March 2003: Vol. 82, No. 2

My movie date with Munson

by Rachel Lianna Smith

kay, get the picture. I walk into a dimly lit movie theater, my eyes having trouble recognizing anyone, and suddenly there he is . . . wearing a baseball cap and sitting possessively in the middle of a long, empty row, rustling a bag of red Twizzlers.

I hurry over, apologize for my tardiness, and sit down next to the legendary voice of the Bulldogs, who apparently has a hankerin' to be Roger Ebert when he's not being Larry Munson.

We chat for a while, and the sometime film critic recounts the history of the Munson movie club. Started more than a decade ago when he still lived in Atlanta, it moved with Munson when he immigrated to Athens in '97. His initial movie pals were mostly waitresses from Bennigan's and Chili's, but now the group is almost exclusively UGA students.

"We started a policy last summer of girls bringing dates," says Munson, lest enquiring minds misinterpret his motives. And he really does review the films on his morning sports reports. Tonight's flick is "Adaptation," and three students have just taken seats on the other side of Munson. As the theater darkens, Beth Tamboli hurries in next to me, shivering from the cold weather and dragging boyfriend Jake along with her. Munson leans towards them with concern.

"Hold two, Jake," he says, expecting more club members will need to find seats in the crowded theater. "It's hard," he says, turning to me. "We might just have to run somebody off!"

Munson's movie-goers see one and sometimes two movies every weekend, usually on Saturday, and he pays for the tickets out of his own pocket. Beth met Munson last fall at a football party, where he enlisted her in the movie club. They saw "Frida," which earned producer-star Salma Hayak a Golden Globe nomination—but Munson confessed to Beth that he wasn't excited about seeing it.

"Look at all the women watching this movie," he said. "That's never a good sign."

At "Adaptation," two older women try to slip into our row. Munson peers over. "Poor Jake," he chuckles. "He's trying to hold them."

The movie begins, with much-acclaimed performances by Nicolas Cage and Meryl Streep. I sneak a glance at Munson's face several times, and the creases in his face get deeper and deeper. As the end title and credits roll, our group congregates for a post-mortem in the lobby, comparing "Adaptation" to the high-scoring films of last week, including "Antwone Fisher."

Everyone expresses disappointment, giving scores that dip below three on a scale of 10. Munson exits the theatre shouting, "Sorry about the movie, guys!" He has promised to write a three-minute review for his radio broadcast, which I catch before dawn the following Monday morning.

Munson's world-weary voice crackles over the radio, recounting NFL playoff vignettes and other sports intrigues. Then he abruptly switches from sports to film:

"Did you see the young Chinese kid the other night going against Shaq? Our movie group got stung Saturday afternoon badly, when we all saw the one movie we had skipped a week ago. It's a goofy thing that goes down a couple of short roads, turns back, then vanishes in some unexplained stuff near the end in a different direction.

Now, Summer, who will argue with a wall, tried to lift things up a little when she realized everybody was ripping the film to shreds. Summer tried to go 5 and a half; I would have said 2. Man, I think it's bad. We do not recommend 'Adaptation.' We all felt that it let us down. Maybe we should just quit worrying about bad films and start praying for recruiting . . . Larry Munson, inside on sports."

I'm not sure how "Adaptation" and college football recruiting fit together—particularly at the crack of dawn—but they do in Munson's world.

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