With everyone flocking to theaters for the big Christmas day releases, let’s take a moment to go over movie theater etiquette. Yes, there’s such a thing. If you’re unfamiliar with it, you’re likely one of the worst offenders.
Without further ado, let’s get started.
Listen, Veronica. Steph will still be crushing hard on Troy after the movie, so even though she’s, like, totes tweaking because he “promposaled” her ass, you can wait two hours to read that text.
We’re all slaves to technology, but in the theater, keep your ball & chain quiet and tucked away.
As much as we all love a good hoedown (especially when your favorite yodel plays on the gramophone), the back of my seat is not where you should practice your hoofing skills. So cool off, cousin Jeb, and pop a Ritalin, ‘cause Mama sold one of her favorite heifers to be here.
I’m truly sorry Richard left you for his secretary, and that Timmy is beginning to exercise his teenage rebellion by leaving filthy socks in the corner of his room, but the beginning of FINDING DORY is not the time to share this with Nancy and Linda.
And all you yellers: You can’t change the tragic outcome of a film by yelling at the actors. IT’S ALL PREDETERMINED.
You know who you are. Yeah, you. The tiny guy with the bald head, no teeth, and one serious milk habit.
Listen, folks. Babies are adorable. No one loves a miniature human more than I do. I’ve even had a couple, and I’m quite partial to them. But when that tiny demon-child starts wailing, standing near the exit and bouncing him in your arms isn’t going to appease the masses. It’s on you to take Damien outside and tend to his needs.
Call me a hard-ass, but come on! We’ve all been stuck in a theater with that guy—the one battling a cold but who swears he’s fine.
What’d she say?
What just happened?
Why’re they driving off the cliff?!
Guess you’ll never know, because Larry didn’t want to wait a week.
No one wants to breathe diseased air, and we certainly don’t want critical dialogue drowned out by the sound of your black lung, so either stop hanging out in the mines, or wait for the Blu-ray release.
Don’t act like you don’t know who you are. You have no understanding of portion control and therefore take monstrously greedy heaps of popcorn, sloppily wrangling them into your facehole. But now you can’t close your mouth, so we’re all blessed with a double feature: whatever film we’ve paid to see, and you, masticating your popcorn like a deranged horse.
We’re all envisioning your death right now. No, seriously.
OPEN YOUR LOUD CANDY WRAPPERS BEFORE THE MOVIE!
Rose is about to tell Jack to “never let go,” and if we miss it, you’ll deprive us of two decades of debating over dimensions and buoyancy and headboards.
There I am, with my teenage daughter, watching the highly anticipated VVITCH. We waited months to see it, and I actually went to the theater—something I avoid at all costs, nowadays.
We’re well into the story (which is difficult because we’re next to an open-mouth eater ) when a scene plays in which a young woman undresses. It was tastefully done, non-sexual, and in keeping with the storyline, but did that dissuade open-mouth-eater guy from moaning out a guttural, “Yeah, baby”? No. No it didn’t.
If you’ve got the sexual maturity of a high-schooler, stay home, where your mother will deliver Hot Pockets to the basement for you and wash the dirty socks you’ve been collecting in the corner.
This goes for men and women, perfume and cologne. Some of us have allergies. Some of us have asthma. Some of us have an aversion to odorous people. Don’t marinade in your perfume! If we can taste your scent, you’ve crossed several lines. SEVERAL.
If we didn’t pay to see a horror flick, don’t turn it into one.
You know your own gastrointestinal system. If you’re lactose intolerant but decided to order extra sour cream on your Chipotle burrito, take your loaded ass home and detonate in the safety of your own four walls, where the only people you can hurt is your family—those who love you despite your stench…presumably.