All summer long, there have only been a handful of movies that I’ve really been looking forward to, and The Bourne Ultimatum was at the top of my list. The combination of an ass-kicking Matt Damon, perma-sassy Julia Stiles, and not-so-secret-crush David Strathairn was too much to resist. So a friend and I headed to my favorite theater in New York, Sony Lincoln Cinemas, to catch the 9 PM show last night. Once there, we found out the 11 o’clock showing would be on the only mega-gigantic screen in the entire theater, and decided to wait it out. It made more sense for us to kill 2 hours getting tanked in the self-help section of Barnes & Noble (we can never have too many copies of My Mother, My Self), rather than watching it on a screen roughly the size of a three-way science board. We exchanged our tickets and got to drinking.
Before we knew it, 11 PM had arrived! We grabbed 2 of the best seats in the gigantic theater and watched in amazement as, one by one, each seat began filling up. “Don’t these people have jobs?” we wondered aloud while we texted our bosses sick for the next day. The lights dimmed, the audience took one collective last pre-movie breath, and after 47 minutes of previews… the movie finally began.
And that’s when we heard it.
The gurgling of a baby.
And we’re not talking the sweet, on-and-off gurgling of a baby who is in and out of a nap.
We’re talking a very small baby babbling extremely loudly throughout the entire movie, since babies usually have no concept of what a movie is, much less manners. Usually, that’s the parents’ job. And one would think that most parents would know better than to bring a 2 month old to a movie of this nature, especially at 11 PM on a Sunday.
But no. This was real. It was happening. And being the neurotic, ultra-aware movie patron I am, a baby talking loudly 3 rows behind me was enough to ruin the entire film. It didn’t matter if it was a quiet, emotional scene — of which they are many — or an intense action sequence. 95 percent of the film was drowned out by the incessant babbling of the devil’s spawn.
What surprised me about this situation wasn’t so much that sociopaths are allowed to bring such young children into a movie — much less procreate at all — but more so that nobody said anything. NOBODY! Numerous attempts by Eagle-Eyed Collins (me) to locate this child were unsuccessful. Weren’t the people sitting next to this kid on the verge of absolutely losing their f**king minds?! About 45 minutes into the film, when it was clear this kid was being bottle-fed cocaine, I offered up a nasty “Sssh!” to no avail. A few minutes later, another woman seconded me. Are you all so spineless as to not stand up for a quiet theater in which to be entertained?! SHAMEFUL.
Needless to say, I spent most of the movie trying my best to ignore the voice while simultaneously weaving a noose made out of Twizzlers. The noise did not let up the entire movie. “For god’s sake, have these people never heard of Peggy Post?” I wondered silently. I had had enough. My head was about to explode from anger, and I had a killer headache. So, about 10 minutes to the end, during an intense but quiet stand-off (no spoilers here), and with Demon Baby Jenkins on the verge of bawling, I SCREAMED out as loud and ladylikely as possible: “Will you and your baby PLEASE LEAVE?!”
The aftermath of my actions and a call to arms — really small, chubby arms — after the jump.
Few moments in life can make a person believe they deserve spontaneous applause. This was one of those moments. I fully expected my co-patrons to begin slow-clapping, Rudy Ruetteger style, until the whole theater was on their feet cheering for me, causing 2 burly men to hoist me onto their shoulders and out of the theater, making me the first girl to ever be carried out of a Loews Cineplex in 78 years.
Instead, all I got was a woman who chimed in “Yeah!”, followed by a man with an extremely deep voice bellowing “I agree.”
That was it. The baby started wailing, and it seems its parents got the idea and took it out of the theater… though even that took a good 2 minutes. Now it was a free-for-all. Someone’s cell phone started ringing, and a guy screamed out “Man, turn your f**kin’ phone off!” Where were you during GurgleFest 07, bitch? UGH.
Clearly, this baby ruined my Bourne experience last night. I will almost definitely need to see it again, and I will certainly be an abusive mother. But here’s the real question: Why do movie theaters allow parents to bring their babies into the theater, especially an loud adult action movie that late at night? Shouldn’t there be some sort of rule about this? And yes — I know I could have asked for a refund last night, but at 1:30 AM, I wasn’t in the mood to seek out the manager and complain.
But more importantly, how are sociopaths like these parents even allowed to have and raise kids? It’s one thing to not be able to afford a babysitter, it’s another thing to keep your kid up that late at night. (ps That thing is called “child abuse.”) And, let’s be honest: Bringing your baby to a midnight movie has gotta be the tip of the iceberg. I’m picturing this little tyke wearing a diaper made out of petrified stool and sleeping in a drawer lined with safety pins. Should I have called child services, ya’ll?!?! Perhaps this was a literal cry for help?
Message to politicians: You want my vote in ‘08? Start creating laws I actually care about… like banning babies within a 1000 foot radius of my body and ears.
Thankfully, you know whose gonna get the last laugh? Me. 20 years from now, when that baby is tearing my ticket at the theater. (See what I did there?) In the meantime, I’m off to snort Aleve off a company toilet seat.
xoxo4Lyf,
Your not heartless, merely mannerful blogger,
Michelle Collins
