Gef’s Trip to The Palace

Do you remember going to the Palace Cinema back in the early 2000s and being petrified of the elderly lady usher? I do. I’ve always loved going to the cinema – I know The Palace can get some stick but I’ve always thought it has a nice touch of nostalgia about it – but I remember the fear I’d feel rising in my chest when seeing the usher look over at the section of seating I was in because someone sat behind me was making noise. I’d feel her stare piercing through the dark. Her torch would click on and she’d start making her way towards us; slowly, to build up as much inner panic as possible with each deft step. I’d try and focus solely on the film in front of me, as one should when at the cinema. But I’d see her, stealthily coming my way in the corner of my eye, her torch in one hand, finger raised to point accusingly in the other. I’d always worry in case she mistakenly took me to be the culprit. But she was good. She always knew who the trouble makers were that had coughed more than once and were thus impairing the viewing pleasure for the rest of us. She’d raise her torch, exposing the noisy viewer for all to see as they were lit up in the beam of her burning light of shame. And, in a tone jarringly icy to the blazing heat of her quiet fury, tell them to shut up or get out. I don’t remember anyone who made a noise after that. Mainly because most passed out from fear. Well, I did anyway. Missed the whole second half of Hulk. I wasn’t bothered, it was shite.

Gone are those days of consequence and fear of being reprimanded in the cinema if you rustled your sweets too much or breathed too loudly – God help you if you’re asthmatic – and yet, who would have thought I’d reach a point where I’d pray to have that terrifying usher lady back.

Cinema etiquette – aka the simple task of going to the cinema and quietly watching a movie – has crumbled. People don’t seem to go to watch films anymore, they go to ruin films for other people wanting to watch them. The past five times I’ve been to the cinema I’ve come out with my blood pressure higher than a weed dealer in a hot air balloon – not because of the film, but because of people pissing me off in the cinema.

My last five experiences going to the cinema:

1: People chatting, loudly.

A couple of whispers asking about the film is annoying but acceptable. Coming to the cinema to hold a Ted Talk on who you’re shagging, including a powerpoint, is not. Why are you spending money to come and sit in the dark and talk over a film? Are you that desperate to be hated by members of the public? Is this some weird act of self-harm in getting people to hate you more than you hate yourself? You can pay to have a therapist listen to you in the dark where there won’t be a film playing. Bore off and go there.

2: People going on their phones with the brightness up high.

I’m sure our addiction to our phones will have something to do with this and our lack of attention span but I don’t care. Need to check your phone for something? Well, you should have thought about that before coming to the cinema. But fine, if you have to check it, check it but at least turn the brightness down so it doesn’t sear the eyeballs of those of us sat in a 5-metre radius to you. It’s disconcerting being immersed in a good story in the darkness to then be clawed back out, exposed in the harsh light like a wide-eyed, cinema-dwelling Gollum shoving popcorn in his gob.

3: Teens thinking it’s hilarious to make random sex noises as loudly as possible.

Cinema youths. I’m sure you’ve spent most of your life being the centre of attention which is why you can’t go 90 minutes without being at the centre of everyone’s attention but the cinema is not about you. Are you Emma Stone? No. Are you Idris Elba? No. We have not paid to watch or listen to you. If we had paid to watch you it’d be weird and inappropriate or because you were in a show at The Gaiety. But if I’d known you were in the show, I wouldn’t have gotten tickets for it because you and your ‘HILARIOUS’ sex noises are not funny. You’d likely bring the whole production down so extravagantly the Gaiety Theatre would go out of business, all because of your shit performance. Paying money to see who can ruin films for people by seeing who’s the ‘bravest’ to make sex noises the loudest is not cool. It just makes you an annoying twat who’s clearly a virgin and unlikely to stand a chance of getting laid after turning most of the public against you.

4: A couple coming in and out of the cinema throughout the whole film.

During the whole 2 hours 11 minutes of Top Gun: Maverick a young couple sat in front of us were essentially conceiving their (probably 7th) child, which would no doubt end up being one of the little shits making sex noises down the line. Then they stopped, turned and asked us if we’d watch their stupid bags as they went to shag in the toilet. The first time they did it they were gone so long I started to convince myself the bag was ticking, and we were all about to be blown to smithereens with the last thing to be emblazoned in my final memory on Earth being Tom Cruise’s sagging face. Then they came back and starting conceiving again. Then they left again. This annoying boomerang pattern went on to the point where it was a waste of money for them to have even bought tickets. Just spend it on the drugs you’re clearly snorting instead.

5: One kid just standing up and staring at us.

This happened the other weekend. There weren’t many people in the cinema. We were sat in the back right-hand section of the big screen. A boy, who looked about the age of 10 and had an overbite strong enough to have its own silhouette was sat on the same row as us in the back left-hand section. Half way through the film he just stood up, turned towards our section, and stared at us in the dark. There was no one else around us. And we were not the film Ghostbusters. I’m sure he’ll grow up to be a fine murderer one day.

I wish I had the confidence to tell all these cinema sinners to stop being so selfish and shut the hell up but instead I do the British thing. I turn my head to look in their direction at a speed that CLEARLY shows I’m unimpressed by their behaviour then scowl at them in the dark, after making sure I’m in a place where they can’t see me. I should start reporting people to the staff but I can’t handle the anguish of blocking the view of people on my row and giving all 158 of them a half-hearted lap dance to get out and back in again afterwards.

If it was up to me, I’d introduce a system where if anyone disrespected the film and film-watching process by talking loudly, sitting on their phone, making sex noises, going to the toilet 1093 times, or creeping other members of the audience out, it’d trigger a sensor. That sensor would release a puff of chloroform in the face of the offender with the correct dosage to keep them blissfully conked out and quiet until the end of the film.. On second thought, that sounds intricate and like it’d be quite expensive. And potentially illegal. Instead, maybe this is all a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe this is how the scary usher lady from my youth began. Maybe now’s the time for me to take the torch from her and become this generation’s terrifying torch lady.