I’ve always loved movies. I remember reading books as a child and thinking…they should just make a movie about this. Like most people with access to unlimited movies, I’ve watched a TON of them. But due to my standing as an elder millennial, I grew up with VHSes (that can’t be right) and DVDs. Which meant, that way-way back in the day-day, movies were a finite resource. So I’d rewatch the movies we owned religiously. Home Alone – I can quote the shit out of it. Mighty Ducks…don’t test me motherfucker.
These days…things are a bit different. I’m not sure anyone growing up with the current structure of access to music, film, television, etc. will experience that. It’s gone from building blocks of the very foundation your personality is built upon to cars simply passing by on the highway. “Did you see that movie?” Yep. Don’t remember it.
You would think a grumpy, old, get-off-my-lawn-you-little-sons-of-bitches, fuck-you-you-can’t-have-my-data, I-still-wipe-my-ass-with-two-ply elder millennial such as myself would LOVE going to the movie theaters. An homage to a simpler time before the Wifi Wars of 2027. A place to go and reconnect with the analog. You might think that.
But you’d be wrong.
I fucking hate going to the movies. Fuck the popcorn. Fuck the red vines, milk duds, sour patch kids, and all that shit. Why don’t you just FUCK MY FACE with a cavity drill. For all you fancy recliner-bullshit-chair-theaters — you’re not my living room, quit acting like you think I’m stupid. Just ‘cause I’m sitting in some sweaty recliner doesn’t mean I’m not sitting next to some mouth-breather.
But I haven’t always been this way. I’m this way for a reason. I’ve seen some shit.
Fast forward to the present. I’m the proud father of a 5-year-old son named Giant. Giant The Hun. Like myself, Giant loves movies. We quote them together. We rewatch the shit out of them. We are both pretty big fans of Pixar. We’ve watched Toy Story too many times to count. We quote the lines at each other and reenact the Woody and Buzz fight under the car at the gas station. I remember my heart melting when we got in an argument and at the tender age of 3, he pointed his finger and said, “You are a toy. You’re a child’s play thing.”
When Toy Story 4 came out, of course we all went and saw it. I was, and it’s embarrassing to admit this, FUCKING JACKED. I hadn’t been to a movie in the theaters since Cars 3 (a gripping tour de force), and I was ready to be wowed.
We went to a movie theater where you can pick your seats. It’s so tempting to just buy out the entire area around you. But that would cost a fortune. Since I’m a good person, and a respectable citizen, do you know what I do? I get to the movies fucking early. I select my seat early. 12:30 start time. I get there at 12. “Oh look – lots of options.” I strategically pick my seat hoping to minimize the chances of people sitting next to me or my family. I order some overpriced shitty food and a Dasani water, and my family and I go and sit in our assigned seats. All is as it should be.
At this point, we’re still about five minutes early, and the lights are still on. The movie “starts” in 3 minutes. I wasn’t born in a fucking barn, so I’m not expecting the MOVIE to start on time, but when it’s 10 minutes past the movie start time, and they’re still playing those stupid Coca Cola quizzes and reminding you that you need to be courteous, I start to get mad. I need to be courteous? YOU ARE 10 FUCKING MINUTES LATE TO YOUR OWN SHOW!
12:45, the previews start. Given that we live in a civilized society, everyone who is here to see the 12:30 screening of Toy Story 4 should be in the theater. In their assigned seats. In a movie theater though, this logic turns to ash. We’re about 20 minutes past the start time. We’re still in previews. People are still trickling in.
It’s around this time that possibly the worst people on Earth enter the theater — let’s call them the Mansons (apologies for any disrespect towards the actual Manson Family). This isn’t a generalization. This actually happened. A family of 4 comes in and one of them proceeds to shine their iPhone flashlights looking for their seats. They find them. And you know what…despite the fact they themselves selected their seats, showed up late, and are deserving of zero good things happening to them, they make a decision. They take their destiny into their own Hands. They look to the sky and raise their middle finger to whatever God you pray to, and they say NO. FUCK YOU. WE HATE THESE SEATS WE PICKED. WE ONLY PICKED THEM BECAUSE THE BETTER SEATS HAD ALREADY BEEN PAID FOR AND SELECTED BY PEOPLE WHO GOT HERE ON TIME. MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH.
So they abandon their self selected assigned seats and go in search of what they feel they deserve. And wouldn’t you know it…they pick the seats in front of me, which to be fair, are still empty. They then start unpacking their own, home brought/snuck in Tupperware snacks (If you’re reading this, devils – YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE). They settle in. And the movie begins.
A few minutes in, the terrible family’s terrible kids start complaining about their terrible ziplock snacks. The terrible kids have a point. There is shushing and arguing and I’m wondering what would happen if I just leaned back and started kicking the shit out of the chairs in front of me. There’s a movie playing, but I’m not enjoying it. I’m not even watching it. I’m just weeping rage.
1:15 pm. The second worst people in the theater enter – let’s call them the Hansons. They are a family of 3 (like my family), except, instead of their 5-year-old, they’ve brought their 17-year-old. And you’ll never guess who is sitting in their seats? YOU GUESSED IT. THE FUCKING MANSON FAMILY. At this point, the Hansons show the Mansons their seat number and you would think the saga has ended.
You. Thought. Wrong.
The Mansons convince the Hansons that there are 3 better seats a few rows in front of them and The Hansons take the bait. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE HAVE CHAOS. At this point, there is no movie. The screen is a black hole and dark matter begins tearing the very laws of nature to shreds. I am (albeit irrationally) seething with anger. I’m giving myself internal pep-talks usually reserved for half time at the Super Bowl: “Life is made of moments, and this is your fucking moment to do something good. Something RIGHT. SOMETHING JUST.” I do nothing.
1:25: What’s that, you say? We have more people shining iPhone flashlights nearly an hour after start time? Of course we do. It’s an elderly couple, with the gentleman using a walker (WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! IT’S TOY STORY 4!). And guess what…the seats that the Hansons just got reassigned to…well those seats are reserved for Handicap people. So the Hansons are homeless. They come back to their original seats. I hear the Mansons actually deploy the line “Well we’ve been here for almost an hour…” I feel like all of my faith in humanity is flatlining. I recall having a mild panic attack. Eventually the Manson’s acquiesce to the Hansons and go sit in their original seats. After this I blacked out. When I came to, Woody and Buzz were saying goodbye to each other. The sentiment was something along the lines of “it’s been a good run pal, but I know we have to go our own separate ways.” How convenient, that was the internal dialogue I was having with myself regarding ever going to the movie theater again.
Look – I know I bag on technology a lot. But I get why people LOVE technology. With technology, the Mansons can sit in any seat they want in the living room. The Hansons can be as late as they want. And I don’t have to know they even exist. If I’m a lizard, the rain forest is thrilling, but nobody ever got snatched out of a tree by a flying tarantula in a fucking terrarium. So is the technology isolating and evil? Or are people just terrible? Or did all of us terrible people just create this evil synthetic shit box screen world to get away from our evil selves?
You know what I think?
Show up on time and sit in your own fucking seats.
Death By Content 