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November 26, 2008
Posted: 1132 GMT
LONDON, England - So I'm sat in Screen 3 of The Curzon Soho, an artsy basement cinema in London's Soho district. We're 10 minutes into the early afternoon screening of black-and-white documentary "Of Time And The City," Terence Davies' elegiac paean to post-World War Two Liverpool. Selected to play at the Cannes Film Festival, Davies' very personal outsider memoir has been universally praised by critics, its release much anticipated by UK audiences for its use of –
Terence Davies' 'Of Time And The City' - best appreciated without annoying audience members.
And then it starts. Creak creak. Creak creak. Creak creak. My seat pitches back and forth. Back and forth. I look round. A fellow audience member in the row behind has his knees buried into the back of the seat next to mine. I stare. He stares back. He does not care. Creak creak. Creak creak. Creak creak. No one else is sat nearby. I'm the only person bothered. If I complain I risk disturbing the pic for everyone else. I don't want to move. Why should I? So I simmer in silence for the next hour - and fling "Of Time And The City" into that grubby popcorn bucket marked Movie Screenings Wrecked by Someone Else In The Audience. Poke around among the dregs of said bucket and you'll stumble on the likes of "Batman" (1989, Cardiff), when I sat next to a scarily pale woman and her scarier paler teen son. Ten minutes in and they yanked bulging carrier bags from under their seats. For the next hour they fell upon samosas, sausage rolls, crisps, orange juice cartons, meat pies, pizza slices and chicken wings like those teeny tiny dinosaurs munching on the asking-for-it IT guy in "Jurassic Park." Then there was "Last Orders" (2001), Fred Schepisi's touching drama about loss starring Michael Caine, Bob Hoskins and Ray Winstone (sounds a tall order but Schepisi managed it). Did the audience really benefit from having a party of students among its numbers that night, only one of who could speak English - and who had to loudly translate the dialogue for the other 11? It's not just been in the UK - take "Spider-Man 2" (2004) in a moviehouse just off Times Square. The best that New York could offer included scary-looking gang members nonchalantly sloping up and down the aisles; the background drone from two fellow tourists who mistakenly thought they had tickets for "Fiddler On The Roof"; possibly a séance going on near the emergency exit. Hey, at least the seats were comfy. Being stuck on the subway in high summer, being handed a parking ticket first thing on a Monday – nothing, but nothing, hurts more than having a movie screening wrecked. They're all there, sloshing around in the bucket. "Bladerunner: The Director's Cut" (1992, constant, maybe understandable, drunken guffaws at Sean Young's performance); "The Truman Show" (1998, "dee-diddly-dee-dee-dee-diddly-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee" from a cellphone at the crucial bit when Truman's yacht crunches the horizon); "The Others" (2001, how is it physically possible for popcorn to scratch so loudly?); "Solaris" (2003, bored father with weekend custody of sugar-pumped toddlers in ponderous sci-fi drama); "Sideways" (2004, man swaying back and forth for the first half of the film, then left to right for the second half – altitude sickness maybe?); something directed by Pedro Almodovar (sometime during the last 40 years, too massively irritated by the end to recall what the movie was or where i saw it or what wound me up in the first place - just that it somehow involved cheesy nachos). Seems I'm not the only one. A few weeks back cinema chain Vue made some of its "Quantum Of Solace" screenings adult-only in the UK in order to stop kids ruining the movie for older patrons. It's a move made from the best of intentions – but as my litany of movie misery attests, over-18s are as much to blame as children. It all comes down to a question of respect, regardless of age. Several years ago, I thought about printing up some flyers to hand out at the end of wrecked screenings. "Thank you for ruining my enjoyment of the film" they would read at the top. "You managed to do so by..." There would then follow a checklist of common complaints with the appropriate offenses ticked. My other half thankfully caught sight of an early draft. She pointed out that (i) it was arrogantly patronizing to grade people on their movie-watching manners; (ii) she would never go to the movies with me again (though that would avoid the usual rom-com versus zombie flick bickering); (iii) she would refuse to visit me in hospital if I was dumb enough to go ahead with the idea. She also reminded me that I was, um, being utterly hypocritical. So... ...I'd like to apologize to anyone disturbed by a group of giggling drunken students at a late-night screening of Roman Polanski's "Bitter Moon" in the northern English city of Sheffield in 1992. I'm really, really sorry. It's just that the last 30 minutes seemed like some hybrid mutation of "The Poseidon Adventure" and "What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?," with Hugh Grant slung into the sad sorry cocktail for good measure. What can I say? Drink seemed the obvious, if inexcusable, solution. But what do you think? Should cinemagoers be more tolerant of each other's foibles? Have you any ideas for trouble-free cinema viewing? Send your comments to the usual below... Posted by: CNN digital news producer, Nick Hunt |
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