So That’s Why I Don’t Go Opening Night

Yesterday evening was a time for celebration. My wife returned for a short duration, and I decided to celebrate with her by skipping work and going to see Harry Potter on opening night.

By the time we got to the new AMC in Tysons, all the shows were sold out until 10 o’clock and lines were forming waiting to get in. Strangely enough, the ticket booth wasn’t swamped. So I went up and asked when the earliest Harry Potter was showing. The lady looked at her watch, punched a few buttons, and said “right now, 6pm”.

“No, I know that… your sign said ‘SOLD OUT’. What’s the earliest I can see it?”

She turns around behind her like she’d never noticed the automated movie board then rotates back to me. “Yeah, sometimes we do that. We have 6 o’clock tickets, and they’re seating now. You won’t miss anything but a few previews.”

Holy cow. Yes please! And within seconds I had my Harry Potter tickets and was marching past the long lines. I instructed Tamara to go grab some seats, and I’d go get some munchies.

I run up to the food counter line, and again, there’s no line and like a zillion attendants. I march up to the first face and ask, “Hi, my movie’s about to start, are your hot dogs made from beef?”

The guy turns around, like he’s never noticed they sold food here before, and says he doesn’t know. And, before I can tell him not to worry about it, as I’d get something else, he starts flagging down other just as clueless workers, who all seem to have no idea where the manager is. Meanwhile, precious seconds are ticking away as my show’s about to start.

My cashier returns and as I’m about to order, some woman step up to the counter and starts talking with him. Now, I know I’m not as pretty as 80% of the women out there, but I’ve got cash and a big order. And, as far as he’s concerned, I don’t have my hot dog answer, so he’s ignoring me. Or flirting. Or both.

Enough of this, and in a loud voice I call out, “look, just never mind” so that if there is a manager on the floor, they can see me shoving wads of greenback firmly into that thing I keep trying to convince people is my wallet.

Pissed, I march into the theater. Whoa. It’s packed. Not tightly packed. But packed. Packed enough I see Tamara sitting in the second row. Great… no food and a twisted neck.

No, wait… wait… they’re doing trailers… they’ve just started! So I go back out the exit and approach one of the friendly door watchers who’s trying to make sure people aren’t sneaking in. “Man, I’m counting on you, how much time do I have before it _really_ starts… I wanna get some food.” He looks at his watch. “You have seven minutes.”

This must have been the most confident guy on the face of the planet, because everything about his posture, delivery, contemplation, and so forth screamed he knew what he was talking about.

Plenty of time.

So, I go running back to the food area, and there are now small lines and fewer cashiers. What happened? I was just here 45 seconds ago?!?

None the less, I go up to a line, and who starts walking toward me from the other side of the counter, Mr. I-Can’t-Help-You-Cause-I-Don’t-Know-Hot-Dogs guy.

Now I know it’s probably not his fault that he’s not beef aware, but what he should know is that if I’m in a mad panic about a movie starting, I don’t want to be standing here for five minutes.

We make eye contact; I shake my head and step out of line, returning to the theater. I’m now pissed and annoyed.

I find my seat, and I get a happy surprise. These theaters are so friggin’ huge and so well designed that the second row itself may actually be the sweet spot. From that vantage point, the screen just falls short of one’s peripheral vision, and the experience is immersive. Yet, at the same time, the center of the screen is almost near eye level, so you don’t have to crane your neck. And what’s this? My seat reclines!!!

Walt is happy again!

But now my throat is starting to get dry. Now I have a choice, miss the opening and deal with the snack bar from hell, or tough it out. I opt to tough it out. And seven minutes goes by, and no movie. Eight. Nine. Ten. Fifteen. What’s going on? I mean, I’m all about conservative estimates, but I could have driven to McDonald’s had dinner, fixed their Coke machine, and been back in this time.

Thirty minutes goes by, and just as I’m at my breaking point to get up, the movies starts. Pish!!

Now all during this time what I hadn’t noticed was the tiny little boy sitting next to me. He’d been so good and quiet all through out the previews he was almost invisible. Little did I know, all of this was about to change the moment the movie started.

In a normal talking voice, all throughout the whole movie, we got lambasted with questions:
“Dad, is that Harry Potter?”
“Dad, is that the castle?”
“Dad, is the the sky?”
“That boat is Chinese, isn’t it dad? We’re Chinese, aren’t we dad?”
“Is that the goblet of fire, Dad?”
“Dad, is fire hot?”
“Dad, are dragon’s Chinese?”

and on and on and on and on…

All during this time, he was fidgeting, kicking me, and whacking my arm and hand.

Glances and loud “shhhhhs” didn’t seem to do any good, whether directed at him or his father. So when Harry Potter was being shredded by dragons, attacked by sea creatures, stabbed with a knife, given an alien anal probe, and forced to endure an IRS tax audit, I took far more private joy than I should have when this kid was cowering under his coat in a little ball.

I’m all for audience immersion, with cheering and booing and screams. But, the way I view it is that I, and others, have paid a considerable sum to have an entertaining experience where we can enjoy a little suspension of disbelief, and part of the equation it to be able to hear what’s being said. Unlike TiVo, DVD, VHS, and Deloreans, you can’t back up time and catch it. So anything from questions, to conversation, to heckling that spills over detracts greatly from the experience. Previews, teasers, and commercials are different, we’re not paying for those and often they represent a fictional view of the movie. They’re also freely available on the internet and other sources — the movie content itself, is not.

That’s why I stopped getting frustrated at the kid next to me and turned my mental wrath at the teens sitting behind us. What started out as quiet internal jokes to the group where occasionally their voices might carry by accident turned into a “you know I’m getting drunker by the moment and now I’ll just talk all over the movie”. It became evident that they thought the movie was dumb, but rather than leave, they’d ruin it for the rest of us paying customers.

Thinking to my self, what would James do, I decided that I couldn’t use the exact terminology without ticking off Jackie Chan and his question asking kid. If I had any sense at all, I should of leaned over and had the kid ask his dad if theater hot dogs were made of beef.

When the movie ended, I suppose there was a minor bit of the universe balancing itself back out. The instant the credits rolled, I turned around and gave a glare to the teen and started to stand up. He got up from his seat and rather than going out the isle, stepped over the chair into the prior isle and made way for the door. I’d like to think I was that intimidating, but the real matter of the fact was more likely that he had to go pee. Still, I held on to my delusion, enjoying what last bit of disbelief was suspended.

When I turned back to the other seat monkey, he and his dad were gone. And in his chair was a glove. Ah ha, some one’s gonna get in trouble for losing their expensive glove. Yeah, I turned it in to lost’n’found, but again, I got a little more pleasure that I should have.

Then it struck me. This movie was a little different. The photography was a little bit more artsy, the pace felt more broken, the transitions were choppy, but the CGI effects were much, much, much better. My guess is that a different director made this one, and I’m not sure that I was as pleased.

The last Harry Potter movie was so well done that I was able to stay engaged in the movie the whole time, and that was with a full bladder and an alligator chewing on my foot. Clearly, it was the directors fault — had he made a better movie, I wouldn’t have noticed the other bozos in the audience.

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