The Transcendent Joy of Seeing "The Golden Girls" on the Big Screen
Seeing my favorite show in a theater gave me a greater appreciation for its unique brilliance.
When I heard that The Golden Girls was going to be shown on the big screen in select theaters, I have to say that I had some mixed feelings. Yes, anything that elevates the public profile of my favorite series is always a cause for celebration, but I wasn’t convinced that a sitcom from the 1980s would look right on a big screen. I worried that, perhaps, this translation to a new medium would somehow change the viewing experience for me, and not for the better. What if I started noticing things that weren’t meant to be noticed? What if the image quality was so shabby that it looked, simply, bad? And then, of course, there was also the price associated: did I really want to pay $30 for my boyfriend and I to go to the theater to see episodes that we could watch at home?
Finally, though, the lure was too much to resist. Aside from everything else, I couldn’t bear the thought of having my Golden Girls superfan badge being taken away for not going to see it, and so Aaron and I schlepped our way to the theater last night, settled down, and prepared to laugh.
Which we did. A lot. In fact, it soon became clear to me that going to the movie theater to see The Golden Girls was a very wise decision, indeed.
To begin with, seeing the girls up there on the big screen gave me an even greater appreciation for just how masterful their performances were. From the very first moment that the characters appear in the pilot, it’s clear that we’re dealing with four of the finest actresses to have graced the small screen. It’s not just that they all have a firm command of the physical space--whether that’s Bea Arthur’s striding through the kitchen declaiming about the folly of 1980s youth or Estelle Getty’s marching into the house like the owns the place--though all four obviously know how to make the most out of their surroundings. It’s their faces that really stand out. Obviously, everyone knows that Bea Arthur was the absolute master of a killer glare, but it’s also necessary to recognize Rue McClanahan’s equally masterful performance in this first episode, particularly once she learns that her beloved Harry was a bigamist. For a moment, she simply stares out the door, her gaze fixed on some other place--imagining, perhaps, a better world, one in which the man she loved wasn’t a liar--and the anguish and longing on her face is palpable. Certainly, you can recognize it even on the small screen, but in theatrical dimensions it’s even more obvious just how wrenching this performance is.
Speaking of the pilot...for a long time now I’ve had something of an ambivalent relationship with the first season. Yes, there are some standouts--including “The Flu,” which was also part of the theatrical run--but I find the episodes rather hit-and-miss, the comedy beats not always landing, and Rose’s tendency to be more prudish than naive rather difficult to fully enjoy. For a time, this extended to the pilot, but watching it in a theater setting allowed me to view it in an all-new way, and it really hit me how absolutely brilliant it is. All of the essential pieces are there--the chemistry among the four leads, the snappy dialogue, the seamless segue between moments of pathos and comedy--and they work. It’s no wonder that the executives at NBC realized that they had a hit on their hand. The only sad part is that gay cook Coco was cut (though in hindsight that was definitely a good decision).
And then there’s the communal experience of seeing the series in a room of strangers. To be sure, there weren’t that many people in the theater (I live in a small town and, well, COVID). However, those that were there clearly enjoyed themselves, and my partner and I weren’t the only ones laughing our heads off. In fact, there was an older woman several seats ahead of us who was, it was clear, having the absolute time of her life, laughing with such delight that it was hard not to feel caught up in her enthusiasm. In fact, my boyfriend and I spoke to her afterwards, and we shared, for just a few moments, our mutual love and appreciation for The Golden Girls and the way that it provided solace for us in our darker moments of our lives. She also remarks that, as someone who had recently turned 60, the series was a reminder that life doesn’t end just because you get older.
For the most part, watching TV is a rather solitary experience for many of us. Yes, we may have our family with us, but it lacks the sense of community that has long been a part of the theatrical experience. Watching The Golden Girls with others and hearing their laughter reminded me, in a visceral way that watching it on Hulu or on DVD never has, that there are a lot of people out there for whom the series continues to have a lot of meaning. And, just as importantly, it retains its humor, even though over 30 years have passed since it aired its first episode (and it’s been almost 30 years since it went off the air in 1992).
Furthermore, knowing that this theatrical experience was being shared by hundreds (perhaps thousands) of people across the country heightened this sense of community. In the past several years I’ve made some very special connections on Twitter with other members of The Golden Girls fandom, and I knew that many of them had either gone to the previous Tuesday’s screenings or were, like me, sitting in a theater sharing the same laughs as I did, whether at Rose’s greatest failure (not winning Butter Queen because of churn tampering) or Blanche trying to pass herself as Angie Dickinson. It was energizing, almost transcendent, a moment of pure joyous fandom.
Even now, after so many years as a fan, I continue to find The Golden Girls a source of pleasure, of solace, and of joy. Seeing it in a theater added a new dimension, allowing me to simply immerse myself in this fictional world, to feel, if just for a bit, what it might be like to share a space with four of my favorite fictional characters.