A sinking realization awaits as Americans return to movie theaters this weekend for the rare joy of a summer blockbuster.
The magic of the movie house is gone, and perhaps, for good.
Barbieheimer – the dual release of two potential Hollywood hits, Barbie and Oppenheimer – may give us a false sense of hope.
But anyone who’s settled into a sticky, upholstered seat to watch the latest Tinseltown flick knows what I’m talking about.
The magical silver screens of our childhoods have been transformed into murky chambers of darkness – and even danger.
Video emerged this week of a shocking attack on a 63-year-old man in Florida who had the audacity to ask a couple to move out of the reserved seats he had purchased.
As the new Mission Impossible movie trailer plays in the background, the small aggressor pushes him to the ground before punching him in the face.
Of course, this could happen anywhere, but it says a lot about going to the movies today.
It’s about as fun as getting punched in the face.
Movie theater companies are in a death spiral.
When we all went into covid lockdown, studios reduced their output, their current inventory went straight to streaming, box office sales fell off a cliff and theaters closed their doors.
Between 2019 and 2022, 2,165 US cinemas – more than 5 percent of the nation’s screens – have closed for good.
A sinking realization awaits as Americans return to movie theaters this weekend for the rare joy of a summer blockbuster. (Above) Cillian Murphy in a scene from Oppenheimer
Barbieheimer – the dual release of two potential Hollywood hits, Barbie and Oppenheimer – may give us a false sense of hope. (Above) Ryan Gosling, left, and Margot Robbie in a Barbie scene
Many of those who survived are struggling. Ticket prices have risen (from a national average of $9.16 to $10.53 in 2019) and the quality of the experience has plummeted.
It’s not just the threat of physical violence that graces the post-pandemic journey to cinema.
The whole experience is a dull, depressing metaphor for a society that barely knows how to function in public.
Walking into your local theater, once filled with the sounds of video games, wild kids, cute couples on charming first dates, and an air of excitement, feels like walking into a Soviet-era Costco.
At concession stands, when they are open, one can wait in line for hours for the convenience of spending the approximate price of fine dining in Paris for a bucket of stale popcorn or strange green hot dogs.
The shelves — once packed with a variety of candies and treats — are empty.
With a second mortgage worth of inedible snacks in hand, you fumble with your phone to find your right seat, which of course was purchased online. God forbid, we have too much human interaction.
Gone are the meritocratic days of first-come, first-served. Once, if you put it together, you get to the theater early and get a prime spot in the middle of the audience.
Now the rich and mean rule. Those willing to pay extra for ‘preferred’ seats could enter at the tail end of the upcoming attraction and bump into patrons who had the discretion to arrive on time.
And those who refused to pay the premium craned their necks at 90-degree angles in the first row.
If you’re lucky enough to get to your seat without being assaulted, sometimes the lights go out completely, sometimes not, sometimes it’s cold, sometimes it’s hot.
The sticky floors and musty smells seem to whisper, ‘We’re understaffed, just deal with it.’
The sloppy kid who took your ticket also worked the concession counter, swept the floors and restocked the men’s room.
Theaters obviously cannot hire enough staff or pay their staff enough to take care of them.
When there are workers to meet and deal with, they’re of a Gen Z variety, who are so pissed off at doing a job that you almost feel sorry to ask them for any help.
As the new Mission Impossible movie trailer plays in the background, the small aggressor pushes him to the ground before punching him in the face. (Above) Movie theater attack suspect flees scene
Walking into your local theater, once filled with the sounds of video games, wild kids, cute couples on charming first dates, and an air of excitement, feels like walking into a Soviet-era Costco.
Half the time, while you’re waiting for the trailer, you feel a sneaking suspicion that a voice might come from above, ‘Does anyone know how to operate a projector?’
The harsh reality is that many people would rather watch a big screen in their living room than a big screen at their local multiplex.
But isn’t it a reason to evoke our nostalgic awe and grandeur to bring back the grandeur and power of traditional cinema palaces?
Americans need movies. It is part of our heritage, our heritage. It was once an affordable middle-class luxury worth every penny. Now, it seems like paying for an insult.
To truly recover from the covid lockdowns we need to have nice things again. We need bustling restaurant districts, full office buildings, clean and safe subways, and yes, our movie theaters need to be an oasis, not a reminder of all we’ve lost.
To paraphrase a one-time blockbuster, if you slap on a paint job, mop the floor and treat customers well, they will ‘come’.
On the other hand, if we are only given theaters with dirty, unfriendly faces and all the attractions of a storage space center, this industry, once a diamond, will turn to dust.
And if movie theaters go the way of video stores, something of great value will be lost. Our children will never know the magic and wonder that we all took for granted.
Let’s not let that happen.
Now go down my lawn!
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