On our date this weekend, I noticed that Dutch and I were the youngest couple in the movie theater by quite a bit. It seems to be a trend with us. We go to the cinema with retirees. Maybe this is because we like seeing art films? I don’t know.
Art house moviegoers are mostly quiet and respectful of the film-watching experience. They are people who want to watch the movie in peace, like us. I need two hours every week where where no one is climbing on me, where I do not have to clean up a lake of urine from the floor, and where everybody’s neuroses are silenced when I switch my phone to mute.
I need to watch someone else’s story instead of slogging through my own.
We see blockbusters and other movies in wide release too, which means that sometimes we sit in a packed theater next to loud talkers.
When we saw The Help, the guy next to me kept asking his wife what was happening. She would stage whisper back, although from her explanations, I could tell that she didn’t know what she was talking about. At one point, when a character was crouched and bloody, huddled on the bathroom floor, the guy asked, “What’s happening?” in a low gravelly voice.
“Suicide,” came the stage whisper for the entire theater to hear. And then, when she realized her mistake, “Uh…um…I mean miscarriage.”
When we saw The Book Thief, the man next to me would mutter things like, “good luck with that” and “this isn’t going to turn out well” to the movie screen. He also sighed loudly and sadly whenever something tragic happened. In The Book Thief, lots of tragic things happen, so the sighs kept coming. He also repeatedly tried to put his drink back in the cup holder of our shared armrest, but would only succeed in setting it on my leg.
Silver lining: Loud Talker with Drink did add some comic relief to an otherwise deeply sad story. And there were no lakes of urine for me to clean up.