Site created 12/15/97.		page created: 12/11/02 CINEPLEXAPHOBIA: An Argument for Home Theater Bob Banka - Main Page I adore my home theater. It cost me a bundle. I'm still driving the same car I did twelve years ago, and water still leaks into the basement, but I have a six foot screen, a good projector and a terrific sound system. Every time I'm bold enough to venture out and take in a movie at a cineplex, I'm reminded just how much my home theater means to me. I don't mind smaller movie houses, and I still love going to this particular 'art house' theater, but it's getting more and more difficult to make the effort to go to the cineplex these days. Here's why: Most Hollywood flicks are dull, predictable and unoriginal. Snacks and drinks are over-priced. Too often, the popcorn is lukewarm, chewy and full of un-popped nuggets. The theaters themselves, as well as the restrooms, can be a bit grungy. Floors are sticky. Seat cushions can be odoriferous. Ticket salespeople deal admission to R and PG-13 rated films to underage kids. Irresponsible parents bring children to adult-themed pictures. And because their little brains aren't up to the task, the kids get restless and start getting on your nerves. Then someone's phone rings. Should I go on? How about this... Often, the print of the feature screened is scratched and worn, though it's only been run perhaps a dozen times. They should clean those projectors more often. Images are out of focus. The sound is too loud, too soft, or just plain bad. And sometimes, the picture is even mis-framed or improperly matted by unconcerned, adolescent projectionists. Film directors should tour the country's theaters and see how poorly their hard work (Dare I say 'art'?) is being presented to paying customers. Why do we bother going to these gargantuan playhouses? Why do we engage in such a masochistic exercise? Are we so desperate for distraction, we're willing to endure this fleecing and discomfort so we can see the latest drivel oozing out of Hollywood - the silly city of sequels? Nearly every summer, studios make more money than the previous year. For some reason, we keep right on going. Baah! Baah! Baah! We're sheep. Build a cineplex. Screen a sequel. We will come. I have a very good idea why the twenty-five and under crowd is flocking to the cineplexes these days, but that'll be the subject of a future article, entitled: Don't Raise the Bridge, Lower the Water, or... If they Make 'em Dumb, We Will Come As for us thirty- and forty-somethings, perhaps we crave the good 'ol days of our youth, when the theater-going experience was less expensive, more entertaining and a bit tastier. We know what the younger generation is missing, even if they do not. However, I think we've convinced ourselves that the stale popcorn and slithering goo they call butter isn't really so bad after all. Perhaps all those inferior flicks that we wouldn't have bothered with years ago aren't REALLY lousy enough to keep us home every Friday night. We're thinking that maybe, just maybe, THIS Friday we'll enjoy an evening at the movies. It could happen. Just imagine... You purchase your ticket from a friendly salesperson at a booth that actually looks you in the eye and smiles when she hands you your ticket. She even says, in completely audible tones, "Enjoy the show." Stunned by her politeness, you smile and say, "Thank you very much." "You're welcome." What a difference good manners can make. Do managers still tell their salespeople to be polite and courteous to customers? Maybe the salespeople are just too put out by such a request to make the effort. I know it's a lot to ask to be polite for just a bit more than minimum wage. We're over at the concession stand now. Check it out... Popcorn is actually POP! POP! POPPING! in a stainless steel pot suspended over a clean glass bin. There are no industrial-sized hefty bags of stale, pre-popped yellow stuff standing in the corner. The counter is clean - no greasy smudges, no sticky evaporate rings of soda, no grains of salt to cling to your forearms. There are no mangled napkins protruding from a holder. There are scores of individually wrapped straws awaiting thirsty consumers in a glistening, fingerprint-less dispenser. I sound a bit anal, right? I'm Felix Unger on a rant? Perhaps, but face it, we've become so accustomed to fast-food service, we hardly notice or mind the sloppiness. In fact, we almost expect to put up with the grunge encountered at many theater concession stands. It's easier to scoop up our overpriced grub and rush to the theater before the show begins than it is to make a complaint to a 'manager'. But, unless we make the effort to complain, it's unlikely things will ever change. Is it asking too much to expect a clean countertop? After all, we're purchasing food over it - not auto parts. Back to our ideal cineplex... The youngsters behind the counter are polite and neat in appearance. They're not munching on gum or fiddling with the trinkets pinned into numerous ear and eyebrow piercings. They're not sucking who knows what out of their teeth. Your server smiles as you place your order. "Will there be anything else, sir?" "No thank you," you say as you hand over a twenty dollar bill. You actually get change. Popcorn, Coke and a roll of Sweet Tarts... and you get change for a twenty. This is just too much. "Enjoy the movie," your new friend says as he checks the counter for spillage and then turns his attention to the couple behind you. You grab your goodies, pull out a couple of napkins and a straw, and wander over to the ticket-taker. We've also become accustomed to the ridiculous prices paid for snacks and drinks at the cineplex concession stand. We accept the fact that food is going to cost more than twice as much as the tickets to see the movie. If we bring along the spouse and children... well, we may have to forget about the new shoes the kids need for soccer season. You can complain to the management about the rising costs, but you know as well as I do, the prices are never coming down. It's at the concession stand that theaters make their money. This is how they pay the electric bills, the clean-up crews, the salespeople and the projectionists. You didn't think ticket sales paid for all of that did you? Most of the ticket money goes to the film distributors and studios, and of course, there has to be something left for the theater owners, or else the cineplex wouldn't be there. You can smuggle in treats brought from home, but try not to be too conspicuous about it. The youngsters at the gate might have to take you into a side room for a strip search. They're not supposed to let you waltz in with your Halloween candy and bags from the dollar-per-pound candy shop. On the way to the ticket-taker, you gander at the 'coming soon' posters on the wall. Some of the titles look interesting. Get this - NONE of them are sequels, remakes or television spin-offs. Wow! You're so pleased with the evening thus far, you hesitate to approach the fella making stubs out of tickets. You figure he'll just grunt a syllable and jerk his head in the direction of the theater playing your choice for the evening. He'll make a sniffing sound, pop his gum, rip your ticket in half and never utter a word. You step up. "Your feature is showing in theater number three, sir. Thanks for coming to 'Joe's' and enjoy the show." The guy is all smiles and sincerity. He's very pleasant. "Thanks," you say as you take your ticket stub with your only free finger and continue your stroll to screen number three. The carpet is clean, unstained and completely lacking in popcorn sprinklings and road kill gum bumps. What a joy it is to walk without suction underfoot. You walk through double doors. You enter a cathedral with a screen. To your surprise and joy, it's truly a BIG screen, not some postage stamp-sized display. It towers up to the ceiling and stretches the length of the wall. It must be forty feet wide. Oh bliss! You've probably noticed that, save for perhaps four or five of the screens in your average cineplex - you know, the ones that play the week's would-be blockbuster around the clock, most of the theaters have much smaller displays, and far less seating. We've all seen those micro-screens hung in the gargantuaplex in order to make room for theaters thirty through thirty-six. There are so many screens; these places should provide complimentary golf carts to shuttle us back and forth to the only restroom in the establishment. By walking such acreage, we can miss an entire reel of film. Shhh! Your film is about to un-spool. You claim a seat in your favorite spot - just off of center, one quarter of the way back from the huge screen. You look around and notice no underage viewers. You're here to see a PG-13 flick, and there are no kids under thirteen without adult supervision. The place is not dead silent - after all, this is not a funeral. There's some light chit-chat, but only in whispered tones. The lights go down, the screen lights up. You settle in for the expected series of product advertisements. But once again you're stunned. No commercials! Instead, we go right into the coming attractions. You can't remember the last time you went to the movies and didn't have to sit through a series of annoying, try-too-hard-to-be-clever commercials. One shouldn't have to deal with such diversions at the movies. If we want commercials, we'll stay home and watch broadcast television. 'Joe's' theater is on the ball! You're grinning from ear to ear. The purpose of cineplexes should be obvious. They're not really built to give us more choices when we drop in at Hollywood.com. Since many of the screens in these massive playhouses run the same film at slightly staggered running times throughout the day, the intent should be clear. By giving us many more show times per day, and therefore per weekend, it's more likely that we'll find a show time that fits into our busy schedules so we can go - as soon as possible. Why is this so important? Simple. Studios realize how important it is to get us to view their products quickly - preferably during their first weekend of release, lest bad word of mouth damns them to the smaller screens, and then out of the theaters altogether. If sour word of mouth and bad press banishes a film too quickly, the studio's only prayer for break-even is to put together a well-stocked DVD (...or VHS tape. They still make those, don't they?), ramp up another add campaign and yield a successful home video release. Therefore, the more running times, the better. The fact is, wide releases of new films to play on thousands of screens across the country on opening weekend has done little to help the quality of pictures coming out of Hollywood. But that could be the subject of another article. Let's get back to our enjoyable Friday night at the movies. As the coming attractions begin, You're instantly pleased to hear that... hey, you can hear! The decibels are actually below jet plane lift-off level. You don't feel the way a toad feels, cringing beneath a passing Lawnboy. Your brains aren't liquefying under the pressures of intense volume. Still smiling. Later, you might learn that the trailers screened were not accurate depictions of the films advertised. We're quite helpless in this respect. I've been duped on numerous occasions - fooled to believe that a heavy drama was actually a lightweight comedy. I've been bamboozled into thinking that a slow moving, ensemble acting piece was a cracker-jack action pic. Millions of dollars are spent making memorable trailers for forgettable films. Again, it's important to get us in the seats on opening weekend before the proverbial cat's out of the bag and we learn just how awful the latest romantic comedy or dull action picture really is - courtesy of the down-turned thumbs of trusted, televised film critics. After you've enjoyed the coming attractions (they may not have been accurate, but they sure did tantalize), the feature begins. It looks just right. Framing is good. Focus is sharp. The sound (DTS, DD, THX - whatever the acronym) seems perfect. As the opening credits play, there's no crying of babies, no rude, gabbing adults, no kids tearing up and down the aisles. Your backside isn't stuck to gummy residue on the seat cushion. Your feet aren't glued to a Pepsi-shellacked floor. You're not catching nauseating whiffs of perfume from Mrs. Smell-so-sweet. No one's kicking your seat from behind. No one's blocking your view in front. You've seen no projectile popcorn or chucked Juju-Bees flying overhead at the screen. Everyone has switched off their beepers and cell phones and settled in for a fine feature film. It begins... "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..." Gads, you're in the wrong theater! Well, there's no excuse for wandering into the wrong theater, but since this particular feature is playing on six of the thirty-six screens, do try to forgive yourself. Like many of you, I've resolved to venture to the cineplexes less often. I've become more selective about the features I'll pay to see. I'll not subject myself to high prices, bad food, a less than presentable environment, noisy, unaccompanied children, equally noisy adults and overwhelming perfumes.... just so I can see a feature that, more often than not, disappoints. Wouldn't you rather be let down by a movie in the serenity of your very own home theater? The food's probably better. The room's probably cleaner. The picture's sharper and properly framed and you probably enjoy the cologne or perfume you wear. And it's nice to be able to pause a film and casually stroll to the restroom too. At three dollars rental fee per feature and a few dollars for snacks, isn't your home theater is the best deal in town? Bob Banka bobbanka@thedigitalbits.com Bob Banka - Main Page
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