Mr. Movie

When I first decided to stop going to class in college, I would fill my newly free afternoons with a matinee or two. Over the course of the next year or two, this blossomed into me attempting to see every major motion picture that would reach Loews White Marsh 16 (the multiplex) or Beltway Movie 6 (the second run cheapo theatre). It didn't matter what they were. I did not discriminate. I saw them all. Practical Magic is about two witchy sisters??! I'll be there! Sphere is about a gigantic magical metallic ball? Count me in! Hard Rain. Dangerous Beauty. Hope Floats. The Borrowers. Wrongfully Accused. Check, check, check, check, check. And that was just Wednesday! Ba-dum-bump.

Anyhow, during that period, I began noting many issues that I had with the common movie-goer, and frankly, probably got a little too snobby over the whole thing. So snobby that I began writing a "Movie Theatre Etiquette" series on a short-lived money-making enterprise called Themestream. I tackled everything from arrival time to how most every concession is uncalled for. A lifelong friend, Junior, called me out on being too much of an ass over the situation, so I stopped typing it. But he couldn't stop me from feeling it.

That said, I don't go to the movies that frequently anymore, so my stance on many of previous pet peeves has been significantly softened. However, there's one that still rings as strong as ever. Seat Placement.

Mathematically and logically, when 40 people all go to see a film in a 300 seat theatre, there is absolutely no reason why you should have to sit directly behind, in front of or next to someone that you didn't go to the theatre with.

Granted, I understand that most people gravitate to the middle of the theatre, so if you were to graph the most popular seats in a movie house, you'd see a large build-up in the middle aisles of the middle rows. That and right next to wherever I decide to sit. Without fail, people love to sit close to me. I've already learned my lesson that I should try to never be the first into a movie theatre. Even if I sit in the far back corner, the other patrons will inevitably think that I know something that they don't know and come and join me.

Last night, I went to see There Will Be Blood and I purposely walked into the theatre after I knew that the bulk of the other people had already chosen their seats. I'm not that picky. I'll sit in the far right corner if I have to, but if I can get away with a slightly better seat, I want to take it. So, I chose a row that for all other intensive purposes (ed: I should say "intents and purposes..."...thanks darnedanalretentivestbloggirl) was probably a little too close to the screen, and I sat in the end seat. The end seat allows me to change location at a later point if things really got out of hand. That said, I'm generally anti-confrontational and I wouldn't want to to make even the most ignorant of moviegoers think that they've done something terribly wrong or have an odor problem of some sort, so I typically resign myself to my fate and stick it out for the long run. Perhaps I think that I'll sit myself into an even worse situation if I were to move.

That said, my seat pick seemed to be perfect. But I should have known better than to think that. Because as the first scene rolled through, a gentleman bundled up in what appeared to be 3 or 4 jackets stood next to my seat, pointing down the aisle, asking if any of those seats were taken. I reluctantly said no and stood up to let him through. Now would be a good time to point out that I was the only person in this aisle. He could have easily navigated to enter at the other end of the row. Alas, the movie had started, so I gave him a free pass for wanting to sit down as soon as possible. Plus, he didn't sit right next to me. He at least gave me a two seat buffer. Although he had 15 other further away seats to chose from, again, I'll give him another free pass.

And thus began the 20 minute ordeal of him (let's call him Loudman) peeling all of his layers off, opening however many bags of candy he had and generally adjusting himself. Good. That's done. Two or three minutes of pure silent bliss followed. Things are looking up.

Until it turned out that Loudman has a bit of a cold. I'm not going to fault anyone for being sick. Lord knows that I've had a chronic cough for the last two months that's probably been irritating everyone's who been unfortunate enough to have a conversation with. That said, I kept my cough in check for the entire twopointfive hour film. Good for me. This guy was another story.

Cough. Sneeze. Blown nose. Hocking throat noise. In the end, the ratio was probably one noise per minute. All dramatically louder than they really should have been. But illness is a force of nature. It wasn't this fella's fault. What was his fault was that after each disruptive sound, he made a point of saying "Ekscuseme" even louder than the noise itself. Cough. Ekscuseme. Sneeze. Ekscuse me. Blown nose. Ekscuseme. Hocking throat noise. Ekscuseme.

It should now be said that at the one hour mark in the film, some other guy came and sat immediately behind me. Did he really not mind missing almost the entire first half of the film? Had he already seen the first half the night before only to have to rush his pregnant wife to the hospital? Or was he escaping an annoying situation that was happening to him further back in the theatre? I gave him the benefit of the doubt and decided it was the latter. [Can you use the words "former" and "latter" when you had previously mentioned more than two thing?]

It was a matter of minutes later when Loudman decided that he might need to go the bathroom or the concession stand. I say "might," because he stood up and walked towards me. I stood up and my seat reached its full upright position, he said something that sounded like simply, "I forgot," turned around and sat back down. He forgot what?

Since I was already standing up, I should have taken this opportunity to relocate, but instead I sat back down in my original seat. Of course, ten minutes later, he remembered, and had to get by me to pop out for a Raisinette or something. I stood up and as each of his ten feet stepped on each of mine, he said, "Ekscuseme." He returned five minutes later, no worse or better for wear, and we did our little dance again.

At this point, I even tried to give IMissedTheFirstHourOfTheMovieBecauseMyWifeHadAChild a knowing glance of "Do you believe this guy?" thinking we might possibly be kindred spirits, but he just ignored me.

I don't know how to end this story.