Novelty Items

The local cinema, during the heady days of my teenage years, was a slightly gloomy place, painted a drab orange, with brown curtains concealing the square screen. The seats were not that comfortable, the pattern of the carpet was a hideous orange and brown swirling mess, and there was no convenient plastic ring affixed to the seat in which one could deposit a 'Big Gulp' cola or lemonade. Well, in fact, there was no such thing as a 'Big Gulp' drink back then. This was suburbia, after all.

Still, come the weekend, we all flocked there to marvel at whatever Hollywood dished up for our viewing pleasure. You could guarantee that your money would buy you not only an hour and a half or so of escapism, it would also buy you an hour and a half or so of time free from other distractions. There was no mother calling that you tidy up your bedroom or do your homework, no ring at the front doorbell when the neighbour came to complain (yet again) that your inflatable ball had knocked over his garden gnome, no telephone call from an aged deaf aunt who would be calling to berate you on your failure to visit her the previous weekend. The cinema was a place of retreat and vivid imaginings, detached from reality, a blissful sanctuary from life.

Not any more. Now, the soundtrack in the cinema is most often interrupted by the metallic chirruping of a veritable flock of mobile telephones. Deals are negotiated, appointments broken, flirtations enjoyed. After all, isn't film just moving wallpaper, incapable of holding the audience's attention for more than ten minutes at most?

Once we would go to the cinema purely to watch a film. Now, we have the cinema 'experience' which involves imbibing soft drinks and consuming monster packs of sweets and curling up in oversize comfy seats that encourage one to fall into a snooze, and occasionally waking to socialise with our friends via the minute little mobile communication device in our pockets? Who wants to watch the film anyway, when you can compete with whatever starlet is appearing on the screen for the audience's attention by planning your social diary with some unseen companion at the other end of the telephone line in a loud, obtrusive voice?

There are, of course, exceptions to this behaviour. There are those who don't possess mobile phones, preferring not to be available to all and sundry at any time of day or night. And there are those considerate souls who observe the 'please switch off your mobile telephone' notices screened in the cinema before the film commences.

For the rest, I offer this advice, articulated in 'txt', the new jargon of the mobile phone era: 'IfYaDntTrnThtAnnyngMchneOffNOWImGngToCmeOvrThr&StckItDwnYrThrt!' And, if that shouldn't work, next time I'm in the cinema, I shall plug my ears with the last remaining chocolate Maltesers nestling at the bottom of the bumper family pack. They do shut out peripheral noise wonderfully well.