A Movie Premiere That Was Strictly for the Runny-Nose Set

There is something inherently adult about a movie premiere. The red carpet, the shouting paparazzi, the clumps of dark-suited security people, the preening stars, the hovering press. Many are held at the “old Hollywood” theaters in Klieg-lit glamour, and all the big, bad impulses are there in spades--money, sex, envy, vanity, ambition--dripping off the players, lapped up by the onlookers. By the time the movie ends, the evening will have surrendered to night and the after-party, with its own mood of congratulatory decadence.

So a premiere held at 11 a.m. on a Saturday at the Loews in Century City for hundreds of children and their personal assistants (sometimes known as parents) might seem a bit surreal.

Or quite a bit surreal.

To a certain extent, the folks behind the recent premiere of “Thomas and the Magic Railroad” were banking on that being considered a good thing. The movie is an adaptation of the series of stories by the Rev. Wilbert Awdry, and its even more popular series of toys, that revolve around a community of talking trains, serviced by a pint-sized conductor who travels between the train world and the real world by magical means. The multicolored trains all have names and faces and distinct personalities that lead them into various scrapes from which they, usually led by true-blue tank engine Thomas, emerge triumphant. Any interest in a movie with these characters presupposes a healthy sense of whimsy.

But when you attempt to corral two opposing forces--in this case, the self-important posturing of Hollywood and the anxiety-fueled jockeying by vaguely industry-type parents of premiere-entitled kids--whimsy is only going to take you so far.

It might get you past the weather--a homicidal 87 degrees at 10:30. And maybe even the parking, a never-ending subterranean spiral exited only by a series of escalators, some of which were broken. But by the time you explain to that 2-year-old that the swell “life-sized” model of Thomas standing outside the theater is for photo ops, not climbing, you’re going to need a lot more than whimsy.

There it all was, the trappings of a premiere, the red carpet, the flashbulbs, the stars and their hangers-on all struggling a bit to acclimate themselves to the unfamiliar light of midmorning. Meanwhile, children in bright dresses and shorts ran around, shouting, trailed by video-camera-wielding parents. “Honey, honey, right there, on the red carpet. No, no, not that way. Slowly, like a princess.”

Like a pre-K cocktail party. From hell.

Inside the theater, things were better and worse. There was popcorn, drinks and candy. In very cute Thomas cups and boxes. But it was free. And so the concession stand became a scene of the People Who Own Summer Homes Fighting Over Free Food Syndrome that plagues so many events in L.A. The madness was amped even higher because the People in question were fighting for a more primal purpose--their children’s right to free food.

The young woman at one concession stand should have won a medal of honor for her ability to maintain a soft and calm voice when addressing the jostling crowd that included a woman who kept screaming, “Which is the Sprite, which is the Sprite?” (Actually, what seemed an isolated psychotic episode had a kernel of sense--the plastic cups, with solid red lids, contained either Sprite or a virulently red punch that should come with an NC-17 rating.)

As hundreds of parents and kids swarmed toward the two screening theaters, the sound of staff whispering into walkie-talkies added a new level of tension. Apparently, the body-to-seat ratio was going to be very close. Rarely has seat saving so approached being classified as an open act of aggression.

Then, as is absolutely essential with any premiere, the minutes ticked past the screening time. Which is one thing if the theater is filled with buzzing industry types doing that half-squat quarter-turn audience scan. It is quite another if it is the under-10 set wired to within an inch of their lives on flashbulbs and red carpets and free candy and punch. At one point, one group of harried mothers began chanting, “We want Thomas, we want Thomas, start the movie, we have children.”

How to describe the sound of a hundred hyped-up children trapped in a movie theater without a movie? Parental reactions ranged from catatonic disassociation to hand-wringing, child-grabbing flight. For those folks who apparently only go to FAO Schwarz when it is specially opened for them, it was clearly a life-changing experience.

“Who is in charge here?” one male voice wondered querulously. “Someone must be in charge here.”

At last, the film began, and the 2-year-olds were enthralled. By the time it ended, however, the clenched jaws and clipped tones around us seemed to indicate that the adults believed their parental entertainment duties had been filled. For the next three years.

But this was a premiere, and a premiere demands an after-party, no matter what time of day. So off we all went, to a nearby open area in the theater complex, the grown-ups hissing that if they had to wait for anything for more than one minute, they were outta there.

Yet, miraculously, it was a wonderful party. With lots to eat, and lots to do, and all sorts of nifty gifts, including disposable cameras for us Bad L.A. Parents who didn’t bring our video cameras. There were railroader hats the kids could put their names on, Thomas cookies they could decorate, coloring books and postcards, and really cool Mylar balloons. But most important, there was plenty of everything and enough staff to ensure that no child had to wait for anything.

Compared with many after-premiere bashes, where B-list stars can be seen knocking each other down to get to the shrimp plate, it was a model of ebullient decorum. Because this was not a Hollywood party at all. Unlike the premiere, the party was put together byEstyle.com, parent company of babystyle.com and now kidstyle.com, Web sites offering fashions and accouterments for the Thomas set. Headed by a woman with two young children, Estyle seems to understand the demographic a bit better than the movie folks.

They understood how children behave and what parents need--space and help. Hold the red carpet, and the red punch.

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Mary McNamara can be reached at mary.mcnamara@latimes.com.