I am interested in cinema. I am interested in THE cinema. During a showing at the cinema, I am not interested in other people's interest in cinema. Interested people in the cinema should keep their interest in cinema to themselves.
Last night I toddled off to The Eye cinema in Galway City so that I could catch a showing of Silent Hill. The Eye is a lovely place. It's full of popcorn, making it lip-shrivellingly, belly-swellingly good. Just like a wonderful lover, in fact. I'm a fan of The Eye. It's got a bar.
I'd been looking forward to Silent Hill since it was announced, being that I'm an admirer of the video games (in so far as you can admire the graphic representation of walls made out of rotten mince) and also of the director, Christophe Gans. Nothing was going to spoil last night for me. NOTHING.
Not even the fact that none of the staff members, Those In Control Of The Popcorn, could speak enough English to understand my bellowings for the ould banged grains. Not even the fact that in my absense, the babysitter was contaminating my DVD player with a copy of The Longest Yard. Not even the fact that Hector O'Heouchahuchahocaghàn was missing from his usual, strangely endearing spot as the Turn Your Mobiles Off Man. Not even the fact that on the way into the cinema, my limbs had fallen off, joined forces, and were juddering about in an oversized condom.
Ok, so that last one was a bit of a lie.
None of these things bothered me, as such. My excitement at spending a couple of hours in the company of Pyramid Head...
(ain't he a hottie?)
...kept me going. But then I got into my seat. And a couple of giggling students sat down behind me.
Bitches. Whores. Cows. Arsewipes. Wankshafts. Nimrods. Great hairy shitstains. Bastards of Beelzebub. Jibbering fucking CUNTS.
Excuse the indigenous Irish character descriptions, but there's nothing more annoying than hearing "whisper whisper snigger whisper giggleygigglegoo" over the movie's dialogue. Nothing more annoying. Not even Cecilia Ahern is more annoying than that. Not even Tom Cruise. Not even the lovechild of Cecilia Ahern and Tom Cruise.
Thankfully, this was Silent Hill, so as soon as the first monsters appeared, the gigglegoons behind me shut up, as they had collectively wet themselves. Either that or they stank of urine as a rule, and being of the student persuasion, that's highly likely too.
Why do people feel the need to chatter and snigger through films? That's what Mass is for! I just don't get it - paying a tenner to sit in a darkened room and interact over THX sound? What are these people - terminally shy? Members of paedophile societies? Physical mirrors of The Elephant Man? Why do they need to conduct their business surrounded by angry, distracted people jacked up on Pepsi and Maltesers?
I was going to wrap up by saying that if you're going to be such a bollix to chatter through other people's quiet nights out, at least do it loudly so that we can eavesdrop and find out exactly what's so hilarious. Oh, and have the decency not to complain to the Gardaì when disgruntled Sèan Bean fans punch you in the face. But I won't. Just don't do it. Just shut up.
Last night I toddled off to The Eye cinema in Galway City so that I could catch a showing of Silent Hill. The Eye is a lovely place. It's full of popcorn, making it lip-shrivellingly, belly-swellingly good. Just like a wonderful lover, in fact. I'm a fan of The Eye. It's got a bar.
I'd been looking forward to Silent Hill since it was announced, being that I'm an admirer of the video games (in so far as you can admire the graphic representation of walls made out of rotten mince) and also of the director, Christophe Gans. Nothing was going to spoil last night for me. NOTHING.
Not even the fact that none of the staff members, Those In Control Of The Popcorn, could speak enough English to understand my bellowings for the ould banged grains. Not even the fact that in my absense, the babysitter was contaminating my DVD player with a copy of The Longest Yard. Not even the fact that Hector O'Heouchahuchahocaghàn was missing from his usual, strangely endearing spot as the Turn Your Mobiles Off Man. Not even the fact that on the way into the cinema, my limbs had fallen off, joined forces, and were juddering about in an oversized condom.
Ok, so that last one was a bit of a lie.
None of these things bothered me, as such. My excitement at spending a couple of hours in the company of Pyramid Head...
(ain't he a hottie?)...kept me going. But then I got into my seat. And a couple of giggling students sat down behind me.
Bitches. Whores. Cows. Arsewipes. Wankshafts. Nimrods. Great hairy shitstains. Bastards of Beelzebub. Jibbering fucking CUNTS.
Excuse the indigenous Irish character descriptions, but there's nothing more annoying than hearing "whisper whisper snigger whisper giggleygigglegoo" over the movie's dialogue. Nothing more annoying. Not even Cecilia Ahern is more annoying than that. Not even Tom Cruise. Not even the lovechild of Cecilia Ahern and Tom Cruise.
Thankfully, this was Silent Hill, so as soon as the first monsters appeared, the gigglegoons behind me shut up, as they had collectively wet themselves. Either that or they stank of urine as a rule, and being of the student persuasion, that's highly likely too.
Why do people feel the need to chatter and snigger through films? That's what Mass is for! I just don't get it - paying a tenner to sit in a darkened room and interact over THX sound? What are these people - terminally shy? Members of paedophile societies? Physical mirrors of The Elephant Man? Why do they need to conduct their business surrounded by angry, distracted people jacked up on Pepsi and Maltesers?
I was going to wrap up by saying that if you're going to be such a bollix to chatter through other people's quiet nights out, at least do it loudly so that we can eavesdrop and find out exactly what's so hilarious. Oh, and have the decency not to complain to the Gardaì when disgruntled Sèan Bean fans punch you in the face. But I won't. Just don't do it. Just shut up.
5 comments:
You get cinemas where you don't have ask the projectionist to turn the film on.The owner of the cinema is more interested in the cinema organ he's restoring.And every time you go to that cinmea you try to hide from the owner, who was an ex boss in a Belfast city centre hotel and a pub on the outskirts of Loyalist Rathcoole near Belfast. I better stop I might start blogging about this guy, there is more but I'd need to blog in the presence of my solictor.
Reminds me of my first time in the Eye. I went to see Revenge of the Sith and some little fucker beside me turned to his mother at a critical point and gave away a major plot development. I could have strangled him but his mother was worse than him. There should be some sort of cinema security available to eject these people.
Holy Sheep Dip, I love it when you break bad. Now, this is entertainment better than any movie. So glad you've got it together here and those bloody wankers need a life. I frigin hate that. I paid good money,$8.50 here, to see a movie not listen to some useless chatter. I hope those silly whores read this. But they probably can't read, so...
I went to the Cinema here a few times while in Australia:
http://www.sunpictures.com.au/, it's like a garden cinema with huge deckchairs. The airfield in the town is only a few hundred meters away so we'd get one low flying mid-sized commercial jet flying directly overhead on approach during every film. It felt like you could reach up and touch the underbelly of the plane it would be so low.
I think I went there for the jet engine rush more than the films though in all honesty ;)
That's all we need. Someone who brings his own jet planes to the flicks.
Post a Comment