"Big Americans"

Last night Keith and I went to see a film at Lumiere cinema. It's a nice little art house cinema just two blocks from our current, still temporary apartment (the one in which we have to climb a ten foot ladder in order to get into bed). By all reports, this cinema is about the most exciting cultural activity that Maastricht has to offer. It is important to note, however, that at least in our eyes, this should not be interpreted as a criticism of Maastricht. After all, when we were reminiscing about our lives back in New York while we waiting for the film to begin, we were bemoaning the void that has been created by the absence of readily available good pizza (which is to say, ridiculously greasy pizza) rather than the absence of ready access to MOMA. So what if you can't see "Bicycle Wheel" or "Fountain" whenever the urge strikes, if only you could get a coke and slice at 2 am for two bucks.

This, of course, brings me to my main point. But before I get there, let me share a couple of preliminary observations. These observations are of course entirely tangential, so feel free to skip ahead if you're dying to see where the pizza theme is headed. However, for those of you who may at some point consider going to see a film in the Netherlands, I will share with you some observations which are either universally true and thus of crucial importance or they are entirely idiosyncratic, relating only to this particular cinema, and thus completely irrelevant. But of course, the writers of this blog clearly do not fear the latter, so here goes.

First, those of you who have ever been to the movies in North America are no doubt familiar with the infamous concession stand. Having just paid probably close to $25 to get in the door, you are immediately confronted with a greasy, slightly stale and sickly sweet smell. Allegedly, this is the smell of food. For another 10 bucks you can buy a vat of soda and a tub of chemically infused popcorn, which will leak grease onto your lap, and bring it with you to your seat. Against all odds, most of us at some point have or even regularly do partake. At Lumiere, on the other hand, it is a different story. NO ONE EATS IN THE THEATRE. That's right, it wasn't a typo: you actually can't eat and watch a film at the same time. I can only assume that this is the effect of an institutionalized separation of forms of consumption. It is the effect of the formal separation of food and film, if you will. So instead, there is a cafe in the building where you can get a drink or a snack either before or after watching the film. For only two euro, for example, you can enjoy a nice glass of terrible red wine and discuss the film that you just watched with your companion, namely Keith. You can't get popcorn and though you can try to order a martini, you probably won't get that either. But it is is the kind of cafe that you might just seek out independently of going to see a film, unlike in North America where if you went to the movies just for the food and the ambiance, you'd be crazy.

This leads me to my second observation. Once you take your seat at the theatre, you can set your purse or bag or even your jacket on the ground. The force of this second observation may not have registered yet, so let me just repeat it: you can put something on the FLOOR that you don't plan to leave there once the film is over. In other words, the absence of the vats of soda and barrels of greasy popcorn contributes to a less disgusting atmosphere to such an extent that one could put his or her jacket on the ground and wear it again. This can only mean one thing, namely that the Dutch value cleanliness above being able to eat constantly. Clearly, then, we are indeed in a strange and foreign land. I will try to tolerate this cultural difference and not desecrate the space with high-fructose corn syrup, though it is unfathomable to me.

On that note, then, let me now return to the central occasion for this post, which is the topic of pizza. This blog might provide an opportunity for us to reflect on subtle cultural differences that become visible while living outside of North America. It could be the occasion to think more critically about our cultural, social and national identities. Or we could simply feed into and reproduce caricatures of these identities. Perhaps in the future there will be time for the former, for now let's enjoy the latter.

To this end, I would like to bring a commercial to your attention. Unless you watch a lot of Dutch television, you probably haven't seen it. It is a commercial for a product by Dr. Oetker for something called BIG AMERICANS. I have posted a link to the commercial, which you will no doubt want to watch for yourself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPP5x4PEjx8

There are obviously many things which deserve mention, but I will just select my personal favorites. First, I am particularly fond of the fact that he cuts the pizza using the spur from his cowboy boots (and of course he is wearing them despite having just gotten out of the shower). I also like the choice of music in the background, the generic pop-country soundtrack. Both of these details clearly reflect a sustained investigation of American culture. Above all, though, I like the fact that the product is called BIG AMERICANS. Not "the big American" or even "big American" but rather "big Americans." This name seems to designate the effect of consuming the pizza rather than the style of the pizza itself. In fact, it's not a thick crust pizza, its a slap in the face from the doctor himself. The best part, though, is that the joke is ultimately on him. After all, once the cowboy picks up the slice, the illusion is gone. You call that a slice Oetker? I'll show you a slice. Where's the closest original famous Ray's around here?