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Tuesday, November 30, 2004 'The Incredibles' opened here in Madrid last Friday. This evening, on impulse, I went to check it out. Turned out to be lightly attended -- ten, maybe twelve people scattered around a fairly large theater. A small group, audibly enjoying the film -- so much so that most stayed to the very end, all the way through the credits until the screen went dark and the house lights came up. Afterward, I stepped out into the night, set off toward Gran Vía, one of the city center's main drags. As I approached the corner that gave out onto that avenue, I could see a crowd across the Vía in front of another movie theater. Folks standing about, packed in together under the marquee. Bright lights, police officers, a couple of cop cars parked by the curb, blue rooftop displays flashing. When I hit the avenue, I found a smaller crowd on the near side of the street, staring across at the theater. Above the marquee, three oversized paintings advertised 'National Treasure,' the new Nicholas Cage film. I studied them, I glanced back at the crowd. Looked like I'd stumbled across the premiere -- something that often means big Hollywood stars, this being the capital. I walked along, found space on the curb to stand and watch. A 30-something guy to my left said something, I realized he was speaking to me. "¿Está allí?" he asked in Spanish so thickly-accented I could barely make out the words. "Está Nicholas Cage?" "No sé," I answered. We both stared as several black luxury cars pulled up in front of the theater. "Pues, supongo que sí," I said. "¡Mira!" He said nothing, staring at the scene. Police had stopped all traffic on the avenue, my neighbor suddenly took off, moving through the cars toward the crowd on the other side. A second later, I followed. I weaseled my way in through the people standing under one end of the long marquee, some distance away from the small walkway where Hollywood folk were alighting and moving slowly into the theater. I heard crowd noise, saw what looked like Jon Voight making his way toward the theater entrance with a couple of women whose faces I couldn't see. More noise, then someone who looked like Sean Bean. Things settled down, the film folk moved slowly along. I didn't have a great vantage point, don't generally get off on the celebrity thing. Figured I'd had my fun for the evening, turned around, moved out of the crowd and toward home. A tall, black homeless guy sat against the neighboring building, maybe fifteen feet beyond the edge of the crowd. Mid-thirties, dressed in slightly worn cold-weather gear. Alone, knees up by his chest, staring out at the street, no one paying any attention to him. A upturned hat lay on a small cardbox box in front of him, waiting for someone to drop money into it. I walked past, heard noise from the crowd, turned around and saw that a couple more black luxury cars had just pulled up in front of the theater. Commotion, screaming from women around the cars. Looked like Nicholas Cage might have arrived. The entire crowd surged toward the two vehicles. And amid all the sudden motion and energy, I saw the homeless guy get to his feet, trying to get a glimpse of the arriving stars, his expression suddenly animated. It was a detail that caught me completely by surprise, stopped me in my tracks for a second, one of the most poignant images I've seen in a long, long time. I found myself moving back toward the crowd to see if I could get a glance at the 3-D Nicholas Cage, but couldn't penetrate a crowd that had grown suddenly bigger, more dense and tightly packed. After a moment, I gave up, turned around and started off home again. The homeless guy had resumed his place on the sidewalk up against the next building, sat staring at the sidewalk. I dug some coins out of my pocket, tossed them into his hat as I went by. The evening noise along Gran Vía gradually swallowed up the commotion and lights in front of the theater until all that was left was normal life: people walking, cars passing on the avenue, chilly night air. The last night of November, 2004. Madrid. Madrid, te quiero. rws 5:41 PM [+]
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