I live by a code — many codes in fact. If a driver pauses to let you into the traffic flow, by God, you give that person a “thank you” wave. If you accidentally dial a wrong number, be a man or whatever Wendy Williams is and apologize to the person on the other end of the line.
While it’s impossible to believe all of humanity will ever develop a singular belief system, there is one thing all sane people from the Toulambi Tribe to the White House know: You need to shut up in a movie theater.
For years, people have been wondering why box office numbers are down. Some say it’s because the quality of mainstream movies is off. Others say it’s the proliferation of services that allow people to watch movies in the comfort of their homes. I say these theories are symptoms of a bigger problem.
The problem? People don’t know how to act in a movie theater anymore.
Why would anyone want to pay $7 to $12 to go sit in a dark room full of drooling knuckle-draggers who act as if they’ve never had first-hand experience with furniture before?
How about the couple that’s been together all day, yet wait until they’re in a movie theater to start hashing out their marital issues via a series of loud, Dr. Phil-esque conversations? Lord help us all if this unholy union has already produced offspring, for they will undoubtedly be allowed to incessantly caterwaul while the movie is playing.
I’ve repeatedly written to my congressman asking him to introduce a law that would allow moviegoers to pummel, subdue and remove people who disrupt the movie viewing experience for others.
To his credit, the congressman wrote me back. He said he appreciated my initiative but thought it would be unfair to single out the hammerhead section of the population. He also noted these people made up most of the voting bloc, so I guess you gotta dance with who brought you.
Before the politically correct crowd began their quest to ban testosterone, it was socially acceptable to pour soda on the head of anyone caught yakking their head off during a movie. I’ll admit that on more than one occasion, I’ve thrown ice and/or roofing nails at people in movie theaters who thought they were in a public speaking course.
In college, one of our professors told a student who was nervous about speaking before the class to imagine she was in a movie theater; it calmed her right down.
With all the hoodoo going on with the IRS and little G-men hiding under the sink with a microphone, why am I so fixated on people acting like twits at a movie theater? It’s because I’ve broken one of my codes and agreed to accompany some friends to a screening of the new “Man of Steel” movie this week.
Before you folks with the Lois Lane tattoos and Jimmy Olsen hair weaves get your Underoos in a knot, I have nothing against superhero movies. OK, honestly I could care less about them, but there are plenty of things I enjoy that most of the population would yawn at, so I have no qualms with you. The way I see it, anything that helps you get out of your own head for a few hours and helps stimulate the economy is a great thing.
I was into the Superman movie franchise back when Christopher Reeve and Richard Pryor were in the mix. I had a Superman lunch box in grade school, and whenever I sat at a table with someone who had that school lunch/tater-tot shaped okra on their plate, I’d pretend the okra was kryptonite.
Anyway, my buddy Prozac owes me a few shekels so he offered to pay my way into the movie as recompense. I told him I wasn’t really into big movies with lots of ‘splosions and whatnot, but when he offered to throw in an LTD 225-sized bucket of popcorn and a drink big enough to swim in, I agreed to his terms. If nothing else I could have a good time making inappropriate noises during the movie’s quiet moments*.
(*Note: Replicating flatulence noises during a boring movie is not considered boorish behavior and is encouraged. Raspberries are always funny and are encouraged. If at any point Clark Kent holds his stomach, you’d better look out.)
Since this little expedition has been thrown together, Free Press Managing Editor Bryan Hanks has been added to the guest list. There’s only one thing that keeps Hanks from being a perfect moviegoer: The man is a Twit, and by that I mean he loves Twitter.
On more than one occasion, I’ve caught the man tweeting during weddings and funerals. Most recently while attending a bris, Hanks tweeted, “That’s gotta hurt” to his thousands of online followers. The rabbi threatened to make it a double ceremony if Hanks didn’t knock it off — no pun intended.
To all you bone-headed, dopey, cloddish nitwits out there, if someone “shushes” you during a movie, they’re not trying to violate your rights. What they’re trying to do is let you know that you’re acting like a lobotomized squirrel. Just take a deep breath, realize the earth doesn’t revolve around you, and SHUT UP.
Enjoy the show.
Jon Dawson’s columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at 252-559-1092 or Jon.Dawson@kinston.com. Purchase music, books and idiot repellent at jondawson.com.