I have firmly decided that it is necessary to enforce licensing for those desiring to watch films publicly. This resolution has emerged after yet another distressing episode in a theatre whilst watching Despicable Me 4. I wasn’t expecting a quiet, contemplative crowd of young critics due to the nature of the film. However, my concerns were targeted toward the adults.
Disconcert was initiated when a lady and a young boy occupied the seats adjacent to mine. The lady possessed a bag sufficiently large enough to discreetly hold a toddler. A close encounter with this bag as she examined her seat number nearly resulted in injury to my eye. The intent behind such a gigantic sack became clear as she began unearthing an endless supply of snacks.
The trailers were marred by the persistent noise of her indulging in a family-sized pack of chips whilst engaging in non-stop conversation with her boy companion. She remained oblivious to the tranquillity that enveloped the cinema as the movie commenced. Every scene was being openly debated as if she was lounging in her living room in her pyjamas.
Her interruptions weren’t limited to providing incessant commentary or explosive laughter at moderately funny scenes. In-between, she utilised the time to check her Facebook notifications. The glaring brightness emanating from her mobile phone enlightened me about Lorraine’s birthday celebration that was apparently a hit, as evidenced by numerous thumbs-up and heart emojis.
Ultimately, the chip packet was carelessly discarded on the floor. Mirroring a conjurer, she then brought out a brimming box of popcorn. As the action escalated for the Despicable Me troupe, her popcorn box overbalanced, resulting in half its contents landing on my lap and beneath my feet. Moving to another location was not an option; the rest of the theatre was under siege by illuminated mobile devices, casting an eerie glow, reminiscent of mini beacons in a sea of despair.
It is evidently necessary to introduce regulations for audiences in cinemas and concerts in order to safeguard patrons who just want to enjoy the show. The evaluation could entail the challenging task of enduring a perplexing three-hour independent film, complete with complex retrospectives, drawn-out dream scenes, and actors who are nearly indistinguishable. While minimal interaction, such as quietly reacting to shocking scenes or quietly explaining certain aspects to your companion, is permissible, such instances should not exceed eight times. Immediate disqualification would follow any actions such as chasing after a wayward toddler or dropping laden nachos on unsuspecting audience members in the front row.
Nevertheless, cinema manners, albeit deplorable, are not as calamitous as how some people behave at concerts. How grand it would be to return to the era of Franz Liszt, the composer and pianist, when his audience members would elegantly faint and lightly toss their handkerchiefs and flowers at him. Contrariwise, today’s spectators unceremoniously hurl anything from mobile devices to deceased marine creatures, and occasionally prosthetic limbs, at performers.
Recalling an incident this year where PinkPantheress, during a performance at Dublin’s Olympia theatre, was asked to sign a prosthetic leg that had been thrown on stage. Similarly, a fan of the singer Pink, at a concert in London, flung a pouch containing their mother’s remains at the bewildered artist. Let’s not forget Lady Gaga, who, to the delight of meat industry professionals everywhere due to her infamous raw meat dress, was subsequently showered with sausages during a concert in Barcelona.
Without a doubt, my proposed licensing scheme needs to be implemented for concert enthusiasts. It’s comparable to a suggestion I made in this column in 2001, which advocated for stringent guidelines for those wielding golf umbrellas. Back in those tranquil times, my chief concern was the disregard for basic manners by those who manoeuvred these oversized devices along narrow pathways, endangering unsuspecting pedestrians with the tips of their umbrellas.
At the height of the Celtic Tiger’s power, umbrellas acting as mobile billboards for corporations like the Anglo Irish Bank, construction firms, and budding internet businesses swarmed the streets. My suggestion was that any aspiring owner of such business-promoting umbrellas should first demonstrate their dexterity in a test before being let out into the world. The examination would involve manoeuvring through a cramped urban lane, presented with challenges like an imposing man walking his tiny dog, a twin stroller surrounded by a trio of shrieking toddlers, or a pack of adolescents who have not yet mastered the concept of walking in a single file. However, this issue sorted itself out when the financial downfall hit and the promoted corporations collapsed, akin to a collection of budget-friendly umbrellas.
Those were indeed simpler times.
Today, if given the choice between enduring endless jabs to the eye from an enormous umbrella or spending a couple of hours in a cinema next to a noisy individual who is engrossed in guzzling soda and crunching on crisps, you might find it a tough decision to make.