems that are written to be performed as much as to be read on the page. They tend to make a more conscious use of oral techniques such as repeating a refrain, using rhyme and rhythm to punctuate a thought. All of this is accentuated by the delivery of the poet, who gets into the rhythm of the poem, who rises and lowers voice volume, who uses gestures, all to add to the impact.

The ones that are done best are those which truly benefit from being performed, more so than they would from being on the page. My personal favorites, though, are those poets whose work is tight enough that, even on the page by itself, you can hear the poet's voice in your head, performing it. In other words, to me the performance is fun but it's the strength of the poem that really matters.

I didn't expect that we'd see any poets like that, because most of them were young and inexperienced. But they had something of a poetry slam star performing, Carlos Andrés Gómez, who has made a real name for himself in poetry slam circles. He's even opened for well-known musical acts such as Wyclef Jean or Reel Big Fish. And he's performed all over the world and been interviewed on multiple radio and television programs.

He was the one poet whose poems were strong enough to stand on their own. Sure, his performance of them added to the impact, but I could hear, as he delivered them, that there was real sophistication in multiple poetic techniques, such as line breaks and word choice. I made sure, before we left, to buy a copy of his chapbook, Shades of Silence.

The music was equally diverse. There was a guy who played a drum and a digeridoo who was amazing. But when his entire group joined him later, they were just a typical alt rock college band.

One singer-songwriter, Brent Shuttleworth, had come down from New York City. He did an interesting song, where he used an electronic device to capture sound he performed live and put it on a loop. By the end of the song, he had created a very full sound, consisting of a percussion loop, and several tracks of guitar loops, while he sang live on top of it.

The most unusual group we saw were some college aged vocalists who called themselves The Inspiration. They perform only songs by artists of African descent, and they do it a capella. The first song was a pop song I didn't recognize. The lead singer was sort of nervous but made it through. Then they did a song that sounded a lot like Ladysmith Black Mombazo, with multiple layers of vocals in an African language. Finally, they performed Michael Jackson's "Human Nature," from the good old days of the Thriller album.

We hung around until just about 10:30 and then headed for the movie theater, where we had a couple drinks in the bar before the movie started. Then finally, it was 11:30 and time for the main event, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Suffice it to say the critics are right; this is the best one yet in many ways, in terms of storytelling, acting, visual effects. However, those who read the book know that much has been cut out of it. I would say, go to the movie and enjoy it, but make certain you read the books, as well, so you can find out what you missed.

Still, the movie was definitely worth the wait.

Copyright 2005 by Alyce Wilson

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