Turns out, what’s wrong with me is — I cannot go to the movie theatre.
Not that I’m not allowed to. No, that’s not it. It’s that I should not be allowed to because something happens to me on a cellular level when I enter that shielding darkness and stare at that huge screen. I think it’s some kind of hypnosis, some kind of altered state, something with my rods and cones that turns me completely nutso.
Because I literally have palpitations just thinking about the potential rudeness of any moviegoer around me.
In the pre-show semi-darkness, I sit and size people up with a furrowed judgey brow: Are you well-behaved? Are you a nutter? Do you talk loudly? Chew loudly? Rustle your wrappers loudly? Are you likely to sit anywhere too close to me? Maybe right next to me where we will spend the entire movie elbowing each other over the armrest? Because, we can’t have that. I will engage my patented water-spill-on-the-seat trick just to avoid that.
I will go insane.
Like yesterday, a couple wandered in rather late and plopped right in front of us. There were plenty of available seats in the place. But nope. RIGHT in front of us. Oh, and instantly started blabbing their blabs and munching their munchums — LOUD-ly. A split second later, I insisted we move to different seats, thereby cementing this outing as yet another precious memory My Beloved will have of good ol’ easygoing moi. We moved two rows back, leaving the requisite buffer row between us. (In my slim defense, I never move seats more than once. I do have some limits.) But then …. well, I started to worry about other people, newer people, later people, sitting in my buffer row and turning my nice new buffer row into another invasion of my personal moviegoing space.
Look. I know I sound insane. Basically, it boils down to this: I become insane worrying about the potential insanity of others. Which really makes me the most insane of all. I totally get that. But I never, ever get that in the moment. In the moment, I am Mr. Moviegoing Hyde and disturbed on a cellular level and I am not responsible for my actions. But, to bolster my insanity defense here, we always sit in the back of the side sections, never in the plump meaty middle because, well, of the overpopulation of nutters. And I need to do all I can to lessen my exposure to them — like a werewolf and the full moon or a vampire and the sun — so we sit on the sides. And who wants to sit on the sides? People like me, who are in control of their emotions, that’s who. There shouldn’t be a problem, right, because all you crazies want to be crammed in the plump meaty middle leaving me alone on the sides with my fine mental health and all. Well, actually, not alone because poor MB is dragged along like dead weight wherever I need to go to stay sane.
So there we were, re-assed in new seats, with that nice buffer row, and I was still feeling nervous about a potential nutter encroachment on my nice buffer row, so I muttered to MB, reeeal casually, “Heeey, baby, can I have some popcorn?” He passed me the tub, not suspecting, I imagine, that I would begin to strew the popcorn wildly all over the seats and floor in my nice buffer row as an encroachment deterrent against, you know, all the nutters.
“What are you doing??”
“I don’t want anyone to sit there and I don’t have any water! Will they give me a free cup of water out front?”
Heavy sigh.
“Honey, I don’t know.”
I jumped up and climbed over him — because I am Mr. Moviegoing Hyde in this moment, remember — and dashed to the concession stand to recon the area for any stray, cuplike devices. I found none and rushed back, muttering under my breath, “Well … I think the popcorn should do the trick ….” as I climbed back over MB.
We sat for a few moments in relative stability, watching the ads on the screen. Well, one of us was watching the ads; the other was swiveling her head this way, that way, a perfectly normal person scanning the area for nutters.
Just then, a man across the aisle in the semi-darkness started playing with his Blackberry or Burberry or whatever the heck those things are. Alert, Tracey! Beep-beep-beep! Obviously one of those worrisome nutters! I mumbled to MB in a steely, Clint Eastwood-like voice, my lips against his shoulder, “I swear ….. I swwwear … if he doesn’t stop when the movie starts, I’m throwing popcorn at him.”
“What?!?”
I kept on, all the while staring at Berry Face in the darkness. Staring the stare of death and popcorn flinging.
“Or maybe some ice cubes from your drink,” I breathed.
“WHAT??!”
“Yeaah. Ice cubes, that’s gooood ….” Sanity is now just a dot in the distance.
“Uhm, honey …” His voice was calm, sympathetic, and it washed warm all over me, a soothing flow.
I stared at the floor, counting the stray bits of popcorn that didn’t make it to the buffer row.
“I have movie theatre rage,” I mumbled while plucking buffer row popcorn from my lap.
“I know,” said MB, all matter of fact, as he put his arm around me. “It’s a real problem.”
My head slumped to his shoulder. “Will you still love me when the movie is over?”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I know so many people like you. Usually their most hated people are gum chewers. My mom is one of those. She’ll stand up in a theatre, turn around and ask loudly, “Will you puhleeze stop smackin’ that gum or I can stop your smackin’ right now.” Then she sits back down and feels no remorse, nor the imaginary arrows being chunked at the back of her head. I feel MB’s pain.
Well, um, thank God there are people like you who CAN feel the imaginary arrows being chunked at the back of their heads, to counterbalance all the remorseless asses such as moi.
Oh, and when I read your comment to MB just now, he said, “Yes. My life with you is a living hell. Whhhite mannn’s burden.”
What I think you have is “Movie Theater Oscar Madison Syndrome.” Some shrink will discover it and cite Tracey as Exhibit A. Your messiness in theaters is painfully obvious, for one thing, but you also apparently think of all the strangers in the audience as Felix.
“Can’t take it anymore, Felix. I’m crackin’ up. Everything ya do irritates me. When you’re not here, everything I know you’re gonna do when you GET here irritates me.”
Sigh ….
Think I’ll stick with what I originally wrote, Dave, thanks.
Tracey I get you, however I’d handle it a bit different. If the blabbers sat in front of me I would have started kicking their seats. When they turned to ask me to stop I would have said “you stop and I’ll stop, blabbers!” And Berry-boy get’s Ju-Ju’s in the back of the head. I am a movie Nazi. There are rules people. Rules. And if you smoked before you came in you WILL not sit next to me.
PS: MB you are a good man.
Tracey – I am with you 100% . I love the phrase “potential insanity” hahaha It’s so true! I sit there worrying about the POTENTIAL INSANITY of those around me. Like: okay, you 2 chatterboxes … it’s okay that you talk thru the previews (well, it’s really not okay, but I cut slack there …) but you had BETTER shut your yaps when the movies begin.
And you know that glorious feeling you get when you go to a movie and you realize that the audience around you is exactly like you?? I LOVE it when that happens. Then if there’s one or two morons who misbehave or talk or whatever – then the rest of the joint is WITH you in your campaign to shut them up. I love that feeling.
I told a guy next to me to put his blackberry away or move his seat.
I am ruthless with the idiots who take their children into R-rated movies, thereby ruining my ADULT TIME. Please. Leave the R-rated spaces for grown-ups. You have a child. Make the sacrifice that that requires and RENT your R-rated movies. I’m a grown-up with no kid and I like to see my nudity, my violence, my slasher gore without the yapping of a toddler nearby. Thanks.
And I have never thought of creating a buffer zone around me … It’s an excellent idea.
*re-assed*
most important fact omitted. What movie did you see?
She can’t remember now. =)
Personally, I think the story is the story, you know? This is Everymovie, and Tracey is our exasperated Typical Patron, who treats the movie house as a theater, and the players with the same respect they should get face to face.
I’m sure you also clap during the credits if you liked the movie, which I think is totally cool. I like to stay through to the end, too, and I love it when the filmmaker tosses in something extra, like the Marauder’s Map credits from “Prisoner of Azkaban,” or the whole epilogue with Ed Rooney in “Ferris Bueller.”
Nightfly – I LOVE it when an audience bursts into applause as the credits roll (especially if I agree that the movie warrants applause) … The whole thing, for me, about going to the movies is that it’s really exciting to sit surrounded by strangers in this huge venue, getting ready to be entertained, or swept away, or whatever (as Tracey beautifully expressed at the beginning of her post – and I can’t understand why anyone would think she had “omitted” anything!!) But it’s that sense of community that you can’t get when you’re at home. Of course when you’re at home you will also not have random insane people chatting on their cell phone during Sophie’s Choice … but that’s the gamble. So it’s great when you can feel an audience has truly come together, you’re all there for the same reason – and that applause is totally cool.
If anyone sees Rocky Balboa – make sure to watch the credits – which are a blast!! – and also … the very very last shot before the screen goes to black. I am SO glad I hung out in the theatre to watch the entire thing … a beautiful ending.
I will move if a gum-chewer sits behind me. In fact, I make it a point to sit on the very back row so that NO ONE can sit behind me.
People in the front don’t bother me as much, as we now have one of those “stadium seating” theaters and they’re right at my foot level.
Chick Voice — Oh, haha! It was “300” … minutes long.
Loveliest population of 6-pack abs I’ve ever seen, I swear, but, for me, just one long gory battle scene with sporadic interruptions by Ru Paul or someone, I think.
sheila — We must go to a movie together someday. I don’t really care what the movie is, I just want to see what kind of moviegoing shield we could arrange around us if we put our heads together.
I haven’t yet found anything that beats the water trick, though. Scares people, but doesn’t stain the seats. Cleans ’em up, even.
I am nothing if not a humanitarian.
Oh, I am so with you. It’s as though you were describing me at the movies. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to watch a movie in a theater full of people like us? Then nobody would misbehave and we could all enjoy the movie.
Right on, Tracey.
For me, it’s not enough that the theater asks moviegoers to silence their cells and pagers. I want them to come out and say, “If that message is so important to you, maybe you should be somewhere else right now.” I’m sick of the constant checking–it’s like indoor fireflies or something when that distracting glow comes up.
I just think it’s so sweet the way MB takes all of this theatre rage in stride. Move seats again? No problem, honey.
I’m going to a movie tomorrow night. I’ll have to keep this conversation in mind. At what point do I get annoyed at my fellow moviegoers? Am I will to set up a perimeter or re-ass myself? These are the deep, thoughtful questions that I will be pondering over tomorrow as I anticipate my movie-going experience.
Kathi — Water trick, definitely.