- The A.V. Club lists their worst moviegoing experiences.
Sean O’NealI once went to a midweek-evening screening of In the Bedroom. The moron projectionist had forgotten to turn the stereo on, so you had to lean forward and strain to hear the dialogue in an already-quiet movie. Of course, a middle-aged couple sitting several rows in front of me decided they needed to narrate the whole thing. I was so steamed that it took two or three DVD viewings to get the bad taste out of my mouth.
...Then one week I fucked up and lobbied for "Amazing Grace And Chuck"—a PG-rated movie. I remember arguing that its message—one boy’s mission to foster peace in the Cold War by refusing to play baseball—was an important one. (I guess because how else would we learn about the importance of nuclear disarmament through sports-related pacifism? Why, for all we knew, one of our classmates would be an NBA star, and one day he’d disarm a Soviet ICBM by just taking a knee during the playoffs! etc.) Anyway, the movie itself isn’t particularly profane, but anyone who’s ever been in a room full of 5- to 10-year-olds knows that the slightest curse word can spark a near-riot. Needless to say, the first “hell” caused the entire assembly to erupt into uncontrollable hysterics, and I remember every pair of teacher eyes turned my way like I had just popped in a tape of German scat porn. I spent the rest of that movie turning crimson at every “damn,” “hell,” and “ass” (and there probably aren’t many, but at the time, it seemed like Charles Bukowski and Quentin Tarantino had collaborated on the script) until our faux-principal Ms. Ellen finally popped the tape out to a swell of anticipatory “Ooooo”s. I was absolutely mortified. Ms. Ellen quietly informed me we would be having a talk with my mother later, I guess because she was concerned I might develop a potty-mouth if I continued watching films like that. Fortunately, my mom didn’t give a damn hell ass shit, so fuck that bitch. "Amazing Grace And Chuck" for life!
Saw a screening of Harold and Maude once in college, and two women in their 50s or 60s or so had somehow gotten in (these were supposed to be private, student-only screenings), and their obnoxious, drawn-out gasping laughter throughout was very nearly enough to put me off the flick for a while. As with In the Bedroom, the DVD saved me.
I am sure that I also contributed to someone's worst moviegoing experience. I once took a bottle of Southern Comfort into a screening of Independence Day. You can imagine how well that turned out. I remember conducting the end credits, and not much at all beyond that.
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