Pre-pandemic, we were regular moviegoers. A nearby “multi-screen” theater made it easy for us to take in a couple of shows each month but with the hysteria about social distancing and assorted other hurdles, we simply stayed away. And though things gradually returned to normal, we continued to remain home and watch Netflix.
Recently, with outdoor temps hovering above 100 degrees, we decided that a visit to the cinema (and an air conditioned theater) might be a good way to spend an afternoon. And though no particular movie attracted us, the prospect of watching a Hollywood production in a comfortable environment was enough to draw us in.
Before taking our seats, we visited the concession stand … who, after all, can sit through a movie without munchies? After ordering a small popcorn and a small beverage I thought my hearing aids had failed, for it sounded like the young man behind the counter said: “That will be $17.00.” Turns out I had heard him correctly … seventeen dollars … for popcorn … and a small drink.
Very carefully, we transported this precious cargo of snacks to our theater, and settled in to enjoy the show. Before our movie began, though, we had to endure a forty minute string of “coming attractions,” each less appealing than the one before. In the midst of this assault on our senses, we looked at each other and wondered: “Who writes and produces this stuff?”
Currently, a work stoppage by actors and writers has shut down Hollywood, leaving movie lovers and theater groups in a panic. And though sympathetic to those struggling for fair wages, if the drivel we saw in those previews is the best the film industry has to offer, I would not object to their staying on strike permanently.
Clearly, we “Senior Citizens” are no longer the “target demographic” for companies marketing most products or, in the case of Hollywood, seeking to draw crowds to the movie theater. In many cases, executives guiding those sorts of efforts seem to assume people our age have a 9PM curfew, along with a propensity for yelling at youngsters to: “Get the hell off my lawn.”
For the foreseeable future, Hollywood is just going to have to manage without us … though I doubt they are concerned about this. In the meantime, Netflix and our DVD collections of Inspector George Gently and The Sopranos will have to suffice.
We plan to be in bed by 9PM anyway.