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No refund on free passes?
How about cash back if you don't like the picture?
No texting laws apply to trailers, too!
The sun was shining, the climate genial, and a Terence Davies picture that deserved a fate better than a single-screen living room playing at the Digital Gym. Time to go to the movies.
Talk about a lucky day. In addition to the second chance screening, a preferred parking space, a freshly-popped bag of corn, and a bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola not past its expiration date were all there to greet me. Not that I’ve ever had a bad Coke at the DG, mind you. But there are a couple of Mexican restaurants in town that have me in the habit of always checking the “sell by” date. Either that or don’t drink the Coke.
When it comes to choosing a seat, my motto is, it’s better to have ‘em in back of you than in front. That way, when patrons do whip out a cellphone in mid-movie chances are it will go unnoticed from a fourth row, center vantage point. (Make that second row at the cozier Gym.)
No sooner is my tuchas shoe-horned into the creaky old school theatre seat then I hear a voice from behind breathlessly calling my name. It had been at least eight years since Dolores (not her real name) and I had last crossed paths. Why so certain of the time frame? When informed that I’ve been with the Reader going on eight years, she deadpanned, “Oh, I never read that paper.”
Inside my head Ralph Kramden mutters, “Heh, heh, ya’ dirty old… ”
Cue the harp music as we flashback to a pre-9/11 America. My job description read: Film Curator at the Museum of Photographic Arts. At the time, museum members were given two pairs of complimentary passes to see a picture. That’s four tickets total. Dolores and her husband Bob (also not his real name) joined, and I guarantee she milked at least twenty partial viewings out of the freebies.
Babe taught me never to count other people’s money, but even mom with her macular degeneration could see Dolores and Bob weren’t hurting. MoPA’s film series was. When putting the program together, the thought of donors attaching strings to their comps never came up in the boardroom. If the movie was not to her linking, Dolores would walk out after 20 minutes and ask for the pass back. Her passes went through more hands than a Swiss watchmaker.
Allow me a moment to digress. Asking for money back or a re-admit has never been an uncommon occurrence, but only in cases where a theatre failed to live up to its part of the bargain by not keeping the presentation in frame and/or focus and the sound at an audible level. Having witnessed upwards of 20,000 theatrical presentations in my lifetime, I have never once asked for my money back solely on the basis of content. Had that been the case, I’d have never seen the end of one Marvel production.
It takes a certain kind of chutzpah to demand cash back because a film wasn’t up to your liking. What do you call someone who asks for a refund on a free pass? Dolores.
Look, she’s not a bad person and gosh only knows Dolores loves going to the movies. But her strings-attached approach to patronage has always stuck in my craw. One of the last things she said last week before returning to her seat in the back row was, “I walked out on A Quiet Passion when it played at Hillcrest. I’m here because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t wrong.”
By now there were approximately ten patrons for the afternoon matinee, included a woman who parallel parked her Hoveround-like contraption in the first row.
The lights dimmed and the previews hit the screen. After about a minute, an anonymous voice from the rear demanded, “Will you please turn your phone off!”
“I’m sorry,” Dolores replied. “But I don’t like watching trailers.”
Without missing a beat, motorized scooter lady shot back, “We do!”
This wasn’t to be the last of Dolores’ interruptions. After about ten minutes the shadow of her shoulder appeared in the frame as she made her way to the exit door, never to be seen again.
British biopics of American poets do not generally top my must-see list. Terence Davies has never made a bad picture, and if anyone can guide me through Emily Dickinson slowly making a depressive exit it’s he and leading lady, Cynthia Nixon. I haven’t seen anything this year that comes close to topping its majesty.
Have I ever twice walked out on the same movie? You bet! Moulin Rouge. I won’t make that mistake again.
Here's something you might be interested in.
No refund on free passes?
How about cash back if you don't like the picture?
No refund on free passes?
How about cash back if you don't like the picture?
No texting laws apply to trailers, too!
The sun was shining, the climate genial, and a Terence Davies picture that deserved a fate better than a single-screen living room playing at the Digital Gym. Time to go to the movies.
Talk about a lucky day. In addition to the second chance screening, a preferred parking space, a freshly-popped bag of corn, and a bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola not past its expiration date were all there to greet me. Not that I’ve ever had a bad Coke at the DG, mind you. But there are a couple of Mexican restaurants in town that have me in the habit of always checking the “sell by” date. Either that or don’t drink the Coke.
When it comes to choosing a seat, my motto is, it’s better to have ‘em in back of you than in front. That way, when patrons do whip out a cellphone in mid-movie chances are it will go unnoticed from a fourth row, center vantage point. (Make that second row at the cozier Gym.)
No sooner is my tuchas shoe-horned into the creaky old school theatre seat then I hear a voice from behind breathlessly calling my name. It had been at least eight years since Dolores (not her real name) and I had last crossed paths. Why so certain of the time frame? When informed that I’ve been with the Reader going on eight years, she deadpanned, “Oh, I never read that paper.”
Inside my head Ralph Kramden mutters, “Heh, heh, ya’ dirty old… ”
Cue the harp music as we flashback to a pre-9/11 America. My job description read: Film Curator at the Museum of Photographic Arts. At the time, museum members were given two pairs of complimentary passes to see a picture. That’s four tickets total. Dolores and her husband Bob (also not his real name) joined, and I guarantee she milked at least twenty partial viewings out of the freebies.
Babe taught me never to count other people’s money, but even mom with her macular degeneration could see Dolores and Bob weren’t hurting. MoPA’s film series was. When putting the program together, the thought of donors attaching strings to their comps never came up in the boardroom. If the movie was not to her linking, Dolores would walk out after 20 minutes and ask for the pass back. Her passes went through more hands than a Swiss watchmaker.
Allow me a moment to digress. Asking for money back or a re-admit has never been an uncommon occurrence, but only in cases where a theatre failed to live up to its part of the bargain by not keeping the presentation in frame and/or focus and the sound at an audible level. Having witnessed upwards of 20,000 theatrical presentations in my lifetime, I have never once asked for my money back solely on the basis of content. Had that been the case, I’d have never seen the end of one Marvel production.
It takes a certain kind of chutzpah to demand cash back because a film wasn’t up to your liking. What do you call someone who asks for a refund on a free pass? Dolores.
Look, she’s not a bad person and gosh only knows Dolores loves going to the movies. But her strings-attached approach to patronage has always stuck in my craw. One of the last things she said last week before returning to her seat in the back row was, “I walked out on A Quiet Passion when it played at Hillcrest. I’m here because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t wrong.”
By now there were approximately ten patrons for the afternoon matinee, included a woman who parallel parked her Hoveround-like contraption in the first row.
The lights dimmed and the previews hit the screen. After about a minute, an anonymous voice from the rear demanded, “Will you please turn your phone off!”
“I’m sorry,” Dolores replied. “But I don’t like watching trailers.”
Without missing a beat, motorized scooter lady shot back, “We do!”
This wasn’t to be the last of Dolores’ interruptions. After about ten minutes the shadow of her shoulder appeared in the frame as she made her way to the exit door, never to be seen again.
British biopics of American poets do not generally top my must-see list. Terence Davies has never made a bad picture, and if anyone can guide me through Emily Dickinson slowly making a depressive exit it’s he and leading lady, Cynthia Nixon. I haven’t seen anything this year that comes close to topping its majesty.
Have I ever twice walked out on the same movie? You bet! Moulin Rouge. I won’t make that mistake again.
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