That's Show Biz

My friend, Fay is from Mississippi. She is my go-to person whenever I feel stressed, because she is sensible, and that dulcet musical accent can always calm me down. Besides, she enjoys going to the movies as much as I do, and lets me pick the show every time. Now that’s what I call a friend!

Last week we went to an Oscar nominated “romantic comedy” about mental illness. The characters were crazy in love. But before the feature, we were submitted to upcoming attractions. The first preview was for a bloody slasher flick. I heard Fay muttering, “Oh, Ma! That’s gross! Wha would anyone want to see that?” I couldn’t see what she was talking about, because I had covered my eyes. Then there were three more “coming attractions” exhibiting blood and an array of guts. By now, I had paid good money to put a coat over my head for 10 minutes. Obviously, I have a very low threshold for violence.

When I was a little girl, my parents went to the movies to improve their English, and they couldn’t afford a baby-sitter so they dragged me along. The kids on the block had already taught me all the curse words, so my English was just fine. When the movie got scary, I used to climb into my Dad’s lap and stare at the people behind me.

It was a special treat when the theatre featured an unannounced surprise double feature. The second movie was usually a detective story or a Western. People got shot. They never bled but they’d moan, so you knew they didn’t feel so good, and the stagecoach wheels always turned in the wrong direction.

As I got a little older, I went to Saturday morning movies with my friends. The movies weren’t scary, but the ushers were. They wore uniforms with fringes on their shoulders and carried big flashlights. They’d yell stuff such as, “No running.” No spitting off the balcony.” “No throwing popcorn.”

Movie film was on reels, and sometimes the film broke. Then the kids would clap, shout and whistle, and if the projectionist inadvertently switched the reels nobody noticed, because they were having too much fun to watch those dumb movies anyway.

Instead of boring audiences with commercials for products and upcoming television shows, projectionists used to show cartoons before the feature attraction. Some of the cartoons were violent, but no matter what fell on the head of Donald Duck, he always lived to quack another day. The most risqué cartoon I saw was Bugs Bunny naked when his fur got singed.

Once a movie started, I’d usually have to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t want to miss anything, and Mother had ordered me not to go alone, and put paper on the seat, and wash my hands. So, I’d hold it, so I wouldn’t miss anything, and I’d miss a lot because I was trying to figure out when was a good time to go without missing anything. In scary parts of a movie, boys would crawl under the seats and grab girls’ ankles. Then the girls would scream, and the admiral usher would flash his light and yell; ”No crawling under the seats.” That was a good time to run to the bathroom, because there was such a hullabaloo that no one could hear the movie anyway.

Now, that I am a grown-up there are no more admiral ushers, but a voice on the movie screen will urge the audience to be quiet and turn off their cell phones. The voice will warn us that if those damn phones aren’t turned off, someone will ask us to leave, but they never tell us who.

Esther Blumenfeld (The price of popcorn is scarier than the movie)