🚀 go-pugleaf

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
eye WEEKLY                                             October 27 1994
Toronto's arts newspaper                      .....free every Thursday
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SOUNDOFF                                                      SOUNDOFF

             QUIET PLEASE, THERE'S A MOVIE ON THE SCREEN
                         Or ... shut up or die!

                                  by
                             DENIS SEGUIN


"Shut the f@#* up." That's what the man said when I spoke during a
movie. Although I disapprove of his approach, never mind that it was
during the opening credits, I give him full marks for results. Sure,
the film was ruined for me -- I just sat staring at the back of his
skull playing coward's revenge -- but he got what he wanted: I shut up
and stayed shut up. Good thing for me, the guy was huge. But now, five
years later, I'm feeling burned. Talking during movies has become a
local pastime.

Theatre etiquette is a matter of acculturation. Watching Bugsy in
Lebanon, I commented to a companion on the constant chatter and was
told this was the way it was. In India, where the three-hour film is
the norm, families cook light meals in the aisles. At Cannes, critics
feel free to holler their derision. But this is Canada, where peace,
order and good government hold sway. And this is Toronto, the putative
movie-going capital of North America. We have trailers and promotions
devoted to silencing audiences and yet the talking has never been so
bad. Worse, the perpetrators are shameless. They stare horrified, they
are offended.

There's the man who has to let everyone in the theatre know that he and
only he has found the essence of the film; the woman who enhances the
pleasure of a witty line by echoing it back to the screen; the couple
who are discussing their dinner plans; the boyfriend who doesn't get it
and the girlfriend who does and so explains it. He, she, all of them,
are then asked to please tone it down. He crashes, she whines to her
friends, he wrings his hands. They keep talking.

Blame the VCR, which has made mini-theatres of our private spaces and
so relaxed the rules of viewership. Within familiar surroundings we
feel free to comment, knowing that rewind is close at hand. Blame the
remote control, which, by giving us leave to surf from image to image,
has corrupted our sense of narrative -- no beginnings, no endings --
and crippled our ability to concentrate. The attitudes engendered are
then transported like a disease back into the theatres.

The theatres are partly to blame. Before the screening, radio blather
is pumped into theatres at high volume. Like drivers velocitized by the
freeway, viewers have to speak loudly to make themselves heard and some
carry on into the screening. The hush of anticipation has given way to
a mall-like atmosphere. At Famous, the curtain is already up so we can
enjoy the infotainment slide shows -- it's enough to make you
appreciate Cineplex's commercials.

Of course, without anticipation there is no hush. Polled by studio
strategists and prepped by marketing campaigns, viewers go into the
theatre knowing exactly what to expect and are rarely disappointed.
Hugely expensive visual and audio effects pop the eyes and eardrums. To
the casualties of this sensory barrage the more subtle films -- from
Exotica to Barcelona -- seem cryptic, inscrutable. Dialogue becomes a
nuisance. It requires constant attention. The theatre is eerily quiet.
So they fill the air with questions.

Maybe the theatre branch could pass a law temporarily suspending free
speech. Changing seats is an option, but not in a crowded theatre.
Sitting and slowly burning with resentment is unhealthy. "Shut the fuck
up" is effective but perilous: I once intervened when two critics were
ready to settle the issue with punches.

A safer disincentive might be one like the dye in public swimming pools
that turns bright red when it comes in contact with a naughty child's
urine. Every seat would have a red light triggered by excessive noise
from its occupant: a target for flying projectiles.

Better yet we could just pretend the light, like the mythical dye, is
there and behave accordingly.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Retransmit freely in cyberspace        Author holds standard copyright
Full issues of eye in archive                    gopher://interlog.com
Coupla Mailing lists available             http://www.interlog.com/eye
eye@interlog.com      "Break the Gutenberg Lock..."       416-971-8421