It seems to me that if you’re going to take a kid to a movie, you really should make sure he or she has duct tape over his or her mouth. Granted, duct tape is easily removed, if somewhat painfully, so the next logical step is to tie their hands down to the seat. Not content to leave well enough alone, I propose you then put a ball gag in your own mouth because you obviously can’t keep your big trap shut in the middle of a movie. Granted, it’s a Tony Scott movie, so your attention span has to be equivalent to a bumblebee on heroin for you to really and truly appreciate it. Still, it’s clear you cannot be trusted in a public theatre to allow other patrons to enjoy the film in silence. Your son or daughter has inherited your irritating inability to allow that golden silence to bloom and grow–instead they mimic your brainless chatter. It’s not their fault. But I didn’t pay $7.50 to hear you and your kid discussing the intricacies of a negligible plot point that happened thirty minutes ago.
Was I irritated tonight whilst watching Domino in front of an entire family whose sole purpose in life is to sit right behind serious movie watchers in theatres and jaw their way through the entire feature? Hmmm. Maybe just a little bit. This was the second such occurrence in about a week’s time. The first was a group of giggly teenage girls on whom their parents had forgotten to install volume control. It’s too bad, because they might have been attractive, otherwise. My friend shushed them a few times and they shushed back, petulence embodied in miniskirts and push-up bras, so he brought one of the theatre personnel in. That seemed to work.
This time, I was obliged to turn around and ask the family kindly to be quiet. And really there’s no way that you can’t sound like a total jerk doing it. You can’t ask them to “keep it down”. You can’t ask them if they can speak “a little more softly”. It’s all or nothing in a movie theatre. So I had to say it point blank.
“Would you mind being quiet, please?” I asked. I did use “please”, so as to ease their troubled transition into that foreign country called silence. The father leaned forward and whispered loudly, “WHAT?”
Now, here is the last living brain cell at work. You’re jabbering away in the middle of a movie and someone leans back and whispers something in a firm, forceful manner. Your first instinct is
A) Oh, I’ve been a rude, talkative person and there’s a movie on. I’ll shut my trap.
B) What?
You have to be an idiot, or perhaps even a moron posing as an idiot to wonder just what exactly that irritated young man is whispering to you in the middle of a darkened movie theatre in the middle of a movie. I had to repeat my request, and the father nodded and shushed his kid. No harm, no foul, I thought.
But I found myself gritting my teeth once again later on in the movie. They were at it again. It must be genetic, this inbred rudeness that you typically find haunting, well, most public arenas such as movie theatres, restaurants, clubs, and so on. There’s no other accounting for it. Or it might just be cluelessness, but I’d attribute that one to genetics as well.
So I leaned back again, and this time I addressed both the father and the son. I was far more succinct this time and whispered my urgent request more loudly. Once again, the pea brain dad asked “What?” I couldn’t believe it. So I looked at the son, thinking maybe he’s got better ears.
“Please, stop talking. Thank you.” Ah, that felt good, like a forbidden donut or a pee long held off. They shut up again, and for the rest of the movie they remained relatively quiet, though there was some chatter during the high-octane action sequences. I let it go. Because once you encounter mass idiocy, there’s no combatting it; you can only defer and delay it.
Or shush it in a dark theatre. Sometimes.