The Theater vs Home Theatre

Although not truly about horror this does apply across all genres. With all the advancements in home theater technology, it’s not surprise that movie theater chains are a little nervous. A BluRay disc on a 52” LCD is much sharper than anything a projector and a 30-foot silver screen can give us. Incredibly powerful stereo equipment complete with up to 7 speakers and a massive sub can pretty accurately (although not completely) mimic a theater’s sound system. And although the seats in most theater chains have grown increasingly more comfortable, they just don’t quite compare to the couch and a giant blanket.

Then add to the mix the other movie-goers, and that should be enough to keep any sane movie buff from ever entering a theater again. I am one who wants to get completely lost in a film. I want to forget that I’m watching a movie, and be completely engrossed in what is happening in front of me. Well, that’s a little hard to do in theaters today. Everything bugs me. Everything.

Of course there’s the ridiculous examples, like the dumb little 16-year old bitch in the row in front of me who feels the need to text. Does she really not realize that in a pitch black theater, even a light as little as your phone screen lights up like a fricken blue spotlight? I was in the theater this weekend, and it was a nightmare. I had this little idiot in front of me. While my initial reaction is to reach over the seat, grab her phone and then throw it as hard as I can into the back of her fat head, I fortunately am not hot-headed enough to do something like that. (I do have some friends who would, though) Then I consider saying something to her. Perhaps something polite, like “Would you mind putting your phone away, please? I’m sorry to be a pain in the ass, but it’s really bright.” Or perhaps I should say what I’m really thinking, something along the lines of, “Hey, fat bitch! Turn your Goddamn phone off and stop being so f*cking rude, you dumb piece of sh*t. Or do you need me to shove it down your fat ass throat so far that next time it rings, the vibration tickles your bladder and makes you wet your skid marked, soiled nasty ass granny panties?” I may have anger issues.

But if I were to say something, it may blow up in my face. She could be one of those bitches with attitude who would turn around and start a fight, thus ruining the movie for others. I don’t want to take the chance, so I don’t say anything. I just keep telling myself, “I swear to God, if she takes it out one more time, I’m going to kick her in the back of the head,” but I never go through with it, even when she texts ten more times. What can I say, I’m a pussy, I guess.

Then there’s the guy who needs to add his own commentary. He needs to point out every plot point, needs to reiterate every joke, comment on when something looks fake, or when he knows something was blue screened, and needs to point out to his date any time he sees a plot twist coming. This dude needs to not be allowed in the theater. I’ve had many-a run in with these douche captains, and none of them ended well. Even when you tell them to shut up, they can’t. It’s a habit, or they don’t even realize they’re doing it. I don’t know, they’re just annoying as hell.

While the chick in front of me texting was getting on my nerves, it was nothing compared to the loud breather beside me. You know what I’m talking about—the person you just want to turn to, slap, and say “Dude! Are you snorting your Pixy sticks, or what?! Breathe out of your f*cking mouth!” And of course once you hear it, it’s all you can concentrate on.

The friend I went with is usually a good movie buddy. However, on this occasion, he broke one of the most important rules of theater-going. If it were up to me, theater seats would be like roller coasters, and a lap bar would come down, holding you in until the film was over. Having to pick up the tub of popcorn off the ground so it doesn’t get kicked over, then pulling your legs up to your chest so someone can walk by drives me crazy. Then you can’t get comfortable, or back into the movie because you know that that person is going to return any second, and you’ll have to move for them again. Stay in your seat. Go to the bathroom before hand, and stay in your damn seat. If my grandpa can make it through Angels and Demons without having to pee, I’m pretty sure you can.

So with so many annoyances at the theater, why do I keep going? If it’s so terrible, why do I keep showing up? Very valid question. The truth of the matter, however, is that I love the theater. Love it. I don’t care if I’d be more comfortable in my living room. I don’t care if I can completely control my experience at home. I just love seeing movies in the cinema. It’s the smell of popcorn, it’s the buzz, the excitement that saturates the air. There’s the honest glee of kids who’ve been waiting for months to see Up; the giddy fifteen-year olds who are sneaking in to see The Hangover; even the elderly couple who are there on their weekly routine, this week seeing My Life in Ruins. It’s one of the only places on Earth where everyone shares a common interest, a common excitement. We all have forked out our hard-earned cash to sit in a dark room for two hours and be transported somewhere else. We want to laugh together, scream together. For a seemingly antisocial act, sitting quietly in a theater with a group of people is very bond-forming. We’re all in this together. It’s completely intangible. Something is just in the air.

So while there are times when I come frighteningly close to actually assaulting someone, I won’t ever stop going to the theater. I’ll deal with the lines, the ridiculous cost of admission ($12.50 where I live!), the stupidly high cost of a fountain soda, the sticky floors, and the annoying patrons. I can’t help it. I’m just in love.