#13: Rude Moviegoers
Just... why?
It’s ominous that this is my thirteenth article. Maybe the stars hadn’t aligned that day for a reason…
Anyways, cue to me on a Thursday afternoon. I luxuriously left work early and found myself with an open afternoon. I figured, “Hey. Why not see a movie?” A bounty of options lay before me. I could’ve head to the local chain to see the latest blockbuster, like Twisters (again), Alien: Romulus, or—*sigh—Deadpool and Wolverine. I also had the option to head into Greater Boston to my favorite Coolidge Corner Theater to see what indie or foreign movies they showed. Good One, Between the Temples, and even a rescreening of Heath Ledger’s A Knight’s Tale had an exclusive screening. But one title caught my eye: Dìdi.
I’ve been a sucker for coming-of-age films lately, absorbing the somber Janet Planet, and basking in the beer-sweat drenched glory of Linklater’s Everyone Wants Some. I gravitated towards Sean Wang’s feature debut, especially after the soulful charm of his short doc, Nǎi Nai & Wài Pó, (please watch it on Disney+ if you can). Gods, what a picture.
Low and behold, it played at the small single-screen theater not 15 minutes away from work. A hop and a skip later I sat in the classic, dusty theater in those old seats that annoyingly croak like a damn bullfrog each time you stand for a run to the restroom.
I sat alone in the theater for a while, which pathetically enough, is very appealing to me. Give me that sight and sound, babyyyy! But of course, I arrived early, so my expectations were shattered when *gasp* people drained in. Only a few marched to their seats, largely in the back and sides away from where I sat: center gang rise up.
And then… they arrived.
An older couple chose the row directly behind me to nest. First I thought nothing of it. Like most, they commented on trailers, thinking of what to watch next. It was actually kind of lovely. But when the lights dimmed and the credits started, the menace unleashed.
Like a good horror movie, the build up crept slowly. They joined the collective giggles with everyone else. Their occasional whisper barely reached my ears, so I didn’t mind. But son of a biscuit, as the Chinese dialogue increased, and the one-inch inconvenience of subtitles grew in presence, all hell broke loose.
First it was the phone. Holy cricket, the cell phone. They wouldn’t call someone, mind you. Hell, I don’t even think they used it. The blaring siren of a white screen sat exposed on a lap and lit the palace like a damn disco. I reminded them to turn it off, which they did. But then it exploded again. I don’t think of murder often. This time I was close.
And. They. Did. Not. Stop. Talking.
Whispers? Fuhgeddaboudit. Full blown conversations harassed me like I stepped into a hornets nest. Every word needled into my ears, demolishing my concentration, therefore fondness of the movie.
Now, this theater is nested downtown in an upper-middle class town where I grew up. Being a local nickelodeon that played 1, maybe 2 movies in a given circuit, the gallery is attended by mostly locals. And because I joined a mid-afternoon showing, just before afternoon traffic hit like a bowling ball, people of… other times joined the screening. Like clockwork, the couple behind me engaged in the favorite activity of retirees in a predominantly white, republican neighborhood. Casual racism.
I swear if the runtime were 10 minutes longer these people would be complaining that they didn’t speak “American”. Sneers and disses at culture and attitudes, even food they found different. THE CONSTANT COMPLAINING OF THE SUBTITLES. And the most consistent line in their unending stockpile of napalm: “This is different”, stated in a conniving tone of contempt or disgust.
Soon they discussed possibly leaving early, to which I begged whatever holy: Please! They stayed for the rest of the movie.
Demons, I have a question for thee: Why?
I get that you’d like to fill your time any given day. But must you be a calamitous fiend? So many times in retail, you get fools who think that they spend a few quarters in their pocket that the earn the right to twist rules to their liking and abuse staff and other customers alike.
I mean… do you not have anything other to do besides be a miserable jackass?
Bless the chains and art houses that downright ban cellphone use and actually enforce it. (insert banger Alamo Drafthouse ad for your pleasure)
In moments like these, I get people not going to the theater, choosing instead to wait for digital release. The theater experience sucks sometimes. Depending on where you are, its just too expensive to go on a regular basis. Renovations dealt with most of the infrastructure problems of movie theaters. But at the end of the day, people can just suck.
WHY ARE YOU BRINGING YOUR CRYING DEMONCHILD TO A MOVIE????
Whenever a child enters a theater, I get cold sweats.
It’s a shame. On occasion I’d drive or take the train upwards of 40 minutes to an hour because I’m excited to see a movie that’s only playing at one theater. I know I’m not the only one. All it takes is one entitled moron to tarnish the experience for everyone. You know that feeling you get when that idiot reminds the teacher that the class had homework due? That’s how apocalyptic it feels.
August Wrap Up
Okay, I’m done ranting. Thankfully this nightmare didn’t ruin my entire summer. I’ve had a very fruitful month, especially in the past week.
On too the actual movie I went through this nightmare with. I did something I don’t think I’ve ever done. I walked out the theater, grabbed a sandwich (shoutout Bloomy Rind), and I swiveled right back into the theater for the next showing of Dìdi.
Though the crowd grew in size, my god, was it the most respectful troop I’ve ever experienced a movie with.
Packet to the brim with respectful, tear-inducing nostalgia, Sean Wang’s debut paints a transitory period in American adolescence. Wang treats teenagers with the endearing respect of one who lived through this period himself, and recognizes the very human emotions of experiencing the chaos of early Facebook, MySpace, and prepubescent love and loneliness. Joan Chen, the iconic Twin Peaks actor stole my heart and ripped it to shreds with his reserved, oppressed performance.
I don’t think I’ll ever experience an movie like Sing Sing again. A true tour-de-force testament to perseverance through the godlike power and refuge of art, Sing Sing, led by an ensemble of of actual participants of the Recovery Through the Arts program in prisons across the nation, defy cursed destiny and exemplify the act of liberation of creating art. Each word written, line recited, stroke brushed; each one is an act of revolution. Colman Domingo delivers of his career that most actors could only dream of.
After much anticipation, I finally received the Arrow release of Michael Mann’s Director’s Cut of Blackhat. A notorious box office flop, the release of Blackhat ruined Michael Mann’s career for nearly a decade. Makes sense, considering the opening of Bradley Cooper vehicle American Sniper just railroading the competition. Mann’s bomb recently grew a small, yet devoted cult following, leading to the release of the previously mentioned Blu-ray. And for good reason. I am happy to report that Mann cooked like he never cooked before. He asks a simple question: What if you downloaded a PDF but it was actually malware that blew up a nuclear plant? Seeing the rise of cyberwarfare in current times, and the tangent uprising of tech, Mann used his third eye to portray how a simple misclick can lead to utter chaos and war.
Once again an amazingly written perspective!!