Going to the Movies: A Fine American Tradition

I went to see the new Wes Anderson movie, 'Darjeeling Limited,' at one of the only independent movie theaters in the greater Boston area. I'm still not sure what I think of the movie, but the act of going to the movies brought up a lot of thoughts about just that, going to the movies.

The first part of going to the movies is picking the movie, a process that is often easier said than done. When there's a group of four friends going, usually three out of the four agree on a particular movie. But that fourth prick of a friend always has to make things complicated by saying something like, 'actually I read bad reviews.' No you didn't. If anything, you googled the movie, went to the first second-rate movie website you found, read the first unenlightened opinion by an over-critical hack, and took that as the word of God handed down to us mortals to warn us of the 90 minutes of hell that await us should we be so foolish as to see the particular movie.

Anyways, so that fourth 'friend' will pout and make a fuss about why the review he read is more valid than the reviews and opinions the other four friends have heard. He'll say something passive-aggressive like 'fine, I'll see it, but don't say I didn't warn you if it's bad.' What that really means is, 'if it's great I'll say it was okay, if it's okay I'll say it was bad, and if it's bad, I'll rub it in your faces like the self-righteous asshole I am.' Happens every time. Sometimes I'm even that prick. Everyone is once in a while.

But alright, let's assume you make it past the selection process. The friend who assumed the role of driver for the movie event will then be delayed by at least ten minutes every time without fail. You'll get a nice variety of excuses, like "my parents insisted at that moment on having a heart-to-heart talk with me that couldn't wait another minute," or "I had to wait for my sister to come back with the car." But the truth is usually something more along the lines of, "there was a sick shark special on Discovery Channel and a seal was getting tossed around like a bloody rag doll and I lost track of time." Those specials are highly hypnotic and can entrance even the most well-meaning driver, even when he's already fifteen minutes late in picking up his friends.

Now you've arrived at the theater and spent ten minutes finding parking. After all four of you instantaneously expelling from your brains all information relating to the location of the car in the enormous parking lot, you walk into the theater, the aroma of old popcorn grease wafting into your nostrils. You check the screen that shows the movie times and yell at the friend who told you all the wrong time. Hopefully he erred on the better side and you still have a little time before the movie. Hopefully the movie is also not sold out. I challenge you to tell me anything more disappointing than finding out the movie you got off the couch and got dressed to go see is sold out.

When it comes time to buy tickets, most people revert to their inner sheep and scuttle into the long line that snakes back and forth before the ticket counter. It seems the general population has seen the credit/debit card ticket machines over to the side, considered the time it would save them to buy tickets that way, and decided to go with their initial instinct to wait on the long line unnecessarily. "Yeah, I heard 'bout them machines where ya touch the screen and buy yer tickets with a credit card, 'n it saves ya a bunch a time. But that's just not me, ya know? This is how ma daddy bought movie tickets, and his daddy before him. I figure, why change now?"

After you get your tickets, there is the inevitable purchasing of snacks. I've gotten so accustomed to the major movie theater chains that when I get to the front of the snack line, I'm almost offended if they don't offer a family-size bucket o' popcorn. Even if I just ate a full meal, I must get at least a slightly-unnecessarily-large bag of popcorn. Lately I've been trying to limit the degree of nausea and self-loathing I feel during the movie snacking experience by buying a bottle of water instead of the usual gallon of sugardrink. The bottle of water is too big also, but having to pee really bad is better than getting diabetes in two hours.

With my $15 snack and drink in hand, it's time to find the specific theater my movie is playing in. Just like with the location of the parking spot, we all immediately forget which theater the movie's in after the miserable ticket-tearer teeny bopper looks at our tickets and tells us. My friends and I will wander around like lost puppies, forgoing the conventional wisdom of looking at our damn ticket stubs and instead hoping to just stumble upon the correct theater. After a few unnecessary minutes of searching, we enter the theater.

First you must walk to the center aisle and stand there like a jackass while your eyes adjust to the darkness. During this time, you feel like everyone in the theater is staring at you and judging you silently from the shadows. That's because they are. Finally someone from your group spots four empty seats nestled conveniently in the exact middle of the row. Hopefully the movie has already started, making your fellow movie patrons extra cheery as they are forced to stand up to let your late asses sidestep apologetically past them, spilling popcorn on them and brushing your butt against their crotches. Once you sit down, you must fumble to find the cup holder, then struggle for five minutes to take your coat off and put it comfortably behind you without knocking over your or your neighbors' drinks or elbowing them in the face. I usually give up and just keep my coat on my lap, regretting every second of it for the entire duration of the film.

Watching the movie is the only easy part of the process. Except for the occasional friend who is not familiar with any common film conventions that are used to move along the plot and foreshadow what's to come and thus must ask you for an in-depth explanation of every scene, I love watching movies.

What I hate more than any aspect of going to the movies is those assholes who feel the need to let an inanimate screen know just how much they loved the movie by applauding when the credits start to roll. Hey dumbasses, in case you're not familiar with how this goes, those actors (whose cellulite you've bought magazines to see) at some point in the past got together with a director, a producer, and a bunch of other people and they created a film. This film was then edited, and a series of watered-down, Wonderbread trailers were shown to the public to get the robotic masses to go see it. What you just saw here in this theater was that film. The actors are not here to hear and appreciate your applause. They are across the country, and have already made two equally terrible movies since they finished this one. So by applauding after the movie, the only people with which you are sharing your feelings about this movie are your fellow movie-watchers. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that I don't give a crap what you thought of the movie. Especially when we just finished watching Epic Movie (Yoni and I sadly waited five minutes before walking out of that Oscar-winner. A part of me died during those few minutes).

After spitting on the faces of everyone who worked on the movie by deciding to leave as soon as the credits start, it's time to revert back to a five-year-old and leave all your trash on the floor as you walk out of the theater. It's amazing how many of us do this, people who wouldn't do that anywhere else. I guess the movies just bring out the best of us. We spend too much money, stuff our fat faces with grease-laden junk food washed down with a gallon of liquid candy, sit on our fat asses for two hours amazed by flashing lights and loud noises, then leave a sticky mess of cardboard and crumbs behind us for some absolutely miserable janitor to come clean up. It's almost as American as Nascar.