Memoirs of a Hate-ah

The Holiday Movie Season is upon us and while I could easily take time out to write my own personal reviews for the big screen releases like "Rent," "King Kong," and "Memoirs of a Geisha" I feel much more inclined to use this venue as a means to come to terms with my own increasingly frayed nerves at the movie-going process as a whole.
It always amazes me that in the cities I've lived in over my life (places as varied as Fayetteville, Arkansas and Paris, France) that to attend a movie in your nearby theatre, be it a matinee, late night showing or "first night" affair, the experience is usually without variation a casual one. There is seating room to spare, people seem genuinely interested in seeing the film they've just paid for and perhaps the most distracting event of the evening will involve a fellow patron passing in front of you on his or her way to the restroom.
Why is it then that in a city as exciting and throbbing with possibility as New York, does every single movie seem to be sold out at every single time of day? It's as if we've thought of absolutely nothing else to do. And why is it that no matter how relaxed we may feel going in, there's always, always, ALWAYS something that fucks the whole night up. Now I'm not going to complain about the $10.75 ticket price (though I certainly could) or the fact that if you use online ticket services you can easily find yourself paying more. Neither am I going to complain about the fact that we now have to be subjected to television commercials before the lights go down (as if this was some sort of free service we are fortunate enough to come in off the streets and enjoy) (though, again, I certainly could).
What I am going to complain about is all you fucking assholes out there who are ruining the movies for the rest of us.
Now, I'm no cinema purist. I don't need complete silence or my bucket of popcorn and 43 liter coke to enjoy this season's potential Oscar fare. And I certainly don't mind any of the rest of you who do. I've gotten plenty used to the chomping and slurping by now. But like an alien race or some new breed of cockroach, the urban movie-goer has evolved, and he knows all kinds of new ways to piss the rest of us off.
Tonight it took my friend and I two movie theatres and over 42 blocks to see a poorly reviewed film about Japenese artisans that has been playing in our fair city for over a week now. Not one to get unreasonably angry, I took a deep breath, an expensive cab ride and told myself that next time we'd plan in advance: practicaly an Absolute Rule in Manhattan.
For example, last week some other friends and I arrived over an hour early to see a much anticipated movie about a gorilla. We should be thankful that we did because when we arrived, a line of people waiting to take their seats had already formed. It snaked out of the closed theatre doors and down a long hallway strewn with trash.
I don't want to lose any of you before I get to why I'm particularly angry tonight. So I will let you know what occured on this evening. Once at the theatre and once the commercials had ended, the movie finally began. No sooner had the first shot appeared than a group of three rag-tag, loud mouthed, post-teens arrived and decided that what with their tardiness and the unexplainable crowding in this 9 pm Monday night showing, that they would just plop down in the aisleway beside us and proceed to talk throughout the movie.
Well, as a person who is usually rather uncomfortable with unexpected social interactions, I must say that (like the title character who lost her sexual virginity on screen tonight) I myself lost my movie theatre "shush"-ing virginity as well.
A good thirty minutes into "Geisha" and once the three assholes had finished their chili-dogs I knew I'd had enough.
As something that I'd always secretly wanted to do but never thought I could, it was before I even knew I'd started that I heard myself begin.
"YOU'RE ALREADY SITTING IN THE AISLES! COULD YOU MAYBE NOT TALK THE WHOLE MOVIE ON TOP OF IT!" I whisper-shouted over to them.
"Uh, you cwoul' jus' cwalm ya'self down!" one of the two girls grunted back.
"Yeah, mine cha' own bid-nesse!' her hook-nosed gal pal chimed in.
Well, that was it.
"LOOK!" I shouted, nearly at full voice now.
Ooooh! I was pissed!
"YOU'RE IN A MOVIE THEATRE! SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Well, the one guy of the group must have taken this as a sign to not press the issue further.
"Alright, sorry. Okay..." he mumbled.
And with a semi-loud,
"THANK YOU!"
I was done with them.
Surprisingly, no one else around me seemed terribly impressed with what I'd done. Nor did they seem at all thankful. I hadn't been nearly loud enough to disrupt any of the patrons who weren't already being disrupted and I halfway expected at least a few of them to rally behind me. But, even to expect something from them would have been to expect too much. Aside from our lovely aisle-mates perpetual banter and chili-dog breath, other enjoyable behavior witnessed this evening included further loud talking, further loud eating, constant guttural nasal grunting, text-messaging, a Kelly Clarkson ring tone that went off during the film's final scene, a crowd of people standing to leave during the movie's last shots, and my all time favorite new movie-goer's distraction: the bored boyfriend who can be seen from aisles and aisles away as he plays video games on his brighter than sunshine, light up Sidekick.
Seriously, New Yorkers, Stay Home. In fact, STAY THE FUCK HOME. Because I popped my loud, angry and irate movie-goer cherry tonight the same way you all seem to have popped your tactless, irritating and inconsiderate cherries years ago. And I don't see too many movies in this city, but from now on, every single one I do see will involve one angry bitch, his abnormally raised voice and the serious possibility of face scratching.