Too Much Drama at the Movies

By A.J. Griffith
Black College Wire

AJ Griffith

We come with our differences -- black, white, Democrat, Republican, Jaguar, Tiger, gay, straight, Mason, Elk, Muslim, Christian, atheist, feminist, chauvinist -- and abandon them at the door to partake in a vicarious, cinematic adventure and become members of one group: the audience.

For a few hours, we all try to forget about the past-due bill, the F on the midterm exam and the heart-rending breakup. We watch a story unfold and lead to a happy ending, or at least a satisfying conclusion. It's always a wonderful event -- until some jerk comes along and makes you wish you had made it a Blockbuster night.

A few Saturdays ago, I treated myself to a night at the movies, dateless, of course (hint-hint, ladies). I had been waiting all week to watch this particular horror flick. I was ready to be entertained.

I watched the other moviegoers file into the theater, soon filling each empty seat. The audience was a rainbow of racial diversity, complete with lots of white faces, a few Arabic people, some Asians and a big group of us (meaning black folks). A white guy escorted his lovely date to the two available seats next to mine. Shortly after, the movie started. And so did the drama.

No sooner had the lights dimmed and the "Please turn off all pagers and cellphones" sign flashed across the screen than a ringtone cut through the silence.

"BING BING BAM BAM!" it chimed. The young sister allowed it to sound for several seconds before deciding to answer it, forcing everyone in the theater to listen to a verse of the song. The white guy sitting next to me sucked his teeth in disgust.

"Hello," said the sister very loudly. "I'mma come over there after I leave the show." There was a brief pause.

"I'm at the show," she continued. There was another pause. "AT THE SHOW I SAID!"

"SHE AT THE SHOW," shouted a brother sitting several seats behind us.

"SHHHHH," said somebody. This seemed only to incite more chatter. Just then, a group of teenage brothers strolled into the theater and started walking up and down the aisles, apparently looking for someone.

"OH, TEE," shouted one of the young guys. "TEE, WHERE YOU AT, BRUH?"

"UP HERE, DAWG," shouted Tee. The teenage brothers then made their way to the row where their friend was seated, making much noise on their way, vexing several audience members who became very vocal about their displeasure.

"Y'ALL NIGGAS NEED TO SHUT THE HELL UP," shouted an angry member of the crowd.

"F--- YOU," shouted one of the youngsters in response.

"F--- WIT' ME," shouted the angry audience member to the youngster. There was a moment of silence.

"HE GOT A GUN," yelled somebody from the top row.

"Oh, God," said the white guy's lovely date, sinking in her seat and tightening her grip on his arm. The top row erupted in laughter after the false alarm. I was getting annoyed. This was embarrassing. The movie had been on for barely 15 minutes and I had missed everything said on the screen due to the noise.

A police officer walked into the theater and stood by the exit. Thank goodness, I thought. Now I can enjoy the rest of the show in peace. Things seemed to settle down. Suddenly, another ringtone went off.

"Let me see ya bounce right to left and let your shoulder lean, let your shoulder lean, just let your shoulder lean," it sang.

"WHAZZAPNIN'?" answered the owner of the cellphone.

"SHHHHHHH," said somebody in the audience. The brother on the cellphone kept talking, his voice growing louder and louder as the conversation progressed. The police officer walked over to where he was sitting and motioned for him to leave. There was a round of applause. By now, I wasn't even worried about what was going on in the movie. There was more action in the theater.

As the officer escorted the brother out, more chattering ensued.

"SOMEBODY FARTED," screamed a voice from the back. There was a chorus of laughter.

"MAN, THIS S--- WACK," exclaimed a young brother in front of me, who had his feet on the back of the occupied seat in front of him.

"BING BING BAM BAM, BING BING BAM BAM," sang the cellphone of the young sister from earlier. Suddenly, a few flying kernels of popcorn hit the white couple and me in the backs of our heads. When I turned around to see where they came from, I noticed a brother sitting a few seats behind me holding a small handy-cam, recording the movie. This is retarded, I thought.

"What the hell's wrong with these people?" said the white guy to his date, shooting me a look of disgust, like I was "these people's" spokesman.

"Are we in the freakin' ghetto or somethin'?" he continued, saying it loud enough for me to hear. What did he mean by "these people?" What was he trying to say when he asked if we were in the "ghetto"? Ordinarily, I would've slapped the taste out of this cat's mouth for saying something stupid like that in my presence, and then dared his date to jump in.

But I couldn't even be angry with him for making that remark. I was thinking the same thing.

A.J. Griffith is a student at Southern University who writes for the Southern Digest.

Posted Oct. 25, 2006