2. INT. STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT
A MASKED MAN is working with a machine,
running VHS tapes through it and editing and splicing away.
A SHADOWY FIGURE crashes through the
wall and window and wraps his cloak around him, obscuring everyone's view
as the dust settles.
We Now Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Lunacy
Howdy, folks! It's the Widgeman again with some more perverse ramblings from what's left of his twisted mind. I'm amazed they didn't change the locks after my last rant, so I guess I'll have to try harder. But regardless, I thought it was time for a change of pace. I beat up on the studios a lot, why not beat up on someone else this time? Namely, the moviegoing audiences. So that's why we call this week's episode:
Shut...the Hell...UP!
[Editor's Note: This column is not to be confused with the folk song of the same name, last recorded by Burl Ives]
Let me tell you boys and girls about something that makes me crazy. I mean, we're talking "Widge please put down that garden trowel" kinda crazy here. I don't hate much. Dislike with a firm resolute stance? Yes. Hate? Not often. But there are certain kinds of people out there that make me want to climb a bell tower with a flintlock rifle. You know them, dear readers, and I know them. They're the bastards and bastardettes who are so used to the magic of television, they think they're still in the living room, regardless of the fact they're packed in with 200 other people who paid $12.50 to see a film. These people fall into certain categories, and I've defined them here for your edification. So, when you throw your half-full container of popcorn at them, I want you to know exactly who you're aiming for.
THE FUNNY GUY. Here's a guy who, God love him, thinks he's funny. He will yell out comments that he honestly must believe are the funniest damn thing you've never heard. Now don't get me wrong. There are some films that simply need the robots from MST3K to escort you through them, lest they become too much for you and your brain explode from the thoughts of how much money you spent to see the piece of shite. Hell, I made comments to my amigo who saw Godzilla with me. It was the only thing that kept me going on a murderous Goober-tossing spree through the entire final reel, and yes I do mean the candy. The important difference is that I made them only to him--not so that people in the lobby could hear me.
THE CONVERSATIONALISTS. Here are a group of people, normally just two of them, that will talk through every scene of the movie that is not ear-splitting to the point where they can't even hear each other. God only knows what they're talking about, since they speak just loudly enough that their stage whispering carries through the entire auditorium, but also speak just softly enough so you can make out one word in twenty. If you shush these people, they look at you with the attitude of "Who died and made you the usher?"
Now don't get me wrong. There is a reason to see films in the theater with a packed house where the audience actually reacts to the film. There's no substitute for going apeshit with all the rest of the audience when Ridley dons the bulldozer suit in Aliens.
But there's a time and a place. As for these two aforementioned species of fidiots, you can never get to an usher to tell them to muzzle them, because if you're like me you sit towards the center and there's nothing but people in every direction with no way out other than climbing over heads. That, or you came to watch the movie dammit, so you don't want to leave and miss what might be the best part. But those two aren't even the worst. Here's the ones who just need to be taken out back and beaten with a dead carp.
FAMILIES WITH SMALL SMALL CHILDREN. I had the distinct privilege of sitting through Mask of Zorro with a screaming child. And someone brought an infant with them to see Beloved. Beloved is THREE HOURS LONG people! Let me speak to you culprits out there directly, if any of you are reading this. Yes, you, the parents who decide to take their nine month old child to see a Nightmare on Elm Street film (which I have been witness to).
If you cannot afford a babysitter for the duration of the film...then what are you doing spending what little money you have on a movie in the first place? All the people I know with kids OWN VCR's. They haven't seen a film in the theater in years. Not to turn into Dr. Laura here or anything but that's part of the decision that you made when you performed the horizontal mambo dance of love that CREATED the shrieking little bundle of hell you've inflicted on the rest of us. And if you must bring your brood with you, sit towards the back so you can leave when the kid starts yodeling.
I will say this to the theater chains out there--if you were to create "KID FREE" screenings, no matter what time they were, I'm sure us serious movie fans would flock to them just to get the hell away from Ma and Pa Rudeness and all the little squirts they have with them.
The fact of the matter is this--people think they're in their living rooms, so they can munch, gab and scream away as much as they want. I'm almost to the point where I'm going to start asking for my money back if it seriously detracts from my moviewatching and nothing is done to remove the offenders. Maybe if enough of us do that, the movie chains will get the message: give us a viewing room for mothers with kids like the old days, keep ushers patrolling to keep these idiots under control, or just give us our damn money back.
I feel better now. Don't you?
Previous issues of Widgett's column are also available.