Hardly any spots for parking. And with good reason as the tale will show. Movie Rider keeps a tidy and unclean premise. No customers to speak of with only the lost trying to find their way out from the cold of the mountains. Small arcade of machines and the depravity of waking up for another day thick in the linoleum. Mixing both disbelief and cunning, the operators of the snake oil whiplash operation find it hard to keep to themselves their disdain with life, the "theatre" and dealing with people in general.
None more so than the junior of the staff. Having to leave the front counter and lead the way toward the seats - in essence doing his job - utters much venom and hate. Cold, surly and wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else. Sentiments to match. An audible, "I can't believe it" as he walks away tipping out his attitude to show for the rest of the 20 or so minutes through the doors.
Moving theatre, or motion seat theatre, is basically watching a movie on-screen as the seats move back and forth and tilting side-to-side, in unison - ideally - to create an experience of being inside. Adding the dimension of the physical body flop to the eyeballs' view.
The "New movies" on the banner is at least 20 years old
Heaving hard to the right at rest position, the capsules make climbing in an effort in and of themselves. Handles by the thighs get their dig on as the neck strains to keep from flopping to slip a disc of the vertebrae. All before the first screen even starts.
Flashing large across the scope, a waiting DVD player title card blips about the edges of the screen. It's all so very outside the inside. No immersion problems here. Lacking enthusiasm and vigour, the teenager behind the console limps his flaccid tone to rev up one decibel point below to run the DVD player.
Despite the promise of something, the first movie is a throwback to the late 80s. Boxy polygons of pixellations large and clumsy. Roller coaster ride in the sky. Dire Straits' "Money For Nothing" back when computer generated imagery was all brand new. Green voids the sight of grass below the rails. Arriving immediately to the pocket of dwindling cash, pain immeasurable.
Snap! The seats throw passengers to the left with a hard jolt. Out of sync with the playing film. Timing fails Milli Vanilli as each corner and every long straight before a turn throws a massive force in order to either leave you with whiplash or a dent in the side of the head. A body thrashing with intent to bruise and break.
Pay attention. The more you find yourself keeping from bleeding your cranium, the more obvious the wonder right before your eyes. Elementary dear patrons. Right? Who knows. Guessing is as good as having bats come down on all the limbs as the fire of the nearby drums flicker in the pale moonlight.
Entertainment by violence at its most meagre. Films two, three and four suck more and more out of the air. One roller coaster ride after another. One as wood and another in the space of the stratosphere. Each movie stepping further and further away from any kind of connective adventure.
Loud and obnoxious techno soundtrack strips another layer of the experience away from the visual and physical to expound the collective as lesser parts of an uninviting whole. Cohesion is clearly across the road watching the Dixie Stampede.
Can you hear the groans? Not from pain. Instead from the droll of the dreary. Of the weak and weary. Awake now to sleepy. End the day already. Even the operator wants out. Out now. Out and not back ever again.
When looking for this theatre down the main strip, just drive along. Far better attractions line the Pigeon Forge parkway down in Tennessee.
This ramshackle joint is no longer in operation.
Reviewed on Tuesday, 23 December 2008